scott's the type to have a ring on your finger when you're both so young
NONNIEEEEEE. i’m drooling. if there’s one thing ab scott, it’s that he’s sooooo fucking possessive. the minute he lays his eyes on u for the first time he's alrdy picturing ur belly swollen with his child, your left hand bearing his ring, the swell of your tits that would look oh so pretty littered in purple hickeys courtesy of him. he’s cloning that image late at night, thumb swiping across his slit, mind filling with thoughts of you as his sweet lil housewife, ready to be bred whenever he pleases <333333 &&& he can’t help but drool out “wanna put a ring on it baby” as he cums, the thought of having u as his and only his forever and ever enough to coax him to release. you’ll call him crazy and tell him you’ve only known each other 2 weeks, he’ll kiss your damp forehead and say it doesn’t matter, the sooner the better. scott’s reminded of that moment a year later, when he finds himself asking your mother whether you’d prefer oval or pear cut.
Scott coming home all pissed off and just completely relaxing when he sees you, eager to release his frustration and tell you how you’re the only person he likes whilst he’s deep inside you 😝
oh this is soooooo scott. he’s so fucking pent up, frustration filling every bone in his body as he slumps out the truck. your ears perk up instantly hearing it pull into the driveway of your shared home, rushing to the door like a needy puppy. as soon as he opens the door, lifeless in the face and chest heaving out of pure exhaustion, your sweet sweet smile’s like an antidote, healing him as if a plant photosynthesising. “baby,” you drawl off your tongue like honey, “rough day?” he melts into the crook of your neck, this giant, 6’4 manchild had completely succumbed to you. he’s mumbling in your collarbone as you rake through his hair, ranting about some shit tyler owens and his wrangler’s pulled, how riggs has been on his ass about getting those data sets, poor scotty :((((( all he needed was some relief, something to cure this ache. you start sinking to your knees, offering to help take some of his frustration away through your swollen lips on his cock, but he’s quick to bring you up, carrying you to the bedroom as you koala-hug his waist. he flops you on the bed, wasting no time in sliding his tongue across your puffy mouth as he yanks his slacks down, boxers following. in one harsh thrust, he shoves his throbbing cock through your slick entrance, the sight of his tip bulging your lower tummy making any troubles float away, kissing your damp forehead as he coos in your ear “fuck ‘em all baby—least i’ve got you, and this fuckin’ perfect pussy”<333333
Scott is definitely such an exhibitionist but absolutely no one is allowed to see or think of you that way, only the two of you. He wants people to know what only he gets to do to you, he’s too possessive. Anywho, kisses!
UGHHHHH YES. he’s the type that’ll kill a guy for simply peering ur way but nonetheless, insist on biting u in the most obviously visible areas. every drop of blood in his body rushes to his cock &&& his brain goes hazy when he sees the way ur crew members twitch their brows at the prominent purple bruises littered across ur neck that unluckily for u, lucky for scott, are damn near impossible to cover up, he bites deep. nothing gets him going more than seeing how flustered the other guys get at the sight of u, tits spilling out ur HR-nightmare-esque uniform as u bounce ur way over to him &&& the others, clawing at his chest like a needy puppy while he unashamedly kneads ur ass, not giving a single fuck that ur a step away from everyone else. favvvvv place to fuck is the back of his truck until the windows fog up &&& ur stumbling out the car funny, slapping his shoulder playfully as he restrains a cocky smirk bc he knows everyone within a 10 mile radius of the gas station parking lot heard the unmistakable sound of slapping skin loud & clear.
makin scott cum in his pants like a teenager and he's so embarrassed but he's tryin to act like he's not so he makes u clean it up....
THISSSSSSS. deny it all he wants but scott is sooooooo fuckin sex crazed it’s insane how needy he gets. he’s alllll big n tough n controlling over u til the SECOND u brush ur fingertips over his thigh, sit on his lap… he’s sweatin bullets as u rub ur puffy clit over his clothed bulge, breathlessly muttering out “b-baby please, please jus’ m-mmphhh get your m-mouth on.” &&& ur using his broad shoulders to hold urself up, relentlessly grinding against him until a sudden wetness blooms beneath u &&& u watch as his face twists in a mix of pleasure & slight humiliation, he hadn’t lost control like that since he was a fucking teenager. the dampness seeps thru his slacks &&& coats ur now soaked panties, he’ll “fuckin’ kill u if u tell a single soul, understand?” but u js hum contently &&& sink to ur knees, lulling ur tongue ever so slightly to lap the mess <333333
sowjdbdjwixihekwnansnwnwoxjdbwbw livvy found dead in a ditch after this his hairrrrrrrrshsuqixhjwkajzianansiejwban i’m vomittinfbeveeywhere this is not okay u guys oh my fucktorocjsnsndkdk my GOD his HAIR im so sick my pussy tummy hurts
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Staying at work late to impress the new editor-in-chief proves to be something Clark Kent isn't equipped to handle — KENT: Furniture-Breaking Collab
𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆/𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘: Explicit/F!Reader
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: pwp, editor-in-chief!reader, public indecency, sexual tension, push & pull dynamics, comedy, pathetic!clark
𝐖/𝐂: 2.3k
The Daily Planet had a problem.
A 'copy' room that sat in a converted storage closet. One that had barely enough space for a single machine, lovingly known as Joseph, which Perry White graciously funded. (Stole, from the unoccupied offices on the fifteenth floor.) He quickly became a hot commodity around the office, as the only printer that could cough up a hundred pages a minute. One that would never jam, and actually senses your fear to work faster.
By the end of the evening, Joseph's whines could be felt through the drywalls of the quiet office. The poor guy was on his very last breath, being put to use every waking minute. Thankfully, the bullpen had cleared out by the time the second work hours had come to an end, all except one, Clark Kent.
He stuck around when everyone else had left — not wanting to spend their Friday nights anywhere but the pit of doom and despair. On a work ethic level, Clark didn't think it was nice to leave the office with the boss still around.
At least that was the reason that remained much more appropriate than 'he had a big fat crush on the editor that everyone hated the guts of.'
Clark would never admit how much he liked being needed. Being the one person you relied on, and showed sides you hadn't shown to other people. He thrived on that feeling.
And it's also what had him stuffing himself into the sorry space of a closet at eight-thirty in the evening on a little errand you sent him on. Crouched down, eye level with Joseph, his dying breath that came in the form of a little red light had been blinking right at its perpetrator.
"That means…it's all out of juice. Okay."
He lifts the panels. Huh.
There was a sad little stack of paper, more than enough to not have caused the loud noise it had made earlier. Clark remained awkwardly stuffed in the little corner after refilling the tray with more paper as an added measure. "Okay…okay…" The rooms echoed with his borderline maniacal mumbles to himself, panic coursing right to his belly.
His jacket came off soon after, left abandoned behind him. Sleeves rolled up and forearms oiled up with printer lube, which he did not know was a thing.
"….Not the rollers, not paper…" Clark then peeks over to the Reddit thread he had opened, listing off the potential reasons why Joseph was messing with him now, of all times. The machine whines as he carefully peels off the side panels, in an attempt to peek into the insides.
"Clark?"
He stiffens. The sound of your voice pairs with his rather unglamorous bonk against Joseph.
"Y-yes, miss —… yes ma'am."
Clark remains on his knees on the tile, submissively poised as you take a drag over his state at present. His stark, white shirt had a darkened, greasy smear across the chest, levelled with an open paper tray.
"I was wondering what was taking so long with the printing." Your heels mockingly click louder on the tiles, stopping short of the printer. Then, with a tilt of your head, "is there a problem?"
"No!" He blurts, rising too quickly, damn near snagging his tie wedged in the shims of the printer.
The ill-timed stumble he takes forces him closer in the already cramped space. You don't flinch, holding your ground instinctively. And you soon regret it.
Clark unfurls to his full height. Your gaze, which once rested on his crooked glasses, is faced with a wide stretch of white. Slowly, you pull it higher, settling right around his collarbone when you feel the strain in your neck just from looking up. His warmth is immediate, stifling the narrow sliver of air you had between him and his chest — that rose and dipped heavily in your eyeline.
Your breath hitches.
"Not to worry! I've got it handled." You note that his voice extends a pitch higher, one that is too quick and obvious, "just uh — … this ol' thing is giving me a little bit of…trouble."
"Mm." You turn on a heel in seconds, which helps ease the thumping in your heart, rolling your sleeves up to your elbows as you attempt to lift the cartridge door with both hands. Clark flounders behind you to hold it steady as you lift it, his forearms coming to bracket your own.
Your body involuntarily stills at his sudden proximity, a much sturdier chest grazes past your back.
He had to be doing this on purpose.
"…Rollers?"
"Done. Lubed him up, no dice." He exhales roughly through his nose. Jaw ticking at the stark betrayal from his own namesake. You notice the way Clark trails off, staring hard at the printer as though he could see through the contraption.
"…Him? " You mouth, at the apparent pronoun use for the printer.
"Uh …" he clears his throat, gesturing weakly to the printer. "…Joseph." He says simply.
"Right." You murmur, biting the insides of your cheeks in an attempt to squash the smirk that threatens to make its way out. "Let me have a look."
Clark backs away, with both palms raised. "I mean…you can. But I've looked at it pretty…thoroughly."
"Yeah, it's probably the outlet."
"I doubt it's the outlet." He insists, with that too-eager Superman ego that spilt over sometimes.
You look up at him, stubborn, your fingers squeezing by the hem to inch them higher in a decisive motion. "Wouldn't be an issue if I double-checked, then."
The ID Card attached to your lanyard swings over your shoulder as you get down to your knees, lowering yourself until your forearms lie flush to the ground.
"Uh…maybe I should help —"
You don't acknowledge the thick, pained swallow that followed his words.
Defiantly, you stretch further in, hips tilted back in a deeper arch. Your softer, whispered grunts of effort, genuine despite your intentions.
"Anything back there?"
Clark sounded absolutely wrecked behind you.
He had no choice but to remain so very still, to focus his sights on that loose thread by the hem of your skirt, that was straining…and tightening around the fat of your thighs —
"Little to your left."
You look over your shoulder for a second, catching sight of Clark's oxfords tapping on the tiles incessantly after he blurts out his gratuitous commentary. "Thanks." Your arms stretch out further, forcing an arch.
Clark gulps audibly, his breath catching when the hem of your button-down rides up. The thicker waistband of your skirt dips just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of your lower back. You make no effort to adjust it back down.
"Chief…"
"Ah!" You rasp, feeling one of the Ethernet cables disconnected, right where he pointed it out. "Told you. Let me try to get this thing in."
Clark exhales in a short-lived relief.
"C'mon…Joseph."
His grip tightens as it finds itself on the sides of the machine, plastic creaking beneath his grip. The sound that escapes your throat is a low and satisfied hum, a sound that heads straight to his core.
Your own palm pats the machine in victory when it whirrrs in approval. When you glance up, Clark's hand was held out for you, with an eerie calmness washing his features, a picture of perfect composure.
You frown, pulling yourself up with his help.
"Give it a try again, it should work this time."
Expected that he hadn't taken the bait, you suppose. That move was cheugy, even for you.
It takes you a quick adjustment to your skirt to snap back into your usual persona. "Right. So, bring the copies to me when you're…— done?!"
Your palms smack down onto Joseph's lid. A surprised gasp at the rough tug toward Clark's chest.
"Whoa! Hey."
His forehead slumps to the back of your shoulders. "You can't be…doing that."
You don't try to argue, not immediately at least. Offering nothing but a stifled laugh when you feel the hard line pressed to your back, "looks like Joseph's up."
"I — that's because you were deliberately egging me!" He tries. Only to be cut off by the actual printers starting screen flashing at him.
Clark pulls back from you. Dragging a hand down his face. "I'm sorry. None of this is you. I misread it."
You turn to face Clark, leaned back against the printer. Before he wallows more in self-pity, your finger curls by the loop of his belt, forcing him a step closer.
"No…" you hum, thoughtfully, dragging a finger to the metallic buckle, "…read it pretty accurately."
Clark lets out a soft whimper, his palms coming to brace beside your hips, "I-I did?"
"Yeah." You breathe, wetting your lips instinctively. "You did."
His eyes shakily shuts, the loud click of his belt being undone resounding loud in the smaller space, his arousal rigid against his slacks. The zipper comes next, and only then does Clark grab your wrist, not to stop you, but to level you.
"This…I'm not letting you do this because…you're Chief. Or anything."
You huff out a laugh at his shaky words, "that's what you're thinking about?"
His lips press taut, gripping harder around the printer tray. Tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. Your knuckles drag past his zipper, nudging where his tip would be through his boxers.
You watch as his head slumps low while you tug the navy fabric past his length. Clark shudders softly at the cooled air hitting him. "Not…anymore." He manages, his hand tangling itself at the back of your head.
"What are you thinking about now?" You whisper. Squeezing him, teasingly.
The gentle pressure tightens, and in a quick decision, he turns you over swiftly. A steady palm nudges you to bend at the hips, your forearms presses on Joseph.
His idle palm on your lower back slides down to your thighs, pulling your skirt up to your hips. "This…" He mumbles, strained. You squeeze your legs together, ankles crossing over one another expectantly at his move.
"Shit…Clark," your voice drops to a whisper, appreciatively lifting your hips higher for him. He gets the memo, muttering incoherently to himself at the sight you offered.
Oh gosh. This is coconuts. Absolutely coconuts.
Clark thumbs at the fat of your stocking-covered thighs. Gulping. "Can I..?"
"M—hm." You hum, gasping sharply at the fresh rip. He wets his fingers, gently easing them up your inner thighs, groaning low.
"Gosh…you're — warm." He croaks, bringing his digits up to your growing slick. You pulse at his touch, melting into it quickly with the gentle rub parting your folds.
"You don't have to be…so — ah…soft. With it."
Clark grits at your words with a hesitant nod, his palm relaxing, cupping the width of your pussy before his strokes turn much more deliberate. Quicker.
The approval to his ministrations come in the form of the loud, satisfied squelches your cunt makes, coating his fingers as he nudges them into your gummy walls, stretching you out generously. He doesn't stop easing you open for him until you're weakly pawing at his wrists.
He exhales, aligning the blunt tip of his cock by the entrance of your worked cunt. "Okay…okay. Talk to me. If it's too much."
You nod quickly. Resting your forehead against cool plastic. A stuttered whine rumbles out of your throat as he pushes, his own grunts audible as he eases his cock into you, inch by inch.
"A-Ah. Gosh. That's — yeah. G-Gosh." Clark looks to the ceiling, a full-bodied shudder felt even through you as he bottoms out, holding himself there.
"Clark," you plead, voice coming hoarse. His hot, thick cock grew harder in you as you pulsed pathetically, fingers clinging onto the leather of his undone buckle. Pulling at it.
"In a minute, okay? Don't wanna hurt you, I-If I go too fast it'll —"
"Fucking, move."
His jaw clenches at your rebuttal, grabbing your hand, gently pinning them behind your back.
"Fine." He murmurs. Flexing at your wrist, briefly tightening.
The next thrust rocks you into Joseph. Hard. You gasp in surprise and a flicker of pain. The cooled printer you were resting your forehead on is replaced by the warmth of his palm before Clark's thrusts steadily turns rougher. Meaner.
His forehead drops to the back of your neck. Panting into the sensitive skin of your neck. "Fuck." The curse slips out of him, whispered, his hips snapping into you relentlessly. "This is — what I mean — I-I can't…"
Every broken word was punctuated with a frenzied thrust, you start to feel him nudge a spot in you that made your toes curl.
"There, yeah — mhm!" You squeak, head tilted. Clark's palm shifts, casing your eyes. "It's good — so — so so good."
Your praise spurts him on further, "yeah?"
"Yes, god — yes."
Clark nods hastily to himself at your assurance. Dragging his palm down to your front, rubbing at your clit just enough for you to clench faintly around him.
The pleasure is heavy and insistent, tipping you right over the edge as you come. This time, your pussy grip his cock. In hard, pulsating waves. Nothing like the slight flutter from earlier.
"Good golly," he chokes, head tipped up, grinding into you shakily, taking in the feeling of the suction you provide. His palm slips from you, fisted as they rest on thick plastic.
"I'm close, oh gosh I'm close, I'm —" His words are futile, somewhere in his throat, and with a loud, deafening crack, he spills in you, pained gasps bathing the sides of your cheeks.
You don't get to bask in the quiet bliss of your combined orgasms when the contraption beneath you both crackles. Electricity sending sparks flying where Clark's fist had gone through. Layers and layers of thick plastic and shattered glass.
He pulls you back in a panic-induced move, the both of you staring at the remnants.
"Oh…Joseph."
couldn't help but also include my original banner in this fic, which i so adored, but the one on top made by @sparklingsin truly is a show stopper. thank you @tw1sters for this lovely and silly collab. love you freaks loads <3
☆ tagsᝰ.ᐟ: smut, pinv, reader makes fun of clark's apartment. no use of y/n. sorta friends to lovers. hot nerd prime. multiple orgasms. hot nerd prime. reader and prime are both nerds.
☆ in which reader visits prime's apartment and goes "damn bitch you live like this?" inspired by one of my favs x
☆ have you ever tried this one?
"the lack of furniture really ties it together" you satirize, eyes scanning clark's studio apartment, lingering on his choice of "decoration" his unfitted mattress, jammed against one of the apartments dilapidated walls, and his crumpled up super-suit on the kitchen island. and the many many boxes of comics.
"it's not too bad," he huffs, pursing his lips and blowing out a short breath of air "plus its within walking distance from work" he continues, stepping aside to give you the full view of his apartment. glacier blue eyes, beaming like he's showing off his most prized possession, erasing any evidence of the small frown that was on his lips just moments earlier. and technically he was, the apartment, if you could even legally call it that, wasn't much, but it was a place of his own. the first place he's got to call home in a long time that wasn't a prison cell, and this was much nicer than prison.
"well at least your neighbors seem friendly." you reflect, referring to the ladies in apartment 3A who seemed real interested in getting to know clark earlier. going out of their way to talk to him, sticking their suspiciously perfectly styled heads out the front door, flashing him a smile in a attempt to flirt with him, which he was either oblivious to or chose to ignore in favor of talking to you. instead giving you a very opinionated monologue on the latest comic he's read all while leading you up the tortuous set of stairs to his apartment.
"oh yeah, i guess so" he shrugs, kicking a pile of discarded clothes out of the way and into the nearby corner , hopefully managing to do so before they reached your line of sight. its clear he hadn't really put much thought into socializing with them before. not that he wasn't into making new friends, he is, but it's hard to make time for another friendships when his extra-curricular activities take up so much time, then again is that what superman would do?
despite what people might say, clark is trying, but protecting metropolis isn't as easy as it looks in the books he has stacked up in his room, but it's even harder when you have to maintain a new job, in a new universe, with the weight of everyone's opinions on your back. plus he has you, a very welcome distraction to the chaos, and that has to count for something.
the day he met you clark couldn't tell if he is the luckiest or the unluckiest man in metropolis. yes, he was late to work again, and he could without a doubt toss the pipe dream of becoming employee of the month in the trash (no thanks to the small time robbery he had to stop on the way to work this morning), but thanks to all the disconcertion he managed to crash into you. literally. knocking his new phone (now featuring a brand new crack in the screen. great.), along side the issues you picked up from the very place he was running late to, onto the sidewalk.
ordinarily this would be the cherry on top of the shitty cake he'd been handed this morning, missing out on the opportunity he'd been longing for since he got the job and cracking his phone, but without it'd he'd never have run into you. the girl of his dreams who crash landed (ran into him) outside the job of his dreams, now he had to figure out a way to keep from fucking this up too. "they totally mischaracterized him in issue #38" nailed it. he had in fact not nailed it, instead his throwaway comment, sparked a heated debate between the two of you, which surprise!, made him even later to work, but somehow lead to the two of you trading information. his day really was turning around. maybe there was a chance he wasn't too late to get employee of the month.
"you're late. again" his employer said with crossed arms, guess not.
"it's nice clark," you assure, cutting his daydream short, snapping his attention back to you. "could do with some bedsheets though."
.✦ ݁˖
bedsheets? clark didn't need a bedsheets he was going to be superman, plus you don't seem to care about the lack of bedsheets not that he's got you under him. taking his every inch of his dick so well. "fuck- just like that" he encourages dexterous fingers crawling down between your bodies pressing steady pressure to your oversensitive bundle of nerves. "a-and in the next issue the klingon's…" he moans, breath tickling the shell of your ear, hips momentarily stuttering when you tighten around him again. pussy fluttering deliciously around his cock while he goes on about something you didn't quite hear. your eyes watering as he fucks you through your third? fourth? orgasm you've lost count at this point.
"'s too much" you whine, tears steadily streaming down your cheeks, as you clawing at his back. clark, who's hell bent on talking you ear off as if he's not currently fucking your brains out, continues to thrust into you. paying your pleas no mind,
his swollen head perfectly angled to hit that sensitive spot buried into your weeping cunt. pressing a kiss to your cervix with every thrust. "just one more for me, yeah?" he shushes you pressing his lips to your teary cheeks before continuing on with his detailed explanation.
it's not like you could argue, you're too far gone, eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he sloppily pounds into you. thick fingers holding your thighs apart so he can watch his cock disappear into your weeping folds. the symphony of your sweet sounds fill the room, loud enough you're sure his overzealous neighbors could hear.
not that you care, despite the embarrassment you'll surely feel if you were to run into the chatty pair on your way home later. but you aren't, not when his branded chest brushes against your sensitive nipples with every unhurried thrust and he has his lips pressed to your neck. sucking and biting at your flesh.
you're close again he can feel it when you tighten around him again. "mmf-fuck, clark" you breathe, fingers scratching at his back as he adjusts his hips pressing his cock right against that sensitive spot inside of you. your pretty cunt sucking him in, as you desperately paw at his back, and this time clark's not far behind. his ramblings momentarily come to a pause as he focuses all this attention on chasing the high that's steadily building.
with one last push of his hips you're cumming hard. squeezing him tight, and milking him for everything he's worth. clark floods your sweet cunt with his sticky cum. watches your shared mess ooze out from between your folds and spill onto the mattress before he collapses on top of you.
"you're such a dork" your murmur into his skin after taking a few minutes to catch your breath. his cock twitches in response, like the little jab stirred him back to life. "clark!" you squeak when he rolls his hips once again.
cw: smut!, mean!Scott, degradation, car sex, rough oral (male receiving), spitting, slapping, angry sex
“That’s not going to happen again,” Scott had stated bluntly as he put his cock back in his jeans and buckled his belt, still smacking the same piece of gum he had been chewing before the two of you fucked for the first time in your hotel room. “I take my work very seriously. I’m not going to let some silly little girl get me fired. Now put some real clothes on, this tornado’s not going to chase itself.”
But anytime you tried your luck and pawed at his belt in the truck, he would roll his eyes while pulling over - taking his cock out and giving you what you wanted.
Scott had you bent over the passenger seat in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, bullying his way into your cunt with his cock for the hundredth time this month. You would moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head and he would scold you mid fuck for drooling on the head rest.
“You’re such a fucking mess, you know that, slut?” he’d demand, bringing his hand down hard on your ass when you were too fucked out to respond, “You’re dripping all over my cock and slobbering all over my fucking work truck like a bitch.”
You’d taken to leaving your hotel room door unlocked and Scott was growing accustomed to slinking through it whenever his cock got hard in the night or early morning. But some mornings he'd have to use this special privilege just to get you up on time - which always left a sour taste in his mouth.
“Lazy slut,” Scott spat, rolled his eyes as he came into your hotel room one morning after you had pressed “snooze” on your alarm one too many times. You groaned in protest as he yanked your blanket off of your already naked body - you loved sleeping naked, but especially when you knew you were likely to have a certain strict hottie visit you.
The cold air shocked your system but you were quickly warmed by Scott’s body hovering above you as he yanked you by your ankle to the edge of the bed where he was standing.
He threw your legs over his shoulders and shoved his cock inside you before landing a slap across your face and grabbing your jaw “This is all you're good for, huh?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “How many StormPar hours have you wasted sleeping in or taking so long to get fucking ready in the morning? Always making me wait for you. The only value you bring to this team is being my fuck doll. At least yo’ve got that going for you.”
All you could do was moan and nod your head in agreement, but that didn’t make Scott happy either. “Shut the fuck up,” he’d whisper harshly, bringing his hand down over your mouth as he plowed into you over and over. The hotel walls were thin, but he was satisfied enough to let you scream into his hand as he used your pussy.
He suddenly spat on your face, making your pussy tighten and gush on him, and he just let out a cold laugh. “Oh you were just made to be my little play thing, huh? They should just pay you to lay in my hotel room all day and wait for me to get back from chases to use so I can clear my head, it’d save them a lot of money - a far more practical use for you.”
As disgusted as Scott sounded as he rambled, he shattered - spraying his load deep inside you upon watching your eyes roll to the back of your head at his cruel words.
What would really make Scott’s blood boil was when you had the audacity to fall asleep in the passenger seat while he drove. Some days as the sun would set on the drive back to your hotel, your eyelids would get heavy - making yourself way too comfortable on the job for Scott’s liking.
“Let me help you make yourself more useful,” he scoffed while undoing his belt, causing you to stir awake before reaching over to grip your hair and pull your face down into his lap with one hand, the other hand safely on the wheel.
You immediately understood and got to work, sliding his already hard cock between your lips - sucking and slobbering and lathing your tongue across his veins.
He groaned and pushed your head down harder, forcing himself down your throat harshly. “Yeah, slut. I know you can take it all,” he grunted, using your hair to guide you up and down his length.
You sputtered and gagged as he used you down to the collarbone and pulled you to your tonsils before forcing you down again over and over. You;d never had your throat used so rough before and his mean inconsideration burned in your tummy and made you wet, your pussy jealous for the attention your mouth was receiving.
“All your worth is tied up in these holes, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone more incompetent,” or as pretty as you, but Scott kept that part to himself.
Tears stung your eyes and you struggled to breathe as Scott expertly drove the car while simultaneously using your head to get himself off. “Just turn your dumb little brain off and open your throat for me, show me you can be useful” he encouraged.
Suddenly, to your relief, Scott groaned and came - holding your head down as deep as possible. You tried to keep your teeth from scraping his balls. “Fuck,” Scott grunted as his load shot down your throat and into your tummy.
He let go of your hair and you instinctively sat up and coughed, trying to clear your airway. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at you, a smug smirk pulling on his mouth when he saw your red eyes, tear stained cheeks and slobbery chin.
“You’re always such a filthy mess,” he shook his head, fixing his belt and staring at the road in front of him before popping a fresh piece of gum into his mouth.
SCOTT MILLER has this annoying habit of not giving you your space when you’re mad at him. if it’s serious, he’ll demand your attention. he’ll hound after you with his big, thundering, and imposing body and he’ll incite any fight that’ll keep the two of you talking. you can’t get away from him, he won’t let you run away. when you and scott fight, it’s explosive. it can be heard from miles away. your whole crew know how the two of you can get, even have a running joke about who has the ear muffs that week. if it’s not a huge blow-out, it’s a different kind of passion. scott doesn’t like people to know this, but he’s soft when he wants to be. he’s charming.
your face is twisted up in anger, refusing to look at him with your arms crossed and your body uncooperatively facing away from him. you tense up, yet you don’t retreat, when you feel the warmth of his presence sun your side. you feel his arm come to wrap around you, drawing you into his chest. “hey… c’mon now,” he says, just above a whisper. gently, he turns you, but you jerk your head away. “don’t be like that, sugar, i didn’t mean it.” you can hear it in his voice he’s not totally taking you seriously, but you still melt when his fingers come to guide your jaw to face him. you don’t meet his eyes. “you mad at me? huh? you mad at me, baby?” he taunts, a smile in his voice as he comes to plant kisses on your cheek, delicate at first but once you start to play ball he mashes further in. you try to push at his chest before he can see your grin growing, but he’s too fast for you. you match each other’s energy, dissolving tensity with every nuzzling peck, escalating all the way up to his arms locked around your body to lift you clean off the ground with a squeal.
“scott!” you scold, arching back while he spins you around once. you land with a bounce when he places you back down, bringing you right back into him for a real kiss.
people don’t really remember why scott brings you around when you two fight so loudly and frequently—at least until they’re reminded of how you two make up. publicly reintroducing your tongues to each other as you stand on the tips of your toes to compete with his height. it earns you a couple of eye rolls, some scoffs, but you don’t notice it all when you’re so wrapped up in him. you’re still trying to remember why you were so mad at him in the first place while he’s corralling you away from the audience. big body herds you into privacy with that glint in his gaze, a dark kind of knowing like he’s showing you exactly what he’s imagining right now. while you’re in this good mood he sweet-talked you into, he’s gotta act fast.
“wait, scott, i thought—mmph—we had to go…” you stutter out, words broken up by the splendid efforts of his trained hand smoothing over your slit. you weren’t alone with him for a second before he made his dirty intentions clear. he groans through his nose, cupping your mound hard, the pressure making you go limp, propped up by his large frame. holed up in some little dark corner, he’s actually trying to get you off to avoid more confrontation. as if he’d rather make you squirt than apologize.
“they can wait five minutes. i can finish you in two if you’re in that big of a hurry.”
Hear me out…the justice league and the bats forcing you, the only non vigilante Wayne, to date superboy prime because for some reason he’s obsessed with you and they want to use you to reign him in (aka. Get him to stop threatening to reset the universe whenever he gets pissy)
The bats don’t like it, but they all know sacrifice intimately, isn’t it time you did too?
lol 2 AM thoughts, but still tell me if you’re interested in seeing this get fleshed out, I’d be down to write a couple long oneshots or hcs
prime is the definition of pussywhipped, eating you out like it’s his last meal. he’d hold your hips down, whine into your folds, lap your cunt up like a dog, and when you’d pull back, he’ll just pull you closer. he can never get enough. he’s literally superman, the strongest person on earth, yet he's on his knees begging you to wrap your thighs around his head. “so good f’me,” he’d mumble into your folds, “taste like heaven, must be heaven.” the vibrations of his voice making your body tremble. “only i can make you feel this good.” his praise is endless.
his ego is stroked every time you cum on his tongue, making you arch your back and curl your toes. he’s obsessed with the way you taste, the way you sound, the way you look when he’s got you wrecked. and if you try to close your legs on him, he’ll just pry them open again with inhuman strength. he doesn’t care if he’s overstimulating you, he’ll make sure you’re taking every bit of pleasure he has to offer. he’ll make you beg for more, beg to stop, beg for him to do anything else. but he won’t, he won’t stop until you’re an overstimulated, blubbering mess.
𐙚⋆˙˚◞ OBLIVIOUS!READER who always watched clark from a distance, a frown visible on the rosy plush of her lips as his eyes strayed away from her own. he never watched her, and how could he when lana lang was always beside her, capturing the farmer boy’s attention with ease.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t see the way clark’s drift towards the side of her face when she isn’t paying attention. his breathing rapid, and palms clenching his locker so it bent under the tips of his fingers.
OBLIVIOUS!READER not noticing the glances mr. and mrs. kent would share whenever she came over, watching as their son’s eyes widened and his words spluttered as she asked for his mother’s apple pie recipe.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t catch the way clark’s lips part ever so slightly when she laughs on the outside benches of school. the sound seeming to unravel him entirely, zoning out when the laces of her skirt lift slightly above her thighs. she assumes he’s just zoning out, daydreaming about the green eyed brunette who sat along her — but in truth, his thoughts are consumed by her, and the way the sun light dances in her eyes.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who brushes off the way clark insists on carrying her books, his hand brushing hers as he does, leaving her cheeks burning red and heart pounding louder than she’d like. she convinces herself it’s just because he’s a gentleman, a farm boy raised by the kindest of people in town; not realising how much it takes for him to steady his superhuman heartbeat every time her lashes flutter his way.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who never questions why clark’s excuses to spend time together are, if anything, endless — offering her rides to school, and staying late to help her study for exams.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realise she’s the reason clark’s nights are sleepless, watching her home from afar in the comfort of his barn, his mind replaying every rise of her chest and shudder from the cold. he swears her perfume lingers in the air longer than it should.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who catches clark watching her once —just once — and dismisses it, thinking he must be distracted by something behind her. meanwhile, clark’s heart is lodged in the base of his throat, and he’s trying not to panic at the idea of her realising his gaze was drawn to her pouty mouth.
OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t explain why mrs. kent always smiles teasingly at her when she visits the farm, or why mr. kent’s chuckle feels a little too amused every time his son fumbles his words around her. she assumes they might be picking on her — though theyre too nice; but what could possibly be the reason?
OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realize clark’s awkward stammers and shy smiles aren’t just his usual charm — they’re reserved for her. and when his hand accidentally brushes hers and she pulls away, muttering an apology, clark wonders if she’ll ever see just how much his mind has memorised the lines etched on her palms.
Summary: Clark’s best friend gifts him a cute, “red-crystal” bracelet she bought at the farmers market not realizing what it might do to him…
Warning(s): 18+ content, swearing, sexual content, gun violence, choking, unprotected sex (don’t do that), dub con.
A/n: Hiiii, this is my first post so if it sucks do tell me :3 have funnnnn.
He cocked the gun in warning as he dared her to stop, his eyes darkening as he watched her tremble.
She whimpered, cried and moaned all in the same breath, torn between the fear of Clark holding a gun at her waist and how goddamn good it felt to have him finally claim her like this.
“Don’t stop.” He grits out between clenched teeth, his head thrown back as her hands steadied herself on the valley of his chest, hard and glistening with sweat beneath her hesitant touch.
“I can’t.” She cried, her hips stuttering in his lap as his scorning grip tightened on her hip.
He could almost laugh at how pathetic the sight was, only needing one hand over her hip to control her while his other hand held the gun steady at her waist.
“Stop then, see what happens.” He released her momentarily to grab a fistful of her hair and yanking.
She squealed at his harsh grasp, taking the threat seriously and mustering all her strength into moving over him faster, feeling the cool tip of his gun press harder against her tummy.
He was so big and thick and so goddamn deep, she had never felt anything like it, which would explain the blood currently coating his cock.
Poor little thing was a virgin, Clark’s eyes seemed to darken at the realization, a dangerous grin taking over his features as he watched his best friend struggle to ride him.
His chest swelled with possession in a way it never had, the thought of her keeping her purity just for him amplified his arousal.
“Mine.” Clark grunts, his hand sliding from her hair to wrap around her throat and squeeze lightly.
The sounds filling the hayloft were obscene, the squelching of her dripping pussy, the constant smacking of skin on skin as Clark forced her to bounce repeatedly, both of their labored breaths and moans.
“You’re not so smart mouthed with my cock inside you, huh?” He groans, watching her eyes flutter as a little string of drool left her kiss bitten lips. So fucking cute, he thought, his cock making her dumb. “Don’t hear you teasing me, calling me farm boy.” He started thrusting upward, helping her bounce on him as he watched her lose her strength and she cried out, losing her mind in the pain and the pleasure.
“C-Clark… what happened to you?” She gasped, so torn between her best friend who she’s known and loved since she was 5 and the man beneath her who looked like Clark but couldn’t possibly be him.
She felt so guilty for enjoying this when she knew this was wrong.
“I told you to call me Kal… and I wouldn’t test me right now.” His finger was on the trigger, his eyes seeming to flash red as he glanced up, eyes like a goddamn demon and her entire body clenched.
She leaned back in a weak attempt to escape but he had grabbed her fast, his hands wrapping around her throat again as he fucked up into her clenching cunt. “You get tighter the more scared you get, fucking perfect.” He grunts, looking down at where they connect on his lap, flashing that shit-eating grin, the one where his sharp canines peaked out.
“P-please… we’re friends, this is wrong.” She cried, her hands gripping desperately at his biceps in an attempt to snap him out of whatever this was.
“Don’t play innocent now, pretty girl. You think I never noticed the way you bent down for me in those pretty pink skirts you always wear… flashing me those lacy white panties?” He pulled her face close to his, speaking through gritted teeth as his rhythm never faltered. “You knew I liked white on you since the day I complemented that dress and you’ve abused it ever since.” He all but growled, the deepness in his tone and thrusts made her insides flutter and she grabbed onto him harder.
Harsh, high pitched moans escaped her throat, one after the other as his dick hammered that sweet spot deep within her. He quickly reached to cover her mouth and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
As much as he enjoyed the borderline pornographic sounds coming out of her mouth and the red K flowing through his blood made him want to disappoint his parents, he really didn’t want them hearing this and interrupting this moment, he’d waited far too long to not enjoy this to the fullest.
“I- I wasn’t trying to tease you-”
“Don’t try and defend yourself now that I’m not the fumbling, nervous boy you were playing with.” His thrusts seemed to get rougher and his knuckles were white as he gripped that gun. “Isn’t this what you always fantasized about… I read that page in your diary.” He was getting closer to cumming and with it, came a new sense of recklessness.
“What?!” She squeaked, her eyes flying open. “How did- where did you find it?” She demanded through her fucked-out haze.
“You wrote that you hoped you could tease me enough so that I would snap and fuck you… but now that I have, you’re crying that it’s too much. You really don’t know what you want.” He tormented her as he forced her hips to meet his in harsh, deep strokes.
“Because this isn’t you, I don’t know who this is but it isn’t you, I wanted Clark to fuck me, my best friend, not this-…” she tried to find the right words to describe him without making the lunatic pull the trigger his finger still held.
“Well aren’t you a dirty little thing, fantasizing about your best friend losing his cool and bending you over… y’know I really enjoyed the part where you wondered about how my abilities would come in handy when we have sex for the first time. Now tell me, how the fuck do you know about my abilities?” His eyes narrowed into dark slits, his grip tightening on her throat, almost blocking her airways.
“We’ve been best friends since we were five you really think I’ve never seen you use your abilities? I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” She cried, struggling to speak through the pressure on her neck.
“You should have told me.” He fucked into her harder, her tits bouncing with each movement.
Her thighs started to shake, she was close and somehow Clark knew all the right buttons to press on his best friend, probably kudos to that diary he snooped through.
“What else did you read?” She had to know, hoping he hadn’t read her most intimate confessions.
“All the fluffy shit that made Clark blush and me, want to fuck the ever-loving life out of you.” He grunts out and her whole body shivered as he made the distinction between Clark and whoever this is.
“Wait… those rocks make you sick, the green ones! I’ve seen it around Pete, you guys tried to hide it.” She pushed her hair away from her face and stopped her movements, refusing to let him scare her with the gun.
“What are you doing?” He sat up slightly, grabbing her thigh and lifting her, trying to encourage her to keep fucking him.
He was so goddamn close, he felt frustrated that she stopped.
“So maybe these red crystals are doing something to you like the green rocks do… I bet it’s fake crystal they use at those markets.” She explained, now eyeing the cute friendship bracelet she bought wrapped around his tanned wrist.
Before he could realize her plans and do something evil, she grabbed the bracelet fast and ripped it from his wrist. The band snapped and the crystals went flying in all directions.
The rocks turned a darker red shade as they hit the floor, as if they had been alive when they touched Clark.
In the next second Clark was rubbing his head like he was suffering a head ache, blinking a few times as if he was waking up.
“What the-.” Clark’s gorgeous blue eyes went wide as saucers.
“Clark?” She cupped his face, waiting for confirmation that his evil persona had left.
“Oh my god, what the hell is happening, what am I doing?!” Clark yelled, his eyes dropping to the gun in his hand and then down further where his cock was buried to the hilt of his best friends cunt.
“Thank god!” She cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing, relief washing over her.
“Please tell me what I’ve done- oh my god, I’m so sorry, what have I done?!” He was spiraling, his chest started heaving and she was sure she saw tears in his eyes.
“It’s okay Clark… it wasn’t you, those red crystals from the bracelets made you really mean but you’re back now!” She cried.
She pulled back and being so overcome with emotions, she leaned down and planted her lips on his, not thinking of how he might take it now that he wasn’t “Kal”.
His shoulders tensed up and he gasped into the kiss but he didn’t stop it, he welcomed it.
“Y/n…” He sighed, his eyes half lidded and lips swollen when he pulled back from the kiss.
An entirely new wave of desire washed over her as she watched his confused but desire filled eyes fall down her naked body and before she could regret it, she started moving her hips again but it was entirely different this time.
“Oh… my- Jesus.” Clark coughed, trying to clear his throat and focus on anything other than how goddamn good she felt around his cock.
He was right back to his usual shy, fumbling self and she loved it, grinding her hips harder to prove that point.
Clark is panting at this point. “Y/n, this feels really really good but I don’t think we should-”
“Clark?!” They both froze as Jonathan’s voice echoed through the barn, both of their heads whipping to the stairs.
cw: 18+, smut, dub-con, doppelgängers, infidelity that isn't intended but the reader is compliant at the end, deception, titplay, p-in-v, Ultraman yearns for the reader
From the second he saw you, he had a purpose.
It wasn't fate. It was a biological, chemical attraction. Standing in the wreckage of an explosion, mic clipped to your collar. You'd been caught in it, yet, you had a smile, assuring people through the camera that it was all over.
Then he sees…himself. A brighter, calmer version. A version of himself that got to have you.
It'd begun with curiosity, turning quickly to studying and obsession.
He learned how Clark walked, smiled and even how how softened his voice when he spoke to you. Slowly, he'd turned himself into a replica of Clark Kent.
All that was left was his test, the search for your touch on his skin. He had his doppelgänger distracted far ways from Metropolis.
It felt wrong on his body — the suit he'd swiped from Clark's closet. Much too tight in some very uncomfortable places, but also far too honest for his creation.
"Clark. You're back!"
You're quick to throw yourself around him when he steps into the living room, giving him a warmth he wasn't sure he deserved.
"…I. Yes."
It comes out tight, trying to present his voice as he'd heard on the television for hours.
"T-The news — you were being…" You cup his face, tracing your fingers over every inch of his face.
He looked completely fine, even after the countless blows he'd been taking from an intruder at the city centre.
"You're fine. God, you're fine."
He lets you kiss him, pull him backwards down the halls. His hand remains carefully hovering over your hips. Uncertain if he could even touch you.
"Are you sure you're okay?" You whisper against his lips, thumbing at the indents of his cheeks.
"You're being…really quiet."
Ultraman had come too far to mess this up before he even got to touch you properly.
He smiles, the same way that your boyfriend comforted you every single time. His arms curl around your lips to lift you, locking your legs around his hips.
"I'm just…happy to be here." He manages. Your back hits the mattress in a blur of air. Tracing the lines of your face with his knuckles.
"With you."
Something felt different about his gaze. A desperation and longing that felt rather pained. You tilt your head as he leans forward to bury his face in the crook of your neck.
Fingers hooked around your sweats to drag them off your hips. The sudden coldness has your thighs squirming for heat as you rub up the sides.
"You're beautiful."
He rasps, thumbing at the hem of your top, yanking them up to your collarbone. You gasp sharply, gaze snapping down to the indecent recoil and back up at Clark in the wake of his uncharacteristic roughness.
"C-Clark?!"
A rougher pair of hand squeezes at your tits, kneading the softness in its palms. You feel a flicker of doubt course through you.
It could be your paranoia speaking. But the man before you — he had your boyfriend's face. Same blue eyes, but the warmth didn't feel the same.
The thought quickly muddled at the wet suction latching around your nipples. You whine loudly in surprise, it encourages him further, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub.
You feel him grind into your hot core, rubbing and grinding himself by instinct at what made him feel good. There was an uncoordinated movement in his movements. Messy and desperate just to stimulate his quickly hardening bulge.
"Mmph — haahh..aren't you gonna?…"
He lifts his head up, looking at you dazed, a string of wetness dragging itself off your nipples.
"Babe?…" Your palms trace over his erection, and he huffs out a whine.
His fists clench beside you as you free him from his suit, letting you lazily pump at him as best as you could. His shoulders tense at every jerk, mouthing Valley of your breasts. His mind was now an overload of your heady scent — scent of your skin, and what seemed to be remnants of your sweet body wash. All that he spent months just observing.
You whine wantonly for him, angling his girthier than normal cock into your folds. He clumsily forces himself all the way in without warning with a pained grunt.
"Oh fuck — fuck! Clark!"
He looks up at you in remorse. Panty and shaky. Not stopping even at your mewls, "I-I'm sorry. I can't s…stop. I can't stop."
You nod through tears. Wrapping your arms around his neck.
"I-it's okay — hhrk!"
The bed frames give out somewhere between his fifth and eighth thrusts as he fucks you into the mattress about abandon. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to, but all that he knew was that every drag of his cock out of your hot, tight walls was making his balls tighten with a foreboding release.
"I-It's okay, it's okay." You assure, cupping his face, soothing his twisted expression. He nods hastily, snapping deeper into you. The sounds that filled your bedroom had grown obscenely loud, wet thwacks slapping into your cunt.
His palms wrap beneath the fat of your thighs, pushing them flush to your chest. You choke when he's somehow even deeper than before as he'd gotten on his haunches to drive his cock into you.
You weakly hold over your thighs, focused on the spongy spot he's repeatedly hitting, making you pulse and squirm around him. Drowning your mewls into his mouth, with nothing but hasty whines mirroring them.
He wasn't letting go of you anytime soon, that much was evident.
—
It's barely dawn when you rouse from having passed out entirely — a buzz from your phone has woken you up. Lazily, you bring the receiver to your ears.
"…mmn…hello?"
"Morning, babe. I'm sorry I didn't make it home last night. I should be back in a couple of days, okay?"
"Mmhn…oka— wait. What?"
You pause. Shooting upright. The sting from below was still there, you turned to see the same broad back breathing deeply next to you, still asleep.
"You're…you're not home right now." It's more of a statement than a question, really.
"? No. I've been at fortress. Ow — Krypto! Ugh. Sorry, I have to go first. Take care, I love you."
"Y…Yeah…I love you too."
Whoever this person was, next to you. You weren't quite sure anymore. But it hadn't stopped you from letting him pull you back down next to him, letting him rest his morning wood against your still sore cunt.
