𑣲. you told yourself to never answer the phone when he called
word count: 5.5k (idk what happened)
cw: mdni, reader is a bit of an avoidant, switch!clark and perv!clark if you squint, dubcon, dry humping, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, clark’s a humper idk, unprotected sex, tummy bulge, creampie, aftercare
“Look, I'm just saying, there could be plenty of guys there who are actually worth your time,” your friend’s voice crackles through the phone speaker, entirely too optimistic for a Friday evening.
You sigh, shifting the phone to your other ear as you pace across your living room floor. You glance around your quiet apartment, the space feeling a bit too empty, but comfortable. Safe.
“I understand what you’re saying but the answer is no,” you reply with a soft but firm tone in your voice as you try to shut down the matchmaking attempt. “I just don’t think I’m ready to give myself to somebody again,”
There’s a defeated groan on the other end of the line, “I know, I know. I just hate seeing you shut yourself away in that apartment,”
“I’m not shutting myself away,” you counter with a little more bite, leaning against the kitchen counter.
Your friend lets out a long, dramatic sigh on the other end, but the defeat in her tone is clear. “Fine, I'll drop it. For now. But you're still coming out with us this next weekend, no excuses.”
“Deal,” you chuckle, the relief evident in your voice. “I’ll see you then, love you.”
The line clicks dead, and the sudden silence of the apartment settles heavily around you. You lower the phone, setting it face down on the kitchen counter. Leaning forward, you prop your elbow on the cool surface and drop your chin into your hand, letting out a long, weary sigh into the empty room.
It wasn’t that you meant to completely isolate yourself from the world; it had just happened gradually. Ever since the messy and abrupt breakup with your ex, Clark Kent, the energy to put yourself out there had completely vanished.
Now, you just didn’t feel like doing anything anymore — no dating, no small talk, no trying to explain your life story to someone new. It was easier to just stay inside, where nobody could ask anything else of you.
You push away from the counter and head straight to the bathroom for an extra long hot shower, letting the water completely wash away the lingering tension you’ve had built up throughout the day.
After putting on your pajamas, you finally crawl into bed and pull your laptop onto your lap. You scroll through your emails you’d been avoiding and sort through the digital clutter of the day, when a sudden sound breaks the quiet of the room.
The room is completely quiet until your phone suddenly lights up on the nightstand, vibrating heavily against the wood as it begins to ring.
You glance over and see the name flashing across the screen makes your chest instantly tighten.
‘Clark (do not answer.)’
For a few heavy seconds, you just stare at it, your brain trying to remind you not to care about what he could possibly be calling you for. But despite the reminder in his contact name, you answer it right before it goes to voicemail.
“Hello?” you squeak.
“Hi,” his voice comes through the receiver, low and familiar enough to send a sharp jolt through you.
An uncomfortable silence falls between you as you anticipate his reasoning for the sudden call.
You swallow hard, gripping the phone a little tighter against your ear. “Can I help you?”
“Well y’know I was just in the neighborhood—” Clark says, his tone carrying a trace of that old, familiar playfulness. You could tell he was smiling on the other end of the line and it made your stomach churn.
“Clark,” you cut him off, your voice dropping into an annoyed, warning flatline.
He sighs, his tone turns quiet and serious, “Right, sorry, I uh, I just wanted to know if you’d be okay with going somewhere and talking for a bit,” His voice tilts up slightly at the end, hesitant and almost nervous as he waits for your answer.
You let out a quiet sigh, biting the inside of your cheek as you stare at the wall, weighing the risk of letting him back in.
“Please?” he adds softly.
God.
The word almost cracks your resolve, a familiar pull tugging at you to just give in. You try to suppress the instinct, before a desperate bit of self-preservation takes over.
“I’m not even home,” you lie, the excuse slipping out at the last second.
“Oh, well your lamp is still on,” he says almost too casually.
“What?” You look over at the nightstand, your heart taking a sudden dive. The lamp is in fact on and casting a warm glow across your bedroom. “How do you even know that?”
“Because I’m outside your window.” He speaks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
You drop the laptop onto the mattress, scramble across the blankets, and quickly yank open the curtains. Down on the sidewalk, standing right under the glow of the streetlamp, is Clark. He looks up, locks eyes with you through the glass, and offers a little wave, that familiar dimply smile cutting through the dark.
“Oh, there you are,” his voice crackles through the phone. He doesn’t even care that you just lied about not being home.
All you can do is stare down at him for a moment in disbelief.
Instead of heading down to meet him, you let out a sharp breath into the receiver. “Just come up.”
It doesn’t take long until that familiar, heavy-handed knock sounds against the wood of your front door. You scurry over, your pulse quickening, but you don’t unlock it all the way.
The door jolts to a sudden stop after a few inches, held fast by the taut metal link. Clark is standing under the dim hallway light, looking a little tired but searching your face through the narrow vertical gap. The chain hangs rigidly between you, a stark, physical boundary slicing the space between your two faces.
“Yes?” you ask, your tone flat.
“So?” Clark replies, tilting his head slightly, waiting for an answer.
“So.….what?”
“I asked if we could talk, maybe walk around for a bit,” he reiterates softly, his voice trailing off towards the end .
You analyze him, head to toe, through the slender gap of the door, taking a second to really think about it. He stands there anxiously waiting, looking like an expectant, hopeful stray, dressed in a layered brown sweater, jeans, and a matching brown leather belt. His hair is slightly disheveled due to walking in the evening wind. His glasses serve as a familiar disguise that feels almost absurdly endearing given what you know about his true identity.
You find yourself wishing he didn’t look the way he did, possessing that effortless, frustrating pull. Huffing out a breath in defeat, you squint your eyes at him.
“Hold on.”
You shut the door on his face, the latch clicking back into place. Leaning your back against the solid wood, you press a palm over your face and close your eyes.
Pushing yourself off your door, you travel around the bedroom, grabbing a light jacket to throw over your pajamas and sliding your feet into a pair of shoes.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror but don’t bother lingering for too long. It would be entirely redundant to try and fix your hair or throw on a bit of makeup considering he’s seen you in every way. All of you, in every way.
When you walk back to the door and reach for the doorknob, you pause, deliberately forcing yourself to wait so you don’t seem too eager to let him in.
After a few added seconds, you swing the door open quickly.
The sudden movement makes Clark snap his head up from where he had been staring at the floor. The second he locks eyes with you, that dumb, endearing smile instantly spreads across his face.
Stop.
“Where are we going?” you ask, pulling your jacket a little tighter around yourself.
“Just a walk around the block, if that’s okay?” His voice is soft, leaving the decision entirely up to you.
You give a brief, silent nod and step out into the hallway, pulling the apartment door shut behind you.
The walk down to the elevator is quiet, and once the aged, metal doors slide shut, the small space suddenly feels incredibly tight. You keep your eyes glued straight ahead, staring intently at the illuminated floor numbers so you don’t make any eye contact whatsoever.
But without even looking, you can still feel the heavy weight of his attention. In your peripheral, you notice him awkwardly shifting, his eyes drifting over to look down at you at least twice, testing the quiet between you.
When the doors finally slide open, you step out into the lobby. Walking side by side, you make your way across the floor and push through the heavy front doors of the building, stepping out into the cool, quiet night air.
What starts out as a hesitant lap around the block slowly stretches out, your quiet footsteps naturally guiding them into the grass-lined paths of the nearby park.
You tried your absolute hardest to stay closed off, keeping your arms crossed and your answers short, but you forgot how hard that can be when you’re around him. He just has an innate warmth to him that makes it impossible to stay guarded for long; it doesn’t take anyone long to feel comfortable around him.
As you keep walking, the conversation naturally drifts into the heavier stuff.
It starts with a few hesitant, awkward apologies, where both of you trip over your words as you try to find the right things to say.
You even find yourselves talking about the lingering regrets you’ve both been carrying around internally. It’s clunky and a little uncomfortable at first, but airing out the past brings a strange, quiet relief to the space between you.
Soon you reach your apartment building again. You push through the heavy doors and step into the elevator, the quiet of the lobby following you inside. Of course, you’re not surprised when you realize that Clark is staying with you until he sees you enter your apartment. It’s always been a habit of his so he knows you’re safe.
The ride up is a bit different this time. Instead of purposefully ignoring Clark’s gaze, you both keep glancing over at each other. Right as the elevator passes the halfway point, you both look up at the exact same time. Your eyes lock, and the sudden, intense eye contact sends a jolt through the quiet space.
You both quickly break away, snapping your focus down to the ground. The easy energy from the park instantly disappears and is replaced by a sudden wave of awkwardness as you both start shifting your weight and adjusting your jackets, completely unsure of what to do with your hands.
The elevator chimes, and the doors slide open, releasing you both from the small, confined box. You walk down the carpeted hallway until you’re standing right outside your door, it was a spot you two were very familiar with.
“Thank you for the talk,” you say softly, the honesty in your voice surprising even yourself. “It was definitely needed.”
Clark shrugs his shoulders and that quiet warmth returns to his eyes. “It was no problem,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Really.”
You exchange your final ‘goodbye’s’ and Clark turns on his heels and heads toward the elevator. You slip inside your apartment, lock the door, and let out a long breath, leaning your forehead against the wood.
Standing in the quiet entryway, you feel it — that fuzzy sensation pulling right in the center of your chest. You absolutely hate that it's still lingering, even after everything that happened between you. You close your eyes, shaking your head aggressively as if you could physically knock the feeling out of your system.
Before you can even take a step towards the bedroom, a violent rumble of thunder rattles the walls and a massive downpour starts absolutely slamming against the glass.
You rush over to the window, parting the curtains and looking straight down at the sidewalk.
Right under the streetlamp — the same spot he was in previously — Clark is caught in the rain. He is completely drenched, his hair flat and sopping on his head, and his brown sweater has grown heavier (not that he noticed). He just accepts it and just hunches his shoulders, looking entirely miserable as he starts a slow trudge down the sidewalk.
You watch him for a few seconds, completely defeated.
He is so ridiculous, you think. You know he could easily outrun the clouds, but Clark Kent has to walk in the rain.
You yank the window open, the cool, wet wind blowing against your face.
“Clark!” you shout down into the street, throwing your voice over the sound of the storm.
He snaps his head up, squinting through the downpour as he looks up at your floor.
“Come back!” you yell, gesturing aggressively towards the building. He nods quickly, turning on his heel to sprint back inside.
You mentally go over the timeline of him crossing the lobby, waiting on the elevator and riding it back up to your floor.
By the time the distant ding! of the elevator echoes down the hallway, you can't even pretend to be casual anymore. You unlock the door and swing it wide open before he can even make it halfway down the corridor.
Clark quickly steps past you, slipping inside the warm apartment to get out of the open hallway. The heavy door clicks shut behind him, and only then do you turn to really look at him.
He looks pitiful. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead, his glasses are so fogged up and covered in droplets that it’s a miracle he can even see, and that heavy brown sweater is already dripping small puddles onto the entryway floor.
The second he clears the water from his eyes and looks at you, his face lights up, and that same hopeful, dumb smile cuts right through the rain dripping down his cheeks.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a little breathless as he stays firmly planted by the mat, hyperaware of the soggy mess he’s making.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” your eyes catch the dripping knit fabric. “You’re getting my carpet all wet,” you chuckle.
“Right, yeah,” he quickly kicks off his soaked shoes and nudges them onto the mat.
You gesture toward the bathroom door. “Just hand me the wet stuff and I’ll get you something dry.”
You stand outside the bathroom door, waiting in the quiet hallway as the sound of wet fabric rustling echoes from inside.
A moment later, the door cracks open, and Clark reaches out to hand you a heavy, waterlogged bundle of his soaked sweater and jeans.
When the door swings open just a few inches, you see it — the clear sliver of his bare torso through the gap. Your eyes drift instantly across the solid line of his broad shoulders and down the damp curve of his chest. The sheer frame of him fills the doorway, and your gaze linger for a beat too long before your mouth goes completely dry, forcing you to snap your focus back up to his face.
Clearing your throat, you take the dripping pile with one hand and quickly extend the dry bundle you pulled from your dresser — his old white t-shirt and dark sweatpants that was left behind months ago back when staying over was a regular thing.
Clark takes the clothes through the crack in the door, his fingers brushing against the worn, familiar fabric. There’s a heavy beat of total silence from inside the bathroom as he recognizes what you just handed him.
“I was wondering where these went,” his voice is quiet as if he’s talking to himself.
Once he’s dressed, Clark steps back into the living room, cleaning his glasses with the bottom of his shirt that was now lifted just enough to give you a perfect view of his happy trail.
Stop staring.
He slows his steps when he sees the couch. You’ve set up a pillow and folded a few heavy blankets across the cushions for him.
Outside the window, the storm continues into the pitch-black night. With the weather tearing through the streets at this hour, it would be ridiculous for him to even attempt walking home — superpowers or not. So letting him sleep on the couch is the only sensible option left.
“I’d feel super guilty letting you walk home in that,” you say, gesturing toward the heavy rain hammering against the living room window.
Clark rubs the back of his neck, giving you a small, humble smile. “Oh, I’d be fine really,” he says, his voice quiet. ‘I’ve walked in worse,”
His words say one thing, but his body language says another. He makes absolutely zero move toward the front door.
He isn’t reaching for his wet jacket, he isn’t checking his watch, and he certainly isn’t looking for his shoes. For someone claiming he’d be fine walking out into a torrential downpour, he seems remarkably content standing right where he is.
“Okay, well,” you say, clearing your throat. “You know where everything is.”
You pull off a quick shrug, trying your best to seem casual and completely unaffected — as if having your ex-boyfriend standing in your living room at night were the most routine thing in the world
The awkward silence in the apartment lets every buried thought and quiet memory rush to the forefront of your brain.
Panic creeps up your chest. Wanting nothing more than to put a solid wall between yourself and the constant reminder of his presence, you pivot toward your bedroom.
You start at a normal walk, but within two steps, your feet pick up a frantic pace. You practically power-walk down the short hallway, desperately hoping Clark’s sharp eyes don’t catch the absurd speed at which you’re retreating into your room.
You leave the door pulled shut, but leave it cracked open just a tiny sliver. As you crawl into bed and pull the blankets all the way up to your chin, you squeeze your eyes shut with absolute determination. You try to focus on the steady pattern of your breathing, desperately trying to drown out the noise in your head.
Through the narrow gap in the door, the subtle sounds of Clark settling in drift through the dark space. The quiet creak of the sofa cushions as his heavy frame sinks into them. The soft rustle of the blanket being pulled over his shoulders. A long, weary exhale that cuts through the quiet room.
At least forty five whole minutes stretch on, each one feeling longer than the last. You toss, turn, and stare at the thin strip of pale light cutting across your ceiling, but sleep remains completely out of reach.
Coincidentally, Clark is actually having the same problem.
He’s lying flat on his back, staring up at your living room ceiling with his hands tucked behind his head, his chest rising and falling in slow, heavy rhythm. The old white t-shirt smells faintly like your detergent, and every time he inhales, it pulls him right back to every night he spent under this roof.
His mind drifts back to the nights you used to share. He could never forget how pretty you’d look when you were all flushed and unraveled in his arms.
He also remembers how soft and sweet you are. If he told you that he had been with another woman since you’d split, he’d be lying.
Just the thought of it makes him sick.
And of course tonight you looked perfect — your cheeks flushing a bit when he caught you off guard, the small line between your brows when you furrowed your brows at him. Even with all the walls you’ve put up between you, you still manage to drive him crazy.
The constant chatter in his brain pulls a heavy breath from his chest, making the space between you feel thin.
Oh no.
He squeezes his eyes shut tight and groans in frustration quietly as that familiar warmth flows straight through his veins and pools low in his stomach.
He yanks one of the pillows from behind his head and buries it firmly over his lap, pressing it down against his growing erection as if physical force alone could force his body to stop.
It backfires completely. The added friction and weight only makes it worse, sending a sharp jolt straight to his core. Overwhelmed by the sensation, his hips instinctively push up against the soft pillow, seeking even a fraction of relief for the ache building inside him.
He freezes the second he hears the couch springs shift beneath him, holding his breath as he listens intently toward your cracked bedroom door, praying you didn’t hear him lose a fight to himself.
Of course, you would hear him if you weren’t getting all hot and bothered yourself.
You’re completely rigid under the covers, a pillow wedged firmly between your legs as you clutch the edge of the mattress. You fight the overwhelming urge to slide your hand down and touch herself the way you wish he could.
You shut your eyes and bite down hard on your lower lip to keep your breathing steady. You know that if you gave in, or let your breathing hitch, he would instantly hear every single second of it.
For a few agonizing minutes, Clark stays on the couch, silently rocking his hips up against the pillow in a desperate attempt to work off the unbearable friction burning through his flannel pajama pants.
He sighs in defeat and runs a clammy hand down his face.
Fuck it.
A spark of courage settles in his chest and he quietly pads across the dark living room and towards your bedroom.
He stands in the doorway, watching you in the dim light for a few quiet seconds before sneaking inside. You hear him quietly call out your name, causing you to immediately close your eyes and pretend to be sound asleep.
He walks farther into your room, his sock clad feet making no sound against the floor as he walks closer to the side of the bed, pausing right beside you to silently observe your face in the dim light.
His eyes drift across your sleeping figure in the dark, unable to look away from how soft and pretty you look in the low light.
You try your best not to tense your muscles as he runs his fingers gently down your bare shoulder, the warm tips tracing the curve of your skin.
His breathing turns shallow as the touch sends another wave of heat straight to his gut. Keeping his eyes fixed on your quiet face, he reaches down with his other hand, carefully palming himself through the fabric of his boxers, slowly relieving the throbbing pressure.
As his fingertips travel lower, tracing down your bare skin and towards your hips, you carefully crack your eyes open.
“I know what you’re doing, Clark,” you blurt out into the dark.
The words instantly cut through the quiet room, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his breath hitches, and his fingers keep moving against your soft skin, unable to draw away.
“M’ sorry,” he whispers, his lips now brushing your arm. “I missed you so much,”
His palm slides slowly along your side, his pulse hammering against your skin as he leans down, his mouth just inches from your ear.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes. “Just tell me to stop, and I will.”
You turn around on the mattress, your eyes locking onto his in the dim light for a beat.
He opens his mouth to speak again but before he can say another word, you reach up to grab the front of his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss.
Clark’s knees almost buckle beneath him, his legs going weak as his lips meet yours. He completely melts into you as you pull him upward, easily guiding his weight until he’s positioned right on top of you.
He presses his broad palm flat against your chest, his fingers spreading over your sternum as his lips drag deeply against yours. The rapid pulse of your heart thuds into his hand, matching the wild pace of his own.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice breathy before he leans back in to capture your lips again.
“So is yours,” you whisper back, allowing your tongues to tangle together in a deep, intoxicating rhythm.
Clark ruts his hard cock firmly up against your cunt. The tip catches directly against your clit, sending a sharp wave of pleasure straight through you that draws out an involuntary whine.
“Do you want me?” he asks, his breath hot against your neck as he grinds into you again.
You were too far gone to realize that you were letting Clark back in almost too easily, but with the way he was pressed so perfectly against you, he’s the only thing you need right now.
“Yes,” you gasp out, clutching his shoulders. “Right now.”
Clark groans at your words, sliding his hand up under your shirt to cup your breast, massaging it firmly. His big, warm hand pulls a loud moan from your throat, your hips bucking up against his.
He moves his lips down your body until he reaches your cunt. He quickly works off your shorts and buries his face against your center, taking in a deep, unsteady breath of your scent.
He lets out a soft whine, leaning down to press slow, warm kisses directly against the fabric of your panties. His hands move to the elastic, gently sliding the fabric down your legs until they’re discarded somewhere in the dark.
His finger trails down your slick heat, tracing your wetness in an agonizingly slow stroke. He looks down at your folds, his voice barely a breath as he whispers, “Hi, pretty girl,” unabashedly to your cunt.
You feel his lips press a slow, wet kiss directly against your pussy, letting his warm breath linger for a second before his tongue swirls out to flick right against your clit.
He dives in, fully eating you out with pure need. His hands grip the undersides of your thighs, planting his thumbs firmly into your skin to hold you locked in place so there's no chance of escape.
Your fingers weave their way to his dark hair, gripping tight as he licks and laps into you without missing a single beat.
Two thick fingers slide deep inside of you, instantly hooking right where you need them. He presses his weight into the bed, completely shameless as he begin to hump the mattress, the thick swell of his cock grinding against the sheets right beside your thigh.
“Clark, I’m gonna- ‘M cumming,” you gasp out, your fingers tightening in his dark hair as the rubber band in your belly finally snaps.
“Mhm, mhm,” he murmurs against your skin, not slowing down for a single second. He holds you steady, helping you ride out every last ripple of your high.
After littering your inner thighs with a few more kisses, he starts to push himself up, but your hands immediately catch him to halt his movement.
“Still need you,” you whine as your hand drifts straight down between his legs to wrap firmly around his cock.
He smiles, a breathy chuckle slips past his lips. “Oh, baby,”
He leans back up, pressing a sweet kiss right against the corner of your mouth before kicking off his pajama pants and boxers to free himself.
He slowly drags the length of his cock up and down along your folds to collect your wetness.
“Are you sure? Use words pretty,” he asks as he taps his tip against your clit a few times. You can tell by the dimples peeking for the upteenth time tonight that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“C’mon Clark,” The impatient tone in your voice leaves no room for debate.
A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Sorry,” he murmurs, taking a breath before lining himself back up and steadily sinking all the way inside.
“Biiiig stretch, there you go honey,” A sharp, synchronized moan breaks through the quiet room as he fills you up completely.
He rests his forehead pressed against your shoulder as you both take a few seconds to really feel each other.
“Clark, please move,” you whisper into his shoulder, the soft plea breaking through the quiet room.
“Hold on...just give me a second,” he mutters, his voice a little strained and gritty.
His whole body is rigid over yours as he shuts his eyes, concentrating with everything he’s got just to keep from busting right then and there. His hands grip the sheets beside your head, knuckles turning white as he takes a few slow, steadying breaths into your skin, trying to catch his control.
He mumbles a quiet ‘okay’ to himself before slowly rocking his hips into yours. His cock deliciously drags along your walls in a way that you had craved for far too long.
The slow, cautious pace vanishes as he suddenly picks up speed, driving into you with a desperate rhythm that has both of your hips snapping together in quick, breathless bursts.
His lips find yours again, capturing them in an urgent kiss. Every deep thrust pulls needy whines straight from both of your throats, muffled against each other's mouths.
Your hand drifts back down between your bodies, fingers finding where you both connect, feeling every inch of his length working in and out of you.
Clark shifts, leaning back just enough to look down at your stomach, his eyes locking onto that familiar, distinct bulge beneath your skin.
“Look,” he whispers as he reaches down with his hand. “Forgot about that,”
He presses his palm down firm against the swell, and the sudden, intense pressure sends a helpless, high-pitched mewl straight out of your throat, your hips instinctively arching up into his touch.
The headboard thumps loud and hard against the wall with every single stroke, a heavy, rhythmic banging that’s definitely going to bring in some noise complaints from the neighbors.
It doesn't even matter. You’re way too far gone to care, legs wrapped tight around his wide waist as he jackhammers into you, completely lost in the static fuzz that filled your brain.
“I missed you,” he pants against your ear, the pace not slowing for a second. “I know you did too, I can feel it,”
Clark’s words pour out into a mindless, frantic babble, the words tumbling out raw and unstructured between hard thrusts. “I should've done better, fuck, I know I should’ve. I’ll do better for you, I promise, if you’ll let me, please,”
You can’t even assemble a proper sentence. Your brain is completely fried from feeling his cock punching into that spongy spot inside of you over and over again. All you can manage is a series of nonsensical nods, letting out weak, incoherent noises.
You both hit the edge at the same time, and Clark can feel your walls starting to clench tight around him with every shuddering breath.
He reaches further down between your legs and tweaks your clit.
The sharp, intense bolt of electricity makes you clench around him even harder, almost locking him in place. Clark lets out a harsh, guttural groan, his jaw tight as he tries to hold back for two more seconds.
“Where do you want it, hurry,” he grunts, his voice completely wrecked.
“Inside,” you gasp out, barely able to force the word past your lips.
The second the word leaves your mouth, he buries himself as deep as he can go and spills inside of you.
“It’s all yours, m’all yours,” he slurs against your skin, filling you up as your whole body shatters in a synchronized, overwhelming climax that leaves you both shattered.
You both lay there in the quiet room, chests heaving as you breathe heavily against each other.
Clark slowly pulls out, shifting over to the nightstand to pluck a few tissues from the box. You lie entirely limp and exhausted as he gently cleans you both up.
He reaches over the edge of the bed and scoops your panties from the floor along with his own boxers. He slips your underwear back onto your hips before pulling his on. He then finds your shirt, holding it in front of you.
“Arms.”
Without even having to process the thought, you sit up and automatically raise your arms so he can slide the fabric back over your head and shoulders. It all comes so naturally, a familiar routine your body has known a thousand times before.
He settles back down at your side, wrapping his arms around you to pull you flush against his chest, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple as your breathing finally begins to slow.
A quiet voice in the back of your mind tells you that you definitely shouldn’t be letting this happen, but your body is far too heavy and fatigued to care. You close your eyes and nuzzle your face into his chest, deciding that whatever mess this is can just be dealt with in the morning.
Synopsis: Superman’s got a dirty secret, but Clark Kent’s got an even dirtier secret.
Superman isn’t supposed to have favourites, especially not among the most persistent criminals in the city. And Clark Kent is definitely not supposed to let a flirtatious coffee shop interaction with the same criminal, who doesn’t know he’s Superman, throw him off his game!
CW : MDNI—smut; unprotected pinv 👀, fingering, oral (f rec), lowkey foot job, handjob, clark cums in his pants 👀, perv!clark, male masturbation, missionary, smell kink (?).improper use of X-Ray vision, improper use of super-hearing, squirting, cowgirl, prone bone?, doggy, dirty talk, hungry!clark, superdick 👀, degrader!reader, softdom!clark, sub!clark (?). vigilante!reader. (not so)enemies to lovers. a lil angst. dorky!clark x flirty!reader. double identities. (13.2K word count oof 🙈)
“Oh, Fuck!” You yelled as your back hit the wall.
You feel like a giant gave you a fat pat on the back as the contact with the wall makes the air inside your lungs knock out of your mouth.
“Fff—Fucking Super..ssshit.” You struggled to mumble out as you wiped the blood seeping from the corners of your mouth with a thumb.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke as he walked towards your limp body, his tone getting impatient the more you threw those insults that specifically irritated him, “And stop calling me— Supershit..It’s very disrespectful.”
Just as he finishes his sentence, you lunge at him. Your arms wrapping around his neck in what seems to be an attempted, and very awkward, headlock.
You both don’t really remember when this became a routine. All the immature roughhousing in a dark alleyway, or a quiet parking lot near a McDonald’s, or right now; In an abandoned building with so much debris you could die from that alone.
Every night since these past few weeks, he’d hear a crime being committed by you from across the frickin’ city and show up to beat your ass.
But, he’d never throw you to jail—he only says he will, in the name of justice and stuff—but he doesn’t.
This time he seriously rolled his eyes in annoyance when he saw you attempting to burn the house of, who you said, was some conservative white dude who pissed you off.
Well, you didn’t even get to explain before Superman lunged at you.
Like, what the fuck? Sure your actions aren't very ethical, but you didn’t exactly do anything wrong! You’re just fighting fire with fire.
Now you find yourself back here another night, fighting Superman.
Clark sighs, grabbing your arm around his neck to break free. Unexpectedly, you twist and fall back—pulling him along with you as you put him in a chokehold, with his back against your chest as your arms wrapped around his neck.
He coughs, “Oh— Gosh.”
You smirk at his struggle, tightening your grip while his hands repeatedly tapped your arms, trying to tap out.
“Pftt. I’m not letting you go until you admit defeat.” You whispered in his ear—your low, silky voice being the only thing Superman hears despite having exceptional hearing beyond human capabilities.
“C’mon, Supershit. Say it.” You urged him as the arm you have wrapped around his neck pulls forward, choking him even more.
“Say. It.”
Superman closes his eyes, shakily breathing in—looking almost euphoric. Just as he opens his eyes again, a sleazy smile creeps upon his bruised, and fucked face as his head slightly turns to the side, facing you. He huffs out a cocky laugh, making you frown.
“The hell are you laughing ab—“; before you had the chance to finish your sentence, you felt a warm and gushy liquid splash onto your face.
You grunt in disgust, harshly pushing him somewhere to the side as your hands find your face—wiping the liquid frantically.
“Why the fuck would you spit your nasty blood on my face, you fucking loser?!” You yelled, hands rubbing your eyes as you felt the sting on one of your pupils.
What pissed you off the most—was that you couldn’t tell which eye was the one that was hurting.
Not even a second later, you felt him blast off. Your hands leave your eyes, squinting as you watch him fly away. You huff out angrily—stomping on the chalk-like texture of pieces of broken drywall—as you yelled profanities at him.
Clark grins at the words leaving your mouth that were aimed for him only, looking back down to catch a glimpse of your tiny looking figure down below before accelerating towards the moonlight.
Monday rolls in and you feel like you could die. Literally die.
You hear the repetitive jingle of the weird bells this coffee shop still has on their doors as you watch the barista fumble a can of whipped cream while trying to make someone’s drink look cute. You tap your feet impatiently, humming to a song as your eyes dug into the back of another barista’s skull.
You’ve been waiting for a latte for what seems like the past 10 minutes.
It has been 2 nights since your fight with Superman, and you still feel miserable. Your toe feels as if it’s bent the other way, and you could genuinely die.
Just then; two drinks, looking entirely the same, are placed on the pick-up counter. The barista calls out your name as well as some guy’s—Clark—without clarifying whose cup is whose. Before you could ask, she goes right back to take in more orders.
“Shit day.” You mumbled under your breath as you turned the cups over to see hand writing so unreadable, doctors would want to wear that barista’s skin due to envy.
You decided to just taste test, hoping the owner of the other cup wouldn’t see. Doesn’t matter if they did anyway. Just as you were about to take a sip—
“You?” You hear a male voice behind you, and woah.
“You—You’re holding my.. uh, order. I meant.” He corrected himself, pushing his glasses up almost nervously.
He’s cute. Definitely.
Probably six foot something, really muscular for a dorky looking dude, and also— very nervous..
“Oh, sorry.” You said, squinting really hard to look at the handwriting on the cup, “..Clark?”
His head shot up, wondering if you figured out it was him—the one and only Clark Kent who also fucked you up just two nights ago in your altercation with him as Superman.
Clark thinks he lost his shit probably the moment he stepped into the cafe; From the countless nights of having to fight you, Clark is super sure he can recognise the way your heart beats when you’re panicked or when you’re about to lunge at him.
He probably remembers the way you breathe in a little sharper when you’re bleeding, or the rumble in your throat when you give him a dry, humourless, laugh.
What he did not anticipate was his ability to remember all of that when you guys weren’t fighting—and he’s pretty sure you recognise him too.
“Are y’gunna take it?” You spoke, hand reaching out for him to grab the coffee from you.
You didn’t recognise him?
“Sorry— Uh. Yeah, thanks.” He said.
During the split second his fingers brushed against yours, he noticed the deep red and blues of the bruises plastered just above where the neckline of your shirt starts. He probably should be a little gentler next time, he thinks.
“No wife?” You casually ask, taking him aback as he sipped his coffee.
He coughs up the sip he was taking, “W—What?”
You smiled at how flustered he was, “No ring on your finger.. no hair tie on your wrist. I suppose you’re single?” You spoke as your fingers lightly wrapped around his wrist.
Wow, your hands are really soft.
This shouldn’t be Clark’s primary thought—but he’s just so used to the same hands throwing him punches— that he’s a little wrapped around how soft your hands feel when they’re not intentionally trying to hurt him.
“I’ll take that as a yes.. Clark.”
And gosh. The way his name rolls off your tongue in that silky voice when you’re not calling him Supershit?
You took a random pen from the counter, writing down a series of numbers on his cup. “Call me, okay?” You smile at him, eyeing his coffee cup, before turning—intentionally making sure your shoulder grazes his chest as you walk away.
He couldn’t help but take in the soft, gentle, flower-like smell of your shampoo. You smelled clean, and dangerous at the same time.
And your smile? Coming from the same mouth that would usually snarl at him before you ran off after committing another crime? That small curve of the corner of your lips could kill him. Definitely.
“Oh, gosh.” He breathed out as you finally left the cafe, not even realising he held his breath. He shut his eyes, shaking his head before rushing to The Daily Planet.
You winced as you made your way up the fire escape stairs, gripping the handles as you looked into the window of each room as you made your way up.
It was a late Tuesday night, and you had just finished giving (mostly getting) a beat down after having to intervene in a gang robbery—despite having stolen a few snacks from the 7/11 close by just a few minutes prior.
Nevertheless, you couldn’t bear seeing a bunch of innocent, elderly people being held at gun point; So you intervened, forgetting that despite wearing a mask that only covers the top half of your face, and a skin tight black leather suit, you were still human.
And humans aren’t immune to bullets.. especially when the human’s idea of a disguise suit is a black, long sleeved leather top with shorts so short—all you needed to do was put on a pair of leggings underneath—and you’d recreate Superman’s suit.
Now, your boot’s heel kicks open the window of the person you came here for—the cutie from the cafe.
Clark.
You slung your leg over the window, making your way into his apartment. Your heeled boots stepped on the glass pieces from the window you had broken, making a mental note to apologise or leave a note.
He wasn’t home yet though, so you took the liberty to explore his place. His place was very dark, a little bit messy with some clothes on the floor.
You sighed, slumping on his couch before wincing due to the wound you got from the graze of a bullet.
Your cheekbones were bruised, and there were a few cuts on your upper lip. You feel like there’s a bunch of rocks pushing against your ribs, and the pungent smell of blood from the bullet graze pisses you off.
Just as you lean your head back to slump on the couch—the dim, yellow-orange overhead lights in the kitchen click open, making you yelp in surprise.
Clark also yelps in surprise by the sound of your voice, “Wha—Why r’y here?”
“God, you scared me!” You exclaimed, cutting him off. You think he probably doesn’t recognise you with your mask on, so you untie the string under your hair, pulling your mask off. “It’s me. From the coffee shop.”
Clark does not know what to do. Yeah, of course it’s you. His super hearing clarified that already when he was taking the elevator to his floor, and heard that familiar pace of your heartbeat as you breathed in and out.
He thought you were here to fight Superman; that you had somehow found out where he lived. But no.
You were here for Clark. For him.
“Your place was close.” You say, answering his question when he doesn’t say anything.
Clark stops in his thoughts. “How do you know where I live?”
You pressed your lips together. “Skills I learned.. from connections.”
“Connections?”
“Yeaaaah. Well— from my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Bruce.. Wayne.”
BRUCE WAYNE?
That Bruce Wayne who is a billionaire, who is also Batman, who is also someone Clark knows very much?!
Bruce Wayne’s sister is flirting with him?
That very much explains how you are (somewhat) capable of lasting so long in a fight with him—Superman.
You held a sarcastic smile before speaking, “Yeaaaah. Kinda figured out your address.” You paused, “I didn’t know you were a little farm boy.” You teased.
Clark’s mouth is slightly agape as he watches you, shutting it quickly when he realises how stupid he probably looked. “Yeah, I— uh, grew up in Kansas.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He pushes up his glasses.
“You didn’t call me.” You spoke again, your legs crossing as you leaned against the couch.
He was standing in front of you, and God, did he look good.
A white button up with black dress pants, crooked glasses, and a curly piece of hair falling neatly by his forehead while the rest settled in all sorts of directions.
“Since yesterday morning; Y’haven’t called.” You continue—your voice, almost as low as a whisper, makes Clark gulp.
Yeah, because you are also the very same woman I fight every other night.
“Work— I was busy with work.” He answers, his voice cracking. Your eyes dropped, eyeing him from head to toe before coming back up to meet his eyes.
“Would you have called.. anytime soon?” You say.
Your voice only seems to gravitate him towards you as he takes a small step forward by the sound of you, close enough that your feet could nudge just below his knee.
Clark stammers, “Y—Yeah. Maybe.” He says, trying to be casual.
Your eyebrows knit together and curved, having a pitiful look as your eyes stayed on his. It was the same look you’d give him—as Superman—when you were going say something that would start to get his blood boiling.
It was mocking.
It was kinda hot, actually.
Golly.
He wonders if you really didn't know he was Superman, or if you were actually just interested in Clark. His heart skips a beat a little when he thinks of the latter.
“Maybe?” You repeated in faux confusion—almost mockery—as your eyebrows stayed knit together, looking at him through your lashes.
He tries to look away, but accidentally looks down at where your cleavage was.
Golly.
Your eyes were still on him—except your right foot is moving up his leg to his lower thigh and he thinks he could combust.
Your foot nudges his thigh, signaling that you are anticipating an answer. His breath shudders and he nods his head, “I mean, I guess.. I would have—“ Your foot moves higher, and he gulps, “..I would call you.”
Clark lets out a sigh that could also very much also be a whimper when your heeled boots meet his clothed erection.
In all honesty, Clark was so distracted and overwhelmed by you filling all of his senses that he hadn’t even taken to notice how much tighter his pants had felt since he saw you— and also how evident it was.
You huffed out a small laugh, your heel hooking on the waistband of his pants, pulling him down to face you.
Clark’s knees hit the ground, his chest settling between your parted thighs while you stay seated on the couch. Your face is just a few inches away—the pointed toe cap of your boots still pressed against him, applying just enough pressure for him.
“I’m injured, that’s why I came.” Your voice drops into a whisper, and you stop teasing. You glance away for a second before your hand reaches for the side of his face, “I just thought seeing you would.. make me feel better.”
Your lips drop to his cheek, pressing a feather-light kiss on it, “I miss you. And I'm sad you didn’t call.” You say as your lips leave his cheek, your breath grazing against his ear.
Clark shudders, one of his hands reaching to grip your thighs unconsciously.
The fact that the quickened heartbeat he’s hearing right now is actually his and not yours also makes him a little scared.
“Oh, Gosh.” He gasps when your foot rubs against his erection again; This time, rubbing in slow circles instead of nudging him here and there.
Clark is pretty sure he’s going to lose some face the next time you fight him as Superman; considering how this interaction with you will never, ever, allow him to focus in a fight against you ever again.
He does make a mental note to himself to stop you after another slow rub from your foot, or maybe he’ll let you do it just one more time—scratch that.
The way you make him feel in his head does not help his case. And he’s now sure that he doesn’t want you to stop, either—like, ever.
And if anyone had a sight like you on their couch in front of them, they wouldn’t want it to stop too—Clark thinks.
Your foot stops rubbing in circles and instead traces his length from top to bottom while you place a soft peck on his lips.
Before you could pull away, Clark places a firm grip on your hips, pulling you forward again into a proper kiss.
Your foot keeps tracing, and rubbing, and tracing, and rubbing. And Golly, your lips are so soft but you’re kissing him so feverishly.
Clark whimpers. And whimpers, and whimpers, and whimpers—until his hands move to your shoulder and jaw to ground himself while he pulls away from your lips, his head falling to the crook of your neck.
He shudders, his hips bucking against your foot involuntarily, and you gasp with a laugh, mockingly, “Did you jus—“
He whines in embarrassment to stop you from asking and you laugh, peeling his face from your neck.
Both your hands cup his cheeks, “Call me next time.” You spoke before placing a kiss on his nose. Then, you push his face away, getting up from the couch and making your way to the window.
“Wait, my window—“
You gave him a nervous chuckle that was purely insincere considering you weren’t all that sorry about the window.
“So sorry— about this. I was hoping I could distract you from that.” You say. “If I didn’t distract you enough, I hope I at least made up for it?” You continued with a cheeky grin.
Before Clark could answer, you hop onto the fire escape stairs through the window, leaving Clark alone with his thoughts. And God, did he have a lot.
“Augh— Oh God! Shi—“ You exclaim when you land face first on the concrete floors of a parking lot in front of an abandoned mall, making you roll on the ground before your forehead hits the rough floor. “Ow—!”
Your chest heaves as you hyperventilate from how far you had run—only to get your feet entangled by a few plastic bags when you tried to look up to see where he flew to.
It was dark—maybe around 2 in the morning—and the only crime you committed was stealing another item from that 7/11. But of course. The manager of the store had to have given Supes’ a free chocolate bar or something once; and before you knew it, he was chasing you.
You contemplate on whether you should keep doing routine crimes at night, or just settle to do them during the day time where Superman is usually busy dealing with other things.
Because God, why was he so free at 2am? Oh shit, he doesn’t need sleep; You groan at the thought.
“Golly! Are you okay?” You hear his irritating voice.
In a matter of seconds, the same man chasing you rushes down to place a hand on your shoulder. Superman holds you, helping you get up while your eyebrows furrowed.
“What’s..up with you today?” You say, pushing his hand off your shoulder before taking a step back in case he lunges at you. But he doesn’t. And that confuses you.
Clark doesn’t say anything and just looks at you. He had his usual face on, but you can see the micro-expressions he couldn’t contain— and it was telling you he was.. guilty? or.. nervous? or.. whatever!
“You would usually pull me by my leg to throw me in a jail cell—or lunge at me.” You speak again as you observe him before deciding to take a step forward, still keeping your guard up.
You leaned in close enough to whisper by his ear, “You look nervous today, Big Blue.”
His breath shudders and you can hear it. Before you can say anything else, he blasts off.
You scoffed—preparing to yell some profanities at him, thinking he left, before you felt a hand around your ankle, “Woa—! B’careful, Super-fucker!”
His hand held you by your left ankle as he flew around the city of Metropolis, holding you upside down. You tried protesting by kicking your free leg at him, making his lips curl into a cheeky grin as his eyes looked down at you.
Just then, you pull out a small ball-looking thing from your back pocket and throw it at his chest.
The second the ball had made contact with him—gas exploded everywhere, making him crash onto the flat roof of a random building.
You both rolled over on the roof before the impact allowed you to stop, yet his five fingers were still wrapped around your ankle.
“Let— go!” You spoke while on your back, propping your elbow on the concrete roof before using your other leg to attempt to kick his face.
Clark was on his stomach, his face right by your knee as he kept his grip on your ankle. He looked up to meet your eyes as his other arm was placed on top your hip to halter any movements or—tantrums, as he called it.
He doesn’t look away from your eyes so you glared and frowned at him, lips instinctively twitching into a snarl.
“I’m not going to let you go, but I won’t turn you in,” He says, “—If you agree to return the item you stole.”
You groan, your leg attempting to kick up like those seven year olds who throw tantrums on the floor. He snickers a little before wiping the smile off his face when you frown.
“I only took a tiny bag of chips— I just needed a late night snack, dude!” You explained as your hands tried to pry away the hold of his left arm that caged your hips.
“It’s not good to steal.” He grunts, attempting to keep you still as you continuously squirmed weirdly underneath him to break free.
“How do you know I’m not super broke and can’t afford it and have to steal for a living?” You retorted.
“Because you’re Bru—“ He stops midway, looking away for a half second before meeting your eyes again, “You’re— You’ve got a.. bruutally amazing style. Not cheap, for sure.” He nods at his own words.
“I could’ve stolen it.”
He ignores you and attempts to adjust before you feel his elbow digging into your stomach, making you yelp.
“Hey— Ow, that hurts!”
“Oh gee, I'm so sorry about that!” He panics as that same arm soothingly rubs the part he had nudged.
You were taken aback. His fingers pressed slow circles against your stomach, as if he had completely forgotten who you were and what he was supposed to be doing.
“Stop— stop doing that, Supercreep.” You say, in a lower voice, as you pushed him off of you.
This time, he doesn’t attempt to hold you down as you get up. He stands up and looks away for a second to recollect himself. However, when he did look back, you were already lunging at him.
Your force throws the both of you off the roof and he flies up while your body envelopes him from the back, both your arms wrapped around his neck to choke him.
Clark couldn’t help but take in the scent of you. He noticed you put on a different type of perfume when you have your suit and mask on. It was stronger; like instead of the rose you’d smell like during the day, you smelled like the thorns of that same rose during the night.
Before he could get lost in his thoughts, he accelerates back down to the ground.
The sudden drop in direction made the chokehold you had on him falter, so he takes that chance to grab you by the arm to get you off his back. You yelped, feeling yourself fling sideways— thinking he dropped you, before you felt his arm around your waist.
By then, you gained a view of the alleyway he was probably going to land on. Your fist nudges his face sideways, throwing a punch.
“Hey—!” He exclaims, grabbing the fist that was throwing punches at him.
Your left cheek is met with the ground before you could throw an insult. You lay on your stomach with your arms raised by your head as one of Superman’s hands wrap around the back of your neck, holding you down to the ground as he had one knee in between your thighs and the other propped up on the ground by your left hip.
You squirm in that weird, wiggly way again before your eyebrows grow furrowed in confusion and amusement.
You froze for a moment.
“..Is your…boner pressing up against me, right now?” You say, feeling his chest against your back and a subtle erection poking your lower back.
You hear him stammer at your question, and you really wish you could see his face right now. You hear the leg he had propped up by your left hip falter as he now kneels behind you.
“Holyyy shit, you are!” You laughed, like this was the highlight of your night.
“Y—You’re evil.” He groans before tightening his grip on the back of your neck, pushing your head further onto the ground as you teasingly giggled at his reaction, half of your lower lip being bitten by your upper teeth in a cruel smile.
“Did I do that?” You asked, squirming against his erection. He lets out a breath, his head falling by your neck. “D’ya reckon I could help?” Your neck slightly twists, and before you could even try to look back at him, you feel his grip tighten again—warning you.
“C’mon Big Blue.. Why don’t you show me how big you really are?” You tease, a low rumble escaping your throat as you let out a laugh that was strained due to the hold he had on your neck.
Clark releases his grip and blasts off immediately and you groan at the release of pressure.
You prop your hands on the ground to push you up on you back before turning to take a look at him accelerating through the night sky, still giggling.
The bullpen of the Daily Planet was filled with noise; keyboard smacking, phones ringing off the hook, and Perry shouting across the room about a front-page deadline.
Clark was hunched over his desk, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to properly focus on a report about city infrastructure or something. His glasses were halfway down the bridge of his nose, and a few loose curls draped over his forehead.
But despite his attempt to stay focused on work, all he could think about was you.
His brain was playing the last two nights in a relentless loop; How his apartment lingered with the smell of you. How pretty you looked sitting on his couch. How he could still feel the ghost of your touch. How soft your lips were. How gentle your hands were.
But also how differently your eyes landed on him when you thought you were fighting a different guy—Superman. How you laughed mockingly. How you snarled at him. How rough you were. How you touched him.
How he spent hours trying to get rid of the thought of you—in a very unconventional way.
Jimmy spoke, “Hey. Apparently, there’s a girl waiting fo..”
Jimmy’s voice completely drowned in Clark’s mind because just then, his super-hearing catches on to the elevator door opening and a certain rhythm of footsteps, the sound of heels clicking. The very heels that you’d worn during that fight last night.. as well as the other night.
Then came that familiar sound of a beating heart. Calmer than he’d remember from last night, but there was no doubt it belonged to you.
Still, Clark froze. His hands hovered over the keyboard, as his eyes were extremely alert, looking around for you. He could smell you.
No, it couldn’t be.
He slowly turned his head, and there you were; walking past rows of desks with a brown paper bag from a local deli in one hand and two iced coffees in the other.
You stood in front of his desk, placing the paper bag on his desk. “Woah. Man, who is she?” Jimmy whispered as he eyed the girl in front of Clark.
Unlike last night where you wore your signature leather-black suit with a little cleavage, this time you wore an airy blouse with a loose, silky skirt. Your hair was pulled into a messy half-up half-down, and you would’ve perfectly looked like the embodiment of innocence if you didn’t have that mischievous glint in your eyes.
You and Clark had a little bit of a staring contest in the moments where Clark’s brain was too fried, at the sight of you, to function.
Your lips curved into a dry, teasing smile, “Hey, Kansas.”
Good golly.
It was the same tone you used when you irritated him by calling him Supershit or another variant of that—but why was Clark not irritated this time? It sounded no different but it still made him feel so weird, a muffled whine slipped out of his throat because of how scared he was.
“You— ..What are you doing here?” He asked to which you smiled.
“I’m.. actually sorry about that window— I bought you something in hopes that you’d forgive me.” Pure casualness. Your voice was so casual, Clark was even more scared. You were just so casual.
You bite your lip, chewing on the skin before continuing, “But if it’s not enough, I don’t mind paying for the damages I caused.”
Clark cleared his throat, “..You don’t have to,”
I forgot about it the moment you flashed me a smile. I didn’t even mind, anyway.
“I’m not mad, either.”
But Gosh. I am so, so, so scared.
You smiled at his words. “Thanks Kansas. Well, I’ll see you around okay?” You say as your index finger poked the tip of his nose before pushing his crooked glasses up for him. Your eyes smiled with your lips, because of course you just had to have the type of smile that could turn his brain into mush.
“Enjoy your food! —Oh, and call me if you miss me!” You yelled as you made your way to the elevator.
Jimmy slid his chair towards Clark’s. “Who was that? Is she single?” Jimmy asked as he looked at your walking figure. Clark cleared his throat, “She’s.. we just get coffee from the same place, Jimmy.” Clark says before nudging Jimmy away.
Good gosh.
It’s been weeks.
He would interact with you as Clark Kent during the day at the same coffee shop, or sometimes even a date. He’s counted, and there’s only been three dates over the span of three weeks. It’s definitely not enough, and he will keep that in mind.
But at night, when you don’t end up staying over with Clark Kent—which you rarely did, anyway—he would interact with you as Superman. The crimes you were committing wasn’t even his reason to come and fight you anymore—it’s just, if you won’t visit Clark Kent, then Superman will visit you.
He can’t stop it. You’ve fully occupied his mind, and you didn’t even kiss Clark again after that night. He felt selfish. He wanted more—whether he was Clark or Superman to you.
Every now and then, he’d find himself bucking his hips into his hands at the thought of you. Either after a fight, or after seeing you during the day.
He sometimes never even thinks about you inappropriately, his body just reacts, and he especially hates when it reacts while he’s fighting you.
The sight of you straddling him, gripping his jaw before throwing another punch. Or, the sight of you under him with your face pressed against the cracked floors as he pushed you against it. Or, when he gets a view of your tits pressed against the wall.
Good Gosh.
He’s accidentally used his X-Ray vision on you one time, accidentally getting a peak of what was under your clothes. After he wipes away the reminder of his guilt, he’s sure he’ll spend his whole life trying to apologise, even if you weren’t aware of what he did.
Now, it was ten in the evening. Superman had just finished dealing with a creature created from a science experiment gone wrong. He was tired, through and through.
But he knows. He knows he won’t be able to resist drowning out the noises he hears just in case you decide to commit a crime. He also knows he won’t be able to resist flying towards your direction if he even so hears you yelling at a dog—he’d say that, that is a crime in itself, just to have an excuse to see you.
So, he flies to his apartment—getting inside through his bedroom window to make sure that creature didn’t scruff him up too badly for when he sees you tonight as Superman.
He closes the window behind him when he lands in his bedroom, making his way out the bedroom door and into his living room.
The city lights from his windows illuminated his living room and kitchen. It was especially dark tonight, but he didn’t bother turning on the lights as he anticipated having to go to you soon.
Clark makes his way to the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice, unscrewing it, then chugging it.
“Who knew?” It was your voice. Clark turned around, only to see your figure sitting up from the couch.
Darn him. How did he not detect you? And, oh dear, he’s got his Superman suit on and no hypno-glasses.
“I was here for Clark, but apparently; International superhero, Superman, and the Daily Planet’s journalist, Clark Kent.. apparently live together?” Your voice was dripping from how fake your confusion sounded.
Clark turns his head, avoiding your gaze, as if the damage wasn’t already done.
You stood up from the couch, humming, “Are they brothers?—Or lovers?” Mockery was the only word that could be used to describe your tone, “Or are they... the same person?” He could hear you behind him, the only thing distancing the two of you was his kitchen counter.
“It’s— I..” Clark turns to meet your gaze and stammers, and you actually do give him time to explain—except he doesn’t, and you scoff.
“Was it fun? Was seeing me being so vulnerable with Clark Kent fun? When you knew it was the same guy I’d fight with by nightfall?”
No more mockery. You were hurt. Emotionally.
“No..” He whines, “I’m so— so, so, sorry. I didn’t mean to—“ Clark breathes, hurriedly making his way to you as you turned your back at him to have some distance, as well as ground yourself.
You feel Clark nearing you and you turn around, “I hate you, Supershit—Clark Kent. Whoever the hell you are.” You spoke as your index finger harshly pokes at his chest.
Clark whines, his eyebrows knitting together in distress at your tone. Just as you were about to walk off, hitting his shoulder with yours, you feel him pull you by the arm and into a back hug.
You sighed in impatience. Clark takes in a deep breath, inhaling your scent. Tonight you haven't worn any perfume but he still nudges his face into the crook of your neck as both his arms wrap around your waist, entrapping your whole body in his hold.
“I was going to tell you. I swear.” He mumbles into your neck and you weren’t sure if he cried and a tear of his had fallen by your neck, or if you were hallucinating. “I just.. I didn’t know how.”
You shiver when his breath grazes your neck, feeling his forehead drop on the slope on your shoulder, “You could recognise me from how my heart beats?” You changed the topic.
You push his head away, turning around to face him as both your hands cupped his cheeks to wipe a tear, “I used a biomechanical patch that emits low frequency.. which drowns out the sound of my heartbeat.”
Clark doesn’t say anything; your gadget being the least of his worries.
“Courtesy of WayneTech.” You said, “I am very flattered you could recognise me from my heartbeat alone, Superman.”
Your hand drops to his shoulder, giving him a pat before speaking, “But God, you fooled me with just glasses?”
“Hyp—Hypo-glasses.. They’re designed to make people not recognise me with them on.” His hands find your hips, grounding himself, “Please take the— the patch thing off.”
“You wanna hear me?” You spoke in a low tone, the calm, intimidating one with a hint of dry humour,
“Y’like hearing me?”
Clark’s gaze on you falters and he looks away. You snickered in mockery, your hands pushing away the hands he had placed on your hips. God, he looked just like a dejected little puppy.
“You played a fool of me, Superfuck. I don’t like it.” You say, shaking your head as your eyes stayed on his. “You really did shock me, though. So, ten outta ten on that.”
“Please, let me make it up to you.”
“How?”
Clark goes silent for a moment, and you are sure that’s all the answers you need. You give him the opportunity—the chance—to fix things up, but he goes silent. And that’s all the confirmation you need.
You remove the WayneTech patch from your wrist, crushing the fragile technology before it falls onto the ground. And you could physically see Clark exhale at the sound of your heartbeat.
It was slow; slower than any pace he had ever heard from you. You were calm, and that was enough to break his heart.
“I think I would’ve been a little less upset if you at least tried to make me feel like less of a fool.” You say, “But it’s obvious you don’t know what to do, and you just hope apologising will fix it.”
His lips twitch, almost into a frown. You place a lingering kiss on his cheek before walking out of the door.
27 unread messages from Kansas cutie
4:02 AM
Kansas Cutie: What I did was so stupid, I’m so sorry
Kansas Cutie: Please don’t ignore mw
Kansas Cutie: I’ll do anything
Kansas Cutie: I’ll be whoever you want me to be
Kansas Cutie: Pkease call me
It’s been nearly a week and Clark hasn’t heard any sign of you. Not at the coffee shop, or at night, or anywhere in Metropolis, for that matter. And he thinks he might die.
You would get messages from him during random times of the day, but would never be bothered enough to block him because you weren’t exactly mad. You just felt betrayed? Fooled? Whatever it was, it wasn’t a positive feeling.
That’s how you find yourself sitting at the bar, staring intently at the bartender who looks somewhat like Clark. He is cute, but the small smile he gives you every time he hands you another drink shows that he’s obviously not interested, just friendly.
Clark was really friendly, too. But he was also interested. Like, a lot.
You think you should probably stop. Your mind is hazy and clouded, and you’re so drunk to the point where men would try to hit on you then quickly leave due to how unattractively you were slurring out words.
But the bartender. He’d glance at you to make sure no guy overstepped any boundaries and your heart would flutter, but he seriously just felt too friendly.
“—Claark. You look.. a loooot like my Cl—Clarrkiee.” You hicupped, your index finger pointing at the bartender just as he slides you another drink before stopping midway.
He laughs. Oh, God. “Even your— laugh is the frickin’ same!” You gasped before falling into a fit of hicupped giggles.
You tried to reach out for the drink, your head laying on top of the arm you placed underneath for support. The bartender looks at you, tilting his head, before pulling the drink back.
“Heeeyyy! That’s mine.” You frowned, lifting your head up from the counter.
He laughs again, “Miss, I think you should stop drinking. You’ve been here for hours, I don’t know if I could even legally continue serving you drinks.”
You pout and dramatically sigh. “You are so like Claark.” You spoke, propping your elbows up as your chin rested on your hands. “But he loves—or loved.. me. I don’t know.” You end your sentence with a pout and another hiccup.
The bartender smiles at you as he cleans a cup; but just as your eyes threaten to flutter shut, he decides to reach out for the phone you had slammed on the counter earlier.
It was still on, opened to Clark’s texts from this morning.
11:28 PM
You: clark?
Kansas Cutie: Yes? Hello? Call me please
Kansas Cutie: Please call me
You: could u pick her up?
You: lemme send u the link
You: she’s real messed up for you bro
Kansas Cutie: Who is this?
Kansas Cutie: Is she okay? Hello??
You: Google.maps//location-link
After five minutes or so, give or take, you open your eyes to see a meaty man with pajama pants, a white tee with a comic book character, and glasses.
“Claarkkkie!” You exclaimed with joy before your face dropped again, “Bastard.” You mumble, frowning as your face slumps down onto the bar counter, your right cheek being squished.
“How many have you had to drink?” Clark spoke, his hands pushing a strand of hair behind your ears.
“Beyond human capabilities, probably. She’s been here since we opened.” The bartender spoke before making eye contact with Clark, observing him. “Hey! She’s right, we do look somewhat alike.”
Clark feels a little pang at his heart at the thought of you possibly having flirted with the bartender, but he gives a small, pursed smile before holding you by the arm to lift you up. One of your arms wraps around his neck, as the other one is held up by him—guiding you as you walk.
“Treat her right, man.” Clark hears the bartender yell as he walks out of the bar. You look up at Clark and giggle when his eyebrows frown at what the guy said.
By the morning, you find yourself comfortably wrapped in a duvet with a soft pillow under your head. Your body had turned to the side as you slept, giving you a view of the city through the windows.
The sun was especially bright and warm today. You, however, felt the total opposite of bright and warm.
But, you’re out of that skin tight skirt from last night, and you’re in comfy clothes. You also don’t feel that uncomfortable feeling of your mascara being messily dried up around your eyes. Hell, you might actually be feeling bright and warm today.
Only if the hangover doesn’t hit you yet.
You groggily rubbed your eyes, sighing as your hand raised in the air to stretch.
Just then, you felt an arm wrapped tighter around your belly as you shifted. And, you felt someone’s nose nuzzle deeper into the crook of your neck, breathing you in before sighing.
“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself. You mentally give yourself a slap in the face, assuming you let some guy take you home last night.
And oh, God. Could you have been drunk enough to have sex with whoever it was? No way! You have clothes on right now.
You purse your lips, lifting the duvet to double check if you had clothes on.
You did.. except the shirt on you wasn’t yours and you were in your underwear instead of your skirt. Shiit.
“It’s the weekend.. Sleep in.” A low voice spoke from behind you. Oh, fuck. That’s Clark.
Did you have sex with Clark last night?
You took a second to think;
“Nooooo, Superman— Put me. down!” You hiccuped.
You felt your body slump over a couch, “Golly. What should I do..” You heard Clark’s voice speak from above you.
“You should—“ You giggled, “Should.. kiss me. Heh.” You couldn’t contain your giggles.
You pulled Clark by his arm, making him fall towards you—his arm caging you so that he wouldn’t fall face first into you. “Kiss me, please?” You asked, looking at him through your lashes with a pout.
“I— You’re drunk.”
Shit. He wouldn’t have fucked you while you were drunk, right?
You tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on your waist only tightens. His other hand slithers underneath your head, giving you support.
You turned to face Clark. “Superman doesn’t need sleep..” You mumbled, as you nudged his face out of your neck with your palms. His eyes were still closed, and you took the liberty to observe his features.
Your palms cup his cheeks as you tried to lean in to kiss him. He moves his head away anyways, making you pout again.
“I can’t take advantage of you while you’re.. drunk,” He whispered—almost whining, as if it was also killing him to not be able to kiss you.
“But I want you to kiss mee.” You frowned, theatrically pouting your lips as your eyebrows scrunched.
He sighs, sitting down on the couch next to you and turning your shoulder so you could face him. Clark opens his mouth and hesitates, taking a while before speaking, “If I do what you want, w—will you forgive me?”
“Mmhm.” You nodded, climbing onto him before you even finished.
“Wait, are you completely sure you wanna do this?”
“Drunk wordsss are.. sober thoug—thoughts, Clarkie. Yeah.” You spoke, nodding at your own words as you straddled him.
Clark gulps, blushing at the nickname you had called him. He pushes his glasses up before helping you reposition yourself; Your hands find his face, taking off his glasses— then your arms wrap around his neck, thumb caressing his nape.
You lean in, pausing to take a look at his eyes before placing your lips on him.
“Good gosh.” He sighed. A very, very content sigh leaves him and his arms fully hug your waist, pulling you in impossibly close.
You part for a second, your hands coming to grip his shoulder, before leaning in again. Clark’s head tilt to capture your lips, his lips moving incredibly slow as you nudge yourself closer to him.
Clark unwraps his hand around your waist, letting one hand roam around your back while the other holds your hip down, grounding you.
The both of you part, and your thumb caresses his lower lip. Clark grabs your wrist and places a kiss by the flesh near your thumb.
“Can I be your boyfrie—?”
You nod before smashing your lips onto him again.
That’s all you could remember. Shit.
“Clark, get off me, dude.” You spoke, your palm pressing his chest to push him away. Clark whines and opens his eyes, looking at you.
You sat up on the bed and contemplated for a moment. “Look— whatever I said or did last night.. Forget about it, okay? I didn’t mean anyth—“
“You said drunk words are sober thoughts.” He says, pushing the duvet off of him as he groggily gets up too.
You almost forgot that he’s also that Superman that you dislike so much. But his hair is so much like Clark and he looks at you like how Clark would—not how Superman would.
You pursed your lips, and he continues, “I don’t want us to break up.”
You mentally rolled your eyes at his ridiculousness, setting your feet on the ground as you got off his bed. “We’re not together, Clark. I was drunk!” You exclaimed, walking out of his bedroom in his T-Shirt and your panties.
He quickly follows behind you. “Also, did you strip me out of my clothes last night?” You spoke, your eyebrows furrowing. Obviously he did—you weren’t in your clothes from last night—but you asked anyway. “Also—I didn’t wear a bra when I was out last night. Did you look, you perv?!”
“I didn’t look, I swear!” He says, trailing behind you as walked around the living room—trying to find your clothes. “I mean I did.. but only for a little bit— It was to help you put my shirt on!” He spoke.
You turned around, stopping dead in your tracks. You hesitated for a moment before asking, “We didn’t have sex, right?” You voiced dropped, genuinely asking.
“No —I swear.” Clark says, and your furrowed eyebrows deepen, looking at him suspiciously, “We didn’t! But you did ask for a kiss, so I complied.” He says, looking away for the last part.
You turned around again, back facing him as you rubbed your forehead to calm yourself.
You hear Clark shuffling behind you, and feel his arms around your waist. He stuffs his head by your neck, not bothering to move your hair away as he breaths you in. Boy, does he like doing that.
“I don’t want us to break up.” He mumbles in the crook of your neck.
“I didn’t— God, Clark.” You sighed as your head leaned back against his in frustration.
“Drunk words are sober thoughts.” He mumbles.
You clicked your tongue, pushing him away and turning to face him. “Stop using my words against me.” You say, poking his chest harshly as he grins.
His hands find your hips. “But you’re not mad anymore, right? You.. forgive me?” Clark speaks. “We’re not gonna break up?”
You turn your head away, rolling your eyes at the fact that you were actually considering not to do it. You suck in a sharp breath as you turn your head to face him again.
“I’m not mad at you anymore, no. But we’re not..” You pause, sighing, “We’re not compatible, Clark. You’re literally Superman—“
“I’m also Clark.” He cuts you off as his thumbs rub slow, soothing, circles by your hips, “I want this with you. I want you.”
You go quiet for a moment and Clark is already mentally preparing a speech to convince you.
He doesn’t have the chance to say another word when you practically jump on him—your arms wrapping around his neck as your lips find his.
You nudge him closer, pulling his neck forward as you kiss him. Clark hugs your waist, lifting you off the ground, and your legs wrap around his hips as he walks somewhere random—his back hitting the wall, sounding an “Oof—“ into the kiss.
He turns around, making you rest your back against said wall as his head tilts sideways to give you more access into the kiss. You get off him, your feet finding the ground as he cages you between the walls.
One of your legs moves up, making him hold one of your thighs up while the other stays on the ground. You use that opportunity to grind against him, making him break the kiss—shuddering as his forehead rests on your shoulder.
Your palms find his cheeks, lifting him off your forehead. “For the record, I want you too.” You mumble hesitantly and Clark lights up at your words.
Your palm pushes his head away to the side as you get embarrassed by your own words. You part from Clark, walking away.
“Wait, noo.. Where are you goin—“
He sees you making your way back to the bedroom and doesn’t finish his sentence. “Don’t make me say it.” He hears you say as you open the door, walking in. Clark trails behind you, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.
Clark doesn’t see you upon walking in, but hears you behind him— trying to ‘attack’ him. “Shit—!” You yelp when he turns around and grabs you, carrying you, just as you were about to lunge. Your hands find his shoulder while his hands support the legs you had wrapped around his waist.
“Oh yeah. Super-hearing.” You mumble to yourself as he walks to his bed. He sits down by the edge, having you straddle him.
Clark’s hand places a loose strand behind your ear before leaning in to kiss you. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck as you rocked against him. Your pebbled nipples graze his chest and you let out a shuddered breath against his ear when you pull away.
You feel his subtle hard-on and are surprised by his length. You laughed at his reaction, kissing and continuing to rock against him as he tightens his grip around you—pulling you even closer.
However, you stop smiling when you feel him growing underneath you. “You’re a grower?” You ask, pulling away from his lips.
He tries chasing your lips, but you palm his chest, stopping him. He nods shyly at your question.
“How big are you, soft?” Clark gets more flustered by your question, looking away for a second.
“8 inches.. I think.” He answers in a quiet voice. You are visibly taken aback.
“Shit..” You let out before even realising and you feel Clark looking at you like a dejected puppy, thinking he scared you off or something. “It—It’s not a problem. I just.. Well I mean you’re big, and a grower.”
Clark’s hand caresses your hair, “We don’t have to.. you know.”
You shake your head, your eyebrows furrow. “No, I want to.. Unless you don’t—“
“I do! I— do..”
You snort before leaning in again. You take his hands that were resting on your hips and guide him under your shirt. His lips falter for a second, but your persistent lips ground his.
You grind against his erection, and you’re pretty sure your underwear is soaked in arousal. Clark’s hands are guided by yours to cup your breasts. Clark’s breath hitches at the flesh under his palm before he thumbs your pebbled nipple in slow, satisfying circles.
You break the kiss and you suck in a breath at the sensation, your mouth shaped into an O as you grind down a little harder onto him.
He peppers kisses from your jaw to your neck before you hastily take the shirt on your body off. Clark helps you, and revels at the sight of your body.
“You—You’re.. Wow.”
His hands cup your breasts, pushing the two flesh together as he kisses them. Clark’s tongue glides along your nipples before pressing open mouth kisses from your neck back down, releasing him from his grip.
As he continues to trail kisses over your neck, you randomly ask him, “Have you ever improperly used your X-Ray vision on me?”
Clark is flushed, and he stops midway. “..Well..”
“Clark!” You yelled in an accusing tone as your palm slapped his chest.
“It was never on purpose! I swear..” You eye him at his words and he stares back with a nervous, goofy smile.
You mumble a curse word under your breath as your hands reach out for the hem of his shirt, lifting it off. You unconsciously bite your lip at the sight of him, and sigh.
He grins before leaning in to kiss you, his lips trailing from your lips, down to your jaw, then your neck. He kept sucking by your neck, as if to leave a mark.
While Clark worked on your neck, your hand sneaks to the waistband of his pajama pants—sliding under them to give him a proper stroke.
Clark bites your neck when he feels your hand stroke him halfway. “Gosh— I’m so sorry.” He apologised, licking and kissing the spot he bit.
You giggle, almost evilly, as you continue to stroke him. He stops sucking, and his head drops to your shoulder, his chest heaving as his arm hugs your waist.
Clark feels your thumb trace the slit of his tip and he moans. You snicker again as you teased him—your hand around his length tightens, but you don’t move properly to give him the pleasure he needs.
His head leaves your shoulder, coming up to face you. His hand finds yours, removing your hand from underneath his pants.
He flips you over, caging you with his arms before pressing kisses down to your chest. You sigh, your hands caressing his curly hair as he makes his way down.
Clark takes a second by your chest, placing kisses by your heart as his super hearing focuses on the slow, calm rhythm of your heart beat.
Everything feels so intimate, especially to him. All he can hear is you. Your breathing, your heartbeat, the rush of your blood, and the way you breathe so lowly. And you smell, so, so, so good to him.
He feels like his Kryptonian instincts are not so far from those of a dog. He can’t stop taking in the way you smell—perfume or not.
“Supershit...” You tease him with the nickname breathlessly when you feel his index finger and middle finger move your underwear to the side, gathering your arousal with his fingers before moving to your clit—rubbing slow circles.
His ears are red. He looks up and places a kiss on your stomach before traces kisses by your inner thighs. He moves off the bed, kneeling by the edge of it as your legs prop on his shoulders—your back on the bed.
He kisses your thighs, “Good gosh— you’re..” Kiss. “..so, so..” Kiss. “..so incredible.” Kiss. “..so perfect.” Kiss.
Clark’s fingers move to the waistband of your underwear, pulling it off when you nod. Your breath shudders when you feel your arousal sticking onto the fabric of your underwear.
Clark places a kiss by your opening, then your clit. You let out breathy moans as he sucks on your clit—your hand tugging on his hair.
His middle and ring finger probes your opening and your hips twitch, grinding onto his fingers. He cheekily smiles at your want and continues sucking on your clit, one of his fingers pushing inside while your hands push his head towards your heat.
You grind against his nose when he slides in another finger; pulling out completely before nudging it deep inside you. You feel Clark’s hand exploring your insides, and he curls his fingers.
Even as quiet as you were, Clark could hear even the slightest twitch in your breathing. His finger leaves you almost completely before pushing back in, curling by that spot again. This time, a small whimper leaves your throat and Clark smiles, proud of himself.
His tongue rubs steady circles against your clit while his freehand pushes down on your lower stomach, making you squirm. He feels you tighten around his fingers at the pressure.
His hand keeps applying pressure as his tongue and his fingers work on you. The pressure he applies on your lower stomach is perfect, and you start moaning— occasionally whimpering when you bite your index finger’s knuckle.
“Clark—“ A broken moan escapes you to tell him you’re close.
But Clark knows. Of course, he does. He’s hearing the most obscene noises thanks to his power; of how wet you are inside, of how his fingers make squelching noises, the way your heartbeat intensifies. How loud you are to him compared to how much you’re actually letting out.
His mouth leaves your clit, stopping his sucking just to kiss it. “Gosh. You’re perfect to me.. Everything— Every single thing about you.” You hear him whisper, his breath grazing your clit.
You grind against his fingers, as well as the air that surrounds your clit. His mouth finds your clit again, and he mentally thanks his Kryptonian blood—for the ability to hold his breath for so long. Because Gosh, could his face stay stuffed here forever.
Oh, thanks to the super hearing, too.
You whine, and he can tell you’re so close.
He doesn’t relent. Instead, he fastens his pace. His fingers leave you almost empty before filling you again. Clark’s hand is heavier on your lower stomach now and you squirm underneath him, the hold you have on his hair, tightening.
His fingers bury deep inside you, and you let out a broken moan as you come. Your hips twitch against his hold as his fingers keep working in and out of you, faster than before.
Your head is thrown back while your freehand covers your eyes at the overwhelming feeling. When the hand he has on your stomach pulls away and presses even harder, you feel something gush out of you. Your thighs quiver before feeling something wet drip down them.
“Oh, fuck. Did I just.. fucking squirt?” You moaned, still catching your breath at the lingering sensation of your orgasm.
Clark goes quiet, almost still, and you think you’ve scared him off. You mentally laugh at the thought of him being taken aback as you squirt all over his stupid face.
You look down when he takes a little too long to answer. You see him transfixed on the sight of you, but he notices that you noticed him and quickly looks away.
You snort, struggling to sit up. Your hand leaves his hair and cups his chin to make him look up at you. “We're you X-Ray visioning me, Supershit?” You teased with a laugh.
He avoids your gaze, his hand pulling yours away by your wrist. “Don’t call me.. that.”
You laugh when you see blush creeping down his neck. You wipe off your arousal on his chin and around his mouth.
Clark gets up, and you pull him to you by his waistband, getting him to hover over your body as you move backwards. Your back hits the bed frame, as well as some pillows, and Clark reluctantly removes his pants after the comment you made about his dick.
You breathe in at the sight of him. Your hand reaches to give him a full stroke while he hovers over you. “You’re big.” You whispered, “Is this one of the reasons they call you Big Blue?”
Clark sighs at the sensation of your hands around him, his head falls as he twitches against your hold. “Stop.. being mean.” He says and you let out an airy laugh.
“I’m serious, Big Blue. It’s a compliment, I swear.” You say, an arm around his neck to pull him into a kiss. He sighs into the kiss as your other hand continues stroking him.
You pull away for a second, “Wait, didn’t you get a hard-on during one of our fights after I gave you a foot job as Clark Kent?”
Clark is taken aback by your sudden question. He bites his lip, looking suspicious and you laugh the millionth time this morning. “Don’t talk about that.” He whispers as he leans in.
He holds you by your wrist as his lips move against yours, before releasing his grip to let you move on top of him.
He sits up against the bed frame as you straddle him, your hand finding his erection. Your thumb circles the slit of his tip and he whines. You let go and hover over his length, giving him a teasing smile. He grips your hips, urging you to stop the teasing.
You give him a peck, cupping his jaw, before sinking down. You let out broken gasps at how much his length splits while Clark sucks in a sharp breath.
“F—Fffuck! Clark—“ You moan as he unintentionally pushes you down fully. Your hands grip his hair by the nape of his neck as you moan against his ear.
“O—Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry..” Clark apologises, his hands leave your hips and caresses your back up and down soothingly.
Your hips buck against his, and you part from his neck. You grind down, your clit rubbing against his lower abdomen. Your eyebrows knit together as your upper teeth bites down on your lower lip.
Clark looks at the lewd sight of you as you struggle on his cock, making him involuntarily buck up into you.
You moan—and it doesn’t help the fact he’s trying to be gentle.
“Sup—er shit—“ You whined under your breath and Clark’s eyebrows pulled together at your words, looking like a sad puppy.
“S—stop..” He frowns.
You suck in a deep breath as you move, feeling his hand slide up and down your back to support your figure. His other hand caresses your head before travelling to your jaw, pulling you into a kiss as you move up halfway along his length.
“God.. Clark. I should’ve— opted on.. missionary…” You joke, but Clark huffs with an amused smile that you still had such a mouth while struggling to take him.
And with that mouth, he’s sure you can take more. Clark flips you over, hooking your legs with his arms as he slams into you.
“Fuuck— Oh my God!” You yelled as Clark repeatedly rams into you. You think you might die halfway through, but with the little bit of energy you had, you looked down—only to see that he doesn’t even pull out fully before slamming back in—and you’re already dying under him.
Is this him being gentle?
You mentally curse yourself for forgiving this Kryptonian giant, and your head turns sideways—letting out breathy moans—as your hands fall by your head.
“Pl—Please..” Clark moans, his fingers cupping your jaw as he penetrates you, “Look at me.. Please?”
You turn your head to look at him. To think you were the only one struggling was a serious joke. When you did look at Clark properly, his chest was heaving. His mouth fell open and his eyebrows knit together in distraught.
But Clark Kent is the top ten happiest man on Earth right now. He’s completely engulfed by your entire being—completely infatuated with everything you are.
His lips travel to your tits, a hand cupping them as he sucked on the flesh. He studies your reaction as he gently nibbles on your nipples.
You tighten around him and he moans, his head falling to your shoulders, “Clark— you’re too…I’m gonna gonna—!”
“I know.. It’s okay. Gosh— Just..”
He looks down at your face, unable to contain the feeling of wanting to bury his lips into yours. He kisses you and picks up his pace, feeling your hips buck.
Clark’s abdomen continuously rubs against your clit with every thrust, and his elbow cages the sides of your head as he gently caresses your hair.
He hears your stuttering breathing against his ear, and thrusts deep inside of you; Hips bucking as he focuses on the erratic beat of your heart.
“Oh—! Mm’Clark.. Fuck, fuck, fuck—“
Just then, your legs wrap around him and you tighten around his length, locking him deep inside as you come. Your back arches, and one of his hands instinctively holds your back to support you. He penetrates you slowly through your orgasm.
He can’t help but stare at your belly, seeing the way you wrap around him so good through his X-Ray vision. He cums at the sight, his mouth falling open, “Good Gosh.. baby..”, Clark breathes, “Do you see that?”
One of his hands comes to push down on your belly, reveling at the sight. You squeeze around him again, squirming at the overstimulation. Clark feels your hand nudging his face—as if weakly trying to slap him—and he smiles.
“Stop using.. your stupid power, frickin’ perv…” You mumble and he leans in to kiss you.
You wince at the feeling of him pulling out. You feel his hand guide yours, placing it just around his neck and you sigh into the kiss.
You pull him in impossibly close, feeling his hands fall onto your waist. Clark sits you up, and you break the kiss.
The sunlight shining into the bedroom settles on him—you can’t help but adore the way he looks when your fingertips brush a curl that falls onto his forehead, to the side.
Clark holds your wrist, encouraging you. He leans into your touch; eventually leaning to kiss you again.
“I love you.” He whispers into the kiss, and you’re taken aback. You whisper his name, but your voice is drowned out when he kisses you again.
You feel Clark’s fingertips trace your spine as you pull him deeper into the kiss.
Clark begs for you to stay another night, but you tell him you think you both should slow down.
Clark almost cries at that, so you mentally roll your eyes and agree.
It’s already eleven at night, and neither of you are home yet. Clark was busy with Superhero stuff, while you got bored—so you roamed around the city for stuff to do.
By 12, you climbed in through his living room window and yelped at the sight of him—still in his Superman suit—sitting on the couch in the dark. “Dude, put a frickin’ light on!”
Clark doesn’t say anything and he stands up. He pulls out a video from the news of you running from a bank robbery, the news calling you some weird given nickname. He sizes you up, and you chuckle with faux nervousness. “That’s not me.”
He sighs and lifts you off your feet, his head buried into the crook of your neck as he breathes you in. “Baby— You’ve got t’stop doing that.”
“But that’s literally not me?”
“They gave you a nickname.”
“Alledgedly me.” You raised your eyebrows, titling your head.
Clark releases you, placing you on his kitchen counter. He unties your mask, taking it off, before his eyes involuntarily drop down to the little bit of cleavage your black suit exposes. And you notice.
Your fingers brush his hair away, “A little distracted, Big Blue?” You spoke—just above a whisper. Your hands trail down to his chest, tracing the ‘S’ on his chest before tracing the subtle outline of his abs.
Clark’s breath hitches and he reaches out, grabbing your wrist. You look up at him through your lashes and smirk.
Eventually, you feel yourself pressed against one of his walls—Clark’s chest against your back while his hips buck into you through your clothing as your breathing stutters.
His hands roam around your stomach, and you reach out for him from behind. You turn and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.
You jump and Clark catches you, your legs wrap around his waist while your fingers trace the fabric of his cape. Your other hand pulls his neck in closer and you feel the both of you lift off the ground.
Slowly, Clark flies from the living room to his bedroom. A grunt leaves your mouth when he drops you on the bed.
He hovered over you and you placed a hand on his chest, tracing the ‘S’. “God, this suit irritates me.”
Clark is genuinely offended, “Hey— I thought it looks great.” He retorts.
“My suit looks great. But I have too many bad memories with this ‘S’ on your chest, Big Blue.” You say as you poke his chest.
He chuckles and takes hold of your wrist, “Your suit does look good.” He peppers kisses from your wrist to the little bit of cleavage your suit exposes—just above the zipper of your suit. “And.. we can always make new memories with my suit.”
He kisses your knuckles and sits up, while you look at him amusedly. Your hand rests under your hands as he gets up, turns away, and dramatically turns back to you.
Clark’s cape swooshes theatrically, “Hey! I’m Superman. And you, miss, are?” His hands reach out, in expectation to shake yours.
You laugh, sitting to humour him. “I am.. someone who loves your suit.” You mock, trailing your fingers up the bicep visible through his sleeve.
Clark groans and falls onto you, making sure to not settle his whole body weight against your smaller figure, as his head buries in the crook of your neck. “Gosh.. You make this so hard.” He mumbles.
You grin, and it’s almost like he could sense it. “Not— like that.. I mean, yes, but— I.. Gosh.”
“Wow.” Your voice is fauxly amused, “That’s dirty, Superman.” You whisper.
You hear a low whine from him, telling you to quit teasing. Your back arches and his hand slithers underneath, hugging you. Clark breathes you in, fully content, while you—despite Clark not putting his full weight on you—felt suffocated by the sheer size of him.
“What’s your thing with sniffing me?” You asked as your fingertips roam around his back, tracing his cape. “Also how hard is it to get this suit off? It looks skin tight.” You casually asked, genuinely serious.
He doesn’t answer. Instead you feel his tongue on your neck before you feel his erection. “It’s not that hard to.. take the suit off.”
You breathed out a sound almost like laughter, and you felt him subtly rut into your leather shorts. “Sorry— You just smell.. really good.”
“I think it’s the.. same perfume I wore when Superman accidentally got a boner in the middle of a fight.” You say, pretending to think deeply.
Clark narrows his eyes, annoyed. But, not really.
He parts from your neck and you feel him staring at your chest before his hand moves to unzip your leather top, halfway before stopping to reveal just enough of your tits.
Clark’s head falls to your chest, breathing in once more, before sucking on an erect nipple. You sigh, grinding yourself against his abdomen.
He turns you over, laying you down on your stomach as he trails kisses around the little bit of skin the ends of your shirt exposes.
“Golly.” He mumbles when his face meets the black leather shorts that he never really noticed were this short. Your ass is lifted up in the air when his hands fumble to the button of your shorts.
“Supes’— Chill.” You speak when you feel his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to feel his boner against you.
“Sorry..” He mumbles, pulling off your shorts and trailing kisses up your thighs as his fingers tug on the waistband on your underwear, “It’s just— I can smell you. Gosh— I can hear your heartbeat too, and it’s driving me crazy.”
You feel his nose probing your entrance before you hear shuffling behind you.
Before you could register, you feel his tip gather the slickness of your arousal and you moan. Your right cheek is squished against the pillows while your hands gather the fabric of his bedsheets— and your ass instinctively grinds against the sensation.
Your suit’s top is still on, and for some reason, Clark just won’t take it off.
Clark’s palm settles on your waist, and you feel him push in. He bottoms out and your hands grip the sheets—your mouth dropping into a wide O as your eyes squeezed shut.
You feel Clark rut impatiently into you before his other hand moves the splayed hair around the back of your neck to the side. His chest is pressed against you and you feel him kiss around the back of your neck as he thrusts into you.
He slows his pace and steadies himself, his hand intertwining with yours from the back as he slips almost completely out—leaving only the tip inside of you—before pushing back in slow and slamming in deep just as he bottoms out.
“Augh—Mmpf, fucking Super.. Shit!..” You moan.
Clark kisses the side of your cheek that isn’t squished against the pillows, his mouth moves just below your ears as he continues peppering kisses.
His pace gets brutal the more you moan. But Clark is sure no one would be able to control themselves with a sight like this below them.
Broken moans leave your mouth, and Clark leaves your neck. Your top eventually rides up from the back due to Clark’s thrusts—exposing your back back to him.
“Golly.. Y’don wear— a bra under this?” He grunts as his intertwined fingers leave yours to trace the spine of your back.
“Clark—Mmph—“ Your moans are muffled into the pillows when you feel his chilly fingertips run up and down your back.
You feel his hands trail to the flesh that bounced in rhythm with his thrusts. Clark cups your (partially) clothed tits, his index finger circling your nipples.
You squeeze around him and the hand he has around your stomach tightens, pulling you forward and backwards to match his pace. Clark hisses, “Baby—“
“Clarkie— I’m gonna..” You moan, and Clark fastens his pace before you could finish your sentence, “Fuck—! Fuck, fuck fuck.” You moan into the pillow, gripping the sheets as he drives into you.
Clark’s hand grabs hold of the back of your neck as he thrusts, holding your head against the pillow. The sight of your top rolling upwards and the way the flesh of your ass ripples with every thrust is killing him. If he looked for too long, he would’ve come the second he penetrated you.
He grunts, keeping his eyes on the visible part of your face—as well as the quickened beat of your heart as you neared your orgasm. His eyes involuntarily trail to the way you suck his length in and out, strings of arousal connecting your bodies.
His eyebrows knit in distraught at the sight, his mouth hanging open as he moans. Clark slows his pace to focus on how much you suck him in before he hears your whines.
“Faster—pleasee, Cl—llark..”
He huffs out a breathless laugh and quickens his thrusts, leaving your mouth to shape out an O as incoherent moans leave your throat.
Just then, your hips roll back when he thrusts inside and you cum—gripping the bedsheets as he continues thrusting slowly, but deeply through your orgasm.
You whine when his head drops down to your neck, his hands roaming to your chest. He breathes you in and mutters what could’ve been a swear word and spills into you.
You breathlessly giggle when he swears. And he knows you’re gonna tease him for that later.
But right now, he can hear your pulse, quickening again; you getting worked up again when his cum fills you up through his deep thrusts.
He feels you squeeze around him again, and sees the mix of the arousal you both had released, dripping down your thighs as his thrusts grow sloppy, eventually stopping.
You let out a low whimper, and gasp when he pulls out. Clark keeps your ass up by holding your hips— breathing in at the sight of his cum, and some of yours, dripping slowly out of your hole and onto your thighs.
He wets his lip but halts any movement when you grunt, “I can feel you staring, perv.”
You get out of his grasp, falling back onto your back with an, “Oof—“
He still had his suit on, the very visible ‘S’ on his chest—besides his pants, which were off, obviously. Thank God anyway, you would’ve bursted out laughing if he tried to fuck you with that little red underwear looking thing still on.
You feel Clark kissing from the side of your thigh all the way up to your hips, and your hand caresses his hair. “For the record..” You say when he comes up to kiss your neck, “..I love you, too.”
Clark parts from your neck and stares at you. Before you could hear a word from him, you feel him—growing hard against the side of your left thigh.
“Oh— Clark!” You exclaim, pushing his face away with your palm in disgust. “I was trying to be romantic.”
Clark pulls you into a kiss, “Noo, it is romantic! I’m sorry— I couldn’t control it!” He says as he pulls you on top of him.
“Does the ‘S’ on your chest stand for Sex?” You ask, poking his chest. Clark doesn’t say anything, eyeing your figure like a perv again.
His fingers take hold of your zipper, and fully unzips your top, a cheeky smile plastered on his face as he does so.
so instead of saying "i would love to have sex with several of my close friends" in dms with a close friend, because that would make it a bit awkward, i instead say it here in front of like, everyone
summary: clark isn't satisfied with your introverted behavior in the office.
pairing: clark kent x reader
warnings: dark fic, dub-con, drink-tampering (basically a slow-building aphrodisiac), ooc (dark)!clark, unprotected sex, rough sex, hints of obsession, squirting, tummy bulge, he's your manager and delusional, power-dynamics, alcohol, afab!reader, reader's face flushes from consuming alcohol, slight age-gap, condescending/misogynistic/age-ist language, slight size-difference, not beta-read
wc: 4.4k
note: i haven't written something dark or CLARK in a while. so here is this fic that's been marinating in my drafts for a while <3
bigger note: please don't read if you can't handle dark content or ooc!clark. i am not responsible for the content you consume!
masterlist
---
You knew his sweet, soft personality was an act.
How could a guy who looks like that not know how hot he is?
It felt like a prize when you found out about his secret -- that Clark Kent, the soft-shelled dork from the other side of the office, was actually a huge asshole.
Since the moment you joined the company, you never went out of your way to interact with him. You were cordial and professional when you had to be, but this job was just an obstacle between you and your freedom of going home.
You could tell it irked him when you swiftly moved on from your greeting with him to meet some of the other staff. His jaw clenched beneath his forced smile, hand tensing as you pulled away from the brief handshake.
After that first day, he made an effort to make his presence known.
You didn't make it easy, though.
His friendly morning greetings -- which always included your name so you knew exactly who he was talking to -- were met with half-assed 'good morning everyone's, your eyes never leaving your PC monitor. His generous coffee runs seemed to conveniently clash with the days you decided to bring in your own tumblers of caffeine (Jimmy was grateful, though, since he got your coffee as a result). And all the times he would invite the team out for dinner, you'd always be too busy or tired to make it.
To you, this was just your typical introverted behavior.
You're used to an extroverted team manager trying to pull you out of your shell, but you've always made your intentions clear -- you're only at the company to work, not make friends. Like those past managers, you hoped Clark would eventually give up and move on from you.
It turns out that he was more committed to you than you originally thought.
---
A small tap on your desk pulls you away from your work. You already know who it is based on the subtle scent of his cologne. You look up, eyes meeting a very smiley Clark who clearly believes that what he has to say is more important than the task you were doing.
"Sorry to bother you." No, you're not. "I was just wondering if you had plans this weekend. The team is going to O'Malley's to celebrate Mike's promotion." Right, one of the interns is being brought on as a full-time employee. You knew Mike, sort of. Not enough to hold any conversation above the usual small talk.
Immediately, you search your brain for an excuse.
"Ah, I can't, I..." your eyes flick away from him as you quickly think up something convincing, "I'm going out of town to see my mom."
"Oh, that's alright." Clark nods understandingly, or at least tries to convince you that it doesn't bother him.
But then his demeanor shifts a bit as his cool blue eyes scan over the office surrounding the two of you.
Is he making sure that no one is paying attention to this conversation?
He slips his hands into his pockets, his voice lowering. "You always seem to be out of town these days." His tone is bordering on accusatory. His gaze lazily returns to you, waiting for a response. The only thing keeping his innocent persona intact is the wide-frame glasses that shield his intense stare.
You try to hide your uncomfortable shock with a small shrug, "yeah, I guess so."
"Maybe next time."
"Maybe."
---
After successfully dodging his invitation, you decide that you deserve to spend a lazy weekend at home -- which is exactly how you usually spend your weekends anyway. A warm, comfy sofa, a bottle of wine, and a show playing in the background while you scroll through your phone. Perfect Saturday plans.
Unfortunately, after repeating this routine for many Saturdays in a row, you're out of your usual wine and snacks. With how exhausted work leaves you at the end of the week, you decide to leave the warmth of your apartment after a quick rest.
You walk to a nearby corner store, one you're a regular at. Roaming the familiar aisles, you pick up an item here and there, building your late-night munchie list as you go. As you're choosing your wine for the night, you feel a presence at your side.
"Thought you were out of town." You turn to see a casually dressed Clark holding a six-pack of beers by his side. He looks even bigger in his plain T-shirt and jeans, the cotton fabric stretching over the broadness of his shoulders.
You're suddenly conscious of the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you're wearing. None of your coworkers have seen what you normally wear outside of work, and that's on purpose. Being on the younger side, you want to be taken seriously at work, so you always wear professional clothing.
"Um, my mom cancelled on me." You place a random bottle of red in your basket, purposefully covering up the small pack of Minecraft gummies you (stupidly) decided to try.
Luckily, Clark doesn't seem too interested in your basket as his gaze stays steadily on your face. It seems the gentle persona he usually wears at the office fades away when he's no longer in work mode.
"Yeah?" He doesn't seem convinced, but lets it go.
"Yup." Your hands squeeze the handles of the shopping basket. "So what brings you to this side of town..."
"Same as you, I assume," he gestures to the wine you haphazardly picked out, "merlot fan?"
"Uh, yeah," you glance at the bottle, "it's, uh, a good one."
"If you like merlot, you should've picked out this one," he smoothly walks a few steps away and pulls out a more expensive bottle. He holds it out, and you feel like you have no other choice but to take it from him. "Let me know how it tastes."
"Sure." Your attempt to take the bottle is stopped when he refuses to let go.
"Better yet, why don't we try it together?" His dimpled smile is charming, but not enough to quell your suspicions.
"Together? Like tonight?"
"No time like the present." You pull at the bottle with a bit more force, and he finally lets go.
"Maybe another time." You carefully place the pricey wine next to your cheaper choice. Your basket is now two times heavier.
"You sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" A hint of defensiveness rings through your tone.
"You know, Perry has been worried about you." He clicks his tongue. "Since you haven't been to any of the team outings, he thinks you aren't getting along with the others."
This is news to you.
You've tried hard to stay under the radar -- friendly enough at the office that you wouldn't be suspected of staying home during company get-togethers.
"Really? But there haven't been any issues..."
"I heard he might move you to a different department if something doesn't change soon."
"Why would he--"
"You're a hard worker, but part of being in a department is teamwork," he explains, speaking to you as if he's some kind of mentor. The vague condescension grates on you.
"Fine." You relent. "I'll try the wine with you."
---
Despite your refusals, he ended up paying for the high-end wine, claiming it's his treat since he was the one who picked it out in the first place. You awkwardly paid for the rest of your items, watching as the clerk took his time putting everything into a plastic bag.
Clark's apartment is closer to the store than you realized. You're surprised that you haven't run into him sooner. The elevator takes you up to the top floor, where Clark leads you to the apartment at the end of the hall. You start to wonder just how much he gets paid for his monthly interviews with Superman.
"Make yourself at home." He puts his beers in the fridge and goes to a cabinet to grab some wine glasses.
"Um, okay." You nervously sit at the edge of his sofa, placing your plastic bag full of junk food on the carpet next to you.
"Here." You're handed a glass of the merlot before he takes a seat next to you. "Try it." He watches you take a tentative sip and only takes his own once you've swallowed.
The wine coats your tongue with a savory richness that speaks for its high price.
Okay fine, you'll admit that this one is pretty good.
"So?" Clark asks with a smug smile. Instead of responding, you take another, larger sip. "See? I told you."
"It's alright." You shrug, setting the now half-empty glass on the coffee table in front of you. "So about what Perry said--"
"What, you want to talk about work?"
"I mean, that's the reason why we're here, isn't it?"
Clark nods noncommittally before placing his glass next to yours, "Am I not cool enough to just hang out with?"
"Hang-out? No…This has nothing to do with how cool you are, Kent."
"Do you think I haven't noticed how you've tried to avoid me?" Clark smiles as his deep blue eyes bore into yours. That friendly expression that he often wears at the office is so clearly a farce in this setting.
"I haven't been avoiding you." You mumble as you start to redirect your gaze so you don't feel so pressured under his stare. He sighs and places his hand gently underneath your chin to make you look up at him. The warmth from his fingers spreads against your jaw and you're starting to think that the wine is heading straight for your brain.
"See?" His tone is that of an owner softly disciplining their favorite pet, "You can't even look at me for more than a few minutes."
You pull your face away from his hand.
"Eye contact just makes me uncomfortable..." You pick up your glass again, if only to give your hands -- and your eyes -- something to do. The distance doesn't seem to bother him, but you can see a crack within his blase attitude as he hesitates to settle back to his original spot on the couch.
"You'll have to get over that if you want to be head reporter at the Planet."
Great, you've summoned the manager within him.
You take a sip while Clark starts rattling off reporter tips. Somewhere between his advice on interviews and making sources feel comfortable, it hits you that he still doesn't know. After all this time -- after every conversation, every attempt he's made to get to know you -- he still thinks you want to be a reporter. One of those prying nerds who salivates at the chance to hear Superman's voice with their own ears. The kind of reporter always chasing the next juicy piece of gossip to slap on the front page.
You don't though. You want to be an editor.
Less interviewing. Less charm. Less him.
You've always hoped that one day you'd be holed up in an office of your own with the only interaction between you and Clark being a few emails now and then.
The wine sends a pleasant tingle through your body, warmth spreading from your core, gliding over your limbs, and finally sparking at your fingertips. His voice drifts into the background, and at some point you realize you've stopped sitting so stiffly, your body relaxing into the couch beside him.
The more you drink, the less attention you give to the conversation. You've found that you enjoy looking at his face more than listening to his attempts to assert his superiority for being a front-page journalist.
You feel the warmth of his thigh press against yours. With every refill, he's gotten closer to your side, but it wasn't noticeable until now.
After finishing the last drop in your glass, you look over at him and find that he's already looking at you.
His blue eyes are glazed as he studies your face.
When did he stop talking?
"What?" Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, almost like you didn't mean to say it out loud.
"Your face looks hot," he says it so casually you almost miss it -- but when it registers, your heart skips a beat.
"Um…hot?"
"Do you get the alcohol flush?" His lips curve into a lazy smile.
Oh. Hot -- as in temperature.
You glance back down at your nearly empty glass, oddly disappointed by the clarification.
"Yeah, sometimes."
He lets out an amused huff of laughter. "You thought I was talking about how pretty you are?" The bluntness of it lands like a punch to the gut.
How pretty you are… he thinks you're pretty?
"What? No," you reply quickly, your face suddenly warmer than the wine could ever make it.
"You sure?" His fingers skim your jaw before resting there, warm against your skin. The touch is light enough that you could pull away, but somehow that makes it harder to. When you don't move, his thumb traces the faintest arc beneath your cheek. "I thought you'd be a little more observant with how quickly Perry brought you onto the team…" His voice is soft, but the words sting.
You roll your eyes at the condescending remark.
Whatever little flutter his accidental compliment caused is promptly buried beneath irritation.
It's nothing new. Being a young woman in an office means hearing offhand remarks like that often enough.
Though this is the first time you've had a man say it directly to your face.
His grip tightens. "Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"You never stand up for yourself. You just let people spew bullshit and go on with your day."
So he's noticed how the other guys talk about you in the break room, their voices carrying whenever you happen to walk by. He's known about it this whole time and done nothing.
And now he's lecturing you about standing up for yourself?
What a manager…
You look away, suddenly tired of the conversation.
"I don't know. What's it going to change anyway?"
"Look at me." The softness in his voice catches you off guard. "You never... look at me."
You meet those intense blue eyes, now fully revealed without the glasses. He must have taken them off at some point, and you hadn't even noticed.
Why hadn't you noticed?
He looks familiar, but something about him feels completely different -- the darkness in his eyes, the bite behind his words. None of it feels like the man you're thinking of.
"Why should I?" You challenge him, pulling away from his touch as your hazy mind finally catches up to the position you're in. "It's just a job. You're just a coworker -- You're my supervisor. Can't you and everyone else just let me live peacefully?"
"It seems like more than just a job, sweetheart." His eyes drag slowly over your figure, taking in the sweats you'd thrown on for your late-night shopping trip.The scrutiny makes you feel exposed, even though you're fully covered. He pinches the extra fabric of your hoodie between his fingers. "I mean, look at you. You don't exactly look like someone with a busy social life."
"And you do, Kent?" you retort.
"That's it. Fight back." He grins, his pretty dimples at odds with the cruel twist of his smile.
The sudden pause pulls you out of the stifling tension between you. Your eyes land on the empty wine bottle sitting on the coffee table, and you realize there's nothing keeping you here anymore.
You straighten in your seat, "I think I should get going."
Clark doesn't move.
"Got someone waiting for you at home?" he asks as though he already knows the answer.
"It's late."
"It is."
"I think we've drunk too much tonight."
"I'm not drunk."
He's right. He looks perfectly sober, if a little worked up from the argument.
Meanwhile, the wine has left your head hazy, making it harder to think clearly.
You try to push yourself up, but your body feels strangely heavy. Something has settled deep into your limbs, turning even the simple act of standing into an effort.
"I heard that you're a lightweight, but this is a bit much, isn't it?"
"I'm fine."
"You can barely stand."
You glare at him, but the effort of pushing yourself upright only makes your head swim harder. Your knees wobble, and you instinctively reach for the back of the couch. Clark catches your arm before you can stumble, pulling you against his body as his hands settle around your waist to steady you.
"See?"
Something is wrong.
"What…?" Your body isn't listening to you. Your limbs feel disconnected, like they belong to someone else. The room seems strangely distant, and for a moment you feel like you're watching yourself from somewhere outside your own body. "Kent."
"It's Clark." A hand spreads over the back of your thigh, gently massaging your body through your clothes as he pulls you closer. Even through your clothes, you can feel the warmth of his body. Desire pulses through you in uneven waves, each one fading only long enough to warn you to pull away.
The scent of his cologne settles around you, masculine and distracting. You feel weak against him.
"What did you do?" You ask softly.
Your hand lands on his chest, but you can't muster enough energy to push him away. The muscles beneath his shirt tighten under your touch, and he leans closer, as if inviting you to feel more of him.
"Looks like it's finally kicking in…"
—
Kissing him isn't supposed to feel good.
It isn't supposed to make you melt against his body as he presses you down against the couch. It isn't supposed to make you tilt your head and chase his lips when he pulls away for air. And you definitely aren't supposed to pull him closer, guiding his hands underneath your hoodie as if you want him there.
But the heat coursing through you smothers every logical thought before it can take hold.
His large hands cup over your tits, squeezing them greedily as he captures your lips once more. You try desperately to hold back your moans, but your breath stutters when his thumbs flick over your sensitive nipples.
You can feel his erection throbbing through his jeans. It presses against your stomach as he deepens the kiss.
Clark pulls away, staring down at your flushed cheeks and glistening eyes with a satisfied look on his face. With every heated kiss, eager grope, and dulled moan, the fire within has burned hotter. Now, your body is begging for a release.
"I thought you hated me." He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. This would almost be romantic if Clark wasn't such a delusional freak.
"I do." Your voice comes out weak and breathy.
"You keep saying that," he says quietly, "but you're still kissing back."
"Because I'm hot, Clark."
"I know you are," he says smugly, "let me help you cool down." His hands slide to the hem of your hoodie, pushing it up just enough to expose your torso before one slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. "Didn't realize you get so wet for someone you hate." He teases, feeling the mess you've made of yourself.
"Fuck you." You breathe out as his fingers slide through your folds.
The words seem to piss him off because he isn't gentle when he pushes two fingers inside of you. Luckily, whatever pill he slipped into your drink already has you dripping down your thighs.
The stretch is immediate and has you gripping onto his arm to slow him down, but he ignores your pleading touch and starts pumping his fingers into your hole. The squelching sound has you burying your face against his shoulder, embarrassed of your body.
"Look at how easily you fall apart from me." He taunts. Your mouth gapes open as he reaches the soft spot within you, prodding at it incessantly until your thighs squeeze around his wrist.
An unfamiliar ache builds between your legs, something intense.
"Wait, s-something…" The angle of his fingers thrusting into you becomes too much.
"Are you gonna cum around my fingers, baby?" His blue eyes drink you in and his hand speeds up, wanting to push your limits.
A broken moan is forced out of your throat as your climax hits. Ecstasy ripples over your body and your eyes roll back from the intensity. You feel your stomach tighten before you realize what's happening and you can feel yourself drench your panties.
Pretty stars dot your vision as you come back to yourself.
Or are those tears?
"You made a mess of your sweatpants, honey." You feel him drag them down, but you don't have the energy to lift your hips to help him. He lets you recover a bit, using the pause to take off his shirt and unbutton his jeans.
You're breathing hard and you wish you could just go to sleep, but an itching arousal within you persists.
He pulls himself out of his boxers, pumping himself lazily as his eyes wander over your half-covered body.
"You're so pretty, you know?" A hand pushes your hoodie up to reveal your chest, "Everything about you is pretty. Your handwriting, your voice, your eyes, your pussy..."
He leans over you, kissing down your chest before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Your body arches against his mouth, your fingers now finding their way into his curls.
He grasps at your other tit before moving down to languidly caress over your stomach and hips. This time he is taking it slow, working you up with his mouth and hands like a lover would do.
But slow is the last thing you need right now.
You pull at his hair, impatient.
"What are you waiting for?" You groan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his lower body onto yours.
A sharp pinch at your nipple makes you gasp. Did he just bite you?
"Be patient." He scolds, though he doesn't seem to mind the feeling of your wet cunt against the underside of his cock. He pushes himself between your folds, using your slick to easily move against you. His hips roll slowly as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the bud teasingly.
"Please, I-I need something."
"What do you need, baby?" he asks softly, as though he doesn''t already know the answer. His mouth has moved up to your throat, painting the delicate skin with suckled marks.
You shake your head, refusing to verbalize it.
"I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong." You can feel his lips smile against your heated skin.
"Clark -- Fuck." The blunt head of his cock teases at your entrance, and your desperate cunt flutters for more. "Please, just put it in."
"Like this?" He finally gives in, pushing into you gently so your body can open up for him. Blood rushes to your head as you feel him drag against your tender walls, forcing you to stretch out around him.
"Oh." The size is nothing like you've experienced before. It fills you up so fully that you're unable to escape the overwhelming sensation of his cock finally bottoming out.
"Feel good?" Clark keeps himself pressed inside of you, letting you struggle with the intensity of being filled so completely.
"So big."
"I know, sweetheart. I can see myself right here…" He groans, pressing a hand over your lower stomach, "Too much for you, hm?" Clark pulls out, slowly, watching as each inch of him leaves your body. He doesn't waste time pushing back into you until your thighs start shaking around him.
"Move -- Please, just move."
Clark pulls out for a second to push your knees against your chest, positioning you into a mating press. When he reenters your body, his cock hits your sweet spot even easier with the new angle.
His hips snap against yours, forcing you to take all of him with every thrust. His pace speeds up as your moans start to flow out of you, the couch squeaking with every harsh move.
"It's like you were made for me." Clark pants, pushing through your slickened walls. "Weren't you?"
"I-I…"
Your answer doesn't quite satisfy him.
"Weren't you?" He tries again, burying himself inside of you until the head of his cock nudges the deepest parts of you. It's so intense that you wish you could tap out, but all you can do is take it. You start losing yourself in a heady mix of intoxicating sensations.
"Yes." You rasp out, head tilted back as you reel against the pressure. This time, you seem to say the right thing. Clark starts fucking into you again, lower body smacking against yours as he feeds you his cock.
Your cunt starts sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, frantically clinging onto anything as your body starts to lose itself to pleasure.
His cock stays so deep within you that he's basically grinding against your clit with each thrust. You can't help the whimper that escapes you when he prods against your g-spot, almost feeling him in your stomach.
"Clark!" You can feel the pulsing of his cock within you -- all because you said his name. That's all it takes to have you rushing towards another climax.
"Already?" He can feel you tremble around him as he pushes into you.
"I c-can't–" The walls of your cunt start to tighten around him, throbbing insistently as he continues his vigorous thrusts.
You felt it coming, but you weren't expecting how overwhelming it would be. Heat vibrates through your body as your vision whitens, disorienting all your senses at once. You could barely feel the way your whole body tenses, muscles straining in exhaustion.
His hips stutter right against you and warmth shoots into you several times, completely painting your insides. He continues to move inside of you with small thrusts. You're so full that it starts to drip out -- down the sides of his cock and onto the couch.
"Fuck," You groan, "I'm not on the pill."
"Good." He nuzzles his face against your sweaty neck. The weight of his body rests on top of yours. You listen to his breaths start to slow. He doesn't seem to care about how sticky you are, or the fact that he still hasn't pulled out.
You look over at your bag of forgotten snacks.
You were supposed to be eating those.
Instead, you're covered in sweat, your pants somewhere on the floor, and Clark is still holding you like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
𑄹 about: when you ask your girlfriend to get rough, and she says no despite telling you she wants to, you decide to take matters into your own hands and get what you want.
𑄹 wc: 4.2k
𑄹 warnings: smut! mdni! brat!reader, dom!kara, sub!reader, a little bit of mean!kara, slight arguing, spanking, public manhandling, private manhandling, just lots of kara moving you how she wants to, edging, fingering, strap use, lil' bit of a praise kink (if you squint), hair-pulling for two seconds, and use of pet-names
𑄹 an: thank you lovely anon for the inspiration. as always slightly proofread and may feel a tad ooc. hope you enjoy!
You can’t wait for today to end. You woke up late, the overworked and underpaid production assistant on set got you the wrong coffee twice, and your scene partner keeps butchering his lines. You’re trying to be polite, and not lose your cool, but shooting is dragging on.
And all you want is Kara. Your attentive, funny, and loving girlfriend. Kara who can quell any discomfort in a matter of moments, so much so that each member of your team has her on speed-dial just in case.
You met her due to Clark, the one Daily Planet reporter you actually enjoy giving the scoop to, and watched with curious eyes as she failed to recognize you. Like at all. She had looked at you like you were just another person, and not the very famous actor that you were, and that’s all it had taken for you to beg her for her number and a date.
Not that Kara didn’t return your interest of course, because here you are a year and a half later, very happy. She’s charming, confident, and wonderful. Her hectic schedule works with your hectic schedule, she doesn’t care for the glamour of your life, and when your day sucks her hands, oh so gentle and grounding, make it all go away.
And despite your tendency to like things a little rougher, for a while that was enough, after all you also like to be worshipped, and god does Kara worship you. She’s never met your tendency to be high maintenance as anything but a challenge. She enjoys it, being the one to have her arm around you, opening your doors as people shout for a second of your attention.
Then you found out she was Supergirl, and things changed. The first time you watched her take down a villain with such force that it only took two moves, only to toss the camera a cocky grin, you couldn’t help but wonder where that side of Kara was in your relationship.
You tried to let it go, thinking perhaps that she needed something gentle given her line of work, but that petulant side of you still can’t help but want Kara to be rough with you. And today, your shitty shitty day, is going to be your breaking point.
Made even more worse when you open up your front door to see that she’s wearing that white t-shirt you like her in. It’s because it’s hot, and she’s a furnace, but the thin material has a habit of wrapping around her biceps in a way that shows them off to you without even trying.
“Hey.” She calls, turning down the tv as she does, “I got us takeout. I figured we both had a long day so…”
You hum as you impatiently remove your shoes. The minute they’re off you’re going and depositing yourself into her lap. She welcomes you of course, hands coming to rest gingerly against your back.
“That bad of a day?” She inquires with a tilt of her head.
“Yes.” You grumble as you lean into kiss her. Kara responds, kissing you back sweetly, until you’re breaking away for air. Your hands wrap greedily into white fabric. “Need you please.”
You know she won’t deny you, because she never does, and she doesn’t, shifting you so you’re laying across the couch and she’s looming over you. “My pleasure.” She teases you as she meets your lips again.
Her kisses are soft like clouds. Her lips always using just enough force to show you her want, but never enough to make your lips feel swollen. Her tongue dances in the inside of your mouth, inquisitive like it’s a guest, but it never demands a home. Her hands roam your sides likes she’s tracing your outline. Always there, always exploring, but never taking. And god do you want her to take.
“Harder.” You plea between her kisses, and you feel her muscles tense.
She adds just a sliver more pressure, and you can tell that she hesitates to do even that. So instead you take her biceps and squeeze. She sighs into your mouth and you think you’ve won. Her fingers finally making their way down to your waistband.
But she doesn’t put more weight on you, and her fingers are kind in their ministrations. She never pinches just a tad, never stretches too much.
“Kara...”
“What do you need honey?” Her voice so loving it makes you wanna break. Because you love her, god you really do.
“Harder.” You pout, voice breathy as she continues to give you pleasure.
“Harder what?” She questions, drawing away a little to look at you, blonde hair falling to tickle your cheeks.
“Everything!” You say. You see the hesitation in her gaze and groan, head slamming back into the couch. “I’m not made of glass.” You whimper.
She’s rubbing circles against your hips now, but they’re soft and reassuring. “I know.” She defends. “I just…” Her eyes close for a moment. “I just don’t want to hurt you okay? If I lose control for even a moment and I’m too rough I’d… I don’t want to do that to you.”
“You won’t hurt me Kara.” You refute.
“I don’t now because I’m careful.” She replies. You stare up at her. “Now please let me help you feel good.” She kisses your lips again and again, fingers returning to their job.
But it’s not enough, it doesn’t feel like enough, and you groan moments later. She sighs.
“Just relax.” She says. “You’re thinking too much.”
You want to scoff at her, but instead you just push her back. She complies with her eyes wide in surprise, and that makes you even angrier. “I’m not in the mood anymore.” You mutter.
Her mouth opens a tad. “Really?” She asks.
“Really.” You say as you move to stand, but she sighs and stops you.
“Alright. What do you want?” She asks.
“I want you to stop holding back.” You insist. “Don’t you want that?” You watch her expression, waiting for any sign that she doesn’t but none comes.
“Of course I do.” She replies honestly. “But I can’t, and you know that.”
“You pull your punches with bad guys. What’s the difference?” She scoffs at you now.
“The difference is that they’re bad guys and you’re my girlfriend, and that I don’t care if I hurt them but I do care if I hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me Kara.” You repeat. “I trust you!”
You can tell she’s fighting some internal battle within as she stares at you. “With you I don’t always think straight. I could quite literally squash you if I’m not careful enough! So I’m not risking it. I’m sorry love.”
“Fine.” You fire back. “I’m going to go shower.”
“Come on—” You hear her call after you, but you don’t respond.
Kara curses under her breath and sinks back into the couch. You’re brilliant, kind, and humble despite your fame. It’s what makes Kara love you. But she also knows you’re demanding at times, and she likes that. So when she finally comes to bed and you’re still not speaking to her she knows she’s going to have to grovel a little.
For the next week Kara does everything you like as an apology. She understands why you’re upset. Kara knows you tend to like someone a little more in control since the third time you slept together. She thought she could make it up to you by worshipping you instead.
So she gets you your favourite flowers, and delivers your favourite lunch to set, she even offers to go to an event with you which she normally avoids. Her hands, although never wavering in their softness, are always on you. As if she can make up for it by doubling down on how much she adores you.
None of it works. You’re sulky. And you know it isn’t fair. You know where she’s coming from, you understand she only wants to make sure you don’t get hurt, but knowing she wants it too but is to afraid to follow through makes you frustrated.
So for the next week you dig your heels in the ground, and so does Kara. A battle of wills that’s driving you both crazy.
You watch as she lets go while fighting and then comes home to you with gentle hands. She showers you with gifts, does everything she knows you like. She reassures you again and again that she wants you, and that as much as she wants to give you what you want, that she simply can’t risk hurting you.
She watches as with every refusal your demanding nature increases. Your ever constant touches that help her relax become fewer, you don't thank her for making dinner the way you usually do, you begin to demand she do things for you without your normal pleases and soft kisses of gratitude.
And in return you watch as her steady replies become a bit more agitated, and she works a little harder to keep her cool. After all, Kara and you have rules. Mutual rules to ensure your relationship works. You always text each other if you’ll be out, you both try to be home at a reasonable hour, and you never ignore each other’s texts all day unless something comes up that you’ve communicated prior.
Kara texts you on your lunch that she wants to stay in tonight and make you your favourite dinner, another attempt at a peace offering, and you decide right then and there to push her final button. You don’t text her back, and instead go out with your friends, without telling her.
You know it’s risky, the minute it’s announced you’re showing at the party there’s a crowd waiting outside for you, but you just can’t help it. You expect for it to take time, Kara’s not glued to her phone like you are, but you’re two drinks deep in and barely buzzed when she calls you.
You let it go to voicemail, only for the immediate text, where are you.
Out having fun.
I thought I mentioned making you dinner.
Must have missed it. Just put it in the fridge. I’ll be back late.
A piece of you feels a little bad for pushing her this much, but you also know if it really upset her that she’d tell you, Kara’s not shy about being blunt.
Come home now.
Make me.
And with that you slip your phone into your pocket and return to dancing with your friends. It doesn’t take that long for her to show, not that you thought it would, her hand wrapping around your elbow. When you turn to face her you hesitate, because Kara is wearing one of your favourite outfits. Black collared shirt rolled up to her elbows.
“Let’s go.” She says. She begins to move but stops when she feels you plant your feet.
“I’m having fun.” You argue. “I’m staying.” You shake her off of you, and Kara has to breathe deeply through her nose.
“I know you’re upset.” She whispers. “And we will talk about this at home.” She kisses your head and lets her hand slide around to the small of your back. She’s still trying so hard to be gentle with you.
Again, you merely shake her off, and she can feel her patience running thin. “I’m staying. I’ll get Jim to take me home when I’m done.”
You begin to turn to go back to your friends, but suddenly your chin is between her fingers and she’s squeezing your cheeks. You feel the sparks in your skin as she does it, but Kara’s too frustrated to notice the way you almost lean into her touch.
“We’re going home. Don’t make me carry you out, because we both know you don’t want the paparazzi to see that.”
You debate, because you’re buzzed enough to lose just a little bit of your reasoning without having to be drunk, and you know in a way she’s right. You don’t want the nightmare of that showing up on the front page of some gossip magazine, but you want to rile her up just a little more.
“You wouldn’t dare.” You say with a raise of your eyebrow as you call her bluff.
You expect that perhaps she’ll drag you out by the elbow, but you really don’t think she’ll actually carry you out. In one swift movement she tosses you over her shoulder, and your eyes widen. You see everyone around you stop with their eyes wide too, and your face grows hot when they begin to pull out their phones.
“I get it.” You say so lowly only she can hear. “Let me down.”
“No it’s way too late for that.” She hisses. Your friends are merely chuckling as Kara continues to carry you through the crowd. You begin to slap her back a little, swearing at her under your breath, and demanding she puts you down.
She doesn’t. In fact she merely shifts her grip so it’s tighter around your legs. You expect her to let you down when you get to the exit, to save you the embarrassment of the cameras, and you kick her as if to make your point that she has to, but she doesn’t. She merely carries you past all the people calling for autographs and the near constant flash of the cameras.
“Kara!” You chastise, but it doesn’t deter her. She’s fed up beyond her usual composure now as she opens your car door. She plops you down into the car and you yelp.
“Home Jim.” She demands as she slides in beside you.
“Yes ma’am.” Jim says, and you can see the man gulp at the brewing tension in his backseat.
The ride back to your house is silent, and when Jim parks Kara sighs and opens the door. She gets out easily, and waits.
You however don’t budge. You cross your arms and refuse. Jim’s eyes widen. “Ma’am?” He asks in confusion.
Kara’s staring at you with wide eyes. Because never has she seen you act so bratty before. But here you are sulking in the back seat of your drivers car, refusing to move, and Kara has to clench her jaw to hold herself back.
She closes her side of the car, goes around to yours, opens it, and you yelp when she grabs you. “Hey!” You complain.
But she’s throwing you back over her shoulder. And blood rushes back to your head, but Kara doesn’t care. She closes the door with her foot.
“Sorry about that Jim, have a good night.”
“Kara!” You snap as your hands pound her back. “You can’t do this!” She doesn’t let up. “Let me down!” You kick your feet. You know nothing you do will actually hurt her just annoy her, and you’re so close to getting what you want.
“Stop now.” She warns.
“You can’t carry me like a child!” You protest. “Kara!” She still doesn’t let you down as you enter the house. “God! Let me down! You had no right to drag me from that party! You aren’t the boss of me!”
And that’s when Kara snaps. Her hand collides with where your thighs meet your ass. She doesn’t do it hard enough to really hurt you, but for a moment her restraint falters, and she’s harsher than she means to be.
Your heart rate only picks up with excitement, and she grits her teeth. She lets you down on wobbly feet in your bedroom. You instantly kick off your heels with a groan. You’re about to turn on her in anger, but she doesn’t let you, taking your elbows and bringing you back against her chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She murmurs lowly in your ear.
“I’m allowed to go out and have a fun night aren’t I?” You push. “You’re over-reacting.” You say it so dismissively that Kara feels shock move through her. God you really are intent on pushing her…
“Take off your clothes.” She says plainly, letting go of your elbows.
Kara of course knows what you like, you had explained to her your limits in detail when you started dating in the hopes that doing so would open the door for that kind of sex. And she knows that you know the safe word if you need out. Usually it’s reserved for when she wants to remain with her head buried between your knees, but today…
“What?” You say as you begin to turn, but she stops you by grabbing your hair.
“Take off your clothes now.” She demands as she begins to take her own clothes off.
You feel your heart hammering, but you do. But slowly, as if to tease her just one last time, but Kara has other ideas as she pushes you down on the bed. She’s climbing down over you a moment later. “You fucking brat.” She mutters. “I buy you flowers, I offer to go to that event with you, and I cook your favourite very time consuming dinner despite having a very bad day fighting some fucker. I try even though all week you’ve been nothing short of rude.”
“Kara—”
“And now you go out, break our rules—”
“Rules?” Your eyebrows shoot up challengingly.
You expect her to clench her jaw, like normal, but what you don’t expect is her hand to come down on your thigh hard. Your body is buzzing now. She’s finally letting lose, and you’re grinning up at her smugly. Which pushes the last of Kara’s restraint out the window. She brings her hand down again. “You’re going to wish you didn’t push.” She warns.
“Am I?” You taunt. “You going to make me regret my attitude baby?”
Her lips reach down to kiss yours, again feather light, and it makes you groan. “I mean that’s what you want right?” She whispers as her lips find your neck. “Is for me to be rough?”
You’re about to respond when she bites down a little, and instead of crying out you merely arch up into her, and you certainly don’t refute her.
“Fine.” She says, and reaches over. You watch her slip the strap around her waist, your heart thudding with anticipation. She waits a moment for you to tell her no, but you continue to stare up at her with a clear challenge in your gaze.
She’s manhandling you, easily, around and onto your stomach. Her hand comes down on your ass, and you whimper. She studies the red imprint making sure it’s not too red, and then does it again.
“Ow!” You complain. “Kara—”
“I can stop if you really don’t want this.” You gulp, and remain quiet, and that makes her bring her hand down again, and again. And god does it feel good to let go like this, like all her pent up stress from her damn job and her stupid cousin, and having to listen to fucking Guy all week is coming out.
She slows when she can feel your body tense a little too much, and rubs circles into your back as you breathing steadies. “Wanna apologize to me for your behaviour princess?”
“No.” You snap, and it makes her flip you back over, a hiss escaping your lips as your ass makes contact with the sheets.
Her eyes widen when she sees just how wet you really are. “God you’re so needy.” She says as she runs her fingers across you. You feel your throat bob and on instinct you go to shut your legs, but her jaw ticks and she’s pushing your thighs apart. “Don’t get shy now.”
“Is that all you—”
She pushes two fingers into you, and you buck up into her instantly, moan slipping from your mouth. “Bet you could finish with one of my fingers you’re so desperate.” You feel your cheeks get hot at her words, and you twist your face to the side, but she instantly reaches up and grabs your chin again. “No. You’re going to watch this. You wanted this after all.”
You’re about to egg her on even more, but the minute she feels your jaw open a tad she’s plunging a third finger into you. “Fuck.” You whine, and her grip on your cheeks squeeze.
“Is that how you should speak to me honey?” She questions. “How about a thank you for filling me so good Kara?”
Your chest is heaving, and you can feel yourself clench around her fingers as she hooks them in the way you swear only Kara knows how to. But you just grin up at her, not ready to stop being defiant with her yet.
“You call this full?” You say, and you see her eyes flicker and she removes her fingers just as you begin to feel yourself getting close. You hold back your groan, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. She watches as your breathing evens out, and then pushes one finger back in.
You bite your lip hard and try to squirm into her, but her hand slips from your chin to your neck, and you feel dizzy with delight as her fingers wrap around your throat as she once again adds two more of her fingers. “Ask me politely and maybe I’ll give you what you want.” She says, fingers starting to circle your clit.
You let her continue to work you up. “You’ll give me what I want, because you never say no.” You murmur. She yanks her fingers out again. Now you can’t help but whine, and she laughs.
“I’m sorry, did you want something?” She coos at you.
You’re about to reply to her, for real this time, but she pushes all three fingers back in all at once up to her knuckle causing you to moan even louder than before. “Kara!” You beg. Your head feels so deliciously heavy as she pushes you further than ever before.
She works you up to the edge again, before yanking away for a fourth time, your chest heaving. “You know what I want to hear princess.” She says evenly. You look up at her with tears dotting the edges of your eyes. “You can’t even say six little words?”
“Please—”
She slaps your thigh, again, but pins you down as you try to lift up to escape the contact. “Not the right words. Come on, be my good girl, and I’ll give you the strap. I know that’s what you want right? Is for me to take what’s mine?”
You can’t bear to look at her. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, trying to escape the intensity of her gaze.
She tsks and brings her hand down again, making you mewl, and gives you a look. “Try that again.” She says evenly, fingers still rubbing circles over your clit.
With a little huff you meet her eyes and say, “I’m sorry for being a brat.” She grins down at you.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t quite hear that.” She says, and waits for you to open your mouth, before finally sinking the strap into you in one fluid motion. Due to her hands pinning down your hips your back arches, almost painfully.
“I’m sorry for being a brat Kara, please, please let me cum.”
“Finally there’s my good girl.” She murmurs, and leans down to kiss your lips, this time rough and demanding as she sets a pace that makes your eyes screw shut. Her lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, and then to your neck.
You push your face towards hers, wanting her lips back on you, but she doesn’t give you what you want. “Kara!” You whimper, eyes glassy.
“If you want something just ask.” She taunts. You want to get angry with her over that quip, because you did ask her over a week ago, but the way she’s fucking you makes you so warm and tingly that you can’t find the words.
“Kiss me please.” You ask softly. She does, tongue slipping into your mouth, and finally commanding it. You can feel your orgasm approaching fast, and so can Kara, because she knows you.
“Ask me.” She breathes.
“Please let me cum Kara, please!” Your hands are digging into her back as you push her even closer to you, but it just makes her groan. Your voice is high and whiny in a way that makes her see stars.
“Cum for me pretty girl.” She murmurs as her teeth tug on your earlobe. “Show me how much you need me.”
You don’t need to be told twice, and Kara feels herself join you. Despite her own exhaustion she helps you ride both of your climaxes until she’s sure you’re both done. You’re both panting as Kara settles down onto of you, the weight nice. Her kisses turn gentle again as she meets your lips.
“So good.” She murmurs. “So so good.” She kisses your cheeks and it makes you giggle, as her hands come to squeeze your hips playfully.
“Thank you.” You whisper as finally she peels herself off of you to go run you two a bath.
“You won’t be a brat again right?” She asks as she discards the strap from her hips.
You grin up at her. “On the contrary.” You tease. “I think I’ll be a brat more often.”
Contains: SMUT, g!p, Sheriff!Cait x Pervert!enforcer!reader, fem!reader, wlw, dom!cait, cnc, blowjob, gagging, bondage(handcuffs), riding, size kink, tummy bulge, dirty talk, breeding, super tight reader but its js cait's monster cock :D
wc: 3.3k
Masterlist
“Ohh fuck— hng~,” you huffed and pouted. “I can't… I can’t,” with your spit dripping from your chin and her lips pressed against your ear, she shushes you. “Hush darling, I know you can take it. Be good and allow me to use you.”
—
It's not everyday your would be summoned to the Sheriff's office. When you were, an assignment was entrusted to you. After a day of drills you'd earn a pat on the back.
Tonight though, Sheriff Kiramman herself asked for you. After hours.
The station was cold after dark. All of the other enforcers had gone home for the night and there you stood in the unlit empty hall outside of her office, a candle can be seen illuminating the room from behind the blinds. You inhale a deep breath, a bead of cold sweat forming at your temple as your hand trembled on her doorknob.
"You may come in, Officer," her voice rang behind the door causing you to pause. The hairs on the back of your neck standing in surprise. You don't waste another second in stepping inside her office, quickly adjusting the collar of your uniform to look somewhat presentable for your superior.
Kiramman is seated at her desk, ink pen in hand writing away the stacks of papers that keep her busy from dusk till dawn. The deep blue of her curtain bangs flowing perfectly at the sides of her face, reading glasses hanging on the tip of her nose, and her hat discarded on a coat rack nearby. You didn't mean to look, but your eyes wandered down and noticed a few undone buttons of her shirt, exposing the sharp of her collarbones.
She greets you without lifting her attention from her paper and you stiffen your posture, a way to solute the sheriff of Piltover in their presence.
"You asked for me, Sheriff?" You asked her, your eyes following the movement of her hand on the pen. She put it down and meets your eyes with hers. The glow of the candle lamp at the edge of her desk reflects of her cerulean lenses, making them look fierce and burning with need. You gulped. The sound of crickets outside and the sudden tension in the office stilled you.
She stands from her chair and walks around her desk, taking slow strides towards you, her height looking taller with each step closer. The closer she got the more you backed away. It was till your back bumped into the office door you could feel the warmth of her breath on your neck, sending shivers.
Her hand reached for the doorknob. Locking it and gently says, "You're aware that I've grown a liking to you, right? A favorite of the bunch?"
Your breath hitches, oblivious of what to say. Then you feel her hands on your hips, holding you in place and that's when you grip at her forearms in defense, out of instinct.
"Oh, there's no need for that, Darling," she huffs in your ear, biting at the lobe and lightly tugging it in between her teeth.
Though broken breaths you ask, "W- what are you saying?"
Caitlyn laughs. "I see the way your eyes stare me down whenever I give instruction. The way you bite your lip at any slight movement I perform. I am not oblivious, Darling."
You didn't know what to say. She was right. You've been staring at her all day while running drills like a pervert and she looks absolutely fed up with the hunger that was so noticeable in your gaze like your eyes were made of clear glass.
"I...I-," you tripped over your words. Worried.
"Poor thing... you'll have to prove to me that you can handle what I have to offer before you can think of all those dirty thoughts again," after that you hear a click click click and the feeling of cold shocking your skin. You lean your head down to find your wrists handcuffed behind your back. You rattle it's metal chain trying to free your hands but it's no use.
You gasp at the feel of her hand sliding up your front and cupping one your tits in her hand, while her other ghosts over the wavy fabric of your cunt.
Your knees buckled at the touch. The feel of her hands on you, just like in your day dreams, the thoughts that run through your mind during the day, was all happening to you right now. She chuckled under her breath when she finally touches your lower parts, noticing the heat pooling in between your legs behind that enforcer skirt. The back of your head hits the door wincing from the touch of her hands.
She removes her hand from your breast and captures your chin in her fingers, turning your gaze towards her. Eyes meeting before she leans in and latches lips. A kiss surprising you and making you fall deeper in her grasp. Your enforcer cap falling off your head and onto the wooden floor.
Feels like the hat just barely hit the floor, but in no time she already had you on your knees in front of her as she sits back into her desk chair.
You groan when your knees hit the floorboards. "Cait-" you began, but she was quick to grab your face and tug you closer.
"That's Sheriff, to you," she corrected, aggressively releasing your puffed out cheeks. You stretch your jaw after her grip on your face and gaze back up to her where she rested her chin on her knuckles, arm propped on the armrest, one leg over the other as she stares daggers into you.
She gives you a moment of silence while you sit in suspense of what's to come next. Will she give you what you've dreamed?
She uncrosses her legs, spreading, and your eyes land on the tent rising in her pants. Your eyes go wide in surprise, never leaving the sight of the fabric that was growing tighter. "I love the way you critique your peers, Officer. During drills you put your foot down and take command. Reminds me of myself in a way," she reaches a hand out, moving strands of your hair that stuck to your skin behind your ear. "Now..." She pauses for a moment then speaks once more. "Show me what else that pretty mouth can do, Darling," this was not a request, it was an order.
You breath is caught in your throat. You sit frozen, but her patience grows thin. She taps her boot on the floor causing you to take action, about to reach with your hands only for them to stay linked behind your back. "Ah ah ah," she teases, reaching around your head to grip your hair. "Your mouth."
Her tone was more stern than before. You scooted closer to where you're kneeling in between her inner thighs and lean in to the belt around her waist. Your teeth sinking into the leather as you try your best to unbuckle it.
She hums. "Good girl," making your thighs clench together. The Caitlyn Kiramman, the woman you've idolized for so long, making you her personal plaything. To the outside view it could be seen as a kind of enslavement, but you found it enticing. The want to please her and thank her for inspiring you to become an enforcer.
After the belt, its the zipper. Her uniform becoming wet from your saliva and the feel of the clothed cock on your chin. It only made you more excited. She lifts her hips to assist you, the pants and undergarments falling to her ankles and her cock is sprang free. With wide eyes and a tight jaw you stare. Cock standing tall like her height itself wasn't enough. It was big. Throbbing veins and precum already beading at the pink tip. You gulped a lump down your throat.
She wraps her hand around the side of your neck inching you closer. "Look at you. Look so innocent with those eyes, but I know what you fantasize about," the white under your irises were quite noticeable. Giving that sweet puppy stare as you lean forward. Nose barely grazing her tip as your tongue breaks loose from your lips, flattening, licking a straight line up the downside of her shaft. Passing each and every vein that pulsed under the wet touch. She groans, eyes gleaming through the lens of her glasses.
You drop down again and latch your lips on the side, sucking the skin gently causing her to flinch. Hips jerking just slightly. She grips your hair again, with a rough tone she says, "I'm waiting," encouraging you to take her inside.
You wince through the burn on your scalp, "I don't know if I can."
She used her other hand and grabs her shaft, tapping her tip against your soft lips. Whispering soft praises and reassurance, but that just the sugar coating on top of what she want to do to you. The fourplay before you're sopping wet and ready. As if your pussy wasn't already throbbing.
So you take in her tip, sucking it inside your warm mouth that sends sparks. Caitlyn sighs, urging you further on her thick cock. You only fit a couple inches before your throat flinches and gags, your eyes turning red and glassy. You cough and tighten around the flesh that you could fit by default. Bobbing your head on just those few inches, circling her puffy tip with your tongue.
You gag again violently, beginning to remove yourself from her. She takes both her hands behind your head and pull you back before you had the chance to breath. She drags you all the way down, taking her in entirely. You gag and groan with your mouth full of flesh. Tears streaming down your eyes. She keeps your lips at the base, hips meeting to bottom out as much as possible. Your body tenses and shakes, trying to detach from her lock on you.
Caitlyn just moans and throws her head back slowly, taking in the pleasure of your gags that sends her nerves on a thrill. "Fff~uuuckk," her hips jolt, pulsing to go impossibly deeper. Her thick tip sunk deep in your throat and her hard girth painfully curving down that tunnel. "Breathe through your nose, Darling," she huffs, wincing when you swallow around her. A hand goes to your throat, feeling it bulge. "Straighten your neck for me."
She adjusts herself in her chair, sitting at the edge while you scoot your knees further back, bending down 90 degrees for that perfect angle to fuck your mouth. You begin to move. Tongue dragging up then back down to the hilt, sheathing her dick over and over, gagging babbles of moans, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth and dripping down your chin. It was wet and sloppy. Enough for the Caitlyn Kiramman to roll her eyes back and drop her jaw in awe. It was fucking obscene and your pretty noises just made it exceedingly better.
"Oh fuck~ your mouth feels brilliant- shit!" she leans over you, standing enough for her ass to come off the cushion, hand leaving your throat to find leverage on her desk. She starts to thrust. Fucking your struggling throat. She'll fuck till your throat's sore and your jaw locks. Your wet mouth was the perfect fuck hole and after a long day she needed this.
Your hair is pulled in a makeshift ponytail, her balls slick with your spit as they continuously ram into your chin, it was intoxicating. Your eyes have gone white, rolled to the back as she uses you. Your pussy ached and drenched your slutty lace panties.
Her core tightens. "Fuck! Gonna cum," she moans and that was her warning before filling your sore throat with her thick seed. You'd cough and her release would drip at the corner of your mouth. Your face was a mess and it turned her on. As she came she watched you take it. Face slick in all kinds of wet: cum, sweat and tears with the bonus of sticky saliva.
Her spasm finished and she stayed parked in your throat like it was home. Warm and welcoming. Maybe one day she'll make you cock warm, but for tonight she had other plans. She pulls out of your mouth, leaving her gasping for air. Your throat burned and it hurt to cough. She fixes her lopsided glasses and falls back in her chair.
Your lungs finally refilled, circulating oxygen and carbon dioxide after being blocked with a mouth full of heavy cock. Your hair was tangled and the lower half of your face a complete wreck, but still a sight to see for the Sheriff. Her cock lays heavy and still hard on her thigh. She motions her pointer finger towards her. You painfully swallow again, struggling to stand with your hands still cuffed. You stand in between her legs while her hands roam your now wrinkled uniform.
She loosens the cuff on your neck, unstraps the leather belts of your shoulder pads. Removing the belt from your waist and sliding the dress part of the uniform up your body, bunching it over your tits and commanding you to hold the fabric in your mouth and to not let go. You stand like a display for her in the cold room. "Gorgeous body, Officer," she feels around your exposed skin. You whimper when she gropes your tits gently and plays with the waistband of your panties. "You're soaked."
Caitlyn takes two fingers and circles your clit above the cotton, randomly applying pressure to the bud. You whimper in response, biting down on your uniform. "Getting off from blowing me like a slut? You're naughtier than I imagined," she says. She uses both hands and tugs your panties down you legs, telling you to step out of them while you still wore your heeled boots. She commands to you to straddle her. Your heels digging into the chair at her sides, squatting above her lap as her cock twitches, aching to be inside you again.
Her hands on your hips to assist, holding you right above her length that aims directly towards your pussy. Like a target and her rifle. It's intimidating, you've never taken this big before. Your thigh muscles ache, so the only way to relieve is to go down. The tip of her cock slips on your arousal and flicks your clit, earning Caitlyn a sweet moan to leave your lips. A lot softer to hear when your not choking on the Kiramman pipe. She chuckles, removing a hand from your hip to her girth, keeping it steady as you settle your weight onto it.
The round mushroomy tip almost fills the crevice of your vulva itself. Lifting the ego of Sheriff Kiramman. She massages her tip against your entrance, teasing the sopping hole. You drop your head on to the broad of her shoulder, breathing heavily as your prepare yourself to sink down. Once you do, only the tip at first. You gasp at its stretch, feeling your pussy begin to tear at the seam.
"Ohh fuck— hng~," you huffed and pouted. "I can't... I can't," with your spit dripping from your chin and her lips pressed against your ear, she shushes you. "Hush darling, I know you can take it. Be good and allow me to use you."
She forces you down on her again. The pain almost too unbearable as her cock instantly rides your slick walls and rams your cervix. You throw your head back, gasping for lost air as it's just been pushed from your lungs. She fills you completely, lower tummy bulging from the thickness inside. She hums contently, biting her lip at the sight. She liked having you like this, a mess and a warm cock sock to fill.
"Bloody hell, you're stunning taking my dick like that," your body twitches in response. Incoherent mumbles leaving your lips as your insides pulse around her shaft. Squeezing her in a rhythm that drives her insane. She curses, lifting you by your hips and easing you back down, taking her to the hilt each time. "You're so tight," she groans.
You whine, feeling her cock drag deep inside, stretching your gummy walls. "S-Sheriff...sheriff," you chant, dropping the dress from your mouth.
"Did I say you can drop it?" she sternly asks. You sob, shaking your head. You disobeyed her and the only way to correct your actions is to make you bounce faster. Her fingers dig into your hips, surely to leave bruises the next day and pounds your pussy on her lap. You cry out gasps and moans. You ass slapping against her thighs. She had you right where she wanted.
More tears shed from your eyes as she becomes rougher with your. You pussy aching from the abuse, you insides screaming. She groans and flexes under you. Taking her hands off your hips for one to wrap around your waist and reach both of your wrists while her other holds the nape of your neck so your chest to chest. With this new leverage she can easily bounce you. Shallow but quick strokes of her cock fucking the living daylights out of you.
She's close. She moaning in your ear, whispering dirty things as you clench harder around her. The rim of your cervix being brutally slammed by her tip. Her hips move to meet each thrust, inching her closer to her climax. With one more swift lift off her lap and ramming you back down she came. Holding you tightly against her as she releases inside your pussy. Eyes rolling and toes curling. You moan, feeling her hot arousal fill you till it leaks, flowing down her veins towards her tensing sack.
You pant shallow breaths on her shoulder. You're barely given time to recover before she's standing, taking you with her and placing your on top of her hard wood desk to continue fucking your soaking wet pussy. If she dropped you any harder the candle would've fallen off her desk.
This time her thrusts are calculated. Testing each and every thrust to see what arouses you more. She watches your reactions, admiring the look on your fucked-out face. The slick of her cum inside you making it all so much easier to glide through you, making you feel like your being split in two. Your head and eyes thrown back, your mouth agape, screaming the most pretty noises that rung in Cait's ears. Her hands on either side of your waist, feet shoulder width as you hips move at an agonizing pace. Whenever you uniform would fall over your chest she would adjust it, tucking it by your neck so she can watch all of you bounce to her movements. For your own leverage your cuffed hands grabbed the edge of her desk under your butt, grounding yourself.
The moment she found that sweet spot deep inside you, the soft gummy spot curving slightly up towards your stomach she used it. Your body was shaking, especially your legs that were spread wide and would press into her waist. Aiming just right to hit the jackpot.
You spasmed around her, squeezing her just right. She couldn't get enough. Cum fell from your pussy and onto floor. A lot of it coating her cock to the base, lubricating her pubes in white goo. You felt your lower tummy tighten, you body goes tense and your jaw falling slack as you arch your back off the desk, a second later releasing a high-pitched shriek from your throat. You came hard around her cock, taking every thick inch, length and girth. Your once struggling body now fully capable of taking such a beating. It was beautiful.
She came again, hips jolting and bottoming out as you both slowly come down from the high. She falls on your chest, breathing heavily. You both take that time to rest, bodies throbbing and sore. She stands, pulling out of you, causing a little exhausted groan from you.
Caitlyn fixed the hair that covered your face. Using your uniform to wipe the residue around your mouth. "I think this deserves a promotion."
Note: another long awaited fic :,) hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!! Enjoy more and stay tuned for upcoming works. I'll be writing another right after this one! ♡
summary: sometimes, it's just too big. but clark knows you can take it.
CWs: 18+ MDNI!!!! clark kent x fem!reader, size kink, mating press, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it folks), snarky!clark, kissing, some praise, use of pet names, clark's a good man even though he's a little sassy, established relationship i guess?, talking you through it i guess? in a way?, no use of y/n. i think that's it!
author's note: quick little thing because i haven't posted in a while, i hope you all enjoy! literally wrote this in my drafts so i don't even have a word count. im assuming it's around 1.5k? anyways, sorry about the lack of content guys - working on a massive multi-chapter fic AND putting some stuff together for 1k. should have some more stuff posted later this week (maybe)! love you all!
"Fuck," you hiss, head tilted back and burying itself into the pillows beneath it. You suck in a stuttered, shallow breath and whine it out. You're unable to take any sort of full breaths, anyway; Clark's too busy taking up all the space in and around your body.
He's got you pressed into the mattress, completely unable to do anything but focus on the way he's fucking you. It's a brutal mating press this time. Your legs are curled up almost to your chest, and his arms are caging you in, and the way he's got his face tucked into the crook of your neck is ensuring that you're feeling all of his weight. Just how you like it.
And although the mating press is brutal, his pace is not. It's slow, and deep, and careful, because Clark knows how much you can handle. Knows you well enough to clock when you need him to take his time. Knows exactly how to ensure that you're enjoying yourself, and, make no mistake—you are enjoying yourself.
But he's just so fucking big. Buried in you so deep. All nine inches of him, hard and heavy and utterly and completely filling. All 6'5 of his height and 240 pounds of his weight pinning you down beneath him.
Sometimes he's too big.
Clark shifts above you. He's still got you in that mating press, but now one of his arms is tucking beneath your waist, moving your hips up just enough to make him push deeper into you. You gasp. It's the first time that you're able to suck in that much air since he's been on top of you.
"Clark!" you whine, loud and stilted and a little strained. You'd been screaming all fucking night. You're surprised you even have a voice anymore.
"S'too big!"
He smiles against your neck. Trails a few soft kisses on the column of your throat before he lifts his head out of your neck and looks down at you. You don't realize he's taken his arm out from beneath your waist until you feel his hand on your chin tilting your face down and forcing you to look into his eyes.
"Did I hear that right? It's too big, baby?"
He punctuates that question by pulling back, almost completely out of you, then pushing all the way back in. Every fucking inch. All in less than a second. A quick, deep thrust, one that punches all of the air out of your lungs for the thousandth time tonight. Your back arches as much as it can with all of his heft on top of you. The shallow excuse of a breath you had frantically sucked in gets shoved out of your chest.
“Yes!” you squeak out. Clark laughs at you; it’s not cruel, but it has your already flushed face burning a little more. He presses his hips a little deeper, a little harder, and your eyes roll back into your head. That ache, that familiar burn with getting stretched open on his cock, is the most confusing thing; feels so good even though he’s practically on the verge of splitting you in half. You throw your head back, and your hips squirm, and your fingers dig into the bedsheets beneath your body so you can try and pull yourself away from him.
It’s no use, though. Clark’s hand leaves your chin and attaches to your right hip, his hold on you tight and sturdy; you couldn’t go anywhere if you tried. Not that you’d actually want to, of course.
“You want me to take it out?” he asks.
That question wasn’t really a question. Maybe it was a threat. Or a death sentence, because taking all of that pain and pleasure away before you can finish might actually kill you. Almost as much of a death sentence as the way he pulls his hips back; this time, he pulls all the way back. Completely out of you. He keeps the thick, blunt tip of his cock pressed against your cunt, though. What a fucking tease.
Your eyes shoot open and, through all your quick panting and pathetic whimpering, you manage to glare at him and cry out, “No!”
He flashes one of those pretty crooked smiles at you. Always so cocky whenever he hasn’t earned the right to be. Just makes him hotter.
“No?” he asks. Then he huffs.
“Thought you said it was too big, honey?”
You start to push out a garbled mess of a protest, but you cut yourself off with a guttural, borderline animalistic moan when you feel him gently glide his length through your sensitive folds. A soft, back and forth rocking that only lasts a couple seconds. The slick sound when he rolls his hips back and forth is nothing but sinful. Makes your pussy flutter and clench around—much to your dismay—nothing.
“Please,” you beg, breathy and whiny and pathetic above all else. You haven’t been able to take a full, deep breath since he’s started fucking you. Unfortunately, the panicking from how he isn’t fucking you anymore has squeezed your lungs like a vice. Can’t take a deep breath without him fucking you, either. All you can do is pant up at him like some sort of bitch in heat, and…well, it wouldn’t be a stretch to classify yourself as one.
Clark picks up on that, judging by the way his hand glides up your stomach and toward your chest. His palm lays over the center of it, allowing his fingers to splay out over your flushed, sticky skin. His hand is, just like him, massive. Proportionate to his gigantic body. The tips of his fingers can reach your collarbones while his thumb is steadily brushing back and forth over the spot just above your heart. He could probably hear it hammering in your chest, just like he can hear every pitiful excuse of a breath you keep trying to suck in.
“Tell you what,” he mutters. “You take one deep breath for me, and I’ll put it back in.”
“Clark,” you groan, a wobbly little pant that you struggled to get out.
“Breathe,” he commands. “Breathe, or you’re not getting what you want.”
Now he’s holding himself hostage from you. Of course.
In true Clark fashion, he teases you while he’s waiting for your response. Continues to gently glide his cock through your folds, letting out a soft, low growl and hanging his head for a moment. He laughs, breathy and a little desperate, and his hips buck. It sends a jolt through both of your bodies; seems like the idiot’s gone and teased himself, too.
“Better do it fast, honey. Don’t think I can last much longer.”
How does one force their brain to force their lungs to manually breathe? In, out, in, out. Seems pretty simple. But your brain doesn’t wanna cooperate, because all you can feel is the tip of Clark’s cock brushing over your clit again and again and again as he keeps rolling his hips. You whimper so loudly that it echoes off your bedroom walls; when your head falls back onto your pillow, you shut your eyes. Squeeze them so tight that you see stars—although that could also be because of the oxygen you’ve been depriving yourself of.
Then, it happens. You do some sort of hard reset. You suck in a big, deep breath, chest fully expanding and bumping against Clark’s.
“Atta girl. I knew you could do it,” he purrs. Leans down to press soft kisses on your chin, and the corner of your lips, and down your jaw while he lines himself up and sinks right back into your cunt. There’s no resistance at all. Your breath hitches in your throat and you tense up, mouth dropping open without any permission from your brain. Although, your brain’s letting you down a lot right now, so…best to not depend on it.
“Give me another deep breath, baby,” Clark whispers, breath fanning out against your ear. He’s buried to the hilt again, voice a little strung out and voice a little shaky. But he’s doing a lot better than you, so who are you to talk?
You can’t breathe again. He’s too deep, and he feels too good, and the angle he’s got you at is keeping his tip pressed right against that spongy spot that makes you shake when he pays too much attention to it. Your fingers, desperate to find something to tear up, meet his shoulders—if he was a normal human being, you’d have left a few deep cuts in his back from how hard you just clawed down it.
But you manage to do it after a beat. To suck in a deep breath, to moan it out, to blubber about how good he’s got you feeling. Or maybe it was just gibberish. Who knows? At least you got the air in. At least you rediscovered how to breathe.
“Just like that, baby. Good girl,” he praises you. Honey-sweet, like he always is.
“You keep breathing deep and slow like that for me, and we’ll go as long as you want.”
Hey guys, if you haven't seen my previous post about this, I recently lost my job. It's been really hard on me emotionally and mentally, but I'm dealing with it. I'm asking for any help anyone can give, as I now have bills that I can't pay on my own.
I've done a new commission info sheet and will post it when I'm ready to start writing again, so for right now commissions are closed (check back for when that changes). If you would consider commissioning me, I'd greatly appreciate it.
My AO3 is here if you want to see all the works I have done. While I generally am pretty okay writing anything, I don't know if I can handle writing anything intense/extreme at this stage, but am always happy to talk it over.
If you're unable to commission me, please reblog and if anyone you know is looking to commission a writer, point them my direction.
Alternatively, if you are able to, donations would also really help. My paypal is [email protected]
3.2k / nsfw. kara zor-el x fem, kryptonian!reader. kara gets you to do “red” (red-kryptonite), not realizing it’s something of an aphrodisiac for you. cws: straight nsfw, strap usage, mild ass slapping, mild hair pulling, squirting. bratty sub/bottom kara + dom/top reader. strap occasionally referred to as cock/dick. + masterlist.
✦ "HAVE YOU EVER done red before?” kara asks. the club music is so loud that you can barely hear her voice, even though she’s standing right beside you, her hands wrapped loosely around your waist. a hiccup leaves your lips, undoubtedly due to the out-of-this-world alien alcohol you’ve been drinking all night. it’s your first time off earth, your first time in an extraterrestrial club, and as you shake your head no and watch your girlfriend start to dig deep into her pockets, you quickly realize it’ll be your first time doing “red”— whatever the hell that is.
in her hands, it’s glittery, powdery, and, unsurprisingly, red. catching your skeptical gaze, she explains, “it’s like… cocaine? but not as crazy, i promise. it’s for people like us.” her eyebrows waggle to suggest something, but you don’t quite catch the implication.
tilting your head, you pinch some of the substance from her palm. you let the powder sprinkle down into your other hand, and it feels less like powder and more like a collection of fine, small rocks. “like us?” you question.
“kryptonians,” she replies, nodding, “it’s just a little bit. it won’t hurt. promise. it was really popular at home, you know? think of it as tradition, okay? or, think of it as fun with your girlfriend.”
how true that is, it being popular at home, is up for debate.
whether or not you could call krypton home? also up for debate.
“my girlfriend, who, of course, never tempts me into doing wrong,” you chuckle, your tone sarcastic, “my girlfriend who’s never gotten me in trouble, that girlfriend.”
the blonde laughs before pressing against you, letting her eyes wander along the entirety of your face. her gaze feels thick and heavy, almost like a real pressure against your skin. you catch yourself biting your lip just as she smirks, “what? you’ve got another girlfriend?” her free hand pinches your side, causing you to lean away, giggling.
“of course not,” you coo, batting your eyes, “wouldn’t dream of it.”
she rolls her eyes, not out of disbelief but out of playfulness. then, she orders, “snort it.” kara doesn’t wait a single second before sniffing along her own palm, inhaling every last bit before letting out a soft sigh, beaming. how the texture of the powder doesn’t irritate her nose is beyond your comprehension. “c’mon, c’mon,” she starts, nudging you until you give in.
“alright, alright.” you wave her off, then carefully inhale the red powder up your nose. it doesn’t hit immediately, though your nose tingles from the sudden, new sensation. it doesn’t hurt like you thought it might, it doesn’t even irritate the insides of your nose; it just tingles, causing you to pinch your nose once or twice to try and get rid of the feeling. “that didn’t do anything,” you mutter, “maybe it did for you. you’re grinning like a lunatic.”
“i’m grinning because my girlfriend listens to and trusts me.” a bullshit retort, but you don’t have time to give your own quip before she leans in to kiss your forehead. her lips curl into a smile as they meet your skin, all warm and familiar. “it’ll catch up to you later. let’s just dance for now. c’mon, let’s dance.” taking hold of your hand, kara drags you closer to the DJ and the dancefloor. loud, energetic, nearly psychedelic beats become all you can hear. every part of you feels loose and fluid as you move, though it’s hard to tell if it’s the alcohol or the “red” you had a bump of. the world seems to shrink down to just you and your girlfriend, and for a while, you feel completely at peace.
✦ THEN, YOU WAKE up. as you leave slumber, you’re greeted by a mild ache in your lower stomach and zero memory of how you managed to get back to your apartment on earth. usually, you’re the one that gets you and kara home. speaking of kara… glancing to your right, you manage to see the blonde clinging to your body, her face pressed against your breasts. typical. with the slow throbbing at the bottom of your stomach growing more and more intense, you decide to try and get out of bed to grab some water. the moment you move, however, is the moment the feeling shifts, no longer an ache but a pulse. a want, no, a need.
need. it’s all too clear, now. that sudden, warm sensation all over your body. the kind that urges you to suck in a deep breath, to try and relax. your legs close themselves, pressing together. “fuck,” you mumble. it’s way too early in the morning to be feeling this bothered. horny isn’t the word you think of at first at first, but when you glance over at your girlfriend again, that quickly changes— closed, calm eyes, her lips subtly smiling in her sleep… forcing your gaze away from her suddenly becomes one of the hardest challenges you’ve ever faced. trying to dismiss the sudden onslaught of perverse thoughts that come after proves to be even more difficult.
you’ve never been a morning sex person before, but this morning’s different. you’re different. you’re… “kara,” you murmur, quiet at first before raising your volume some, “kara, wake up.” you gently rock her, then pull yourself up into a sitting position which causes her to slide into your lap. “kara,” you try again. this time, you’re rewarded with the sound of her groaning.
her hand slaps around haphazardly, searching for an alarm to turn off. when she accidentally hits your legs and feels skin, she opts to wake herself up. “g’morning,” she starts in a sleepy drawl, blinking up at you. you’re almost ashamed of how hot you find her dazed eyes. “what’s up?”
you shrug lightly, “nothing, really. i’m just wondering… you know, about last night—”
a shit-eating smirk immediately graces her lips and you feel a pit open in your stomach, unrelated to the other presence there. “last night? you were a machine last night,” kara chuckles, poking at your chest, “you were insane. it was just round after round, baby. i love that about you.”
“what?”
“you don’t remember? you’re lucky we’re both kryptonian, you probably would’ve fucked me to death otherwise. it was like… maybe two hours after we had that red kryptonite. you got all antsy, then nervous, asking me to go home. we got here, but you changed again. and then…” she pulls aside the sheets, gesturing to her legs; she’s not wearing any underwear and bite marks still linger along her thighs leading up to her pelvis. “you were a very hungry girl,” she whispers teasingly, causing you to scoff.
instinctively, your arms cross in defense. it would only boost her ego to admit you’re still in the mood, and yet you crave kara, now. your mind wanders, imagining her on her back, bouncing off of you, clawing at your skin, and groaning, cursing, and gasping. your own cunt throbbed at the imagery alone, saliva pooling in your mouth before you swallow. “i’m still hungry,” you let slip under your breath, uncrossing your arms and sliding yourself out of bed.
“still hungry?” your girlfriend repeats, lifting her head in time to watch you dig inside your closet and pull out a sizable strap. pink and thick with ridges: kara’s favorite. the sight alone has her heart fluttering, excitement manifesting first as a smile on her lips and then as wetness between her thighs. “i guess i don’t have much else to do today outside of satiating your appetite,” she finally replies, laying back against the pillows and kicking aside the sheets. a halo of blonde hair splays out around her head while she watches you prepare. “i didn’t think red kryptonite would be a sex-pill for you,” she chuckles.
“well, now you’ll learn your lesson,” you mutter, adjusting the strap along your waist before striding over to the bed, “everyone has different responses to different things.” you pause as you approach her, deciding abruptly, “i want you on your knees, actually.”
“surprising from you,” she remarks, “i thought you loved to see my face.”
immediately, you reassure her, “i do. i just want something… a little different, this time. it’ll just be one round, i swear, i just need to burn this off.”
“yeah, yeah.” kara shifts, flipping onto her back and then getting onto her hands and knees. she glances over her shoulder to find you already holding your strap up to her entrance, wasting no time at all. the mushroom head brushes along her outer folds playfully before you push them aside with two fingers. a shiver runs through her body in anticipation as you tease her cunt with a few passes. after a few moments, however, you give in to your own cravings, gripping her hips with one hand as you urge your cock carefully into her pussy. it’s torture, going so slow. still, you’d hate to tear your girlfriend in two, so you let her natural lubrication and her own want for your strap dictate the pace at which you push in (the pace they’ve set, unfortunately for you, is slow).
when you finally bottom out, you relax your grip on kara’s hips, rocking back and then easing the thick, pink strap back inside. her head drops, eyes probably already closed and fuck, if it isn’t incredibly sexy how she sucks in her breath… “you good, baby?”
“another day in paradise,” she breathes out, nodding faintly. “go on. i can take it.”
“tell me when to stop.” you start to pull out and push in, starting off at a very careful pace before picking up speed to something more casual. it was nowhere near as intense as you originally craved, but your concern for kara always managed to triumph everything else, including your libido. if anything, exhibiting your care for her only made the moment more intimate. something about the self-restraint… maybe you’re stroking your own ego, though.
when your girlfriend doesn’t give you any sign or word to stop, you slip almost all of the way out and then slide back in, burying yourself to the hilt just to hear her gasp and accuse you of playing dirty. “can’t be playing dirty if it’s my game,” you shoot back, accentuating your words with a good thrust.
“oh, there it is,” she chuckles, “there’s the beast from last night.” her hands start to grip the bedding, curling in on themselves as she tries her best to keep her breathing even.
in a mutter, you reply, “i could have you pinned to the floor and you’d still be teasing.”
and then, kara says this: “oh please, you like shutting me up.”
and that? that, to you, sounds a lot like permission. and who are you to pass up on such an offer?
grabbing hold of her hips, you begin to speed up your pace, grunting with every other thrust. the bed rocks beneath you both as you move not only your own body, but kara’s by pulling her back, forcing her to take the entirety of your strap each time you push back in. as her own grunts turn into groans, you snake one hand along her back and reach for her hair, gently tugging on it to keep her head lifted up. “i thought you could take it, kara?” you purr from behind, “what gives? keep your head up, i wanna hear everything clearly.”
the blonde moans, feeling her insides stretch and squeeze mercilessly around your cock. that blissful sensation of her pussy being stuffed full is enough to have her eyes closing and her head drooping despite her best efforts at remaining put together. with every drop of her head comes a chastising tug of her hair, the tingling pain mixing in with the tingling pleasure spreading throughout her body. “fuck,” she grits out, “so good, baby, you’re so good.” a string of kryptonian words follow in another moan, her voice growing shaky. the ridges catch along her walls on the way in and out, her own tightness making things worse for her.
still, you don’t let up. you keep going, fucking your strap into her and admiring how she sounds— desperate, breathless, but not yet broken— and how she looks— covered in a light sweat, toes curled, and knuckles white from gripping the sheets so tightly. on her palms are probably little crescent marks from her nails. the thought alone makes you smirk. “you can take it,” you reassure her. the wet, squelching noise of your thrusts inside was soft at first, but grow louder with every passing second, a sign that she’s soaked. maybe you were wrong and kara couldn’t take it. but, judging from the sounds from her cunt and her mouth, she really wants to, and you’ve never been one to deny her.
the hand not gripping her hair slides from her hip to her ass, palming it over leisurely before giving one of her cheeks a light smack. the medium-sized mound jiggles some before going relatively still. kara gasps, then groans as your strap manages to slip in and brush that special spot inside of her. it isn’t long before you focus in on that area, aiming as best as you can at it. meanwhile, you continue feeling her ass over, the warm, soft roundness of her behind almost worsening your roughness (cuteness aggression, maybe? ass aggression would be more accurate). watching it blossom into a pinkish hue all around only excited you into slapping it once more. kara can take it, surely. one more slap. two more. fuck it, why not three?
yes, the ass-slapping, the hair pulling, the thrusting deep and hard and fast; she wanted it, she taunted you into this. “i think i shut you up nicely, wouldn’t you agree?”
in reply, all you get is a whimper, and hitch of her breath. with every push in, the strap jostles along your hips. you don’t need the stimulation though to grow wet. just the sight of your girlfriend bouncing wordlessly on your dick was enough to make you feel close.
with a soft chuckle, you let go of her hair, letting her head fall forward as you continue stuffing her full. pearly, off-white beads slowly start to dribble out of her hole and smear along your pink strap, coating it in natural lubrication that squelches as you move in and out of her. sweat covers both of your bodies in a thin layer, the warmth in the room and making both of you breathe heavy like dogs. “pretty little pussy takes my cock so well,” you praise her breathlessly, watching her ass bounce against your waist as you two make contact, “takes it like a champ. such a good girl, keeping quiet and taking every inch.”
“mmm,” she whines in agreement. her toes curl in tight as you hit her special spot once more, her entire body spasming. kara’s eyes go half-lidded, all glossy and sex-dazed. the thickness of your strap is all she can focus on, her walls squeezing around it as she lets her head hang. “ohh, i’m close. i’m so close,” she sputters, the words heavy on her tongue and half jumbled, “don’t stop, babe, please. fuck me, fuck me, let me cum.” her bravado disappears as her climax closes in on her, forcing her to beg for your strap in a pitched up voice. “i need you! please, i need your dick, i need it!”
“you want this dick?” you ask playfully, continuing to slam into her. the sound of you plap-plap-plapping against her fills the room— hell, it might be heard from your apartment’s hallway. “this dick that’s been stretching you out, filling you up? ruining your pussy? this is the dick you want?”
your girlfriend’s answer comes out in something of a scream, her body shaking as she approaches her climax. “ah, yes! fuck, yes!” she continues to babble, but you scoot in close and force her head down into the pillows to muffle her. no point in letting your neighbors hear her beg for strap. with her ass up in the air and her head down in the bed, she twitches, toes curling and uncurling, arms giving out, and her cunt flutters before she finally convulses and begins to drip. the sound that leaves her lips as you fuck kara through her orgasm is close a sex-driven squeal that leads to panting and cursing.
as you thrust into her a few more times, thick, white droplets drip from her pussy. when you finally pull out, however, dragging your dick out and then teasing along the blonde’s puffy pussy, a clear fluid begins to spurt out from her cunt. it’s a soft burst of squirt, one that pauses as before starting again when you rub the tip of your strap against her pussy again. you pull away just in time to watch hear her cry “oh, oh, fuck!” and watch her quivering cunt spray the bed in squirt, leaving the bedding around her damp. her poor pussy’s left soaked by the end of it, droplets of squirt collecting and falling down from between her thighs.
“oh, shit…” kara breathes out, “shit, baby…” her legs still twitch as she slowly untenses. at the same time, you watch with fascination, salivating as your girlfriend drips before you like a leaky faucet.
“i didn’t know you could squirt,” you murmur as you move some of your hair back, leaning down and grabbing hold of her thighs to hold her still. without hesitation, you start to suck along every part of her pussy you can reach from behind, licking and lapping like a woman dying of thirst. you’re not ashamed to admit it tastes like ambrosia for you. then again, anything from kara would, wouldn’t it?
“i didn’t know— oh, babe— baby, please,” she snivels, though her words are muffled by the pillow she’s pleading into. “’m sensitive, oh… baby, c’mon, just a little break. you promised one round.”
lifting your head for a moment, you huff, “i never said i was an honest woman.” giving her thighs an affectionate squeeze, you hum. “keeping me from heaven, how cruel, kara.”
“keeping you from destroying me, more like,” she manages to scoff, finally lowering her butt and curling in on herself. she sighs airily, “that was… amazing. just… give me five minutes.”
you chuckle before crawling beside her and lowering yourself down, letting the thick, pink strap brush against kara’s thighs as you press in close. “i would give you the world,” you murmur, reaching out to tuck some of her hair out of her face.
kara hums affectionately. “mm. sounds like the red’s wearing off.”
the response causes you to gently shake your head before leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “not even close. but i can wait five minutes for before going in for seconds. i have class.”
“class,” she repeats, sucking in a sharp breath, “sure, if that’s what you wanna call it…” her pussy’s spent. her body’s still sensitive all over, and yet, she’s still looking forward to round two. perks of being kryptonian, kara supposes.
or maybe it’s just a perk of you being her girlfriend. her girlfriend who loves her more than anything and is also more than capable of fucking her into a mattress. yeah, that girlfriend.
wow, so… that was a lot. um, anyways, like and subscribe for more girls squirt content, i guess. sorry anon if you wanted something normal IM SO SORRY. also i never got around to describing it but kara has bush OK BYE!
tagging! @nozhdyved, @voidsuites, @jadoremars, @sheriff-bodecker, @chronic-fangirl-222, @neve-naoki, @ft-winnow, @jiji2827, @futuremrscameron, @f4lin3, @hisfavoriteweepingangel, @fangpires ✩ click here to be added!
I'll never trust you bitchass cunts in the internet again, Supergirl was fucking amazing, and if you don't think so congrats you're either a fucking idiot or misogynistic af.
" They didn't make Supergirl 'Punkrock' they made her disgusting."
"She's so gross and disgusting."
"She wants little girls to look up to her?? Her character lives in filth."
BITCH SHE'S FUCKING DEPRESSED. HER ENTIRE CITY DIED AROUND HER FROM RADIATION POISONING AND SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE TO SURVIVE.
SHE'S BINGE DRINKING AND DOING PUB CRAWLS ON OTHER PLANETS SO THAT SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO REMEMBER HER OWN PLANET DYING SLOWLY. SO THAT SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO REMEMBER HER PARENTS DYING IN FRONT OF HER.
DEPRESSION IS DISGUSTING. IT'S NOT CLEANING YOUR ROOM FOR MONTHS ON END. IT'S NOT BRUSHING YOUR TEETH FOR A WEEK. IT'S NOT TAKING A SHOWER FOR TWO WEEKS. IT'S GETTING DRUNK TO FORGET ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS.
IT'S NOT JUST "Oh, boo-hoo, I'm big sad." IT'S LIVING IN FILTH BECAUSE LIFE JUST FEELS SO MEANINGLESS THAT THERE'S NO POINT IN CLEANING UP. IT'S NOT TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF BECAUSE YOU JUST DON'T HAVE THE ENERGY.
GIRLS NEED TO BE SHOWN THAT JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE DEPRESSED IT DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE TO STAY THAT WAY. SHIT SUCKS. LIFE SUCKS. PEOPLE SUCK. BUT IT DOES GET BETTER, AND YOU CAN GET BETTER.
YOU DON'T ALWAYS HAVE TO BE KIND, BUT YOU MUST BE GOOD.
Hey, wanna make music? Yeah? Got a buncha money? No? Well that's perfectly fine, check this free stuff out:
Vital - A powerful wavetable synth, my personal favorite VST synth, very easy to figure out creating new synth sounds, with the help of the plenty of tutorials that are out there for the plug-in. (There are paid versions but they are completely unnecessary to get 99% of the features of the plug-in.)
Synth1 - A classic piece of synthesizer software.
Pendulate - An interesting, chaotic synth that you can make weird little sounds with.
Native Instruments' free plug-ins - Various cool VSTs, including the Komplete Start pack.
The Free Orchestra - A set of orchestral instruments for Kontakt Player (see previous link).
BBC Symphony Orchestra Discover - More orchestral stuff! This one has its own player so you don't have to download a separate VST to use it if you don't want to.
Magical 8bit Plug - A chiptune plug-in, intended for producing sounds like that of 8-bit systems like the NES and Master System.
Genny - A synth VST made to emulate the soundchip of the Sega Genesis/Mega Drive.
MT Power Drum Kit - A nice rock n' roll style drum kit plug-in.
This guy's weird VST collection - 6.4 gigabytes of weird VSTs, including some you might know, like Delay Lama and MeowSynth!
sforzando - A free player for soundfont files.
Musical Artifacts - A resource I mainly use to find soundfonts, on which you can find other various things as well.
Kilohearts Essentials - 30 effect VSTs including reverb, delay, compression, pitch shifting, transient shaping, ring modulation, phase distortion, and more.
Xfer's freeware VSTs - Exactly what it says on the tin, including the one and only OTT compressor.
Illformed - The good ol' dblue Glitch 1.3, Crusher, Stretch, and TapeStop.
Hysteresis and Fracture - Two interesting glitch effects, one being a delay and the other being a buffer.
Codec - A cool digital audio degradation effect.
Le Phonk - A slick distortion plug-in.
MAIM - An effect that mimics the sound of MP3 compression.
Soundly Shape it and Place it - One is simply an equalizer VST, the other is an effect that emulates a speaker (ex: a radio) and a space (ex: a cave).
Fresh Air - An effect that adds high end information to your sounds, to provide brightness.
ValhallaSupermassive - A combo reverb and delay plug-in that sounds quite big.
UnplugRed - A collection of various interesting VSTs, most of which have free versions.
Chowdhury DSP - I can't personally speak for all of these but their tape model effect is great for some lo-fi style effects.
TAL-Chorus-LX - A thick sounding chorus, good for "retro" sounds too.
Polyverse Wider - A great effect for widening sounds up, really simple too with only two controls.
Freesound - A good audio file resource, mainly for foley recordings.
Cymbatics Dubstep Starter Pack - A little sample pack with some good drum and synth samples.
fishmonger drum kit - A pack of samples from the album 'fishmonger' by Underscores!
WangleLine's sample packs - Free samples put out by my awesome mutual WangleLine!
aaand I might as well include this set of drums I made a while back :P
As for DAWs, it's been a long while since I've used anything other than FL Studio (not counting Audacity, which I still occasionally use for specific purposes), which, while being the only one I can directly recommend, is paid. However, I've heard good things about Reaper which has a "free trial" that you can technically use forever, akin to WinRAR. Additionally, I've also heard some good things about Waveform Free.
I think as communists or marxists or leftists, in order to progress, we should be able to unpack not just the capitalist propaganda surrounding socialist states but also the genuine failures as well. Thus, I think acknowledging and unpacking how the USSR maintained the imperialism, colonialism, and ethnosupremacy of the Russian Empire (something that is incredibly well documented and provable, the mass deportations for example are pretty undeniable) is pretty crucial actually and justifying or denying it sets us back quite a bit 👍🏽.
@anti-parent I'm still looking for sources, but I did want to share 2 sources on the topics I found preliminarily because tbh this is gonna take a while.
Some general caveats:
I really am not an expert on this part of history at all, just someone who is doing my best to learn more on the matter by reading and speaking with people who've been directly affected by this imperialism.
I think much of the work here in this area is not in English, and unfortunately I do think English speakers do miss a wealth of literature critiquing Russian imperialism during the Soviet Era and afterwards
That being said, here are two sources on the matter which seem to be pretty comprehensive:
Russian Imperialism, Sergey Nikolsky - Traces the mechanisms of Russian imperialism from Tsarist era to Soviet era to post-Soviet era
The Origins of Soviet Ethnic Cleansing, Terry Martin - Covers USSR's mass-deportations of entire ethnic populations
If anyone who knows more on this wants to add on/critique the sources here, please please please let me know I would be very greatful.
Also there's some books and articles I am trying to unpaywall currently. If anyone's got a digital copy of Empire and Ethnicity by Robert Paul Geraci, I'd be very greatful if you shared
I find it kind of funny that human babies are so fragile and helpless and useless that natural selection went like HARD-hard on humans finding babies cute. This thing is a wailing messy resource sinkhole so please find other reason to enjoy it. And the humans that did find baby cute and invest time in them, the crazy bastards?? Lived!!
And now there’s so much spill-over from “baby cute” gene that humans see literally any “baby” creature that even slightly resembles us, like
and we’re like 😍🥰🤩🥺🥺🥺 I wanna love you so bad. I wanna make so many images of you, you are so small, just baby. I’m inventing new emotions as we speak bc I love you so much.
Like, I’m almost convinced humans didn’t even domesticate dogs bc we thought they’d be useful, we saw some puppies and it activated our Big Boi Primate Baby buttons, it wasn’t even logic time baby, it was 🥺 time.
The funniest thing about that is the fact that neuroimaging of elephant brains have proved that they think that we – humans – are cute in exactly the same way. They most likely want to squish and cuddle us the way we want to do with puppies based on the firing of their neurons.
Actually hatebros, “survival of the fittest” means you have to make as many friends as possible in one lifetime. Naruto understands Darwinism better than you.
(These images are sourced from ethical places to interact with elephants)
