Debating on posting my wips cause on one hand they've been collecting dust for ages now but on the other they feel so dated compared to what I try to be now like the writing seems so sucky to meee (´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )
Sam Winchester being in a relationship with you of all people, bratty, demanding, you, practically a walking headache. It didn’t make sense to anyone who found out because of the way the two of you fit together like a visual punchline. Sam, all six foot five of him, broad shoulders, long, strong, limbs, the kind of guy who looked like he benched boulders on the regular, coupled up with you, barely reaching past his chest, sharp-tongued, and impatient, tapping your foot while bossing him around like he wasn’t capable of snapping you in half with ease. And yet—there he was, each and every time, leaning down to listen, nodding to you like it was the most serious thing in the world, already doing whatever it was you asked.
Dean loved pointing it out, just always cracking it up over his brother being so whipped. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he’d say, grinning as you snapped at Sam to hand something over. “Guy wrestles monsters for a living and gets ordered around by someone who needs a step stool.” Sam would glare half-heartedly, but his attention was always on you, already reaching for whatever you wanted, already apologizing if he didn’t move fast enough. It was comical, really—the way he immediately obeyed, towering, devoted and completely misty-eyed over you.
The worst part, for Dean and Bobby both, was how often Sam would leave. Hunts wrapped up early not because the case was done, but because you’d called. A short, impatient “are you coming over or not?” was all it took. Sam would already be packing up, shrugging into his jacket, repeating excuses about checking in with them later. Dean learned to read the signs, his soft smile, his loss of focus, his phone tucked back into his jeans' pocket like it was something precious. “She call?” Dean would ask. Sam would only look over in response, never denying it.
Sam wore your presence on him, literally. Bracelets you’d given him, bright, colorful things that looked ridiculous on his large wrists—they never came off. He twisted them when he was thinking, thumb brushing over plastic beads like a grounding habit. Bobby once stared at them for a few minutes before wisely deciding not to comment on them. His phone case was your favorite color and decorated with all sorts of charms and stickers. Sam always wore it in pride, he didn’t care how they looked to other people. You liked them there. That was reason enough. Everything regarding you boiled down to that simple truth.
And then there were the little things—the things that made people, mostly Dean and Bobby, stop and stare. Sam sitting patiently while you clipped little pastel hair clips into his brunette locks, holding still like a statue so you could get it just right. Sam wearing matching pajama sets because you thought it’d be "cute," long legs folded awkwardly on a bed that was clearly too small for him. A man built like a weapon, letting himself be decorated and coordinated, all just to hear you hum and smile in satisfying. You bossed him around with nothing short of an iron fist and Sam followed without hesitation. It didn’t make sense to anyone on the outside looking in, but he never cared. Because to him, bending down to kiss your forehead, smiling like he’d won something rare, felt exactly right.
Warnings: Dub Con ▪︎ Blood Drinking ▪︎ Licking ▪︎ Reader Gets Hurt (thrown around, shot, knifed at) ▪︎ Reader Is A Bit Cocky/Self Degrading ▪︎ Reader Is Also Manhandled And Is Described As Being Smaller Than Sam ▪︎ Mating Press ▪︎ May Not Be 100% Lore Accurate ▪︎ Abrupt ending
Authors Note: Those Ruby scenes or when he's eating that demon girl on the floor, most of his demon blood scenes tbh.....when is it my turn // Probably reallyyy ooc and kinda all over the place since I took a break from watching Supernatural towards the end of S6...( o´ｪ｀o) but I'll finish it I swear (*σ´ｪ｀)σ also its been ages since I actually sat down and wrote anything let alone looked at this fic so the smut is sorta kinda maybe trash (((^^;) the first half is definitely a lot stronger then the second, you might even be able to pin point where I took my supernatural break lol
Hunter's Hunger
Demon blood addict Sam Winchester x Demon!reader
Synopsis: You thought you were capable enough to take on the Winchesters but end up failing horribly and in a last ditch effort to escape certain death you mange to separate the two of them and make Sam an offer he's too hungry to refuse...
Safe to say, you realized you were in over your head way too late, running wall to wall in circles in some old abandoned house, away from two yelling 6 ft. something men. Your power was starting to strain from how long you were keeping yourself in this human form. Not sure if you'd be able to hold out much longer, especially since the house seemed to get smaller with each passing hour.
Stumbling, bruised, and bloody, you finally found a room you hadn't been in and that hadn't been turned to splinters by the Winchesters. Crouching down to hide yourself in the dark corner, you could only hope you'd have enough time to heal properly. You needed to calm down, and your environment just didn't help much to do that. As each dragging minute went on, you were left to your own thoughts, thinking about the fact that you were a demon, stronger and feared by humans and other supernatural creatures alike. Regardless, here you are, cold, bloody, and jumping at the sounds of scattering mice; it wasn't your best moment. It was even more ridiculous how they were able to get the jump on you considering you were the one who attacked first; you were hunting them, and within minutes they had reduced you to a self-loathing mess.
Not to mention the taunting after you decided to run, especially from Dean, who, through the chilling silence, continued to yell, clearly not seeing you as much of a threat.
"Hell must be proud—raising demons who can’t even stick the landing." His muffled yell could be heard through the walls.
"Come on, I thought demons liked to play rough," Dean yelled again; you could hear a condescending smirk through his teasing.
As annoying as it was, you could tell the insults came from further in the house, so you knew he wasn't anywhere close to you. Your problem was locating Sam; he did a much better job at hiding himself, even from your improved senses. As time went on it just got more worrying; he was far too quiet, and Dean just couldn't seem to shut up long enough for you to properly listen for Sam, almost as if he was trying to distract you. Sitting in pitch-black darkness, still shaking from your nerves, you attempted to calm down and started daydreaming about getting to rid the Underworld of the Winchesters once and for all. Your ultimate achievement, then all those miserable low-life demons would have to give you the respect you deserve for finally doing what they couldn't. Your fantasizing gave you hope, knowing that the pain you were going through would be more than worth it for your deserved reward. If only you weren't too deep into the fantasy, you would've heard it—the sound of rough leather boots beginning to close in on your spot in the corner.
ksh...
Ksh...
Kksh........
and then silence, only for a moment before you heard the click of a loaded gun.
—A deafening bang followed the pistol's white flash and the strong burning sensation that came with it. The feeling overtook your left shoulder, forcing you to stand, dizzy and vision blurred, only just barely dodging the rock salt bullet aimed at your head. Managing to gather yourself, you rushed to take hold of the gun, leaving your open, burning wound to stretch and drip blood onto the floor. The salt residue on the gun's head added more to the prickly burning sensation. If you weren't so focused on not being shot down, you would've seen the way Sam's jaw tensed and how his nose flared; he was wavering, and quickly.
The struggle didn't last long before Dean showed up, guns blazing and yelling something you couldn't make out. Letting go of the gun to dodge yet another bullet, this one aimed at your ribs. You winced in pain after landing on your wounded shoulder, just inches out of reach from Sam's attempt at slicing your neck. You, again, staggered your way to standing, the agonizing wear and tear of your body only becoming more blatant. And this was no more obvious to the Winchesters, who, through the bright moonlight, could see you starting to cave in on yourself. The shine from their silver knives was taunting you. If you couldn't come up with some way to escape fast, you'd end up dying in this dirty, old building, an embarrassment.
Looking back and forth between the two men, you stood your ground, or did your best trying. Catching small glimpses of Sam gazing a bit too long at your spilled blood. He didn't seem as eager as his brother; he was more hesitant, more distracted. He practically disappeared when looking into those dark red, glazed-over puddles. This is when you started to get an idea—utterly reckless, out of pure desperation, and based on demon-spread rumors, but an idea nevertheless. You had no choice but to swallow your pride and quickly padded your bloody shoulder wound. Flinging the few drops of blood at his face, landing just under his nose and bottom lip.
Sam staggered, caught off guard and trying to regain his composure. Quickly wiping it away as you dodged yet another shell from Dean, who was yelling unintelligible insults at you. Rotten furniture splintered and glass shattered; the noise of general ruckus and destruction filled the background as Dean tried to keep you away from his brother. All the while, Sam was unsettlingly still, just staring off at nothing in particular as the small blood spatter dripped down his face. Completely vanished from the situation in front of him.
"Sam! C'mon, Sam, focus! We have to get this bitch already!" Dean grunted, missing another shot, quickly turning his head to his brother, "Sam—!"
Dean didn't get to finish as you took your chance and rammed the entirety of your body into his, throwing him past the rotten wood wall and into the next room. You then rush to a stop, listening closely for Dean; his heartbeat slows but doesn't stop—you knocked him out.
Slowly turning back to Sam, you were careful not to make any sudden movements, still unsure of what he was going to do. He's still standing motionless, looking down, and you could see what looked to be saliva dripping out onto the floor. You flinched when he raised his hand to wipe down his mouth, licking his palm and finally raising his head to glare at you through messy, brown locks. Sam took a step towards you, flinching again. You're quick to try and appeal to the towering man.
"W—wait!" You held your arm out, taking on a more defensive position as you stood essentially backed into a corner. "—I could give you more, loads more! as much as you like! Really, no fooling!" Letting out stiff and awkward giggles. "Your very own personal blood bag!...ha"
You then slowly straightened out your posture and placed your arm closer to you. Taking your free hand and gliding the points of your nails into the skin, letting dark red blood pool over the fresh wounds. Waiting with bated breath, the awkward smile you're forcing started to feel strained. Your mouth was beginning to dry at the overwhelming silence with only the sound of blood droplets hitting the floor. You wanted to run and forget this stupid plan entirely, but you knew you wouldn't get far. Your body was too injured, and even more so after your previous scuffle. Now standing face-to-face, granted you had to look up a decent bit, with the man who was going to decide if you lived or died, the man whose brother you just knocked through a wall.
"Your brother is fine, by the way! Well, not fine-fine—but not dead! He'll be okay...probably...." Sam is only a few feet in front of you now, still staring with that menacing glare in his eyes. You were getting ready to speak again, but within seconds you're pushed back into a wall and held there by the throat. Feeling the air drain out of you, it's a struggle to even raise your hands to his wrist, being careful not to actually scratch or cut him. It's difficult to keep up your already unconvincing attitude of absolute and eager submissiveness, even more so when you're actively being choked out. The pain was only growing, and with black spots dotting your vision, you couldn't do much to hide the disdain-filled grimace on your face or the animalistic growl crawling out of your throat.
"Sam!" You squeaked out with furrowed brows, "Let's-ack!—be reasonable h...ere!" Managing to force your face into showing off a large, albeit crooked, smile, having no choice but to hope that Sam's cravings would overpower his sense of reasoning. He doesn’t respond, still keeping you pinned. Sam still seems hesitant in his actions; he's angry with you, but there's still something stopping him from snapping your neck. You can feel his calloused hand start to quiver and loosen, his eyes glossed over, and slowly, you feel yourself slipping down the wall.
Now standing on your feet, you keep yourself in place; you and Sam were still quite close, and there wasn't much room to move due to his large stature. He's looking down at you while you do your best not to make eye contact. “You hurt my brother and tried to kill us both; why would I let you go?” he pauses. "Would that be reasonable?" he says more sternly, his eyes going from your face to the purpled bruise on your neck and down to your bloodied arm. Sam didn't sound entirely angry, clearly upset, but half of him was still lost in thought. Blood continued to drip down your wrist and onto the floor. You could feel yourself start to sweat, swallowing the lump in your throat and gathering what little courage you had left. You looked up to meet his eyes, putting on a more confident demeanor, a clear farce, and replied.
"...You can have as much as you want, really...as much as you want. It couldn't be more reasonable to let yourself indulge—to make yourself feel better..."
Slowly lifting your arm to grace over his wrist and up to his elbow, once you managed to swallow down your devilish pride, you smiled up at him, cheery and hopeful-looking.
Sam paused for a moment, letting himself get lost in your eyes. "Give it to me," Sam spoke in a mellowed but still firm tone. He held out his hand, and slowly you put your wounded arm out for him to hold. Grabbing you by the elbow, he raised your arm to his mouth, feeling his breath grace over it. He sat there for a moment, taking in its scent before dragging his tongue over your arm's cuts, sucking blood and occasionally biting around your wounds. You're being pushed back against the wall as Sam starts to get more bold; he's gripping your arm tighter and closes in on the little space left between you. Being a demon, you were able to take the pain doing this gave you, but it didn't do any good to soothe the sense that you were the one losing control.
It was more than embarrassing that you had to put on any sort of act, but at least you could comfort yourself in that it was your choice to do so, that you were the one playing the game on Sam even after everything. But now you were genuinely at a disadvantage, not only physically but also mentally. The longer you saw Sam spiral down his own lack of self-control, you couldn't help but notice you going down with him. It might've just been you being groggy and slightly sleepy, obviously still suffering from prior injuries, but there was the way how Sam kept you close and secure. Even as he made sure to keep his hold on you, it never seemed like he meant to hurt you, which sounded unbelievable considering your situation, but you weren't in the position to question it.
Sam pauses, letting the blood soak on his tongue, still holding you close, his gaze entirely fixed on you. Slowly trailing his eyes from your arm and up to your neck, swallowing the bit of blood he held in his mouth, Sam spoke in a wavering tone.
"I can't believe this...what are you doing to me..."
"I'm not doing anything; it's only natural."
You spoke quietly as you draped your hand over the back of his neck, ghosting over the ends of his hair and just behind his ear. Sam's nose taking in the intoxicating scent of the spots of blood on your hand.
"Sam, who has to know? Really, who has to—"
Sam let out a grunt as he closed his eyes shut, as if he didn't want to face the reality of what he was doing. Still, he made the move to kiss you, though much gentler than you were expecting. Despite that, he still took charge in how he kissed you, guiding your head and moving his hand so that he held you by the jaw as his other moved to slowly remove your tattered clothing.
It wasn't long before Sam was kissing down your neck and collarbone as you stood shirtless. You could feel the chill air on your many wounds and bruises, with Sam doing his part in licking the cooled blood oozing out of your many open wounds. His gaze still glossed over in what looked to be pure ecstasy, his body seemed to move even before his mind had given it the idea.
Sam would continue kissing and licking down your body as he started to gradually slide you down to the floor with him, still keeping you close. Now sat in the corner with Sam draping himself over your body, letting his hand join with yours and having the other slip off your ruined, blood-soaked pants. It felt a bit weird at first, having Sam practically on top of you in all of his rough and thick layers of worn cotton and jeans and having it rub against your skin when you lay almost bare. As Sam eased you onto your back, the room's moonlight made clear the small, dried patches of your blood etched in his jacket's fabric.
Lying against a dirty, rough, and cold floor with only the heat radiating off Sam's body to keep you warm. He's still in his jacket, along with his worn blue jeans and boots. Holding himself above you with his clothed forearms, pausing to look into your eyes with this unreadable, almost bored expression. Your blood was still fresh on his lips, shining over and occasionally dripping down to your collarbone. You're both breathing a bit heavily now, with the two of you being stuck in a sort of standoff, waiting for that single inciting action.
"...You just gonna stand there and look silly?" Meeting his eyes and positioning your hand under his elbow.
"It's not fair, is it, considering things?" Gesturing to him still being in all his clothes compared to you being completely nude.
"Can't say I really care about being fair, considering things." Sam spoke quieter, in a clear but almost bored tone.
He was probably reminiscing about when you had tried to kill them, or when you crashed his brother through a wall, or maybe one of the other things you did that led up to this moment. Even then, he lifted himself to his knees, placing the back of yours over his thighs as he moved to remove his jacket, tossing it aside and leaving him in a form-fitting, grey T-shirt. It'd be the only thing he'd take off before he came back down to kiss you, still with the blood-covered lips he didn't bother to wipe down.
His jeans are already unzipped and down; you'd wonder when he must've done that if you weren't distracted by the raging bulge in his boxers. He pushed your leg up by its bend and started to rub against you. Sam kept a firm grip on you, not enough to hurt but enough so that you didn't have much room to squirm away from him.
He's mumbling something incoherent against your neck while he uses his free hand to smooth down your other leg. He's easing you into it; still a bit surprised at his consideration, he's treating you like you're some longtime lover of his. Admittedly, you're a bit conflicted with yourself. Sure, you knew trying to appease Sam with sex would lead to, well, sex, but now that it's actually happening, you can't help but feel so...feverish. Touching you and making you feel such bliss in places you didn't even know would react that way, and Sam would've been an idiot if he didn't capitalize on that.
He's moved away from your neck, decorated with dried blood and bruises, hickeys, and other things. He meets your eyes before giving you another once-over and finally goes to push down his boxers just enough so that his cock springs free and stands perfectly at the sloppy entrance between your legs.
Tensing at the feeling, and he hadn't even put it in yet. Your breathing has gotten more rapid and shallow. Part of you wanted to blame it on all the injuries you had acquired, but you knew that wasn't it. Adjusting you one more time, he starts to sink past your plush walls, feeling each and every inch as he curls over you. Hearing him so close to your ear, letting out those airy moans and sighs, seeing how his body flexed beneath his sweat- and blood-soaked shirt. You were completely encompassed by him, and you couldn't hide it. Sam sets a comfortable, consistent pace, holding you close enough just so he could see you lose yourself even more than you already had. Seeming to melt into his embrace, eyes half-lidded and rolled back, you babble off something embarrassing, interrupting yourself with your own squeaky moans and whimpers, all the while struggling to keep still in his hold.
"Hah," Sam gulps, "—you're so worked up," showing off this lopsided smile when he looked down at you through his brown locks. It's romantic the way he looked at you and the way he was so pleased with himself on getting to unravel you. Listening to you make those whiny moans along with the soaking wet sounds of connection. Making sure to keep eye contact with you the entire time he had you, even when you couldn't maintain it, he continued staring with a glazed-over look in his eyes. Focused and with his lips parted, you could hear him mumble, "That's it...just like that...just like that..." He'd repeat it as he came closer to your face, peppering it with sloppy kisses around and on your lips. Your blood had mostly dried on him by this point; you'd catch small spots on his face glinting on occasion. You could see Sam slip his tongue out of his mouth to swipe at what little he could, smearing it around his mouth as well as coming down to lick the blood on your own face. He kept his focused gaze, but you could still see the hunger within it as he'd switch between kissing and lapping at your face.
Your body was spent. Every twitch, flutter, and quivering moan—it was as if your body short-circuited, overloaded with too much of a pleasurable feeling. The demon in you had long given up by this point, succumbing to being this human's, one of the most notable and dangerous to your kind, "plaything." Sam was more than aware of the impact he's had on you, and whether it was his blood-drunken frenzy making him feel this way or not, he enjoyed it. Sprawled out beneath him on this uncomfortable floor, Sam continued thrusting his hips, starting to go at a faster pace. Your body was more than welcoming to it; the wet sounds only got louder and more intense as your brain felt like it scrambled itself trying to keep up. Sam knew how to keep you just on the brink of an edge, pausing only to push your legs further so you could feel him deeper inside you. It was obscene, the sounds of squishing and squelching coming from you, and it only got more so as you'd start to tip off the edge.
Weakly digging your fingers into his forearms, you'd start to shake around him, shutting your eyes and babbling off something incoherent while he'd leave you kisses and start to slow his movements. He hadn't stopped completely and would slip through your folds, coating himself in your slick and cum all while your legs trembled in his hold. He still wasn't rough and was entirely dedicated to feeling each pulse around him, moaning about how much he thought you liked it in your ear. He'd move his hand to come up behind your neck, holding it there just so he could get a better look at you. Sam was coming close to his own edge, and he wanted to gaze at as much of your face as possible. Pressing kisses on your parted lips, he was obsessed with your dazed face and caressing your neck all the while.
Sam would keep up with the flowery and cotton candy-tasting treatment, and you'd accept it. Not being fully able to come down from your climax, you still felt immersed in pleasure; however, you had finally been able to form a full thought after what felt like ages. He'd raise himself up to readjust himself, slipping out with a shaky moan coming from you. In the moment that past you came to a realization, being a demon, you healed a lot faster than others, and with all the time that's passed, you were more than able to get up and run, and you did just that. Taking only a moment to gather yourself, to finally meet Sam's tender-filled gaze, you urgently pushed him off your form. Not taking the time to fix any sort of clothes for yourself, you run to the nearest exit, a cracked window. Staggering in your movements from the sudden rise and still reeling from an orgasm, still you made it to the window, taking one last look at Sam behind you.
Maybe you had gotten a little too comfortable having Sam treat you like someone he cared about, because there you stood couched in the window, actually a little disappointed that everything was said and done. Taking one last look at Sam, he didn't try moving towards you; he's sweating, his breath is still ragged, and his hair is a mess. He didn't look angry, or too upset either; a part of him had to expect this. You could see it in his face, and as you made your leap into the night, you couldn't help but think his last look at you seemed hopeful, like he wanted to see you again, and as much as you wanted to deny it, you desired the same.
Gonna be so honest idk how to make the jump into the smut for my Sam fic cause it's already dub con and I don't want it to be full on non con but I'm so stuck on how to get there in a way i want, I've just been rewriting everything I come up with its so ridiculous (´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )(´Д` )!!!!!
Kinda suggestive towards the end, Fluff? Clark and reader are just talking, reader gets silly towards the end, reader doesn't know Clark is Superman, reader fawns over Superman
An: I've been in such a writing slump it's sooo terrible but I finally felt like writing and now I can sweep the cobwebs off my blog at least for a little while. This is mostly to practice dialogue tho
Forgive me if this is ass IM RUSTYYYY
You're not even halfway through your Superman fawning, sitting on Clark's cluttered desk, talking about how brave he must be to take on all that he does and how mysterious he is to just disappear into the clouds after its all done. Not to mention how when he does make his appearance on TV and in the papers, he seems so genuine in that he truly wants to help as many as possible. Just an all-around perfect guy, oh and that he's tall, handsome, and built like a brick house, of course.
"You... you must think about this a lot, huh?" Clark replied. He's leaning back in his desk chair, looking up at you through his squared glasses. He's teasing but if you were to look closer, there was no mistaking the way his ears flush pink. He's trying to keep things light, but his smile doesn’t quite hide the tightness in his jaw.
You laugh it off, "well doesn't everyone? Especially you, Clark." And kept going, meeting his eyes. "I mean— you cannot begin to understand how jealous I am that you get to sit in a room with... all that..." You let out an airy sigh, looking off to nowhere in particular.
"All what??" Clark’s words slip through his laugh, crossing his arms on his chest, his grin on full display now, clearly finding your behavior amusing.
"You know— That!" You can even hold back your own smile at this point, not like you were trying much to before. "Oh! That reminds me, I wanted to ask about something I saw online, it's about all that..." Pausing to take a dramatic look around the two of you before leaning down to whisper, "... that pheromone talk?"
"Now what are you talking about?" Clark laughs, "What do- do you think he's a werewolf or something?" He teases. "He's not going around smelling like a campfire or wood chippings or anything like that if that's what you're asking." He takes a moment to adjust his glasses, "Where'd you even hear something like that anyways?"
"Well..." you drag on, suddenly feeling like the room got 30 degrees hotter, "it was on this website... from someone who said they were saved by Superman actually! And I was kinda thinking something else..." you whisper the last few words out of a prickly sense of embarrassment.
"A website...?" He pauses "And what else were you thinking?" Theres a pinch in his brows, he's a half-step too curious for answers now.
"Y'know... maybe, I thought— the pheromones... were 'cause of... urges?" You can see the way his eyes widen and just before he goes to respond you stumble to regain your composure, "its not that crazy a thought, right?? I mean, you were the one who was on that interview with that one lady, about the- how she mentioned that he smelt like coconut??" You're waving your hands around, half hoping that it'll distract him enough to make what you're saying not sound completely insane.
"Wait so you were thinking this whole time, that Superman was— getting off on saving people that he was giving off a scent?" He can hardly get the words out, he's laughing so much. "Oh, could you imagine, getting sweeped up and carried off and he's got a hard-on the whole time." Clark takes off his glasses to wipe the tear out of his eye, still laughing through it. "You gotta tell me more about whatever website this is." Placing his frames back on, his face is a bit redder than usual, still showing off his commercial ready smile as he came down from his laughing fit.
"It's not funny, Clark" You said in a slight pout, "Tons of people think this, and who knows! Maybe he just hasn't told you yet cause he doesn't want it to be in the papers."
"It's ridiculously funny, and maybe you're right, you and those tons of people are just too observant. Maybe you should get a job in journalism, then you could get close enough to put your theory to the test!" Clark smirks seeing the look of your face, he pauses and says in a quieter voice, "who knows, maybe he'll wear your favorite cologne just for you."
"Yeah, yeah, jokes finished." You replied, not actually upset but just without the time to think of a comeback, you'd never admit it out loud but Clark's last imput made you a bit distracted, the kind of distraction that made you feel a small tingle. Checking your watch you see it's close to lunch, hopping off his desk, landing just between Clark’s spread legs. "C'mon Clarkie, I've been thinking of this one new sandwich place, all day!" You said as you walked away from him.
Clark stood to his full height, gathering his bag and coat before beginning to trail after you. He made a mental note in his head to go searching for whatever website you were talking about before as soon as he got home. He needed to see what else you were 'learning' about Superman, both out of pure curiosity and because a part of him loved to be reminded of just how head over heels in love you were with well, him. And how much he liked to remember how much you wanted him to fuck you, obviously.
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