🍰 maja, twenties, she/her •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ 🍡 loves fashion, everything pink, hot coco, figure skating, matching pj sets, and writing.
older men enthusiast. this blog is strictly 18+ mdni!
m.list previous ao3
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♡ my pet nerd ꪆৎ nerd!clark kent x popular!reader
cw; teasing, fingering, handjob
Clark is already blushing when you step into his dorm room. He always is when you show up unannounced, wearing something cute, leaning against his doorway like you know he’s been thinking about you all day.
He pushes his glasses up with that nervous little shove, sweater sleeves swallowing his fingers.
“You… uh… wanted to study?” he asks.
“Maybe,” you reply, closing the door behind you. “But I kinda wanted you more.”
His breath stutters. You can hear it.
You walk toward him slowly, letting your fingertips drag across his desk, his chair, until you’re right in front of him. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, back straight, legs tense, looking up at you like you’re divine.
You step between his knees. “Clark?”
He tries to answer. Fails. Nods instead.
You tug lightly on the collar of his sweater. “You’re staring.”
“I’m always staring,” he admits softly, eyes dropping to your lips. “I just… try not to get caught.”
“Well,” you murmur, tilting his chin up, “you’re caught.”
He lets out a shaky sigh as your thumb strokes his jaw. His breath warms your wrist. He looks dizzy already. Perfect. You lean in close enough that your lips brush his, then pull back just as he leans forward to meet you. His face falls.
You smile. “Something wrong?”
He swallows. “You tease me.”
“You like it.”
He can’t deny that. His cheeks betray him, flushing warm, needy.
You climb into his lap, straddling him, and Clark lets out a tiny broken sound, hands hovering awkwardly like he’s scared to touch without permission.
You take his wrists and place his palms on your hips.
“There,” you breathe. “Touch me.”
His fingers tighten like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
You kiss him, soft at first, then deeper. Clark kisses like he memorizes the shape of your mouth every time. Careful. A little desperate. Always holding back.
You pull away and tug on his bottom lip with your teeth. He gasps.
“Clark,” you whisper against his cheek, “you can be greedy with me.”
His hands clench at your hips. “I don’t want to push you.”
“You won’t. Trust me.”
You rock your hips forward once, slow and subtle. His reaction is instant, a strangled little inhale, his thighs tightening beneath you.
You smirk. “Sensitive.”
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he whispers, breath shaky.
“Maybe.”
He groans. Actually groans. It’s low and helpless, spilling from his throat like he didn’t want it to escape.
You slot your mouth against his ear. “You want me to stop?”
“No.” His hands jerk you closer. “Don’t stop. Please.”
That ‘please’ goes straight to your core.
You grind again, a little harder, feeling him through his sweats, thick, hard, and throbbing. Clark squeezes his eyes shut like it hurts.
“You’re killing me,” he murmurs.
“I haven’t even started.”
You kiss down his neck, slow trails that make him shiver. When you suck gently at the pulse point, he bucks up embarrassingly fast.
You lift your head, breath warm. “Clark.”
“Yeah?”
“Take off your sweater.”
His eyes widen. “O-okay.” He pulls it over his head, curls falling messier, shoulders broad and tense. He’s got that soft, strong farm-boy build: thick arms, tight chest, just enough definition to make your mouth water.
You run your nails down his torso lightly, and he shudders.
“Your turn,” he whispers.
You pull your top off slowly, watching his pupils flare, his chest rise sharply, his hands twitch like he wants to grab you but doesn’t know where.
“Can I…?” he asks quietly.
“Touch?”
He nods, breath held.
“You can do anything you want.”
He finally allows himself to explore, palms sliding up your waist, over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs.
You guide his hands to your breasts fully. He whimpers. Actually whimpers.
“Clark,” you whisper, hips grinding, “you’re hard.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “I know.”
“Feels good?”
He nods helplessly. “Too good.”
“Want help?”
His voice is a broken whisper. “Please.”
You slip your hand into his sweats, fingers wrapping around him.
Clark chokes, hips jerking up, breath gone.
“Relax,” you coo.
“I c-can’t— not when you—”
You stroke him slowly, feeling him throb in your palm, his breath fracturing piece by piece. Then he surprises you. His hands grip your waist hard, pulling you against him as he kisses you deep, nothing like the shy pecks from before. His tongue meets yours, and he’s desperate.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to gasp, “Let me make you feel good too.”
“You want to touch me?” you whisper.
He nods frantically. You take his trembling hand and slide it into your panties, guiding his fingers exactly where you want them. The noise he makes is sinful.
“You’re…” he whispers, voice cracked wide open, “you’re so wet.”
“Because of you.”
His breath catches hard. “Tell me what to do.”
“Anything,” you pant. “Just don’t stop.”
He obeys instantly. His fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, cautious circles until you gasp his name, and then he does it harder, smoother, more confident.
You ride his hand and stroke him at the same time, both of you shuddering, both of you whispering each other’s names, both of you right on the edge.
“Clark,” you gasp, “I’m close—”
His forehead drops against your shoulder, breath ragged. “Me too. I can’t— I can’t hold it—”
“Don’t,” you whisper, stroking him harder. “Want you to finish for me.”
He unravels. Clark moans, hips snapping, thick and hot in your hand, face buried in your neck like he’s overwhelmed by pleasure. The sound of him coming is broken, and breathless. You follow moments later, grinding into his fingers, your orgasm hitting sharp and sweet.
When it fades, you collapse against him, chest to chest, still catching your breath.
Clark wraps his arms around you slowly. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs.
“You’re fun to tease,” you say, kissing his jaw.
He smiles, fully wrecked.
“Next time,” he whispers, “I want to tease you back.”
