“Holy shit, M-Mikey!” you screeched into the pillow, your moans muffled against the soft cushion. Robby's large hand snaked from your hip to the back of your head, gathering your hair at the root into his fist, and gripped it harshly. You whimpered out in surprise when he yanked at your scalp to lift your head off the pillow. His thrusts did not falter as you moaned out into the bedroom, the wanton sound echoing throughout his apartment.
“Mikey-” you gasped as he tugged harder on your hair until your arched back was pressed against his coarse, hairy chest. He wrapped his arm around your waist and moved his hand from your hair toward your neck. Grabbing it gently to hold rather than to squeeze. The possessive gesture makes you even wetter, and the squelching sounds between you get louder.
“The whole point of bringing you to my place," he grunted with his lips against your ear, "is so that you can be. Fucking. Loud." His thrusts were timed perfectly with his words.
“O-okay, I’m sor- Ow! Ow, fuck!!” You blubbered at a particular thrust that felt uncomfortably deep.
"Oh, Shit. Baby, are you okay?" Robby asked urgently before immediately pulling out, holding you more gently against his chest. Both the palms of his hands are now resting against your ribs, gripping you as delicately as possible to keep you from falling onto the mattress.
You panted heavily with your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath, waiting for the dull ache inside you to go away. Robby was getting desperate; your silence and lack of confirmation that you were okay were eating at him.
He gently grabbed your cheeks and forced you to turn your head back to face him behind your shoulder, needing eye contact to read you properly.
"Talk to me," Robby pleaded with a soothing tone, while his chocolate brown eyes bore into you. Anxious for an answer while trying not to stress you out, "Where does it hurt?"
"My-my-" you mewled softly as you made an effort to answer him properly. His encouraging nod helped you find the words you were looking for. "M-my cervix."
Robby tsked softly before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your full cheek.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," He murmured, his salt and pepper beard scratching your skin as his lips brushed tenderly against your soft and sweaty skin. The gesture made your eyes flutter closed to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, making you feel closer to him than when he was inside you.
"Do you want to stop?" He cooed against your cheek, the immediate shake of your head to his suggestion made him chuckle softly.
"No, just s-slow down. Please?" Robby nodded before placing one more kiss on your cheek.
“Alright. I need to check your pretty pussy first, okay?” He cooed, not making a single move to position you until he got your consent.
You nodded gently, and he moved his grip down to your waist as he lowered you down carefully onto your stomach and flipped you over with ease. His strength always surprised you, given that his only workout consisted of being constantly on the go at the Pitt. Robby grabbed your knees and pushed them up until they were inches from your shoulders, pressing against your breasts.
“Hold it,” He ordered, his role as an attending physician bleeding into his dominance in the bedroom. Your brain began to go all fuzzy and slow to process his command. Robby sensed your hesitance and glanced up at you with an arched brow, making you quickly obey and place your hands behind your knee to hold your legs back for him.
“Good girl,” He growled lowly as he kept his gaze on your soaked folds.
As he continued his inspection, your cheeks began to flush in this position. It always made you feel a little shy despite the numerous occasions he’s fucked you in a mating press. Except now you were exposing yourself to him instead of being covered by his tall and burly build.
A startled gasp escaped your lips as you felt the pad of his thumb circle your bundle of nerves. It quickly snapped you out of your anxious thoughts. You noticed his eyes were trained on your folds with his brows furrowed in concentration.
“What-what are you do-” Robby interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.
“Need to lube you up before I check you properly,” He continued to stimulate your engorged clit with slow and controlled circles, not stopping until you were weeping. Despite this technically being a clinical check-in, you didn't even try to hold back the desperate mewling coming out of your parted lips. Robby was borderline teasing you, and it was driving you insane.
It wasn't until he glanced down and saw the wet spot forming under your ass from your arousal dripping down your folds and onto his sheets. He finally decided that you were wet enough, and he scooted closer on his knees before carefully working one thick finger into your folds. It was a tight fit, but he didn't stop until he circled the tip of his finger around for your cervical opening.
Robby grunted softly once he located your opening, feeling the small dent.
“How does that feel?” His cock twitched against his thigh at the soft feeling of your opening, a sign that you were ovulating.
“A-a little weird,” you strangled breathlessly as you clenched around his finger, feeling more turned on than before.
“Bad weird?” He inquired, trying his hardest not to pull his finger out and go back to fucking you until you were filled up.
“No-no, l-like awkward weird not painful w-weird,” you panted heavily as your thighs began to shake in your grip.
Robby nodded before pulling his finger out, watching your slit clench around nothing and your clit twitching for contact. He placed his palm on one of your knees and spread you further open, allowing you to release your hold one of the backs of your knees.
You watched as he fisted his cock at the base and pressed the tip of his circumcised shaft against your clit. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, your thighs shaking in his grip.
"You ready pretty girl?" Robby growled, his voice hoarse from the frantic need to be inside you again.
"Yes."
A broken moan escaped your parted lips as he pushed his length all the way in in one thrust.
"Fuck-" Robby groaned through clenched teeth.
"I'm not gonna last," He panted heavily, "touch your pretty little clit for me."
You nodded quickly before reaching down to circle your clit with your fingertips, watching him groan at the sight and the way your slit flutters around his cock. He quickened his pace with a groan while he kept his fist at the base of his cock. Despite the lustful monster in him taking over, he was not going to make the same mistake of almost bruising your cervix again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cum for me, baby, please. Fuck, I'm so fucking close," Robby practically begged before leaning in to latch his lips around your nipple and suck on the soft nub until it hardened against his tongue.
"Daddy! Fuck me!" You whined as you came around his cock, your cum leaking onto his sheets, and adding to the puddle below your ass.
"That's it, baby," He groaned against your nipple before burying his face between your breasts.
"Where do you want it? Tell me now."
"Inside. Inside me, please," you pleaded as you wrapped your legs around his hips and hooked your feet to keep him inside.
"FUCK." Robby growled against your chest as he buried as much of himself as he could. His cock pulsated inside you as he kept moving his hips in shallow thrusts to fuck his cum further into you.
You gasped as he collapsed his full weight on top of you, his face buried into your chest, and he panted heavily. He reached forward to wrap one of his arms around you, making you arch your back to allow him to snake his arm under and hold you.
A comfortable silence settled in the room; the only sounds were you both finally catching your breath, mingled with the busy streets at midnight in Pittsburgh.
“You know we’ll have to tell your old man.”
With wide eyes, you turned your head to catch his gaze. You stared in wonder at his sudden determination while he returned his gaze in awe and a playful smirk.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” You watched as he leaned in to suckle on your sweet spot, the place on your neck just above your collarbone. The feeling caused you to slide your hand up his shoulder and run your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.
"Mikey," You whispered his name so lowly he almost didn't hear you.
“Mm?” Robby hummed without breaking contact from his lips on your neck, the sensation of his teeth biting down a little too hard made you clench around his softened length.
“He’s gonna look at you differently. As a friend and an employee-”
“I know,” Robby interrupted as he pulled away slightly to cup your face and leaned in to peck a kiss on your lips before murmuring, “I don’t care. I just want you in my life. Even with all the noise and bullshit. I've fucked enough cum into you and shared too much of myself to let you go.”
It was obvious now that this was more than sex. He didn't get his high off the secrecy and shame of fucking his supervisor’s daughter under the radar. Robby was getting his high from just being with you, touching, and connecting with every part of you that you were willing to give him. He couldn't get enough of it, and now he wanted the whole world to know.
“Maybe over dinner next Friday night?”
──────────۶ৎ───────────
this fic was deadass a year in the making, it was supposed to be small but it turned into this. enjoy and pls be gentle (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)
pussy inspection with pope but it’s because he’s never been able to just… look at one before he has sex.
cw: nsfw, deeply descriptive, pussy whipped!andrew, andrew loves feet, mention of sex work, oral (f recieving), not proofread, em dashes (it’s not AI, i promise i just love them) <3
andrew’s first (and majority) experiences with sex come from time with prostitutes— women paid to get straight to the point of pleasure and leave.
but you, he wants to take his time with you.
your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms cuddling you to him as he walks to his room. laying you on his cozy full sized bed; he’s been meaning to go up a size, but if he’s honest, he likes that you have to basically sleep on top of him when you sleep over. he places a palm on your belly, fingers sprawling against your torso as he catches his breath.
moving to sit up, you reach for him petulantly. but andrew shakes his head “n-no. no. wanna look at you. please-wanna… gotta see you first.” falling to his knees and kissing yours. he nuzzles into your thigh, calloused thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive, untouched skin behind your calf and under your knee.
andrew inhales, having to stop his tongue from lulling out and drooling on you. kissing the center of your cotton panties, he licks over the fabric until his tongue burns with irritation. doesn’t bother him, never could.
after peeling your panties off you, taking his hands from off of the bedroom floor to aid you, he returns back to his knees. a sudden clap of skin reverberates, andrew yanking you closer to him— eye level to your weeping cunt.
his tender green eyes flicker across her, puffy and cute in the warm light of his house. andrew’s trying to steady his breathing, but he’s a bull in a china shop; traipsing through getting you naked while desperately fighting every instinct to tear you apart with his teeth.
you whine as his thumbs move to your lips, spreading you open for him & the cold, air conditioned air. andrew’s eyes shimmer, with tears or want, who knows? either way, he pouting, the tiniest pool of saliva forming on his inner lip. he squishes your lips together, an experimental pinch to put pressure on your clit.
“oh my- oh, andrew-” “she’s so pretty.. like her so much”
he’s entranced as he responds, sitting up on his knees in focus. he swirls his tongue in his mouth, breath still coming in hard as he watches you writhe. moving his right hand back to the floor, he pushes down on his cock, trying to mirror the earlier sensation he gave you. his left thumb moves to the hood of your cunt & his mouth fills with water again at the sight of your clit trembling.
“oh, hi, baby.” he whispers, more to her than you. pressing his palm down harder on his thick cock, andrew’s breathing turns shaky as he eyes you.
your hips buck up impatiently, the room feeling entirely too hot and personal. a sudden weight across your lower tummy stops you, “p-please. just a few more minutes, bun, okay?”
nodding, you lay back down, hands covering your eyes so you don’t cry– you’ve never wanted him this badly. he returns to your cunt, pressing his thumb up and down over the hood, moving the skin to hear you whine and watch your toes clench.
he sits back on his haunches, hands pressing your thighs to spread wider. you think that if he had stirrups he’d make you use them. but his hands are on his lap, just looking, eyes flickering back and forth, back and forth. he kisses your thighs, nuzzling his nose against them before speaking, almost to himself, “just love her so much. wanna stay here all the time.”
again his thumb pulls back the skin of your cunt, clit swollen and throbbing under his stare. from above, andrew rolls his tongue before dishing out a long glob of spit. he lets it glide down your clit, and you kick your legs in anticipation, subtly crying “andyyyy”
for a moment his eyes meet yours, a brief, romantic moment. he palms at himself, slack jawed as he watches your chest heave. but the moment ends very quickly once he catches sight of his bubbly saliva melting onto your pussy.
diving forward, he whines into you. andrew’s hands return to the floor, fists pushing down onto the hardwood to ground himself as his eyes flutter shut. swirling the glob of spit in his mouth, andrew circles your bud with his tongue— slurping it back up, just to pull back and spit on your cunt again. his pointer and middle finger framing & pulling you open as he wiggles his head side to side, drowning in you.
andrew breathes deeper, whining himself as his nose nuzzles deeper into your mound of hair. his face is pressed so tightly to you, there’s nowhere for you to move, really. in between long, thick stripes, he’s pulling back, again speaking to himself before diving right back in.
“oh my god. oh my- god, oh god.”
his right hand holds your ankle, teeth nipping at your lips before his tongue sloppily licks you from hole to clit.
wedging his face further into you, if even possible, you feel his tongue prod past your entrance– desperate, reaching motions.
it’s messy, a mix of andrew’s spit and your essence. his fingers move down to run over your manicured toes as he tilts his head to rest on your thigh, tongue never disconnecting once as he breaths through his nose.
the feeling of your foot clenching at his devotion sends him over the edge. cumming untouched, andrew surges forward, a loud “fuck!” crawling out of his chest.
but he doesn’t stop, just keeps devouring you. slurping and gulping and taking breaths as he rubs his tongue raw amidst the squelching. moaning into you like he’s overstimulated.
“i-i love you. love your pretty pussy, oh- oh my god you’re so good, she’s so good.”
leaning back on his haunches, he thumbs at your clit as you thrash. his arm is planted across the pudgy flesh of your lil tummy as he speaks. figure 8s, red cheeks and a wet chin, he licks his lips.
@ceriseangels & i are going insane over viagra rabbot so here you go… a lil gift from the vault <3
having viagra already ready in the bedside table by the first time you actually sleep with jack. he's super embarassed because he forgot his bottle at home, and truthfully didn't anticipate the biweekly happy hour ending in having the 20- something year old intern nestled in his lap begging to feel him chub up.
in the midst of his annoyed grumbling, “fuck, i’m sorry, honey. thought it wouldn’t be a problem tonight, you look so beautiful, really. so, so sexy but of fucking course i fo-“ you whip out the bottle. straight face etching into the most casual, sweet smile of reassurance.
and jack is absolutely astounded. first, that you could be so casual about him needing a little blue pill to get it up– like he was talking about a vitamin or advil. secondly, that you already had a bottle waiting in your nightstand.
it doesn’t hit him until he’s balls deep in you about 15 minutes later, your hands pressed down on his shoulders as you whine. he raises his hand from your hip to rest at the base of your throat to grab your attention.
your eyes flash open, teary and expectant of the older man beneath you. he’s half teasing, half agony. begging you mid fuck “who were those for sweetheart? huh? who had you before me?”
smiling evilly at him & he knows he’s fucked, knows he’s changed forever by the youthful, playful woman in his lap; bouncing on him like a bunny and hugging him to her chest less then a second later.
this block of text has been sitting in my drafts 5ever so i’m just gonna post it lmao. imagine if you will: you’re robby’s new med student and have been rage baiting him all day because he’s so infuriatingly sexy and good at what he does cocky and headstrong…. so he takes you into a back room during shift change, confronts you, and ends up fingering the brat out of you:
“When you cum I wanna hear a thank you.” He lectures, low and patronizing and edged with the harsh bite of all his pent up frustration. “‘Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch, for utilizing your years of schooling and decades of medical experience to finger my pussy just right’” He never misses his mark, drags you closer and closer to orgasm with every methodical stroke. You moan as he keeps talking. “Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch, for granting your med student the honor of cumming on your fingers even after aaaaall the bullshit she made you put up with today.”
Mmmmmm….. knight!Simon who fell in love with whore!reader and promised he’d return when he had earned enough to buy her freedom and take her as his wife. He disappears, and you hear rumors of his capture, that he has almost certainly died. You weep for him— of course those romantic dreams were too good to be true.
Only for a knight in dark armor to approach your brothel on horseback, a skull plate welded to his helm, a sword with blood still flaking from its pommel at his hip. The madame has you all lined up, smacking those who dare to tremble in front of an honored guest with her riding crop. A bag of gold, far more than the price for a single night, gets tossed on the counter as a hand gauntleted in black steel points at you.
“Sir, this is more tha—“
“Not ‘ere to stay the night. Oi’m takin’ that one with me.”
thinking about your first ever pussy inspection with jack 🫠
how when he had first asked you to spread your legs for him, you had clapped your hands over your eyes and your burning cheeks because you were so embarrassed by the request. and he had to gently coax your hands away, with his fingers around your wrists and his soft voice in your ear telling you it was nothing he hadn’t seen before and to give your sweet old man something to think about while he was at work.
settling comfortably at the edge of the bed while you raised your feet off the mattress, pulling your legs back, doing as you were told, and jack dragging the flat of his knuckle up and down the back of your thigh, while he said, ever the patient teacher, ‘there you go, sweetheart, knees by your ears.’
getting wetter the longer he looked at you and he hadn’t even done anything yet. couldn’t even see your clit like this, just a glimpse of your inner folds, of your little hole as it tensed and then relaxed repeatedly. but the anticipation was enough, the scrutiny was enough. to make your belly warm, to cause the desire to spiral and tug.
jack had finally spread your pussy open with his fingers, his thumbs on either side, and exposed your clit, not even puffy, just beginning to peek out behind its hood. shy and barely awake like the rest of you, a little dazed as you came out of an impromptu nap. linen-creases on your arms and legs, body still warm with sleep. he exposed your hole too, the skin stretching taut and shiny with how wet you had become.
jack made a soft cooing noise, his breath ghosting over your clit and making your hips jump a little off the bed.
‘so pretty,’ he said, his eyes heavy between your legs, dragging over every inch as the heat in your cheeks suffused down your neck and your chest, blooming in your nipples, your mouth dropping open to suck in much needed air. ‘my baby’s pretty little pussy.’
you let slip a noise when he pressed a closed-mouth kiss to your mound, almost chaste in the same way he would often kiss the top of your head. close enough to your clit that it felt like a missing limb, something he was doing to deliberately tease you. he gave you another kiss and your belly twitched.
‘daddy just needs to make sure there’s nothing wrong with his little girl,’ he said, ‘gotta check her pretty pussy from the inside.’
and then jack had slipped his entire thumb inside your cunt and dragged the pad of it along your upper wall, right below your pubic bone.
‘nggngg—,’ you couldn’t help but moan, eyelashes fluttering, an unintelligible not-word from deep inside your throat. his big thumb felt particularly massive today, dipping in again and rubbing that perfect spot that always made you dizzy.
jack hummed in faux-concern. ‘so tight and wet around my finger, baby. you feeling alright?’
you looked away from the amused glint in his eyes, thought the embarrassment might burn right through you. so attuned to jack and the pleasure he gave you, that he barely had to look or touch you and your cunt was dripping, more than ready to take him inside.
your hole twitched around nothing as he slipped his thumb out, moving it over your clit, softly petting. your hips jumped again.
‘so sensitive too,’ jack said, lightly clicking his tongue. ‘daddy might have to bring you to work with him, baby, take a closer look at you.’
a vision of you completely naked in stirrups while jack looked deep inside your cunt with a speculum flashed in front of your eyes, and the noise you made was so high it couldn’t be classified as anything other than a desperate whine.
he huffed a quiet laugh that made you burn hotter. ‘yeah, you like that idea? being daddy’s perfect patient?’
you couldn’t look at him but you could nod your head, so you did, your hair sliding against the sheets.
jack began to slowly circle your clit with his thumb. ‘daddy’s gonna spread you out on his table and inspect every inch of you, baby. gotta take a look at all your pretty holes to make sure my little girl is exactly as soft and wet as she should be.’
oh my god. you squeezed your eyes shut.
he kept his thumb on your clit and slipped inside two fingers. your mouth opened, a shaky little gasp escaping, as he stretched you to the base of his knuckles.
‘think i'll start with this one, make it come all over my hand,’ jack said and started to undulate his fingers, pressing into that spot under your pubic bone again and again.
it was deliciously good and you whined, knees lowering so you could plant your feet and rock into it, increasing the pressure of his fingers, the angle they fucked in and out of you.
‘that’s it, baby, c’mon,’ jack said, keeping the same measured and devastating pace, ‘give daddy an orgasm before he goes off to work.’
you moaned, the sloppy sound of your cunt getting fingered so loud and obscene that your neighbors could probably hear it through the window.
‘harder, please,’ you begged him.
jack pressed an open-mouth kiss to the inside of your knee, and set his left hand onto the bed next to your hip, giving himself better leverage to increase the intensity of his fingers, the sloshing sound that was coming from deep inside your cunt.
‘good girl, baby, good girl,’ he encouraged, ‘come all over the bed for me. come on, i know you can do it.’
you grasped blindly at jack's shoulder, pleasure mounting so fast it frightened you a little, and snagged your fingers on the edge of his shirt collar, eyes locked onto his. the pressure behind your pubic bone near unbearable as he milked your g-spot, legs shaking.
‘do it cause i told you to. come on, baby girl, soak my fucking hand.’
‘oh,’ you squeaked, holding onto jack for dear life as your back bowed off the mattress, eyes wide and mouth working around a silent scream. your belly spasmed, cunt suddenly gushing around jack’s fingers as you squirted all over the bed.
‘that's my fucking girl,’ jack half-said, half-laughed, sounding utterly delighted by the way you had just ruined all his clean sheets. ‘knew you could fucking do it.’
he leaned down to press sweet, wet kisses to your forehead, humming against your skin, only slipping his fingers out of your pussy once you had stopped clenching around them. you were still holding onto his shirt collar, breathing hard, the lower half of your body experiencing a certain bonelessness, comparable to that of melted wax.
‘gonna take a shower and go to work, okay?’ jack murmured, after a minute of this, kissing your cheekbone a few more times and then your mouth. his stubble scratched a little as his lips moved against yours.
‘okay,’ you said, breathless, when he pulled back, letting go of his shirt, your hand dropping to the bed with a quiet thump.
‘please eat while i’m gone,’ jack said over his shoulder, fitting his arms into his crutches. ‘there’s leftovers in the fridge.’
'okay,’ you repeated.
you promptly rolled over and fell right back asleep.
+ and jack dragging the flat of his knuckle up and down the back of your thigh, while he said, ever the patient teacher, ‘there you go, sweetheart, knees by your ears.’
+ jack had finally spread your pussy open with his fingers, his thumbs on either side, and exposed your clit, not even puffy, just beginning to peek out behind its hood. shy and barely awake like the rest of you, a little dazed as you came out of an impromptu nap. linen-creases on your arms and legs, body still warm with sleep. he exposed your hole too, the skin stretching taut and shiny with how wet you had become.
Despite having gotten him to fold once, Clark still prefers missionary or lotus position, anything where he sees his pretty girl’s face. He feels like an animal when he does it. Why would he treat his darling like that? Didn’t you like kissing him? Looking into his eyes when you came? Every time you suggest it, Clark gets all pouty and sad.
No, Clark wasn’t an animal. But he was a Kryptonian, and that came with its own quirks, such as sporadic periods of time where his body wanted one thing; to fuck. He’d been feeling off the whole week, off-kilter in a way that Superman couldn’t. Waking up on a Friday came with immediate pain in his stomach, and a half-terrified you fussing over him. You’d gotten Kara on the line. Maybe she could bring him to the Fortress, have the robots and stuff look him over?
“Oh, he’ll be alright.” Kara snorts. “He’s going through a rut.”
“A what now?”
“When Kryptonians find their partner, sometimes we go into ruts. Clark just needs to fuck and he’ll be fiiine.” Kara drawls.
Clark, the sweet boy that he is, is horrified at how base and animalistic that sounds. Fucking, just for the sake of it? And for him? He couldn’t.
But one well placed kiss on his jawline has Kal-El taking over. First he has you in missionary, but your legs keep getting in the way. With a growl, Kal-El shoves your legs up and over his shoulders.
"Clark- wai- oh gosh!" You squeal as he leans forward, nearly folding you in half. He doesn't slow down, thrusting hard and heavy with his balls smacking against your ass. Your pussy flutters around his shaft weakly, barely able to keep up. But even this mean mating press isn’t deep enough for Clark.
He yanks out and presses you face first into the mattress, slamming back in.
“Ah!” A cry tears out of your throat as Clark’s hips piston back and forth. You can feel each and every ridge, his veins throbving heavily. Your orgasm nearly hurts when it finally slams into you, choking his cock. Clark just groans as he grinds the tip of his cock right into your cervix, pouring his seed right into your womb.
You barely have enough time to catch your breath before Clark presses you back down. He’s not done yet.
Summary: Joel's exhausted by the time he makes it to bed. But when a pretty little thing crawls in beside him, he finds the time for you, just like he always does.
Warnings: +18 MDNI, post outbreak, jackson!joel, unspecified age difference, joel pov, porn no plot, dry humping, slow and soft sex, smut with feelings, internalized shame, intimacy, unprotected piv, clit stimulation, kissing
Note: i haven't written for joel in monthsss but i hope you enjoy!!
WC: 2k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Joel’s the kind of exhausted that only comes with age.
Weary bones, heavy limbs, tired eyes.
He’s falling into bed as soon as he gets home, often forfeiting dinner in favor of blissful rest. Sometimes even before the sun’s fully set.
And today is just one of those days. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, trying to massage away a kink in his neck that persisted well into the afternoon. But he hadn’t had time to complain or think too much about how excited he was to crawl back beneath the sheets, because the northernmost barn was falling to pieces.
So, not only was he functioning half empty from the start, but the work today was also strenuous. Sawing raw timber to the perfect length, sanding down the sharp edges, hammering nails into plywood. A full day.
And when Denise had stopped him on his way home, waving him down with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade in hand, she’d given him that bright, hopeful smile and said, “Little Sammy ran that damn bike into the back door again. Would you mind fixing the hinges?”
His back ached and his knees were creaky, but Joel soon found himself knelt on Denise’s porch, screwdriver and fresh nails in hand.
It didn’t take long, but it did take every last scrap of energy that remained inside of him.
Joel’s house was always quiet. Too big for him, really. Ellie was in the garage already, lights still on, up too late when she had early patrol the following morning. But Joel didn’t have it in him to remind her how important sleep was. Not when he was running on fumes himself.
So he dragged those tired, old bones inside. Kicked off his boots and jeans right at the door of his room, hung his flannel over the back of the chair at his work bench, and let out a long sigh as he climbed beneath icy cotton sheets.
He’s half asleep, eyes closed and muscles sinking into the mattress, when he hears it.
The click of the latch on the unlocked front door. The creak of your careful steps as you climb the stairs.
Joel feels you before he sees you. Too exhausted to pull himself out of blissful almost-sleep. The mattress dips beneath your weight, limbs outstretched, seeking him out of instinct.
This isn’t the first time this has happened. Not the first time you’ve found yourself peering out of your window next door waiting for him to get home. Not the first time you’ve ended up in his bed or in his arms.
And Joel knows he should put a stop to it—you’re too young, too sweet, too…good.
But he’s too worn out to fight his impulses. He’s tried for months to keep his thoughts pure when you cross his mind, but it’s been a losing battle from the start.
Especially when you’re like this. Warm and soft, pressed up against his side, wearing an old t-shirt he’d let you borrow the night before and not much else. A comfort that feels more like home than this house does.
The tips of your fingers tickle his forearm, rousing him just enough that he lifts the heavy limb so you can crawl right into his embrace.
Joel holds you tight. He always does. Biceps big and strong around your shoulders. He holds you like he might lose you tomorrow, because there’s a part of him that fears one day you’ll wake up and see something you don’t like.
He worries you’ll begin to see him for what he is; old, weary, tired. Not even half the man he used to be. Not half the man you deserve.
But for tonight at least, you still wear those rose tinted glasses. Pressing sweet kisses to his face; his nose, his forehead, his cheeks. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, making cute, whiny noises at the back of your throat. Like you’re desperate, unable to get close enough despite every inch being pressed against him, leg hooked over his hips.
You find a comfortable position and still beside him, letting out the same sort of long sigh Joel did just moments ago. But you don’t sleep—your breathing doesn’t even out, your muscles don’t go slack.
Joel knows what you need. Long before your hips tilt, before you press your center against his thigh, before you whisper his name in the dark.
“S’okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deep and dark and sleepy. “C’mere.”
He reaches over and brackets his arm around your waist to drag you on top of him, your center already warm and wanting.
It’s starting to get out of hand, he knows. Starting to become a routine. But Joel doesn’t have many sweet thing in his life, not anymore, and he finds you near impossible to resist. “I’ve got you,” he says. “Take what ya need.”
You lay against his chest, ear pressed right over his heart. Joel kisses the crown of your head when your hips begin to tilt, rubbing yourself against the steadily growing bulge beneath the thin fabric of his boxers.
Soft, wanton sighs leave you at the sensation, and even with a barrier still between you he can feel your clit pulse against the underside of his cock.
Needy little thing you are. But Joel doesn’t mind—he likes the feeling. Of being needed, wanted. Especially by a girl as sweet as you.
You grind on top of him for a while. Not seeking release, not yet. Just feeling the hard warmth of him beneath you, savoring the weight of his big hands stroking softly up and down the expanse of your back.
He can feel your arousal growing with each pass, wetness slowly seeping through his boxers, slick and sticky. Joel nudges you gently with the tip of his nose, the prickly hairs of his mustache tickling the side of your face. “C’mon, sweet girl. Let’s get this shirt off, hm?”
When you nod, you pull yourself up tiredly. The movement is slow and thick like molasses, so Joel uses the last of his energy to help you.
His hands find the hem of the oversized t-shirt and pull it upwards, over your head to be discarded on the floor beside his bed. It leaves you completely naked, bared for him in more ways than one.
In an instant, you fall back against him, breasts pressed up against his chest. Your skin feels cool against his, smooth and pillowy. “S’warm,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your cheek against the coarse hair that litters his chest, graying in some places.
Joel’s cock throbs beneath you, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He just lets you settle back down and allows you to rest. His hands wander, though, the way they always do.
Sliding down your back, over the sides of your thighs, thumbs massaging gentle circles. He strokes his fingers gently back up to your shoulders and then brings them down your arms, smiling when he sees goosebumps rise in his wake.
When they settle back at your hips, his touch is a little more eager. Kneading at the softness, inching over the curve of your ass until that’s all his hands are filled with.
Joel loves touching you. Not just suggestively, but intimately. He loves feeling the closeness and the trust you put in him to take care of you, to keep you safe, to make you feel good.
He massages the supple flesh, holding you close, until his need for you begins to grow teeth, gnawing at his psyche.
Joel knows he shouldn’t. He knows that.
But he’s just so tired, and you’re so soft. Gentle and kind. And you make him feel loved—something Joel Miller has not felt for a very, very long time.
He guides you with his hands gripping at your curves, sliding your slick cunt over his aching cock. His breath feels hollow, stuck in his lungs.
When he lifts upward, just a little, enough to provide a little extra pressure, you mewl in response.
Joel is quick to soothe, shushing softly into your ear. “Shh, you’re alright. Hang on, sweet girl. M’right here.”
He knows what you need. It’s become a nightly ritual at this point. You come to him seeking connection, seeking the comfort of an older man. Most nights you just need to be held, to be nurtured, to be loved the way you deserve.
But other nights, Joel knows you need a little more. A connection that runs a little deeper.
He reaches beneath you, hooking his thumbs in the elastic band of his boxers and tugging them down his tired legs. Just enough to free his cock, already hard as stone just from your proximity.
Joel pulls your forward, up his torso, giving himself room to line his length up with your entrance.
He slides in real easy.
You’re already soaked, dripping with arousal. And the moment he’s fully seated inside you, stretching you real wide, filling up your belly, you let out a breathy whine.
It feels right, being here like this with you. It feels like coming home.
Joel moves you slowly, guiding each roll of your hips, slowing you down when you try to pick up the pace.
There’s no rush. Not here, not with him. He’ll get you there. He’ll get you what you need. What’s the sense in hurrying through it?
He wants to savor it. The feel of your sweet, soft pussy, clenching and leaking around his length. The way your stuttering breath tickles his skin. The way your hands grip him harder and harder, holding him impossibly closer.
He wants to savor the way you love him.
“Gimme a kiss, baby,” he whispers in the dark.
You turn your head, just enough so that he can press his lips to yours. In this, too, Joel moves painfully slow.
It’s not a claiming, it’s an exploration. His lips move against yours, memorizing the feel of them, the shape and the taste. He slowly licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, breathing in your exhalation.
The building coil around his spine is anything but slow, however. He loves being here with you maybe a little too much. He loves you a little too much.
Joel thrust upwards, keeping a steady, unforgiving rhythm while he slides his hand between you. His fingers search blindly for your clit and he finds it in seconds, circling those slow, tight circles around the pulsing nerves.
Your sounds grow louder, release building. The sound of your joining echoes in the empty room, slick and wet and feverish.
He knows your close when you start manually breathing—lungs stuttering, chasing the delicious relief that only he can provide.
“You got it,” he encourages. “S’right there, baby. Give it to me.”
Your eyes stay locked to his, lips parting on a jagged moan. You don’t say anything; no warning, no begging. You just feel it, feel him, moving deep inside you, fucking you through it.
“That’s it,” he says, voice all soft and warm the way it only ever is when he speaks to you. “There you go.”
He doesn’t stop until you find the natural rhythm of oxygen again, until the shaking in your thighs relents to an easy tremble.
Joel feels that white-hot coil beginning to spool within himself, and pulls out of you with just enough time to shoot thick ropes of cum over your pubic bone.
He thrusts the underside of his cock through your syrupy folds, a gentle rocking until he’s spent. He somehow finds the energy for a few extra thrusts, smearing his release over your clit.
You don’t move an inch, and Joel doesn’t want you to.
Instead, you just lay there on top of him, sticky mess between you, your head resting delicately on his chest.
When you reach up to card your fingers through his graying hair, Joel feels his muscles go completely slack, tension bleeding from his weary bones.
“M’sorry I woke you up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I know you were tired.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Joel says, and he means it. “I’ll always have time for you."
Although you and Clark disagree on all things Superman, you both find common ground in the copy room.
▸ PAIRING & WC: Clark Kent x Coworker F!Reader — 2.1K
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, public fingering (copy room), Clark is a lil dirty
▸ A/N: thank you for the request baby @theworstwolvie i always love clark getting rage baited <33 made the smut softer because it's clark but god do i want him filthyyyy
↤ main masterlist
You and Clark Kent are not friends. You’re barely even colleagues with how much you bicker and disagree. The two of you get into enough arguments that Perry has to intervene from time to time.
“This is the Daily Planet, not a playground. If you two don’t start playing nice with each other, I’m gonna have to start doling out time-outs.”
“What they need to do is deal with their sexual tension,” Jimmy mutters under his breath.
It’s easy to explain, really. The two of you are simply moral opposites.
Clark thinks that Superman is doing the world a favor by saving every single living thing.
You think that Superman is costing the city millions of dollars every time he pauses to think about how to save an alien terrorist’s life versus just taking it out.
Clark thinks that it’s inhumane for him to do that, because an alien is still a living creature.
You argue that those taxpayer dollars could go elsewhere, to actually support people on Earth rather than pay for the damages of superhero acts.
“The time it takes him to save a squirrel or this extraterrestrial that is ruining the city is time he could be spending actually saving our city.”
Clark nearly pulls out his hair, fingers tugging at his curls in frustration. “You can’t just kill something because you don’t understand it. Their lives — or even a squirrel’s — matter just as much as ours!”
“He’s just redirecting the train to run over five people instead of one,” you drawl out, twirling the pen in your hand. “He’s increasing the risk of someone else getting injured or killed while he’s trying to save lives that are detrimental to society as a whole.”
“No, he’s simply lifting the train so nobody gets run over,” Clark huffs. “It’s a silly thought to think that he can’t save everyone.”
“No, it’s realistic. Just because he’s a superhero doesn’t mean he makes perfect decisions.”
“I never said he—”
“Oh my god, you guys are still on this?” Lois snaps. The two of you slam your mouths shut. “Clark, don’t you have that superhero policy piece due by tonight? And you, don’t you have to get Perry your ideas for next week’s economics column? Get back to work.”
A truce of sorts. For now. If not for the sake of the Planet, then it would be to avoid Lois Lane’s wrath.
However, the glares you throw in each other’s direction are nothing short of lethal. Clark Kent is a naive, foolishly hopeful man. Living in a city like Metropolis makes you a cynic. Sometimes you think you might be better suited for Gotham, but you’re even more skeptical of a masked vigilante pretending to be some sort of hero.
The two of you steer clear of each other until you need to print out your pitches for the team meeting later today (Perry is old-fashioned like that). That is when you spot Clark frowning over the copy machine, jabbing it with annoyance when it refuses to budge.
Seeing him irritated only strengthens your urge to push him one step further.
“Printing more puff pieces on Superman, Kent?”
His eyes slide shut the moment your words land. You can’t help the satisfied smile that curls on your lips. Another score on the board for you.
“No, I need to get Perry my draft on the superhero policy, but this darned thing is jammed.”
“Maybe you should call your old pal, Superman, to help you.”
You can practically see the steam coming out of his nostrils as he looks up to the ceiling, begging for some form of patience from whatever higher power that exists.
Unfortunately — or fortunately, as you’re observing him, you notice something rather peculiar. A noticeable… change in Clark’s clothes.
“You’re so—” he inhales deeply, “infuriating.”
“Well, you seem to enjoy being… infuriated,” you smirk, crossing your arms as your eyes fall to his slacks.
Sure enough, his pants are tented with the embarrassing evidence of his arousal. You don’t think he even realized it until then, surprise etched into the rise of his brows. His cheeks flush a pretty shade of red as he turns away from you.
“Is that it, Clark? You start shit with me to get yourself off.”
“That’s absolutely not true!” He sputters but his eyes shift to your lips — brief but distinct. “You’re just so vexing.”
You smile as you take a step closer towards him, index finger landing on his very firm, very broad chest. “Want me to go on about how Superman could probably save the city millions in damages on that observatory if he simply took out that recent cyclops? Might get you to finish untouched.”
Clark’s eyes are a sharp blue as they whip towards you. For once, you feel a shiver snake up your spine at the sight. His gaze has always been soft, tainted only by the frustration you fuel within him. But this look — this one you’re unfamiliar with — and you’re not sure if you should stick around.
Your throat dries when he takes a step towards you. Purposeful. Confident. “I should probably, um, g—”
“Why are you in such a rush? You were so adamant about pushing my buttons before. Go on. Tell me more.”
Although your lips part, you find your voice has disappeared. It’s cowering in the back of your throat somewhere as he backs you up against the table in the copy room. You glance at the exit, partially praying that someone would save you, partially hoping that nobody would ever see you worried about Clark Kent.
He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t want.
But perhaps that’s what scares you the most — how much you actually want this.
There was never any doubt that Clark is an attractive man. Curls that effortlessly fall against his forehead. An endearing, persistent frown on his face. Big, broad shoulders that still drown in his oversized suit. Glasses that slide down his face, one that you’re itching to fog up with your mouth over his.
All this time, seeing Clark flustered has been the highlight of your day. You love the shades of red that stain his pale cheeks. The annoyed click of his tongue. The tense clenching of his jaw. You’ve wondered before how he would look in bed — if he’d have the same expression in maintaining his self-control.
“Come on,” he coaxes, voice dropping a pitch lower as he ducks his head. His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Say more, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. Your legs press together as a whimper slides out your throat.
“Not such a smart mouth now, are you? You just needed someone to keep that mouth busy. I can think of a few other ways to do that.”
You swallow. Clark’s gaze latches onto your throat, then dips to your collarbone, where your chest rises and falls with your nervous breaths.
“Are you scared?”
You shake your head.
His smile tips an inch higher. “Excited?”
Slowly, you nod.
“You’re so cute when you’re sweet like this,” he murmurs, hands setting aside his papers as they run down your waist to your hips. He hoists you up onto the table as your hands fly up for purchase on his shoulders.
Your heart is hammering against your ribs, it feels as if it’s about to burst through your skin. Clark tilts his head.
“Your heart is beating so loud.”
Can he really tell? Is it that obvious?
“Can you spread your legs for me?”
Your stomach flutters with something unknown. Something you haven’t felt in a long time. There’s a weight to his voice that has your legs falling open almost automatically. He says it so charmingly, a request rather than a command. Clark’s hand circles your ankle first before they slowly smooth up your thigh, hiking up your skirt around your waist.
“You’re wet,” he notes calmly.
You’ve been leaking since you noticed his hard-on; you just didn’t think he’d see the evidence of your own arousal. Heat floods your cheeks as you grab onto his hand to stop him. Yet, you don’t budge an inch, you simply keep him there.
“Someone’s going to see,” you hiss.
“No one comes around the copy room this time of day. Everyone’s taking their break in the pantry on the other side.”
“But what if someone does?”
Clark grins, “Then you better let me work on you fast.” His hand continues its journey north until it finds itself between your thighs.
His fingertips are firm but gentle as they press against your clothed core, soaking your underwear further as he digs it into your slit. A moan bubbles up your throat, which Clark quickly drinks in with his lips over yours.
“Gonna need you to keep it down, honey. You don’t want anyone walking in on us.”
Honey. Only he could make such sweet pet names sound incredibly filthy. Fortunately, you don’t have time to second-guess this decision because then he’s working his magic. Awkward, nervous Clark doesn’t shed a single sweat as he rubs along your pussy. He watches your every twitch, every hitch of your breath to his touch. He pushes when you gasp, he moves his fingers when you moan.
Before long, he’s pushing your panties to the side and easing his fingers inside you. Thick, long fingers that fill you up completely as he buries himself to his knuckles.
“Gosh, you’re so tight,” Clark huffs against your neck, a breathless chuckle as he curls his fingers. “I can’t imagine how you’d feel wrapped around me.”
The thought of him fucking you — spreading your legs wider, sliding his cock inside you, or maybe bent over the copier with your tits against the glass as he fucks deep into you — has you arching your back with a whine.
“You’ve always got such a mouth on you. Now, look at you, you’re so sweet for me. I never knew these lips of yours could make such cute little noises when you’re all filled up.”
“Clark,” you rasp, “fuck. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he fingers you faster, thumb finding your clit until you’re practically shaking under his touch. Your hips thrust forward in search of his hand, nearly begging for him to finger fuck you deeper, harder.
“That’s a good girl. Just needed my fingers inside you, didn’t you? Are you going to be nicer to me now? Now that I know what you sound like when you want something from me.”
You release another desperate whimper as Clark works his fingers somehow deeper inside you. You can feel your juices dripping all over his fingers, seeping through the gaps and pooling under your thighs on the table. Clark inhales deeply, as if he can smell you from this distance and groans into your neck.
“You smell so good. Can’t wait to taste you once you finish.”
Your pussy pulses around him like a second heartbeat, one that he certainly hears and feels, judging by the way he tenses against you. He continues to mutter sweet phrases in your ears, praising you for doing such a good job, scolding you for always being so frustrating, telling you how beautiful you are for giving in to him.
It doesn’t take you very long to fall apart in his hands, cunt squeezing around him as your teeth sink into his suit-covered shoulder. Clark himself moans into your hair as you do so, body shuddering.
Then you realize what’s just happened—
“You came.”
He only hums.
“I didn’t even touch you,” you whisper quietly.
“Don’t need to. I like seeing you pleasuring yourself on my fingers.”
You didn’t think this brute could get any sexier, but you’ve been proven wrong. He seems intent on doing that a second time when he draws his fingers out of you, letting your panties slide back into place, before he brings his fingers to his mouth.
With his eyes locked on yours, he sucks his fingers clean and pulls them out.
You have to stop yourself from begging him to fuck you then and there.
His dimples deepen as he smiles at you.
You have to bite down on your tongue to keep your mouth shut.
“Back to the bullpen?” You squeak out.
“Are you going to keep aggravating me?”
“Only if it gets you to get me off.”
Clark chuckles. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at three.”
+ sam: youre the absolute cutest i love u so very much, thank you for this request miss c!!!
synopsis: whenever you're ovulating, Clark's body goes into baby-making mode
cw: established relationship, porn and no plot, reader is overstimulated, Clark has super stamina, unprotected p in v, breeding kink, sloppy rounds, multiple creampies <3
wc: 841
It happens every time you’re ovulating. His body picks up on it, on the scent of you, and suddenly all he can ever think about is pumping you full of his cum until you give him a baby.
And so, he fucks you often, always hard and deep. He never lasts long during these ruts of his, and somehow, his body finds ways to produce more cum than he normally does. So it ends up just being sloppy seconds, and thirds, and fourths—and so on—all night.
“Oh, baby, so good,” he grunts, his hips rolling into yours at just the right angle, his cock pressing against your g-spot and making you clench around him tight.
He glances down, watching as he stretches you, your pussy all swollen from the hours he’s been fucking you. He watches his cum trickle down, thick and creamy as it gathers beneath you on the bed.
You whine lowly, whatever energy you had left lost on you. Unlike Clark, you don’t have super stamina. It’s a good thing he lets you be his pillow princess, but it’s also extremely overwhelming. In the best way.
He watches as you lie there, body limp as you just let him fuck you. He almost feels bad about it, about how long he’s had you in bed for, about how many times he’s made you come and how many times he’s already spilled himself into your pussy, but you look so beautiful, and you feel so good, that his remorse is lost on him.
“Just one more, baby,” he begs, that animalistic ache in him needing to make sure he’ll get you pregnant. “One more, yeah?”
You nod, half-conscious, half lost to the pleasure. Your arms are feebly wrapped around his neck, his skin already red from where you’d scratched his back before. He leans down and gives little kisses over your jaw, down to your neck.
“I need you to use your words, honey,” he murmurs against your throat. “I need to hear you say it for me.”
“Yes,” you say breathlessly, nodding again. “One more.”
He nods back, his hips moving a little harder now, his cock slipping deeper into you. He groans, nibbling on your shoulder, feeling your inner walls weakly tighten around him.
You just mewl quietly, your body hot everywhere his skin meets yours. You can feel his cum, warm and sticky, where so much of it has pooled against your cervix. Each thrust of his ensures it stays there, right against your womb, ready to take and give you his baby.
Clark can feel it too, and it drives him insane. The mere thought of you with his child, belly swollen, all round and beautiful…
“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips stuttering. “Oh, fuck. God, can you imagine how pretty you’ll look all full of my baby?”
You shiver, letting out a broken moan. He feels you tighten around him and his cock twitches.
“You want that? Wanna be full of my cum, get that tummy nice and round from my baby?” he asks, thrusting faster, almost desperately now.
You squeak, nodding, not really able to say or do much more. You try to hold onto him with what little strength you’ve got left, your thighs starting to shake as that familiar ache of release builds low in your belly.
Clark leans back, pushing your knees up to your chest, folding you in half and fucking into you harder and faster. “Gonna give you my baby, girl. Gonna put my baby in you and make you a momma.”
You whine, squirming, the change in angle making you feel fuller each time his cock is all the way in you. One of Clark’s hands moves to your cunt, his fingers finding your clit and deftly rubbing messy shapes on it.
Between the overstimulation you were already dealing with, and the pleasure he keeps giving you, you don’t last long.
Your orgasm finds you, crashing over you in a burst of white-hot ecstasy. It spreads from your womb all over your body, making you squeal and moan his name, your cunt clenching around his cock tight.
Clark grunts, giving a few last, frantic thrusts before he comes too. He spills himself into you one last time, his cum thick as it coats your gummy walls. The thick head of his cock brushes against your cervix, keeping his release deep in you as he comes down from his high.
He’s panting heavily, black curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. Carefully, he lowers your legs and lies on the bed, spooning you, adamant on keeping his cock in you to avoid a single drop of his cum of going to waste.
He kisses your nape, lips gentle as he murmurs, “I hope it works. I’d like nothing more than to give you a baby. To have a baby with you…it would make me the happiest man alive.”
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦
✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦
✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 10.5k✦
✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦
Clark has been acting strange all week.
He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.
“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.
“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.
He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.
Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.
You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.
“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.
“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“
“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“
Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘
“It’s not a mating dance!”
“It seems like a mating dance-“
“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”
Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.
You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.
“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“
You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.
He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.
His eyes are black, and gleaming.
You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.
Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.
You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.
“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”
Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.
Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.
But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.
He looks dangerous.
And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.
But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.
“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”
Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“
Clark looks at you.
And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.
“You smell good.” He mutters.
He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.
“What the fuck is up with him?”
Nobody seems to be sure.
On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.
“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.
“There are no other words I could use, though-“
“Corrupt?”
“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”
You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.
“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.
“Dogshit.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“
“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“
“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.
“Yeah. Because I had a source.”
“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.
You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.
“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“
“Shut up, I’m excited-“
“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.
He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.
Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.
You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.
And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.
Today you keep it under control.
It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.
“It’s- Uh- Superman.”
You blink. “What?”
“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”
“I- You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“I can find someone else-“
“No, I- I’ve got it.”
He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.
You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.
But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.
You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”
He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.
Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.
He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.
He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.
And you have no idea what to do.
Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.
He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.
You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.
And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.
“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”
His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.
“Clark-“
“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”
You blink. “Back up?”
He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.
He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.
But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.
You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.
He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.
“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“
“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.
“You’re sick-“
“No. I’m not.”
“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”
He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.
“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”
That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.
His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.
And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.
It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.
The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.
But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.
“Clark- Please-“
He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.
“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”
You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.
And you look back. You can’t help it.
But all he does is stare at you.
So you walk away.
Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.
“Is he-“
“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”
You frown. “But-“
“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“
Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.
“Don’t go visit him.”
You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“
“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”
“But-“
“Don’t.”
“What if he needs something-“
“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”
“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”
Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Lois-“
“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”
She walks away without another word.
On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.
You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.
Don’t.
His door is right there.
Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.
Don’t.
You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.
But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.
You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.
Don’t.
But you want to.
Don’t.
He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-
Don’t.
Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.
And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.
He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.
You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.
Before Clark can open it, you walk away.
On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.
It’s a distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-
You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.
This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.
It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.
He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.
He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.
Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.
You miss him.
Goddamnit.
Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.
You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.
He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.
You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.
You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.
Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.
But why is he home visiting you.
Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.
You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.
“Hello?”
Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.
He doesn’t look well.
Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-
Like Clark.
Just like Clark.
And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.
Or something else.
Without the glasses, there’s something else.
He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.
He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.
“Clark?”
“I’m here for your interview-“
You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.
He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.
Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.
His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.
“Clark- Wait-“
Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.
At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.
You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.
He’s burning at 150 degrees.
He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.
The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.
You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.
Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.
That time it was definitely your name.
Superman moaned your name.
You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.
Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.
It does nothing for hearing him.
And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.
It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.
Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-
Oh.
That’s… Big.
You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.
The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.
You still haven’t really dealt with that.
Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.
And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.
To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.
When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.
You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.
Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.
Dear lord.
Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.
You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.
Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.
He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.
You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.
Clark is Superman,
And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.
His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.
“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.
This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-
You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.
He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-
No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.
But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.
The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.
If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.
And you’re not that strong at all.
Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.
You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.
When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.
He’s naked.
Fully naked.
And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.
He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.
But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.
And his cock.
You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.
Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.
“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“
“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”
He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of release on his thigh. He’d been humping the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-
“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”
“Clark-“
“Stop saying it like that.”
You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.
His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.
“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”
Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.
“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”
You laugh softly, despite everything.
Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.
“Don’t laugh either.”
“I- I’m sorry-“
“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“
He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.
“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”
“No- That- That’s weird-“
“Kal-El?”
“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.
“I need to be able to call you something.”
“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”
That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.
“No, not- Not like that-“
“Not like what-“
“It’s just, when you talk-“
“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.
It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.
“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.
“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”
“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“
“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”
He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”
“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“
“You said I shouldn’t talk.”
“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.
“You better fix the wall, Kent.”
“I will. ‘M sorry-“
“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”
You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.
“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”
That’s not promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.
“You know kryptonite?”
You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”
“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“
“Clark.”
“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.
“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.
His cock twitches. You try not think about it.
“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“
“It what-“
“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”
He trails off, words hanging in the air.
Saw you.
You activated the red kryptonite in him.
There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.
“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.
Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.
“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.
“Please don’t make me say it.”
You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.
“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“
“Can’t you?”
Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.
And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.
“You- You can’t mean that-“
“Why not?”
You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.
“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.
“You don’t have to pity me-“
“It’s not pity.”
He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“
“Who says it’s not how I feel?”
You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.
“Uhh… Steve?”
You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”
Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.
You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.
“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.
You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”
His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.
“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”
“No, you-“
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.
“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”
He nods, tight and controlled.
You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.
Not with fear.
With excitement.
“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”
And Clark snaps.
He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.
Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.
If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.
But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.
He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.
There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.
You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.
You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.
He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.
“Clark-“
“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“
He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.
“Smell so good.” He almost whines. “So good.”
You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.
Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.
It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.
“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“
“You- You can’t-“
“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“
“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.
You don’t mind at all.
“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“We talked about this-“
“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.
You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.
And you feel it.
The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.
Oh.
Right.
Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.
“I need to get you ready.”
You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“
Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”
“How do you know-“
“Nose.”
“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“
“Not enough.”
He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.
“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.
That’s his agreement hum.
Your jaw drops.
“Are you serious-“
“I can’t help it.”
“You- You could wear nose plugs-“
“No. Like it too much.”
Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.
“You- Can’t move-“
“You should move-“
“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”
You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.
“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”
Clark grunts. You smile at the air.
“You came in bed last night.”
He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”
“About who?”
You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”
And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.
“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”
“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.
“Yeah? Like what?”
Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.
“A brat.”
A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.
And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.
“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.
Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.
“You- You can’t just say that-“
“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”
Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.
“Can you please look at me-“
“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.
“Clark-“
“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.
You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.
“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”
“I- I need to get you-“
“I’m going to touch you, okay?”
His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.
Enough.
You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.
“Sorry-“
“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”
He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.
You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.
The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.
He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.
You add a second, and squeeze at the base.
Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.
“Be- Be careful.”
You pause. “Does it not feel-“
“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“
Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.
You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.
And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.
You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.
Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.
“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“
He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.
You want to taste him.
When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.
“What- What are you-“
You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.
The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.
There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.
You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.
“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“
You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.
It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.
“Are you-“
You moan, and Clark gives in.
He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.
“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“
Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.
“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“
You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.
And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-
Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.
He’s cumming.
And he’s not stopping.
Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.
Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.
“If you-“
“Do that inside me.”
You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.
“I- I mean- Clark-“
He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.
“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”
His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.
“Don’t- Don’t tease-“
“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”
Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.
“Oh- Oh god-“
“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”
You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.
“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”
He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.
“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.
You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.
He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.
“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“
You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.
Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.
Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.
You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.
You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.
There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.
It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.
“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”
His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.
“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.
Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.
“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”
Well. If he needs it.
It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.
“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“
“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”
It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.
You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.
“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.
He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.
“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”
And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.
“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“
“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.
Clark hears it.
“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”
You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.
Maybe Clark could let you live with him.
Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.
Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.
That’s a good plan. The best plan.
There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.
“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.
You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.
“Don’t do that.”
Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.
He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.
“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.
You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.
He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.
Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.
He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.
His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.
You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.
Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.
“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.
“I liked it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”
Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.
And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.
He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.
“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”
You nod. It’s all you can manage.
He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.
“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“
He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.
Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.
“Big.”
He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.
“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“
You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.
“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.
“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”
You blink, and his eyes widen.
“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“
Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.
“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.
Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.
“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”
Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.
“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.
Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.
You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.
He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.
Safe and attended to.
You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.
It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.
“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“
He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.
Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.
He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.
Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.
It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.
Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.
Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.
And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.
Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.
Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.
You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.
There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.
Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.
You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.
He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.
It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.
If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.
On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.
There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.
Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.
It’s an oddly romantic thought.
There are lots of those to go around.
Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.
“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.
“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”
“See it-“
“X-ray vision.”
“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.
Clark bows his head, almost in shame.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.
You shake your head. “It fine-“
“I wanted to-“
“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”
He blinks at you, then relaxes.
“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.
“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”
Clark laughs at that, and you beam.
It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.
“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.
“I-“
“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“
“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”
He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”
You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.
“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“
“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“
Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”
You laugh. “Bring it on.”
✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
CLARK KENT’S sexual awakening never happened. His ma did enough to hide him from the more carnal parts of life, so imagine his surprise and borderline nose-wrinkle in sex-ed junior year when he found out what adults did behind closed doors.
Even when he grew up, got a job in the Planet, made his alter-ego known, he still didn’t feel the need to… have coitus. He was too scared he’d snap some poor girl in half if he tried.
The first time he ever tried, he’d barely got the tip in before he came, embarrassingly quick. Maybe it was the nerves of it all, maybe his body was eager to get it over with. Safe to say, that girl — as lovely as she was — broke up with him a week later because she felt like he was just in pursuit of his own pleasure. Not true, by the way, his ma always told him to think of the lady first.
Like every Monday, he was pushing his way through the Metropolis work crowd, against the tides of people. Not really looking where he was going, trying not to drop an iced tea — Lois forced him to try it, just to be clear — on any unsuspecting people by holding it high above possible shoulders.
That failed.
In the pursuit of not splashing anyone with peach iced tea, he forgot to look straight and collided straight into someone, sending a drink flying into a silk dress.
Oh, no.
He watched in horror as the material dampened, clung to your body, and became slightly more sheer by the second. “Golly, I’m so sorry—”
The subsequent scoff nearly tore into his self-esteem battery for the day. “Hey, watch where you’re…”
Your eyes locked. All anger faded away, replaced by the dread that you hurt this sexy behemoth of a man’s feelings and he now hated you forever. “… you know what? No worries, don’t— don’t think about it too much.”
He instantly shrugged off his blazer and held it out to you. “But your dress— great dress, by the way,” it was a… really pretty dress, golly, “it’s ruined. I ruined it. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”
You waved your hand noncommittally, but you took the blazer anyway to cover up, it was massive on you. Lord— wait, he shouldn’t take his name in vain. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was on my way to a bachelorette party, one of my friends there will definitely have a spare, she has one for everyone.”
He blinked. “Everyone?”
“Yeah.” You grinned, gosh, it was a pretty smile. “She’s like that. Weird, I know. And— don’t worry about the dry cleaning, I’ve got it. I’m sorry about your drink.”
“No, you saved me.” He laughed nervously. “My coworker forced me to try it, to tell y’the truth, I did not want to.”
“So I saved you.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his curls, messing them up even more. “And please. Please bill me for the dry cleaning, I’ll feel bad if you don’t.”
“Fine. Fine.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’ll bill you.” Locking eyes with him once more took the words from his lungs. Good Lord, those eyes were sexy. All of him was sexy, in a cute way, bumbling gait, pushing his glasses up his nose, the rosiness of his cheeks. You checked your watch. Fuck. “Well, I’m in a rush, so—”
“Yeah, you gotta—”
“See you.” You began walking off at a fast pace. Something jolted in his navel. He felt hot from embarrassment. His relaxed-fit trousers felt… not so relaxed anymore.
He looked down. That looked like a sexual awakening.
“Clark!” He yelled loudly, head snapping up to stare at you like a dishevelled deer in headlights. What the hay? Why did he do that? Why did he yell that? He covered his crotch with his messenger bag.
Your smile told him you noticed. With an uptick in your heart rate and an increase in your breathing’s heaviness, a sweet smell tickled his nose. It wasn’t the bakery next to him, that’s for sure. You smiled, and shouted back your name at the same volume.
He hurried to the nearest bathroom to yell at his body.
Cat slid onto his desk, setting core in front of him. Not for him, clearly. “I was at a bachelorette last week.” She started, tapping her nail on his desk to get him to look at her. Deadlines needed to be crunched, so he barely did. She accepted that.
Clark’s fingers kept flying. “Cat, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
She laughed. “I have a friend. She asked me about a dorky guy named Clark Kent who still writes his name on the tags of his clothes.” She dropped a sugar cube into her coffee, stirring it. “A habit I thought we left back in our sophomore year of high school.”
His neck turned red. His foot covered the name tag on his bag’s handle. But she laughed and dropped another sugar cube into. He sent a furtive glance of concern for her health. “Whatever.” She sighed, taking a long sip. “I told her you were single.”
He almost spluttered over no liquid. “What?”
“I told her you were single.” She repeated simply.
“Why?”
“She asked.” This time he almost choked on a gulp of straight, bitter black coffee. “I gave her your number. To bill you for the dry cleaning.” Pause for an effectively captivating sip of over-sweetened coffee. “Among other things.” She muttered under her breath, but he caught it. She smiled widely. “Toodles!” She got up and walked off.
He threw his hands up, tripping over his words. “Cat— you can’t—” But she was in her own world, singing Freak by Doja Cat.
His phone buzzed. With shaking hands, he opened it, unknown number.
Didn’t know they made clothes in your size. Underneath: Wanna come round to get it this weekend? To talk to bit.
He saved your contact first. Before typing out a clumsy agreement, which he didn’t know was possible over text. Judging by how you didn’t immediately get put off, you were into it.
He was on time, on the dot of the agreed time, which was two o’clock. After lunch, before it got too dark, but still enough time to talk.
He’d cleaned up a little more than usual. Tried to use a hair pomade to ensure his curls weren’t as wild as they usually were. Wear a slightly tighter fitting shirt than before. Brush his teeth. Pop a few breath mints. Avoid the morning coffee, put on copious amounts of hand lotion and lip balm. Everything had to be perfect. He even trimmed his happy trail for this.
You laid the plan. Took a shower so your skin was dewy. Prepped your hair. Kept the makeup minimal, because a full beat would give the plan away. You chose your best, flowiest robe.
You wanted him to unwrap you like a present.
When your doorbell rang, you dabbed on a final bit of lipstick before you chucked it onto a side table and opened the door.
You felt your thighs rub together on instinct the moment you saw him. He felt his breath leave his body when he saw you, checking his watch. “Maybe I’m early—”
“You’re on time.” It came out more breathless than expected. Nodding back into your apartment. “I… I have your jacket. I put it in the wash, the inside got stained with a little iced tea.”
“You can bill me for that too.”
“Seriously? No.” You waved your hand. “No. You’re fine.” You ushered him inside. “It was a thank you, for paying for my dry cleaning and lending me your jacket.” You waved him towards the couch. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
You.
“Um, I’m fine.” He sat on the couch, you sat opposite, picking up a glass of wine that was there before he came. You looked… stunning. He felt his collar get hot. He tugged at it. “You invited me to watch a movie.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you still want to watch a movie?”
“No.”
“Oh. Oh. I was under the impression that we’d be…” He gestured in between you two. So he had the same assumption you did.
Your lips curled up. “I was under that impression too.”
He nodded. You could see a bulge slowly growing in his trousers. “I mean, I— I have to warn you, I’m not that… experienced.”
You blinked, slightly amused. A little interested. “Oh? How so?”
“I…” He made a weird motion, he didn’t even know what it was supposed to mean. It’s likely get interpreted as something like flying a plane, “finish too quickly. Women find it off putting.”
The way you were looking at him, it seemed like you found it off putting as well. Just frozen in time, sat there, staring at him. “That’s…” You let out a whoosh of air. Then your hand gripped his jaw, “really fucking hot—”
Oh. You were into it.
Huh. You were kissing him.
Golly. He was kissing back.
His hand covered the one holding his jaw, pressing into your lips and your body instinctively like there was a magnet from him to you. You pushed back, swinging a leg over both of his till your knees knocked into his hips. This was new.
You smiled when you saw his other hand hovering awkwardly. Not knowing whether he had the right to touch beyond what was respectful. So you guided it to your thigh, fabric moving and bunching under his fingers. Allowing him to touch bare skin.
Oh, boy.
The soft whine from the bottom of his throat was a boost to your ego, a deep moan following when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck, rolling your hips forward. “Ohhhhh, gosh,” He breathed out slowly.
Oh, fuck. He was massive. Though you didn’t know what to expect, he was six-five.
Both his hands flew to your hips, pads of his fingers pressing into your skin, head tipping back against the sofa cushions, breathing in sharply. He could feel you gently sucking on his skin, he knew it wouldn’t leave a mark, but he whimpered quietly anyway, dragging your hips forward, so he could feel your pussy drag over his dick yet again. His head spinning as your tongue traced over his Adam’s apple.
Your hands slipped off his tie like you’d had practice, popping the buttons of his shirt slowly. You felt his warm palms burning up your waist, stopping at where your robe was tied at your front. His eyes were wide, blinking up at you through his lashes. “Can I…?”
Fuck, he was hot.
You undid the tie yourself but let him gently move the fabric off your shoulders, undoing his belt and letting you take off his trousers. His cheeks flushed as he dragged his boxers down, cock painfully hard. It was pretty, flushed at the tip, pre smeared just a little.
Oh, that was a lot bigger than you manifested.
“Oh, shit.” You grinned at the sight of him, watching his whole face turn red.
He adjusted his foggy glasses, stumbling over his syllables. “Will it…” He gulped, wondering how to say it, “fit?”
The look in your eye almost made his heart stop. Like you didn’t care. “Oh, honey.” You laughed a little. “We’ll make it.” You positioning yourself above him, ready to sink down onto his throbbing cock was not something he expected to see. He let out a strangled sound, placing a hand on your arm. “Don’t you want me to… prepare you?”
“I’ve quite literally been prepared since the first time we met.” You grabbed a condom from — wait where did you get that from? — and tore it open delicately, giving it to him to roll on. He did, safety was key, and when you finally did lower yourself onto him— holy shit.
His forehead pressed to your shoulder, before he started pressing sloppy, whining kisses, almost making out with it as he felt your pussy grip him deliciously. So this was what he’d never felt drawn to. Until now.
He was stretching you out. A lot. For a guy so shy about his own abilities his endowment was something women only experienced in their wildest dreams. The more you learned, the more turned on you were.
Huh. That usually didn’t happen with men.
You let out a deep sigh as you sank down further, feeling his size fill you in the best way. His tip nestled against your cervix, pretty vein brushing your g-spot, fuck, maybe moving would feel too good.
But you did it anyway, small, cut-short gasps and moans jumping from your throat as he kissed his way back up to your lips so he could feed his own noises of encouragement into your mouth. Holding your hips just tight enough so he wouldn’t bruise them, still guiding you firmly, still holding your hips just close to him as he clouded your brain over with every push and pull of his hands and each wet smack of his lips and yours (and skin on skin, but we don’t mention that).
His head was fuzzy. Mumbling shit he couldn’t make out himself in between every collision of your lips, tangling one hand in your hair while the other slipped down to press his thumb onto your clit.
You clenched hard; he almost came right there.
His eyes rolled back for half a second and he willed himself not to finish too early but he couldn’t stop it once you clamped down with the second roll of his thumb, your name leaving his mouth, the highest you’d heard his voice be, cracks in between syllables feeding your ego. But he kept circling your clit like he was born to do it, mumbling encouragement, his forehead glistening as his head fell back.
“C’mon, sweetie, gotta make you feel good too,” He panted, gripping your hip so he could encourage you to grind forward into his thumb. “Please, please give it to me—”
It all felt too much. The onslaught of his thumb, his tip still prodding at your cervix, seeing him fucked out from one round (that made you more horny than you’d care to admit) had you coming too, him swallowing that moan by meeting your lips in the middle, stroking your hair back from your face and rolling his hips up a little so the high wouldn’t be harsh on you. His kisses turned slower, more languid, to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, finally lifting your hand so he could kiss your palm and the back of your hand.
“You’re stunning.” He breathed, kissing your knuckles. “So beautiful, honey.”
How the fuck was he respectful after the best sex you’ve ever had? There had to be a catch.
“So… that was hot.” You smiled, brushing his curls back from his forehead. “You were being pretty modest.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t last past two minutes.”
Your tongue traced your canine as you smiled. “Well, I wanna see it again.”
summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
Pairing: Journalist!Clark Kent x Photographer!Reader
Summary: After Clark keeps cancelling on your favorite plans with you, ghosting you for a few months, a reunion is all you need to fully reconnect
Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni) porn with plot, fluff and smut, pinv, no protection (use condoms for the love of god), prone bone, cowgirl, creampie, overstimulation, squirting (a little bit), nipple/breast sucking, cunnalingus, heavy praise (Clark just loves talking her through it), both reader and clark are super needy, softdom clark, no mentions of reader besides shes AFAB, no use of y/n, clark kind of goes 'shes busy lil bro'
Word count: 5.4k (i got very carried away)
The first mistake was getting a boyfriend. The mistake before that was letting Clark raincheck you. The mistake before that one was letting it become a weekly occurrence.
Near the start of the summer, Clark clumsily wheeled his chair over to your desk, finding you in a deep state of concentration between two identical filters. He probed nervously by asking about your baking history, further explaining how his parents were having a family reunion and wanted Clark to bring something. You laughed at him, not intentionally cruel,
“What, you want me to pretend to be your fiance, or something?” You asked, a huge grin on your face, contrasting the slight frown on his. He tried to explain he just needs to bake a dessert to bring, and probed again about your baking history. After a laugh-filled agreement to help him, you appeared at his apartment on the Saturday before he left, holding a bag of ingredients. Despite your reasonable anxiety about baking alongside the largest man on Earth, it turned out into an adorable apple pie. The rest of the evening was spent eating the leftovers and ranting about work. Besides the few nights you were dragged to the bar with everyone, it was rare you ever saw Clark outside of work. It wasn’t that he was intimidating, well he was, but something about his hurriedness to leave work everyday made you hesitant to ask him out. But seeing his relaxed state in his mostly empty apartment, loudly gesturing about politics, lowered the anxiety in your stomach.
That summer turned into the months of weekly baking sessions at both your apartments. Instead of rewriting articles, and making the changes Perry requested, Clark would instead look for baking recipes to try with you. Each session led to deeper and deeper discussion into each other's lives and little neurotic tendencies. You rambled to your friends, more than you liked to admit, about how perfect Clark was, how badly you wanted to take him out, how perfect he looked in his nerdy glasses. Once the summer heat died out and the leaves started dying, work picked up at the Daily Planet. You started taking jobs photographing weddings to get extra money, Clark was extra dedicated to improving his writing and spent more time at home after work. The first week it started to decay, Clark sent an innocent text. You were sitting in your apartment, going over some photos for a client and cleaning them up, waiting for Clark to come over. Just a simple heads up he’s too busy to make it this week. The news hurt a little more than it should. Way more than it should. You had cleaned up your whole apartment, cleaned the bathroom, picked up your room, all for one little text. After a minute, you text back a quick, tight, “no worries! See you next time”.
That next time didn’t come. That next Saturday, the same text, this time a little more last minute. You call your friends as you put everything away, venting about how frequent these rainchecked sessions are getting. They don’t understand why you can’t just see him during work, and you scramble to explain how chitchat around the water cooler isn’t what you were missing. It wasn’t just talking and seeing Clark. You could do that all day at work, it was the intimacy of being alone with him, getting to work together. After another week of rainchecked sessions, you stopped expecting to see him at all. The recipes stopped getting shared and your texting slowly died out. Not to mention the probability of talking to Clark on your lunch breaks dropped, seeing as he only ate lunch at his desk now.
Your friends insisted you get back on the horse.
“You didn’t even date him, dude. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but like, it’s kinda bumming everyone out watching you mourn him,” Your best friend said, arms crossed in the doorway, looking at you lying in bed. “It’s a little pathetic, man” She adds, shrugging when you look over your shoulder, an offended look on your face, “Jus’ being honest, babes.”
The next Superman fight, you ran four blocks to grab some photos, bumping into another photographer. Was he Clark? No, but the next best thing. Being able to spend the winter with someone was pleasant. Just pleasant. He was fine. Everything was just fine, nothing compared to the overwhelming joy and giddiness you got from baking with Clark. He soon proved to be nowhere near as kind and thoughtful as Clark was. Eventually, you stopped trying to force something that was never going to last. The breakup was loud and messy, cruel for no real reason. The breakup landed you here, stuck in your apartment during new years, cuddled up on the couch, alone. This might be more pathetic than how you were mourning Clark. The breakup was rough. Rougher than what you wished for. Apparently if you date someone for a few months, and they aren’t holding onto past crushes, they actually get attached. It was the longest hour of your life, sitting in the park, listening to him go over the stages of grief, at least the first four. You tried to keep it civil, but once he brought up Clark as a reason, and your terrible poker face cringed, he exploded. And now you sit by yourself, watching the ball drop on tv, while you scroll on your phone.
Once the ball drops, you stand up to go to sleep, but hear your phone buzzing on the table. Picking it up, you see Clarks contact, sitting on your home page.
“See you Saturday?” You blink, another text popping up. “Your place or mine?” Another text, a link to a recipe. You turn off your phone, turning it back on to see if maybe you're dreaming. Maybe the words will warp into something else. But they stay firm in their form.
Saturday you clean your apartment. Thoroughly. You clean out the fridge and freezer, hand washing dishes, cleaning up all the clothes and pajamas left around the bedroom. As the afternoon rolls around, and you finish getting yourself ready, you keep your phone face up, in case he, at the last minute, tries to cancel. No buzz from your phone, a knock at the door.
It was almost like that whole fall and winter never happened.
“I saw your, uh, wedding posts, you’re getting really good” Clark says, breaking the comfortable silence, nudging his glasses up with his shoulder, “Not that you weren’t good before that,” He adds quickly, slowing his whisking. You snicker and jab his arm,
“Keep whisking, it needs to be firm to mix properly,” You smile, looking at his focused face as he returns his wrist to the same motion, “And thank you, all those weddings kill my feet, but it’s the perfect opportunity to get the practice outside of work.”
“Must be. Um, sorry about cancelling for so long. Things kept coming up,” He says, showing you the fluffy, firm, texture. You shrug and hand him the bowl to mix the filling together. Inside you know that's a lame excuse, but you didn’t exactly want to make a big scene now that he's here. You dunk the ladyfingers into the bowl of coffee and line the bottom of the tray,
“Shit happens, it's all good,” You say blankly, scrunching your nose up at your bleak tone, “It’s been fine anyways. I mean, I dunno,”
Clark glances over, “Did something happen? I know we haven’t exactly-” He pauses, then re-words himself, “I didn’t exactly stay in touch over the months.”
You try to come up with another excuse for your slump that fall, because confessing to Clark that it was his fault you turned into a hermit for a few weeks felt wrong.
“I broke up recently,” You say quickly, deciding to skip that season all together, “It didn’t really go how I wanted it to.”
Assembling the tiramisu was easier than the recipe made it seem, or maybe you both did it wrong. Clark clumsily pours the filling over the ladyfingers, leaning over you slightly.
“Do we add the cocoa powder now or later?” You mumble, smoothing out the last layer of the filling.
“I think it says now,” Clark grabs his phone, scrolling through the sob story and ads to get to the instructions.
“Won’t it kinda like…melt? Into the filling? It has to sit for, like, four hours,”
“It says now,”
“Does it? That feels stupid,”
“If we wait, what if it, like, doesn’t stick to the top? Or like, doesn’t mix right,”
You smile at Clark’s defensive nature, even if it looks like it pains him to disagree with you. Moving to the sink, grabbing all the messy bowls and spatulas, you chuckle,
“Then you can add it now, I have a sifter in the top cabinet,” You nudge your head to the tall and narrow shelf. He steps around you, the cramped kitchen in your apartment always a challenge hosting both of you. His hand mindlessly lands on your lower back as he reaches up to grab the sifter, just as quickly stepping away to get the cocoa powder. Once he wipes the edges of the pan, cleaning the cocoa off, he tugs you away from the dishes,
“I can do these, most of this is my doing, anyways,” He smiles wide, handing you the dish towel. You roll your eyes and grin slightly, wiping your hands dry. After tucking the pan deep into the fridge, you look over at Clark. Maybe after a few months of ghosting you, you deserve a bit of ogling at his huge back. Through his shirt you swear you can see his shoulder blades move around.
—
“I don’t even remember properly, it could’ve been a really bad dream. Or maybe I stepped on a horse tranquilizer,” You laugh, laying back on the couch, holding the cup of coffee tightly in your palms.
“He cried?” He asks again, an incredulous smile growing on his lips, his dimples growing deeper.
“Maybe? I didn’t see any tears, but it definitely sounded like he was. The worst part was that it ended up lasting way longer than I wanted. The breakup, that is,” You add, pointing a finger out, making him chuckle, “I tried to condense it to the morning, but he dragged it to lunch. People were passing by to get to the hotdog stand and kept glancing at us!”
“Why were you by the hotdog stand to begin with?”
“I wanted a hotdog after” You burst into laughter, throwing your head back at your own joke. Clark snorts into his mug, laughing with you and shaking his head.
“Thats so mean!”
“Not even! I was going to wait for him to shake my hand, and civilly walk away, but he just kept…crying”
You look over, seeing his thick shoulders shake with laughter at your blunt tone.
“That’s mean,”
Rolling your eyes, you take a sip of the coffee, “Oh whatever, what was your last breakup like?”
He gets a little sheepish, averting eye contact to look into the mug, “I don’t even remember,”
“What, was it so bad you had to repress it? You can tell me if you got a hotdog after, Clark,” You tease, nudging his calf with your foot to try and lighten his mood. It works, kind of, he smiles at least.
“I would never do that,” He points, shaking his head playfully, “But it was just a long time ago,” He shrugs, making you all the more interested.
“Wait, really? So when was the last time you got laid?” You pry, leaning forward slightly, “Oh, don’t tell me you’re a virgin, dude,” You tease, grinning softly. He snaps his head at you, laughing breathlessly,
“N-no!” He says unconvincingly, making you give him a look, adjusting his glasses, “No! I’m not! It’s been a while, that's all.” He shrinks back in his seat, swirling the mug to stare at the coffee spin.
“Thats fine. It’s been, like, maybe…” You trail off, trying to count the months, “Maybe six months?”
He narrows his eyes, looking back up and then looking at you, “Weren’t you just telling me about your boyfriend?”
“Well excuse me, Mr. Kansas. I don’t exactly put out after two and a half months” You sit up straight and close your eyes as you sip your coffee, “At least I can place a time stamp on mine,” You tease a little harder, nudging him again. He flushes and looks back down into his cup, bouncing his knee. Silence rolls over like a weighted blanket, making you squirm slightly, wondering if it was a sensitive topic or something.
“You know-”
“I’m sorry-”
You both blurt at the same time, turning to face each other. Clark smiles and sets his coffee down on the table, setting yours down as well. He nods at you to speak first,
“I’m pretty sure you blurted out first” You shake your head, a grin spreading back onto your lips. He leans back, crossing his legs widely and holding onto his ankle,
“I wanted to, um, say sorry for going no contact for so long. That wasn’t fair to you,”
“Clark, it’s fine. You already explained it earlier, you’re an innocent man now,”
“I lied” He said, quickly.
You blink, trying to think of a comeback to that. Clearly he doesn’t have any further explanation because he just blinks and looks away. Your brain racks for any kind of joke to melt the tension, but just as you start to piece together a half baked thought, Clark moves closer. You look up, Clark tightly smiling, his cheeks a little pink.
“I really liked you,” He mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, “Really like you. Present tense”
It’s impossible not to find it a little cute. You lean up and kiss his jawline, nudging his glasses,
“Bit of a backwards way to show it, but I do appreciate it” You tease, falling back into rhythm as usual. Pushing yourself up, you meet his eyeline on the couch, leaning forward to kiss him gently.
“I kind of freaked myself out over it. I tried to will it away, I guess,”
“Will it away,” You repeat, snickering, “Geez, I’m not that bad, Clark. Like I’m a bad fever,”
“No! Not like that! Gosh, um,” he looks away, giving me another chance to peck his jaw.
“I know what you mean, I think,” You snort, pulling back to rest against the arm of the couch.
“You’ve always been so,” Clark trails off, gesturing vaguely with his hands, “Easy going. Always getting me out of my head. Always so ready to cheer people up,” He finishes, glancing at me helplessly. You cock your head, making the same gestures back at him,
“Keep going” You smile, a laugh bubbling up in your chest.
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head, “Can I kiss you instead?”
You move to push yourself up but he meets you halfway and leans over you on the couch, both of you smiling into the kiss. It’s slow and nervous, exactly matching how both of you felt. His hand slowly comes up to rest on your hip, barely putting any pressure on it, just to see how you’d react. If you would throw him off and banish him from the apartment, or if a film crew would come from behind the tv and tell him he's on a prank show. Instead, you press your hips against his palm, your hand reaching up to hold onto his forearm. Shamelessly, you give the muscle a quick squeeze, feeling him chuckle against your lips.
“Your breath stinks,” You tease, pulling back to catch your breath. He snorts and hangs his head to laugh freely, his mouth away from your nose.
“You served coffee,” He tried to defend himself, leaning up to peck your lips.
“It’s not,” Peck. “even, like,” Peck. “good coffee,” Peck. You press your palms against his chest, making him smile and pull back, “You have no excuses”
Tracing your palms up and onto his neck, letting your fingers sprawl over his ears, he leans down, kissing you deeper. His hands find your hips again, holding you more firmly. Your hands stroke and find purchase in his dark hair, your lips never able to get enough of his taste. The feeling of him so close, so breathless and eager to match your pace, his glasses pressing awkwardly on your cheek. The arm of the couch digging into your neck doesn’t even register with his large palms and rubbing into the soft skin from your shirt riding up. You let out a soft breath, pulling away to rest your forehead on his cheek, “Let me get up, before I get a lump on my neck,” You joke, sitting up and pressing your body against his as he leans back instead. Laughing, you rest your hands on his chest, pressing soft kisses on his cheeks and lips, feeling his hands tracing up and down your sides.
“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for making me wait,” You mumble around the skin on his neck. His hands rest on your back, reaching under your shirt to feel your skin against his fingers.
“I didn’t think you’d react like this,” Clark chuckles, looking down to catch your lips again. He sits up, letting you fumble your legs around his thighs and sit against him. Your hands find his face and cup his cheeks as his arms wrap around your waist. Tiny noises escape your lips as he pulls you flush against him, your hips dropping slightly to grind against him. His hands lower, ghosting over your ass before resting on your hips again, helping you move on him. He pulls away, grunting softly as he leans down and presses his nose against your neck. His warm breath wafts over your sensitive skin, his grip getting slightly firmer as he grinds up into you more urgently. You arch into his hold, whimpering and leaning down to bury your nose in his hair, breathing him in. His arms slide down and grip your thighs, making you stiffen as he stands up.
“Down the hall, right?” He mumbles against your chest, blindly walking through your apartment with surprising clarity.
“Yeah, turn here,” You mumble, holding onto his back as he dumps you onto your bed. Your room, thankfully, was frantically cleaned this morning. Clark leans back against your headboard and lets you kiss and grind against him, soaking in the overwhelming smell of you. He sits beside you and yanks you on top of him, straddling his hips again. His large hands find your hips and roll you harder against him, letting you feel the bulge buried in his starchy jeans. Your fingers drag under his shirt, feeling his stomach tighten over your soft touches. A soft breath escapes his lips, leaning down to kiss your head as he yanks his shirt off. His skin feels hot to the touch, your palm dragging down his toned chest to his happy trail giving him goosebumps on his arms. You press a soft kiss on his collarbone, hands resting on his stomach, as your mouth trails down. He swallows thickly, Adams' apple bopping slightly at the sight of you. Hot kisses press down his chest, your hands tracing along his sides. His breathing quickens as you press a kiss to his happy trail, looking up at him.
Clark’s face is red, eyes widened and desperate, getting worse as you press your palm to his bulge. He grinds against your hand, tilting his head back and letting soft little whines spill from his lips.
“O-oh gosh, please. That feels really good,” He mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting your sheets.
You leave hickies on his stomach, grinding your palm harder against him to keep him sated. When you crawl back up to his face, your hands go to his face, making him face you. You sit back down on his lap, grabbing his glasses and placing them over your eyes. He blinks at how adorable you look and flips you onto the other side of the bed. Landing on your back, you laugh and sit up on your elbows,
“Wait, let me lay on the pillows,” You laugh, moving around him before laying down, and pulling back on top. He presses soft kisses on your face, hands resting under your top and pulling it off. Clark’s hands trail your soft skin, leaning down and pressing needy, wet, kisses to your stomach. Your breathing quickens, feeling his glasses slip down your nose, reaching out to stroke his hair. He pants against your skin, his eyes scanning how your body moves when you breathe, watching certain muscles tense when he strokes you. Leaning back down, he licks a long stripe up from your pants zipper to your belly button, making you moan quietly and arch into his hands. His hand comes down to cup you back, feeling how desperately you try to grind despite your pants blocking most of the friction.
“Please, Clark. P-please, please let me take them off,” You plead, already trying to unbutton it. He watches you squirm out of your pants, his hands taking them off your legs, leaving you in just a bra and panties. He sets your pants on the floor, putting your phone on the bedside table. His mouth finds your grinding cunt and presses open mouth kisses against your wet core, feeling the wetness behind the fabric.
“Can I take these off?” He asks quietly, his voice small, “You smell incredible,” He pants, pressing more kisses on your crotch and along your thighs. You reach down and hurriedly yank your panties off, letting him bunch them up and throw them off the bed. Your skin felt so hot, even in the cool early spring breeze. Sitting up slightly, you fumbled with your bra clasp, freeing your whole body to him. Clark’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you naked and needy under him. You lay back down, looking up at him, squeezing your thighs to ease the growing, mind-numbing, arousal. His mouth finds your nipple as his palm grinds against your clit. As your nipple hardens, he flicks his tongue, closing his eyes and listening intently on all your soft moans and whimpers. A finger slides into your cunt, feeling your soaked insides, clenching and pulsing around him.
“Do you need another?” He asks, pulling off of your breast, bringing his other hand to paw at your other. You nod, mindlessly pushing his glasses up. “C’mon, you’re always so smart. Give me a cute little one liner,” He teases, kissing and sucking your skin.
“I’m gonna throw that tiramisu out the window, Clark. I swear,” You whine, squeezing his finger, your hands coming up to hold onto his arms. He smiles to himself, giving you a gentle peck on the lips and lowers himself back on the bed.
His hand traces up behind your knees and pushes them back. You lean up on your elbows, watching his huge frame move your body around to fit him. Before you can soak in the moment, he ducks his head, burying his face between your legs. You cry out and arch into his mouth, trying to even your breathing as he laps at your cunt, his fingers squeezing your thighs. His tongue traces around your clit, feeling it get puffy from his licking and sucking. Your hips grind up as he slides another finger into your cunt, feeling you squeeze him without even trying.
—
You can’t register what time it is. It could be nighttime, but that also could be from Clark’s cock bullying into you. Clark has had you bouncing on his cock for the past hour, maybe hours. His glasses continue to slide down your nose, giving him an extra pathetic look. He smiles and kisses your breasts, urging you to keep moving.
“You got it, I know you can go a bit longer. You’re so beautiful like this. I can’t believe I let this go for so long,” He babbles, kissing sloppily against your neck and collarbone. You feel your mind go blank, focusing on just his words, how much he rambles His hips slowly grind up into you, feeling you slow down from the pain in your legs. Your thighs start burning, but Clark just lets you lean against his chest, his hips bucking up into you.
“C-clark! Shitshitshitshit- you’re s’ big, Clark,” You whine, babbling into his neck as your hands squeeze his flexing arms.
His arms hold you against him, letting you cry and moan against his skin. He groans, feeling your cunt clenching him, barely letting him in or out. His length feels like he's up in your stomach, making you leak down his shaft, mixing with his own pre. You let out a soft whine, squirming on my knees uncomfortably.
“Oh, I’m sorry, honey,” He murmurs against your ear, rubbing your hips, “‘M being so selfish like this. Do your legs hurt?” His voice is soft, so sweet it almost sounds condescending. You nod weakly, leaning back to look at his face. He reaches up to let you just sit with his length inside you, wiping the tears damp on your cheek. Clark reaches forward, pawing at your breasts and kissing the soft skin one more time, before moving you.
“This might be good for you,” He says softly, pulling out, making you whine and lean against him for more contact. His hands maneuver you to lay on your stomach, bringing your ass up in the air slightly. Before you can whine and buck your hips, he drapes himself over your back, hoisting you up a bit more. His back is hot against yours, kissing your shoulder as his hands help hold you up, his knee spreading your legs. Pushing back in, he groans and licks the sweat off your neck, going back to his punishing pace, his forehead resting against your cheek. His hand snaked around your side, his hand sliding down between your legs to feel how swollen your clit is. You let out quiet sounds, pushing back feverishly on him, feeling his glasses slide off your face. Your hands grip the sheets, trying to keep yourself still as he pounds into you, your head hanging low. The sound of your moans and drawn out whimpers fill the air, mixing with his occasional grunts and rambling,
“You’re so pretty, y'know that? At work, I can barely w-write anything. You’re just- gosh, just so pretty,” He babbles in your ear, rubbing your clit quickly. You cry out again, shaking your head, feeling your body tense up, your stomach churning with building arousal. He kisses your cheek,
“You can have one more, oh please, have one more on me. Feels s’ good when you do, honey,” He pleads, nuzzling your neck and speeding up his hand, making you scream out into the blankets. Your cunt spasms and clenches around him, his cock feeling your rapid heartbeat against his veins. You couldn’t name which orgasm this one is, maybe fourth, or maybe fifth. He pants and stills his hips, rubbing your clit through the orgasm, feeling you convulse and press your face into the mattress.
“T-too much! So much, so so much…” You squeak out, shaking your head at the intense overstimulation of Clark pulling every part of your orgasm from you.
Slowly, he starts grinding into your cunt, before he’s interrupted with the loud buzzing of your phone on the nightstand. He leans over and holds up your phone, seeing your exes name on the contact. His hips start back up on their bruising rhythm, making you moan and squeeze your eyes shut.
“Honey, looks like your phone is ringing, should I answer?” He asks, leaning over your back again to kiss your sweaty skin. You can barely register the question and just nod your head, pushing back into him and whining for him to go faster. A wide smile spreads across his face as he answers the phone, his hips never stuttering.
“Hello? Who is this?” Clark answers, his voice deep and sturdy, despite his rapid movement. You blink and look over your shoulder, seeing Clark holding your phone, listening to someone talk. He notices your looking and shushes you, reaching down with his free hand to rub your clit. You squeal out and bury your face into the mattress, whining and crying, listening to his deep voice.
“Oh, right. She’s a little busy right now, isn’t that right, honey?” He leans forward, draping his chest over your arches back, holding the microphone to your mouth, catching your desperate whines and rambling.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- Clark, ‘m so close! Fa-fasterfasterfaster!” You cry out, pouting and glancing at the phone by your mouth and crying out. His hand speeds up, pulling the phone back and hanging up, letting it fall onto your pillow.
“So good. Oh my goodness, honey, just so good for me. You can do one more. Just one more, honey. ‘M right behind you,” He pants, his hips chasing his own release, feeling your cunt start to tighten and build up to yours. You shake your head, feeling it take longer to build up than usual, making you cry and bury your face into the bunched up blankets. He rubs your sides, his hand coming up to paw and grab your breasts, squeezing and flicking the nipple softly,
“Oh, I know it’s gonna be big…give it to me, honey. I wanna feel this one so bad, oh, please, give this one to me,” He rambles, completely drunk on the thought of tearing this last one from your actively failing body. Your head lifts, feeling a very unfamiliar sensation building,
“C-clark? I th-think ‘m gonn-” You try to get out, before gasping and cumming around his cock, feeling something squirt out of you and coat his thighs, your legs trembling as they try to stay up. He gasps and closes his eyes, feeling how long your orgasm is drawing out, how tight you’re getting. His cock can barely move inside you, so he bottoms out, spilling his load into you,
“O-oh, oh, honey-” He groans, sloppily thrusting to shovel all of it in as he cums. You blink, feeling him warm up your lower stomach. Once his hips are still, he pulls out and lets you lay on the bed, catching your breath. He spurts a few more weak drops, looking down at the mess you two made on your bed. You rest your head to the side, catching your breath as your hearing goes fuzzy for a few seconds. He lifts you up onto his chest and lays back on the bed, rubbing your back and kissing your head, wiping some sweat off your face,
“I guess we can both restart our count,” He jokes, seeing you smile tiredly against his chest, your eyes drooping shut. After a few moments, he lifts the both of you up, taking you to your bathroom to take a shower. You lean against him, your legs shaking too much, and he happily holds you up. He lets you clean yourself up and walks back to the bedroom to get his shirt and boxers back on. You step out in a towel, sliding into a large shirt and sleepshorts.
—
Your chin rests on his head, your hands resting on his shoulder,
“No, bigger than that,” You mumble, tracing random patterns on the fabric.
“Geez really?” He teases, outlining a bigger slice from the pan.
“Yes, really, I need to rebuild my energy,”
His hand, currently not holding you up on his back, cuts a slice from the tiramisu, transferring it onto the plate. He dishes himself up, letting you lean down to kiss at his cheek, leaning forward to kiss his lips. You both sit on the couch, your feet in his lap, watching reruns of an old sitcom while digging into the dessert. His plate sits finished and scraped clean on the coffee table, his hands now occupied with massaging your legs while you lay back and enjoy your dessert. You look up at him, gesturing with your fork,
“Did someone call me during?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the tv, working a knot in your calf,
“No, I don’t think so…”
squeee my first post on tumblr!! i've never written for clark before, so please gimme some feedback <3
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