[quotevvr]

◈ ─ 𝐦𝐞𝐥 𝟗𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 .ᐟ

↳ • 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 • 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 • 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 • 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚

𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ༊·˚ …

©QUOTEVVR || est. june ‘25 — all rights reserved.

[al1voidz]

if my man ain’t submissive 90% of the time then he ain’t the one for me.

[quotevvr]

💌💌💌💌

what fic should i post next 😜🫣

priest!jack abbot

neighbour!jack abbot

Voting ended onMay 24

[vampmatic]

and suddenly i’m alive

[thewrldx]

YOUR WRITING IS NOT DEFINED BY THE NOTES YOU RECEIVE.

i’ve seen way too many people, including my lovely mutuals, who are experiencing low interactions with their work.

this is incredibly frustrating. you work so hard to put out content for yourself and others to enjoy. it’s not a great feeling to post something and have it be looked over, especially because writing is so vulnerable.

that being said, it does not define you. low notes on a post does not mean you are any less of an amazing writer. you are creative. you are talented. you are a writer.

and we want you to keep writing. i want you to keep writing.

take breaks & support your friends. <3

[rafesteddy]

[quotevvr]

ALWAYS HERE

18+ MDNI — unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it), soft!jack, obsessed!jack, gentle sex. FT. JACK ABBOT X AFAB!READER

author note. inspired by this post

“baby, i need you to relax f’me.” jack’s voice echoes around the bathroom, accompanied by the gentle music playing from his phone and the rhythmic sound of water sloshing in the bathtub as he thrusts into you at a steady pace. one of his hands is wrapped around your waist, helping to guide you back onto his cock, whilst the other holds onto your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your pulse point.

you’re on your hands and knees, the warm soapy water just below your elbows, and your head tilted forward between your shoulders, trying to ignore the hundreds of thoughts swirling around in your head in favour of feeling the way his cock drags against your spongy walls with every drag of his hips. it’s futile though — your mind is too focused on everything that’s been going on in your life lately. you’ve tried to occupy yourself with other things, like getting through your seemingly endless pile of laundry, but nothing seems to work.

jack can tell you’re not really here in the moment with him, and it breaks his heart a little to see you like this. he’s tried to assure you as best as he can, to do everything he thinks will make you feel better, but none of it really helps like he’d hoped. “hey, you with me?” he asks, his hand running up and down your back to try and get your attention. you hum absently, blinking to snap yourself out of your reverie and adjusting your position in front of him.

“i’m always here for you, y’know.” his words make your chest a little tighter, and you glance over your shoulder to get a better look at him. the low candlelight paints a dream-like hue across his face, making him look even softer than he does usually. “i know.” when he lifts an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you sure?’, you can’t help but giggle, “i know, jack.”

he nods and continues to thrust into you, the hand on your shoulder moving down to play with your clit, the added stimulation making you tighten around him. he grunts and adjusts his grip on your hip, using it to pull you back onto him with a little more force than before. “i’m here, i’m right here...” he repeats like a mantra, each word in time with the movement of his hips. your eyes are squeezed shut and your toes are curled as that familiar feeling in your abdomen begins to make itself known, and you can tell that he’s close, too.

“i love you so much, baby.” he mutters, his voice strained, before he finally bottoms out and spills his load into you, hands shooting out to grip the sides of the bathtub to keep himself upright. your release follows soon after, and you’re able to enjoy it better now that your mind is more than fractionally focused on him. “i love you too.”

after a moment, he leans back on his heels and pulls you with him, your back pressed against his chest and your head resting on his shoulder. his fingers rest just under your tits, skimming the underside of them with absent reverence as he trails his lips up the side of your neck. “you’ll always be my girl.” he mumbles against your skin, and for a brief moment, your mind seems to somewhat quieten.

🏷️ ⦂ @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @livstarzz

[drewsbby]

rafe cameron's the type... 18+ MDNI

to: lean over you in the missionary position, eyes bloodshot and wide, the room filled with the sounds of your whimpers and his moans. his hands are gripping your thighs down, as the squelch of his cock meeting yours repeats in hard motions. your legs would shake when he’s so deep and he would let out, “i know baby, i know you can take it” voice breathy as his eyes roll to the back of his head, cock so deep in your cunt he’s not even sure how he hasn’t came yet. your folds adjust to his girth, and you can’t take the agonizingly slow thrusts anymore, lifting your hips to quicken his pace, “good fuckin girl” he grunts out, his cock pulsing as you take over. "fuck, yes don't stop baby." through breathy moans. "i knew you could take me."

to: act like he's so macho and dominant to everyone else, but when it's the two of you he's literally whimpering when you stop kissing, staring at you with nothing but hunger in his eyes, because he physically needs more. "no, no, no, no" he'll say. "why'd you pull away?" with those eyes wide like he's high, but there's no drugs in his system, and he's just drunk of you. literally begging you to ride him, to caress him, to straddle him, to touch him even, like the fucking loser he is, loosing all credibility when he's on his knees for you, kissing your stomach, and thighs, grabbing your hands whimpering "please, please touch me." ugghhh

to: still display how thick skinned he is. you'll be at a bar or a kook party, and he'll literally have you sit against him or on his lap, and as soon as he clocks some weirdo looking at you funny, you're suddenly standing behind him, his left arm holding onto you behind him, while he's in someone's face. "the fuck are you looking at huh?" he'll spat. "nah don't fucking look at her bitch!" he'll say, and to you it's so hot when he get's so protective of you, cause he'll do this while still holding your hand, behind his back.

to: get mad at you, over something the smallest bullshit, like you leaving him on delivered for twenty minutes. as if it’s some kind of betrayal. “don’t play dumb,” he'll snap at you. “you were on your phone. i know you were.” you'll scuff, “or maybe i just didn’t feel like answering you right away,” folding your arms, except you can’t even fullly be mad because his hand is holding your waist, his thum lightly rubbing back and forth on your skin. “yeah? that how it is now?” and he still hasn't let go, and it's so frustrating, yet calming. “you just ignore me whenever you feel like it?” with a squint of his eye. “rafe, you’re being insane” you say, “nah,” he cuts you off, dragging a hand through his hair before it drops back to you, like he physically can’t stand not touching you. “what’s insane is you acting like i don’t matter.” you roll your eyes, but you don’t step away, because you don’t ever step away. “if you didn’t matter, i wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you,” you mutter. he huffs, leaning forward, forehead almost brushing yours. “you drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he says. “then let go of me.” but it does the opposite, making him tighten his grip. “not'a fuckin' chance.”

to: say something rude as hell, in the middle of an argument, and the second he sees it really bothered you, he'll regret it, and tries to bury it under more anger, because why can you make him soft like that “maybe if you actually fuckin' listened for once-” he starts, but then he sees your face fall, and it throws him off. “wow,” you laugh, but it’s not humorous. “that’s what you think of me?” he scoffs, pacing like he’s trying to outrun what he just said. “don’t twist it baby. you always twist it.” saying 'baby' like the pet name is supposed to soften the blow. “i didn’t twist anything, rafe. you said it.” he stops, turning back to you, “yeah, well maybe i meant it.” and when you're too quiet, he'll quickly take it back, knowing he took it too far. saying almost under his breath, “you know i don’t, though.” and he'll wait for you to come back to him.

to: not say a word to you, like you’ve been cut off without any warning. with his arms crossed, and eyes flicking anywhere but your face, until you realize what he’s doing. “are you seriously not talking to me right now?” you ask, annoyed. and he gives you nothing but a stubborn glance. “rafe, that’s so childish.” he shrugs, leaning back against the wall like he’s got all the time in the world. but really he’s waiting you out. you stare at him, then narrow your eyes. “you’re kidding right?” still nothing. “you want a kiss, don’t you?” you accuse, stepping closer. his gaze finally snaps to yours, but he doesn’t say it, cause he gave it away, “you’re unbelievable.” you grab his shirt, tug him down, and press a quick, annoyed kiss to his lips. and just like that, he exhales, hands sliding to your hips. “see? wasn’t that hard.”

to: cut you off mid sentence grabbing your jaw with his hand, his fingers pressing in just enough to make your words catch in your throat “wanna repeat that?” he says, like it’s not even a question. your heart jumps, more from the look on his face than his grip, as his eyes drop to your lips, not even pretending to listen anymore. “i said you’re acting-” you start again, but it comes out so much weaker this time. his thumb shifts slightly, tilting your face up just a little more. “nah,” he mutters, almost amused. “say it how you said it before.” you suck your teeth “why? so you can get mad again?” you snap, trying to pull back, but he doesn’t let you go. “no,” he says, finally meeting your eyes. “so i can hear the attitude i'm gonna have to fuck out of you later." and that makes you swallow hard, trying to not crumble. “go on,” he adds, “don’t get shy on me now.”

to: refuse to ever be the first one to tap out. going round after round, even when his body is clearly telling him he should call it quits. sweat on his skin, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to catch up with his own breathing, yet he’s already looking at you like he hasn’t had enough. he’s leaning over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other dragging slowly down your side. “another round?” he asks, like it’s nothing. like he isn’t still recovering. you blink up at him, with wide eyes. “are you serious right now?” a tired disbelieving laugh slips out of him. he shakes his head slightly, still not backing off. “what, you think i’m done?” he asks. “rafe, you literally just-” he cuts you off, “don’t care,” his forehead dips closer to yours. “if you’re a drug,” he exhales, smirking faintly, “i’m so fucking addicted.”

based off the tiktok trend, no one asked but i couldn't help myself.

[quotevvr]

MY GOD, YOU’RE DIVINE

18+ MDNI — dark themes, m and f masturbation, very pervy!rafe, voyeurism, breaking into someone’s house, swearing. FT. STALKER!RAFE CAMERON X AFAB!READER

he has been watching you for a while now. he knows what time you wake up every morning to start getting ready for your job at the local library, he knows that your favourite place to get breakfast is the little cafe tucked between a sandwich and pet store, where you order a butter croissant and latte to go every morning. he knows that most of your family resides in kentucky, and you like to visit them during the winter season, and he also knows that your cat died last month.

he personally sent a card to your apartment to express his condolences—which wasn’t hard seen as he knows that it’s on the fourth floor of the red-brick building by the car wash. he found the card in the trash a few days later when he was searching for the shirt you threw out because it was ‘too small’. he’d heard you complaining about it on the phone to your friend when he was stood outside your door a week or so ago.

it’s raining hard for an early evening in may, and rafe has been sat in his car for over an hour now. the windows have begun to steam up, so much so that he keeps having to wipe the condensation away to make sure that he can properly seen across the street to make sure you get home safe. you were supposed to arrive home an hour ago, as you do every day. he’s worried that something has happened to you. his leg bounces impatiently, rocking the car with it, as his eyes scan the parking lot. your audi still hasn’t parked in its usual spot (about ten feet from the front doors, if he remembers correctly).

a few more minutes pass, and rafe can’t handle not knowing where you are anymore. he grabs his phone and first opens instagram to see if you’ve added to your story or posted or even shared your location. nothing. next, he checks twitter. still nothing. his grip around is phone tightens, his knuckles whitening his skin and his jaw clenching as his stomach tightens uncomfortably. where the fuck are you?

he debates going inside and asking your neighbours whether or not they’ve heard anything, whether you’ve told them anything. the risk of you finding out a guy you don’t know is asking after your location puts him off, though. against his better judgement, he unlocks his car and pushes the door open, the rain falling in heavy sheets across his face. he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t not know. just as he’s about to make a beeline for the building’s front doors, a familiar car pulls into the parking lot and into its designated spot. he feels his shoulders relax in relief, but quickly remembers himself and slides back into his car.

he watches through hooded eyes as you get out of your car and retrieve your bags from the backseat, your hair pushed up out of your face and your cheeks flushed. he wonders whether something happened at work today. there’s a bounce in your step that’s not usually there, and your mouth is pulled up into a less-than-casual smile. jealously curls low and relentless in rafe’s chest; what if you’ve met someone?

he tries not to dwell on that thought for very long in favour of staring unabashedly at your ass as you walk into the apartment building, fingers absentmindedly playing with his bottom lip. he watches through the window as you step into the elevator, his leg finally stilling once the doors shut behind you. at least now he knows that you’re safe. but what if you really have met somebody? the thought makes him feel sick.

the idea of it seems to churn around in his mind, worsening the longer he sits there not doing anything, and after a few more minutes, he can’t stand the volume of it anymore. it’s a rash decision, a stupid one, but that certainly doesn’t stop him. he gets out of his car and starts after you, his pace controlled and stiff to try and appear normal. he feels anything but right now.

he takes the stairs, not wanting to use the elevator in case he runs into someone or even bumps into you. he knows not many people use the stairs here, anyway. when he’s actually stood in front of your door, he hesitates — he’s never been in your apartment while you’re there, too. he’s always thought it to be too risky. he knows he can’t stop himself, though.

he fishes the copy of your key that he’d made from the spare one you used to leave under the doormat from his pocket. that was until your neighbour warned you of the dangers of doing something so foolish. you’d told her that you’re forgetful, and often misplace your keys, to which she’d suggested keeping one for you, just in case. rafe had heard the whole conversation whilst sat in the stairwell and had silently cursed the old pensioner for being so smart. not that it mattered anyway, he’d had his own copy for a month before that already.

slowly, he inserts the key and unlocks the door, holding his breath as he does so. as carefully as he can manage, he pushes open the door a little and peeks inside to make sure that you’re not anywhere near it. thankfully, the hallway is empty and the only sound he can hear is from the tv playing in the living room. he slips inside, still holding his breath as if that will help him stay hidden, glancing around to try and figure out where you are.

that’s when he sees it. your bedroom door is slightly ajar, the lights are dimmed and your pants lay discarded in front of it. he swears he almost looses his mind then and there. making sure to avoid the creaky wooden floorboards that he has mapped out in his mind, he steps over to your bedroom, hiding behind the wall beside it and daring to sneak a glance through the gap.

you’re lay back on your bed like some sort of goddess, your panties thrown at the foot of the bed and your fingers buried between your spread legs. your other hand is covering your mouth to muffle any sounds that you make and he can just make out the furrow of your eyebrows. you look beautiful. he stands there, entranced for a moment, simply taking in the sight of you as you pleasure yourself. he allows himself to wonder what it’d be like if that were his hand, if you let him touch you like that.

he doesn’t even realise that he is palming himself through his jeans, too focused on not missing a single thing you do to care much what he himself is doing. he burns the image into his memory, half tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture for later. he resists in favour of gingerly unzipping his fly and wrapping his hand around his cock. he’s already leaking precum, and he uses it as a lube to spread around his tip before giving himself an experimental stroke.

the pleasure runs through him like a bolt of electricity, from the tips of his toes to his head, and he can barely suppress the sound of satisfaction that threatens to pass through his lips. your legs shake and your hips grind up against your fingers, the sounds coming from where you lay sounding like music to his ears. rafe uses his free hand to hold himself up against the wall as his knees begin to buckle, his mind full of nothing but you.

he can feel himself getting close already, the way his balls tighten and his cock twitches being sure signs, but he can tell you’re not, so he removes his hand and forces himself to wait. he wants to fall over the edge with you. the hand on your mouth drops down to rub tight circles over your clit, and he mirrors your movements against his tip, the slight bit of stimulation causing his eyes to roll back. he quickly regains his focus, though, fixing back on the way your pussy squelches lewdly with every plunge of your fingers.

when your arm shoots out beside you to grip frantically at the bedsheets, trying to ground yourself, he returns his grip on his dick and pumps along with your rhythm, feeling himself begin to tilt over the edge. and when you moan without shame or reservation, your hips bucking one last time and your back arching up off your bed, he comes right along with you, his jaw slackened and his shoulders slumped forward against the wall.

you sigh and relax into the blankets beneath you, satisfied with yourself, whilst he is trying to regain his breath as quietly as possible, his body still shaking. “shit.” he curses beneath his breath, stuffing himself back into his pants and quickly slipping back over to the front door. the thrill of having been in your apartment at the same time as you, and watching you get yourself off in the private of your bedroom, is addicting, and he feels a little disappointed that he is leaving.

he remembers to lock the door behind him, returning the key back into his pocket and walking unsteadily over to the stairwell, taking them two at a time to get to the parking lot as quickly as possible. he sucks in a breath of the cold fresh air once he’s outside, getting back into his car and starting the engine. he can’t help but smile smugly to himself as he drives out onto the main road, fingers tapping along to the music playing from the radio. you’re his, whether you know it yet or not.

🏷️ ⦂ @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @livstarzz @camerxnlove

author note. sorry this is so late xoxo

[quotevvr]

APPLE PIE

18+ MDNI — kissing, fem!receiving oral, swearing, pussy whipped!clark, slight exhibitionism kink. FT. FARMHAND!CLARK KENT X AFAB!READER

you were supposed to be helping martha with some odd jobs around the farm. you had convinced yourself that both you and clark could control yourselves for a day. you’d even brought an apple pie along with you, knowing that it’s jonathan’s favourite.

now the pie sits, abandoned, on the kitchen counter in the house and clark’s hands are all over you, touching, grabbing, holding. he’d managed to drag you over to the barn without much resistance on your end; not with his strong hand gripping your wrist and his thumb running soothing strokes along your pulse point, that same shit-eating grin etched across his face.

once you’re inside, he pushes you against the wall and attaches his lips to yours, one hand in your hair and the other on your waist. his hips grind up into yours, making you all too aware of the bulge in the front of his jeans and sending your head spinning. the kiss is frantic and messy—teeth clashing and breathing heavy as you pour your overwhelming need for him into each touch.

“i’ve missed you s’much, sweetheart.” he mumbles into your mouth, fingers slipping beneath your shirt and trailing up your ribcage until they reach the undersides of your tits. “you saw me, like, two days ago, clark.” he breaks the kiss to stare at you with a dumbfounded expression, cheeks flushed with exertion. “yeah, two days too long.”

you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head as you lean forward to trail your lips along his jaw, smiling to yourself when you hear him groan hoarsely. his thumbs brush over your nipples until they harden beneath them, making your eyes flutter shut under his touch. his touch is addicting, and you’re sure you’ll never be able to resist it.

your hands slip down to the waistband of his jeans and fumble with the fly for a moment before he stops you, pulling them away and instead slowly dropping down onto his knees in front of you. the sight of him looking up at you through his dark lashes steals the breath from your lungs, only made worse by the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth when he registers your reaction.

“clark—” you hiss, glancing out of the open door of the barn and scanning the field for any sign of his parents, “what are you doing?” he doesn’t say anything for a moment, focused solely on pulling your shorts and panties down. “what’s it look like i’m doing, sweetheart?” he replies playfully before lowering his mouth between your legs.

he starts off with gentle kisses, his movements worshipping every inch of you with careful precision, before he gains more confidence and licks a stripe through your folds. the pleasure that sparks through you is immediate and sends your knees buckling, though the arm wrapped around the backs of your thighs stops you falling far. your hand drops down to thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging gently and evoking a satisfied sigh from him.

his mouth moves up to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking on it like it provides him with the one thing keeping him alive, and to be honest, if he told you that was the case, you’d believe him. “shit, clark—!” you whimper, biting your lip to try and control your volume while your hips shift uncontrollably against the onslaught of sensations flooding through you.

when he draws away slightly, you whine in protest, arching your back to try chase his mouth. “let them hear you, sweet girl. i want this whole farm to know how good i make you feel.” his words only make the heat coiling in your gut that much more intense, that much more unbearable. when he notices your restlessness, he doesn’t hesitate to return to his previous position, lapping at your core like a man starving.

you can feel your orgasm approaching, and try as you might, you cannot contain the moans of pleasure that escape through your parted lips. you can no longer focus on keeping quiet for his parents’ sake, the attention he’s giving you sending your head spinning and erasing all rationale from your mind.

when his tongue buries itself inside of you, his nose pushed against your clit and his fingers grasping helplessly at your thighs, you have only a moment to warn him of your imminent climax before it crashes over you with enough force to momentarily stop your breathing. it blanches your vision and has your toes curling, your body shaking against the wooden wall of the barn. he doesn’t let up until you have relaxed completely, looking up at you once more when he pulls away. he’s grinning like an idiot, a self-satisfied look painted across his face, only emphasised by your juices smeared across the lower half of it.

he helps you pull up and button your shorts before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “guess you should go find my ma before she starts to look for you.” he flashes you a smug smile, patting your thigh and turning to leave the barn. you watch after him, dumbfounded for a moment, until you’re broken out of your reverie by martha calling your name.

“coming, mrs kent!”

author note. sorry if this is really bad i wanted to post something 😭

[quotevvr]

GIRL HI I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS OMG AND I JUST HAD TO ASK A REQ🤭 so what do we think of rafe x reader but they both are campingg w mayb topper kelce and the other kookss

im so sorry if this weird and i totally understand if no baeee

luv yaa💞

no this isn’t weird ong it’s amazing i loveeeee

i will defo try to write soon i’m just crazy busy atm

luv ya too xoxo 💗

[writingdose]

write it anyway even if you think it’s bad. a badly written fic is still better than a nonexistent fic.

[quotevvr]

thank you sm for over 100 followers I never thought this many people would actually like what I post 😭

sorry I haven’t been posting as much lately, life has been sosososo busy, but I promise I’ll try and post something soon xoxo

thank you again <3

[alexinmotion]

The full performance of “I Lied to You” from “SINNERS” at the Oscars 2026

[quotevvr]

smth about this song js does it for me

[godmadeaterribleerror]

seeing red

✦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: enemies 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-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

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✦

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[quotevvr]

i’m never going to recover

[quotevvr]

hii love ur writing so much i just know ur gonna get big soon !!!!!!!!!! could u write for sarah gf!reader x rafe, totally okay if no

hi thank you sm that’s so sweet 🩷🩷

do you mean like a fic with sarah bsfs with the reader (rafe’s girlfriend)?? i’m sososo sorry i’m just trying to understand what you mean i’m newer to this 😭

[quotevvr]

VICTORIA’S SECRET SUPER MODEL

18+ MDNI — unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it), public sex, mirror sex, exhibitionism, swearing, nicknames eg ‘sweetheart’. FT. FWB!RAFE X AFAB!READER

“what do you think of this one?” you murmur absently as you stare at your reflection in the mirror in front of you, turning your body left and right to get a glimpse of what the hot pink lingerie looks like from every angle. it’s a two piece set with a sheer cover over your stomach, and it’d immediately caught your eye for one real reason only: it was pink.

your eyes flick up to rafe’s face to try and gauge him opinion on it, brows slightly furrowed. your hands come up to rest on your hips when you see the unimpressed look written plainly across his face. “hello?” he hums noncommittally, seemingly too focused on playing with the rings on his fingers. “‘s okay.”

you huff, rolling your eyes and spinning around to face him, your lips pouted and your cheeks flushed in irritation. you open your mouth to speak, to complain at him for acting like a dick, but remembering that he agreed to pay for whatever you want in here encourages you to stay quiet for the time being. turning back to the mirror, you begin sliding off the material and try to think back to if you saw any other lingerie you liked the look of.

as your pulling your panties back up, a gentle tap on your hip makes you stop and glance over your shoulder. rafe is stood behind you with his usual bored expression on his face, but it’s what he’s holding that interests you the most — a deep blue one piece consisting of complicated ties and delicate lace. “try this one.” you hum in mild interest and take it from him, holding it out in front of you and giving it a once over.

when you’ve finally managed to get it on properly, you stand in front of the mirror once more and scrutinise yourself, adjusting the way your boobs sit and the way the fabric stretches over your hips. you look good. this time, rafe hasn’t managed to take his eyes off of you even once, eyes widened and glazed over as his hands sit possessively on your thighs. “yes or no?” you ask him, pulling your hair up into a makeshift ponytail and looking down at where he’s sat behind you.

he clears his throat before answering with a gruff, “yes, definitely yes”, leaning forward to press light kisses on the somewhat exposed skin of your waist. “you look hot.” rafe’s never been one for compliments, so even the slightly lame one sends a spark of satisfaction through you. “you think?” you ask as the smile on your face grows wider, oblivious to the way his hands roam across your stomach. he doesn’t answer, too engrossed in sucking a hickey into the plush skin of your thigh.

you can feel your skin tingling with the attention he’s suddenly lavishing you with, and when his hand dips between your thighs, pushing the fabric of the lingerie to the side, the air is stolen from your lungs. two of his slender fingers drag through your folds, collecting your slick and rubbing over your sensitive bud. “always so ready f’me, hm?” he chuckles lowly, pressing harder when you let out a soft whimper.

“r-rafe, what’re you doing?” you whisper incredulously, all too aware of all of the other shoppers in the store, and the only separation between the two of you and them being the flimsy curtain of the changing room. “what’s it look like i’m doin’?” he pushes himself up to stand behind you, one hand resting on your hip to steady you as he unzips his fly with the other. he suppresses a groan when he pulls down his boxers and his leaking cock hits his stomach, already throbbing with need.

“need you to keep quiet f’me.. think you can do that, sweetheart?” he murmurs into your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it and sending another shiver of pleasure down your spine. you nod shakily, brows drawn together and bottom lip caught between your teeth. “use your words, angel.” you stifle the urge to moan at the way he’s talking to you and instead answer, albeit weakly, “yes, rafe.”

he hums and shifts behind you, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a few strokes. his head drops back between his shoulders as his breathing grows heavier, that and the gentle radio being the only sounds you can hear over the relentless beating of your heart. your eyes flutter closed when his lips meet your shoulder, his tongue tracing across the skin, “i don’t have a condom— that okay?” you don’t even register yourself nod, but it’s all the confirmation he needs.

“breathe.” he instructs lowly when his tip meets your entrance and he gently begins pushing into you, the stretch sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your jaw slackening in a silent scream. the hand not on your hip comes up to wrap around your mouth when he begins to thrust up into you, stifling your whines as your spongy walls suck in his cock.

“look— look at yourself, y’look so fuckin’ pretty.” he mumbles into your ear as he angles your face so that you have no choice but to watch yourself get split in half by his cock, the sight of your dripping pussy swallowing it whole only making the coil in your stomach tighten more.

his breaths are shaky as he holds you up and continues to pound into you, his teeth gnawing at the skin of his bottom lip to try and keep his own noises quiet, too. the hand on your hip shifts down to take your clit between his fingers and roll it between them, your hips bucking up against him as the sensations become too much to handle all at once. “fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart.”

you can’t warn him about your approaching orgasm, and it hits you like a freight train, your legs spasming around him and your whole body trembling as your release coats both his hand and his cock. your back arches in a feeble attempt to get him to step when he doesn’t let up his movements, chasing his own orgasm as he becomes more clumsy and messy.

his balls draw up when he feels his dick beginning to twitch inside of you, and the pathetic moan that falls from his lips sounds ten times louder because you know you shouldn’t be doing this here. “shit, ‘m coming..” he whispers unsteadily into the crook of your neck just as he bottoms out for a final time and cums, his release painting the inside of your walls white, encouraged by you tightening around him.

the two of you take a moment to catch your breaths, your head resting back in his shoulder and his between your shoulder blades as you watch your exhausted reflection stare back at you. finally he speaks, his voice hoarse and still quivering slightly, “get both; i can fuck you in the pink one when we’re home.”

🏷️ ⦂ @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @livstarzz

author note. hate to be that person but my inbox is open to request if you have any ideas plsplsplspls