I’m CJ! I write Marvel fanfiction on AO3 under the name FallingForThirtyMinutes. You can also find me on Discord as RonaldoManticaster#2229 and TikTok as thembo4thembo. I had many a Tumblr account in my youth, but it’s been almost 8 years since I last used the site. I’m rather new to today’s Tumblr community, so please be kind to me lol
About Me:
I’m 26 years old, queer, polyamorous, and use they/them pronouns. I live in Chicago with my four incredible roommates, who were actually the people to encourage me to get back into writing fanfiction! I am a sexual health educator, a former BDSM event host, and all-around absolute dork. My username @ronaldomanticaster is a reference to a character from a DnD show called Unsleeping City!
I primarily read and write Marvel fanfiction, specifically Loki/Reader and Thor/Reader, though I do dabble in other parts of the fandom. Currently, the series I’m focused on writing is Professional Hedonists of Sakaar, a Loki/nonbinary!OC fic about sex workers on Sakaar! I have many WIPs that I haven’t posted yet, just gotta get off my ass and keep working on them.
Feel free to reach out on here or any of the other places I’ve linked to! I love chatting with folks about writing, the MCU, Dungeons and Dragons, being gay, and risk-aware consensual kink!
If you are under 18 years of age, please do not interact.
Evolution of Steel! Did you know steel is just iron with a dash of carbon mixed into it? It’s literally just iron with 1% carbon, which magically makes it more durable
Summary: Your best-friend Clark finds out about your secret dating profile and things get weird (and then they get hot)
Warnings: 18+, minors dni, mutual pining, jealous & possessive Clark, Clark snoops through Reader’s phone oops, drunken almost confessions, sober vaginal fingering, dirty talk, unedited
Word Count: 5.9k
Nothing had ever made you more aware of your own inadequacies than trying to set up your dating profile.
It just seemed like the right time. The end of summer meant cozy dates – walking in the park, watching movies, browsing the book store. At first, when you pictured these things, you imagined Clark. Clark next to you at the movie theatre, sharing popcorn and nudging you whenever something made him laugh. Clark slowing down his pace to match your stride as you rambled through the park, offloading your complaints for the day.
You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to imagine some faceless stranger in his place. It was a necessary pain. After five years of friendship, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand to watch yourself pining after him.
You pressed your lips together and held your breath as you selected your best pictures. Of course, you’d had to crop Clark out of almost every single one of them. Best friend or not, cuddling up to a man who looked like him was a sure way to ensure your messages stayed dry.
You tilted your head onto the back of your couch, idly watching the flame of a candle on your coffee table. Thursday nights were home-cooking nights with Clark but you’d blown him off in favor of this, as miserable as it was.
Darling man that he was, Clark had seemed to know something was up but had ultimately allowed you your peace. That was the trouble, really. He knew you too well. Better than any partner you’d had in the past. It was too easy with him, and whilst you loved that, you could not bear how pathetic it was making you.
You hated yourself a little for not being able to just see him as a friend because Clark was a really, really fucking good friend. The type of friend who made you overly-salted soup when you were sick, the type of friend who knew your go-to order at all of your favorite restaurants, the type of friend who you could be honest with.
Well, not completely honest. And that had been okay at the start. Your crush had been a small thing, easily dismissed, but it had grown so large that you could no longer manage it. You felt it sitting deep in your chest, swelling larger by the day and threatening to crawl up your throat and choke you into a confession.
Every time you were with Clark, which was often, you were worried that the truth would just come rushing out. You’d caught yourself in a mirror one day, standing by his side and staring up at him with such blatant adoration that it had made you feel shaky for the rest of the night.
Surely, surely, he will notice eventually, you would think to yourself. Many a night had been spent lying awake in bed, debating the pros and cons, and in the end the cons always outweighed the pros. You could live with him not loving you as long as you still had his friendship. You wouldn’t let your own weakness jeopardize that.
You hadn’t told Clark that you were thinking about dating. You could already picture his down-turned lips and furrowed brows when you reveled that you were online-dating, of all things. Clark preferred things the old-fashioned way, like how his Ma and Pa had met, and disapproved of the dating app culture. Honestly? So did you. But you couldn’t waste anymore time waiting for someone to come and steal your attention away from Clark. It was time to be proactive about it; it was time to rip the band aid off and make an effort to save your friendship.
It was easy to blame Clark for the way you felt. How could you not? His parents had raised a perfect gentleman, and sometimes his behavior made it easy for your mind to blur the line between friendship and relationship.
That was why you had decided to start dating. A distraction was what you needed, something to make you a little less obvious. You hadn’t so much as glanced at another man since you met Clark five years ago and that needed to change.
You googled ‘best qualities in a woman’ and selected the three that you felt suited you the most, jamming them into your profile wherever they fit. It was a half-assed attempt but it was better than no attempt at all. You couldn’t avoid Clark forever and you needed to get it into your head that this – looking at him in that way – could not happen.
It took only a few more minutes before you were uploading your profile onto the app. Immediately you threw your phone down and stood up, rubbing your sweaty palms down your sweatpants.
This was a good thing, you reminded yourself. It had to be.
Clark did a slow turn in the middle of your apartment, slowly taking everything in. He looked ridiculously good in sweatpants and a white t-shirt and every time he turned, you got a heady whiff of whatever cologne he was wearing. You wanted to roll in his clothes like a feral animal. Moments like this made you certain god was punishing you.
“I don’t get it,” he finally said, slapping his hands to his hips. “This is clean. You said your apartment was so dirty that I couldn’t come over.”
“And then I cleaned it,” you grinned, gently nudging him to the couch.
It had been the best excuse you could come up with for avoiding him. It was a shitty one. In general, you were quite a tidy person and Clark knew it.
You pressed his coffee into his hands before settling on the opposite side of the couch, pulling your knees to your chest and closely inspecting your chipped nail polish. Clark grumbled into the mug as he took a sip and you smiled at his theatrics.
“I could’ve come anyway,” he said. “You know I don’t care about stuff like that. I would’ve helped you.”
Perfect, perfect man, your brain chanted. You cleared your throat and waved away his complaints, reaching down to pick up the remote.
“Well, you’re here now,” you tried to distract him, “so pick a movie. I’m gonna go pee.”
You headed to the bathroom, trying to ignore how much it felt like running away. Lying to Clark wasn’t easy, but saying that you blew him off just so you could set up your dating profile was not an option. You felt like if you told him that, then everything would come rushing out, including your steamy fantasies and the fact you had debated naming your vibrator ‘Superman’.
“Stupid,” you mouthed the words in the mirror, splashing a handful of cool water on your face.
As you reached to turn the tap off, you heard the sound of a notification come through on your phone. You blinked at yourself as you remembered where you’d left your phone. On the coffee table, face down next to Clark’s, as was tradition.
You swore as you rushed to finish up in the bathroom, hurriedly drying your hands on your pants before heading back into the living room.
Your phone was exactly where you had left it. You bent down in front of Clark and flipped it over, frowning when you saw that there was no notification.
“Hey,” you said slowly, “did my phone go off while I was in the bathroom?”
Clark’s eyes flickered from the TV screen down where he was still browsing movies to you crouched on the floor. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “You, uh, expecting someone?”
If Clark hadn’t heard it with his freakishly good hearing, then you must’ve imagined it. You frowned down at the black screen before turning it off completely, setting it back down and returning to the couch.
“No,” you shook your head, “just hearing things, I guess. Are we actually going to be able to finish the movie this time?”
“Hey,” he said, “Superman doesn’t have business hours, it’s not my fault. Things are looking pretty quiet tonight, though.”
You laughed at him referring to himself in the third person. You didn’t really mind him having to leave to go save the world. How could you?
You nestled back into the couch as Clark finally picked a movie. Your breath stuttered in your chest as he reached over and grabbed your ankles, pulling them into his lap before dragging a blanket over the both of you.
“Clark –“you started.
“Don’t want you to get cold,” he shrugged you off, “your feet are like ice blocks.”
The first ten minutes of the movie were a blur of color and voices. Clark’s hand was still circling your ankle, holding your feet steady against his thighs. Clark was a very physical person, but this seemed a lot even for him.
You coughed a little as his thumb swiped over the smooth skin of your ankle. Your eyes shot to his face, studying him with wide eyes. He was still watching the movie, seemingly none the wiser to the way he was making you feel.
You tried to steady your heart in your chest and focus on getting comfortable. You set your eyes back on the TV and tried to follow the story and ignore the heat from Clark’s hands that was winding its way under your skin.
Soon, you’d be immune to this. You’d talked to several guys over the weekend and had set a date with Michael for this Saturday. You were one step closer to being able to give Clark the friendship he deserved.
Michael was tall, handsome and very chatty.
You were grateful for the latter. Obscure history facts seemed to be very much his thing, and you were more than happy to let him go off as you sipped sweetly from your water and nodded at the appropriate time.
This was your first date and it wasn’t bad. There wouldn’t be a second one, you knew that already, but it was a good practice run. Michael was sweet enough. It could always be worse.
You’d quickly realized that it did not matter how handsome Michael or any other guy was. No-one was going to be able to compare to Clark so it was best if you didn’t try. Instead, you would enjoy each man for what he was and, if you liked him enough, go from there.
“You live nearby, right?” Michael suddenly said. “I can walk you home.”
You finished off your drink and nodded. “Sure. That’d be nice.”
He could walk you home a thousand times and you still weren’t going to invite him inside. Still, you let him help you into your jacket and pay for your drinks and you offered an honest smile in return. You didn’t mind that he was probably using you to get laid; you were using him to get over your best-friend. Neither of you were going to get what you wanted, not tonight.
With that in mind, you started up an easy conversation as Michael walked you to your apartment. Without the pressure of trying to make a good impression, you found it easy to laugh and joke with him. Forcing yourself to remember what it was like to go on dates was a good start to your ‘Get-Over-Clark’ plan, even if there was no second-date.
It’s only hard if I make it hard, you thought to yourself.
Eventually you came to a slow stop in front of your apartment. The sun was just setting and the weather had cooled down. You shivered a little as you offered Michael a small smile.
“Well, this is me,” you said, awkwardly gesturing behind you. “I’ll see you another time.”
“Not gonna ask me if I want the house tour?” he joked, closing the distance you’d put between the pair of you.
You cringed a little at his reference and backed up a little further whilst securing your keys in your fist. You opened your mouth to say goodbye again, this time with a little more force behind it, when your eyes caught on to a flash of blue and red.
“I think she wants to go inside,” Superman interrupted, smiling tightly at your date.
You were mortified as Michael began to stumble over his words, suddenly almost a full ten feet away from you. You were ready for this date to be over and you were more than ready to block his number the moment you got inside.
“Uh, thanks, Superman,” you bit out, “we’re good.”
Despite your assurances, Clark stubbornly remained grounded. Michael blinked between the two of you, mouth agape, before turning and speed walking off. You watched him until he disappeared around the block.
You pretended to be thoroughly interested in the bottom of your handbag as you headed inside your building. Only once you were safely behind the locked door did Clark leave, but you knew it wasn’t for long.
As expected, Clark was waiting for you inside your apartment. There was a wrinkle between his brows and his arms were folded across his chest. You stubbornly refused to acknowledge the way his biceps were bulging and instead turned to lock the door.
“What was that?” he finally said, voice tight.
You scoffed. “I could ask you the same question! Superman cock blocks now, does he?”
Clark flinched at your coarse words and you immediately regretted them. You tossed your handbag down and sat on the edge of the couch, peering up at him through your lashes.
“You were – you were going to sleep with that guy?” he bit out.
“No,” you admitted, “I was never going to see him again, actually. But you can’t just swoop in on my dates like that, Clark.”
His shoulders seemed to ease a little at your admission but his mouth was still a straight line. You could see his cheeks dip when he nibbled on the inside of them, mind racing.
“So that’s it,” he frowned, “you’re dating now?”
“Yes, Clark, I’m dating. Not getting married,” you teased, reaching to squeeze his arm.
“Why?”
You blinked, suddenly nervous. Lying to Clark did not come naturally to you but there was no way you could ever tell him the truth. He’d maybe even think you were cruel, using other men like that just to try to forget about him.
“Just seems the right time,” you said slowly. “I. . .want a boyfriend.”
Clark’s mouth was twisted in confusion as he looked at you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could bear his scrutinization. Then he let out a hefty sigh and scrubbed his palm over his face, retreating to your still open window.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, stepping out into the open air.
“I have a date tomor-“
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated, and then he was gone.
His harsh tone surprised you. Maybe he was nervous about what his place in your life would be once there was another leading man. Clark might not understand that it was for the best but you wouldn’t let yourself forget it, no matter how sick and guilty it made you feel.
True to his word, Clark met you at your apartment immediately after work. You greeted him with an usure smile and let him slip past you, noting his windswept hair and unusually austere expression.
You watched him dump his bag on the counter as he had done a million times before. He’d suggested that you move in once, but you’d been clear headed enough to say no. That would have been an entirely new torture.
Clark turned to face you, tossing his glasses beside his bag, eyes scanning down your body as though he was searching for some difference. It would’ve made you self-conscious if you weren’t used to being under his penetrating gaze. You met his stare with a questioning head tilt, eager to break the silence.
You stood still as he stepped forward, tugging you into his arms and resting his chin on your head. You stayed tense for a moment before returning the embrace, taking in heady breaths of his cologne with each inhale. You could hear the steady thump of his heart and hoped that he wasn’t listening too closely to yours and the way it was practically vibrating in your chest.
It was in his nature to be so touchy feely. You’d accepted it long ago and just let yourself enjoy it, despite it being the main reason you found it difficult to be around him. It was so easy to read into every hug, every kiss on the forehead and the way he kept his hand on the small of your back as he steered you through a crowd.
For the last few years, you’d been allowing yourself to indulge. Now you weren’t sure if you could take it anymore.
With a shaky breath, you pressed your hands to his chest and created space between the two of you. Clark blinked down at you with confusion and reached up to tug on your necklace, ducking his head to try to get a better read on your expression.
“Your heart is pounding,” he said lowly.
That was enough to snap you out of it. You cleared your throat and stepped back, folding your hands across your chest.
“About last night,” you began. “That was kinda intense, Clark.”
Clark shrugged, an errant curl falling across his forehead. “Does it matter? You said you were never going to see him again.”
Pressing your lips together, you tried to piece together his emotions from the carefully controlled expression on his face. It was unlike him to be so. . .uncaring? Cool? You tried to search for the right word but couldn’t fit any in with the Clark you knew.
The silence was broken by the chiming of your phone. Clark’s eyes narrowed at the noise and you yelped as his hand shot out, snatching your phone from your pocket before you could even register the sound. You watched dumbly as he scowled down at the screen and then powered the phone down, tucking it into his own pocket before turning his attention back to you.
“Clark!” you gaped at him, confusion dripping from your tone. “That’s my phone –“
“Thursday nights are mine,” he shot back, “Ours.”
Your confusion gave way to guilt. You scrunched your eyes shut and scrubbed your hand over your face. Somehow this was even harder than you had known it would be. Clark was your best-friend; that was what this was all about, wasn’t it? You wanted to be able to love him in that way only, not the all-consuming way that you had for the past few years. If you wanted to stay his best-friend, it wasn’t fair to push him away.
He continued, “Forget about them. For tonight, at least.”
You nodded, meeting his searching gaze. “You’re right. I’m not being fair. Digital detox, it is. Can I have my phone back, though? Promise I won’t turn it on.”
“Nope,” he grinned. “I’ll keep it safe. I want all of your attention.”
You smiled back at him even as your confidence wavered. Clark already had all of you, and you were determined to pry yourself away. For the sake of your friendship.
Over the next few weeks, Clark was even more present than before. Part of him must have sensed the distance you’d attempted to put between the pair of you and he was determined to close that gap. You tried to keep your head above water by going on as many dates as feasibly possible. For every time you saw Clark, you went on two dates, determined to scrub any evidence of your feelings for him from your mind.
You were beginning to suspect that Clark had infiltrated more than just your mind though. Clark Kent was in your fucking bones, your DNA. You were tearing yourself open just to rip him out from the root – and you had to do this for him. For yourself. You wanted to be able to sit next to your best-friend without being freakishly aware of every part of your body that was touching his.
So, on date seventeen, you drank a little bit too much. You liked Daniel (not enough, it would never be enough) and found yourself chatting animatedly with him about yourself and your hobbies. He was kind, courteous and argued with you when you went to split the bill but ultimately let you win.
The air was getting cooler and you shivered in your dress, admiring the lights as they flickered on up and down the street. Michael had called you an Uber and was waiting with you, going over his day and how much he’d enjoyed the date.
You tilted your head back and let the breeze slide through your hair and whisper against your scalp. You’d definitely drank too much. You clutched your jacket around your shoulders, too dizzy to imagine attempting to slid your arms into it. Swaying slightly on your feet, you tilted your head to the side and admired Daniel, wishing, wishing, you felt more than idle appreciation.
There was a brief silence before Daniel spoke again, reaching up a hand to tug gently at your hair. “You seem far away. I’m not going to see you again, am I?”
“No,” you answered honestly. It would’ve been embarrassing if you weren’t so tipsy, “but I had a nice time.”
“Me too,” he smiled, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Uber’s here. Text me when you get home safe, okay?”
You were too drunk to feel guilty as you clambered into the Uber. Tomorrow you would feel worse. Maybe you’d even message Daniel again and ask for that second date. He was a good one, you could tell. It would be silly to let him slip away whilst you pined for something you’d never have.
Eventually the Uber let you out at your apartment building. You giggled a thank you and eased yourself from the vehicle, heading inside with a hum on your lips. It took a couple tries with the keys before you made it inside and the gentle movement of the elevator was enough to have you regretting that last drink, even as it left you blissfully numb.
Your keys dug into your palms as you approached your apartment door. You slowed to a stop, pressing, your right hand against the door as you carefully examined your set of keys, trying to discern which one would get you inside and in bed.
Before you could make your first attempt, the door opened inward, causing you to stagger unsteadily forward and into a warm chest.
You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. “Just who I wanted to see – wait, no. You shouldn’t be here.”
You let your head fall back as you pouted up at Clark, your hands hovering over his cheeks. They were slightly red and you could tell he was torn between disapproval and amusement at your disheveled state.
He cupped his hands around yours and pressed them into his skin. “Why shouldn’t I?”
You groaned and pulled yourself from him, swaying on your feet as you shut your door a little too loudly and locked it with a click.
You pointed at Clark, playfully jabbing your accusing finger into his chest. “I’m only doing this because of you and you’re making it so hard. Unfair! Do the people know that Superman is unfair?”
Clark’s hand was warm against yours as he pulled you to his chest once again, keeping one hand steady on your hips. You were even drunker than you thought. You squinted at Clark, feeling his breath puff across the bridge of your nose as you stared at each other.
“What is so hard?” he said lowly.
You squealed when he shifted forward, nose brushing against yours. Even in your drunken state, bitterness rose hard and fast in your chest. “I should just kiss you since you want to get so close. How would you like that!”
Clark laughed, hand tightening on your hip as he swayed with you, syncing himself with you. “Oh, you have no idea, do you?”
“Whatever,” you dismissed him, “bedtime for me. I ate already. With Daniel.”
You tip-toed off to your bedroom, shedding articles of clothing in your wake until you were down to bra and panties. You wriggled into a sleep-shirt, ignoring the way Clark was hovering in the doorway, nostrils flared and eyes hungry.
“Get outta here,” you laughed, waving your hands at him. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
You could feel your nipples peaking, rubbing against the rough material of your bra as you wriggled yourself further under the covers. Your clit began to throb in earnest as you blinked at Clark, still there in the doorway, pink lips parted like he wanted to say something. You hummed and rubbed your thighs together, trying to relive the pressure.
“Oh,” you remembered, “need to text Daniel –“
“I got it,” Clark waved you off. You recognized your own phone in his left hand. “You’re wrong, though, sweetheart.”
“’Bout what?” you asked, nuzzling into your pillow.
“You’re the one who doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Clark said quietly. You felt him come close, felt him press a kiss to the side of your forehead, and then again, to your cheek. “But don’t worry. We’re going to sort all this out tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
You awoke to a dimly lit bedroom, sunshine just barely beginning to creep its way around your cheap curtains. You wished there was a moment you could forget about the embarrassment of the night before but nope – it hit you full force. The way you’d clung to Clark like a life raft in a storm, desperate and determined. The blurred image of you nearly fully stripping off in front of him had you burying your head under the covers, fabric clutched between your teeth as you moaned.
The sound of your bedroom door clicking open had you cringing. Of course he was still here. He’d probably been worried that he’d have to save you from choking on your own vomit in the night. That was the kind of man Clark Kent was and you were – this. Desperate and uncoordinated and foolish and hopelessly in love with him.
“Sweetheart?”
Might as well rip the band aid off. You sat up, covers clutched to your chest. “Clark. I am so sorry – “
“What you said last night,” he interrupted, “I think I’d like it very much.”
You paused, confused. Clark steadily approached you, eyes combing over you in that way of his. You noticed he’d changed at some point into some spare clothes he kept at yours. His hair was slightly mussed and you could tell he’d slept on the couch. He sat on the bed, thigh pressed against yours as his hand came to settle on the other side of you, caging you in.
Your mouth went impossibly drier as you tried to recall your words. “Like – what?”
Clark’s warm breath puffed across your lips as he leaned in close. Was it possible you were still drunk? You leaned back a little, dizzy and shaking, but he followed you.
“You asked how I’d like it if you’d kiss me,” he said, “I think – I know I’d like it. I’ve known for a long time. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
Something stumbled in your chest, hot and unrelenting. All you could see was the hint of stubble on his cheeks and the unrelenting blue of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
His palm was searing hot on your thigh and you felt his fingers twitch, gently smoothing over you atop the covers. Your mind went deliciously blank at the movement and Clark used the distraction to ease you back onto the pillows, nuzzling his cheek against yours as he spoke into your neck.
“I should’ve been more obvious,” he murmured, scruff chaffing against your skin. “Been thinking about how I’d do things differently, if I could, but I can’t. So, I’ll do this instead. Is this okay, sweetheart?
Clark pulled back to catch your eyes. You could feel yourself actually shaking, hands scrambling to grip at his biceps. You knew he wouldn’t move until you gave him permission and it took a second for you to finally offer him a jolting nod.
You’d thought about how Clark would kiss you a million times. You had always imagined him as soft and slow, gently seeking and delving with his tongue.
This was nothing like what you had imagined.
When Clark kissed you, it was firm and unrelenting. Like your small nod had been all he’d waited for, all these years. He swallowed your small sound of surprise with a roll of his lips against yours, pressing you firmly back into your pillows as your nails dug into his arms.
He pulled away from you briefly, eyes scanning over your face to see if you were okay. He was apart from you for only seconds before he was leaning back in, tongue tracing the seam of your lips as though he’d done it a million times. His chest was warm and hard against you and your nipples hardened inside your bra, urging you to rub yourself against him like a cat in heat.
“Oh my God,” you gasped as he pulled away, “Clark.”
“’S okay, sweetheart,” he nudged his nose against your jawline, tongue sneaking out to trace lines he’d been thinking about for years. “Just let me show you.”
You could feel the hard line of his cock pressing against you and you almost yelled as he shifted his hips, rocking against you in a steady motion. He settled himself next to you, cock pressed into your hip, as he urged you to lift one leg over his and pushed the other one wider.
Your skin was burning everywhere he looked and oh, he looked. You whimpered under his slow perusal of your body, fingers tightening on the meat of your thigh as his breath punched out of him in what was almost a gasp.
“I can smell you,” he groaned, fingers settling over the gusset of your panties. “Right here. Could smell you last night, too.”
You let out a shaky moan, half embarrassed and entirely aroused at his admission. “Clark, please.”
You could feel his cock throbbing against you at each pass his hand made over your quickly dampening panties. You’d always thought he’d be shy, not this. His words were tearing you open, leaving you bare and wanting. You only wished his hands would do the same.
“Let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me,” he breathed, tugging at your panties once, twice, before they split at the side and he was able to tug them from beneath you. “Oh, sweetheart.”
You mewled as his fingers ghosted over your puffy lips, lifting up your hands to cover your burning face. You almost sobbed at the loss of contact as he reached up after you, pulling your hands away from your face and pressing gentle kisses over your knuckles.
“’S okay,” he assured you, face red and eyes blurred. “I want this so bad, wanted to feel you here for years.”
Your hand found purchase on his shoulder as he once again turned his attention to your pussy. You swore you could feel his eyes on you like a physical touch. You almost yelled when his fingers made contact again, petting over the soft tuft of hair there before delving lower.
Clark let out a shaky breath as he felt your arousal coat his fingers. He pressed a kiss into your cheek as you shook beneath him, tilting your hips to urge his fingers higher.
“You want me here, sweetheart?” he asked, mouthing lazily at your jaw. He was torn between pressing messy kisses to your face and staring openly at your pussy, admiring the way it had swelled so prettily for him and wept for his touch.
“Yes, Clark, fuck,” you cursed, “please! I want you.”
He didn’t scold you for your words, instead he pressed his fingers against your clit and began to rub perfect, tight circles in perfect motions, as though he was rewarding you for finally admitting how you’d felt all this time.
He parted you with his fingers, switching between stroking your clit and teasing your opening. He dipped his finger inside and you nearly cried actual fucking tears before he took it away, grinning with satisfaction at the way he was so thoroughly able to take you apart.
You typically struggled to orgasm with your sexual partners, but it took only two seconds for it to become clear that wasn’t going to be a problem with Clark. It scared you how quickly your pussy began to tighten, sparks of pleasure shooting out from where Clark was touching you. Your thighs shook and threatened to close but Clark kept you spread open with the careful positioning of his arm.
The pair of you established a frantic rhythm, Clark rocking into you as you pussy began to spasm around nothing, clit throbbing with intensity as your orgasm began to build. Your eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm splintered around you, your clit becoming almost unbearably sensitive as Clark nibbled at your jawline, eyes glued to the way you were falling apart.
Your breath came in gasps as aftershocks shot through you, cementing this moment in your brain with deep satisfaction. You moaned as Clark pulled his fingers from you, raising them to his mouth and sucking the remnants of you off of them with a greediness you never saw from him.
There was an audible pop as he pulled his fingers from his red mouth, tongue swiping over his lips as his eyes went half-lidded. It was then you became aware of the slight dampness pressing into your hip and you peered down, disbelieving.
“Clark,” you started, “did you – “
Clark seemed to come back to himself a little as he saw the wet patch blossoming on the front of his sweatpants. His cheeks were already red and he peered at you, eyes searching yours.
“Couldn’t help it,” he said, shrugging lazily. “I told you I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”
You covered your face with your hands once more, heels kicking into the mattress as the reality of your own stupidity caught up to you.
“I’ve been so dumb,” you groaned, thoroughly embarrassed and satiated at the same time.
Your phone beeped from somewhere on the side table, immediately catching your attention. Before you could move, Clark was leaning over you and snatching it up. You watched open mouthed as he typed in your password and tapped away before switching your phone off and tossing it on the bed behind him.
“What was that?” you asked.
“Deleted that app,” he smiled sweetly to distract you, propping himself up on his elbow. “You don’t need it.”
“I don’t?” your voice was filled with hope you hadn’t dared to have.
“You never did, sweetheart,” Clark pressed his hand to your stomach, thumb swiping across the sensitive skin and sending chills up your back. “I’m not sharing you anymore. In fact, I’ll be having you to myself all weekend to make up for the fact you even made me share you in the first place.”
A/N - and then they fucked a bazillion times you get the point. Jealous Clark is my THING
Please please please leave comments/reblogs if you enjoyed!!
Also accepting asks for Clark headcanons/smutty thoughts if you wanna know what I think
Love your side quests into Asgardian language and grammar. Got thinking about how sweet it would be for Loki’s partner to surprise him by learning some Asgardian then realized the only reasonable resource for that besides Loki would be Thor. Which is just. Hilarious to me. Loki trying to process the sweetness and effort of this gesture weighed against it coming about all thanks to his frenemy brother.
You woke before your alarm.
A thin pre-dawn light streamed through the slats of your blinds, not yet bright enough to lend more than a pale shadow of detail to the room. The pile of blankets to your left stirred, evidently roused by the same thing as you, and your partner's handsome face emerged. Loki groaned, clearly dissatisfied with the early hour, and let his head drop dramatically to the side.
After a moment, one of his eyes cracked open; he was waiting for you to reach out and ‘soothe’ him by playing with his hair. He huffed again, loudly.
You relented, dragging your nails over his scalp. You really shouldn’t have given in to his demands so easily, but it was hard to say no when touching him brought you an equal satisfaction.
Loki sighed. “Hmm… ‘dda, sweetheart.”
There was something about the quiet of a dark room that nurtured contentment. Walking your fingers back and forth across his scalp, it was as if your mind had been liquified, all thoughts turned slow and sticky and full of love. You cleared your throat, watching Loki’s mouth curl to the barest, kindest smile under your hand. “Umm… heiil dagün, hjarta-minn”
You’d been working with Thor in private for a number of weeks now, trying to learn a few basic Asgardian phrases as a surprise for Loki. They were barely conversational, just simple things that you thought might delight. Pet names and pleasantries.
Loki blinked back at you from his cocoon. After a few more moments of awkward silence, he raised a hand and pointed at himself. “Me?”
His quietness set your nerves on edge. Maybe your pronunciation was wrong. “...Yes? Is there anyone else here?”
“Thu mhi kall 'tha hjart’?”
“Uh.” You recognized a few syllables, but it was still mostly a garbled puzzle to your ears. “Ja?”
“Hjart?”
“Okay, did I say it wrong? Why are you grilling me?”
“Who taught you that word?”
You squirmed. “Thor.”
“Hmm.” Loki unfurled slowly, stalking the short distance between his side of the bed and yours. He hovered over you, head tilted like a big cat, and lowered his voice a feather's breadth. “And what else has my brother taught you?”
“Well, now I’m embarrassed."
“No—” His arms threaded under yours, drawing you into a half embrace on your side. You could feel his smile through your t-shirt, pressed to your shoulder. “More. I want to hear more.”
“Um, he…” Your mind struggled to catch up, caught in the lurch by the steady thump of Loki's heart under your ear. It was so difficult to focus when his hand traced hearts and figure-eights over your inner arm; when his breath came uneven, heavy with some growing arousal. “He taught me how to say good morning and good night.”
“You did wish me a good morning.” He kissed your neck. He liked to see you stupid; liked to know that he could empty your mind with just a well-placed kiss or handsome smile. “But the sun isn’t up quite yet.”
Of course he would choose this moment to be pedantic. Due to its peculiar situation in its solar system, Asgardian seasons could last a mortal lifetime. Loki had often regaled you with stories of decades-long winters, whose nights could last a week at a time, and summer mornings that lasted twice as long. The Asgardian language had developed many words to differentiate the sun’s position, in the same way that you might say Tuesday or Sunday.
Could you remember any of them? Not really. “Um. In the late evening, right before morning, you would say…”
“Say?”
His fingers trailed lower, crossing the thin, sparkling skin of your inner wrist. The touch sent goosebumps up your neck, effectively wiping any memory from your fore-thought. “Heiil… Od—.”
“---Oddà,” Loki said along with you. He was nodding, seeming under some sort of trance at the sound of his language in your mouth. “More.” He could barely get the words out, a near-whisper in his enthusiasm. “Say more.”
You swallowed; there was one more word Thor had taught you. He had promised that it would be worth the effort, but the syllables still felt disjointed in your mouth.
“He told me to call you àlska.” Thor had told you it meant lover. Based on Loki's expression, you assumed there was a double-entendre in there somewhere.
“Àlska,” he repeated dumbly. “O, minnja Midgarlinkr. Minnja àlska.”
You were finding it hard to breathe for all your wanting. “I don’t know those words.”
“I’ll teach you.” Loki, either noting your desire or similarly overwhelmed by his own, leaned in to kiss your top lip. He paid no mind to how his nose dug into your cheek, too preoccupied by how you opened so pliantly under him.
“As erotic as this is, I cannot extricate your words from the image of my brother saying it to you first.”
“Stop it.”
He fake-gagged. “Eugh. Minn brödor tha-loð kennt?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
He rolled over on his back, dragging you along with him until you ended up sprawled across his chest. You felt more like an overgrown teddy bear than a person. “It is a lovely surprise. More.”
“More?”
He nodded solemnly. “More, àlska.”
“That’s all I know.”
“My idiot brother couldn't teach you more than ten words?”
“It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“You clearly aren’t terribly studious.”
“Well, I’ve been busy, y'know, saving the world. And sneaking around to learn the damn things.”
“Sneaking around with my brother.” Even though he said it like a scandal, Loki was too busy working his impish fingers under your shorts to really commit to any anger. He kissed you, just something short and wet, before fixing you with a truly amorous glare. “Tsk, àlska. Lover, I think you have lots more to learn.”
ok nobody asked for them but also nobody can stop me so here are my overly sappy completely self indulgent please talk to me about them
tedependant headcanons 🫶🏻
• ted wants to be obsessed with someone. like that one post said he’s a THAT’S MY WIFE guy without a wife, so once trent enters, it’s like. his new passion project is just Being The Best Partner He Can Possibly Be and trent finds it so impossibly endearing (they’re obsessed with each other anyway, it’s fine). their relationship is so healthy tho despite the obsessive aspects bc it’s like. their goal is to have the best relationship and so they simply just Will.
• ted loves baking for him (and rebecca), but he also just loves feeding him in general. loves packing his lunch for him when he has somewhere to go, cuts his sandwiches into cute shapes and sends him with a note. he’s always finding new recipes, new ways to make it cute and fun. it’s entirely unnecessary but it always makes trent smile, which of course makes it very necessary in ted’s eyes.
• the way ted’s voice went all high in the scene where he goes “yeah, but he’s our dork” about trent, that’s like. a thing. if ted is feeling flustered/affected his voice goes a little high and that’s a dead giveaway. trent doesn’t realise this at first until one day he asks someone “do you think ted actually likes this shirt or do you think he’s just being nice i’m not so sure” and they go “what? he loves it, didn’t you hear his voice go up?” and it’s like a lightbulb moment of New Things To Ponder Over About Ted. the only reason he never noticed it before is because it was always directed at him and that makes things fuzzy. (trent puts on one of ted’s shirts the morning after he stays over for the first time and ted’s voice goes higher than the kettle and trent is like ahhhhh okay)
• trent likes to read aloud to him. on opposite ends of the couch facing each other with their legs intertwined, in bed side by side with the lamp on, sitting cross legged on a stool while ted takes a bath after a long day. u know that poem about…. asking for a glass of water not because ur thirsty but because u just want the hand attached to the glass? ted never remembers the plots of the stories trent reads. which is good, actually, because that means he can listen to him tell them again and again.
• they’re both dorks. they both love getting Really Into something and analysing it and finding the joy in it and it’s about the THEMES and the PARALLELS, trent is a writer and ted is ted, so they definitely get VERY into tv shows. like, binge watching and making it their whole personality. sometimes beard is invited over for watch parties if it’s smth he’s into, other times it’s just them, but they WILL be extra about it and make themed snacks. and speaking of trent being a writer, u know the second he found out about ao3 it became his new favourite thing. he’s the one writing those beautiful poetic character study fics that make u cry at 3am, mostly bc the main character reminded him of his husband but u don’t need to know that. (sometimes trent lets him read it and ted always acts as though he’s the most talented writer on the planet and “those guys should hire you ya know, you know their characters better than they do!”)
• ted loves playing with trent’s hair. it’s smth he always loved with michelle too, and smth he rly missed when they stopped being intimate. it’s relaxing to him, and he loves knowing it makes the other person feel good too. at first he thought maybe he would always associate it with her, but whenever they’re laying together and he’s running his fingers through trent’s hair, he’s the only person he could possibly be thinking about.
• when ted is having a panic attack, trent is the only one he wants around. something about his voice is just soothing and grounding. trent gives him space, doesn’t crowd him or anything, just keeps talking to him smoothly until his breathing finally evens out. if ted is at work and trent isnt there (he usually is, but sometimes he’s not), and smth makes him overly anxious, someone else might call trent and just hand the phone to ted, knowing he’ll be able to talk him through it. (yes my word choice was on purpose. and ted will find he is very good at this in all scenarios.)
• ted loves to just. say what he’s thinking. like sometimes they’ll be talking and ted will go “i’m sorry to cut you off, i promise the interruption will only last a second, i just wanted to tell you that your eyes look all starry in this lighting, especially with the colour of your shirt makin them pop, and it’s just a little distracting is all. but i am very interested in what you have to say so please continue” and trent is just. so taken aback every time. and then he kinda fumbles is words and takes a minute to regain his focus bc wtf was he even saying?? how is he supposed to focus now with ted literally staring into his eyes like that, what the hell
• trent finds his humour so stupidly delightful, not because the jokes are actually funny, but because it’s ted. if he’s out by himself and someone says smth that sets it up, trent will be thinking “this is what ted would say right now” and make the joke himself in his head. later he’ll tell him and ted will go “oh no…. you know what this means right??” and trent goes “what??” and ted says, in mock horror, “this means you’re just as bad as me.” and it’s like. are we about to kiss right now???? (answer: yes)
• when trent is home, he lives in silk pajamas with a robe and slippers. ted claims he’s perfectly happy in boxers and a tshirt, but he’s CONSTANTLY stealing the robe bc it’s just so cozyyy. so eventually trent is like fine. and buys him a matching one. and maybeeeee ted also likes the feeling of the silk too…. so now they’re THAT gay couple with matching pajamas and monogrammed robes. (“how else will we know whose is whose??” “well for starters they’re different colours, but i hear you”)
• ted hates tea. everyone knows this. trent tries to tell him that they all taste different, maybe there are some he’d like, but ted insists that there is absolutely NO world in which he’d enjoy drinking that leaf water. trent lets it go, as far as ted is aware. until one day when they’ve been dating for a few months, walking together at a winter market, and trent splits off for a minute to get them a warm drink. ted uses this as an opportunity to buy him that thing at the booth he saw a little ways back for a christmas present (to add to the other 3 he already bought….. listen, he’s enjoying being in a relationship again). anyway trent shows back up with their drinks and says here, try mine, i got their seasonal one. ted tries it and it’s AMAZING. warm and toasty and sweet and cinnamony and creamy, like christmas in a cup. he tells trent as much, and trent just hides his smirk behind his hand. “you like it then?” he asks. “this is damn delicious!” ted says, “what is it?” trent smiles proudly and says “a snickerdoodle chai latte,” “which is….” “tea.”
ted is gobsmacked, bamboozled, he’s been HAD. his world has been flipped upside down by this simple drink, by this very un-simple man who has yet again challenged something that ted was so sure he knew about himself. trent just gives him this cute little squinty eyed face and says “told ya” walking away towards another booth.
and that, actually, is the moment that ted realises this is the love of his life and they’re gonna get married and grow old together
Remembering the one Hades and Persephone fanfic retelling I read where the author had clearly never eaten a pomegranate in their life and just had the character in the Persephone role take a bite out of the side like an apple
Gale, speaking loudly, clearly, and with conviction: Only a FOOLISHLY MISGUIDED MAN would put his ambitions BEFORE his heart! *turns to Tav, tenderly frames their face in his hands and gazes adoringly into their eyes* My love. Upon every gossamer strand of the Weave itself, I swear to you: unlike Gortash, I would NEVER get so caught up in the minutia of death cult office politics that I would be too busy to kiss you. *pulls Tav in close, covers their lips with his. Kisses them deeply and with a simmering passion. Audibly moans.*
The entire Coronation audience at Wyrm’s Rock: …
Duke Ulder Ravengard: *holding the Coronation sword over Gortash, lowering it uncertainly* …is it true, sir? *leans in, whispers* You really can’t clear five minutes out of your schedule to kiss?
BG3 Companion's reactions to Tav being much younger than they thought
Trying out a new format kinda, let me know if it works, please
Lae’zel is the baby at 20/23 ish but for this Tav is around age 16/17 making them the baby
Astarion: He didn't really care to know your age when you first met, but as you ventured forth he could tell you where inexperienced, an amazing leader, but you had no idea what you were doing. “How long have you been doing this, adventuring this darling?” He asked watching as you tried in vain to unlock a chest. “Oh well… Im only sixteen so not that long? When we met up really.” He stared into space for a moment, taking in his fearless leader, who was in fact a child. “Well thats… reassuring?” He said carefully moving you to the side so he could pick the lock for you.
Trust me you wouldn't live down the. “Does the baby need help?” Jokes
No one is getting within arm's length of you though
#his baby *cough* his meal ticket *cough, cough*
Gale: The poor guy has a lot on his mind *and in it*. Forgive him that he really didn't think about figuring out how old you are. “Gale how old were you when you found out you could use magic?” Gale looked up at you watching you playing around with Minor Illusion. “I was about seventeen when Mystra first contacted me.” He said thinking for a moment. “Ohhh that means I’ll be a better wizard than you!” He chuckled hearing You tease him. “You can't be that young.” He jested, his face deadpanning when you admitted you were almost seventeen.
Giving him PTSD from when he first met Mystra
He feeds you first
Feels so guilty about you going to get him magical artifacts
Halsin: Oh he knew, He is over three hundred but he ain't dumb. When you broke him out of Jail he was protective of you, seeing a kid leading and protecting a group of adults broke his heart. “Tav, please rest.” He said softly as he let you sit down. “I have the watch tonight, please get some sleep.” He’s a papa bear. You get hurt, he's there. Can't reach something? Halsins is helping lift you up. He lets you have your respect as a leader but he is always there to be a shoulder to lean on or your own personal Jiminy cricket.
Guard Dog privileges
Will let you sleep on him
Will not let you in the sheresses caress
Jaheira: Mama knew, when you first pulled up to Last Light she swore she saw one of her kids running up to her. “Cub have you eaten?” She’s already going mama mode seeing you haven't slept or eaten. She tears Halsin a new one for not helping you more with Art Cullagh. After the Last Light is attacked and you are standing by her side helping protect her people she feels proud of the next generation and those who are leading it.
She licks her thumb and cleans your face without thinking of it
Teaches you how to haggle
Feels so sorry for you and the trials you must face
Karlach: The baby girl had no idea, she just knows it's fun to rage with you. During a particularly deep rage section, she was surprised when you started to cry. “Soldier?” She asks having to stop herself from hugging and burning you. “I-I’m just scared Karlach.” She listened to you feeling her own tears forming. “I’m not even eighteen, but… Everyone depends on me.” Gods she wanted to hug you, she was raging for you, and because she couldn't hug you.
She works 10x harder to cool down her heart, not just for her, but so she can hold you
Lets you hug Clive as long as you need
Knows how you feel from being shoved into Zariel’s arms at age fifteen
Lae’zel: She doesn't care, You are old enough to hold a sword. In fact your young age and leadership skills just makes her impressed. “I will help train you to fight like a true warrior, not like the teeth-ling.” She does in fact start training you. Dear gods save you, shes got you running laps before the sun comes up.
Proud older sister
Has her own special *violent* way for praising you
Talks about when shes a general of Vlakith and you will be her right-hand
Shadowheart: She and Lae’zel were at each other's throats again when you blew up at them. “You two are fighting like teenagers! And I’m sixteen!” She felt like she got hit by a bag of bricks, you were sixteen, but you had pulled her from the nautiloid, and fought with her out of the hells. “You can't be sixteen.” She said chuckling softly in disbelief, hearing you confirm when you were born she definitely needed some wine to get over that.
Don't know how to act around you
Will give you little candies
Mom said I have to take you with me vibes
Wyll: He found out talking about his pact with you. “Yes, I was seventeen when I signed my pact, but I do not regret it.” He said taking a drink from his goblet. “Man I'm almost seventeen, I wonder what I’ll be like when I'm your age.” Have you ever seen someone shoot wine out their nose? Now you have.
