haha⊠clark and size kinkâŠ. hahaâŠ. god i need him
cw, just pĆrn no plot â clark kent and size kink + headlock + tummy bulÄĄing | also anon⊠youâre smart RAHHH
clark kent who gets hard just from picking you up. doesnât matter if itâs to move you from the couch to the bed, or out of the way in the kitchen. his hands span your whole waist, your feet leave the ground, and heâs imagining how youâd look hanging off his cock instead.
clark kent who uses his size difference like itâs a game. holding your wrists with one hand above your head while the other grips your hip, keeping you exactly where he wants you. âstay like that, hm?â youâre struggling just enough to make him smirk, knowing you couldnât get free even if you tried.
clark kent who fucks you slow just to make you feel every stretch, whispering in your ear about how small you are, how deep he is, how youâre âbarely taking me, sweetheartâ and âlook at you, all stuffed full.â
clark kent who keeps you in his lap, bouncing you lazily on his cock, one huge palm pressing against your belly so you can feel him inside. âthatâs me, babyâright there. you feel how far i am? youâre so tiny i can see it.â
clark kent who loves the headlock positionâyour back against his chest, one massive arm hooked loosely around your neck, keeping you still while he pounds into you. his other hand is cupped over your lower stomach, feeling the bulge each time he bottoms out.
clark kent who wonât stop until youâre shaking. overstimulating you just because he can hold you in place, murmuring in your ear, âyou can take more, canât you? so small, but you keep opening up for meâŠâ until youâre gasping and tapping at his wrist.
clark kent who gets so wrecked when you tap out that he buries his face in your neck, whispering, âi know baby, i know.â but still pushing in shallowly because he needs to feel you around him. heâll guide your hand to his curly hair, urging you to hold onto him, voice breaking when he says, âiâm so far in you, baby.â
clark kent who uses his body to cage you inâpressing you into the mattress, crowding you against the shower wall, pinning you to the kitchen counter with his hips. everywhere you go, youâre surrounded by him.
clark kent who ends every rough session with something unbearably tender, pulling you onto his chest, kissing your hair, tracing the marks heâs left on your skin, and whispering how much he loves you for letting him lose control like that.
request so usually in joel fics reader isnât as good as him at playing guitar and things like that, but i think itâd be so fun and soft if reader was good at another instrument, like piano, and joel comes home to reader playing (bonus points for singing too), a hobby you kept mostly hidden from him and is taken aback by your talent, making him fall harder
maybe it leads into a first âi love youâ or maybe itâs an established relationship like marriage and joel just ultimately becomes so excited to share a musical hobby with you idk, you pick! i trust you <33
Notes In The Dark
Pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader
Content warnings: established relationship, joelâs pov, fluff, confessions through music, reader is guarded like joel
Word Count: 1k
A/N: Thank you for the request. I love this idea so much. I suck at playing anything musical, but a girl can dream. I would totally murder the gee-tar and sing horribly just to amuse or annoy Joel.
Youâd always been a guarded person. The world had made you that way â loss and survival chiseling walls around the soft parts of you. Joel knew it, recognized it, because he was the same. Two people carrying too much, too used to keeping everything close to the chest. And yet, somehow, when you were together, those walls didnât feel so heavy. Like maybe you were both learning how to set the weight down, a little at a time.
Heâd just gotten back from patrol with Tommy, bone-tired and soaked to the skin from the rain that had started to fall on the way in. The kind of cold that gnawed at the bones, but the ache of missing you had settled in deeper than any weather could.
âGonna head on,â he muttered to Tommy, not bothering with an excuse this time. His brother just raised a brow, smirked like he knew, and took the reins of Joelâs horse without a word.
The streets of Jackson were slick and empty at this hour, puddles catching the glow of scattered porch lights. Joelâs boots slapped against the wet earth as he made his way home, heart thudding a little harder the closer he got. He told himself he was just hungry and wanted a hot shower.
All bullshit.
He wanted you.
The house was quiet when he pushed the door open, the faint scent of something cooked hours ago still hanging in the air. He shrugged off his jacket, water dripping onto the floor, and noticed the plate waiting for him on the counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. A small, quiet thing that made his chest ache.
He moved toward it, and thatâs when he heard it.
A melody, soft and low, threaded through the hush of the house. The notes were careful, like fingers brushing against old keys, and after a beat, your voice followed. Fragile, at first. Uncertain. Then steady. Beautiful in a way that made the hair on his arms stand up.
Joel froze.
He hadnât known you could sing. Hadnât known you could play. Youâd never let that part of yourself slip through the cracks you showed him.
The song wasnât anything he recognized â something old, or something youâd made up yourself. It didnât matter. It was yours, and it reached him in a place nothing else ever did.
He followed the sound, stopping in the doorway to the living room. There you were, sitting at the old upright piano someone in town had managed to scavenge and restore. Lamplight pooled around you, catching in your hair, your face soft and unguarded in a way he rarely saw.
And fuck, if it didnât knock the air clean out of his lungs.
Joel leaned against the doorframe, watching your fingers move over the keys, how your mouth shaped the words like you were afraid they might break if you werenât careful. A lump rose in his throat, sudden and sharp.
He realized in that moment, as stupid and hopeless as it was in a world like this, he was falling for you. Had already fallen, probably. But this? Seeing you like this, hearing you like this? It was the kind of thing a man didnât come back from.
He didnât say anything, didnât dare break the spell. Just stood there, soaking it in, and let himself ache for you in a way he hadnât let himself ache for anything in years.
Your voice was soft, like the brush of wind through tall grass, or the last notes of a lullaby someone half-remembered. There was a quiet strength in it, steady and unflinching in a way that caught Joel right in the chest, just like you.
The melody wrapped around the room, filling the empty corners with something warm and aching. Joel knew a lot of old songs, but this one didnât belong to any of them. It was yours. He could hear it in the way you sang it, like it came from someplace deep, from old hurts and stubborn hope.
And damn if it didnât settle under his ribs, a weight and a warmth all at once.
When you finally looked up, startled to find him standing there, Joel saw the flicker of embarrassment cross your face, like youâd been caught with something you werenât ready to share. But before you could say a word, he crossed the room in a few strides.
His hand came up, rough fingers cupping your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. His voice was low, softer than youâd ever heard it.
âBeen waitinâ on you to let me see you like this.â
There wasnât anything teasing in his tone, no smirk or sharp edge. Just something honest, and maybe a little wrecked, like the sight of you had undone a knot inside him he didnât know heâd been carrying.
âI⊠I havenât played in a long time,â you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers lingered on the piano keys, the final notes of your song still hanging faintly in the air like a memory. You risked a glance up at Joel, and for once, you let him see itâthe raw, unguarded thing behind your eyes.
âI couldnât sleep,â you added, softer now, like it might make the truth easier to say. âWas⊠waiting for you to come back from patrol.â
Joelâs features softened, the hard line of his jaw easing as he took a careful step closer. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, a habit youâd come to recognize when he wasnât sure what to do with all the feeling inside him.
âI didnât mean to startle youââ he started, but you shook your head before he could finish.
âNo,â you said quickly, the word catching a little in your throat. âItâs okay. I⊠I wanted to play for you. I just didnât know how.â
The room held still for a beat, the soft ticking of the clock the only sound between you. Then Joelâs mouth twitched into the barest ghost of a smile, and without a word, he turned toward the old guitar leaning against the wall.
He picked it up gently and lowered himself onto the bench beside you, the wood creaking quietly beneath his weight. His shoulder brushed yours, and when you looked over at him, there was something in his eyes you hadnât seen before.Â
âWell,â he murmured, fingers absently testing the strings. A low, familiar chord hummed through the room as he strummed, and you felt it settle in your bones. Joel nodded toward the keys in front of you.
âPlay somethinâ. Iâll follow.â
Your heart raced, but you nodded, hands finding their place on the worn ivory keys. You played, slower this time, letting the melody stretch and breathe, and Joel fell in beside you with ease, his guitar filling the spaces your piano left open.
Your voice found its way back, softer, but steadier than before. It was just the two of you, filling up the quiet, saying all the things neither of you knew how to say in words.
When the song faded, neither of you moved to break the moment. Joelâs hand brushed against yours on the keys, a touch so light you almost wondered if you imagined it.
âShoulda told me you could do this,â he said quietly.
You smiled and leaned your shoulder against his. âGuess I didnât know how.â
âYou always sing when you canât sleep?â he murmured, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
You huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. âNot usually. Only⊠when it hurts or my mind is out of control.â
âYeah,â he said finally, voice rough. âI know that one.â
He set the guitar aside and turned to face you. His hand found your knee, thumb tracing a thoughtless circle there.
âYou got a wayâa makinâ it hurt less,â he admitted, gaze dropping to where his thumb moved against your skin. âDidnât⊠didnât expect it. Didnât think there was much left in me for somethinâ like this.â
Your throat tightened. You werenât good at this. Neither of you were. But something about the way he looked just then, like heâd finally let himself stop running, made you brave enough to reach for his hand, to lace your fingers through his.
âI was scared youâd hear,â you whispered. âAnd now Iâm scared of how bad I wanted you to.â
Joel huffed out a quiet, shaky laugh. He squeezed your hand, brought it up between you, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. âI ainât good at sayinâ things,â he confessed, his voice low and rough, like every word cost him. âBut you oughta know⊠youâre it for me.â
Your breath caught, a soundless thing, but your other hand came up to cup his face, thumb grazing the stubble on his jaw. âI know,â you murmured. âAnd youâre it for me too.â
prepare to be sick of me every time you post your work bc i genuinely canât NOT tell youâŠ.your writing is perfectđđ
this paragraph
âYou got a wayâa makinâ it hurt less,â he admitted, gaze dropping to where his thumb moved against your skin. âDidnât⊠didnât expect it. Didnât think there was much left in me for somethinâ like thisâ
Gotta say, "I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father. I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do." is a hell of a line to introduce us to the show's protagonist
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