summary: after attending a coworker’s baby shower together, clark tries to figure out how to get you pregnant.
word count: 1.6k
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou,@whotfisthatsblog,@wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli, @gingerfemme22, @peachyvillehorror, @cerezzzita, @kryptidfiles, @garrettgr4h4m, @rynwritesstuff, & @bellathebookdevouer | wanna be added?
content warning: 18+ only!!!!! this is literally breeding kink the fanfic™. kinda proofread if you squint. clark gets baby fever and makes it the reader’s problem. gotta love her!! mild rough sex and overstimulation. brief mention of fingering and oral sex (both r!receiving) clark fucks you with an EJACULATING STRAP!!!! creampie in a way 💘💘. mating press position and tummy bulge. might be my best smut yet i fear.
a/n: HIII GUYS!!! i am so sorry for not posting. my life has been soooo crazy lately and not only did i not have the time to write, but i was struggling with writer’s block. this fic was also only supposed to be 500-800 words, WHOOPS! hope you all enjoy it. reblogs and comments are appreciated especially when tumblr hates me 😁😁.
LISTEN TO THE SONG FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE
It doesn’t start with a positive pregnancy test. Or a conversation about kids. Instead, it starts with a coworker’s baby shower.
Or rather, a baby being forced into your arms despite your objections.
“No, Lois—Lois!”
Lois shrugs, securing the infant against your chest before letting go. “What? I gotta pee. You’re doing great.”
You frown, beginning to panic as you watch your best friend walk away.
“This jacket is vintage!”
As she disappears into the crowd, you glance down at the infant looking up at you with wide, curious eyes.
“Hi… how you doing?”
The baby blinks.
You offer them an awkward smile, patting their back as your gaze wanders, searching for their mother, blissfully unaware that her child has fallen into the wrong hands.
Most of your coworkers drift past, cooing over the baby, ignoring the desperate plea in your eyes.
Across the room Clark is at the dessert table grabbing you another cupcake. She heard your exasperated voice chastising Lois.
Her attention snaps to you instantly.
There you are, holding a baby, looking like you want to disappear.
For some reason, the sight nearly knocks the air from her lungs. Everything else in the room fades as her focus settles solely on you.
She’s seen you hold coffee cups, stacks of case files, even a stray cat she rescued from a tree—but somehow, seeing you hold a random baby makes her Kryptonian DNA go haywire.
You’re stiff as a board, staring down at the baby like you’re one sneeze away from dropping them.
But, God, you look soft.
Too soft.
The startlingly domestic sight roots itself in Clark’s chest before she crosses the room, unable to hide the grin tugging at her mouth.
“Need a hand?” she teases, hovering over your shoulder. “With this little fella… or lass?”
You look up at Clark, and despite your inner complaints, you become stubborn.
You adjust the baby tighter against you. “Nope, I’m fine.”
Clark lifts an eyebrow, still smiling.
“You’re holding them like they’re a bomb, sweetheart.”
“They’re not a bomb.”
“No, but you look like you’re waiting for them to explode.”
You tilt your head, peering at the infant, lips pressing into a thin line.
“God, don’t put that out in the universe… This jacket’s vin—”
She snorts. “Vintage… I know. I’m the one who bought it.”
“So you know why I’m freaking out.”
Her grin pulls into a smirk. “Then why are you holding them?”
You huff. “Lois ambushed me… and I’m waiting for the mom to come back.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Don’t ‘mm-hm’ me.”
The baby shifts, nestling closer, and you freeze. Their little hand curls against your jacket, and your expression warms almost imperceptibly.
Clark can’t help but melt.
You begin to rock the baby, finally getting the hang of it, and she hopes she’s already filing this image away somewhere in the back of her mind.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”
You don’t pay attention to her, focused on the cute little face that’s against your chest.
“Like I said, Clark, I’m fine…”
The moment you got home, she was on you—hands at your waist, kisses along your neck as you tried to get through the door.
You scolded her with a squeal. “Knock it off, Clark.”
She hummed against your skin. “Sorry, sweetie. I can’t help myself.”
The baby shower was over, the infant back with their mother, but whatever had awakened in your girlfriend lingered.
Inside, she tugged your jacket collar down and kissed your shoulder, letting it fall to the floor.
You tried to pull away, but she only drew you closer, basking in your warmth.
She brushed the corner of your mouth with hers, earning a light slap to her chest.
“What’s gotten into you? You’re acting weird.”
She tilted her head, smirking as she guided you backward toward the nearest wall. “Have I?”
“Yeah… you’ve been like this since before the shower ended.”
Clark shrugged. She couldn’t deny it—she’d been thinking about earlier all day, hoping to get it out of her system soon.
But you didn’t let her.
Yet.
Her fingers began tracing your midriff through your shirt. “I just liked seeing that side of you...”
Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What side, sweetie?”
Clark inched closer, fingers sliding underneath your shirt. “The domestic side. You looked so soft today, honey… It made me think about how amazing you’d be, and how easy it’d be to have a family like that.”
Heat returned to your cheeks.
“Oh, no. Not that. Seriously? Is this some kind of Kryptonian thing?”
She kissed you again, “No, just a you thing.”
“Seriously?”
“You know I can be very persuasive…”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Mhm, I don’t think you are.”
“Wanna test that theory?”
You already regretted your words.
“No.”
Clark didn’t hesitate.
One second you were against the wall. The next, you were lifted into the air and thrown over her shoulder.
You protested as she carried you toward the bedroom, kicking your legs and slapping her backside.
“Put me down!”
Your knees were against your chest as Clark thrusted the silicone in and out of you.
You were still reeling from the all-consuming sensation of her mouth on your core. Her tongue dragged a line up your slit before latching onto your clit.
Your fingers dug into her scalp, pushing her further into your cunt, moaning so loudly that you were going to get another noise complaint.
She switched between two techniques, alternately fucking you with her tongue and slipping three fingers into your hole.
She apologized with a crooked smile, “I know, darling… I know. I just gotta prepare you for me, okay?”
Once she had given you at least three shattering orgasms, and even taken one for herself by humping against the mattress, she grabbed the harness from the nightstand, secured it around her hips, and tightened the black strap.
Clark then hovered over you, her chin still glistening with your arousal. As the dildo entered you, a gasp of air escaped from your mouth.
The sheer size of the silicone was overwhelming. She started slow, almost teasing you, inching deeper into you.
When you let out another whimper, she paused, leaning down to kiss you, forcing you to taste your own cum.
“Does it feel good, pretty girl?”
She eyed the white lines around the silicone as she pulled out of you, groaning as she could actually feel it.
“You're already milking me, honey...”
Again, a cry was torn from you, just as your spine attempted involuntarily to arch itself, despite how Clark was pinning you down.
The rhythm of the strap continued to send you into ecstasy. The smirk on her face remained, and she chuckled when you writhed underneath her.
“You’re already so far gone, sweetheart. Just making it easier to put a baby into you.”
She instantly notices the spike of your heartbeat, speeding up the pace.
“Aw, you want that, honey? Want me to fill you up? All round with my baby?
Even in your pleasure-addled haze, you nod deliriously, your breath hitching while she begins to pound harder.
As she does, her eyes trail down to your lower stomach.
“Ohhhhh, sweetheart…. Look at that.”
You weakly lift your head to look, Clark moves one of her big hands from your legs, pressing gently against your gut.
At the apex of your abdomen, a bulge appears whenever she thrusts forward.
You whimper as you watch, especially when she decides to decrease the pace, ignoring your breathless pleas to continue the rhythm.
Once she’s satisfied with herself, she moves faster again. As her hips snap forward, she discovers that the bulge becomes more pronounced.
Your walls tightened around the silicone as she continued to bury herself into you, losing all sense of rhythm while sounds of wet friction echo throughout the bedroom.
The thick base of the strap abuses your pussy, hammering that sweet spot, causing you to see stars whenever you close your eyes.
"Oh my God, Clark—"
She can sense it—and see it too, with her X-ray vision.
“Come on, sweetheart… cum for me… give me a baby… please.”
Her pelvis grinds as your inner walls start to spasm. The climax is incredibly close, ready to engulf you.
Clark coos at you, “That’s it, baby. Gosh, you’re perfect… gonna make a great mom, y’know that?”
Her words help the coil in your gut start to snap. Your vision whites out so completely that for a minute, you see God.
“Oh, Clark! R-right there! Right the—”
She shoves forward, with the heavy pressure against your pubic bone triggering the reservoir within the dildo.
Right as you cum, the waves crash over your body and completely soak the silicone, it shoots deep into your hole, flooding you entirely.
The sudden pulsing rush of fluid makes you gasp, eyes snapping wide open. You shudder as Clark ensures that every drop doesn’t go to waste.
“Gotta make it stick, baby… need you pregnant.”
To muffle your cries, she uses her most effective trick: kissing you.
She maintains the relentless rhythm before gradually slowing down, allowing you to breathe again and placing your legs flat on the bed.
Your hands finally reached for her, pressing against her bare back, fingers splayed across it as she rested her forehead against yours.
She listened to your heart rate begin to settle with hers, effortlessly continuing to keep the silicone in you.
Eventually when Clark pulls out, remaining close, a gush of fluid leaks out of you.
Both of you look down at it, before breaking out in soft giggles. You flush hard, immediately hiding your head into the side of her neck.
She presses a kiss to your temple, her smile reflecting a sense of peace.
I LOVE BUTCH CLARK FICS OMGGGGGG, I cannot get butch Clark kent out of my head. Thank u to all the butch clark writers out there, I see u, and I adore u.
Lana catches butch!Clark staring at her mouth and to give both of them an out (because she noticed that Clark noticed that she noticed, and things are about to get awkward) she says "oh, do you want to borrow my chapstick?" and Clark goes "uh. ha. yeah. yeah."
and because it's been half-legitimised to look but also she's bashful about having been caught she keeps sneaking glanced back at Lana's lips and darting her eyes away again to where she's pulled out her chapstick, and then her eyes fix on that when Lana takes the cap off and slowly rolls out the tube. Clark had thought she was just going to pass it over, but then, slow-sudden, Lana's hand is delicate against her chin, holding her steady.
"keep your mouth soft," Lana instructs, and she's pleased but not surprised when Clark's mouth slackens even further. She always sees Clark grow softer around her, gentler, calmer. She's a gentle guy all the time, apart from when she leaps into action, but Lana's seen her shoulders visibly relax when she makes her presence known in her barn. It feels good, being able to make her feel at ease. It feels good to make her feel other things, too. Lana presses the chapstick against Clark's bottom lip, pushing it slowly and smoothly, watching how Clark's skin shifts with her motion. She does her top lip, and finds herself wishing she had brought lip balm instead, so she could be feeling Clark breathe against her finger. Clark's lips have a shine to them as Lana pulls back, and she leaves her mouth open, awaiting her next instruction. If she stood on tip-toe, Lana could swipe her tongue into that open mouth. Her fingers start to shake as she rolls the stick back down, so she hides her hands behind her back, refitting the cap with practiced ease.
"go like this," she tells her, flattening her own lips together, and clasping her hands tight together when Clark copies her, her plush lips quickly going back into shape. "It looks good. it looks good on you."
Clark wants her. She knows that. She's always known it, ever since they first started hanging out. Here, with Clark's pupils wide in the dark of her barn, and her lips shiny and her mouth open, Lana knows it the most. If she pressed her thumb up against one of Clark's canine teeth, it would be sharp, but she wouldn't bite her. And if Lana climbed up on her wide, strong body, Clark would hold her up, under her thighs and -- she has to go, now, before she does something she can't blame on dry lips.
"well, I'll see you at school tomorrow, right?" She ducks her head to pretend to look in her purse for a moment, to avoid seeing the hurt in Clark's face fall before she affixes a more decent expression.
"yeah. let me know if algebra is still kicking your ass, we can do a lunchtime study session before the test." Clark's voice is steady. Calm. Even a little happy. It's safe to look back at her now, which Lana is glad for, although a small, dark part of her wishes Clark had more trouble stuffing herself back into the friendship role they'd assigned each other. Maybe if Clark would just grab her and kiss her, this thing would be easier to handle. Then again, if she did that, she wouldn't be Clark.
"I'd like that," Lana confirms, and, as a conciliatory gesture to that small, dark part of her, nips out her thumb to brush away some imaginary excess from under Clark's mouth. She pretends not to notice Clark's sharp intake of breath, and pretends not to notice Clark's gaze following her route out of the barn, and pretends not to notice that Clark noticed that she noticed.
summary: your girlfriend starts working at the metropolis fire station and it becomes the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you.
word count: 3.1k words
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, @wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli, @cerezzzita, @gingerfemme22 & @peachyvillehorror wanna be added?
content warning: 18+ only!! firefighter!clark obviously. reader gets very desperate and horny (so does clark at one point). no use of y/n. CLARK HAS A MULLET!!! (got inspired by all the man of tomorrow bts pictures of david @kryptidfiles and @maiamore were posting. thank you darlings!!) sub top!clark if you squint real hard, oral sex (r!receiving), and some light fingering (r!receiving) too. light BDSM and restraints. clark kent loves your tits. VERY brief mention of the strap. TRIBBING <333
a/n: hiiii guys!! i am so fucking sorry for not posting as much as i used to. my life has gotten so busy lately and writer’s block is definitely kicking my ass. i hope everyone enjoys this! i apologize if it’s rushed. i’ve been trying my best to finish this and my brain has been slowly rotting away i fear 😭. if there’s any glaring issues, let me know!!
LISTEN TO THE SONG FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE
You never understood the appeal of firefighters. Or firemen, to be more specific.
When your mother used to take you on errands growing up, she’d pass the fire station and slowly glance at the men on duty, as if they were something sacred, something worth staring at.
It even followed you into adulthood. Your friends would ramble about their fantasies involving “hot firefighters.” You’d bite down on your tongue and let them indulge, not wanting to be an asshole.
You just never got it. It felt like you were missing some inside joke nobody bothered to explain.
That was until your girlfriend decided to become one.
You only meant to drop by for a second.
Clark had forgotten her lunch in the fridge, and even though she could go without food for months, it was the perfect excuse to visit her.
Once you walked inside the building, you were met with noise, heat, and motion. Men with what could only be described as porn-staches and fresh buzz cuts eyed you as they sized you up.
Most of them were lounging around the bay, laughing or clapping each other on the shoulders while you stood there with a tight-lipped smile, looking for Clark.
Eventually, one guy leaning against a counter noticed you and flashed a grin.
He pushed off the counter. “You’re Kent’s girl. I remember you from the pictures…”
You immediately covered your face with your hand, mortified.
Pictures?
Of course she did.
He jerked a thumb toward the back. “Yeah… she talks about you all the time. We all tease her about it. Want me to go get her?”
You were still flustered. “Uh, yeah. She forgot her lunch today. Is she in the back?”
The man nodded. “Yup, training bay. She’ll be right out.”
Moments later, Clark ran out from somewhere, glowing. A few other guys followed behind her, curious to see you in person.
She didn’t hesitate before folding you against her chest and lifting you off the ground.
“Hi, sweetie!”
Somebody behind her whistled.
“Ooo, Kent’s got company.”
Clark ignored them, murmuring into your ear as she set you down.
“Thought I heard your heartbeat outside.”
You chuckled as she pulled away. When she did, you finally got a good look at her.
She was wearing a tight black shirt stretched over her shoulders. It was damp in places that made you wonder if she had just come off a drill. Her bunker pants sat heavy on her hips while the utility straps hung loose at her sides. Aviator glasses rested on her face despite being indoors.
Your mind blanked.
You forgot what you were supposed to be doing—why you came here.
You almost forgot how to stand.
And the mullet—
Fucking hell.
It lay messily at the nape of her neck, curls falling forward just enough to make it unfair.
You didn’t remember having this sort of reaction when you saw her in the super-suit.
Clark’s eyes trailed down to the lunch bag.
“Is that my lunch?”
Despite her question, your attention was snagged on the way her arm muscles flexed as she pointed, and the traces of soot smudged across her forearms. It made your heartbeat spike.
She turned her head, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.
“You okay?”
You regained focus, stuttering, “Y-yeah… Um, you forgot it… in the fridge… this morning.”
She leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “Thank you, darling.”
The next week was utter madness.
Your girlfriend in a firefighter uniform had completely rewired every inch of your mind and body. Now you were hoping to undo it through logic.
You tried subtle things first.
“Hey, do you think you could come home early? I made your favorite. Breakfast for dinner!”
“The oven’s acting up again.”
“Think there’s a spider in the shower. Come quickly!!!”
Unfortunately, she responded to all of it with the same infuriating calm.
“Sorry, honey. I can’t tonight. Rain check?”
“Maybe get our neighbor to do it. He’s pretty handy. Good luck.”
“Can’t right now, babe. In the middle of training. Just use a piece of paper and a cup and put it outside. Don’t need to kill the poor thing.”
You even tried sending pictures of yourself in bed, hair fanned across the pillow, giving her a glimpse of your bare shoulder as your bralette strap slipped down your arm.
Missed you this morning. The bed’s so cold without you.
Clark only responded with:
Miss you too, pretty girl. Try stealing my pillow. Love you.
You frowned at your phone as it dawned on you that she just might be immune to the spell you’d been tirelessly casting on her.
The night it did happen, you weren’t actually trying. Well, maybe a little bit.
You were in the kitchen, hunched over your phone on the counter, debating whether you followed the recipe correctly. It was supposed to be something simple and comforting.
Just a little roasted dinner.
But once the burnt smell filled your small kitchen, you began to think you’d be the first person to give Superwoman food poisoning. You were already dashing toward the oven when the smoke came.
As you snatched a nearby dish towel and began flapping it around, the beeping from the smoke alarm echoed throughout the apartment.
“Shit—no, no, no—”
You yanked open the oven door and pulled out what was supposed to be your dinner, setting it on the stove. You glared at the pan, your chest tightening with disappointment.
“This was supposed to be nice,” you muttered as tears threatened to spill.
Here you were standing in the middle of your kitchen wearing a sundress in Clark’s favorite color, having cooked the food to the point where you couldn’t even eat it yourself.
Right as you were about to completely lose it, the living room window slid open and Clark flew in. When she found you, you were pacing.
“Baby?”
You stopped in your tracks, your head snapping toward her voice. The mere sight of her in that damn firefighter uniform made something inside you unclench.
You let out a weak hello when she gently reached for you. Clark hooked an arm around your shoulders to comfort you.
“I heard the alarm first… then your heartbeat.” Her voice eased against your temple. “I was so scared.”
You whimpered, leaning into her as you waved toward the stove.
“I’m sorry… I tried to make dinner, and I thought I had it, but I didn’t, and then it started smoking, and I think I messed up the timing, or the temperature, or maybe I just—I don’t know, I thought… it was finally your night off… and I’d do something nice for you.”
Clark listened, her expression softening as you rambled.
“And I wore your favorite dress, which sounds ridiculous now that I’m saying it out loud, because—”
She cut you off with a kiss.
It wasn’t rough or unrestrained, just tender. She didn’t do it to unravel you, but to bring you back. She anchored you there with her, the grip firm on your waist. It wasn’t possessive. It was only Clark hoping to dull the noise for you.
The charred scent of smoke and the screeching wail of the alarm became barely noticeable.
Clark breathed steadily against your ear.
“It’s okay, darlin’… I’ve got you here with me.”
That landed heavier than everything she had said all week, making your breath shake. Her thumb moved gently at your waist.
“Come on, breathe for me… It’s okay.”
The grounding tone of her voice compelled you to indulge in a familiar sense of nirvana.
Your vision steadied, then dropped to her body. Your fingers curled lightly into the front of her shirt as the ache in your chest worsened after tracing a soot mark across her cheek with your gaze.
She murmured while peppering kisses against your neck.
“There she is… there’s my girl.”
You groaned, cranking your neck sideways to give her more access. If it were even possible, her arm tightened around you. Clark’s lips dragged back to the shell of your ear as her hands roamed your backside.
“I’ll get the smoke alarm, and you go on to bed. I’ll be in soon… Alright, sweet girl?”
You nodded, half-adrift, obeying her like a loyal Dalmatian.
You were lying in bed, clutching the bedsheets to your bare chest, listening to Clark’s heavy footsteps outside your bedroom as she disabled the smoke alarm, your dress folded somewhere at the foot of the bed.
In the silence that followed, she slipped back through the crack of the door. Her eyes found yours immediately, her mouth curving into a smile.
She remained silent as she glided through the room to your shared dresser. Anticipation coiled through you as the drawers opened and fabric rustled faintly.
Your back straightened when she turned toward you with one of her ties in hand. Though you had always known this was where it was headed, your breath still caught.
Clark walked over to your side of the bed and stopped beside you. She held the tie loosely between her fingers, bringing it to your wrists.
She wraps the wide blade of the fabric twice around your skin. Without pinching you, she crossed it to secure it in place and guided your hands to the headboard. Clark looped the tie around the iron railing twice before tugging it into a firm knot.
Then she leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Good girl.”
She unbuckled her bunker pants, letting them fall to her ankles. Clark stepped out of them as she pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in just her sports bra and boxers.
She peeled the bedsheets off you, eyeing how your body was only half covered with your lacy underwear.
Clark couldn’t hold back from kissing along your neck as she straddled you. “Impatient, darling?”
A trembling whimper escaped you, “F-fuck you.”
She places a featherlight kiss on the swell of your breast, amusement coloring her voice, “I’m trying.”
Her mouth finally latched onto your breast, enveloping it wholly, circling your nipple with her tongue, earning a groan from her.
Clark moved to your other tit, mirroring the same attention she had given the first one, while one of her hands slowly moved to your underwear.
You whined as she cupped your clothed cunt, the wetness of it already coating her fingers. She squeezes it when she feels you rub against her hand.
Clark cooed at you while kissing down your midriff, saying, “Oh, I know, sweetheart… already feels good, huh?”
You nod, letting out another soft, high-pitched gasp, “Y-yes… just stop teasing me.”
She snickered, pulling the gusset of your panties to one side. “As you wish, my love.”
Your head snapped back into the pillow, straining within the tie’s hold while she licked a stripe up your center. Her tongue, flat and broad, parting you like the Red Sea.
“Easy, easy, baby,” Clark crooned, her hands sliding beneath your thighs as she guided your legs over her shoulders. “Seems I’ve neglected you for too long.”
She moans into your cunt, sending vibrations throughout your aching body. She eats you out like her whole purpose on this earth was to do this.
And with how the bed began to shake—not from you, but from her rolling her hips against the mattress—you squeeze your thighs around her head.
Her mouth closes in around your sensitive nub while she slips one finger into your hole. You cried out, “Shit, C-Clark…”
She curls her finger as she begins pumping it in and out of you, hitting that one spot that turns you into a giant puddle underneath you.
Your orgasm is near; you can feel it in the way your thighs clench, your back arches, and your jaw falls slack as incoherent praises spill from your mouth.
Like always, she can sense it.
You know she does by the way her free hand holds your hip, keeping you grounded. Clark adds a second finger, doubling down on her efforts.
She whispers against your clit, “Come on, sweetheart… soak my face. Wanna taste it so bad.”
Anchoring yourself in the rapture, it engulfs you, leaving you gasping and trembling as though you’re drowning in it. It’s unlike what your hands have been trying to replicate for the past week.
Still chasing her own release, Clark continued to lap at you even as you shook uncontrollably. You have to physically push her off, bringing your foot up to her shoulder and nudging her.
Reluctantly, she presses a kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up your body. When she looms over you, leaning closer—her mouth isn’t the only thing that’s damp.
There’s a wet patch in the crotch of her boxers, and her glassy eyes are filled with desperation. You were just about to tease her when she beat you to it, silencing you with a firm kiss.
You hummed into the kiss as you tasted yourself on Clark’s lips. Her hands scrambled to undo the tie around your wrists. She needed your hands on her. Your fingers in her hair. Your nails down her back.
Without hesitation, you cupped her face, matching her intensity. She gave a broken, needy little sound, involuntarily bucking into you. The slight friction sends you both reeling.
Usually, she’d lean over toward the nightstand and pull out the strap, and fuck you until you were left hollow and sobbing for more. But she was craving something more visceral.
You help Clark pull her boxers off and throw them across the room. She pushes your knees up to your chest, dragging her slick folds against yours as she nestles into the side of your neck.
Her clit catches yours, already tender. Clark’s voice is muffled, but you understand her perfectly.
“Please, baby… I’m so close… Can you do it again… for me?”
You try to nod, your voice fracturing as she speeds up. With how fresh your last orgasm was, you were still coming undone.
“Yes, Clark… Oh, God…”
She speeds up her pace, grinding her pussy into yours vigorously—refusing to cum without you.
Your eyes flicker down momentarily, widening at the sticky string of arousal that’s clinging between you two.
Soon, Clark’s thrusts become sloppy, erratic, and ragged. You attempt to muster the strength to get each other there, but you can’t. You’re too limp even to move.
She doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, staying close to you. The knot wound tight within her is on the verge of snapping, occupying every corner of her mind.
You’re right behind her, breathlessly showering her with praise. “D-doing so good, Clarkie… right there… Fuck.”
Once you both reach your peak, you swear you see stars. But this time it’s far more intense. It’s almost otherworldly, similar to your girlfriend who’s shuddering above you.
Barely riding out the aftershocks, Clark collapses onto you, still overwhelmed by how good your smile feels. Something she knows she’ll never get over.
She scatters kisses along your face and jaw, playing with your hair as she rolls onto her side of the bed beside you—the spot that’s felt unbearably empty without her.
You watch her with a dazed grin, giggling when her touch tickles you. “I can’t believe you..”
Clark raises a brow, smirking, “Me? What about you? You’re not exactly subtle, y’know?”
You shrug, cuddling into her, “Was never trying to be.”
Clark’s eyes grudgingly opened, hearing something vibrate in the bedroom. It wasn’t loud or sharp, just annoyingly persistent. She reached for the source of the noise.
In the shadows of city lights spilling through the windows, she saw you still asleep, curled against her chest. The buzzing started again.
By the third time, she realized it was most likely her phone. Clark sighed dramatically as she adjusted her grip on you, leaning over you toward her bunker pants to grab it without waking you.
You stirred instantly at the feeling of your sleepy firefighter girlfriend shifting slightly on you.
She immediately felt guilty, pressing a kiss to your shoulder while gently coaxing you back to sleep. “It’s okay, honey… don’t worry.”
You nodded drowsily, a soft noise slipping into her warm skin as the phone buzzed once more.
Clark grabbed her pants, leaning over you, digging through the front pockets to find her phone.
As soon as she found it, she glanced at the bright screen and frowned.
It was one of the guys she worked with, Kyle.
She settled back onto the bed, sliding her thumb across the screen, answering the call, tightening her hold on you.
Still careful not to wake you, she whispered, “Hey, man. What’s up? It’s late.”
For a second, she didn’t hear anything. Until…
“Where the hell did you go, Kent? The whole crew has been looking for you.”
Clark closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Even across the city, Kyle’s voice managed to stay grating. Still, she did feel bad—at the thought of everyone worrying over her.
“Shoot, I’m sorry. I had something to take care of at home. I thought we were done.”
Kyle snorted, not buying it. “Yeah, sure, clearly we weren’t. Let’s hope the boss doesn’t tear you a new one when you get back.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she picked up from you, and ran a hand through her curls. “How bad is it?”
He shrugged. “Not sure. You know how stoic he usually is. You’ll have to find out on your own.”
Clark stiffened as you mumbled something unintelligible into her, hoping Kyle didn’t hear it—knowing that was the last thing she needed to be teased about.
“Right.”
He hummed dryly, “Yeah… you’re in for it.”
She groaned, “I know, I know, I know.”
Kyle chuckled before hanging up. “Oh… and Kent?”
“Yes?”
“Say hi to your girlfriend for me.”
Clark choked, staring down at her phone as silence flooded the apartment for three seconds before you shifted against her, whimpering into her chest.
“Baby, I’m cold…”
Clark softened, embarrassment and annoyance melting away as she pulled the sheets up around you.
“Oh, sweetheart… I got you. Go back to sleep.”
But when she lifted her head, she realized both of you were mid-air. Several feet above the bed.
She froze, holding you tightly. And for once in her life, Clark Kent had absolutely no idea what to say.
summary: clark comes back home after a fight and you help her unwind in the shower.
word count: 930
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou,@whotfisthatsblog,@wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli, @cerezzzita, @gingerfemme22, @peachyvillehorror, @kryptidfiles, & @garrettgr4h4m | wanna be added?
content warning: 18+ only!! shower sex <333 tribbing again because i'm kinda obsessed. needy and injured clark. she fucks you up against the shower wall!!! hurt/comfort. nipple play. caretaking. reader takes care of her girlfriend and clark gets desperate about it. like always not proofread at all, but fuck it we ball. if there’s any glaring issues, lmk! sorry for the semi rushed ending.
a/n: heard this song on instagram and got this idea. thank you random person for using it on their reel 🙏🙏🙏
LISTEN TO THE SONG FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE
You’re awoken by heavy footsteps in your bathroom, followed by the distant hiss of your shower.
You roll over to the empty side of the bed, squinting toward the bathroom. The bedroom was mostly dark, like the rest of the apartment. The only light was the night light atop your dresser.
After a few moments, you sit upright and rub the sleep from your eyes. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:37 A.M.
It’s far too late. Or far too early.
You make your way to the bathroom, half asleep, thankful it’s connected to your bedroom.
It’s darker inside, except for the moonlight through the window, since the person inside doesn’t need the light.
But through the fogged glass shower door, you can still see your girlfriend’s silhouette beneath the spray.
Her broad shoulders drooped slightly, her head bowed and one hand braced against the tile wall.
You quietly step into the bathroom, wondering what caused this night for her—not that Clark could hear your heartbeat from across the city if she wanted to.
After taking off your slip dress, you slide the shower door open. Then, you’re met with Clark’s bright blue eyes boring into you.
Your eyes travel over her bruised, blood-smeared body, and her eyes do the same.
Although you know the cut on her lip and the gash across her stomach will heal in the morning sun, your heart aches.
To distract you from your wandering gaze, she speaks. “Hi, sweetie.”
Her voice is rough with exhaustion.
You smile, stepping into the shower, making her smile. “Hey.”
“Did I wake you up?”
The hot water washes over your shoulders.
“Nope.”
The lie is terrible. You both know it, but she doesn’t argue.
Clark watches you reach for the shampoo bottle and pour some into your hand.
She hums, her eyes fluttering as you work the shampoo into her dark hair. A whimper escapes her lips.
You chuckle, kissing her forehead.
“There’s my girl.”
Her gaze never leaves your face as you guide her to rinse the soap from her hair. Your fingers graze the scrape on her cheek.
She clears her throat. “I’m okay, I promise.”
“I know,” you murmur, continuing to wash her hair.
The water runs over you both as she leans into your touch, hand grasping your wrist.
You don’t move, eyeing her fondly as she presses light kisses against your skin.
Then she does it again, a little higher.
Her kisses travel up the inside of your arm. Knuckles. Forearm. Elbow. Each one needier than the last.
Her hands settle at your waist, pushing you back against the cool tile.
“Clark,” you warn, placing your hand on her shoulder before she starts kissing your neck. “You’re injured.”
You swear she whines into your flesh, shaking her head.
“Don’t care… need you more.”
You open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out when she kisses right below your earlobe, making you involuntarily shiver.
Her grip on your waist tightens and, beneath the warm water and steam, along with her persistence, you can’t help but give in.
Your hand moves up to cup her jaw and guide her towards you, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips.
You whisper, your breath mingling together. “Alright… just don’t hurt yourself.”
Clark dips her head wearily, kissing you once more before moving down to your chest.
Arousal drips down her inner thighs as she effortlessly lifts your legs around her waist. Her hips rock into yours in a slow, sensual rhythm.
Her mouth latches onto your right breast, moaning. The vibration ripples through your body, making you throw your head back.
You dig your nails into her shoulder as another jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine. She glides her slick folds against hers, sucking your nipple.
She savors the way your thighs tremble and tighten around her waist, and how your breathing turns unsteady despite the agonizing pace.
You gradually lose track of time, lulled by the warmth of the water and the pleasure clouding your mind.
Clark’s mouth is no longer wrapped around your nipple, now kissing you instead. She grinds into your pussy, her thrusts remaining deliberate.
You both feel the tension inside you tighten and tighten. It feels so far away, yet somehow it seems right there. You deepen the kiss as her breathless pants melt between your lips.
Finally, she rasps hoarsely, “Baby, I’m about to cum… come with me, please..”
You nod, beginning to match her thrusts, knowing it’ll make Clark unravel.
And it does.
She jerks, her pace quickening, not by much, but enough to cause your body to shudder.
All the muscles in your body are pulled taut, wound up, and straining. You could only feel the unbearable pressure building behind your ribs, begging for a release.
You choke out, “G-god, keep going.”
Clark obeys, maintaining the uneven cadence. She quivers when you drag your fingernails down her back.
You feel your toes curl, your body locking up before it snaps. It knocks the air from your lungs; a blinding rush of heat surges through you.
She follows suit, her hips hitching sharply. A ragged sound tears from her throat, and she instantly goes limp against you. She sets your feet back on the floor, hands still warm against your skin.
“Golly, sweetie. You don’t know how good you feel.”
You snort, holding her up even as your shaky legs threaten to give out. You run a hand through her soaked curls, still coming down from it.
summary: your colleague slash fuck buddy swoops in to save you after a man hits on you, posing as your wife.
word count: 2.3k words
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, @wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli & @gingerfemme22 wanna be added?
content warnings: 18+ only!!! hr department would have a field day with this. a creep hits on the reader and CLARK GETS POSSESSIVE!!! oral sex (r!receiving) based on this anon ask. reader calls clark “sir” a few times. LOVE CONFESSIONS <333. breeding kink my beloved. use of a double sided dildo based on this ask. not proofread, i’m sorry! my brain is fried right now.
a/n: HI GUYS, I FINALLY POSTED!! finals are over and i have my free time back. i hope you guys like this one. if there’s any glaring issues or anything, let me know. i was inspired by @kryptidfiles’s “give it to me” fic. go check it out, jae’s so talented! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
LISTEN TO THE SONG FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE
There was a dull ache lingering in the back of your head, mainly from the crystal chandelier glaring overhead.
You were standing at the bar while you mourned your Saturday night routine of watching a comfort movie before sending a ‘you up?’ text to your colleague-turned-bad-habit.
Before dragging your feet over there, you kept your gaze fixed on her, hoping to catch her attention. But every time her head turned slightly in your direction, a waiter would block your sight with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
She had cleaned up unfairly well in her stupid navy suit that stretched over the broad shoulders you often dug your fingernails into. The sharply tailored slacks made her look taller, if that was even possible.
Her chunky black frames shone beneath the lights as she smiled broadly at politicians and socialites, shaking their hands and listening as they boasted about their latest investments and charity work.
Her large hands with those silver rings pressed against your skin in a way you could still feel whenever she gripped your jaw to kiss you.
And her laugh, the one that made the corners of her eyes crinkle and your stomach tighten when you remembered how she sounded when you had her pinned beneath you—
“Can I buy you another?”
You blinked hard, your head jerking slightly as you pulled yourself out of those thoughts, curious where that meek, annoyingly confident voice had come from.
Beside you was a man of average height and striking blue eyes that fell short compared to hers. His smile didn’t immediately give you that sense of caution, but instead tried to convince you that you’d say yes even before he asked.
Your brain, which had just been filled with gentle reveries, was now completely blank. You were never good at dealing with this sort of thing.
“Oh—no, thank you. I’m good. Got a long drive home.”
A lie. A rather obvious one at that.
Yet the man pressed on while leaning against the bar. “Sure about that? Couldn’t you just have someone take you home?”
His smug tone made you want to hurl onto his shoes. Instead, you gave him another forced smile that hurt.
“I brought my own car and… I’m not particularly good with strangers.”
Another lie. Or not really a lie at all. You did bring your car, if you counted your fuck buddy insisting on driving you home. You weren’t the best person to talk to strangers, especially ones whose unwanted interest in you made your skin crawl.
He grinned, no longer bothering to hide it. “Oh, yeah? Well, my name is Richard… Not strangers anymore, eh? Can I get you that drink now?”
You huffed humorlessly, subtly mocking his cockiness as you slowly stepped away and put your hands behind your back.
Since Richard—or “Dick,” apparently—was going to stay a little longer than expected, you quickly slipped off the ring on your middle finger. A small piece you had once bought at a thrift store, it had always resembled a wedding band to you, despite its faint pink tinge.
You brought your left arm back out so he would see it. But he didn’t seem to have the same type of social awareness that most of the journalists surrounding you had.
You raised your hand marginally, shakily splaying your fingers to indicate the oblivious, clueless creature.
“Look, I’m really flattered that you….”
For Christ’s sake, you can’t even finish the sentence.
“But I’m marri—”
Familiar hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into the body behind them.
“Hey, there’s my girl,” Clark murmured against your cheek before kissing it softly.
Your breath faltered similarly to how Richard’s expression short-circuited.
Clark hadn’t even looked at him yet, too occupied with tightly securing her arms around your hips. To the untrained observer like Richard, she seemed like she belonged there.
You became overwhelmed by the warmth of your so-called bedmate’s chest. You swore you could feel her bare skin against your spine.
She kissed your cheek again before glancing over at the man. She had the same friendly smile from earlier, but now it had an undertone of terrifying confidence.
She held out her hand to him. “Hi, I’m Clark Kent… her wife.”
Richard stared at her for a moment too long, marveling at the muscular woman towering over him. He then shook it cautiously.
Your supposed wife nodded as she returned to peppering kisses against your jaw, not really listening to him. You instinctively leaned back into Clark, just letting your neck tilt to the side—mostly out of habit.
Clark noticed. She brought her strong hands up to rest against your stomach, gently rubbing it in slow circles as her lips grazed against your earlobe, making sure you were the only one who heard her:
“Not now, baby.”
Richard apologized once more, stumbling over his words.
“I—I thought she was alone…”
Clark shook her head, falsely reassuring him. “And went for it… yeah, I get it.”
She angled her head, taking in your heavy breathing and racing heartbeat. The intense eye contact made you desperately want to strip out of your dress.
She smirked, speaking in a hymnal tone. “I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve her.”
Despite losing the nerve to speak a minute before and your breathless state, you managed to whisper, unable to look away.
“Don’t be such a sap.”
Clark let out her first genuine laugh of the night, briefly peering at Richard, who was walking away defeated.
Her grip didn’t loosen.
She pretended to think about it. “Hm… I don’t know. I think I could make an argument for it.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Yeah, a bad one.”
She lifted her head just enough to look at you like she’d already won the mock argument. “Does that mean you wanna leave early?”
“And tell Perry what? That we got sick from the food we haven’t had yet?”
Her mouth twitched. “Possibly… I mean, in a way, I do need to take care of my tired, aching wife…”
You scoffed, forcing yourself to deflect. “That was just for show, Clark.”
She hummed against your flesh, nipping at it. “Must have fooled me.”
Once you returned to your apartment, you found yourself struggling to slip your key into the keyhole, since Clark stood behind you, her hand teasingly resting on your lower back.
It had been like that on the way home too. Clark is driving with that same hand on your thigh. Every time she turned a corner, you’d feel a light squeeze while the only sound in the car was the static from the radio.
When you got inside and discarded your heels in your living room, she followed you into the kitchen as you searched for your wine.
Before you could find something, Clark grew impatient and grabbed your neck, turning you around, pulling you into a needy kiss.
Despite her urgency at first, her mouth was soft—of course it was. It was Clark.
She tilted her head.
She smirked into the kiss as you melted back into it—harder. A muffled hum escaped her.
Not breaking the kiss, her hands traveled down your waist to your thighs as she effortlessly picked you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around her waist as your arms slid around her neck.
Clark carried you to your bedroom, nudging the door open with her foot while holding you against her. Her lips wandered to your neck, nipping at it as she did at the gala. She began muttering.
“My darling girl… always so pretty, huh?”
A sickening heat surged through you as you were placed on your bed. She hovered over you, foolishly smiling at your dazed look. Her kisses continued down your upper arm, pushing the strap of your dress down.
“No wonder somebody else wanted you.”
You gasped, indulging in how her territorial words caused goose flesh to break out, and your legs to go limp. She caught it, glancing at you with half-lidded eyes, still dragging her lips down your skin.
“But you’re mine, aren’t you?”
You nodded violently, whimpering out before you could stop it, “Yes, sir.”
Clark paused for half a second before chuckling against your skin. “Sir?”
She moved away, only to lean back over you again.
You arched your back, squirming under her. “I—Clark…”
She shook her head, kissing you sweetly. “No, it’s cute… I like it.”
Clark looked pleased, enjoying your flusteredness. She dotted light pecks on both of your cheeks.
“Guess I have to start being more of a gentleman for my new wife now, huh?”
You cough out, continuing to act defiant. “Fuck, Clark… I was lying to save my ass.”
She nodded. “True… but I bet you were definitely thinking about me.”
“I was no—”
She cut off your defense by crashing her lips against yours.
“Stop fighting it.”
So you obeyed. You let her take off your dress and underwear antagonizingly. You watched her lie down beside you, shifting into place.
You took the hand she was offering to you, seeing how she was smirking at your pubic hair having the same shape as her alter ego’s chest plate. Clark guided you gently onto her face, your dripping cunt hovering over her mouth.
After lowering yourself, your body jolted as she lightly kissed your clit. Her face was utterly buried into you, dragging her tongue across your slit. You slip your fingers into her black curls while she inhales your musky scent.
She explores your core as if she doesn’t already know it like the back of her hand, making your nerves feel overstimulated. You whimper, thrashing your head back.
Clark moans, sending vibrations through you. Her grip on your thighs tightened, trying to get you to grind against her face. She moves her tongue inside of you while watching you with those damn ocean eyes.
She’s turning you into a sobbing mess. You ride her face shamelessly, chasing your orgasm. Her nose rests perfectly against your clit, the friction making you tremble.
The coil that’s brewing deep in your stomach tightens before it eventually snaps. Your hips jerk forward as she continues to devour you. Every lick, every slow curl of her tongue draws out more of your cum, spilling down her chin.
“S-shit, Clark… I can’t—”
She retracts her tongue from inside your aching hole, circling it instead. Your juices continued flowing into her mouth. Clark mumbles against your slick folds.
“Can’t help myself, baby…my wife’s pussy just tastes so good.”
Your thighs involuntarily clamped around her face. She makes out with your clit for a moment longer until it gets too much for you.
Clark helps you move off her drenched face. You’re still catching your breath when she sits up, smirking as she leans in to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself.
She leans against your forehead after she pulls away, absently grabbing a pillow from behind.
“Is it in the same place?”
Warmth crept up your face as you lifted your hips so she could put it under your waist. “Yeah, it is.”
Clark reaches over to your nightstand and opens the last drawer. She pulls out the double-sided dildo. You watched intensely, drooling already onto your bedsheets.
With the straps of the harness adjusted securely, she held out her hand under your chin, raising her eyebrows.
Knowing what she needed, you complied and spat into her palm. She then wrapped her hand around both shafts, coating them completely.
When they both sank into your soaked cunts, Clark shuddered as her head fell into your neck. She always forgot how worked up she got while pleasing you.
Your back arched up into her while her hands came down to your hips to hold you still.
“Sweetheart… don’t do that unless you want me to—”
Despite her firm grip, you bucked your hips to tease her. “Sorry, sir..”
She exhales a laugh against your neck. “You really don’t make this easy, do you?”
You shake your head, feeling the silicone slowly inching into you. You breathe deeply, “No.”
Clark attempts to ignore how her cunt throbs around it, mentally promising to make you cum first again.
As she thrust in and out, she swallowed your sounds with her mouth and silenced hers.
She loses her words for a second against your lips, “G-Golly, she’s sucking me in.”
A small whine was pulled from you, matching her energy. Your fingernails dragged down her back, marks that would heal in the morning sun.
“Oh, Clark…That’s it, right there..”
You tilt your pelvis upward to push the toy deeper into her, seeking out her release as well. Dazed by lust, you babble out praises to her.
“God, it feels so good… You fuck me so well… I love you so much.”
As both of you realize what you just blurted out, your body stills. Dread floods through your veins, expecting a gentle, awkward rejection.
But instead, Clark quickens the pace. She shifts again, her composure faltering as she does. "Yeah? You love me?"
You acknowledge her with a choked moan, “Y-yes, I do. Always did...”
She whimpered, kissing you again—this time more passionately, as if she were finally releasing something she’d been holding onto forever.
“Gosh, I’ve been waiting to hear you say that… I love you too, honey.”
Shock stole your breath as the familiar sense of tightening within your gut became unmistakable. You could tell Clark was getting close too by the way she was rambling.
“Wish I could come into you… make you mine and get you pregnant.. so close...”
That was new.
But it fed the fire that was about to erupt.
And when it did, the coil snapped so beautifully that it felt all-consuming. Clark followed suit, collapsing onto you. Too overwhelmed herself to even ride it out.
In time, she rolled off you and fell back onto the bed. The room grew silent, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing every few moments.
Then she turned her head toward you and spoke softly.
“Looks like I need to go get an actual ring for you, huh?”
summary: it’s been roughly three years since clark kent arrived in metropolis as superwoman. while battling interdimensional monsters and alexa luthor, she becomes annoyingly smitten with the daily planet’s bold sex columnist. one day during a lunch break, she overhears her crush confess to lois about her upcoming column about superwoman….
word count: 5.9k (it got away from me)
content warnings: 18+ only!! these idiots are IN LOVE!! slow burn romance, my beloved. pure fluff in the beginning. 80% of this is just dialogue, i’m sorry. reader rambles and embarrasses herself in front of superwoman. clark fucking reader as superwoman. oral sex and fingering (r!receiving). clark’s scissoring game is UNGODLY. soft dom!clark talks you through it. she also loves your tits <33
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam & @unabashedlyinlovewithyou! wanna be added?
a/n: this was not proofread! i am posting this past midnight, so it will be messy. but we die like men. enjoy and reblog please.
LISTEN TO THE GIVER FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE!
“These are for you,” Clark said, awkwardly holding out a bouquet of violets and lilies. In the middle of the bustling newsroom filled with hyper-caffeinated reporters, your coworker Clark Kent, Smallville’s golden girl in flannel, was giving you flowers for your birthday.
As you gently took them from her hands, your fingertips grazed her skin. You attempted to shake off the thought that Clark had, for a second, melted under your touch. Too many coffees this morning. You managed a quiet thank you as you placed the bouquet down on your desk, trying to hide your obvious flustered state.
It was juvenile, actually—borderline hypocritical that you were acting like this. For almost five years at the Daily Planet, you’d been writing about sex. Passion. Unabashed desire. What it’s like to hook up with thirty-somethings. Modelizers. Threesomes. Hell, even foursomes. So why did you suddenly become so strung out every time Clark came within five feet of you?
When you eventually glanced back up at her—at her full six-foot glory—you smiled softly. Clark’s expression subtly shifted as you tried to sound confident. “They’re beautiful, Clark. I love them.”
She nodded, gulping as the words seemed to escape her. “I—yeah. Good. I’m happy you like them.”
Clark didn’t move right away, and neither did you. You cleared your throat, running your hands down your outfit. “Is there anything else you need, sweetie?”
She blinked, snapping herself out of whatever fantasies she was having, and vigorously shook her head. “No. Just… happy birthday.”
Clark then nodded once more, too quickly, as she started to back up, trying to smoothly return to her desk while maintaining her gaze on you. She bumped into a fellow reporter, causing them to drop all their papers. “Ah, darn it. I’m so sorry,” she immediately said, leaning down to help the person out.
You watched her, tilting your head slightly as you pouted while she clumsily cleaned up the mess. God, she was such a puppy dog. Even in your Clark afterglow, you still picked up the scent of cheap cologne behind you. You could practically hear that smirk already forming in Jimmy’s thoughts. “Shut up, Jimmy.”
Later during your lunch break, you were sitting in the staff lounge at a small table with Lois. You were stabbing a piece of leftover birthday cake from your friends’ surprise party the night before. Lois scoffed while watching you. “You really think Perry would approve of that?”
You playfully rolled your eyes, swallowing the bite of your cake that was mostly fondant. “Please, in my first year here, he published that one column of mine about my friend Sammy’s girlfriend wanting to do it up the butt.”
Lois chuckled before sipping her bitter coffee. “Well, that was different—and kind of expected of you. This is a piece about lesbians wanting to screw Superwoman. For fuck’s sake, you wanna name it ‘Supersex’.”
The second she uttered the words, Clark—of course—walked past the break room after coming back from fighting Ultrawoman all afternoon. Her steps slowed down as soon as she heard her alter ego’s name slip from Lois’ mouth. She didn’t mean to lean against the doorframe and listen in, but apparently, curiosity killed the superhero.
You came to your idea’s defense quickly. “Hey! It’s not about lesbian women wanting to fuck her. It’s more about why people continue to drag politics into the bedroom—why so many gay women I’ve talked to use Superwoman as a haven during sex. She basically represents strength without the threat that sometimes comes with it. It’s like protection without the patriarchy.”
Out in the hallway, Clark found herself glued to the floor. She felt like she’d been thrown into a building again, as she had only an hour ago. Her body straightened up against the doorframe, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was that she was eavesdropping.
Your words, “Superwoman as a haven during sex,” were already repeating throughout her mind. Her face was entirely red, from embarrassment and from the new insight that people were role-playing—or cosplaying her—she couldn’t remember the exact term for it in such an intimate manner. She gulped in slight discomfort, but she kept on listening to their conversation.
Lois replied to you, “You’re lucky Perry loves you for some reason unknown to me, and that you’re good at your job, because that pitch is still batshit insane. It would be better if you could get an interview with Superwoman.”
She laughed, but despite your best efforts, you perked up immediately at the mere concept of it. Lois paused, pointing her fork at you. “Don’t even think about it. I was just pulling your chain.”
You were already somewhere else, biting down on your lip, fantasizing about finally being alone in a room with the most powerful woman in the world. “Stranger things have happened, Lois,” you mumbled.
Following that week, you were lingering near the edge of a blocked-off street. You were fiddling with your press badge against your chest, tapping your foot against the cement. The people around you—common civilians and even more thirsty reporters—were trying to push you out of the way, but you remained put, refusing to give up your position.
Most of you were there for the same reason: Superwoman. She was hopefully nearing the end of her grueling fight with one of Alexa Luthor’s creatures. You were supposed to be maintaining your gaze on her steel limbs and quick movements across the sky. Yet you were too focused on Clark Kent—or the lack of her.
Where was she? Every time Perry published one of her articles about Superwoman that included an interview with her, Clark told you guys that she just happened to be at the right place at the right time. You had your doubts like any journalist would, often teasing her and asking if Superwoman was her girlfriend.
She would always blush like a little schoolgirl, shaking her head with a tight smile as she muttered, “I don’t see why good journalism is funny.”
You frowned as you momentarily forgot about the superhero that was harshly throwing the Luthor tech monstrosity into the pavement, causing nearby vehicles and pedestrians to rattle. Despite your distraction, you could faintly hear the ground cracking—something you could already imagine Jimmy commenting on tomorrow after Clark’s next Superwoman article hits the front page again, but only if she actually shows up.
Finally, the final impact rippled through the entire block. As Clark—or Superwoman—continued to hover in the sky and dust from the wreckage swirled around her, her posture straightened involuntarily as her eyes scanned the crowd below.
She was barely paying attention to how some civilians were almost getting trampled by emergency crews and reporters, or to all the accidental damage she had created in the aftermath, but to you standing right there, waiting for her—both Clark and Superwoman.
The worst part was that you were looking right back up at her. You squinted your eyes as she quickly looked away, swearing she had made eye contact with you.
You knew you probably didn’t, since the last time you’d felt this way was at your first concert, sitting in the nosebleeds, watching your favorite artist talk to the crowd and foolishly believing—out of sheer adrenaline and delusion—that they had actually seen you.
Superwoman eventually landed a distance away from the barricade, not daring to even approach you. Instead, she turned her attention toward the rampage of squealing children rushing to her. Cameras started to flash behind as she crouched down to their level, already welcoming them into one big group.
You bit down on your lip as she picked one child up—a little girl with light brown ringlet curls in a sparkly dress—and twirled her around in the air. You could hear her voice as the little girl giggled. “You look like a princess!”
Against your better judgment and your infatuation with Clark, you immediately filed this sight of Superwoman away for posterity—blaming it on your ovulation, or whatever felt convenient in the moment to make yourself feel a little less slutty.
The echoes of the children’s laughter drifted into the background as their parents began gathering them up, stuttering thanks to Superwoman for giving their kids even the slightest bit of attention. She straightened again, flashing them that charming smile that had made you want to bash your head in after seeing it on TV in the newsroom—and now you weren’t sure you’d survive seeing it in person.
As the crowd behind you fizzled out, you kept watching Superwoman gently guiding overstimulated, clingy children toward their proper caretakers. It strangely reminded you of that one time when you and Clark spent all afternoon looking for a poor lost tabby cat’s rightful owner after she found it outside your home.
You even stayed, unlike the reporters and civilians, noticing the awkward interaction between Superwoman and the Justice Gang. If you didn’t know any better, you might have guessed that she was trying to fight the urge to zip away. Thankfully for her sake, you didn’t have superhearing abilities like she did—especially when Guy Gardner saw you standing there, resembling a child who had just thrown up in the middle of the night.
He let out a slow whistle, gesturing toward you. “Hey, somebody is waiting for you, dude.” Superwoman didn’t have to follow where his finger was pointing. She knew you were still there. She glanced at you briefly, sucking on her teeth. “Yeah, I know. Coworker. She wants to, uh, do an interview with me.”
Guy wiggled his eyebrows, lightly punching Superwoman’s shoulder like she was one of the bros, while Mr. Terrific and Hawkgirl were already mentally clocked out. “An interview, huh?” he joked. “Are you completely sure that’s the only thing she wants?”
Superwoman frowned at him, tilting her head in disapproval. “Come on, Guy? Seriously?” Her question only stirred Guy on, his shit-eating grin widening. She dipped her chin as she relented and started to walk over to you. Her voice dripped with roughness. “Goodbye.”
You barely had enough time to fix yourself once it hit you that the woman of steel—Superwoman herself—was not only approaching you, but making eye contact with you. When she stopped in front of you, you failed to remain strong and professional the second you gave that damn smile again, now directed only at you.
Her voice fell from her defined cupid’s bow as she asked gently, “Is everything okay over here, ma’am?”—trying to sound as normal as she possibly could.
The next night, the impending interview with the infamous superhero. She was running an hour behind. You were running two hours behind. Somewhere between taking apart your closet and the remaining shock, you had forgotten about making dinner for your guest.
You had music playing in the background as you ran around your kitchen. As you attempted not to overcook the already crappy food on the stove, you were still thinking about how you got her to agree to this crazy idea.
Once you returned to the Daily Planet after your walk back, leaving erratic voicemails to Clark about questions about where the hell she was, the second and third people you told were Lois and Jimmy.
Both of them stared at you like you’d just casually discovered Kryptonite as you explained that you dared to ask Superwoman not just for an interview for an article about people role-playing as her during sex, and that she was actually open to your stupid suggestion about having dinner at your place.
As the initial bewilderment passed and a flushed Clark reappeared in the newsroom with messy hair and a poorly buttoned dress shirt, Jimmy tried to share the jarring news with Superwoman’s favorite reporter. Luckily, you caught him in time, throwing a pen at his head before he could. “Ow! What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his forehead with a pout.
You flicked your fingers at Jimmy, giving him a warning glare to drop it immediately. It was bad enough that even after three years of Clark working here, she still referred to you as an “intimacy writer.” You didn’t want her to know you were writing a column about her idol-friend in that way. Little did you know.
Now your shoes—the same ones you often wear at work because of Clark, which give you an extra few inches—tap against the hardwood floor. You try to indulge in the slow, traditional music—the kind you imagine Superwoman listens to—but your mind is too frazzled. Not to mention the small radio on your counter next to the stove, updating you on your late date and overpowering your record player.
As you were placing the plates down on your round dining table, feeling like a housewife, there was a tap on the glass door leading out to your balcony. Your body froze, except for your hands that were shakily grazing the plate you just set down. Another tap echoed throughout your home, snapping you out of the haze.
You wiped your clammy palms on your perfect outfit as you crossed the room. When you reached to open the door, your heart dropped to your stomach. There she was.
Superwoman was standing awkwardly on your teeny tiny balcony, acting like she was one of those bugs that was more scared of you than you were of it. You noticed how her cape was drawn in and how tense her shoulders were. She was also hiding—or trying to at least—to hide in the shadows so your neighbors wouldn’t see her. You appreciated her anonymity, since you knew she was doing it to protect you from possible scrutiny and harm more than herself.
Her eyes were already on you, glancing down your body, taking in your clothes. Her heart softened—you dressed up for her. She melted when she heard the flutter of your heart from her gaze. For a minute you two stood there in silence.
You managed a meek, “Hi.”
She responded with a soft sigh—something she seemed to remember she could do. “Hello, Miss.”
You felt your body freeze again at the sound of her voice. You forgot how to speak. For God’s sake, you’d apparently left your brain in your kitchen—or maybe last month, before you even came up with this column idea.
“Hi. Shit, I already said that, didn’t I?”
Superwoman nodded, chuckling. “You did, but that’s okay. I understand.”
She cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to come off as improper, but can I come in, before—”
Your brain short-circuited slightly, laughing dryly. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry. Please come in.”
Superwoman leisurely stepped inside, slightly ducking her head. You eyed her as she stood by the threshold, unintentionally making her resemble a gentle giant in your small house. You didn’t know why her mannerisms kept reminding you of Clark—maybe the two were rubbing off on each other or something.
She adjusted her cape. “You look pretty… really pretty.”
Your brain short-circuited. “Oh, um… thanks. Thank you?” You let out another dry chuckle, turning on your heel and guiding her to the dining room.
As she quietly followed, her eyes traveled around your home. Unbeknownst to you, Superwoman had already been here before—even slept on your couch after you needed company after a bad date. But tonight, it seemed different to her. The lighting was warmer. The smell of homemade food lingered in the air. Or maybe it was just because she was finally on a not-really-date date with you.
She spoke while keeping pace with you. “You have a lovely home.”
A mortified sound escaped your lips, something that landed somewhere between a hum and a forced chuckle. You waved off her compliment, nodding no. “It’s such a mess, I apologize. I started cleaning five hours ago.” You gestured toward the dining room as it came into your eyesight. “But thank you.”
Superwoman’s smile deepened, widening as she saw what was sitting on your wooden dining room table. Simple silverware and plates that had grilled chicken and mac and cheese—what she knew was your comfort food. She peered at you, biting down on her grin. “This is nice. Looks good.”
You let out another forced laugh—something that seemed to come out on autopilot. “Thanks. You’re lucky I didn’t give up and go to the store and buy microwaved meals.”
She complied as you gestured to her seat and sat down. “That would have been fine too. I’m not a picky eater.”
You winced as the words continued to slip out of your mouth. “Oh, well, I love that for you—your parents probably loved you.”
You pointed toward your kitchen behind you, smile tightening. “I’m gonna, uh, go grab our drinks. Is soda okay—that’s all I have. And turn off the radio. I forgot it was on. I was using it to keep track of you. Sorry, that was kinda creepy.”
As your back was facing her, you whispered a quiet “fuck,” reeling from your embarrassment, completely unaware that Superwoman was smirking at your endearing rambles. She was amused that you were just as nervous as she was.
When you returned with the sodas in your hand, she seemed more relaxed now, but still sitting carefully, as if she didn’t want to break your beautiful furniture. She leaned in to you as you set down her soda. “The music you’re playing is pleasant.”
You brightened slightly, shrugging as you sat across from her and setting your soda down. “Oh, thanks. I figured you might enjoy it.” You regretted your words when you noticed her brow lift.
Against your will, more words decided to come out. “I mean, I’m not saying that I imagine you in that way. I’m not. My mind just thought that since you’re America’s symbol of hope, you’d listen to music like this.”
She tilted her head slightly, snorting lightly. “I actually listen to a lot of punk rock.”
You blinked. “You do?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t have that genre on vinyl. But my record player can connect to Bluetooth, though. I can just—”
Superwoman raised a hand, dismissing your offer. “It’s fine, sweetie. I like this too. I can introduce you to my favorite bands later.”
You don’t know what shuts you up first—the goosebumps rushing up your body like a flood from the pet name, or the thought of seeing her again.
Dinner was beyond awkward.
Not awkward in the awful sense, just painfully self-aware awkward. Your food was barely touched since you were riddled with nerves, whereas the woman across from you had devoured her entire plate. After wiping her chin like a well-mannered superhero, she spoke up.
“So when does this interview of yours start?”
Your body went rigid, your gaze flicking to her as your hovering fork trembled. “Whenever you want. I, uh, kind of forgot it.”
She shrugged, reassuring you. “We’re taking this at your own pace. I made sure to ask for the night off.”
Besides Vivienne Clare’s “Silver Lullaby” playing in the background, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You placed your fork down, gulping as you hoped your voice didn’t sound too shaky. Why were you so nervous? It was déjà vu from all the times before with Clark.
“Can I start now? Before I lose my nerves.”
“Of course you can.”
You hesitated before finding your voice again. “Okay, first question. How did you feel when I told you that people—queer women in general—have been using you as a symbol during sex?”
Your shifty eyes finally met hers. To your surprise, she was already staring. She had an attentive and patient expression, as if she’d been waiting for you forever. Then:
“I’m not going to lie. It did baffle me at first. But as I thought about it, public figures like myself are generally going to get interpreted differently. There are some people like Alexa Luthor who believe I’m no good… and there are people like you.”
You blinked. “People like me?”
Superwoman huffed, her grin remaining. “Yes. People like you who see me as a human—even in this suit.”
Something in your chest tightened at that, making your heart skip several beats. Her unwavering gaze on you made all your coherent thoughts come undone.
“Does it bother you? Knowing that people are getting their partners to essentially role-play as you?”
You watched her smirk and tilt her head, your thighs tightening around nothing as you realized it might be one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen on a woman.
She replied softly, “No, it doesn’t.”
You paused once more.
“It doesn’t?” you probed, surprised.
Superwoman shook her head. “As long as both parties are on equal terms, and it stays within the limits of their bedroom—without interfering with me personally—I’m more than okay with it. People are allowed to express themselves freely, even sexually. This is a free country.”
You snorted, the composed superhero continuing to unravel you. But something in her answer made you study her. You gasped, lifting your fork to point accusingly at her. “You practiced! You did your homework.”
She exhaled through her nostrils, putting her hands up slightly. “Ah, you caught me. It’s just not every day I’m asked by an intimacy writer if I want to be interviewed for an article about—”
You waited a beat. Intimacy writer. That phrase. You know that phrase. Why do you know that phrase? It sounds so familiar, but so different hearing it from her. Too specific. God, maybe Superwoman did turn your brain into mush.
You tried again, finishing her sentence. “Your persona being used as a haven during sex?”
She didn’t flinch from your bluntness; her smirk only grew as her voice dropped slightly. “Something like that.”
Despite currently having your A/C on to battle the Metropolis heat, a burning sensation took over your entire body. Damn it—she was using the voice on you. How were you supposed to survive that?
You exhaled quietly, not knowing what to do with your fork anymore. “You really did practice.”
“I did,” she stated, her eyes twinkling at the glorious sound of your heartbeat continuing to spike. It hasn’t calmed down since she walked through your window. “I was nervous… just like you. Nervous about saying the wrong thing to such a well-respected columnist.”
You snickered, keeping yourself from making a self-deprecating jab at your line of work, not wanting to get a lecture about how you should respect yourself more from the woman of steel herself. If she knew half the things that were running inside your head right now, she’d realize that you had none at all.
“That’s highly ironic,” you said. “Considering every time I open my mouth, something worse comes out than before.”
That earned you another chuckle. You didn’t know your chaos could be so endearing to someone else.
“You’re being honest. It’s rare to see somebody like you who also wears your heart on your sleeve as I do.”
Okay, it was official. You were melting. Or you had already melted all over your chair, slipping off it and becoming part of your carpet. You quickly grabbed your soda, giving her a tight smile before guzzling it down like it was tequila.
Once you finished, you noticed her eyebrows fully raised, her smirk having transformed into a grin. “You’re very good at making me forget my own questions.”
She teasingly pouted, head tilting to the side. “Well, I apologize for that. It’s not my intention.”
Your empty glass hit the table as you began to fidget. “No, it’s my fault. I should have written them down or something. I never interview people—I basically just take tidbits from my friends’ lives and mine for my columns.”
Superwoman cleared her throat. “I know. I’ve read your work.”
You stared, momentarily thrown. “You have?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m a Metropolis citizen first before I’m a superhero. Plus, I’m usually already reading your coworker—Clark Kent’s articles about me—and you’re often next to hers.”
You shifted in your seat, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, even in the news, Clark and I still seem to find each other.”
Her smile softened, never failing to warm your heart. “I like to believe she’d say the same about you.”
You muttered, “Yeah, me too.”
Later in your kitchen, you were trying to wipe off the mac and cheese stains from the dirty plates as quickly as possible. Even though they were basically glorified plastic dishes you got for a buck at the store, you still wanted to keep them nice—especially if you were going to do this again with Superwoman, as she mentioned before.
The interview got better once you started pretending your soda was actually alcohol. You asked her about maintaining her image and the responsibility that came with it. You questioned her ability to handle being perceived in every sense of the word.
Luckily for your column, she was answering all your questions perfectly. For your sake, she was answering them a little too humanly. You had to remind yourself this wasn’t the time to get parasocial about Superwoman.
After you’d gotten all your material down in the back of your head, the conversation steered into something more personal. Suddenly, you were the one in the hot seat. She asked you about your life—what it was like being the Daily Planet’s first sex columnist and an openly lesbian woman.
As you rambled about your favorite artist or book—or whatever it was—you could have sworn you’d told her before, particularly when she was nodding along, resting her chin on her hand, like she’d heard it somewhere before but still wanted to hear you talk.
Her voice carried into the kitchen, probably still sitting at your dining room table: “Everything alright in there?”
Your plate almost slipped from your hand, reality shaking you out of your fantasy of her kissing you senselessly. “Oh, uh, yeah! Just trying to get… the stains off the plates. I’ll be back out there in a second.”
Once you finished with the dishes and dashed over to your record player to stop it so you didn’t damage your vinyl, you walked back into the dining room. You found Superwoman standing there, hands interlocked together at her waist.
She was smiling at you again. Yet this time, it seemed sad. That’s when it hit you. She was getting ready to leave. Of course she was. Not only was the dinner done, but so was the interview. Well, the interview was done almost two hours ago.
But the thought—the sight of whatever this was—made you want to cry. You wondered why. You’d only met this woman yesterday. So what if you’d had one of the best not-really-date dates with her? Or that your conversation with her was the most earnest you’d ever had with another person.
The words came out before you could stop them: “Are you leaving?”
Superwoman stared at you, bewildered, like she hadn’t expected you to seem so disappointed. She let out a shaky breath, the awkwardness flowing back into her veins.
“Yeah, I should,” she mumbled. “I’m guessing it’s late.”
She was right—your stove clock did say it was nine-thirty. Superwoman was probably the type of person who went to sleep early, like an old person. “Right, yeah. I don’t mean to keep you.”
She pressed her lips together and held your gaze. “You’re not, I promise.”
She held out her hand, putting herself on the line and hoping you would meet her halfway. “Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed myself.”
Your mouth opened as you unsteadily slipped your hand into hers. “Yeah, you’re welcome. I did too.”
The second your fingers grazed hers, something sparked within you. It wasn’t subtle. It was electric—completely unmistakable. Like in every bad romance movie you’d watched growing up, the air now held a sudden tension so sharp you could cut it with one of Cat Grant’s heels.
Neither of you moved, until, before you could say anything, Superwoman pulled you in and crashed her mouth into yours.
At first, she was gentle, with a sense of desperation. Her other hand slid up to your waist, as if she wanted you to climb under her skin. The kiss wasn’t rushed—until you let out a breathy moan.
Upon hearing you, the rest of her restraint snapped. Her grip on your waist tightened as the kiss deepened. Your hands clutched onto her suit, fingernails digging into the blue fabric—whimpers continuing to fall from your mouth. At this point, she was the only thing keeping you steady.
Once she retreated, you felt her lips pecking at your jawline as her hand moved to your shoulder. In between devouring your moans and attacking your neck, she began tugging on the spaghetti strap of your top.
While licking your neck to soothe a hickey, she whispered, “Been wanting to do that since forever.”
You whimpered back, biting down on your bottom lip to conceal your sounds. “We met yesterday.”
She huffed as both straps of your top completely fell, eyeing your shoulders. “You don’t even know half of it.”
She leaned in to kiss you again, but you pulled away slightly. “I, uh, have this rule. I don’t sleep with women I just met.”
Superwoman only chuckled against your lips, like she knew something you didn’t. “Well, if it makes you feel better, it’s already tomorrow in Paris.”
Both her suit and your clothes were discarded onto your bedroom floor. Her naked body glistened on top of you beneath the sheets, each kiss growing more possessive as her desire for you becomes more uncontainable.
The room had already faded around you. It was just Superwoman kissing down your chest and smirking at the sight of your front-clasp bra. Your breath hitched when you felt her remove it, teasing you as she said, “Somebody meant business.”
You gasped loudly as you felt it in your head when she took your right nipple into her mouth while groping the other breast.
“Such a pretty girl,” she mutters. “If you knew how many times I’ve thought about this—“
You cut her off with a blaring moan, "F-Fuck... I forgot… Ah, how sensitive I am.”
She chuckled, switching over to your left breast, enveloping your nipple with her lips—giving it a slight tug. "Mm, good. That gives me something to play with.”
Finally, her mouth unlatches from your nipple, now pressing kisses down your midriff before stopping at the edge of your panties. On instinct, she whimpered against your skin.
She’s been dreaming of this for three years straight. If she couldn’t get drunk off a glass of wine, she could get intoxicated off your cum.
You lifted your hips, trying to get her where you needed her the most. “Please, baby, please.”
She chuckled as her large palms held you down. “Patience, darling. I’ll get there.”
Her eyes skimmed down as your legs began to spread, noticing a dark patch on your underwear. She grins. “Is this all for me? Can I, sweetheart?”
You nod instantly, attempting to wiggle your hips, but her grip on them remains strong. “Fuck, yes.”
Her left hand squeezes your thigh, before gradually sliding the lace down your legs. “Language.”
If you weren’t in such a haze, you’d be more embarrassed by how soaked you were, or how another moan was taken from you as she dragged her tongue against your cunt.
You started acting like a fish out of water—legs shaking, hips bucking, and hands trembling—trying to get a hold of yourself.
She pulled away for a moment to get a better look at you, realizing she’d let her greediness take over for a minute. She stared—mouth slightly agape. “Good golly… she looks even better than I imagined, honey.”
She lowers her head again, pressing her mouth to you more deliberately this time. She runs her tongue up and down your folds, causing you both to moan.
As you grind your aching cunt against her nose, she mumbles something about how you’re the best thing she’s ever tasted. She even slipped two fingers into your hole, curling them just perfectly.
“Oh, God,” you mewled as she switched to sucking on your clit. Your hand becomes tangled in her hair, pushing her down even further—if that’s possible.
She whimpered into you once more, sending a thrilling vibration through you—making you feel like you were the one with the ability to fly.
As you were about to see the entire galaxy and come, she takes her fingers out and gently pulls her mouth away.
You cried out, raising your head slightly to see what was happening. “What… What's wrong? I was so clo—“
She giggled, guiding herself back up your body. With her hand, she brushed strands of hair away from your eyes. She nipped at your bottom lip. “I know, sweetie. You were doing so well—taking me so well.”
You threw your head back, slightly annoyed that Superwoman had just blue-balled you, for all intents and purposes.
“Then why did you stop?”
She smirked down at you, grabbing your legs to wrap them around her waist. “Because I want you to come with me.”
“Oh.”
She nodded, lining her cunt up with yours. You knew you’d be seeing the bruises on your skin from how tightly she had been holding you. “Figured you would like that.”
You two then started rubbing your cunts together in an agonizingly slow way. She groaned into your neck as your arms circled her neck. “Gosh, baby. You feel so perfect—so warm.”
You whined, beginning to drool against your pillow as her clit hooked on yours. “Oh my god, please!”
She kisses your cheek, pinching your nipple—grinding against it a little faster. “That’s it… That’s my good girl. C’mon, sweetheart. I know you can. We’re so close.”
Her back finally hit your bed, her breathing heavy—but not as much as yours. When she peered up at you, there was still a glassy film in your eyes. Your head had been swaying slightly as you slipped in and out of consciousness. You couldn’t remember the last time you were fucked so good.
As she watched you—after grabbing you a glass of water from the kitchen and peppering you with kisses—she held back from telling you that she was in love with you. For all you knew, she was a stranger. She wondered if you did this sort of thing more than you admitted in your columns.
In the quiet aftermath of everything, she glanced up at your ceiling—looking at all the cracks that seemed to mirror her mind. She involuntarily listened to your heartbeat, making sure it was steady.
For the very first time in her life, she didn’t want to see your face. She didn’t want to turn her head over and watch the slow rise and fall of your breathing. She knew if she did, she’d get selfish and never want to let go of you. You didn’t deserve somebody who used her alter ego to get into your pants.
After what felt like hours of damning silence and her thoughts running wild about how she could flee, she heard your soft, sweet laugh.
"Perry's gonna kill me. I just slept with both my interviewee and coworker."
Her head snapped toward you, eyes widening in utter disbelief and horror. "H-how did you know?"
You smirked at her, your hand searching for hers under the sheets. "You just told me."
comments and reblogs are always appreciated! i hoped you enjoyed reading this <3
