Tears (at friendsgiving)
Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
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a/n: (Loosely inspired by Tears by Sabrina Carpenter) This is my attempt at easing back into smut after october lol. Also, how do authors on here make a quick cute little smutty fic? Like less that 1k words, because that was the plan here and it obviously didn't go well. Please teach me your ways :(
Summary: A responsible man helping you prep for Thanksgiving shouldn't make your knees this weak…yet here you are, leaking gratitude onto your couch.
Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | Coworkers hooking up, loverboy and whimpering!Clark, oral f!receiving, unprotected p-in-v sex with creampie, praise kink, fear of getting caught, use and malfunctioning of superhuman abilities during sex.
Word count: 3,6k
Divider by me ;)
The thing every woman swore she would do after leaving an unfulfilling relationship was, “I’ll take time to be alone and explore,” a noble declaration of independence you genuinely intended to follow, except that promise disintegrated almost immediately the second your coworker and friend, who had absolutely no business being that handsome, that thoughtful or that willing to lift heavy objects without breaking a sweat, proposed to fill something else entirely… and not metaphorically.
You were hosting a Thanksgiving dinner at your new place for the first time, and Clark…responsible, reliable and maddeningly helpful Clark…apparently decided that helping you move in, carrying boxes like they weighed nothing and building IKEA furniture with the kind of focus usually reserved for bomb defusing, had not been an adequate use of his abilities, because of course he had to go and offer to help with the décor and the cooking too, like some kind of domestic superhero sent to sabotage your commitment to emotional celibacy.
Hooking up with him hadn’t exactly been the plan when you first accepted his help all those months ago, not when he was just your coworker with soft eyes, big shoulders and a smile that could undo nations but it had happened anyway and to be entirely honest with yourself, dangerously so…it was definitely the longer end of the stick.
…Literally and figuratively.
The table was full, the turkey was in the oven, your guests were minutes away and yet you were sprawled on the couch with your dress bunched up around your hips, legs parted wide and Clark’s shoulders wedged between your thighs like you had all the time in the world.
You hadn’t asked for it this time…truthfully, you hadn’t asked the first time either. All it ever took was the thought of him, the weight of him moving around your home, the sound of his deep voice telling you “Sit back, I’ve got it,” while he chopped, stirred and prepared everything with that devastating combination of gentleness and authority. Something about the way he operated when someone knew who he really was made him…different. Less restrained and more sure of himself.
It also made him confident enough to stalk toward you with quiet intent, kneel beside the couch and roll your dress up slowly, purposefully never once breaking eye contact as if your body were the only project worth finishing tonight.
“Oh my god, uh,” your nails dug deep into the couch cushions as your back arched helplessly. Your hips moved on instinct to meet the slow, hungry strokes of Clark’s tongue as it pressed past the fabric of your soaked slit repeatedly while his nose nudged your throbbing clit each time he licked lower, the warm exhale from him just as sinful as the wet heat of his mouth. He knew your body with a frightening precision, like he’d spent months memorizing every twitch, gasp and potential point of weakness. In many ways, he had and he already knew it better than your vibrator did or even worse, better than the ex you wasted five years on.
He took his time with you, that was the dangerous part. Clark wasn’t rushed, sloppy or in any kind of hurry.
He licked you with the slow, measured patience of a man starving after days without a meal, tasting, savoring and following every pulse and throb with his mouth open and ready to swallow it all down. Your sweet slick coated his chin, dripping down in thin glistening trails he didn’t bother wiping away.
Clark was, in every sense of the word, an eater.
The sounds alone…wet, needy and obscene were enough to push you toward your climax embarrassingly fast. He kept your thighs spread with ease, thumbs hooked into warm skin as he worked and tugged his glasses off with one hand before they fogged over too much to see. He always needed to see you, he insisted on it after the first time he’d made you come, precisely thirty-five seconds after you’d claimed confidently, “Orgasms aren’t really something I do.”
But now? It was practically your hobby, in fact, it was all you could do. Before bed, when you thought of him…In the shower, while still thinking of him and now, right here on your couch with his mouth wrapped around your clit like it belonged there.
“Fuck, Clark…” you breathed out, voice already cracking as your eyes rolled back. His mouth tightened around your clit, sucking gently before dragging the softest part of you between his lips. One of his big hands slid up your stomach to cup your breast, kneading the tender flesh until your feet curled and your breath stuttered.
This was always his favorite part, watching you fall apart.
He never looked away if he could help it. He was so focused, so present in these moments that it almost felt unfair. With you, he felt fully human, grounded by the one thing he couldn’t tune out even if he tried, which happened to be the sound of your pleasure. Hell, there could’ve been a metahuman threat half a street away and he wouldn’t have noticed, because the only thing he heard was you. From the way your plush walls clenched and fluttered and the way your voice broke on a moan that vibrated straight into his skull, to the sharp inhale that meant you were right on the edge.
And God, did you clench.
So hard he could feel your orgasm building just from the way your thighs trembled around his ears. Your slick coated his tongue, warm and sweet and he mouthed at you harder, letting you trap him there as your body tightened like it was trying to keep him while beads of sweat formed along your cleavage, glistening under the soft lamp light.
He watched each droplet trace down your skin and your pulse flutter in your neck at a rhythm his own unfairly thick cock eagerly matched, straining, throbbing and already dripping into the confines of his pants as if he were the one being touched and still, he didn’t stop, not until you shattered.
He continued until the tremor running through your body ebbed and softened, licking you carefully through every last ripple of pleasure until the wave finally passed and only then did he lift his head slowly, unwilling to breathe anything that wasn’t your scent, before crawling up your body and nudging his nose into the warm crook of your neck where he finally inhaled deeply, luxuriously, in a way that made your whole spine tingle while you struggled simply to draw in a lungful of air.
“I could die between those thighs,” he exhaled against your skin, the words warm and thick with affection and hunger, “are you okay?”
You swallowed and nodded, though your head barely moved because everything in you still trembled, your hands shaky, impatient and undeniably needy, were already fumbling with his belt and then his fly, desperate to free him, desperate to feel the heavy, pulsing weight of his cock filling the space he’d left aching and empty after last week’s frantic, unforgettable encounter.
Clark was big, your own personal unfair advantage and far too humble about it, which somehow made every part of the situation even more devastating. At least this time he wasn’t shy or flustered about the dark wet spot soaking through his underwear, he couldn’t be, not when the thick, flushed head of his cock was already leaking, twitching and pulsing in the same fevered rhythm your clit still throbbed with.
He wrapped one large hand around his length, hissing through his teeth at even that slight touch, guiding himself down between your legs and pressing slowly, torturously so, inside you, stretching you so deeply and so sweetly that you threw your head back against the cushions and moaned without reservation, your body instantly gripping him hard, impossibly tight, like you were trying to swallow the whole man in one greedy pull.
It felt like fighting the tide, the way your walls fluttered and squeezed around him, already trying to drag another orgasm out of you embarrassingly fast, your body always so ready for this man…too ready and eager in a way you’d never been with anyone else. “Oh heavens,” you moaned, your hand sliding up his back as you struggled not to tear his pristine white shirt to shreds. God, he looked sinfully good above you like this, flushed, focused and slipping so carefully into you.
He was always gentle with you despite his size and strength, pushing into you with that careful, reverent pace that let you feel everything…every thick vein, ridge and obscene detail you wanted imprinted permanently inside your greedy walls. He buried his face in your neck, something intimate and startlingly tender for a casual hookup and then his arms wrapped around you…his stupidly huge and impossibly strong arms…in a full-bodied bear hug that lifted you just enough off the couch for both of you to whine pathetically right before you gasped in shock and pleasure when he finally bottomed out. That sound, that involuntary gasp, nearly unmade him entirely, he swore it was enough to ruin him like he wasn’t anything more than a man hopelessly in love with the way you said his name.
You were even wetter now, embarrassingly so, your body giving him everything it had as he rolled his hips in careful, possessive motions like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving the warm clutch of your pussy for even a second, fucking himself into you while releasing these low, sensual moans he kept trying and failing to muffle against your skin. The noises the two of you made together were truly obscene and straight from x-movies, the kind of sounds you used to swear were exaggerated by performers until you found yourself living inside them, only to later stand in the elevator next to your eighty-four-year-old neighbor and wonder with burning humiliation if they’d heard anything through the walls and whether you should apologize or simply move countries.
“Uh yes!” you cried out as he rolled his hips up at just the right angle, the tip of his cock pressing hard into that soft, devastating spot inside you that made your whole body go electric, the spot that made it rain, something you genuinely didn’t think you could do until Clark had discovered it, apparently determined to prove your body had pages you hadn’t even read yet. He knew he shouldn’t play that dangerous game…shouldn’t target that place, tease it, circle it and worship it now but he’d been so entranced the first time it happened that now he couldn’t wait to play plumber again.
“C–Clark…behave,” you whimpered.
You couldn’t see it but Clark’s mouth curled into a wicked grin against your skin. You knew he would behave or maybe you were willing to lie to yourself and pretend he might, but the truth was he liked letting you know that he could break you open all over again if you needed him to. He groaned, fighting back the urge to give you everything all at once, though even the image of your nails digging into his back and your legs trembling around his hips was enough to bring him straight to his edge.
But luckily, you were right there too.
Your chest heaved with every helpless breath, your lips parted and trembled like your mouth was unable to decide whether it should gasp, moan or beg beg for more. Clark kissed you then, swallowing your sounds like he needed them to breathe, though the kiss was also a warning or maybe a preventative measure, because…
Your doorbell rang.
Your rolling eyes jerked to him, then snapped toward the door, wide and glassy with tears from the orgasm clawing up your spine. You met Clark’s maddeningly calm eyes. “Are you broken?! You didn’t know?!” you whisper-yelled, the words shaky, frantic and interrupted by whimpers you tried desperately to swallow, because right then, of all times, Clark decided to fuck you like the entire planet depended on it, driving into you hard and balls deep while grinding his pelvis against your swollen, sensitive clit.
“Ignore it. Focus on me,” he breathed, choosing very intentionally not to admit he was in fact unbelievably and catastrophically broken, and had been from the first time he kissed you or maybe even earlier, since the moment he walked into the office and saw you there with your small box of belongings and that devastatingly sweet smile. He hadn’t heard anyone at the door until they lifted their foot to step onto your floor but he’d be damned if he left you hanging until after the party.
You nodded, mostly because you couldn’t do anything else, think anything else or breathe anything else.
“Good girl,” he groaned and the words spilled out of him instinctively, instantly and your eyes went wide at the way they hit you…at the way your body reacted so violently and visibly, like he’d pressed a brand-new button he didn’t know you had. He felt it too and you, well, you…
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, absolutely certain you were about to scream the building down.
“Yeah you are,” Clark hissed as your walls tightened viciously around him. He pressed one large, steady hand over your mouth just in time to catch the scream as your legs twitched violently and your whole body writhed beneath him, your teary eyes rolling back as Clark thrust through your orgasm and then fell with you, his hips stuttering, jaw slackening and body shaking as he came harder than he ever had in his life, painting your walls white with a low, wrecked groan. His ears rang so loud he swore he’d gone deaf on his left side and he couldn’t wait for it to happen again.
He met your eyes as you both panted for breath, asking silently if he could remove his hand and trust you to stay quiet. When you nodded, he let go.
“Lois, Jimmy and Cat,” he said, still breathless, pulling out slowly while hissing again at the sensitivity and the way he was somehow still half-hard and visibly struggling, truly struggling, to tuck himself back into his slacks.
He rose to his feet so fast it almost startled you, immediately hurrying toward the bathroom with that mix of nervousness and tenderness he always tried and often failed to disguise, running the tap to wet a towel while you collapsed back into the cushions, eyes fluttering shut as a fleeting, microscopic part of you regretted ever proposing to host Thanksgiving dinner at your place for half a second before that regret melted into a blissful haze, because you had genuinely reached cloud nine. Drifting into slow, delicious thoughts about the many, many different ways he could pound you next…on the counter, over the dining table, against the wall…until Clark returned and pressed the cool, damp towel between your legs to clean you up, making you gasp in surprise at the sudden temperature against your oversensitive skin.
“Are you hurt?” he asked immediately, worry etched in every line of his voice.
You rolled your eyes. “Morally. I don’t know if that counts,” you muttered as you sat up, his quiet chuckle brushing warmly against your ears and that’s when you finally looked at him properly and your eyes widened. “Oh… shit.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Your hair,” you said, gesturing helplessly. “I swear I tried to not mess it up…well, no, that’s a lie.” Because the truth was that the second his tongue touched your pussy, all good intentions vanished from your mind entirely.
The doorbell rang again, making you jolt and you swatted his hand away before standing much too fast on legs that had the structural integrity of overcooked spaghetti. “I’m coming!!… I–I mean to the door…not…the other thing. Fuck!” you stuttered, mortified, as Clark caught your stumble with one big hand on your waist, chuckling softly as he bent down to place your heels neatly in front of you so you could slip your feet into them while still clamping the wet towel between your thighs with the least dignity imaginable.
“It’s not funny,” you hissed.
“No, of course not,” he said with a shit-eating grin, leaning in to kiss you quickly, just a soft little press of lips that made butterflies explode in your stomach, because kisses with him weren’t sensual so much as… devastatingly sweet and torturously tender, the kind that made your heart stutter even though you were both very much half naked and debauched just minutes earlier.
“Your glasses,” you reminded him, grabbing them from the couch and slipping them onto his face while his hands slid your dress back down over your hips, palms warm, fingers lingering and then because he was Clark, he kissed you again repeatedly, like he already dreaded the idea of being in the same room with you for hours without being allowed to touch you the way he wanted.
Still adjusting your dress mid-walk, you stepped toward the hallway and tossed the damp towel into the nearest room which was your office, slamming the door as if that would magically trap all evidence of your sins inside, then took a deep, steadying breath as you approached the front door. Just before opening it, you caught sight of yourself in the hallway mirror, frantically fixing your hair, lipstick and mascara, making sure nothing screamed ‘I was just getting railed on my couch by Superman’, and then finally opened the door.
A sudden current of air rippled through the room, barely a whisper of movement and when you looked over your shoulder, Clark was gone. Of course he was.
You forced a smile as Lois, Jimmy and Cat walked in carrying an assortment of sides and drinks.
“What’s going on with you?” Lois asked immediately, her grin widening into that investigative-reporter stare that could strip steel.
“What’s… what?” you asked, eyes going round.
“We rang twice, I called you five times…I thought you needed help with the–” Lois began.
“Oh, that!” you cut her off, waving a dismissive hand as you shut the door behind them. “Poor time management on my part, but everything’s fine and–”
“Are you seeing your ex again?” Cat accused instantly, stepping inside behind Jimmy.
“What!? No!” you laughed, though the sound came out painfully awkward. “What makes you think that?” you asked, panicking already.
Jimmy simply pointed at the bouquet of flowers Clark had brought, sitting innocently on the counter.
Cat eyed it, then eyed you. “Yeah…that and you look…”
“That’s a new guy glow,” Lois concluded, nodding confidently. “Trust me.”
“Guys, c’mon…” you rolled your eyes, trying to act offended and failing miserably.
“It has to be that guy from the third floor,” Jimmy said. “No judgment…I just hope it’s for a good time, not a long time.”
They continued chatting as they set their things down and you moved toward the dining table while pretending to listen, only to suddenly freeze because something was missing. A very important something.
With the softest, most suspicious laugh in response to whatever Lois had just said, you drifted back to the couch and tried to discreetly search for the panties Clark had removed…and found absolutely nothing.
The doorbell rang again.
“I got it!” Jimmy called, bounding toward the door as Cat poured wine for herself and Lois.
Jimmy opened the door, revealing Steve…and Clark, right beside him, looking clean, polished and absolutely not like a man who’d just had his head between your thighs. His eyes met yours instantly, reading your panic like it was printed on a poster board. You approached with tiny, stiff steps, greeted Steve, then turned to Clark with a scold ready on your tongue but before you could speak, he slipped a hand into his pocket and held up your neatly bunched panties.
Your eyes blew wide as you snatched them out of his hand. “What is wrong with you?” you whispered furiously. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice!?”
“Took you less time than I hoped for but we can talk about it when they leave,” he murmured. “You should put them on.”
“I ‘should’?” you hissed back, insulted. “If I want to go incognito the whole night, I–”
“There’s a…tear…running down your thigh,” he said calmly, eyes flicking to the exact spot beneath your dress using his x-ray vision, before he looked back up and had the audacity, the absolute NERVE, to adjust his glasses. Your mouth fell open and closed in outraged silence before he added, “I’d love to have them back when the night ends and leave with them as a parting gift. Preferably out the door this time.”
“No one asked you to fly out my window!” you whisper-yelled, storming toward your bedroom but only making it a few steps before pivoting back, pointing at him accusingly. “And stay away from my underwear drawer tonight, you thief!”
Clark watched you go, grinning to himself, then strode casually into the main room, greeting everyone like he wasn’t an absolute menace. A few minutes later, you returned with a much less forced smile and a blissfully leak-free situation.
Lois was on you immediately, handing you a glass of wine with a wicked grin. “What are you thankful for tonight?”
You took the glass, exhaled and said softly, “My very giving friends.”
Clark met your eyes across the room, subtly licking his lips as you sipped your wine, already drunk off the sweetness he could still taste from you.
It was going to be a very fun night…
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
