He feels so good, he always does. You swear his fingers alone are bigger than a few of the guys you’ve slept with. The first time you told him that Clark made you cum three times with just his hand. From Afternoon Delight (A Very Professional Lunch Break)
Word Count: drabble, 1-1.5k (god forbid I write something long form)
Warnings: size kink!! fingering, reader has a personality and is implied to be shorter than Clark, nothing descriptive other than that though, cursing, mentions of Clark Kent’s gargantuan cock, mentions of cockwarming, overstim if you squint, 🤞 <- keep this in mind
Clark Kent x Fem! Reader (no use of y/n)
Clark is a big man.
You (and his tailor) know this with certainty.
The first thing that you ever noticed about Clark was his height, towering over everyone he passed on his morning commute. The ache you felt in the back of your neck after every conversation with him.
You still remember the first time you really noticed it though, it was a hopelessly mundane moment. You were flirting with him at the coffee station, and your eyes just happened to drift down and clock how his hips ended just where the counter-top began. You're only human, it's not your fault your first thought was about how easily he could fuck you while you sat on it.
You couldn't look him in the eye the rest of the day.
His size became even more obvious after you started dating.
"You know when I was a kid, my Ma signed me up for piano lessons." Clark says, his voice casual, like he's not knuckle deep in your cunt. Clark is sprawled on the couch beneath you, looking pretty as ever. His lips glossy and swollen from your kisses. You had done all the typical third date things, nice dinner, pretty dress, prettier lingerie underneath. He'd walked you home, taken up your entire door way and acted like he wasn't silently begging to come inside.
You were less patient, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling his lips onto yours.
You can hardly breathe, his finger curling inside as he speaks. "Really?" you ask, voice breathy. You knew his hands were big, you'd seen them hold his phone and make it look like a toy, watched with fascination as he struggled to hold the little teacups they gave you at the Chinese restaurant (first date).
Looking at his hands was a lot different than having them inside you.
You had rolled eyes when he talked about preparing you. ‘Not a virgin Clark’ you’d murmured against his lips.
Clark had hummed, pulling back to bag those pretty lashes you. ‘Gonna feel like, unless you let me open you up.’ He argued.
You scoffed, reaching for his belt but Clark grabbed your wrist. He fixed you with a look, or more accurately a warning. Then he dragged your hand down past his belt and planted it firmly on his bulge.
Oh.
‘Can I please finger you?’ Clark asked, his blue swimming with want. You could drown in them.
You swallowed, trying to save face. ‘Yeah.’ You croaked, voice cracking.
Which brings you to now. “I wasn’t into it.” Clark explains. His thumb is working your clit in slow circles, helping ease his finger out to the tip and then side it back down until he reaches the knuckle. “But one of ladies in town got it into head, kept telling her I had piano fingers.”
“What does that even mean?” You ask, fighting back a moan, doing your best to seem unaffected. Your body betrays you, a gush of wetness seeping down and drenching Clark’s palm.
“You’re so wet baby.” He coos, sliding another finger in. “Means I have big hands.” He continues, “Long fingers.” He curls them, for emphasis of course.
“Fuck.” You gasp. You feel yourself clenching, your hands gripping his shoulders and feeling nothing but steel, absolutely no give.
Clark makes a shushing noise, his thumb picking up pace and he drags his fingers in and out, over and over. His lips plant wet kisses along your neck, sucking on your pulse point as you whine.
He’s deeper inside you than you’ve ever been able to get with your own fingers, deeper than any of your exes ever reached. Forget about length, they’re thick too. You make a note to ask him about his ring size later, for reference.
“I got you, it’s okay.” Clark whispers into your mouth, his fingers picking up speed, his thumb increasing its pressure.
You already feel like jello, between his lips, and his fingers, and the coil pulling tighter and tighter in your stomach you didn’t stand a chance.
“Clark.” You moan, then force yourself to swallow the next one “If these are your fingers-” you gasp as he curls his fingers, as if on cue. Your thighs twitch around his hand, your train of thought completely lost.
Clark hums, his eyes are reverent, his free hand reaches up and cups your face, catching it as you try tuck into his neck. “What was your question pretty girl?” He asks, guiding your head so your forehead rests against his.
Despite the fact that it’s your world getting wrecked, Clark’s forehead is sweaty, his eyes glistening as they study your every reaction. You whimper, hips frantically grinding down onto his fingers. Clark curls them again.
“How big is your dick?” You pant.
Clark chuckles, and then because he can, he twists his fingers together inside you and thrusts them again.
“Let go baby.” He tells you, and you nod, your stomach burning with pleasure, so close. “Let go and I’ll show you.” He promises.
With one more hard pass over your clit, Clark is catapulting you over the edge. His fingers still wrapped together inside you as you squeeze him like a vice. He can’t wait to feel it again when he’s inside you.
In the meantime he helps you ride it out, letting your head fall into the nook between his neck and shoulder. Your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm, your thighs clenched tighter than tight around his wrist.
After what feels like an eternity, you stop shaking, your breathing finally levels out. “Oh my god.” You groan into his neck.
Clark presses a to the side of your head, his dry hand stroking your hair. The other is still inside you. “That’a girl.” He whispers.
You squeeze his fingers, body reacting before you can tell it not too. The fucker smirks, surely filing that reaction away for later.
You kiss him, hard, hoping to distract, to finally get your hands, or better yet you, around what you want.
Clark groans into the kiss, matching your force with fervor. His tongue dances alongside yours, tracing the top of your mouth, doing his best to swallow you whole.
Then his fingers start again.
“Clark.” You protest, pulling away.
Clark tries to follow you, leaning off the couch and chasing your lips. You manage to stay just out of reach. “What?” He asks.
You pout, but grind down onto his hand nonetheless. “Thought you were gonna fuck me.” You whine.
Clark doesn’t answer, instead he takes the opportunity to unbuckle his belt (one handed- after all the other one is still busy). He only unzips enough to free himself.
You watch, silent, and stare at it. Clark ever so patient, takes your wrist, and this time he wraps your hand around him.
Once again, Clark Kent has made you feel oh so small.
He doesn’t break eye contact, but he makes a noise low in his throat that has you gushing around his hand again, for the umpteenth time tonight.
“Okay you can finger me a little more.” You say, as if it’s actually your idea, “If you really want.”
authors note: look at the scenes of him holding a phone and tell me I’m WRONG, anyway idk how I feel about this one so everyone tell me their thoughts! I insist
⟡ bucky writers’ association (2026) × lifting the pink veil
a duo collaboration starring @pinksplace and @spdrveil .ᐟ
with a special bonus feature from @unificsation ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
BE ADVISED! works listed below may contain taboo kinks and topics that may not be comfortable for everyone — please read the warnings given and act accordingly to your comfortability. we are not responsible for your media consumption.
PLAYLIST: collaboration inspired spotify playlist
CREDITS: some dividers made by @uzmacchiato, all other graphics are originally made for this collaboration
HOT ‘N READY.ᐟ by @spdrveil
synopsis when when strucker’s pizzeria sends a mouth watering delivery boy to your doorstep, you find yourself paying for your order another way.
▸ rent the movie
HOT HANDS.ᐟ by @pinksplace
synopsis you need to relax and your new (large-handed) masseuse has a few ideas.
▸ rent the movie
AFTER HOURS.ᐟ by @spdrveil
synopsis so, you wanna be a star, baby? a recommendation from bucky barnes will make you one — that’s what he tells you when he smushes your face down into the cold leather of his casting couch, giving you a taste of the industry you’re so desperate to join.
▸ rent the movie
HAVE YOU EVER TRIED THIS ONE.ᐣ by @pinksplace
synopsis sam said yoga would be a good idea, help him destress and stay in shape between missions. that's nice and all, but how is he supposed to stay "loose" when his pretty instructor has him nothing but hard.
▸ rent the movie
SPECIAL BONUS FEATURE.ᐟ by @unificsation
synopsis teamwork makes the dream home work. call america’s best to remodel your home: lay down pipes, screw your drawers, paint your walls—anything you need.
▸ rent the movie
YOUR MOM.ᐟ by @pinksplace
synopsis steve thought it was a joke when bucky said his mom is hotter than all the girls on campus. bucky, who for some reason drives home every weekend, wasn't joking.
▸ rent the movie
GO GO NURSE.ᐟ by @spdrveil
synopsis when your patient seems pent up before his surgery, you take it upon yourself to relax him — like any good nurse would do.
▸ rent the movie
SKINNY DIP.ᐟ by @pinksplace
synopsis your husband wanted a house with a pool and the promise of his wife wearing the tiniest bikinis next to it. you kept up your end of the deal, its your husband who never bothers to enjoy either. It's only fair you hire the cutest pool boy money can buy, and bucky promises to give both of you proper care.
▸ rent the movie
alternatively: Clark Kent and the Art of the orgasm
18+ MDNI
what’s this? Oh it’s Clark Kent’s poorly disguised overstimulation kink
word count: another drabble, probably 1-1.5k
warnings: overstimulation, some overstimulation, maybe a hint of overstimulation, some overstimulation if you squint, oh god I almost forgot overstimulation
fem!reader, no use of Y/N
You felt like you were missing something.
Your girlfriends would talk about it, giggle about how their boyfriends had managed to get them off, sometimes even twice. You’d smile and nod, pretend to be happy for them. Sometimes you’d fib, tell a salacious story of your own, never admitting that none of boyfriends had ever actually gotten you there.
As time went on, you began to just assume your friends were lying, or worse maybe, there was just something wrong with you.
Then you met Clark.
You’d told him before you slept together that you’d never actually orgasmed before. The words tumbling off your tongue in a moment of insecurity and nervousness. Years of lame, lazy lovers tricking you into thinking it just wasn’t possible. You thought he deserved to know. You assured him you would still enjoy it, still wanted to feel that closeness with him, just that he shouldn’t be offended when it doesn’t happen.
Clark just kissed you, and said “I’ll take care of it.”
He made you cum three times that night before he even got inside you.
He became obsessed with it after that.
Clark Kent, your sweet boyfriend, the mild mannered momma’s boy, the clumsy reporter in his too-big suits, is absolutely insatiable. He lays you out, expertly kisses you until your lips are numb and presses you until the mattress until you have no choice but to melt.
He crawls down your body, joking that he’s visiting his second home. Then he eats you out until his glasses fog up, when most men might take that as a sign to stop, Clark just takes them off, places them carefully on the nightstand, and keeps going.
He ignores your whines, the way you tug his hair, the way your legs clamp around his head. If anything, it all spurs him on, making him even more enthusiastic. He uses every part of his face to make it happen, his tongue dexterous and fast, never tiring. His nose finding a way to nudge your clit just right.
Clark only uses his hands when he wants to tell you something, using his fingers to get you stretch you, his thumb circling your clit. He’s never not working you over.
“Sweetheart, I missed you so much.” He says, voice dripping with affection, as if you’ve ever spent longer than two days apart.
“Honey you taste so good, please can you give me one more?” Please, as if it’s really a question, you know better and it’s never just one more.
When you’re shaking with overstimulation, thighs clenched around his head, “Baby, stop. I’m doing something important.” He never gives you a chance to comply, instead taking your thighs in his hands and pressing them into the mattress, spreading you open for him.
When he fucks you, it’s all-consuming.
He thrusts deep, each stroke is well aimed, perfectly timed, and leaves you agonizingly full. Clark found that soft spot inside you (the one that makes your vision white out), that first night too. He makes sure to hit every-time now.
By this point, you’re jello, or at least close to it. Half the words out of your mouth make no sense, just babbles of his name and half-slurred ‘I love you’s.
Your hands scratch down his back, never making purchase, never breaking the skin despite your attempts (and much to Clark’s dismay, he loves being marked by you, reminders that he’s yours just as much as you’re his).
Clark has surpassed every man you’ve ever been with, in skill, size and stamina. You thought it would be over after he came, thought it was just average human male biology.
Once again, Clark proves himself to be above and beyond average.
He can go for three, some nights even four rounds. Half the time he doesn’t even break a sweat, he fucks like he’s superhuman. He fucks like it’s what he was made for, specifically like he was made for you.
He tells you as much. His words saccharine and sinful.
“This is everything, you’re everything.” He murmurs against your neck, grinding deeper than you thought possible.
“Never wanna leave you, gonna stay right here, forever.” You believe him. You honestly believe he would spend the rest of his life inside you, you would let him.
“They didn’t deserve you, didn’t know how to touch you. Properly.” He laments, as if you even still think about them, as if you could remember their names when he’s this deep.
“Always gonna make you feel good, always gonna put you first.” He promises, and despite your better judgement, you believe him when he says that too.
You tighten around him, again, and again and again. You moan his name until you’re blue in the face. Wrap your legs around his waist and even though every part of your body feels like it’s on fire, you pull him closer. You kiss him hard, and tell him to cum deep.
Clark has ruined you, if he ever ended things you’d be forced to join a nunnery or risk spending the rest of your life comparing everyone else to him. Then you look in his eyes, and see the future you’re still too scared to talk about out loud, and think that you have nothing to worry about.
He pushes you over the edge again. Apologizing for it.
“I’m sorry Honey, I’m so sorry, I know it’s a lot.” Clark’s like a man possessed. Your cunt is so wet and sticky he almost slides out every time he draws back. He wipes the tears from your cheeks, and presses the softest kiss to your lips.
“Just one more, c’mon baby, one more.” You give it to him. body tensing at his command, you don’t even try to fight it this time, you know it’s no use. Clark the immovable object, your orgasm the unstoppable force.
You asked him why one night, after he had cleaned you up and rolled you into his arms.
“I’m making up for lost time.” He said, kissing the top of your head. It’s almost a gentleman’s answer, but you know better. You know the real answer, he says it everytime, right before he falls over that last edge. When he’s too lost in pleasure to pretend like he’s doing this just for your benefit.
“I love that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”
It’s usually what sends you over the edge, for the real last time.
You love it too.
The chronicles of Clark Kent and MY poorly hidden overstimulation kink <3
Clark Kent can’t decide which part of you he loves more
alternatively: is Clark Kent an ass man?
18+ MDNI (fem! reader, no use of y/n)
Huh what’s this?? Oh just a little Clark Kent brain rot Drabble <3
word count? who’s to say
warnings: a lot of talk about tits and ass, potential cavities due to sweetness
Clark is half asleep when the question rolls of your tongue.
“Are you an ass man?” Your voice is casual. You’re tucked against his side, bare chested and still a little sweaty, utterly contented.
Clark (despite having been just inside of you) sputtered. “Am I a what?” He asks, voice cracking on the last syllable.
It’s not that he minds talking about sex so much, he isn’t prude despite what most of the office thinks. He just wasn’t vocal about it with most people. It came easy with you, he knows you don’t judge him, and ninety percent of the time you’re end up goading him on. Clark also knows that he could speak another language and you’d still melt under his hands.
You just surprised him.
“Y’know,” you giggle, turning onto your stomach so you can see his face. “Most guys have a preference, orchestra or balcony.”
If you had asked him before you started dating, well he wouldn’t have answered, he would have blushed up to his glasses and said how he didn’t feel comfortable objectifying women like that, even hypothetically. (His answer would have been ass).
But since you got together? The choice has been so much harder. Amongst other things that have been hard.
Clark loves all of you, there’s no doubt about that. If someone asked you, you’d tell them that he could have a second degree in body worship with the amount of hours he’s put into memorizing yours.
He’s kissed every part of you- twice.
Clark’s spent hours sucking on your neck, leaving hickies like a teenager. He adores your thighs, how plush and soft they feel under his hands, how tight they wrap around his waist. He loves your back, tracing your spine and watching you shiver. He loves your hands, so much smaller than his. How delicate they feel when he holds them, how capable they are of reducing him to putty in your hands. Don’t get him started on your lips.
Clark loves all of you. We’ve established that.
Clark just can’t help but feel torn because in all honestly his answer changes everyday.
If you ask him while wearing those flared blue jeans he loves, that hug your hips just right, and cling to you like a second skin. The ones with the back pockets that fit his hands perfectly. He’d have his answer, without hesitation.
But when you pull on his shirt, tug it closed without bothering to button it, letting him be taunted by the sliver of skin that lives between your breasts. When you wore those stupid barely there tank tops to bed. When you press your chest to his, lean up and whisper in his ear. Well, then things get a little cloudy.
“I don’t know.” He answers honestly, “What made you think of it?”
You hum, obviously not convinced. “You like me face down a lot.” You say, turning over to rest on your stomach. He can tell you’re trying to watch his expression.
Clark nods, you’re not wrong. He adores getting you on your stomach, slotting a pillow under your hips. A hand on either side of your head and his chest pressed flush to your back while he absolutely plows you. The angle made you grip him like a vice, and now he realized- it gave him an absolutely breathtaking view of your ass. The way it molded against him and the absolutely filthy sound of skin on skin.
Huh.
“I like when you’re on top a lot too though.” He argues.
Clark really likes when you’re on top actually. He can see your face, watch your thighs shake with the effort and he can watch them (your tits, obviously). The way they bounce, how they lift with each exhausted breath you take. He loves to place his hands just below the curve of your tits, over top of your ribs. He can feel each gasp, every sound you make, he can feel the way your heart beat races. He thinks you’re a vision, sex personified. His own personal Venus.
He also loves talking you through it when you’re on top too.
‘C’mon baby, use me.’
‘Take what you need pretty girl.’
Even outside of sex, half the time when you curled up against him on the couch, his hands would slip under your shirt and just hold them. “My hands are cold.” He’d joke. You let him, who are you to make Superman suffer?
You let him do just about anything now that he thinks about it.
“I think my favorite part of your body is the way you trust me with it.” Clark says.
You tilt your head.
It not like Clark manhandles you, okay actually maybe he does, but you love it. You go with his flow. He doesn’t feel like he’s taking anything with you, you give it all willingly.
You give him sloppy make-out sessions in dark corners, you give endless touches and access to all your softness. You give him passion, and heat, and ‘water saving showers.’ You give him your stories, your spare key and spine-melting smiles.
“You never pull back, or ask me too. Even when I get rougher than I should.”
You open your mouth to protest, but Clark puts a finger on your lips before you can.
“I’ve spent so much of my life walking on egg shells because of my strength, trying to find the right balance of not too little but also not too much. I never feel afraid of myself with you.”
The guess the best way to put it is: You give him all of your humanity, and never question his.
“Maybe I’m just a you man.” He finishes.
You smile and kiss the finger still pressed against your lips. Then you open up his palm and press it to your cheek. “I guess that’s a good answer too.” You grumble.
Clark smiles, thoroughly pleased with himself. He sits up just enough to press a kiss to your lips. You meet him halfway with enthusiasm.
Before Clark can take things any further (he suddenly feels as though maybe he could go for round two after all), you get up. Slipping out from under the sheet, you don’t bother putting anything back on.
Clark watches you bounce away, a little too much pep in your step for someone he swears he fucked all of the energy out of. With his eyes trained on one part of you in particular Clark quietly admits something else.
“Maybe I’m also an ass man.”
We’ll see if his answer changes when he watches you walk back though.
authors note: idk where this came from guys but I hope it’s not crap ❤️
Afternoon Delight (a very professional lunch break)
Clark Kent x fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.5K
Summary: You and Clark find a private spot to share your break (spoiler alert: you don’t eat lunch)
Authors note: a man with a heart of gold and big shoulders! you bet your ass I am sat (I was there for the politician and Hollywood, I’ve been long seduced by David Corenswet’s siren song)
Warnings: MDNI! so like you fuck Clark Kent, softdom! Clark?, p in v, fingering, mentions of oral and overstimulation, making out, light dirty talk, yearning, two horny fuckers, some filthy language, cursing (not from Clark) ((obviously)), some light exhibitionism, it’s me so gratuitous use of italics
Everyone takes lunch at one.
The entire building clears out, people trickling off the floor in a rush to eat, smoke, scroll on TikTok, what ever they can do with their glorious half hour. It was enough time to leave and get a salad from the fancy and totally overpriced place across the street. Enough time to walk to the park a few blocks down and touch some grass (a necessity for anyone working at the Daily Planet).
Enough time to ride the elevator from top to bottom exactly thirty-six times.
Thirty minutes is also just enough time to sneak in quickie with your very handsome boyfriend Clark.
You’ve been together about a month. A month of goofy smiles, steamy make-out sessions on his couch, and texts that probably shouldn’t have been sent over company WiFi. If you looked up honey-moon phase in a dictionary you’d find a little photo of you and Clark.
It had that new relationship sparkle and that ‘Oh my god finally’ relief, that you only get after three months of clumsy flirting and long yearning looks (primarily from Clark).
Since the first time Clark let you touch him without that stupid, poorly tailored, suit jacket in the way, you haven’t been able to keep your hands off of him. Knowing just how perfect and chiseled he is underneath that layer of nerves and clumsiness- which you’re beginning to think is an act since he almost never trips or stumbles when you’re alone- is intoxicating. The quiet strength that lingers under the skin of Clark Kent. The best part? It’s yours alone, you’re the only one who gets to see that part of him.
It was driving you crazy. You wanted to give him a back massage, bite his shoulder, and ask him to throw you across the room all in the same breath. It’d never been this bad in your past relationships, never consumed you like this before. You’re not even ovulating, you just want him, all of the time. Something that’s deeply inconvenient considering you also work together.
It’s only made worse by the fact that he’s so different in bed. None of his classic cautiousness. Everytime, he asks one quiet “Can I touch you?” and then he’s off to the races. He’s sure hands, messy kisses and a fascination with hickies.
You’re only human, of course you’re addicted to his affection. He’s barely in the door most days before you’re clawing his suit off. Luckily, Clark is more than happy to indulge you.
He’s indulged you on the couch, the floor, the kitchen counter, against the window, in the shower, and one time you almost convinced him to meet you in a diner bathroom (he blushed up to his ears and threw some cash on the table, and all but carried you to his apartment instead). You never claimed to have self control.
Today was proving to be longer than most, at least it felt that way. Usually the promise of meeting him afterwork was enough to satiate you, but today it just isn’t enough. You wanted him- no needed him now.
You were pretty sure Clark already knew that though. He’d been riling you up since sat down at your desk. He’d dropped a coffee at your desk- unceremoniously, just everyone else, but yours had an extra note, written in Clark’s signature messy scrawl and bright red sharpie.
“You drive me crazy.”
Strike one.
Around ten thirty he had leaned over your shoulder, under the pretense of helping you with an article. He’d gotten so close you could smell his cologne, feel his breath against your ear. Then he had to audacity to lean his arm over your body onto your desk, trapping you between it and him. Just when you finally got your heart beat back under control- he brushed his lips against your ear and whispered “You look gorgeous today.”
Strike two.
It came to head when Lois offered to set him up with one of her friends and he explained to her that he’s actually seeing someone. Not you, no one knew about that yet. But you knew it was you, and that was enough to bring the roaring, horny, possessive, monster that lives between your thighs to life.
Strike three.
By the time lunch finally rolls around you feel like a live wire. Jumping every time some touches you, snapping at Jimmy when he asks if you want to go get subs. Your skin feels like it’s fire and you’re avoiding eye contact with Clark out of fear you might actually burst into flames.
When the office finally empties, you make your move. Spinning your chair away from your computer (and the blank word document where your article should be) you turn to Clark, only to find him already staring you.
“Lunch?” He asks, that innocent look on his face. As if he didn’t spend the past four hours proving that you really as no better than a man.
You nod, and give him your best attempt at nonchalant, “I have a new spot we can try.”
He smiles that Clark Kent, all American, captain of the football team, smile and seals his fate.
When the elevator stops at the third floor he follows you diligently, without question. He doesn’t falter when you make a sudden left and pull him by the tie into what is quickly revealed to be a small closet. Yeah, you think, he knew this was coming.
Clark looks around, taking in the clutter and what is definitely not enough space for what you have in mind. “I don’t think they have lunch in here Honey.” He tells you.
Honey, you love when he calls you that. It’s so soft, you can almost hear just a little of the Midwest in his voice. It drips with affection and it shouldn’t make you as horny as it does.
“Not hungry for lunch.” You whisper, and then you’re pulling his lips down to yours.
Clark catches up quick, it’s only a moment before his hands find their rightful place on your hips. Still gentle, no tongue- it’s as professional as a kiss can get. He pulls back, much sooner than you would like.
“Brought me all the way down here just for a kiss?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. He looks at you like he already knows the answer, he just wants to make you say it. Like he can hear the way your heart pounds in your chest and your thighs squeeze together. Under his scrutinizing gaze, it’s very hard not to feel shy.
You shake your heard, reaching as high as you can until you’re standing on your tippy toes. Planting your hands on his chest, you use it as leverage, and lean against him while you try to recapture his lips. He pulls them just out of your reach, his smile only getting wider.
“Gotta tell me Honey, or else I won’t know what you want.” Clark teases. He uses his grip on your hips to pull you flush against him, chest to chest, heart to heart. Then he asks the question you’ve been waiting to hear all day, “Can I touch you?”
You don’t feel the pressure on your toes anymore, like he’s holding your weight for you. “Want you Clark.” You sigh. “Please touch me.”
All that bravery ten minutes ago and now you’re like putty in his hands.
He hums, but still doesn’t give in. “Thought we said no funny business at the office?” Clark asks. Despite his teasing tone, you can tell there’s a level of sincerity in his question. This was a line you hadn’t crossed yet, your relationship has only lived inside of little diners and your apartments. This would stretch your bubble further than ever before.
“Not in the office,” you reason and point to a mop in the corner. “Supply closet loophole.” You explain.
Clark nods, you can feel him start to back you up, step by step (though you’re still not convinced your feet are actually touching the ground). “Supply Closet loophole.” He agrees, and when your back finally hits the door his lips crash onto yours.
As previously mentioned, Clark always indulges you.
There’s nothing professional about the way he kisses you now. His tongue finds its way to yours with the first opportunity and one of his legs slot firmly between yours. If you were getting any oxygen to your brain, you’d notice the click of the door locking-ever so practical Clark, but you’re too distracted. All of your attention is diverted to rolling your hips against his thigh and tangling your hands his to hair.
You find the extra curly spot you like, right at the nape of his neck, and tug. As if you pulled on a string Clark groans into your mouth. His hands are slide off of your hips and squarely onto your ass. He squeezes, like he’s just as riled up as you are. He begins to guide your movements, pressing your cunt even harder against his thigh.
You moan, embarrassingly loud for just some dry humping.
“Whats got you all worked up Honey?” He asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.
“You’ve been teasing me all morning.” You whimper. The hand that isn’t tangled in his hair is playing with his tie, rolling the smooth silk of it between your fingers.
Clark chuckles, and then his lips find the crook of your neck. “Me?” He asks, having the audacity to sound surprised. Then he rolls your hips even harder against him, bouncing his leg once for good measure.
You see stars, you can’t be bother to take your skirt off, so it’s bunched around your hips, it’s more of a joke than a piece of clothing at this point. You don’t doubt that your underwear is soaked, distantly you hope he’s wearing black pants. He bounced his leg again.
“Please Clark.” You beg, you need more than this and he knows it. He all but has your body memorized at this point, he’s spent hours upon hours worshipping it. He’s traced every curve with his tongue, twice, He’s made you very aware of his plans to do it a third.
“I wanna see if you can cum like this.” He tells you, unbudging. Another tap with a long punishing roll.
You shake your head, you can hardly see straight. If anyone can get you there it’s Clark, you don’t doubt that. Alas, you don’t have time for trying new things right now. “Not enough time.” You reason, grabbing one his hands and sliding it around to your cunt. “Need more Clark.”
Clark kisses you again. “Another day then.” He relents, and his fingers slip under the band of your panties.
He completely bypasses your clit, much to your dismay. You open your mouth to complain, but before you can he slips on finger inside you. You feel like you could cry from the relief of finally having some inside of you. It only takes a few thrusts for one finger to become two.
Your body slumps into the door when his thumb starts to rub your clit. “Fuck, Clark.” You moan, biting your lip to try and control your volume.
You’re in a pretty abandoned part of the building, only an old fax machine next door, but still- it’d be just your luck that Perry is the only person who uses it.
“That’s my girl.” Clark whispers. His thumb presses even harder, drawing slow circles around your clit while his fingers pick up their pace. “Such a filthy mouth.” He taunts.
He feels so good, he always does. You swear his fingers alone are bigger than a few of the guys you’ve slept with. The first time you told him that Clark made you cum three times with just his hand.
“Want you inside.” You plea, voice breaking as you try not to moan.
Clark clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Gotta cum at least once for me first. You know the rule.”
Sweet, filthy, ridiculously hung Clark.
He’d had told one night about how the first girl he slept with cried because he was so big, it hurt. Now he refus’es to sleep with anyone until they’re ‘properly warmed up’ in his words. You insist you can handle him, but he won’t hear it. The last time you tried to argue he made wait until you came eight times (once for each inch) before finally fucking you.
Now that you think about it, it might just be a poorly camouflaged overstimulation kink. Something to pester him about later.
Clark’s lips find that spot on your neck, the one that makes your shiver and he sucks hard. His hand starts to move even faster and with one more well timed bounce of his leg you’re falling over the edge.
You bite down on your lip so hard you think you can taste blood, and Clark just helps you ride it out. His thumb not stopping until your legs finally release their death lock on his thigh.
“So good Honey,” he whispers you, placing an achingly soft kiss to your lips. “Still want me?” He asks.
You don’t think it’s possible to nod faster. Your body is like Pavlov’s dog for him now, it knows that was just the warm up.
You hear him undo his belt buckle, and he pulls it through the loops in one quick movement. It’s quickly forgotten on the ground. You beat him to the button on his slacks, deftly undoing it and pulling down his zipper in the next breath. Normally you tease him, pull it down slow and make him suffer for forcing you to wait.
Right now there is the small issue of time, or lack there of. There’s not even a clock for you to check, but you’re sure lunch is almost over.
You palm him through his boxers, just so you can hear the noise he always makes when you do it. A broken moan, it sounds like he could shatter, as if he’s made of porcelain and not steel. Clark is painfully hard, a puddle of pre-cum leaving a damp spot on the fabric. You resist the urge to suck on. Again, time.
He pulls your hand away and takes himself out in one swift movement. No matter how many times you see Clark’s cock, it still knocks the air out of your lungs. If you could go back four months and tell yourself that the shy farm boy is packing, you’d probably have ended up in this situation sooner. Instead you bite his lower lip and whisper, “What’s got you so worked up Clark?”
Instead of answering, Clark grabs the back of one of your thighs and pulls it up and over his hip, your other leg follows without prompting. Your under wear is roughly tugged to the side, and he slides in.
“You’re the one who’s was teasing me.” He finally answers.
Your head is swimming. It doesn’t matter how many times you have him, the stretch of his cock still stuns you. You can feel your walls twitch around him, squeezing tight as if welcoming him home. He feels deeper than ever before in this position, like he’s in your ribs. Clark stays still for a moment, chest heaving you know he’s struggling just as much as you are.
“Tight.” He pants, his forehead is pressed against yours, but his eyes are squeezed shut. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was in pain.
A minutes passes before you start to get impatient, wriggling your hips as much as you can at this angle. “Please.” You whimper, hands clawing at his back, trying to find purchase against the smoothness of his button down. “Please move Clark.”
“So impatient,” he whispers. You clench again and it’s like you can feel him snap. He finally obliges, he’s just not nice about it. Clark pulls all the way out and then slams back in with one deep stroke. He’s not even using his hands to hold you anymore, they’re everywhere else. One is under your shirt reaching up to pull your tits out of your bra. The only is back in your clit, drawing those same hard circles but he even faster this time.
As if he can hear the moan coming up your throat Clark presses his mouth to yours and swallows it.
You fall into a rhythm. Clark fucking you as hard and deep as he can with your legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. You’re doing the best you can with the way he has you pinned, squeezing your cunt in time with each thrusts. It feels as if your body is trying to suck him in, keep him there forever. Your hands clutch uselessly at his shoulders.
The you hear it.
The jingle of keys and someone walks down the hall. The unmissable sound of steps coming towards you. You’re forced to deal with two terrifying thoughts at once.
Lunch is definitely over and if you’re not quiet so is this.
Clark is ahead of you, as he so often is.
His face is calm, still concentrated on the task at hand. Like he once again already knew this was coming. With no hesitation he places a hand tightly over your mouth to muffle your moans, and continues to fuck.
The same Clark Kent, who blushed when you asked if he works out, ignores the very real chance of getting caught in order to keep fucking you.
That familiar heat begins to boil in the pool of your stomach.
For a moment you wonder if this is all just a very elaborate wet dream. Then he hits that extra hard to reach spot inside of you and you are reminded that is it very much real. He hits it again, and then again and then you’re cumming, hard. You don’t just fall over the edge you dive headfirst off of it. Clark jumps right behind you. You assume that whoever was in the hallway is gone because his hand moves from your mouth and his jaw is dropped like he’s moaning. You can’t hear a thing, like it’s all faded to white noise. You’re too lost in pleasure to think straight, you don’t even think you’re in your body.
You feel Clark release inside of you, the intimacy of it enough to make you shiver. As your body comes back down to earth, you feel him slump against you, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he sighs.
“Holy shit.” You whisper, hands smoothing out over the back of his shirt. Neither of you move yet, bodies still humming with the after shocks.
“Yeah.” Clark murmurs against your skin. You can’t see his face, but you can feel his smile against your neck.
Slowly you detangle from each other and begin to pieces yourselves back together. You straighten your skirt out, too cockdrunk to care that it’s a wrinkled mess. You’re tucking your shirt back in when remember something he said. “How am I the one who teased you?” You asked, trying to sound accusing but too fucked out to muster the necessary force.
“You’re wearing my favorite skirt.” Clark’s says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And my shirt.” He adds, walking over too you. His belt is still undone but he helps you fix your buttons anyway.
Looking down, you realize he was very much right. This is his shirt. You had gotten ready at his apartment this morning. You keep a hand of clothes in his closet and your white button up must have gotten switched with one of his. You’d been in too much of a rush to notice, tucking the excess into your waist band and rolling the sleeves up to your elbows. “You didn’t think to tell me?” You ask, though you’re not exactly angry.
“Figured it was on purpose.” He admitted, “That’s why I was teasing back all morning.”
At least he admits it.
Feeling generous you reach down and buckle his belt. After you reach up and straighten out his (very askew) tie. Then your stomach breaks the silence.
“Ugh, I’m hungry.” You complain, realizing you had just used up for entire lunch break without thinking about the fact that you do still need to eat.
“I told Jimmy to bring us back subs.” Clark assures you. He fixes your hair, helping tame any pieces that were rogue or flat. “Told him we had to work straight through lunch.”
“You knew I was gonna do this?” You ask, smiling anyway.
“If you didn’t- I was.” Clark explains. Adjusting his glasses.
“Awww, we’re so insync.” You melt a little. On a serious note, you really do love how you and Clark are almost always on the same page.
“I think we’re just horny.” Clark laments. He presses one last kiss to your lips, then opens the door.
“Mind sleeping at mine tonight? I need some shirts apparently.” You ask, hand brushing his as you walk side by side back to the elevator. The hallway is still deserted, whoever had been there was long gone.
Clark shakes his head, “I have a sweater you can wear tomorrow.”
The doors ding and you and Clark step inside. By the time you get upstairs, you’ve transformed back into co-workers. With a polite smile you separate and retreat back to your own desks.
You you have about five minutes of peace at, just enough time to unwrap and take the first bite of your lunch when Lois shouts, from across the floor.
“Nice hickey!”
Your hand flys to your neck, and when you spin around to look at her, you don’t miss how beat red Clark’s face is. Before you can even try to play it off, Jimmy comes up behind him and pats him on the shoulder.
Just like that, with a shared smile, some laughter and maybe even a little relief, the bubble pops. Something a little more real, and a little deeper takes its place
Authors Note: working on a masterlist as we speak. another one in the can!!! I have lots of ideas and stuff on working on but I also get very tired so bear with me.
Also is now a good time to admit I haven’t seen the movie yet??? Clark Kent has taken over my TL and subsequently my heart.
Thank you so much for your time and for reading! It means the world to me ❤️
