Pairing: obsessed!kidnapper!clark x abducted!black!reader
Warnings: MDNI, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, kidnapping, sexual harassment, sexual assault, heavily dubious consent, light abuse, crazy!clark, spanking, aggravated skin mentioned, rough sex, somnophilia, dubious cock warming, passing out, HEAVY crying, mentions of hope.
Clark was your savior that night, rescuin' you from the whippin' sounds of cars passin' you on the highway as you frantically walked forward not sure where you were, just followin' the silver barrier that ran along the highways edge.
Now as you sit in his broody kitchen— warm with the breeze from outside that he lets in through his open window located in the livin' room next to the kitchen.
He breaks the silence first
“Can I get ya anything to drink?” he questions quietly as if it isn’t just you and him in the house, you hear a floorboard creak after his question. Old house still settlin' after all the years it's been lived in.
You look up at him and just shake your head no, words will surely fail you if you try to speak, your not sure how long you where out there.
Uncomfortable silence enters the kitchen for you as he stands up and turns away to wash the dishes, his huge frame blockin' most of the sink from your view, in your own sick way maybe if he hadn't been keeping you here against your will you might have enjoyed the view.
You watched him quietly tidy up around the house you just so desperately tried to run from, but no, reality settles over you just as he starts “That’s the third time..” he sighs ”..this week." busyin' himself with closing the open window, he knows better than to make it that easy.
You turn away from him as your eyes burn knowing if you look at him you’ll start crying. again. because you failed. again.
He dries his hands off and makes his way over to you
“what’s wrong darlin’, you don’t like it here no more?” his firm hand lands on your shoulder urging you to answer his questions before he loses his temper, he knows you never liked it but he asks anyways always tryin' to one up you.
“i neva liked it here” you whisper out curling in on yourself in the chair he just huffs and runs his hands through the hair at your nape, you involuntarily shiver in his heavy grasp and you can hear him hum in satisfaction it makes your stomach roll.
“I'll start the bath for you hun, stay right there..” he walks away towards the bathroom rubbing the back of his neck, he hopes you don’t run again he just wants a good night.
The truth is you’ve been locked up with clark for a month now, you " disappeared" a month ago last seen in your office on a phone call.
Now you sit in dread as you hear the tub start up clark whistlin' some tune his ma prolly taught him around the house when he was younger. The same house your in now actually probably would have enjoyed it if not for the situation, you loved the country.
You read the time 9:45pm it glares brightly, you left at 5 so it was about a whole four hours and forty five minutes of which you where gone, much longer than last time (2 hours) he had found you alarmingly quick which you later found out the reason; the big brute put a tracker in your arm like an iud while you where sleepin'.
You screamed and kicked for hours to the point he had to tie you up in his kitchen chair in the middle of the barn, he can’t take it when you’re bratty.
Clark appears in the doorway looking as good as sin, he gives you a small smile “baths ready sunshine” the nickname feels like knives in your back as you stand up to meet him his hand meets your lower back guidin' you towards the restroom.
Last time you tried to defy him and not go he had made you, he wasn’t rough or by any means rude if anythin' you where with the biting, scratching, screaming, and crying you know all the things that happen when you get kidnapped.
he just pushed through it all which led you to now, undressin' meekly under clark’s watchful eye, he hasn’t tried anythin' the month you’ve been over but the mornin' wood he wakes up with every mornin' obviously isn’t above it.
The bathroom is slightly foggy as you settle into the cracked pink plaster bathtub, aching limbs finally relaxin' against the seafoam green tiles; he notices “there ya go sweetheart, just relax”. if you close your eyes and listen he almost sounds hot.
The thought makes you shake your head.
You can’t help it as the water splashes at your abrupt movement; you turn fully towards clark “do you have to be in here when i’m in here?..” you asked lookin' down at your twiddly fingers.
For a minute your question doesn’t register as clark sits on the toilet legs spread in that lazy man spread they do, he’s been staring at your tits respectfully this whole time, your startin' to wonder if he even heard you at all almost repeatin' yourself before he interrupts "no.. I can leave baby just thought.. You'd need the company" he offers whilst lowering his gaze to your angel wing necklace that dangles , both of you can tell he's lying and he won't actually leave if you ask.
You don't even bother with playing his game.
The bath doesn't last long as his stare makes you uncomfortable you wash up as quick as you can grabbing the pink soap bottle you told him not to buy you "I'm not 16 anymore!" you had yelled at him and threw the bottle across the room "Angel! stop throwing stuff! Age ain't got nothin" to do with color!".
He right but you don't care.
After you finish washin' up you let the water out, eyes scanning the bathroom for a towel, and they don't find one "where's my towel..." you murmur.
"Isn't one" he states likes it's the weather "scuse me?" "your excused" you gawk at him in actual disbelief.
He just frowns condescendingly walking towards you slowly makin' you cower back in the now empty tub he leans in closer breathe minglin' with your lips almost touching, his heady gaze pins you in place "Runaways. Don't. Get. A. Towel." he states simply while rising back up on his feet you ogle his buldge in his pants and clock he's hard, fuckin' weirdo.
He walks away after that not even givin' you a second glance, you sit in the tub curled up in yourself eyes on your knees as you cry and shake with tremors wishin' for a light out.
You don't get one.
Clarks sittin' on the couch when you exit the room from getting dressed, baby doll nightie that he makes you wear snug against your body. His suspenders are off his shoulders now, two buttons on his white button up unbuttoned at the top, dark jeans tight against his thighs. He looks over at you when you enter and smiles crudely " see, did just fine without a towel" you ignore him he's only trying to pick fun of you.
You sit on the opposite end of the couch when he starts to count down from three and you get the hint and make your way over curlin' into him, this is worst part of the night and you hate it.
Clarks thick hands grab your hips and positions you to sit in his lap like its nothing, he starts to pepper kisses over your face and neck "don't wanna do this" or "you make me do it baby" being murmured through the kisses he places on your face.
He finally pulls back and your already cryin' knowing what's coming; Punishment.
"Gone get it all over with, quick and easy sunshine.. Just for you.." he mumbles while his tongue drags against your check tastin' your salty tears,his hands slide down your back down down down until he reaches your ass.
Smoothing small circles over your butt he retracts when you flinch and leans back waitin' for you to move.
You unceremoniously drop yourself across his lap but not before you pull down your cake undies to expose your butt.
It's still red from yesterday's punishment.
He notices and chooses to comment "my poor baby getting bruised and red, I wonder why.." anger fills you in small increments now at his condescendin' tone, as if he's not spanking a grown woman from runnin' away from her captor.
You just lie there against his thighs and he takes the hint, calloused hands rubbin' your butt to throw you off.
"Count" is the last thing you heard before his cracks down hard he's never nice when it's punishment time, you think he likes it.
The strike makes you squeak out in straight pain, he rubs it after listenin' to you crying heavily against his thigh "not that bad love.. just started.. now where's my number?"
"1.." you let out around a mouth full of spit.
He strikes you again and again and again until you reach 10, by the time you reach 10 you're shakin' and you can't breathe dizzy from Clarks strong discipline.
He lays you against his chest as tremors wreck your body makin' you shake in his grasp as he holds you tight through it head on your head humming the whole time.
After some time your cries calm down and he starts to rock you against him his hard on pressin' against your undies, the pleasure makes you gasp out as you chase it mind not fully understandin' who you're grindin' on.
Clark doesn't care he's happy either way, his fingers caress your brown skin as he tilts your head up to kiss him back.
The kiss is very sweet which you didn't think Clark could be, he paid attention to what you liked and didn't and made it into something you loved.
Like the wet twist of the thumb and pointer finger against your pebbled nipple as you bounce up and down on him.
More like he's bouncin' you himself with small movements of his hips, you clocked out about three orgasms ago but he's still going, excited to explore this newfound activity with you.
Sounds leave your garbled throat as you cum around Clark again "good job honey that's your fifth one, maybe we can get a sixth.." he groans out as you contract around him tightly his cum has already leaked out of you and onto the sheets.
Your lifeless against Clark when he slides both of his around your waist, he uses the grasp to fuck you down on the length you couldn't fit, like a fuck toy he jerks you aggressively up and down "gnna make me cum s-sunshine just hold o-on" he stammers out through rugged breathes.
You can't take it anymore the sensation of him abusing you g-spot to much after 5 orgasms, your body relaxes against him fully as you pass out, eyes closing slowly.
Clark groans as he taps your cheek with wet fingers, you don't even flinch so he pauses its okay he can wait till you wake back up.
𓏲 clark kent is a shy, perverted panty-sniffer . nsfw hcs w/ fem reader!
18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | WARNINGS ARE MARKED, PLEASE MIND THE TAGS!
Panty sniffer!Clark who always has a perfectly innocent excuse for crashing at your place, but really, he just needs to recharge in your warmth, curled around you like a giant, bashful golden retriever, his hard cock pressed against your thigh as he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in while pretending to be already asleep.
Panty sniffer!Clark who, one night, finds your apartment empty and his usual comfort missing, so he wanders into your bedroom, drawn by the faint, lingering scent of you on your laundry pile, and before he knows it, he’s pressing a pair of your lace panties to his face, his face flushing crimson as his hand drifts downward, fisting his already throbbing length, thighs damp with precum as he rubs the gusset against his lips, tasting you.
Panty sniffer!Clark who gets caught red-handed, frozen mid-stroke, your panties still clutched in his fist, his cock slick and leaking, standing rigid and embarrassed against his stomach, panicked like a deer in headlights, stammering out apologies that tumble over each other. “Mff…‘msorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why, I just—” while your gaze just trails down to his twitching, neglected erection.
Panty sniffer!Clark who whimpers when you kneel in front of him, gently prying the stolen fabric from his trembling fingers and setting it aside, telling him it’s okay as you take him into your mouth, his hips jerking instinctively, shoving his cock deeper down your throat until you choke, his heavy balls slapping against your chin as he groans, “Ohh godd—I’m sorry—I can’t—”
Panty sniffer!Clark who can barely form a coherent sentence between shaky breaths, his huge hands hovering awkwardly over your head, afraid to touch, as he whispers, “This isn’t—you don’t have to—I ngh… stole your—” but you just hum around him, making him gasp and buck forward, his precum coating your tongue as you swirl it around his weeping slit.
Panty sniffer!Clark whose face is so red it could rival his cape, his glasses askew, as you pull off for a second to reassure him with a soft giggle, telling him it’s cute how flustered he gets, that he works so hard and deserves to relax—and then you spit on his cock, slicking him up before taking him again, deeper this time, your throat relaxing as he hits the back of it, his hips stuttering.
Panty sniffer!Clark who finally lets his fingers thread through your hair, gentle and tentative, as you take him deeper, his breath hitching into tiny, embarrassed moans, and he keeps mumbling “sorry” between each one, until you pull away just to shush him with a kiss to his thigh, hollowing your cheeks as you bob faster, your hand pumping what your mouth can’t fit.
Panty sniffer!Clark who cums with a strangled cry, his release spilling into your mouth in thick, hot pulses as you swallow every drop, his hips thrusting shallowly through the aftershocks, and he slumps forward, whispering a hoarse, shaky: “thank you... ♥︎” against your skin, still apologizing even as you stroke his hair and tell him he’s such a good boy, his softening cock still wet on your lips as you kiss the tip one last time.
Panty sniffer!Clark who lets out a breathy, relieved laugh when you finally pull back, thinking it’s over—only for you to cup his jaw, swipe your thumb across his swollen, spit-slick lower lip, and whisper, “I’m not done with you yet,” your voice low and dripping with intent.
Panty sniffer!Clark whose eyes go wide behind his crooked glasses, a shaky, disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth as he scoffs softly, shaking his head at your playfulness but his hands are already finding your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as he guides you up onto his lap with an eager, reverent touch, his cock twitching against your thigh.
Panty sniffer!Clark who gasps, throaty and raw, when you settle over him, the thick, heavy heat of him pressing right against your soaked core through the thin, ruined fabric of your underwear—and you wince sharply, a pleasurable and aching sting because even half-hard, he’s still massive. Kryptonian in every single inch, he notices immediately as his brow furrows with genuine concern even as his hips can’t up involuntarily.
Panty sniffer!Clark who starts to grind up into you, slow and torturously careful, his big palms splayed across your lower back, pressing you down onto him as he murmurs, “Is— is this okay? … Tell me if it’s too much,” even as you moan brokenly, your nails raking down his chest, leaving pink crescent moons in their wake, your head falling back as you rock against him.
Panty sniffer!Clark whose rhythm picks up despite himself, his hips rolling in desperate, hungry circles, the thick ridge of him dragging against your clit through the soaked lace, and you’re whimpering openly now, face buried in the crook of his neck, biting down hard on the thick muscle there to muffle your cries—your teeth sinking in just enough to make him hiss, drool slicking his heated skin as you moan and gasp against him, your hips stuttering.
Panty sniffer!Clark who keeps apologizing between shuddering breaths, “Sorry, ssorry, I’m trying, I’m being good! ♥︎ I promise—” even as his hands grip your ass tighter, kneading and spreading you open over his lap, guiding you faster, his own control fraying because you feel so incredible, wet and hot and grinding down on him like you need it, and he’s so desperately trying to be your good boy, even as his hips snap up and you cry out, nails scratching tracks down his back.
a/n: I’m only a little ways into Smallville, but Clark totally gives me “can’t swim” vibes lol.
Clark “Can’t Swim” Kent is about to go to college, and unfortunately, he still lives up to the nickname.
It’s not really his fault that he can’t swim—Jonathan tried the old throw the baby in the lake strategy, not unknowing that his baby could simply fly away if under duress. In fact, that was the day the Kents learned their son could fly—it took a while to get him down from the old apple tree…
You had started dating Clark soon after moving to Smallville your senior year. He nearly ran over you in the hallway, knocking over the rom com you were holding in your hands. He apologized profusely but you weren’t even remotely mad—he was six-foot-two pounds of muscle and a good head of hair with a pretty smile and nice eyes. There were worse people to run into. When he asked how he could make it up to you, you told him to read your book that was still in his hands, and then maybe buy you a coffee.
Long story short, coffee ended up being your first date. And you’d been together ever since.
Now, being from the coast, you were used to everyone around you basically being born knowing how to swim. As it started getting warmer and exams started being over, you wanted nothing more than to get outside and go for a swim.
Unfortunately, with Smallville being landlocked in the middle of Kansas, and being severely affected by meteor radiation, there weren’t exactly a lot of options. But, one of your friends told you Granville, the next town over, had historically clean water, so you figured why not try it out.
Well, Clark blushed bright red when you suggested the idea to him. At first you thought he was being naughty, assuming you were going skinny dipping or something like that, as his brain is prone to go in those directions.
But nope. Noooo. He can’t swim.
Martha and Jonathan confirmed the story over pot pie at the farm one night. You were in on the Clark Being An Alien secret from about two weeks in, and it made story time all the more enjoyable.
“Well, I did try—….” started Jonathan.
“He threw him in the lake out back,” Martha cut in. Jonathan merely forked a piece of pie in response. “And I reminded him that our son had ran across the entire property just a week ago…”
“Before I could walk,” Clark butted in, knowing the line, drinking from his glass of milk. You grinned at him, and he discreetly squeezed your thigh under the table.
“Before he could walk,” Martha echoed. “But no. If Hiram Kent learned how to swim by being thrown in the lake, and Jonathan Kent learned how to swim by being thrown in the lake…”
“Clark Kent would learn how to swim by being thrown in the lake?” you guessed. Martha grinned.
“Apparently that was the case. When I walked back out there later in the afternoon, Jonathan was on a ladder trying to get Clark out of the old apple tree. He only came down once I offered him some of my blueberry pie, of course.”
“Naturally,” you agreed, knowing your boyfriends eating habits all too well. He was too busy polishing off his plate to care, anyhow.
“In my defense—…” Jonathan tried.
“Not today, honey,” Martha stopped him. “Well, anyways, I think my boy was scared of the water more than anything for the longest time…” (Clark choked out a defense) “And then the subject just never really came back up.”
“Huh,” you said decisively, giving Clark a look. His eyes widened slightly, already knowing where you were going with that.
Now you’re standing in front of the secluded, gorgeous Granville lake, with Clark standing ever so slightly behind you.
“Clarrrrrrrk,” you grumble. “Did you even bring your bathing suit?”
“Was I supposed to wear it on the drive over?”
The sad part is, he genuinely looks confused.
“Well,” you said, peeling off your shirt. His eyes immediately dropped down to the newly exposed skin, pleasantly accentuated by pretty pink fabric. “I might not have given you the memo…. but I certainly did,” you finished with a smirk, taking off your shorts.
Clark sometimes gets this impish, dazed little smile; one where you can just tell your words are going in one ear and right out the other, because his mind stopped and fixated on something dirty. It never fails to make you blush, even if he’s seen you with less layers on.
Presently, he’s staring at you with one such smile, and not much going on behind those baby blue eyes.
“Helloooooo, Earth to Clark,” you snap your fingers in front of his face.
“Oops.”
“So… are you gonna change?”
“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Change. Sure.” His eyes were still glued on your body.
“Clark?” you said with a teasing lilt in your voice. He finally met your eyes, smile spreading wider, the pink on his cheeks brighter.
“Go.”
He trudged over to the old pick up truck, grabbing his suit. “Should I change over here or in front of you?” he calls. You blush despite yourself.
“Perv,” you call back.
“Prude,” he retorts. You shake your head fondly. You both know you’re anything but.
Finally, he comes back over, clad in nothing but his only swimsuit—red trunks you forced him to buy at the dollar spot because apparently he didn’t have any.
One thing about Clark is that it’s always obvious he’s a big guy. In stature, in the way he’s almost always looking over peoples heads in the hallway. But, his sweet face, and his tendency to wear oversized shirts and cardigans undersells the fact that he’s absolutely jacked underneath. Years of working on the farm and everything else… he has to be. But you never tire of the sight, especially underneath the glow of the mid-afternoon sun peaking through the foliage.
“See something you like?” he teases.
“Shut up.”
“Maybe we should just skip this whole thing and have fun in… other ways,” he suggests, taking a step closer so that he’s fully towering over you.
You lean in slightly, feeling his warm breath on your face, seeing his blue eyes darken. Then you poke his stomach, hard. He grunts and you laugh, running off into the water.
“Hey—that’s not—.”
“Come on! The waters perfect,” you say, submerging yourself. You had missed the feeling of having all of your senses being taken over by water.
Finally, you hear a clunky splash, and you can’t help but smile to yourself.
You come back up, only to see Clark awkwardly standing waist deep, unsure what to do with any part of his body. He looks like a scared kitten. You start laughing.
“Hey!” he defends.
“I’m sorry—you just look so uncomfortable,” you laugh.
“You’re not very nice, you know. I could always just leave you here and drive back to Smallville.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t,” he conceded, striding closer to you. You splashed him. He looks at you like a hurt puppy, and you almost feel bad. Almost. Then, a lightbulb flashes in his head, and suddenly a giant wave of water engulfs you.
You shriek, jumping back down into the water, trying to wait it out. Clark merely grabs you like weigh all of two pounds, pulling you out of the water and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You start laughing uncontrollably, hitting his back even though you know he can barely feel it.
He laughs too, of course, grabbing your waist and holding you tight, trying to stop you from squirming.
“Clark!”
He somehow lets you fall into his arms bridal style. He’s almost pec deep in the water, but he doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes on you as he dunks you halfway.
“Not so scared now, huh?” you exclaim.
“I guess not.”
“And here I thought I was going to teach you how to swim.”
“What, like breast-stroke?” he asks, shamelessly looking you up and down.
You blush. “I never would have guessed you were as horny as you are when I first met you.”
It’s his turn to redden. “Yeah, well, maybe you bring it out of me.”
Your thighs press against each other instinctively.
“Soo…” he raises an eyebrow.
“Clark Kent, I am not having lake sex with you right now.”
“So later works for you?”
“Clark! Is sex the only thing on your brain at all times?”
“No. You’re on my brain all the time. So, sex is only on my brain a lot of the time. See the difference?”
“You’re so lucky you’re cute,” you say, jabbing his chest.
“Yeah, I know,” he agrees, his breath fanning your cheek. He always manages to smell like freshmint.
“I mean… so lucky,” you breathe, before meeting him in the middle. His plush lips immediately interlock with yours, making you feel soft and warm all over. He sighs into your mouth like it’s the first kiss, dreamy and gentle with a quiet fervor thrumming underneath.
“I still have the good blankets in the truck bed from last time,” he says mischievously when he pulls away.
The mention of ‘last time’ turns you on, reminiscent of a night spent under the stars.
“Of course you do.”
“Let me make you feel good? Please?”
“Yeah Clark. Please.”
He groans, before kissing you again, and then lifting you out of the water and striding over to the truck bed. He wasted no time fixing the blankets with one arm and keeping your feet off the dirt with the other, before gingerly laying you down against the soft fabric.
“There she is,” he coos fondly, climbing over you. “My pretty girl.”
You grab at him, pulling him close. “Oh, Clark.”
“I gotcha, sweet thing,” he says, grinding into you. You moan, arching into the sensation and feeling just how hard against you, getting slicker in the process.
For having such an angelic, innocent-looking face, Clark can be such a perv. And so naughty. Which works wonderfully in your favor.
“Y’know, I was already half hard just thinking about you in a bikini. And then I saw you in a bikini. And suddenly my shorts didn’t fit quite right,” he says, kissing your neck as he spoke, leaving playful bites against your collarbone.
“Ah—,” is all you manage to get out as his hands drift towards the waistband of your damp bottoms.
“I mean honey. You always look good. But this? Soaked by the lake and in your element? Damn. You could tell me I was in Heaven and I’d believe you.”
“Clark—,” you mumble as his fingers start edging where you want him most, tugging your bottoms to the side.
He slips two fingers into your eager entrance, immediately stretching you in the way you so adore. You moan, and his eyes flick back to yours momentarily. “All these beautiful views, and yet you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I—,” you can’t even figure out how to finish the sentence, especially when he’s quickly dissipating any thought that tries to form in your head.
“Yeah, that’s okay, sweet girl. Empty that smart little brain of yours. Let me make you feel good.”
“Clark—ohhhh,” you groan as he starts moving faster, hitting that spot you can never seem to reach on your own.
“That’s it, messy girl. Let go for me, uh huh,” he says, a smirk plain on his face.
He always has to take it further, drawing out your orgasm until your brain starts getting mushy, and your face gets that little lovestruck smile he is so fond of.
“You like that, honey?”
“Y-yeahh,” you say, your voice shaky, your head lulling to the side eyes on his strong biceps.
“Cute girl,” he coos, cupping your face and turning you to face him and his gentle stare. “You tapping out?”
You look at him like he just told you the earth is flat. He laughs, rubbing his thumb over your rosy cheek. “Needy little thing.”
“You’re so full of yourself,” you roll your eyes.
“You don’t seem to mind,” he says with a click of the tongue. You reach up and pull your top up, exposing your tits to him. His eyes widen, hand coming up to up and squeeze.
“And I’m the needy one?” you say with a breathy little laugh.
He doesn’t even look up, too focused on leaving love bites with his sharp canines over the soft flesh. “Tell me what you want, baby girl.”
“Clark,” you protest. You know he knows exactly what you want.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice taking on that dominant edge it sometimes gets, the one that makes you hang onto everything he says and register it just a little too late. His teeth graze your nipple, threatening to bite down. “Go on…”
“I want you to fuck me, Clark. Please.”
His mouth comes back to yours, kissing you hard. “That wasn’t so hard, was it,” he says.
“Shut up,” you retort. He laughs, reaching to pull his shorts down.
The first stretch is always big with Clark. He’s well endowed to a fault—a step past guys who exude bde, where it’s big enough that he’s almost embarrassed. Almost being the key word.
You gasp and whine, like you always do. And he’s always there to swallow your every noise with a too-sweet kiss, deterring the little scrunch between your eyebrows. His plush lips are a welcome distraction, his little grunts delicious. When he bottoms out, it’s like being on cloud nine. “So full—,” you moan, leaning into his touch as you feel him twitch inside of you.
“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he’ll say, holding your face reverently with a touch so gentle, it’s like an oxymoron to his large, strong hand.
He smiles when he catches you in reverie, a tender look reserved for your intimate gaze. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” you say dreamily.
“Attagirl,” he says, before he starts moving, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him.
You moan his name like it’s the first time, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively to hold him that much closer.
Clark works quickly, because he knows he’s just as close as you are, if not closer. He craves nothing more than seeing that sweet look on your face when you come again, and then to feel you fully as he bottoms out again.
He doesn’t last long—he wasn’t lying about being aroused the whole day—but neither do you.
Eventually he collapses on your next to you, pulling you close and kissing you on the forehead.
“You know we’re still going swimming, right?” you ask.
“Ugh, really?”
You both laugh.
“I love you,” he says, kissing you soft.
“I love you too. So much.”
Clark Kent still can’t swim, but at least he’s in love.
dream date is giving head to clark kent while he’s trying his hardest not to blow his huge load and whimper embarrassingly (he fails at both)
clark isn’t going to say he’s against getting blowjobs, of course not. he’d just much rather pleasure you. it’s more gentlemanly and doesn’t make him feel so…dirty. as good as head feels, it always makes him feel so guilty, like he’s just using you.
all this to say, in this moment, clark hopes you never get off of your knees.
you’ve got him on the couch with his head fallen back, mouth hanging open and clark would believe you if you said this was heaven.
“mmm honey you’re so good. so good. i love you so much. ohhhh i love you so much.” clark’s rambles just make you giggle around him. he lets out another moan at the sudden soft vibration.
clark squeezes his shut tight before swinging his head up to look down at you. you’re such a vision to him. even in this state. he brings his hands from their iron grip on the edge of the couch to your face, moving your hair out of his view.
you open your eyes to look up at him and the moan he lets out makes you smile around him. clark’s head falls back again as you give an extra hard suck, hollowing your cheeks.
bobbing your head up and down in between harsh sucks to his tip and softer ones to his balls. clark’s moans only grow louder the longer you work him.
“shoot sweetheart i’m gonna–ohhh yes!” clark’s hips jerking up irregularly, hands holding your head down. your own hands come up to squeeze his balls as spurt after spurt spill into your mouth.
you try your best to swallow it but it’s just too much. it spills out of your mouth until you just pull back, coughing a little.
he swipes the cum off your lip, “sorry about the mess, sugar. i’ve gotta work on warning you sooner, huh?” he chuckles a little, giving you his sweet farmer boy smile despite your current position.
you look up at clark, grabbing his thumb and sucking his cum off of it, making a big show of wrapping your lips around the digit. you pull off slow, moving to lick up the cum that spilled on his cock. he moans and chuckles again, “you’ll be the death of me, you know that?”
“I say we take this awful old thing off, yeah?” Clark Kent x fem!reader
Summary: Whiny Jealous Clark doesn’t like your Batman tank top…
Warnings: NSFW, pet names (doll, baby), reader mentioned as “girl”
AN: Wrote this on a whim. I saw a cute Batman tank top on Mercari and immediately I was inspired. Didn’t proofread this so my apologies! Enjoy!
You sat on the edge of the bed folding clothes as you watched the news. You had the habit of watching the news whenever Clark was out being Superman. Paranoid and worried but also you just loved watching him in action. The helicopters filming him struggling to keep up with him as he fights some space anomaly.
You draw your attention back to your clothes. Folding the shirts you’ve stolen from Clark that he doesn’t even allow you to give back. You’ve been procrastinating on laundry for weeks hence the outfit you currently had on. If Clark saw you he’d freak. Freak is an understatement. He’d pout and sigh like a puppy. A old and washed out Batman tank top you’ve found at the very bottom of your closet. You’ve hidden this gem from him knowing he’d feel betrayed. Can’t let Clark know you were ever a fan of someone he’s very close with.
You love Clark you truly do but despite being Superman, the most admired man on planet earth, he’d get all annoying and insecure upon seeing you in Batman merch and not Superman merch. You giggle to yourself even thinking about his reaction but you’d rather not deal with having to explain to him that you bought the tank top years ago and how you definitely think he’s the better most handsome superhero.
As you finish up with the rest of the laundry, you stand to put everything in its place. Your shirts in the drawers, your zip ups in the closet, and Clark’s shirts on the edge of your bed as you decide what to wear for the night. As you ponder you feel a quick breeze followed by a tender touch at the back of your neck. You yelp in surprise.
“Scared you baby?” Clark says as the scent of rain and the city washes over you.
“Always! I hate when you do that!” you giggle as he pushed his face further into your neck.
“God I missed you so much. What have you been up to doll?” he holds your hips and he looks over at the shirts on the bed. He smiles. He then looks behind at the tv to see where he was just at with the words “Superman has fled the scene.” He reaches for the remote and turns off the tv.
“Laundry and I was about to hop in the shower,” you playfully push him away and reach for the pile of shirts. You turn around and face him as you sit down taking his appearance in. You analyze him making sure he wasn’t hurt and didn’t have any holes in his suit that you needed to patch up. You finally look up at him and notice his face. Pure disgust. You sigh preparing for the tantrum he would throw.
“Seriously… Batman… I- where did- how could you-“ he grabs his shirts from you and places them onto the side.
“Ok I can explain-“
“Batman?! You know that guys a freak right?” he pushes you onto the mattress and burrows his face into your neck making you giggle again.
“Ugh I knew you’d say something about it. Listen it’s an old shirt. I bought this thing years ago. I didn’t have any clean shirts,” you grab his face to make him look at you. The biggest pout on his face. You hold in your laugh.
“You have awful taste you know? Batman?! I’d rather you wear Green Lantern stuff… actually… no. The thought makes me nauseous actually. Don’t wear that,” he straddles your hips making sure to not put his entire weight on you despite your previous requests for him to do so. You’ve always claimed you liked the feeling of his heavy body on yours. He always claimed he was scared he’d knock the wind out of you for doing so.
“You’re ridiculous Clark. I have like thousands of Superman shirts. You’ll survive the one Batman shirt I own,” you grab his jaw and squeeze slightly. He grabs your wrist in return and plants a soft kiss on your knuckles. The kisses travel down your arm onto your shoulder and back to your neck.
“I hate this shirt so much. I’m not a controlling guy. I don’t care what you wear but I draw the line at other superhero merch. You’re my girl. Not Batman’s girl,” his kisses travel to your collar bone and he feels your breath hitch.
“Trust me Clark. I’m well aware I’m your girl,” you say with an eye roll and a smirk which was immediately wiped off as you felt his dick press into your lower stomach. You gasp. He sits up and looks at your shirt once more.
“I say we take this awful old thing off, yeah?” his pupils are dilated, his slicked back hair now falling in front of his face framing it so beautifully, his curls slightly damp from the rain, his cheeks a dusty pink and his bottom lip in between his teeth. God he was going to be the death of you.
“Take your cape off first big blue,” you grin as you watch him quickly move to his feet and fight with his tight suit. He finally gets it off his body and there’s a moment of hesitation. Almost like he was preparing to pounce on you and rip the shirt to shreds. Which he does. Kinda.
He grabbed your ankles and pulled you closer to him at the foot of the bed. He positioned your legs around him and he leaned over. His big rough hands finding the hem of your tank top and he pulls it over your head. He holds it with his index finger and thumb. He looks at it with distaste. Then before you could blink, the shirt was gone. You look at the floor. Black dust.
“Good riddance!” he says so proudly of himself. He looks back at you only to be met with your expression filled with something that says really?!
“Good riddance?! Clark did you have to shoot it with your laser eyes?” you shake your head in disbelief.
“Well I was going to rip it to shreds first and then shoot it with my laser eyes,” he looked so damn happy it annoyed you.
“Who’s going to clean that up?” you sigh.
“…Me… after I eat you out? As an apology of course, but also because you owe me for even making me look at such an eye sore. Seriously… Batman?! I still can’t-“ you cut him off as you plant your foot on his hardened cock.
“I get it Clark. Now shut up before I pull out my Wonder Woman lingerie set.”
“…Please tell me you’re kidding. You’re kidding right?” He grabs your calf as he rubs himself further onto your foot.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. Now apologize for burning my shirt.”
summary: the man next door is cute but he has a girlfriend. what to do...
pairing: clark kent x fem!reader, clark kent x lois lane
cw: mature (18+), sexual tension, pining, emotional infidelity, jealous!clark, kissing, mention of random hook-up, hickies, voyeur-adjacent activity, mutual masturbation (kinda), mild violence (superhero stuff), a bunch of disjointed scenes pasted together XD, mention of krypto, not beta read
wc: 2.4k
note: i do not condone cheating! dedicated to nonnie
part one
---
your friendly neighbor was gone before you woke up that morning. he left a note on your kitchen table, hastily written across the back of a receipt, thanking you for letting him stay… and his number for emergencies.
then he stopped coming by for a while.
no requests for sugar. no lingering pauses disguised as small talk. no more secret glances (which weren't very subtle in the first place).
but despite seeing very little of the man himself, his presence never completely disappeared from your life.
there are still little reminders of him everywhere -- his voice through the walls, his mail occasionally ending up in your post box, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the hallway when you're rushing out the door to work.
one evening, you even heard a dog barking when you were getting home from work.
which is strange, considering your building doesn't allow pets.
you're slightly annoyed by his sudden disappearance from your life, even more so because this was exactly what you wanted. he's no longer there, tempting you with something you know you can never have.
you tell yourself that should make things easier. but it doesn't.
---
you've started to resent those breathy groans that carry through the walls in the evening.
you try not to give in anymore, determined to distance yourself from the untouchable man.
you don't let his voice pull you into your own bed, your mind swimming with thoughts of him. you don't let his whines influence your thighs to rub against each other, or let his broken groans linger in your head long after the apartment falls quiet.
you've gotten better at ignoring him.
or, at least, you like to think you have.
"f-fuck, please." his deep voice is muffled by the wall, but you hear every word perfectly.
you bite your lip and try to focus on the youtube video playing on your laptop, sitting cross-legged on your bed as you dry your hair. the heat from the shower still lingers beneath your skin, making this situation even worse. you're soft, relaxed, and not nearly as composed as you want to be.
you can picture him clearly: hand wrapped around himself, chest flushed with need, soft blue eyes fixed on you. his hips desperately thrusting against his fist until he makes a mess of himself.
"ugh," you whisper quietly to yourself, "shut up."
you don't know whether you're saying it to him or to yourself.
it's almost like he hears you anyway, because his next sound is softer, breathier.
you close your eyes for a second.
okay. one last time.
you let the video continue playing in the background as you sink back against the pillows, slipping a hand into your pajama shorts.
---
you've been pent up and it's all his fault.
he must know when you're home, because every time you drag yourself back from a long day at work, he somehow has you fisting the sheets as you come apart together through the wall.
is he that insatiable?
are you?
so really, who can blame you when you finally decide to outsource your pleasure?
your attention drifts away from the man-of-the-week you're kissing when a knock sounds at the door.
you were just getting things started, letting him pin you down against the mattress because you needed the weight of someone else's body against yours. he's tall, with dark hair, light eyes, and dimples that appear whenever he smiles. he doesn't have the sweet personality you keep hoping to find, but you're not really with him for conversation.
at first, you decide to ignore it, assuming it's a delivery. you moan against his mouth, letting his hand slip beneath your shirt and cup your chest.
then another knock follows, this one a little sharper.
"just a minute!" you call out, pushing against his chest to break the kiss. he tries to follow, chasing your lips and keeping you close, but you pull away before he can continue. "give me a second. i'll be back," you whisper, already climbing off the bed and leaving him behind.
you fix your hair and flatten out your shirt as you walk to the door.
you open it to find clark standing there with a box in his hands.
"oh, clark." you try to slow your breathing, still rapid from the make-out session you'd been having. "what brings you here?"
his gaze darts behind you, lingering for a second too long before returning to you.
he offers you the box. "i was at the bakery down the street and figured i'd pick something up for you." he looks down at you with a soft smile.
"you shouldn't have," you say quietly, taking the box from him and peeking inside.
"blueberry muffins," he adds. "you said you like blueberries, right?"
"i did." your fingers tighten slightly around the box. "thank you."
his eyes drop to the collar of your shirt, where the fabric hangs low enough to reveal the curve of your collarbone. his smile falters, just slightly.
"you have something…" his hand comes up, and his thumb brushes gently over your heated skin. the contact is brief, but it leaves a soft tingle behind that makes you want to lean closer.
then you remember. the bruise.
"oh." you step back instinctively, pulling the collar of your shirt higher.
clark's hand drops immediately. "sorry."
"no, it's --" embarrassment floods through you. "it's not your fault."
his gaze lingers on the mark for a fraction of a second before he looks back at you.
neither of you moves for a second.
you want to say something, but you're not sure what. it's not like you were ever really friends. you only interacted in passing moments and bits of small talk. he's your neighbor.
besides, he's taken. you know that.
you should just take the muffins and leave things as they are, but before you can make your move, a voice calls from inside your apartment.
"hey, are you coming back?"
clark's eyes flick past you.
"i didn't realize you had company."
"he's just a friend." the explanation comes out before you can stop it.
why are you explaining yourself?
"right." he gives you a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "i should go."
"oh okay."
---
clark argues with his girlfriend more these days. the poor sound insulation means you hear every spat…and every reconciliation that follows. but tonight, it has escalated.
"people were going to die!" his voice booms through the shared wall of the living room.
must be about politics.
you subtly turn down the show you're watching. just curious.
"you always do this -- you get mad, you pout, and then you pretend that nothing is wrong."
a muffled response follows, too quiet for you to make out.
his front door opens forcefully.
you can barely make out her voice.
"...told you…wasn't good at relationships…"
the door shuts.
you sit there in silence for a second.
it's never ended with him leaving before.
a tiny, shameful part of you wonders if this means they're finally falling apart, but you immediately push the thought away.
you shouldn't care.
it's none of your business, and whatever happens between them has nothing to do with you.
still, you find yourself listening for the sound of his door opening again.
---
why did i decide to move to metropolis? you ask yourself.
you should've known that living in such a utopian city, protected by the strongest man on earth, would make it a magnet for disaster. you just never thought you'd have to deal with one in your own apartment building.
the large cyborg thing has already wreaked havoc across the streets, but apparently decided that your building of all places was the perfect spot to hide from superman.
you quickly dial clark's number, insisting to yourself that this is just what any good neighbor would do. not because you're worried about him or anything.
the call goes unanswered long enough to send you to voicemail.
okay, maybe you're a little worried.
you wedge your phone between your ear and shoulder as you hurriedly put some essentials into a bag.
"hey, clark, you gave me your number for emergencies and…there's an emergency," you whisper-yell into the phone, "i heard a dog bark from your place a while ago, so i'm just worried about the dog…um," you pause, trying to organize your thoughts. "it's a cyborg guy calling himself equus… i'm leaving so just be careful." you end the call quickly, ready to escape, hopefully without the maniac noticing.
you make it halfway down the stairs before you hear the sound of metal scraping against the floor.
you freeze.
the stairwell is eerily quiet, save for your own short, uneven breaths.
where is everyone else? did they get out before you?
you tighten your grip around the strap of your bag and slowly peek around the corner. your stomach drops.
he's much larger up close, his metal body taking up most of the narrow corridor as he looks around with his glowing eyes. you immediately duck back behind the wall, heart hammering in your chest.
shit.
you should've stayed in your apartment.
you quietly pull out your phone, ready to call someone -- anyone -- when the cyborg suddenly turns in your direction. silver, razor-sharp claws spring out at the end of his hands.
before he can reach you, a blur of red and blue crashes between you. the impact shakes the stairwell, sending you stumbling backward. you hit the wall hard enough to lose your balance and slide to the floor.
you immediately try to push yourself up and get away from the fight, but your arms feel weak.
"are you okay?" a deep voice asks.
you look up.
holy shit, it's superman.
he pulls you to your feet with effortless strength, his eyes already moving over your face as he searches for any sign that you're hurt.
"did he hit you? are you injured anywhere?" his arm stays around you, supporting your weight as you steady yourself.
you should probably say thank you, but instead you find yourself staring at him, caught off guard by how close he is.
there's something strangely familiar about his face, though you can't quite place it. maybe it's his eyes, soft and comforting despite everything happening around you. or the gentle way he holds you, so at odds with the way he had just thrown himself between you and a cyborg.
he scans your body, making sure there aren't any hidden injuries. then his attention shifts, his eyes narrowing when they reach your neck.
you barely hear him murmur, "there's more…"
you remember clark's thumb brushing over the same spot, his expression changing when he noticed the faint bruise there. the memory comes back so vividly that you almost forget where you are.
standing this close to superman, you can't stop noticing the similarities.
the eyes.
the voice.
you wonder if that's why your heart is beating so hard.
"i-i'm sorry?" you ask, wondering if you misheard him.
maybe you should start wearing a scarf...
superman's hand slowly rises, his fingertips brushing gently against your cheek. the touch makes your thoughts go completely quiet. his thumb lingers for a moment.
"you're warm."
you should probably move away. instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch.
"i'm okay," you reassure him. "it's just the adrenaline."
your eyes drop briefly to his lips. his breath catches when he realizes where you're looking, and for a moment, he seems almost nervous beneath your gaze.
when you look back up, his stare has grown more intense, though the flush creeping across his face is almost endearing.
you can feel his hesitation, like he's giving himself every opportunity to step away, but he doesn't. his gaze lingers on your face for a moment before he leans down, his lips barely brushing yours, like he's letting you decide what happens next.
so you lean into him, finally meeting his kiss.
the kiss begins gently, almost uncertain, but there's an unmistakable warmth behind it that makes your stomach twist. your fingers curl lightly into the fabric of his suit, and for a brief moment, the chaos around you disappears.
the strength beneath the suit is impossible to ignore. he's so much taller and broader than you, all solid muscle and otherworldly power, and yet his heart is beating just as hard as yours.
a soft groan escapes him when your tongue traces the seam of his lips, and the hand on your back pulls you closer. he deepens the kiss, chasing your lips with a breathless urgency that makes your stomach flutter.
it almost feels unreal having superman, the man of steel, melting beneath your touch. but the way he moves, his body pressing against yours as your lips move hungrily against each other, reminds you that this isn't some daydream.
you think his name slips from your lips, though you can't tell if you actually said it. your thoughts are hazy with the warmth of him against you, and his grip around you tightens.
then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulls away.
he blinks at you, like he's surprised by his own actions. his lips are a pretty shade of pink as he stumbles over an apology.
he takes a step away from you, "i-i'm sorry, i don't know why i did that…"
"it's okay, i mean… you don't have to apologize."
your fingers brush lightly over your bottom lip, still sensitive and buzzing from the kiss, and he just stares.
there's a small pause between you. a silent we could do it again lingers in the air.
another crash outside snaps you both back to reality.
"i need to go." he glances out the window, "i have to help the justice league."
you nod, clearing your throat as you force yourself to look anywhere but at him.
"um… thank you for your service, superman." you cringe the second the words leave your mouth.
what the fuck are you saying?
he gives you a brief, almost amused look before glancing toward the stairs.
"you shouldn't be out here. i'll take you back to your apartment." before you can protest, his arm settles carefully around your waist. "hold on." you follow his directions, looping your arms around his neck.
despite the fact that you're not actually injured, he carries you up to your floor before carefully setting you back on your feet in front of your apartment door. his hands leave your waist, and you find yourself wishing he wouldn't let go just yet.
you thank him quietly, reluctantly pulling your arms away from him before turning toward your door. before you enter your apartment, you glance back.
summary: clark isn't satisfied with your introverted behavior in the office.
pairing: clark kent x reader
warnings: dark fic, dub-con, drink-tampering (basically a slow-building aphrodisiac), ooc (dark)!clark, unprotected sex, rough sex, hints of obsession, squirting, tummy bulge, he's your manager and delusional, power-dynamics, alcohol, afab!reader, reader's face flushes from consuming alcohol, slight age-gap, condescending/misogynistic/age-ist language, slight size-difference, not beta-read
wc: 4.4k
note: i haven't written something dark or CLARK in a while. so here is this fic that's been marinating in my drafts for a while <3
bigger note: please don't read if you can't handle dark content or ooc!clark. i am not responsible for the content you consume!
masterlist
---
You knew his sweet, soft personality was an act.
How could a guy who looks like that not know how hot he is?
It felt like a prize when you found out about his secret -- that Clark Kent, the soft-shelled dork from the other side of the office, was actually a huge asshole.
Since the moment you joined the company, you never went out of your way to interact with him. You were cordial and professional when you had to be, but this job was just an obstacle between you and your freedom of going home.
You could tell it irked him when you swiftly moved on from your greeting with him to meet some of the other staff. His jaw clenched beneath his forced smile, hand tensing as you pulled away from the brief handshake.
After that first day, he made an effort to make his presence known.
You didn't make it easy, though.
His friendly morning greetings -- which always included your name so you knew exactly who he was talking to -- were met with half-assed 'good morning everyone's, your eyes never leaving your PC monitor. His generous coffee runs seemed to conveniently clash with the days you decided to bring in your own tumblers of caffeine (Jimmy was grateful, though, since he got your coffee as a result). And all the times he would invite the team out for dinner, you'd always be too busy or tired to make it.
To you, this was just your typical introverted behavior.
You're used to an extroverted team manager trying to pull you out of your shell, but you've always made your intentions clear -- you're only at the company to work, not make friends. Like those past managers, you hoped Clark would eventually give up and move on from you.
It turns out that he was more committed to you than you originally thought.
---
A small tap on your desk pulls you away from your work. You already know who it is based on the subtle scent of his cologne. You look up, eyes meeting a very smiley Clark who clearly believes that what he has to say is more important than the task you were doing.
"Sorry to bother you." No, you're not. "I was just wondering if you had plans this weekend. The team is going to O'Malley's to celebrate Mike's promotion." Right, one of the interns is being brought on as a full-time employee. You knew Mike, sort of. Not enough to hold any conversation above the usual small talk.
Immediately, you search your brain for an excuse.
"Ah, I can't, I..." your eyes flick away from him as you quickly think up something convincing, "I'm going out of town to see my mom."
"Oh, that's alright." Clark nods understandingly, or at least tries to convince you that it doesn't bother him.
But then his demeanor shifts a bit as his cool blue eyes scan over the office surrounding the two of you.
Is he making sure that no one is paying attention to this conversation?
He slips his hands into his pockets, his voice lowering. "You always seem to be out of town these days." His tone is bordering on accusatory. His gaze lazily returns to you, waiting for a response. The only thing keeping his innocent persona intact is the wide-frame glasses that shield his intense stare.
You try to hide your uncomfortable shock with a small shrug, "yeah, I guess so."
"Maybe next time."
"Maybe."
---
After successfully dodging his invitation, you decide that you deserve to spend a lazy weekend at home -- which is exactly how you usually spend your weekends anyway. A warm, comfy sofa, a bottle of wine, and a show playing in the background while you scroll through your phone. Perfect Saturday plans.
Unfortunately, after repeating this routine for many Saturdays in a row, you're out of your usual wine and snacks. With how exhausted work leaves you at the end of the week, you decide to leave the warmth of your apartment after a quick rest.
You walk to a nearby corner store, one you're a regular at. Roaming the familiar aisles, you pick up an item here and there, building your late-night munchie list as you go. As you're choosing your wine for the night, you feel a presence at your side.
"Thought you were out of town." You turn to see a casually dressed Clark holding a six-pack of beers by his side. He looks even bigger in his plain T-shirt and jeans, the cotton fabric stretching over the broadness of his shoulders.
You're suddenly conscious of the oversized hoodie and sweatpants you're wearing. None of your coworkers have seen what you normally wear outside of work, and that's on purpose. Being on the younger side, you want to be taken seriously at work, so you always wear professional clothing.
"Um, my mom cancelled on me." You place a random bottle of red in your basket, purposefully covering up the small pack of Minecraft gummies you (stupidly) decided to try.
Luckily, Clark doesn't seem too interested in your basket as his gaze stays steadily on your face. It seems the gentle persona he usually wears at the office fades away when he's no longer in work mode.
"Yeah?" He doesn't seem convinced, but lets it go.
"Yup." Your hands squeeze the handles of the shopping basket. "So what brings you to this side of town..."
"Same as you, I assume," he gestures to the wine you haphazardly picked out, "merlot fan?"
"Uh, yeah," you glance at the bottle, "it's, uh, a good one."
"If you like merlot, you should've picked out this one," he smoothly walks a few steps away and pulls out a more expensive bottle. He holds it out, and you feel like you have no other choice but to take it from him. "Let me know how it tastes."
"Sure." Your attempt to take the bottle is stopped when he refuses to let go.
"Better yet, why don't we try it together?" His dimpled smile is charming, but not enough to quell your suspicions.
"Together? Like tonight?"
"No time like the present." You pull at the bottle with a bit more force, and he finally lets go.
"Maybe another time." You carefully place the pricey wine next to your cheaper choice. Your basket is now two times heavier.
"You sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" A hint of defensiveness rings through your tone.
"You know, Perry has been worried about you." He clicks his tongue. "Since you haven't been to any of the team outings, he thinks you aren't getting along with the others."
This is news to you.
You've tried hard to stay under the radar -- friendly enough at the office that you wouldn't be suspected of staying home during company get-togethers.
"Really? But there haven't been any issues..."
"I heard he might move you to a different department if something doesn't change soon."
"Why would he--"
"You're a hard worker, but part of being in a department is teamwork," he explains, speaking to you as if he's some kind of mentor. The vague condescension grates on you.
"Fine." You relent. "I'll try the wine with you."
---
Despite your refusals, he ended up paying for the high-end wine, claiming it's his treat since he was the one who picked it out in the first place. You awkwardly paid for the rest of your items, watching as the clerk took his time putting everything into a plastic bag.
Clark's apartment is closer to the store than you realized. You're surprised that you haven't run into him sooner. The elevator takes you up to the top floor, where Clark leads you to the apartment at the end of the hall. You start to wonder just how much he gets paid for his monthly interviews with Superman.
"Make yourself at home." He puts his beers in the fridge and goes to a cabinet to grab some wine glasses.
"Um, okay." You nervously sit at the edge of his sofa, placing your plastic bag full of junk food on the carpet next to you.
"Here." You're handed a glass of the merlot before he takes a seat next to you. "Try it." He watches you take a tentative sip and only takes his own once you've swallowed.
The wine coats your tongue with a savory richness that speaks for its high price.
Okay fine, you'll admit that this one is pretty good.
"So?" Clark asks with a smug smile. Instead of responding, you take another, larger sip. "See? I told you."
"It's alright." You shrug, setting the now half-empty glass on the coffee table in front of you. "So about what Perry said--"
"What, you want to talk about work?"
"I mean, that's the reason why we're here, isn't it?"
Clark nods noncommittally before placing his glass next to yours, "Am I not cool enough to just hang out with?"
"Hang-out? No…This has nothing to do with how cool you are, Kent."
"Do you think I haven't noticed how you've tried to avoid me?" Clark smiles as his deep blue eyes bore into yours. That friendly expression that he often wears at the office is so clearly a farce in this setting.
"I haven't been avoiding you." You mumble as you start to redirect your gaze so you don't feel so pressured under his stare. He sighs and places his hand gently underneath your chin to make you look up at him. The warmth from his fingers spreads against your jaw and you're starting to think that the wine is heading straight for your brain.
"See?" His tone is that of an owner softly disciplining their favorite pet, "You can't even look at me for more than a few minutes."
You pull your face away from his hand.
"Eye contact just makes me uncomfortable..." You pick up your glass again, if only to give your hands -- and your eyes -- something to do. The distance doesn't seem to bother him, but you can see a crack within his blase attitude as he hesitates to settle back to his original spot on the couch.
"You'll have to get over that if you want to be head reporter at the Planet."
Great, you've summoned the manager within him.
You take a sip while Clark starts rattling off reporter tips. Somewhere between his advice on interviews and making sources feel comfortable, it hits you that he still doesn't know. After all this time -- after every conversation, every attempt he's made to get to know you -- he still thinks you want to be a reporter. One of those prying nerds who salivates at the chance to hear Superman's voice with their own ears. The kind of reporter always chasing the next juicy piece of gossip to slap on the front page.
You don't though. You want to be an editor.
Less interviewing. Less charm. Less him.
You've always hoped that one day you'd be holed up in an office of your own with the only interaction between you and Clark being a few emails now and then.
The wine sends a pleasant tingle through your body, warmth spreading from your core, gliding over your limbs, and finally sparking at your fingertips. His voice drifts into the background, and at some point you realize you've stopped sitting so stiffly, your body relaxing into the couch beside him.
The more you drink, the less attention you give to the conversation. You've found that you enjoy looking at his face more than listening to his attempts to assert his superiority for being a front-page journalist.
You feel the warmth of his thigh press against yours. With every refill, he's gotten closer to your side, but it wasn't noticeable until now.
After finishing the last drop in your glass, you look over at him and find that he's already looking at you.
His blue eyes are glazed as he studies your face.
When did he stop talking?
"What?" Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, almost like you didn't mean to say it out loud.
"Your face looks hot," he says it so casually you almost miss it -- but when it registers, your heart skips a beat.
"Um…hot?"
"Do you get the alcohol flush?" His lips curve into a lazy smile.
Oh. Hot -- as in temperature.
You glance back down at your nearly empty glass, oddly disappointed by the clarification.
"Yeah, sometimes."
He lets out an amused huff of laughter. "You thought I was talking about how pretty you are?" The bluntness of it lands like a punch to the gut.
How pretty you are… he thinks you're pretty?
"What? No," you reply quickly, your face suddenly warmer than the wine could ever make it.
"You sure?" His fingers skim your jaw before resting there, warm against your skin. The touch is light enough that you could pull away, but somehow that makes it harder to. When you don't move, his thumb traces the faintest arc beneath your cheek. "I thought you'd be a little more observant with how quickly Perry brought you onto the team…" His voice is soft, but the words sting.
You roll your eyes at the condescending remark.
Whatever little flutter his accidental compliment caused is promptly buried beneath irritation.
It's nothing new. Being a young woman in an office means hearing offhand remarks like that often enough.
Though this is the first time you've had a man say it directly to your face.
His grip tightens. "Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"You never stand up for yourself. You just let people spew bullshit and go on with your day."
So he's noticed how the other guys talk about you in the break room, their voices carrying whenever you happen to walk by. He's known about it this whole time and done nothing.
And now he's lecturing you about standing up for yourself?
What a manager…
You look away, suddenly tired of the conversation.
"I don't know. What's it going to change anyway?"
"Look at me." The softness in his voice catches you off guard. "You never... look at me."
You meet those intense blue eyes, now fully revealed without the glasses. He must have taken them off at some point, and you hadn't even noticed.
Why hadn't you noticed?
He looks familiar, but something about him feels completely different -- the darkness in his eyes, the bite behind his words. None of it feels like the man you're thinking of.
"Why should I?" You challenge him, pulling away from his touch as your hazy mind finally catches up to the position you're in. "It's just a job. You're just a coworker -- You're my supervisor. Can't you and everyone else just let me live peacefully?"
"It seems like more than just a job, sweetheart." His eyes drag slowly over your figure, taking in the sweats you'd thrown on for your late-night shopping trip.The scrutiny makes you feel exposed, even though you're fully covered. He pinches the extra fabric of your hoodie between his fingers. "I mean, look at you. You don't exactly look like someone with a busy social life."
"And you do, Kent?" you retort.
"That's it. Fight back." He grins, his pretty dimples at odds with the cruel twist of his smile.
The sudden pause pulls you out of the stifling tension between you. Your eyes land on the empty wine bottle sitting on the coffee table, and you realize there's nothing keeping you here anymore.
You straighten in your seat, "I think I should get going."
Clark doesn't move.
"Got someone waiting for you at home?" he asks as though he already knows the answer.
"It's late."
"It is."
"I think we've drunk too much tonight."
"I'm not drunk."
He's right. He looks perfectly sober, if a little worked up from the argument.
Meanwhile, the wine has left your head hazy, making it harder to think clearly.
You try to push yourself up, but your body feels strangely heavy. Something has settled deep into your limbs, turning even the simple act of standing into an effort.
"I heard that you're a lightweight, but this is a bit much, isn't it?"
"I'm fine."
"You can barely stand."
You glare at him, but the effort of pushing yourself upright only makes your head swim harder. Your knees wobble, and you instinctively reach for the back of the couch. Clark catches your arm before you can stumble, pulling you against his body as his hands settle around your waist to steady you.
"See?"
Something is wrong.
"What…?" Your body isn't listening to you. Your limbs feel disconnected, like they belong to someone else. The room seems strangely distant, and for a moment you feel like you're watching yourself from somewhere outside your own body. "Kent."
"It's Clark." A hand spreads over the back of your thigh, gently massaging your body through your clothes as he pulls you closer. Even through your clothes, you can feel the warmth of his body. Desire pulses through you in uneven waves, each one fading only long enough to warn you to pull away.
The scent of his cologne settles around you, masculine and distracting. You feel weak against him.
"What did you do?" You ask softly.
Your hand lands on his chest, but you can't muster enough energy to push him away. The muscles beneath his shirt tighten under your touch, and he leans closer, as if inviting you to feel more of him.
"Looks like it's finally kicking in…"
—
Kissing him isn't supposed to feel good.
It isn't supposed to make you melt against his body as he presses you down against the couch. It isn't supposed to make you tilt your head and chase his lips when he pulls away for air. And you definitely aren't supposed to pull him closer, guiding his hands underneath your hoodie as if you want him there.
But the heat coursing through you smothers every logical thought before it can take hold.
His large hands cup over your tits, squeezing them greedily as he captures your lips once more. You try desperately to hold back your moans, but your breath stutters when his thumbs flick over your sensitive nipples.
You can feel his erection throbbing through his jeans. It presses against your stomach as he deepens the kiss.
Clark pulls away, staring down at your flushed cheeks and glistening eyes with a satisfied look on his face. With every heated kiss, eager grope, and dulled moan, the fire within has burned hotter. Now, your body is begging for a release.
"I thought you hated me." He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face. This would almost be romantic if Clark wasn't such a delusional freak.
"I do." Your voice comes out weak and breathy.
"You keep saying that," he says quietly, "but you're still kissing back."
"Because I'm hot, Clark."
"I know you are," he says smugly, "let me help you cool down." His hands slide to the hem of your hoodie, pushing it up just enough to expose your torso before one slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. "Didn't realize you get so wet for someone you hate." He teases, feeling the mess you've made of yourself.
"Fuck you." You breathe out as his fingers slide through your folds.
The words seem to piss him off because he isn't gentle when he pushes two fingers inside of you. Luckily, whatever pill he slipped into your drink already has you dripping down your thighs.
The stretch is immediate and has you gripping onto his arm to slow him down, but he ignores your pleading touch and starts pumping his fingers into your hole. The squelching sound has you burying your face against his shoulder, embarrassed of your body.
"Look at how easily you fall apart from me." He taunts. Your mouth gapes open as he reaches the soft spot within you, prodding at it incessantly until your thighs squeeze around his wrist.
An unfamiliar ache builds between your legs, something intense.
"Wait, s-something…" The angle of his fingers thrusting into you becomes too much.
"Are you gonna cum around my fingers, baby?" His blue eyes drink you in and his hand speeds up, wanting to push your limits.
A broken moan is forced out of your throat as your climax hits. Ecstasy ripples over your body and your eyes roll back from the intensity. You feel your stomach tighten before you realize what's happening and you can feel yourself drench your panties.
Pretty stars dot your vision as you come back to yourself.
Or are those tears?
"You made a mess of your sweatpants, honey." You feel him drag them down, but you don't have the energy to lift your hips to help him. He lets you recover a bit, using the pause to take off his shirt and unbutton his jeans.
You're breathing hard and you wish you could just go to sleep, but an itching arousal within you persists.
He pulls himself out of his boxers, pumping himself lazily as his eyes wander over your half-covered body.
"You're so pretty, you know?" A hand pushes your hoodie up to reveal your chest, "Everything about you is pretty. Your handwriting, your voice, your eyes, your pussy..."
He leans over you, kissing down your chest before sucking a nipple into his mouth. Your body arches against his mouth, your fingers now finding their way into his curls.
He grasps at your other tit before moving down to languidly caress over your stomach and hips. This time he is taking it slow, working you up with his mouth and hands like a lover would do.
But slow is the last thing you need right now.
You pull at his hair, impatient.
"What are you waiting for?" You groan, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his lower body onto yours.
A sharp pinch at your nipple makes you gasp. Did he just bite you?
"Be patient." He scolds, though he doesn't seem to mind the feeling of your wet cunt against the underside of his cock. He pushes himself between your folds, using your slick to easily move against you. His hips roll slowly as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the bud teasingly.
"Please, I-I need something."
"What do you need, baby?" he asks softly, as though he doesn''t already know the answer. His mouth has moved up to your throat, painting the delicate skin with suckled marks.
You shake your head, refusing to verbalize it.
"I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong." You can feel his lips smile against your heated skin.
"Clark -- Fuck." The blunt head of his cock teases at your entrance, and your desperate cunt flutters for more. "Please, just put it in."
"Like this?" He finally gives in, pushing into you gently so your body can open up for him. Blood rushes to your head as you feel him drag against your tender walls, forcing you to stretch out around him.
"Oh." The size is nothing like you've experienced before. It fills you up so fully that you're unable to escape the overwhelming sensation of his cock finally bottoming out.
"Feel good?" Clark keeps himself pressed inside of you, letting you struggle with the intensity of being filled so completely.
"So big."
"I know, sweetheart. I can see myself right here…" He groans, pressing a hand over your lower stomach, "Too much for you, hm?" Clark pulls out, slowly, watching as each inch of him leaves your body. He doesn't waste time pushing back into you until your thighs start shaking around him.
"Move -- Please, just move."
Clark pulls out for a second to push your knees against your chest, positioning you into a mating press. When he reenters your body, his cock hits your sweet spot even easier with the new angle.
His hips snap against yours, forcing you to take all of him with every thrust. His pace speeds up as your moans start to flow out of you, the couch squeaking with every harsh move.
"It's like you were made for me." Clark pants, pushing through your slickened walls. "Weren't you?"
"I-I…"
Your answer doesn't quite satisfy him.
"Weren't you?" He tries again, burying himself inside of you until the head of his cock nudges the deepest parts of you. It's so intense that you wish you could tap out, but all you can do is take it. You start losing yourself in a heady mix of intoxicating sensations.
"Yes." You rasp out, head tilted back as you reel against the pressure. This time, you seem to say the right thing. Clark starts fucking into you again, lower body smacking against yours as he feeds you his cock.
Your cunt starts sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, frantically clinging onto anything as your body starts to lose itself to pleasure.
His cock stays so deep within you that he's basically grinding against your clit with each thrust. You can't help the whimper that escapes you when he prods against your g-spot, almost feeling him in your stomach.
"Clark!" You can feel the pulsing of his cock within you -- all because you said his name. That's all it takes to have you rushing towards another climax.
"Already?" He can feel you tremble around him as he pushes into you.
"I c-can't–" The walls of your cunt start to tighten around him, throbbing insistently as he continues his vigorous thrusts.
You felt it coming, but you weren't expecting how overwhelming it would be. Heat vibrates through your body as your vision whitens, disorienting all your senses at once. You could barely feel the way your whole body tenses, muscles straining in exhaustion.
His hips stutter right against you and warmth shoots into you several times, completely painting your insides. He continues to move inside of you with small thrusts. You're so full that it starts to drip out -- down the sides of his cock and onto the couch.
"Fuck," You groan, "I'm not on the pill."
"Good." He nuzzles his face against your sweaty neck. The weight of his body rests on top of yours. You listen to his breaths start to slow. He doesn't seem to care about how sticky you are, or the fact that he still hasn't pulled out.
You look over at your bag of forgotten snacks.
You were supposed to be eating those.
Instead, you're covered in sweat, your pants somewhere on the floor, and Clark is still holding you like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.
