“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.
the phone vibrates on the table. clark doesn't even need to look to know it's a message from you.
"how are you at work, babe?" you sent.
"the day's crazy. missing you so much” he types.
your reply comes in seconds. "I miss you too. can't wait for you to get home."
he smiles at the screen, a real, tired smile that lights up his whole face. then a notification for a photo pops up. he opens it.
it's you. a selfie from the couch. he can see the soft fabric of your lounge clothes, the way you're all curled up. but what really grabs his attention are your legs. bare, stretched out, inviting.
he feels the heat rise in his chest, a sudden, unmistakable tightness in his pants. he remembers you, kneeling between his legs. the first time you did that.
he was just as nervous as you. his breath caught in his throat while you hesitated for a second, your eyes looking up to meet his. and then, your touch. your lips. the first stroke of your tongue. clark remembers throwing his head back, a rough moan escaping as his hand found your hair, guiding you, not wanting to rush anything, wanting that moment to last forever.
the memory is vivid. the wet heat of your mouth, the perfect glide, the look you gave him through your lashes, a look that said, ‘are you liking it?’ clark was gone. he remembers how you picked up the pace, how he held your hair tighter, how the sound he made, a muffled groan, echoed through the room. the peak was overwhelming, spilling into your mouth, and you didn't pull away, you swallowed it all, with that satisfied smile after.
the thought drives him crazy.
now clark can't think about work anymore. he tucks the phone in his pocket and stands up. "Fuck, I need to go to the bathroom” he mutters to himself.
in the bathroom, the lock clicks shut. he leans on the sink, looks at his own reflection in the mirror; dark eyes, jaw clenched. his breathing is already heavy. he undoes his pants in quick movements, his hand wrapping around himself, already hard and throbbing.
clark closes his eyes and sees only you on your knees. your lips open for him, hot and wet.
he starts stroking, the motion fast and slow at the same time, a rhythm he controls. his hand slides from tip to base, his thumb rubbing over the head, already slick with need. he remembers the sound of you gagging, the way your eyes widened when he pushed his hips forward, going deeper into your throat.
he murmurs your name, his voice rough, lost in the tile echo. his hand grips tighter, moving up and down with feverish urgency. the image in his mind intensifies. he sees you switching between sucking and licking, your tongue tracing the sensitive ridge under the head. he remembers how you teased him, licking slowly, like you were tasting ice cream.
his hand speeds up. clark's breathing turns ragged, a series of hot, stifled sighs. his free hand braces against the cold tile to steady himself while his whole body leans forward slightly, his stomach muscles tensing.
the thought of you, taking all of him, pushes him to the edge. he feels the tension building, the tingle starting at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up. his hand is almost flying now, desperate for the release that the memory of you promises.
a long, deep moan, muffled by his forearm, tears out of his throat as he comes. he spills over his own hand and onto the tiles, his whole body shaking, eyes still squeezed shut, seeing your face, your wet mouth.
he stays there for a minute, panting, catching his breath. the image of your face slowly fades. he cleans up, his heart still pounding. when he steps out of the bathroom, he picks up his phone. your photo is still on the screen. he smiles, a calmer smile now.
Description: Best friends with benefits and keys to one another's apartments. Surprise! Time for a handy.
Pairing: Clark Kent x gn!Reader
Warnings: smut (handjob, slight oral?, clark has a cute butt)
Word Count: 1.7k
a/n: short and sweet
add yourself to my taglist!
Clark walked into his building, hair windswept from his walk home. He was feeling a little weary, the day surprisingly long for one that hadn’t yet required Superman. Sometimes, writing felt more tiresome than saving the world.
He unlocked the door of his apartment, yawning as he did. He propped his glasses up on top of his head, turning to lock the door behind him. He was determined to scrounge up something for dinner and go to sleep. He started toeing off his shoes when you spoke up from his little living room.
“Hey.”
Clark jumped, his head whipping towards the sound of your voice.
“Go—osh. What are you doing?” His eyes went wide, hand to his chest.
You chuckled, leaning back into the cushions of his small couch. You’d convinced him to buy it months ago, and while you would have preferred that he got something bigger and more spacious, he was content with the absolute bare minimum. Much to your dismay.
Clark stood there in his baggy suit with satchel in hand, chest still heaving a little bit from the fright you’d given him. Part of him regretted ever giving you a key. But he liked having you around too much.
He went about his routine, finally letting out a breath. He left his bag and shoes by the door, tugged off his jacket and tie, and walked into the kitchen. He started his electric tea kettle, and grabbed himself a cup of water from the fridge.
You looked up at him as he walked near you, handing you a mug of tea. He moved in front of you to sit on the other side of the couch, but that was a mistake. For him. For you, it was a delight.
While his jacket was always a bit baggy to hide his frame, the undershirt and pants were well-fitted. And the guy had a really cute butt.
You leaned forward slightly, slapping his ass. He whipped around, a frown on his pouty lips.
“No.”
You laughed at his scolding. “Your fault for walking in front of me.”
“My butt is not free-reign.”
“Aw, but it’s so cute.”
He flushed, shaking his head. He finally dropped next to you on the couch. “You’re really awful, you know that?”
“You love it. What would you do if I didn’t sneak into your apartment when you weren’t home? Who else would put away your mountain of clean clothes you left on your bed?”
He raised a brow. “You put away my clothes?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “You’ve been stressed lately, clearly. You never don’t clean up.”
He paused for a moment. “Oh. Well… okay. Maybe I do love you.”
You grinned as he dropped an arm around you, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. You knew you were a nuisance, but you also knew that he really didn’t mind it all that much. You’d been friends for far too long for him to not be used to you by now.
Almost ten years. You’d met in college, you were a freshman, he was a junior. It started with a couple of friendly waves here and there after you’d run into each other more than once at a campus cafe. That turned into invites to independent study groups. Eventually, shared lunches, movie nights, and a relationship that extended past graduation.
But a relationship that ended in friendship. You both dated other people, even if you’d end up together after many of your dates to debrief. At this point, you were practically inseparable. You’d given one another keys to your respective apartments, and spent most of your free time together. He was your best friend by far.
Clark let out a soft breath, his eyes trained on the movie you had on his tv. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, a soft, lingering kiss against your hair.
“Thank you. For looking out for me. But quit touching my butt,” he mumbled through a small smile.
“I feel like I’ve earned the right.”
“To my butt?”
You snorted. “Yes.”
“That’s not how that works. I don’t have rights to your butt like that.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re just too much of a gentleman to walk around slapping ass.”
He huffed a breath. “You’re so weird.”
“You like me weird.”
“Mm.”
You leaned your head back, looking at him. “If you don’t want me going for it, quit wearing those slutty little pants around me.”
“They’re not slutty, they’re slacks!” He scoffed, a small grin on his face.
“Slutty slacks.”
He chuckled. “Uh huh.”
You smiled brightly, hand resting on his thigh.
Your friendship was platonic, sure. But it didn’t mean you both didn’t get lonely sometimes, especially if one or both of you was in a dry spell. It was a solid agreement: friends. Who sometimes do some more-than-friendly things when they are alone. But it didn’t mean anything. Technically.
The tips of Clark’s ears tinged pink when you rested your hand on his leg. As much as he’d prefer not to admit it to your face, you’d practically pavlov-ed him. One look, one touch, simply the pattern of your breath changing… instantly he was hard every time. His eyes didn’t leave yours despite the sly smirk taking over your face as your hand trailed higher.
“Seriously?” he mumbled, voice a tad deeper than it had been.
“What?”
“We just… we did this like three days ago.”
You shrugged, hand finally brushing over the bulge in his pants. “I’m in the mood. Can’t help it.”
He sighed, forehead dropping against yours as you rubbed him over the fabric of his pants. His breathing got heavier, only lasting a minute before his hips involuntarily bucked up against your hand.
“Needy baby,” you muttered, kissing down his jaw. You squeezed, he groaned. “Tell me you want it.”
He gulped. “Y-yeah. I want it. Want you.”
You smiled, obliging him. You made quick work of unzipping his pants, tugging his absurdly gorgeous dick out. He was smooth and heavy in your hand, jumping excitedly at the contact of your skin. His head tilted, letting your kisses trail down the side of his neck as you slowly stroked him. Your hand closed around his sensitive tip, squeezing harder and moving quicker. He whined softly, hips jerking yet again.
“Oh, yeah?”
He nodded. “Yes. Wanna be in you.”
“Soon. You’re gonna cum for me first,” you whispered, nipping at the sensitive skin under his jaw.
He whimpered again, turning his head to capture your lips with his. He was desperate, tongue fucking your mouth like it was his job. Your thumb brushed over his leaky head, spreading his precum down his cock, slicking your hand further. You stroked him hard and fast, letting him kiss you how he wanted. His hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head back. He made an attempt to sneak a hand down the front of your pants, but was swatted away.
“Mm-mm…”
“Why?” He pouted, pulling back from kissing you for only half a second before he was back on you.
“Because…” another kiss, “Let me take care of you.”
He huffed a short breath, but obliged. His lips moved against yours, over your cheek, down your jaw and neck. He nipped and kissed and sucked every centimeter of your skin he could while you rubbed his needy length. He pushed his hips up, trying to fuck your hand where it jerked him. HIs whine turned louder, his head tilting back to breathe, as you let your other hand join the first.
“Geez. Fu–hmm…” he breathed out, his hand gripping the back of your neck gently while you twisted your hands around his cock. “Please don’t stop. Feels so good, you’re so good at this.”
Another smile worked its way onto your lips as you moved quicker, leaning over to dribble your spit onto his tip. His chest heaved, watching you spread the slick from your mouth onto his skin, adding to the sensation. Slippery and perfect. Your hands framed his cock so perfectly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get sick of the sight. His own felt good, of course, every time he touched himself. Oftentimes thinking of you as of late. But the first time he saw you grip onto him, struggling a little bit to get your hand around the thickness, he burned the image into his head. He never wanted to forget that sight. Even better was the view with your mouth wrapped around him.
“I won’t stop, Clarkie, don’t worry. Are you gonna cum?”
His head nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, I’m close.”
You kissed him once more, then leaned down. He gasped when your lips wrapped around his head, the warmth enveloping him and drawing him closer to the finish line. Your hands didn’t stop, and now with the wet suction around his cock he felt like he was seeing stars. He shoved his hand down between your legs, not caring to wait for his orgasm in order to touch you. He wanted to feel you. You moaned softly around him as he rubbed you over your pants, adding delicious friction to your already-overheating body.
“I’m… it’s gonna happen. Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he whimpered, his other hand gripping the couch hard.
You hummed once, softly, to let him know you were ready. You sucked a little bit harder before you pulled off, his groan loud and desperate just before he tensed. You rubbed his cock until he was shooting white spurts of cum all over your hands and the fabric of his pants that still sat on his thighs. The hand between your legs stilled its motion while he came. All he could focus on was the sensation of your hands getting him off.
“O-oh, gosh,” he whispered, your name slipping past his lips as the final few spurts of cum shot out of him. “Y-you’re horrible. And so talented.”
You chuckled. “Oh? Talented, huh?”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
His eyes blinked slowly, watching in disbelief as you licked his cum off of your hand. His eyes were fixated on your lips around your fingers, his spent cock ready to jump to life again at the sight.
“How empty are you feeling?” he rasped out, reaching to unbutton your pants.
A short huff of a laugh spilled from your lips, but you couldn’t deny it. “Extremely.”
Riding Clark's face, your slick arousal smeared all over his lips and chin and cheeks and the tip of his nose.
His huge hands hold onto your hips, fingers digging into the soft fat there as he holds you close, making sure you're actually sitting on his face and not just hovering.
His glasses have fogged up so he can barely see because you'd insisted they stayed on, but he doesn't mind. He closes his eyes and focuses his other senses on you.
You smell sweet, the soft, musky scent of your cunt making him dizzy as he mouths at your sensitive folds. Your folds are puffy and soaked as you grind your hips against his mouth, whining his name.
He makes little noises as he kisses and licks and sucks at your needy pussy, his cock throbbing in his boxers and leaking precum, wanting nothing more than to be in you.
But he just loves the way you ride his face.
Every roll of your hips has the tip of Clark's nose pressing just right against your clit, sending sparks of heat straight to your womb where the pleasure warms and thickens like hot honey. You make a soft, delighted sound each time and grind down on him a little harder.
Clark moans thickly, his tongue slipping between your folds and circling your fluttering entrance before pushing inside. You make another sound of contentment and he groans against you, desperately fucking his tongue into you.
You brace one hand on the headboard, the other one reaching down to tangle in his hair as you ride his face faster, the aching coil in your womb on the verge of snapping.
Clark whines against your pussy as more of your arousal starts dripping right into his mouth, smearing over his heated cheeks and even on his glasses. He eagerly laps it all up as he alternates between sucking at your folds and slipping his tongue into your needy hole.
You squeal as you angle your hips so your clit presses right against the tip of his nose and you finally come, thighs shaking on either side of his head while you mewl Clark's name over and over.
Clark is happy to kiss and lick at your pussy as you come down from your high, until your trembling subsides and you begin to crawl off his face.
But his huge hands hold you in place so he can lick at your sensitive pussy a while longer because, God, he's just so obsessed with your cunt.
Based on this “the concept of clark kent’s nose tip bumping against your clit when you’re riding his face and he can’t stop moaning against you because of how good you taste and slipping his tongue in your cunt<3” inspo from @yoyokslut
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
Clark Kent masterlist
---
𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
You would never think of it since Clark does have a humanoid appearance, but his dick proves just how much of an alien he is. When you first saw it, you weren't sure if you could even take a dick like his. His manhood stood proudly at almost eight inches, so thick that your fingers almost can't wrap around it. It's so heavy that it isn't even able to stand up on its own, just twitching against his meaty thighs. Curved in a way that's supposed to hit your g spot on the first try.
And that's not even the freaky part! His dick has these grooves along the shaft that'll lightly buzz inside of your cunt when he's close to cumming. And when he does shoot his insanely large load inside of you, those grooves turn into soft hooks that catch the walls of your vagina, not allowing him to pull out. You'll think that'll hurt like hell, but somehow it feels freakishly amazing.
Then his cock has the nerves to knot you! A glowing bulge forming at the end of his shaft. Slowly stretching you out, making sure none of his fertile cum doesn't spill out of you. And you remember when I said insanely large load? Yeah. Clark has severe hyperspermia, with huge amounts coming every time, his load lasting for about three to five minutes. White, thick, greedy cum shooting into your womb and coating your walls white. You'll have pools of cum coming out of you, and it's such a pain to clean (luckily Clark offers to help you out). Clark can't even get in pants with his crouch being soaked in seconds for the huge volume of pre cum.
Should I make a fic with all the weird and freaky alien things about Clark? If you likey feel free to request * wink wink*
