Morgi💕

Readings of an insomniac Pisces! She/They | 19 🌷🐜

[tw1sters]

Right to Love (Part One)

Your secret, annual summer fling with your best friend’s brother was never meant to last — but when his mother catches you in his bed, everything changes. Cornered, he does the only thing he can think of: he tells her the two of you are engaged.

▸ PAIRING: Clark Kent x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, secret fwb to lovers, best friend's brother (kara is clark's sibling), fake engagement, hurt/comfort, fluff, semi-public sex (three smut scenes), thigh riding, so much miscommunication (guilty pleasure), insecurities on reader's part, jealousy, clark dirty talks, inaccurate portrayal of smallville (picturing super small town), reader has a shit ex ▸ WORD COUNT: 12.9K ▸ A/N: this fic was truly self-indulgent, all of my fave tropes in one place. this is part of @elixirfromthestars' arcade! i played elixir's hold 'em and ended up with a four of a kind (best friend's sibling, summer fling, sworn off relationships, and fake engagement). thanks for such a fun event mel <3 this is my longest work to date so splitting it into two parts - final one coming next week!! i love seeing your responses so any reblogs/comments/likes are always greatly appreciated mwah!!!

↤ main masterlist | part two ↦

Whoever thought it would be a good idea to spend a week of your precious and extremely limited paid time off in Smallville, of all places, should be pulverized. You could’ve been sipping margaritas in the Bahamas or traipsing around Miami Beach with a scrumptious cubano in hand. You could’ve been sitting at home in your perfectly comfortable couch with your perfectly comfortable air conditioning.

But no, you love your best friend Kara dearly, and she managed to convince you and a few of your friends to do the group’s annual trip in her hometown in Kansas. Oh, how you wish you could be Dorothy in that moment and find yourself on a yellow brick road rather than this sweltering airport.

Smallville in the summer is a far cry from your ideal vacation. The closest airport is two hours away and you’re greeted by the sight of a building that looks like it barely functions and hasn’t been upgraded since the Middle Ages. You had been cramped into a small airplane that you’re convinced does not have all of its nuts and bolts considering how much it rattled (you don’t want to think about the strange tilt of the wings). It takes you a full hour to get your suitcase from baggage claim that has no air conditioning; mind you, it’s because there is no overhead compartment, so they forced you to check your carry-on into cargo (an equally cramped space).

To make matters worse, Kara’s work forced her to delay her trip by one day which means you’re already locked in to arriving a full day earlier than everyone else, thinking that you’d get to spend some quality time with her after being separated for nearly an entire year (it’s been a rough year for both of you).

“How am I supposed to get to your house?” You had asked — more like whined after she told you the bad news.

She sounded even more upset than you. “Don’t worry, Clark will be there!”

Your heart had leapt to your throat at the thought.

Now, you’re faced with this incredibly difficult, exceedingly troubling situation. Said situation is basically being stuck in a car for two hours with Clark Kent.

Clark Kent stands at over six feet tall, sticking out like a sore — but stupidly delicious — thumb outside the airport. He’s in a pair of denim jeans and a t-shirt that appears to be fighting to keep its threads intact around his bicep. His long frame is leaning against a rusty red pickup truck.

The moment you push the doors open to step outside, his eyes spot you. Brilliant, bejeweled blue even from this distance. He covers that distance in no time with his ridiculously long legs, barely breathless as your name falls from his lips.

“It’s been a while,” he beams softly. His hand immediately commandeers your suitcase like the caveman-gentleman that he is. “How was your flight?”

You shudder at the sound of the tumbling cogs still echoing in your ear. “Terrifying,” you mutter, “how do you even fit in those tiny planes?”

The question sounds foolish now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Forget I asked.”

His smile is shy and sheepish as he blinks down at you. “Perks of the job, I guess.”

“I hardly think being an unpaid superhero should count as a job. Otherwise, I’d be reporting… someone to the Department of Labor for withheld wages.”

Then he laughs and the sound is buoyant and clear in this empty parking lot. You feel it spark warmth, tingling to your fingertips.

Girl, get a grip.

You fan yourself a little under the pretense of the disgusting heat. At least the air is cooler out here than inside that sauna. Your bare legs that stretch out from under your shorts certainly appreciate the kiss of the wind. You’re able to breathe a little easier despite the humidity.

An act that is short-lived when you notice how his gaze flickers to your exposed skin.

Clearing his throat, Clark stops when he reaches his truck. He carefully lifts your bag to the bed of his truck and straps it down. You eye it suspiciously.

His lips twitch with the threat of amusement. “It’s not going to fly out. Promise. Flat roads from here on out.”

“Don’t mean to be rude but might be faster if you just flew both of us back to your home,” you suggest with a raised eyebrow.

It would make it easier for you too to avoid being trapped with him for a full hundred and twenty minutes in a car with nowhere to go.

Clark chuckles as he swings open the passenger seat for you, even going as far as to offer you a hand to help you climb the height of the vehicle. You almost imagine the ghost of his hand pushing you up by your ass, but that’s just distasteful dreaming.

“I’d rather keep our mayor in the dark about how Superman had landed and was raised in Smallville. I don’t think that’s the kind of marketing the other guy would be interested in.”

“The other guy is really only popular in Metropolis so maybe he could use a bit of a boost from a bumfuck small town.”

He laughs again and you have to stomp on those ridiculous little flutters.

The drive is peaceful. With both hands on the wheel, Clark taps his finger against the leather to the rhythm of some pop song crackling through the speakers. He makes small talk to fill the silence. He asks you about life, about your job, about the tiny apartment you’ve been trying to furnish for the last few months. Cordial. Polite. Safe. All conversational topics that are reasonable for two friends.

That is, until he asks whether you’re seeing anyone.

It should be a normal question to ask a friend. Hell, even a stranger. But you know Clark better than that and you know the underlying curiosity underneath.

Heat creeps up your neck again. You feel as if you’re back in that cursed airport as you find your voice to respond to him. “No, not seeing anyone right now.”

He doesn’t even look at you when the corners of his lips tip up into a pleased smile. You knew what he was asking — and you basically gave him the green light. He takes your confirmation as permission.

His right hand slides off the wheel and lands on your thigh. His very large palm stretching across your leg.

You swallow thickly.

“This okay?” His voice is soft. Genuine worry laced into his question.

Instead of verbalizing your response, you only manage a nod as you prop an elbow on the door. Your face turns towards the deserted road outside to hide your embarrassment. To hide the racing of your heart. The anticipation bubbling beneath your veins.

It doesn’t take him long for his hand to slide higher and higher until you feel his fingers toying with the button on your pants. Deft fingers that pop it open easily. It’s terribly sexy how good he is at that.

He reaches down your pants, fingers skimming over the thin fabric of your panties until he finds your clothed slit. A delighted hum slips past the seam of his lips when he finds you already damp. His fingers trace along your sensitive lips, featherlight, but you’re eager enough that you find your hips jerking upwards in search of his touch.

Your chest rises and falls with the breath that hitches in your throat. “Are we really doing this already?” You rasp, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to prevent the moan from escaping.

You hate how responsive you are to him. How your body’s been trained to respond to him. That familiar touch eliciting those familiar sparks of electricity. No matter how many times he’s done this, how many times you’ve fallen apart in his hands, you’re no less receptive than the first time.

Clark chances a glance your way and simply murmurs, “Missed touching you.”

A whimper actually does crawl its way out of your throat this time. How are you supposed to say no to that? You let your legs fall open, hips lifting off the seat just enough so he can tug your pants a little lower, sneak his fingers in even deeper. He applies a little bit more pressure on your slit, you can feel your panties soaking up your juices.

“So wet already, honey,” he whispers.

Honey. The first time Clark used that pet name on you, you’d told him absolutely not. However, like everything else he’s done, you’ve grown used to it. Your insides turn gooey when he uses that sweet little nickname. Something so syrupy when he’s doing something oh so filthy.

“It’s been a while,” you mutter under your breath.

“Were you waiting for me?”

At that, you can’t help the defensive scoff that spits out of your mouth. “No.”

Maybe.

“When was the last time someone touched you?”

You don’t want to answer that. It’s an embarrassing answer — one that you fear will inflate his ego too much.

Unfortunately, your non-answer is answer enough.

“Been a while,” he echoes your earlier sentiment.

“Don’t get too full of yourself.”

“Why? Didn’t find anyone you liked these past few months?”

You press your lips together. The day that you admit you can’t seem to finish with anyone else, not when you’ve already had a taste — or ten — of Clark, is the day this world comes to an end. Not even Superman can pry this information out of you.

“No,” you answer easily.

Clark’s thumb presses down on your clit and you immediately jolt forward with a groan. His fingers tug the gusset of your panties to the side as he slides his fingers easily along your slick folds. He moans when he finds how quickly you coat his fingers.

“Me too,” Clark admits. “Haven’t been — gosh, you’re dripping — haven’t been with anyone since, you know, last time.” Whether it’s to save you from your own confession or Clark is just being his honest self, you don’t know. Still, you appreciate the thought.

Your face warms again with his words and maybe any other time, you would have the self-control or decency to stop him. However, in that moment, when you’re pent up from your frustrating flight and months of reaching your orgasm only by your fingers alone, you can’t help but appreciate his fingers on you.

You slide down a little further on your seat, granting him access to finally push his fingers inside you. Thick, long fingers that curl that delicious flash of friction in your pulsing cunt.

It’s criminal how good he is at this. At sex in general, really. You know that it’s partly attributed to his superpowers. Clark knows the rhythm of your heartbeat like it’s his own. It’s how he knows exactly when whatever he’s doing is working on you. How he’s learned what your body loves, what makes it burn. He can hear how your heart rate skyrockets when he slides his fingers deeper, when he does a slow drag out to pull a moan from your chest. He knows when he’s doing a good job, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t enjoy hearing you admit how much you want him out loud anyway.

He takes some sick satisfaction in making you ask for it.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

“You know what.”

“I need you to use your words, honey.”

Curse whoever ever said Clark is the good boy next door, the one who buys you flowers and opens your door. He does all that and can be so sweetly condescending in the sexiest way possible. While you’re usually irritated by any form of male patronization, there’s something about the way Clark does it.

Like he’s doing it for you because he knows you like it.

“Fuck me with your fingers, Clark,” you gasp as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you.

Your vision of the road is a blurry mess, greens and browns melting together as your eyes roll to the back. Your head slams against the chair as your hands curl around his wrist. Clark doesn’t miss a beat, keeps stroking you with his fingers like it’s his purpose.

His eyes dart between the road and you, conflicted now that he’s started this game that he has to finish. He drinks you in, the sight of your neck stretching out as you tip your head back, as your hips lift to chase his fingers.

“I can’t— I’ll finish you when we get back. I need to drive—”

“Pull over.”

“What?” He balks.

“Pull over somewhere,” you pant, tightening your grip around his wrist to keep him there. You roll your hips to rut against his hand. The ball of his palm pressing against your clit as he finger fucks you until your brain is turned to mush. “Clark, please.”

You swear you hear him curse before he takes a turn down an abandoned dirt path. He uses his hand covered in your slick to put the car into park and, before he can utter anything, you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over to his seat, straddling his thick thighs.

Clark’s eyes widen, pupils blowing up as he looks at you. He groans almost painfully. “I’m so hard. I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

“All night?”

He eagerly nods as he helps you shimmy out of your shorts, leaving you in your drenched panties on top of him. “Knew Kara and the others were coming later. I couldn’t stop thinking about having you like this. Or at home. Wherever you’ll let me have you. Missed this pussy of yours.”

Your heart slams against your chest as your cunt traitorously throbs with the kind of desperation that would be concerning to feminism. “Yeah? Did you jerk yourself off thinking about me, Clark? Hope you kept your voice down so your parents wouldn’t hear you stroking this fat cock of yours to the thought of my cunt.”

“You—” he growls, “Sometimes I wish I could just slide myself down your throat to stop you from saying such filthy things.”

A smirk curls on your lips. “You like me filthy. You like me dripping all over you.”

Your fingers fumble with his pants this time, hurriedly yanking the fabric down to free his cock for your access. You’re quick to position yourself on top of him, tip hot red and angry dipping into your entrance. Your slick is already rolling down his length when Clark’s hand squeezes your hip.

“C-condom?” He asks. The reluctance in his voice is obvious. It’s not that he won’t fuck you without one. It’s that he doesn’t want to.

“I’m clean, are you?”

Clark nods and his expression morphs into parted lips and blue eyes blown wide as you sink on him. With your hands planted on his broad shoulders, you begin to ride him — slowly at first as you adjust to his size again.

He’s big. Too big sometimes. You’re lucky with how wet you are right now that the slide eases the burn of the stretch. His thick cock has your pussy tightening in resistance, but you keep going, all the way until he’s buried deep inside you.

“Feels so good,” he moans, “you’re always so tight, but you always make it fit, don’t you? You take my cock so well.”

Your pussy clamps down around him, your pace faltering with his words.

“Look at her. She’s swallowing me right up. She’s greedy, always taking me all the way in,” Clark coos as he watches his cock disappear into you over again, each time you burrow him deeper and deeper inside you. “My favorite pussy. She’s so pretty taking me in like this.”

You lean back and place your hands on his thighs as you roll your hips to drive him in deeper. “Fuck, Clark. Every time I see you, feels like you've gotten bigger.”

“No, honey, it’s just because your pussy tightens up,” he chuckles, fingers brushing your hips. “She just has to get used to me again. I’ll stretch you out, don’t worry. ‘M gonna make you feel so good.”

“Play with my tits,” you rasp. “Want your hands on my tits.”

You know what you’re doing. This is both for you and him. You’ve always loved seeing how big his hands are, how they cover your breasts entirely. How he can be both delicate and rough when he toys with your nipples.

His fingers unbutton your shirt slowly and, the more he does, the wider his eyes go.

Clark lets out a moan when he sees your nipples in the open air. “No bra?” He squeaks. “You went through TSA like this?”

Your lips tip up into a smirk. “Don’t worry, nobody gave me a pat down.”

“Better not have,” he growls low, “these are mine.”

Your pussy and heart flutter with his possessive declaration. You nearly bite out a snappy retort, asking him since when am I yours but the words fizzle out behind your ribs when Clark grabs your hips and begins to earnestly fuck up into you. He’s careful not to hurt you, but tests your limits with how hard he’s gripping you. You’re sure to bruise but these kinds of marks, he knows you don’t mind. You like when he stakes his claim.

His head dips to take one nipple into his mouth, one of his hands rising along your torso, thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he lifts it slightly. His tongue circles the peaked bud, hot and wet until you’re throwing your head back in ecstasy. He nibbles lightly on the sensitive skin, enough to draw out another whine from your throat.

“So pretty. You’re always so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Pussy feels like heaven. So tight around my cock, honey. All mine. Tell me your pussy is all mine.”

You gasp when Clark thrusts up particularly hard, keen eyes searching yours. Swallowing, you hold on to the last thread of your pride as you resist the urge to cave into him.

“Come on, tell me. I won’t let you cum if you don’t say it.”

“Clark,” you whimper, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean,” he murmurs, “just want you to tell me that this pussy is mine. That nobody else has touched it. That nobody else will ever touch it.”

It’s a terrifying admission, even in the heat of the moment. Deep in your gut, you know that no one else will ever feel as good as Clark. No one else will ever get you to finish the same way he does. Fireworks and heat streaking across your skin.

But you give in to him so he will give in to you.

“My pussy’s yours,” you cry out.

“Say it again.”

“My pussy’s yours. Only yours.”

“No one else can touch it. You’re always saving this pretty, tight pussy for me.”

“Fuck, it’s yours, Clark. Please, please, fuck— hnng, need to— I want to cum, please.”

Clark groans as he angles his hips just right so that he’s fucking into that delicious spot inside of you over and over again until you can’t find it in you to think or even breathe. The gasp is wrangled from your throat as he rips the orgasm straight from under you, your back arching as your fingers dig into his shoulders, the pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your body shudders against him as you feel him spill inside you, warmth painting your walls as he jerks a few more times.

You slump forward, forehead against his shoulder as he continues to cum inside you. You can feel the cum leaking from where you’re joined, too much for you to keep inside yourself. It trickles down your thighs, dripping onto Clark’s jeans as evidence of your little tryst.

A giggle slips past your lips as you sigh against him.

His clean hand (he knows you have a thing against it otherwise) reaches up to stroke your head as he turns to press his lips on your temple. “What’re you laughing about?” He mumbles against your skin.

“Just— this. We really couldn’t wait to find a bed to fuck.”

His chest rumbles with his laugh. “Well, my ma and pa are home too so we wouldn’t have had a chance until tonight.” He pauses, then says, “And we both know you can’t keep your voice down.”

You launch yourself back with a glare, hand weakly swatting his chest. “Hey, speak for yourself. If I sucked your dick, you’d be crying and begging for me to stop because you can’t handle it.”

“That’s just because I want to cum inside you instead of your mouth.”

Your cunt pulses around him, squeezing. Traitor.

“You like that, don’t you?” He grins easily.

“Whatever,” you mutter. Wincing, you extract yourself from him and feel more of his cum leaking from between your puffy pussy.

Before you can move back to the passenger seat, Clark sits you down on his lap. His hand settles on your inner thigh, thumb pressing against your swollen pussy lips to open you up to him. He watches as his cum dribbles out of your cunt, before he uses his fingers to fuck them back into you.

“Don’t want to waste it,” he smiles boyishly.

This fucker.

“You’re the worst.”

“You won’t be saying that when I tell you I’ve figured out the many other stops we can have along the way — you know, if you wanted a second or third round.”

You’re warm to the tips of your ears. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s been a while,” he chuckles.

Clark’s parents greet you with a good dose of midwestern charm, followed by a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and Earl Grey tea. He regards you with mild amusement as you glance at him in alarm when his mother wraps you in a massive hug, telling you that she feels as if you’re one of her own.

“Oh, I’ve heard so much about you from Kara and Clark! It’s such a joy to finally meet you, honey. Come on in. Are you hungry? Did you want to clean up first? I’ve got some extra towels in Kara’s room for you. Clark, be a dear and show her around, will you? I just need to pull out the cinnamon loaf from the oven.”

It’s like a tornado, a whirlwind of movement all at once. A very pleasant tornado. Clark ends up giving you the comprehensive tour of the farmhouse. The Kent house looks fully lived in — well-worn vintage furniture with stitched florals, family photos dotting the walls and shelves to show any guest how loved the two Kent kids are, and touches of an old-fashioned home with typical cliché quotes hanging in frames or sewn onto throw pillows.

Clark blushes when you stare a little too long at the live, laugh, love painted onto a piece of wood above the toilet. “Ma loves that kind of thing. She buys a new one almost every time she goes into town.”

“Wish I had known, I could’ve gotten her another one for her collection,” you grin. “It’s sweet, Clark. Very charming.”

His smile softens slightly as he guides you to Kara’s room. “I’ll let you get settled in then. I have to help pa out with a few things, but let me know if you need anything. You have my number.”

Kara’s room is similar to the one she had in college. Posters of her favorite rock bands, pink wallpaper painted over with abstract murals that you find all too familiar. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room with frilly pink sheets that you doubt she picked herself. For the next hour, you unpack all your belongings, finding yourself dreading stepping outside and facing the music.

You had met Kara in college, freshman year, and the two of you were bonded for life. It started with a snooty remark from another student, and you and Kara had intervened at the same time, finding your sister-in-arms on day one. Two of you were similar in that you were both bull-headed, a little bit temperamental, but fiercely loyal. You loved her the moment you met her.

Sophomore year found the two of you unsurprisingly rooming together. The two of you were truly inseparable then. You thought you knew everything about her. That was until she said—

“My brother needs to come by,” she groans.

“You have a brother?”

That was when you were introduced to Clark Kent. Before you even met him, you had a strong inkling that you wouldn’t be a big fan of the guy. He was a year older than Kara but he was in a frat. Not that there’s anything wrong with participating in social activities on campus, but Greek life? Yes, you had formed your own preconceived notions about him.

So when Clark finally “swung by” to pick up one of his jackets while Kara was gone, you were caught off guard by the sight of this bumbling six-foot-four-mess who kept fidgeting with his thick-rimmed glasses. Clark, with his nervous smile and constant shifting, was a complete antithesis to Kara who had a permanent scowl and a sharp tongue.

Then you started seeing him everywhere on campus. You’ve seen him around before but now you can’t stop noticing him. He’s the mop of curls trying to shrink himself at the front of your English literature classroom, he’s the light laughter ringing across the dining hall, he’s the designated driver who physically gathered up the drunkards and piled them into the group’s car to send them home at the end of the night.

But he’s also the guy who’s always surrounded by some of the frattiest guys on campus and the guy who’s constantly swarmed by women grabbing at his biceps and running their hands down his chest.

“Your brother’s a bit of a player, huh?” You pointed out once to Kara, your eagle eyes focused across the room on Clark, who was humoring Bonnie from psychology as she yapped his ear off.

He didn’t seem to mind, laughing at whatever she was saying, which had her beaming.

Kara turned around, eyes following yours as you witnessed the atrocity that was Bonnie straight up flattening her manicured palm on his left tit. “Who? Clark?” She snorted, “The furthest. You can’t see it but that man is plotting the most polite escape route. Give it a second.”

Sure enough, the moment his eyes landed on you, they burned a brighter blue. He said something to Bonnie that had her pouting, turning to look at your table, before he made a beeline in your direction, sliding into the empty seat next to you.

“What happened with Bonnie?” You cocked an eyebrow.

“You know her?” Clark raised one right back. “She was, uh, talking about the frat’s winter gala thing.” His face distorted in a wince. “Asked me if I had a date.”

“Oh, while groping you?” Kara snickered.

Clark threw her a look. “Be nice. She meant well.”

“She meant she wanted your dick,” Kara noted then winced, “I don’t know why I just said that. I take it back. I don’t want to know about your sex life.”

His neck flushed a deep red as his eyes darted toward you for a brief second before he whipped his gaze away with a cough. “Anyways, I didn’t want to lead her on. So I told her I was already going with someone else.”

“Well, now you have to show up with a date,” Kara noted.

“Yeah.” Clark scratched the back of his ear then flicked his gaze towards you again. “Funny story.”

Dread sank into your gut. “Clark, no.”

“I’m sorry,” he flinched, “but she wanted to know who and I saw you and obviously I couldn’t say Kara so… here we are.”

“I have to go to your frat’s winter gala? Over my dead body.”

“It’ll be fun! Drinks and food. I’ll cover your ticket, obviously,” Clark pleaded. His blue eyes were shining in a way that made you melt. It was hard to say no to Clark Kent.

That was how you ended up as Clark’s date. That was how you ended up meeting your first ex in college. A fratboy of all people but he won you over with his sense of humor and charming smile. That was how you ended up with the most devastating heartbreak with a breakup that lasted all of one second over a text.

That was how you ended up swearing off relationships forever.

That was how you ended up in Clark Kent’s bed the summer you graduated college. One time turned to two turned to fucking on the kitchen counter while the others were asleep upstairs on your group’s annual trip. This “summer fling” became a recurring, annual rendezvous. As long as the two of you were single, you somehow always ended up in each other’s beds — or any other viable surfaces.

However, what was made very clear from the very beginning was that you were not looking for a serious relationship whatsoever. The last thing you needed was to get your heart broken again when you promised to focus on your career.

So this arrangement works.

You’re brought out of your reverie when a knock sounds on your door. Clark pops his head in, curls damp and glasses sliding down his nose again. He’s a little pink when he catches you midway through changing into a comfy t-shirt. A smirk curls on your lips. Even after seeing you naked all this time and talking like a fucking porn star during sex, Clark still blushes whenever he unintentionally catches you in a… compromising position.

“Um, ma wanted me to tell you to come down whenever you’re ready. We usually eat dinner as a family. If that’s okay with you.”

You finish shoving your arms through your shirt before bending down to reach for a pair of shorts. You hear the hitch of his breath behind you. Smirking, you slowly roll yourself back up. “Like what you see, Kent?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbles under his breath. Your eyes fall to his sweats where he’s currently adjusting his not-so-little problem. “I can be quick. And quiet. If you want to.”

A laugh rises from your chest. “Keep it in your pants. I don’t want to be late for my first dinner with your parents.”

With a slightly disappointed sigh, he nods and guides you downstairs.

Dinner is as you expected — delicious food with a side of chaos. While Clark’s dad keeps mostly to himself, nodding along to whatever his wife is saying or whispering with Clark, his mother peppers you with endless questions about your life, your job, and your relationship with her children. “I’m so sorry we’re only meeting now! I hear so much about you from both of them. It’s such a shame.”

“I hope Kara only has good things to say,” you tease.

“Oh, Kara adores you but Clark also won’t stop talking about you.”

That catches you by surprise and you shift your attention to Clark with a curious look. “Is that so?”

There’s that pink again. Endearingly embarrassed. “Oh, yes,” his mom gushes, “tells me all the time what a sweetheart you are and how smart you are, how he enjoys watch—”

“Ma, how about some more mashed potatoes, hm?” Clark distracts her, offering a massive dollop of her potatoes. “How about you tell me what’s going on with the kitchen sink? Thought you wanted me to take a look.”

His mother is successfully distracted when she instead begins to fuss over everything wrong with the farmhouse. His father tries to reassure Clark that he’s got it under control and that he should just enjoy his vacation. Clark only nods along, partially listening. You know the look he has when part of his mind is far away from the conversation.

You can’t help but wonder what his mom was going to say.

After dinner, you insist that his parents get some rest while you and Clark do the dishes. It’s a back and forth for a bit, debating on whether guests should be doing chores, debating on whether you’re guests at all. Thankfully, you win when Clark manages to urge them out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Clark is the actual winner when he also pushes you out of there for you to get cleaned up

You do a full scrubdown, washing away all the grease from the flight. The water is warm on your skin, much needed after a long day. You almost slide yourself into Kara’s mattress to sleep when you realize Clark missed one part of his tour.

So you tiptoe down the hall, careful not to wake the Kents with the creaking beneath your footsteps as you sneak into Clark’s room, closing the door behind you.

He has a towel wrapped around his waist, chiseled, bare chest on full display, as he frowns at his phone. He looks up, fumbling with the device when he sees you. His arms quickly go to cover his stomach and his legs, as if he’s at risk of exposing an ankle to a Victorian lady.

You roll your eyes. He clears his throat. “What’re you doing here?”

“You never showed me your room, I wanted to see if you had anything embarrassing in here. Like Superman plushies or something. Or your old porn collection. Maybe a Playboy or two.”

“I don’t… have any of those,” Clark says, pink to his ears.

“Sure, you’re telling me if I look in that drawer over there that I won’t find a couple of risque magazines?” You begin drifting in that direction and Clark is immediately in your path. You’re face-to-face with his pecs.

“Take my word for it.”

Sighing, you cave and instead wander around the rest of the room. It’s a quaint room. Small bed that you’re not even sure would fit him. Two small bookshelves with some reference volumes and novels you’ve heard him talk about before. Giant poster of the Mighty Crabjoys who Clark insists is very punk rock. Then there are a few trophies for a spelling bee, debate club, and a science fair — none for his athleticism, because you know for sure Clark would never use his gifted powers for selfish purposes. His desk has an ancient monitor that looks like a stack of brick and more books — comic books, more novels, and CDs (no doubt of the Mighty Crabjoys).

It’s simple and sweet. Kind of like him.

While you’re busy absorbing every inch of his bedroom, Clark has crept up behind you. His arms wind around your waist, lips pasting on your neck. You instinctively tilt your head, a moan bubbling up your throat. “Clark, your parents are down the hall,” you murmur.

“I can be quiet. I’ll make sure you are too,” he whispers as his hands begin to wander. One to cover your mouth and the other going between your legs. “I’ll make you feel good, honey.”

And that he does.

Your second day in Smallville starts off early. And warm. Incredibly, horribly warm. Your eyes flutter open to the wide expanse of creamy skin. Creamy skin on a very, very wide chest. Grunting, you try to push against him, to get his hefty arm off you, but he doesn’t even budge.

Clark grumbles quietly, tucking you deeper into his chest. “Sleep.”

“Clark,” you whisper-yell, “come on. I gotta get back to the room.”

“You’re already in a room,” he mumbles.

You peek up only to find him still with his eyes closed. “Your parents—”

As if on cue, your worst nightmare plays out in real time. You hear the creak first. You try not to panic, praying that it’s someone walking away from the door rather than towards it. But then you hear the knob twist. You feel Clark stiffen in real time, his entire body going taut like a board as his eyes slam open. The two of you don’t move fast enough; in fact, your legs are still tangled together when the door swings inwards.

“Clark, honey—” his mom’s words die out, undoubtedly when her eyes land on not one but two bodies in the very tiny bed that barely fits her son. Clark holds you in closer, tugging the blanket higher to cover your bare back. Your shirt is abandoned somewhere in the room — along with your underwear that hopefully isn’t visible to his poor mother’s eyes. Thankfully, you’re not facing the door, so you don’t have to subject yourself to whatever disappointed face she’s making. “What in the—”

“Ma! Why didn’t you knock first?” Clark coughs, sliding up only to bury you deeper under the blanket.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to have company at this hour, Clark.” There’s a sternness to her words that sends shivers snaking up your spine.

Not even a full twenty-four hours and you’ve managed to ruin your entire reputation with his mom. But if you could just explain this, then maybe—

“We’re engaged, Ma. Alright. We’re engaged!”

What the ever-loving fuck—

“Engaged?” Her tone has shifted significantly, delight clinging to every letter. “Oh my, oh goodness, what wonderful news! I want to say I didn’t see it coming but I did! My boy did talk about you all the time so it’s not much of a surprise.”

“I do not, Ma,” Clark retorts quickly.

She barely pays him any mind. “I have to tell your pa. This is exciting news! My first son! Engaged!” Then she’s scampering out of the room and Clark can only call out, “I’m your only son, Ma!”

The moment she’s out of earshot, your hands immediately fly.

“Ow! Ow! Stop that! Come on, stop it!” Clark flinches as you continue to barrage him with smacks from all angles. Not that it actually hurts. His hands immediately whip out to pin you down, his body hovering over yours. Your chest rises with every heaving breath while Clark just frowns at you, probably concerned that you’ve hurt yourself in your fruitless attempt to hurt him. “Are you done?”

Even in this situation, you can feel that familiar heat stirring between your legs. Clark’s handsome face above you, his one hand pinning you down, the other one on your hip, his stupid, big, beefy chest in front of your face. You hate it.

Unfortunately, this means Clark picks up on your heartbeat, the way your blood rushes beneath your skin at the sight of him.

His lips tip up. “Good?”

“Why in the hell would you tell your mom that we’re engaged?”

“I love my ma. Wonderful woman. Loves everyone dearly. Love is love, she believes in. She’s all about love.”

“So you tell her we’re engaged?"

Clark sighs, “Even with all that, she is very much still an old-fashioned woman from the Midwest. She would not approve of me… bedding a woman outside of wedlock. She would never forgive me if she knew what I’ve been doing.”

Or who he’s been doing — you.

“Oh my god, Clark.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Because you don’t want your mom to know that you stick our dick inside girls before marriage, you drag me into this and act like we’re getting married?”

Clark frowns, lips pinching together disapprovingly. “Girl. One girl. You. And yes, I panicked, I’m sorry. It’ll just be for this trip, alright. We’ll… explain it all away after.”

Another protest sits on the tip of your tongue, but the look on his face reduces you into a puddle. A puddle that molds according to whatever container Clark pours you into. 

“Fine, okay, but what are we going to tell Kara? Or Lois and Jimmy when they arrive?”

He opens his mouth then promptly closes it. Thought so.

“We should think fast because I know for a fact Kara’s supposed to come in anytime now—”

Then you hear the screech, followed by the hurried footsteps, followed by the door once again banging open against the wall with the brute force of her strength. You’re surprised it’s still on its hinges.

And there she is.

“What the hell, dude? You’re engaged to him?”

Clark gives the two of you some space; that is, after he kicks Kara out long enough for the two of you to be decent.

This is the first time the two of you have ever woken up together.

In the years you’ve slept together, the countless nights you’ve spent in a pile of messy limbs, this is the first time.

The awkwardness that follows hangs heavy in the air.

“I’ll, um, I’ll give you time with Kara. I’m going to calm my parents down first, tell them not to overwhelm you. I’ll see you later?”

He says it like a question, like he isn’t sure if you would even see him again after this incident. And you know that it’s mainly his fault but you should’ve also been more careful. You knew what you were getting yourself into when you snuck in, you knew what you were looking for when you went to find him last night.

“Yes, Clark, I’ll see you later.”

Mild relief sinks into his features as he nods and exits the room.

It takes a bit of time to get Kara to stop hyperventilating or talking for even a second for you to get a word in. She’s still reeling at the fact that she saw her best friend and her brother in bed. Together. Naked. She may have also attempted to rinse her eyes with bleach.

After talking her off the ledge, you finally give her the basic answers.

“Yes, I’ve been fucking your brother.”

“No, we’re not dating.”

“No, Kara, how would we be actually engaged if we weren’t dating?”

Lois and Jimmy arrive shortly after and you thankfully get some reprieve from Clark when he goes to pick them up. Fortunately, Clark gives them the quick SparkNotes version of what transpired this morning. Unfortunately, you have to do the full run-down to once again emphasize that you are not actually engaged to Clark Kent. 

Dinner is only an awkward affair for the people in the know. Clark’s parents remain blissfully ignorant, instead focusing on gushing about how thrilled they are that Clark has found somebody.

“You’re the first girl he’s ever brought home. It’s only right that you’re his fiancée! Now, I want to hear it from both of you — when did this all start? How did you know you were in love?”

Kara chokes on her chicken. Lois and Jimmy share wary looks. You shoot her a dirty look. Clark coughs, eyes sliding over to you for a nanosecond before returning to his mom. “Love at first sight when I saw her that first time.” Clark should be an actor, he sounds terribly convincing.

All you can say is “same.”

Clark kicks you under the table and you have to swallow your yelp. A dirty glare his way does nothing to deter him when he gives you a look that insists you give his mom an “actual” answer. 

You wrack your brain. Beyond the good sex, Clark has mostly existed in your periphery. He’s Kara’s brother. Lois’ best friend. Jimmy’s partner in crime.

But he’s always been just Clark to you.

You just happened to be smart enough to put two and two together on him and Big Blue and, for some reason, that brought you closer. 

But if you were to pick a point in which you could were to fall for Clark Kent, it would be that.

“I think it was around the same time. A first year was struggling through orientation week. First week jitters. Clark was an orientation leader at the time. He didn’t have to but he stuck with that kid almost that entire week. Saw him invite the kid to join for lunches with his friends, encourage him to make friends. It was sweet.”

Mrs. Kent looks absolutely awed. She whispers about how endearing that is.

However, all you can feel is the weight of Clark’s gaze on you. Steady, heavy. You risk a glance up. 

His eyes are soft, a little misty if you squint. Lips with a slight up curve. 

“I don’t know if I remember you back then.”

Heat kisses your cheeks. “That was before we were introduced.”

“You knew me?”

“Hard for you to not stand out as a six-foot non-football player.” 

Clark chuckles.

“That’s so very romantic, dear. I’m so glad to hear,” his mom coos, “now all of you off to bed. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it? So much good news! And you two should stay together — future newlyweds!”

You choke the same time Kara protests. “But she’s rooming with me!”

Needless to say, Kara doesn’t win this fight and, while Lois gives you a sympathetic look as she enters Kara’s room, you’re suddenly being shoved back into Clark’s room. The same room that got you into this mess to begin with. 

“Clark, we need to get our stories straight if we want to be convincing.” 

“Hmm, sure.”

“We need to talk about when we started dating and when you proposed — not to mention how you proposed! And the details matter, you know, so we should— are you even listening?”

Clark hums again, clearly not listening. “Sure, yeah. We should talk about it.”

He’s taking one step towards you then another and another until the back of your knees hit the bed. “Clark,” you warn, “talk.”

He ducks his head, brushing his lips against yours. His proximity is intoxicating. What were you saying again? Something about talking.

“Fell in love with me before you even knew me, huh? That’s cute,” he murmurs in a breath that you sharply inhale. 

You bite back your embarrassment. “It’s just a story.”

“But you—” kiss “—noticed—” kiss “—me.” 

“It was just, um, I was only, mmm, answering…” Your words trail off as Clark navigates his mouth south along your neck, laying you down on his bed, as he drops to his knees, hands parting your legs. “Clark, we need— ah.”

“Did so good today, honey,” Clark mutters, pressing wet kisses up your bare inner thigh. His teeth nip at your skin. “Now, let me take good care of you tonight.”

Your body is still sore and tingling when you wake up the next morning. When you stretch your hand over, you find the other side of the bed cool. 

You pad out through the creaky front door to find three of your friends enjoying the crisp, unpolluted air of Smallville with cups of coffee, ones that Lois doesn’t have to douse with a whole can of sugar. Clark is still nowhere to be seen. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Kara yawns. 

“Morning,” you mumble quietly. “Has anyone seen Clark?”

“He’s helping out at the barn,” Lois answers first, eyeing you with a strange twinkle in her eye. “Better yet, how about you tell us how long you and Clark plan on being engaged? Are we invited to the wedding?”

You give her a look. “If I ever get married, please know I’ve been kidnapped and cloned.”

“Is it really so bad?”

Cocking an eyebrow at her, you ask, “You of all people are saying that? Miss Independent?”

“Hey, I am voluntarily a solitary creature.”

“That’s because she bites the head off anyone who tries to approach her,” Jimmy chimes in, then turns back to you, “Clark’s not a bad pick. You know, if you were to get married.”

“No, he’s not,” you mutter — and it’s a truth that just slips out. 

When you look up, Kara’s got her eyes narrowed at you but Lois — she’s got a curious yet strangely warm look in her gaze. It’s not an expression that you expect to see from her. 

And Jimmy, well, he’s still half dizzy over the fact that you and Clark are fucking. 

“I need to talk to him, we need to get our stories straight,” you clear your throat, glance wandering over to the barn some distance away. 

“You guys still haven’t discussed that?”

“No, I tried talking to him last night but we got—” The ghost of Clark’s curls between your legs, soft strands tickling your inner thighs. The hot, wet drag of his tongue between your folds. His muffled moans, nose glistening.

“You taste like nectar from the gods.”

“I don’t wanna know!” Kara yelps, slapping her hands over her ears. “I see your face and I don’t wanna hear it. While I enjoy hearing about your sexual encounters, I don’t want to hear about my brother’s.”

You cough again, ignoring the warmth that’s flooded your cheeks. “Right, anyway, I’ll go look for him.” 

While you’ve never experienced country living, you imagine this is close to what it’s like. The unappetizing aroma of manure, the constant croaking of nature, and the sight of Clark Kent in overalls.

Nothing but overalls. 

Shining golden skin. Not a single drop of sweat. Curls mussed up only from the heat, but his breathing is stable even as he lifts bags of soil on his shoulder. Hundreds of pounds. Biceps flexing, veins taut. 

Fuck.

“You’re awake,” he brightens when he sees you, dropping the bags off to the side. “How’d you sleep?”

Your brain short-circuits when he dusts his hands off. Now that there are no bags in the way, you can see everything. Broad, round shoulders. The curves of his arms. Lines running down the length of his forearm, you can practically taste the texture on your tongue. When his overalls shift just right, you get a glimpse of his dusky nipple that you’re desperately needing to wrap your lips around. 

All you can picture is how good it would be to put your hands on his shoulders, bolstering you up while he presses up against you. 

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking.” 

Clark’s in front of you. His fingers curving around the back of your neck, thumb on your jaw to tilt your face up. His usually bright blue eyes are dark, pupils swallowing his irises. 

“We should—” your breath hitches as his thumb goes down, pressing down on your pulse point on your neck. It jumps. You know he feels it.

“I can hear your heart racing,” Clark murmurs. “I like hearing it. I like knowing what you like — and you like my hand on you.”

“Clark, please,” you rasp. 

“What do you need?” 

“You.”

“How do you want me?”

You swallow, the image so vivid in your mind, like it’s a memory. “Holding me up.” You barely get the words out when Clark wrangles your legs around him, holding you up firmly with one arm as his other hand touches your cheek. 

“What now?”

“I want you. Inside.”

“I can do that,” he smiles, leaning down to suckle lightly on your neck. “Anything else?”

“Must I tell you everything?” You grunt.

“I know what you want. I just like hearing you ask for it.”

With your lips pursed in defiance, you cross your arms over your chest. “If you ask me one more time—” 

A yelp is wrenched from your throat when he finally (finally) brushes his thumb over your sensitive nipple peaking through the thin cotton of your shirt.

He gropes you gently, somehow manhandling you in a way that makes you feel desirable rather than disgusting. His blue eyes are shadowed, drinking in the way you shiver with every tug, every pinch.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs to the wind. 

Clark tugs the shirt over your head, leaving you completely topless. Your arms immediately wind around your body in embarrassment, but he moves faster to extract them and deliver you a chiding look.

You’re sheepish when you tell him, “Someone might see us.”

“Mhmm, let them. I’m taking care of my fiancée.” His lips tug into an amused smirk when you roll your eyes. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Please, you like brats.”

“You know me so well.”

He dives forward and takes your tits into your mouth, showering them with cautious but delicious attention. His tongue is hot on your skin. You throw your head back as he drags his lips across your neck. 

With swift hands, your shorts join your shirt in the pile of hay and Clark has unbuttoned his overalls to fall at his hips. His mouth stays on you the entire time — sweet and spicy at the same time. 

Greedy hands lift you slightly higher, only to position you right above his straining cock. The vein in his neck jumps as he grits his teeth.

Clark eases you onto his cock, moving you up and down along his length like a toy, like you’re his personal fleshlight. Your pussy stretches around him, soaking his cock until you’re a whining mess. 

“‘M gonna need you to keep it down,” he grunts quietly, neck flushed red as he bites down his own moan. 

On cue, and as if to prove a point, a moan crawls up your throat. Clark’s hand flies up to slap over your face. Large palm over your mouth, your eyes wide at him. A whimper slides up your throat at the stern, scolding expression on his face. 

“Honey, what did I just say?”

Your pussy clenches around him. His words are almost demeaning, but the gentleness with which they are delivered has you shivering and melting into his touch. “S-sorry,” you stutter pathetically, “I‘m sorry.”

“I know,” he whispers, “I know, but I need you to be quiet, okay. I don’t need my parents coming out and seeing us like this. They might make us marry on the spot.”

Heat spreads throughout every nerve in your body at his comment. It’s a joke, you know it is, but the idea of Clark claiming you as his with his cock buried inside you, painting you in bridal white inside out, has you tightening around him. 

“Is that what you want?” Clark murmurs softly, his blue eyes twinkle with the kind of mischief that has your fingers tingling. 

“No,” you scoff a little too quickly.

“Could put you in a dress. Marry you in this barn right now. Afterwards, I’ll take you outside against the walls while my family’s in here celebrating us. We’ll consummate our marriage.”

The image is painted so vividly in the back of your mind. You in a simple dress, hiked up, Clark fucking you into oblivion against the walls outside. Good god. 

“I can feel her tightening around me, honey,” Clark chuckles. “She likes the idea.”

“Stop being silly,” you clear your throat, “you gonna fuck me properly or what?”

He mutters something about your mouth before fucking you in earnest once more. His thrusts are sloppy but no less powerful, his desire leaks through his stuttered hips, the uneven staccato of his breaths. 

Pleasure builds and twists, coiling tight inside your stomach as Clark’s grip remains firm on you. Moans continue to pour from your lips like prayers to the god before you. He slides his hand up your throat again, squeezing gently, before bypassing it and covering your mouth once more. 

“Gonna need you to keep quiet, okay. I love hearing your pretty moans but I can’t share that with anyone else. Can’t have my parents coming out here and seeing you like this. I can’t have them thinking you’re a filthy little minx, spreading your legs for me anytime, anywhere.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as another groan chases your tongue. His name is muffled behind his hand and you gasp for breath when Clark gives you some room to inhale.

“She feels so good around me. So tight. She’s been waiting for me all morning. Greedy thing, isn’t she? Fed her so much last night and she still wants more.”

“C-Clark, please. Shit. Oh fuck.”

“So good to me. I have so much to give her, she knows that, doesn’t she? That’s why you came looking for me. Wanted one more time even after last night. Maybe I’ll taste myself on you later.”

Jesus Christ. This man has a way of making you picture the most deliciously repulsive images in your mind. Him cumming inside you, his face between your legs, licking you clean until there’s no trace of him left. Maybe even coming back up and kissing you. The taste of him tangled in your tongues.

Clark’s hands tighten. His grunts shorten. His pleas desperate.

Before long, you’re coming apart in his hands, Clark tightens his hold around your jaw to muffle the sound of your cries as he spills inside you. He buries his own moans into your neck as he presses you deeper against the wooden beam. With how hard he fucked you, you’re surprised this barn is still standing. You had felt the pillar rattling behind you.

He huffs a breath before leaning backwards. His hand reaches up to brush away the sweat-dampened strands of your hair from your face. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?”

Even after years of this arrangement, Clark is always so careful. You know he holds back his strength when he’s screwing your brains out. He could go a lot harder and sometimes you wonder what it would feel like for his patience to snap, for him to fuck you with no abandon. 

You don’t think you’ll survive that.

But you also think you would deliriously enjoy that. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Clark murmurs, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you swiftly say, “just— nothing.” Warmth floods your cheeks again. You’ve only just finished getting your brains turned to mush and here you are thinking about how much harder he could go. 

“You’re thinking about something.”

“I’m thinking how we should really get our stories straight.”

Clark regards you thoughtfully, a contemplative expression carved into the creases on his forehead. Then he presses into you more, cock pushing back in. You can hear the squish of his cum inside you, an indecent little sound in the quiet of the morning. 

“Okay, do you wanna talk now?”

“Clark,” you deadpan.

“What?”

Your cheeks are hot again. “Obviously not like this.” 

“Alright, later then.”

Clark doesn’t look the least bit remorseful, lips stretched into a wide grin. He’s much too gleeful for a man who’s foiled your plans to be responsible again — with his dick. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Instead of spending the day puttering around the farm and watching Clark do manual labor in nothing but overalls (which isn’t necessarily the worst way to kill time), the Kents propose going to the fair that’s in town.

Clark insists that his parents could use his help while he’s around.

They insist that he should spend time with his fiancée.

The five of you pile into Clark’s truck; to avoid suspicion, you ride up front with him, throwing his parents a tight smile as you wave at them as the car treks down the dirt path. The three of them are bickering about something related to agriculture in the backseat while you — you find yourself once again distracted by Clark who looks far too good driving.

Sometimes, you think you need to get your brain rewired for being too easily stimulated by the sight of him. It’s like your brain is wired to tune into him, to every little detail from the way his eyes crinkle, how his lips pucker when he whistles, or that one vein along his arm that jumps every time he turns the wheel.

Your plan backfires when you stare at him a little too long, trying to think of how you could get the two of you to talk to get your stories aligned, and Clark ends up noticing how your eyes never stray too far from him. The corners of his lips tip up, pleased, then his free hand slides over your thigh once more.

It doesn’t do anything. It just stays there. A grounding presence.

The back of your neck warms and you blame it on the mid-morning sun.

The fair is nothing too crazy, you didn’t expect anything grand from a small town near Smallville. It’s more like a community event, with faces familiar to the Kents dotting the crowd. A small market lines the entry area, selling all sorts of trinkets and knick-knacks. Clark bumps your shoulder with his arm as you walk down the path.

“Don’t you like those things? You wanna take a look?”

You cock an eyebrow. “I do like them, how do you know that?”

“I see them all over your apartment,” he shrugs, “especially the flowery-looking ones.” You’ve started collecting miniature toys and figurines with flowers on them. Since you can’t seem to keep plants alive, your little addiction to buying the most useless pieces of paperweight is fulfilled by the replacement of real live decor.

“Oh. Yes, well, I have too many now so I don’t think I should even look at them. Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to buy.”

Beyond that, the fair opens up to game booths — your classic ring toss, darts, and shooting a water ducky — and attractions like pony riding, a petting zoo, and so on and so forth. It’s cute. It’s quaint. Nothing like what you see in the big cities. In fact, big cities have no carnivals like these. So maybe you’re a teensy bit excited. 

“Wanna play?” Clark smiles at the obvious enthusiasm on your face. 

Before you can answer, a shrill voice calls out to Clark. Well, it’s not really shrill, it actually sounds rather sweet — like the tinkling of bells — but you see the source of that sound and you feel an irritating itch in your chest.

“Willow! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Oh, so he knows her. That ugly part inside of you wonders if he also has the same arrangement with her. But no, she seems nice. Like the girl next door. The kind of girl you marry — and not with a fake engagement. 

They chat for a little bit and you’re on the sidelines watching them. Kara nudges you by your side. “We’re going to try the dunk tank. Jimmy has agreed to be dunked as long as we can aim. Wanna come?”

Your gaze flicks over to Clark for a second but find that he’s still eagerly chatting with this girl, so you put on your biggest smile and turn back to your best friend. 

“Let’s do it.”

The four of you busy yourselves with the various games. Lois manages to dunk Jimmy four times. Jimmy then proceeds to win a free t-shirt to change into from the ring toss. Kara absolutely destroys Lois at basketball and you absolutely annihilate all of them at darts (pub nights are coming in handy after all). 

You’re having a great time — a wonderful time — until you realize that Clark still hasn’t caught up. Every time you look over in search of him, he’s there helping a new person. First, it’s the old lady with her bags of groceries. Then it’s the little boy with his cat in the tree. Next, it’s the farmer who needs to unload his van of dozens of boxes. 

And then it’s that girl — Willow, was it? — who is apparently a florist and is setting up the most beautiful little booth in the market. 

It’s thoughtful, it’s kind. That’s who Clark is. But then you see him laughing and smiling and just being Clark and all you can feel is pissed. He’s here for you — all of you — so why is he busying himself with others? It’s incredibly selfish and guilt gnaws at your chest. 

So you bite down that terrible feeling and instead focus on the others. You’re fine with this. It’s not as if you have anything with Clark, really. You’re friends who happen to fuck every summer. That’s all. 

Maybe Clark is simply looking for something more long-term.

Your eyes wander to Lois. You’ve always thought that they would be a thing. Two incredibly smart people who work together, who have great chemistry. You know that Clark respects and adores her deeply, as evidenced by how much he talks about her. It seemed to be a matter of time.

Your anger doesn’t ease. Instead, you channel that rage into this shooting game. Clark has only just shown up, standing next to Kara with his gaze on you, a dopey smile in place. 

You hit the target dead center again and again and again. 

“That’s the first time today! You’ve got quite the skills, miss.” The guy at the booth says, both impressed and terrified. “You can pick any prize you want from the top.”

Clark whistles with his fingers and grins. “Good job, that was incredible.”

You hate yourself for immediately blooming with excitement at the compliment, especially when he’s left this group to tend to other people. How pathetic can you be?

The next words out of your mouth are not your best moment. 

“Well, seeing as my fiancé is too busy to get me anything.”

You can see the moment your jab lands and the smile wipes off his face, replaced by a look of sheer surprise. You turn on your heel and make your way to the next game, teddy bear tucked safely in your arms.

It’s not that you’re immature. You’re not. You’re an adult. But it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a teensy bit petty.

Every time Clark tries to come close to you, you’re linking arms with Kara and traipsing off. When he calls your name, you pretend not to hear by cheering for Lois as she slams a hammer down on a strength-based game. 

It’s an exhausting endeavor and you’re this close to giving up. Plus, the heat isn’t exactly letting up and you’re starting to feel a little woozy. 

So when Clark approaches you again, you almost cave and lean on his broad frame for support.

“Hungry?” He asks carefully as his long legs finally catch up to you alone.

Your stubbornness nearly denies him once more but your stomach wins out when it growls. Loud. 

Clark doesn’t tease you; he simply takes your hand and whisks you away to the little makeshift food court. He sits you down and begins going from stall to stall, collecting one dish after another until you’ve got a spread in front of you.

It’s all your favorite things — or similar ones that he thinks you’ll enjoy; he would be right.

You’re too busy stuffing your face to notice Clark wringing his fingers in front of you, fidgeting as he tries to get your attention. 

“What?” You finally ask when you peer up after his nth time repositioning himself, shrinking so he would be in your line of sight. 

“Can you tell me why you’re sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

He gives you a look. 

“I’m not! I don’t care who you spend your time with.”

“Who?” Clark perks up, irises bright with curiosity.

Shit. You and your big mouth. Now you’ve gone ahead and given away too much, so you clamp your lips shut and shake your head. You shut down his every attempt to pry by focusing on eating instead.

He only seems to relent when he thinks he’s pushed hard enough, but, knowing Clark, he isn’t going to let the matter slide so easily. 

You continue your day unscathed for the most part. You cling close to Kara who doesn’t seem to mind that you’re sticking to her instead of her brother. Of course, she shoots you questioning looks but the shake of your head prevents her from pushing. 

You’re in the middle of cheering for Lois and Kara when a cloud of pink appears before you. You blink at it before you trace back the source of the dessert. Unsurprisingly, Clark stands at the other end of the cotton candy.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You mentioned once that you’ve always liked cotton candies. It’s all sugar, but that childish part in you relishes the way the fluffy treat melts on your tongue. 

“I do, thank you,” you confirm, ripping apart a piece before popping it in your mouth. The strands dissolve into syrup on your tongue.

Clark looks at you expectantly, a tinge of anxiety in the slight fold of his brows. “Good?”

“Good,” you smile at him.

Perhaps you’ve been too hard on him today. He’s being a good neighbor and you’re giving him shit for talking to someone else.

The two of you aren’t exclusive. That’s the whole point of this arrangement. If he happened to find someone that he wants to actually date seriously, then you’d let him go. 

Somehow, the thought makes your stomach churn. 

“I got you something else.”

You look up at him and he digs around in his shirt pocket and pulls out a thin silver band. A crystal sits in the middle of it, sparkling no less brightly than a diamond. It’s simple, it’s sweet. It’s characteristically you. 

“It’s nothing extravagant but you wear silver jewelry, right? I think this should fit.” Then Clark is taking your left hand and sliding the promise over your ring finger. The band sits perfectly snug. The crystal catches light and twinkles like it’s winking at you. 

For all your pouting, Clark seems to know the perfect remedy. 

“Just, you know, until the trip is over,” he adds nervously. “If that’s okay with you.”

You bring your hand up, watching as the ring glimmers underneath the afternoon sun. Your lips tip up in a small smile. 

“Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“And, if it’s any reassurance,” Clark adds, quieter, low enough that the others can’t hear — eyes trained solely on you, sharp and honest, “I only have eyes for you.”

Your heart beats against your ribs. Heat frames your face at the same time he smiles softly at you. 

You don’t respond, but that’s answer enough.

The chill beneath your fingertips rouses you from sleep. When your eyes flutter open, Clark’s big, warm body is nowhere to be found. You remember falling asleep cuddled up to a living, breathing heater and now you’re shivering as you tug on an extra sweater. Your footsteps are quiet as you pad out into the hallway in search of him, navigating through the darkness until your eyes land on him, bathed in the moonlight on the bench outside.

Clark turns before the door even swings open. He must’ve heard you.

“You’re up early — or late,” he notes.

“So are you, what’re you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t really sleep, you?”

“Must’ve been all the cotton candy,” you say as you slide into the seat next to him.

The midnight air in Smallville is brisk, you’re beginning to regret not throwing on an extra layer. Clark senses your shivers and immediately scooches closer towards you, draping his flannel over your shoulders and tucking you in close. The draw of his warmth is too tempting to resist and you end up nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Could’ve stayed inside,” you flag quietly.

“The fresh air helps me think. Plus, it’s nice to take advantage of this away from Metropolis. Breathing in fumes doesn’t seem conducive to my health.”

“Good thing your only weakness is extinct,” you tease, bumping shoulders gently.

Clark smiles at you, soft and knowing. “It’s not my only weakness.”

You raise an eyebrow but he doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t press. Instead, you ask him what’s plaguing his mind.

“My parents,” he begins, “I worry about them. They’re getting older, things with the farm aren’t easy and we’re not in a position to hire any extra hands.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m thinking if I should move back.”

Your heart plummets, all amusement evaporating. You don’t know why you’re so disappointed by the thought. Although you don’t live in Metropolis, although you don’t see Clark very often, you’re only a city away, and even then, he still feels light-years away. “Move back?”

“Here to Smallville. I’m not sure yet.”

Your throat is tight when you attempt a joke, “What? And leave your fiancée behind?”

Clark’s lips curl. “Never. I’ll take you with me.”

Oh. Your chest warms. “What makes you think I’d go with you?”

“I’d just have to convince you,” he whispers, tilting his head to press his forehead against yours. His next words are soft, but they have your heart pressing against your ribcage. “And I can be very persuasive.”

A giggle falls from your lips. Clark shrinks himself, bending himself at a slightly odd angle to accommodate your height as you lean your head on his shoulder. The quiet moon is company you don’t want to humor tonight and Clark seems to agree when he rises to his feet and offers his hand.

The two of you drift back into his bedroom. Light still spills across his hardwood floors that whine below his heavy footfalls. But Clark shields you from the stark brightness, engulfing you in a comfortable night against his chest.

When you tip your face up, he’s already looking down at you. For a moment, he only searches your eyes. Looking for something you’re not sure you can provide.

However, he seems to find whatever it is he wanted when he leans down and slides his mouth over yours.

The kiss is soft. Slow. None of the usual heat and messiness that leads to hours of tangled legs and sweaty limbs. This one is patient, it’s kind. Clark tastes like tea and sugar, the kind of concoction that lulls you slowly back to sleep.

Before your consciousness slips away again, Clark murmurs a promise of sweet dreams.

You think you may already have that.

This farmlife experience is much more taxing than you expect. Hours of Harvest Moon on your old game consoles do nothing to prepare you for the ache between your fingers and the soreness of your shoulders. However, you suck it up and keep going because there’s no greater sight than Clark who delights in showing you the ropes.

You’ve fought off chickens all morning to feed them and take their eggs for breakfast. You’ve milked cows, delicate fingers wrapped around the hefty udders until you fill a whole pail. You’re grooming the horses and trying not to get your hair chewed out.

Again, it’s all worth it when you see Clark beam at you like the morning sun.

His eyes also keep wandering to your finger where he has already pointed out — “You’re wearing the ring.”

You blame the fever on your neck on the sun that’s barely risen. “I thought it would be best to wear it so your parents don’t get suspicious.”

The two of you do end up talking, agreeing on points in time that align for your supposed romantic development. It isn’t a hard task, not when you actually do remember those moments when you felt your strongest attraction towards Clark. The first time you slept together was redesigned as your first date. The arrangement of your… arrangement was reconfigured into a conversation about official labels.

Clark is close to your side, arms brushing as the two of you make your way back to the house. The basket of eggs hangs from Clark’s hand as his other one shifts to the small of your back — it hovers, present, but doesn’t touch.

He’s telling you a story from his days of youth and you’re throwing your head back in laughter. The emotions come easy here — honest in the early hours of dawn when it’s only you and him.

When you arrive at the house, you two spot Lois already nursing a steaming coffee mug in her hands. Her eyes dart between the two of you carefully, curious — almost calculating. Her lips quirk upwards at the sight and you’re almost shy by her response.

Unfortunately, Clark’s reaction has you stiffening. He clears his throat and takes a step out to the side. Away from you. Distance. You try not to let your hurt show but it feels as if there’s a giant stone sitting in the pit of your stomach that’s weighing you down, slowing your steps.

“What’s going on?” Clark asks, brows puckered.

It’s your turn to regard the two of them. Clark has always been comfortable with Lois. Kara’s teased him before for having a crush on her; perhaps that feeling still lingers. Worse yet, perhaps those feelings have only strengthened.

Once again, you reckon with the fact that Clark Kent is not yours. You have no right to be jealous, to feel possessive over a man who doesn’t belong to you. You were the one who put your foot down and swore off any actual romantic relationships, and Clark was never an exception.

If Clark wanted Lois — and if, by some luck, Lois wanted Clark back, who were you to stand in the way of true love?

So you force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing. I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait—”

But you’re already turning on your heel and heading back inside the house.

+ sam: tumblr hit me with the block limit for the full fic so i figured this is a good separation point while i edit the second half!! happy ending i promise <33

clark is saving (taglist): @houseofhyde @barnes-babydoll @phoenix-in-writing @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @pinksplace @lunexiax @esunarint @nikkitabarnes @lunaryoongie @sergeantsebastian @avgdestitute @natskisses @parker-barnes-af @kelbrave @steviebbboi @onecojg @clarknsun @kryptidfiles @wildflowersandvibranium @stegosaurussims @angelryex @mollymal @evelynstanmarvel @lokisgirlie @lynnidc @winnichu173 @zhaixiaowen @macbaetwo @rach2602

+ add yourself to my taglists!

[rynwritesstuff]

Bathroom Line (Walls of Versailles) - Clark Kent x Reader

Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: You and Clark have sex in a club bathroom.

Tags: NSFW (18+), bathroom sex, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, Clark Kent is a sweetheart, semi-public sex

Word Count: 1.6k

Taglist: @corens0ups @kryptidfiles @paperheartsdissolve @hotelslutsylvania @marvel-hiddles-stark (Are you interested in joining one or more of my taglists? Please fill out the anonymous google form here to let me know!)

There are very few things that Clark Kent wouldn’t do for you. He’s a giver at heart – kind and compassionate and ready to follow any command you may direct at him, even if you don’t mean to boss him around at all. He’s nothing if not complaint, nothing if not willing to please. 

But this? This is not his scene, he’s decided.

And that’s fine! he tries to convince himself. Not everything is for him, and that’s okay. That’s part of life, part of growing and becoming and discovering. You look beautiful, though, in your little dress and heels, hair done and makeup on. You’re dancing to the music that is rumbling in Clark’s chest. He feels warm as he watches you. You’ve had a drink or two – nothing crazy, just enough to loosen you up – and Clark smiles softly as you run your hands over his chest. 

“Please dance with me!?” you say over the music. Clark chuckles. 

“I’m not much of a dancer!” he says. You scoff. 

“C’mon! I know you’ve got it in you, Clark! Just for a bit?”

Clark sighs. You’re looking at him with those pretty eyes of yours, and you look so happy and excited by the idea of dancing with him, and how on earth could he say no to that? Clark rises from his seat and towers over you. He offers you his hand, and you clap excitedly before taking hold of it. You pull him towards the dance floor just as the song changes to something low and sexy. 

You turn around so that your backside is pressed against Clark’s front, and you push your hips back against him. You hear his breath catch, and you look back at him with a smirk. His lips are parted, his curls are falling into his face. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then offers you a smile. You hum, taking hold of his hands and guiding them to your hips. 

“You can touch me,” you say, swaying to the beat of the song. Clark nods, smoothing his large hands over your hips. He leans down to kiss your shoulder, and you sigh. This is what you wanted – for him to let loose and enjoy himself. You feel Clark’s hips moving against yours, and you press your ass against his crotch. His breath catches again. You almost laugh. He’s easy sometimes – easy to tease, easy to fluster. 

“You’re beautiful,” Clark says in your ear. Goosebumps rise on your arms, and you reach around to run your fingers through the hair at the base of his scalp. He leans into your touch with a quiet sigh. 

“So are you,” you tell him. This makes him grin, and you marvel at the sight. You grind against him once more, and Clark’s cock twitches in his pants. You smirk softly to yourself as a wave of heat engulfs you. Arousal blooms between your thighs. God, you want him. You want him now.

Clark rocks his hips against you subtly, and you hum and rest your head back against his chest. 

“Babe,” you breathe. 

“Hm?”

“I need some help in the bathroom,” you tell him. Clark’s brows raise ever so slightly. The music thumps and people dance all around you. The world seems to fall away from you as you turn around to look up at your man. Clark touches your hips again, rubbing them with the pads of his thumbs. 

“Help with what?” he asks gently. You unbutton the top button of his shirt. 

“...You know.”

He does know. Deep down, he wants it too, though he’s too bashful to say it out loud surrounded by all of these strangers. Clark kisses you then, his plush lips working against yours. You kiss him back eagerly, touching his cheeks and shoulders as you do. You hum, feeling hot like an exposed nerve. He’s all over you before you know it, his hands roaming your body. His cheeks burn – maybe he’s embarrassed that all these people can see the two of you – and you chuckle at the feeling of them. 

Clark pulls away, then grabs your head. 

“Lead the way,” he whispers. You nod, then tug him through the groups of people to get to the restrooms. There isn’t a line, thankfully, and you push open the door of the family bathroom. You shove Clark inside and lock the door behind the two of you. You practically throw yourself at him the moment you’re alone. You can hear the loud, bass-driven music through the walls, but you pay it no mind. You moan into Clark’s mouth as you kiss him ravenously. 

“Fuck me,” you breathe. “Need it so bad.”

Before Clark can respond, you’re pulling up your dress and bending over the counter in front of the mirror. You look at his reflection, taking in the way he exhales softly, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, the way his lips are pink and swollen from kissing. You spread your legs for him, and you watch him look you over. He’s hungry, starving for it.  How long has it been since he’s had you? A week? A day? An hour? Gosh, it doesn’t matter – never has. You’re here now, and you’re looking at him like he’s some kind of god, and how can he resist you when you give him those eyes? Who is he to turn you down when you’re asking so nicely? When your legs are spread and your panties are pulled to the side?

Clark steps forward and begins to undo his belt with trembling hands. You watch him intently, a smirk on your face as he moves up behind you. Your eyes meet his in the mirror as he pulls his cock free, and you bite your lip. 

“Ruin me,” you tell him. Clark leans forward and kisses your shoulder, then guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. Your breath catches when his swollen tip presses in. You’re wet, yes, but the stretch of it still makes you squirm in the best way. You grip the counter and let your head fall forward. Clark reaches around and holds your head up with a hand under your chin. 

“Want you to watch, honey,” he tells you. A fresh wave of arousal crashes down over you, and you moan softly as he presses in the rest of the way. Your core flutters and clenches around him and Clark lets out a soft moan at the feeling. 

“You’re so big,” you breathe. “Feels so good.”

Clark hums as he begins to rock his hips. You inhale sharply, eyes fluttering as he holds your head up with one hand and grips your hip with the other. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, but he can’t be bothered. He’s too focused on making you feel good.

“I love you,” Clark breathes, rocking his hips faster. “O-Oh, gosh…Honey…”

You gasp as your body bounces with the force of his thrusts. Your eyes flutter and your jaw drops as he pounds into you with forceful thrust after forceful thrust. You gasp and moan and sigh, the sounds filling the bathroom and echoing around you. 

“I love you,” you babble. “Love you s-so much. Fuck.”

Clark’s hand moves from your hip to your throbbing clit, and you gasp when he touches it. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he breathes. A grunt in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, because you know he does. Clark Kent always takes the best care of you, always makes you feel good. Your thighs tremble as he pounds into you and rubs your clit in tight, firm circles. You let out a gasp as everything borders on too-much. It toes the line deliciously, and you let out a desperate moan as Clark grunts and sighs behind you. 

“Fuck, Clark,” you moan, leaning your head back against his chest. “Fuck, fuck, I’m close, please…”

“I know,” Clark breathes. “Me, too. I-It’s alright…Let go…”

You grip the counter, everything beginning to swell as you rock your hips back against Clark. His cock is huge and hard and hot, his fingers and skilled and precise. His breath in your ear sends chills down your back, and his grunts make your core even wetter.

Suddenly, everything crashes down around you. You reach your orgasm without warning, and you gasp as your eyebrows furrow. You grip Clark’s wrist where he holds your head up, and you stare at him in the mirror as he reaches his own climax. His face contorts into an expression of pleasure and relief as he spills his massive load deep inside of you. You moan at the sight of him. 

“There we go,” you breathe, nodding as you reach around to touch his hair. “So good, Clark.”

Clark’s hips rock forward and back a few more times as he fills you with his seed. You clench around him, and he moans softly. You smirk at the sound. He pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his pants as you adjust your panties and push your dress down. Your cheeks are hot with arousal. 

“You’re so handsome,” you breathe as you watch him. Clark smiles, then kisses your cheek.

“And you’re so beautiful.”

You turn around and lean up to kiss him firmly. He kisses you back with fervor and touches your cheek gently. You lean into his touch.

“I want another drink,” you tell him. He smiles. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

You step towards the bathroom door and unlock it, only to find that a line has formed. You try to hide your smile as you and Clark step out with your heads down and your faces hot.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

rynwritesstuff - 2026. Do not copy, steal, or repost my work.

divider by firefly-graphics

[musingsofheaven]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ﹙ masterlist ⋮ request ˓ ask .ᐟ ﹚

WHAT I NEED

summary: Garett loses his temper during a game when his father announces his upcoming marriage before the game. It worsens when he sees you sitting with his father in the stands. Seeing you with Phil messes with his head, but it ends with you reconnecting in Garett's bedroom.

pairings: garrett graham x afab!reader

warnings:7.1k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. creampie. cum play. breeding kink. oral sex (m!receiving). blowjob. deepthroating. handjob. praise kink. dirty talk. nipple play. clitoral stimulation. body worship. hair pulling. risk of being overheard. d/s dynamics. aftercare. family conflict. read responsibly.

note: he has me in a chokehold ever since I watched the show… also!!! first time writing about Garrett, might do it again next time. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Ever since Garrett packed his bags for Briar U and threw everything he had into college hockey, you two barely saw each other anymore. The daily routines you shared back home gave way to late-night texts, random phone calls, or FaceTime sessions that kept you connected as you both built entirely separate lives. You had your own things going on with your own circles, your own relationships, and your own sex lives with other people, but there was an obvious spark between you that never went away. It was clear to anyone who saw you together that the distance hadn’t changed the foundation between you because you knew each other better than anyone else did after years of growing up side by side.

You knew his biggest fears, along with the dreams he never told anyone about, and he knew yours right down to the exact way your bodies functioned or reacted under pressure. You remembered how his body felt during those private nights, and he knew your body just as well since you crossed that line together years ago to become each other’s first. Being so far away from Garrett made you miss him terribly all the time, so you agreed the exact moment his father asked you to tag along to watch one of his college hockey games. You didn’t know Phil was bringing his new girlfriend along since you truly believed he was just traveling to support his son, but you really should’ve known better with a man like him.

You absolutely hated how Phil Graham treated his son, but you still tried your best to tolerate his presence because he always treated you nicely. His father also made you promise to keep the whole trip a complete secret, which you happily did because you wanted to surprise Garrett. What you didn’t know, and Garrett didn’t know either, was that Phil planned to use this exact day to announce he was marrying a woman his son barely even recognized. You only learned about it today because you asked nosy questions of Cindy. You also had no idea that Phil had already shown up unannounced at the hockey house earlier that morning to corner Garrett before the match. They got into a heated conversation over it, and the unexpected confrontation completely messed with Garrett’s head right before the game.

Sitting next to Phil and his girlfriend in the stands made it clear why Garrett looked so betrayed and hurt when he glanced up at you. You didn’t quite understand his reaction at first, but it clicked when you watched him play badly as he missed passes he usually nailed. He kept his eyes on your section while he stumbled through his game, and his expression showed he felt like you took his father’s side by showing up with them. Garrett eventually lost his temper on the ice, so the referee kicked him straight out of the game. He walked off the rink looking completely wrecked, while you immediately jumped up from your seat to run after him through the crowded arena. “Garrett,” you called out while you pushed past a group of fans to follow him down the corridor.

He didn’t even look back as he stormed down the hallway. “Garrett, please wait a second,” you tried again, but he kept walking away past the random people staring at you both. “Garrett Graham!” you yelled out loud so he could actually hear you over the loud fans. He finally stopped walking before he turned around to face you with a completely pissed expression. “What do you want from me right now?” he snapped back at you with an annoyed look. “I can’t just let you walk off like that after everything I just saw out there,” you replied right away as you tried to catch your breath. You stepped even closer to him to place your hands right on his covered arms. You looked right into his eyes while you let out a long breath through your nose.

“You have every single right to be completely furious right now,” you said while your fingers gripped his gear gently to anchor him. “But you can’t let him ruin your performance out on the ice,” you added because you needed him to snap out of it. “Are you really going to let his sudden drama control how you play your game?” you asked while you watched his expression carefully. “I don’t want him to win by messing with your head,” you explained as you rubbed your palms against his sleeves. “I came all the way out here for you,” you reminded him while your voice dropped to a softer tone. “I didn’t come to force you to come to the wedding,” you said to make sure he understood your loyalty. Garrett leaned forward immediately to rest his forehead against your shoulder as if he was searching for any kind of comfort from your presence.

He let out a long and shaky breath against your neck while his body weight leaned into you completely. “I thought you took his side,” he mumbled while his shoulder pads bumped against your chest. “I’m always on your side,” you promised back as you held him tight. He pressed a quick kiss against your neck before he leaned back slightly. “I know,” he muttered while his hands slid down to your sides. “I just got completely pissed off seeing you sitting right next to him,” he admitted because the sight had blindsided him completely. “I’m sorry you had to look at that,” you replied while you shook your head. “Stop apologizing to me,” he told you right away. He slid his large hands straight down to your waist before he squeezed the skin tightly through your top.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered as he tilted his head closer. “Well, you really need to get back out to the rink right now,” you reminded him while you patted his bulky chest protector. “Not even time for a quick make-out session?” he asked with a small smirk on his face. “I might forgive you for keeping secrets if you give me that,” he joked, because he wanted to lighten the mood between you both. “You don’t have anything to forgive me for,” you countered while you smiled back at him. He trailed his lips along your jawline before he brushed his mouth against your own. “Don’t you miss me just as much?” he whispered against your skin while he looked for a reaction. “Oh, please, you get enough attention from women every single day,” you said while you rolled your eyes at his question.

“Are you actually jealous of them?” he asked while he grinned to tease you. You decided to shut him up by grabbing his face to pull him into a deep kiss. You bit down on his lower lip while he sucked on your tongue to deepen the contact. Your mouths moved against each other as he swiped his tongue over your teeth while you gripped his jersey. He moaned into your mouth as he sucked your bottom lip between his own lips. You kept licking into his mouth while he pushed his tongue against yours to taste you. “Mmmh-” he groaned against your skin before he broke the kiss to breathe. He went to press another kiss to your lips, but you caught his shoulders and shoved him back. “Stop it, you have to get back out there,” you said while you nudged him toward the door.

“We really need to end this before it turns into something else,” you added because you knew you would not be able to stop once you started. “This is not like you at all,” you remarked while you adjusted his jersey. “You know you are the only one who makes me lose my mind,” he told you while he stared at you. He let out a long breath, but he finally gave a nod of his head. He leaned in one last time to press his mouth against yours for a quick kiss. “Promise me that you will spend time with me later tonight?” he asked while he brushed his thumb against your cheek. “I promise,” you said as you watched him step toward the doorway. He turned around to give you a last look before he headed back toward the rink. You waited in the storage room until his footsteps faded away so you could catch your breath again.

You walked back out toward the arena, but you refused to head back to the seats next to Phil. You instead found a spot in the tunnel entrance where you could see the rink without anyone spotting you in the crowd. You occupied the side as the players returned for the final period of the game. It surprised you to see Garrett skate back onto the ice, since the coach had clearly decided to keep him in the lineup despite his earlier meltdown. He kept his eyes forward as he skated past the bench. You waited back in the dark tunnel so you could watch him the whole time. “Don’t mess this up, Garrett,” you whispered to yourself while you watched him take his position. He didn’t see you standing there in the entryway, but he seemed to have his head back in the game.

You leaned against the side as the buzzer sounded to start the last period, and you needed to see how he would finish this. Garrett took over the game. Tucker zipped up the wing while Dean and Logan guarded the zone and stopped the other team from getting close to the net. They kept the puck moving and made easy passes to each other. Garrett battled for the puck in the corner and dodged a defender to face the goal. He found a gap and fired a shot that went past the goalie. The game ended, and the buzzer sounded to signal their win. Garrett threw his stick to the side as his teammates mobbed him on the ice. They slapped backs and hooted while the fans went wild. He caught your eye for a second and gave a quick nod before he skated toward the bench to join the line.

You walked away from the tunnel to head toward the exit and meet him once he finished with your arms wrapped around him. He gripped you tight right back, and he tucked his face into your shoulder. You squeezed him and said how great he played out there before you mentioned that Phil walked out halfway through the match. He stiffened up against you before he could even reply. “I don’t care about him today,” Garrett muttered into your skin while his breathing warmed your neck. You patted his back, and you feel the sweat from his jersey and his gear. “Okay, okay,” you teased him as the sound of distant chatter from the arena faded down the corridor. “You’re a sweaty mess. Go wash up,” you told him, and you tried to nudge him toward the direction of the locker room.

“I will,” Garrett murmured, and he squeezed your waist one last time to keep you close. “Give me a second, I just want to hold you,” he admitted as he leaned his full weight against you. He kept his arms around you for another moment before he stepped back and grabbed your hand to pull you along with him. You walked together down the corridor while he guided you right toward the locker room area. “Wait out here,” Garrett said as he stopped you right by the door to keep you away from the naked players inside. He disappeared through the entrance without another word to grab something. You stood by the wall for only a few seconds, and you could hear the muffled noise of the team from inside the room. Garrett pushed the door open again and stepped back into the hallway with his keychain in hand.

“Take these,” Garrett murmured as he dropped the car key into your palm. “Go wait by the car,” he added while his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Give me fifteen minutes,” he promised before he turned back around. You nodded, and he finally went inside to change after you headed out to the parking lot. You waited for Garrett in the parking lot until he finished changing, and then he drove the two of you back to the off-campus rental house. The driveway was empty because Logan, Dean, and Tucker hadn’t made it back from the rink yet. Garrett unlocked the front door and walked you inside the quiet house without stopping in the living room. “Let’s go upstairs,” Garrett murmured while he guided you toward the steps.

You followed him up the staircase because you knew the other boys would be home soon. He pushed his bedroom door open and led you inside before he closed it behind you. The rest of the house was completely silent while he dropped his duffel bag on the floor. “We have the place to ourselves for a bit,” you reminded him as you leaned back against his desk. Garrett walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Good, I don’t want any interruptions,” Garrett muttered while he pressed his face into the side of your neck. “Are you feeling needy?” you teased him while you tilted your head to give him more space. He let out a rough grunt against your skin before he kissed your neck.

“Yeah,” Garrett muttered while his arms tightened around your waist. “I really need you right now,” he admitted as he breathed out against your skin. You slid your hands right under his shirt while he held you close. You felt his hard muscles before you lifted the fabric up to check his body because you knew he always had a few bruises after his games. Several fresh darkening marks covered his body because he had taken a hard beating from playing and training. “You got beat up out there,” you murmured as you looked down at the marks. “It’s nothing,” Garrett grunted while he looked down at your fingers.

“I’ve had worse,” he told you as he guided your hands higher under his clothes. You let him cover your fingers and guide them over his skin while you let out a small chuckle. “Really?” you asked him as you looked up at his face. “You can’t even let me do it on my own?” You teased him because he wanted control. Garrett just rolled his eyes, but he didn’t let go right away. “Can’t I just hold your hands for a few seconds?” he questioned you while he gripped your fingers a little tighter. He let go of you after a moment and grabbed the hem of his top to pull it over his head. He tossed the shirt somewhere across the bedroom floor and stepped closer to you.

You leaned forward and started pressing kisses against his shoulder before you moved your lips down to his chest. You dropped lower to press more kisses onto his flat stomach while Garrett tangled his fingers into your hair to play with the strands. You dropped down onto your knees in front of him and reached out to grasp the waistband of his pants. Garrett looked down at you while his hands gripped your shoulders to handle his balance. “I can get those, baby,” Garrett murmured while he tried to nudge your fingers away from the button. You ignored his hand and continued working on the zipper because you wanted to take care of him.

“Let me do it,” you insisted as you looked up to meet his eyes. “I want to make it up to you for earlier,” you told him while you unfastened the button. Garrett let out a sigh and let his hands slide down to your neck. “You don’t have to make up for anything,” Garrett told you while his thumbs stroked your jawline. You pull the zipper down and open the fabric to reveal his underwear. “I know I don’t,” you replied as you reached inside to tug the material out of your way. “But I want to,” you whispered before you pulled his pants down past his hips. “You know I’d rather focus on you first,” Garrett reminded you while his fingers twitched against your neck. You looked up at him from your knees and gripped the fabric of his pants that already pulled down to anchor yourself.

“Fine,” you murmured as you tilted your head back to study his expression. “Just a taste then?” you asked him while you offered a small smirk to challenge his resolve. Garrett let out a quick laugh because the idea of you stopping early seemed entirely impossible to him. “Yeah, right,” Garrett scoffed while he shook his head at your suggestion. “Like you’re actually going to stop at just a taste,” he teased you while he looked down at your hands. You rolled your eyes at his comment and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers without waiting for permission. You tugged the material down past his hips and watched his hard cock spring free instantly in the space between you.

You wrapped your fingers around the shaft and stroked him slowly while you stared right up into his eyes to gauge his reaction. Garrett let out a small grunt and tangled his fingers into your hair again. “Seriously,” Garrett said, and his grip tightened on your head while he tried to control his breathing. “I really wanted to take care of you right now,” he muttered as he watched your hand move on his length. You leaned forward before you gave the tip of his cock a few light licks, and you cleaned off the wet drop of pre-cum waiting there. “You’re already leaking for me,” you murmured against his length as you looked up to catch his expression. Garrett let out a quiet groan and gently gripped his fingers through your hair to show his approval.

“Yeah, well,” Garrett admitted while his breathing hitched slightly. “You’re the one down on your knees,” he pointed out to justify his reaction. You wrapped your lips around the head after those first few licks and swirled your tongue over the sensitive tip. You slowly slid your mouth further down the shaft to take him halfway while your hand took over to stroke the rest of his length. “What the- yes…” Garrett gasped out while his cock twitched against your lips. He didn’t force your head down or push his hips forward because he wanted to let you guide the movement. “That feels so good,” Garrett whispered while his hand felt gentle on your head. Giving head wasn’t always an enjoyable experience for everyone, because some guys were careless, but you tolerated it for Garrett.

He was always perfectly clean and gentle about it, while constantly showering you with sweet praise. His latest comment made you feel a bit cocky, so you took more of his thick length into your mouth until the tip touched the back of your throat. Garrett noticed it immediately because he knew your limits by heart, and he gave a firm tug on your hair to lift your face before you could gag. “Whoa, slow down,” Garrett murmured while his thumb wiped a wet line from the corner of your lips. “You don’t need to swallow all of me at once,” he added as he gave you a small smile. You just gave him a playful look before you slid your mouth right back over his wet cock to continue. You started bobbing your head up and down the shaft to find a pace while your hand kept rubbing the base.

“Mmf-” Garrett breathed out as the other hand caressed along your cheek. He kept his grip on your hair softly to guide your movements without forcing himself against your face. “You’re doing so good for me,” Garrett whispered, and his hips jerk when you swirl your tongue around his cock. You continued bobbing your head to take his wet shaft into your mouth, but Garrett firmly nudged your forehead away to remind you of what you two had talked about. “That’s enough,” Garrett muttered while he stepped back to slip his cock out of your lips completely. “You said just a taste,” he says with a smirk to keep your promise. You let out a stubborn grunt and slapped his thigh because you wanted to keep going.

Garrett laughed and kicked his pooled clothes away to strip down completely before you stood up to meet him. He reached out and grabbed the hem of your top to pull it up over your head. “You know I don’t want to wait any longer,” Garrett whispered while he tossed your clothes somewhere onto the floor. The sound of the front door slamming downstairs can be heard throughout the room, and it shows that the other guys have arrived. “Oh, they’re probably fucking by now!” Dean shouted near the stairs to tease the two of you. You feel your neck heating up the blunt comment, but you’re glad the bedroom door is locked. “That’s embarrassing,” you murmured as you looked toward the doorway.

“Do you think they’re going to try and listen?” you asked him while you crossed your arms over your chest. Garrett shook his head and gripped your waist to get your attention back. “No,” Garrett told you while he leaned down to kiss your shoulder. “Well, I hope not,” he amended as he guided you toward the mattress. You stopped him before he could guide you onto the mattress, and you grabbed the waistband of your bottoms to slide them down to the floor. Garrett let out a sound of approval while he walked over to his drawer to grab a condom. You let out a small chuckle at the sight, and your hands were already reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra. “I’m literally clean and on birth control,” you reminded him as you slipped the straps off your shoulders.

Garrett turned back around with the plastic wrapper in his hand while he looked over your bare body. “So you just go without protection with other guys?” Garrett questioned you while he raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. What the fuck,” you replied instantly because the idea annoyed you for few second. Garrett took a step closer while he watched you hook your fingers into your panties. “Then why do you want to do it without one with me?” Garrett asked you while he kept his eyes on your face. “Because we always do it without,” you pointed out as you tugged the fabric down. Garrett let out a laugh and reached out to grasp your waist. “Smartass,” Garrett muttered while he stepped right into your space. “I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he explained to justify his caution.

You stepped out of your underwear and gave him a playful look to keep teasing him. “So are you saying you’re not safe?” you challenged him while you slid your hands onto his chest. “Of course I am,” Garrett countered before he leaned his head closer to yours to capture your lips. “You know what?” Garrett murmured while he tossed the unopened condom wrapper back into his drawer. “You want me to cum inside your cunt?” Garrett asked you as he guided you down onto the mattress. “Is that what you want?” he questioned while he helped you settle right into the middle of the bed until you felt completely comfortable. You lay back against his pillows while he crawled over your legs to hover over your body.

“So no one is going to interrupt us?” you asked him because you wanted to be entirely sure before things went any further. “They’re all downstairs,” Garrett promised you while he leaned down to look into your eyes. “Dean and Logan are probably playing video games on the couch,” he added to reassure you. “Tucker is probably cooking dinner in the kitchen,” he finished while his hands slid to your hips. “No party tonight?” you questioned him with an arched eyebrow in disbelief. “Since you guys won the game?” you asked because it seemed impossible for the team to be quiet after a victory. “Nah,” Garrett replied while he shook his head with a small smirk. “Tomorrow,” he told you as he leaned down closer to your face.

“The guys are just too tired tonight,” he claimed to explain the lack of noise. You knew that was highly unlikely because the team never passed up a chance to celebrate a big win. You suspected Garrett had made a secret deal with his roommates to keep them downstairs for the evening. “What exactly did you do?” you asked him while you looked up at his face to get the truth. Garrett just smirked because he wanted to keep his secret. “Open wider, baby,” Garrett murmured while he tapped the inside of your thigh to guide you. You moved your legs further apart because you couldn’t help but obey his request. He guided the thick head of his cock right against your wet folds and started rubbing it back and forth to distract you from asking any more questions.

You tried to start another question because you wanted a real answer. “But Garrett-” you began before your words cut off. He responded by grinding his length directly between your slick folds until the tip swiped over your sensitive clit. You let out a frustrated whine because the brief contact left you desperate for more. “I swear,” Garrett promised while he looked down at your reaction. “They won’t come upstairs until we go downstairs,” he added to reassure you. He slapped his hard cock directly against your wet cunt right after he finished speaking and gripped your hip with a tight hand to hold you against the bed. You let out a frustrated whine because he kept rubbing his tip against your clit instead of sliding inside your wet cunt.

“Are you sure they’re going downstairs?” you asked him while you tried to tilt your head up to hear anything from the hallway. “Garrett, I can’t do this if they’re going to walk up here,” you insisted because the thoughts wouldn’t leave your mind. Garrett let out a sigh and ground his length between your folds to pull you away from your thoughts. “They’re not coming up, baby,” Garrett murmured while his breathy voice sounded a little distracted by the sight of your body. “Stop worrying about them,” he told you as he swiped his thumb over your jaw. “But what if Dean tries to-” you started to ask before his body pressed closer. Garrett cut you off by sliding the head of his cock into your aching hole before he pulled it to rub it into your clit again.

“Fu-fuck- please,” you moaned out while your hips rolled up against him in desperation. “Please, what?” Garrett asked you while he watched your body squirm beneath him. You bucked your hips against him to show him your desperate need because speaking felt too difficult right now. “Mhm… Shit,” Garrett cursed quietly while his throat bobbed after swallowing. “You like that?” he questioned you as he kept his length nestled right at the entrance of your cunt. “I do,” you whimpered while your eyelashes fluttered from the heat between your legs. “Can you just-” you tried to finish your sentence, but you couldn’t find the right words because your brain is slowly stopping from functioning. Garrett let out a laugh and leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek.

“Focus on me,” Garrett said while his fingers tightened on your hip. “Come on,” he coaxed as he popped the tip in and out of your wet entrance, which made a wet sound every time he did it. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered while he gave you another torturous grind right up against your sensitive clit to make your cunt ache even more. You nodded to answer that it felt amazing, and he finally positioned the tip directly at your entrance. “They won’t hear a single thing,” Garrett assured you while he leaned down closer to your ear. “But let’s try to be quiet anyway, okay?” he whispered to ensure you two kept things private. You nodded again and bit your lower lip while he began sliding slowly inside your cunt. You let out a muffled whimper as he pushed deeper until his full length filled you completely.

“Nghh-” you breathed out while you adjusted to his thick size. Garrett caught your lips in a deep kiss and slid one hand down to squeeze your chest. He flicked your nipple with his thumb to distract you from his size before he pulled away from the kiss to start moving his hips. “You’re so tight, baby,” Garrett grunted while he began to thrust slowly. You wrapped your hands into his curls to hold onto him while he continued thrusting into you. Garrett planted his palms flat on the mattress beside your head to support his weight. “You’re taking me so beautifully, baby,” Garrett murmured while he stared straight down into your face. He watched your reactions closely to see how each movement affected your body.

Your eyes rolled back slightly because the pleasure made it difficult to keep them open. Your teeth bit into your lower lip to suppress your voice while you took his length. “N-nffh-” you whined through your closed mouth, but a few desperate sounds escaped despite your best efforts to keep quiet. Garrett let out a deep groan and picked up his pace just a little. “Look at me,” Garrett whispered, and he leaned down closer to your face. You forced your eyes open to meet his gaze because you wanted to look at him. “You feel so perfect,” Garrett muttered as he kept thrusting deep into your cunt. Your hand gripped his hair tighter to handle the feeling, and you swallowed another loud moan. You kept one hand tangled in his curls while your other hand slid down his nape to trace the dark letters of the tattoo across his upper back.

Your fingertips brushed over his skin before they moved up to play with the thin gold chain of his necklace. “Your back looks so hot like this,” you whispered while his hips kept up the slow pace inside your pussy. “Will never get enough touching it,” you added because you remembered when he asked for your advice before getting it done. Garrett let out an exhale and thrust his length deeper. “Mmh, you really think so?” Garrett asked you while a small grin tugged at his lips. He looked cocky after hearing the praise you gave him, but a little shyness quickly took it back. Garrett leaned down further to hide his face and nuzzled his nose directly into the crook of your shoulder. “You know how much this chain means to me,” Garrett murmured against your skin while his chest pressed against yours.

“A-aah- uh-uh…” You whined out, and he shoved his length deeper until the tip touches your sweet spot. Garrett gripped your hip firmer to support himself while he kept his face hidden against your neck. “I like it when you touch it,” he confessed before he dragged his cock entirely out just to push right back inside. Garrett gave your neck a bite before he pulled his face away to look down at you. The gold chain dangled close to your lips, so you opened your mouth to tease him by biting the necklace. You let out a small chuckle against the chain, but it turned into a whine when Garrett suddenly pulled his cock almost all the way out of your cunt. He left just the tip inside your entrance to torture you, and he refused to thrust back in.

You ground your hips upward in a desperate attempt to force him deeper because you needed him deeper. Garrett responded by pinning your hip against the mattress to stop you from doing that before he thrust all the way in. “D-don’t do that,” you whine out while you shake your head against the pillow. “When- when I’m... I feel like I’m close,” you gasped out to finish your complaint. Garrett looked at your face while his chest heaved a little. “Yeah?” Garrett murmured while he gave you a small smirk to tease you. “You’re getting that close for me?” he asked before his hand traveled down to the back of your leg. He slowly lifted your knee to rest it over his shoulder to adjust the position. Garrett started thrusting faster and deeper into you without teasing you this time.

He used his free hand to reach down between your bodies so he could rub your clit while he buried himself inside you. You wrapped your hand around his neck not to choke him, but you did it just to feel his necklace against your palm. “Oh god, G-Garrett,” you gasped out as his tip kept finding your spot with every thrust. “Just like that, baby,” Garrett murmured while he never looked away from your face to watch your reactions. The feeling of his cock stretching you out and the way his fingers were rubbing your clit made you clench around him. Your clit pulsed against his fingers while your walls continued to squeeze him to the point you felt his cock throb inside you. “M-mmph- I can’t,” you whimpered, and you rolled your hips into his hand to get more pleasure.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Garrett whispered as he kept up the fast pace. You pulled him closer by his shoulders until his forehead was pressing against yours. You kept your eyes closed while you told him how you felt. “Mmn, I’m close…” You whispered while his cock slid deep into your cunt. “R-right there-” you gasped as he kept up the pace. Garrett groaned against your lips before he gave you a peck. “I know, baby,” Garrett murmured before he moved faster. He rubbed your clit with his fingers while he kept fucking you. Garrett gives your lips another kiss before he whispers praises against your mouth. “You’re so perfect for me,” Garrett murmured as his hips touch against your thighs the moment he thrusts back in.

He talked you through it while keeping up the pace. “I missed you so much,” Garrett confessed when he pushed his cock all the way inside your cunt. “I- I know…” You gasped against his lips before you squeezed his length. It only takes a few thrusts until you finally cum around his thick cock while Garrett doesn’t stop his movements to chase his own orgasm. The tightness of your walls made him grunt out loud, but it’s easier to thrust now after you finish around his cock. “Fu-fuh- fuck,” Garrett groaned while he kept going, and he watched the way your body bounced against the mattress with every thrust. He was now raised on his knees, with your leg hooked over his shoulder. Garrett looked down between your bodies to watch the way his cock disappeared inside you and the way it looked coated with your cum.

“I’m right behind you, baby,” Garrett panted out as he sped up his movements. “Do you want it inside you?” he asked you, but it’s obvious that his focus is on watching your cunt squeeze his shaft. “M-mmf, yes, please,” you whimpered, and you wanted him to fill you up completely. Garrett let out a breath and buried himself all the way to the base to give you everything. Garrett reached his free hand up to pinch your nipple while he kept thrusting to chase his orgasm. He played with the peak between his fingers as his pace slowed down for a few moments. “Never done this without a condom with anyone else,” Garrett panted out while he stared down at you. “I only want to fill you up,” he whispered before he pushed deeper into your cunt.

His confession made you bite your lip and smirk while you reached up to grab his waist to hold him against you. “Sh-shit, fill me up then,” you whimpered while you squeezed your pussy around his shaft. Garrett let out a grunt and gave you a few more thrusts to finish. His hips stop moving against yours as his cum fills your cunt completely. “God- g-god, you’re perfect,” Garrett breathed out while his cock twitched inside you. He gave you a few more thrusts to get his cum deeper inside before he pulled out and put your leg down. He watched the fluid leak out of your cunt while you felt heat bloom across your cheeks. You tried to close your thighs together to hide it, but he blocked your movement with his hand.

“Look at how pretty you look right now,” he murmured while he kept your legs parted. “Don’t look, Garrett,” you whispered as you avoided eye contact. Garrett sat down beside you on the mattress and caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I can’t help it when you’re this beautiful,” He said before he leaned down to kiss your forehead. Garrett kept his mouth against your forehead while he breathed out. “Some of your clothes from your last visit are in my closet,” he whispered as his fingers brushed through your hair. You tilted your head back to see his face. “Even the customized jersey with your last name and number?” you asked because he had gifted that specific shirt to you for your visits to Briar U.

Garrett nodded while his thumb stroked your jaw. “It’s there, and it’s already washed since you used it the last time we did this in my room,” Garrett replied with a grin. He nudged your nose with his own to tease you. “Even those tight little cotton shorts you paired it with are in the drawer,” Garrett added while your face grew warm. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “You look so hot with Graham on your back,” Garrett murmured against your mouth before he smiled. “I’ll get them for you,” he said before he stood up from the mattress. He walked over to the dresser while being completely naked to grab the clothes. You chuckled while you watched him search the drawers. “No underwear?” you asked after he tossed the shirt and the shorts over.

Garrett looked back with a smirk on his face. “Don’t wear one,” he replied, and you rolled your eyes. You sat up on the bed and with the blanket covering your body. “So we’re not going to shower?” you added to annoy him. Garrett grabbed a fresh pair of boxers for himself along with a box of tissues from the nightstand. “Later, before bed,” Garrett answered as he slipped his boxers on. “Yeah?” you teased while he walked back to your side. Garrett climbed onto the mattress to get closer to you. “Later, baby. Aren’t you hungry?” Garrett asked while he set the tissues down to clean you up. You adjusted the blanket against your chest. “I am,” you admitted as your stomach rumbled. Garrett nodded his head toward the door.

“I feel like Tucker cooked something,” Garrett said before he reached out to tend to you. Garrett reached out to take the blanket away from your body before he opened your legs wider. He looked down at the mess dripping from your cunt while he pulled a few tissues out of the box. “I could just eat you clean instead,” Garrett murmured with a grin. You let out a scoff because you knew exactly what he wanted. “You wouldn’t stop there. You’d just want to make me cum again,” you pointed out as you grabbed your own handful of tissues. You used them to wipe the sweat away from your chest before you slid the jersey over your head. Garrett chuckled at your comment before he started wiping the cum from your inner thighs and your ass.

He focused on cleaning your cunt gently while you finished pulling the top over your stomach. “You know me too well, baby,” Garrett said as he threw the dirty tissues away. You stood up from the bed right after and pulled on the tiny cotton shorts. You walked back over to where Garrett sat so you could put your hands on his shoulders to reach his upper back. Your fingertips traced the letters of the tattoo inked across his skin while your other hand played with the curls at his nape. “You look amazing in that jersey,” Garrett murmured while his hands slid down to touch your waist and hips. He stood up from the mattress and took your hand to lead you to the door before he unlocked it to walk out into the hallway.

You only took a few steps toward the stairs before Dean looked up from the couch downstairs. “Finally, we can actually go upstairs now,” Dean called out to tease you both. Tucker laughed while Logan shook his head right beside him. “We thought you two were never going to come out of there,” Tucker added, and Garrett squeezed your fingers to ignore them. “There’s some pesto on the stove if you guys want it,” Tucker called out from the couch. Garrett led you toward the kitchen while he kept his fingers locked with yours. “Thanks, man,” Garrett answered, and you also mouthed a thank-you to Tucker. Garrett guided you straight to the counter and reached into the cabinet for a single bowl for the two of you to share.

He poured some pasta inside before he grabbed a fork to twirl a few noodles together. “Taste this,” Garrett murmured as he held the food up to your lips. You bit into the noodles, and the savory flavor filled your mouth. “Look at them, having pasta after sex,” Dean shouted from the living room while Logan snorted at the joke. Garrett raised his middle finger to the guys without looking back. “Ignore them,” Garrett muttered as he watched you chew on it. You took the fork from his hand right after you swallowed it. Garrett leaned his hip against the counter, and he never looked away from you. You twirled another bite of noodles and pressed it against his lips to make him eat before you leaned close to his ear to whisper, “Pasta after sex.”

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[bvrnesher]

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― marvel !

summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣

— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.

Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.

— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.

Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.

— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.

Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.

— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”

Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.

— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”

Rating: 0/10. Wicked.

— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.

Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.

— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.

Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.

[carmysdoll]

💭 𓈒⠀𓈒ㅤㅤ peter parker fucking you from behind , your face pressed against his forearm and bicep in a deliciously sweaty headlock. you feel his weight and sweaty chest pressed against your back , feeling all hot and lost in the pleasure. your teeth would bite deep marks into his bicep to hold in your moans—feeling shy after he praised how pretty you sounded for him, he’d let out a desperate mix of a moan and whine at the pleasurable pain in your ear.

panting and whining in your ear , telling you how good you feel and begging for more as if he didn’t have you in a position where he controlled everything and could take what he wanted. he could overpower you in every single way but no , you had him falling to his knees with just a look , peter truly was putty in your hands.

his eyes would roll back as he felt you clenching around him, the way your nails dig into his biceps, feeling a mixture of your drool and tears of pleasure soaking his bicep and the pillow, how his name sounded coming from your lips. the sounds of skin slapping, the bed creaking and the beautiful euphonious melody of your shared sounds of pleasure, filled the bedroom of the safe house.

the feeling of you cumming around him brought him right to the edge, while the feeling of you pushing back against him, using him to fuck yourself through your orgasm, made him cum deep inside you with a choked out moan. sniffling and placing wet kisses along your shoulders as he tried to calm down from the intense and passionate love making, both of you sensitive and twitching with each little after shock…whispering shared and desperate ‘I love yous’

Ი𐑼 yeah so it’s short , just a little thought and concept but I will definitely write a longer fic about this <3 I’m not prepared for the person I’m going to become when the movie is out … I’m already freaking out from the trailer 🤓

© carmysdoll | all rights reserved.

[jackienat-truther]

Kitty Kat

Robin Buckley x popular!fem!reader

song rec: kitty kat - beyoncé

summary: you can't be more obvious about how badly you want to hop on Robin and wear her out, and Robin is absolutely clueless. and as entrained as Steve is, he's tired of watching it.

warnings/tags: fluff, suggestive reader is kinda giving mean/bossy femme but like... in a fun cunty way of course, Robin literally has no clue reader is flirting with her and is completely lost, teasing... so much teasing, drunk makeout session, brief dry-humping/thigh riding/grinding, timeline is kinda weird (just ignore how it makes no sense with the canon timeline), first thousand-ish words are just backstory and Steve's ally origin story... other character may seem slightly ooc cuz i gave up on trying to make all the friends and connections canonically accurate lol, i got really lazy while trying to read over this so it's not exactly proofread but i did have someone else beta edit (thoughts and prayers for this one...)

wc: 11.8k

You and Steve Harrington have been good friends for as long as you can remember. Well- sort of. You didn't really get along as kids, but you were neighbors and close in age, whose parents got along well, which put you two in the position of being around each other more than either of you had wanted.

This developed into some sort of sibling-like annoyance that had both of you coiling in disgust any time someone would insinuate anything other than a platonic dynamic between you two.

You were both fairly popular and involved in school activities, always finding each other in similar crowds, and seeking comfort in knowing you were both putting up some sort of front.

It was pretty early on in your high school career that Steve realized you were very different from every other girl in his life. Your name had been brought up by multiple people in many different contexts. He has denied many accusations of him having a crush on you, and the other way around, because it's never been like that. He's definitely thought about it before, and after things went terribly wrong with Nancy, he even tried to force himself to consider it as an option. He quickly reaffirmed this as a terrible idea that would work because 1) you are far more evil than Nancy Wheeler, and would tear him to shreds, and 2) Steve Harrington was well-aware that you did not have any romantic or sexual interest in men.

He had always wondered why you never had a boyfriend like all the other girls you hung around with. Steve had always just chalked it up to the fact that you were still young, or that you just had other priorities ("Y/n's really smart- she's too busy with school to care about any of you losers" is definitely something he's said to his own friends in your defense when he started having his suspicions).

Everything was confirmed one night at a party after he and Nancy had officially ended things. Steve had been handling the breakup pretty badly, and you, of course, being the only real friend he had, were there to hold him together. He was so drunk at one point that you had to take him outside because he was overheating. You sat on a stoop at the side of the house, just letting him complain and whine about Nancy. At some point, you started getting annoyed and interrupted,

"I mean, Steve, she said she didn't love you... and you want her back? That's so unfair to you! You need to be with someone who actually cares about you and what you want. Nancy's great, but your goals don't align at ALL- and how she handled that was HORRIBLE-" You continued ranting about something related to Steve and Nancy and love and how he deserves to be loved wholly, and Steve, in his drunken state, started formulating thoughts. You were beautiful, funny, smart, and always kept it real with him... why had he never actually considered you? Sure- you were mean to every other guy who tried to put a move on you, but... maybe it could be different (he knew it wouldn't be). He had thought back on all the times you'd interacted with each other, then on all the times he'd seen you interact with other guys. You never really seemed interested in anyone- in fact, you seemed kind of disgusted and irritated any time you had to talk to a guy. Which was so weird, because Steve has seen you be kind and sweet so many other times!

Then he started thinking about all those times...

"Y/n-" Steve cut off whatever you were saying. You looked at him with wide eyes, honestly scared he was about to throw up or pass out.

"What..."

"Why don't you like boys?" he slurred. And Steve might have been plastered, but he never forgot how pale your face got, and how scared you looked when he asked you that question.

"Excuse me?" Steve shook his head softly, reaching for your hand and squeezing it.

"Don't look at me like that- it's not scary- justaquestion..." He wasn't making any sense...

"I don't know what you're talking about..." Steve let out a slow, disbelieving laugh, head tipping back against the siding of the house.

“C’mon,” he mumbled. “You hate every guy that talks to you.”

“I do not.”

“You do,” he insisted, pointing at you lazily. “Every time Tommy has tried flirting with you, you looked like you wanna to kill him-"

"that's because Carol's obviously obsessed with him, and it's- ugh, it's Tommy."

"Right, and when Jason Carver asked for your number, you told him to eat shit and die.” “And that was funny.”

“It was terrifying.” You rolled your eyes hard enough to hurt, but your stomach was twisting violently. Steve was drunk, yes, but he wasn’t stupid. He noticed things, always had.

“You’re imagining things,” you muttered.

“Am not.” His voice softened suddenly, unexpectedly serious beneath the slur. “I know you.”

And he was right- he did know you, and that's what made you feel sick.

Steve Harrington knew you better than almost anyone. Better than your parents, maybe. Better than any other guy you've ever talked to. Better than the girls you floated between at school. He knew every version of your moods, every look on your face, every stupid little habit.

And apparently, he knew this too.

Your fingers tightened around the sleeves of your jacket. “Steve-”

“You don’t gotta act weird about it,” he interrupted quietly. “I’m not judging you.” You stared at him, and Steve, drunk out of his mind and glassy-eyed under the porch light, just shrugged like it was obvious.

“I think it’s kinda cool, actually.”

The breath you’d been holding escaped all at once. For a second, neither of you spoke. Then Steve squinted at you suddenly, brows pulling together in concentration. “Wait.”

"What?"

"Oh my god..." “Oh my god?”

“WAIT-” You covered your face immediately. “Steve, don’t.”

His mouth dropped open slowly like the world’s dumbest revelation had just hit him.

“You like girls.” you smack him, “Keep your voice down!”

“You LIKE girls.”

“Yes, asshole, I know this, and I figured you gathered that from the conversation!” Steve started laughing so hard he nearly fell sideways off the stoop. You grabbed his arm on instinct, mortified beyond belief while he clung to your sleeve, still cackling.

“I knew it,” he said triumphantly.

“You absolutely did not.”

“I totally did.”

“You thought I was a communist last month.”

“That was unrelated.” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “I cannot believe this is happening right now.”

Steve looked at you then- really looked at you- and the laughter faded into something softer.

“So that’s why,” he said quietly.

“Why what?”

“You never liked any of those idiots.”

You snorted. “Well, I mean- yeah... but even if I did like guys, I would never go out with most of those weirdos.”

Steve smiles softly, releasing a huff of laughter, “fair enough.” He nodded slowly, like that made perfect sense to him.

Then, because he was Steve, and because he was drunk and incapable of shutting up, he asked “So who do you like?”

Your eyes widened instantly. “Nobody-” he scoffs, “Liar.”

“Steve-” he dramatically tosses himself onto you, leaning his head on your shoulder, “C’mon, tell meee-”

“No!” “You totally have someone.”

“I literally do not.” But you did, or at least… maybe. You barely even knew her, which was the pathetic part.

Robin Buckley was sarcastic and kind of mean and entirely too smart for everyone around her. The first time you’d really noticed her was at your homecoming pep rally earlier that year- she, of course, was in the band, and you were one of the only juniors who made homecoming court.

You accidentally bumped into each other right as everyone was starting to gather in the gymnasium. She ended up dropping her sheet music, and you obviously helped her pick it up, seeing as you felt terrible. You still remember apologizing sweetly and feeling your face go hot as you met her beautiful blue eyes, immediately getting lost in the sea of freckles scattered across her face.

You also remember her not really giving a fuck and pursing her lips as she delivered a casual, "thanks" before moving on like it never happened in the first place... that was slightly humbling.

Then summer came- Steve graduated and was forced to work at Scoops Ahoy, which you tried not to give him too much shit for, since you knew deep down it was an insecurity for him. You'd come in every now and then with friends, timing your arrival with Steve's shifts, until you caught one of the times when him and Robin were both at the front- you switched up your routine shortly after.

It was fascinating watching them interact- Steve didn’t let people talk to him how she did, not usually. But with Robin, he just rolled his eyes and kept talking, like he liked being challenged by her. And Robin looked at Steve differently than everyone else did, too. Not like he was King Steve Harrington. Just Steve- annoying, idiot Steve. Your Steve.

You liked that. Maybe a little too much...

Then they started working together at Family Video, and suddenly Robin Buckley became unavoidable. Steve talked about her constantly- Robin said this, Robin hates this movie, Robin threatened to strangle me with the film of a VHS tape today.

And every time you came into Family Video, there she was behind the counter with her crossed arms and unimpressed expression and stupid pretty eyes.

At first, you told yourself you only came because Steve worked there and you loved bothering him in your free time. Then Robin started smiling when you walked in, and that ruined your life a little.

What really got you, though, was seeing Steve act casual around another girl- the same way he was with you. Which meant Robin probably knew- or at least… maybe she’d understand. And once that possibility entered your brain, you completely lost your mind.

so you started visiting every day, amping up your flirting to be painfully obvious. It was almost embarrassing how obvious you were being. wearing your lowest cut shirts and tiniest shorts, batting your eyes and pouting at Robin as you leaned your elbows on the counter, making sure to push your tits together just enough to draw attention.

Of course, Robin loses her mind. How could she not? She's just so confused, cuz there's no way you're doing this on purpose- why would she look at ME with those big doe eyes? Why would she bite her lip at ME? WINK at ME????

It was causing a lot of inner turmoil. And part of you thought it was working, considering Robin went from glaring at you and not having much to say, to constantly having the deer-in-the-headlights gaze, and always having something to ramble on about as an answer to any of your simple questions. It was quite entertaining, to say the least.

But of course, the less secure part of you was riddled with anxiety, conjuring up hypotheticals that Robin didn't actually like you, and she wasn't blushing out of shyness but rather discomfort. Were you making her uncomfortable? Does she think you're making fun of her?

Steve noticed it all after exactly one week.

“You’re flirting with Robin.” You nearly choked on your drink. “I’m literally not.”

“Bullshit- you totally are!” Steve, ever the endearing idiot, argues with a mouthful of fries as he sat across from you in the booth. It was a Thursday night, and agreed earlier in the week that you'd pick him up and grab dinner after his shift at Family Video. You probably wouldn't have done so, had you known he was going to ambush you about your secret crush.

You stared at him for a long second before scoffing and stealing a fry from his basket. “You’re insane.”

“I’m observant.” “You absolutely are not.”

“You wore that tiny little black skirt yesterday.” Your eyes narrowed. “Wow- okay creep,”

“And you kept leaning over the counter every five seconds like you were going to jump on her.” You almost inhaled your drink wrong. “I was not.”

“She dropped three tapes.” “And what does that have to do with me?”

“She alphabetized the returns bin wrong.” You paused. Steve pointed triumphantly. “HA!”

“Oh my god.”

“She never messes that up,” he continued, leaning forward now with genuine investment in the topic. “Do you understand how insane that is? Robin would rather die than shelve movies incorrectly.”

You groaned, dragging both hands over your face. “Can you at least lower your voice?” Steve flinched, as if suddenly remembering he was in public, and scanned the diner for any onlookers. Once he knew he was in the clear, his expression shifted instantly.

“Oh my god,” he whispered loudly, eyes wide. “You actually like her.”

Heat exploded across your face so fast it hurt. “No I do not.”

“Yes you do.” “No I-”

“You have a crush on Robin Buckley.” he jabbed a finger in your direction from across the table, a victorious grin overtaking his face.

“Steve-” “You have a crush on Robin Buckley,” he repeated with increasing delight, like he’d just solved a complex murder case.

“Okay, how many times are you gonna say it?”

“This is incredible.”

“You are being so annoying right now.” Steve sat back in the booth, grinning so hard it was unbearable. “Holy shit.”

You kicked him under the table. “OW- Hey!”

“Keep your voice down!” you hiss through clenched teeth.

Steve leaned forward again immediately, lowering his tone theatrically. “Sorry. Sorry.” He paused for half a second before his smirk returned. “You’re in love with Robin Buckley.”

“I'm gonna fucking kill you.”

“You sooo are.” You dropped your head onto the table with a muffled groan. While this was obviously humiliating for you, Steve, unfortunately, seemed to be having the time of his life.

“When did this even happen?” he asked excitedly. “Was it the homecoming thing?”

Your head snapped up. “How do you know about that?”

“Because you came home after the pep rally acting weird as hell.”

“I did not.”

“You sat on the porch and stared at our mailbox for like ten minutes.”

You blinked, mouth slightly agape, “…I was thinking.”

“You were gay processing.” “What the hell??”

Steve laughed so hard he had to put his fries down. Meanwhile, your heart was beating violently against your ribs because this was real now. Someone else knew- and for better or for worse, it was Steve Harrington.

You picked at the label on your cup quietly. “I think I already fucked it up.” you sigh pitifully.

Steve’s laughter faded immediately, “What?”

You shrugged, trying and failing to look casual. “I dunno... Maybe I’m being weird. I think she thinks I’m making fun of her or something.”

“What?” Steve frowned hard. “Why would she think that?”

“Because I’m laying it on kinda thick.” Steve snorted. “Kinda?”

You glared at him and he rolls his eyes, “She likes it.”

“Uhm, she probably doesn't.” Steve furrowed his brows and chewed on his straw, “Uhm, I would be the one to know- I literally work with her, and it's pretty obvious to tell when Robin's freaking out over something or someone.”

Your stomach twisted. “Steve.”

“No, seriously.” He leaned forward again, suddenly earnest. “Robin freaks out over plenty of things, but she does not act like that around people she’s "uncomfortable" with.”

You stared at him, waiting for an elaboration. Steve shrugged, “Usually, if Robin doesn’t like someone, she'll let them know- she usually just gets meaner.”

“…She was mean to me at first.”

“Yeah, because she thought you were hot.” Your jaw dropped, "No way..."

Steve blinked, like he hadn’t realized the words were coming out until they already had, then he doubled down immediately-

“She did!” he insisted. “The first time you came into Scoops after noticing her, she literally forgot how to make a milkshake.”

“She did not!” he leaned in further, “She handed some kid melted ice cream in a cup and told him it was a ‘new concept.’”

A horrified laugh escaped you before you could stop it, you burried you face in your hands and shook your head.

Steve pointed again. “See! And now every time you come into Family Video she turns into a malfunctioning robot.”

You shook your head more aggressively, as if trying to rid your brain of the possibility of her liking you back, “She does not.”

“She asked a guy if he wanted to rent ‘Back to the Future’ yesterday while holding ‘Dirty Dancing.’”

You covered your face with both hands, groaning. “Oh my god, now I'm just getting second hand embarassment.”

“I’m serious!” Steve laughed. “You should see her when you walk in. It’s actually embarrassing.”

Your voice came out muffled through your fingers. “You’re lying to make me feel better.”

“I’m literally not smart enough to make that up.” Unfortunately, that was true. You slowly lowered your hands. “So… you really think she doesn’t hate me?”

Steve looked genuinely offended. “Hate you? Dude, I think Robin Buckley has spent the last week trying not to have a nervous breakdown every time you walk through the door”

Your stomach flipped violently, “That obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.” He took another fry casually. “But Robin’s oblivious in a completely different way than you are.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve smirked. “You think she hates you because she gets nervous.”

“And?”

“And Robin probably thinks you’re just naturally like…” He gestured vaguely with a fry. “All that.”

“All what?”

Steve made an exasperated sound, irritated he had to spell it out even further for you. “You know- pretty, flirty, intimidating- all that shit. I mean- you're like me, but like- not like me at all i guess...”

You barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Robin is intimidating.”

“Not once you get to know her... but I mean- yeah sure, she can be- but you wear tiny little outfits and stare at her like you’re trying to seduce her out of giving you late fees.”

Your face burned hot enough to melt skin as you sank into your seat. “I don’t stare at her.”

Steve just looked at you, “…Okay maybe a little.”

“A little,” he repeated flatly. Silence settled for a second before Steve’s expression softened.

“You should ask her to hang out.” Your eyes widened immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d rather die.”

Steve rolled his eyes so hard that you're surprised they didn't fall out. “You are ridiculous.”

“What if she says no?”

“She won’t.” Steve watched you slouch slightly, the pout on your lips deepening

“You don’t know that.” he sighed and leaned his elbows on the table

“I know Robin.” He shrugged. “And I know you.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache a little.. Because Steve really did know you, better than anyone.

He nudged your foot under the table. “Just talk to her like a normal person.”

You stared at him blankly “…I think we both know it’s too late for that.”

Friday afternoons at Family Video were usually painfully boring, which was why Robin immediately knew Steve was up to something. He’d been weird all day, and not his normal Robin-look-at-this-horrible-movie-cover weird, either. This was different- he kept glancing at her every couple minutes like he was trying not to smile about something.

“You’re acting suspicious,” Robin finally said from behind the counter, narrowing her eyes as she scanned a returned tape.

Steve looked up too quickly. “What? No I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m literally standing here.”

“Yeah, suspiciously.” Steve rolled his eyes, reorganizing the candy display with an amount of focus that immediately confirmed her point.

Robin pointed at him. “See? That.”

“What?”

“You only attempt to alphabetize things when you’re hiding something.”

“That is a crazy thing to observe about somebody, and I do not do that.”

“You reorganized the entire romance section after you found out I failed my Spanish test.”

“That was unrelated.”

“You color-coded it.”

Steve shrugged innocently without looking at her. “It looked nice.”

Robin stared at him for another long second, watching the way he kept biting back a smile like he physically couldn’t help it. Then her eyes widened dramatically.

“Oh my god.” Steve froze mid-adjustment, slowly side-eyeing her over his shoulder.

“You got laid.”

“What?!” His voice cracked so violently Robin almost laughed before he even continued. “I didn’t- why is that your first assumption?!”

Robin pointed harder now, absolutely delighted with herself. “You DID.”

“I did not!”

“Steve, you’re glowing with heterosexual confidence right now.”

“I am not glowing!”

“You’re practically sparkling.” Steve groaned loudly, rubbing a hand down his face in exasperation while Robin grinned smugly from behind the counter.

“Can you relax?”

“No,” she said immediately. “This is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.”

And unfortunately for Steve, that would’ve been true.

The store fell quiet for a moment after that, save for the soft static crackling from the old television mounted in the corner. Some cheesy action movie played silently across the screen while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Robin went back to sorting returns, though she kept glancing up at Steve suspiciously every few seconds. Meanwhile, Steve hovered awkwardly near the counter like a man seconds away from making a terrible decision.

“You should come to Becky’s party tonight.”

Robin blinked slowly. “…What?”

Steve shrugged with forced casualness, shoving his hands into the pockets of his vest. “There’s a party tonight.”

“I know,” Robin said flatly. “You just said that.”

“Cool.”

“Why would I go?” Steve looked at her like the answer was painfully obvious. “Because you never go anywhere.”

Robin scoffed loudly. “I go places.”

“The grocery store doesn’t count.”

“It absolutely counts.”

“You need enrichment.” Robin snorted so suddenly she almost dropped the tape in her hands. “Did you just compare me to a zoo animal?”

Steve pointed at her immediately. “See? This is why you need to socialize.”

“I socialize with you against my will for thirty-five hours a week.”

“And isn’t your life soooo much better because of it?” Robin opened her mouth automatically with a sarcastic response ready to go, but paused.

“…Unfortunately,” she muttered. Steve grinned triumphantly like he’d just won an argument nobody else knew they were having, causing Robin to narrow her eyes immediately.

“You’re scheming.”

“I’m not scheming.”

“You have your ‘I know something you don’t know’ face.”

Steve scoffed. “I do not have a face for that.”

“You absolutely do.” Robin pointed accusingly now. “You get all smug and your hair somehow gets worse.”

“My hair always looks good.”

“Sure.”

Steve leaned against the counter casually, though the effort he was putting into seeming casual made it painfully obvious something was up. “I just think you should come out tonight.”

Robin stared at him for a second. Then her stomach dropped as realization hit her like a truck.

“…Is Y/n gonna be there?” Steve failed spectacularly at hiding his grin, causing Robin’s eyes to widen in horror.

“Of course she is.” The bastard didn’t even try denying it.

“Oh my god,” Robin whispered, horrified, already feeling heat crawl up her neck. Steve immediately started laughing at the look on her face. “Oh my GOD, Steve.”

“What?!” he defended through laughter.

“You’re setting me up!”

“I am not!”

“You absolutely are!”

“I’m encouraging personal growth!”

Robin made an incredulous noise, throwing her hands up. “That is the most manipulative sentence you’ve ever spoken.”

Steve only laughed harder.

“You told her, didn’t you?” Robin hissed suddenly, leaning across the counter with genuine panic flashing across her face. “Oh my god, you told her I’m obsessed with her-”

“I did not say obsessed.” Robin made a strangled noise and covered her face with both hands immediately.

“Steve!”

“She likes you back!” Robin’s hands dropped instantly as the world went completely silent. The TV buzzed faintly in the background. Somewhere outside, a car door slammed shut. Robin just stared at him.

“…What?” Steve blinked. Oops.

Robin looked at him with genuine alarm now, blue eyes wide and unblinking like she’d just watched a car crash happen in front of her. “Steve...”

He winced slightly. “Well.”

“STEVE”

“What?!” he defended immediately. “You guys are both idiots!”

Robin looked like she might actually pass out, “You told her?”

“No! Jesus Christ, Robin.” Steve lowered his voice immediately, glancing toward the empty aisles out of instinct. “I didn’t out you to each other, if that’s what you’re freaking out about.”

Robin relaxed exactly two percent.

“She just…” Steve hesitated for a second, his expression softening. “She likes girls too, and I hinted that the chances of you liking her back weren’t necessarily zero.”

Robin stopped breathing for a second. “Oh.”

“And she likes you.” Robin looked physically incapable of processing that information. Steve literally watched her cycle through twelve emotions in the span of five seconds- confusion, hope, disbelief, panic, excitement, terror- before she landed firmly on denial.

“No,” she said immediately.

Steve sighed. “Robin-”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She literally does.”

“She’s just flirting for fun, and- and you’re totally fucking with me right now, which is cruel even for you, Steve Harrington-”

“Robin,” Steve interrupted, trying not to laugh, “she practically climbs onto the counter every time you talk.”

Robin’s face burned so red it almost hurt. “She’s just- she’s like that!”

“She is absolutely not like that at all, I promise.” Robin opened her mouth to argue again, then slowly closed it, because deep down, she knew you really weren’t like that with anyone else. Not with Steve’s idiot friends. Not with random guys at parties. Not even with Steve, honestly. Just her.

Robin had noticed it weeks ago, despite trying very hard to convince herself she was imagining things- the lingering eye contact, the way you smiled differently at her, the way you’d lean over the counter just to listen for intently to whatever dumb thing she was saying, the way you always looked directly at Robin when you walked into the store like she was the whole reason you came there in the first place.

Steve softened a little at the conflicted look on her face.

“Look,” he started carefully, “I’m not saying you have to marry her or whatever-”

Robin groaned loudly before he could finish. “Oh my god.”

“But you should come tonight.”

Robin looked down, nervously picking at the peeling corner of a VHS sleeve while her heartbeat thudded violently in her ears. “What if she’s just messing around?”

“She’s not.”

“What if I make it weird?” Steve gave her a long look.

“Robin,” he said gently, “your entire personality is weird.”

“Exactly!”

“But it seems like she likes that!” Robin’s stomach flipped so hard she thought she might actually throw up. Steve smirked a little at the expression on her face before adding, softer this time, “Also, for the record? She’s freaking out just as much as you are.”

That made Robin pause. “…Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Steve laughed quietly to himself, leaning against the counter again. “She made me swear you didn’t hate her like three times last night.”

Robin stared at him in disbelief. “She thought I hated her?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s insane.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” Robin looked down again, chewing the inside of her cheek while her thoughts spiraled violently. You thought she hated you? Meanwhile Robin had spent the last month internally combusting every time you smiled at her.

Steve nudged her shoulder lightly as he passed behind the counter. “C’mon, just come hang out.”

Robin sighed heavily, already knowing she’d lost this argument five minutes ago, “This is going to ruin my life.”

Steve grinned immediately. “So that’s a yes?”

Robin pointed at him warningly. “If this ends horribly, I’m making it your problem forever.”

“Fair.”

“And if you ditch me there-”

“I won’t.”

“And if she actually doesn’t like me-”

“She does.” Robin groaned again, dragging both hands down her face while Steve’s grin only widened.

Robin almost didn’t come. Even after agreeing to it at work, she spent nearly forty minutes standing in front of her mirror debating whether faking her own death would somehow be easier than attending a party where you would definitely be present. Unfortunately, Steve Harrington was persistent to the point of being a public nuisance. By the time he picked her up, Robin was already irritated.

“You’re being weirdly intense about this,” she muttered while climbing into the passenger seat.

Steve looked personally offended. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“You literally had a thirty-minute breakdown because Y/n touched your hand while taking a receipt." Robin groaned loudly and slumped in her seat while Steve grinned like the world’s most annoying man. By the time they got to the party, Robin’s stomach had tied itself into approximately fourteen knots.

The house was already packed- music blasting through blown-out speakers while people crowded through the kitchen and spilled out onto the back patio. Somewhere upstairs, someone was screaming the lyrics to a Madonna song completely off-key. Robin followed Steve inside reluctantly, immediately scanning the room against her will, and there you were.

You stood near the living room couch with Nancy and Jonathan, laughing at something Argyle was saying while holding a red plastic cup between both hands. Robin noticed you before she could stop herself- the tiny shorts, the fitted top, the little jewelry around your neck catching the low light every time you moved. Then you looked up and smiled at her, causing Robin to nearly walk directly into Steve’s back.

“Oh my god,” Steve muttered under his breath without even turning around. “You are so screwed.”

“Shut up.”

You excused yourself from the group almost immediately after spotting them, weaving through people until you stopped directly in front of Robin with a grin that made her forget basic motor function for a second.

“Buckley,” you greeted casually, though your eyes flicked over her quickly enough to make her face warm. “You actually came.”

Robin shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket immediately to stop herself from visibly panicking. “Yeah, well. Steve threatened me emotionally.”

“I did not,” Steve defended.

“You literally said I needed ‘social enrichment.’”

You let out a cute but genuine laugh- Robin almost smiled just from hearing it.

“That does sound like him,” you admitted.

Steve pointed triumphantly between you both. “See? Vibes already.”

Robin rolled her eyes hard. “Can you not say "vibes" ever again?”

“No promises.”

Nancy appeared beside you then, smiling knowingly at Robin in a way that immediately made her suspicious, “Hi, Robin.”

In a rare moment of coolness, she tilted her head up in a greeting as she smiled casually at Nancy, completely unaware that her relaxed energy was firing something up inside you, “Hey.”

Jonathan lifted his beer slightly in greeting from the couch while Argyle squinted at Robin for a second before going, “Ohhh, you’re the girl from Family Video.”

Robin blinked. “...Yeah?”

“The one she keeps talking about.” Your head whipped around so violently you almost spilled your drink.

“Argyle.” you seethed between clenched teeth

“What?” he asked innocently. Robin’s brain completely stopped functioning. Steve made a choking noise trying not to laugh while Nancy immediately smacked Argyle in the shoulder.

“You cannot just say things like that,” you hissed, horrified.

Argyle looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because- because she’s gonna pass out!” Robin was, in fact, considering it. But then she looked at you- really looked at you- and noticed you seemed just as embarrassed as she felt. Your face was burning, eyes wide with panic while everyone laughed around you, and weirdly enough, that made Robin relax- just a little.

“Okay,” Robin said slowly, recovering enough to glance at you sideways, “in my defense, you’re also kind of impossible not to talk about.”

Your mouth fell open slightly, shocked at her forwardness. Steve gasped and then immediately made the loudest, most dramatic gagging noise imaginable.

“Oh my god,” he groaned. “You guys are disgusting already.”

After that, things got easier surprisingly fast.

Robin still got nervous every time you looked directly at her for too long, but once the entire group settled into the living room together, the awkwardness slowly started melting away- mostly because Steve and Argyle were incapable of letting silence exist for longer than ten seconds.

At one point Jonathan and Nancy got pulled into an argument over horror movies while Steve passionately defended some terrible action film nobody else liked. Robin sat wedged into the corner of the couch beside you, listening to everyone yell over each other while you leaned closer every time you laughed. And Jesus Christ, you smelled good. Robin noticed that almost immediately and spent the next twenty minutes trying not to think about it.

Then your knee bumped hers- accidentally, probably- except neither of you moved away. Robin kept talking through it anyway, pretending she wasn’t hyperaware of the warmth of your leg pressed against hers. Meanwhile, you nodded along to whatever sarcastic rant she was going on about, chin resting lazily against your hand while you watched her with a soft smile that was making coherent thought increasingly difficult.

“You’re staring again,” Robin said finally, trying to sound casual, while your smile widened immediately. “Sorry. You’re funny.”

Robin looked away so fast it almost hurt her neck, which Steve noticed from across the room and looked seconds away from throwing himself through a window, trying not to laugh.

The drinking became a problem around an hour later. Not a real problem, but just enough of one that suddenly everything felt warmer and louder and significantly less terrifying.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor now beside the coffee table while Robin leaned against the couch directly above you, both of you halfway through your fourth (or maybe fifth?) drinks while Steve attempted to teach Argyle and Jonathan some stupid hand game, as Nancy watched the entire thing unfold with increasing amusement.

Robin had reached the stage of drunk where she got louder and dramatically more animated with her storytelling. Which, unfortunately for you, was incredibly attractive.

“No, listen,” Robin insisted, grabbing your wrist suddenly while trying not to laugh, “this woman looked me dead in the eyes and asked if we carried ‘The Little Mermaid’ on cassette tape.”

You burst into laughter. “No she didn’t.”

“She DID.”

“What did you even say to that?”

Robin grinned proudly, even more relaxed than when she sat down. “I told her Ariel was unavailable for comment.”

You laughed hard enough to lean forward into Robin’s knees instinctively, and for one dangerous second Robin forgot how breathing worked. Because now you were touching her. All warm and giggly and drunk and pretty.

She looked down at you, absolutely helpless, while you looked back up at the same time, and there it was again- that horrible, terrifying, impossible thing that kept happening between you two whenever everyone else faded into the background. Your laughter softened first; Robin’s smile faded second; neither of you moved, until you lifted your drink to take a sip while maintaining eye contact

Then Steve’s drunk ass suddenly yelled from across the room, “Ohhhhhh, look who's being all friendly now!”

You choked on your drink immediately- Robin whipped a pillow directly at his head without even looking. Nancy started laughing so hard she nearly spilled her beer, while Jonathan looked deeply exhausted already.

Steve leaned in and pointed between you both with a smug grin. “You guys have been eye-fucking each other for like two hours.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face.

Robin slumped dramatically backward against the couch cushions. “dude you are so drunk.”

“so're you!” Steve slurred, immediately hiccuping afterwards. But even through the embarrassment, Robin could still feel your shoulder pressed against her leg, and neither of you moved away from it once. That warmth, however, didn't last long, and Robin was still glaring at Steve when you pushed yourself up from the floor with a groan.

“I need another drink if I’m gonna survive this conversation,” you muttered.

“Bring me one?” Nancy asked immediately. You rolled your eyes fondly and waved her off before turning toward the kitchen and disappearing into the crowd. Robin tried very hard not to watch you go, and obviously failed, which Steve "nosiest person alive" Harrington noticed as soon as it happened.

“Oh my god,” he whispered dramatically to Jonathan. “She’s literally watching her leave.”

“I can hear you,” Robin snapped. Nancy laughed into her drink while Robin stood abruptly from the couch before she could think too hard about it.

“I also need a drink,” she announced to nobody. Steve’s grin became genuinely unbearable. “Sure you do.”

Robin reached for another pillow from the couch and threatened to throw it at him. Steve flinched dramatically and giggled drunkenly as his best friend flipped him off as she headed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was much hotter than the living room- crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with people digging through coolers and yelling over the music. Robin spotted you immediately near the counter, pouring something suspiciously strong into a red cup while some guy tried unsuccessfully to flirt with you.

Robin watched you stare at him blankly for approximately three seconds before going, “Did you just compare yourself to Johnny Depp?”

The guy puffed up slightly. “People say I look like him.”

“Have you never been lied to before?” Robin snorted out loud before she could stop herself. You turned immediately (how you were even able to hear her in this mess was beyond her) face brightening the second you saw her standing there.

The guy looked between you both awkwardly before deciding he suddenly had somewhere else to be, and Robin stepped beside you as he disappeared into the crowd. “That was mean.”

You handed her a drink casually. “That was mercy.”

Robin hissed through her teeth, then laughed, her shoulder brushing yours lightly as she accepted the cup. “Yikes, poor guy.”

“He opened with ‘hey beautiful.’ He deserved it.”

“You hate when guys call you beautiful?”

You looked over at her knowingly. “Guys? Yes.”

Robin nearly inhaled her drink wrong, which caused you to grin instantly. “Oh my god, are you blushing, Buckley?”

“I am absolutely not.”

“You totally are.”

“It’s- it's hot in here!” You raised your brows at her in suspicion before nodding sarcastically with a teasing quirk of your lips. Robin opened her mouth with another argument ready, but you laughed softly and grabbed her wrist suddenly.

“C’mon.”

Robin blinked. “What?”

“It’s too crowded in here.” You were already tugging her gently through the kitchen before she could process the fact that your hand was still around her wrist. She followed automatically, past the hallway... and then past the bathroom where two people were loudly arguing... and then past a couple making out against the wall...

Until finally you pushed open a side door leading out onto the back patio, cold air hitting instantly. The muffled bass from inside still vibrated faintly through the walls, but out there, everything felt quieter somehow. Dim porch lights cast soft yellow shadows across the yard while distant voices echoed from somewhere near the fence.

Robin looked at you, taking you in, to see that you actually looked nervous now, which somehow made Robin even more nervous.

“You okay?” she asked softly. You nodded too quickly. “Yeah.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but buffered for a second, seeming to collect the confidence to speak

“I just wanted to talk to you without Steve screaming at us for five seconds.” Robin laughed quietly, looking down at her drink for a second before glancing back up. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

Another pause settled between you- softer this time. Not awkward, but charged with tension. Robin leaned back lightly against the porch railing while you stood close enough that your shoes nearly touched.

“You know,” you started carefully, eyes fixed on your cup, “I really thought you hated me at first.”

Robin looked genuinely startled. “What?”

“At Scoops.” You shrugged slightly. “You were always glaring at me.”

“Oh my god.” Robin groaned immediately. “I wasn’t glaring at you.”

“You totally were.”

“I was panicking.” Your eyebrows lifted slowly.

Robin laughed once, embarrassed now. “Steve used to make fun of me because every time you walked in I’d forget how to function.”

Your smile softened instantly, then you forced the teasing quirk back in for a moment. “There's no way you wanted me that bad so early on...”

Robin scoffed and rolled her eyes, "I might've had some predetermined, unsupported opinions on you, but I've always had eyes, and you've always been attractive."

Her confidence makes you scoff this time- in utter shock and disbelief at her blatant admittance to finding you attractive, "wait- so even when you were acting like you couldn't care less if i lived or died-"

"That never happened-"

"It totally did! You've ignored me soooomany times inschool" your words have really started to slur together at this point, face hot from the alcohol and the flirting, pitch raising ever so slightly to take on a more airy key.

Robin snorted softly. “Okay, first of all, I ignore everyone in school.”

“You wouldn't ignore Chrissy!”

“cuz she's friends with Vicky-”

Your laugh blended with your whining as you leaned a little closer without realizing it. “You were sooo mean to me., Robin”

She scoffs out a laugh of disbelief, a nervous but entertained smile staining her lips, “I was nervous!”

“You rolled your eyes at me once when I said hi to you in the hallway.”

Robin pointed immediately. “That was because Tommy was with you.”

You pulled back into yourself, disgusted, and blinked slowly “…What does Tommy have to do with anything?”

Robin looked away for exactly half a second too long, then muttered, “I thought you were dating him.”

Your mouth fell open instantly, “TOMMY??”

“In my defense,” Robin said quickly, already laughing at herself, “he followed you around constantly.”

“Because he was obsessed with Steve!”

“I know that now!” You doubled over laughing, nearly spilling your drink all over yourself while Robin watched helplessly, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

“Oh my god,” you wheezed. “You thought I had bad taste.”

“I was being judgmental!”

“Well duh.”

“I said unsupported opinions!” You laughed harder at that, head tipping forward until your forehead brushed briefly against Robin’s shoulder. The contact made both of you go still, both of your smiles fading, your faces heating up more. You stayed there for one dangerous second too long, warm against her, close enough now that Robin could feel your breath against her neck every time you laughed quietly.

When you finally looked back up, your faces were suddenly much closer than either of you remembered getting. Robin’s eyes flicked down to your lips instinctively before snapping back up again. You noticed, of course, your eyes softening immediately.

“You’re so pretty, Robin...” you mumble quietly, pulling the tiniest startled noise from her.

“You’re really drunk,” she whispered back, though she sounded breathless now.

“Mhm,” you hummed, shrugging as your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “Still true, though.”

Robin laughed once under her breath, nervous and disbelieving and completely gone for you already. “You have no idea what you're doing to me.”

Your stomach flipped violently at that,

“Yeah?” you asked softly, gazing up at her. Robin gulped, nodding before she could stop herself. The porch suddenly felt too small, too warm despite the cold air. Your hand slid against the railing beside hers slowly- enough for your fingers to brush- Robin looked down at it, then back at you.

Apparently, Robin was drunk too, because the liquid courage was all it took for her to cup your cheek and lean in, pressing her lips to yours. It was quick at first- almost cautious, like she was still waiting for you to change your mind- but the second you kissed her back, Robin melted completely.

Your hand settled on her waist at the hem of her sweater as you leaned into her, smiling against her mouth immediately when Robin made a soft, overwhelmed sound into the kiss.

“See?” you murmured against her lips, dizzy and teasing. She could practically taste your teasing grin “You wanted me so bad.”

Robin laughed helplessly into another kiss, as you pulled her back in, gliding your hands up her waist to caress her collarbones and neck, sending a shiver down her spine. You dragged her backward a few steps, so that your back was against the side of the house.

The two of you continued to kiss, the tension only growing tighter as time passed. You bit her bottom lip, smirking as you felt her gasp and part her lips, pleased at how she was reacting exactly as you intended her to. Your tongue slipped into Robin's mouth, intertwining with hers, as both your breathing picked up.

Robin's hands gripped your hips as you slipped yours into her hair, tugging slightly. She groaned softly into your mouth, taking the initiative to push one of her legs between yours. The pressure against your core, along with the action itself, elicited a sharp gasp from you, followed by a high-pitched whine.

You decided to test the waters a bit by rolling your hips slowly against her thigh, pulling a deep sound from Robin as she pushed her leg up and pressed you down at the same time. The noise you let out only spurred her on, as Robin tugged on your belt loops, pulling you harder against her thigh and reinforcing the rhythm of your grinding. You moaned into her mouth, arms fully wrapping around her neck to pull her impossibly close.

You're not sure how long it went on like this, but at some point, you heard the side screen door slam open, scaring the shit out of you and Robin, causing you to jump apart. A handful of fellow drunk party-goers wandered out, slurring as they excitedly greeted you and kept walking.

After that night, you continued to flirt, amping it up to be even worse than before, honestly. And now that Robin understood it was, in fact, actual flirting, it somehow stressed her out more. In her mind, you wanting her and making it so obvious meant she had a lot of work to do to keep up, even though you've been wanting every version of you you've already come to know- the mean and avoidant, the floundering and awkward, and especially the occasional relaxed and charismatic.

If someone asked Robin if she was avoiding you, she'd say something along the lines of, "what?? of course not- why would i be avoiding her??" but if someone asked you what your thoughts were, it'd be a different story.

Steve was honestly about to lock the two of you in the storage closet and tell you to sort it out because he was getting sick of your whining and complaining. But he was mostly annoyed at your refusal to make a move, and Robin's internal system shutting down and not powering back on until you left.

The next time you all went out was a lot less fun. Not because of any sort of odd event, or because the music was worse, not even because the people sucked- But because Robin wasn't there, and apparently that was enough to ruin your entire night. Nancy figured this out approximately twenty minutes after arriving, and surprisingly, Steve figured it out immediately.

"Can you stop glancing longingly at the door, you know she's not coming."

You tore your eyes away from the entryway. "I am not glancing longingly, what the fuck"

No one looked remotely convinced. The worst part was that he wasn't wrong. Robin wasn't usually much of a party person anyway, but after what had happened the last time- the lingering touches, the stolen kiss on the back porch, the fact that you'd spent nearly three hours sitting shoulder-to-shoulder afterward- it felt weird not seeing her.

You'd expected her to come just to hang out with you, and maybe that was your mistake. Maybe you'd gotten a little spoiled...

The first drink made you miss her. The second drink made you dramatic about missing her. By the third, you were becoming a genuine problem.

"I just don't get it." Steve groaned into his beer.

"The beginning of the speech." Nancy laughed into her cup. You ignored both of them and carried on

"I mean, we had fun!"

"We know," Steve said.

"We kissed."

"We know."

"You don't know everything."

"I know enough." You frowned at him.

"That's so invasive."

Steve physically dropped his head onto the table with a drawn-out groan, "You've been talking about her for an hour."

The night only deteriorated from there. Every conversation somehow circled back to Robin; every topic reminded you of her, every joke made you wish she were there to hear it. And because alcohol had completely removed your ability to feel embarrassment, you weren't keeping any of those thoughts to yourself. By the time you started loudly wondering whether Robin was at home thinking about you, Steve looked ready to throw himself through a wall.

"Oh my god."

"What?"

"You're fucking obsessed with her." You gasped, and Nancy laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.

"I'm not obsessed."

"You called her beautiful six times."

"She is beautiful."

"You don't even know you're doing it anymore." You opened your mouth. Paused. Then pointed at him, only to say nothing. Steve stood up immediately after that

"Okay. That's enough."

"What?"

"You are cut off." You stared at him, incredulously, then at Nancy, who just shrugged. "I agree with him."

"This is a dictatorship."

"No," Steve said, grabbing your shoulders. "This is intervention."

The next thing you knew, he was steering you through his house while you complained the entire way.

"You guys are being mean to me."

"We're saving Robin from hearing whatever's about to come out of your mouth next."

"I have lots of good things to say about Robin."

"I KNOW."

By the time Steve deposited you onto his bed upstairs, you were pouting hard enough to rival a toddler. "There."

He pointed at you. "Drink water."

"I don't want water."

"Too bad."

"I want Robin to come over." Steve groaned so loudly it echoed down the hallway.

"Goodnight." Then he left, storming back to the rest of the group. That traitor...

For a while, you laid sprawled across his comforter staring at the ceiling. Music vibrated faintly through the floorboards beneath you, voices drifted up from downstairs.

You rolled over dramatically and stared at Steve's nightstand, your eyes landing on the phone sitting on top of it- a terrible idea occurred to you instantly.

Within minutes, you were dialing Robin's number from memory. The line rang- once... twice... three times-

"Hello?" Your entire face lit up as you breathed out, "Robin!"

There was a pause, "...Why are you calling me from Steve's house?"

You smiled stupidly at the sound of her voice, "cuz I miss you."

The silence on the other end was long. Robin was sitting cross-legged by herself on her bedroom floor when she'd answered, now she was very glad nobody else was around because her face had gone completely red.

"You... are drunk."

"Maybe."

"You are."

You kicked your feet against Steve's mattress and twist the cord around your finger, "You should've come."

Robin closed her eyes. There was something about drunk you that was particularly dangerous- not because you got reckless, but because you got more honest. Painfully honest.

"I had plans."

"You should've canceled them."

"That's not how plans work."

"It is when I want you somewhere."

Robin's breath got caught in her throat before she sighed out, pressing her face into one hand. "Oh my god."

You sighed dramatically. "I've been having a terrible time."

"You've been at a party..."

"Without you." The way you said it made something warm twist inside her chest, and she had to try very hard not to smile.

"You're ridiculous."

"Steve misses you too." she huffed out laugh, "No he doesn't."

"Okay, maybe that one was a lie." Robin chuckled despite herself, the sound making you smile immediately.

"You need to go to sleep."

"I need you to come here."

"Sorry, but I'm gonna have to say no to that one."

"Please?"

"No." You groaned loudly. Robin could practically picture you rolling around dramatically on Steve's bed.

"Robiiiiiiiin" she hated that she was even telling you no- she felt stupid for telling you no! Especially when she had you whining her name over the phone, begging her to show up and rescue you from your lonesome.

But maybe that's why she was doing it...

Not because Robin knew herself and knew she'd fold the second she saw you, and give you whatever you wanted- even though that much was still true. She was basking in the pride it was bringing her to listen to you say her name over and over again, waiting for her to give in and let you have your way, because you both knew she'd eventually give in to you.

"Sorry, pretty girl, not gonna happen." Robin wasn't completely unaware of the damage she was doing- she had some idea that her words alone, delivered softly by her raspy voice, had some effect on you.

What she didn't know was how you held your breath for a moment, squeezing the pillow you were resting on and pressing your thighs together, before you relaxed.

"Robin, please."

"No."

"Robin!" She laughed. "God, you sound five years old."

"I miss you." The words came softer this time, less dramatic and whiny, more genuine and breathy. Robin's chest tightened, and you were quiet for a second.

"Will you come get me?"

Robin blinked. "What?"

"Come get me."

"You are not serious."

"I am- extremely serious."

"I can't..."

"Why?"

"Because you are drunk."

"Exactly."

"That's not helping your argument." You huffed

"Steve won't take me home." Robin snorted immediately

"Steve Harrington would absolutely take you home." You considered that. "...Okay, maybe."

"He definitely would."

"But then he'd have to leave his own party."

"He would still do it."

"Yeah..." you paused, then continued, much quieter "But I want it to be you."

Robin's stomach flipped, hard. The music downstairs was distant now, and the room around her felt strangely warm. She leaned back against her bed frame and stared at the wall for a long moment. On the other end of the line, you lay still, eyes fluttering as you peacefully waited for her next response.

"Robin?"

"Hm?"

"I really like you." The confession was so simple, so earnest. Robin squeezed her eyes shut, a smile pulling at her mouth despite how hard she was biting her bottom lip.

"You are going to be so embarrassed by this tomorrow."

"Nope."

"You will."

"I won't."

"You definitely will."

You hummed thoughtfully, then followed with complete certainty, "Then I can be embarrassed in your bed."

Robin barked out a laugh, sighing as it died down, letting the comfortable silence hang for a moment more, "okay..."

The line went dead, and somewhere upstairs in Steve Harrington's house, you smiled so hard your cheeks hurt at the sound, knowing you won and that she'd be on her way in a matter of minutes.

She arrived at the Harrington house about 15 minutes later, bracing herself to deal with the crowd as well as whatever her friends were inevitably going to say to her once they realized why she was there.

She walked right past Nancy and Jonathon, who were sitting on the couch, and somehow managed to bypass Steve, who was yapping some girl's ear off.

When Robin finally makes her way upstairs, she passes the other closed doors that surely hide plenty of couples up to no good. She stood outside Steve's bedroom door, her hand shaking as it hovered over the doorknob. Do I knock? She might already be passed out by now...

Robin took a deep breath and turned the knob, trying to push the door open as quietly as possible, just in case. And as she regained her breath, she lost it just as quickly, taking in the sight before her.

There you lay, in Steve Harrington's bed, on your stomach, one arm folded under your head as you rest your cheek on it, pouting, as the other hangs off the bed. Your little dress had risen up to just barely cover your ass- Robin's pretty sure she can see your dark red lace panties, but she tries not to stare for too long.

Not like you gave her much time to stare anyway, cuz as soon as you saw her, you perked up with a gasp. You practically rolled off the bed before bounding over to her and wrapping your arms around her neck, tucking your face, and letting out a soft, satisfied moan. Robin placed her hands on your hips, securing you and making sure you wouldn't fall over. She subconsciously rubbed your hip as you nuzzled your face in her neck.

"Take me home, Robbie..." you mumbled against her skin. Robin couldn't help but huff out a laugh. If anyone else had called her that, or whined the way you did, it would have annoyed her beyond explanation and made her cringe out of her skin... but it's you.

Robin's rubbing on your hips became more intentional on her end, and thus more apparent to you, causing you to whine against her once more. Robin had no plans of doing anything with you tonight, other than going to sleep, but teasing you and getting your hopes up a little wouldn't hurt...

"My house or yours, baby?" She softly questioned, letting her head lean, cheek resting against the top of your hair. You sighed into her neck and squeezed your arms a little tighter, pulling yourself closer against her. It was too easy to tease you when you were like this- Robin wished you were this clingy all the time. Or maybe she wished she were this confident and relaxed all the time.

"Don't care, jus' wanna go with you..." you murmured and finished off your request with an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Robin squeezed her eyes shut for a second.

Jesus Christ.

You were going to be the death of her. You were just drunk enough to forget about self-consciousness, clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in the room.

"Yeah, okay," she said softly. "Let's get you out of here."

You made a pleased sound and somehow managed to cling even tighter. The sight would've been embarrassing and borderline heart-stopping under normal circumstances. But for some reason, Robin found it strangely endearing tonight.

She carefully untangled herself enough (not without you whining and complaining, of course) to grab your purse from Steve's desk before guiding you toward the door. You followed without complaint, staying close enough that your shoulder kept bumping hers.

"Oh no," Robin muttered.

You looked up.

"What?"

"Our friends." Downstairs, Steve spotted the two of you almost immediately, his face lighting up with the kind of expression Robin absolutely hated.

"There she is!" Robin bit back a groan, but continued down the staircase with you in tow.

Steve pointed dramatically. "I knew you'd show up eventually."

"Oh, who cares..." You leaned heavily against Robin's side and smiled sleepily.

"Told you she'd come get me." Steve nearly fell over laughing. Robin seriously considered turning around and dragging you home without another word, leaving Steve there to laugh by himself.

Instead, she rolled her eyes, bid your drunken friend a goodnight, and guided you toward the front door while your friends continued yelling things neither of you acknowledged.

The cold night air felt good after the crowded house, causing you to sigh contentedly the second you reached her car. Robin opened the passenger door for you, but you paused to look at her before getting in.

"Hm?" Robin asked, and you looked at her for a moment, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Thanks for coming." The simple sincerity of it caught her completely off guard, her expression softening immediately.

"Of course I came." You smiled at that. The kind of real smile that always seemed to make Robin's chest feel too tight. Then you climbed into the car, already half-asleep, before she could even put the car in drive. She shook her head fondly as she took off, thinking about how embarrassing tomorrow morning would be for both of you.

When you arrived at her place, Robin shook you slightly to wake you. She helped you inside, laid out a pair of her clothes for you to change into, and brought you water.

The night ended with Robin trying not to freak out as you refused to let her sleep anywhere else but beside you, clinging to her like she was a life-size teddy bear.

Morning arrived slowly. The first thing you became aware of was sunlight- thin strips of gold spilled through the curtains, warming the room in uneven patches and making it impossible to keep sleeping. Your head felt heavy, your mouth dry, and every thought seemed to arrive several seconds later than it normally would.

For a long moment, you just lay there staring at the ceiling. The room felt unfamiliar as you still tried to adjust and keep your eyes open for more than a second

Your gaze landed on the bookshelf against the far wall, then the stack of cassette tapes, then the movie posters- the cluttered desk, sage walls, and record player filling in the blanks for you.

You groaned softly and dropped an arm over your face. Somewhere nearby, you heard a quiet laugh, temporarily frozen in place, before slowly turning your head.

Robin was sitting on the floor beside the bed with a mug balanced between both hands. She looked like she'd been awake for a while already, her hair slightly messy from sleep and an oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder, the morning light catching the freckles across her face.

"You look terrified," she observed as you immediately buried your face back into the pillow, drawing another warm laugh from her.

As you tried not to think too much about how comforting the sound was, your mind shifted back to the night before, your embarrassment arriving all at once.

You perked up, snapping your panicked gaze back to Robin, "Oh no."

"Oh yes." You groaned louder and flopped back down against her pillow as Robin looked entirely too pleased with herself.

The room settled into a comfortable quiet for a few moments after that. Outside, birds chirped somewhere beyond the window. A car passed on the street. The world had already started moving while the two of you remained tucked away from it for a little while longer.

Eventually, you sat up, pulling the blanket around yourself as you blinked against the sunlight and subconsciously pouted. Robin watched you over the rim of her mug; you watched her back, and neither of you seemed particularly interested in looking away.

The previous weeks felt strange in retrospect- so much nervousness, so much second-guessing, so much time spent wondering what the other person was thinking. Now, sitting together in the quiet morning light, everything felt simpler, despite the embarrassment of last night's desperation.

The realization that being with Robin felt good and simple settled warmly somewhere in your chest, and she clocked it in your expression immediately.

"What?" You shook your head. "Nothing."

The smile that appeared on her face suggested she didn't believe you for a second, but she didn't push. Instead, she leaned back against the side of the bed and stared out the window for a moment.

The sunlight painted soft gold across the room, and you found yourself smiling without meaning to as you noticed the way things glowed a little differently in the light. The threads of her sweater were more shimmery than matte, her hands seemed a little more delicate and fair, her freckles were enchanting regardless of the lighting.

Your enamored gaze never wavered, and for the first time all morning, Robin looked away first, which, of course, made your smile widen.

Maybe the day would bring teasing from Steve, questions from Nancy, an absolutely humiliating recollection of everything you'd said while drunk- but for now, none of that mattered.

For now, it was just the two of you sharing a quiet morning and trying not to smile too hard whenever the other wasn't looking.

Eventually, reality caught up with you, specifically, the reality that you felt gross. Your hair was a mess, your makeup had mostly disappeared, and your mouth tasted vaguely like every bad decision you'd made the night before.

With a groan, you pushed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed, heading toward her door like you'd been here a million times. "I need to brush my teeth."

Robin laughed. "Yeah. You do."

You gasped and whipped back around to face her, "That was mean!"

She chuckled shyly, taking a sip from her mug with a shrug, "It was honest."

You huffed dramatically and drowsily stormed off as Robin's eyes followed, staying trained on the doorway even after you were out of her sight. Once she heard the bathroom door click shut, she immediately dropped her head back against the mattress. Because now that you weren't there distracting her, she had time to think, which was unfortunate.

The previous night kept replaying in fragments.

Your phone call. The way you'd sounded when she'd answered. The sight of you practically launching yourself across Steve's room when she'd arrived. The fact that you'd chosen her- not Steve or Nancy, who were already there and would've been more than willing to get you home safe- Her.

Robin rubbed both hands over her face. God. She was in trouble...

Several minutes later, the bathroom door opened again, causing Robin to look up automatically and forget her train of thought.

You still looked tired and a little hungover, but you seemed to have washed your face and fixed your hair as much as possible. Even when you were supposed to look a mess, you still looked unfairly pretty.

"I'm hoping that unopened toothbrush on the counter was for me and that I didn't accidentally just add something to your grocery list..." you leaned against her doorframe, radiating comfortable charm that you seemed to have regained after washing off some of last night's embarrassment.

"Yeah... yeah, of course it was for you..." Robin was a little breathless as she took in the sight of you, aware that you likely just used her face wash are still dressed in her clothes

The room was quiet except for the distant sound of someone mowing a lawn somewhere outside, as sunlight spilled across the floor between you. Robin pushed off the floor and moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, while you still stood a few feet away. And suddenly all the teasing and awkwardness from earlier seemed to disappear.

A small, soft smile tugged at the corner of Robin's mouth first, causing your chest to squeeze. Without really thinking about it, you crossed the room, and Robin's eyes followed your every movement. When you stopped beside the bed, she tipped her head back slightly to look up at you.

"Good morning," Robin said quietly.

You let out an amused huff, lip quirking up more, "We've literally been awake for an hour."

"I know." Neither of you moved, not seeming particularly interested in creating any distance either. The morning sunlight painted gold across Robin's hair and freckles, captivating you beyond explanation

Across her lips was a soft smile she was trying (and failing) to hide, mirrored by your own before you could even think to stop it.

Then, almost naturally, like it was the simplest thing in the world, you leaned down, and Robin met you halfway, as your lips connected in the softest greeting. It was a brief, gentle kiss- nothing fueled by lust or alcohol or adrenaline- just pure and sweet.

It was a quiet confirmation of everything that had already been building between you. And a much-needed one, at that

When you pulled apart, Robin was still smiling, as were you, and for a moment, the world stood still as neither of you said anything.

Eventually, Robin let out a quiet laugh and shook her head, flopping back onto her bed and staring at the ceiling dreamily, like she couldn't quite believe this was real. You smiled back just as helplessly, glancing softly down at her, before allowing yourself to lie down and curl into her.

For the first time in what felt like forever, neither of you had to wonder.

[bloomcissa]

making out in the castle halls!

꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ knight!bruce wayne x princess!reader, fluff, this has nothing to do with dark knights of steel, just loosely inspired bcuz he’s so pretty as a knight

knight!bruce wayne collection

The castle halls are polished and hushed. Sunlight trickles in from the enormous windows, breaking across the mosaic tiles, making it rain color. 

Bruce deepens the kiss, his hand cupping your jaw, the other sliding down to your hip slowly as if he’s trying to hold back. Your hands rest against his chest, feeling the muscle that was usually hidden under all the armor he wore. Only you could see him like this.

Well, you and anyone who walks through this hall.

He pulls back, breath coming out in uneven pants. His eyes trace you. Your lips are parted, your eyes wide and eager for more. His thumb brushes your cheek.

"We shouldn't be doing this out here," he mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

"We can do whatever we want," you reply with a grin. After all, he's your personal guard. 

He steels his face, but you see his lips curling up. "You're the most troublesome princess I've ever had the pleasure of meeting," he says, then, without letting you get another word in, he kisses you again.

"Your highness—

A maid stumbles when she sees you pressed up against the wall. For a moment, she simply stares. Her eyes widen, though, when Bruce's body tenses like he's ready for battle. 

"My apologies, my lady," she squeaks, gathering her skirts and fleeing as if her life depended on it.

Bruce's forehead falls against yours. 

"She must be new," you offer. 

He grunts. 

"Still, you didn't have to scare the poor thing," you add, your arms wrapping around his neck.

He tilts his head until his eyes meet yours. To your surprise, there's amusement lingering in them. "I didn't—

Distant voices cut him off. A long-suffering sigh leaves him.

"I heard the king granted the princess a plaything," one of the guards began, his voice carrying through the quiet hall.

Silence. 

"It's him, isn't it? Wayne?" 

Bruce—already knowing you well enough—puts his hand over your mouth to muffle your incessant giggling. 

The other guard speaks up, his voice deeper and older. "Yeah, the bastard probably pissed in the king's goblet."

The other one snorts as their footsteps get louder and louder. Your body shakes, and Bruce tries his very best to keep you quiet, but the guards spot you anyway. 

Their steps slow. The older one reaches for his sword as he takes in Bruce's hand over your mouth. 

"Sir Wayne," he says carefully. "I think it would be wise for you to remove your hand from her highness."

Bruce closes his eyes.

"Her highness prefers it this way." Is all he gives in return before his hand leaves your mouth, and suddenly you're being lifted into his arms, heat blooming across your cheeks at the improper way he carries you away.

"Next, we shall try the gardens," you tell him, cheek pressed against his chest.

Bruce doesn't bother arguing. 

masterlist

[musingsofheaven]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ﹙ masterlist ⋮ request ˓ ask .ᐟ ﹚

PASSION FEVER

summary: Showing up at your best friend’s house every week after she moved out probably isn’t your brightest idea. Lying about it definitely isn’t helping either. But Yolanda likes having you around just as much as you like being there. (request)

pairings: milf!yolanda garcia x afab curvy!reader

warnings: 4.3k words. mature themes. age gap. best friend’s mom trope. power imbalance. dubcon. coercive undertones. praise kink. mommy kink. body worship. dirty talk. pet names. corruption kink. semi public sex. risk of being caught. exhibitionism. voyeurism implications. public exposure/nudity. breast play. nipple play. fingering. clit stimulation. orgasm control. read responsibly.

note: posting this with one eye open. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

You grew up with decent guardians around you, so you really don’t know why you constantly chase after women who are twice your age. Your preference has never been a question because you only ever sleep with women. You’re entirely gay, but your attention always goes to women in their forties. You know you look good because you have a pretty face, and your curves make everything you wear look even better. You’re definitely not ugly, but you never manage to get with a middle-aged woman because they check you out, then decide you’re just too young for them.

Flirting with them is always fun, especially when it comes to your best friend’s mom. Yolanda is totally off-limits, but that makes it even better when you push your luck around her. “Do you need any help with those bags, Ma’am?” you ask, while leaning against the kitchen counter to watch her unpack groceries. “I can manage just fine, but thank you for offering,” she replies as she gives you a quick chuckle. She turns you down, but she never tells you to stop looking at her. “You’re always such a sweet girl when you visit,” Yolanda says as she glances over her shoulder at you.

Hearing those occasional praises always makes you feel stupid, so you practically melt on the spot every time she speaks to you like that. You just bite your lip while trying not to think about how wet you get simply from her saying nice things to you right in the middle of her kitchen, but it happened more often when your best friend moved out of the house. You know you really shouldn’t visit Yolanda or her home anymore, but you're more stubborn than a toddler, so you keep visiting her, yet make it a total secret from your friend, because you want to keep coming back.

“She knows I actually come over to check on you,” you lie straight to Yolanda, while sitting at her dining table. You completely make up the story so you have an excuse to be around her. You end up visiting her at least once a week, and sometimes she cooks dinner for the two of you before letting you sleep over. “You should just spend the night because it's gotten so late,” Yolanda says as she gathers the empty plates from the table. You never say no to her invitations because you love sleeping in her spare room just to be under the same roof.

Yolanda obviously likes having you around because the place got way too lonely after her daughter left. Your visits give her some company, and she always looks happy when you show up at her front door. “It gets pretty boring being by myself all week,” she admits, while handing you a cold drink for the afternoon. You keep coming back because you know she actually wants you there. She likes having you around so much that she doesn’t care at all if you use the backyard pool whenever you want. You didn’t bring your own swimsuit when you came over today.

“You can just borrow one of my daughter’s old suits from the closet upstairs,” Yolanda says, while pointing toward the hallway. She acts like she completely forgot that her daughter’s old clothes are made for a skinny body, but you go upstairs anyway to check out the drawers. “Don’t worry because the material is stretchable,” Yolanda calls out from the kitchen, while you search through the bedroom. You open the drawers, but you only see tiny string suits. You borrow one anyway, but the fabric hardly covers your chest and your cunt. Your body fills out the fabric to its absolute limit, so the only parts being covered are your nipples and your slit.

You find a big towel and wrap it tightly around yourself before walking downstairs to the backyard. Yolanda looks up from her lounge chair when you step out onto the patio. “Did you find one that fits you okay?” Yolanda asks as she watches you walk toward the edge of the water. You just nod your head, while keeping the towel securely around your body, because you don’t want her to see the fit just yet. “Take that towel off, and sit down right here,” Yolanda says, while pointing to the edge of her lounge chair. She holds up a bottle of sunscreen so you don’t have to guess what she wants.

You unwrap the towel and drop it onto the ground before sitting down directly in front of her. “Here’s something to keep you busy,” Yolanda murmurs as she hands you a cherry lollipop. She always keeps a small bowl of sweets next to her book whenever she spends the afternoon outside by the pool. You unwrap the candy and pop it into your mouth while she sets her reading glasses down on the small table. “It really doesn’t look so bad on you,” Yolanda adds, while looking you over. “The strings are luckily long enough to fit my body,” you reply as you look down at the minimal coverage.

The thin strings are completely tight against your hips. Yolanda completely stares at your exposed breasts for a second before she pops open the plastic cap of the sunscreen bottle. Yolanda tips the plastic bottle to pour sunscreen into her palm before she sets the container down on the table. She rubs her hands together and reaches forward to spread the sunscreen over your shoulders. She watches you take the lollipop out of your mouth to lick it, while she runs her fingers across your collarbones. “Did you just get your nails done?” Yolanda asks while looking at the hand you use to hold the stick.

You smile to yourself before you nod your head at her question. “I went to the salon yesterday, so I wanted to know if you like them,” you reply, while popping the candy back into your mouth. “They look absolutely gorgeous,” she says, while moving her hands down to your upper chest. Yolanda spreads the sunscreen right over your cleavage as she sits directly in front of you. Her fingers occasionally slip inside the edge of your top when she rubs the sunscreen across your breasts. She gets incredibly close, but she doesn’t actually touch your nipples.

You take the candy out of your mouth because having her hands all over you makes it hard to act normal. You take a slow breath before you look down at her fingers on your chest. “I can just do the rest myself,” you suggest as you reach toward the table to grab the bottle. Yolanda shakes her head before she moves the container completely out of your reach. “I’d really like to help you out,” she replies, while squeezing a little more sunscreen onto her palm. You almost pout at her, but you just shyly nod your head instead. “Just tell me if you want me to take over,” you murmur, while leaning back on your hands.

Yolanda gives you a small smile as she rubs her palms together. “I don’t mind doing it at all,” she says before reaching out for you again. She moves her hands down from your chest to rub the sunscreen directly onto your belly. You just grip the candy stick tightly in your hand, while her palms slide lower. She coats your stomach before she completely squeezes your thick waist. You watch her hands hover right above the thin strings, while she rubs the sunscreen onto your hips. Yolanda slides her hands down past your waist to rub the sunscreen directly onto your pelvis.

“Did you happen to tell my daughter you were visiting today?” she asks, while keeping her fingers right above the tiny strings resting against your hips. You look down at the candy in your hand before you answer her. “I told her I wanted to check up on you,” you lie directly to her face, so you have an excuse to be here. Yolanda smiles before moving her hands down to smear sunscreen onto your thick thighs. “You’re such a pretty little liar,” she teases, while gliding her palms over your legs. She looks up from your legs to meet your eyes.

“I actually talked to her yesterday, so I know she has absolutely no idea you actually visit me,” she adds, while rubbing the sunscreen completely over your kneecaps. You immediately look away from her because getting caught in a lie makes you feel completely stupid. “Are you mad at me for coming over?” you ask, while rolling the lollipop stick between your fingers. Yolanda chuckles as she leans a bit closer to you on the lounge chair. “I’m definitely not mad at you,” she replies before she slides one of her hands right between your legs to rub the sunscreen onto your inner thighs.

She keeps her hand right between your legs, while her thumb starts rubbing your inner thigh. She watches your face closely to see your reaction as her finger rubs the soft skin there. You finally reach over and drop the lollipop stick onto the side table once the candy is long gone. “Do you like girls, sweetheart?” Yolanda asks, while looking right at you. You swallow on nothing at her words, so you instantly feel too nervous to give a straight answer. “What?” you whisper as your eyes go wide from the question. You try to hide the nervousness, but your throat feels entirely dry when she watches you.

Yolanda doesn’t look away at all before her thumb slides an inch higher toward the skimpy fabric that hardly covers your cunt. Her thumb slips right against your inner thigh next to the material to rub small circles there before she repeats herself. “Women, baby, do you like them?” she clarifies, while her fingers glide against the exact same area. You stare back at her while trying to process how close her hand is to your wetness. “Like them as in f-friends or?” you stutter when your brain completely stops working. You look down at her thumb moving against your thigh because you really don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Friends. Sure, sweetheart,” Yolanda murmurs before she chuckles at your stutter. She keeps her right hand resting against your inner thigh, while she moves her free hand up to your hip. Her fingers easily untie the thin string holding the side of your suit together. She uses her hand between your legs to push the loose fabric away from your cunt. She doesn’t touch your slit right away, but she stares directly at how wet you’ve gotten. “Do you always get this wet for your friends, baby?” she asks, while she finally looks back up at your face.

You never even stepped into the pool, so you have absolutely no excuse for the mess between your legs. “You look like you’ve been ready for me all afternoon,” she adds, while giving you a mocking smile. “I- I didn’t mean to,” you stammer as you try to come up with a believable excuse. You feel exposed when she looks at you, so you instinctively try to squeeze your thighs together to hide yourself. Yolanda immediately pushes her free hand against the inside of your knee to stop you. “Don’t try to close your legs on me now,” she orders, while forcing your knees open wide on the lounge chair.

You glance around the open patio, but anyone could easily walk outside to catch the two of you by the pool. “Someone might see us out here,” you whisper as you instinctively try to move your hips away from her hand. Yolanda just shakes her head before she moves her fingers directly to your cunt. “Shh, nobody’s going to see us,” she murmurs, while she uses her middle and index fingers to spread your lips apart. Yoland stares directly down between your legs to watch the way your clit pulses right out in the open. She keeps your lips completely spread apart, while you leak directly onto her fingers.

“Nnh- wait,” you whine when your thighs twitch from her fingers keeping your lips held open. Yolanda ignores your whining to place her fingertips directly against your opening. “You definitely don’t look like you mind being out here when you’re this soaked for me,” she teases, while she feels how wet you are before she even slips a finger inside. You bite your lower lip when trying to process the feeling of her touching you. Yolanda smiles at you before she slowly pushes her middle and index fingers straight inside your cunt. “Ahhn- f-fuck,” you gasp when her fingers easily fill you up.

She pushes deeper into you while she watches your face carefully. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t like this when I know you’re absolutely dying to call me mommy,” she mocks as she keeps her fingers buried inside you. You instantly heat up at those dirty words, so you reach down to grab her wrist. You immediately shake your head from side to side to defend yourself. “I- I don’t want to call you that,” you stutter when you let go of her wrist. Yolanda ignores your denial as she continues to thrust her fingers in and out of your cunt. “You can lie all you want, but I see the way you always stare at me,” she murmurs before giving you a smile.

Yolanda glides her fingers deeper into your wetness. “I know you’ve wanted to kiss me for a long time now,” she adds, while she watches your reaction. “Nn- no, I haven’t,” you lie right to her face, but your body completely betrays you. You instantly thrust your hips upward whenever she slides her fingers halfway out of your opening. You practically chase her hand to get her fingers back inside you. You try to squeeze your thighs together around her hand, but Yolanda immediately pushes your knees wide open again. She easily notices how desperate you get whenever her fingers almost leave your cunt, so she keeps your legs forced apart.

“It’s entirely okay to admit it, sweetie. Mommy is going to take very good care of you,” she whispers to you. You completely lose all your excuses, so you just whine out loud. “Hngh- p-please,” you beg when she completely stops moving her hand. Yolanda keeps her fingers inside your cunt without moving them, so you can’t get any relief. “Please what, baby?” she asks you. “Mmn- please, mommy,” you finally say as you tilt your head back to look up at her face. Yolanda leans a bit closer to your face before she puts her lips right against your ear.

“That’s such a good girl for me,” she whispers before she begins to thrust her fingers inside your cunt again. You instantly drop your head forward to rest your forehead against her shoulder, while you try your best not to chase her hand. It takes every bit of your control to hold your hips back as her fingers slide deep inside you. You keep your forehead resting on her shoulder, while her fingers continue to move inside your cunt. “Mmn- I n-need you, mommy,” you gasp out as you cling to her. Yolanda chuckles against your ear before she reaches her free hand up to squeeze your breast.

Yolanda pulls down the bikini top that barely covers your chest. She keeps her lips right against your ear when speaking to you. “You look so incredibly sexy,” she whispers before she pinches your nipple. Hearing her dirty words right in your ear makes you feel a bit self-conscious about your body. Yolanda instantly senses your hesitation, so she speaks directly into your ear to reassure you. “I love how you look for me,” she murmurs, while her fingers continue to slide inside your cunt. Your hand slides directly onto her chest, while you cling tightly to her body.

“I want to focus entirely on you right now,” she murmurs as she keeps squeezing your breast. You don’t listen, but you start kissing your way from her shoulder up to her neck. “Mmn- p-please let me,” you beg, while your lips move over her collarbone. Yolanda stops leaning against your ear, then she tilts her head to the side to let you kiss her neck. She lets you kiss her there, but her hands never stop moving against your breast or deep inside your cunt. “Look at how desperate you’re getting for me,” she teases, while she continues to thrust deep inside you.

You just shake your head right against her neck before you kiss all the way up her jawline until your face is directly in front of hers. Your one hand gropes her chest, while your other arm hooks around her neck. You look directly at her lips before your breath immediately hitches. “See what I mean when I call you desperate?” she mocks as she notices you staring at her mouth. You instantly shut her up by crashing your lips against hers before you two start making out, while she continues to push deep inside your cunt. You move against the lounge chair, but you can’t hear anything besides the sounds coming from between your legs.

Your body clenches around her fingers as she moves deep inside you with a slow pace. Yolanda keeps her other hand busy by rolling your nipple, while she watches your face. You grind your hips against her hand because you want her to go faster. You kiss her hard while your tongue sweeps inside her mouth. She moves back just a little bit, while a long string of saliva connects your lips. You immediately chase her mouth because you want to taste her. “Do you like that, baby?” she asks, while she watches you follow her. “Mmn- yeah, give me more,” you gasp out, while you pull her closer to meet her lips.

You crash back into her kiss and wrap your arms tight around her neck to draw her body toward yours. Your body clenches around her hand every time she finds that spot inside you, while she keeps her fingers moving in that slow way. You keep making out with her until your breath comes out in gasps. “You’re doing so good for me,” she murmurs, while she keeps thrusting deep inside your cunt. Yolanda leans close to kiss your neck, while her free hand grabs your left wrist to peel your arm away. She grips your other wrist next to drop your arm down before she lets go to lean down to your chest.

“Let me get a better look at you,” she whispers as she opens her mouth to take your nipple in. “Nghh- oh god,” you whine as your back arches instantly. She enjoys hearing your cries once she starts tasting you. Your fingers tangle into her hair to hold her close since her hands are no longer holding your arms down. “Hngh- Y-Yolanda,” you sob out as you try to find a better angle. Yolanda grunts against your chest as she feels your hips grinding up to meet her. She thrusts her fingers faster inside your cunt, while she licks your breast for her own enjoyment.

“You feel so tight around me,” she mumbles against your chest after she lets go for a second. She uses her tongue to drag across your flesh before she takes you back into her mouth. Your cunt squeezes her fingers tightly as the combined pleasure overwhelms you. “Mfffh- f-fuck, faster,” you beg as you pull her hair to keep her mouth on you. She continues to mouth over your breast, while her fingers keep moving inside your cunt. She moves away from your chest after a few moments to look up at your face. “You’re taking my fingers so well for me,” she whispers as she watches your expression.

Your hips twitch against her hand, while you struggle to catch your breath. “Mmmph- m-mommy, please, I’m so close,” you sob out as you yank on her hair to get her mouth back on your skin. You arch your back to push yourself deeper against her hand, while your hips move on the chair. You need her to keep touching you, so you grind down hard on her fingers. Yolanda grunts as she feels your cunt clenching tightly around her fingers, but she doesn’t stop her movements. She speeds up to give you exactly what you want as she curls her fingers inside you to find that exact sensitive spot over and over.

She continues thrusting deep inside you to make you come. She leans her face against your chest again to leave a kiss over there, while you feel her breath against your skin. “Good girl, come for me,” she mutters against your chest as she thrusts her hand into you even faster. Yolanda keeps thrusting her fingers fast inside your cunt, while she gives your chest kisses. She moves her mouth up to your shoulder, and then to your throat as your hips lift against her. She trails her lips along your jawline until she covers your mouth to silence your moans.

“P-please- mommy, I- I-” you gasp out right before her lips seal against yours. You cum around her fingers during the kiss, while your body shakes against hers. Yolanda doesn’t stop thrusting even though you are cumming. She keeps moving her fingers deep inside your wet cunt to make you feel everything. “Mffph- mm,” you moan into her mouth, while you cling to her neck. She finally breaks the kiss after a few moments to let you breathe, but she keeps her fingers inside your wet heat. You lean close to her shoulder to rest your head against her, while you try to recover. “You’re such a good girl for mommy,” Yolanda whispers against your ear as she feels you hiding your face. “Hahh- oh god,” you whisper, while you nudge your face deeper into her neck.

Yolanda stops thrusting her fingers, but she slides her thumb inside your wet folds to rub your clit in a slow circular motion. You gasp against her neck, while your thighs twitch against her legs. “Did that really take you out?” Yolanda whispers against your ear, while her thumb continues to rub your clit. You try to move away from her touch, but she holds you against her chest. She murmurs, while she feels your body relax against hers, “Look at you all worn out for mommy.” You hide your face against her neck, while she holds you close.

“Hahh- j-just shut up,” you mutter into her shoulder, while you try to stop her from teasing. Yolanda chuckles as she stops rubbing your clit to push your head away from her shoulder. She asks, while you pout at her face, “You whine and call me mommy, but then you tell me to shut up?” Yolanda moves her hand away from your wet cunt, while you both sit together on the lounge chair. She nudges your chin up with her fingers so you have to look into her eyes. She whispers, while she tilts her head toward the pool, “Let’s go swim now.” You notice your bikini is completely untied and pulled to the side when you look down at your body. It leaves your breasts and cunt totally exposed to her eyes.

Yolanda asks, while she looks you up and down, “You didn’t dress up for nothing, right?” She just grins at your reaction, while she waits for you to answer. You shake your head while you look away from her eyes. “It’s r-really messy,” you whisper, while you look down at your legs to see the cum dripping on your thighs. Yolanda dismisses your worry as she tugs the untied bikini completely off your breasts and hips before she throws the clothes straight into the pool. She stands up from the lounge chair and strips out of her own clothes until she is completely naked in front of you.

Yolanda reaches down with both hands and grabs your wrists to lift you from the seat. “Come on,” she whispers as she guides you toward the edge of the pool until you both fall forward into the deep water. You plunge beneath the surface together, while your hands hold each other in the cool water. Both of you kick your legs until you break through the surface to catch your breath in the open air. Yolanda pulls your naked body closer against her front and places her hands on your waist. Your arms wrap tightly around her neck, while you float together in the water. Yolanda leans her head closer and whispers, “See? It doesn’t feel sticky now.”

You nod your head while you lean into her chest in the pool. Yolanda leans in to kiss you for a soft moment, while your fingers slide into the hair at the back of her neck. You let out a quiet breath against her mouth before you look into her eyes. “I feel like your daughter is going to hate me if she ever finds out about us,” you whisper after she pulls back a few inches. She chuckles at your worried face as her hands grip your hips under the water. “Are you just scared that she’ll catch you fucking her mom?” she asks, and she tilts her head to tease you. Yolanda leans close to your neck and bites the area right above your collarbone.

“You need to worry less about her,” she murmurs against your neck before she sucks on the small mark. You shake your head because you can’t stop thinking about the risk. “I can’t help it,” you mutter, while you look away from her face. She kisses your jawline before she moves up to give your lips a quick peck. “There’s really nothing to be worried about,” she promises, while she rubs your waist with her thumbs. The water ripples around your bodies as she pulls you a little closer. Yolanda smiles at your expression and whispers, “In fact, you should just sleep over at my house more often so we can do this again.”

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[yasministration]

fuck superman - clark kent

summary: flirting with your hot neighbour comes easy to you, but obviously you're never actually going to make a move. at least, until you find out a little secret. wc: 1k cw: both reader and clark are pervs

Clark doesn’t need to know you to know you’re important. He’s learned your lifestyle by looking at you through your apartment windows, directly parallel to his own. You have a standard routine; you get up early in the morning, walking back and forth between your bedroom and the living room many times in different states. The first time you’ll always be in your pyjamas, opening the door to the balcony to let the fresh air into your apartment. When you reappear from your bedroom the second time, you’ll be dressed, placing your work bag onto the couch whilst you prepare everything else for the upcoming day. You’ll return from your kitchen with a tupperware that you shove into your bag, but Clark can tell you often skip breakfast. He sees you walk back home sometimes — either whilst he’s walking to his own place or when he’s enjoying a warm cup of tea on his own balcony, which is much smaller than yours.

Sometimes you bring your dinner out onto the balcony with you. It’s often a home made meal; other times, you’ll have a bag of takeout and lay back on your cushioned chair that you keep covered when you’re inside. A lot of those times Clark will be having his own dinner outside, on the single plastic chair that barely fits between the door and the railing. Eye contact between you isn’t rare, and Clark always raises a hand up to wave at you with a friendly smile, watching as you return the movements with equal companionship.

He wonders if you return this curiosity. Do you sometimes look into Clark’s window, wondering what sort of life he leads, and do you often guess to yourself what his job is and his hobbies are? Does Clark look like a journalist to you or do you think he works in something boring like finance? He doesn’t think he cares, as long as the image you have of him isn’t negative.

But there’s a side to Clark that isn’t so innocently curious about you. Many nights, he wonders what your neighbour on the other side of the building experiences. The side of the building where your bedroom is located, big windows going up and down the wall to offer whoever lives across from you a beautiful view. Clark has seen you in your pyjamas, but he briefly wonders if you walk around in your underwear at night before sleeping. He asks himself if you frequently bring men over, and if you keep the curtains open while you have sex with them.

Do you grant that neighbour such a view? Or are you wary of your surroundings, tightly shutting your curtains the second the sun sets, or grabbing your clothes and changing in the bathroom so no one can get a glimpse of you.

All these thoughts without knowing what goes through your head. He doesn’t know that you wish every night that your bedroom faced his apartment and not the one belonging to the divorced woman in her late forties. He doesn’t know how much you wish you could tease him by stripping your clothes in front of your open window every night, leaving a trail of garments on the floor as you make your way to your closet, finally pulling out your short night gown and pulling it over your body. If only he could be the one you’d get to lay your eyes on at night, wandering around his bedroom shirtless. You bet he has a beautiful set of abs hidden underneath his graphic shirts — you can tell when he strips from his heavy blazers into his comfortable clothing that he has muscles for days. You’re too afraid to take your courage to the living room, even though you know it doesn’t make much difference at all.

Would it hurt to just invite him over? Wave at him from across the street and shout from your balcony for him to join you for dinner? He’d probably say yes. He waves at you from his balcony everyday after all. Maybe you can try a paper airplane. Fly it over to his balcony and have him fall in love with you. Jot your number down in bold on the paper.

Whatever. You can’t complain about not having him when you won’t do anything about it. When you don’t even know his name.

But you never know, maybe a better opportunity will come by than the man who lives across the road from you. Maybe there will be a man in shining armour who’ll fly onto your balcony one day while catching his breath, taking a short break from fighting crime and monsters. Maybe he’ll wear a red cape that will swing back and forth on your balcony, and he’ll hear someone’s breath hitch behind him as they come onto the balcony. Maybe Superman will apologise, hopping off your railing and floating in front of your balcony, and you’ll vigorously shake your head, offering him the glass of water you were taking to enjoy the warm weather on your balcony.

“Please, sit down.” You’ll insist, and he’ll obey your words, gratefully taking the water from you.

“Can I ask why a cape?” You’ll eventually ask after a moment of silence, and that’s when Clark will find out you work in fashion, watching with enticement as you take the fabric of his cape between your fingers, humming at its softness.

And when Clark will leave, maybe he won’t notice you watching from where you’re hidden behind your kitchen counter, your jaw dropping when he flies over into his apartment, just across from yours, letting you find out his biggest secret. But of course, you’ll keep your mouth shut, deciding in that moment to become friendlier with your neighbour, because fuck, you think he’s hot, and he’s superman.

And after all, who doesn’t want to fuck superman?

taglist: @aceshigh98, @naty-sunshine, @matcha-kitty13, @elijahhewsonswifelol, @sunnliqht, @tiaajosephin, @imnotsurewhatyouexpected, @iluvhrj, @juliabagoolia9, @bearymuchso, @princesstiti14, @challengers4ev, @doiki3, @daisylove3, @laufeysvalentine, @animegamerfox

[godmadeaterribleerror]

seeing red

✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦

✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦

✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 10.5k✦

✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦

Clark has been acting strange all week.

He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.

“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.

“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.

He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee! (and get early access!)☕️✦

✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[arabellapost]

someone older.

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: Your thoughts about your supervisor are driving you crazy.

Tags: Sexual content, very dom!clark, sub!reader, masturbation!fingering (reader receiving), piv, size kink, age gap, NO y/n.

wc: 1.4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡

You felt stupid.

So incredibly stupid

It was the fourth time today that you asked your supervisor for help teaching you how to save the files into the Daily Planet system. You had tried to do it by yourself, but it was nothing short of a disaster.

Thoughts were racing in your head as you waited for him to come to your desk.

Was he regretting choosing you?

Was he annoyed with you?

Was he going to fire you?

You looked through the little mirror you set up at your desk and searched for none other than Clark Kent.

It was easy to find him. The 6’3 ft body covered in muscles didn’t exactly make him small.

His body easily covered yours, and you’re not exactly small in height.

You watched as he stopped talking to Jimmy. He looked at his phone, and shit, he looked over.

You quickly looked away, trying to hide your beet red face. Your leg twitched nervously, and you rolled your chair closer to the desk.

You tried not to think about the man that was walking to you with a kind smile on his face. His glasses made him look younger than his late-thirties. But his muscles contradicted everything else.

“What’s wrong?” he asked and crouched down to meet your eyes. At your 5’6 ft glory, he still needed to crouch down to meet your eyes.

You forgot your words for a moment.

“I…umm. Well, I am having trouble… can we review how to save the files into the system? It led me to a different page, and well I don’t wanna make a mistake…” You started to ramble nervously, blushing.

Please let him ignore the blush.

Clark chuckled and smiled, amused. “Of course we can. Let's go to your desk so I can show you…again,” he agreed playfully. But underneath the amusement, there was something darker.

He stood back up and moved so that he could lean behind you and guide you. He placed his hands above you, soft and secure and started to guide you through the process.

You didn’t focus on his explanation. Instead, you could only focus on the veins that painted his hands. About the strong grip he had on your hands, and the warm breaths on your hair.

The things that he could do to you, and you would let him.

Fuck.

How would his hands feel inside you…?

Would he stretch you completely with only one finger?

Would he make you feel full?

Images of you leaning against the desk while he pumps his fingers slowly into you, dragging out the orgasm you would start to have. Torture you ever so slowly while you leaned and took it.

Your skirt lifted, and you felt him move closer to your ear.

His chest touched your back, and your breath hitched. “You always wear this fucking skirt like it's nothing,” he whispered in your ear. His voice was dark; demanding. He waited for something long enough, and he finally snapped.

His finger wandered slowly higher up your thighs. Every once in a while he would tighten his grip, but he took his time.

He wasn’t ready for you to have fun yet.

He would drag this out.

He would make sure you would enjoy each of his fingers one by one.

His hand travelled to your lacy panty. He slowly moved it to the side and started to rub up and down gently. You gasped quietly but let him continue.

This is so wrong, but god you needed it. You craved him.

A finger entered you, and it felt better than you thought. He thrust in, and you moaned.

“Shut it, sweet girl,” he murmured and continued pushing in and out. But you couldn’t repress the moans.

“Clark..” you whimpered as he pushed the third finger into you.

You pushed yourself into his finger more and more, chasing the orgasm that was starting to build.

“You know it's against HR policy. This skirt is so short, but nobody will say anything,” he whispered in your ear “Everyone wants to see your ass. So perfect and round, so mine. Imagine the disappointment they feel when they found out I got you first. ”

The more he whispered dirty things in your ear, the wetter you got. You didn’t care about anybody hearing you anymore. You just wanted to come.

The sound of your fluids could be heard as he fastened the paste of his finger. You gripped his wrist; your moaning became even more uncontrolled.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Clark, please. Please.” He kept thrusting more and more, stretching you out even more.

He took his hand off your wet pussy, now filled with your own cum. “You see how wet you are for me?”

You nodded, licking your lips.

“Good,” he praised you and pushed them in your mouth. “Taste yourself. Do you understand that you can wear it only around me?”

You nodded, and he repeated himself…

…

“You understand it now?”

…

You shook your head, and you looked at Clark's soft smile staring at you. “You understand it now?”

That’s right. He was showing you how to save the files to the system.

Your eyes went to the monitor in front of you, and you nodded “Oh… Yeah. Yeah, I think... I think I understand it now. I didn’t see this section. Thank you, Clark,” you thanked him without meeting his eyes.

Clark stepped back, giving you more space “Of course, it's a very old system, so we always have to explain it to the new hires multiple times,” he explained gently.

You nodded, putting your hands in your lap, still avoiding looking at him directly. “Thanks…again”

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Days passed, and you decided to ask anyone else for help but Clark. Your cheeks still burned whenever you thought about what you had imagined.

You shook your head aggressively and groaned, annoyed at not being able to sleep. Again.

You opened your phone and looked at the time.

12:07 am.

Damnit!

Sleeping shouldn't be this hard, yet the sleepless nights have been happening more and more frequently.

You dropped your phone to the other side of the bed and closed your eyes again, but you had opened Pandora’s box, and the only thing that you could imagine was Clark Kent above you, pushing his dick inside you and filling you with his cum.

You opened your eyes, and it was your dark room again.

Why were you imagining more and more about Clark Kent fucking you in your office? Were you ovulating? You probably were.

You grabbed your phone and went to your period tracker. It agreed.

You threw your phone, groaning, frustrated, and needy.

“I need to move Cities,” you groaned and let your hands travel to your panties. “ I wish I could call Clark so that he can take me out of my misery.”

Your fingers moved your panty aside, and you started rubbing it. Your eyes closed, and the only thing that you could imagine was Clark fucking you in his office with his hand covering your mouth.

“Yes,” you whisper in pleasure and sank deeper into the fantasy.

His cock pushed hard against your pussy from behind “My little princess. So eager to take my cock. To let me use you and fill you,” he groaned, thrusted in and out of you rapidly.

You moan against his palm.

“Yesss, fuck Clark. Use me as much as you want,” you moaned and gasped when his dick slammed into your g-spot. He continued hitting the spot until you came.

It felt so real.

So real.

So damn delicious.

“I will stretch this cunt until the only man that can give you pleasure is me. Your pussy won’t feel any man but me. You are mine,” his hand moved from your mouth to your throat, and you moaned happily. You didn’t care if anybody could hear your moan anymore.

Let them hear you.

Let them know that Clark Kent took you, and that your body belonged to him now. Nobody would give you the pleasure you have been craving since you met him.

You reached your second orgasm.

Clark's hand brushed your breasts and moved to your waist. He pulled you aggressively into his dick, and you let out a scream.

“Fuck, Clark. Deeper. Please go deeper,” you begged loudly.

“Deeper?”

A masculine voice cut you off from your dream

Your eyes snapped open, and you looked around.

Oh god no.

With terror in your eyes, you looked at your phone. The name ‘Clark (work)’ was on the screen. 10 minutes and 23 seconds was the time on the call.

Life was truly cruel to you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡

an: please like and repost! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ i may also write a pt2!

[b1tch1mapoet]

Shut Up, Really?

Adrian Chase x bombshell!reader

You invite your coworker, Adrian to a party and he realizes that you've met before...and you might just be Vigilante's biggest fan.

cw: swearing, no use of y/n, drinking, afab reader, fluff, not proofread oops

word count: 1.9k (its a shortie)

I love bombshell reader x adrian so much

Adrian was stuck working yet another Friday double at Fennel Fields. This was his third in a row. Dave absolutely had it out for him- maybe he thought Adrian would quit if the hours became too insufferable. Every inch of the busboy's body was buzzing with pent-up energy. He hadn't been on patrol in a few days, too busy with work and A.R.G.U.S. related missions to hit the streets on his own terms. Only thirty minutes until close, and he'd be free to kill criminals to his heart's content.

Wiping down the same empty table for the tenth time that night, he watched as you rested your head on your hand and leaned over the hostess stand. Theresa and Taylor whispered to you across the small counter. Your lips curved upwards at something Taylor said- fucking Taylor, Adrian thought. He was always hanging around you, and it seemed like his mission in life was to make sure Adrian couldn't get too close.

You'd started at Fennel Fields six months ago. The moment you walked in the front doors for your first shift, Adrian was a goner. And he wasn't the only one. Everyone loved you- a social butterfly with a magnetic personality; you made friends with everyone you met. Even Adrian's weird ass. He thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever laid eyes on. Your curves, your smile, your laugh, your hair, god your hair. It was all perfect to him.

"Adrian!" Your voice snapped him back to reality. Realizing he'd been staring at you for far longer than appropriate, he tried to quickly go back to wiping the spotless table. Wait, shit- you were talking to him. Looking back up, he tilted his head and smiled. "What's up, Buttercup?"

Ignoring the strange nickname, you waved him over. Theresa looked at you out of the corner of a judgmental eye. Taylor leaned casually against the half wall next to him, glaring at Adrian, who hurried over, nearly losing balance on his untied shoelace.

Out of breath from running over at breakneck speed, he puffed out a "Hey guys!"

You peered up at him through long lashes. "Are you coming tonight?"

"Coming to what?"

"I'm having everyone over after work." You chuckled at his dumbfounded expression. "I told you last week, and you said it sounded fun, remember?"

"Holy shit, I'm invited?"

You'd never seen more exposed teeth in your life. His smile was stretched from ear to ear. You couldn't help but reciprocate it despite Taylor's annoyed scoff. "Yes, Ade. You're invited. Everyone but Dave is because he's pissing me off lately and he's not allowed to ruin our fun."

"Woah, I've never been to a party before."

"Bro, aren't you like thirty? It's not a party, don't be weird." Taylor deadpanned as Theresa stifled a snort.

"I'm honored to be hosting your first ever party! I really want you to meet my roommate, Liz."

He basked in the light of your positive attention. Screw patrol- he was asked to go over to your apartment. While you were there. It was his dream come true.

"I like roommates! I'll meet the shit out of your roommate."

You laughed- a genuine, full laugh that wasn't at his expense, but because you thought he was funny. Adrian beamed. "I'll see you there." Walking out from around the stand and past him toward the kitchen, he was mesmerized by the sway of your hips. "Text you the address, 'kay?" You called over your shoulder. Taylor and Theresa scattered to finish closing up the second the warmth of your presence was gone, leaving Adrian to drool into his cleaning bucket. Close couldn't come soon enough.

Part of him was surprised when his phone pinged twenty minutes after he locked the doors with a text from you:

😇❤️🧜‍♀️: 1224 irving court apt. 6B. see u soon<3333

Holy fuck, that was a lot of hearts. His felt like it was beating out of his chest as he climbed the stairs of your ritzy apartment building. He could hear the voices of his coworkers from down the hall, muffled pop music sounding through your door. He knocked, but doubted anyone could hear over the noise. Should he just walk in? He didn't want to be rude.

"What are you doing, stalker?" Taylor pushed past him, knocking both his shoulder and case of beer into Adrian as he entered the apartment, the busboy hot on his heels.

Your apartment was tidy, well decorated, and dimly lit for the occasion. Ten or so people milled around, bouncing from the living room to the kitchen and back again. Alcohol flowed freely as everyone tried to loosen up after a long day of waiting tables. He was one of the last to arrive.

"Adriannnnn!" You squealed, perched on your kitchen island, surrounded by your usual clique of waitstaff. A few of them audibly groaned as he noticed you. Jumping down, you grabbed his hand and started to drag him into the dark hallway towards what he presumed was your room.

"I'm so excited you came!" You gushed, cheeks warm from the beer you'd just finished. "You've gotta meet Liz." His eyes nearly popped out of his skull- so did Taylor's. You'd pulled Adrian right past him and into the back bedroom, closing the door behind you.

"Ta-daaaaa!!!!!" You held your arms out to the side, proudly presenting a large reptile enclosure. "This is Liz!"

A fat bearded dragon lounged under a bright lamp.

"No fucking way!" Adrian exclaimed, pushing his nose up against the glass to get a better look. You giggled, flopping onto your bed. Rolling onto your stomach to get a better look at Adrian's amazement, you noticed how muscular he was. Still in his Fennel Fields polo, his arms flexed beneath the sleeves, balancing himself against the tank.

"How old is she?"

"How many crickets does she eat in a day?"

"Why'd you name her Liz?"

You were used to Adrian's rapid-fire questions when he was excited about something.

Humming, you thought for a moment, mind hazy already. "Two years old...a few crickets, but she mostly eats veggies.....and she's named Liz because I'm not very good at naming pets. My cat growing up was named Kitty, so..." You shrugged.

Adrian stood and began looking around your room. He wanted so badly to tell you about Eagly- Chris would definitely approve of any woman that named her lizard Liz.

He wasn't fully snooping- he'd do that another time. Preferably when you weren't home. You had a desk next to Liz's tank, cluttered with books and picture frames of you and your friends over the years. Above it hung a bulletin board collaged with magazine cutouts of clothes and models and famous actors you liked. Adrian paled. In the middle of the collage was a photo of him. Well, not technically of him, but Vigilante. Clipped from a newspaper and tacked to your wall- right across from the bed that you slept in each night- was a photo of him. Red sparkly heart stickers decorated the edges. His pointer finger lingered on the thin black and white image.

You popped up from the bed, only slightly embarrassed. "We should get back-"

"You...you li-like..." he couldn't find the words. Even if he could, there was no way he would have been able to string them together coherently. His brain turned to mush.

"Vigilante? Yeah. He's my favorite hero." Taking the tack out of his tiny head, you gently placed him in a dresser drawer on the other side of the room. Adrian swore he saw a flash of teal inside. Did you have a drawer dedicated to pictures of him? He'd definitely be coming back here to find out.

"You know he saved me once," you added. "Some asshole was following me home from the pharmacy one night a few years ago, and Vigilante totally kicked his ass. It was so hot." You sighed, cartoon hearts practically forming in your dreamy eyes. "I've been following him in the news ever since."

"Shut up, really?" His head was going to explode. Adrian truthfully had no recollection of saving you. He saved a lot of women in Evergreen from a lot of creeps. He'd give anything to remember. Throwing caution to the wind, he lunged for the super secret drawer. If he didn't see inside, he'd die.

"Wha-Adrian! No!"

Thanks to your slight inebriation, it was easy to dodge out of your grasp. The drawer slid open, shaking the dresser so violently a few knick-knacks toppled onto the carpet. It was obviously your underwear drawer, but he didn't have the mental bandwidth to process that at the moment because on top of the colorful cotton and lace panties were multiple framed photos of Vigilante. Eight or nine tiny, teal rhinestoned picture frames lay in a neat row. Each photo had been printed off from the Evergreen Sentinel's website. The time he was wanted for killing a bus full of pervy priests, the time he was wanted for beating the shit out of a graffiti artist, even the time he saved a cat from a burning drug dealer's house that he'd set on fire- every single headline he'd made was framed. You weren't just a casual fan. No, you were obsessed with him. A twisted sense of pride prickled up the back of his neck and flushed his already warm cheeks. Just as quickly as he'd opened it, you slammed the drawer shut.

Pushing him toward the door and back into the hallway, you scolded the nosy busboy. "Not cool, dude! I told you not to-." His lips captured yours, cutting you off.

The kiss was hungry. Teeth and tongues clashed, fueled by your burning embarrassment and his emboldened confidence. He pushed you against the wall right outside of your bedroom, unaware of the shocked onlookers in the kitchen. Pulling back for air, you gasped, head reeling.

Adrian beamed, "Vigilante's my favorite too." You pulled him back onto your parted lips, smiling into the kiss. He'd seen your creepy shrine and wasn't judging you- if anything, it seemed to make him like you even more than you thought possible. Maybe the alcohol was clouding your judgement, but you didn't care. Adrian matched your freak. Or, rather, you matched his.

The hallway light flicked on, clueing you into the audience you'd acquired. Taylor and Theresa were speechless, looking on in complete confusion. The rest of your coworkers awkwardly watched you untangle yourself from Adrian and rejoin the party as though nothing had happened.

He stayed glued to your side all night, stealing heated glances and possessively brushing his thumb over your hip, arm wrapped tightly around you. In the early hours of Saturday morning, guests finally trickled out of the apartment, finding their way home. As Theresa got in her SUV to leave, she eyed Adrian's silver Sebring and chuckled under her breath. No chance Adrian was coming for his car anytime soon. You'd sunk your pretty teeth into him and just like every guy before him, he was doomed to fall in love with you. Not slowly, but all at once. What Theresa didn't know was that unlike every guy before him, Adrian actually had a shot at you falling back.

I'm hoping to write more for Adrian! I recently fell down a rabbit hole on @vigilantexreader 's blog and I can't stop thinking of ideas for cute Adrian drabbles!

dividers by @strangergraphics

[residentsuperhero]

no fool for discretion

synopsis: Sometimes, dating Adrian Chase means sneaking through basement windows because he really wants you to see his secret basement and really doesn't want you to meet his mom.

gif by @/chaseadrian

pairing: adrian chase x reader tags: 18+!, smut, established relationship, (protected) sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, humor, fluff, quiet sex, hand gagging, mild sensory deprivation, not fully sub or fully dom adrian but a secret third thing, overstimulation, biting word count: 5.8k notes: brought to you by this request! title from the song "big dumb sex" by soundgarden which I firmly believe Adrian would like because it reminds him of all the glam metal songs about sex that Peacemaker likes but it has none of the subtext.

“Honestly, I’m kind of looking forward to meeting your mom!”

Adrian slammed on the brakes so hard you had to brace your hand against the dashboard, your seatbelt cutting tight across your skin. His eyes were wide, a grimace of pure panic on his lips.

“You can’t meet my mom!”

You blinked back at him. “Sorry?”

“There’s no fucking way you’re meeting my mom,” he said again, his tone firmer this time, but not any more elucidating than the last outburst. 

“I don’t understand. Aren’t we going to your house?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“A house you live in with your mother?”

“Also yes.”

“Is she home?”

“Probably!”

“But I can’t meet her?”

“Fuck no!”

You stared back at your boyfriend who looked like he might throw up at any second. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. A blaring horn behind you made you nearly jump out of your skin, and when you looked in the rearview there was a line of cars held up behind you. Right. Because Adrian had stopped in the middle of a busy road. Adrian, however, suddenly no longer seemed to be in a rush to get home.

You put your hand on his forearm. “Ade, you gotta drive.”

“Okay,” he managed, voice a ragged whisper. He pried his foot off the gas and then proceeded to drive a blazing 25mph the entire rest of the way. You waited until the Seabring was parked on a cute, tree-lined neighborhood street to speak again.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m a little offended you don’t want me to meet your mom,” you said finally. Adrian laughed, doubling over so sharply you were afraid he was going to smack his face on the steering wheel.

“She’s the one who should be offended. She’s a total fucking bitch and I don’t want you to meet her because I don’t want her to, like, get her stupidness all over you.”

“Babe…” you breathed. “Respectfully, what the fuck?”

Adrian raked his hands over his face. “You don’t get it.”

“Okay. You’re right. I don’t think I get it,” you agreed. You laid a hand on his arm. “But, clearly it’s stressing you out. So, decision made, easy peasy!”

Adrian peeked at you from behind his hands. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! Although…” you hesitated to ask because you could only imagine you weren’t going to like the answer. “How are we going to get in without your mom finding out?”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you grumbled, wiggling in his grasp. “Your hand is so far up my ass I’m starting to feel like a puppet.”

“Just let go of the window sill!” Adrian hissed. “I’ve got you, I’m not going to let you fall.”

You groaned and finally relented, knowing for a fact that Adrian did not have you. But the boy was going to have to learn his lesson the hard way, you supposed. The two of you fell into a tangled heap, your elbow landing squarely in his ribs, his knee striking against your hip in a surge of pain, your forehead colliding with his chin.

“Ow fuck – ow, ow, fucking hell, Adrian,” you grumbled, trying to gain any sort of leverage, but your hands were sinking into some sort of fabric over and over again on either side of Adrian while he tried to get his hands in between you, making sure you weren’t injured.

“Sorry! Sorry, are you okay? Are you alright? Speak so I know you’re not concussed!” Adrian said, scrambling. You rolled your eyes and batted his hand away.

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “That is not how you check for a concussion, by the way.”

“What…what is this?” you asked. Whatever it was groaned under your weight as you struggled to your knees. “Is this a futon? Why do you have a futon in your basement?”

You climbed off of him with a bit of difficulty before you turned your attention towards the rest of the basement. “What the f – ”

Adrian clapped a hand over your mouth from behind. He was blazingly warm against your back, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he was afraid you were going to run. You swayed slightly in his arms as you regained steady footing, your balance entirely thrown off by his sudden seizure of you. You nipped at his palm gently and he let you go. You turned to find his wide eyes focused on his slightly wet palm.

“Care to explain the drugs, Adrian?” you asked, this time managing to keep a lid on your volume.

He simply shrugged. “What do you mean? Where else would I put it?”

“Where did this all come from?” you asked, turning to look at it all again – pallets of drugs (was that fucking cocaine?) and what had to be millions of dollars, carefully banded and stacked in various places. You reached out to run your hand across the money but Adrian batted your hand away.

“That’s blood money, don’t touch it!”

“Where did all this come from, Adrian?”

“What, you think I’d just leave drugs and cash at crime scenes where anyone could take it? Like corrupt fucking police? Absolutely not,” he asserted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can’t believe you think I should let the cops have all this.”

“I never said that, Adrian!” you exclaimed. “First and foremost, fuck the police – ”

“Fuck the police,” Adrian agreed with a thoughtful nod. 

“Secondly! I just can’t believe you never told me about this! I thought that we tell each other everything? I mean, you told me you were Vigilante on our first date.”

“Second date.”

“Adrian, we’ve been over this, having sex after a first date does not count as a second date.”

“Agree to disagree.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “And it’s not my fault your pussy is like my personal truth serum.”

“Adrian…”

His face contorted. “What, is that a weird thing to say?”

“It’s not really a normal thing…” 

“Whatever,” he pouted. “You don’t get it.”

“Come on, Ade, you were so excited to show me your basement. So give me the grand tour.”

“Fine,” he huffed. He crossed to a workbench and gestured at it vaguely. “These are my power tools. Over there is my wall of chemicals. Tour concluded.”

“Adrian,” you groaned.

“What?” he snipped. “You wanted the tour – there it is!”

“I cannot believe you made me shimmy through a window for that.”

“Yeah, well, sorry it’s disappointing.” It was said in a way in which you knew he was not sorry at all. He was being petulant. 

“It’s not disappointing, it's just…a lot for me to take in. I’m very interested in it!”

“Uh huh,” Adrian mumbled, mindlessly thumbing through what appeared to be a box full of pocket knives?

Well, you could be petulant too.

“Fine!” you proclaimed, hands on your hips. Adrian rolled his eyes and you bit back a grin before climbing up onto the futon. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going back out the window,” you explained with a nonchalant glance over your shoulder at him. He was looking up at you with those big eyes of his and you almost caved instantly. It would be so easy to climb down, wrap your arms around him, kiss the grumpiness right off of his handsome face. But you liked teasing him so much more. 

So you stretched up, desperately trying to hook your fingers into the windowsill that was just out of reach.

“You’re not going to be able to reach that,” Adrian said matter-of-factly.

“Watch me,” you countered, wedging your tongue between your teeth as you tried to will yourself taller out of pure spite. 

“Do you think you’re magically going to get taller or…?” Adrian asked like he could read your goddamn mind.

“Be quiet, Adrian, I’m concentrating,” you snipped back. You rolled up onto your tiptoes but the physics of standing on a soft surface made that change negligible. You dropped your arms down with a huff and jumped off the futon.

“Okay, I’m using the door!” 

“What?” Adrian gasped, lunging for you as you feinted towards the basement door. You laughed in delight as he grabbed you by the waist and yanked you backwards onto the futon, pinning you beneath him.

“Oh no! You caught me!” you wheezed out, all the air knocked out of your lungs.

Adrian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Were you really going to go out the door?”

“Well, well, look at the situation we find ourselves in,” you commented drily, ignoring the question, batting your eyelashes at Adrian. 

“If you don’t answer my questions just know I know a lot of really effective torture techniques,” Adrian said lowly, a familiar hunger already creeping into his expression. You ran your fingers through his curls, dragging your nails against his scalp. “Are you trying to distract me?” 

“Me? Never,” you murmured. He shivered against you and you gave his hair a testing pull. His mouth dropped open slightly and you took the opportunity to sweep your tongue across his lower lip. He whimpered into your mouth as his hips rolled against yours instinctively. 

“Someone’s eager,” you assessed, grasping at his shirt and trying to untuck it from his jeans. “What did it, the puppet thing? Threatening to torture me? Tackling me onto your weird sex futon?”

“It is not a weird sex futon! Just a regular futon!” Adrian laughed against your neck and then winced. “Stop making me laugh, I can feel it in my dick.”

You hooked a leg over his hip. “Then maybe you ought to do something with that dick of yours.”

“I really want to have sex with you right now,” Adrian began.

“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming – ”

“Butts can’t come,” Adrian snickered. Then he shook his head like a hapless puppy, his curls tossing about. God he was such a dork sometimes. But he was your dork. “Though, I do sometimes feel like I could come just by looking at yours.”

You narrowed your gaze at him despite how adorably stupid he was being. “Just say it, Adrian. Why can’t we have sex right now?”

“The thing is…you’re kind of loud?” Adrian said with a wince. Then his eyebrows lifted. “And I love that about you. I love how loud you are. I love thinking about how if we lived in Metropolis Superman for sure would have heard us having sex and he’d be so fucking jealous. Thinking about it right now actually is making me, uh, a little hard – ”

“Adrian!”

“I’m just being honest!” he huffed. You decided not to comment on exactly who was the loud one in the relationship because you knew he would take it as a challenge and you liked hearing all the little pathetic sounds he’d make. He pushed his glasses up his nose only for them to slide right back down again as he looked down at you. “My mom cannot hear us.”

You nodded slightly. “I understand that that might be embarrassing for you. We don’t have to.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be embarrassed!” he said, eyes wide. “I just don’t want her to know you’re here. Because if she hears us then she’ll ask who you are, and then she’ll want to know how we met and if we want snacks and if you’re staying for dinner and it’s a whole fucking thing.”

“Ade, that sounds very normal.” You propped yourself up slightly on your elbows. You hooked a finger into the collar of his rugby shirt. “What if I promise to be quieter than a church mouse?”

“What does that mean? I don’t really have a reference point for how quiet that is?” he replied, his tone tinged with the beginnings of a classic Adrian spiral. “On a scale of like 1 to 10 where 1 is – ”

You interrupted him with a kiss, your tongue wasting no time dipping into his already open mouth. He came alive, wriggling against you, hands grabbing hold of your biceps, grip tight, muscles taut and somewhere between pushing you away and pulling you even closer.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured against your lips. 

“It’s just an expression, love,” you replied, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. Then you narrowed your gaze slightly, squinting to study the color of his eyes up so close. In the dark basement his pupils threatened to swallow the dark green whole. Well, the darkness and your hand that had slipped below the waist of his jeans probably had something to do with it too. 

“How about if I get too loud then you just put your hand here,” you instructed, bringing his hand over your mouth and pressing it firmly. 

“Okay,” Adrian said, practically drooling. “I think I can do that.”

“Well then, problem solved!”

You were working to shimmy his jeans down slightly when he grabbed you by the wrist. 

“I wanna go down on you,” he breathed.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Okay. We can do both things…unless you’re in a rush for some reason?”

“It’s just that if you keep touching my dick like that I’m going to come in my pants, and I really want to put it in you,” he said, practically a whisper. There was absolutely zero reason for that sentence to be as hot as it was.

“Why is it that you seem like you’re begging every single time even though we’ve had sex a lot, Adrian,” you teased gently, brushing a stray curl out of his face. 

“What if you change your mind, hm?” Adrian asked, dipping his head so you could scratch your fingers across his scalp. “What if one day you wake up and you’re like, oh gosh, I never want to have sex with that weirdo ever again?”

“First of all, being a weirdo is strangely part of your charm,” you replied, pausing to kiss his forehead. “Second of all, I do think you’ve ruined me for life. You dick game is incomprehensibly good and you’ve literally made me go temporarily blind with your head between my legs. I don’t want to have sex with anyone but you.”

“Not even Peacemaker? Because I really couldn’t blame you if you did want to have sex with him. Trust me, I get it, he’s kind of a perfect human man,” Adrian insisted like he was rationalizing in an argument he was having with only himself. His lips pursed. “Although he is kind of all hard edges so having sex with him is kinda sharp which you might not like.”

You were already reaching between the two of you to undo your button-down shirt. 

“Not even Peacemaker,” you affirmed. Adrian seemed to wrestle against his own grin, both pleased as punch that you didn’t want to have sex with anyone but him, and also a bit insulted that you didn’t want to have sex with his favorite person in the world. 

Tugging your shirt open, you guided his hands up to the front clasp of your bra and used his fingers to flick it open. Whatever logic war was raging in his brain was struck silent by the sight of your breasts. Maybe it was an unfair hand to play, but you wanted your boyfriend to stop thinking about his best friend and start thinking a little more about fucking you senseless. 

He wasted no time taking each of your nipples into his mouth in turn, because, as always, he insisted it was only fair for them both to get the same amount of attention. Though you’d never asked, you were fairly certain Adrian had been the type of kid to make sure each toy got the same amount of playtime so that no one toy felt left out.

He swapped his mouth for his hand on your chest and kissed his way down the rest of your body. He deftly yanked your pants and underwear down, kissing the inside of your knees as he peeled them the rest of the way off your body. In his eagerness to get down between your legs he scooted down the futon, his boot kicked one of the metal shelves behind him. The whole unit swayed slightly, the metal ringing out in a resonant sound. 

“Adrian?” A woman’s voice called from upstairs. You froze, but Adrian wasn’t deterred. “Are you down there, sweetie?”

Adrian’s mouth was decidedly preoccupied between your legs so he didn’t answer – it was a good thing, because it probably would have involved some absolutely blatant response about the fact that he was, in fact, down there. You pushed at his head but he only looked up at you with a hungry glint in his eyes as he dragged his tongue through your folds, painfully slowly. You hissed in response and he moved his hips slightly against the futon, settling in for a hearty meal. When Adrian ate you out it was almost always multiple courses, a real fine dining experience. 

He hadn’t even put his fingers in you yet – just used one hand to spread you open wider for him while the other still played with your breasts, alternating between them, pinching and palming and scratching. His face was pressed so firmly between your legs, his tongue so deep into you you wondered if he was trying to eat his way to your heart. 

“Jesus, Adrian!” you whispered, your heel kicking at his hip, trying to get him to ease up a little. But he was hyper focused, like he was speedrunning his way to your orgasm. He moved, wrapping his arms around your thighs, pinning your hips down as they tried to wriggle away from him for just a little reprieve. 

You heard footsteps on the stairs and you dug your heels into the futon, trying to pry yourself loose from his perfect, stupid fucking mouth. Instead, he traced his teeth over your sensitive clit and you came hard suddenly. You clapped your own hand over your mouth and Adrian batted it away. You managed to stay quiet, the only sound your own ragged breath in the quiet of the basement and the wet, obscene noise of Adrian’s mouth against you.

Except Adrian continued his ministrations between your legs, letting up with his mouth only to look up at you and grin while he slowly slid two fingers into you. He had that calculated look in his eye again and you knew he was studying you. He liked knowing exactly how each movement, each touch affected you. He crooked his fingers inside you, watching closely as you bit down hard on your lower lip in a desperate bid to stay quiet.

He was doing it on purpose. He wanted an excuse. 

You hated giving him what he wanted so easily when he was being a menace but you could taste your own blood on your tongue and he used his other hand to rub at your clit while he kissed your hip bone. A noise squeaked out past your lips and Adrian’s grin grew into a full fledged smile, the kind where you could see all his teeth. The kind that was both predatory and full of genuine delight. 

He moved his fingers faster, pushed deeper, bit hard at your hip, bruising the skin. You fumbled for his head but you could barely see straight. You managed to pull a fistfull of hair but it only made him giggle before he lapped at your cunt and made you come undone all over again. 

“Adrian!” you hissed through the rheumy film of your orgasm. Adrian pulled his fingers free and popped them straight into his mouth and pure, wet want flooded your own. 

“Adrian?” There was a knock at the basement door. You clapped your hands over your burning face but Adrian just seemed annoyed.

“Fuck off, mom!” he called, sliding his way up your body to bite at the sensitive spot below your ear. He loosely pressed his hand over your lips and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or pissed. When the friction of his jeans between your legs almost made you sob against his hand, you settled on grateful. 

“Do you have a friend in there with you?” his mom asked. “Should I make some snacks?”

“Jesus fucking – no, mom!” he whined, even as he rolled his hips against you. He grabbed at your breast with his free hand again and you bit his hand in retaliation. 

“Ow!” 

“Are you okay, honey? Please tell me you’re not giving yourself stitches in there again!” his mom continued. She seemed kind of sweet – what the hell was Adrian’s deal?

“Your mom seems nice,” you managed, free of his hand. 

“Stop getting ideas, I can see you getting an idea right now!” Adrian protested, pinning your hands above your head and silencing your mouth with a kiss.

“Adrian, hon, who are you talking to? Is that…is that a girl in there?” His mother’s voice noticeably ascended the scale in pitch and Adrian swallowed your laugh, your shoulders shaking silently. 

“I’m talking to my bros in the Fortnite lobby, Jesus fucking Christ! Can you hop off my dick for like five seconds, please?” Adrian shouted back, pulling away from your mouth, making you unacceptably hungry. When he returned to you, you bit his lip in recompense. He hissed but surged forward anyway, his tongue deep in your mouth. 

“Okay, Addy, you just let me know if you need anything! Just holler! I’ll be upstairs!”

You waited for the sound of footsteps retreating back up the stairs to pull back.

“So, I’m one of the bros now?” you taunted.

“Well, you’re better than one of the bros. You’re like…you’re my best bro. A bro for life. But, like, in a romantic way, a romantic bro,” he explained. You nodded like that made sense. Because, strangely, it did.

“So…Addy?” 

“Please don’t – ”

“It’s kinda cute!”

“No, it makes me sound like a fucking infant. And I’m not an infant. I’m a grown man.”

You giggled. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten, Ade. As a matter of fact…”

Your hand slid in between you, grasping at him through his pants. He was, unsurprisingly, already completely hard. He hissed through his teeth and then wrangled himself out of his rugby shirt, treating you to a spectacular view of his chest. A thin sheen of sweat covered him in a way that made him look unfairly hot – like the centerfold in a magazine of hot nerds. You ran your hand up from the waist of his pants to the small, pale trail of hair just above and let your fingertips press firmly into the skin of his stomach. His gaze narrowed at you.

“Flip over,” he whispered, voice husky.

“Make me,” you whispered back. Adrian blinked back at you for just a moment before he slipped his hands around your waist and tossed you onto your stomach like it was no effort at all. He reached up and stripped you of the button down and the bra that still clung to your shoulders. His fingertips bit into the swell of your ass but then he paused.

“Sorry, was that okay?” he asked, sounding breathless in a nervous way. You looked back at him and offered a calm smile.

“That was perfect,” you assured him. “You’re perfect.”

“Okay, because if you want to fuck some other way that’s totally okay too, I just thought – ”

“Oh no, not you fucking me while I’m laying on my stomach! Whatever will I do!” you drawled sarcastically as you started to twist in his arms, bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead like some scandalized, vaguely transatlantic woman. Then you paused and blinked at him. “That was sarcasm by the way.”

“Uh, duh, I totally knew that because you love when I fuck you like that! It’s like one of your favorite things. Remember that time we prone-boned and you like totally ruined your sheets?”

“Oh my god, Adrian,” you whined, your hands flying up to cover your increasingly red face. 

“What! It’s just a statement of fact. And a statement of hotness.”

You finished flipping onto your stomach if only to bury your burning face in the futon. Adrian’s hand ran along your damp inner thigh for a moment before he nudged your leg up slightly, and pulled your hips up and flush against his. 

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, and not in the good way. You lifted your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I have a condom?”

“You have a fucking arsenal down here but not a single condom?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever had a girl down here before!”

“Aw, is that your roundabout way of saying I’m special?” you asked, batting your eyelashes. But Adrian was too preoccupied scrounging around for a condom. He was so cute doing it you were loathe to tell him all he had to do was open your purse. The man was desperate for it and you were willing to torment him just a little bit – he would be handsomely rewarded for it in the end. 

“Hey Ade?”

“Hold on, I’m sure there’s one here somewhere!” He yanked another drawer open, violently rattling whatever was inside. He slammed a cabinet open to no avail. You started to feel bad, even if you were getting a great view of his impressive physical form in the process. 

“Adrian!” you called, louder this time to get through to him over the small ruckus he was making, but hopefully still quiet enough to not rouse his mother’s suspicions again. Finally, he turned and looked at you dangling a condom from your fingertips. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he said breathlessly. “No, seriously, I wish I could paint you Titanic-style right now exactly like this.”

Adrian was on top of you again in the blink of an eye, teeth tearing at the foil of the condom and spitting it aside. You watched over your shoulder as he realized he still needed to take his pants off and was trying to figure out balancing the opened condom while he did that. You giggled and held out your hand for him to rest the condom on your palm. 

He tripped up off the couch, halfway out of his pants before he was even fully upright. He hopped on one foot as he desperately tried to free his other from the leg of his jeans, and you were treated to an increasingly silly whispered string of curses. 

When he was finally free he paused, putting his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling quickly. 

You giggled. “Are you winded?”

“No!” Adrian said, full volume. Your eyes flicked to the ceiling of the basement, but Adrian’s mom seemed to have gotten the memo. “This is…I’m doing breathing exercises, actually. Gotta loosen up my diaphragm for optimal airflow so I can have so much sex with you.”

“Get over here, you absolute goober,” you replied with a beckoning crook of your finger. Adrian stooped beside you to retrieve the condom you were still holding and pressed a quick peck to your lips, upturned in an amused smile.

He settled back between your legs, kneeling on the futon as he rolled the condom on and you waited patiently with your chin in your hands. The feeling of his warm fingers back between your legs surprised you, dragging through your folds, gathering slick before sliding his hand over the condom. 

“Are you good? Are you comfy?” Adrian asked as he grabbed hold of your hips and angled them slightly upward. He positioned himself at your entrance, dragging the tip through your folds, but waited for your approval. You quietly hissed at the sensation.

“Please, Adrian,” you managed. That was approval enough for him – he wasn’t in one of his taunting moods, determined to draw it out forever to the point of insufferability. No, Adrian was borderline efficient. It was a mood he sometimes got into – careful, precise, skilled. He pushed in, a long, slow stretch of flesh, the warm weight of Adrian partially against your back, keeping you pressed into the futon. A hand groped at the flesh of your hip and he gently guided you into the position he needed.

And that made your eyes water, the perfect depth, the perfect speed, the perfect amount of pressure – a gasp dragged from your lips at the angle. Adrian knew what made you tick. You’d witnessed the man disassemble and reassemble a gun with alarming speed on more than one occasion, and he knew how to disassemble you just as easily. 

It took no time at all for pressure and warmth to mount between your legs. 

“Put your hand over my mouth,” you panted.

“What?”

“I don’t think that I can keep being quiet,” you said, voice ragged. As if attempting to prove you wrong, Adrian buried himself, deep and slow, and a yelp came from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“Right. Okay,” Adrian said in the kind of voice that sounded like he was processing a direct order. You tilted your head up slightly and Adrian dutifully cupped one hand over your mouth.

“Oh shit,” he managed. His fingers flexed against your skin as he thrust into you again, angling your hips ever so slightly once more, perfecting the position. Your needy hand slid under your body and Adrian groaned as your fingers touched at where your bodies were joined, fingers parting around the slick base of his cock for one taunting drag before retreating to your clit. Adrian’s pace faltered and you grinned into his hand. You nipped at his palm again but he stayed firmly in place and instead responded by draping himself further over your back, his weight pressing you further into the futon and your own eager fingers. 

You were close, close, closer as his fingers bit into your skin and you rubbed desperate circles at the apex of your thighs. You clenched around him and Adrian whined. 

“That’s not fair,” he hummed into your hair. He slowed for a frustrating moment and then his mouth was at your ear. “Can I try something?”

A million things raced through your mind – an electric series of possibilities, some of which perhaps bordered on terrifying. But you trusted Adrian. You loved him. Fucking you was a science at which he was studiously determined to excel. So, you nodded. And Adrian draped the full weight of himself on you, carefully, gently. And then he wrapped his other hand over your eyes, casting you into total darkness. 

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low in his chest against your back, words that sounded equally like reassurance and threat. A loving adage and a declaration of total possession. Your body responded unconsciously, pushing back against his thrusting hips, terribly wanting. “I want you to come, just for me, okay?”

You made a noise, something wrenched from deep within, muffled expertly by Adrian’s capable hands. He dragged his tongue along the side of your neck and then his teeth nipped the skin. A jolt of pleasure ran down your spine. You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out when Adrian was dragging himself in and out of you with a studied speed, burying deep every time, hitting that perfect spot. 

“’m close, are you…close,” Adrian slurred before biting at your jaw, his words barely coherent. 

“Mhm,” you spoke into his hand, sure you were probably drooling. You didn’t care. Adrian nudged your knee ever so slightly with his own, spreading you open just a bit more. But it was enough. In the total darkness of Adrian’s embrace, you crashed over the edge, a shout muffled into his hand. You breathed quickly through your nose, finding it significantly harder to catch your breath and Adrian chased you into bliss only a second later, a curse hissed through his clenched teeth, certainly too loud. His hand released your mouth as his forehead fell into the curve of your shoulder. His sweaty hair tickled at your chin and you turned, still blind, to clumsily press a kiss to his temple. 

“Well, that was new,” you remarked, still trying to catch your breath. In the darkness beneath Adrian’s hand, the edges of your vision sparked.

“Was it okay? Did you like it?”

“It was more than okay, babe,” you murmured assurance. That was Adrian – aiming to please, even when it came to dabbling in something like minor sensory deprivation.

After a long moment, his hand fell from your eyes to the futon with an audible thump and he slipped out of you, laying half on top of you and half wedged beside you on the futon.

“I feel like I don’t have any bones anymore,” he muttered. “You stole them. You’re a bone thief.”

“I’ll keep your bones safe in my bone collection. Promise,” you laughed breathlessly. He perked up slightly, lifting his head so he could look at your face. 

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes wide with puppydog-esque devotion.

“Yeah. You’ve got centerpiece level bones. Real main attraction stuff.”

He brushed your hair from your face, and then wiped your cheeks free of tears, thumb grazing across your lower lip, collecting any errant spit. He popped his thumb into his mouth and you recoiled.

“Adrian, gross!”

“Sorry I just want part of you in me,” he replied like you were the one being unreasonable.

You smirked at him and shifted so that you could slip on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. “Maybe it’s time we revisit that conversation about peg – ”

“Adrian?” 

Adrian’s mother’s voice came from directly outside the door. You clamped your mouth shut, looking down at Adrian with wide eyes. 

“What, mom?” he called back, rolling his eyes, his head falling back onto the futon. 

“Do you and your girlfriend want to come upstairs for dinner? I made a baked mac ‘n cheese with the breadcrumb topping you like so much!” 

“Girlfriend?” he scoffed, voice traitorously too high. “What girlfriend? You’re so crazy, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, sweetie, Mrs. Peterson from across the street called and she said she saw you sneaking in through the basement window with a very pretty young lady!”

You had to laugh. There was simply no other choice. Adrian groaned and draped his arm over his face, treating you to a wonderful (very biteable) view of his bicep. “Fuck, I knew I always hated Mrs. Peterson. No trustworthy person has that many chihuahuas.”

When Adrian didn’t respond one way or the other to the evidence presented, his mother called out again, “Does the pretty young lady like mac ‘n cheese?”

You grinned down at Adrian who appeared to be going through the five stages of grief in quick succession. Luckily for him it was going to take a lot more than an overbearing mother to scare you off. If you could survive the Vigilante of it all, you could survive anything. You leaned down, bit Adrian’s bicep and then kissed his swollen lips before he could protest.

“The pretty young lady loves mac n’ cheese!” you called back.

adrian taglist: @countvonklit @tlfg-adrianchase @vigilantexreader @faelvz @a-young-g0d @euinein @fangirl48 @navs-bhat (as always, if you want to join my taglist, just let me know! respectfully, no minors! there are some people who have requested in the past and if you're a minor/I couldn't verify if you're over 18 you've been taken off, I'm sorry!)

[bittersweetlyblue]

— ୨ৎ asking husband!clark kent to dress up as superman for halloween!

husband!clark kent who is standing in the kitchen helping one of your kids carve a pumpkin when you casually drop the most dangerous sentence imaginable.

"you should dress up as superman for halloween."

the room goes silent. your youngest looks up from their pumpkin whilst your oldest freezes halfway through stealing candy, and clark nearly drops the carving knife. "what?" he says a little too quickly.

you smile innocently, too innocently, the one with a motive he can't ever figure out behind it. "superman."

"superman."

"yeah."

clark laughs. a very fake laugh. "why superman?"

your children immediately join the conversation.

"dad would look cool as superman!"

"he's really tall."

"and strong!"

"and he kinda looks like him."

clark chokes. you reach over and pat his back. "you okay, honey?"

"perfect." he absolutely is not. clark spends the next week internally panicking. now every costume store feels like an attack, every superman display seems to be mocking him and every time you bring it up he gets more nervous.

"please?" you ask one night while curled against his side on the couch. "it'd be cute."

clark looks down at you, then at the children sprawled across the living room floor discussing their costumes, then back at you and immediately caves. what can he say? he's a weak man when it comes to you. "okay."

the children explode.

"really?!"

"dad's gonna be superman!"

"mom won!"

"hey," clark protests. "i wasn't fighting." you give him a look, to which he adds, "okay maybe i was fighting a little."

halloween arrives. clark has somehow managed to find a costume that's suspiciously accurate. alarmingly accurate. "wow."

clark shifts awkwardly. "too much?"

"how did you even find one this good?"

he pauses. "amazon?"

it's the least convincing thing you've ever heard, but your children are absolutely losing their minds.

"dad looks exactly like him!"

"dad! fly!"

clark nearly walks directly into a wall. "can't do that, buddy."

"why not?"

"uh..."

he looks at you desperately. you are no help whatsoever because you're too busy laughing. throughout the entire night your kids refuse to leave his side.

they hold his hands while trick-or-treating, show off their candy to him, introduce him to strangers.

"this is my dad!" and then proudly: "he's superman."

every single time. clark smiles and plays along. "that's right." he'll say, "i'm superman." while internally thinking: well technically...

and, later that night, after the kids are asleep and mountains of candy have been sorted, you're both sitting on the couch. the house is quiet, finally.

clark still has part of the costume on, the cape draped over the cushions, the boots kicked off near the coffee table. you glance over and start smiling.

"what?" he asks.

"nothing."

"that's a lie."

"you were really cute tonight."

the expression on his face immediately softens. "yeah?"

you nod. "yeah." you lean your head against his shoulder. "the kids loved it."

clark's smile becomes impossibly gentle, the kind of smile he only wears around his family. "they did."

for a moment he just watches the hallway leading to the kids' bedrooms. then he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer. "best halloween we've ever had."

you hum. "even with the ridiculous costume?"

clark laughs. "especially because of the ridiculous costume."

the second you're both alone, you tug lightly on the edge of the cape. "you know."

clark already knows that tone. "what?"

"this might be the first halloween costume you've ever worn that's actually accurate."

he groans immediately. "i'm serious." you insist.

"absolutely not."

"it's literally your work uniform."

"don't call it that."

"your little superhero pajamas."

"okay." he stands up. "conversation's over."

you can barely breathe from laughing. a second later clark scoops you up anyway, despite pretending to be offended, despite the dramatic sigh and despite the fact you're still teasing him.

after all these years, clark kent still looks at you like you hung the moon and every halloween, without fail, he wears the superman costume again.

mostly for the kids. a little for you. and definitely because hearing you tell people "isn't it amazing how much he looks like the real superman?" never stops being funny.

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

[tw1sters]

Taste of Heartbreak

Heartbreak isn’t loud — it’s quiet, creeping, and cruel. You thought letting Dick Grayson go would break you. You never imagined it might kill you.

▸ PAIRING: Dick Grayson x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: so many reader insecurities (it's that kind of angst), hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, probably non-canon compliant things bc im new to this world, reader gets extremely hurt, hospital scenes ▸ WORD COUNT: 7.2K ▸ A/N: this is actually the first dick fic i ever wrote but didn't post until now! i seem to have a thing for exploring insecurities in relationships when im writing a new character (see clark and bucky). i love him so much, he is sooo loverboy. tom taylor's is also such fine shit jfc. i hope you enjoy <3 if you do, all likes/comments/reblogs are appreciated :)

The movies always describe heartbreak as devastation. A tragedy. A travesty. They talk about the feeling of their hearts being ripped out of their chest, beating bloody until they cease completely. They speak of the way their hearts stop suddenly, abruptly; a flare of panic only momentary before everything stills. 

What they don’t tell you is that that’s not at all how heartbreak works. Heartbreak is oftentimes dramatized for the sake of entertainment. An exaggeration of the moment a heart splinters into a million pieces, parts that are impossible to glue back together into a whole.

Real heartbreak occurs quietly. It chips at you slowly; small cracks at first until you can no longer ignore the gaping wound in your chest. The missing center behind your ribcage. By the time you realize what has happened, the hole is too big to fill. The chasm impossible to bridge. They don’t tell you that it sneaks up on you, the curl of a cold-blooded snake around your neck that restricts your ability to breathe, to function. It hisses in your ear, a gentle whisper that only gets louder when the puncture isn’t tended to. 

Before you know it, the serpent has bared its teeth and sunk its poison into you. 

You didn’t think you would experience heartbreak with Dick Grayson. The man is loyal, loving. He anticipates your needs before you can even determine what’s missing. Raised to be observant and thoughtful, Dick is a fierce protector of those he cares about. You happen to be lucky enough to be one of them. 

You’ve seen how he is with his family, his friends, the people that he chooses to protect with his body, mind, and soul. There is not a thing he wouldn’t do to keep those he cherishes safe, even if it means sacrificing himself. 

Because of all this, Dick has to juggle one too many priorities. Not only are they things he already planned on doing, but he also has to account for the emergencies that crop up from time to time. Given that this is Blüdhaven, time to time means all the time. 

You’re used to it. Coming in second, that is. 

Your relationship with Dick is relatively new. Your dates aren’t life or death. So when he has to up and leave in the middle of dinner, it’s something you’ve grown accustomed to. The moment his phone vibrates on the table, you set your expectations. 

The first vibration, he ignores. 

The second one, his eyes flick down to his device before he refocuses on you.

Third time’s the charm. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly after you finish recounting your day. “Let me just check and make sure it isn’t anything urgent.”

But you already know the answer to that. It’s always urgent. It’s the city. You can’t blame him for it. Corruption is the norm in Blüdhaven; it bleeds through every crack and corner. From the police commissioner to the mayor, to the elites. Dick is ambitious, he thinks he can rid the city completely of its decrepit moral compass. 

The flicker of guilt that passes through his baby blues is the first sign. Then comes the sour curl of his lips when he realizes that he can’t disregard the threat alert from Oracle. Then comes the sympathetic look when he finally turns back to you. 

It’s that look that you can’t stand. That’s the one that always gets to you. Because you don’t want him to pity you. 

So you plaster a smile onto your lips and nod. “Go. The city needs you.”

Apologies automatically fall from his lips as he places a chaste kiss on your forehead, presses his credit card into your hands, and takes off. His dinner sits cold on the pristine white tablecloth. 

And you wonder if there will ever come a time when Blüdhaven will no longer need Nightwing. Or Dick Grayson. 

Maybe then you’ll have a chance at coming first. 

In his defense — and perhaps it comes from months of making excuses first for him as a friend and then as a lover, he does try. He tries to make time for you, slipping you into the little gaps he has in between investigations, philanthropic work, and patrols. It’s how you met him in the first place. 

Your job at the community center allowed you some governmental access which you used to help him take down a few bad apples in the mayor’s office. Small-time fry. But then he started doing more work for the people, building affordable housing and programming to help the city’s children, and you started seeing more of this elusive Dick Grayson. 

At first, you had been starstruck. The man is renowned all throughout the city — a savior to the good, a menace to the bad. The more time you spend with him, the more you learn about the Dick that he doesn’t show to the outside world. 

It’s the man who is weary down to the bone, cutting off one evil head only for two more to grow. It’s the man who bears the city’s burdens on his shoulders, carrying the weight of a million expectations with the limited resources that he has. It’s the man who slinks back into your arms after a long day and curls himself around you like it’s the only place he is meant to be. 

Falling in love with Dick had been all too easy. It’s like taking a nosedive off a cliff, knowing you’ll land in a wide-open ocean with a life jacket. 

When you find out that he also spends his nights as the masked hero Nightwing, he had been wary of how you would react. It’s ridiculous to think that you would feel anything other than pride when you see him in full gear for the first time. 

For some reason, Dick feels… further once you learn this fact. He already felt unattainable before —untouchable — as this generous, intelligent billionaire, heir to the famous Wayne family. Now that you know he is also a crime-fighting superhero, you feel those buried feelings of insecurity rise to the surface. The creeping voices clawing into your skin to question how you could ever be an adequate partner for him. 

How could you — someone so normal, so average — compare to the living legend Dick Grayson?

Of course, once the Nightwing gates are open, you also see the people he surrounds himself with. Martians. Kryptonians. Shapeshifters. Trained assassins. And Barbara Gordon — how do you even begin to describe Barbara Gordon?

Between Kori and Barbara, you were convinced that Dick had a thing for redheads. Dick reassured you that he really didn’t have a particular preference. No, no preference in terms of hair, but you can clearly see the pattern — all of his exes are skillful. Powerful. Hot.  

Gorgeous in a way that takes your breath away. Not only that, they’re fierce and bold and intelligent. They are out there saving the world day in and day out, whether it’s through ultraviolet energy projections or hacking into the most secure servers on the planet. 

That monster inside of you peeks around the corner with its talons out, ready to pierce through your fragile heart once more. You hate yourself for even thinking this way. It’s part of his job, these are his friends. You should feel lucky that you were even introduced to them. 

But that feeling has taken root and consumed your heart. Insufficient. Inadequate. Incapable. Who are you compared to all this greatness? 

It’s why you keep your head down, why you keep your mouth shut even as the fissures begin to appear in your heart. You disregard them, brush them off as a temporary blip in your confidence. You tell yourself that you’re lucky Dick’s even giving you the time of day. You can’t be another burden for him to bear. You should be making his life easier. 

So when he apologizes, you wave off his concern and tell him to go out there and save the world, Boy Wonder, because that’s what he does. The world comes first. You come second. It’s how it’s always been. It’s how it should be. 

The deeper you try to bury these feelings, these insecurities, the greater the cuts you slice inside your heart. You’re carving it out slowly, an excruciating process as you try to preserve what’s left of your emotions. 

Dick makes it up to you each time with flowers, with butterfly kisses, with the gentle touch of his hand. He promises you that next time will be better. He keeps his word. A few dates over the course of a few weeks, uninterrupted time, undivided attention. You’re on cloud nine by the time he drops you off at the doorstep, lingering for a fraction longer, enough time for you to invite him in to stay. 

He does. Every time. 

There are nights he returns to your side in uniform. His suit ripped, blood coating his skin crimson. These are times you’re reminded that he’s mortal. Human. You’re reminded that you could so easily lose him in all the work that he does. 

Nothing makes you feel more powerless than knowing that all you can do is help him tend to the aftermath. Your hands shake when you dab the antiseptic, when you wipe off all the red, when you wrap up the gauze around his body. 

You’re different from Barbara who guides him, who serves as his eyes and ears, and maps him a solution and exit each time. You’re different from Kori who fights alongside him with powers that he doesn’t have. You’re different from Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian, who know him in such intimate ways, moving in sync as he works through the city. 

You are someone watching from the sidelines. A character that could be so easily removed from his story, and nobody would blink twice. 

The thought pains you, but you suck it up and deal with it anyway. It’s easy to let these thoughts go when Dick murmurs saccharine sweet phrases into your neck. It’s easy to forget your place when he marks constellations across your body when he feels like having your company. 

You didn’t think it could get worse. You can only help. Right?

But you’re proven wrong the one time you’re all gathered at the Wayne Mansion. It’s a family dinner. The mood is light, the drinks are flowing, the food is delicious. Laughter ripples through the table and, for once, you aren’t overthinking your place at the table. 

That is, until an alarm sounds and everyone is immediately on high alert. They all seem to know what to do, whipping into action quickly while you sit there frozen. 

Dick gears up and then stiffens when he remembers you still at the dinner table, watching them all in awe and surprise. He looks at Alfred who is also preparing to help with the potential invasion of the mansion, then looks at you. “Stay here, okay? I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

You open your mouth, ready to offer your assistance, but stop when you look around the room. How can you possibly even think about helping these heroes? They are the heroes of the story. You are the damsel in distress. 

“Okay,” is all you manage to say.

True to his word, Dick returns a few hours later. You’re right where he left you. He looks relieved to see you untouched, immediately coming up to you to inspect you. “Are you okay?”

Even when the worst is happening, his concern is on you. You’re adding more weight to his already hefty load. 

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. “Is everyone else okay?”

He softens and nods. “Yeah, they’re okay. Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

Dick’s kisses should’ve chased away those worries as they always have, but the feeling persists. It’s an itch you can’t scratch. An invisible scar you can’t heal. The feeling festers and grows, sprawling into this ugly hopelessness inside of you. 

It doesn’t disappear when Dick picks you up from work the next day, chattering on about the programs he is hoping to stand up with the help of the new mayor. 

It doesn’t disappear when the two of you run into Barbara outside of his apartment, telling him that there’s work to be done with Blockbuster.

It doesn’t disappear when Dick shoots you an apologetic look, asking for a rain check on your movie night — even when he’s already carrying the bags of popcorn and treats. 

The more you think about it, the more you consider where you stand with Dick. He’s already so busy with everything else. The last thing you want to be is another item on his checklist, another to-do to cross off. He already has enough on his plate, you don’t want to make it harder for him by adding another thing for him to complete. 

So you do what you thought was best. 

“I don’t think this is working out, Dick.”

Dick’s gaze falters, a shudder in his confidence. “What— why would you say that?”

“You’re very busy. You have a lot of things going on. I don’t think a relationship is a good idea right now.” Not for you, you add in your mind. This is for Dick, you remind yourself. This is to help him, the only way you know how. 

He’s quiet, lips pinched together as he frowns. The two of you were supposed to get lunch together, but you thought it best to sever it clean before the two of you sit down for what would likely be an awkward meal. So here you two are, standing in front of a restaurant. People mill about, barely paying you any mind. Some pause to look at Dick in admiration, but he is only looking at you. 

“Is this what you want?” His voice is lower when he asks this. 

No. But, of course, you don’t say that. 

“Yes. I think this is what’s best.”

A part of you wants him to resist, wants him to fight for you. That selfish part of you begs him to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wants this as much as you do. That he cares about you as much as you do him. 

But the responsible voice inside of you wants him to agree and walk away. 

Luckily – or not, he agrees with the latter. So the two of you hug and part ways. You walk away with shoulders held high and the tears streaming down your face. You don’t let him see it. You never want him to see it. 

And that’s the day you walked away from Dick Grayson.

It may be dramatic to say that there is your life before Dick and a life after him. You never thought you would ever consider romance to be the end-all-be-all of your life — and it isn’t. But Dick Grayson is something special, isn’t he? He isn’t just any romance. 

He is the romance. 

The type that sticks to you, a permanent fixture like he’s been tattooed and engraved into an everlasting mark on your skin. He clings to you like a persistent memory. No matter how many drinks you swallow, how many things you do to keep busy, you can’t seem to shake the thought of him when you’re alone.

The nights are the worst. The world inside your head is too quiet, even in a city like this one. Even when there are sirens blaring from every corner of your apartment and neon lights glare into your bedroom, you’re left to pick apart the decision you’ve made, constantly turning it over in your mind to determine whether it was the right one. 

There are nights when you find yourself reaching for your phone, your thumb hovering over his contact. It would be easy to call him, to ask for him back. You miss him, incredibly so. It would be so simple to send him a text saying as such. 

I miss you. What are you doing tonight?

Thinking of you, are you thinking of me?

I made a mistake. Will you have me again?

You try not to think about him, but the ask is akin to asking you not to breathe. Thinking about Dick comes naturally to you. It’s in the places you frequent, the ghost of him is the only constant lurking in the shadows. It’s the voice inside your head, calming you down when the city gets too much. It’s the absence that you feel the most — the sudden quiet when you don’t have him talking to you about his day, about his family, his friends, his ambition. The silence when he isn’t peppering you with follow-up questions about your week, sincerity and genuine curiosity entwined into his every syllable. 

And just as you’re swirling into this black hole, your phone lights up with an email reminder. A date the two of you were supposed to have. Movie tickets booked weeks ago because you had been so excited to see it, Dick had purchased the tickets immediately. With everything that has happened, you completely forgot to cancel it. 

However, instead of wallowing, you decide to go for it anyway. You’ve been cooped up in your home for too long, burying yourself under this mountain of self-despair. Quality time with your friends helped, but it didn’t cease the voices at night when you’re alone. 

The movie is good, it could’ve been better if you didn’t have this empty seat next to you. The theater is full and yet there is this one gap that sticks out like a sore thumb on opening night. Your mind is half on the movie and half imagining what it would be like to be here with Dick.

He would get popcorn ahead of time, with extra butter, just the way he knows you like it. He would get sweet tea, not cola, because he knows how you don’t like to pair bubbly drinks with airy snacks. He would let you hold onto the bucket and take it as an opportunity to reach closer to you whenever he grabs a handful, even sliding an arm around you to tuck you into his side. When the popcorn is gone, he would hold your hand, squeezing whenever he thinks you need the extra support. 

It’s an almost miserable experience. It’s pathetic how far gone you are for him that you can’t even enjoy time by yourself anymore.

But as they say, heartbreak is supposed to get easier with time. Eventually, you won’t remember what his touch felt like, the warmth of his body next to yours. You won’t think about him every time you pass by the basketball court he used to frequent to keep the neighborhood kids company. You won’t cry when you realize how many people you’ve gotten to know and lost in the process. You won’t think about him and you’ll remember that you can be perfectly content on your own again. 

You try not to fall under the weight of your worries as you step out of the theater. Everyone else filters out in pairs or groups, and you’re left standing there alone in the golden light that casts a glow across the rain-streaked sidewalk. You’re waiting for a cab. A cab that you will soon learn won’t find you. 

Not when you feel the breath down your neck.

“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?”

The unknown voice has you jumping, but not too far when a firm grip wraps around your bicep. Your eyes flash to betray your fear as you take in the masked assailant. He looks familiar, like a photograph hung somewhere in the back of your subconscious. Maybe one of Dick’s files that he tends to strew across your coffee table. 

“You’re Grayson’s girl. I’ve seen you around with him. Blockbuster’s going to want to see you.”

“I’m not— we’re not—” together, you want to say, but you don’t get a chance to finish your words when the man zaps you out cold. 

By the time you wake, there is a dull throbbing on your side where you’ve been electrocuted. The room smells of wastewater but looks relatively clean. You must be near the sewage plant. There is no one in the room and your eyes quickly dart around. What would Dick do in this moment? 

Your hands are tied up with a rope behind your back, feet against the legs of the chair. You systematically go through your surroundings. A shelf with all sorts of items. Books, random paraphernalia, and a glass bottle at the top. An idea pops up in your head, the films you watch finally coming in helpful; it might not be one that Dick approves, but he’s not here to scold you right now. 

Based on the distance and the weight of the chair, you scooch your way towards it. You use your shoulder to bump the shelf, rattling it with the little force you have. You can hear the bottle stumble a bit, but it’s not quite there yet.

Another hard push with your limited movement has it finally dropping on its side, rolling down the shelf until it lands, split in pieces, on the ground next to you. Now, you have to carefully drop yourself onto the floor, making sure you’re not getting the shards on your skin. There is no graceful way to do this, so you just tip yourself over. With your face pressed against the cold cement floor, your hands wriggle around behind you to grasp a piece of the glass, slicing the tip of your finger in the process, but at least you have this. 

Slowly, you use the jagged edge to cut through the rope. It’s an arduous process. The entire time, you’re praying that maybe — on the very off-chance — Dick is still keeping track of you. That he’ll notice your disappearance. Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. It’s a naive thought, but it’s the hope that you cling to.  

When your wrists are finally free, you get to work on your ankles. Another slice on your leg in your hurry to break free before your captors return. You don’t know where you are or how you plan to escape, but that tiny window looks promising. 

You’re halfway up the wall, standing on your chair, struggling to unlock the window when the front door swings open. You whip around and see the imposing figure duck into the room. Fuck. It’s Blockbuster. He is the man who’s been out for Dick’s blood for as long as you can remember. 

And now he has you, trapped in this room. His broad frame takes up nearly half the width of the space. You fiddle with the lock faster, praying for some miracle that you can escape in time. 

But the man doesn’t even give you a chance — his thick arms wrap around your torso before he lifts you up and throws you back onto the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you swear you hear bones cracking. The pain that shoots through you is fast, blistering, blinding. It’s hot-white and has your vision spotting. 

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty bird?” Blockbuster rumbles in vile amusement. “You’re not leaving this room. You’re not leaving this space until I get some answers.”

“Answers about what?” You spit out, the liquid coming out in a smattering of red on the grey floor. 

“Grayson. I want to know his weaknesses, his vulnerable points. I want to know everything there is to know about him to destroy him.”

The wide smile that stretches across his face has your stomach churning in disgust. He crouches on the floor, leans towards you, close enough that his platinum hair brushes against your face. 

“Or maybe you’re it. Maybe you’re his only weakness. Maybe I already have the pretty bird in my hands to take him down.”

“He’s not going to let you get away with this, or anything. He’s going to destroy you before you even come close to him.”

Blockbuster laughs, the sound booming. “This bird’s got claws. I can see why Grayson likes you. Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll break each one before you leave today. I’ll make sure you can’t sing for him anymore. I’ll make you squawk.” 

The threat settles in deep in your gut and your heart plummets six feet under. 

Then it begins. The beating, the brutalizing. You’re on the ground, against the wall, and flying through the air. Your face, your ribs, your hair, your legs, your arms. It goes on and on for what feels like hours. The only light you see is the one that hangs overhead, but even that begins to fade as your eyes struggle to stay open. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, strained wheezes slipping past your lips in your desperate attempt to stay alive. The glass bits you were so adamant on avoiding before are now affixed to your skin like glitter. 

Your vision goes between white and red and pitch black. When you start to lose consciousness, he jolts you awake again. The only sounds ringing in your ear are his questions, now a jumbled blur of words, and a cacophony of foul laughter. 

You’ve never been religious but in those final moments, you pray. You pray for a savior. You pray that you’ll survive this. You pray that Dick doesn’t have to see you in your final moments.

Despite all that has happened, you like to hope that Dick still cares — and when Dick cares, you know he would live with this weight for the rest of his life. The last thing you want to leave him with is another burden to carry. 

Your ears start ringing from the abuse you’ve undergone. At some point, the pain no longer flares, it ebbs and flows as your body grows numb. Not a single part of you untouched. You don’t think the man even has questions anymore; he only takes ill gratification in the fact that he has destroyed something of Dick’s. 

You swear you hear a different voice, a different sound. No longer your screams or his laughter. A curse, a thud, a yell. Your brain can’t fully comprehend it, not when your senses can no longer be trusted. Not when they barely work. In the spread of red, you see glimpses of blue and black. 

You hear your name. You hear it before you feel a gentle touch, a brush that’s barely there on your head. 

Then it all goes black. 

“We need you to let her go. Sir, we are trying to help.”

“You don’t know what she’s gone through—”

“We will work to diagnose all her injuries. For now, we need you to let us do our jobs.”

“I’m surprised she’s still breathing. The damage she’s taken…”

“Let’s just get through this and let the family know.”

“Sir, this is family only—”

“I am her family,” Dick’s voice snaps back. You’ve never heard him raise his voice like that before. 

Then you hear someone else, more stern, still warm. Bruce. “If you’ll allow my son to stay with her, she doesn’t have family in the area. I’ll handle the paperwork, if you’ll lead me.”

“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m not leaving.”

“Dick, you need to eat at least. You can’t help her like this.”

“I’m the reason she’s here to begin with. I’m not leaving her.”

“How’s she doing?” The deep baritone, you think it’s Bruce. 

Dick’s voice frays at the edges, like he’s barely keeping it together as he inhales. You can feel his eyes on you. “Better. Doctors think she’ll be fine but she doesn’t have the energy yet to be fully conscious.”

“She’s a strong one. She’ll be fine, Dick.”

A pause. You wonder how Dick looks, if he’s been eating— “I don’t think I can ever forgive myself if she isn’t.”

“I should’ve been there with her, you know. We bought those tickets weeks ago. I thought she refunded them when she broke up with me. Didn’t think she’d go alone to such a late showing.” 

A sigh. More high-pitched. Maybe Barbara. She’s been worried sick about him based on how many times she has come to visit. Her voice is more familiar than others. “You can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known that would happen.”

“It’s Blüdhaven, of course, something like this would happen. I should’ve expected this, that’s my entire job.” 

“Babs sent me here to deliver this. Can you please just eat first? Everyone’s worried about you.”

There’s the rustling of a plastic bag. You hope that Tim picked up Dick’s favorite Thai spot downtown, the one with the pad see ew he likes. Hopefully, that’ll cheer him up. “Thanks, but I’m good for now.”

“Dick, you’re not doing anyone any favors by punishing yourself. What would she say if she saw you like this, huh?”

“Well, she can’t really say anything now, can she? Because of me.”

“Stop blaming yourself. It’s Blockbuster’s fault. She wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Should’ve been me in this bed.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. God, I’ll do anything — I’ll give up anything. Just please wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do this without you. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. Need to see those eyes again. Need you looking at me again.”

“I swear I’ll do better. I’ll work harder. Please. Don’t take her away from me.”

When your eyes finally flutter open, you feel as if it’s been years since you’ve seen the light. The bright fluorescent lamps above blind you as you groan and turn away. Crust nearly keeps your eyes shut but you reach up to brush them away, only to wince at the searing pain by your side.

“Hey, pretty girl, easy. Don’t move too fast. You’re hurt.” 

Dick. You slowly turn to the side to find him there. Then you briefly analyze your surroundings. 

White. All white. Hospital. The only splashes of color are in the flower arrangements sitting at the end of your bed. Large and wild. Alive. 

You’re alive. 

Christ, you’re alive. 

But Dick — he looks disheveled, the most you’ve ever seen him at least. There’s certainly more than a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the circles surrounding them. His hair is a mussed-up mess, like he’s been running his hand through it nonstop for days. 

He’s fast to approach, gentle to touch. You swear you see the slight tremble in his fingertips as he brushes your hair away from your face. His eyes search yours, drinking you in like he is memorizing every inch of you. Old habits die hard, you suppose. He’s probably cataloging your injuries as if the doctor hasn’t done that already. 

“Hey, Dick,” you smile weakly, the stretch painful. Your throat feels dry, your voice comes out grainy. There’s a stiffness around your neck, which you soon realize is a brace. It hurts to breathe, let alone speak. “What day is it?”

Dick scrambles to grab the glass of water at your bedside table. He eases the rim between your lips, letting the cool liquid slowly pour between your chapped lips. “Easy, not too much. Not too fast,” he whispers, then adds, “Been four days.”

“Hmm, that’s a while, huh? Hope my boss doesn’t fire me for missing work that long. God knows we’re understaffed.”

Your attempt to laugh falls short when you feel the piercing twinge in your stomach, and it comes out as a raspy cough instead. 

Dick’s eyes widen and you shake your head to reassure him. You don’t like the way his forehead creases in concern, how dim his usually bright eyes are. Dick forces a smile at your poor endeavor at humor. “No, I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart. Called in for you.”

“Good. What a waste of PTO though.”

“Sweet girl,” Dick breathes out, closer this time as he leans forward and presses his lips against your temple. You barely feel it, still slightly numb under the bandage wrapped around your head. His breath is shaky when he exhales. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been there.”

You roll your eyes, but it only makes your head ache. “Don’t be silly. Why would you have been there? It wasn’t as if we had plans.”

“We were supposed to go together. We—” Dick chokes on his words as he sits on the chair next to your bed, bringing your hand up to his face and flattens the back of it against his cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I wasn’t there.”

“You were, Dick. You came for me. I knew you would.”

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

“You were as fast as you could be.”

“I didn’t get him. I wanted to, but you were there and you were hurt and I needed to get you to the hospital first. He escaped and—”

“You’ll get him next time.”

“I let you get hurt.”

“You didn’t do anything except save me.”

Dick’s lips quiver as he inhales again, as he looks at you. 

“I love you.”

Then you hear another sharp gasp. Yours. 

“I love you. I should’ve told you that a long time ago, pretty girl. I love you so much. I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should’ve fought harder for you. I just— I thought you deserved better than me. Someone who could treasure you properly. Hopefully, someone who loves you as much as I do, even if I don’t think it’s possible.”

Your throat is tight. Whether it’s the tears or from the injuries you’ve sustained, you’re not entirely sure. Your question is only answered when you taste the saltiness on your tongue, your fingers reaching up to touch the wet mess rolling down your face. 

“But I can’t let you go. People think I’m selfless, but god — I’m so fucking selfish when it comes to you. Never want you to leave my side again. I want you close so I can protect you, keep you safe, love you proper. I want you to know how much you mean to me. I want to remind you of it every day. I took it for granted before, but never again. I love you. I’ll do it right this time, if you’ll let me. If you’ll still have me.”

“Dick…”

“God, look at me babbling away when you should be resting,” Dick huffs, disgruntled with himself. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the doctor. I should’ve done that first.”

“Stay.”

“I have to—”

You reach for his fingers again, intertwining them. It’s been a while since you’ve had his big hands up close. These hands always remind you that you’re safe, that you’re his. Gentle, a contradiction against the harsh touch of Blüdhaven. “Just for a little while.”

Dick glances between the door and your joint hands in conflict. He caves in to you, because — of course, he does. He’s never been one to deny you when you want to touch him. It’s his weakness. If Clark had his Kryptonite, he had you. 

“For a little bit,” he murmurs reluctantly, “but I want them to check on you right after this, okay? I have to make sure you’re good.” 

For a while, the two of you let the silence seep in. It wraps around you like a blanket, warm and steady. The worries of the past few days — even the past few weeks — seem to melt away as you let your eyes slide close once more, your head pressing back into the pillow. Dick’s fingers twitch in your hand and you give him a squeeze to assure him you’re okay. 

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. You can’t meet his eyes. Not for this. “I wasn’t scared of Blockbuster. I was scared of what would happen if you found me a minute too late. If I didn’t make it.”

“Wh— why would you be scared of that?”

“Because I know you’d blame yourself. You already have, even though you saved me. I didn’t want to be another weight to carry. Another burden on your shoulders.”

There is a fracture in Dick’s voice when he says your name. Like a prayer. Like a desperate plea. “You could never be a burden. I— I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it in time. I don’t even want to think about that.”

“Might make things easier for you,” you try to tease, but the joke lands bitter on your tongue. “One less thing to worry about. I guess I already was when I ended things.”

Dick is quiet for a moment, you can’t even hear him breathe. So you turn to look at him again, curious eyes finding his slumped shoulders. “Don’t even joke about that. That’s not something I’m entertaining. I’m never not worrying about you,” he mutters, “kept tabs on you even after you broke up with me. I wanted to make sure you always had someone looking out for you, even if it’s someone you didn’t care about anymore.”

You frown then. “Why would you think I don’t care about you?”

His head tilts in question then, brows furrowing. “Isn’t— I mean, isn’t that why you ended things? Because you weren’t interested in me anymore. I wasn’t a great boyfriend, I know that. I should’ve done more. That’s on me. I just thought, you… didn’t care about me anymore. Maybe you found someone else.”

“Dick, oh my— no, not at all. I just—” your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the truth hanging on the tip of your tongue but you refuse to let it slip. 

He looks at you with such earnest eyes, ones that urge you to continue. 

How can you say no to him? How could you think for one second you could let him go?

“I thought it would be easier for you, if we broke up,” you admit quietly and are immediately answered by the deepening of his frown, “you have so much going on. Between Nightwing, Blüdhaven and Gotham, and all the community outreach you were doing, it just didn’t seem like you had time for a relationship. It’s not as if I was helping you in any way, I can’t really do that. Not like the others. So I did what I thought was best.”

The look on Dick’s face now, you don’t think you ever want to see again. He looks absolutely crestfallen. His lips slightly parted, eyes carrying the sort of melancholy that comes after a loss. “You— fuck, you thought that breaking up would be easier for me? How can you— what would even make you think that? I know I’ve been busy and I haven’t been the best boyfriend, but god, you— you never made things harder. Ever. If anything, I feel so much lighter with you around. I feel as if I could breathe again. When this city chokes out the last of me, I know I’ll at least have you. And god, I wasn’t perfect, I was a terrible boyfriend, but you put up with me. I don’t know why you did for as long as you did, but— I didn’t know that’s how you felt with me. I wish you’d told me.”

A laugh of disbelief escapes him, rising from his chest with acid on his tongue. 

“You were always so patient. I thought— I thought that’s all you wanted from me. A few dates here and there. I didn’t want to ask more of you, didn’t want to scare you off. I can be intense, overwhelming. I know I can certainly be, and I didn’t want you to think I was being too demanding.” 

“Dick, you’re… unbelievable. Do you know how much I admire you? Everything that you do? Sometimes, I don’t know what you see in me. When you have all these incredible people around you, when you’re doing all these incredible things. I didn’t think I’d be… enough.”

Dick stands then, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are wild, alive now. It’s as if he’s been electrified in the last few moments of your conversation. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. Every day I see how hard you work, how much of your heart you put into this city and its people, and it reminds me of why I want to protect this city. It’s because of you. I want you safe, I want you happy here — with me. God, I fucking love you, you know that. I’m going to remind you of it every day. If you’ll let me have you again, I promise you — you’ll never have a doubt in your mind ever again when it comes to where you stand with me. You’ll see what I see in you.”

You crack another small smile, cheeks aching. You’re probably ripping open a couple of stitches, but it’s worth it when Dick breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too, Dick.”

The smile he offers you is magnificent. The kind that you memorize, print, and tuck away for safekeeping on a rainy day. He presses another kiss to your forehead, then your hand. Firm this time. More confident. He hesitates before he leans to brush his lips against yours. 

And it feels like homecoming. 

“I’m going to put a tracker on you from now on. I’ll drop you off at work and pick you up. I’ll install new security measures in your office and our apartment—”

“Our?”

He freezes then flushes, pink tinging his neck. “If you want. I mean, I think you’ll be safer there. I know we haven’t been together long but I’ll feel better if you’re with me. We can spend more time together, I don’t have to let you go at the end of the day. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll set up a separate room for you first — not to say I won’t be crashing in there every night, but—”

“Dick,” you reprimand teasingly. “I’ll think about it. That’s a big move.”

“Right, yeah. Of course. You don’t have to. I’ll implement new security cameras and sensors at your place. I’ll booby trap some of the windows so no one can break in. We’ll upgrade your—”

“Dick,” you say again, softer this time. “Your offer isn’t a bad thing. I just… I have to think about it. I love you, I do. It’s just been a lot.”

He nods solemnly and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. Always working. Always looking for a solution. 

“It’s not a no, baby.”

The pet name has him perking up, his eyes illuminating for the first time in a while since you’ve seen him. Crystal blue staring right back at you. 

“And Dick—”

“Yeah?”

“Probably time to get the doctor. I might’ve split open a few stitches.”

“Oh, shit yeah.” He jumps to his feet, ready to run out when you call for him again. He pops his head back in, gaze curious, happy, concerned. 

Your lips tug into a smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, pretty girl.”

dick is flying to (taglist): @catclaw1 @lunexiax @esunarint @lunaryoongie @alli0-0 @avgdestitute @parker-barnes-af @onecojg @lynnidc @winnichu173 @c3liaaaaa @my-drvidess @fruitypebsworld @smorgasbrods @ruptureedspleen @take-it-on-the-run @a-very-fictional-girl @eiaf4uwn @vivianna2392 @w1nchesterfiles @ae1szn @its-pomegranite @athenxt

+ add yourself to my taglists !

[godmadeaterribleerror]

seeing red

✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦

✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦

✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 10.5k✦

✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦

Clark has been acting strange all week.

He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.

“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.

“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.

He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee! (and get early access!)☕️✦

✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[i00que]

you used to love your boyfriend, but after a few years he got mean and critical so you called for a break. he comes back after a few days and is acting different..

alien! boyfriend x reader

he's in your doorway, bag in hand, and you haven't seen him in four days. four days since you told him you needed space. four days since the door closed and you let yourself feel something close to relief.

he doesn't say anything. just looks at you with those eyes—dark, still, the same ones you fell in love with back when he used to watch you like you were the most interesting thing in any room.

he's watching you like that again now.

"may i enter your dwelling?" he asks.

his voice sounds careful. like he's selecting the words from a list.

you step back. let him in.

"i have been thinking," he starts.

here it comes, you think. the explanation. the defense. the way he'll reframe every cutting comment as honesty, every dismissal as exhaustion, every cold silence as you misreading him.

you've rehearsed your responses. you're ready.

"i think i have been doing it wrong," he says.

you look at him.

"the—" he pauses. something moves across his face. a hesitation you don't recognize. "the way i have been treating you. i have been reviewing the data. running comprehensive retrospective analysis. and i can see now that my behavior was—"

"reviewing the data," you repeat.

"thinking about it," he corrects, very quickly. "just. thinking. like humans do."

you stare at him.

"okay," you say slowly.

"i was critical," he says. "i found things to correct when it was not.. when the corrections were not requested. i understand now that this caused you significant emotional damage."

you've known him for years. he doesn't talk like that. he talks like someone who's never wrong about anything, who phrases observations as facts and facts as verdicts.

"are you okay?" you ask.

he blinks. one second too long. "i am functioning within normal parameters. what i mean is—" he stops. resets. "yes. i am okay."

"who did you talk to?" you ask. "while i was—while we were on the break."

"my male companions," he says.

you go very still.

"your-" you repeat. "your what?!"

"my companions. who are male. my—" he seems to be searching for something. casting around behind his eyes. "my bros."

the word comes out like he's never said it before in his life. like he learned it an hour ago and isn't sure where the emphasis goes.

"right," you say.

"they were very informative. they explained the dynamics of human pair bonding at length. we had an extremely productive discussion about your emotional needs and how i had failed to meet them adequately. one of them had a small beast on his lap the entire time and it stared at me without blinking and i found it—" he pauses. "i found it charming," he finishes, in the tone of someone who found it deeply threatening.

you open your mouth.

you close it.

"a beast," you say.

"a small. domestic. beast." he holds his hands apart approximately cat-width. "with orange fur. it made a continuous low-frequency sound from its chest cavity."

"a cat. it was a cat."

"yes," he agrees, with great relief. "yes. the cat. i knew that."

"what changed in four days?"

his expression does something enormous. theatrical. his jaw tightens, his eyes go distant, and he turns his head slightly toward the window like he's about to deliver news of a war.

"i could not bear it," he says, very gravely. "the separation from you was an agony i had not anticipated and could not calculate my way out of. i consulted my male companions. i sat with their beast. i stared into its eyes for a long time and it stared back and something shifted in me." he looks at you. "i do not want to lose you. so i went and i figured out how not to. i will do better. i am committed to doing better. this is my vow."

this is my vow.

you are going to need a moment.

"you're vowing?"

"i am." he reaches across the cushion and takes your hand, and his grip is warm and steady and so achingly familiar that your chest does something you weren't prepared for. "you are important to me. more important than i communicated. that was an error and i intend to correct it."

his thumb moves across your knuckles. once. deliberate.

later, you tell yourself. ask later.

you turn your hand over and hold his back.

"okay," you say. "vow accepted."

something moves through his face. relief, you think. or whatever the equivalent is, wherever he's actually from.

"excellent!" he grins, and closes his eyes as he starts to pepper kisses across your knuckles, and for just a second he looks so genuinely, overwhelmingly grateful that you decide, for now, not to ask anything else at all.

every wednesday was date night, one of you would plan date night and then the other would do the week after. you'd been planning date nights for two years, aswell as paying for them whenever he decided to show up.

"i found us a place," he announces, and shows you his phone. it's a steakhouse with 4.7 stars and a review that says great for special occasions!! that he has highlighted somehow.

he pulls your chair out when you arrive. stands there holding it with both hands like he's been rehearsing. you sit down.

the candle on the table gets forty seconds of his complete and total attention before you click your fingers and bring him back.

he orders what you order, you have to remind him he's allergic to mushrooms.

walking home he holds your hand and it's nice, it's really nice, until you notice he's slowly rotating your wrist to look at your fingers from different angles and has been doing it for half a block. "what are you doing..?"

"nothing," his response is so quick it almost gives you whiplash.

outside your building you stop and turn and he's already doing the face—jaw set, eyes very serious, like he's about to announce something grave and historic. you smile up at him and you lean in.

he takes a very large step backwards.

"what are you doing," he says, in a completely different tone than any he's used all evening. alert. wary. his eyes have gone very wide.

"i'm going to kiss you."

"you are going to—" he looks at your mouth. back at your eyes. "you are going to press your face against my face?"

"yes."

"aggressively."

"no. not aggressively."

he doesn't look convinced. he looks like a man running rapid calculations about exit routes. "my male companions did not mention this part.." he says.

"it's a kiss. it's romantic."

"you are coming toward me with your mouth."

"that's what kissing is."

long pause. he looks at your mouth again with the focused expression he gave the candle before his energy shifts and he lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, and closes his eyes with the energy of someone preparing to take a hit.

you press up onto your toes and kiss him, soft and quick.

silence.

he opens one eye. then the other.

"that's all it is." your voice is soft, almost warm as you flutter your lashes at him.

he touches his mouth with two fingers. looks at you and then looks at his fingers as if expecting blood, "that was not an attack," he says slowly.

"i told you it wasn't."

"it was—" he pauses. the enormous face happens again, but softer this time, around the edges. "it was acceptable," he nods. "you may do it again."

"how generous."

"yes," he agrees, completely sincerely. "i thought so."

you grin before peppering his face with glossy kisses.

you're sitting on the counter the way he hated, ankles crossed, watching him make tea.

he's very serious about the tea. he always is. he found the process on his third day in your apartment and decided it was important, something about the ritual of it, and now he makes it every morning with the gravity of a man performing surgery.

kettle, mug, the specific shelf where you keep the bags.

he's memorized which one you like without ever asking.

you're watching his back when it happens. the kettle's not quite hot enough, you can tell by the way he tilts his head at it, and then he points two fingers at it, almost casually, the way you'd reach over to turn a dial, and there's a soft sound like the air tightening and the kettle starts to steam.

he pours. stirs. turns around and holds your mug out to you.

you take it say thank you and he nods.

you wrap both hands around the mug and look at him; really look at him, the careful way he's standing, the way he's always slightly more still than a person should be, the way he blinks like he learned to, and you think about a year ago when everything was sharp edges and cold silences and you'd started to forget why you stayed.

"what?" he asks, because you're smiling into your mug.

"nothing, love."

he looks at you for a moment longer before he smiles and turns back to make his own tea, and when the kettle cools again between cups he does it again and is completely unbothered. like he's forgotten to hide it, or decided not to bother.

you think maybe it's the second one.

you take a sip of your tea. it's exactly right, the way it always is when he makes it, and he's standing in your kitchen being an alien, being yours, and you think you love him more than you ever did before.

which is really something, considering he headbutted you on your first date.