#clark kent x afab reader

[saltcxrcle]

not our universe ── . ✶ c. kent

summary: you've had a complicated relationship with being a metahuman, but after taking a look into the multiverse—you've never hated having your powers more.

pairings: established!clark kent x gn!reader, clark kent x metahuman!readerノ wc: 7.9k warnings: no use of 'y/n, buckle in bc it's a long one!, fluff in the beginning, then there's angst, reader is a metahuman who can see through the multiverse, reader's nose bleeds a lot, insecure!reader, avoidant!reader, reader is described to be shorter than clark, clark gets frustrated, fluffy/happy ending, the ending is so sappy, and i love it, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: saw an edit on my feed about all of the iterations of clois and i was like...this is primetime for some angst for the reader LOL :p. also sorry for taking so long to write this i was waiting until i rewatched the movie to finish this but enjoy!! oh and a simple comment or reblog goes a long long way for writers!! clark kent masterlist

IT STARTED OFF SMALL, YOUR POWERS.

You didn't even realize you had powers at first. In your young mind, you thought you were having really vivid dreams at first. Your parents thought you had an overactive imagination when you ran into their room in the morning and blabbed about your dreams with them at the ripe old age of eight. 

It was only when they turned on the news that morning that they realized what had happened across the globe was the same scenario you had described in your dream that morning. Your parents were at a loss for what to do with you and your newly developed powers (even if you had no idea that you had them).

After a lengthy discussion between the two of them, they took you to a specialist in metahuman powers (who was a metahuman themselves) to try and figure out what powers you actually possessed.

After weeks of going to several appointments with this specialist, you found out alongside your parents that your powers consisted of a form of astral projection, but would manifest and grow in power over time to the point where you didn't need to sleep anymore to see into different areas of the globe at any time you wanted. 

And oh, did your powers grow indeed. By the time you were in high school, you could see alternate dimensions in your sleep. You hadn't quite mastered being able to travel places and dimensions awake. Though that skill wouldn't have developed until you graduated from college.

Your doctor was an essential instrument for you to not only control but also understand your metahuman ability. If it wasn't for them, you would not have found out that you can't actively affect the events you're witnessing or be seen by the average person. 

You had yet to find a person to "sense" you while you were in your 'ghostly form' besides your doctor (how else did you know that you had a transparent form when you were using your powers). That was until you had projected into Superman's apartment one night while you were asleep. 

It happened purely by accident. You were up thinking about Clark Kent of all people before you fell asleep. He was your really kind and very attractive friend who happened to work at the Daily Planet alongside you. You couldn't help but think about how he had gone out of his way to grab you coffee that morning since you hastily texted him to get him to cover for you as you ran late (granted, if he wasn't late himself). 

So, your subconscious decided to transport your astral form into a familiar-looking apartment that you've been to a couple of times when you guys would have your movie nights.

Superman had his red boots kicked off when he turned around abruptly and saw you in the hallway leading to his apartment. 

You looked around at the familiar hallway of Clark's apartment when you saw Superman(sans boots) standing in his living room and staring directly at you. You were used to people looking through you—some even walked through you like you didn't even exist. 

But Superman didn't look through you, but he looked AT you. You stood there, shocked. What the hell was Superman doing in Clark's apartment, and how the hell could he see you right now? 

Clark called out your name breathlessly, and it snapped you out of your stupor. You realized that Superman could see you. You got scared and vanished out of his sight. You immediately shot up out of bed, panting, and you could feel liquid dripping down your face. You groaned, getting out of bed and rushing into your bathroom, turning on the faucet and cleaning your now bleeding nose. 

You hadn't gotten one in years since your freshman year of college. As you cleaned your face, your mind was racing. 

I mean, I knew Clark knew Superman, but I didn't think they knew each other on an intimate level. However, now, how Clark got all of those interviews makes sense.

You cleaned your face of the blood and exited your ensuite bathroom when there was rapid knocking at your door. Your heartbeat caught in your throat as you walked towards your doorway. You looked into the peephole and saw a disheveled Clark. 

You opened your door hesitantly and confused. "Clark? Are you okay?" You asked as you took in his rumpled white t-shirt and joggers. Your brows were furrowed. How did he get to your apartment so fast? 

"M'fine. How did you get into my apartment?" Clark asked, ducking into your apartment. Suppose he was going to air out his secret identity to you. In that case, he'd prefer the privacy of your apartment to having the discussion in the hallway. 

"What? Clark, I wasn't in your apartment." You closed your door and said as you followed him into your living room, turning on the lamp on the end table near your couch. You were still a little drowsy, so Clark got into your place without much protest from you.

Clark looked unimpressed by your confusion. "I saw you in the doorway and then I blinked and you were gone. How did you do that?" 

In your sleep-addled brain, you barely registered his words. "What are you talking about? Superman was the one who saw me, and he was in—" You cut yourself off. The realization hit you like a lightning strike. 

You were fully awake now as you looked at Clark in shock. "You're Superman." He wasn't wearing his glasses, and the similarities between Clark and Superman were uncanny. 

Clark swallowed thickly. "Yeah." He admitted after letting out a breath. "So, can you answer my question? Since you kinda just appeared in my apartment and then disappeared." 

You couldn't help but let out a delirious giggle, confusing Clark slightly, but the corner of his lips couldn't help but twitch up at the sound of it. You really didn't think your night was going to turn out like this, hence the random giggle (or was it the sleep deprivation? You couldn't tell anymore). 

You shook your head. "It's a long story." You sighed, walking over to your couch and throwing yourself into the well-worn cushions, gesturing for Clark to sit down. 

"I've got time." Clark said softly as he sat down on the cushion next to where you were sitting. 

So, you told him everything. You told him about your metahuman abilities and the process you went through in order to get a handle on your powers. Clark listened intently, his eyes never once straying away from your form. 

"Any questions?" You asked after letting out a breath and sinking back into your couch as you finally looked at Clark, meeting his intense gaze. 

"Do you usually 'project'," Clark mimed air quotes, making you smile, "into your friend's apartment?" 

"No, I've got a good handle on my powers eighty five percent of the time." 

"So, the other fifteen percent is room for error?" 

You laughed softly. "Yeah. I guess tonight was just one of those nights." 

Clark nodded. "I see. Can I ask another question?" 

"Are you going all journalist on me now? I think you forgot your notepad and recorder Mr. Kent." You teased Clark. 

"I don't think an interview with you will make the front page." Clark played along and shot you a smug grin. 

You scoffed. "Right, because your favorite person to interview is yourself ironically enough." You shot back, a sarcastic smile on your face.

Clark was fighting the smile that was trying to grow on his face. "Shut up." But his words had no real bite to them. 

"Oh please, you love hearing the sound of my voice." 

You'd be right. He thought, but Clark bit back his real response. "Why tonight? You mentioned that you don't usually project at night right before you sleep." He asked his question instead of continuing the banter that was usually thrown around between the two of you. 

That was the thing with your powers. Once you had gotten them under control, you never wanted to use them.

You were warned that the older you got with having your powers, the more dangerous the places you find yourself in, both asleep and while you use your powers on purpose. Yeah, your physical body would be fine—but you didn't want to sacrifice your mental health to satiate your curiosity for other parts of the world or alternate dimensions.  

You bit your bottom lip. Clark's eyes flickered to how your teeth were pillowed by the fullness of your lips. You sighed, making Clark's gaze meet your own. 

"Sometimes, when I don't use my powers for a long time, I project without meaning to—it doesn't happen often. But when it does, it means I have a lot on my mind." Yeah, you had a whole lot of Clark Kent on the mind. You tried looking away from Clark, but his eyes always seemed to pin you in place. 

Clark could hear the rapid beat of your heart, almost mirroring his own, and it filled his chest with hope as his lips stretched into a tender smile. He shifted on the couch and closer to you. Warmth radiated off of him���even through the material of his sweatpants as his thighs brushed against yours. 

"Can I admit something? Since we're airing secrets out and all." Clark's voice was gentle as he looked down at you with soft eyes, filled with affection. 

You nodded. "But if you tell me that you're Superman, well, I know now." 

Clark chuckled at your playful words, and a surge of confidence went through him, channeling a little bit of Superman into his actions. One of his hands found your own. "I am Superman. And it makes this easier for me to say, but I like you. A lot." He tacked on at the end as he stared at your face, trying to read your expression. Clark felt his ears turn red, and a warm blush climbed down his neck. 

"Really?" You asked in disbelief.  

Clark looked away for a brief moment. "Yes." 

A giddy feeling started to course through your body as you squeezed his hand. "You're in luck. I like you a lot too." 

Clark looked back at you, his lips split into a blinding grin, his dimples appearing, and you couldn't help but mirror his smile. You were practically turning into putty at the sight of his adoring grin.

Clark leaned in, and the sharp sting of ozone and the fading scent of his cologne emanated from him and filled your senses. The close proximity of Clark and his scent was almost dizzying—you barely knew your left from your right at this point, but you knew you wanted him closer. 

Clark used his free hand to gently cup your cheek, his eyes darting between your lips and your eyes. "You're so pretty." He muttered almost absentmindedly, like being this close to you, disengaged his filter, and was unable to resist telling you now that he was this close to you. 

And you were. The warm glow from the lamp behind you gave the illusion that there was a halo behind you. Your cheeks immediately flooded with heat at the sudden praise—you were torn between ducking away from Clark's adoring gaze and leaning into his palm. You did the latter, Clark's hand was warm, and you couldn't help but let it lead you closer to his face. 

"You're not so bad yourself." You murmured softly as the warm light washed over Clark's face, making his blue eyes even more intense as he stared down at you. 

Clark's nose scrunched at your words. "And here I thought you liked me." 

You chuckled, rolling your eyes in amusement. "I'm sorry, but have you seen Superman? He's gorgeous. A real God amongst men." You quipped playfully. 

Clark shook his head at you, clearly exasperated, but the smile on his lips said otherwise. "You're ridiculous, I thought you didn't like Superman?"  

"Opinions can change." You shrugged. "But considering that I know you and him are one in the same, he doesn't seem all that bad anymore." 

"Oh, so he's not a reckless hero with no spatial awareness when it comes to the destruction of the city?" Clark raised an eyebrow at you, amusement coloring his tone as he quoted a line from the one article you did write on Superman. 

"Well, if the shoe fits…" You trailed off, pursing your lips in mock thought. 

Clark scoffed. He thought for a second about how to retaliate verbally before a mischievous smirk grew on his lips. You barely caught it before you erupted into shocked giggles. 

"Take it back!" Clark laughed alongside you as he poked at your ribs and tickled your sides. You fell backward on your couch, trying to get away from his hands, but it was fruitless against the man of steel. 

"N-Never!" You exclaimed through your laughter, trying to curl in on yourself, but Clark wasn't having it. He managed to straddle you and doubled down on his actions. 

The room was being bathed in yours and Clark's laughter alongside the soft glow of the lamp and moonlight filtering through your curtains. The sounds of joy and love swirled around the two of you as you slowly forgot the exact circumstances that led the two of you together. 

"UNCLE! Uncle, uncle!" You gasped out desperately. Joyful tears wet your cheeks as your stomach began to cramp from the laughter. 

Clark stopped tickling you and let his hands rest on your waist. You looked up at him. He was slotted in between your open legs, hovering over you with a lingering smile playing on his pink lips. Clark's head was slowly ducking down, getting closer to yours. 

"You know," You started to murmur, eyes flipping between his lips and blue eyes, "Superman is great and all, but I like Clark a hell of a lot more." 

"That's good to know." He replied in a soft tone. Clark's forehead landed against yours, a sliver of space between the two of you. 

Clark let out a stuttering sigh. "Can I kiss you?" 

Instead of answering, you tilted your head up and pressed your lips against his. It felt like the world went quiet as soon as your lips connected with Clark's. A surge of warmth shot through your body as you sank into the cushions, as Clark's body blanketed yours. Your hands made their way into his dark curls as your lips moved against each other. 

You felt like you could stay in the bubble you and Clark had made for eternity. Trading soft kisses and caresses until you physically couldn't anymore. Every unspoken feeling and desire was poured into each kiss the two of you pressed against each other's lips, keeping them soft and tender until Clark pulled away—his hand caressing your cheek as he looked down at you adoringly. Affection was written all over his face as he smiled softly at you. 

"Be mine?" You asked quietly, looking into his slightly blown-out gaze. 

"You have me. You've had me for a long time." He admitted, reverence in his tone as his thumb moved against the apple of your cheek. 

Everything shifted into place after that night. Clark was the most thoughtful and attentive boyfriend you ever had. If you had trouble thinking about him all the time before, the problem (not that you consider it one) got a whole lot worse when you guys started dating. If you had a dime for every time you thought about it, you'd be rivaling Lex Luthor in terms of money.

Clark was just so endearing. He'd text you randomly throughout your day, even though he was no more than fifteen away from your desk at work. He'd send silly pictures that reminded Clark of you or what he thought you would like. You don't even know how many conversations you've screenshotted. But there were a lot more pictures of him in your camera roll than the screenshots. 

Sometimes, Clark would show up at your door with flowers because they reminded him of you before your movie nights. Or he would grab takeout for the both of you when you're working late on your article at home and has to practically feed you as you type furiously away at your laptop. And without fail, he texted you before and after he'd go on his Superman duties and more often than not, found refuge in your apartment after a battle.  

Things were going great for a few months, until your powers acted up while you were asleep again. 

You could hear the faint rush of traffic from a street enter your ears before your eyes opened. You were standing outside, on a terrace of sorts. You looked around and saw the city. The buildings looked familiar to you, but you couldn't quite place where you recognized them from.

The doors to the terrace opened, making you turn around. You saw a woman in a white dress with a sheer blue overlay draped over it holding a pencil and notepad, going to sit down at the table positioned right in front of the open doors. 

The woman was a little nervous, as you could see in her expression as she poured herself a glass of wine. But as she was taking a sip of the wine, you felt him before you saw him. 

"Good evening, Miss Lane." You turned around the same time she did. 

It was Superman. You were shocked to see a more vibrant and more form-fitting version of his suit.

You could barely wrap your head around this entire dream? But you knew deep down this wasn't one of your regular dreams. It was your power at work. And right now, you're seeing a version of Lois and Superman—you mean Clark interacting right now. 

This version of Clark didn't seem to notice you at all, staring directly at the version of Lois that was sitting down right next to you. She got up from her seat, clearly a little flustered and surprised that he dropped in so suddenly. 

Lois, in her very familiar Lois Lane fashion, started to interview Superman, and you could tell that there was tension between them. They were both flirting with each other as they flew through the questions, making something inside of your chest twist. It didn't make any sense to you. Why were you seeing this now? 

You stopped listening to their banter and questions as you started to spiral into your thoughts, only being broken out of your stupor when Clark grabbed the notepad and pencil out of her hands and led her to the more open spot of the terrace. Your vision blurred as they shot off to the sky—a flash of white blinding you. 

You shot up from the bed with a start, falling off the bed in your shock. Clark woke up from your sharp, but loud gasp as you fell. 

He got up from the bed and quickly made it to your side, flicking on the lamp to see your wide eyes. They were filled with confusion as they darted around the room. It was like seeing a cornered dog trying to find its way out of the situation they were in. 

Clark fell to his knees beside you, using a gentle hand to turn your face towards him. His gaze dropped to the nosebleed you were having. 

"Sweetheart, look at me." Clark softly commanded.

Clark's voice filtered through your ears, making your shoulders relax as your eyes finally met his. Your breathing was still labored as your mind tried to process the images you saw, feeling the brewing headache beginning to form. 

"Can you take some deep breaths for me?" Clark's voice was a soothing balm, and you nodded in response. 

You took deep breaths, exhaling shakily until your breathing became even. Clark's warm hands were on your face—grounding you even further until you calmed down. 

Clark's eyes were zeroed in on the drying blood on your face. Wordlessly, he picked you up from the floor and went into your ensuite bathroom. Sitting you on the counter, he picked up a spare washcloth, wet it with some warm water, and started to wipe off the blood from your nose. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He murmured quietly, breaking the silence that had settled in the bathroom. 

You sighed. "I think I projected." You said, inadvertently answering his question.

"You think?" Clark asked carefully. He finished cleaning your face and went to rinse the blood from the towel. 

"It was different this time. I thought it was a dream at first, but everything looked familiar but it wasn't the same. Not like here." You swallowed thickly. "I think I saw a different version of you." You admitted quietly. 

The neutral expression on Clark’s face fell. "How?" His forehead creased with confusion.

You shook your head. "I don't know. He had a similar suit to yours, but he looked different. Like completely different from you." 

Clark dropped the towel in the sink, grabbing your hands with his own as he saw yours start to shake. "Hey, we don't have to figure it out right now." He consoled as one of his hands cupped your cheek. "Let's go back to sleep," Clark suggested, tugging you off the counter. 

You followed him with no complaints. Your hazy mind would have gone more insane if you had thought about it for a second longer. Once you and Clark settled back into your bed and in his arms, you spoke up. 

"I'll have to call Dr. Parker in the morning." You whispered into his chest.

Clark kissed your forehead. "Sounds like a plan." He muttered into your skin before kissing your hairline—wrapping his arms around you a little tighter. 

You decided to take the day off and recover while you tried to wrap your head around what you saw last night. 

Clark went back to his apartment to get ready for work, but not before leaving you with a sweet kiss on the lips and a promise to give him an update after you call your specialist. 

You called Dr. Parker, and after exchanging some pleasantries, you explained what you saw the night before to them, in extreme detail (besides revealing the fact that Clark was Superman, for obvious reasons). 

They sighed into the receiver. "I was afraid this day would come." Their tone was grim. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean? Do you know what's happening to me?" 

Dr. Parker sighed. "After discovering that you could see into alternate dimensions, I figured that one day your ability would grow powerful enough to see into alternate realities." 

"H-how is that possible? I try not to use my powers at all when I can." You couldn't believe what you were hearing. 

Dr. Parker said your name in a soothing tone. "I've been tracking and studying your ability since we've met, and this was going to happen regardless if you used them or not." 

You felt like the rug was pulled from beneath your feet. You sat down on your couch. "What do you mean exactly when you say 'alternate realities'?" 

"I don't think that is some-" 

"Dr. Parker. I need to know." You pleaded as you cut them off, gripping the edge of the cushion you were sitting on and trying to ground yourself in the moment. 

They were silent for a moment. "To put it simply, you can see into the multiverse." 

You've vaguely heard about this theory before when interviewing scientists from Star Labs for an article you were writing on the expansion of Star Labs to Metropolis. 

"I thought the multiverse was a theory." You breathed out in disbelief. 

"I don't think we can discount the impossible here. You know the world that we live in." Dr. Parker said knowingly. 

If aliens and metahumans can exist naturally, who's to say scientific theories aren't actually true? 

You shook your head, blowing out a harsh breath through your mouth. You leaned back into your cushions. "Okay then, why didn't Superman sense me when I was on the terrace with him and that version of Lois? I mean, he should have, right?" 

Dr. Parker hummed in thought. "The only idea that I have is that the distances between the universe you saw and our own is far enough to where any metahuman's enhanced senses couldn't detect you."  

"Is there any way to prove that idea right?" You asked jokingly, but it sounded flat in your ears. 

"Not right now. It would take multiple years to just try and prove the theory outside of your powers." 

You sighed. "I figured. But thank you again Dr. Parker." 

"It's no problem, my dear. Please remember to call me if anything else like this happens. Preferably right after they do." 

You chuckled. "I'll try." 

The two of you exchanged goodbyes before you hung up. You stared at your phone blankly. You're only hoping that you don't project to any more universes right now or in the near future. 

Well, you were completely and utterly wrong. You thought that your projections into different universes would be different each time. You thought you would see various aspects or perspectives of what other universes would look like. While you did, you saw the same dynamic each and every time. 

It was always about Clark and Lois. 

If you thought the first time you saw them together was just a fluke. You'd be sorely incorrect. 

When you first came to the Daily Planet, you weren't blind. You saw the banter between Clark and Lois they had as they parried back and forth on article ideas or random topics you guys would talk about on your lunch break. You would try to ignore the sharp sting to your heart each time you saw them interact. 

You weren't even that mad at seeing them together���they meshed well together despite how different they were. You are admittedly envious of Lois Lane. You were a big fan of her work before you came to work at the Daily Planet, and once you got to know her, you could see anyone falling to their knees for her.

Lois was unabashed and unashamed about her pursuit of the truth, was incredibly smart, and quick with her wit. Yeah, she was a bit abrasive, but Lois had a confidence that you couldn't fake—it came naturally like breathing for her. 

Lois Lane seemed like everything you weren't and what you wanted to be. 

You tried to squash the growing crush you had on Clark. Hell, you even thought they were dating at one point and just keeping it a secret from the office until you went out with them one night, and Lois had brought the girl she was seeing to the bar you guys were at. 

Each time you closed your eyes, you saw a different version of Clark/Superman and Lois, and the seed of insecurity only flourished when you woke up. It gnawed at you endlessly. 

It was borderline cruel. Having to witness each iteration of Clark and Lois being together. Like they were destined for each other in each universe, and they were taunting you. You had wished that you had learned how to wake up in the middle of your projections, but once you were there, it was practically impossible to snap out of it. 

With each projection into a different universe where Lois and Clark were together, you started to retreat into yourself and slowly extracted yourself from Clark. 

It started off small.  

You'd reply to Clark's text messages that he sent hours after he sent them, being dry as you texted him, not stopping by his desk during your downtime at work, and giving him smiles that he could see through—but you knew that Clark would be too kind to say anything about it. 

You'd make up flimsy excuses to avoid spending time with him when he asked to come over or have date nights together. He let them slide, but you could tell he was worried about you and your attempts to blow him off. 

It got to the point where you stopped talking to him altogether, practically ghosting him in your texts and avoiding him at work. The only time you spoke to him was short and clipped one-word responses when Jimmy and Lois would pull you into discussions before getting back to work. 

Was acting this way rational at all? Absolutely not, but how else were you supposed to react when you were forced to see your boyfriend be with someone else in multiple different universes? And at the same time, you seemed to cease to exist in all of them.

Clark was rightfully frustrated and confused. He thought you guys were doing well and going steadily. He didn't like the 180 you did in attitude towards him when you seemed to act normal around everyone else. 

He tried to be patient with you, but you were icing him out of his life, and he wanted to know why. 

So, he pulled you into a storage closet at work one day when you were coming back from the bathroom. 

Clark quickly flipped on the light. "Why are you avoiding me?" He wasted no time and started to question you. 

You blinked up at him, a little confused and dazed from being abruptly pulled into a dusty storage closet. "Huh?" 

Clark, the usually patient guy you knew, looked anything but. "Please," He sighed out your name. "You're avoiding me. Was it something I did?" He asked quietly, almost folding in on himself, insecurity written in his icy blue irises. 

Your heart twisted as a lump grew in your throat. You never meant to make Clark feel this way. "No! No, not at all." You shook your head, trying to swallow down the persistent feeling in your throat. 

Clark looked down at you, waiting for you to continue. You met his gaze, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized how close you were to him. You hadn't been close to him in some time, and all you wanted was to lean into his warmth and cocoon yourself in it. Then the flashes of the other Clarks and Loises flashed into your brain, reminding you of why you were avoiding him in the first place. 

"I've just been focused on work." You said, looking away from him. 

Clark said your name in a low tone, like a warning. "Please, don't lie to me."  He sounded tired as he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

You looked at Clark, really looked at him. He seemed visibly defeated—his shoulders were sagging like he had stayed up all night and was dragging his feet in his exhausted stupor. His clothes were more rumpled and wrinkled than usual.

"I'm not." You were. "This article has been kicking my ass and the deadline is too close for me to think about anything else." 

"You could have asked for my help. You still can." Clark was practically pleading to try to spend time with you in any place he could. 

You shook your head. "I don't need it. I gotta go back to work, Clark, and so should you." You shut down the conversation and, faster than he could anticipate, you left the storage closet. 

Clark cursed under his breath and put his glasses back on. He rubbed at his forehead as he exited the closet. The one thing that bothered Clark the most was leaving important conversations unfinished.

He made his way back to his desk dejectedly and in a bad mood. Clark shot a glance your way to see you actively trying not to look over at him, typing aggressively at your desktop. 

You were staring hard at the Word document as you typed away at it. Your eyes were getting dry, and you realized you hadn't blinked in over five minutes, so you did. 

You opened your eyes, and suddenly, you were standing near your desk instead of sitting down. The time of day was no longer mid-afternoon, but it was morning. You looked around and noticed that everything was the same. So why the hell was it morning? Then you looked at your desk, which was adjacent to Lois's. 

Why the hell was it empty? 

You were completely oblivious to the conversation happening between your coworkers until Lois stood up and switched the channel on the surrounding TVs on the pillars. 

"Yeah, Superman did say that he thought that the hammer might be faking a Boravian accent." Clark said as he stared at the screen, leaning back in his chair. 

"Superman said that?" Lois asked skeptically. 

"Yeah, I interviewed him right afterwards. Great guy." He said with a slight shrug of his shoulders, his eyes never once straying from the screen. 

"You know, it's funny you keep getting all these interviews with Superman, Clark," Lois said, almost knowingly, but played it off as a question. 

"Huh, I don't think there's anything funny about good journalism Lois." Clark threw back at her, brushing off her question. 

"Uh huh." Lois stared at Clark for a brief moment before going back to her desk. 

You squinted at the interaction. The question of how Clark always managed to get an interview with Superman was a recurring conversation between Lois and Clark. But now there was an undercurrent of tension you picked up on. Before you could dwell on it even further, your vision blurred. The scene had changed, and you were suddenly following Lois back to her apartment. This hadn't happened before. Ever. 

It felt like something was tethered between you and Lois as your feet mindlessly followed her into her apartment. There was a clatter coming from her kitchen, making Lois alarmed. Lois reached through you and grabbed the bat situated near the door and inched closer to the kitchen. She relaxed when she saw who was in the kitchen. You looked over her shoulder and saw Clark. Your Clark. 

"What are you doing here?" Lois asked as she dropped the bat, but still had it in her grip. 

"3 months ago, we had our first date. And so to celebrate, I am making you your favorite. Breakfast for dinner." Clark said, moving around Lois's kitchen as if it were his own. 

"That's your favorite." Lois set the bat right next to the fridge. 

"You love breakfast." 

"Yeah, for breakfast. You love it for dinner." Lois said as she approached Clark.

He turned off the burner and faced Lois. Without any hesitation, Clark grabbed her by the waist, and Lois pulled into a passionate kiss. You crumpled to the ground, falling to your knees—your eyes never leaving the intertwined pair in front of you.

You could faintly hear someone calling your name, and you could feel a phantom hand on your shoulder, shaking it. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and with a flash of white, your eyes shot open. 

You were met with the ceiling of the Daily Planet, and you felt the cold temperature of linoleum seeping through your clothes. Clark's and Lois's worried faces hovered above you, making you blink hard at the sight of them, looking identical to the ones you saw kissing in an alternate universe that seemed to be exactly like the one you were in now. 

Their words were muffled in your ears, like you were underwater. They helped you up from the floor, but you immediately ripped your arms out of their grip, confusion flashing through their concerned expressions. 

You could feel the eyes of everyone in the bullpen as you tried to rein back in any dignity you had left in your body. A handkerchief entered your eyeline. You grabbed it, knowing that it was for the wetness you were feeling under your nose and down your chin, seeing that your own boss had given it to you, with an uncharacteristic soft look in his eyes. 

"You alright there kid?" Perry asked. 

You couldn't meet anyone's eyes as you wiped your face free of blood, staining the patterned fabric with it. "Yeah." You rasped out. "I just overworked myself, I guess." 

"Take the rest of the day off, and matter of fact, the rest of the week." Perry said, but you heard the worry underneath his stern tone. 

You nodded in response—it was only Wednesday. You could handle missing two days of work.  

"Get back to work!" Perry's voice boomed through the bullpen, making the crowd that surrounded you disperse, and the chatter around the office started back up again. 

You couldn't bear to look at either Clark or Lois as you left the Daily Planet, despite Clark's attempt to try to talk to you—but Perry yelled at him to work. You used the opening to leave the office as swiftly as you could. 

Later that night, you were lying in bed, just having gotten off a call with Dr. Parker. It made you feel marginally better, having an impromptu therapy session with a medical professional who was definitely not qualified for therapy—but it was good to get the images that were burned into your memory out of them. 

You heard a knock at your door, but you made no move to open it. You knew exactly who was at it. You immediately slowed down your breathing, and hopefully, your heart rate would follow in its footsteps, trying to mimic the fact that you were asleep. 

Clark called out your name softly, but you still heard him through the thin walls of your cheap one-bedroom apartment. "I don't know what you saw, and you probably don't want to see me right now, but I made some soup for you. I'll just leave it outside your door." Clark paused before he continued. 

"Just don't push me out anymore, please. You really scared me today sweetheart and I just want to know that you're okay." You heard Clark linger at the door until his footsteps could no longer be heard from your spot on your bed. 

You stayed still as you could as you took in his words. The lump in your throat was massive, and tears gathered in your eyes as his earnest and honest words hit you harder than you expected. You missed Clark. You missed him a lot. But seeing what you saw today solidified the fact that you and Clark weren't meant to be together. 

In any universe. 

Tears fell from your eyes at the thought. Clark and Lois are meant to be together—it has been proven to you time and time again.  Fuck, you hated your powers. It effectively ruined the one good thing you had going for you, and now you had to tear it down for the universe to right itself. 

Your weekend was spent wallowing in bed and trying to build up the courage to text Clark to come over to talk—and to break up with him, as much as you didn't want to. You were making a plan to transfer (escape) to Central City because you couldn't bear the thought of being in such close proximity to the love of your life when you weren't his. 

Can we talk? You sent the text to him on Sunday morning. 

Yeah, what time do you want me to come over? He responded instantly. 

Give me twenty minutes. You texted back, knowing Clark could be at your apartment within the blink of an eye, and you needed to get cleaned up and mentally prepare for the irreparable damage you were about to cause. 

You took the quickest shower ever, opting out of washing your hair and getting dressed in a new set of pajamas to wallow in after the conversation that was about to take place. Twenty minutes later, on the dot, you heard a knock on your door. 

You took a deep breath before answering it. Clark stood in front of you, an awkward smile on his face as he rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. 

"Hi." Clark greeted you with a kind smile. Oh, that smile is going to make you crumble and chicken out on your plan. 

"Hey Clark, come in." You gestured for him to come in. 

You closed the door and followed behind him into your living room. 

"How are you?" Clark asked you, albeit it came out a bit awkward as he fiddled with his glasses. 

"I've been doing fine. Haven't projected at all since Wednesday." You told him. 

He nodded, his eyes brightening at the news before they dimmed. Clark cleared his throat. "What was it about?" 

"What?" You were slightly taken aback by the blunt question. 

"What you saw while you projected. What did you see?" 

"I-why do you want to know?" You weren't at all comfortable telling him what you saw. 

"Because I know it had something to do with me and Lois." 

You cursed yourself out in your mind. Clark was perceptive when he wanted to be, and it was obvious that he noticed your reaction to both him and Lois earlier that week. You stayed silent, avoiding his eyes. 

Clark pressed his lips together, trying to quell the growing frustration. "Sweetheart, please, I just want you to talk to me." 

"I am." 

"You know that isn't what I meant. You've been so far away from me for a while now. I gave you your space, but a man can only take so much before he starts to feel unwanted." Clark stepped forward and tried to catch your gaze. "Please honey, talk to me." 

You let him pull your hands into his. You closed your eyes for a moment, relishing in his familiar touch since you've deprived yourself of it for so long. 

"I learned that I can see into the multiverse." You admitted. You had a written script in your mind, and now you were going off of it. Damn it, curse Clark and his addictive touch. 

Clark furrowed his brows. "Multiverse?" 

"I can see into alternate realities. Some look similar to ours, or completely different. And for the past month and half, I've seen god knows how many, but my powers have shown me the same thing every time." You looked down at your conjoined hands. 

"What did they show you?" Clark asked quietly. 

You gathered the courage to look him in the eye. "You. and Lois. Together." 

Clark's eyes went wide with surprise. You let his hands fall from yours as you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You let out a bitter chuckle at the lack of response he gave you.

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. But in each universe I saw, you and Lois were perfect together, the power couple of the century. You know what I saw on Wednesday? The universe I projected to was nearly identical to ours. I mean, that Clark looked exactly like you and everyone else here. But the only difference was that you two were together and I didn't exist at all." You spared him the details of what you saw, because you weren't keen on reliving it at all. 

Clark was speechless, but he managed to find his words. "Why didn't you tell me that this was happening?" He said, a hurt expression on his face. 

"Because I didn't want to bother you. I thought after the first one that it was a one-time thing." You shrugged off his concern. 

"You could never be a bother." He promised, bringing his hands to cup your cheeks, getting you to look at him. "You should have told me." 

"And what would you have done about them, Clark? If I can't stop this from happening, what makes you think you could have?" You lashed out, ripping his hands from your face. 

"Do you know how it feels to have the power to see through realities, to only be taunted by the fact that the man you love is meant to be with someone else? That there's proof that you don't exist in every universe, and you can't do anything about it. T-that you aren't good enough for your boyfriend because you've seen the evidence that he and Lois are destined for each other?!" You ranted, tears falling from your eyes as you expelled the frustration that had been brewing since you've been seeing different universes. 

"I don't care about the other universes!" Clark exclaimed, cutting you off before you could continue. 

You looked at him stunned. You've never heard him raise his voice in the two years that you've known him.

Clark stepped forward again and took your face in his hands once more, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "I don't care about the universes, because you're not in them." He repeated again softly. 

"I'm eternally grateful that you're in this one. I will always want you in this one. Not Lois. She doesn't know how I like my coffee in the morning, or how I always manage to lose my wallet, or how I'm addicted to having sweet sugary cereal in the morning, or how I get really cranky when I don't get enough sleep."

"She isn't the one I call sweetheart, honey, or any other ridiculous nickname I come up with. She isn't my personal ray of sunshine. Lois isn't the one that I trust with my whole being or who knows my greatest secret. That's reserved for the one that owns my heart. I don't care what you saw, because it isn't true. You and I are destined for each other in this universe." 

Clark's gaze was steady as he spoke, and his words were filled with sincerity and laced with love and passion, striking you hard in the heart and rattling around in your ribcage. 

"I hate how good you are with your words, Clark Kent." You said wetly, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love that you felt swell in your heart, but there was a smile on your face as you leaned into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Clark's chest vibrated with his chuckle, letting you sink into his figure as he pressed a kiss to your hairline, adjusting his grip, and wrapping his arms around your waist. The afternoon sun filtered through your curtains as the two of you stood wrapped around each other, the cracks in your relationship mending with each stream of sunlight that illuminated the two of you. 

You eventually pulled back, but stayed in his arms. One of Clark's hands left your waist and caressed your cheek. 

"I'll spend the rest of my days showing you that it's always going to be you. No matter what. I'll love you until the sun burns out." Clark promised, looking deep into your eyes. 

You couldn't help the loving smile that stretched on your face. "That sounds like an awfully long time. You sure you can put up with me for that long?" 

"Yeah, and even then some." Clark said with a smile on his face, his dimples making an appearance before he leaned down and pulled you into a kiss that sent a warmth from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. You couldn't help but smile into the kiss as you poured all the promises you'd make to each other for the future. 

Forever sounded nice when it was with Clark. 

[cloudyzeusy]

Your favourite resident superhero Clark Kent is in my bed getting his hole broken in by my strapon.

Everyone else assumes im his arm candy just there to look pretty and thats it and i grin just hearing that. Not only do i just enjoy the compliments but it makes Clark so embarrassed as soon as i bring up the fact that enjoys geetting his ass fucked as Superman.

Saying " For the strongest person on the planet these moans sound too whorish." It makes him flushed but by the way his cock leaks he knows it's the truth.

He can go out and fight aliens whenever he wants yet he can't resist me when i pull out my kryptonite strap which gets him weak in all the right places.

[softvalentines]

pairing: clark kent x reader cw: smut, implied afab reader, detailed cock description, size kink (girth, curve, heavy leaking), overstimulation (both reader + clark), possessiveness, breeding implications (clark cumming inside reader), messy cum play / excessive cum, mild cock worship, oral fixation (mentions), soft dom clark tendencies (whining, needy, desperate), praise kink (clark praising reader, reader overwhelmed by him), slight somnophilic undertones if interpreted (from exhaustion overstimulation context), implied emotional dependency (clark clinging, not wanting to stop)

you're thinking about clark’s dick again.

because how could you not? it’s almost a problem — the kind of thing that stays in the back of your mind during the day, lurking like a half-forgotten dream, like the heat off sun-baked asphalt or the feel of his calloused palm on your throat.

its slightly paler than the rest of him, with the faintest gradient of color that darkens where it matters most. the kind of cock you can tell stays heavy even soft, obscenely thick — thick enough that when you first dropped to your knees and wrapped your fingers around it, you couldn’t get your hand to fully meet around the base. one of those things you both half-laughed at the first time, though clark’s laugh was tight and frayed at the edges, like it physically hurt him to joke about something that made his stomach twist up so tight.

and it’s heavy, too — warm and weighty against your palm, a pretty flush already gathering at the tip before you even do anything, fat droplets of pre-beading and threatening to spill over at the barest touch. he leaks like it’s a biological malfunction, an embarrassing, syrupy need that never seems to stop, stringing from his tip to your wrist while he hisses through his teeth, murmuring soft, ruined apologies against the shell of your ear like he can’t help it.

there’s a curve to it, one you don’t always catch with your eyes — it isn’t obvious, isn’t obscene. but you feel it. god, you feel it. when he’s got you split open underneath him, when you’re writhing against the mattress and clenching around him so hard it makes him stutter his hips, you feel that gentle bend pressing into the most sensitive part of you, scraping maddeningly slow along your walls until yourwhole body’s tensing like a live wire. mind-numbing is a generous word for it. it’s more like being torn in half and reassembled around him.

and the thing about clark is, he overstimulates himself as bad as he does you. you’ll be beneath him, pinned under the impossible press of his weight, those big hands splayed possessively on your hips or tangled tight in your hair, and he’s whining through every thrust. panting ragged against your skin, muttering broken things like 'so good, so tight, can’t—fuck, can’t stop', because even when his cock’s visibly twitching, so sensitive it’s driving him stupid, he won’t pull out. won’t slow down. he wants to fill you, wants to stuff you so full of his thick, heavy release that it’s leaking out around him while he keeps going. and it’s so much. an actual, shameful amount.

by the time he cums, it’s never one neat pulse — it’s messy, viscous, endless. you swear you can feel it flooding you deeper, warmer than it should be, spilling out before he’s even finished. and clark’s never quiet about it, either. no, he’s desperate. one hand cradling the back of your head while he whimpers against your throat, hips jerking in tiny, needy thrusts as if he can’t bear the emptiness the second you’re not milking every drop from him.

and omfg, his happy trail. keeps it trimmed, neat, because even though he could let it go wild, he’s always a little shy about looking too unkempt, the boy from smallville still somewhere under the god-tier frame. but it’s there, that soft dusting of dark hair starting just under his navel, trailing down to where it thickens at the base of his cock, and you swear every time you catch sight of it, you get a little lightheaded. and yet here he is, flushed and wrecked, reduced to a whining mess in your hands, drenching your insides and clinging to you like you’re the only tether he’s got left on this earth.

and every time, you promise yourself it’ll just be a memory. that you won’t think about it next time you’re out together, next time he wraps an arm around your waist too casually or calls you ‘darlin’ in that low, honeyed voice. and yet here you are, thinking about clark’s dick. again.

[musingsofheaven]

ALL MAKES SENSE

summary: The obsession of other interns had with him never made sense. Not until one night… drinks turned into something more. It’s so good that it makes all those promises to never be one of the girls giggling over Clark Kent feel ridiculous. But now it makes sense. God, now it does.

pairings: intern!clark kent x afab intern!reader

warnings: 3.5k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. intoxicated sex. (light) praise kink. size difference kink (light). internal ejaculation. clothed sex. cockwarming (implied). biting / marking. read responsibly.

note: i said i wasn’t gonna write bc i have too many wips and drafts piling up… haha god help me. but i literally couldn’t resist him. this was just a quick write. hope u guys enjoy it <3

You don’t get it, at first. The way the other interns practically light up when he walks in. They act like he’s the most handsome inside the building. Sure, maybe he is. But you hate the way they clutch their iced coffees, and giggle when he holds the door open with that shy, lopsided smile. It looks like they’re desperate for it. Or maybe you are just bitter. Or maybe you are trying to find red flags in him. Don’t also forget that when someone calls him “cute” and they think he can’t hear. But you think he does and just acts innocent and oblivious which made you shrug and roll your eyes every time that happens. Ignore, ignore, and ignore before going back to your drink and to scrolling on your phone. Because, yeah, he’s handsome, tall, shoulders a little too broad for the cheap shirts he wears, but he’s also corny as hell. Makes those terrible little jokes that hang in the air like a bad pun smell. And you notice how he glances around like he’s waiting for someone to laugh, and scratches the back of his neck when no one does. But that rarely happens because the girls always laugh at his jokes like they can let it pass since he’s handsome, cute, kind, tall, smart, and- whatever.

You don’t get it, because you’ve seen him spill coffee down the front of his shirt. The cheap button-down soaked with a stain he tries to clean it with crumpled napkins while his cheeks flushed pink like he’s waiting for the floor to swallow him up. You feel a little bad for him though especially when his glasses keep slipping down his nose as he leans over the counter before muttering under his breath, “It’s fine, happens all the time,” and just laughs it off but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You’ve watched him tug the fabric away from his chest before shaking it out a little and his hair falling across his forehead in that messy, boyish way, like he’s fighting a losing battle against the universe before it’s even eight in the morning. Okay, maybe that’s cute.

You don’t get it, until one Friday when everyone goes out for drinks. You don’t want to come but your office friend won’t take no for an answer so you just agreed to go to the cheap dive a block away with sticky floors and neon lights buzzing in the corner. You end up sitting next to him, not on purpose. It’s just the last open seat, and he offers to buy you a drink because he’s nice like that. Of course, it’s hard to deny free drinks especially after when you heard him blurt out something stupid about the weather. You find yourself laughing, actually laughing, and he looks at you like you’ve given him something he’s been waiting for all week.

You don’t get it, until you’re tipsy, and cheeks warm. Until you’re leaning into the space between you and closing the distance. Until he’s looking at you with those soft eyes, lashes so stupidly long, and asking if you want to keep talking somewhere quieter. You say yes, before you can think too hard about it because he managed to work his charms on you. Let's bring you to his place and let him hold the door open for you one more time, let him smile at you like you’re the only person in the world.

You don’t get it, until you do because because now you’re here. You’re on his couch with your knees pulled up and shoes off. You don’t even know where you left them because you’re tipsy enough that your limbs feel warm and slow but not enough to forget the way he looked at you while he keeps talking and listens when you respond to him. His apartment is enough, it looks domestic and it’s very Clark.

He’s sitting across from you, elbow hooked over the back of the couch. His shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms that showing the muscles that had been hiding underneath fabric, glasses still on, and hair messy from running a hand through it too many times tonight. He’s talking about something he couldn’t forget. It’s a story about how he once missed a bus because he stopped to help an elderly woman to find her lost pet. You just stare at him when he’s talking and how he shakes his head before laughing at himself like it’s something to be embarrassed about. Like he overthinks you might think he’s stupid for it. You don’t. It’s kind. It’s heartwarming to hear. You don’t think what he did is stupid.

Eyes remain looking at you while he talks. Not just… performative. He’s really looking, eyes bright, leaning forward when he says your name. Like he can’t help it. Like he needs to see how you’ll react. Like it, he enjoys how it rolls off his tongue. You think about all the times you rolled your eyes when the other interns giggled over him. The times you swore you’d never be that person. Now? You feel it, something small and warm in your chest, and something you don’t want to name yet.

But it blooms in your system as your head falls back against the couch. You laugh and tell him he’s such a dork and stupid. You don’t mean it in an insulting way, but more on like just teasing him and you are glad he just smiles. It’s wide and a little crooked. It’s obvious he’s hiding how your words made him smile like that. Everything feels so good right now, there’s even a music playing from his phone speaker. You wonder what his playlists look like because what’s playing right now is soothing and calm. It makes the room feel better and softer. Your legs and his are almost touching. You don’t even notice how the space feels smaller from the moment you sit there earlier.

And he goes quiet for a moment after talking continuously ever since you entered his place. His eyes try not to stare at you when he also tries to memorize this moment. The way your mouth smirks when you tease him about his jokes. The way you look at him when you feel yourself getting more into the conversation. His mouth opened like he was going to ask you something but he just shut it because nothing came out. So he just swallows and your eyes watch how his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t know it but you also notice how his hands twitch on his knee like he’s thinking about something.

You know what he wants to ask. It’s not hard to guess what it is. You are also not dumb not to see it. It’s already written across his face. He thinks he’s slick when he keeps flickering to look at your lips. Going back to look up at your eyes and back down to your lips. You know he’s the kind of guy who won’t just do something unless you tell him to do it or you will just have to initiate it.

So you initiate it. You lean in and close the distance between the two of you. Your hand latches to his cheek with your thumb caressing the shape and sharpness of his jaw before you kiss him. It’s soft and you can taste the cheap beer you both drank earlier. You could feel the warmth of his mouth and it’s something you’ve been trying to hate and deny since the first moment you saw him smiling and waving his hand at you.

Now you get it. You get it because he’s been gentle from the kiss to this moment. He’s soft and touching you like glass, letting you take what you want while still holding you steady. He keeps you close with those big, and warm hands like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go. His hands are warm and firm, but not hurting you. It’s just enough to feel he’s here.

Your blouse is open and hanging off your shoulders. Bra pushed down so your tits are out as your nipples brush against the fabric as you move. He was so gentle when he opened you up, even though it’s not really completely naked, but that’s all what he could manage with the impatience he had to be inside you. His shirt is open too, same as you with how his buttons are undone, sleeves rolled, and exposing the slope of his chest. You can also see the way his stomach flexes every time you roll your hips down on him. You’re still wearing your skirt. It’s just bunched up around your waist, and his pants are still on, pulled down just enough so he can free his cock, thick and flushed where it’s buried inside your cunt. His size really stretched you open with every slow, needy rock of your hips.

Hands rest on his shoulders while nails dig in the fabric while you find the right pace and angle for the both of you. Each drag of your hips earns a slicked sound from your pussy and you swear he groans every time it gets so loud and it makes him drag you down deeper to take the whole of him. There’s the friction sending electricity through your every time the tip of his cock presses and kissing against the spot inside you that makes your lips taste like metal from biting it just to keep yourself from being so loud.

“Fuck- baby-” he breathes out. His voice is low and desperate. It sounds so fucking pretty falling from his lips. You love the way he sounds. The way it stutters and the way he’s vocal about it. His hands grip your hips, not forcing you, but guiding you. Soft thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he helps you lift up and sink back down. Helps you ride him like you’ve both been craving this since the first moment you kissed. He helps you because that’s what he always does. Be there for people and be soft to them. The difference is that what he’s doing right now is not because of some service or act of kindness, he’s doing it because he wants you to enjoy it.

Chest brushes against his with sweat sticking to skin both of your skins and you can feel the way his breath stutters when your nipples graze across his when you lean in closer. Forehead pressing to his, and noses bumping before your lips brush against just but not quite kissing. “Clark-” you whisper just to see how he reacts. It’s so hot when he moans after you say his name. It’s soft and broken that makes your pussy clench around him and makes him jerk up into you without meaning to. His cock is twitching inside your cunt as he tries to hold back.

“God, you feel- you feel so good,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut, lashes dark and damp against his cheeks. “So fucking tight around me, goddamn-” Hips just rocking and bouncing down harder when you hear his words, it’s like a compliment hearing that so you grind against him. Your movements made his mouth fall open before a ragged sound snatched out of his throat. His head tips back against the backrest of the couch and the sight below you is so hot. Him being pussy whipped, hands on your sides, and the way his cock disappears when you sink your body into him.

Your hands slide up into his hair to tug lightly, and his eyes snap open. It’s glassy and blown wide, looking up at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. His hands flex on your hips, and you feel it when he bucks up into you, the angle hitting that spot that makes you gasp, makes your thighs tremble around him. “Please- fuck, please, baby,” he mumbles, not even sure what he’s asking for, but you understand. You feel it too. The desperation. The heat builds between your bodies. The wet slap of your pussy taking him over and over as you ride him slow and deep. Letting him fill you up. Letting him feel how warm and wet you are around his cock.

And you don’t want to come yet. There’s something in you that doesn't want this to stop. Something that wants to stay here at this moment. You don’t know if that’s the sex making you feel that way but you think he wants that too. Especially with the way he twitches when your pussy clenches around you. The way he moans when you wrap your hands around his hair to tug it. How he gets closer to make sure your body pressed so close when the sweat drips down to your chest. Breath mingling as you fuck yourself down on him, slow and steady, over and over. You want to remember how it feels when his hands slide up your back. How does it feel when he’s holding you tighter. When he whimpers against your mouth before kissing you like he can’t help it. How his tongue slides against yours. How he swallows your moans as you move together.

Now you get it. Now you get why everyone looks at him like that. Because right now you’re looking at him like this. Like you are asking him why you don’t want to stop. But you already know the answer. You don’t want to. Not when it feels so good. Not when he’s hitting it so deep. Not when it’s so thick inside your pussy. It drags against your walls with every slow, desperate grind of your hips, and every bounce that has your thighs shaking. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in, wet and hot with slick dripping down onto his pelvis where your bodies meet.

He’s still wearing his glasses. God, he’s still wearing his fucking glasses, and you don’t know why it makes you moan, but it does. Something about how they’re slightly crooked on his nose, how they fog up when his breath stutters, how they press cold against your neck when he leans forward and kisses you there, mouth hot and open, tongue dragging over your skin before he bites down softly. “Clark,” you gasp. Nails raking down his chest, over the open edges of his shirt, as you try to ground yourself, try to hold on when his hips jerk up into you. It hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back, makes your cunt clench around him, and makes him let out a low, broken groan against your throat.

“Fuck, you feel- you feel so good, can’t- can’t believe how good you feel,” he babbles. His voice was wrecked. Kissing up your neck, sucking a mark just under your jaw before pulling back to look at you. His eyes are glassy behind those fogged lenses, lips pink and swollen. You whimper while your hips stutter. Your pussy tightens around him when you see how he looks at you, like he’s falling apart, like you’re the only thing keeping him together. “Take them off,” you whisper. Fingers sliding up, hooking around the arms of his glasses, pushing them off his face as he blinks up at you. His pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any blue left.

You toss them to the side, somewhere on the couch, and cradle his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “There,” you breathe, “wanted to see you.” He moans a soft, choked sound. Hands gripping your hips tighter, and guiding you down onto his cock. Helping you grind deeper, slower, rolling his hips up to meet you. The wet sounds of your pussy swallowing him fill the room, until the head of his cock drags right against your cervix, over and over, until you can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your mouth.

You’re so close you almost can taste it. Heat feels so tight in your belly. Legs trembling and shiver shooting down your spine with every thrust, every grind, every time his cock hits that spot that makes your vision blur. That makes your body shake above him. Your thighs are burning. Your breath is coming out in broken moans. Your forehead pressed to his, sweat dripping down your temple as you keep moving, chasing the edge, chasing that high, and wanting to come so badly it hurts.

“Please- fuck, please,” he gasps, and you don’t even know what he’s begging for, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re begging too, whimpering against his lips, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop-” And he won’t. He won’t stop because he lets you control everything tonight. He won’t let you fall off his lap. He won’t let you slip away. He just won’t, not when your pussy is tighter than anyone he fucked before, not when your pussy is squeezing and sucking him so tight. He’s going crazy under you and his hips are thrusting up into you. His hands pull you more down before guiding you up.

You’re right there, right on the edge. Your teeth can feel your orgasm already high and it feels like it’s going to break you both. Body shaking, nails scratching his visible skin while your pussy gushes down in his cock. Doesn’t care even if both of you are soaking the fabric of your skirt and his pants which are pulled down to around his thighs. It makes everything so messy. Skin slapping and wetness fill the room. So fucking perfect.

Now you get it. You get it when it happens- when it finally happens- when the pressure building between your hips snaps, when the pleasure spills over, hot and blinding. Tearing a sob from your throat as your cunt clenches down around his cock, so tight and wet that his breath catches, that his eyes roll back as he moans your name like a prayer. You get it when you see the way he looks at you while you fall apart, the way his hands grip your hips so hard it borders on bruising. He’s pulling you down onto him, grinding you against him as he fucks up into you, chasing your high, helping you ride it out, helping you take everything you need.

“Fuck, Clark- shit, I’m coming-” you gasp, your head falling back, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding the fabric of his open shirt, finding the soft hair on his chest, clutching it as your body shudders, as your thighs clamp around his waist, as your pussy milks his cock in desperate, pulsing waves. “God- baby, I-” he stutters, his hips jerking up, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw going slack as he feels you coming around him, as he feels how wet you are, how warm you are, how perfect you are like this, taking him, taking all of him.

“Want you to come,” you whimper, leaning forward, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing against his as you breathe him in, as you move your hips in slow, rolling circles that make your overstimulated pussy spasm around him, that make him choke on a groan. “Want you to come inside me, please-” That’s what breaks him.

Mouth finds its way to yours and he starts swallowing the sounds you are making. Kissing you hard that it became messy with both of your teeth grinding together and tongues sliding while his hips stutter because his cock twitches inside your wet cunt. And then he spills and cum inside of you with a guttural and desperate moan that you feel vibrates against your lips.

You love the feeling of the warm cum that released and flooded deep inside your pussy and you absolutely love that he keeps thrusting to stuff it more inside. He’s fucking you through it. He chases every wave of pressure and drags out your orgasm until it’s almost too much. Until you’re shaking in his lap, and whimpering into his mouth with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.

You’re so full and pussy is so wet because of his cum leaking out around his cock. It drips down to his pelvis and stomach which makes everything so slick and messy. It feels sticky and the sight is obscene. The room is filled with mixed sounds from both of your breaths, the wet and slick slide of your bodies, and the soft and broken whimpers the two of you let out when you slowly come down from the high.

And you just stay in the same place with your forehead resting against his and your lips brushing against his at the same time. Chests heaving when you try to catch your breath and you feel the aftershocks from the orgasm still pulsing through your pussy. You feel it still fluttering and clenching around his softening cock inside you.

Now you get it. You get why he’s worth the giggles, the stares, the soft smiles in hallways, the stupid little crushes. Because he’s gentle. Because he’s kind. Because he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, even now, when you’re messy and fucked-out in his lap, your skirt bunched around your waist, his cum dripping out of your cunt, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin, your mouth swollen from kissing him too hard.

You get it.

⠀⠀⠀

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

⠀⠀⠀

[the-archxr]

CARNALITY

CLARK KENT X AFAB!READER

SUMMARY: you have an itch that you can’t scratch—an itch so severe, that only your boyfriend is capable of handling it. in other words: you’re ovulating and all you want is clark.

CONTENT: 18+, mdni!! this shit is pure porn (but it's still romantic, okay?). established relationship; piv; oral (fem!receiving); (mentioned) masturbation; ovulation/breeding kink; hella fucking; size kink, ofc (clark is big, but we all knew that); creampie; overstimulation - reader just wants to be dicked down and clark is happy to help

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

NOTES: if you couldn’t tell, I wrote this while I was ovulating.

•

You tried to resist the urge to jump Clark’s bones the second he got home.

Really, you did.

It looked like he had a long day. All drowsy and sleepy-eyed from the moment he opened the front door. Even the first few buttons of his shirt had been undone; tie and suit jacket uncharacteristically draped over the crook of his arm.

You knew he was exhausted.

Because of that, you told yourself that you shouldn’t ask him to fuck your brains out.

It just wouldn’t have been fair. Clark needed rest. He needed you to coax him into the shower, to massage his tender muscles afterward, pull him into your lap and fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

And that was okay. You could wait.

Sure, you would’ve been incredibly pent up, and probably would’ve had to tuck the comforter between your legs for some relief, but you could wait.

You were willing to wait.

But then Clark—the love of your love; your sweet, doting Clark—just had to go and be himself.

Of course, he had to look at you like that—all lovestruck and practically melting on the spot. Of course, he greeted you with a kiss—dreamy and ardent, using every ounce of energy he had left. Of course, he just had to groan a hearty, “missed you” into your mouth. And then, to make matters worse, Clark decided to ask, rather innocently, what you had been up to all day.

By that point, your resolve had completely crumbled, and you ended up telling him everything.

You mentioned the 7am cycle tracker notification. You told him that you tried to get yourself off so many times, you’re pretty sure you killed your vibrator. And you even confessed how unsatisfied you still were. You just couldn’t stop talking—couldn’t stop saying his name; couldn’t stop telling him you missed him too; couldn’t stop whining about how badly you needed him.

After that, things were a bit of blur.

One minute you were kissing him in the hall, and the next, you were writhing on the dining room table while he mercilessly ate you out.

He had already pulled one orgasm out of you—a consequence of your hyper-sensitivity. It was so abrupt, you didn’t even realize what happened until you felt the tension building all over again.

“Oh—shit, Clark.” A particular flick of his tongue had you gasping and carding your fingers through his curls. “Fuck. That’s—oh, that’s…” Another purposeful flick, another broken moan.

“I know, honey,” Clark coos. “Try to relax. You deserve this.”

You almost laughed at his words.

He was the one who deserved to feel good. He should’ve been receiving toe-curling head, not you. But that was just your boyfriend: selfless, chivalrous.

Clark smiles into your folds, making random noises that force your thighs to clamp around his head.

You reason then, that it’s truly incredible how much you lucked out with him.

“It seems like you’re doing more thinking than relaxing, honey.” When your eyes meet Clark’s, you nearly come on the spot.

The man has stopped lapping at you, but his face still hovers closely to your cunt—skin flushed a pretty pink; lips swollen and glistening. Impressively broad shoulders cage you in, keeping you all to himself and away from the prying eyes of the world. It looks like he’s guarding a meal.

It’s a rather dangerous sight, honestly.

“…Can’t help it,” is all you manage to say.

He nods, playfully. “Mind sharing, pretty girl?”

You pause. He waits. “...I just…get caught up with the thought of you, I guess.” That blinding smile of his starts to appear. Shy eyes flicker between your face and the mess between your legs.

“You and me both. I’m always thinking about you. It drives me freaking crazy.” You laugh at his use of ‘freaking’, and Clark smiles, a little mesmerized, because of it. “Gosh, you’re so beautiful.”

The words are intensely affectionate. So much so, you have no other choice but to look away.

Clark starts smoothing his hands over your hips, toying with the flesh as if amusing himself. “Now, please relax, and let me get back to what I was doing. You needed me today, and I wasn’t here—I gotta make it up to you, baby.”

You want to remind him there’s nothing to make up. Not really, anyway. But with the way his icy blue eyes bore into yours—pleading and craving—you think it’d be downright evil of you to refuse.

Clark doesn’t waste any time once you give the go-ahead.

He mouths and sucks at your clit, over and over, continuing the ministrations until the straining knot in your stomach threatens to snap. “Clark...”

“You’re okay, baby. I got you. I got you.”

It’s the feeling of his flattened tongue at your entrance that has you letting go.

Clark guides you through the murkiness of your release. He maps out your sensitivities in ways only he can as you shudder and sigh. He’s the one you trust most—with anything and everything.

You even trust him to know that you still need more. That you still need more of his mouth, his chest, his hands, and that goddamn weapon currently straining in his pants.

When you’re ready, Clark helps you meet him at the edge of the table. He discards of your shirt, and patiently waits for you to undress him.

It’s an indulgence for the both of you.

Ever since the start of your relationship, you’ve been enamoured with taking his clothes off. Most of the time, you take it slow and you tease him. But not tonight.

Tonight, it only takes a few seconds for his clothes to join yours on the floor.

Mouth reaching for his, you tug at his upper lip and explore your own taste on his tongue. A quiet noise akin to a huffed whimper escapes him. “Want you, Clark. Need you so fucking bad.”

You’re nuzzling his neck now, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. Rough hands forcefully inch down your back, drawing you closer. Your head spins from how heavy he is between your legs. Heavy and delightfully warm.

“Clark, please,” you whine.

He’s fallen into a pattern of marking your chest. A nip to your chin, a kiss to the curve of your breast, a bruise sucked into the junction of your shoulder. “Just wanna take care of you. Please, baby, let—agh—” He nearly chokes when you begin to stroke him.

For a man—Metropolis’ most beloved hero—who was supposed to be stronger than anything, he was so incredibly sensitive, so wondrously fragile at your touch. It drives you crazy, knowing you’re the only one who gets to see Superman like this.

“Don’t. Umph. Stop. Stop. Wanna—wanna c-come in you.”

You bite back a devilish grin. “Sorry, did you say don’t stop?”

He moans your name in gentle warning.

Eventually, you let him go—but only when his tip is a blushing red and he starts rutting into your palm.

Eyes locked on each other, you lie back down and wriggle your hips against his.

The ridge of his brow is set with a new sense of determination as he lines himself up with your weepy hole.

The stretch that comes after is obscene.

It pries a silent scream from you. Has your back violently arching to better accommodate the too-big cock bullying through your walls.

A hoarse cry breaks free from your throat, and Clark is on you in an instant. “I know, I know. ‘M sorry. So, so sorry.” His hands grab yours and lace your fingers together before easing them back down to the table. “You gotta breathe, baby, remember? Have to breathe for me.” You nod helplessly, eyes screwed shut as you try to do just that.

By the time Clark bottoms out, your third orgasm is well on its way.

As you adjust to the full sensation, Clark moves your hips in a way that allows him to sit comfortably in you. “Just—ah—tell me whe-en.”

Clark starts off slow when you assure him you’re ready. It’s his go-to: shallow thrusts that test the waters of your tolerance. Only when the sound of your whimpering grows louder does he finally pick up the pace.

He grunts through gritted teeth, swallowing a sharp breath each time your hips meet. “Can—agh—can f-feel you.”

“Wha-what?” You almost can’t hear your voice over the sound of slapping skin.

You even almost miss Clark’s response. “You’re warmer. Wetter. I feel it.”

It takes a bit to catch up to what he’s saying, but you think he’s talking about your cycle. In that, he can feel, maybe even see, the inner-body workings of your ovulation.

With a slipping grip, Clark repositions your lower body—one arm hooking both of your legs over his left shoulder while his hips keep time. You can tell he’s close—muscles in his arms stiff, cock throbbing deep inside you.

The echo of your name is enunciated with a single powerful thrust. It hits you deep, eliciting a rather strangled sound.

“Shit, Clark, m’close,” you warn with a squeak. “Wanna come, Clark. Fuck, I’m gonna—”

His gaze flashes up to your face. “Me too. So, so close, baby. Just—just hang on.” He comes once he’s fully sheathed within you; your own release following suit a few moments after.

The warmth that pools in your lower belly has you grinding your hips and smiling all stupid. But even as you come down, your hips keep rolling: lazy movements that don’t really amount to much, but are enough to tell Clark you’re not done.

The man mouths at your thigh tenderly. “You sure? ...You seem tired, sweetheart. We can take a break—“

“No.” You surprise yourself with your own harshness. “I can take it. Please, Clark.” He visibly gulps. “Need you to fill me up. Please, please, I want you. Want more—”

The speed at which you’re lifted is startling.

Your limbs desperately flail to wrap around him, despite knowing he’d never drop you. The ground below passes by as Clark navigates furniture and the overall layout of your shared apartment.

Suddenly, you’re placed against a wall, held up only by sheer strength of his arousal. It’s an action that sets a match to something raw and exciting deep within the space of your ribs.

Appreciative and giddy, you kiss the tip of Clark’s nose. “I love you,” you say quite loudly. Boldly.

The man in question glides his lips along your pulse point. “Think I love you a little more, sweetheart.”

“…Gonna prove it?”

You don’t even have to ask.

With the remnants of your slick and his seed, Clark shoves into you with one thrust. Ankles crossed around his back, hands white-knuckling the thick cords of his shoulders, you brace yourself.

The pace he settles on—a combination of fucking into you, and pulling your hips down to fuck him—is absolutely filthy. Pornographic, even.

One particular rut has you screaming; neck craning backward in a way that honestly should be inhumane. Clark at least has half a mind left to put a hand behind your head so you don’t get hurt. You would thank him, but you’re still focused on the sounds he’s ripping from you.

“I’m sorry, so—you just feel too—feel so amazing, baby. Taking me so well,” he grunts. “Pretty sure you were made for me.”

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you lift his face to meet yours; to look him in the eye as you both fall—exactly how he likes it.

“Making me feel so good, Clark,” you cry. “So, so, so good.” Another growl that sounds a lot like your name fills the space.

Clark’s hips start to stutter, likely from the feeling of you clenching down hard onto him. It’s all too much, so much, and yet not enough. You make a point of clenching again.

“Stop that,” he begs. “I-I, shit—fuck, baby, I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.”

You can’t help the smile that stretches across your face. It’s a direct reflection of your ego—a smile only reserved for him. The kind that seems to come out once in a blue moon when you manage to get Clark Kent to swear.

Your hips feel like they’re on fire. Sore, and nearly satiated. And Clark’s rock hard, but he’s close. So close. His thrusts are frenzied, and less precise, but still brutal.

At this point, you’re clawing at him, desperate to ground yourself as each slam of his hips brings you closer and closer to that edge.

“You take such good care of me. Agh—fu-fucking me so good.” You swallow hard over nothing. “You gonna come for me, Clark? Shit, ple-please come for me. Fucking—oh my god, I’m coming. I’mcomingI’m—” The crashing feeling that spreads out from your lower back makes your vision cloudy and leaves you a twitching, hiccuping mess.

With a loud groan, Clark spills into you: thick and gooey and molten—the kind of fullness that makes you think you’re walls will be permanently coated.

His hips come to a lazy stop, somewhere between him mumbling something about “doing so good” and you nearly passing out then and there.

“Are you okay?” You let out a contented hum.

“...A warm bath sounds kind of awesome right now, don’t you think?”

Clark gives you a dopey smile, and presses his forehead to yours. “Whatever you want.”

[pittsick]

── PINNED AND PRETTY.

summary: Clark may be the most powerful man alive, but when he comes home to you—bruised and breathless—he’s yours to command. all you have to do is take your time breaking him open, until he is whimpering, begging, and coming on cue.

pairing: clark kent x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. submissive clark. soft dom reader, finger sucking, gentle hair pulling, praise, begging, teasing, handjob, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, cowgirl position, messy coming, filthy talk, whimpering, moaning. slow-burn with heavy emotional context. uncanon description of his suit. requested.

taglist: @plaidcowboy @prismozo @lcvgty-4929 @kissmxcheek ( to be added )

Clark stumbles through the front door just before midnight, suit torn at the shoulder and heat still radiating off his body like he's spent the last few hours flying through the sun.

Which, in fairness, isn’t far off.

He exhales hard, head hanging, and drops a teared-up piece of his cape to the floor without thinking. You’re still up, waiting—legs curled under you on the couch, one lamp on, book forgotten in your lap. He sees you and lets out a breath like he’s finally landed somewhere safe.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice frayed and low.

You rise to meet him, and his eyes follow you like a man starved. Broad shoulders slump the moment you reach for him. His body folds into yours easily, arms circling your waist, head bowed, lips pressing into your neck.

“Hard night?” you whisper, stroking his hair. He nods once, almost whining into your hair at the feeling of your hand in his curls. “Couldn’t save everyone.”

You press your lips to his temple. “You saved who you could.”

“I just wanted to come home.”

“You’re home now.”

There’s a beat of silence, his breath warm on your collarbone. You card your fingers through his hair, coaxing. He’s heavy against you, nearly trembling with tension he won’t speak aloud. You guide him back by the hand, and he follows without resistance, letting you lead him into the bedroom like he belongs on a leash.

He does, in a way—yours. Entirely.

He lets you strip him slowly, standing in the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, quiet and compliant. His suit comes off in pieces, scorched in places, damp with sweat and smoke. You unclip the utility belt at his waist, unpeel the fabric from his hips, every layer leaving him more open to the quiet in your hands.

“Sit on the bed,” you murmur.

He obeys instantly, eyes wide and glassy. His thighs spread slightly without thinking, so you can get closer. You kneel before him and run your palms up the solid length of his legs. His whole body is humming—tired but reactive, sore but desperate for your touch.

“I want to take care of you,” you whisper.

His voice breaks on the inhale. “Please?”

You kiss his knee, then his thigh, just above the sharp dip of muscle. “You did so well tonight, baby.” A sound escapes him—small and high, something caught between a sigh and a whimper. “You were strong. You were brave. Now you get to be mine.”

He shudders at that. His fingers twist into the sheets. “Yes, I am.”

You crawl up his lap slowly, letting your body press into his. When your face meets his, you tilt your head and kiss him deep—no rush, no demand, just a long, deliberate melt of mouths. He gasps against you. His lips part for yours, and you pull his bottom lip between your teeth gently before kissing him again, messier now, wetter, your hand cradling his jaw to guide him.

His hips twitch under you. “Touch me?” he breathes.

You smile softly. “I am.”

“No, I—” He shakes his head, already flushed. “Please. Need your hands. I can’t—”

“You can.” You pet his hair, tucking curls behind his ears. “You can do exactly what I say. That’s all you have to do tonight.”

He lets out a shaky moan. “Good boy,” you murmur, letting your nails trail lightly down his throat. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” he whispers, voice thick and cracked. “I’ll do anything. Please?”

You drag two fingers along his lips. “Then open.”

He does, instantly—mouth wide and obedient, lashes fluttering as you press your fingers to his tongue. He closes his lips around them and sucks greedily, hollowing his cheeks. You swear you feel your pulse in your spine watching him.

He whines quietly as you push in deeper. His hands stay clenched at his sides like he’s desperate to touch you but won’t unless told. You let him suck and moan on your fingers, watching the way his eyes glaze over, wet lashes and flushed cheeks making him look wrecked before you’ve even gotten started.

“Such a pretty mouth,” you murmur. He blushes. Full-body, warm and pink down his chest. You pull your fingers out slowly, wet with his spit, and wrap your hand around his cock while pulling his boxers down with your free hand.

He jolts under you, hips lifting just slightly. “Please—oh—”

You stroke him once, then again, watching the way his breath hitches. His cock is thick and flushed, leaking already. You lean forward and kiss his jaw, your hand pumping him slow and slick. “You’re dripping,” you say softly. “Just from sucking my fingers.”

He whimpers. “I can’t help it.”

“I know. You’re so sensitive, Clark.” You jerk him again—tighter now, twisting at the head—and his whole body stutters under you. His hips buck. His abs twitch. He’s moaning openly now, biting his lip to hold back more, even though you want to hear all of it.

“Don’t hold back, baby. I want to hear how good it feels.”

He groans, helpless and so loud, and you grin as you kiss up his neck, fingers working him harder. His hips are rocking into your hand now, and you let him, for a moment—let him chase. Then you stop.

Clark cries out. “No—no, please—don’t stop—”

“Shhh.” You kiss his cheek, slow and soft. “You were about to come without asking. Right?”

“I’m sorry—” He’s panting, flushed, shaking. “I didn’t mean to—please, let me come—”

“Not yet.”

“But I need—”

You grip his hair at the base and tug. Not hard, just enough to tilt his head so he can look at you. He whimpers again, eyes rolling back, cock twitching with pleasure.

“I said not yet,” you repeat, firmer now. “You can wait just a bit more, for me, can’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

You let go of his hair and pet it instead. “Good boy.” He shudders at that. His cock pulses in your hand like he could come untouched.

“Lie back for me,” you whisper. He does, body trembling with restraint. You straddle his hips and press your clothed core right against the length of his cock, letting him feel the wet heat through your panties. “Oh fuck—” he gasps.

You grind down once—slow and deliberate—and he moans, head tipping back into the sheets. “Please let me come,” he whines. “I’ll be good. I’ll beg, I’ll do anything, just please—”

You kiss him instead of answering. Your fingers lace in his hair again, tugging just enough to make him gasp into your mouth. Your hips move against him slowly, and the friction has him panting, lips clumsy and desperate against yours. Pre-cum soaking the fabric of your underwear, mixing with your own juice.

A hand move between your bodies and you tug your panties to the side, not wanting to move to pull them away completely. You shift back to line him up—bare, thick, throbbing—and sink down onto him in one slow glide.

He breaks.

The sound he makes is raw—half sob, half moan—and his hands fly to your waist, holding you like he’ll fly apart otherwise. You pause, seated on him fully, your walls clenched tight around him. He’s deep, buried, overwhelmed. “You feel so good,” you whisper, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. “You make me so full, baby. You always do.”

“I-I’m not gonna last,” he moans. “You’re so—tight and warm—please—”

You ride him slow, controlling every roll of your hips, dragging yourself up and down on his cock while he shakes beneath you. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come, please—”

“No.”

He nearly cries. His thighs twitch. His nails dig into your hips. “You’re gonna hold it,” you say, breath soft and warm against his lips. “Because I want you to.”

“I c-can’t—”

“You can. Because you’re my good boy, remember?”

That undoes him. His back arches, body locked under you, desperate for release and begging without shame. You fuck him slow but firm, grinding deep on each downstroke, and Clark sobs your name. He sounds ruined—whimpering, chanting please, begging for permission.

The tip of his cock brushes against your sweet spot with every up and down movements of your hips, making you feel dizzy for a while too. Your can feel your thighs burning with the efforts while Clark’s hips jerks up into you with little cries and whimpers.

And when you finally whisper, “now”—he comes hard. It’s messy. Hot. Violent.

His whole body jerks under you, and his cock pulses inside you over and over. Cum spills out around your cunt, soaking your thighs, leaking down him and the sheets. His moans crack in his throat, wet and wild, until he’s reduced to shuddering and gasping and holding you like he’ll fall apart without you.

You don’t stop.

You fuck him through it—milking every drop—until he’s trembling and twitching, overstimulated, eyes fluttering. “I—Fuck—”

“Give me one more?” You lean in and kiss the tears at the corners of his eyes. “Just one more, baby. You can give me one more.” He sobs but nods his head at you, sweat glistening from his forehead and lips parted. You could swear to see saliva dripping from the corner of his lips, like a puppy wanting a treat.

You ride him harder now, chasing your own release, and he melts beneath you. He holds on, barely, eyes locked on yours like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. One of his hand lowers between your bodies and his thumb circles your clit without you even asking for it; like he knew already what to do to help you out. He moans as you bounce of his cock, crying with overstimulation.

When you come from his cock brushing your g-spot, you do it with a moan of his name, burying your face in his neck.

He breaks again. A second orgasm, raw and unrestrained, hits him hard—and he comes again, cock twitching deep inside you, more cum leaking out between you both. He whimpers as you slow down, gasping, overwhelmed and wrecked.

You kiss him gently as you both come down, his chest heaving, arms locked tight around you. “Was I good?” he whispers, small and trembling.

You kiss his lips. “You were perfect.” He exhales, eyes fluttering shut.

“I feel safe with you,” he says quietly.

“I know, baby.” You brush his damp curls off his forehead. “You don’t have to be strong with me.”

He lets out a content sigh, nose nudging into your neck. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You know I always will, Clark. My Superman.”

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

The Lost Condom

Synopsis: You were in the middle of a spicy time with your boyfriend, when something odd happened: the condom disappeared. Inside. Of. You.

The solution? Go to the hospital.

The problem? Your family didn't know about your relationship.

Pairing: Jon Kent X Gn!AFAB!Reader; Platonic!Batfam

Tw: 18+; Only mention and slight description of genitals and sex, but nothing too explicit; All characters are aged up of course; English isn't my 1st language.

Word count: 1,8k.

Requested? Nah.

Extra notes: This isn't an original idea of mine, it's based on a real life story someone told me. Also the family finding out scene was inspired by this fanfic from @dccomicsimagines and this scene from Megamind. Also, eventually I will work on the asks waiting for me I swear 😭

General masterlist

So… You were in the middle of… Having fun… With your boyfriend… When suddenly, he said something that really confused you.

— Hmm… Babe… Where’s the condom? — Your head snapped back to look at him, since you were on all fours.

— Where's the ‘what’? — Your eyes were wide, unconsciously. Jon was blushing intensely, looking from your eyes to your entrance. He didn't know how to explain.

— I-I-I put it inside with the condom on, but now it's… Gone! — You narrowed your eyes. You watched him wrap and then enter you, you didn't feel him pull out at any moment, and even if he did, why would he tell you that he pulled out, took the condom off and then put it inside again secretly while you were still going at it?

You were both silent for a few seconds.

— Search for it! — You practically yelled at him, making him scramble to get off of you. You laid with your back down and legs open, looking at the ceiling, trying to calm down and not feel embarrassed. You felt him entering you with his fingers and searching around for minutes, grumbling and getting frustrated. The sensation was good… But you had bigger priorities at hand!

You huffed and changed positions a few times. A pillow underneath your butt, legs up, on all fours. Nothing worked. You even searched around the room and the bed, just to be sure. At some point, you both defeatedly decided it was best you go to the hospital.

The thing is, your relationship was still new, and no one in your family was aware. Lois and Clark already knew and approved, and you thought Cass suspected you were seeing someone, but you hadn't told them yet.

Especially Damian.

You and Jon knew each other years before Damian was even part of the family, since Bruce raised you since your birth — you were the product of one of his affairs, your biological mother didn't want to raise you, but she also didn't want to abort, so she and Bruce agreed that he would have you as soon as you were born — and he's best friend was Clark. Although, you didn't see each other much back then. It was after the Supersons became a team and besties that he started frequenting the manor more. You always had a childhood crush on each other — Jon thought you were beautiful and nice, and you thought he was cute and sweet, very different from the gross and rude boys from your school. —. Until you were each other's first kiss, then years later, first relationship, and first time. Of course, all in secret from Damian. The older family members only knew about your crush because of your physical language, but since you grew older and learned to hide, they assumed it was just a childish crush from the past.

Lois and Clark knew and approved, but they also always reminded you that you needed to tell Bruce soon, or at least Alfred, especially after you started being sexually active.

Unfortunately, the day came. Yes, you and Jon were old enough to have sex, but too young to be mature and brave enough to go to the hospital by yourselves. Lois was in another country for work, Clark was in the Watchtower in a League meeting, your dad was there too. Leaving the 2nd best option: Alfred — the best would be Lois, then Alfred, Clark, Cass, and then you would have to discuss which one of your other family members would it be.

Since you were in Metropolis — again, no one knew. More privacy wink wink —, Jon flew you back to Gotham, and you both almost cheered when you realized you were completely home alone, except for Alfred, of course.

Poor Alfred knew something was up when you suddenly were back from your “shopping trip”, with messy hair and clothes, red face and Superboy looking almost sick. He released a long sigh.

— Mx/Miss/Master (Y/N). Young Mr. Kent… — You cleared your throat.

— Alfred… We need help…

After you explained everything, Alfred looked ten years older. He didn't comment on anything, but his face showed how unimpressed he was. He just gestured for you to follow him to the garage, took the keys and started driving.

— Let me warn Master Bruce while we are-

— NO! — You yelled, started. He looked at you through the rearview mirror disapprovingly.

— Should I remind you that he will see the hospital bill and go after the truth? — You bit your lip.

— No, I know that. Just… Can't we pay on cash? — You smiled at him hopefully and nervously, but it was more like a grimace. Alfred was silent. You groaned. — I will tell him okay! Tonight! — Jon’s eyes snapped to yours, wide. — Relax! You're not gonna die!

— Yeah, until Damian whips out a kryptonite sword… — He groaned, hiding his burning face in your neck. You huffed, now wasn't time for him to be adorable.

— He doesn't have a kryptonite sword. Dad didn't let him do it. He would have to build it first. That would give him enough time to calm down. — Jon looked at you, indignant. Alfred cleared his throat.

— While we're there, I can't make any promises that if your father asks, I will hide the truth. He will know. — You and your boyfriend groaned, rubbing your faces with your hands.

— Yes, Alfred, I know…

Two hours later, you were finally laid down in position for the doctor to begin the procedure. Since if wasn't anything serious, you were on the emergency and there was only a curtain separating you from the rest of the patients outside. Alfred was sitting just outside, waiting, while Jon was standing by your side, holding your hand, as if you were about to give birth. The doctor was amused by your story, and her jokes helped you calm down.

She searched around you for a few minutes, the instrument she was using inside you being a little uncomfortable. Jon was silently horrified when he saw, you were startled too, but maintained the composure.

— AHA! Found it! It was really deep inside, almost on your cervix! — When she pulled out the condom, you both let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding.

You quickly put your clothes on again, you and Jon chatting as everything seemed lighter, and then left.

What you didn't know was that when Bruce got home and you and Alfred weren't there, it made him call, finding out just that you were in the hospital. Alfred refused to say much more than reassure him that it wasn't urgent and that he would soon know, thus he didn't have to crazily drive all the way there. That didn't stop him from alerting all your siblings.

When you got home, your whole family was there.

— Jon?! What're you doing here? — Alfred kept a straight face. Wow, he really wasn't going to help.

— Hmmm... — Jon subtly and subconsciously hid behind you. You shifted from one foot to another. Damian got up with a threatening scowl. You just came from the hospital. With a kryptonian.

— Kent! If you hurt my sibling I will-

— I didn't! — Jon almost yelled, then covered his face with his hands.

— Then, what is happenning here? — Bruce got up with a raised brow, analyzing the situation.

You thought for a moment. You either told them now and made things easier, or you spent all the way to dinner with them bothering you to tell. You could take it, Jon couldn't.

You took a deep breath.

— JonandIwerehavingsexwhenthecondomdisappearedinsideofmewecouldn'tfinditanywheresoweaskedAlfredforhelpandwenttothehospital.

They blinked.

— … What?

You huffed.

— Jon and I were having sex, when the condom disappeared inside of me. We couldn't find it anywhere, so we asked Alfred for help and went to the hospital. — You said, slower this time, although uma lower, more abashed tone.

Silence.

— … But… It was stuck inside? Weren't you wet, though…? — Tim's analysis broke the silence.

— SEX?! — Dick and Jason exclaimed.

— YOU WERE HAVING SEX WITH MY SIBLING?!

— Knew it. — Cass smiled and nodded, proud of herself.

Bruce heaved a sigh and sat down again.

— I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THIS! — Damian threw Tim's coffee mug in your direction and Jon zoomed in front of you. The mug broke. Jon had a sheepish expression.

— Tim, go grab kryptonite. — Jason ordered and got up, walking toward the hidden compartment in the shelf where he kept his guns. Dick held him back while Damian threw a flower vase at Jon.

— No! Don't do that, Tim. — Dick ordered back. Tim shook his head.

— I wasn't going to anyway… — He mumbled. Damian threw the center table.

— YOU ACTED BEHIND MY BACK! YOU TRAITOR! YOU- OUCH! PENNYWORTH STOP! — Alfred tutted, pinching his ear.

— I'm sure civilized conversations don't involve breaking the forniture. — Alfred shot a pointed look at Bruce. — Master Bruce! Say something! — Your dad just kept gazing at you and your boyfriend.

Cass sighed, stepping toward Bruce and sitting beside him.

— (Y/N)’s happy. He’s good. They're careful. — Bruce nodded, finally showing some reaction and looking pleased. Jason stopped struggling against Dick and looked at you.

— I don't care. I'm going to kill him. — Damian growled, starting to pace around the room in anger. Jon silently sighed in relief that Damian kept his distance by being on the other side of the room, the couch and the whole family serving as a barrier. You stepped forward.

— It's not casual. We've been together for almost two months now. — Everyone but Alfred and Cass gasped. Damian burned holes in Jon’s head with his eyes and your dad looked at you, masking his mix of emotions.

Cass tsk.

— So clueless. Many signs. — She shook her head.

— (Y/N), why didn't you tell us before? — Dick asked carefully, walking in your direction and stopping in front of you. Jon fiddled behind you. You shrugged.

— Didn't want to deal with you all while we were just starting things. Especially if it didn't work out.

— When were you planning to tell us? — You pouted.

— I don't know… In a month or two? You guys probably would find out by yourselves. — You shrugged.

— You've been sneaking out a lot… — Tim spoke up for the second time, catching everyone’s attention. He was fiddling with his laptop, likely doing his own investigation. The ones closest to Tim looked from the monitor to you again.

— When did you go to Metropolis?! — Jason exclaimed, indignantly.

— Hehe…

Damian growled.

— So that's why you've been ditching me?! — Damian pointed a finger at Jon, who scratched the back of his head.

— Surprise...? — Jon weakly sang the word.

Bruce cleared his throat.

— So that's why Clark’s been acting like he was happy he knew something I didn't… — He got up and pointed at you. — No more sneaking out. Ask permission before going anywhere. — You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. — Either that or you're grounded. — You pursed your lips and nodded in defeat. — Now we will talk about birth control…

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[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Love and Care.

Pairing: Yandere!Clark Kent x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 4.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @distortedhumor.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Prolonged Captivity + Kidnapping, Spanking, Psychological/Physical Abuse, Slight Infantilization, and Delusional Behavior.

You were going to freeze to death.

That was – if you didn’t die of dehydration, first. You really weren’t sure which was supposed to work faster; thirst or exposure, the acidic dryness crawling up the back of your throat or the slow, numbing chill spreading up from your toes, your fingertips. You didn’t have to worry about hunger – even if you could feel something sharp and hollow gnawing at the pit of your stomach. You remembered reading somewhere that it took longer than a month for someone to starve to death, even if it was hard to believe that when it felt like you were on the verge of collapsing into yourself.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t been prepared. Admittedly, it’d been an impulsive thing to do, the half-baked result of a door left unlocked and the daunting awareness that you had at least twelve hours before you so much as heard from Clark again, if not the full twenty-four. You didn’t have shoes more durable than house-slippers and the delicate, lovingly polished, Mary Jane heels he liked to see you in, but you’d put on your thickest dress, stuffed a bottle of water and a few slices of homemade bread into a knapsack, and started walking into the lifeless, rolling plains that surrounded the rustic farmhouse he kept you in. You didn’t run – he always seemed to know if your heart rate spiked– but you had all day to walk until you found a road, or a phone booth, or anything else that could at least remind you that other people existed. You figured you’d come across something eventually, even if you couldn’t find the help you were looking for.

Except, you’d underestimated just how cold the countryside could get in autumn, and you hadn’t thought to ration your meager supplies until after they’d already run out, and as far as you could tell, he’d found the most vacant, lifeless, desolate corner of the world to trap you within. The hem of your skirt was caked with mud and dust, your knapsack had been left behind entirely after you realized there was no point in carrying and empty bag, and one of your heels had broken off about two miles back – leaving you reduced to a slow, hobbling limp. Your body was exhausted beyond exhaustion, but you couldn’t imagine a world where you stopped walking. The only thing worse than knowing you were going to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere would be knowing that you’d just laid down and accepted it, and if you’d been willing to do that, you wouldn’t have run away at—

Your foot caught on a dense patch of undergrowth, and too tired to catch yourself, you crumpled – your knees hitting the earth with enough force to make you whimper. The last of your perseverance crashed and shattered as soon as you hit the ground, and before you could so much as try to stand up, you fell apart completely. You felt the tears before you realized you were crying – just one, at first, then another, then more than you could ever hope to count. You threw your head forward, sniffling miserably as you collapsed onto your side. You were going to die out here, but…

But, that was probably for the best, wasn’t it? It was either die out here, or die in that lonely farmhouse when Clark finally lost his temper or the roof collapsed or the ‘villains’ he was also so worried about finally did their job and put you out of your fucking misery. With a full-fledged sob, you curled into yourself and clenched your eyes shut, and—

And of course, less than a full second later, you felt a pair of muscle-bound arms wrap around your crumpled form, sweeping you off the ground and dragging you into a broad chest. You were too weak to meaningfully resist, but still, you tried to writhe and nudge yourself out of his iron-clad hold to little success. He was already talking, too. Great. On the ranked list of things you might’ve wanted to hear immediately after accepting your own mortality, your kidnapper’s nervous babbling didn’t crack the top hundred.

As if that had ever stopped him before.

“—and I thought you’d gotten hurt, and your pulse sounded so far away, and— and I don’t know what I would’ve done if it’d taken me any longer to find you.” You tuned in mid-rambling, trying to swallow your agitation. He was bent over you, his face buried in your hair, giving his voice an unsteady, muffled quality. For the world’s strongest man, he was quick to fall apart whenever he thought you so much as might be in danger. You couldn’t really judge him for that, though. You fell apart whenever he wasn’t around, too, and you didn’t care about him at all. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? There’s a hospital about fifty miles away, I can—”

“I’m fine,” you cut in, your hands shoving at his forearm where it was barred over your waist. With an airy sigh, he repositioned you – letting you fall into a proper bridal-carry rather a fully-body tackle. You noticed, for the first time, that his feet weren’t touching the ground. He was levitating, a nervous habit that he fell back into too often to keep track of. He must’ve genuinely thought you were in danger. More importantly, he must’ve known there was no one around to see him doing something so obviously superhuman. “Just a little cold. I‘m sorry for worrying you.”

Another sigh, this one more genuine than the last. For the first time, he drew back, and you were able to see him properly. He must’ve come straight from Metropolis; he was still wearing the suit you’d seen him in that morning, his hair slightly disheveled and his glasses shoved haphazardly into his shirt pocket. You tried to breathe, not to be thankful for how quickly his inhuman warmth was ebbing away the harsher edges of your hypothermia, and for the most part, you succeeded. You felt his lips brush against your cheek, then the corner of your jaw – Clark as affectionate as he was paranoid. “Poor thing,” he muttered, haphazardly shrugging off the jacket of his suit and draping it over your shoulders. “We’ll have to get you warmed up once we get home.”

Despite yourself, you stiffened. It was over - you knew that. He caught you, and even if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to go on much longer. You knew that.

And yet, you held yourself that much tighter as you asked, “…do we have to go home right away?”

Clark’s smile softened; his expression slackening is a patronizingly sympathetic sort of way. He didn’t need to answer, not really, but you still cringed when he inevitably did. “Of course, dear.” And then, with another kiss to your forehead. “How else can I keep you safe?”

You might’ve been nicer than him, after all. Rather than respond, you bowed your head and tucked yourself against his chest, shutting your eyes and blocking him out entirely. Clark only hummed in acknowledgement, flying that much higher and taking you home.

~

It took an embarrassingly short time to reach the farmhouse – less than a full minute, if that. It wasn’t what you deserved, but it was what you needed: a reminder that you were trying to run away from someone who didn’t have to run at all to keep up with you. Trying to escape on your own was pointless. You’d either have to find another way to get away from him or give up entirely.

Despite your constant squirming, Clark only put you down once you were inside (meaning, once the front door was locked and deadbolted with you securely trapped behind it), and you stumbled to your feet, still on the verge of collapsing. He let you struggle through all of two steps before taking you by the hand and, with that award-winning smile, guiding you through the farmhouse. “A warm bath should do the trick. Some tea, too – or coffee, to keep your blood flowing.” His eyes flickered down to the mud-caked hem of your dress, your ruined shoes. “It’s a pity. I know that’s one of your favorites.” He paused, squeezed your hand. “We’ll have to pick out another together. Maybe tomorrow, before I leave for work.”

You bit the side of your tongue, nodding along absently and letting him ramble. When you passed the staircase leading to the second floor, to your bedroom, you started to move towards it, but Clark only continued further into the house.

“Uh, Clark?” You dragged your feet as he pulled you into the kitchen. “I— Um, tea sounds nice, but I’d really like to change, first, and—”

“In a few minutes.” Another infuriating smile, another squeeze to your hand. “Do you remember what happens when you break one of our rules?”

You felt something in your throat tighten. You’d managed to forget, but it came back quickly enough. “I do, but— I was out there for a few hours, and I can’t really feel my—”

“We’ll take care of that in a few minutes, love.” He was already moving towards the kitchen table, your hand still trapped in his. “We should get this over with now.”

Trying to argue would’ve been useless. You did your best to grit your teeth, to brace yourself, but your vision still blurred as he finally released you, settling into one of the simple wooden chairs. You crossed your arms over your chest, but it did little to put a barrier between you and his prying gaze. “Do you want to undress yourself? Or do you need my help?”

Shaking your head, you fumbled with the buttons lining the back of your dress. Usually, you could manage on your own, but your hands were still numb, and you were fighting back tears, and Clark only watched you struggle for a few seconds before motioning for you to come closer. Soon enough, cotton and lace pooled uselessly at your feet, leaving you all-but entirely exposed in front of him. You didn’t need to be told to take off your shoes, kicking them into the depressing pile of fabric that used to be your favorite dress, but when it came to your panties, you hesitated, glancing toward Clark with a pleading look. “All of it,” he confirmed, with a tone bordering on apologetic. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

As if that would make you feel any better.

You sucked in a deep breath, then eased your panties down to your ankles. You’d been wearing one of your nicer pairs – white and silken, with a lace trim around the edges and a ribbon bow that was just slightly too big to be entirely inconspicuous. They were one of Clark’s favorites, even if you doubted you’d ever hear him admit something crude out loud. You could only hope you’d never see them again.

You kept your eyes on the floor as he took you by the waist and with as much effort as it might’ve taken to move a doll from one shelf to another, lifted you up and laid you over his lap. His thighs bit into your stomach as a hand found its way to the small of your back, rubbing slow circles into the base of your spine. “We’re only going to do fifteen, alright?” It wasn’t really a question, so you didn’t bother pretending you were going to answer. Clark didn’t seem to need you to. “And you know I’m doing this because I love you, right?”

That, you couldn’t get out of so easily.

“I know,” you mumbled, because that was what would upset him the least. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

He didn’t make a sound. You wondered if he’d heard you at all, at least until the flat of his palm came down on the plush of your ass and immediately, it was impossible to think about anything at all.

It was a small mercy that he didn’t make you count. It was something he’d tried early on, the first couple of times you‘d thrown a chair through a window or stolen his phone or hoarded weapons underneath the mattress of your shared bed, but you’d never really been able to hold yourself together long enough for anything like that. You broke down too quickly, too easily – fuck, you were breaking down right now and he’d only hit you once. You could already feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a knot welling up in the back of your throat that only seemed to let little, pitiful whimpers and miserable sobs slip by. You tried to steel yourself, to bite back any signs of weakness, but that only meant you’d forgotten to brace yourself for the second strike – just as bad as the first, centered more towards the back of your thigh than your ass. He was trying to spread the pain, to make sure any marks he left wouldn’t be permanent. He was trying to be gentle.

It was scarier than it should’ve been – knowing that he really did care about you. You couldn’t call it ‘love’, not really, not if you still wanted to be able to live with yourself, but he had to care about you, at least enough to pay some amount of mind to your well-being, at least enough for you to be sure he didn’t hate you (although, some days, you could still be convinced otherwise). He didn’t love you, but he thought he did, and the fact that he could earnestly believe he loved you and still treat you like this made you very, very afraid of what could happen if he ever changed his mind.

By the third strike, you were crying unabashedly, and by the sixth, your hands were clamped around his thigh, your nails biting into his skin in less of an attempt to hurt him and more of a desperate scramble for any kind of stability he had to offer. It was all force, no friction – a bruising, throbbing type of pain quickly spreading outward from every part of your body unfortunate enough to be under his palm. You couldn’t seem to talk, but Clark didn’t have an issue, pausing after every blow to rub circles into your bruised skin and mutter to himself. You couldn’t imagine he still thought he was talking to you. “I just worry about how you’d manage things, out there, all on your own,” he explained, his tone cloyingly sweet. Like he was talking to a child, too naïve to know any better. Like he could still expect you to believe there was anything in the world more dangerous than him. “You know I’ll always keep you safe, but I can’t be everywhere at once. It’s easier for both of us if you just—” A pause, an airy chuckle. “—if you just stay out of trouble.”

You’d lived in the city for years and never gotten into trouble, not before meeting him. Saying that felt pointless, though, especially when he was already moving onto the seventh.

Fifteen was a terrible number. If there’d been twenty or more, you might’ve been able to go numb by the time he finished, and ten or less would’ve given you a chance to preserve at least some of your dignity. At fifteen, though, the pain was still intense enough to be blistering, and you couldn’t seem to choke down your own keening sobs as Clark brought down his hand for the final blow – using just a little more force than he really had to, making sure the lesson would stick for the next couple of days, if not the next couple of weeks. He was strict, like that, despite how tender-hearted he pretended to be. If he wasn’t, you would’ve acted out more often.

You had to believe you’d act out more often.

You were still limp and crying when his arm wrapped around your waist and with a raspy, adoring sound, he sat you up – letting you straddle one of his thighs. Whatever relief you might’ve felt at the end of your punishment was immediately overshadowed by the pale, reddish tint spread visibly across his face, the feeling of something too large and too stiff pressing into your leg where it fell between his. Clark didn’t acknowledge it, and you were happy to follow his lead, melting into his hands as he cupped your face, basking in his happily provided comfort. There was a shallow exhale as he tilted your head back, pressing another lingering kiss into your forehead, before dipping lower – falling immediately to your neck. You let his lips make contact with your throat before sniffling and shifting in his lap. “Hurts, Clark,” you murmured, doing your best to make your voice that of something small and in need. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but… can we go upstairs, first?”

That was enough to snap him out of it. “Right. Of course.” There was one last peck to your collarbone before he pulled you into his arms, any thought of letting you walk on your own prematurely dismissed. You tried to go blank as he trailed through the farmhouse, not to focus on anything but the pain and your exhaustion, but your gaze seemed to catch on everything you didn’t want to see – the bowl of dough still rising on the kitchen counter, the torn dress-shirt you’d planned on mending today, a dozen tiny things that all drove their own little needles into the pit of your stomach. In Clark’s defense, the housewife shtick hadn’t been his idea, but you couldn’t say he was entirely blameless, either. When you were left trapped and alone, given nothing to do and no way to occupy your time, there was only so long you could last before resorting to household chores. It was just a happy coincidence that the byproducts of your captivity were practically identical to the kind of sugar-sweet, domestic behavior that’d always seemed to melt his heart, back when your relationship wasn’t so insidious.

At least the bathroom was warm. Still too unsteady to be trusted to walk on your own, you sat on the vanity while Clark ran a bath, staring at your hands absentmindedly as the steam started to ebb at the chill. When the tub was nearly full, he helped you into it, more than happy to make it seem like you couldn’t so much as move without his help – which, in his defense, you really couldn’t. As you sunk into the scorching water, you made a mental note not to let him touch you at all tomorrow. You doubted it would be enough to fix the damage tonight had done, but it’d be better than letting him coddle you half-to-death.

Surprisingly, Clark didn’t hover over you for very long. “I think I promised you something to drink,” he explained as he moved to the doorway, his smile suddenly sheepish. Like he had any right to be shy about what he’d done to you. “I’ll be back in a second – unless you think you’ll need a hand?”

You hesitated, but shook your head. “’m fine. I just need some time to think.”

“Not too long.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes prying into you for a second, then another before he turned away. “I think we should be careful about what gets into your pretty little head, for the next few days.”

And just like that, you were left alone. For the first time since he’d brought you home, you let yourself relax. The hot water momentarily dulled the pain, but without the agony to distract you, humiliation quickly took its place. You shouldn’t have let Clark take you back so easily – that only gave him more leeway to treat you like some naïve, fragile object he’d been tasked with looking after. You shouldn’t have taken your punishment so quietly, even if you doubted clawing at his legs and thrashing would’ve actually accomplished anything beyond salvaging your pride. You shouldn’t have run away at all, not if it meant triggering Clark’s paranoia, not if it reminded Clark that you’d still take any chance you saw to get away from him. You’d have to be smarter about it, if you ever to escape tried again.

(You did your best to ignore that, a few months ago, the same sentiment would’ve been followed by ‘when you inevitably tried again’. You weren’t superhuman. You didn’t always have the strength to be so delusionaly optimistic.)

When Clark did return, he was blissfully quiet and careful to keep his distance, sitting on the edge of the tub while you haphazardly washed the dust out of your hair and scrubbed the mud from your skin. Even after the water had gone cold and you’d managed to struggle to your feet, his touch remained fleeting, ginger as he bundled you in a towel and lifted you into his arms – his sudden distance no excuse to treat you like a living, breathing, capable person, apparently.

You didn’t have the energy to be frustrated. Exhausted and beaten down, you closed your eyes and rested your head against his chest, only stirring slightly when you felt Clark lower you onto a quilt-padded bed. You started to sit up, but the feeling of a hand laying over your hip was enough to stop you. When you opened your eyes, you found Clark, still standing, still staring down at you with that dazed, lovesick smile. “It’s really amazing, how someone like me could ever end up with someone like you.” He dipped lower, his lips finding the side of your throat. There was no pretense of innocent affection, this time, just his mouth on the side of your neck, his teeth ghosting over your skin. His voice was stifled by proximity, but mournfully audible. “I love you. I’m always going to love you. You know that, right?”

“I... I do.” You sounded hoarse, weak – more so than you would’ve liked. Clark nipped playfully at your collarbone, nearly breaking the skin. “I know you’ve been waiting, but—”

“Guess I’m just that impatient, when it comes to you.” There was an airy chuckle, a glint to his smile, but neither were very comforting. Again, you made an attempt to flee, and again, he found a way to keep you where you were – his hands curling around your thighs as he eased your legs apart. There was a hollow thud of body against floorboardas he fell to his knees, as he pressed yet another open-mouthed kiss into the inside of your thigh. “I just can’t help it. You make it hard for me to think straight.”

Not that he was trying to. You opened your mouth, trying to think of something that could distract him, that could convince him you just couldn’t do this, but he’d latch onto your cunt before you could spit anything out – the flat of his tongue running over your entrance while his nose ground into your clit. With your ass still blistered from your punishment and your nerves still on-edge from the cold, that was all it took for you to bolt upward – your hands automatically finding their way to his hair in a desperate attempt to pry him off of you. Of course, he didn’t budge, and of course, when he did glance up, he did it with that lovestruck expression that you’d never been able to stand. That you never wanted to see again.

That you just couldn’t seem to wipe off of his fucking face.

“Clark,” you whined, his name fractured and mangled on your tongue. “Please, I— It hurts, and I’m so tired, and I just—” You cut yourself off, swallowing harshly and trying to catch your breath. “Please, don’t.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your heart skipped a beat, hope swelling in your chest. He melted into your palm, grinning like an idiot. “You can relax. I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

And just like that, you felt something deep in your chest crack open and shatter.

The next time he bowed his head, burying himself between your thighs, you didn’t bother trying to stop him.

You didn’t do anything at all.

[rainforest-daisies]

Clark Kent is a munch through and through (smut!)

just a veryyy short smut for you all before I get a full fic out (and actually watch the superman movie!)

Clark Kent x Afab!reader

He has you spread on top of the bed, hands gripping your thighs with a bruising strength as he so desperately tries to hold himself back. He moans and groans against your cunt, pressing soft kisses to your clit in between each stroke of his tongue. It was his way of soothing you when he couldn't bring himself to pull away, wincing when your hands would tug at his messy curls and press him deeper against your core, brows furrowing in his own twisted pleasure.

He liked being under your power—it was as if you could strip every thought from his head and leave only traces of yourself and your hot sex. Like witchcraft, he couldn’t get enough of it. Over the course of your relationship, he finds himself thinking of you more, and he can't lie to say it is innocent. He zones out on his work, words blurring together and the commotion around the office toned out, dreaming about dragging his tongue down your body to leave you squirming, only giving you what you need when he can't wait any longer. And that is precisely what led you here.

He tries to be gentle, truly. But he couldn't even get his glasses off, let alone his suit and tie, without having you nude for him already. And by that point, he couldn't wait anymore. He was hard, desperate, and practically rutting against your thigh like a dog. Dragging you to the living room, he tosses you onto the couch with a playful, pleading smile, dropping to his knees and looking up at you like a goddess. Like you held the answers to the universe in your panties, and he was drooling to learn them all. He kissed at your knee, pre-gaming the apologies for how rough he would soon get. 

He knew he would never let his full strength out on you, no, he would lock himself in a room with kryptonite before he ever took a chance like that. 

He gently peeled away your panties, looking up into your eyes every second to confirm you wanted this, mouth already watering at the quickly inclining heart rate sounding from your chest. He never looked through your clothes—it felt disrespectful, and frankly, it never felt the same as seeing you truly nude. His hands climbed up your thighs, gripping one to drape it over his shoulder, and continuing further. They played with the hem of your shirt, hesitating over ripping it. (The last time he did that, it happened to be one of your favorite blouses. Even after you forgave him, he still couldn't get over it. He searched quite literally the ends of the earth to find a replacement.)

He nudges the shirt up enough for you to get the gist, tracing shapes against your thigh and only stepping in to help by wadding it up and tossing it somewhere across the room. You won’t be needing it anyway. His hands graduate from tracing shapes on your thighs to tracing them on your abdomen, taking his time even though he seemed so desperate when he got home. His glasses have slid down to the tip of his nose, but his hands are too busy to fix them now. 

With a soft chuckle, embarrassment flooding his cheeks at how feral he had been, and how disheveled he must look, he hides his face in between your thighs. His lips softly peck kisses against the thighs he had worshiped countless times, a sigh escaping his lips that seemed to draw out the tension of the day from his body. His cock strained in his slacks, acting as the motivation for his actions, bucking his hips against the air as his lips trailed closer to where you needed him most. A few “I love you"s were muttered when his lips pressed sloppy kisses to your clit, one hand soothingly caressing your thigh like he was before. He didn't hesitate to whisper how comforting it was to taste you, kitten licking a small stripe up to your clit and punctuating it with another kiss. This was his second home, only second to your lips. 

His tongue delves between your folds, savoring your taste with a soft hum that you could hardly hear. Lewd sounds emanate from his lips, a mix of moans and squelches from your wetness. His glasses begin to fog up now, but he doesn't notice. Not when his eyes are clenched shut in pleasure, fully surrendered and at your feet to serve you. His tongue picks up speed like he would never tire out, nose pressed against your clit half the time. He wanted to please the love of his life—everything he works for, everything he fights for, truly his everything. 

His tongue wouldn't stop, not likely for another hour or so, just until he was satisfied with his work, enough to drop his head against your abdomen, pressing kisses up to your collarbone and letting the ‘Superman’ voice slip out, before dragging you to the bedroom for the rest of the evening.

guyssss who said all that....I might be making a part two OMG WHO SAID THATTTT!!!!

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ F*ck me all night, show me who you are❞

superbat x ftm!reader | p*rn with no plot, nsfw, fluff, established relationship, one-shot | reader has had top surgery and significant bottom growth | sub. bttm. reader | | wc: 3.2K

warnings: oral sex (r! receiving), dirty talk, squirting, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as cock/dick/member. terms like boypussy, cunt, pussy, hole, cocksleeve are used), unprotected sex, d/s dynamics, pattinson!bruce wayne and corenswet!clark kent

author’s note: this is all @nouearth’s fault btw, lmao. Also, this was posted 2-weeks earlier on my Patreon, if you'd like to support me, please feel free to check it out!

listening to ▸ Pornstar by Ness Barret

There was nowhere else you belonged other than here. Sprawled on the mahogany desk of Bruce Wayne’s at-home office, the crackling wood in the fireplace cast shadows across the rich dark woods and semi-covered oil paintings of older Waynes patriarchs. The heavy curtains were drawn but no light made its way through — Gotham City’s weather was as dreary and cosy as always with its pitter-patter of rain and soothing rumbles of thunder in gloomy clouds.

Your legs were spread wide — just the way Bruce preferred. Your thighs tense and tremble as you press your hips down, trying hard not to buck. His thumb soothed circles to the side of your waist, his tongue dipping between your folds like a languid cat. It’s a game he enjoyed. Bringing you closer and closer to that edge of ecstasy then leaving you hanging there — practically teetering over.

It’s not completely his fault. Even if he did want to make you cum — which he does — he wasn’t allowed. He’d agreed with Clark after all that you weren’t allowed to cum if both of them weren’t present. You had been smug initially. Confident in your ability to sway Bruce and Clark’s desires, making them bend to your whims with a few well-timed gasps and whines. You truly underestimated how strong-willed your lovers were.

“Bruce, please” your lips were wet with spit and that damned gloss that’d gotten you in trouble. Smeared across your cheek, chin, and Bruce’s thick cock.

“Hm?” he groaned, not even lifting his head as his nose bumped into your twitching cock. Bruce flattened his tongue against your tip and wrapped his glossy lips around it. The sensation makes you bring your heels to the edge of the table, so Bruce uses his strength to hold your hips firmly.

“Bruce — Bruce! I’m so close, please let me cum.”

What sweet sounds, Clark thinks as he lands quietly on Bruce’s balcony. The stone gargoyles and intricate architecture greet him and perhaps it’s due to how many times he’s found himself here but he thinks they’re beginning to look friendlier rather than intimidating. Even with the rain pelting down on them and thunder rumbling in the clouds. Gotham’s weather was a stark contrast to Metropolis City’s sunny self but Clark didn’t mind it.

The balcony door handle gives no hitch or resistance, Clark grins as he slips inside. He had told Bruce that he’d try to make it time for a stay-in dinner with their boyfriend but made no promises. Naturally, Bruce had sent him a voice-recorded message of your rapid panting and choked-up gasps. The unlocked balcony doors of Bruce Wayne’s manor were just his way of preening at being right.

You fluttered your eyes open at the smell of rain and sunshine. He smiles down at you, his eyes warm and soft as always as he braces his hands next to your head.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you go limp when Bruce finally pulls his head away from between your thighs. 

“You’re late,” Bruce mumbles as he brushed his thumb over his lower lip, sucking off your slick after he slipped it between them.

“You didn’t exactly wait, Bruce” Clark retorted lightheartedly, cupping your face and brushing his thumb down your warm cheeks. 

“Look at this poor thing.”

When he cooed at you like you were some poor farm animal – you found yourself getting more and more aroused. Bruce could see how you clenched around nothing at it. It amused the dark knight, he brushed his rough palms on your thighs and you groaned softly, bringing your knees together to deny him the pleasure of teasing you. He arches a brow pointedly but you refuse to glance his way, turning your head to place a sweet kiss on Clark’s palm instead. 

“You sure you want to play that game, honey?” Clark is still upside down from your view, that cute little curl against his forehead bouncing lightly as he tilts his head. “You know how Mr Wayne gets when you try to be a brat.”

Bruce scoffs at Clark’s teasing. “He clearly gets that streak from you,” he grabs Clark’s chin and they share a loving kiss above you. The sight alone caused excitement to spread throughout, it was such a funny thing humans did — the rush of blood and endorphins that washed over them like a wave. With his heightened senses, it was something he caught on easily during interviews, though he tried his best not to be too invasive in normal situations. But when it came to you and Bruce, it was an instinctual pull to know what was happening to the both of you. When he found himself missing you too much, Clark would slip his eyes closed and just hone in on the sounds of your heartbeats. That steady thumping would never fail to make him feel comforted. He chuckles, the kind that’s almost steeped with sweet condescension and pulls away from Bruce’s lips to glance down at you. 

You with your furrowed brows and pouted lips that were smeared with gloss with your hair sticking to your forehead thanks to Bruce’s talented mouth. 

“Does he? I think he gets it from you.”

You peel your back off the table to sit, huffing and puffing as you bring your legs down and stretch your toes out.

“Stop trying to give yourselves credit for my brattiness, I put a lot of effort into it, okay?”

You flatten your hands across Bruce’s chest then push him to sit down on his leather chair. Push was a strong word — he allowed you to unceremoniously guide him to be seated while you tried to stand on shaky legs. Clark admires the view of your naked body as you sit on Bruce’s lap, spreading your legs and calling out his name so sweetly.

“You get so brave when he’s here, hm?” Bruce holds onto your hips, tilting it forward so Clark would have easier access. “Gonna make a mess all over my pants like a bitch in heat again?”

You lean back into him, brushing your teeth against his chin as you grin at him. “You can’t afford the dry cleaning, Brucie?”

Clark nearly guffaws at your bravado. Mere minutes ago you were nearly sobbing as you begged for Bruce’s mercy. Hoping to make him cave into his desire for you and yet here you are now, shamelessly using his lap as a seat while you stroked your twitching cock and spread your legs for Clark. 

Still, in his blue and red outfit, Clark shamelessly kneels on the floor in front of you. He politely pulls his cape onto his lap and presses a kiss to your dick. You were already so sensitive, it was enough to have your thighs twitching. Clark peers up at you, his long dark lashes framing those sweet grey-blue eyes and warning you silently to keep those legs open for him. 

Clark spreads your cunt open with two fingers, groaning softly as he slips his tongue inside of you. You bite down on your lip just as he slips his eyes closed. The taste of you never fails to make his cock chub up, even in this honourable suit that he uses to save lives. It was your gift — your power. He swears every part of you makes his world continue to spin.

When he focuses on you just enough, he can see every part of you — even those invisible to all. He had used his supervision for plenty of things before, looking through buildings or checking what people hide under their jackets, but there was one time Bruce had intrigued him with a new fact. 

Clark had been working on a new piece in Bruce’s library — because that's something most wealthy folks had in their homes apparently — and stumbled across a picture. Bruce glanced over as Clark hummed inquiringly, and said; “Blaschko's lines.”

“Is it a skin condition?” Bruce shook his head, turning his attention back to his research. Alfred had called him a stubborn mule for it, what with him still being wrapped with bandages around his torso and practically being covered with minor injuries from his motorcycle stunt. Clark assured Alfred he’d keep an eye on the brooding Batman while he continued to work in the library, fluffing up every pillow before Bruce walked in. 

“All humans have them, they’re just invisible to the naked eye most of the time.”

“So humans have stripes?” Clark sees Bruce contemplate his question but he ultimately gives nothing more than a gruff hum and turns his attention back to his highly confidential files.

Bruce’s skin patterns were gorgeous. It spread from his spine, like the roots of a tree or the veins in the leathery wings of a bat backdropped by light — Bruce always wondered why Clark loved to trace his lips down the curve of his back and Clark would never tell him that its because he’s admiring this secret on Bruce’s skin. 

He strokes over the pattern of your skin with his thumb. What you think was mindless shapes had always just been Clark admiring your ‘stripes’, committing it to memory and relishing that only he knew what his mate's patterns were. He gently pressed down on your thighs, groaning as he brushes his teeth against your dick. 

“Did you like the audio file I sent you?” Bruce fondled at your chest, pinching your nipples as he worried over your neck and shoulders. You try to arch your back but he firmly presses you flat to his chest, trailing his tongue to the curve of your ear. 

“I almost opened it in an elevator,” Clark muttered as he slipped his fingers inside of you. You swallowed them up eagerly, already so wet and warm from Bruce’s languid and tortuous session with you. Two, then three, the Kryptonian is patient while he pushes past his first knuckle and second and finally until he reaches the base. You’re so close — you’re clamping on his fingers like a vice, practically pushing him out while you panted and squirmed. The wet spot on Bruce’s bulge made him chuckle. 

Bruce groaned appreciatively as Clark squeezed at it with his other hand. So good with his hands, like a true farm boy. 

“That would’ve been fun,” you groaned out with a loose grin. 

“No, it wouldn’t.” Clark flushed up at the very thought of it. Letting other people hear your whorish noises didn’t rub him the right way either. 

“You’re so naughty,” his words made you coo. You reach for his handsome face, guiding it until he’s leaned over you and Bruce while his hands are still between both of his mate’s legs. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and when you stroke over his chin you giggle at the slickness that coats him there too. 

“You love me anyway. You love me too, don’t you, Brucie?” 

That wasn’t something either of them could deny. You turn back to Bruce, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheeks before he presses his lips to yours, when Clark leans in he huffs in amusement but gives him as well. 

Clark slips his fingers out, earning a sigh from you, and unclips his cape. 

“Let’s get to somewhere more comfortable so I can make both of you cum, yeah?” 

“Clark’s naughty too!” You muse out, relying on Bruce for support as he curls an arm around your waist while he stands. 

“Guess you rubbed off your pervertedness on him,” Bruce chuckled lowly into your ear. You aren’t ashamed of this at all, nearly purring in delight at his astute observations. 

Clark shakes his head, focusing on the task of tossing the plush cushions and throwing pillows on the carpet in front of the fireplace. With a flourish, he dries and places his cape over the makeshift bed. Bruce lays you down, settling on your left side while he takes off his loose black shirt, relishing in the way your eyes drink him in. 

You tenderly flatten your palm against his chest, brushing over his chest hair and tracing it down to the happy trail he has. You loosen his belt and Bruce watches you as you undo the zipper next. It’s strange for him — to need as much as he does now. Bruce knows he shouldn’t pride himself on someone who didn’t find the necessity of relationships — whether it be platonic or romantic. Other than Alfred, everything and everyone else had been superficial. Especially at the beginning of his career as Gotham’s Dark Knight where he had nearly abandoned his Bruce Wayne identity in the public eye. 

Then Clark and you came into his world. Almost serendipitously. It wasn’t easy for the three of you, he’ll admit he didn’t make it easy with his standoffish nature. But you were determined to show him what love was like — what being in love would be like. 

To protect the people he loved, to have a chance to protect them in the first place. 

Clark settles on your right, now naked as he’s kissing your shoulder. Bruce gives a low moan when you begin stroking his cock, giving both of you a show because he never wants you to take your eyes off him. He loves this, he loves you, he loves Clark. 

Bruce’s body is a masterpiece. Years of hard work and dedication etched into him — carved even. When he sucks in a breath, his abs contract and the veins on his arms and neck seem to stand out much more. He’d turned his body into a weapon and here he was, pliant and willing for Clark and you. 

Clark’s stomach is softer than Bruce’s, the definition of his abs not that prominent but it’s still firm as he presses it to your back — his cock rubbing between your ass as he slowly ruts his hips against you. 

“Please,” they both flutter their eyes open as you plead. “Please fuck me.”

Clark presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, nodding as he reaches for Bruce’s hips. He kicks off his pants fully, his chest hair tickling your chest as he presses close. It’s bliss to be between them like this. The comforting pressure on your front and back causes a rush of endorphins, making your brain go fuzzy. You’re in their care, at their mercy, and there was no other way you wanted it. 

Clark lifts your leg, supporting it as Bruce slides inside of your cunt. 

You’re squeezing his cockhead tight enough to have him hissing through his teeth, but he persists. You’re strung tight from their teasing, their edging, and now you’re barely keeping it together as Bruce presses more of his big dick inside of you. It’s such a marvel, with its curved shape and the delicate mole just under his head — when he fully sheathed inside of you, you swear you can feel him nudging parts of you no one had ever done before. 

Bruce thrusts and you mewl, gripping his shoulders as Clark rubs patterns into your thigh, his dick practically pulsing against your ass.

“B-both inside, God please both of you inside of me please.”

Clark’s careful as he smears some lube onto his cock, Bruce always hid one or two bottles in each room, and then so very carefully he nudges your hole. God, he’s thick. Your jaw aches just remembering how difficult it was to keep all your spit in your mouth while stretched around him.

You’re panting between them, a sheen of sweat already forming despite the rain pattering outside — the fireplace was making your skin glow, turning you into this ethereal vision of pure lust as if you were some modern-day god of eroticism. You might as well be, what with your two lovers on either side. Gods of justice and hope keeping you safe and fulfilled. 

Clark groans out Bruce’s name as he inches in. “Your dick feels so good rubbing against mine, oh shit,” he’s holding onto Bruce’s plump ass, hitching his body closer and making all of you moan. 

“Clark, ah fuck,” Bruce’s composure is melting away. Your warm velvety insides, your mewling, Clark’s groans of pleasure, his dick against Bruce’s — he was just a man, nobody could fault him for succumbing to his desires. 

When they’re both fully sheathed inside, you’re impossibly full, the sensation causing you to gasp and cum. Bruce and Clark grunt as you twitch around them, practically milking them as you jerk and shiver. When you go limp on Superman’s cape, they let you have a moment to breathe — your chest raising and falling rapidly like a rabbit’s as you make a wanton albeit strangled noise. 

“You’re doing so good for us,” Bruce says. Clark makes a sound of agreement, brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead as they both patiently wait for your cue. 

“So good, taking both of us in like a good boy, our good boy. Our perfect cocksleeve.” 

Bruce’s words make you whine. He’s so good at making you sink deeper into that submissive state with just his words. That bastard, you think with a fond expression on your face. 

You sigh softly, fluttering your eyes closed as you stretch your back on the cape and plush pillows. 

They set the pace. Slow and deep at first, easily falling into a tandem rhythm. As Bruce thrusts in, Clark thrusts out — never giving you a moment of reprieve despite their gentle kisses and touches. The sounds coming out of your mouth are pure erotica. The sweat beading on your skin is being licked off by Clark while Bruce is determined to create a collar of hickeys on your neck. He places it high — guess it’s turtleneck season for you after this. 

Clark is always careful with his strength, he’s calculative with every pound of pressure he uses. So when you feel him tighten his grip on your thighs, you know it’s purposeful. He loves leaving his marks on you and Bruce, knowing how the both of you go wild for it. 

“You getting close, darling?” Clark grins dopily at Bruce, loving the face of concentration he has. Bruce nods, his dark hair now messy and sticking to his forehead as his hips stutter. “What about you, honey?”

You squeak, choking on a scream as you leave red welts on Bruce’s chest and grip onto Clark’s cape. 

The man of steel chuckles, picking up the pace as he kisses you, stealing your breath away from you as he pounds up into you. “Clark — ah - Clark,” hearing Bruce call out to him like that makes him even more reinvigorated. The both of them are beginning to lose the rhythm they set, now rutting into you with one goal in mind; to mark your insides with white.

Clark cums first, and Bruce follows shortly after and you’re not even sure if you’re cumming anymore. You whimper as globs of their cum manage to escape you, staining Superman’s red cape with white. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” you say between your panting. They laugh, soothingly running their hands down your body as you ease down from their rough treatment. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place, honey? Acting like a brat, being so naughty?”

You harrumphed, hiding your face in Bruce’s chest which just makes both of them laugh harder. 

[saltcxrcle]

making your mark 𖦹 clark. k

cw: making out, both reader and clark being biters, they both have a marking kink, some humor, all fluff, clark is a sap, implied/fade to black smut; barely edited, all mistakes are my ownノ pairings: established clark kent x afab!readerノ wc: 854

Sometimes you wish that your boyfriend weren’t an alien from another planet and was invulnerable to most injuries. You loved Clark, but there were times you were so frustrated at him since you couldn’t mark up the pale skin on his neck and chest (it was prime real estate that you found was just wasted). 

It didn’t mean you didn’t try your hardest to make them.

You sat perched on Clark’s lap as you ran through his dark curls, mouths attached to one another, and your hips slowly moving and grinding down on his growing bulge as his hands found their way underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips skimming the edge of the waistband of your bra.

Clark groaned into your mouth as you nipped at his bottom lip, as your tongues intertwined and danced with each other. You could taste the lingering sweetness of the whipped cream and peaches you shared after the dinner you cooked for your date night. 

Your hands scratched at his scalp before one of them gripped the strands at the back of his neck and pulled back with a little more force than you intended, and his lips left yours with a pop. 

Clark’s eyes were blown out with lust, a dazed smile on his swollen lips. “You sure you’re not the one with superpowers?” He asked breathlessly as he looked up at you. 

You couldn’t help but giggle and shake your head. “Definitely not.” You murmured into the skin of his cheek as you kissed it softly before your lips trailed down to his jawline and down his neck. 

You immediately latched onto the sensitive spot behind his ear and tried your hardest to leave your mark. Clark let out a soft moan at the feeling of your teeth marking his skin, one of his hands retracting from under your shirt and cradling your head. 

You eventually pulled back to see the blooming red mark on his skin, caressing it with your thumb. 

“You know it's going to be gone by the morning, right?” Clark said, making you groan, and your head fell into the crook of his neck. 

“Don’t remind me.” You mumbled mournfully into his skin, making him chuckle. 

His hand rubbed up and down your back as a soothing gesture. “Sorry.” Clark said sheepishly. 

You pulled back to see a sympathetic smile on Clark’s face. “Hate you and your unmarkable skin.” You huffed as you scratched at his scalp. 

Clark’s eyes fluttered, and his head got heavier as he leaned into the feeling. “No, you don’t.” Clark said almost drowsily.  

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You're right. But you act like you don't like doing the same thing to me.”

“Do what?” 

You leaned in to kiss Clark, his lips pursed in preparation to kiss you back, but you stopped short, leaving only a small gap between the two of you. 

“Playing coy isn’t your strong suit Smallville. You and I both know you love to see me covered in hickies that I have to cover up before I head into the office.” You whispered with a seductive smirk on your face. 

Clark couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on his cheeks at your words. “Maybe I go a little overboard sometimes.” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, throwing your head back. “A little?! Baby, I had to wear a turtleneck for a week straight and Lois made fun of me after catching a glimpse of my neck.” 

Clark couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face, clearly remembering the night he gave you those hickies. You smacked his chest, knowing that wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest, but he grabbed it before it could make contact with him and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles. 

“I apologized for that.” He pressed another kiss on your knuckles before they trailed up your arm, and Clark pulled you closer so he could press soft kisses up your shoulders and to your neck. 

“But can I show you how sorry I am?” Clark pressed a wet kiss to the sensitive spot on your neck, making a shiver roll down your spine. 

“As long as you mean it.” Your words came out almost breathless as your head tilted back as he continued to press wet kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone. 

Clark stood up from your couch, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his trim waist. “I’ll always mean it.” He said sincerely, making your heart melt. 

You smiled softly at him before pressing a tender kiss to his lips, a stark contrast to the lustful ones you shared earlier. “Well, show me how sorry you are then Mr. Kent.” You murmured into his lips before pulling back. 

“Your wish is my command.” A spark of mischief zipped through his blue eyes before your vision blurred, and you found yourself on your bed and Clark hovering over you with a smirk playing on his lips. 

Clark made sure he apologized thoroughly that night, and he may have caused you to wear a turtleneck again for another week. 

a/n: so inspiration struck as i was writing my other fic for clark so heres a little treat before i get back to writing the angsty clark fic!!

[sunflowersteves]

ice cream || c.k.

pairing || clark kent x f!afab!reader

summary || It was a particuarly hot day in Metropolis, why not treat yourself to some ice cream?

author’s note || it has been,,, a year? or a little less? but clark kent has sparked something in me. ive never been super interested in superman until james gunn ripped my heart out and restored it with clark kent

warnings || fluff, clark being clumsy, SMUT [18+ only], oral (male), established relationship

masterlist

It’s ungodly hot in Motropolis. 

The summers in the large city had always been rough, but this year the intense sun rays seemed to be burning down on everyone a lot harsher. The concrete and massive buildings seemed to intensify the heat even more. 

You were fanning yourself with a stack of newly printed edits of the most recent Daily Planet submission. Even in this giant building, the air conditioner only seemed to help so much. The cardigan that you had on was long forgotten, probably lying on a breakroom chair at the moment—you weren’t sure. All you knew was that you needed something to cool you off.

Then, you see it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimmy head right past your desk with a nice serving of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup dripping onto his fingers. 

“Hey, wait—Jimmy!” 

He stops dead in his tracks, mid-bite, full of ice cream. “Yes?”

You swivel your chair to face him, “Where’d you get that?” 

He looks at his ice cream and then at you. “Downstairs.” The light in your eyes practically beamed into his own eyes. He told you all about the ice cream truck that had conveniently parked itself right in front of the building. Since it was earlier in the morning, there wasn’t even a line. You rushed across your desk to grab your wallet and practically ran out the door to get yourself some soft serve. 

–

Clark was late, as usual. 

He rushed through the building, trying to shove himself into the elevator—which prompted difficulty considering his large frame. He hurriedly looked at his watch, cursing inside his head about being late for the hundredth time. 

He had promised Perry that he’d try one day a week to not come in late—and well, that failed. But then he smiled at the fact that the two of you were working in the same vicinity today. Something in his chest bloomed, and the pit of his stomach swarmed with affection. 

You.

God, he liked you so much. You hadn’t been dating long. It has only been a couple of weeks since he very sweetly asked you out on a date. He had been admiring your work for so long, reading every single editorial that your gifted fingers typed out. 

Your work had always instilled hope in him, especially when some of the other journalists would dismiss the idea of searching for something greater. You, as always, had shouted from the top of your lungs with such passion that hope is always something to strive for. So, when you said you’d love to go on a date with Clark, he could’ve sworn he was dreaming. 

The elevator ding to the top floor took him out of his head, out of daydreaming of you. He hurriedly ran across the hall, earning a “you’re late” from Perry. Clark shouts a sorry right back at him as he rushes to his desk, the one that sits right next to yours. 

The bullpen is as busy as ever. People are rushing to get in their own section of the paper and trying to get the latest scoop about their favorite celebrity. Papers were scattered on top of every single desk. 

There’s you, sitting patiently at your desk. There’s an ice cream up in your hand, a spoon in the other. You were dressed in your usual work attire, consisting of tailored slacks and a black blouse. It was one of his favorite sights. He almost takes a step forward to see you, but he stops in his tracks, though—a dead halt. 

His eyes widen as the ice cream hits your tongue, and he sees the way it caresses the spoon. He can already feel the way his cheeks start to warm—the tip of his ears already pink. All thoughts that swirled through that head of his were now empty. There was nothing in there—just you and the way your tongue swirled against the plastic object. 

He shouldn’t be thinking of you this way. He knows that—you’re just eating ice cream. But the way your lips shine against the contrast of the pink ice cream, and the moan of pure sweetness that falls onto his ears. It was pure ecstasy. 

You don’t even notice him, the broad shoulders and wide blue eyes. You just notice the sweet, fruity taste of your strawberry ice cream. It makes him feel dizzy. It makes him feel whole. All you’re doing is eating a simple dessert, trying to cool off in this heat, and he is struggling. 

Then, you finally lock eyes with his and it breaks him. 

“Oh, hi, Clark.” He watches the way your tongue clicks against your teeth as you say his name. He watches your lips lick the side of your mouth from the sweet treat sticking to your lips. He swore his heart palpitated—and that just doesn’t happen to a Kryptonian. 

He stutters out a hello, staring directly at your lips. You seem none the wiser and go for another scoop of ice cream. “Want some?” 

Yeah, he can’t take it anymore. Your tongue doesn’t even hit the spoon before he’s setting down your ice cream and dragging you out of the bullpen, and shoving you into the nearest closet. 

“Clark!” You gasped, back being gently pushed against the wall of cleaning supplies. You had just blinked, and suddenly you were in this closet. His hands immediately find your waist—the tingling already starts pricking your skin. You look up at him to see his pupils blown wide, knowing that it wasn’t from the darkness of the closet. 

“You drive me crazy.” He whispers. “You-you just, you’re so beautiful. I can’t stop thinking—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because you’re practically on top of him. Lips pressed against his in a frenzy, arms wrapped around his neck. He drives you crazy just as much. 

He reacts almost immediately. His lips mold against yours, kissing every inch of your skin. His hands immediately reach to caress the skin on your stomach, exploring every inch. You swore that every single time he does that, it feels like he’s touching you for the first time. 

His hands don’t even rush; they just traverse the plains of your skin. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the way that you feel against his own fingertips. He can’t help but let out a moan just from the feeling of you. 

It makes you gasp against his lips, “Clark, they’ll hear.” It’s a whisper, and you’re not even sure that you mean it. There’s something about the way that he feels, the large hands pressing against your shoulder and stomach, that makes your head feel fuzzy. 

He looks at you, peeling away his skin from yours. “I don’t care. I-please—”

He looks wrecked. His hair is messy from your hands, and his face is flushed. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him this affected. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this way either—for the first time, his heart is pitter-pattering against his ribcage. 

Your brain doesn’t even think. It was like second nature for you. It was carnal—the need. You sink down to your knees. It was clumsy, definitely knocking down a few cleaning bottles along the way, but you didn’t care. 

He makes a sound, a choked sound. You’ve never heard that come from his plush lips. His lips part just slightly from the idea folding through his head. 

“Honey, what are you—”

“Clark, let me, please. I-I- just need to do this.” You’re not sure you’ve ever sounded this wrecked either. It’s just the way he makes you feel. The electricity that’s bouncing on your heart and surging through your chest. The way he’s so caring, even when he’s not even trying. 

“Okay, I-, okay.” 

You don’t even hesitate and immediately go to his belt. The unbuckling feels like it lasts forever, at least to him. He can feel himself throb with anticipation. He watches, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, as you rush to pull his work slacks down his ankle. Your fingernails scratch against his pelvic bone, and it makes him shudder. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

He just can’t help it—saying things like that. He wants to shower you with the love and affection that he feels in his heart. He said it so clearly, too. No stuttering, and no hesitation. It was real. 

It makes you pause above his boxers. You could feel the small closet get even hotter from the way that his words make you just feel warm and whole. You slowly open your lips to say something, but nothing seems to come out. All you can do is hope that the look in your eyes is conveying how you feel, and it does. He can feel it, somehow. 

You slowly tuck your fingers on the band of his boxers, ever so slightly pulling them down. It makes his breath hitch—the coolness of your touch. You fully take his boxers down to his ankles, falling on top of his slacks. His cock springs up, leaking and bulging. 

It makes your mouth water, the anticipation of having him in your mouth. And to just see him. He’s big and throbbing and ruddy. You could almost taste it. You look up at him, just a quick glance. His cheeks are pink—the tip of his ears too. 

Then, you touch him. You wrap your gentle fingers around the base of his cock. He lets out a breath—never having been so breathless before. It almost hitched, the pleasure of just your skin on his sent a shock through him. “Honey–”

He lets out a large breath, hoping to get a grip. He’s not sure he can, though, the sparks that fly across his chest make the air in his lungs stutter even more. Another moan surged through his lips when your finger brushed against his tip. 

“Clark.” You could feel his cock jump. You whined out his name once more, mouth watering once again. The anticipation was almost too much. You didn’t waste a single moment and placed your mouth onto his tip, swirling your tongue around the sensitive area.

“So big, Clark.” He moans at the desperation in your voice. It was low and deep, but it was there. His body felt like it was throbbing—a feeling he almost couldn’t describe. 

“I-” He goes to say something, but halts mid-sentence as you took him whole. It’s a broken moan that leaves his mouth instead. His hand gently cups the back of your head. He doesn’t push further or rush things, just holds you there. He just wants to feel you. 

Your lips start to ease even further, the determination to take all of him was something you didn’t know that you needed. You could feel the dampness begin to pool in your underwear. The throb against your core had almost become unbearable. 

“You’re doing so good, honey. Takin’ all of me.” His words swirl together, almost as one. The praise blooms through your chest, hands sinking deeper onto his thighs. You taste the sour, salty precum that poured from his tip. “Shit–” He exclaims, or tries to whisper. “So pretty, you’re so pretty.” 

You could feel the way his cock twitches in his mouth. “Such a pretty girl.” He swore he was going insane. There was something about the way that your eyes glossed over, and the way your mouth was continuously salivating. Your mouth felt so good around his cock—throat constricting and making him see stars. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful, I–”

You bob your head back and forth, his eyes tracing your every movement. He watches his cock disappear into your mouth, and he swears it was the most beautiful sight he’s seen. He could feel himself already close. He wasn’t sure if it was just the excitement of being in a closet or if it was purely just you. Who is he even kidding? It’s you. 

You gagged around his girth, pushing yourself to go a bit faster. If he hadn’t seen the pure lust across your eyes, he’s not sure he would’ve let this go this far. His eyes suddenly turn nervous, throat bobbing from the pure ecstasy of your mouth. He’s never cum this fast in his life, but he can feel the rush—that certain peak rising against his stomach. 

“Can-can I cum down your throat? Please?” 

You don’t even get the chance to say anything, not realizing how close to the edge he was. He groans out, low and guttural, as his seed spills into the back of your throat. He moans out your name in between shaken breaths from the ropes flowing through your mouth—salty and sour. He tries to stay quiet, but it’s only futile. He watches as you continue to pump his cock into your mouth. You swallow every single drop of cum that spurts into your mouth. The added friction of your throat only made him whimper and whine. 

He tries to stay quiet, he swears. He just can’t help the way that your mouth feels. You hum around him, content and pleased. Your underwear is soaking at this point, but you honestly didn’t care. You just wanted to take care of Clark—sweet, sweet Clark. You wanted to take care of him for once.  

You slowly let out his cock with a pop. With the Kryptonian blood, he can feel himself harden a little bit already. It was purely from the fucked out look that struck across your face, and it was purely from pleasuring him. He can’t help but find your pretty face so ethereal. 

He helps you back up, just now noticing how much your knees actually hurt. While you wince at the sting, it still felt good. He pulls his boxers and slacks back on, but not before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relaxed at work, ever.” You start to laugh softly, still trying to stay quiet. He returns the smile, dimple popping out on his cheek. 

“So, the ice cream, huh?”

So, you had noticed. It has him turn a deep shade of red. “W-Well, you just–with the spoon and—” You start to laugh once more, wrapping an arm around his torso. His hands immediately press against your hips, as if by instinct. 

“Shut up, I can’t help it!”

-

“How long have they been seeing each other?” Jimmy raises his eyebrow, an empty soft-serve cup in his hand.

Lois doesn’t even look up, already figuring it out about two weeks ago. She taps her pen onto a notepad, trying to edit her work. “About four weeks.” She smirks, watching the two of you come out of a janitor's closet looking a bit messy.

[poughkeepsies-world]

a first time together

cw: clark kent x afab!reader, protected p in v, loss of 'virginity', insecurities, softie clark bc i'm not feeling well and i need a hug, looots of kissessss, c'moooon look at those pretty lipssss.

To tell the truth, neither of you knew if the heat you felt was a product of the summer in Smallville or because of the tremendous tension between the two of you. Maybe it was a little bit of both, maybe it was the sun's rays, maybe it was Clark's clumsy, inexperienced hands caressing your thighs over your skirt, maybe it was your own hands holding his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

Your soft breaths filled his ears, which you caressed from lobe to helix, making him hum softly. His nervous hand was placed against your lower stomach —yes, he dared to move his hand from your thigh, that's brave!— pushing you against the old couch of his little relaxing-space at the barn. This completely daring move allowed him to have a little more control in the situation —even if he didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, his pretty eyes opening to look you in the eye, taking the time to appreciate every detail in your face: swollen lips from the kissing session, a little scar on your eyebrow which is only visible with sunlight at the right angle, some wrinkles, product of daily stress, and some other spots on your skin.

Oh good Lord, he loved you with his whole heart. To him, you were the prettiest little thing ever. You were also fragile, delicate like glass.

"We've been kissing for like... fifteen minutes?" you chuckled lowly, voice shaky and amused, still a little breathy. "I mean, not like I'm complaining, clearly, but you're gonna wear out my lips"

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck a little embarrassed about it. But he can't help it! You're just... ugh, perfect.

"I kinda got carried away" Clark said as an apology, smiling softly, his canines standing out in his smile as always. "We can stop, y'know. I may be being a bit intense right now..."

You shook your head softly, smiling amused. "Don't worry, Clark. We don't have to stop. I don't wanna stop. Do you?"

Clark grinned, shaking his head amused too, and obviously still a little nervous. "Good, good..." he mumbled, looking at you directly into your eyes again, then leaned forward and slowly kissed you again.

This guy, the one who turned 18 a few days ago was too nervous, but that that wasn't gonna stop him from caressing your lower belly, or sliding one hand to your nape and putting the other on the couch, gently pushing you now towards the cushions. He crawled on top of you, careful not to put all his weight on you, as you two kept kissing.

Your legs unconsciously opened for him to adjust himself right there, your hands went to his back, one of them caressing his upper back and the other slipping under his white t-shirt, slowly caressing his skin, tearing from his lips a soft whimper.

Suddenly he broke the kiss, he seemed even more nervous now, making you frown a little.

"Hey, you okay?" your question was soft, your voice was it too, as if you were talking to a hurt animal.

"Have you ever done this?" he replied back with another question, chewing his inner cheek.

"Kiss you? Yeah, I've done it before, Clark" you mumbled, smiling shyly, your frown fading from your face.

Oh, you were so cute he could die.

"No, not that" he chuckled, caressing your sides with nervous hands. He swallowed hard. "I meant... it"

The pink color flooded your entire face, making you giggle a little, shaking your head softly. "No, never... you?"

"No, no, no" Clark replied quickly, also shaking his hand. "I... I guess now I'm glad I'm not the only one who's a little lost with this..."

"Hey, it's okay" you said, cupping his cheek with one hand, the other unable to stop caressing his skin. "We... we can figure it out together"

Clark nodded, kissing your jaw softly then. His kisses were still a little shy, but gradually, they became more confident, more rude, more passionate. The hand that was next to you, traveled to your thigh again, moving towards your knee, reaching your calf, ending at your foot and getting rid of your boot, then the other one.

You smiled at him, Clark chuckling softly as he took off your socks, tossing them next to your boots, teasingly biting one of your feet.

"Hey! Don't bite!" you said, pulling your feet away from his mouth, but he pushed hard and grabbed them, pushing them apart and opening your legs again, leaning on you as he caressed your skin slowly and seductively. "Hi" you giggled kissing his lips gently.

"Hi" he replied against your soft lips.

You pulled him tightly against your body, your hands playing with the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it slowly exposing centimeter by centimeter in a fearful but determined manner. He helped you, taking it off of him, leaving his toned torso in your sight, which was caressed by your hands slowly, tasting and memorizing every part of his skin.

"You're really pretty" you blurted out, pressing your hands on his shoulders, pulling him back towards you.

"Oh, God" he whispered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment at your words.

With soft kisses, soft touches and soft whimpers, your hands undressed him and his undressed you, now both in their underwear, Clark scooped you in his arms effortlessly as he managed to sit on the couch to make you straddle his lap. His hands caressed your bare back as he pecked your lips, fingers finding the clasp of your bra nervously, and pulled back a little, his blue eyes searching yours.

"Is it okay if I...? You know..." his voice was soft, accompanied by a coy smile. "Can I take this off?"

You chuckled softly, nodding with your head, mumbling a soft "yes". Kent slowly unclasped your bra, sliding one of the straps of your bra down your shoulder, kissing your skin softly, nipping it, as he uncovered your chest. He moved your hair to the side so he could kiss your neck and collarbones, now enjoying the warmth of your bare skin against his, feeling shivers running down his spine.

"You're pretty too, God, so beautiful" he breathed out, his eyes roaming your torso in awe, enraptured by your naked beauty and purity, your exposed body was a work of art, one that only he could appreciate now. "I could just... I could stare at you all day"

You smiled, cupping his cheeks and gave him an open-mouthed kiss, sighing against his mouth, tongue delving into his.

He whimpered.

Oh, God. It felt like heaven. Your mouth was warm, it was a slight test of what was forbidden, what was kept away from him.

It was glorious.

He kissed you back with the same fucking lust, the same fucking love. His hands tugged the hem of your panties, playing with it until he decided to slide them slowly off your pretty body and leave you all bare to him. His eyes landed on your new exposed area, swallowing hard, feeling his throat and mouth dry and his boxers feeling tight.

"Please..." he whispered, now looking at your face with pleading eyes. "Can I... can I just touch you?"

It was a simple question, but goddamn... he looked at you with those blue eyes as if you were the prettiest thing that has existed on earth —yet he looked a little pathetic, furrowed brow in need, eyes shining, little pout on those red lips from kissing you so much.

He was perfect for you.

"Yes, Clark, you can touch me" you replied softly, feeling your body shudder. "Let me touch you too, baby, please?"

The farmboy nodded, hands going lower, caressing your ass and thighs, gently —and a little unsure— he touched your privates. He wasn't an expert, but he kinda had an idea of how to actually do it. His confidence increased a little when he heard you gasp softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders tightly.

"Clark..." you breathed out, eyes shutting in pleasure.

You pressed your forehead on his shoulder, your legs trying to close at his touch, but he kept them open with his other hand. His fingers with a bruising grip on your thigh, not allowing you to close your gates to Heaven no inch. His touch was gentle and reverent, his hand getting wetter with your sweet arousal.

His kisses and your own touches on his warmth skin made you two end up lying on the couch again —maybe the barn wasn't the better place to do this, but just... hormones blocking any kind of reasoning whatsoever—, his hands reached his jeans, pulling out a condom from his wallet —and maybe not the best place to save one, but hey, at least he had one!.

He was shaky, nervous, and so you were.

For some people, the first time wasn't a big deal, but for both of you it certainly was. It was also special, after almost a year of relationship, this could actually be the moment when your souls and bodies are used in harmony and as perfect puzzle pieces. Something that would mark an important moment for the relationship.

Between giggles, you helped him to roll the condom on his hardness and to aline him on your entrance. He took a shuddering breath, and his gaze moved from your almost connected bodies to your pretty face seeking for doubt, for insecurity, for rejection. His eyes were filled with a mix of desire and... pure fear. He was afraid that you would push him away, that you changed your mind at the last minute, that you think he's not what you want.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice betraying his worst feelings at the moment. "We can-... we can stop, y'know? I wouldn't mind, honestly"

But you weren't dumb. You knew his words came from fear, and you won't let him think that you don't want to do this, that you don't want to give yourself to him. You shook your head, caressing his cheek softly, with a little smile on your face. "I don't wanna stop. I don't want you to stop" you said, almost the same words you said earlier, and they were more than enough to make him feel confident again.

"Let me know if it hurts, yeah?" he asked softly, pressing the tip of his length on your slick folds, nudging your entrance gently. He heard you whimper lowly, shifting your hips a little for him. "Am I hurting you?" Clark stopped his movements, looking at your face.

You shook your head again, taking a deep breath and moving your hands to his back so you could ground yourself.

"On the contrary" you gasped softly. Your chest heaving with your shallow breaths. "Keep going, please..."

The farmboy sighed softly, relieved, and nodded, slowly finishing to push his hips towards yours, burying his cock fully in your warmnes. You both moaned at the sensation, being consumed slowly by the pleasure that was starting to form inside. He gave you a few seconds to adjust yourself to his size, to the intruder who was slowly and deliciously splitting you open.

He peppered kisses on your face as you took your sweet time to get used to him. It was a new sensation, one you could easily get used to. After a few minutes, you moved your hips towards his, indicating that he could start moving now. You knew that, anyway, and despite being patient so as not to hurt you, he was mentally fighting with the primal instinct of thrust into you.

Clark hummed when you moved your hips, the green light to keep going. He pulled back his lips just a little, pushing then gently back inside of you, his breath coming in short gasps as your walls enveloped his cock so good. You gasped softly once more, your nails digging painfully but deliciously on his back, making him groan on your neck.

He thrusted into your soft and warm heat, grabbing one of your hands and pinning it above your head, pulling out from the depths of your throat the most beautiful moans he had ever heard in his life. He rolled his hips slowly, angling them to hit the perfect spot inside of your pussy, making you shudder with pleasure. He whispered sweet nothingsin your ear, his voice, ragged and filled with lust, filled your ears, the exquisite melody that filled your soul.

"Oh, God... don't stop... Clark, don't stop" you whimpered, clenching around his shaft mercilessly. "You're doing it so good... so good..."

Your soft moans and pleas were driving him nuts. His hips picked pace, a little faster now, making the old couch beneath you creak a little. He growled softly, loosing himself in the amazing sensation of your body connected with his. It was beautiful and magical.

It was embarrassing to say that he wasn't going to last long, but could you blame him? He had the prettiest girl ever in his arms, moaning his name and asking for something only he could give you. He pressed his face harder on your neck, nose inhaling your musky scent and a little of your perfume.

"Honey, I... oh God... I think I'm g-gona cum" *he grumbled as his thrusts became more uncoordinated, desperate, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. He gritted his teeth tightly, his jaw clenched, fighting his release. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

You squeeze his hand above your head, your legs wrapping around his hips and heels digging into his taut ass to push him deeper. His incredibly amazing movements making you see stars behind your eyelids, the orgasm building tight on your lower belly.

"I'm close too... oh, God!" you cried out, feeling on the edge from the orgasmic precipice. The pleasure was immense, your nails digging into his back, unable to contain for much longer that delicious sensation to which you were becoming addicted.

It didn't take long for you two to come, your orgasm finally pushing Clark to reach his —he had really taken it upon himself to make you feel good, like a goddess. Your juices dripped off your core, sliding down your ass and small drops falling on the couch as he emptied himself inside of the condom, his hips still moving trying to prolong a little more the pleasure for both of you.

He wondered to himself why, despite being too strong and being almost incapable of getting tired, he felt exhausted. Maybe it was the effect of your pretty body in display for him. He grinned at the thought of you being able to do that to him.

With some weird effort, he pulled out of you, taking off the condom from his softening cock and tying it, slumping on top of you, his lips finding your pulse point. Your skin tasted like your sweat, not like he cared at all. Your hands caressed his sweaty back, a small smile decorating your face.

"If your mom or dad finds us like this..." you said teasingly, catching your breath.

Clark chuckled, stroking your bare sides. "They'll be fine"

[softvalentines]

pairing: clark kent x reader cw: smut, afab reader, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, possessive/obsessive behavior, panty stealing + masturbation with stolen clothing, cum play, mild dacryphilia (crying), implied somnophilia, power imbalance themes (due to clark's strength), fixation/infatuation kink elements, praise kink

clark kent is a good boy.

that much isn’t up for debate, near feels factual in a way that’s more bone-deep than a simple observation. there’s something about the way he listens to you like your voice is gravity itself, like the earth would stop spinning if you told it to, and he’d simply follow suit. like it physically pains him not to obey. nods his head like a schoolboy, cheeks going warm, glasses slipping down his nose, the dark blue of his eyes going glassy the second you so much as suggest something he could do for you. wide, earnest blue eyes, so soft they almost ache to look at when he glances up from between your thighs. the way his brows pinch when you sigh his name, like it physically hurts him to not be inside you.

he’s careful too — always careful, which seems ridiculous when you think about it. when you’ve got a man with hands big enough to crush coal to diamond and he’s kneeling between your thighs like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. he eats pussy like it’s an art, like it’s a duty, like it’s his reward for walking around so soft-spoken and sweet all day. you swear the first time you let him taste you, he damn near cried.

clark always starts slow. a long, deliberate stripe from your hole to your clit, tongue broad and hot, so heavy it makes you twitch. every single time, he bucks into the bed beneath him, rutting down against the mattress with a strangled noise in his throat, like he can’t help it. mutters something soft under his breath that you can never quite catch — something in that old kansas drawl, reverent and filthy at the same time.

“god… you taste so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

and then it’s like something unravels in him. he pulls away for just a second, dragging the flat of his tongue over his lower lip, eyes glassy, lips shiny. his glasses always fog up — every goddamn time — slipping a little down the bridge of his nose as he stares at your cunt like it’s some ancient relic he’s been lucky enough to find.

he experiments too. brings a thick, testing finger to your soaked entrance, the pad of it teasing around your hole before he sinks it in to the knuckle. he whines. literally fucking whines at the way you clench around him. his breath hitches, his hips stutter against the bed, and he curls his finger just so, pressing against that spot that makes you jerk.

“oh, baby… yeah, that’s it. so good for me. so fuckin’ pretty when you do that.”

and you don’t stand a chance after that. because clark eats pussy because it makes him feel good. it isn’t for show. it’s because the taste of you is the closest thing to heaven he figures he’ll ever be allowed to have. he drinks you down like a man starved, nosing at your clit, humming low in his throat until your thighs tremble. his biceps flex when you try to squirm away — huge and warm and unyielding as they wrap around your hips, pinning you down to the bed like you weigh nothing.

he doesn’t stop when you cum. no, he groans like it’s his own release and keeps his mouth on you, tongue dragging relentless circles over your overstimulated clit, fingers still curling inside you until your voice goes hoarse and your legs spasm.

“c’mon, baby… gimme one more. you can do that for me, right? so good, baby… so good.”

in the end, he pulls back with your arousal glistening on his chin, cheeks, and nose, his hair a mess, eyes glassy, lips swollen. his glasses askew, barely hanging on, like the poor things had given up the fight half an hour ago. he looks wrecked. like a man who’s spent too long drinking from a cup he knows he’s not supposed to touch, but can’t stop himself from going back for more.

but see — with good always comes bad, whatever bad means for a man like clark kent. and for him, it comes in the form of a terrible, aching, ruinous panty-stealing problem.

it started as a one-time thing. you’d been asleep, room smelling like sweat and sex, and your discarded lace panties lay at the edge of the bed. he hadn’t meant to. really. but then his hand brushed the fabric, and it was damp with you, and something in his gut twisted up sharp. he brought them to his face before he could stop himself, nosing against the crotch, dragging his tongue over the soaked patch. pink turning dark where his tongue drags over the crotch. 

he came in his fucking pants. just from that.

and it only got worse from there. now it’s a habit, a desperate indulgence he tells himself he’ll quit and never does. pink, expensive lace wrapped around his cock, sticky with pre-cum as he thrusts into it in the dark of his bedroom, biting down hard on the pillow to muffle his groans. panting, cheeks flushed deep, hair clinging to his forehead as he fucks himself stupid with your scent in his lungs.

“fuck… fuck, baby… oh god—”

and when he cums, it’s messy. thick, hot ropes of it, clinging to the fabric, dripping over his knuckles as his hips jerk. his whole body tightens up, a long, broken moan of your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

but clark can’t steal. not from you. no matter how low he sinks, it scratches something raw in him to keep them. so he always gives them back. sometimes it’s hours later, sometimes days — but he does. he’ll slide them back into your drawer when you aren’t looking, or tug them up your thighs when he’s got you in his lap, the fabric still sticky and heavy with the obscene amount he spilled into it. mouth moving in a desperate, pleading whisper. “don’t be mad, please don’t be mad… just needed you so bad, baby, couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you…”

and you’ll forgive him. because he’s good.

good boy. but not that good.

[juicykvnture]

ATTENTION!

Clark Kent x fem!reader

tags: AFAB reader, phone sex, ur both down bad, HR is calling!! (this is bizarre I’m sorry)

a/n: first time writing outside of the batboys I’m shaking in my boots..

wc: 1.8k | masterlist

“Clark.. you told me you’d log off for the night.” You can’t help rolling your eyes, sitting up on your bed slightly as you stare at your laptop, phone on speaker beside you “You’ll burn yourself out.”

Your coworker just shrugs, staring at his own screen as he leans back in his chair.

Overtime at the office hardly counts if he loves his job, right?

“You’re still online, too.” Clark points out, the slight smirk on his face is almost obvious through his voice alone.

“I’m not working.”

“No? I just saw you edit that document like.. three seconds ago.” Clark counters, arching a brow as he stares at the Word file in front of him.

“..well I’ll log off when you do.” You mumble, too tired to argue with him at this point.

“Okay, okay, fine. Just send me the draft for that column okay? I’ll leave you alone, promise!”

“Clark.” You blink, staring at your phone and then your laptop - of course, he’s still online. Very much lurking in that document. “It’s past midnight, go home to bed. You’re only human.”

That earns a small chuckle from the other end of the line, part genuine amusement.. part disbelief at just how wrong you are.

“Fine, just send it over okay? I wanna have a look over the sources.”

“You just want to stay up all night fangirling over Superman, don’t bullshit with me,” you mumble, though you find yourself scrolling through the files on your laptop nonetheless - of course you do.

“You’re the best.”

“I know. I’m just gonna send you a few source links, I’m still polishing that draft.” You mumble under your breath, sleepily pasting the link into an email.

“The whole point of a draft is that it’s unpolished and-”

“Stop talking.” You cut him off, rubbing a hand over your eyes.

“..yes ma’am.” Clark huffs, brows furrowing a little bit when he sees what’s just hit his already overflowing email inbox.

“..Twitter, seriously?”

“What?” You argue. Clark is almost sure he can hear you rolling your eyes, already able to picture your exasperated expression through the phone, “People have all sorts of opinions on this guy okay? We can’t be biased, even if you’ve got a little crush on the guy.”

“Excuse me, I do not have a crush on Superman.” Clark pouts to himself, adjusting his glasses as his cursor hovers over the link “..this better not be like threads upon threads of ragebait or something..”

He cuts himself off, line going silent as he just stares at his screen - like every word he’s ever learned has just decided to evaporate from his vocabulary entirely.

No, most definitely not ragebait.

“Clark?” your brows furrow, holding your phone a little closer to your ear, “Clark? Is your reception bad or something?”

“Uh,” he swallows, fingers digging into the material of his slacks, “yeah uh, I’ll call you back.”

Well and truly, he was expecting that dumb social media shit he’s used to. You know - #supershit, speculations and rumours all revolving around who the hell this whole Superman is, and maybe a thirst tweet here and there..

Yeah, no. This isn’t just a casual thread of thirst tweets. It’s a whole profile.

Hundreds of posts, no bio - a blurry profile picture. A burner account, clearly.

Clark in his seat slightly, eyes narrowing under his glasses as he leans in a little closer to his laptop - no, no way he recognises that blur of a person in the photo, no way.

He’s reading too much into this right? He’s getting distracted. You’ve obviously sent him the wrong link.

He just needs to see what the internet is saying and turn his laptop off. He promised you he’d log off.

But did a little bit of curiosity ever hurt anyone? He’s a journalist for gods sake.

Clark stares at his laptop for another moment, taking a small breath before moving his cursor and making the decision to scroll down and have a look at those god forsaken tweets.

might start standing naked by my window just in case that superman guy happens to be flying by ://

“Oh,” Clark blinks, tilting his head like a confused puppy before scrolling down again.

Seriously? This is what people use their own free will to post on the internet? Forever??

I'm not joking the new guy at my job is so fucking hot I need to crawl under that desk NOW.

superman supertall (like 6’3????) so how big that superdick??

“I’m 6’4.” He mumbles under his breath, unable to keep a hint of a pout off his lips at the misinformation.

j*b application this, j*b promotion that well how about I hunt down superman and give him a BLOWJOB??????

“Huh,” He bites his tongue, eyes narrowing as he stares at that little profile picture in the top corner. He’s tired, he’s half delusional. No way in hell he recognises this blur of a person.

Okay, he can’t help himself.

He has to scroll down just a little bit further.

This superfan of his just caught his attention, alright?

Long story short it’s how he’s ended up down a rabbit hole - eyes all wide as he stares at his screen in front of him, lips slightly parted.

Okay, fuck. This little fan of his is stupidly hot and seemingly has no shame whatsoever, especially online.

Worst of all, he can’t stop scrolling, the tent in his slacks getting worse by the second.

He’s shifting around in his chair, one hand clutching his tie to try and keep himself together - he’s at the office for fucks sake. He can’t be pulling this shit here.

But one tweet. One singular tweet and he swears he’s having a heart attack.

lowkey stopped wearing underwear to work, just in case my coworker wants to fuck me over his desk :p

Paired with very compelling photographic evidence that has him fumbling with his god damn glasses, making sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

That’s you. It fucking has to be.

Bad lighting, legs pushed apart and taken right at the desk he’s sat at right now. On his own fucking chair.

He’d laugh at the fact you were accusing him of a crush on Superman if he wasn’t so painfully fucking horny right now.

He wants to log off and turn that stupid laptop off, he really does.

But he has to keep scrolling.

How could he have been so oblivious in the last few months?

Sure, you’ve always been nice to him. Maybe a little but flirty but fuck, this is something else entirely.

He’s always been able to play it off with an awkward huff, a stupid little grin under his breath as he adjusted his glasses.

He’d fidget with his tie, hide his flushed face behind his favourite mug you’d gotten him for a little office Christmas gift and act like he didn’t want to fuck you right then and there.

See, Clark really does like you.

Everything from how you colour code all your folders to how dedicated you are to your job - to the stupidly fucking tight blouse you wear that has him questioning his sanity and awkwardly pulling his chair closer to his desk so you don’t see his raging boner.

And now that he’s found your stupid little account? He can’t take it anymore.

It was an accident, surely you didn’t mean to send him that link. He should stop, log off. He can’t.

Not when he knows you’d crawl right under that fucking desk and take his cock down your throat if you could (your words, not his)

Now, Clark is a nice guy. He really is. He’s always got that little smile on his face that makes his dimples extra prominent around you, that one slightly loose curl falling into his eyes.

But you’ve reduced him to a panting mess, arching back against his desk chair as he desperately pumps his cock - and you’re not even there.

You’re probably asleep by now, maybe you’re still working.

Maybe you’re neither. Maybe you’re still up and in bed writing those stupid fucking thirst tweets - one-handed, hopefully.

“S-shit,” Clark hisses under his breath, one hand gripping the armrest of his chair as he tries to keep his voice down despite the office being empty at this hour.

He’s leaking badly, his hands shaking just a little as he grips his cock at the base, spreading his pre-cum down his length for some relief.

He could probably fly across Metropolis to your apartment and fuck you right now - if he could form a coherent thought, that is.

He’d find your little tweets funny if he wasn’t worse than you are. So much fucking worse.

He can barely recognise himself in the mirror when he has to run out to the bathroom to rub one out cause he felt your breath down his neck when you stood behind him to read something over his shoulder.

It just keeps happening. Every time your shoulder brushes against his, each time he tells some joke that has you pushing at his chest with an “Oh, you’re so funny, Clark!”

There’s nothing funny about this anymore.

“Ah, f-fuck,” He’s biting down on his tie so he doesn’t whine like a whore, glasses fogged up and almost falling off of his flushed face as his hips desperately buck up into his hand.

He couldn’t even put his thoughts about you into words if he tried.

At least you manage to be coherent when you do it.

Clark can’t. All he can do is pant and whine - fucking his fist so hard he could almost break down and sob right there.

He’s literally Superman. He’s meant to be the pinnacle of good in society but all he is right now is a pussy-whipped loser, Adam's Apple bobbing in his throat as he fumbles to reach for the phone.

He can’t cum without hearing your voice, even if it’s just for a second. He should feel bad, he might wake you.

But the thought of your voice all soft and sleepy makes his cock twitch in his hand, unable to hold back a shaky whimper as he rubs his thumb over his leaking slit.

“..Clark?” Your brows furrow as you accept the call, barely lifting your head from the comfort of your pillow “You alright?”

He’s far from alright, the sound of your voice making his back arch up off the creaky leather.

“Y-yeah,” he’s barely able to croak out an answer, nearly knocking the whole phone off the desk as he shakily grips the handset.

“What’s wrong? It’s late,”

He doesn’t know what to tell you.

It’s not like he can admit he’s jerking himself off in the middle of the night - at work, no less.

“M-misinformation, lies!” he manages a pant, teeth pressing into his bottom lip so hard it could bleed.

“What?” You rasp, sitting up slightly.

“M’not 6’3,” his voice is bordering on a whine, struggling to string a sentence together.

“S-six four, I’m 6’4.”

a/n: hi I’m gonna get “I <3 nerds” as a tramp stamp in the comic sans font I’m not joking.

Superman Superslut!! (Pls send me Clark ideas if u have em..)

Love u thank u for reading!!

[musingsofheaven]

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ࣪ ִֶ🧺₊˚｡⋆ the girl who talks to flowers. ⠀⠀⠀⠀pink ribbon knots. bitten fruit. cherry gloss. ୧ ‧₊˚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✸ ׂ ⭒ ݂ ‧ @ musingsofheaven ꒰ addison! 🪷 nineteenth cottage. velvet bows. she / her. apples collector. bug bite thighs. dew-born. southeast asian fae. bookleaf baby. aquarius, dazed under a berry moon. ﹙ ♡ ﹚

୨᭪ read the four labels : masterlist ⁺ guidelines ⁺ request ⁺ author before you pick the jam .ᐟ the mailbox is open for girlwishes ⋆ ࣪.𓏲 ⋆ ༘

⠀⠀⠀·⠀ ♡⠀ recents. ˳ ⠀⠀.⠀⠀˚ pick a petal, read a fic ! ୨୧

⠀ ⠀꒰ ⊹ uno. captain’s order . .⃗ stanford!art donaldson x vball captain!reader ꒱

⠀ ⠀꒰ ⊹ dos. all makes sense . .⃗ intern!clark kent x afab intern!reader ꒱

⠀ ⠀꒰ ⊹ tres. bite down softly . .⃗ tashi duncan x afab!reader ꒱

⠀ ⠀꒰ ⊹ quatro. wild card . .⃗ coach!art donaldson x zweig!reader ꒱

⠀ ⠀꒰ ⊹ cinco. playback . .⃗ cameraman!clark kent x adult content creator!reader ꒱

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⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˳ ˳ . ⋅ ˙ ॱ ᐧ . ˳ ˳ . ⋅ ˙ ॱ ᐧ . twenty-twenty-five © addie ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ / musingsofheaven.

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