aka a dudebro's worst nightmare she/her. bi. 20. black. fan editor. author. ✧・゚: *✧・゚:* carrd
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Text
the council of supermen twitter posts. (read book one on ao3 here!)
click for better quality
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
take a shot every time this man cusses in the video
His adorable "I'll kill you" omg baby Clark grown in a Smallville lab
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
six months
clark kent x editor!reader
Summary: Sequel to Yes, Ma'am. You and Clark have been dating for six months, and he's been acting... weird.
Word Count: 14.9k
Content: 18+, smut, jealous!clark, reader is still mean and clark is still a disaster and a yearner, drinking, piv sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it friends), oral (m!receiving & f!receiving), edging, clark whimpers some more, bitches need to communicate, no use of y/n, douchebag coworker
Link to Yes, Ma'am
To Read on AO3
Masterlist
Daily Planet, Metropolis – 10:42 AM
The day is already well underway at the Daily Planet, the newsroom moving like it is alive—a body constantly in motion, inhaling and exhaling within every moment. Employees pace the floors like writhing organs; the ebb and flow of chatter is a steady heartbeat that thrums throughout. Everyone moves with purpose, like a well-oiled machine.
You, however, feel like a squeaky wheel in the complicated mechanism that is the Daily Planet.
“Hey, do you have that draft for me yet?” Lois asks as she sidles next to your desk, coffee cup firmly in hand, no doubt filled with a noxious concoction of the break room coffee and an inordinate amount of pure granulated sugar. Her mouth, which had been tilted up into a smile, falls as she glances down at your desk.
It’s like a twister tore through the editor block and specifically targeted your workspace. Paper drafts are strewn across the surface in various stages of the editing process, several of which are stained with coffee or some other food matter and crinkled as though you had been trying to edit on the go. Both of your computer monitors are covered in Post-it notes that barely leave a fraction of the screen visible, with little reminders for yourself (a few of which Lois can see are already past the deadline). She notices that the light on your desk phone is blinking steadily red, and the number next to the voicemail count makes her physically ill.
You’re currently in the middle of scrounging around in the mess, lifting heaps of folders and papers, clearly looking for something, when she makes her way over. “I can come back later…” Lois offers as she starts to inch away.
“I’m looking for my pen,” you grumble, leaning over to scan underneath your desk in case it fell onto the floor.
Lois immediately zeroes in on your signature blue gel pen tucked into your haphazard bun (along with several others). “Uh,” she starts gaining your attention, and when you glance up at her, she points to the top of her head.
You reach up, patting your head once, then twice, before you feel the pens sticking out of your hair. You let out a long, exasperated sigh as you pluck one from your hair. “I’m so sorry, I meant to get this to you yesterday,” you apologize as you grab a draft, one thankfully with no coffee stains on it, and hold it out to Lois.
As Lois grabs the packet from you, she finally takes in your appearance. You hadn’t bothered with much makeup today, just a bit of concealer that barely covered the bags under your eyes and blush, so you didn’t look as dead as you felt. Normally, your outfits were well put together, but the button-up you were wearing was wrinkled, and your slacks had remnants of today’s breakfast on them from when you spilled it all over your lap. You didn’t have time to go home and change, so you were left to walk around with stains on your pants.
In short, you look like a hot mess.
“Do you know when they’re going to hire a new editor?” Lois asks, leaning up against your desk as she takes a sip of her coffee, grimacing a bit as she swallows it down. “They can’t just expect you to take on the workload of two people forever.”
Your lips twist into a sneer. “It feels like that’s exactly what they expect,” you mutter. Tom, the sports editor, had quit on the spot nearly three weeks ago after another one of his blowouts with Steve. “Apparently, they’ve interviewed several people, but none of them ‘felt like the right fit.” You made a face as you threw up quotation marks, sinking back into your seat in what you and Lois would agree was definitely not a pout.
Lois groans. “Ugh, that sucks.”
“Tell me about it, I’m drowning,” you lament as you gesture to your desk. “And I hate sports writing.”
“Yeah, well, I imagine dealing with Steve so much now, you realize why Tom quit,” Lois snorts.
“He is a nightmare of a human being,” you deadpan and hold up one of the drafts Steve had given you late last evening. There is not a millimeter more room in the margins for any more notes, so you had to start writing on the back. “Look at this. This man has been working here since I was in high school. What the fuck is this?”
Lois’s nose scrunches up as she cringes. “Any big plans for the weekend to look forward to at least? Isn’t yours and Clark’s six-month anniversary coming up?”
You blanch a bit, your mouth pursing as if you had tasted something sour. “Lois, we’re adults, who celebrates month anniversaries besides teenagers?”
She rolls her eyes despite the smile on her face. “Please, as if Boy Wonder wouldn’t be celebrating the days if given the chance.” You give a half-hearted shrug, biting the inside of your lip to keep yourself from saying anything else as you grab another of the endless drafts that have accumulated on your desk. Lois, ever the astute reporter, picks up on the fact that you're signaling this is the end of the conversation. “I’ll let you get back to it. Let me know if I can help you with anything, okay?” She gives a small smile and taps the folder on your desk before walking away.
“Thanks, Lois,” you call out, eyes already focusing on reading the article you picked up, though your brain can’t seem to process any of the words on the page as you think about your boyfriend, Clark Kent, who is once again mysteriously absent from the bullpen.
Clark Kent, for all intents and purposes, is the perfect boyfriend. He is attentive, always knowing exactly when you need an extra coffee for an afternoon pick-me-up or showing up at your doorstep with a bag of your favorite takeout after a particularly crappy day of work. He is kind, showering you with compliments and lending you a listening ear for when you need to vent. He is respectful, holding doors open and making sure you always walk on the inside of the sidewalk when you’re together.
Your sex life is also nothing to sneeze at, but that’s just a bonus.
The problem is that Clark has been acting weird in the last couple of weeks. He has been so dodgy about his whereabouts, getting up and leaving even in the middle of dates with no explanation other than a hasty ‘UhIgottago’. When you question him about it, he gives a noncommittal shrug or tries to change the subject. So far, you’ve been unwilling to break the bliss of the honeymoon phase by pushing and possibly initiating your first fight as a couple, because, besides his sudden dodginess, things have been really good.
If he were any other person, you would think he was cheating on you, but this is Clark Kent, the man who could barely say a coherent sentence to you until nearly six months ago and still gets tongue-tied when you wear a particularly short skirt or low-cut top.
And really, you already knew he was Superman, so what could he possibly be hiding that is a bigger secret than that?
You sigh, looking up at the clock on the wall, realizing it has been ten minutes since Lois left you to your devices, and you haven’t edited a single line of this article. Clark Kent better get it together because you can’t spend all your time ruminating on him and his oddities when you have a mountain of work to catch up on.
Said boyfriend wouldn’t show up for another hour, looking as frantic and frazzled as usual, though when his eyes meet yours from across the room, a broad, dimpled smile spreads across his face. You curse the way your heartbeat speeds up at the sight of him, how instinctively you feel yourself perk up. It makes you crinkle your nose up and frown; however, one look at your sour face, and Clark is making a beeline for your desk.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets lowly as he presses a kiss to the top of your head, careful to avoid the spiked crown of pens you have going on, before placing the cup of coffee he was holding down onto your desk, your name and a lopsided heart written on the side in his chicken scratch handwriting. When you mutter out your own lackluster greeting, he drops to perch on the edge of your desk, careful not to disturb the precariously placed files. “What’s wrong?”
The internal debate of whether you want to get into it with your boyfriend at work is a quick one, so instead, you gesture to the pile of articles. “If they don’t hire another editor soon, I’m going to quit, and then all of this will be Connie’s problem.”
(Across the way, Connie gives you a startled look that you don’t acknowledge.)
Clark laughs. “You love it too much here to quit.” He states it as if it were a fact. You don’t know why, but that makes you stew a bit. Maybe because he obviously knows you so well, and you only know him well enough to know he’s being strange. “Besides, you know I’d be lost without you to yell at me about deadlines.” His hand reaches out to play with a tendril of hair that has fallen loose from your bun, tucking it behind your ear.
You melt a bit as his thumb traces your jawline. Damn him. “Yeah, you’re right,” you grumble, fighting the urge to cross your arms like you’re a petulant toddler throwing a fit, though you very much wanted to.
“Wanna do takeout and a movie tonight?” he proposes.
“Only if we get to watch a horror movie,” you counter, and you watch as his face puckers at your suggestion. You reach up, tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket hard enough to feel yourself rolling closer to him in your chair. You tilt your chin up at him, pouting your lips and batting your lashes in a way that has the heat spreading up Clark’s neck; you can see the red rise to his ears. Your hand settles under his suit jacket, resting just above the waistband of his slacks, your thumb rubbing circles against his wrinkled shirt, feeling the warmth of him beneath. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold you if you get scared,” you tease as you lean up.
He stoops lower, eyes flickering down to your mouth, looking like he wants to do nothing more than kiss you right now, and when he starts to bow his head, you settle back in your chair, retracting your hand from him, a shit-eating grin on your face when you hear him let out a little whine. “C’mon.”
“Shoo,” you urge with a wave of your hand. “I have work to do, and you’re distracting.”
That has him smiling smugly. “Oh, I’m distracting?”
You give him a deadpan look. “Immensely,” you admit as you turn away from him, though out of the corner of your eye, you watch him leave with a bit more pep in his step, a little smirk settling on your face.
And that’s how you find yourself that night cozied up on your couch with Clark Kent, cuddled against you like he isn’t a 6’4” behemoth of a man, his hands covering his face. Empty takeout boxes line the coffee table, and your glass of wine is long forgotten as you watch Clark peeking out from behind his fingers whenever he thinks the scary parts of the movie are over. You’re desperately trying not to laugh at the man.
“It’s scary, okay!”
“Clark, you fight monsters the size of skyscrapers,” you try to reason, but he isn’t having it, shrinking even more into the couch.
“Yeah, and creepy possessed dolls are scarier,” he mutters, voice muffled by his hands as he quickly covers his face again when the doll’s face pops up on screen.
You decide to take pity on the poor man, reaching for the remote to turn the movie off before resting against the back of the couch, grinning at Clark like the Cheshire Cat. “Do you wanna watch something more your speed?” you ask, voice going up an octave like you’re talking to a child. “Maybe The Little Mermaid or Cinderella?” You reach up and pinch his cheek.
“Oh, you are so not funny,” he grumbles as he grabs you, his hands firm on your waist, before tossing you back onto the couch so you’re lying down against the pillows. You don’t even have the opportunity to act scandalized because his mouth is on yours, pressing kisses to your lips. “You’re so mean, you know that?” He states in between the short pecks.
You smirk up at him. “You love it,” you tease, causing Clark to stop and pull back.
His face softens as he stares down at you, mouth opening like he’s going to say something, but the loud trill of his ringtone cuts him off. He immediately grabs his phone, looking down at the screen and frowning.
“I gotta go,” he declares as he dislodges himself from you, hopping over the back of the couch.
You hastily sit up, staring at him incredulously. “Clark, seriously?”
He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth as he grabs his suit jacket and bag from the other side of your couch. “I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”
You want to say something. To yell at him and make a big fuss, but instead, you swallow down your feelings and nod. “Okay.”
And then he’s off. You hear your apartment door shut behind him, and you’re left alone. You let out a frustrated sigh before getting up, shutting off the TV, and starting to clean up all the takeout containers. The silence of your apartment seems suffocating now.
For a brief second, you wonder if it will always feel like this.
Daily Planet, Metropolis – 7:47 AM
A week later, after receiving half a dozen apology coffees, two bouquets of all your favorite flowers, and being bent over your kitchen counter, suffice to say, Clark had made up for ditching you on your movie night.
It is still early in the morning, and you’re once again chained to your desk by the sheer number of articles you need to edit when Perry walks over to you with a man you have never seen before. Tall, blond, with a friendly enough face.
As Perry tells the man your name, you peer back and forth between the two of them. “If you aren’t going to tell me this is the new editor, consider this my two weeks.” Even you don’t know if you’re joking or not at this point.
The man gives a polite laugh while Perry looks at you sharply, pointing at you with his unlit cigar as if it’s a warning. “I’m Ian, and yes, I’m the new sports editor,” the man—Ian—introduces himself as he holds out his hand for you to shake.
Your entire body seems to deflate, most of the tension of the last few weeks leaving your body in an instant as you reach out to shake his hand. “Oh, thank God,” you mutter in relief.
“You’ll be teaching Ian the ropes,” Perry informs before turning to look at Ian. “You’re in good hands. She’s one of the best in the business.” He wraps his knuckles on the edge of your desk before heading back to his office. You almost roll your eyes at the very typical Perry move of dropping the newbie off to be someone else’s problem.
(He’d done the same thing to Cat on your first day.)
You quickly grab an empty seat from one of the nearby desks and roll it over so Ian can sit next to you at yours. “Okay, so, jumping right into it because I’ve been drowning in work since our previous sports editor quit.” You grab a few of the articles Steve has submitted to you, some of which are partially edited and some that you haven’t started yet. “I make all the writers submit a hard copy of their drafts; you don’t have to do that, it’s just what I prefer.”
You flip open one of the edited pieces to show all the markups. “I am sure I don’t need to tell you how to edit, but you will have your hands full working with Steve, who is the sportswriter. The man loves a run-on sentence,” you warn, earning an exceedingly apparent forced laugh from him. It’s sharp and loud, startling you a bit.
“What do you usually edit for?” he asks.
“Features,” you inform. “And I will be happy to be back in my lane as will the poor journalists whose articles I’ve been keeping hostage.” You hand over the stack of manila folders to him. “I’ll let you read through some of these, feel free to write on the drafts and edit them how you want. I can have Steve send over the shareable links for you, if you’d prefer to do your editing on the computer.”
He grabs the folders, smiling with too many teeth. “Nah, I think I’ll try it your way, I’m kind of into the old school style.” He winks, and you school your face into a neutral expression, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from grimacing.
“Let me know if you have any questions. I’m going to finally work on these features that have been sitting on my desk for the better part of the week,” you say as you very politely push his chair in the direction of the empty desk.
When Clark enters the Daily Planet, barely on time, his heart flutters seeing you sitting at your desk, as pretty as you always are, and looking far less harried than you have in previous weeks. It’s when an unfamiliar man leans over from the desk next to yours that Clark stops short. He watches the interaction briefly, not caring that others must walk around him.
You read the papers the man had handed you, pointing something out and saying, “I wouldn’t let him keep this in personally,” and the man seems to nod, a smile on his face that Clark doesn’t quite like as he stares at you and not at the paragraph you’re clearly pointing to.
“Who is that?” Clark questions before he even sits down at his desk. Jimmy pops up from behind his monitor, glancing in the direction Clark had tilted his head to.
“New sports editor,” Jimmy informed. “Just started this morning.” It was unfortunate for Clark that Jimmy is as keen as he is because he catches Clark’s lingering stare. “Uh oh, what’s that look for?”
Clark shakes his head as he sinks into his seat. “Nothing,” he says quickly.
Jimmy’s eyebrows rise on his forehead, but his mouth remains sealed, obviously choosing not to press the issue. That doesn’t stop him from making a mental note about his friend’s strange behavior.
The morning meeting that concludes an hour later confirms that the man who seems to be now attached to your hip is indeed the new sports editor, Ian Chandler. By lunchtime, you stroll over to the writer block, a stack of folders in your hands that you’re giving out like presents on Christmas morning while profusely apologizing for the delay. However, most of the other writers wave you off, knowing the amount of work you’d been saddled with. You save Clark’s for last.
You slide onto his desk, holding the folder out to him. “Here’s that Luthor article,” you announce. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Thoughts?” Clark asks as he accepts the folder, placing it down in front of him before he gazes back up at you. Even after six months of dating, he can still feel the thrill of adrenaline coursing through him just being this close to you. His ears heating up as your ankle brushes against his knee.
“You can read my edits,” your mouth curves into a teasing smile.
He rolls his eyes as he settles back into his chair. “Your non-editor thoughts,” he clarifies, because even as scathing and blunt as you can be in your edits, he knew there were comments you withheld for the sake of professionalism.
You cross your legs and tap at your chin as though you’re thinking. “Personally, I don’t think I could’ve refrained from calling him a bald-headed bitch, so I admire your restraint.”
You hear a choking noise and glance back to see Jimmy desperately covering his mouth and pushing back away from his desk to avoid sputtering coffee all over his freshly printed photos. Clark is doing his best to hide the grin that’s working its way onto his face, an odd mixture of amusement and pride glinting in his eyes. “I think Perry would have a few words with both you and me if that made it into the article.”
You wink at him, and Clark feels his face flush from the simple gesture. “I’d protect you from Perry, don’t worry.” And then you lower your voice, pretending to clean some lint off his suit jacket as you lean forward. “So, what are the odds I can have you to myself tonight?”
Clark loses focus, gaze flickering down to your glossy lips and the fact that he could smell the strawberry flavoring. His eyes flutter closed, and he can feel you bend down closer, your lips almost touching, until your name is yelled from across the bullpen.
You perk up and you’re on your feet in an instant, though your hand is still lingering on Clark’s shoulder. Ian is making his way over to you, a grin on his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” he apologizes, and Clark’s eyes narrow a bit; the man’s jovial tone does nothing to indicate he’s sorry at all. “I had a few questions I want to go over with you about this draft, if you have the time.”
You give a small imperceivable sigh, your grip tightening just a bit on Clark, before your eyes slide back over to him, hopeful. “I’ll see you tonight?” you ask, softly so no one else can hear.
He reaches up to grab the hand on his shoulder, rubbing his thumb over the top, admiring the softness for a moment before letting go. “Yeah, tonight.”
You smile before turning back to Ian, grabbing the draft that was in his hands without another word. Clark doesn’t miss the glance that Ian sends back to him, not smug, but curious, maybe, and he tries to swallow the ugly feeling that settles in his throat when he sees how close Ian walks next to you.
Your Apartment, Metropolis – 1:13 AM
You’re disappointed, but not wholly surprised, when Clark ends up cancelling because of an extradimensional monster emerging through a rift with a gaggle of buddies later that evening. You, maybe, spend the night unhealthily coping with a bottle of your favorite wine and end up crying over Moulin Rouge before planting yourself in bed and falling asleep.
It’s the dead of night when Superman flies to a nondescript apartment building, easily letting himself into the sliding doors of a balcony that has been left unlocked a few floors up.
(Clark will have a conversation with you another day about the importance of always making sure your doors and windows are locked at night; you never know what kind of prowler could be hiding in the darkness.)
He finds you curled up on your bed asleep, not even under the covers, and he doesn’t pretend not to notice the tear stains on your cheeks, his thumb tracing down them before he flops down on the bed behind you after sliding his boots off. He drags your form to him, and you give a little whine in your sleep at being disturbed, before covering you both with his cape.
As he holds you, guilt weighs down on him.
You wake up in the early hours of the morning before the sun has risen, the weight of an arm is heavy around your waist, and your heart simmers; the affection you feel for the man attached to the arm is overwhelming. The soft snores you’ve grown used to over the last few months are comforting, and you sink back into Clark’s embrace, wrapping his arm further around you, letting yourself drift off back to sleep.
You stir again with the light peeking through the curtains of your bedroom, a warm body still next to you, though you’ve wiggled out of his grip in your sleep and are curled up facing him. The room is silent. “If I open my eyes and you’re staring at me, I’m going to smack you,” you mumble into your drool-stained pillow.
Clark’s laugh envelops you like the feeling of being home; it is a sense of belonging, a safety that feels like permanence, aching deep within your bones, and love felt even in the stillness. “How did you know I was awake?”
“You snore when you sleep,” you inform as you peek an eye open and see the bright blue eyes of your boyfriend staring back at you. In the haziness of the morning light, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. There’s an ache deep in your ribcage.
He dares to look scandalized by your accusations. “I do not,” he asserts and burrows deeper into his pillow, inching closer to you.
You raise an eyebrow. “You do too.” And then you press a light smack to his chest, not with any real force, not like you could hurt him anyway, not physically. “What time did you get in last night?” You give a little stretch, feeling a few joints crack and pop, before propping yourself up on one elbow.
“A little after one,” he says as he does the same, practically nose to nose with you.
“Didn’t want to take the suit off?” You ask, tracing a finger down the seams of the fabric. You’ll get on him another day about wearing the suit to bed; you just want to live in this peace for a while.
“Just wanted to hold you,” Clark admits earnestly, and there’s a comfortable silence that spreads between the two of you for a moment before you’re moving, capturing his lips with yours, past the point of caring about morning breath or messy hair.
You push him back down against the crumpled pillows, straddling his waist, not breaking your kiss. His hands feel hot against your skin as they bunch up the oversized T-shirt you wore to bed, grabbing at your breasts. His touch is almost as desperate as you as you lean into it, moaning into his mouth as he tweaks your nipple in a way he knows you like. You reward him with a brush of your core against him. He can feel your heat, and he debates ripping away your flimsy underwear so he can plunge his fingers into your pussy.
Before he can act on those impulses, though, you pull back slightly to catch your breath, and an odd thought strikes you as you see Clark with mussed hair dressed in his Superman suit. There are so many sides of Clark Kent you’re not sure you’ve seen yet, but you desperately want to.
You hope you get to.
With eyes half-lidded, he reaches up and grabs the side of your face to mash your mouths together once more, tilting his hips up into your core. The familiar feeling of him, hard and hot beneath you, has you growing wet as you grind down onto him wantonly, breath catching in your throat when your clit drags against him.
He starts to sit up, briefly letting go of you, and you scramble off him as he begins to take off his suit, starting with his cape and then his trunks, but as he pulls them down, you begin to laugh at the sudden realization that you’ve never seen him putting on or taking off his suit before.
He looks distraught, or even embarrassed, as he pauses. “What?”
“I’m so sorry,” you apologize in between giggles, covering your mouth with your hand. “I just—I don’t know how I expected your suit to function, but—” More laughter that has Clark rolling his eyes even as a grin works its way onto his face and he pries your hand from your face to replace it with his mouth, trying to kiss away your giggling.
Then your phone alarm starts to go off, causing you both to stop. Well, at least you do. Clark is now kissing his way down your neck when you pull away, ignoring the whine that escapes him.
You press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth that he tries to chase, but you’re out of reach before he can. “I’m going to get ready for work,” you declare as you shimmy off the bed.
“But—”
You send him a grin over your shoulder as you make your way towards your bathroom, the door closing behind you with finality.
Clark lies there for a few minutes as he hears your shower turn on, trying to will away his hard-on before he also gets up. Though the thought of you, wet and naked, just fifteen feet away, doesn’t make it easy, especially when the imprint of your body hot against his is so fresh on his mind.
Forty minutes later, Clark is dressed in some extra clothes he had left at your place during the second month of dating.
(The fact that you have cleared out a drawer in your dresser for his stuff causes a dopey grin to spread on his face whenever he thinks about it.)
He is clanging around in your kitchen, making you a proper breakfast since he knows you’re often too busy in the morning to grab anything other than a granola bar or a little parfait from the coffee shop on your way to work, otherwise you’d often claim that the three cups of coffee you down before noon were suitable enough nutrition.
You emerge from your room, dressed in a short, fluffy robe, your hair in rollers, and the red of your lipstick looking once more far too mesmerizing for Clark as you browse around for the pair of shoes you know you kicked off in the living room the other night. His eyes wander up the length of your legs, still shimmering with lotion, as you bend over to grab one of the offending shoes, catching the briefest glance of your pussy that makes all the breathing exercises he spent twenty minutes doing for naught.
The smell of something burning has you turning to glance at Clark, who is staring intently at you, his hand gripping your spatula so tightly that you think he might break it, what with his superhuman strength and all. “Clark?” you call. “Are you charring the pancakes?”
He blinks as though he regains sentience. “Oh gosh!” Clark exclaims as he turns back to the stove to turn off the burner, removing the offending pancake and placing it on his plate, whispering a quiet ‘darn it’ to himself. He then takes one of your oven mitts and waves it through the smoke to disperse it before the smoke alarm starts going off and it becomes a problem for the entire building. You just watch as he turns back to you, holding up the plate of unburnt pancakes with a sheepish smile. “I made breakfast.”
You smirk at him as you spot your other shoe and pluck it off the floor. “I could tell.” He gives you a sheepish look as he sets both your plates down on the table. “Let me go get dressed, I’ll be right back.” At least this time, as you strut away, Clark can admire the view without fear of burning your apartment down, glad to be sitting down at the table so you won’t know he’s been ogling you.
When you re-emerge, you’re in a tight skirt with a silky blouse, heels clicking against the linoleum of your kitchen as you join Clark at the table, your hair now settled into fluffy curls.
“You look really pretty,” Clark compliments, a boyish smile on his face, and it has your body buzzing with the warmth of affection, your lips tilting up in an uncharacteristic bashful manner as you cut into the pancakes Clark had made.
“Are you buttering me up for something?” You’re half joking, half serious as you take a bite.
“Well, our six-month anniversary is next week…” Clark trails off, letting the unsaid suggestion hang in the air.
You groan, leaning back in your chair as your fork clatters on your plate. “Clark, seriously? We’re in our thirties; we’re not high schoolers.”
“C’mon,” he pleads. “Humor me?”
You pick up your fork and stab into the stack of pancakes, pursing your lips as you stare at Clark’s pouting face from across the table. Looking every bit the vision of a kicked puppy, he pulls at the heartstrings you’ve tried to keep tightly wound. “Fine, but after this, we’re switching to yearly anniversaries. I don’t want to see your puppy dog eyes next month begging for a seven-month anniversary date.”
He grins as he picks up his own fork. “Deal.”
You almost say something, something that’s been on the tip of your tongue for a while now, but instead you take a bite of your pancakes and swallow them down with a mix of syrup and butter.
An hour later, you and Clark are strolling into the Daily Planet after having dealt with the rush of the morning commute. “Hey lovebirds,” the doorman greets you two, peering up briefly from his newspaper.
“Hey, Nino,” Clark and you respond at the same time, causing you to glance at each other out of the corners of your eyes, small smiles working their way onto your faces.
You’re lucky enough to get an elevator all to yourselves. As it climbs to the top just before it settles on your floor, you pull Clark into a kiss, shoving him away in time for the door to open, leaving him standing there with a lovestruck smile on his red lipstick-laden lips. “Be good,” you call out as you flitter away.
When Clark sits at his desk, Lois rolls over with a sly grin. “Got a little something right there, Loverboy,” she teases as she points to her own mouth.
Clark’s eyes widen, the flush spreading up his cheeks as he rubs at his lips, coming away to see red lipstick smeared on his fingertips. “Oh, geez,” he mutters to himself as he gets up and makes a beeline for the bathrooms, covering his face a bit. It’s not as though he’s embarrassed to have your lipstick on his mouth; if he weren’t at work, he would probably walk around with it all day without any shame.
No, it wasn’t embarrassment, it was protectiveness. He was protective of his and your relationship. He didn’t care if people knew you were dating, but he certainly didn’t want himself, or more specifically you, to be the topic of any office gossip.
Clark wasn’t naïve enough to think that people wouldn’t talk, already hearing whispers from people whenever you stayed too long at his desk, going over a draft, or when he showed up late with a coffee for you. Still, he didn’t want your professionalism to ever come into question. You worked hard, and your actions and work at the Daily Planet shouldn’t be brushed aside in favor of rumors.
After a little bit of elbow grease, because you insist on the long-lasting lipstick formula, Clark emerges from the bathroom, unintentionally honing in on you at your desk. Unsurprisingly, Ian has moved his chair over to your desk, chattering to you as you nod along, clearly more occupied by whatever is on your computer screen than what he’s saying.
That doesn’t stop Clark from eavesdropping, though. He stops by the mail cart, pretending to look through the letters as he listens. Something ugly and green gnawing at his insides as he watches you from behind his thick-rimmed glasses.
“So, I heard from Cat that a lot of people in the office get together at O’Malley’s on Friday nights,” Ian recalls casually, rocking from side to side in his chair as he sips on his coffee. His legs are spread wide and invading your space, practically brushing against yours under your desk.
You adjust in your seat, sliding a few inches away, before giving a slight hum of confirmation as you start to write something down on your notepad, no doubt creating a schedule for the day ahead of you, complete with a detailed checklist.
“Do you normally go to those?” Ian asks.
You pause whatever you’re writing, glancing up at him with a scrutinizing stare, noting he’s looking at you expectantly, eyes straying from your face, lower down on your body, and not even subtly.
Clark can feel a wave of hot anger flood over him. He knew you were not stupid. Whenever you two went out, one, if not both of you, would get flirted with or hit on, and it was usually you who pointed it out to Clark, who was hilariously oblivious to any flirtation unless it came from you.
So, for Clark to recognize when someone was coming onto you meant that you also knew what was happening. In other instances, when someone was being too pushy with either of you, you were always quick to shut them down, aggressively.
But this was your workplace and a coworker, as opposed to a stranger in a restaurant.
“I go to them occasionally, usually when Clark is able to,” you inform with a flat tone, eyes still watching him with a measured look.
You catch it easily, as does Clark, the slight tick of his eyebrow at the mention of your boyfriend. “Ah, Clark Kent?” You give a nod in confirmation. “And he’s your—”
“—boyfriend,” you clarify before he can draw it out. “Clark is my boyfriend.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” he replies, trying to maintain the air of nonchalance around him. “You guys been dating for a long time?” It feels like he’s testing the waters.
“A couple of months.”
“So, it’s cool with HR to have… intermingling amongst employees?” The way he says it makes you tighten your grip on your pen, your lips pressing together in a thin line. You have to take a deep breath in to remind yourself that you’re at work.
“Nothing in the handbook,” you grit out with a tight smile.
And there wasn’t. Both you and Clark (along with Lois) had gone through the employee handbook of the Daily Planet several times to make sure there was nothing in there that could get either of you in trouble.
“That’s pretty cool, I know a lot of companies used to discourage that type of stuff,” he notes. “Pretty progressive.”
“Yup.” The ‘p’ pops as you say it, and it hangs in the air for a moment. “Do you mind?” You ask as you point to the work on your desk. “I have a ton to get through today.”
Eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as though he wasn’t expecting you to shoo him away after all the invasive questions. “Oh yeah, of course!”
He rolls back over to his desk, not before ‘accidentally’ brushing against you, and Clark lingers at the mail cart for a few seconds longer to watch you, noting the way your jaw is set and how tense your shoulders are. He can feel the tension in his own.
The rest of the week is filled with your polite, strained smiles, and you always ensure there’s a respectable distance between you and Ian, despite his attempts to get as close to you as possible. You had thought that confirming your relationship would deter the man from his attempted flirtations, but it’s almost as though he’s doubled down in his efforts.
He asks you for help with every little issue, so that he can wheel over next to you and invade your personal space, not even paying attention half the time to your answer to whatever asinine question he asked. Every time you’ve stayed late this week, he would make some excuse to do so as well, suggesting you two pick up some dinner, which you politely declined. And you’re definitely not imagining the way that he interrupts you anytime you’re over in the writer block, talking to Clark and the others.
It’s grating on you.
“Do you want me to say something?” Clark had finally asked around mid-week. It was apparent he was also getting sick of your coworker’s behavior, but you hadn’t asked him to interfere, and he didn’t want to undermine you in any way by doing so. You were someone who liked to fight her own battles, which is something Clark loved liked about you.
But this was different than your spats with Steve, or you dealing with catty women at the bar.
“No,” you replied without even looking up from your work that was lying across your coffee table. “I’ll handle it.”
And that was that.
By Friday, you were looking forward to a night in with a book and a glass of wine to keep you company, and maybe, if you were lucky, a surprise visit from your boyfriend.
That was until Lois Lane got hold of you.
“C’mooooon,” she urges. “You and Clark are such homebodies.”
You raise your eyebrow at her because you and she both know that while you may be a homebody, Clark is most definitely not, for obvious reasons. “Lois, I have finally dug myself out of the trenches of these last few weeks. I don’t want to even think about work when I go home tonight.”
“So, we won’t think about work, we’ll just drink,” Lois offers with a cheeky grin. “I promise you won’t even hear a peep about work from me.”
She knows she’s lying, and you know she’s lying, and she knows that you know she is lying, but Lois Lane has this uncanny ability where you’re unable to say no to her, especially when it comes to a night of drinking.
“I hate you,” you finally say as you turn away from her, but she’s already doing a little dance, tapping the back of your seat in her little victory before taking her leave.
“Love you, too!” she calls out. “I’ll see you tonight!”
You sigh, picking up your phone to tap out a quick message to Clark.
‘Your friend is a menace’
You don’t even have a chance to lock your phone and put it down before it’s vibrating with an incoming message. You turn a bit in your chair and see him gazing back over at you from across the way.
‘Which one?’
You snort before replying as though he didn’t see Lois walking smugly back to the writer block. ‘The busybody reporter’
A smile spreads across his face, and within seconds, your screen is filled with far too many laughing face emojis in response. Without your permission, the corners of your lips tilt up at your boyfriend’s texting quirks.
You stare down at your phone for a moment before tapping out a response, rewriting it once, then again, before clicking send. ‘Going to O’Malleys tonight, feel free to come with’
You hope he reads that message as it is intended, with a ‘Please, dear god, come with me’
You can see him frown and hesitate before replying. ‘I would if I could but I have some errands to run later’
You give a slight huff, deflating a little, knowing that “errands” meant he had Superman business going on.
‘Okay, be safe’
He sends a blue heart back, you send a heart of your own, still unspoken, but perhaps known.
O’Malley’s Irish Pub, Metropolis – 8:52 PM
You were, admittedly, having a good time. You and the illustrious duo of Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen had gotten to the bar far earlier than any of your other coworkers, and you were quick to get to work on slurping down a few drinks to catch up with the other regulars in the bar that was growing increasingly louder as the night pressed on.
Jimmy is currently regaling you and Lois with tales of his latest string of hookups, telling you about this one girl he only refers to as ‘Mutant Toes’. A fact that has both you and Lois gaping at the redhead.
“Jimmy, you cannot call a girl Mutant Toes,” you scold as you take a sip from your drink.
“Okay, but you haven’t seen her toes,” he counters with a scoff. “They are freaky.”
You roll your eyes, leaning over across Lois to get closer to Jimmy. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the one with the issues?”
He looks scandalized while Lois is trying not to laugh between you as she takes a sip of her beer. “What do you mean? I do not have issues,” he argues.
“Jimmy,” you start, your glazed eyes suddenly becoming so serious. “You always find some weird thing that seems to be a dealbreaker. Mutant toes, crooked lower teeth, bony shoulders—”
“—it was like hugging a tree—” he interrupts.
You smack the bar top and gesture to Jimmy. “See!” You exclaim, turning to look to Lois for some backup, and she is ready with another example.
“What about the girl you broke up with because she only texted in lowercase?” Lois chimes in.
“I find capitalization and proper grammar incredibly important!”
“Oh! Or the girl who put ketchup on her rice,” you recall with a snap of your fingers.
Jimmy sputters. “That is psychopath behavior!”
You raise an eyebrow as you settle back into your seat. “I’m just saying, Jimmy, I think you’re afraid of commitment, and instead of just admitting that to yourself, you just break up with them for these ridiculous reasons.”
He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smirk playing on his lips that lets you know he’s joking. “You better buy me another drink if you’re gonna start psychoanalyzing me like that.”
You snort back laughter before waving the bartender over, ordering yourself another vodka cran, Lois a beer, and Jimmy a Mai Tai. As you’re leaning over the bar, you don’t even notice a couple of other people walking up to your small group.
“Well, if it isn’t the hard ass herself.” The scowl on your face is instant the second you hear Steve’s voice. “Finally letting your hair down, huh?”
You turn around to see him and Ian standing there, along with a couple of other Daily Planet employees, who begin to disperse towards the other end of the bar, where some seats have opened up. “Steve,” you greet and nod to Ian and the others as well before handing Lois and Jimmy their drinks.
“Aw, no drinks for us?” Steve asks with an exaggerated pout on his face, which is unbecoming of a man of his age.
You turn in your seat sharply with a forced smile that itched at your face. This was supposed to be a relaxing night out, and having to deal with Steve’s petty little remarks was going to do nothing but ruin your night. “Steve,” you begin in a low tone. “If you don’t walk away from me right now, I am going to shove my foot so far up your ass they’re going to need to surgically remove my size eight pumps from that fat mouth of yours.”
Steve’s eyes widen, and he gives a quick nod. “Of course.”
As Lois and Jimmy laugh at Steve, cowering away, Ian leans on the bar next to you, wedging himself in between you and Lois, who gives him a disgusted look behind his back. “Didn’t know you were so feisty,” Ian comments, and the way he says it has your skin crawling.
You lean away slightly as he crowds your personal space. “Steve knows better,” you inform the unspoken ‘and you should, too’ apparent in your tone.
“He certainly does now,” he says before looking around. “Where’s your boyfriend at?”
“He’s busy tonight.” Your tone is clipped, and you hope that he will take the hint as you return to your drink.
“You know, I can’t really figure something out,” he starts without missing a beat.
“Oh boy,” you mutter to yourself as you take a long sip of your drink.
“Kent is kind of—”
Jimmy chokes a bit on his drink, and Lois is letting out a noise similar to a drone, mouth agape, unbelieving where this conversation is going.
“—a loser.”
Your smile tightens so much you’re sure you’re sneering now as you set your cup down rather harshly onto the bar top. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” You know you heard him correctly, but for the sake of a professional working relationship, you’re giving him an out, silently praying that he’ll take it.
“I mean, you have to admit the dude is kind of lame,” he doubles down instead, and any hope of professionalism flies out of the window. “I’ve seen him run into the mail cart like three times this week, he says dumb shit like ‘golly’ and ‘gosh’, and does he even own a hairbrush?” Ian continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s digging his own grave. “And you’re like, ridiculously hot.” He finishes and stares at you like he’s waiting for you to throw yourself at him.
“Wow,” you breathe out as you nod your head. The pleasant buzz you had from your drinks has now been replaced with a righteous rage that flows over you like a wave of ice. “You know, I should report you to HR—" The smug look on his face dissipates in an instant.
Behind him, you can hear Lois going, “Oh, this’ll be good.”
“—Instead, I’m going to humiliate you.” You turn in your seat to face him, giving him the attention he has been desperately vying for this entire time. “First off, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, trying to pry into my relationship. You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t know Clark.” You barely even take a breath. “Second of all, even if I wasn’t in a relationship, why would you think I’d want to be with you of all people?”
You hold your hand up when he goes to open his fat mouth. “That was rhetorical, I don’t give a fuck what you think.” You can feel the vodka going into overdrive, any impulse control going out the window as you continue. “You don’t understand personal space, you wear too much cheap cologne, your clothes look like your mommy still dresses you and I suppose she just might because she’s the only reason you even have this job to begin with—and yes I know all about your parents paying the shareholders so their precious baby can finally have a big boy job—and to top it all off, you’re a mediocre editor who needs far too much handholding so I anticipate you’ll last maybe a month or two before your ego gets bruised and you decide to call it quits.”
He looks like he’s about to cry, but you’re past the point of caring about his feelings.
“Good lord,” Lois mutters, and Jimmy lets out a low whistle.
Ian, for once, since the moment you’ve had the misfortune of meeting him, has nothing to say. You realize at some point during your rant that you had stood from your seat, perching yourself on the barstool so that you were eye to eye with him, refusing to allow him to look down on you during this.
“So yeah, you know what, I am ridiculously hot and so far out of your league it’s actually embarrassing for me that you think you even have a chance, and you know why I’m with Clark? Because he is kind, and good, and respectful, and he looks me in the eye when he speaks to me.”
Ian stands there, stunned, only moving to the side as you brush past him, Lois and Jimmy quickly following behind you after Lois leaves a few bills at the bar. The outside air is frigid against your skin as you shrug on your coat.
“Holy hell,” Jimmy breaths out as the door closes behind him, the music and chatter of the bar muffling.
You pause to peer over your shoulder at him, mouth opening and closing as you glance between him and Lois before you all burst out laughing, doubling over as you gasp for breath.
“I can’t believe he tried to trash-talk Clark to you of all people,” Lois wheezes as she brushes away a stray tear from the corner of her eye. You start to walk in a direction, away from the bar, with Jimmy and Lois following behind you, still falling into fits of giggling.
“Seriously, what an idiot.” After walking a few blocks, Jimmy and Lois are doing their best recreation of the scene, with Jimmy giving his best impression of a fish out of water, and you stop at the intersection where you know you’ll have to split from them, a realization dawning on you. “Ugh, I’m sorry if I ruined our night out.”
Lois snorts, waving her hand as if to disperse your concerns. “No, that was great. I honestly can’t believe it took you that long to ream into him about his inappropriate behavior.”
“Well, I was trying to remain professional,” you state as you shove your hands into your coat pockets, the cold of the night finally catching up with you as your anger has simmered.
“Until he brought up Clark,” Jimmy chimes in with a slight, knowing grin.
Your eyes meet his, and you can feel your posture relax. You nod, a barely there smile flitting on your face. “Until he brought up Clark,” you confirm softly.
As the three of you part from one another, Lois demanding you text her when you get home, you begin your trek back to your apartment, shivering a bit as the winter wind starts to pick up. You’re only a few blocks from your apartment when you feel an unnatural rush of air at your back, your hair blowing all around you.
“Awfully late for you to be out, ma’am,” a familiar voice calls out from behind you.
You turn and see Superman standing there, cape billowing behind him, a wisp of hair curled perfectly against his forehead with a dimpled smile, gazing at you as if you are the only thing that exists to him, and it has your heart sputtering in your chest. “Well, aren’t I so lucky that Superman is watching over these streets?” You don’t move towards him, letting him saunter up to you, assuming a casual posture, and when he falls into step with you, you start to walk again.
He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “I got an interesting text from Jimmy before.”
This takes you by surprise, and you stop short, glancing up at him with a quirked brow, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Did you?”
A wide grin appears on his face as he holds up his phone, a video already playing. Your own face stares back at you with such a look of indignation as you lay into Ian, whose eyes continue to grow wider and wider as you go on and on. Even in the crowd of the bar, your voice carries over, and you can see that other people in the background have begun to listen to your tirade.
“—he is kind, and good, and respectful, and he looks me in the eye when he speaks to me.”
“Kind and good are sort of the same word,” Clark teases, and you give a huff with a roll of your eyes, your feet moving once more. “I’m just sad I wasn’t there to witness it firsthand.”
You chuckle. “Oh, I’m sure you are.” Before long, you reach the door to your apartment building, turning to Clark, who has his arms tucked behind him, something he does to deter him from instinctively reaching out for you, never knowing who might be watching. “Thanks for escorting me to my door, Superman.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
As you walk through the door, you send one last glance over your shoulder to Clark, biting the inside of your lip as you resist the urge to double back to kiss him goodbye. Instead, you raise your hand in an uncharacteristically shy wave that he returns, an earnest smile on his face.
He waits until the door closes to leave, disappearing into the night as silently as he had appeared. When you arrive at your apartment and are safely tucked inside, you send Lois a text letting her know you've arrived home safely.
Daily Planet, Metropolis – 9:41 PM
The following week passed in a blur. When you finally roused Saturday morning with a pounding headache and the entirety of the previous night hit you like a round of brick after brick to the face, you spent the morning on the phone with Lois worrying over whether you’d still have a job Monday morning. To Lois’s credit, she did an excellent job of calming your concerns, positing that the Daily Planet would have quite a lawsuit on their hands if they tried to fire you after you were the one being harassed.
So, when Monday finally rolled around and you entered the bullpen of the Planet, you were pleased, if not a little smug, that Ian refused to even look in your direction and had moved all his things to a desk further away in the editor block.
If anyone noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, they didn’t comment on it, and while word of your scathing rebuke of him certainly was making its way around the office, everyone was very tight-lipped about it around you. Even Cat hadn’t uttered a whisper about it, all smiles and honeyed words towards you.
With you no longer having to worry about being constantly harassed day in and day out, the week rolled by, inching closer to your and Clark’s six-month anniversary on Saturday, which he had apparently planned out already.
(He had planned the entire thing three months ago, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.)
The most infuriating thing was that he refused to tell you the plans, and it was driving you crazy. Every time you would bat your lashes at him and ask in a sugary sweet tone for him to tell you what you were doing on Saturday, he just smiled cheekily and tapped you on the nose, giving you a firm, but playful “Nope!” in response.
You’d even caved and asked Lois and Jimmy, but those traitors had apparently been sworn to secrecy and wouldn’t even give you a hint as to what Clark had planned.
It was by Wednesday that you decided to employ dirty tactics to try to get the information out of Clark or at least torture him a bit.
So, here you are, late Wednesday night, and luckily, it’s just you and Clark left in the office; the overhead lights were turned off hours ago, leaving you in the glow of computer monitors and the city lights.
You had pulled a chair up next to Clark’s desk while he was frantically rearranging the mess of his space so that you could work next to him, and you had been doing so in a companionable silence for a few hours now. Occasionally, he’d lean over to ask you how a particular sentence sounded or to sneak a peek at the article you were editing. Still, he had a deadline to make, so to his credit, he was diligently tapping away.
“Hey, Clark?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He replies in a low tone reserved just for you, not looking away from his monitor as he chicken-pecked at the keyboard.
“I have to go into the archives to look for some records. Do you think you could come help me get the boxes down?” you ask, a careful look of innocence spread across your face in an attempt not to reveal your true intentions. Not that your poor, sweet boyfriend would ever think you were up to something nefarious.
Once he finishes the sentence he’s typing, he turns to face you, a smile on his face as he nods. “Of course.” Completely unaware of the plans that have been put into motion with his agreement.
He follows you back to the archives, and as you meander the stacks, he’s close at your heels. You play the part, finger on your chin as you inspect the boxes, all the while leading him deeper into the room.
When you finally reach a spot you find suitable—a dark corner with a clear wall for him to lean against—you turn to Clark, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and shoving him against the wall. Your mouth is on his before he can even question what you’re doing, and he instantly melts into you, stooping down as you get on your tiptoes.
His hands grip your waist, pulling you into him as your hands trace up the back of his neck into his hair, grabbing onto it as you lick and nip at his bottom lip before your tongue brushes against his.
When you finally wrench your lips from his, it’s to trail down his neck; the feel of your mouth on him has him gasping, fingertips biting into your waist. “Not that I’m complaining, but did you lure me back here to have your way with me?” he questions breathlessly.
You pull back slightly with a grin. “Yes,” you confirm, and then he feels your hands working to undo his belt, and his brain short-circuits.
“I-I…” he stutters, eyes wide as he watches you drop to your knees in front of him. His belt hangs down as you unbutton his slacks, and he realizes how painfully hard he is seeing you kneeling in front of him in your tight pencil skirt, gazing up at him through your lashes, licking your lips like you want to devour him. “Here?” His voice cracks.
Despite his hesitation, he doesn’t stop you as you pull his cock from his briefs. It’s heavy and thick in your hands, and when you grab him, he’s already moaning, head leaning against the wall as he bucks up into your touch. “I can stop, if you want,” you offer, tone innocent as you stroke your hand up and down.
“No, no,” he whimpers. “Please don’t stop.”
Your hand barely manages to wrap around his cock, and the sheer thought of how big your boyfriend is has you wet, seeping into your underwear. Visions of his cock stuffing you full, filling your mind, though unfortunately, that will have to wait for a later date.
You glance up at him and see him fixated on you, mouth hanging open as you stroke him, and when your eyes meet his, you don’t break eye contact as you lean up, licking the fat tip of his cock.
“Oh gosh,” he moans, hands hesitating, hovering just above your head as though he’s unsure of whether he’s allowed to grab you there. You grab one of his hands with your other and firmly plant it into your hair, and that’s all the permission he needs, fingers entwining with your loose locks to anchor himself.
All he can focus on is the heat of your mouth as you sink onto him until he can feel the back of your throat. Your hands start to swipe up and down the rest of his cock that doesn’t fit, a steady rhythm starting that has Clark gasping. The way your tongue slides on the underside as you suck the tip has his toes curling, his breath ragged as he moans with each bob of your head. This is for sure not where he thought the night was going to lead, but when you’re on your knees in front of him, giving him some of the best head he’s ever gotten, he’s glad it did.
“That’s so good, you’re so good for me,” he babbles, and you can feel his fingers tighten around your hair. He doesn’t force your head down, just keeps them there, moving with the pace you’ve set, but you can feel him holding back so he doesn’t hurt you.
You pull back just slightly, feeling the saliva dripping from your swollen lips as you look up at him. You’re the very vision of debauchery, and he commits the display in front of him to memory. “You can fuck my mouth, Clark,” you say, voice hoarse.
He inhales sharply. “A-are you sure?” You take him back in your mouth, but don’t move, staring up at him expectantly, and the sight has his thighs trembling. “Tap my leg if you need to stop, okay?” His voice is gentle despite his panting.
You give a hum of confirmation around his cock, and he lets out a shaky breath as he starts to thrust shallowly into your mouth. He’s uncertain at first, you can tell by how carefully he moves your head to match the thrusts of his hips, like he’s afraid of choking you, even though that’s precisely what you want him to do.
Your hands reach up, grabbing at his plush ass and dragging him closer, the head of his cock smashing into the back of your throat, making you gag and drool leaks from your mouth, coating his cock even more. Still, the noise you make has Clark moaning, ramming himself into your mouth with more force, fingernails biting into your scalp, stinging in a way that has you dripping.
“Please, please,” Clark begs, movement becoming more frantic, sloppy. Tears are gathering in the corners of your eyes as you breathe in through your nose. “I’m so close.”
At that, you tap his leg, and he instantly retracts his hands from your hair, and you draw back from him, wiping the corners of your mouth, completely aware you probably look like a wreck with mascara running down your cheeks.
He whimpers as you sit back onto your heels. “Did I hurt you?” With how pathetic he sounds, you almost feel bad.
“No,” you reply as you get back on your feet, a little wobbly from having been on your knees for so long. “I just figured you cumming can be part of the surprise for Saturday.”
His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, and a whining noise escapes him as he realizes what you’re doing. “That is so mean,” he whispers.
You grin up at him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth that he leans into despite you being so mean. “Come on, you have a deadline to make.”
He pouts and tucks himself away, still agonizingly hard as he watches you fluff your hair and wipe the streaks of mascara that trail down from the corners of your eyes. Your lips are puffy and swollen, and for the rest of the night, all Clark can think about is how good they felt wrapped around his cock.
Needless to say, he doesn’t think he’s going to make the deadline.
Your Apartment, Metropolis – 6:12 PM
Clark is late.
And you are pissed.
As you were leaving the Daily Planet on Friday night, Clark had given you the barest hint of what your plans for Saturday night would be, telling you to dress warmly and that he would be round to your apartment to pick you up for your anniversary date at six o’clock, sharp.
Well, six o’clock sharp has come and gone, and you are pacing your apartment, phone in hand, with your finger hovering over Clark’s contact. You wanted to give him some grace, but that was almost ten minutes ago, when he was only five minutes late, and now, as you near the fifteen-minute mark, any leniency you had went straight out the window.
Just as you were finally going to bite the bullet and call him, your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, a picture of Clark pressing a kiss to your cheek as you were smiling, lighting up the screen.
‘Incoming Call from Clark Kent’
It barely gets through the first ring before you pick it up. “Where are you?” you demand.
“I’m so sorry, something came u—”
“Are you at your apartment?” you cut him off, and he stutters out a ‘yes’ in confirmation. “Don’t leave, I’ll be right there.” You end the call before he can protest and head out the door, making your way to Clark’s apartment, which is a twenty-minute walk from your place—ignoring all of Clark’s calls the entire way there.
You make it to his place in thirteen minutes, knuckles angrily wrapping against his apartment door. You can hear a bit of commotion before the door opens to reveal a frazzled-looking Clark, who is certainly dressed for a date in a knit sweater and a pair of his nice jeans. His glasses sit a bit crooked on his face, and when he sees you standing there, a distinct look of fear flashes in his eyes at how furious you look, brow furrowed and jaw clenched.
You don’t even give him a chance to speak or even try to push your way into his apartment to take care of this argument privately. No, you’re going to do this in the hall of his apartment building for all the nosy neighbors to witness and eavesdrop on. “You know, I didn’t even want to do this stupid six-month anniversary date. You’re the one who kept insisting on it, and you call me twelve minutes after you were supposed to pick me up to cancel.”
You’re so busy ranting, you don’t even hear something falling in his apartment, but Clark does, and he inches out into the hall, closing the door just slightly behind him. He opens his mouth to say something, to apologize, but as per usual, you won’t let him get a word in edgewise.
“I knew a relationship would be hard, especially given the circumstances, but I thought if we could communicate openly and honestly, nothing else would matter.” You swallow down the lump in your throat, angry tears filling your vision. “I know something is going on with you, and you won’t tell me. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you as well as you know me, and that hurts.” Your admission has Clark’s face crumpling. This is the first time you’ve ever voiced those feelings aloud.
You peer up at him, and just as he’s about to respond, you hear a thunderous crash come from inside his apartment. You stare past him through the crack of his door that is still slightly ajar, and you see something whizz past, followed by another bang and some glass breaking. Your gaze returns to him, and he looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say.
“Clark, what the hell is that?”
“I—”
You brush past him without another word despite his protestations, and you’re dumbfounded at what you find inside his apartment.
“When the hell did you get a dog?” you question incredulously as you watch the fluffy white dog with a cape in a familiar red color tear into Clark’s couch cushion, stuffing littering the floor all around him. At the sound of your voice, the dog stops, right ear perking up as he stares at you with his head tilted, the couch cushion still firmly clenched in his jaws.
Clark closes the door behind him as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s not mine—Krypto put that down—he’s my cousin’s,” he clarifies.
You whirl around, dumbfounded. “Cousin?”
“Yeah, she’s off-world right now and just dropped him off with me—”
“—off-world—”
“—and he keeps escaping the Fortress of Solitude—”
“—the what?!”
Clark groans, scrubbing his face with his hands, which sends his glasses all off kilter, so he takes them off, flinging them onto the kitchen counter. “I’m so sorry, I thought I could handle a dog, and it wouldn’t disrupt anything, but he’s not exactly normal,” he explains, and that’s when you look back at the dog and see him floating in the air.
“Oh my god, he’s a super dog.”
He sighs and motions for Krypto to get down, which the dog pointedly ignores. “Yeah, and he has behavioral issues.”
“So, you have a cousin who is also…”
“—Kryptonian.”
“Right, Kryptonian, and she dropped her super dog off with you to go…”
“—bar hopping on planets with a red sun.”
“…Right, yeah, okay.” You take a deep breath as you process the information. “And you have a… Fortress of Solitude?”
“Yeah, it’s in Antarctica, the Superman Robots look after it.”
You’re silent for a moment too long, blinking like you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly, and then you burst out laughing, snorting and everything. “You call your robots ‘Superman Robots’?”
“I-I,” he stutters. “What else am I supposed to call them?!”
You’re leaning against the wall now, holding your stomach, which aches with every peel of laughter that escapes your body. “Oh my god, you’re such a dork.” There are tears in your eyes.
“H-hey!”
At this point, Krypto has lost interest in Clark’s couch cushion, which is definitely in need of replacement, along with his lamp, coffee table, and bookcase. The dog pads over to you, giving you a sniff before he sinks down on his front paws, butt up in the air, tail wiggling like he wants to play.
“Krypto, no—” Clark reprimands. “You cannot play with her.” The dog regards him with a blank stare and gives him a little whine, settling into a sitting position as he tilts his head, looking between the two of you curiously.
As you finally start to recover from your laughing fit, you reach to pet the dog, only for Clark to grab your hand, eyes darting between you and Krypto. “I just don’t want him to bite you,” Clark says when you give him a confused look.
With your hand in his, he guides you to the couch, seating you on one of the two remaining couch cushions before sinking next to you, Krypto following close to your heels. Clark looks unsure, mouth tight in a thin line as though he doesn’t quite know what to say or how to start. He holds your hands in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, something he does to soothe himself more so than you.
“I’m sorry,” he finally settles on. “I know that I haven’t been the greatest boyfriend lately, and I keep making promises I can’t keep. You have every right to be mad and upset with me.”
You frown. “I’m not mad, Clark,” you say before stopping yourself and then snorting. “Well, no, I was mad. I was really mad.” You’re quiet for a moment as you gather your thoughts. Trying to put your feelings into words is never easy. “I knew there would be struggles with being in a relationship with Superman—”
“—I know being with me can be a lot.” He looks dejected, and your stomach turns.
You shake your head, drawing his hands closer to you, holding them to your chest. “You’re not a lot,” you assure. “I’m not going to lie to you and say that I don’t get upset when you cancel or have to leave to go save the world, but I understand. It’s what I signed up for, knowing that you’re Superman. I can handle the disappointment of a missed date; it’s being in the dark that I can’t stand.” You take a deep breath, the weeks of pushing down your feelings finally bubbling to the surface as you feel hot tears fill your eyes. You blink, looking up at the ceiling to try and will them away, but it only makes it worse.
Clark reaches up to swipe the stray tear that rolls down your cheek. His insides are in knots especially after realizing just how hurt you had been by him keeping… well, everything, a secret. “I’m sorry, I hate knowing that I made you cry with all of this.”
Your gaze fixes on him, brow lightly furrowed. “We’re going to make each other cry, Clark, just like we’re going to make each other so angry we just want to scream at some point. There’s going to be ups and downs, but I want to share in those moments with you.” You bite your lower lip as you feel it tremble. “I told you I could help you carry the weight of the world, but you have to let me.”
He nods, eyes trailing up your face to meet your eyes. “Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, I will.”
You stare at him, tracing the contours of his features, committing them to memory. Just looking at him makes all the feelings swirling around in your chest cavity overwhelming. There’s a brief moment where you think that if you don’t let them out, you’ll explode. “Clark, I love you.” You don’t even have time to second-guess saying those words out loud.
The smile that lights up his features is instant, and it only solidifies your feelings for him. How earnest he is. He reaches up, grabbing the sides of your face as he pulls you in. Eyes scanning over every single detail on your face. “I love you, too.” He draws you into a kiss. It’s sweet, and soft, and so Clark that your insides are filled with butterflies just thinking about how much you love this man. “I’ve wanted to say that for so long, but I just didn’t know if it was too soon.”
You grin, cheeks smushed by his hands that are still holding your face. “I’m surprised you could contain yourself.”
He gives you a few pecks on the lips. “You make it incredibly difficult,” he teases. A low whine from Clark’s side draws your attention away from each other, and you see Krypto, head planted on the arm of the chair, looking at you both with wide eyes. “Alright, buddy, how about we get you back now?”
Krypto wags his tail, and Clark turns to you. “You’ll stay until I get back?”
“Well, I was promised a six-month anniversary date,” you remind him as you shoo him off.
(You manage to sneak a little scratch on Krypto’s head that has his tail wagging.)
When Clark returns, dead set on taking you out for your planned six-month anniversary date, he’s confused to not find you on the couch where he had left you. When he wanders into his bedroom looking for you, any thoughts of leaving his apartment tonight go flying out the window at a breakneck pace.
“Oh golly,” he breathes out as he takes you in. You’re splayed out on his bed, looking right at home in a lingerie set that he thinks is new in a familiar shade of blue. His gaze trails along your body, unable to focus for too long on one thing when everything about you is so irresistible to him.
His mouth opens and then closes several times, and you fear you’ve short-circuited the man.
“Do I need to start fucking myself, or are you going to get over here and do it for me?” you question with a quirked eyebrow and knowing smirk on your lips.
He’s pulling his clothes off in an instant until he’s down to just his briefs, giving a high-pitched and desperate ‘mhm!’ as his thoughts are suddenly flooded with images of you pleasuring yourself in front of him, maybe a proposition for another day.
He clamors onto the bed, slotting himself easily into your spread legs, and you pull him down into a kiss. There’s no buildup of soft and tender, just deep and passionate, tongue gliding over his bottom lip before you bite into it, tugging none too gently with your teeth. Clark’s eyes are rolling in the back of his head as he moans at the roughness, gripping your waist as he leans into you.
One hand trails down between your legs, and he can feel how wet you are even through your panties. You’re whining a bit, tilting your hips up in hopes he’ll touch you more. “Clark.” The breathless way you say his name makes his head dizzy, and that’s all it takes for him to brush aside your underwear, fingers burying themselves into your folds.
“You’re so wet,” Clark murmurs against your mouth, and you spread your legs even more, gasping when he circles your clit. “What were you thinking about while waiting for me?” It’s a genuine question; he wants to know what thoughts got you practically dripping before he even touched you.
“You,” comes your reply, voice hitching when he plunges two fingers into your wet heat. Everything about him is so big.
He smiles, pulling away slightly to prop himself up on one elbow so he can watch your face as he finger fucks you. “Yeah?” he asks, doubling his efforts as he curls his fingers in a way that he knows you like. The effects are immediate: you’re grasping at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, hips jerking upward. “Just thinking about me and nothing else?”
He’s getting smug now, but with the way his thumb is rubbing against your clit as he crooks his fingers into your pussy, you can’t find it in yourself to be mad. “Thought about your cock, how good it feels when you stuff me full,” you breathe out. That has Clark twitching against your leg, and he leans down to nip at your neck, sucking just below your ear. It’s overwhelming, his hot tongue against your skin as he adds a third finger, the noises are obscene as your slick runs down his wrist.
“Can I eat you out?” he murmurs against your throat, adding in a quick but desperate, “Please?”
You nod a little too quickly, biting your lip as Clark presses a kiss to your cheek before slowly pulling his fingers out of your pussy, causing you to whine a bit at the loss. He trails down your form, pressing a brief kiss to the top of your breasts, wasting no time in pulling off your underwear, tossing them to the side.
He settles between your thighs, grabbing at the plush flesh as he parts your legs further, which you give no resistance to. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at you like you’re the prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes on.
(You are.)
“Clark, please,” you whisper, and Clark doesn’t have it in him to tease you, so he dives in, tongue flat against your core, the hot heat of him sending a trill of pleasure up your spine as you moan, hips jutting up.
He eats like a man starved, nose brushing against your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, swallowing down everything that you give him with enthusiasm. He’s groaning just at the taste of you, like it’s the tang of some divine nectar on his tongue and not just your juices.
One hand tangles into his curly locks while you use the other to prop yourself up a bit to watch as he goes down on you. As he gazes up at you, half-lidded blue eyes locking with yours, he plunges three fingers back into your cunt while he sucks on your clit, and it has your eyes rolling as your head lolls back, a long moan escaping you.
You fist his hair more roughly as you feel yourself getting closer, and Clark moans, dragging his cock along the bed underneath him to get some friction as you grind your pussy onto his face. He lets you use him as you chase your high, panting his name with every thrust of your hips. The entire lower half of his face is soaked with you, and he can feel your walls shudder against his fingers as you begin to teeter over the edge.
“Oh god, Clark,” you whimper as your hips stutter, and he works you through your orgasm as your thighs tighten around his head. Another thought of you sitting on his face floods his mind, wondering how long he’d be able to hold his breath with your pussy in his mouth, and he files it away for another night. You’re breathing heavily as you collapse against the pillows, white spotting your vision as your thighs spasm with the aftershocks.
He doesn’t give you time to recover as he kicks his briefs off before manhandling you onto your stomach, a surprised, but weak ‘oh!’ escaping your mouth as though you’re still astonished by how easily he can toss you around. His rough hands grasp at your hips, propping you up on your knees so your ass is in the air on display for him. He grips you, admiring the jiggle of your backside before he takes hold of his cock, pressing the tip against your sopping hole. “Golly,” he mutters as he feels your wet heat.
You instinctively hold your breath as he begins to slide into you. Even with the foreplay, it’s a tight stretch that has you keening, burying your face into the pillow as you grasp at the bedsheets. Even with the twinge of pain, you’re still arching your back, so he hits the right angle.
Clark is behind you, blathering words of praise with every inch of him you take, solely focused on watching how his cock disappears into your cunt, a sight he could never get sick of. “So good,” he groans. “Gosh, it’s like you were made for me.”
The last thrust as he bottoms out in you has you drooling into the pillow, and then he starts to move his hips slowly at first. Long and drawn-out movements that have your pussy quivering around him and you mewling into the pillow.
Just as you are beginning to recover from your first orgasm, you can feel the telltale tingle low in your belly of the second one building. As boneless as you feel, you find purchase on your elbows and start to rock back onto his cock. Clark’s hips stutter as you start your own rhythm, and he finds he’s unable to look away from the globes of your ass as they sway back and forth, grabbing them with fervor as he begins to meet your thrusts halfway.
“Harder, Clark,” you manage to whimper out, rutting your ass up against him, chasing more friction.
It’s like something snaps in him. He readjusts so he’s half kneeling, grabbing onto one of your shoulders with one hand and securing your hip with another as he starts to piston his hips up against yours. The first knocks the air out of you, and you’re gasping as the room is filled with a cacophony of the headboard hitting the wall and Clark’s balls slapping against you as your pussy gushes around him.
“You close?” Clark grits out, and you nod pathetically against the pillow, fearing that your voice would fail you in this moment as your boyfriend fucks the soul out of you. The hand on your hip reaches around and rubs your clit just right. Your vision goes black as you clamp down on Clark’s cock, and you can faintly hear him huff out a moan as he pumps once, then twice, into you before stilling, the hot heat of his cum filling you.
When he pulls out, you both give a small whimper, and you can feel the drip of your combined juices trailing down your inner thigh. You carefully flip onto your back as Clark pads into his bathroom, coming out moments later with a wet washcloth to clean you up, so gentle in his ministrations that you think you might cry.
A few minutes later, you’re both buried under the comforter of his bed, cuddled together, enjoying the afterglow. “I love you,” Clark murmurs into your hair as you lie on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your head is soothing.
“I love you, too,” you reply as familiar butterflies swirl around in your stomach, and then a thought pops into your head, and when you prop yourself up to stare at him, he looks confused. “So, what was the date you planned, anyway?”
“Ice skating,” he replies, exceptionally nonchalantly.
Your brows furrow together as images of your tall, hulking boyfriend ice skating begin to flood your mind. “Can you even ice skate?” you ask skeptically.
He gives a sheepish grin. “Nope.”
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
please help @maramahmed-gaza5 by sharing and or donating
Hello 🙋
My name is Maram, I am 25 years old from Gaza. I dreamed of a peaceful life, spending my life with my husband and my three children... but the war turned this dream into an impossible one 💔😭. We lived through this genocide with all its painful details and we are still suffering from it😭. We were so happy when the ceasefire was announced, and we returned to our homes in northern Gaza after being displaced for a year and a half in a tent in the south of the Gaza Strip. After repairing a small room in our destroyed house, we began to live there and start over. Unfortunately, the war came back, and it was even stronger than before 💔. Now, we have no shelter or source of income. We have used up all our savings during the war. I know I created my campaign very late, but that's because I have no other means to help my family 🙏. I am completely confident and hopeful that someone here will help us as much as they can and save my family in these tough circumstances 😔.






I know how painful and frustrating it is to start over from scratch, but I hope to get any amount for my family 🥺🙏.
So, please, donate to my campaign, even if it's a small amount—it will have a big impact on us 🥺. May God bless you, my friend 🥰❤️.
15K notes
·
View notes
Text
please help @nadagaza04 she needs your help
My name is Nada, I’m 22 years old, from Gaza 🇵🇸.
I used to live a peaceful and happy life with my husband and our little child ❤️👨👩👦.
Suddenly, everything changed when our home was bombed and collapsed with all our memories 💔🏚️.
We survived miraculously, but now we live in a tent after losing everything ⛺

The war stole our sense of safety and took away my child’s bed, toys, and little dreams 😢🧸.
We asked our friends in the U.S. to help by launching a support campaign, but the link is taking some time 🇺🇸⌛.

So we had to use my friend Maram’s link temporarily 🙏.
We hope peace returns, and that we can rebuild a new life despite the pain 🌈🕊️.
Thank you to everyone standing with us, even with just a kind word — you are the light in this darkness 🤍✨.

#free palestine#free gaza#gaza#palestine#gaza genocide#all eyes on gaza#fuck israel#tsitp#taylor swift
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
please help out @helpmahmoudfamilyingaza if anyway you can
My name is mahmoud mohammed jaafar jaafar i studied computer engineering and graduated from university in 2023 i worked as a software engineer in a local company here in gaza unit the war started, then the company got destroyed and became unemployed and our house is destroyed partially and became inhabitant to live in but nevertheless we stayed in it because we do not else to go i currently live in north gaza where is a scarcity of food and i have 3 brothers and 4 sister one of them died while he was trying to find food for the family so i am the eldest in my family now i have to provide a living for them
Any amount you give me will help me a lot in supporting my family in Gaza in light of the fear and lack of food, medicine and drink
Any amount you give me will help me a lot, even if it is $10.
28K notes
·
View notes
Text
please help suhalia in anyway you can
Urgent Appeal: A Mother’s Cry for Help in Gaza
My name is Suheila, a mother of five from Gaza.
After our home was completely destroyed, we have been left with nothing — no shelter, no food, no water. We are living in the open, exposed to the harsh elements, hunger, and fear.


My husband, Shadi, is seriously injured and unable to move or work. There is no access to treatment or even pain relief. His condition worsens daily.


My son, Shukri, is slowly fading. He hasn't eaten in a week. His tiny body is withering before my eyes — and I am powerless to help him.

My daughter, Mira, suffers from severe malnutrition. I have a medical report confirming her condition, but there is no medicine, no food, and no milk available.




We are desperate. My children are in pain. We have nothing left.
Please, help us survive. Every donation — no matter how small — can provide food, clean water, and medical aid. Your support can save lives.
We are clinging to hope. Please don’t turn away.
This is not just our story — it's a call for humanity.
🙏 Donate now. Save a child. Save a family.
Campaign checked by 90-ghost
Donation link
......................................PayPal❤️
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
please help @shahedmoatasem-gaza in anyway you can
Hello, I'm Shahd from Gaza.
I was born in 2006.
I got married a year before the war.
My husband, my daughter, my mother-in-law, and my uncle and I lived in a house before it was bombed.
We were happy until the war broke out.
The war on Gaza began on October 7, 2023.


Here, hell began for us in Gaza. We lost our home and became homeless. My husband had nothing, and I had nothing.
My husband, his family, and I were displaced to the southern Gaza Strip for 15 months. I didn't go with her. Those were months of longing for my mother and brothers who were in northern Gaza.
My brothers Ahmed and Abdullah remained in the northern Gaza Strip. We were displaced several times because I live in Rafah, a border area close to the army.
During our displacement, we left the house and ran down the road to escape the shells and planes. Then came the thunderbolt. The shock was that death was faster than my brothers could escape... Here, here, we lost our loved ones. I lost my brothers, the apple of my eye, Ahmed. Ahmed left no children. And my mother is in pain because they departed to God without saying goodbye, without a kiss on their foreheads, a farewell kiss. After a while, we returned home. The house was severely damaged by demolition and the falling of stones from their places, which sheltered and protected us. Now, nothing protects us except some worn-out candles that do not protect us from the heat of summer or the cold of winter. Our suffering is great, but with your help, we may reach a better and more dignified life. I appeal to you to help me support myself, my mother, my loved ones, and my family. What you provide makes a difference in our lives as individuals. We live in a world that has forgotten the meaning of humanity and giving. May God bless you all. Please help me help my family. Anything you provide, even if it is small, will mean a lot to me. Please donate to me.
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
please donate to @tasneemogaza if you can. share around if you can't
*⚠️ URGENT | Humanitarian Appeal to Help Tasneem and Her Family in Gaza 🇵🇸*
The suffering in Gaza continues to grow each day...
*We are hungry, thirsty, and struggling in silence under tents* ⛺☀️






We live in tents that don’t protect us from the intense summer heat, with no enough food and *no access to clean drinking water*.
Water desalination stations have shut down due to the lack of fuel — *even clean water is now out of reach* 💧💔
*Flour costs 35 per kilo*, and we can’t even afford that.
So we had to knead bread from lentils, so we had to buy it because it was a little cheaper than flour, as a kilo costs $20.
We search daily for anything to feed the children... sometimes we sleep hungry.
I’m Tasneem. I launched this appeal because we’ve lost everything…
I need your support to feed my family, continue my education, and regain our basic human dignity.
*Any help matters — even5 can make a real difference.*
*Please, don’t ignore this call for help 🙏*
*Save Gaza. Save the lives before they’re completely lost.*
#SaveGaza #SupportTasneem #GazaUnderAttack #HumanityFirst #GazaAppeal
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
— “PILLOWY SOFT”

contains: loser!clark, pillow humping, slight voyeurism, handjobs, premature ejaculation
—original ask.

୨୧ the plan had been simple: a quick, guilty touch to take the edge off. he’d been wound so tight for days, restless, distracted, half-hard at his desk every time you’d passed his chair or leaned over his shoulder with that glossy-lipped smile. he hadn’t had any kind of release in longer than he cared to admit, not properly at least, and the pressure was almost unbearable. he’d tried to resist. tried to bury himself in work, in dishes, in anything that wasn’t the ache in his cock. but when he finally collapsed into bed, pillow hugged tight to his chest, his mind betrayed him. all he could see was you, and easy as that, his cock was throbbing, leaking, aching for friction.
so now here he was: a man built like a titan, rutting against his own pillow like a desperate little bitch.
his hips rocked slow at first, grinding the fat head of his cock against the soft cotton case. the friction was enough to make his whole body shudder. he wrapped his arms tighter around the pillow, burying his face in the mattress like he could hide from himself. but his voice betrayed him, ragged moans spilling out from his lips.
his thrusts grew rougher, clumsier, presume soaking the fabric, cock dragging hard against the pillows yielding surface. he was so lost in it that he didn’t hear the knock at the door, didn’t hear the click of the lock and the footsteps leading to the hallway where his bedroom was. he moaned put your name despite it all.
“Clark? you left this at—”
the voice froze him solid. his hips stuttered, his whole body went ridged with a sort of humiliated horror.
you stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, clutching a folder from work and one of his sweaters you’d come to drop off. for a heartbeat, the room was silent but for the frantic buzz of Clark’s own pulse in his ears. he scrambled, panicked, trying to roll off the pillow, to cover himself, to do something. his face was scarlet, his cock still hard and dripping against the damp pillowcase. “i—i—oh god, i’m so sorry— i didn’t—”
but you didn’t look disgusted. you didn’t even look embarrassed.
instead, your lips curved into the softest smile. “oh, Clark…” you stepped closer, heels clicking lightly on the floor, “were you thinking about me?”
he wanted to sink through the mattress. his hands flew to cover his face as if it would make him disappear. “i… didn’t mean for you to— god, this is so humiliating.”
you set the folder and sweater down on his dresser and sat gently at the edge of his bed. your hand, cool and steady against his sweaty skin, touched his arm. you didn’t need to say anything to make it known that you wanted him to look at you, to be open.
reluctantly, shame burning every inch of him, Clark dropped his hands. his cock still twitched against the ruined pillow, betraying him.
your smile softened, “you’re adorable.”
that floored him. adorable? he expected disgust and laughter, not warmth.
your hand slid lower, resting on his broad chest. “if you wanted to cum thinking about me… you could’ve asked.”
his throat worked, words failing him, “i can’t—”
“shhh,” you leaned down, kissing his temple, voice a whisper at his ear. “you don’t have to be embarrassed, just let me help you.”
“…help?”
before he could even register what you meant by that, your hand was around him. Clark choked on a moan, his hips jerking helplessly into your grip. your hand was soft and sure, stroking up the length of his cock, slick with the mess he’d already smeared on his pillow. you twisted gently at the tip, thumbing over his slit, and his whole body trembled.
“ohh— god—”
he lasted seconds.
the shame, the need, the unbearable relief all crashed over him at once. his cock pulsed violently in your hand and he came with a guttural, desperate groan, cum spilling thick across his stomach and splattering your knuckles. you just held him through it, stroking slow, milking every drop from his oversensitive length until his hips stilled and his head fell back against the bed, utterly spent.
you wiped your hand delicately on the sheets, “well, i guess that pillow’s officially retired.”
Clark covered his face again, still embarrassed. “i can’t believe this…”
but you only leaned in, kissing his jaw with a fond little smile. “Clark, stop. you’re so sweet it hurts. you don’t need to be embarrassed. i like that you want me this much…” Clark still looked like he didn’t believe you. “i think it’s the hottest thing ever.” you added. and for the first time that night, relief actually began to wash over him stronger than the shame.
387 notes
·
View notes
Text
idk how well this will be received since this an original work and not a fic, BUT here's some excerpts from my current rom-com WIP that im writing.
hope y'all will enjoy. im a little insecure/protective about my stories but i was very proud of what i wrote up tonight and wanted to share around
#writblr#black writblr#romance#romance writing#david corenswet#<---tagging because he's the mmc fc in the excerpts
2 notes
·
View notes
Text

Clark Kent, the boyfriend who loves to secretly take photos of you doing the most mundane things.
You’re cooking? He’s snapping a quick photo of you before he’s back at your side helping out.
You’re lying on the couch reading a book? He’s taking a photo of you because he thinks your concentration face looks cute.
You’re sitting in bed watching a movie while Krypto sleeps on your lap? He’s taking a photo of you because he loves seeing the bond you two have together.
You’re hunched over your desk late at night working on an article for The Daily Planet? He’s taking a photo of you because he admires how much of a hard worker you are.
You’re napping on the couch in a position that looks so unnatural that he’s absolutely sure you can’t be comfortable? He’s taking a photo of you because he thinks it’s silly and it makes him love you even more.
You’re crouched down on the sidewalk petting a stray cat? He’s taking a photo of you because he loves how gentle and kind you are with anything and everything.
You’re mid conversation with Jimmy, laughing at a dumb joke he made? He’s taking a photo of you because he enjoys being able to look back and see the happiness that radiates from you.
He wouldn’t advertise the photos to you because he knew you’d ask him to delete them. One day, you’d snuck up behind him as he sat on the couch, trying to scare him. You had been so quiet that he hadn’t even realized that you were right behind him, looking over his shoulder.
What you saw made you stop in your tracks.
He was scrolling through the candid pictures of you, looking at each of them.
“Clark! What are you doing?” You ask loudly, catching him so off guard that a yelp flies out of his mouth before he can stop it.
“What? Nothing!” He says quickly, trying to cover what he was doing by locking his phone in a hurry and setting it beside him on the couch.
“Nice try. Hand it over.” You laugh, making your way around the couch to sit beside him. You hold your hand out and he places the phone in your palm, unlocked and on the photos app.
You read the title of the photo album — My Sweetheart
You look through the photos, stopping on the one of you asleep on the couch.
“Clark! Really? I look so bad in that!” You groan, throwing your head back in embarrassment.
“No, you don’t! You look so cute, the position you’re in is just so silly! I love it!” He says genuinely, looking over towards your red face. “I knew you wouldn’t like that one, but it’s one of my favorites!” He tells you, trying to ease the embarrassment you’re feeling.
“How long have you been taking these?” You ask, turning your attention back towards the photo album. You scroll through the photos—there must be at least 100 candid photos of you that he’s taken throughout your relationship.
“Since the beginning..” He admits, cheeks turning a hue of red now that you’ve learned his secret. “I can’t help myself, you look so cute sometimes so I just have to take a picture!”
You look towards him and see the look on his face—one of slight embarrassment, but pure love. “You’re such a dork. I love you.” You grin, placing a quick peck against his lips.
The one kiss isn’t enough for Clark, though. He leans over and peppers kisses across your face, telling you that he loves you in between the fast kisses.
“Does this mean I can keep the pictures?” He asks hopefully, pausing his attack of love against your face.
“Yes, you can keep the pictures.” You giggle, placing one final kiss against his lips before he’s smiling widely in victory.
credit — dividers are from @/cursed-carmine!
447 notes
·
View notes
Text
SUPERMAN SCREENCAPS
all screencaps are free to use with credit to @argentangelhelps!
you may edit to your liking for personal use (icons, edits, promos ect)
do not use for : celebrity/real person rps or paid commissions, everything else is up to user discretion. (don’t make me change this rule). if you want to use these for icons on your own rph even for free, please message me.
note! due to the large file size you may need to download a file unzipper such as the unarchiver (the one i use) to be able to successfully open this file
the zip files are free to download through DROPBOX !
GIVE CREDIT SOMEWHERE ON YOUR BLOG OR REBLOG IF YOU SAVE OR USE!
45 notes
·
View notes
Note
obsessed with your sub clark posts. would you ever write something about making him suck your strap and having to teach him step by step bc it’s his first time ): the thought of him choking a little bit with tears in his eyes makes my head spinnnnn
୨୧ you leaned back, legs spread wide, strap buckled tight around your hips. the silicone cock jutted up proud and glossy, already lubed, glistening under the soft bedroom light. you rested your hand casually at the base, smiling at Clark where he knelt on the floor between your thighs.
he was flushed scarlet, broad chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted. his eyes flicked nervously your smug face and the thick length swaying inches from his mouth.
“you’ve never sucked cock before, have you baby?” you asked teasingly.
Clark swallowed hard, ears burning. “i uh… no ma’am.”
you curled your fingers into his dark hair, “that’s okay, i’ll teach you.” you guided his head closer to the blunt silicone tip until it brushed his lips, “first… open that pretty mouth for me.”
he obeyed instantly, lips parting, breath hot against your strap.
“good boy. now…. kiss it.”
he leaned in, pressing a hesitant, trembling kiss to the head. the lube smeared his lips shiny, and you laughed softly, “aww, so shy. you look adorable with your mouth messy.” your hand tightened in his hair, “now lick. slow, baby.”
his tongue darted out, tentative at first, then bolder, tracing up the shaft, swirling around the crown like he had seen you do to his cock dozens of times before.
“that’s it. such a good boy. now suck on the tip, just the tip.”
he sealed his lips around the head, cheeks hollowing as he sucked carefully. you hummed, pleased, “oh, Clark, look at you. such a big man, sucking my cock like you were born for it.”
his cock twitched hard in his slacks at your words.
“deeper.” you ordered, pushing his head forward an inch.
Clark gagged, eyes watering as the thick shaft slid over his tongue, stretching his throat. he coughed, pulling back slightly, but you didn’t let go of his hair.
“don’t stop. breathe through your nose, okay? you can take it.”
a few tears spilled at the corners of his eyes as he forced himself down again, choking softly, spit running down his chin. he made a desperate little noise around the strap, half whine, half moan.
“crying for my cock, that’s precious.” you cooed. you rocked your hips slightly, sliding the silicone against his tongue, “deep breaths sweetheart, relax that throat. you’ll get used to it.”
he gagged again, spit dripping messily onto his chest. he was humiliated, overwhelmed, and achingly hard.
when you finally pulled him off a long string of saliva connected his lips to the wet strap. his face was wrecked— red, tear-streaked, lips swollen, chest heaving.
you tilted his face up with your hand, gripping roughly at his jaw, thumb smearing the mix of spit and lube around his pinked lips. “god, you look ruined. my sweet, perfect Clark. you wanna try again?”
and the shameful part of him, the part that made his cock throb painfully against the zipper of his pants, made him nod.
102 notes
·
View notes
Text
if you can help my friend abood out in any way, please do so!
Chicken finally appeared in the market today at $150 per kilo after 6 months of total absence. Yesterday, Israel allowed just one truck of chicken in—a staged move to deceive the world. In reality, it doesn’t even cover 1% of Gaza’s 2+ million people.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
mr. david corenswet is like taio cruz...




cuz he gon throw them hands up in the air sometimes.
#david corenswet#was this funny?#like at all?#i thought it was#i thought it was dynamite tbh#ehhhh#get it#wink wink#okay im done
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
hey guys! i need your help okay?
fatima ( @fatimaahmed-gaza6 ) got married during the genocide in gaza. she's currently seven months pregnant and she needs assitance. i know marriage is a very popular topic is some fandom spaces right now but i hope that you could care about this woman just as much as y'all do about them. please. i can't donate but i really want fatima to get all the resources she needs to keep her and her baby alive.
please if you can, donate. but if not PLEASE share around. it's just one reblog. one and it can change a life.
#free palestine#free gaza#gaza#palestine#gaza genocide#all eyes on gaza#fuck israel#tsitp#bellyconrad#taylor swift#bbc ghosts#healthcare
2 notes
·
View notes