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CAUSE I'M A PUNK ROCKER - c. kent

synopsis you moved to smallville because you had to save your family's farm. it was a place you never wanted to stay but also one you couldn't escape. then you met him: quiet, steady, and the one person who saw through your walls. slowly, without warning he became the part of you you didn't even know you were missing

a.n my longest fic to date. there will be a part 2 cause i didn't wanna make it too long. this part spans reader and clark relationship from childhood to late teens (ends with them just starting uni), reader will be a punk rock musician in the next part. also wrote the song lyrics myself so sorry if they're cringe lol not betaread

wc 10.2k (ik it's long but give it a chance!)

heads up slow burn, porn with plot, bestfriend clark, no use of y/n, reader is female, they get into a fight but they get over it, lana lang and peter ross are mentioned but their personalities are completely my own creation. clark is a munch, mutual loss of virginity, fingering, p in v, unprotected (wrap it b4 you tap it), mentions of car crashes, reader and clark are a audhd duo

You loved Blüdhaven. It was where you were born, where you’d been raised. The only time you ever spent outside of it was when you were visiting your grandparents in the summer. There was never much to do, but making friends with the cows and watching your grandma knit were admittedly things you liked doing. In moderation of course, 3 weeks out of the year in slow living was all you could handle.

Blüdhaven had loads to do, there were always events going on, concerts happening, new exhibits at the museum. Your class field trips were anything but boring, and you loved going on little adventures or “side quests” as you liked to call them with your friends. On the last day of school, you even got to have a water balloon fight after field day. You had walked home soaking wet but happy, smiling from ear to ear.

That smile quickly dropped when you saw the look on your parents' faces. Your mom had ushered you into the shower, bringing you neatly folded clothes and resting them on the countertop before telling you to come back to the living room once you were done.

As the steam curled around the patterned tiles, your thoughts ran wild with what they had to tell you.

Had they found out you had helped Amelia cheat during the math exam in April? Had your teachers told them you had accidentally dropped the paint in art class a few weeks ago? They had said you weren’t in any trouble though, that couldn’t be it.

You pondered like this for a few more minutes before your heart sunk into your stomach.

Your library book

It sat under your bed, mockingly collecting dust. It was 4 weeks overdue yesterday. You had been meaning to give it back, but you had accidentally tore the spine away from the pages after reading a particularly angering scene. Great. You were really in for it now.

Before you could think too much about what exactly your punishment would be, your mothers yelling pulled you out of your trance. Twisting the knob, the water came to a halt as you dried yourself off before changing into the clothes your mom had picked out. The pajamas were soft, but offered little comfort to your now terrified mind.

Carefully padding down the stairs, you sat in the chair across from the sofa, looking at the floor dejectedly before opening your mouth to apolgize. Your parents speak before you can.

“Sweetheart, we have some important news to tell you”

Your shoulders immediately relax, realizing that this isn’t going to be a lecture. But something about your dads tone has you nervous. What could be so important that they had to sit you down?

Pausing for a beat, he continues.

“So you know how we were planning on not going to the farm this summer? We were gonna have you go to that summer camp with your friends instead”

You nodded as he began again

“Well, Grandma and Grandpa have been having a hard time taking care of everything on the farm, you know they’re getting older. It’s hard to keep up with all the animals and crops when you’re our age let alone theirs” He moves forward slightly, linking his fingers together. “Grandpa had a scare yesterday, he almost fell while getting off the baler. He called us asking if we could come stay there with them.” He stops speaking for a moment.

You’re confused, and pretty upset. You go to the farm every summer, this is the only time in your 9 years of living that you’ve ever asked to stay back. Your best friends were going to Camp Ivy, you had asked months before and now you were going to have to go to that stupid farm again while all of them had fun. Without you.

Great, just great.

Digging your nails into your palm, you stiffen a little as your mother continues where he left off.

“We said yes, but we aren’t just going to be staying for the summer, we’re moving there permanently”

Your heart stops for a moment. You’re genuinely at a loss for words. Your mother reaches out her hand, to comfort you, you think. But you quickly move back, the tears you were holding back move freely as you get up and run into your room. You let your body hit the bed, crawling under the covers as you put your pillow over your head to muffle your crying.

Your life is officially over. All of your friends, your teachers, everyone you know was going to forget about you while you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. Great. Just great. You wake up the next day and on your way to the bathroom catch sight of the outfit you had worn yesterday, you had been so happy when you had gotten home and now you were just like the shirt. Crumpled up, dirty, and in desperate need of a wash.

Your parents had given you space, but within the next few days you had already begun to pack. Your whole life soon was boxed away and put into a truck as you got in the car. It would take 2 days to get to Smallville.

In all honesty it doesn’t fully even set in that you're moving, your mind warps it into being just another summer trip. But for some reason, the minute your head hits the hotel pillows in Indianapolis it really hits you.

In all honesty, you should’ve seen it coming. For a while now they had been talking about moving (they didn’t know that you’d heard them of course, it was always after bedtime). Also Grandma and Grandpa needed help, they were strong but even you couldn’t do all that work on your own. Even though you were upset you were leaving everything you knew behind, you would rather do that than make your parents stay unhappy and your grandparents stay overwhelmed. Sighing, you let yourself sink further into the pillow, closing your eyes as you drift off to sleep.

The next day is spent the same. Staring off out the window. You had tried to read, but your motion sickness forbade it, feeling nauseous before you could even turn a page. As you watched the sky darken and rain begin to come down, you let yourself day dream about what you would be like if you were a character in the book. Maybe even the main character. It was fun, and as you got lost in the scenario the sun slowly moved further west, gently hiding as it fell past the horizon.

It’s late when you reach the farm, your eyes open after what feels like hours as you stretch softly. Your mom opens the backseat door, and you get out. The air is refreshing, warmer than you remember it being, but comforting nontheless. Your grandparents are already asleep as you quietly open the door. Your things would arrive tomorrow, the movers had said they’d arrive sometime between 8am and noon.

The house, like the farm it resided on, was massive, to you at least. Out of the 5 bedrooms of the house, you had your own special one, decorated mostly with things your grandma had crotched or knitted.

You let your backpack hit the floor as you took a shower to get the long car ride off your body. After changing you stayed up to finish the last few chapters of your book.

The next few weeks weren’t like anything you had expected, The fomo of not going to summer camp and the harsh reality that you wouldn’t be going back to Blüdhaven really set in, and you struggled to do much more than lounge around on the couch all day. Even the animals could feel the resentment you had. The last time you tried hanging out with the cows, they had basically run off.

You spent most of the day either watching old black and white films with grandpa, watching grandma knit, or reading. You had been evicted out of your room after you had been “in there too much” according to mom.

Now you would read sitting in the cornfields. At first it was kinda scary because they were tall and when they moved it almost sounded like someone was behind you, but you got used to it. May was ending and you were feeling more miserable than ever, so it didn’t really come as a surprise to you that your parents were sitting you down in the kitchen later that morning.

You were having a staring contest with the gingham tablecloth as your parents went on and on about how they were “concerned for you” and how you “needed to make more friends” honestly, did they expect you to just forget about all the ones back home? Making new friends now would be accepting the fact that they weren’t going to be your friends anymore. The thought of that made your eyes sting and before you could even think about it you abruptly stood up, tearing your eyes away from the cloth as your palms made an echoing thwack sound as they hit the table.

Before your parents could open their mouths, you turned around and ran, the door shut loudly as you ran. You winced, you hadn’t meant to be so rude but you couldn’t help it. You had obsiously been upset, they hadn’t even thought about what it would mean, making new friends. The tears flowed freely down your cheeks as your arms pushed against the neverending cornstalk. You didn’t know where you were planning on going, but you knew for a fact you couldn’t stay on the farm. They’d come looking for you, and the last thing you wanted was your parents to look at you with the eyes they’ve been giving you recently. Always a little sad. You hadn’t been able to put your finger on it for a while but you had finally realized what it was, pity.

The gentle breeze and the moving of the plants hid your quiet sniffles. You continued to walk for what felt like hours. Once you hit the fence that marked where your farm ended, you made your way to the side of the road as you continued walking. The sun was fully out now, it was probably mid afternoon. You were starting to get thirsty, but your pride wasn’t going to let you turn back now, you were in too deep.

Just as your feet started to ache a little bit more, you began to make out what looked like a farmhouse. You continued walking just off the road, and as you got closer you came face to face with a mailbox. Leaning your head to the left you noted in bold white letters, KENT was written on the side. You contemplated for a moment what you should do. You hadn’t spoken to anyone but your family for nearly a month so you weren’t sure if you would sound stupid or not, but the dryness in your throat quickly made the decision for you.

Oh well, even if the Kents were your grandparents' age, maybe you could befriend them. That would shut your parents up. Could you be friends with people your grandparents age though? Before you could deliberate any further you had reached the porch. You stopped, looking side to side for someone outside. After seeing nobody you exhaled, straightening your back and looking at your parents eye level. Most adults are that height and that way they wont have tio stare at your head when you open the door, the long hike you took here probably messed up your hair, and that wouldn’t make for a good first impression. You knocked on the door. Once. Twice.

The door slowly creaked open and you were confused when you didnt see someone looking down at you, as you let your eyes fall back to normal your breath got caught in your throat. Looking back at you wasn’t someone your grandparents age, not even your parents. He loooked as old as you, maybe older cause he was a little bigger than you. And his eyes were bluer than you thought was possible. Bluer than clear skies, the oceans you had seen, even your markers.

You both stared at each other for a moment before he opened his mouth.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Around 50 thoughts ran through your mind, all slamming into each other and making you stare at him blankly for a second or two.

“Um hi I took a walk, a really long one, longer than I meant to at least-” before you let yourself ramble and make yourself look even stupider than you already have, you shake your head before speaking again, more coherently this time. “Could I get some water? I think i’m dehydrated”

He smiles at you, cheeks caving into dimples as he pushes the door open. “Of course! I’ll have Ma get you some, she’s making some rhubarb pie, if you stay long enough you can have some too!”

You’re pretty shocked at the instant kindness and welcome in your random arrival, but you feel yourself smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in weeks. “I’ve never had Rhubarb pie before, but it sounds good”

He gapes at you for a minute, before beginning to ramble about how it’s the most perfect, amazing dessert to ever exist. You listen intently, following him further into the house after you take your shoes off. Clark, who tells you his name after he proclaims his love for rhubarb pie, brings you to the kitchen.

A woman with wavy brown hair turns around, meeting your eyes with a smile as she shakes your hand gently. “Hi! I’m Martha, it’s nice to meet you! You’re (Grandpa and Grandma’s names)” grandbaby aren’t you?”

You nod, somewhat surprised that she already knows who you are. Whenever you visit you stick mostly to the farm, rarely going out more into town. Knowing your grandparents, they probably gushed about you to their neighbors so you shouldn’t be too shocked.

You sat down at the table, a glass of water in hand. Martha asked how long you were going to be staying, and Clark perked up when you said you’d moved here permanently.

“Does that mean you’re going to go to Weisinger?” He asks

You nod, you’re pretty sure that’s the elementary you’d be attending. It is the only one in Smallville after all. Behind you, grabbing a pie tin Martha assks.

“What grade are you going into honey?”

“Fifth grade” You smile at this, at least after this year you would get to be out of elementary. You were excited to go to middle school, it seemed more grown up.

After hearing that, Clark says that he’s going into fifth grade too, and you smile wider. A friend. You had actually gotten a friend.

As June began, so did the slump you had been in. You had been driven home later that day, with two tupperware, one full of pie, and another full of casserole. Martha had insisted. You waved goodbye to her and Clark as you sheepishly stepped inside. You heard quick shuffling, you steeled yourself, ready to get yelled at.

The last thing you expected was to be wrapped in an enveloping hug. After a more concerned than angry lecture, you held out the tupperware for them and told them all about the very interesting day that you had.

You spent the rest of the summer having fun, mostly with Clark. You guys caught fireflies at night (you always let them go, it was fun watching them all come out at once), climbed and fell off of hay bales, started a book club made up of just you two, and tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to teach him the guitar. You introduced him to your favorite series, loaning him books that you would read together in the corn fields. By late August you even pinky swore. From that day on, you two were officially best friends.

Adjusting to Weisinger was hard at first, you weren’t used to such small classes. It didn’t help that everybody knew everybody, most of them since birth, but Clark made it easier. He introduced you to his friends, and soon enough you had a new little circle. The school year went by fast like it always did, and soon enough you were getting ready to go to Junior High. You didn’t feel as grown up as you thought you would, but it was exciting nonetheless.

That was until you got your schedule back. Unlike in Elementary school where you just had one teacher that taught you all the subjects, in middle school you had a different teacher for each one. When you compared your schedule to Clarks, your heart sank. You didn’t have any classes together, only lunch. Ever the optimist, he could sense your frustration. He reassured you.

“We still have lunch together, don’t worry. Besides we have a promise don’t we? I’d never let myself drift away from my best friend” He smiles, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You shove him a little before bringing your hand up to his, pinkies interlocking as you smile.

Clark, as usual, was right. Your classes were still full of people you knew, as moving here like you did was pretty rare. Most of them were boring, but some classes you always looked forward to. The two main ones were English and music.

Over the summer the ‘Book Club’ you had with Clark turned into a writing club, you had exhausted all the books both of your parents thought you were mature enough to read, and so after putting your heads together you decided to just write your own stories.

You both went about it differently. Where Clark was methodical, direct, almost documentative, you were more metaphorical, lyrical, introspective.

It was fun seeing how the other would have such different takes on prompts, and class gave you an oppurtunity to imporve your skills.

Music was also like that, but instead you got to play on an electric guitar. You had wanted one since you had first picked up an acoustic, but your mom insisted that playing on an acoustic would “sharpen your skills”. She was right, it had been what she had done when she learned how to play. Nothing could beat the adrenaline rush you got when playing an electric for the first time though. It felt like the notes itself were flowing through your veins. This was definitely something you could get used to.

Clark and you still hung out at least twice a week. Sometimes you did homework together, trying and failing to work on math. Two heads is better than one didn’t apply to you guys when it came to anything math related. Other times you wrote lyrics as he wrote up things for the daily announcements, it let him write about stuff the way he wanted. You guys were great.

You two had somehow gotten even closer, you were both rarely seen without the other during breaks. In seventh grade you had three classes together, that was fun. And going into eighth, you only had one. Anything was better than nothing though, and you quickly settled into the new routine.

It was orgnaized chaos, until yesterday at least.

As you guys were biking home from school Clark told you about a crush he had one one of your classmates. Not just anyone though, he had a crush on Lana. Lana Lang. The perfect, beautiful, frustratingly nice Lara Lang. You almost crashed your bike when he told you, but luckily a rock you passed over hid it for you. Truly a blessing in disguise. You listened to him talk about her, offering input on how he should ask her out. He thought he didn’t have a chance, but you convinced him otherwise later.

As you had predicted she had said yes to him, and they had a date planned for Sunday. It wasn’t anything too crazy, just getting ice cream and biking to the creek. He admitted he was nervous though, because he didn’t know if it was normal to kiss someone after a date. You didn’t really know either, it’s not like your parents talked to you about things like this, and you didn’t have an older sibling to ask, so you both tried to figure out what the social norms were. After deliberating for hours (20 minutes) you guys thought that before she went back to her house, he would kiss her if it felt right.

That followed another long discussion about what “feeling right” meant and how he would know. One of the things you and Clark had in common was not really understanding social situations at times. While he had to actively identify them and figure out how to react, you had a hard time reacting in what you knew was the “normal” way. It was nice having someone that you didn’t have to pretend all the time around, and you think he appreciated having someone besides his parents that he didn’t have to constantly overthink around. He could be honest with you, blunt even.

That’s why it didn’t really shock you when he asked you a question the next day. You’re in your bedroom- him at your desk, writing; you at the foot of your bed, practicing chords. The question itself does surprise you, though.

“Do you think we could kiss? For practice at least, I don’t wanna kiss Lana badly. That would be a nightmare.”

You pause for a moment, accidentally playing a chord a little flat before you laugh. He looks back at you and you laugh, shaking your head.

“Practicing sounds smart but are you sure? You’d be losing your first kiss to me instead of her.”

He contemplates for a moment before responding. “I don’t think I would, besides I'd be your first kiss too so it would balance out.”

It’s your turn to think now, and after a moment of deliberation you nod your head. What he said is logical, besides you don’t really mind losing your first kiss to Clark, you’ve known him for a long time and he’s one of the few people you fully trust.

“How should we do it? Also do you mean like right now?” You put your guitar to the side, leaning to your right and cracking your back.

He gets out of your chair and sits in front of you. It isn’t awkward per se, it never is with the two of you, but something is different. He looks at you differently than he normally does. You don’t know how to describe it, before you can contemplate longer he interrupts your thoughts.

“If you dont mind, that is. You do know that you can tell me no, right?” He looks at you a little worried but that disappears when you smile.

“Yeah yeah, I know.” looking at him. Both of you sit still for a minute again before he grabs your hand, gently tugging you closer. You can feel your heartbeat thrumming. He tells you to not be nervous, and before you can quip out a retort, his lips are on yours. It’s an interesting feeling. He’s warm, like always and the hand that had pulled you closer is slowly bought up to your face. A second later your eyes are opening as you both simultaneously pull apart. “How was that? Was it bad?” He asks

You think about it for a moment, but after seeing him get more nervous you reassure him it was fine. You were just trying to figure out how to describe it. You’re careful to not sound overly enthusiastic, and for the first time since knowing him, you lie to Clark. Lie might be a stretch, it’s more of a half truth. I mean it’s not like you could tell him that you liked it, or that you wanted to do it again. Lana. Pretty, perfect Lana. You shove whatever confusing emotions youre feeling down as you and Clark go back to normal, he’s still sitting on the floor with you , but now he’s to your left, reading over your lyrics and helping you edit them while you keep playing chords trying to figure out what sounds right.

You find yourself dreading Sunday. The usual excitement you have for the weekend is dampened when you remember how it’s going to end. You’re supposed to be happy for Clark, be the one cheering him on from the sidelines. So why is it that you’re struggling so much to do it?

And so like you always do when you’re feeling things you don’t fully comprehend, you grab your journal. The leather is worn around the edges, and you pull the thin bookmark to the side as you begin to write. You write in pen, it doesn’t fade like pencil does, but it makes for a very annoying writing utensil when you seem to be writing all the wrong things. Three hours and much more pages later, you read over the lyrics you’ve scrubbled down.

You said she makes you happy, so why can’t I breathe?

I smile like I mean it, but it cracks my teeth

I tell myself it’s nothing, just a shadow in my mind,

But when your eyes find hers the colors start to blind

You groan, getting angry but not having the heart to strike what you’ve written. You drop your journal at your desk and grab your backpack, you have algebra homework due.

You should’ve known Clark would come straight to yours after dropping her. Your parents just let him in now, the only thing that you need to hear to know he’s here is the special knock you both came up with last summer. You perk up, composing yourself and making sure you don’t look like you’ve been wallowing in self pity for the last few hours like you actually are. You open the door with a smile. Clarks eyes meet yours and you quickly usher him into your room, pulling out some snacks as you sit down.

He tells you everything, what the bike ride to hers was like, all the mosquitos that bit him, what she was wearing when she came out. Red shirt and blue jeans with some grease on them from working on a car project with her dad. They had gone to get ice cream, he was still being assaulted by mosquitos. He got vanilla cone, she got bubblegum. They ate their ice cream then biked haphazardly to the creek, then sat and talked. You followed along, you were happy for him, and all seemed to have gone as smoothly as could be imagined.

“Once the sun got closer to setting we biked back to hers and before she left she leaned in and hugged me. I think she pecked my cheek? I got really nervous and kinda forgot. I did smile at her at least, and hugged her back. But duh who wouldn’t hug someone back if they were- anyways yeah then she went inside, and I came here.

The excitement you had for him earlier much to your dismay only increased when you heard how it ended.

You hugged him, told him he did a good job, and hung out for a few more minutes.

It was getting late, and you guys had school in the morning. You gave him your algebra homework before he left, telling him to follow the steps you did to get the right answer. You made sure to mention that your dad had looked over it to make sure you were right. The last thing you needed was to be wrong while trying to help other people. He thanked you and you walked him down, giving him another hug and waving as biked off.

You closed the door behind you, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. As you turned around to go back upstairs the whole family stared at you from the living room, the movie on the tv being all but forgotten. Just illuminating their faces as they gave you a collective look that screamed ‘I know something you don’t’. After a second you went back to your room upstairs, catching a sliver of conversation as you did.

“When are they going to get together” “Oh hush ma, what if she hears you?”

“Oh please, I’m sure she already likes him”

Your heart quickens a bit as you make your way up.

This is really bad, what are you going to do?

For the first summer since moving to Smallville, you and Clark don’t spend basically everyday together. Sure, you still hang out at least once a week, but the feelings you were trying to deny are just getting stronger and you don’t know what to do with them. You write more songs now, and for your birthday your parents finally got you an electric guitar. They complain about the noise if you play too late, but you know that they don’t mind, not really. You even build more on the lyrics you had written down a few months ago back when you really didn’t know what was going on. You glance over the page, playing the chords you had color coded with highlighters as you hum along.

You talk about her like she hung the sky

And I'm nodding along just to get by

You laugh and I crack a little more

Staring at the shoes I wore to your front door

I’m the margin where your thoughts begin

The line you cross then write again

You talk about her, I laugh on cue

Fold up my feelings, just like you do

I swear i’m happy and it’s half true

But I still wish she was me to you

It’s frustrating, feeling this way. You should feel happy for him, you do feel happy for him. But you can’t help it.

You go to bed restless that night.

That fall was the worst harvest Smallvilles ever had. Some of the farmers had crop loss so severe that they had to sell some of their animals. Smallville was as tight knit as they come, and so people helped each other out where they could. You and Clark worked together, opening a small food pantry for those in need.

Because of the rough start to autumn, back to school morale was at an all time low. That coupled up with the fact that this was your first year of high school made your nerves all the more worse. You tossed and turned restlessly before deciding to just get up. You walked to your closet, pulling on a pair of comfy shorts before biking over to Clarks. His room is on the second floor, but he always leaves the first floor studys’ window unlocked so that you can come over if you need him. You leave your window open, he manages to get up somehow, you don’t really know how but you don’t ask questions.

After pulling the window up and avoiding making any creaks or noises, you contort yourself into the house. Gently going up the stairs you reach Clarks door. You knock quietly.

After a few seconds Clark comes to the door. He clearly hasn’t slept yet either, and his shoulders relax as he sees you. After letting you in, he closes the door behind you.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You drop onto his bed responding with a hum. “I blame it on nerves”

“How come you’re nervous?” a familiar weight joins you on the mattress.

“I dunno, it’s nothing really”

His eyes narrow a little before laying down, you’re both laying horizontally on the bed now, knees to the edge. “You’re lying”

“No i’m not”

“Yes you are”

“Am not”

“Are too”

You roll your eyes, looking to the side before staring at the ceiling. The fan moves along lazily, doing little to cool the burning you felt in your face

“High school just seems scary, after this I either have to get a job or go to college. Either way, i’ll be leaving Smallville and leaving Smallville means leaving you. And the last time I left behind my friends we basically stopped speaking all together save calls on our birthdays. I don’t know if I can handle that. And I know it sounds dumb-”

He cuts you off, he looks at you, and you can feel it. Meeting his eyes you look back at him, they’re still the same shade of blue. Bright, blinding, beautiful.

“We aren’t gonna stop being best friends just because you move y’know. We made a promise. We keep our promises.” His pinky intertwines with yours and you can’t help the smile that reaches your face.

“I know I know, but we’re both only going to get busier. Me with my music and you with your writing. We’ll join clubs, you’ll finally ask Lana out and i’ll probably go out with Pete”

“Wait Pete Ross? Of all people, why Pete?” He gets up, leaning back on his elbows, looking at you in disbelief

Immediatley you feel defensive, you get up too, mirroring him. “Why not? We have music together and he’s pretty cool.” “Well I don’t know, he seems” Clark pauses for a moment. Knowing him he’s trying to figure out how to say a not so nice thing in a nice way. He settles on calling him “Unique”. You scoff getting up feeling anger start to bubble up in your chest. “Ok I dont understand why you can’t be supportive of who I want to date when I've been your number one when it comes to you and Lana” You start to walk towards the door. Before you can make he grabs your arm, stopping you. You flinch, he’s holding onto you, hard. He lets go immediately, apologizing.

“Look I didn’t mean it like that, I'm sure he’s great.” His hands come up to his neck, scratching it softly. He’s lying, you know it. Great. Just great.

You had given him the decency to be happy for him and Lana, so why couldn’t he even pretend to be happy for you? It wasn’t even like you guys were together. You pushed out a quick goodbye and made your way quietly down the steps. You had never left his house feeling worse than when you had come, but apparently there was a first time for everything.

You knew he’d be waiting to bike with you in the morning, so you left for school half an hour early. Your mom looked at you skeptically before handing you your lunch. After saying bye to your grandparents, you left.

You honestly don’t know if you were even hiding how shitty you felt. Last night kept playing on loop, and you dreaded the day ahead as you got closer to your new home for the next four years.

Smallville High seemed huge and intimidating to you in the past, but you were older now. If you looked close enough, you could see the grout chipping off the bricks. You looked up, seeing SMALLVILLE HIGH SCHOOL in bold red letters. They loomed over you mockingly.

Letting out a sigh, you made your way into the mostly empty halls. Checking your watch, you still had some time before first period, so you decided to go to your music class and scope out the place. It wasn’t grand by any means, but it was a huge upgrade from junior high. The room was small, cosy. There were rows where the choir would sing, and along the side of the wall opposite lay an assortment of instruments. Guitar, bass, drums. There were also cases, you assumed, for the band and orchestra instruments.

While you were busy exploring your new school, Clark had arrived at your house. He had some of Ma’s oatmeal cookies with him, they were your favorite, and he really was sorry. He felt even worse after your mom told him you had left early. Said it was something about trying out for band. She had looked at him with pity, like she knew something he didn’t. Smiling and nodding, he turned around and picked up his bike.

Since when did you want to do band?

The first bell rang and you made your way to class. The first period of the day was history. It was a subject you liked, but your teacher Mr. Jensen seemed to have a natural talent for making the most interesting of things boring. As his monotone voice dragged on you felt yourself nodding off a little before someone to your right nudged you gently.

Looking over, you noticed Pete Ross of all people signaling his head to the board. You almost laughed, how ironic.

The rest of the day passed with a similar vibe, you were exhausted and if you had to do one more ice breaker you were going to slam your head into the wall. Everyone already knew everyone so what was the point? At least you hadn’t seen Clark today though, small wins.

Speaking of Clark, he had spent almost all day trying to spot you, this year you guys didn’t have any classes together, or lunch so he had resorted to wasting his passing period. Not like he really needed it to get to class on time. He bit on the inside of his cheek, he had really messed up this time.

The following 3 weeks were some of the worst you had ever had. You didn’t know if it was because you had been ducking Clark, or if it was because your music teacher seemed to hate everything you had to offer. He said your music was “too rough” and it would lead to “sin”.

As if.

You rolled your eyes, getting angry just thinking about it. You tried to write new songs, but you kept on turning back to one of the earliest pages of your journal. The page was worn out more than the ones surrounding it, and was dotted with a few old tearstains. You flicked your pen back and forth before writing

I wrote your name in every line

You traced hers over it, realigned

I was the echo you never heard

Just background hum beneath your words

This was getting really pathetic, you knew you were in the wrong by now. He had tried to apologize and you had been too upset to forgive him. You steeled yourself, and decided that today was the day. You grabbed your bike, and headed over to the Kents.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, you honestly thought you were going to throw up. You took deep breaths as you walked up to the porch.

Clark. This is Clark. The same guy that cried when he saw ant piles disappear in the rain, the same Clark that walked a mile with you on his back when you were 10 because you scraped your knee playing. You’re fine, he’s fine, you guys will be ok.

You knock on the door

It opens and familiar green eyes meet yours. Lana Lang. She smiles at you, but it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.

“Oh hey, you! So good to see you?”

“Yeah, you too Lana, is Clark here?” Your resolve is crumbing by the second, your feet itch with the urge to just turn around.

“Clarkie? Yeah he’s here, do you want something?” She bats her eyelashes at you, waiting for a response

You grimace at the nickname. Clarkie? Really?

“Uh yeah, I wanted to talk to him actually, can you just send him out? Or I can come in-” As you say that she closes the door so that just her face peeks out.

“I’ll see if he can come out” She smiles at you, then slams the door in your face. And so you wait. And wait. And wait. Three minutes turns into five, and before you know it it’s been fifteen minutes. You’re contemplating just leaving but the door opens again.

You perk up, expecting Clark but it’s Lana at the door instead. Something is different about her though, your eyes narrow and you notice the lipstick she had on earlier is almost gone, smudged around the corners. Her face is flushed, and she’s breathing heavily. You feel yourself start to get sick.

“So sorry love but he’s too busy to come talk right now. Maybe some other day?” She doesn’t even let you speak, and closes the door in your face. Wow.

What you didn’t know is that Lana hadn’t even told Clark you had come, when he asked who it was she said it was just some delivery man that had gotten the wrong address.

They had been working on a piece for the Smallville Torch, his first issue was a big deal and he had wanted a second pair of eyes. He had tried going to you, and you needed space. Lana had offered and he didn’t see the harm in it. He wasn’t really expecting her to just abandon helping him though, she basically out of nowhere had started to give him the look and started to kiss him. He didn’t mimd, but he really needed to work on the piece.

After giving her some more pecks he got back to work. Lana had left the room saying she needed to use the restroom, but he heard the front door open.

He honed his listening in, and when he heard Lana telling someone that he was busy he was confused, then he heard your voice. You sounded hurt. It dawned on him then, what had actually been going on.

Ever since you guys had that argument, he had gotten kinda lonely. All of his other friends had told him to just find you and apologize again, but he knew you wouldn’t really accept it until he had given you space. He had started to hang out with Lana more, and more, and she always acted weird when you were brought up. He put his head in his hands, god he had really done it this time. He was ripped out of his thoughts when the door opened and a smiley Lana had waltzed in. He told her to leave nicely, or so he thought. She started crying, asking what she did wrong. When he wouldn’t give her an answer, she started to yell. At least Ma and Pa weren’t home, they wouldn’t have liked to hear him speak that way to a lady, even if she was hurting him.

As he walked her back to the stairs, she kept on talking, but about you now. Started saying all kinds of awful things and if he hadn’t known better he would’ve cussed her out. He closed the door as she left and went back to his room to try and figure out how to fix this mess.

You’ve been crying for a good hour by now, you can’t help it. You keep on trying to tell yourself that he’s just a friend but you can’t help the way your heart aches. You can’t deal with it anymore. You open the all too familiar page in your journal and write the final chorus to the song.

I’m the silence when you need a friend

The start of stories that never end

You talk about her, I know you should

She makes you smile the way I wish I could

And maybe that’s just how it goes

Some hearts stay hidden, some never show

As you finish the last line, the ink is still wet as you make your resolve. If you can’t get rid of the feelings you have for Clark, you’ll just shove them down.

You lay in bed trying to figure out what chords are gonna be the best for your song when you hear your window start to creak open. You don’t tense up, but you are thankful that your tears had stopped flowing a few hours ago.

A weight dips into the bed in front of you, and as you look up your heart breaks just a little bit. Sitting at the foot of your bed is Clark. His clack curls lay messily on his head, he’s looking at you apologetically, and you don’t miss the redness in your eyes as he stares. He’s been crying, the poor thing.

You don’t even speak, just letting your guitar rest softly on the bed as you move to stand up in front of him. Standing, you cradle the head of the boy sat beneath you. You can hear small sniffles as he begins to apologize. Your fingers toy with his hair gently, as you apologize to him too.

“And I’ve been meaning to tell you, honestly I was just going to tell you tomorrow, but me and Lana are done” His voice shakes slightly as he nuzzles his head further into your stomach.

Whatever anger that you had immediately vanishes as you listen. He tells you about what happened earlier that day, how he had been feeling, him trying to find you.

You both had been so lonely these last few weeks. You move his head gently so that he’s looking at you, and raise a pinky. Silently, they interlock.

You find yourself falling into a new rhythm, you aren’t that sad anymore, not really. Clark and you both date your fair share of people in highschool, you start a band that (miserably) falls apart. He’s always at every gig you had though, within fail. Clark gets better and writes more stories for the Torch. By senior year, not only is he editor in chief, he’s also the Captain of the Smallville Crows, the varsity football team.

You guys make an odd pair, him in his letterman and blue jeans, and you in your studded leather jacket and ripped jeans. You guys were still two peas in a pod.

While most things were the same, some things had changed. You had started to dye your hair, going from purple to green, before settling on the dark cherry red you had now. You couldn’t tell when it was down, but you buzzed the sides of your hair so that you could put it into a mohawk when you wanted. Clark had changed too, he had gotten taller, stronger. He was able to lift things that shouldn’t even be humanly possible, he would flinch at loud noises, and vanish when there were emergencies in town.

You guys decided to go to prom together, as friends of course. Neither of you had dates and you didn’t see the fun in going alone. You arrived at the gym around 9:30pm, in the Kents pickup.

It’s been pretty fun so far, the music they’re playing isn’t half bad. They played a lot of the Mighty Crabjoys, you shouldn’t be too surprised though. Clark had managed to get the whole team hooked on them. As you guys are sitting at the bleachers chilling, he suddenly freezes.

You freeze too, and ask what’s wrong. He says something, barely a whisper but you make out “My parents. It’s my parents, somethings wrong.” Getting up he looks to you

“Stay here for me”

Matching him, you get up.

“Like hell I will”

He flashes you a smile before worry covers his face again. He grabs your hand and rushes out of the gym, leading you both to the truck.

Turning the car on, he speaks

“Ok I, I don’t know if I can explain this right now”

“Then don’t. Let’s go”

He hesitates for a second before backing out and speeding away from school. You guys are going fast. Fast for your standards means lightning speed for Clarks. You guys are going down the dirt roads and when you glance at the wheel, you see his knuckles turning white.

The truck comes to a screeching halt, and through the highbeams you see a truly scary sight.

Jonathan's truck crashed off the side of the road, crumpled. You feel your heart drop as you scramble to get out of the car.

Looking at the scene in front of you, you bring your fingers to your hair, trying to calm yourself.

“Clark this is bad, really bad. We gotta call someone” He shakes his head “There isn’t any time”

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Clark Kent has rendered you truly speechless.

You watch as he rips the mangled door of the truck off its hinges with his left hand, getting Jonathan and Martha out like they weigh nothing. You wonder for a second if the gas tank is leaking and if you're hallucinating this whole thing. You snap out of it, opening the back of the pickup to lay his parents down.

You don’t question him, Clark has always made sure you were safe. So what if he was insanely strong and could probably pick your whole house up without breaking a sweat. He was still the same Clark.

He begins to drive towards the farm and you break the silence

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just Ma and Pa, and you now too”

There’s a brief silence before you ask, quieter “Why me”

“Because I trust you.”

After his parents are put in bed and their injuries taken care of, (You had insisted on them getting xrays but he said he could see their bones. That weirded you out for a second, then you asked him to describe your skull. It was his turn to be weirded out then)

You guys don’t end up going back to the dance, and instead lay in the fields watching the stars. A comfortable silence envelops you both, and you guys slowly drift off to sleep.

Graduation creeps up quickly, a small ball of dread has been building for the last few weeks. You had already been accepted into Gotham University, full ride courtesy of a Mr. Bruce Wayne. Apparently, if you were poor enough, he’d just throw money at you. You weren’t sure if it was charity or penance, and honestly, you didn’t care.

It was funny, though, how one man could casually bankroll someone’s entire education without blinking, while the rest of the country drowned in debt just for daring to want a future. You wondered how deep his pockets went, how many zeroes it took to feel absolved.

But you weren’t about to spit in the face of your ticket out. If the system was rigged, you were taking whatever scraps fell off the billionaire table, and running.

Clark was going to be leaving too, but to Metropolis. He had gotten into Metropolis University for journalism and you couldn’t be more happy for him. He’d finally be somewhere bigger, somewhere that matched him. Not just his powers, though that would probably help, but the rest of him too. His inherent goodness, the kind that made people want to be better by just standing next to him, would probably create more positivity in the city.

The night before you both were to walk the stage, you went out into the fields like you always did. It was basically tradition at this point. You guys could be quiet together, no small town noise, no teachers, no futures looming on acceptances and job offers.

Just the two of you and the stars.

You were both laying in the back of his truck, staring up at the kind of sky that makes you feel small in a good way. Crickets chirped in the tall grass. His plaid flannel was draped over your shoulders. You strummed your guitar absentmindedly, playing some song you had heard on the radio earlier. You guys sat in comfortable silence

“Do you ever think,” he said quietly, eyes still on the stars, “about how weird it is? That we’re supposed to just.. start our lives tomorrow? Like real ones. Adult ones. Without ever really being with someone we trusted?”

You stopped strumming

Not because the thought was strange, but because it wasn’t. Not at all.

“Yeah, actually” you said. “All the time.”

You shifted slightly, and the flannel slipped down your left shoulder.

“People act like we’re supposed to have all these big experiences already figured out. Like we’re gonna just wake up in our dorms or our apartments or wherever, and just know what the hell we’re doing”

Clark smiles at that, small and sad. “I’ve been working since I can remember and I still don’t feel like I know anything”

You laugh softly, nudging him a little. “You know plenty, you just think too much”

He turned his head to look at you, something was different about his eyes. They seemed to glow in the moonlight, a bright, blinding blue.

“Maybe I do, but not about this.”

Your breath catches in your throat

“This?” you repeat, almost afraid to ask

He doesn’t look away, just says that he “trusts you”

It wasn’t a confession, not really. But it felt like one. Something quiet and huge at the same time. Something that shifted the air in between you

You swallowed, “I trust you too”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but was pronounced. It pulsed with everything you had wanted to tell him but hadn’t, not yet.

You set your guitar aside

“I don’t wanna go into the rest of my life never having felt close to someone y’know?” you admitted, voice quiet. “Not like that, I mean really being close to someone, them actually seeing me and choosing me”

His hands found yours in the space between you. “Me neither”

You leaned in first. Or maybe he did. You weren’t sure, because the second it happened, time seemed to stop.

It felt unreal having his lips on yours again. They were soft, and his hands pulled you closer. The boy who you had lost your first kiss to al those years ago grew up, and so had you.

You broke the kiss as you straddled his waist, and then you kissed him again. You had kissed people before, but it never felt like this. Your arms looped behind his neck as you felt yourself grinding into him subconsciously. He whimpered into your mouth before bringing his hand to your waist to help you move.

His hands both came to your waist, and he gently flipped your positions so that you were lying on your back and he was on top of you.

His kisses began to trail down, moving from your lips to your neck, down to your collar bones. When he was met with the barrier of a shirt he looked at you for permission. Once you gave him the go ahead he brought it over your head. You couldve sworn you saw hearts in eyes as he stared at you.

He looked at you as if you were a work of art, a sculpture of a deity so holy that you had to worship it. He began to kiss down your sternum, unclasping your bra before his mouth found your nipples. Swirling his tongue, he sucked gently while tweaking the other. It made a familiar heat rush down between your legs and you couldn’t help the small pants that escaped your mouth.

This seemed to only spur him on however, and he went further and further down before removing your shorts. He groaned when he saw the wet spot of your panties, glossing over it with his fingers before he pulled them down too.

“Is it alright if I try something?” He asked you softly

You nodded your head, unsure about what exactly he was planning on doing

And that was when you felt a warm tongue pressing into you. Clarks head was deep between your legs, his fingers gripped your thighs gently but firmly as he ate you up. The feeling you had now was entirely foreign to you, and you couldn’t help but grab at his hair as he pushed himself deeper and deeper in. His nose rubbed against your clit as his tongue continued to prod at your folds and you felt a coil building up in your stomach. He brought his right hand down, letting go of your right leg while pushing your left up higher, causing him to hit you at a new angle. That on its own would’ve been a lot but his thumb began to make small circles on your clit. It was too good, and far too much. You barely got out a warning before you were cumming, he stayed put, helping you ride out your high. He pulled away from you with a smile on his face, and wiped his lips before coming up to kiss you.

As his tongue wrapped around yours you could taste yourself on him, it was embarrassing how much it had turned you on. While he kissed you, he began to fumble with his shorts, getting them pushed down and then kicking them off to who knows where.

“Is it ok if we go all the way? It’s totally fine if not-” You cut him off by kissing him and claw at his boxers. He laughs into the kiss as gets them off and for the second time in your life, Clark Kent has left you speechless. He’s big, really big, I-dont-even-know-if-it’ll-fit kinda big, but you’ve never backed down from a challenge.

“Can you lay down f’me? I read somewhere that I have to get you ready for it first”

You laugh at that, imagining him trying to find a website that gives sex tips. You oblige, laying down as he covers his fingers with some of his spit before bringing them back down to your entrance. He starts off with one finger. It’s a stretch, but after a while he adds another, then another, he slowly scissors you open and after a few minutes you’re ready. He asks you if you’re sure one more time as he lines himself up. After you tell him again, smiling “yes, i’m sure” he begins to push in slowly.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. For the first few minutes you thought you were gonna be ripped in half. Clark made sure to rub circles on your clit, and kissed your face as you adjusted inch by inch. Soon enough, you’ve taken all of him and you give him the ok that he can move.

And move he does.

He starts softly, his arms are at either side of your head and he thrusts softly in and out. He begins to pick up the pace and your back starts to arch. It feels so good, it's like your whole being is wholly consumed by him, he’s everything you want and everything you need.

You open your eyes and he’s at your neck, smiling as he presses kisses into it. You feel yourself get closer and he shifts slightly. He’s hitting deeper in this position, his arms holding you up by the hips as his thrusts quicken in intensity. He’s hitting something deep inside you and you can feel the knot building inside you getting tighter and tighter.

You manage to get out that you’re close and somehow his speed starts to increase even more. He’s letting out quiet moans and whimpers. Whispering out small praises for you, that you’re “doing so good f’me” and taking him “so well”. It all starts to be too much for you and you reach your arms out, grabbing his face to pull him in for a kiss.

He fills you to the hilt and you let yourself go. He follows suit shortly after, smiling and pressing kisses all over your face before gently pulling out. You’re already on the pill so he isn’t as worried as he would’ve been otherwise.

You both lay tangled together in the back of the truck, the stars reflecting back, forming constellations that you both know like the back of your hand. Neither of you said I love you. Neither of you had to

But god, did you both wish you could.

You guys drive back home. He drops you at yours, walks you to the door before hugging you goodbye. You hear him leave as you close the door.

You go over the next day, you had borrowed one of Clarks writing books to help with some lyrics, and you knew he was going to need it if he started packing.

Opening the door you saw Martha at the kitchen table, hunched over. As you got closer you made out what she was doing, she was sketching out.. suit designs?

After noticing you she quickly ushers you over, “Come look sweetie, it’s a project. For Clark”

You join her at the kitchen table, helping her come up with a color scheme. You decide to use the primary colors. You add a cape too, for “pizzaz”

The night before you both leave for college, you guys hang out in your room. Things aren’t awkward between you two, but you’re holding yourself back from telling him how you feel. You don’t bring up that night, or the suit.

Before he leaves, he hugs you. Tight, like always. He tells you that you’ll do amazing in Gotham, and that he can’t wait to visit. You smile, telling him that if he doesn’t come see you at least once this semester that you’ll murder him.

You hear about a new hero that’s popped up in Metropolis called Superman a few weeks later. As you’re sitting in your dorm watching the skyline a flash of gold and red streaks across the night sky

It’s just a blur, but it brings a smile to your face anyway

He remembered.

#tbr

2K notes · View notes

loversreads · 4 days ago

Text

the fact that i also have a pancake horror story. i poured too much flour so everything was realllyyyyyy cakey. i tried adding milk but i put too much. idk why i thought it’d be a good idea to add heavy cream? i think some of recipes i saw asked for heavy cream - it makes the pancakes better? but then- yeah well… you get it. i didn’t burn them. but im pretty sure i didnt cook them all the way through. ANYWAY

this piece of literature is amazing !!! im in bed kicking my feet while listening to laufey and then BOOM it hit me. your writing gives the same vibe as “valentine” by laufey. the romantic everything about the song screams your writing! you always create the most playful and sweet banters between the reader and character (whether is logan, joel, or clark). i just get so hooked to the both of them. it’s so sweet and always makes me so excited to read your fics. cause i knowwwwww you just wrote a banger. i swear i just wanna twirl my hair and giggle when i read your fics, and then the smuttttt. gollyyyyy, its so hot! like yes it’s smut, its dirty and filthy and hot, but still it’s gorgeous. hell, i’d call it love making with how lovely it all is. ugh i can go on and on.

me in my room reading this fic ^ if you even care

melt with you

a/n: my brain has been fried by how pretty and kind and perfect this man is. i wrote this out of pure self indulgence, but also that kitchen scene has been playing on a constant loop in my head. i can't get over just how sweet he is (but also i wish that was me i really do). this took so long to write because i typed it out on my phone and honestly i feel like it’s so bad. but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: clark kent was a man of many talents. being the chef - the man who could whip up enough food to keep you sated and full for till the sun crested over the horizon and peeked through his windows - was one of them. but you were...a mess in the kitchen. so he decides to help.

word count: 2.8k

pairing: clark kent x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, food/cooking, banter that has me clutching my heart, flirting, teasing, pure fluff, romance, established relationship, reader knows he's superman, p in v sex, gratuitous smut, pwp really.

The rate at which pancakes burned by your hand would go down in the history books. Impossible yet entirely plausible all the same. Batter clung to the edge of your palm, coating the handle of a wooden spoon in a dried layer that you’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes trying to scrape off with your blunt nail.

The kitchen resembled a war zone. Yet the blood and loss of life seemed to be replaced in favor of burnt dough and bacon that never fried quite right. And there you were…trying once more to pour with ease as he did one week ago. He moved fluidly through this small space—shifting as if he’d become an extension of the stove, a good natured friend to the dribbles of white batter that slid out of the bowl without difficulty.

Or perhaps he had that skill to make everything look utterly perfect. Years and years of cooking in a kitchen at home—his Ma watching with wary eyes and pursed lips—allotted to moments like this.

How could you compare?

The door creaked as it always did, even as he coated the hinges in enough oil to stain his Smallville t-shirt, and you felt the wince creep along a stiff spine at the heavy thud of his worn oxfords. Your nerves were shot as the scent of burnt food permeated the kitchen air, and before you could form somewhat of an explanation, he was behind you. The spoon plopped with altruistic motives back into a half filled bowl decorated with a familiar emblem he wore across his broad chest: a birthday gift from his Ma. But the damage was done.

“I spend an extra hour watching Perry White rip my article to shreds and you…try to burn down my kitchen?”

You sucked in a breath that tasted of charred butter still stuck to the pan. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Consider me shocked.” Removing the bowl from your tight grip, he eyed the stove that sizzled with the last remaining pancake. It looked like a square; he found it endearing. “You’re making me breakfast for dinner,” he mumbled, lips twisting into a grin—dimples caving into the sides of his cheeks deep enough to fit your thumb.

“You said it’s your favorite and I’ve never tried pancakes before. Although I’m probably better off just doing eggs-”

“You’re perfect,” he sighed—blue eyes dragging you closer to the calm waters that quickly became your safe haven.

“But I burned the food.”

“I’ll eat it anyways.”

A noise of disbelief broke through your stifled grin. “I’m pretty sure that’s extremely unsanitary.”

He shrugged. “Don’t care.”

“Clark you can’t eat burnt food just cause I made it-”

Whatever words you had left to say died at the back of your throat when he kissed you. Slow enough to taste his hesitancy on the tip of your tongue, a broad hand pressed to the peek of soft skin between your jeans and top. But his touch is all it would ever take to fall into his chest, your fingers twisting into the mussed curls at the back of his head. A soft breath left to escape against his cheek, his tongue teasing along a wet bottom lip.

Clark wasn’t forward like this most days. In fact you could barely get him to touch you with such need in the first few weeks of dating. Only for his walls to unravel, practically collapse to the ground, that first night together. Your hands dragging his large frame into the tiny space of a singular bedroom housed in an apartment you rarely saw nowadays.

A sharp inhale, tightened grip at the nape of your neck, and Clark strode forward. One step after another until your back collided gently with the cabinets at the edge of his counter.

“I made a mess in here,” you mumbled, a shine of spit along his parted lips all you could find yourself fixating on. “Need to clean it-”

“I’ll do it later,” he rushed out.

Strong hands—palms that saved people, lifted buildings, and held the whole of Metropolis—gripped your thighs, depositing you on the only side of the counter you hadn’t managed to destroy. Breath came in sparse gasps as his tongue met yours, warm hands sliding beneath the top you managed not to stain. It came undone with ease, thick fingers tugging at each silvered button along the front—his teeth digging into your lip with a groan you felt press against your hammering heart.

He much preferred a bed, the ability to spread you wide along his comforter—take his time between your legs. To put the extraordinary talent of holding his breath to use in favor of coating his tongue with your sticky sweetness. He could smell you in between the rushed kisses and moans swallowed, the heady tang burned his senses—made him dizzy.

There was little in the world that made him crumple to his knees. You remained the very thing that made him beg. Whimpers and pleas falling past bruised lips for just a taste—enough to keep him alive.

For now the counter would do. If just to hear you whine beneath the cup of his hands on your breasts wrapped in black lace, your chest heaving as he tugged the white fabric off your body.

“Clark,” you rasped, pulling at his belt with shaky hands and hazy eyes.

He grinned and you were done for. “I know sweetheart. You need it.”

“I do.”

Pinching your chin he tilted your face up, his blue eyes dark with the raging storm of need that pressed hard and thick on the inside of his slacks. You could practically taste him at the back of your tongue—the way he’d stretch you, push you past the limit of what you once thought was all you could take.

For him you’d take it all. You would break and bend every limb of your body to feel him stuff his way into your cunt.

Clark could see it from the lazed smile on your lips, the berry gloss you wore now smeared along your chin. Its taste lingered with the flavor of you.

“I was thinkin’ about you at work,” he mumbled into the skin of your neck, his hand working at the button of your jeans. “Couldn’t get my mind off the other night.”

The midnight snack that consisted of two bowls of cereal left discarded in the sink in favor of bending you over the arm of the couch. A permanent warmth that lingered for hours after he gripped your hips and sucked at your clit with rasped moans. It pulled at you now. That unforgiving need; tore at your fluttering stomach when he smiled into the kiss.

“And here I thought you’re hard at work.”

“I was.”

Your hand landed with a dull thud against his unbreakable chest, his laughter rippling into your mouth and body caging you in further.

Heat curled low at your spine while his hand curled beneath denim and lace—fingers catching on the slick that pooled along the thin fabric. He groaned, wet and broken, into your mouth, his brows furrowed and tongue a hot press against your own.

This. The soft touch only he could give, even as his body held enough strength to break you, was what you ached for. That desperate longing which ate at your very being, consuming all it could.

Two fingers pressed between slick folds, dragging up along your throbbing clit and your mind went white. “Oh f-fuck.”

“You’re so wet.” His voice dripped with awe. “Wow. Can I taste you?”

Your hips jerked, teeth clamping into an already bruised lip. “Later,” you gasped, canting into his palm. “Please Clark. Need you to fuck me.”

Crimson flushed across his cheeks, spreading down his neck until you swore you could peek it beneath his white button down. A rosy hue that any other time would have made you smile, press a teasing kiss to the apple of his cheek. His fingers sliding into you with a soft rumbled moan dragged you back beneath the waters—dark blue gleaming beneath black lashes.

Any other day he’d hook your thighs over his shoulders and bury his tongue as far as he could reach, drinking you down with a pleased hum. Some days he was afraid he’d never get enough. Even if he knew it was already true.

You ruined him with one look. Tore the remnants of willpower from his chest and brandished it with a smile. He prided himself on it—his ability to keep himself in check, hold back every ounce of Kryptonian strength gathered in his bunched muscles—until he met you.

“Gotta prep you honey.” The soft whine dropped his shoulders, his teeth grazing the edge of your jaw. Your heart echoed like thunder in a storm, raging with need and playing his favorite tune.

The sound of you. Of the blood in your veins, the pulse beneath your wrist and throat, the salt on your skin from the light sheen of sweat. He felt overwhelmed, unable to focus on just one thing. But the way your walls clung to his fingers, sucking them back in with each pump dragged him further beneath each sensation. The taste of you in the air beyond the food you burned.

He curled his fingers and watched your back arch, a high pitched cry bubbling to the surface. Fingers clawed at his shirt and knees hitched up to his waist as he pressed further, breathing hot against your chest.

“I’m gonna cum-” you gasped. “Fuck Clark! Right there. D-Don’t stop.”

“I’d never stop,” he mumbled. “Let me have it sweetheart. Please.”

Crying out against his lips, you felt it sever in two. That unforgiving bliss he gave you. Burning along each vein and trembling limb. You grinded against the heel of his hand, fingers clasped tight over his wrist as he kept fucking going. Pushing you over the edge until all you knew was the taste of him on your lips. The feel of his thick fingers spreading you open until slick dripped down and coated his palm.

“So beautiful.” His tone dripped reverence. Even as he undid his belt, the clink loud enough to draw your attention.

“Can I?” you whispered, throat nearly raw.

He froze, eyes flashing up and mouth parted on a gasp. “Y-Yeah. You don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

Your lips found his, teeth gently tugging as he gripped the counter beside you. Clark had felt your touch before. Knew what came with your gentle nature. But each time nearly threw him over the ledge—his breath coming in shuddered gasps, fingers denting marble when your thumb spread along his tip.

“So pretty,” you mumbled through a wet kiss you felt down to your toes.

His heart skipped, mouth slanting hard against yours until you could feel the curve of his nose on your cheek. He longed for this moment since he left far earlier than either of you expected. The intimacy of having you—the two of you intertwined beneath the glow of kitchen lights and batter that still clung to your jeans.

Twisting your wrist until the wet sound of your hand pumping his cock blared in his ears, pulled the frail strand of control taut. He thrusted up into your grip, unable to pull away from giving you kiss after kiss.

“I can’t breathe Clark,” you gasped, tugging at his curls and watching as his once clear vision glazed over—red cheeks swimming in your view.

“So hold it.” He grinned and you felt your pulse grow between your legs, the counter no doubt wet from where you sat.

“Not everyone can hold their breath for hours.”

“I’ll breathe for the both of us.”

“Kent-”

“Just one more,” he implored.

All it took was a look and he had you. With glistening eyes and a soft pout he swore only existed because of you. His lips found yours, hands gripping your hips to tilt you back, and with a shift you felt his cock tap against your folds.

Your thighs trembled where they sat at his hips as he dragged through your slick. Thrusting messily with pained whines muffled into the heat of your mouth.

“Let me-” Guiding him close you spread your thighs wide enough to pinch. But you’d take it all. Every sore muscle and aching nerve. “Oh.”

The stretch fractured pieces of your mind as he pushed up to the hilt, slow at first with puffed air against your cheek. And you clung to him. Dug your nails into impenetrable skin with each small jolt of his hips into yours.

“You’re perfect.” His words barely registered.

Full. You felt impossibly full of him, how he kissed at your neck and cupped your ass. Every sense was attuned to the man before you—the god that longed for your touch.

Sometimes it felt fucking surreal. Tonight you relished the way his hips stuttered when you kissed at his jaw. An arm slung around his shoulders and hand at his back kept you stable, but Clark would never let you fall. He’d catch you until the end of time.

“I need more,” you pressed into the curve of his jaw.

Clark paused, eyes flitting between your dazed look and the pretty mess between your thighs. You could nearly see him grasp for words, watched in delight as he slowly dragged himself back to the surface. A man of such power, entirely debilitated by the feel of your wet cunt.

It almost made you smile.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he rushed out, thumb kneading into the plush of your hip.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Sweetheart-”

You shut out his doubt with a searing kiss, hips shifting to fuck yourself the best you could. “I’m yours baby. Do whatever you want. Please Clark. I need it. I need you.”

What little breath he could retain quickly became as a shuddered choke. Maybe you were desperate for it. The feel of his cock carving a space meant solely for him, ramming into a bliss you didn’t know humans could experience.

He tested your words with a thrust, pulling out slowly and steady with a deep groan you felt in your stomach. Before shoving back in—his balls a slapping against your sopping cunt.

“Yes-” Your head fell back, eyes rolling and fingers scrabbling along his forearms. “R-Right there baby.”

In between your blurred gaze and quick breaths you caught his smile. White teeth flashing porcelain in the light as they sunk into his lip. Those piercing blue eyes fixed on the way he sunk into you, the creamed ring around his cock proof that you got exactly what you wanted. He’d bare his soul to kryptonite if you asked, give you the moon and sun and every star he could find.

All to keep your heart beating that angelic beat.

“Can feel you,” he said. “Are you-”

You frantically nodded. “Uh-huh-”

“Give it to me.” His shoulders dropped, forehead a hard press against your own. “I want it sweetheart.”

Your thighs shook, stomach coiled hard enough to hurt, but you couldn’t get enough. You’d never have your fill. And he knew this. He knew it from the moment he met you.

The soft press of his thumb on your clit broke you with a sharp cry. “Oh fuck Clark!”

“There you go,” he mumbled, the sticky thwack of his hips against yours was loud enough to echo off the apartment walls—his ears filled entirely with you. “Where? Where d’you want it?”

His thumb still worked you over, dragging it out long enough to deafen everything but him. “Inside.”

He came with a shout of your name muffled against your shoulder, his hand guiding your hips to move with him. Yanking on his curls was an accident, but the guttural moan he gave as he fucked his cum into you kept your hand from moving.

“I can’t move,” you whispered, the sore muscles in your legs now flaring to life. An unfortunate side effect of having your hero boyfriend fuck you within an inch of your life.

He laughed, voice low and filled with a rasp you would later replay when he was gone. “Where to?”

“Hmm.” You’d never be accustomed to his grip, how he hoisted you up as he still remained inside your fluttering walls. “The bed,” you affirmed.

The dimples peeked through in the dark of his room. “For sleep?”

His lips tasted like the faintest hint of cinnamon—the bread he liked no doubt his dessert earlier. “I thought you wanted a taste.”

The rumble in his chest was enough of an answer for you. He kissed you as if time ceased to exist. Merely a figment as you wrapped your arms around his neck—the cool of his sheets brushing along your back. He set you down with a pleased grunt, his fingers toying with the clothes he still wore. And you were more than happy to oblige.

The disaster in the kitchen could wait. To be loved by him couldn’t.

#wow #just wow #i think clark is such a cutie and ofc you captured that #clark kent x reader #fav

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loversreads · 4 days ago

Text

for and inspired by @spookypeachpitt13 and this post <3

warnings: age gap, power imbalance, brother’s best friend, yada yada

It’s so bad, what the two of you are doing. Frowned upon in more than one way, more than two ways—every fucking way.

You’re so young, and he’s your superior, but more than that, he’s this pseudo big brother figure in your life, Jack’s best friend and all that shit.

And, Robby thought he’d be able to control himself, contain himself, but how is he supposed to when he’s got you tailing him all day, nipping at his heels like a puppy wanting attention?

Well, you have it now. You have his hands squeezing your hips and his tongue in your mouth, have his strangled grunts and whispered, filthy words— “so fucking pretty like this,” as he taps his cockhead against your clit, that lewd ‘plap, plap, plap’ making you shiver and buck.

“Don’t get greedy, sweetheart, you know the deal,” Robby reminds you, looking up from under his raised brow to find you biting your lip and nodding.

“I remember, I remember, just,” you try to stifle a moan, teeth digging harder into your lower lip as Robby smears precum all over that puffy bundle of nerves. The wetter he gets you, the better. The messier he gets you, the better. “Just want you to touch me, please.”

Robby chuckles, scoots forward on his knees just a few inches before spreading your folds and pushing his pulsing cock between them.

He groans, “fuck,” as if he’s actually sinking into your hole rather than pantomiming the act.

Even like this, though, you’re so slick and soft, somehow managing to make room for him as you roll your hips. The ridge of his head catches on your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth, squeeze your eyes shut, and Robby should be worried about you losing it, making too much noise, but he is transfixed now. He sees nothing but your cute pussy and your clit that keeps peeking out from under his dick.

God, he can’t believe he’s doing this. Jack will fucking kill him if he ever finds out.

Robby tried to set boundaries, tried to get you to shadow other doctors, tried to keep you on night shift, tried to ignore your admiring stares and coy smiles, but in the end he caved. You brought out that soft, domestic side of him, and soon Robby was double checking that you’d eaten something, that you were drinking enough water, sleeping more than an hour a night. Soon he was insisting on you following him around, guiding you through procedures with a hand on yours and eventually guiding you around the hospital with that same hand on the small of your back.

You knocked down every single fucking wall, so in a last-ditch effort, Robby constructed one more barrier.

He will not fuck you. Under any circumstances. He’ll do just about everything else, violate you however you want, but he refuses to let himself feel all of you.

That final construct sways with every slippery thrust he gives, his pace growing reckless as he watches in awe. Sticky strings of your arousal coat his length, easing the glide and making Robby clumsy. He reaches down to stroke your swollen folds, gently pinches them to hug his cock a little tighter.

His name falls from your lips in a desperate whimper, and Robby’s eyes roll in his head.

He gets careless, reckless, hisses the first time his tip catches on your entrance and stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Please,” you whine, your legs spread wide, knees on either side of his torso squeezing and pulling him closer.

Robby shakes his head, croaks, “can’t—we can’t,” and both his chest and his cock ache when a tear escapes your waterline. “M’sorry, honey, I just—”

His tip grazes your clit again, makes you buck, and it’s like the stars align in some twisted way because your hips are angled just so that when Robby pushes forward, your hole is right. fucking. there.

“Fuck, fuck,” he pants, then drawls a deep, “god daaammit,” feeling your walls spasm and clench around his cock.

You can’t muffle your reedy moan or the sob that follows, but you don’t push him away, don’t tell him to move, no—you cling to Robby like a life raft, wrap your legs around his waist and writhe beneath him.

“Ohh, I’m fucked, this is so fucked—feel so fucking good, baby girl…”

He moves so deep inside of you, can feel his cockhead bumping your cervix, and when you look up at him with bleary eyes and grin, “thank you,” Robby knows he is a ruined man.

#gonna hump the first thing i see #robby wya #dr robby x reader #fav

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loversreads · 4 days ago

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im honestly so turned on rn

restraint

andrew “pope” cody x female reader

summary: your curiosity leaves andrew in a compromising position while he prepares for a job

content: established relationship between reader & pope, but literally no plot, just smut, bondage, edging, oral (m receiving), reader has hair but there’s no specific descriptions, basically just submissive andrew because of course that’s the first thing i’d write coming back from a hiatus

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: it’s actually criminal how sloppy this is— no outline, no proofreading, just a girl and a google doc— this feels kinda rushed and isn’t reflective of my best work, it’s literally just pointless smut, but i really wanted to write to get myself back into a creative headspace! anyways, inspired by an ask in my inbox about pope and bondage that made my brain short circuit.

The severely outdated digital clock sitting on andrew’s nightstand reads 10:51pm as you sit on his bed, watching aimlessly as he organizes a pile of materials on the open space next to you. It’s preparation for the job he’s running early tomorrow morning. Taking his time to go through some essentials the night before had become a part of his pre-job ritual that you often got to witness.

He’s laying everything meticulously in a row before packing it in a black duffle bag.

A gun, a mask, a hoodie, zip ties…

zip ties.

Your stare lingers for a few extra seconds on the little strands of white nylon bundled together.

Andrew has made it a point to never tell you the intricate details of what he does. The less you know the better— for both of you. And even with minimal knowledge on the ins and outs of what each job entails, it’s easy for you to imagine the necessity behind most of the objects laying next to you, however, the zip ties catch you off guard.

He places a few tools in the bag before moving on to the items laid out at your side.

“Zip ties?” you voice your curiosity, causing andrew to freeze.

He doesn’t say anything, just peers down at you, as if he’s waiting for you to expand your questioning.

“Why do you need zip ties?”

A quick smile twitches on his lips.

The question is so completely innocent.

The reason for their use seems blatantly obvious to him. But to you? Of course you don’t know.

“We use them to limit mobility.” His explanation is simple as he avoids eye contact, once again busying himself with packing the duffle.

“You know… to tie someone’s hands together so they can’t do anything stupid.” He expands further after a few beats of silence.

You don’t say anything at first. The long strands of plastic just look so simple sitting there on the bed.

“I feel like they’d be easy to break out of.” Your response is unconsciously naive as your eyes float up to meet Andrew’s.

He’s staring at you again, the once fleeting smile adorning his face now completely evident on his lips.

“Easy?” He’s repeating the word back to you with a grin of disbelief straining his cheeks.

You stay confident in your opinion, nodding your head and smiling right back.

“You wouldn’t be able to break a zip tie.” He’s still watching you, putting an emphasis on the first word of his sentence, causing an immediate defensive attitude to catch fire in your chest.

“Oh and you could?” you serve the question to him through a scoff.

But your interrogation quickly loses steam as your eyes venture down to his biceps— defined and bulging without him even flexing. The veins running through his arms are obvious, and the sheer muscle cascading down his limbs suddenly make you regret your line of questioning.

“Maybe.” His answer disrupts your ogling. It isn’t confident but the smile still lingering on his lips tells you there’s pride stirring in his chest.

“Well then, let’s see it big guy.”

You hardly give him time to protest before you’re snatching a single zip tie from the pile and standing directly in front of him.

You lift an eyebrow in question and he obeys, simply putting both hands behind his back.

You move around his body until you’re met with his broad shoulders and his wrists pushed together gently right above the waistband of his jeans.

It takes you a few seconds to fasten the zip tie around his wrists, pulling it slowly, making sure not to pull it too tight until-

“tighter.”

Andrew’s voice is low, encouraging you to keep going, and so you do.

Satisfied with the restriction of his hands, you take a step back, watching as he turns to face you with his hands now tied at his back.

His eyes bore into yours— stare calm and collected, contradicting the flex of his shoulders as he works to break the nylon holding his wrists.

He does his best to mask the struggle.

With him pulling against the zip tie, all you can think about is how you’ve never seen him in a position like this.

Physical control comes so naturally to him. His strength is something he’s worked hard for, and it typically gives him a dominant edge. Seeing the him, standing across from you, fighting with a piece of plastic, suddenly unearths a sick enjoyment from watching him in such a submissive position.

Wordlessly, you usher him back until he’s forced to sit on the edge of his bed, hands still stuck behind his back— helpless.

“What are you doing?” he’s questioning while still subtly attempting to come out victorious against the nylon at his back.

“Just wanna take advantage of your limited mobility” The words leave your lips in a hushed tone as you sink to your knees in front of him, slotted perfectly between his legs.

His struggle to free himself of the restraint immediately stops when he sees you kneeling before him. With an audible swallow rising from his throat and his eyes slightly widening, he watches you carefully beneath him.

After a few strategic shifts of his hips to help you pull his jeans and underwear down his legs, he’s back to instinctively fighting with the zip tie at his back in a desperate attempt to bring his hands into your hair as your lips carefully kiss up his inner thigh.

Your tongue meets the underside of his shaft causing him to fold in the form of a deep groan that holds its vibrato as you lick all the way to his tip before taking him into the hollow of your cheeks.

“Fuck- this isn’t fair.”

The curse seethes from under his breath as his body nearly trembles from trying to rip through the binding at his wrists.

Bringing a hand to wrap around his length, you pull your lips from him and pump his length entirely too slow, taking a brief moment to bask in the satisfaction of watching andrew’s head fall back in a display of pleasure induced defeat.

“There you go. Just relax.”

Your encouragement allows him to give up full control, and sends a shaky sigh floating down from his lips that only inflates your ego.

Your mouth is back on him in seconds, lips closing around the head of his cock, working in tandem with your hand to elicit a string of sinful moans from the man above you.

His quads tense up at either side of your head, signaling his descent into euphoria. But there's a part of you hungry to hear Andrew's desperate groans grow into breathless pleas, so just as he’s about to let go and spill into your mouth- you drag your lips off him. And the sighs of broken anticipation flooding past his lips sound like a symphony.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuckkk."

The last profanity stays drawn out on his tongue in a raspy hiss as he forces his head down to look at you. He’s met with a smug smile as you stop the stroking of your hand, leaving his cock hard and throbbing— straining for release.

"You just look so pretty like this." Your voice remains innocent despite the diabolical pace of your hand picking up movement again between his legs. up and down, your palm gliding leisurely over his cock.

Stiffening once again from the tension of trying to break the tie at his back, his biceps bulge and his shoulders roll back, but his eyes stay locked on yours— greedy and pathetic. You can tell he’s trying to keep an ounce of composure as your hand keeps a steady pace, the flush of his cheeks giving away just how worked up he is.

His hips rut watching your mouth lower. Your tongue tracing the head of his cock with a playful precision that sends a frustrated groan erupting from his chest.

You’re having far too much fun playing with him like this, testing his restraint, with his pleasure at your disposal.

His body grows more rigid with each of your kitten licks working to lap up the arousal leaking from his tip.

His focus is unmatched as his head angles toward the ceiling and his jaw visibly cleches.

Maybe he’s trying to prolong his inevitable release— holding on to a semblance of self-control to prove that he still holds an ounce of power.

But just as you take him back into your mouth, you hear a quick snap of plastic, and feel Andrew’s hands tangle into the roots of your hair.

His focus wasn’t on his impending orgasm. No. It was on the zip tie keeping him from having his way.

The seemingly thin peice of nylon that had been plaguing him had finally given way to the force straining against it, and Andrew was free. Free of the restraint, and free of your incessant teasing.

You hum onto him in a wordless praise as you keep your pace, willing to surrender and give him the long awaited reward for his victory.

Abruptly, he uses his hold in your hair to pull your mouth off of him.

His celebration of success looks different from yours as he nearly yanks you from your kneeling position and onto his lap.

With your legs straddling him, he keeps one hand on your waist holding you in place, and reaches over with his other, grabbing another zip tie from the pile and bringing it behind your back.

You’re impressed with his ability to pull your wrists together, fastening them without even seeing what he’s doing. It’s like second nature as he pulls just tight enough on the binding to keep you from slipping your hands free.

“Let’s see how easy it is, huh?”

If it weren’t for the smile on his lips you’d feel slightly threatened by his words.

His little smirk is the last thing you see before he’s effortlessly maneuvering your body. You’re met with the mattress; face down, with your cheek smushed against the comforter, ass up, and hands tied behind your back. Completely at Andrew’s mercy, who, thanks to you, was very pent up, and undeniably ready to reclaim his control.

#everything about this #AHHHHHH #andrew pope cody #animal kingdom

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loversreads · 4 days ago

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𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 – 𝐚. 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | OKAY. very nervous and excited about this one. it was supposed to be a two paragraph blurb... then it balloned as it always does. very special thanks to @robbyology for their kind words about exploring kink in fic. i've become sooo much more open with others and myself when writing/reading taboo and dark fics but still start shaking in my boots when trying to show that growth. eneeways, i hope you find this as hot as i did! i need this man so bad y'all, i'm SICK. if anyone can guess where i got the title from, i'll give you my a cookie <3 word count is sitting at 1.2k :)

warning(s) include language, watersports, holding!kink, freaky!pope, taboo/dubcon, reader has a vagina, pope wants to watch you pee, bodily fluids, public urination; also PLEASE remember this is fiction. do NOT hold in your pee regularly unless you want kidney failure (which can very much kill you)

Of course, Pope doesn't realize he has a piss kink until you're sitting in the passenger's seat of his truck, leg bouncing and gritting your teeth. He immediately asks you what's wrong and you reassure him that you're fine.

"Just gotta pee..." you clarify, and his eyes zip to your clenched thighs.

Gulping, he thinks. You're on the interstate and will be for a while.

"Well... you want me to pull over or–"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head. "No. No, it's fine. Don't wanna go on the side of the road."

Pope shuffles in his place, flicking his stare to you again.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, Pope. I'm good, just try not to hit any–" Thump. The vehicle jumps with a hard jerk, Pope steadying the steering wheel as you gasp and shut your eyes. Your thighs shut even tighter, a groan pouring from you after you hold your seat with a worried grip. "...bumps."

Mumbling a sorry, Pope scratches the back of his head. A thousand words are stuck in his throat and they won't move. Not with you less than an arms length away, doing a bad job at hiding your squirm and quiet groans.

Shit. Why the fuck is he getting hard? Is he that into you that the sight of you struggling to hold your piss is getting to him this badly? The answer is a resounding yes, and he's rock solid and bulging through the crotch of his jeans not even a few minutes later.

Luckily... or unluckily... you're too busy trying not to pee all over his seat. Fuck, the thought of that does not help the man, who ends up grunting out loud before he can stop himself.

There's a shift that happens in Pope after that... one driven by the thoughts of his cock and not his brain. He inhales silently, pushing out his next question on a tight breath.

"...they were really pushing the drinks there, weren't they. You had to have... what? Four? Five? Was kind of impressive, actually. Chugged 'em all like a damn champ."

Pope doesn't look at you when he speaks. But he can still feel the helpless stare you throw his way, your eyebrows furrowed and body rigid as you squeeze. He bets you feel great, all warm and clenched. and he wonders how much warmer you'd feel if he can coax you into letting it go while he was still inside you.

Go ahead. Call him a freak, it's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Andrew," you call out, the strain of your voice twitching his cock. The fidgeting you're doing is getting worse. More noticeable, more desperate, more distressed.

"Sorry. s'probably not helping, is it? Me talking 'bout drinkin' stuff," Pope continues, making sure to drive over the small hole in the road he sees a few feet ahead. The truck bounces again.

"Shit–seriously," you start, voice wobbly with what sounds a little like embarrassment. You turn to him halfway, eyes pleading. "No more bumps. please, or you'll make me piss my pants."

"Might be you're only option, darlin'," he eases out, swallow at the way your eyebrows furrow at his words. "Don't see another exit comin' up for a while."

You curse again, this time to yourself and quieter. Turning your head from him and to the window, you bite hard into the inside of your cheek as your bladder inches closer and closer to giving out.

Not one part of you is willing to admit that the pressure feels... nice. Better than nice and it's making you wet as you sit here next to the man who is unknowingly the usual cause of your arousal.

Out of the corner of the eye, you see the thick of his arms flex as they readjust themselves.

Hm. Okay.

You need out of this car.

Now.

"Okay, yeah. P-pull over, 'm not gonna make it back into town," you tell Pope, who feels a heat bloom throughout his chest.

He obeys you with zero words, merging the truck and pulling it to an easing stop. The rasp of his voice sounds just as you're rushing to unbuckle and pop open the door.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Just wait–

"Pope, what–"

"Can I watch?"

For the first time since you've gotten in the car, you freeze. It becomes so silent that you can almost hear the gulp that bobs Pope's throat. When you swivel your head, he doesn't look at you... not until you let out a small what?

A long inhale rises his chest and he holds it for a few seconds before huffing out the air, eyes cutting to look at yours.

"Can I?"

Pope doesn't blink the entire time you think on an answer. his heart jumps in his chest when you finally open your mouth.

"...okay."

He follows you away from the truck and behind a thick gathering of trees. Mouth settled in a hard lie to stop him from grimacing at the way his dick is rubbing against the fabric in his jeans with every other step.

Stomach flipping when you stop, you turn and blink at Pope. throwing him a tense smile, he quirks his mouth at you.

"So i'm just gonna..." you sputter out and he nods reassuringly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"Do your thing," Pope tells you, scanning his stare to make sure no one else is around. Once he's certain, he looks back to you... eyes darkening when you start to unbutton your jeans.

Hooking your thumbs at the waistband, you pause.

"Do you... do you wanna get closer?"

Pope's answer is a hesitant step toward you. One that sucks the air from your lungs and compels you to pull your bottoms the rest of your way down. His breath hitches as you reveal yourself to him and he shudders all over.

He studies you, unmoving and eyes cemented while you lower into a deep squat and lean against the nearest tree. There's no use in trying to stop the sinking of his stare. rattling with a shaky, sharp inhale, Pope watches you... mesmerized as you finally release.

Jesus, you sound like you're coming with the noises you're making. choking out groans of relief and sweet whines. Your stream is strong and loud splashing beneath you messily, and Pope's mouth is damn near watering at your exposed slit.

"Fuck, that's pretty," the man mumbles to himself, hands clenched into tight fists. His cock is pulsing and now he's unsure that he'll make it home with needing some kind of relief of his own.

You finish with a easy trickle, and Pope hurries to offer his arm. Taking your hand, he tugs you upwards in complete silence, and you end up closer to him than you expect. It stays quiet between the two of you as Pope bends and helps you underwear and jeans back into place.

Buttoning your jeans, Pope floats his face near yours with a bite of his lip. All you can do is look at him. He looks right back.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Thank you," Pope replies lowly, hands dragging across your hips before he pulls them away.

You don't think about your next move, you just do it. Grab the thick bulge between his legs and pressing until Pope croaks.

"Might need a few more minutes," the man grates out, voice edging with a held back laugh.

Pope groans out again when you squeeze him harder.

"No worries," you bob your head, eyes brightening a touch. "...Can I watch?"

#genuinely twitching rn #pope cody smut #andrew cody smut

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loversreads · 4 days ago

Text

forced proximity with pope after getting stuck in a tiniest broom closet in the building you're robbing because a janitor ends up doing rounds on the floor earlier than you'd planned. you're so close. too close. front pressed against his and pressing tighter with each breath.

"you okay?"

his question is low but there. even in the dark, you shake your head and release a sigh that puffs against him.

"it's hot..." you state, and pope nods his head with a tiny, unamused laugh.

"yeah."

when j finally carries out a distraction adequate enough to distract the janitor, you and pope are bursting out of the closet with desperate pants and dripped in sweat. it looks as though the two of you had fucked. hard. but no–it was just close corners of the room along with the unresolved desire of two people that should've fucked a long time ago.

a goddamn closet... pope's been dying to be that close to you for ages and it happens in a fucking storage room. the entire drive back, instead of being peeved that the job went south, he's stuck; thinking about the soft of you pressed against him, how your exhales fanned across him, how they picked up the longer you remained trapped.

shit. he needs it again... to feel you like that but he doesn't know how to ask, so he ends up parking his truck in front of your house the next day and waiting. he isn't sure for what and part of him doesn't even remember driving over here.

"what the fuck, pope?"

the man blinks, unfazed, and looks at where you stare back at him through the lowered window. "what?"

"why are you sitting outside my place like you're a fucking stranger?"

thinking, pope eventually shrugs. trying not to look at the nipples peeking through the fabric of your tank.

"just... hangin' out..."

your eyebrows scrunch and he wants to grin.

"or you could come in before my neighbors snitch to the police about some guy watching my house."

pope sucks in a long breath, running warm.

no.

"no."

"no?"

shaking his head, he grips the steering wheel and squeezes, no longer able to look at you.

"no. thank you. but i don't think that's a good idea," he tries clarify but that only makes it worse. you lean against the side of his truck, elbow hanging halfway inside as you look at him.

"okay. can you at least tell me why?"

pope doesn't move. he doesn't move or blink or breathe for an uncomfortable beat before finally cutting his eyes your way and speaking with a tone much too dry considering the words that spill from him.

"because i won't be able to behave myself with you in that shirt."

with that, pope starts his truck and skirts away–leaving you standing in the middle of the road to blink and stare after his vehicle with his words replaying in a cruel, cruel loop.

#meowed and arched my back like a cat #pope cody x reader

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loversreads · 6 days ago

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can not wait to read this. gonna kick my feet on my bed and giggle.