maiamore

[maiamore]

Tag List 🖤 : @cinesvega / @cielito--lindo

PLEASE?

Jealous!Clark Kent finds his mutant!telepath ex on a date.

cw: 18+, yearning/pathetic!clark, mutant!telepath reader, he begs A LOT in this, m!masturbation, switch!clark, he orgasms while watching you touch yourself, voyeurism (2k)

He thinks it's the right decision to cut you out of his life.

You're far more trouble to keep around in the long run, mostly because you'd forced him to always answer you with pure and utter honesty. (Given that you could tell what went through his mind constantly.)

It'd turned exhausting eventually, having the pretty girl he occasionally slept with nitpick at his displaced sense of self-fulfilment — his 'purpose' for protecting mankind. It wasn't until you'd intentionally withheld information from him that everything spiralled into a big fight.

He didn't like the reminder that the only reason he'd been on earth was to carry on a legacy written for him. Clark had something to prove, and his priority in protecting and serving the people took precedence in place of a relationship worth nurturing.

It was the first time he'd raised his voice at you in an argument, and had also been the very last time he could ever hear your voice.

Clark runs into you at a local pub after weeks of going no-contact.

It hits him all at once when he sees you bouncing at the heel of your feet, smiling, waving all perky and sweet at his general direction. His heart thrums that you were still treating the same, open and available for him. So he subconsciously gravitates towards you.

But your smile wasn't for him. A man behind Clark shoulders past. He's watching in a slow simmering annoyance as the stranger kisses your cheek, acting far too familiar with you.

Clark isn't quite paying attention to Olsen anymore, the little tirade he was going on and on about Eva goes over his head. Because how could he say a single thing when he was here, staring daggers to his 'ex's' date at the other side of the bar?

He doesn't notice how he'd been tapping his feet relentlessly on the sticky floors, sending intense earth-quake like vibrations all around. Everyone seems to catch it, not knowing where the source of it was.

You were already looking towards Clark's direction, the smile on your face turning to a frown. This time, you weren't going to entertain him.

(…I know you can hear me.)

Your breath catches. The rim of your margarita glass halted at your lips. You swallow the liquid down with a hefty swig, opting to bat your lashes for the man before you.

(Is this the kind of man you'd go for now? He doesn't look like the respectful sort.)

He was the one who cut things off. So this desperate show? It was gnawing at the rational parts of your brain.

You smile at your date, with your elbows leaned on the table to whisper something into the man's ears. But from Clark's vantage point, it'd looked far too intimate for his liking.

His jaw tenses imperceptibly, the edges of the now empty glass cracks under the weight of his grip.

(Look at me.)

You're failing terribly, not wanting to give into his hot and cold behaviour. It's your peripherals that ultimately betray you.

(Let's talk. Outside.)

He tries, as a last-ditch effort.

(Please.)

You notice him standing up to excuse himself, Olsen getting up in suit to head out front. Clark casts a quick glance at you, but you don't follow after him. He doesn't return even after fifteen minutes go by.

It was for the best. Or that's what you'd tried to tell yourself.

After another ten minutes, you get up to head to the bathroom.

Truthfully, you wanted to ditch the guy since he walked in. The filth in his mind was overwhelming — a man not even being able to formulate a non-sexual thought despite the conversation being anything but.

You fingers tense around your purse when you think about Clark. His mind was far from those. Always circling around how he could keep people around him safe, comfortable, and even while he fucked you, his thoughts were only ever for you.

Prioritising you.

The dim neon pink lights flicker overhead, and you still in place. Seeing his figure leaned up next to the restrooms with his arms folded. Waiting. Patiently.

Clark's head lifts to look to you, and he offers you a smile. The same, annoyingly dimpled one that neutralised whatever feeling churned in your gut.

"Bit creepy even by your standards." Your voice comes out tense, and you stop short of him while trying to shimmy past him. Clark catches your elbow with a gentle hold.

"Is it a crime to want to talk to you?"

"It is when you want nothing to do with me."

His brows furrow, a palm raised in a accusatory gesture. "I never — I never said that."

"You didn't have to. You can't even give me what I need."

"Oh." He sounds out, slow and sarcastic. "Is that so? And — excuse my language, the douchebag out there can?"

"Yeah, actually." You challenged, stepping closer to him, until his back is flush against the stickered, graffiti laden walls. "I sure as hell don't need your approval to fuck anyone I want."

His expression is unreadable, but his hold on your arm relaxes. "Don't say stuff that."

"Why? Does it hurt your ego? Let's take a guess if it's Clark Kent or Superman who's acting like a little boy whose toy got taken away." Clark isn't amused by the tone you take, lips taut as he shakes his head.

He sounds your name, threatening. "— you know that I don't like it when you talk this way."

You throw your hands up with a groan, "there's no winning with you! You want me, you don't want me, you leave me, you can't stand me moving on —"

Clark doesn't let you finish. His arm hooks around your hips to drag you along with him. Practically lifting you off the ground before the two of you are stumbling out of the back doors together.

"Clark?!"

It happens all too quickly. Your feet are no longer on the floor, you're both now in the skies — with nothing but the sensation of wind fluttering through your clothes. Clark's palm comes up to firmly cover around your ears, guiding your face flush onto his chest to prevent whiplash.

The second your heels meet the wooden floors of his balcony, you're sputtering, "are you nuts?"

Clark is looking at you. His mind is dead silent.

It's unsettling.

Because Clark Kent's mind never was.

His palm cradles your jaw and he kisses you abruptly, arms snug around your hips. You're whining muffled into his lips, nails digging around his biceps in both shock and relief from feeling him after so long. "Mhh—Cl—…mm!"

Clark doesn't let you breathe, and you feel him hold you up against him, the tip of your pink heels barely reaching the ground while he walks the both of you to his couch. You blink to glance behind him, not registering until now at the balcony door being cracked open off its hinges — just from how swiftly he'd ripped it open.

You push Clark's shoulder away, seperating your kiss while panting into his mouth. "You don't get to do this. I'm not doing stuff on your terms anymore."

His eyes are glazed over, akin to sheer need. His breath is heavy against your jaw, but you don't let him kiss you. Simply scooting back into his couch.

Your rejection stung him.

(I missed you.)

You visibly flinch. A tinge of softness in your gaze before you whip away. "And you're still too much of a coward to actually say shit."

Clark kisses at your jaw. (I'm sorry.) And at your neck — (I'm sorry.) peppering kisses down your collarbone, and to your shoulder. (I was an idiot.) Then, he leaves a trail of pecks down your arm, and to your palms. His words ring in your mind loudly, you wanted nothing more than to silence them, but the sincerity has you wavering in your resolve.

"Forgive me."

His whisper ghosts your knuckles. Waiting for just a flicker of approval in your eyes.

But you don't give it to him. Not yet at least.

Clark shifts lower. Lifting your ankle up high enough for him to kiss at the bedazzled straps.

Your breath briefly stutters, watching as he braces his arm on the cushion. Tracing gentle kisses up your shin, and then your inner thighs, leaving warm, wet spots in its wake.

He doesn't get to inch any closer when you interrupt his kisses, lifting his head up with your knees. Clark moves to hover over you. A soft cushion slot beneath your hips.

"Let me make it up to you."

It burns at him. Not being able to kiss you. Especially with how your gloss was smeared at the corner of your lips. He licks over his own, tasting the remnants of cherries.

You look at him. Still apprehensive. So you're tugging at his belt, just enough to unbutton it. And just when he thinks you were going to relent. You pull away, leaving him confused.

"Touch yourself."

He isn't sure he heard you right. So he's waiting for a follow up that doesn't come. You merely nudge your head towards his pants.

Clark swallows, his throat suddenly dry. If this was what it took to get in your good graces, he'd do anything. He falls to his knees, looking up at you where you were rested on the couch. Balls of your feet rested on his shoulder.

He's fumbling at his zipper, tugging his slacks down enough to free his half hard cock from its confines. You wrap your palm around his wrists. Bringing it to your mouth.

Clark watches you, with his brows knit.

You spit in his bigger, heavier palms, letting the translucence dribble onto it. He lets out a soft breath when you release, his hand bringing your offering to the tip of his cock.

His digits circle the wetness of the thick head, and down to his shaft. It quickly hardens to its full length. Clark's gaze is transfixed on you, at the way your chest rises and dips.

"Are you — really not…ha—ahh…" he grits his teeth, pumping slower, "not gonna…let me touch..you..?"

Clark's words borders on whiny, his nose leaving featherlight grazes over your shin.

"Didn't you say you wanted to make it up to me?"

His eyes flutters shut briefly, before they're hazily blinking open. He nods hastily, head lolled to the side to press his lips onto your ankle. You shudder, base of your heels pushing at his forehead, tutting.

"I never said you could touch me."

Clark's pained expression falls to the rustle of your clothes, where you were dragging the skirt up your hips. Flashing him with the sight of the laced thong beneath.

"You're trying…to kill me." He pants, squeezing at the base of his cock to pace himself.

Your eyes are glinting, thumbing around your clit, wetness soaking through the pale blue fabric.

Clark grunts your name out in whispers, picking up the pace, pumping harder. You notice that his head falls, trying to focus on the sensation alone. Trying to cum, but it isn't working.

You tip his jaw up with your heel, leg hooking at the base of his neck, tugging him close. Clark complies, propping himself up on one knee, still pumping himself urgently.

"Uh-uh." You warn, stopping him before his lips get anywhere close to your cunt. He rests his cheek your thighs with a laboured exhale.

Your fingers trace over your clit, and he's looking, intently. Watching the slow dip of your manicured fingers into your pussy, and dragging out with a slickness glossing over your digits.

"G—…geezus.." he mutters. Clark's blue eyes alternates between the sight before him and the unabashed lust on your face. "Gosh— I-I'm—"

He turns to nuzzle his face on your inner thighs, mouthing, biting as his cum bubbles over his knuckles. He's panting heavily, warm breath turning to pressing reverent kisses to your tummy.

You don't tell him if he's forgiven, but the caress of your hands carding through his hair is answer enough.

[maiamore]

I want to be added to the tag list ,please. The last fic killed me and brought me back to life 😭😫😫😫😫

The way you write clark is peeeeeeerfect gosh😩!!!!

hey babe 🖤 lmk if you meant just for villain!reader or that you wanted to be tagged with all my david fics

[maiamore]

can you please write more on clark kent x mutant clingy ex?! love your writing!!!!!

THANK YOU LOVIE! I'm so glad to hear you've loved them as much as I did.

Dropped a new fic <3 Plot was HEAVILY inspired by this scene. Cough. Clark begs, Cough.

[maiamore]

PLEASE?

Jealous!Clark Kent finds his mutant!telepath ex on a date.

cw: 18+, yearning/pathetic!clark, mutant!telepath reader, he begs A LOT in this, m!masturbation, switch!clark, he orgasms while watching you touch yourself, voyeurism (2k)

He thinks it's the right decision to cut you out of his life.

You're far more trouble to keep around in the long run, mostly because you'd forced him to always answer you with pure and utter honesty. (Given that you could tell what went through his mind constantly.)

It'd turned exhausting eventually, having the pretty girl he occasionally slept with nitpick at his displaced sense of self-fulfilment — his 'purpose' for protecting mankind. It wasn't until you'd intentionally withheld information from him that everything spiralled into a big fight.

He didn't like the reminder that the only reason he'd been on earth was to carry on a legacy written for him. Clark had something to prove, and his priority in protecting and serving the people took precedence in place of a relationship worth nurturing.

It was the first time he'd raised his voice at you in an argument, and had also been the very last time he could ever hear your voice.

Clark runs into you at a local pub after weeks of going no-contact.

It hits him all at once when he sees you bouncing at the heel of your feet, smiling, waving all perky and sweet at his general direction. His heart thrums that you were still treating the same, open and available for him. So he subconsciously gravitates towards you.

But your smile wasn't for him. A man behind Clark shoulders past. He's watching in a slow simmering annoyance as the stranger kisses your cheek, acting far too familiar with you.

Clark isn't quite paying attention to Olsen anymore, the little tirade he was going on and on about Eva goes over his head. Because how could he say a single thing when he was here, staring daggers to his 'ex's' date at the other side of the bar?

He doesn't notice how he'd been tapping his feet relentlessly on the sticky floors, sending intense earth-quake like vibrations all around. Everyone seems to catch it, not knowing where the source of it was.

You were already looking towards Clark's direction, the smile on your face turning to a frown. This time, you weren't going to entertain him.

(…I know you can hear me.)

Your breath catches. The rim of your margarita glass halted at your lips. You swallow the liquid down with a hefty swig, opting to bat your lashes for the man before you.

(Is this the kind of man you'd go for now? He doesn't look like the respectful sort.)

He was the one who cut things off. So this desperate show? It was gnawing at the rational parts of your brain.

You smile at your date, with your elbows leaned on the table to whisper something into the man's ears. But from Clark's vantage point, it'd looked far too intimate for his liking.

His jaw tenses imperceptibly, the edges of the now empty glass cracks under the weight of his grip.

(Look at me.)

You're failing terribly, not wanting to give into his hot and cold behaviour. It's your peripherals that ultimately betray you.

(Let's talk. Outside.)

He tries, as a last-ditch effort.

(Please.)

You notice him standing up to excuse himself, Olsen getting up in suit to head out front. Clark casts a quick glance at you, but you don't follow after him. He doesn't return even after fifteen minutes go by.

It was for the best. Or that's what you'd tried to tell yourself.

After another ten minutes, you get up to head to the bathroom.

Truthfully, you wanted to ditch the guy since he walked in. The filth in his mind was overwhelming — a man not even being able to formulate a non-sexual thought despite the conversation being anything but.

You fingers tense around your purse when you think about Clark. His mind was far from those. Always circling around how he could keep people around him safe, comfortable, and even while he fucked you, his thoughts were only ever for you.

Prioritising you.

The dim neon pink lights flicker overhead, and you still in place. Seeing his figure leaned up next to the restrooms with his arms folded. Waiting. Patiently.

Clark's head lifts to look to you, and he offers you a smile. The same, annoyingly dimpled one that neutralised whatever feeling churned in your gut.

"Bit creepy even by your standards." Your voice comes out tense, and you stop short of him while trying to shimmy past him. Clark catches your elbow with a gentle hold.

"Is it a crime to want to talk to you?"

"It is when you want nothing to do with me."

His brows furrow, a palm raised in a accusatory gesture. "I never — I never said that."

"You didn't have to. You can't even give me what I need."

"Oh." He sounds out, slow and sarcastic. "Is that so? And — excuse my language, the douchebag out there can?"

"Yeah, actually." You challenged, stepping closer to him, until his back is flush against the stickered, graffiti laden walls. "I sure as hell don't need your approval to fuck anyone I want."

His expression is unreadable, but his hold on your arm relaxes. "Don't say stuff that."

"Why? Does it hurt your ego? Let's take a guess if it's Clark Kent or Superman who's acting like a little boy whose toy got taken away." Clark isn't amused by the tone you take, lips taut as he shakes his head.

He sounds your name, threatening. "— you know that I don't like it when you talk this way."

You throw your hands up with a groan, "there's no winning with you! You want me, you don't want me, you leave me, you can't stand me moving on —"

Clark doesn't let you finish. His arm hooks around your hips to drag you along with him. Practically lifting you off the ground before the two of you are stumbling out of the back doors together.

"Clark?!"

It happens all too quickly. Your feet are no longer on the floor, you're both now in the skies — with nothing but the sensation of wind fluttering through your clothes. Clark's palm comes up to firmly cover around your ears, guiding your face flush onto his chest to prevent whiplash.

The second your heels meet the wooden floors of his balcony, you're sputtering, "are you nuts?"

Clark is looking at you. His mind is dead silent.

It's unsettling.

Because Clark Kent's mind never was.

His palm cradles your jaw and he kisses you abruptly, arms snug around your hips. You're whining muffled into his lips, nails digging around his biceps in both shock and relief from feeling him after so long. "Mhh—Cl—…mm!"

Clark doesn't let you breathe, and you feel him hold you up against him, the tip of your pink heels barely reaching the ground while he walks the both of you to his couch. You blink to glance behind him, not registering until now at the balcony door being cracked open off its hinges — just from how swiftly he'd ripped it open.

You push Clark's shoulder away, seperating your kiss while panting into his mouth. "You don't get to do this. I'm not doing stuff on your terms anymore."

His eyes are glazed over, akin to sheer need. His breath is heavy against your jaw, but you don't let him kiss you. Simply scooting back into his couch.

Your rejection stung him.

(I missed you.)

You visibly flinch. A tinge of softness in your gaze before you whip away. "And you're still too much of a coward to actually say shit."

Clark kisses at your jaw. (I'm sorry.) And at your neck — (I'm sorry.) peppering kisses down your collarbone, and to your shoulder. (I was an idiot.) Then, he leaves a trail of pecks down your arm, and to your palms. His words ring in your mind loudly, you wanted nothing more than to silence them, but the sincerity has you wavering in your resolve.

"Forgive me."

His whisper ghosts your knuckles. Waiting for just a flicker of approval in your eyes.

But you don't give it to him. Not yet at least.

Clark shifts lower. Lifting your ankle up high enough for him to kiss at the bedazzled straps.

Your breath briefly stutters, watching as he braces his arm on the cushion. Tracing gentle kisses up your shin, and then your inner thighs, leaving warm, wet spots in its wake.

He doesn't get to inch any closer when you interrupt his kisses, lifting his head up with your knees. Clark moves to hover over you. A soft cushion slot beneath your hips.

"Let me make it up to you."

It burns at him. Not being able to kiss you. Especially with how your gloss was smeared at the corner of your lips. He licks over his own, tasting the remnants of cherries.

You look at him. Still apprehensive. So you're tugging at his belt, just enough to unbutton it. And just when he thinks you were going to relent. You pull away, leaving him confused.

"Touch yourself."

He isn't sure he heard you right. So he's waiting for a follow up that doesn't come. You merely nudge your head towards his pants.

Clark swallows, his throat suddenly dry. If this was what it took to get in your good graces, he'd do anything. He falls to his knees, looking up at you where you were rested on the couch. Balls of your feet rested on his shoulder.

He's fumbling at his zipper, tugging his slacks down enough to free his half hard cock from its confines. You wrap your palm around his wrists. Bringing it to your mouth.

Clark watches you, with his brows knit.

You spit in his bigger, heavier palms, letting the translucence dribble onto it. He lets out a soft breath when you release, his hand bringing your offering to the tip of his cock.

His digits circle the wetness of the thick head, and down to his shaft. It quickly hardens to its full length. Clark's gaze is transfixed on you, at the way your chest rises and dips.

"Are you — really not…ha—ahh…" he grits his teeth, pumping slower, "not gonna…let me touch..you..?"

Clark's words borders on whiny, his nose leaving featherlight grazes over your shin.

"Didn't you say you wanted to make it up to me?"

His eyes flutters shut briefly, before they're hazily blinking open. He nods hastily, head lolled to the side to press his lips onto your ankle. You shudder, base of your heels pushing at his forehead, tutting.

"I never said you could touch me."

Clark's pained expression falls to the rustle of your clothes, where you were dragging the skirt up your hips. Flashing him with the sight of the laced thong beneath.

"You're trying…to kill me." He pants, squeezing at the base of his cock to pace himself.

Your eyes are glinting, thumbing around your clit, wetness soaking through the pale blue fabric.

Clark grunts your name out in whispers, picking up the pace, pumping harder. You notice that his head falls, trying to focus on the sensation alone. Trying to cum, but it isn't working.

You tip his jaw up with your heel, leg hooking at the base of his neck, tugging him close. Clark complies, propping himself up on one knee, still pumping himself urgently.

"Uh-uh." You warn, stopping him before his lips get anywhere close to your cunt. He rests his cheek your thighs with a laboured exhale.

Your fingers trace over your clit, and he's looking, intently. Watching the slow dip of your manicured fingers into your pussy, and dragging out with a slickness glossing over your digits.

"G—…geezus.." he mutters. Clark's blue eyes alternates between the sight before him and the unabashed lust on your face. "Gosh— I-I'm—"

He turns to nuzzle his face on your inner thighs, mouthing, biting as his cum bubbles over his knuckles. He's panting heavily, warm breath turning to pressing reverent kisses to your tummy.

You don't tell him if he's forgiven, but the caress of your hands carding through his hair is answer enough.

[maiamore]

I have just seen your blog on my laptop, and I have never seen a better constructed blog, omg it looks so good!!! Like I’m so amazed!

all of you have me clutching my HEARTTTTTT w these sweet sweet comments. like wise audrey your layout n aesthetic is MWAHHHHHHHH

so so excited to read your work 🖤

[maiamore]

Tag List 🖤 : @cinesvega / @cielito--lindo

AFTER HOURS

Clark needs a favour from his secret informant.

cw: 18+, corruption kink, uni professor!reader, switch!clark kent, p-in-v, stocking ripping, exhibitionism, reader is clark's secret informant, using a tie as a gag (2.5k wc)

Clark was far too tall for the crowd he was in. The university hallways bustled with bodies, hastily getting from one lecture hall to another, with endless backpack straps catching onto his elbows. He was muttering one apology after another, head ducked low like it might make his 6'4 frame less conspicuous.

"Sorry—'scuse me—my bad—sorry again—"

His glasses kept falling to his nose and he alternates between adjusting that & the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulder. Finally, he stops a girl mid-step while hovering around the offices. "Sorry. Hi. I'm looking for Professor… —" he looks down at his phone, sounding out your last name carefully.

The girl cranes her neck up to look at him, startled at the wall of chest blocking her path. Before she could answer, a voice interrupts from behind him.

"That would be me. Can I help you?"

Clark turns around abruptly, and for a second, he'd forgotten every word in his vocabulary.

He knew that voice.

The calls, letters — scribbled notes hidden in the books of the foreign affairs section of Metropolis University's campus library, exchanging favours from each other, more from him than you.

You'd only ever existed to him as cursive letters, divulging secrets he needed. And here you were.

His knuckles tighten around the strap of his bag, taking a grounding breath. "Clark Kent," he says quickly, stumbling over his words. "From the Daily Planet. It's — uh…good to finally meet you."

You arch a brow, unimpressed at the outwardly clunky persona he carried. "Right." His adam's apple bobs in his throat at your scrutiny when you fell silent, merely sizing him up.

"Follow me, then."

Clark nods, fumbling to catch up with your long strides. He collides with you twice in the halls, every accidental brush reminded you just how impossibly large the man you'd been supplying information to was.

In reality, he was just painfully distracted. Trying desperately not to notice how the sheer black stockings you wore disappeared beneath the hem of your skirt. You were sharp, polished — contradicting everything he thought he'd known about you in the quiet and anonymous words exchanged.

You press the buttons of the elevator, and Clark shuffles to a stop next to you. Making his shoulders seem smaller.

He clears his throat.

"I didn't expect this. You know, to be your…day job." He says quietly, breaking the silence. You peeked up at him at the corner of your eyes, "did you think I'd be meeting you in a dark alley with a trench coat?"

Clark looks at you, blinking, and huffs out a laughter. "Er…yes, actually."

You bite back a smile.

The doors slid open, and the two of you step in. Clark ducks to crowd the already-too-small space, forcing you to scooch over.

Hums of the elevator fills the silence until the next floor. A handful of students pushes in, and then a few more. Suddenly it'd turned to an elbows to elbows, shoulders pressed tight against strangers level discomfort.

Clark shifts, instinctively angling his body to shield you, his arm presses above you, inadvertently boxing you in his arms. Your back nudges the corner of the railings. You could feel Clark's breath ghosting the crown of your head, quick and uneven. "Sorry," he offers, the low whisper of his voice sending chills down your spine. "Didn't meant to — you know. Should've just, not tried —" The words were coming out much too fast. His pulse tensed beneath his jaw, and you tilt your head up to watch in mild amusement.

Then, calmly (deliberately), you tip-toed to blow softly onto his neck.

Clark jolted, physically. A startled yelp escaping him, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Your lips curl into a smirk when he gives you the exact reaction you'd wanted. "…Are you usually this…easy to spook?"

His laugh comes out muffled, warmth brushing your hair. "I don't…think so," he retorts, bashful.

The elevator could not have dinged fast enough. Crowd spilling out in seconds.

Clark doesn't quite move, not yet at least. His fists remained braced above your head. The waft of your scent taking over his senses. Patchouli and citrus. It was intoxicating. He hadn't realized how he was inhaling you right there until a clear of your throat snaps him back to reality.

He pulls away burned, and you slip past him. Shouldering his chest intentionally as you stepped out of the elevator to head towards your office — Clark follows behind like an out of breath puppy. (Who'd nearly popped a boner just from smelling a woman.)

You tap your faculty card onto the security lock, and your office doors beeps open.

"Shut the door," you say simply, heels sinking into the carpeted floors. Each step unhurried, intended to remind Clark that you owned the space.

The crisp navy blouse you had on tenses as you fold your arms. "I'll cut to the chase, Clark." He perks up from fiddling at his tie, looking at you while taking wary steps inside.

"What you asked of me isn't exactly straightforward."

Clark's palm lifts in a placating gesture. "Please, I need you on this. You're the…only one I trust who can help."

Your eyes flickers up, intrigued at his method of convincing you. He unintentionally towers over you, sincerity radiating from every tensed line on his expression.

"I wouldn't be asking — putting everything on the line — unless it was important." He continues, voice a tinge softer.

"It puts me at risk too, you realise."

Clark nods in agreement quickly, his tongue wetting his lower lips. "I know. If it's safety…you're worried about — I know someone who can offer you protection."

You let out a long, drawn out exhale, "unless the someone you know is Superman."

Clark's head tilts. A tight smile on his face. "Well…"

"It isn't protection I need." You continue, gaze raking over him.

He notices the rejection coming at the tip of your tongue, so he voices out in desperation. "Then what will it take? I can…I can arrange for twice your usual rates."

Your lips curved into a smile when the idea of something entertains you — you step forward, up and away from your desk. Clark backs up instinctively, you circle him until the back of his thighs presses into the wood. His bag slips off his shoulder and hits the ground with a thud.

"You're asking a lot of me…" you murmur, fingers catching the knot of his tie, loosening it with a sharp jerk. "Don't you think money is far too little of a compensation for it?"

Clark chokes out a cough, heat rising to his ears at your proximity. His breath stutters further when your finger traces down the buttons of his shirt, skimming lower.

And then, he catches your wrists.

"I'm not taking advantage of our arrangement like that."

You scoff, an incredulous smile on your face. "Oh? And not the other way around?"

Clark eyes you when you lean in closer, until the intoxicating perfume on you fills his senses. Your soft whispers caresses his jaw, "I promise I'll make it good for you."

The hold he had on your wrists turns more into a placeholder. Clark does a full body shudder when you drag your manicured nails down his clothed length that never seemed to end. You're looking, in both shock and anticipation at where his cock rested limp nearly half of his thighs.

Clark sizes you with a look, not wanting you to comment on it. You seem to catch on it, rubbing over his hardening erection. He's breathing rough against the side of your neck, chasing your face with his nose hesitantly.

You look up at him and his lips grazes the corner of yours. "I don't… — this isn't something I do."

"I know."

You're muttering against his lips. That wasn't something you did either, what he wanted to do right now.

Clark was staring, at your lips, particularly. The pink of your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he pecks you. Once. Shyly.

You supposed you could make an exception.

He leans in to kiss you, nudging his face forward to catch your breaths in his mouth. Clark's refusing to touch you still, hands hovering around your hips, grazing the curves you offered.

Your arms curl around his broad shoulders, spanning its surface. Impatiently dragging him as close as you could. He grunts, restraint still evident in his movements.

It's not until you palm around his cock that he pulls away panting. The throb aching — he's acutely aware of the students walking outside.

Clark's eyes are flickering with a hazy lust, gaze dragging over your body, and back up at your lips. Breathing heavy. He knows shouldn't be doing this, jeopardizing his only not-so-legal contact just for a temporary thing. And the school? Gosh, he'd be putting your job at risk too and —

You lock your gaze with his, popping the first few buttons of your top open, the red lacy bra you had beneath cupping the swell of your tits graces his eyeline. Clark's swallowing his suddenly dry mouth.

And then, he snaps.

His hand claws at his tie, ripping it off and he wraps it around his palm. With a few steps, he closes the distance between you and grabs your hips, lifting you up, flush onto him. Your thighs hook around him while he hoists you firmly.

But then…he stills before your table.

You feel him hesitate and shift, free arm busy and moving, fiddling the things on your desk.

Tilting your head back curiously, you see him gingerly placing the things on your table in a neat stack at the corner, tucking your stationery in one side and your paperwork away before he sets you down on a now empty spot.

"What…are you doing?"

Clark's sheepishly muttering in a boyish tone, swiping the base of his nose with his thumb, "…I didn't want to mess up your table."

You bite down on your lips, looking away for a second to not laugh in his face. This guy. You don't warn him when you tug his collar down to kiss him.

Clark feels your smile against his lips, returning it with his own. His tongue licks into your mouth and pulls away with a pop, mouthing wet kisses at your jaw, dragging it down to your pulse and collarbone.

You lift your hips for him to ruche your skirt up, dragging you to the edge of your desk where your core meets the hot hardness.

He's groping at your soft tits, lips still latched onto your neck.

You grab onto the edge of your desk when his hand slides to your core, where your cunt was still covered by black nylon — jerking back when his fingertips tear the flimsy material apart, the cold air taking you instantly.

"!.."

Your heart pounds in your ears, cheeks warming at the show of his strength. "Wh.." You're panting, looking at him with wide and confused eyes. It definitely wasn't something you expected from such a geeky looking man.

"Sorry. I'll get you…another pair?" His thumb swipes over the wetness spotting on the fabric. You're feeling the heat bubble in you, at his touches, and it becomes glaringly obvious to you that he was withholding his strength.

You crane your neck to nibble at his pulse as his fingers pushes the fabric of your panties aside, digits dragging up your slick folds. Your whine muffles on his skin while he pushes deep inside you. Curling his fingers gently, at first. Then, he picks up the pace, stretching your tight pussy with a scissoring gesture.

"We're a little…pressed for time," you murmur impatiently, hands stroking the back of his hair, tightening your hold around his curly locks.

Clark looks at you hesitant, and then back down, "It'll..hurt."

"Doesn't matter," you're pecking at his jaw, blindly fumbling with his belt.

He considers, glancing back at the rumble of footsteps out in the hallways, and then exhales, relenting. "Need you to be quiet, then" he says, thumbing at your lips, the fabric of his tie still wound at his fists grazing you.

You voluntarily bite down on his tie when he nudges it to your lips, letting you bite down on the fabric to quieten down your whimpers. Clark's lips latches around the base of your ears, hastily yanking down his boxers. His cock bobs against his abdomen, pre-cum already leaking around the angry tip.

Clark angles his length, poking it at your pussy that was left pulsing after he'd rid you of his fingers. Slowly, he feeds you his cock inch by inch. Your thighs trembling at every push, mewling muffled.

He tightens his hold on the back of your hips to bury himself to the hilt at one go. You let out a gasp, gagged by his tie and Clark shudders into your neck, "O-Oh, gosh…holy—ugh."

Clark's head hangs low. He holds himself there, in you. Concentrating hard so he doesn't just cum in you there and then.

Your head tips back, the whites of your eyes visible when he rocks his hips into you, his cheeks rested on the softness of your chest.

He's slow, at first.

Clark grits when your cunt clenches him tight, suctioning his cock whenever he drags away and pushes back into you. Your head lolls to the side, letting him nose your neck, breath stuttering at every thrust. His greedy hands slide all over you, squeezing the fat of your hips, and back at your tits.

It's hot where the coarseness of his hairs grinds against your pelvis. You're chasing the friction, hips tilted to meet his frantic thrusts. Clark grabs your jaw, the fabric easing out of your mouth to fall limp next to you.

His palm wraps around the scruff of your neck, fucking you harder till the stationery on your desk begin to clatter. You couldn't breathe, whining into his mouth as he kisses you sloppily, his grunts reverberating into your mouth.

It doesn't take long until the grip he has on your hips is bruising. Your mind is muddled, his palm drags down your belly, rubbing at your clit, sending a blinding pleasure down your spine.

You're trying to lift your hips to squirm away from him, but he has you snug, fully sheathed on his cock while you gush on him in jolts.

A fucked out laughter leaves your lips, head tipped back in daze as he chases his own release. The desk rattles harder beneath you both. Clark pulls out at the very last second, thick spurts of cum lands on your belly, his chest heaving with effort.

He looks at your blissed out expression, cracking a huffed out smile, kissing up your neck and jaw.

A sharp knock on your office door has you both snap out of your post coital giggles, and Clark buries his head on your sternum with a groan.

[maiamore]

AFTER HOURS

Clark needs a favour from his secret informant.

cw: 18+, corruption kink, uni professor!reader, switch!clark kent, p-in-v, stocking ripping, exhibitionism, reader is clark's secret informant, using a tie as a gag (2.5k wc)

Clark was far too tall for the crowd he was in. The university hallways bustled with bodies, hastily getting from one lecture hall to another, with endless backpack straps catching onto his elbows. He was muttering one apology after another, head ducked low like it might make his 6'4 frame less conspicuous.

"Sorry—'scuse me—my bad—sorry again—"

His glasses kept falling to his nose and he alternates between adjusting that & the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulder. Finally, he stops a girl mid-step while hovering around the offices. "Sorry. Hi. I'm looking for Professor… —" he looks down at his phone, sounding out your last name carefully.

The girl cranes her neck up to look at him, startled at the wall of chest blocking her path. Before she could answer, a voice interrupts from behind him.

"That would be me. Can I help you?"

Clark turns around abruptly, and for a second, he'd forgotten every word in his vocabulary.

He knew that voice.

The calls, letters — scribbled notes hidden in the books of the foreign affairs section of Metropolis University's campus library, exchanging favours from each other, more from him than you.

You'd only ever existed to him as cursive letters, divulging secrets he needed. And here you were.

His knuckles tighten around the strap of his bag, taking a grounding breath. "Clark Kent," he says quickly, stumbling over his words. "From the Daily Planet. It's — uh…good to finally meet you."

You arch a brow, unimpressed at the outwardly clunky persona he carried. "Right." His adam's apple bobs in his throat at your scrutiny when you fell silent, merely sizing him up.

"Follow me, then."

Clark nods, fumbling to catch up with your long strides. He collides with you twice in the halls, every accidental brush reminded you just how impossibly large the man you'd been supplying information to was.

In reality, he was just painfully distracted. Trying desperately not to notice how the sheer black stockings you wore disappeared beneath the hem of your skirt. You were sharp, polished — contradicting everything he thought he'd known about you in the quiet and anonymous words exchanged.

You press the buttons of the elevator, and Clark shuffles to a stop next to you. Making his shoulders seem smaller.

He clears his throat.

"I didn't expect this. You know, to be your…day job." He says quietly, breaking the silence. You peeked up at him at the corner of your eyes, "did you think I'd be meeting you in a dark alley with a trench coat?"

Clark looks at you, blinking, and huffs out a laughter. "Er…yes, actually."

You bite back a smile.

The doors slid open, and the two of you step in. Clark ducks to crowd the already-too-small space, forcing you to scooch over.

Hums of the elevator fills the silence until the next floor. A handful of students pushes in, and then a few more. Suddenly it'd turned to an elbows to elbows, shoulders pressed tight against strangers level discomfort.

Clark shifts, instinctively angling his body to shield you, his arm presses above you, inadvertently boxing you in his arms. Your back nudges the corner of the railings. You could feel Clark's breath ghosting the crown of your head, quick and uneven. "Sorry," he offers, the low whisper of his voice sending chills down your spine. "Didn't meant to — you know. Should've just, not tried —" The words were coming out much too fast. His pulse tensed beneath his jaw, and you tilt your head up to watch in mild amusement.

Then, calmly (deliberately), you tip-toed to blow softly onto his neck.

Clark jolted, physically. A startled yelp escaping him, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Your lips curl into a smirk when he gives you the exact reaction you'd wanted. "…Are you usually this…easy to spook?"

His laugh comes out muffled, warmth brushing your hair. "I don't…think so," he retorts, bashful.

The elevator could not have dinged fast enough. Crowd spilling out in seconds.

Clark doesn't quite move, not yet at least. His fists remained braced above your head. The waft of your scent taking over his senses. Patchouli and citrus. It was intoxicating. He hadn't realized how he was inhaling you right there until a clear of your throat snaps him back to reality.

He pulls away burned, and you slip past him. Shouldering his chest intentionally as you stepped out of the elevator to head towards your office — Clark follows behind like an out of breath puppy. (Who'd nearly popped a boner just from smelling a woman.)

You tap your faculty card onto the security lock, and your office doors beeps open.

"Shut the door," you say simply, heels sinking into the carpeted floors. Each step unhurried, intended to remind Clark that you owned the space.

The crisp navy blouse you had on tenses as you fold your arms. "I'll cut to the chase, Clark." He perks up from fiddling at his tie, looking at you while taking wary steps inside.

"What you asked of me isn't exactly straightforward."

Clark's palm lifts in a placating gesture. "Please, I need you on this. You're the…only one I trust who can help."

Your eyes flickers up, intrigued at his method of convincing you. He unintentionally towers over you, sincerity radiating from every tensed line on his expression.

"I wouldn't be asking — putting everything on the line — unless it was important." He continues, voice a tinge softer.

"It puts me at risk too, you realise."

Clark nods in agreement quickly, his tongue wetting his lower lips. "I know. If it's safety…you're worried about — I know someone who can offer you protection."

You let out a long, drawn out exhale, "unless the someone you know is Superman."

Clark's head tilts. A tight smile on his face. "Well…"

"It isn't protection I need." You continue, gaze raking over him.

He notices the rejection coming at the tip of your tongue, so he voices out in desperation. "Then what will it take? I can…I can arrange for twice your usual rates."

Your lips curved into a smile when the idea of something entertains you — you step forward, up and away from your desk. Clark backs up instinctively, you circle him until the back of his thighs presses into the wood. His bag slips off his shoulder and hits the ground with a thud.

"You're asking a lot of me…" you murmur, fingers catching the knot of his tie, loosening it with a sharp jerk. "Don't you think money is far too little of a compensation for it?"

Clark chokes out a cough, heat rising to his ears at your proximity. His breath stutters further when your finger traces down the buttons of his shirt, skimming lower.

And then, he catches your wrists.

"I'm not taking advantage of our arrangement like that."

You scoff, an incredulous smile on your face. "Oh? And not the other way around?"

Clark eyes you when you lean in closer, until the intoxicating perfume on you fills his senses. Your soft whispers caresses his jaw, "I promise I'll make it good for you."

The hold he had on your wrists turns more into a placeholder. Clark does a full body shudder when you drag your manicured nails down his clothed length that never seemed to end. You're looking, in both shock and anticipation at where his cock rested limp nearly half of his thighs.

Clark sizes you with a look, not wanting you to comment on it. You seem to catch on it, rubbing over his hardening erection. He's breathing rough against the side of your neck, chasing your face with his nose hesitantly.

You look up at him and his lips grazes the corner of yours. "I don't… — this isn't something I do."

"I know."

You're muttering against his lips. That wasn't something you did either, what he wanted to do right now.

Clark was staring, at your lips, particularly. The pink of your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and he pecks you. Once. Shyly.

You supposed you could make an exception.

He leans in to kiss you, nudging his face forward to catch your breaths in his mouth. Clark's refusing to touch you still, hands hovering around your hips, grazing the curves you offered.

Your arms curl around his broad shoulders, spanning its surface. Impatiently dragging him as close as you could. He grunts, restraint still evident in his movements.

It's not until you palm around his cock that he pulls away panting. The throb aching — he's acutely aware of the students walking outside.

Clark's eyes are flickering with a hazy lust, gaze dragging over your body, and back up at your lips. Breathing heavy. He knows shouldn't be doing this, jeopardizing his only not-so-legal contact just for a temporary thing. And the school? Gosh, he'd be putting your job at risk too and —

You lock your gaze with his, popping the first few buttons of your top open, the red lacy bra you had beneath cupping the swell of your tits graces his eyeline. Clark's swallowing his suddenly dry mouth.

And then, he snaps.

His hand claws at his tie, ripping it off and he wraps it around his palm. With a few steps, he closes the distance between you and grabs your hips, lifting you up, flush onto him. Your thighs hook around him while he hoists you firmly.

But then…he stills before your table.

You feel him hesitate and shift, free arm busy and moving, fiddling the things on your desk.

Tilting your head back curiously, you see him gingerly placing the things on your table in a neat stack at the corner, tucking your stationery in one side and your paperwork away before he sets you down on a now empty spot.

"What…are you doing?"

Clark's sheepishly muttering in a boyish tone, swiping the base of his nose with his thumb, "…I didn't want to mess up your table."

You bite down on your lips, looking away for a second to not laugh in his face. This guy. You don't warn him when you tug his collar down to kiss him.

Clark feels your smile against his lips, returning it with his own. His tongue licks into your mouth and pulls away with a pop, mouthing wet kisses at your jaw, dragging it down to your pulse and collarbone.

You lift your hips for him to ruche your skirt up, dragging you to the edge of your desk where your core meets the hot hardness.

He's groping at your soft tits, lips still latched onto your neck.

You grab onto the edge of your desk when his hand slides to your core, where your cunt was still covered by black nylon — jerking back when his fingertips tear the flimsy material apart, the cold air taking you instantly.

"!.."

Your heart pounds in your ears, cheeks warming at the show of his strength. "Wh.." You're panting, looking at him with wide and confused eyes. It definitely wasn't something you expected from such a geeky looking man.

"Sorry. I'll get you…another pair?" His thumb swipes over the wetness spotting on the fabric. You're feeling the heat bubble in you, at his touches, and it becomes glaringly obvious to you that he was withholding his strength.

You crane your neck to nibble at his pulse as his fingers pushes the fabric of your panties aside, digits dragging up your slick folds. Your whine muffles on his skin while he pushes deep inside you. Curling his fingers gently, at first. Then, he picks up the pace, stretching your tight pussy with a scissoring gesture.

"We're a little…pressed for time," you murmur impatiently, hands stroking the back of his hair, tightening your hold around his curly locks.

Clark looks at you hesitant, and then back down, "It'll..hurt."

"Doesn't matter," you're pecking at his jaw, blindly fumbling with his belt.

He considers, glancing back at the rumble of footsteps out in the hallways, and then exhales, relenting. "Need you to be quiet, then" he says, thumbing at your lips, the fabric of his tie still wound at his fists grazing you.

You voluntarily bite down on his tie when he nudges it to your lips, letting you bite down on the fabric to quieten down your whimpers. Clark's lips latches around the base of your ears, hastily yanking down his boxers. His cock bobs against his abdomen, pre-cum already leaking around the angry tip.

Clark angles his length, poking it at your pussy that was left pulsing after he'd rid you of his fingers. Slowly, he feeds you his cock inch by inch. Your thighs trembling at every push, mewling muffled.

He tightens his hold on the back of your hips to bury himself to the hilt at one go. You let out a gasp, gagged by his tie and Clark shudders into your neck, "O-Oh, gosh…holy—ugh."

Clark's head hangs low. He holds himself there, in you. Concentrating hard so he doesn't just cum in you there and then.

Your head tips back, the whites of your eyes visible when he rocks his hips into you, his cheeks rested on the softness of your chest.

He's slow, at first.

Clark grits when your cunt clenches him tight, suctioning his cock whenever he drags away and pushes back into you. Your head lolls to the side, letting him nose your neck, breath stuttering at every thrust. His greedy hands slide all over you, squeezing the fat of your hips, and back at your tits.

It's hot where the coarseness of his hairs grinds against your pelvis. You're chasing the friction, hips tilted to meet his frantic thrusts. Clark grabs your jaw, the fabric easing out of your mouth to fall limp next to you.

His palm wraps around the scruff of your neck, fucking you harder till the stationery on your desk begin to clatter. You couldn't breathe, whining into his mouth as he kisses you sloppily, his grunts reverberating into your mouth.

It doesn't take long until the grip he has on your hips is bruising. Your mind is muddled, his palm drags down your belly, rubbing at your clit, sending a blinding pleasure down your spine.

You're trying to lift your hips to squirm away from him, but he has you snug, fully sheathed on his cock while you gush on him in jolts.

A fucked out laughter leaves your lips, head tipped back in daze as he chases his own release. The desk rattles harder beneath you both. Clark pulls out at the very last second, thick spurts of cum lands on your belly, his chest heaving with effort.

He looks at your blissed out expression, cracking a huffed out smile, kissing up your neck and jaw.

A sharp knock on your office door has you both snap out of your post coital giggles, and Clark buries his head on your sternum with a groan.

[maiamore]

tumblrs algo pissing me the aff AWFFFFFFFF they hate to see a bad bitch winning cuz why are the tags not WORKING

[maiamore]

these gifs deserve its own post cuz ughhhhhhhh i thought about clark kent and needed to write this bad

did someone say informant reader x clark??👀

[maiamore]

Lex Luther becoming a supervillain bec he suffered from a chronic case of being a hater is so comic book movies we are actually so back

[maiamore]

David Corenswet as Clark Kent in Superman (2025)

[maiamore]

i am begging you

RED K!CLARK X VILLAIN!READER

signed sealed n delivered baby girl <3

Fic is UP! 🖤

[maiamore]

SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

Clark finally corners you after you'd been avoiding him.

TAGS: 18+, smut, villain!reader, primal play, enemies to lovers, red kryptonite!clark kent, anal, hate fucking, intercrural, clark uses his powers on reader, unprotected p-in-v, mentions of blood & violence, finger-fucking, sexual tension, tummy bulge, multiple orgasms, dub con, they fuck NASTY is all i'm gonna say (3k wc)

Red Kryptonite — Removes inhibition from Kryptonians.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE It was meant to be a quick S&R. Subdue & Retrieval as Clark liked to call it, though the Justice Gang disagreed wholeheartedly. The mutant gator that was loose in the heart of Metropolis had caused significant destruction, and the gang's interference had only spurred to rile the beast out even more. Its' tails swinging like a deadly pendulum, flinging vehicles left & right.

Clark had been putting out fires as it came, catching trucks with ease so it wouldn't cause any further damage or harm to people. Or in other words, dealing with the Justice Gang's mess. Guy was entirely ready to eliminate the target, but a flash of blue and red blocks his line of vision.

The man turns around, holding his palms up. "I've got it handled from here." Clark doesn't wait for the confirmation as he turns his attention to the beast, bracing himself onto the scaly creature that bound by green energy-like ropes.

"Go—lly," he grunts, shoving it further into a culvert. "What the hay is up with you, big dude?"

The reptile hissed and thrashed, its' snout dripping with fluids that wasn't just gator-liquid. Thick, tar-coloured goop oozes from the teeth, glowing faintly in the floodlights.

His nose wrinkled at the metallic & chemical scent assaulting his nose, shaking it off in annoyance. Clark's arms tensed around the torso of the gator and twists suddenly, snapping at his forearm but missing by just a few millimeters, the spray of whatever came out of its' throat had definitely gotten on him.

"Oh are you kidding me?" He rasps out, high pitched, wincing as he attempts to wipe away at the fluid that was quickly absorbing into wherever it came into contact his skin. The sting was dulling beneath, spreading. Clark pulls the sleeves of his suit higher on his forearms.

The veins running from his hand and up arm pulsed an unnatural faint red. "Huh." He murmurs. Clark his arm once, and then again. No dice. It doesn't prick quite as much anymore, so he turns his attention back to the gator, nudging it into a transport cage, slamming the hatch shut.

"Alright. Off to quarantine you go." Clark turns to let the scientists headed rush in from the high-tech blue gates at the other end of the culvert, the sound of the siren blaring all around has him turning back.

"What's —…what's with the sirens?"

One of the researchers look up at Clark. Rubbing behind their ears nervously. "There was break-in earlier…couple of gadgets & inventory swiped." Clark bends at his shoulder, hands tucked behind his back politely while he surveys the footage the bespectacled men offered him. Timestamp indicating just five minutes ago.

Clark watches, and then his breath catches at the familiar curve of hips and curved mask that sat on her eyes.

He sighs, dragging his hand down his face, looking out of the entrance, "I'll deal with it."

The researcher looks up at Clark, confused. "Oh, don't you need the rest of the footage?"

"There's no need. Thank you."

Clark waves at the men, stepping out of the culvert. His footing stutters as he rubs at his arm where the glowing red veins lingered. The more he flexed his hand, the more it glowed. Irritation filled him at the situation in place of his endless patience for hero-work-related-after-sprays. Weird.

That's when a shift in the shadows catches in his peripherals. Half shadowed in the corners of the abandoned warehouse rooftop opposite the makeshift lab. Crouched before a duffel, gloved fingers twisting around vials.

"You're not very easy to find."

You whip your head to the source of the noise. Letting out a prolonged groan as Clark floated up, boots touching the edge of the roof.

It was no secret that he'd been trying to corner you. Every single time the outcome was the same. He'd catch a glimpse of you before you'd slipped from his fingertips. Whether it was losing you in a crowd, or a disturbance you caused that had him grasping tooth and nails to help them instead of catching you.

In reality, Clark could easily do so if he really wanted to. But he never did. He stopped himself every time, even when the frustration filled him. You deserved to allow him into your orbit in your own time, deserved your own autonomy. Plus, he didn't have an actual reason to hunt you down either, it wasn't like you'd been vagrantly unhelpful.

He'd quickly learned that every single crime on your ledger, contributed to something bigger than yourself. Even if you did enjoy stirring chaos in your wake.

But that wasn't the issue. It was the fact you'd been blatantly avoiding him. Clark just wanted to thank you. Especially with how you'd rehabilitated him back to health after his run-in with that bewilder-beast weeks ago. You'd just vanished, never being at your loft, never letting him talk to you. Like he was just someone you crossed off your list.

It bugged him. More than he'd ever want to admit.

"And you're easy to run from, supershit."

You tossed the strap of your duffel over your shoulder, flashing him a honey sweet smile that had his jaw tensing. Before he could get a word out, you sprung off the roof, landing on a nearby ledge, and skittering off like you usually had.

Clark watches you, the pulse on his forehead throbbing in anger. He's never lost control of his emotions this easy. Not like when he'd confronted Luthor about taking Krypto.

No this, this felt different.

All the failed attempts of reaching you bubbled in his chest all at once. His figure blurs ahead, air snapping at the sudden movement. Clark doesn't realise how fast he'd moved until he was there, hovering a few feet before you. Head tilted slowly, shadow dwarfing the neon signs around.

You froze in place, mid-sprint. His presence bordered on ominous, you couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was. He wasn't looking at you with steady, gently eyes any longer. It felt darker.

"Stop running from me."

Your heart thrums at your ears at the low rasp of his voice. No boy-scout level smile or exasperation, just a decisive command shoved your way. Your eye twitches before you turn heel, ducking underneath the buzzing signs, scaling down the ledge with an urgency you normally hadn't felt.

The stillness from behind you had you relieved. And you slump back into the alley walls. Trying to catch your breath, except —

"Oh fuck me." You choke out a gasp when the gravel crackles beneath you at the force of Clark's landing. The aged concrete exploding upwards, leaving a billowing dust cloud in a distance of the figure kneeled in it.

Your hand snapped to your chest. Coughing as the particles filled your lungs. You squinted at him when he straightened up from the shadows. His veins burned a vivid red, searing through the blue of his suit. His eyes glowed a faint red, before they turns to its' original shade.

"Okay…" You begin out, palms raising up. Gut twisting at his new 'look.' "There's no way you've got this big of a stick up your ass over a couple of stolen vials." Your tone was mocking, but unable to hide the weight of fear in your chest.

Clark huffed out a humourless laugh. "I don't care about that." He steps closer, head lolled to the side. "I care that you've been running from me."

The brick behind you sizzles beneath your arms. Straps of your duffel frying to an absolute crisp until it thuds to the ground. You let out a loud gasp, more annoyed than scared now.

"That…was a Lululemon duffel bag you fucking dick." Fueled by the newfound anger in you, you lunged at him with a few steps. Clark hadn't moved, letting you slam him back into the wall.

The bricks rattled loudly with an outline of his back, and then another indent when you swing at him once, the force of his head thwacking to the bricks creating a slight crackle. Which goes to show how painful the blow would've been.

But when you look up, he was smiling. Rolling his shoulder with your palm still flush on his throat. "You're holding your punches." He spits the blood out onto the ground, his own palm coming out to soothe his jaw.

The red flared over the whites of his eyes and you pull away like you were burned. He was under the influence of someone, or something. He catches your arm before you could slip away again with a bruising hold.

Pulling you once, and then slamming you into the man-shaped indent of the brick wall. Dust pooling when the force has your back create a smaller shape in its' place. "Ugh—!"

Clark roughly grabs your jaw, tipping your head up and to the side so he could lean down. Breath brushing your ears in a low gravel.

"I told you. I just want to talk."

Your eyes were visibly twitching, clearly of pain. It became abundantly obvious just how much strength he had over you. You're grabbing helplessly around his wrist, clawing at him painfully. "O—Ok, Okay! So t…ugh…alk.." You managed through gritted teeth. He eases his hold on your jaw, pulling back just enough to drag his gaze over you.

"Your loft has been empty for weeks."

You're taking a breath, as much as you even can with how he was holding your jaw in place. "Cuz you freakin' wrecked it! I've been…crashing elsewhere."

He frowns, looking away for a second before he comes to a decision. "Why? I caused it. You can stay with me." You snort in his face at that.

"Yeah right. As if I'm gonna shack up with the dude who has me in a choke-hold."

"Because you attacked me," he counters.

You roll your eyes, "and who chased who first, exactly?"

"You ran from me."

"So?"

"So I don't fuckin' like it." He grits out intensely, lifting you with the hold that curled around your throat.

Your eyes widened at the uncharacteristic curse he lets out, your heels lifted off the ground just a tad. "Y-You're acting — weirder than…usual!" You grit out, kneeing at his abdomen, though in futile. He plops you back down unceremoniously.

"I'm fine. Just annoyed." Clark sighs, his arm curling around the back of your waist to turn you around, your forearms rested on the wall. His other hand tugs at your hips, forcing them to bend at the waist.

"Yeah, I don't buy it." You shoot back, letting him manhandle you into the position he wished. A pained, stuttered breath leaves your lips when his hand travels down to yank at your jacket's zipper. Your tits practically spilling out at the force of his touch.

You gasp slightly at the coldness that hits you, "jesus! some tact, maybe?" you grumble. His arm tugs you flush onto his chest, tilting your jaw to meet his kiss, that deepened on touch. You whine into his lips, his palms groping around the softness of your chest.

He's grinding onto you fully, rocking himself until he's fully hard. Licking into your mouth and pulling your hesitant moans while his fingers tweak around your nipples. Your thighs are squirming at the build up of heat.

For some reason, his added roughness was…turning you on.

Clark doesn't warn you when he's gripping the back of your waistband, tearing your your leggings apart with ease. "Hey!" You hiss, attempting to survey the damage, but he secures his hold on your jaw, drowning your complains in his mouth. You're grumbling until a hardening warmth pokes at your lower back.

It seems to stop your struggle, "I-I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't —mmnh.." He kisses you again, and then mouths at your neck, then your shoulders, "I don't want it to…hurt…"

You see him hesitate. Almost as though he was at war with his own mind — hunger, battling with the very human part of him that was being clouded with something else. He hums, angling his cock to rub between your thighs.

The heat of him has you clenching your thighs tighter. Clark moves back and forth, your growing slick coating his cock with every gentle movement.

"…Okay."

Your head lowers, thighs damn near shaking as his hand hooks around your panties, pulling them up until it rubs at your clit. "M-Mhh!" You squeak, tip toeing at the sudden, and all too much stimulation. He holds your hips down firm, breathing laboured while he fucks the plush of your thighs.

The stimulation of him rubbing you has you nearly tipping over the edge, but you grab blindly for him behind you. "Don't wanna…cum. N-Not like this.."

Clark groans, you were so fucking sweet like this. Honest, pliant. His forehead rests on the back of your neck. Your hips tilt higher when his fingers slide down your belly, brushing past your mound. "Oh.."

A exhale of contentment has your head rested on your forearms. He rubs at your your clit with his palm, and you buck at him helplessly, dripping onto his cock. "Feels…good."

Clark nips at your shoulder, earning a mewl from you when he opts to nudge to of his fingers into your pussy. Your mind was a haze, a mix of the pleasure and pain.

"Pussy…too damn…tight."

He mutters, dazed, curling his fingers deeper into your velvety tight walls. Your thighs are quivering in jolts every time he pumps them in and out. The schliick of his fingers probing into you, palm rubbing your clit at every jerk. "So, so, perfect for me. Always."

Your eyes are unfocused, biting down on your lips at the endless praises he burns into your skin. "Superman —"

Clark grunts at that, tilting your jaw up roughly.

"Clark." He corrects. And you blink up at him. "Call me Clark."

You gasp into his mouth when he adds more fingers into your pussy, massaging and stressing your walls. He lowers his head, not quite kissing you yet. Your breath ghosts his before they finally whisper, "…Clark." You say, testing, between small gasps and jerks from him finger fucking you.

Clark looks pained, letting out a stuttered breath at hearing your needy voice call him. His lips clashes with yours clumsily, all tongue and messy. He pulls out of your pussy all at once, rubbing at your clit with an overwhelming intensity.

Your hips lift and you're trying to squirm away. But the stimulation, It had you mewling into his mouth. The veins of his cock wedged between your folds, rubbing impossibly hard, was making you full even when he wasn't even in you.

A white flash takes you, and you groan, muffled. Thighs shivering in the wake of your release. He lets go of you, lips latched onto your pulse, trailing to the sensitive parts of your ears.

You're leaning into his touch, his breathe heavy with his cheeks flush to yours. You feel him glide his palm down your hips, then, he drags his cock slow. Dragging his leaking tip away from your slit.

Trepidation fills you, and before you can hesitate, he's angling his cock at your puckered hole. "Clark —" you try, but he isn't listening. He drags the slick of your pussy, nudging just the tip in. You're letting out a guttural groan at the same time he does.

He smiles into the side of your cheeks, rocking slow into you to let you stretch around your girth, "g—gosh…" he groans, a palm slamming the wall next to where your forearms rested, the concrete caves in with his fingers digging into it. "Been…thinkin'..about this…ever since…" Clark sighs, nuzzling his nose into your jaw. The grunts you let out are near animalistic, pussy clenching around nothing, only focus on the stretch of your asshole around his girth.

"Could…could cum like this." He gasps, breathing heavily into your shoulder while he's poking his cock halfway into the tight walls.

"In…me..please." You whisper out, he kisses the back of your head, pulling out before he ended up busting his load right into you there.

Clark's hold on your hips tighten, and his cock slips from your puckered hole. His cock pokes at your pussy this time, and he thrusts into you with a snap of his hips. You grunt at every one of his movements, fists tightening where they rest on brick.

"Ugh—urk—you…are —" he's whimpering into the shell your ears, "so—", he rocks you back into him, forceful, "so…pretty."

Your eyes roll back at being filled so damn full and deep, clenching tight around his cock. It's aching, and filling you all at once. Your cheeks warm, gritting your teeth at his usual babbles, ohmygoshso—goshdarned'softn—

Clark grunts, spilling deep into you with a rough jerk. You're gasping and biting into his forearm. His cock bobs out of you, leaving you dripping, his cum leaking out from your folds.

With a grip around your hips, Clark turns you around, swooping you up into his arms. You feel the two of you lift into the air, a slow flutter of his cape draped over your thighs.

"Wh…where are you —"

"My place. I'm not done." He mumbles at the side of your head.

Clark's place looked like the aftermath of the Justice Gang attempting to 'save the day'.

Kitchen cabinet doors ripped clean off, shards of ceramic dishes all over the tiled flooring. The couch had been slashed through with trails of laser beam aftermath.

You'd stirred awake to the scent of pancakes. Limbs all achy and heavy before your eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar, and wrecked surroundings before they zero in on Clark at the stove.

His broad, bare back was proper clawed up, muscles flexed at his movements. He doesn't turn around when he speaks. "I went ahead and retrieved some of your clothes belongings. They're in my bedroom."

Your heart jumps when he finally speaks, then, you frown, voice scratchy. "What? Why?"

Clark finally glances at you over his shoulder.

"I told you. You're gonna crash here…until you get your place fixed."

[maiamore]

GIRL NEXT DOOR

Clark takes care of his neighbour.

cw: 18+, smut, dry humping, mention of alcohol, somnophilia (clark humps you while he's dreaming), cumming in his pants, he takes care of her when she's drunk

Clark was used to seeing her in the hallways of his apartment at odd hours.

Like clockwork, Mondays through Thursdays with her laptop in hand & a bag to match and Fridays to Sundays with her skin in glitter — heels dangling from her fingers.

She'd always shoot him an excited wave, grin lopsided and unlike her reserved look she had when she was her 'other' self. Clark on the other hand would always nod politely regardless, even when the heels in her hands were traded for thick theory books.

He'd always thought it was amusing, seeing her so carefree with the slip of alcohol, and sprung back tight when she had to stay sober by necessity. It was a routine he began looking forward to — little run-ins he had with his enigmatic neighbour.

Tonight, however, Superman couldn't.

The exhaustion of being two people at once caught up with him in times like this. So he headed straight into his apartment from his balcony entrance. Melting straight back into Clark — with a comfortable white faded out graphic shirt that sat too snug around his biceps from his teenage days & worn out plaid pajama pants.

He'd only just settled down his couch when he hears a loud beep of his door, followed by a forceful rattle. Getting up warily, his eyes twitch in focus, intending to use his x-ray vision. Though he stops himself when he hears a feminine string of curses on the other side.

Clark raises his brow, padding over to swing it open with one fluid motion, the intruder thudding face first into chest with an oomph.

There you were, his neighbour. Cheeks smushed onto his chest with a confused pout, mascara smeared and glitter on your cheekbones. "Heyyyy it's m'neighbour!"

Your voice was pitched, giggling as you stumble back and away to poke at Clark's chest.

Clark tips his head in question. Nodding to your words with a tight smile. "I think you…have the wrong door." He tries gently. Hands hovered over your shoulder in case you fell over.

"Mmm I think you're at the wrong door misstur Clent Kark."

Clark huffs out a laughter. "Am I?"

You ignore him, pointing at his apartment number on the door that clearly read 608.

"Thissis 609."

His lips purse together, as though in thought. Nodding to himself in agreement of her very bold proclamations. She'd already been swaying dangerously unsteady in those too high heels of hers, and frankly, Clark didn't feel comfortable letting her be in her own apartment.

He leans against the door frame with his elbow bracing the other side. "Mm. You're right. That's my bad. Do you mind if I crashed here for the night, then? You know. Just so I don't fall and hurt myself." He says with a shrug, completely lucid.

Grinning, you offer a dramatic bow. "Very well then, good sir. You may." You giggle as you duck underneath his arm, and then suddenly. But then you stopped halfway in. Whipping your head to look up at him.

"Ya know. You look a wholleelot like Spuperman."

Clark stills in place. Feeling around at his face, realising that he might've left his glasses by the bathroom sink. Panic churns in him, until she blows raspberries, dismissively waving it off. Already distracted, pointing into his apartment.

"You even moved my couch! Verrrryyyy sneaky of you."

"Mmhm."

With a few stumbles, you'd made yourself at home on his couch, falling belly first over the arm rest in your too short dress. Clark's eyes zeroes in on your unintentional flashing, choking when he sees the lacy black thong curved around your ass.

Good lord. He instantly whips his head to the side, pressing his thumb and fore fingers at the bridge of his nose. Willing himself to forget what he'd just seen.

"Let me…grab you something more comfortable." He takes a few steps before turning to you sternly, you perked up when he holds his palm face down. "Stay still."

"Yessssir." You shoot him a sweet look, before collapsing entirely into the lumps.

Clark's search was abandoned when he hears a clatter in his kitchen, returning to see that you were definitively not on the couch.

He turns to see you half climbing onto his counter top, stretching for the higher tier of his cabinets. "What the —" His instinct snap into overdrive, sturdy hands squeezing at your waist to pick you off the granite. "Woah!" A delighted squeal leaves you when he plucks you with ease. You were so out of it you hadn't even questioned the gust of wind that followed when he appeared before you in a flash.

There's a brief moment where he turns you around, a little rough, his palms spanning a large portion of bare skin of your dress. You look up at him through your lashes, dazed. His heat permeating beneath his palm.

Clark feels it too, and immediately creates distance, plopping you onto the counter top.

He coughs, as if to distract his own thoughts, "you need something, you ask me, okay?"

There's an odd gentleness in his words, despite his serious look. You tut, blatantly poking at where there's faint indents of his dimples.And then, you hum loudly in thought "mmmmwellmy feetshurtin'n'myfaceisalluncomfortableanthenthis dress issuffocatingandalso…"

Clark shushes you at once a squeeze of your lips, "Geez louise. We'll go at it one at a time."

Without further questioning, he leans over you to unfasten the hooks of your strappy heels, slipping them off your feet. You're taking that opportunity to wrap your arms at the expanse of his broad back, which he grunts at.

All his amusement vanishes he sees reddened peeling at the back of your ankles.

She must've been hurting all night, he thinks.

With a slow exhale, he pats on your thigh. "Hold tight." You don't register what he means until you feel his strong arm curl around your hips, foisting you over his shoulder with ease.

You're cackling at the sudden shift of weight, clearly enjoying it with how your feet sway back and forth while he walks you to his bedroom, rambling something about being on Clark Airlines.

"Mmhm." He hums, acknowledging your yapping while he sets you on his mattress from a low height, causing you bounce slightly, cooing at the experience still.

Clark looks at you, jaw visibly tensing at how your dress had shifted completely out of place. He swipes his nose, not looking at how your tits were practically about to spill out. "Uh.."

He places his a hand on his hip, holding out a shirt for you to wear. "Think you can dress yourself?"

You laugh and fall back flat, rolling away, which was answer enough.

He grabs at your ankle to drag him back towards him, earning another squeal from you. With his eyes squeezed shut, he takes on the task of undressing you in the most un-sexy and un-romantic manner possible, battling with a shrill,"mmmmmffhhgggg I can't seeeee!"

"Good—gosh, that's not the head-hole, that's the arm-hole!"

He's practically suffocating you at this point, but he gets the job done, even if it meant you giving him that annoyed pouty look you had now. Hair all messy and sticking to your face.

You're wriggling when he holds your jaw taut, dabbing the makeup off your face with wet wipes. He swipes your hair off your cheeks with his knuckles. The action seems to soothe you. It's easier now with his gentle touches lulling you to sleep after your hyperactive show. By the time he was done, your head was bobbing in a sleepy manner.

The corner of his lips twitches into a smile as he lays you down onto his bed, letting out an exhausted sigh. Even a toddler would've been more well behaved. Clark sits next to your curled figure, gently tucking your hair behind your ears. Thumbing the underneath of your eyes where your lashes met his fingers.

"Quiet suits you much better."

You blink awake after awhile. Mouth dry, with your head filled with cotton. The dizziness that took you had you groaning when you sat upright. You're looking around at the unfamiliar room with squinted eyes. Stopping short of the larger figure slumped into a brown leather arm chair.

His chest rose and dipped steady and deep, thighs parted and arms hanging loose on the hand rest. Suddenly, your mouth feels drier than it begins with at the throb it incites in your gut. You swallow thickly, then blinking down at yourself.

You grabbed at the fabric, pulling it away from your chest. You don't remember putting this on, a shirt faintly smelled of fresh laundry, and a tinge of citrus. You then glance over to Clark, making a slow move towards him.

The floors look shake when you take a first stand, hem of the crumpled shirt falling to cover half your thighs. You take another step, and begin to tip-toe as though it helped with your balance. You giggle, out of breath when you reach Clark who was still fast asleep from his own exertion of the day.

You drag your gaze over him, biting the inside of your cheeks at how the fabric across his chest tenses with every breath. It's a last minute decision when you clumsily scoot over onto him, knees pressing to either side of him before you fold into his lap, much like a cat.

His warmth provides you with more motivation to cuddle into the source of the heat. You feel him subconsciously hike you further up, arm curling around the back of your hips to hold you flush onto him.

It's innocent enough. Clark was sturdy, unlike any man you'd met in your life. Up till now, you were only ever offered the concept of him, flittering next door with a nod at you even when you looked awful from classes.

It was all semantics now. All that mattered was just how firm he felt, and how you'd slowly begun to rock your hips mindlessly onto him. Clark doesn't react to it at first. But his body quickly picks up on the dull friction provided. Sending all his blood down south.

You were already falling back to sleep with your head flush onto his shoulder. Hips slowing ever so slightly. But he was deep in his own dreams.

And in his dream? Clark Kent was fucking his cock into your tight pussy. You're still that pretty dress you sauntered in with. He thinks about tugging your dress down to paw at your tits, squeezing them.

His hip bucks to the thought. And gosh he felt good. Scarily so when he rocked into you. He feels his cock quickly hardening beneath the plaid.

In Clark's dream, you were compliant, soft, and needy. He drinks in all your moans, thumbing at your clit just to feel your hips jump.

His grip around your waist tightens, breathing onto the side of your head, heavier now, tilting his hips to meet the scarily real warmth and wetness that was meeting his grinds.

"Mmn, Clark—.."

Your moans sounded too real. He doesn't question it. Clark moves faster and harder, rocking and grinding his hard cock into the wet, slick pressure on him.

"More…more…"

He groans out loud this time, his thighs tensing at the dulled ache he feels at his balls. He was close. So close. He's grabbing with both hands now, on the softness beneath his palm.

Clark is fully rolling his hips, humping mindlessly at the slickness he feels. It hits him all at once when he cums in jolts, the warmth bubbling and spilling back onto him. He breathes heavy onto the silky soft strands that constricted him.

It's then he blinks awake. Groggy. Looking down to see you curled on his lap.

His breath catches his throat when he realises the uncomfortable wetness where the two of you are connected.

[maiamore]

the way E.T by katy perry is stirring a fic idea in me rn i need to be STOPPED

HELP ME THE DEMONS ARE WHISPERING TO ME I MUST DO IT RN

[maiamore]

STRANGER

Clark seems different.

cw: 18+, smut, red kryptonite!clark kent, dark!clark kent, dub con, he uses his laser beam, coercion, m!receiving oral, chemically altered behaviour, conflict between clark & reader, rough oral (1.1k wc)

Red Kryptonite — Removes inhibition from Kryptonians.

You were upset with him.

Upset to the point that you hadn't rushed over — or even turned to unlock the balcony door when you heard the familiar rap on the glass. Except this time, the sharp crack of the lock being forced open draws your attention.

Clark steps inside without invitation. Dress shoes dragging on the floors, no tie, no glasses. His hair freshly messy from the wind.

"What are you doing here?" You were first to break the silence, arms folded, "I told you not to come back unless you'd —"

"Didn't come here to talk." He doesn't let you finish, as though he'd already decided what you had to say didn't matter.

The usual softness in his gaze was gone, replaced with a much more detached front. You frowned. Taking a tentative step closer. That's when you see it, when the light of passing cars grazes his face — a flicker of red in his eyes. It made your pulse jump.

His mouth was already on yours, your unsaid words muffled against his lips. He kisses you with a deliberately gentle intensity, gauging just how much of willing participant you would be in this. Your forearms wedges between you two, forcing him away from you.

You looked up at him, searching in bated breaths. "You can't just try to kiss me and —" firmer this time, "you need to leave." Your tone was final, and you step away to retreat back to your room.

The wall, inches away from you sizzled with a beam of scarlet right before your eyes. You'd flinched, damn near stumbling back into the couch, whipping your head to see the blistering paint left in its' wake.

Clark had never aimed it at you. Not his powers, nor his anger.

You stare at him, chest rising and dipping deeply. It's clearer than ever now that your eyes weren't playing tricks on you. There was a flicker of red in his eyes that lingered.

Red veins on his hand pulsed faintly from within, and when he shifted, the gleam of a crimson signet ring reflects in your lamp's glow.

"Clark, are you…okay?"

He ignores your concern, closing the distance. Clark's palm dwarfed your jaw with a firm hold, kissing you much harder this time. There wasn't patience in this, just taking what he'd wanted from you. His hands curled around your hips, pulling you flush against him with strength that bruised, as he drags his lips down to the curve of your neck.

The heat of him was dizzying, but the inkling of something being wrong ate at you. "No — " you mutter, turning your head away when he attempts to kiss you again. "Not like this. Not when…you're acting all weird."

Clark laughs into the sensitive skin of your neck, the sound humourless. "Weird?" His hold on you forces you to walk backwards until they hit the back of the couch. "You've been stubborn all day. Pushing me away. Ignoring my calls, texts. Do you…have any idea how much you're upsetting me?"

You swallow hard, feeling the guilt in his measured words. Intended and curated to pry and gnaw at your reasonable decision.

"I needed you." He pushes, thumb skirting on your bottom lip, coaxing. His touch crumbles your already faltering resolve.

Your lips part instinctively, and he takes his chance. Pressing his digit down onto your tongue, teasing — making you lick the length of it, soft pink grazing over the signet ring that loosens and clatters to the hardwood floors.

You drool around his finger when he adds another into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks enough to suck on them.

Clark is already unbuckling himself, pumping himself in harsh, dry strokes. He looks to you intently, pulling his fingers out with a string of wetness, smearing over your lips.

"You'll take care of me now, won't you?"

Your breath hastens, offering him a slow nod as he guides you down to your knees with a heavy palms to the top of your head.

He hisses the second you drag your tongue up his length, kitten licking his tip. It earns a rough tangle of his fingers through your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You lock eyes with him, other hand stroking at his cock while you mouth at the base. Clark's jaw tenses, angling his cock to rub on your cheek and eyes, the sight of you at his mercy filling him with unadulterated lust.

He doesn't give you a warning when he's pushing the thick mushroom head onto your tongue, pulling it out and rubbing it onto your cheeks. "Look so…goddamn pretty like this." He offers in a breath before sinking his cock into your waiting mouth.

Clark's head tips back with a groan when your tongue curls around his cock, taking him deeper, bobbing up and down. He holds your face with both palms, rocking himself unapologetically into your mouth. You're sputtering around him, hot tears prickling your eyes at the pace he sets.

The sight of of your plush lips wrapped around his girth is too much for him and you wince when his grip on you tightens, his hips snapping deeper until your nose rubs onto the coarse hair over his pubic area.

"T-Too…good…" He grits, fucking your face a little harder.

You're whining, holding onto his thighs when you begin to feel light-headed. Watching him lose himself entirely. It gives you a twisted pleasure knowing you were rendering him desperate, humping your throat with abandon.

It was different. His roughness. It was making you wet.

Clark yanks your head away from his cock suddenly, you're dazed, blinking up at him with heavy pants. He strokes his cock, once, and you feel his thick cum spurt onto your nose and cheeks.

A slight yelp escapes you, and he drags the pearlescent liquid with the tip of his cock downward. You swallow the stringy stickiness as he fucks it back in slow pulses, giving you every last drop of him.

Clark tugs you up by your armpits, licking over your lips and kissing you with the same gentleness, nudging his head to the side to roll your tongue with his. You'd barely managed to catch your breath, but you're relaxing in his hold, gripping around his shoulder and letting him manouver the two of you on the couch.

What the two of you don't notice was how that signet ring from earlier lay discarded a couple feet away. The crimson glow of it when it was on Clark now reduced to cloudy glass.

And whatever strange pulse that throbbed through Clark's veins? Now gone, with the red fading from beneath his skin.

It was probably going to take a while for him to realise that the recording device Bruce Wayne loaned to him, wasn't clever tech, but made with Red Meteor rock that neither of them realised the repercussions of.

[maiamore]

@ that anon who told me i repeated a para in my fic, ily, i hope every orgasm you receive in your life is spectacular i criminally DO NOT proof read my shit so if anyone wanna be #maiamores beta reader slide into my dms pookie anon mwah