mcumorningstar

[mcumorningstar]

Boyfriend Without The Rewards

pairing: clark kent x reader

summary: being boy/girl best friends was never complicated until outside opinions have you questioning your judgement.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, softdom!clark but sub! for a hot sec, reader is a pillow princess, hint of body worship, handjob, clark is a boob guy, casual dominance clark, childish arguments (big clois vibes), bimbo/hyperfeminine reader if you squint

a/n: heavily based on that one scene from new girl with nick and jess, this is based on like s4/5 clark but pete is still here bc i miss that little guy, also clark lost his v to alicia in this i don't make the rules

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For as long as you could remember, Clark was your best friend.

From as early as your memory began, he was saving you a seat at every table he sat at, sharing his lunch when you forgot yours on the kitchen counter, helping you with your homework, sacrificing his jackets and sweaters whenever you were cold, walking the mile in gym with you because you had cramps, memorising your favourite things, building your furniture when you moved closer to him, joining you for boredom walks, letting you steal the fries from his plate and just generally being there when you needed him.

Your best friend.

“Clark I’m thirsty,” you whined, bumping your forehead against his shoulder, sitting side by side in his barn. Homework scattered on the coffee table, a pen nibbled between Clark’s teeth.

“There’s soda in the house,” He chuckled, nudging you away from him, “I need to finish this paper.”

You made a loud groan of dissatisfaction and launched yourself back against the couch cushions. Giggling at your dramatics, Clark ignored you and continued with his homework.

“Wouldn’t you kill for your mom’s lemonade right now?” You asked, prodding your manicured toes into his ribs, tugging your locket necklace between your teeth. Clark jolted at the ticklish sensation and swatted away your foot.

“I always get your drinks. Can’t you go by yourself for once?” A tight smile graced his face as he flipped through sheets of notes, the hinge of his jaw tightening.

“Oh, sorry, I was only messing around,” You pulled away from him, dropping your necklace to your chest as your brows knit trying to decipher his tone; his face was smiley but he seemed on edge, “I thought you liked doing things for me. I didn’t mean to-”

“I do!” He whipped towards you, holding his hands as if he was reaching for you but holding himself back. A deep sigh deflated from his chest as his eyes darted to the floor, “I do but… It’s fine, I’ll get you lemonade.”

Clark hurried to his feet but, before he rushed off, you stopped him, “What’s going on? You’re being weird.”

Scratching his neck, Clark stayed a healthy distance from you and blurted, “I’m your boyfriend without the rewards.”

Wide eyes blinked at you and his jaw hung ajar, pink blotches climbing up his neck.

“Wha-What?” You fumbled for a response, stuttering and scoffing at the accusation.

“Nothing, just something Pete said,” Clark retreated to the barn steps, “I’ll go get your drink.”

“Clark, stop, what did Pete say?” You followed after him, finally rounding on him at the barn door and halting him in his tracks. With raised brows, he laughed it off, “Nothing. Just Pete being Pete.”

“Clark,” you sternly warned him, glaring up at him through furrowed brows. Clark could never lie to you for long, always cracking like an egg on concrete.

“Okay fine! Pete said I’m your boyfriend without the rewards,” Clark held his hands up, “I’m there whenever you need me, to do boyfriend things...”

“Boyfriend things?”

“Yeah… Getting you lemonade even though I’m totally gonna fail this history paper, driving you everywhere, walking you home, buying your favourite snacks and memorising your coffee order, going shopping with you so you don’t have to carry all the bags, building you furniture-“

“You’re my friend Clark! Those are friend things to do,” You shouted back, scoffing at the ridiculousness of his claim.

“So you’d invite Pete over to build your new dresser? Or ask Chloe for her sweater because it’s cold out?” He raised his brows at you, a knowing smile on his face.

Silence fell between you. Crossing your arms, you raised your chin and Clark shook his head, “He’s right. I’m your boyfriend without the rewards.”

“So you… so you want the rewards?”

“No! No no no no, I don’t- not with you, bleurgh,” Clark wrinkled his nose, laughing at the notion.

“Don’t say bleurgh-” You fought back, riled up by his theatrical disgust, before he interjected, “I don’t want it!”

“-I’m not disgusting. It’s not an unheard of thought,” You continued despite his interruption, your voices raising above each other with every sentence. Clark made another childish sound of disgust and pulled a face.

“Come on, admit it, you’ve thought about it” You goaded him, arguing loudly and quickly.

“You and me, sexually? Nope, bleurgh,” Clark stuck his tongue out, memories of your childhood bickering coming to the forefront of your mind, “Never thought about it once.”

Rolling your eyes with equally childish insult, you pulled a face at him, “Don’t lie.”

“Not on purpose,” Clark held his hands up in surrender as you stared pointedly at him, tilting your head, “Sleeping Clark is a totally different guy.”

“You know you did when we went horse riding!”

“Yeah, check my search history. It’s filled with girls going horse riding,” Clark waved his hands around manically, mocking you with wide eyes.

“I mean I’ll admit I’ve thought about it.”

Clark’s face lit up with shock and amusement, his brows almost touching his hairline. Taunting words twitched at his lips but a smarmy grin curled across his cheeks, dimples popping.

“Yeah,” You weakly mumbled, squirming under his amused stare.

“When was this?” Clark pressed, his grin unwavering.

“Last year, just once,” You shrugged, brushing it off, “When you drew a smiley face on your burger with ketchup and laughed at it.”

“That’s what does it for you?” Clark screwed his face up, pink tinging the tip of his ears at the dorky memory you brought back.

“Yeah I thought about it for FIVE MINUTES,” You couldn’t fight the rise in volume as your nerves were riled, “And then I realised it would never ever work between us!”

“Yeah I agree, that’s how I see it!” Clark matched your volume, leaning into you with playful intimidation. The childishness was off the charts.

“Great I’m glad we agree on something-“

“Me too!” He shouted, as if it was final, but you always had to have the last word, “Great.”

Clark couldn’t let that slide. You knew how to push each other’s buttons and, after so long being so close, you knew that could bicker like this for hours and it wouldn’t change your friendship, just an outlet for your many emotions.

“Out of curiosity, why do you think that though?” His voice boomed the gentle question, equally as riled up as you.

“Because you drive me NUTS, KENT!” You exploded, “Because you’re always sighing like you’re the president of the United States and you have to decide if we’re going to war or not!”

“I sigh because you sing everything!” Clark rebuked and you rolled your eyes, defensively, “I do not.”

“And I hate it,” Clark mocked your singing, nasally and high-pitched, “You sing and dance about nothing.”

“You’re always late,” You fired back, winding each other up with rolling eyes and heavy scoffs, “Always! You’re never ever on time to anything! You cancel plans last minute and never have a reason!”

“What are you talking about? I drive you to school every day and we’re never late!” Clark shouted back, nose wrinkled and brows furrowed.

“Parking up at the last bell is late, Clark! We have to run to class!” Your hands gesticulated wildly as you shouted at him.

“You’re on the track team! It’s not my fault you wear ridiculous high heels to school!” He fought back, pointing to your footwear; currently a pair of bedazzled flip flops.

“Leave my fashion choices out of this!” You jabbed a finger at him, and he continued to argue with you, overlapping each other's sentences, “Punctuality isn’t everything! This isn’t the military!”

“You want to be a reporter! You live by deadlines! You should know better! Maybe you should join the military and learn a thing or two!”

“Well I’m sorry I didn’t know I was on the fence on military manners! I didn’t know how strongly you felt about our troops!” He mocked, poking fun at you and deflecting despite the bickering.

“It’s just rude, Clark! I could never live with that. I barely live with it now!” You yelled louder than him and silencing him, blue eyes staring down at you.

With a heavy chest, you stared at each other as silence settled in the barn. Your heated argument fizzled out as Clark took a step back, “But you need me.”

“Oh that’s what you think? I’m gonna call Pete and we’re gonna go to the movies, and we’re gonna get all up in each other’s friendship,” You stormed out of the barn, brushing right past him.

“How you getting home?” He called after you, leaning against the barn door with a knowing smirk. Halting in your tracks, you stamped your foot and squealed, screaming on the inside. Clark always gave you a ride home but you were as stubborn as a mule, stomping your foot and walking home despite the hay catching under your feet.

The next week was hell.

Seen as though he was “always late”, Clark stopped picking you up and left you to take the bus with stinky freshman and gum-infested seats. The first time you stepped onboard, a dropped thermos splattered soup up your leg. Clark laughed when he saw you prissily wiping your skin clean, fighting the weakening in his knees to crouch before you and take over.

With a tight-lipped smile, he refused to share his fries when you forgot your lunch and neglected to bring you a coffee when he went for a run to the Talon, only you. The tension in the Torch was inescapable as Clark handed Chloe and Pete a takeaway cup each, the two sharing glances as he ignored you and took his seat, swallowing the lump in his throat.

You shivered stubbornly as you stood on the bleachers, watching the Smallville Crows play. Clark, remaining snug and warm in his knitted sweater and thick jacket, cheered along and watched the game with such intense enthusiasm that you wondered if he was distracting himself from being your white knight.

Plastic and paper handles burned at the skin of your fingers, the weight of your shopping bags ripping at the reddened flesh. With twitching fingers and a pained expression, Clark walked beside you, chitchatting and trying to ignore your struggle. It was then that you realised.

It was the small stuff that you missed, the stuff that you had become so accustomed to that you didn’t realise Clark even did.

Hanging out with the others was fun but you couldn’t help the tugging at your heart as another day passed without some alone time with Clark.

It had been just over a week when your ridiculous high heel snapped on the high street. Clark just laughed and you caved with a heavy sigh, sitting on the sidewalk outside The Talon and slipping off your ruined shoes, “Fine, you were right, I need you. Can we go back to how it was before?”

Wordlessly, Clark looked down at you and rolled his eyes before lifting you into his arms like a princess and putting you in the passenger side of his truck.

Dropping you at your house, Clark carried you from the truck to the front porch, opening the door and setting you down inside, “Better?”

“Better,” You nodded, plush carpet under your feet and broken heels in your hand, “I’m sorry about last week. Maybe Pete was right. Maybe you are my boyfriend without the rewards.”

Clark followed you further into the house, listening to you ramble on as you avoided his eyes, “I didn’t know what I was doing to you. We’ve been best friends for so long that I think the lines started to blur a little. You were always in the friendship box and now I’m realising, maybe it’s not that simple. I don’t want to screw up what we have, you’re too important to me.”

With a soft hand on your arm, Clark turned you to face him, “Things have changed but that’s okay. We were kids and now we’re not. But it’s different with us, we both want to be friends but are sometimes attracted to each other.”

“A-ha!” You smiled at him with an accusatory point of your manicured finger, “You have thought about the rewards!”

“That’s not what I said,” Clark laughed, raising his hands and taking a few steps back. His cheeks were rosy and a big smile graced his lips, as he teased you, “I love horse riding.”

Digging your fingers into his stomach, Clark squirmed and giggled before a comforting silence fell between the two of you, eyes meeting.

“I just don’t need a bunch of people telling me how to be your friend, what we can and can’t do. If I want to build your bookshelf, I’m gonna build your bookshelf. I’m a farmer’s son, I love that stuff!” Clark chuckled, taking your face between his large hands, “Just promise me that when you do get a boyfriend, you won’t cut me out.”

“And when you get a girlfriend, you won’t cut me out,” you added, raising your pinkie finger between you and linking with his, and daring to ask, “Clark, what’s the difference between this and a relationship? Is it just sex?”

Pink blotches crawled up his neck, as he stuttered, “What?”

“I just mean,” You went equally as red, stumbling through a response, “Boy and girl best friends can get messy. We’ve both thought about… the rewards. How do you know if something is platonic or not when you’re this close?”

Clark swallowed as he considered your line of questioning, “I don’t know. All I know is I… you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a girlfriend.”

“Bullshit! What about Lana? Alicia?”

“Alicia was… complicated and it was over pretty quick. And I think we both know that girlfriend is a bit of stretch when it comes to Lana. More like pathetic obsession,” Clark chuckled, ducking his head a little, “You’ve always been my number one girl.”

“Kiss me Clark.”

Standing in shocked silence, Clark stared at you with wide eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “What? Are you sure?”

“It’s the only way to test the hypothesis,” You shrugged as casually as possible, hoping to hide your nerves, “Pucker up, farm boy.”

Clark licked his lips and fought with words on the tip of his tongue. Dipping his head, he leaned in to kiss you but hesitated, a small laugh escaping him.

His coyness was cute and, under his gaze and proximity, you felt yourself grow hot. Putting yourself out of misery, you stretched onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

Clark’s eyes widened, slowly fluttering closed as he melted into you. Fumbling hands cupped your hips as your hands smoothed over his chest.

It was soft and chaste. Pulling away from his lips, your eyes fixed on the plaid of his shirt and a laugh escaped you, “Weird.”

“Yeah weird,” Clark breathed, your glittery lip gloss shimmering along his plush lips, and you felt his eyes bore into you. A grin pulled at your cheeks as you licked your lips.

For weeks, the kiss was a fluke. Things went back to normal and Clark was like your boyfriend, without the rewards. The kiss cemented what your conversation concluded; you and Clark were best friends that occasionally found each other attractive.

Your friends continued to tease you but you and Clark ignored them; if he wanted to carry your books, he would, and if you wanted to sew up the holes in his flannels, you would.

But time alone with Clark began to change. It was slow and steady but the change was there. Casual touches were like a live wire and the boundaries of friendship were pushed.

Chloe picked up on it because of course she did.

Dusk settled and the low lamp light of the Torch softly illuminated the office in sparse spotlights. Keyboards clacked and pens scribbled as Chloe whizzed through her latest exposé.

For some extra curricular credits, you agreed to be the Torch’s proof-reader, checking the grammatical competency of Chloe’s manic writings. With every page that she finished, she printed a copy and you went through it, circling every spelling mistake or grammatical error.

Clark sat beside you, resting his head on his arms, practically dozing on the desk. Wordlessly, you stroked your fingers along his back, the warm muscle beneath his flannel firm and lithe, and carded them through his hair. A soft hum of thanks buzzed through the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” Chloe raised her eyebrows at you, a teasing grin on her lips, “Feels like I’m interrupting something.”

You and Clark snapped away from each other like the attention burned. His bleary eyes blinked rapidly as he turned back to the abandoned English paper on his computer. You buried your head in your proofreading, refusing to acknowledge Chloe’s shit-eating grin.

It kept happening. Brushing his hair out of his eyes after football practice, pressing a palm to your lower back in the Talon, sitting in his lap when there wasn’t enough room at the lunch table.

“Are you guys gonna jump each other or not?” Chloe giggled one night as she stood in front of your mirror, holding different items of clothing to her frame. A little tipsy from your mom's leftover marg jug, she glanced over her shoulder at you and Clark, lying side-by-side on your bedsheets and flipping through potential yearbook templates.

With awkward laughter, you waved her off and focused on the task at hand, stealing glances at Clark. He looked so out of place in your bedroom, on your bed. His long limps stretched across the comforter, feet hanging over the bottom of the bed, and causing a significant dip in the mattress under his weight. The white and blue of his clothes were a stark contrast to the shades of pink around him, and your array of heels and flats were dwarfed beside his heavy worker's boots.

After Chloe left with another teasing comment, it was easily the most awkward twenty minutes of your life, only the low hum of the radio and the swish of paper.

“Maybe we should,” Clark broke the silence as he flipped through the font examples, paying zero attention to the documents in his hands.

“Clark—“

“I’m not blind. Things have changed, and I don’t know what else to do but I don’t want to lose you to all these changes,” Clark continued, hands gripping the template booklet until his knuckles whitened, “The kiss said it all. Maybe we just need to... evolve.”

In the silence, you debated with yourself. You knew you were going to accept reality and give yourself to Clark but your tight grip on your friendship pulled taut against your skin, ripping and burning at your flesh until you had no choice but to let go. You never wanted to let go, but maybe loosening your grasp on your friendship was the solution.

Clark stared at his hands, fiddling with the mess of paper on your comforter. He was beautiful as you reached to cup his jaw and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. It was soft and sweet, pulling away you rested your forehead against his.

"You have to promise me something," You breathed, averting your eyes to his chest, "Promise me this won't change anything, you'll still always be my friend."

Clark nodded, cupping your jaw and tilting your head to meet his eyes, "Always." With soft smiles, Clark tipped you onto your back, pressing against you and smoothing a hand over your hip.

Plush lips brushed against yours, as you carded your fingers through the thick hair at the nape of his neck. A soft hum of approval vibrated against your lips, his grip on your hip squeezing gently.

Pulling you closer and leaning over you, Clark licked against the seam of your lips, coaxing your tongue against his. The intensity built, your lips collided with fervour as your hands explored; he kneaded your thighs and smoothed along your back, and you tugged at his hair and gripped his biceps.

The tightly-fixed lid on your friendship was fractured beyond repair. Desire and lust seeped from your pores with every push and pull of your kisses, bodies pressing flush against one another. Clothing became an unwanted barrier between you as his weight pressed you into the mattress.

Ducking his head, Clark attached his kiss-bitten lips to the sensitive span of your neck, licking and sucking as soft mewls escaped your throat. Your hands clawed at his back, curling under the hem of his white t-shirt and tugging it over his head. Clark pulled back onto his knees, gazing down at you as the tanned and taut planes of his body were exposed to you.

Thick muscles lined his arms, stacked down his chest and abdomen, and rippled with every movement as he freed himself from his t-shirt, tossing it aside. Swallowing thickly, you stared hard, attention flickering between his bulking physique and the soft features of his face, his hair a mess from your grasp.

Heavy breaths rushed past his swollen pink lips as he leaned down to kiss you, any doubts about your decision were quickly wiped from your memory. He was so big and soft and heavy and strong and gentle and... Clark.

Your head was spinning.

Worker's hands crept under your shirt and caressed your soft skin, the frilly material against his large hands sent a wave of arousal through you. Gently, Clark unlaced the bow at the heart of your top, peeling away the material and exposing your bra-clad chest to him.

His mouth trailed kisses across every exposed expanse of your hot skin. Laying beneath him, you took whatever he gave you with satisfied hums and soft gasps. Your eyes fluttered shut as he peppered open-mouthed kisses to your neck, ascending to your lips.

"Still okay?" Clark whispered into your mouth, his warmth and the scent of his aftershave washing over you. Nodding and cupping his jaw, you smiled up at him, "You've got a magic mouth." Clark ducked his head with a coy grin, laughter bubbling between you.

His large frame wrestled against you playfully until he lay between your spread legs, the pink sheets beneath you ruffled and unkempt. Pressing onto his forearms, Clark hovered above you and, for a moment that stretched into a million, you stared into each other's eyes. Desire and something else twinkled in his blown-out pupils as he lowered onto you, sealing your lips into a deep kiss.

Manicured nails scratched along his bare back, the warm muscle reacting to every tantalising touch. Absent-minded hips rocked against yours with every rhythmic dance of your locked lips. Trembling fingers trailed down your stomach and tugged at the button of your bell-bottoms.

Catching his wrist, you met his eyes, "Clark, have you done this before?" Your timing was never the best but Clark softened at your knitted brows, concern etched into every line of your face. Softly pulling out of your grip, Clark pushed a strand of hair out of your eyes and smiled shyly, "Yeah."

"With Lana?" You asked, retreating into yourself as the green-eyed monster licked up your spine. Clark shook his head before he admitted, "With Alicia, a few times... Have you?"

Swallowing your misjudged insecurity, you nodded and admitted as you bit your lip, "When I stayed with Lois at Met U. Some party, some guy."

A soft smile twitched at Clark's lips, adoration in his eyes despite his head and shoulders dropping, "A college guy? This is gonna be humiliating."

Giggling at his humility, Clark didn't move an inch as you shoved at his chest, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, Clark cushioned your head with his bicep, pressing as close as two people could possibly be.

The metal buckle of his belt was cold against the exposed skin of your stomach, so you reached down to unbuckle it and tear open the buttons of his jeans. Clark groaned gutturally as you fumbled with his jeans, sitting back onto his knees and smoothing his hands along your thighs.

With nimble fingers, Clark unfastened the button and zip of your jeans, tugging them down your hips and tossing them aside. Laying there in your underwear, you lifted onto your elbows and Clark stared with parted lips and doe-eyes, chests heaving with kiss-stolen breaths.

At times like this, you thanked your lucky stars for being a little high maintenance, cute underwear always. Clark gulped as he stared at the lace-trimmed satin set, lying back like something out of his wildest fantasies.

A thick bulge pressed against the denim of his jeans, his belt and buttons hanging open salaciously to reveal his loose boxers. Soft pants beat from his chest and a soft rosy hue bloomed across his cheeks and nose. He looked like something out of a playgirl photoshoot; the rugged farm boy in the pink frilly princess bed.

"You're so beautiful, Clark," You breathed, in awe at his softness despite the hard angles and contours of his body. Clark's blush deepened as a flattered smile twitched across his face, "I think that's my line, baby."

Baby. It was like a tazer to the vagina.

"Take your jeans off," Your tongue ran across your top lip slowly and your eyes glossed over a little, as you took in the sight before you. Sex-mused and flustered, half-naked Clark Kent.

Pushing his jeans off, Clark kneeled between your legs in just his boxers, tented against your inner thigh. Large palms gripped your thighs and smoothed over your hips, as he took in the sight of you on your back and spread out for him.

"So gorgeous. You're so perfect," Clark whispered into the silence between you, the radio now a distant murmur in the background. Your hands dug into his hair as he pressed seductive kisses from your neck to your stomach, kneading your boobs over your bra before circling underneath your back to tug the fastening loose.

Tossing your bra to the floor, Clark laved hot, wet kisses across your skin and sucked your pert nipple into his mouth, circling his thumb over the neglected one. A loud gasp teared from your throat at the sensation, gripping the back of his head and his shoulder tight enough you worried he would draw blood.

Languid strokes of his hips grinded his hard cock against your clothed pussy, the damp material sticking to you like a second skin. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on your skin as the sparks of pleasure rippled through you with every syncronised roll of your hips.

His sizeable bulge pressed right against your clit with every push and pull. Clark kissed up your chest and your neck, taking your locket necklace between his teeth.

“I dreamt about this,” He panted, letting the thin chain rest on his tongue and drip down his chin. Bright blue eyes looked up to meet yours, his lips bright pink and kiss-bitten. The spit-coated chain slipped from his mouth and hung between your breasts, his saliva imprinting onto your skin.

“Anyone ever tell you how pretty y’are, Clark?” The slowing of your hips and the sultry tone of your voice had him whimpering beneath you. Your nails scratched at his scalp as he shook his head, your other hand working on the waistband of his boxers. 

“Well, you are. Prettiest I’ve ever seen,” Your hand slipped into his boxers and warm flesh met warm flesh. A loud whine escaped his lips as you worked your hand along his silky skin, his pre-cum coating your palm.

Hips bucking into your fist, Clark buried his face in the crook of your neck, one hand fisting the pillow beneath your head and the other gripping your thigh as your legs curled around his waist. Choked moans clawed past gritted teeth as Clark begged aimlessly, “Please, baby… Like that.” His flushed face and pouty lips were difficult to deny.

Rolling your wrist, you stroked him, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip. Clark whimpered an inaudible plea, grabbing your ass with one hand as an anchor to reality. A loud rip tore past your ear as Clark's strong grip on your pillow forced the seams apart.

"So- Sorry," Clark stuttered, your unrelenting pace rendering him stupid as pleasure licked up his spine. A giggle echoed around him and you pulled your hand from his hot flesh, leaving him desperate and wound up, whining at the loss of contact.

Toying with his hair and caressing his broad back, Clark's eyes fluttered open and a satisfied hum rumbled through his chest, pulling away from your neck to meet your eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" Clark asked despite the cloud of lust swimming in his eyes. Sweet and caring Clark. Wordlessly, you untangled your legs from his waist and shed the final layer of your clothing, flinging the flimsy panties across the room.

Lying back, your thighs caged his hips as you tightened their hold on his waist, and you felt the weight and heat of his cock pressed against your bare pussy. Thumbing at the waistband, Clark lowered his boxers until he was free of them, the pair of you entirely exposed to each other now.

A broken gasp fell from his lips as you took him in your hand again and guided the head of his cock through your slick before lining him up with your entrance.

His rosy cheeks deepened and his eyes fluttered shut at the pleasurable feeling before his eyes shot open, "Wait I should prep you fir-"

Curling a hand around the nape of his neck, you pulled him towards you, shutting him up by capturing his lips in a heated kiss. Your tongue pushed into his mouth, the two of you melting into one another.

With an encouraging squeeze of your thighs around his hips, Clark was spurred into action. A collective groan passed between you as he sank his cock into you, inch by torturously thick inch. His chest heaved the deeper he went and heavy pants laced with arousal fell from his lips.

The stretch of him burned a little as he buried himself into you, subsiding after a few moments of soft grinding to push the last half an inch in, bottoming out. You were entirely full of him.

Clark's eyes were squeezed shut and his grip on your hips tightened, his cock nestled deep within your walls. Rocking your hips experimentally, you watched with a smirk as his face contorted into pleasure. A grin tugged at your lips as you kept the motion, enjoying him losing his composure so soon.

Clamping his strong hands at your hips, Clark halted your teasing and thrusted into you, pulling back to the tip before slamming back in, his hips smacking against yours.

A loud moan escaped you, hands clawing at Clark for purchase. Your lips smashed into his, an uncoordinated and messy collision of tongues and teeth. His insistent pace prodded at the spongy spot deep within you, the ripples of pleasure curling at your toes and igniting a fire behind your eyelids.

“So wet, warm, feels good,” Clark whimpered between lungfuls of air, dragging his thumb sloppily across the apex of your thighs, your body twitching at the added stimulation, “That's it, baby.”

Sweat-slicked skin stuck you to one another, beading in your hairline at the unrelenting motion as Clark rocked into you over and over again. A band within you pulled taut, all of your muscles tightening at the suspense of your impending end.

Cacophonies of moans, whimpers and groans bounced around the four walls of your bedroom, the mattress squeaking with each joining of your hips. You fought to keep your eyes open as Clark mouthed at your neck, the blunt head of his cock bullying the sensitive spot within you.

"Clark, C-ah Clark, mmmph!" You choked out, intense pleasure crawling through your veins as if Clark's dick was feeding fizzing starlight into your every fibre of your being. Despite his deep groans, Clark kissed you deeply, licking into your mouth with a spiralling lack of restraint.

His thumb worked at you as his cock pounded into you, and the band within you snapped. An embarrassingly pornographic moan teared from your throat as your muscles tightened and then loosed, your body convulsing, leaving you boneless and dazed beneath him.

Clark barely survived the feeling of you pulsing around him, his eyes fluttering shut and pressing his forehead to yours. A string of moans and groans rumbled from his chest as he rocked his hips erratically, spilling inside you with a tight grip on your hips.

His lips were parted, his hot breath on your face, as he came down from his high. Flushed and glowing, you stared up at him and watched his breathing even out as he came back into himself.

Opening his eyes, Clark met your gaze and soft smile, your hands cupping his jaw delicately. He loosened his grip on your body and tenderly caressed your curves. A giddy laugh escaped the two of you, evidence of what just happened leaked between you and onto the sheets below as he pulled out and turned you onto your sides.

"I want the rewards," You panted, pushing strands of Clark's hair out of his eyes and smoothing your fingers across his jaw. A beaming grin almost blinded you, his fang-like canines on show, as Clark leaned down to kiss you. Soft and tender.

"I want it all," He admitted after reluctantly pulling back from your lips, "There's gonna be so many 'I told you so's'."

"Are we, like, boyfriend girlfriend now?" Your cheeks heated at the question despite the man's sex-soaked cock softening between you. A low laugh rumbled from Clark, nodding and pressing kisses to any exposed spot he could reach, "If you want me to be your boyfriend then yes."

Excitement bubbled in your veins as you tackled him onto his back and stole his lips into a deep kiss. Your best friend was your boyfriend. He was everything you ever wanted. Thank god for Chloe and Pete.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[mcumorningstar]

smallville 3.14 // ive never seen gifs made of this scene >.< sooo i made some !! i love this scene it makes me a little feral

[mcumorningstar]

Wake up, David Corenswet brings you a pumpkin spice latte in bed, you plan your couple's Halloween costume together. Text from Nicholas Hoult saying he wants to do a couple's Halloween costume. David sees the text and knows you're cheating, he doesn't care, CHALLENGERS.

[mcumorningstar]

#Superdick

pairing: clark kent x reader

summary: the girls learn about your situationship with clark after snooping through your phone, and a domestic morning forces you to face the truth.

warnings: fluff, situationship final boss, mentions of sex, big dick clark, mentions of vomit, general drunkenness, reader is commitment-phobic bc of past relationships

a/n: again not proof read but c'est la vie <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Who’s #Superdick?” Lois drunkenly guffawed as her and Cat scrolled through what you thought was your dating app messages, but clearly they had veered onto your actual text messages.

"Your dad, that's who," You blew a raspberry, reaching for your phone across the table, "Give it back."

Lois and Cat were supposed to be making you feel better about the pathetic guys you matched with, but instead they were snooping. Drunk you was far too trusting with your unlocked phone.

Sitting back in her chair, Lois pulled your phone out of your grasp and continued to snoop with a wide grin and bleary-eyed stare. Journalistic nature undeterred by copious amounts of alcohol. It was the annual Christmas party so drunken warfare was inevitable.

"Give it back," You whined with a pout. The two women ignored you, as Cat hooked her chin over Lois' shoulder and eyed your phone intently, "Is that Clark?!"

Your heart fell into your ass.

"Where?" You weakly asked, looking behind you as if to distract from what you knew they had found. Lois and Cat fell into a fit of giggles, both staring at your phone and pinching the screen to zoom in and out. "Farm boy is yolked," Cat gawped at the screen as Lois whistled lowly.

Almost jumping onto the break room table, you reached over and snatched the device out of Lois' hands, knocking over a paper cup with golden snowflakes etched onto the sides. Whatever was inside spilled across the table and dripped onto the floor of the break room.

Looking at your phone, an image stared back at you; with his phone positioned in front of his face, Clark stood in front of the mirrored wall at the gym. Not that he needed to go but with such a physical upbringing, he said it felt wrong to no longer work his body. A Metropolis Sharks sweater hung around his neck to show a fitted t-shirt underneath and baggy sweatpants, biceps bulging against the dry-fit material. Hidden behind his phone, his raven curls stuck to his forehead and his glasses balanced crookedly on the bridge of his nose.

Jesus, this was from months ago. The motherfuckers took liberties with your slow, drunken reflexes.

It took months to get him to send you any pictures back. He relished in your incessant teasing, dozens of pictures of you in your text thread, but hesitated at the quid-pro-quo nature of the gesture.

It started with more innocent responses; you would send a picture in the fitting rooms of your favourite Metropolis lingerie boutique and he would send one of his large hand around a coffee cup; you would send a picture lying in bed and he would send one of him lounging on the sofa.

His face was never in them, but fuck if you didn't like looking at him in all of his glory. The gym ones eased him into the less innocent ones, usually waiting until the place was practically dead before snapping a quick photo of his flexing muscles for you.

Shit, they might have seen his lying-in-bed ones.

"It hurts, god my stomach hurts," Lois clutched her stomach as she almost literally died of laughter, and Cat swatted her hands against whatever was in reaching distance, losing a battle against her unrelenting giggles.

Scrolling through your shared media, you realised how much they had seen. Months of pictures. Gym pictures, getting in the shower pictures, getting out of the shower pictures, in the bathroom at work pictures... Most of them were fairly tame but the ones that were a little more... out there; all unbuttoned shirts, messy hair and flushed skin. Much to your chagrin, he drew the line at full nakedness but given what just happened, he was right to keep that for in-person.

There was one particular photo that was the worst (or best, in your eyes) that he ever sent, when your schedules didn't align for weeks, and he found himself at a journalism conference across the state. A mirror picture, his face was covered like usual but his body was visible in the low light of the hotel room. Just his tight boxers covered him, a hand firm against his bulge, and his stacked physique on full display.

Oh shit.

Sweet, innocent, shy Clark is gonna go fucking nuclear if he finds out that Lois and Cat know about your little tryst. Little feels a redundant after a year of casually hooking up.

Initially it was to scratch an itch. Last year's Christmas party was a total bust, and it was four days after your ex dropped an atomic bomb on your relationship and moved in with another woman, so inevitably you were feeling very sorry for yourself. And Clark, he received a wedding invitation that morning. His high-school sweetheart was getting married and the news sent him into a spiral of his past mistakes and present loneliness.

Sitting in the corner of the bar, you were both hopelessly trying to avoid backsliding out of sheer loneliness and holiday-fuelled desire, couples of all ages enjoying their festive high spirits. It was enough to make you hurl with jealousy. One thing lead to another and you woke up in Clark's bed, all manner of bodily fluids dried on your skin and the taste of him in your mouth.

It was hard to brush off the incident as a mistake when it felt so unbelievably good, the pleasure coated your emotional wounds like orgasmic bandages. A year later and sex with Clark only got better.

You knew about the Superman shit - the rainbow of kryptonites included - and saving his contact information as #Superdick was a successful attempt to make him stutter and blush.

Thank god Lois and Cat didn't have the sober sense to question the nickname.

"Will you two shut up?" You hissed, trying to quieten them like a teacher chaperoning a school trip, "You sound like hyenas."

Lois and Cat couldn't fight their huge grins as they zipped their lips and shared soft giggles.

"Seriously, you and Clark..?" Cat began with amusement crinkling at the corners of her eyes as she shoved a finger between her loose fist repeatedly, "Is he good?"

Playfully, you pressed your fingers into your ears and loudly sang an impromptu made-up song, the lyrics inappropriate and making fun of your two invasive friends.

"Now that we've establish who Superdick is," Lois giggled, pulling your fingers from your ears, her cheeks rosy as they pulled into a taut grin, her hands pressed together, "Just say when."

Widening the gap between her hands, her and Cat stared between you and the growing gap. "That's insane," Cat jaw dropped, and the gap grew bigger as you stared at them, trying to keep a neutral expression, "No, this- this is not even like humanly possible."

Kryptonionly possible, you thought with a smirk.

"Start again, start again," Cat swatted Lois' hands and took over, using her own small, pampered hands instead, "Just say when."

Grabbing her hands, you stopped her and a smile broke from you, drunken amusement be damned, "I'm not telling you how big he is."

"So it is big!" Cat pointed her sleek acrylics at you, a journalistic ah-a in her eyes. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the bottle of wine you were supposed to be sharing and took a large mouthful, "What, Superdick didn't tip you off?”

"But how thick?" Cat slurred, circling her hands in different sizes and a laugh erupted from you, spraying your mouthful of wine across the table. "Jesus, Cat!" Lois jumped back, the three of you cackling like witches in the corner of the party.

The bullpen was still lively with holiday spirit, karaoke blasting from the other side of the room. Clark stood with Jimmy, polishing off their beers with loud laughter.

Your high-pitched cackles caught their attention. Jimmy grinned as he made his way over to you, Clark at his heels, “Ladies, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Cat giggled, unable to meet their eyes. Clark lingered behind Jimmy, timidly catching your gaze and assessing your drunken state.

“I think it’s time to go home,” Jimmy laughed, helping Cat and Lois onto their feet. Holding out a hand to Clark, he wordlessly helped you up and stabilised you against his solid frame.

The alcohol in your system eased your inhibitions as you carelessly put your hands on him in ways that were not platonic or appropriate for the workplace, albeit work ended hours ago. Thankfully the others were too drunk to notice the way you slid your hands under his suit jacket and groped at his muscles.

Clark let you indulge for a few moments before guiding your hands away. He loved how obsessed with his body you were.

Leaning into him, you waited for the elevator to arrive. Your eyes drooped and you slowly blinked as Cat and Lois made crude gestures at you; Cat's tongue prodded against the inside of her cheek as she flicked her wrist, hand fisted loosely.

The next morning you woke up in your bed with no memory of anything after the giggly elevator ride to The Daily Planet lobby. The first thing you noticed was the soft banging about in the kitchen - if you were getting robbed the last thing you wanted to do was get up - and the second thing you noticed was that you were completely naked.

"Clark!" You shouted weakly, your face smushed into the pillow as you waited impatiently to no avail, "Clark!" A heavy sigh rushed from your chest, your head was pounding and the sunlight creeping through the curtains was like a laser beam to the brain.

"Morning," Clark waltzed into your room, steadying the door with his foot and carrying an array of hangover helpers in his hands. He was a sight for sore eyes if you ever saw one; bed head, no glasses and flannel boxer shorts. Domestic Clark, your favourite.

He grinned at the state of you; your hair was a mess against the pillow, your naked body sprawled across the bed diagonally and your face was buried in your arms.

Clark placed a large jug of water and some Advil on your nightstand, lifting your upper body and slotting his body underneath you. Draped across his lap, you hummed contently and relaxed against him, plush muscles and warm skin like a heated mattress beneath you.

The pads of his fingers smoothed along your skin, massaging your back and shoulders, even carding through your hair. It was heavenly. A soft moan escaped you and Clark's body shook as he chuckled, "Feels good?"

You nodded silently, pressing yourself closer to him. Soft touches to your temples eased your pounding headache, whether it was one of his Superman abilities or a placebo you didn’t care.

"What happened last night? After we left The Planet," You asked with a croaky voice, grumbling and sleep-soaked. Clark drove his fingers into the flesh of your back, softly kneading your hips and palming your ass.

"You spent ten minutes saying goodbye to Jimmy, Cat and Lois, most of it on the ground," Clark smiled at the memory, "I was trying to take you back to mine but you threw up in the cab so I carried you here. I wanted to fly you but I didn’t want to be covered in more vomit.”

Groaning at the embarrassing memory-not-memory, you nuzzled further into his lap, pressing your face into the thick muscles of his stomach, "Oh god."

"Then you stripped in the hallway and threw your underwear off the balcony,” He pointed to the bra that was hanging from the telephone pole outside of your bedroom balcony window, “Then you started crying when I refused to have sex with you.” Clark ran his fingers through your hair, the sensation soothed you despite the loud snort you let out.

"I cried?!" Out of everything he just told you, that felt the most mortifying.

Clark giggled - your favourite sound, rare but worth the wait - and lifted you against him, your naked chest against his, your face in the crook of his neck, "Yes, like a little baby."

"Thanks for looking after me," You sighed, sinking into his arms.

"Anytime, honey," Clark kissed your forehead and stroked your hair, "It is our anniversary."

The word jolted you from your droopy-eyed relaxation, now wide-eyed and alert as you pulled back to meet his eyes. A small smile twitched at his lips, "A year ago today, we woke up in my bed for the first time. Look at us now.”

Your eyes roamed his features, unsure of where this was going, "Well then, happy anniversary Superdick." Clark groaned, a deep red flush crawled up his neck, "Happy anniversary, princess."

Eyes met and you stared at each other for a few moments, maybe a moment too long, and smiled before Clark manhandled you to sit against the pillows, “Right, open up.”

Opening your mouth, Clark popped some pills onto your tongue and tipped the glass of water against your lips, watching you swallow the painkillers with a satisfied nod.

“Breakfast will be ready soon,” He kissed your cheek before retreating from the bed. The pep in his step rubbed at your nerves.

“You’ve never had a hangover,” You pouted, watching the muscles of his back ripple as he headed to your bedroom door, “It sucks.”

“I’m sure it does, baby,” Clark turned to you, leaning against the doorframe, “I can see the alcohol in your bloodstream.”

“Don’t look at my bloodstream, pervert!” You dragged the comforter over your body and hid from him as he chuckled. You knew that he could see through solid objects but you just wanted to hear his laughter again.

Watching him disappear from your bedroom, you felt a smile tug at your cheeks. He’s perfect. But reality came crashing down and you needed to tell him about Cat and Lois’ discovery.

Grabbing his brown and navy plaid robe, you hauled yourself to your feet and wrapped yourself in the soft, oversized material, tying it at the waist. Clark ran hot and the winter weather outside spread a chill through his apartment, the floor cold underneath your feet. Stepping into his slippers, you made your way into the kitchen to see Clark bent over the stove, making pancakes.

Chopped fruit and syrup lined the counter and rashers of bacon sizzled in a separate frying pan. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek to the planes of his back.

“You okay back there?” Clark asked, looking over his shoulder. You nodded silently and Clark smiled to himself, “Just want cuddles?”

You nodded again and squeezed him tighter, daring to speak after a few moments of content silence, “I think you should know that Cat and Lois know about us.”

Clark halted in his tracks, putting the spatula on the counter and turning off the hob. He slowly turned to you and lifted you onto the counter top, caging you there and standing between your legs.

And everything came flooding out as he laid his eyes on you, “I’m really sorry, baby. I was drunk and they were going through my phone. I didn’t think until it was too late.”

Your head pounded as you rambled on, pinned in place by his gaze. Clark stole a kiss that shut you up, soft but deep, leaving you wanting more when he pulled away to take the frying pan off the still-hot stove.

“Are you mad at me?” You whispered, eyes downcast. Clark smoothed his palms over your thighs, “Never. It was going to happen eventually. What exactly do they know?"

"That we fuck like alley cats," You hooked your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer to you, a soft blush blooming across his cheeks, "And that you're built like tank."

"So all the important stuff," Clark bit back a smile, running his hands across your hips. A crease formed between your brows, "What else is there to say?"

"I don't know," He shrugged but there was a hesitation with his words, "Do they know it's been a year? That we've both been single the entire time? That we flirt under their noses at work?"

"No, no and no," You answered, shifting on the counter, "They know I'm on the dating scene but that I'm still single."

"Your heart's racing," Clark nodded his head to your chest, rising and falling with every breath. Pushing your hands against his chest, he let you knock him back a step. "Don't use your powers on me."

"I can't help it. Your heart is very loud..." He slowly stepped towards you, pressing between your thighs again, "Sweetheart, it's been a year of this. I fight intergalactic threats, catch crashing planes, run into burning buildings... You're the only thing that keeps me sane, the only thing that I can't be brave for."

"Clark, what are you- Where is this coming from?"

"I want more. What we have is not... I love it but I need more. I don't want to pick you up from another terrible date because you're sad and riled up, or meet you in the bathroom at work because Perry talked smack about your article and you need to blow off steam. I want to cook dinner together and watch movies on the couch, I want to hang out with your friends and meet your family... One year of having half of you, just one side.. I want the other stuff," Clark's brow knitted as if he was in pain, as if his confession was tumbling out against his better judgement.

"I love you, sweetheart. More than I ever wanted you to know, and if you don't feel the same, well then I'll get over it, but I need you to know, now that people know about us," Clark nodded firmly, finalising his confession. His chest heaved with adrenaline as he assessed your bewildered expression, your wide eyes staring at him.

"Clark..." You breathed his name like a wince, the hole in your chest from your ex now a sinkhole, "I- I can't talk about this." Fruitlessly, you tried to distance yourself from him but Clark kept you in his arms and eye-level on the counter top.

"Then listen," His warm palms soothed your skin with every rhythmic caress, "I know you want me too. When you call me drunk to take care of you because you trust me. When you bring me lunch at work because I'm too busy. Your heart skips in the innocent moments too."

"Clark-"

"I know you got hurt. I know how bad it was," Clark cupped your jaw, silencing your protests as a trail of tears slipped past your lash line, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted, "But I would never hurt you. Just let me take you to dinner."

"What?" Choking on your tears, his question stumped you. After a year of having him so close, it was the simplicity of his question that shocked you. Clark knew all the ugly sides of you; the drunk and inappropriate, the stupid and forgetful, the loud and disruptive, the angry and defiant.

Scrubbing your cheeks, you flushed at the state that Clark must be seeing right now. You hated crying, but a year later and the betrayal of your ex-boyfriend still stung deeply. Trust felt like a long-forgotten mirage. Opening your heart felt a lot more vulnerable than opening your legs.

"I'll wear a nice shirt and you can wear that new dress you bought. We'll go to dinner and talk about how garishly overpriced it is, and I'll pick up the cheque then walk you home," Clark tilted your chin to meet his eyes, warmth swimming in the icy blue, "Nothing we haven't done before."

A deep breath racked your chest and his loving gaze cracked something inside you, a tear carving its way down the contours of your cheek.

Clark would never hurt you. Even before your relationship formed, he was the sweetest guy and always treated you with respect, never undermining you or turning himself inside-out to get his own way.

Maybe you loved him too.

"Okay."

Clark raised his brows at you and you nodded at his silent question, "I- I want to go."

A wide, elated smile tugged at Clark's cheeks, his dimples popping, "It's a date." Softly, he pressed a kiss to your lips and wiped away your tears with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

Despite the tears, you laughed against his lips, "You should know, I won't put out until the third date." Clark's grin was unwavering.

"I can't wait to tell Ma," Clark lifted you off the counter, wrapping your legs around his waist and bear-hugging you like he couldn't contain himself, "She knew you'd say yes."

Of course his mom knew about you... Your mom kind of knew about him too.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[mcumorningstar]

s on my chest | clark kent

SUMMARY -> in which you’re wearing superman merch, and superman doesn’t know how to react with his symbol on your chest.

clark kent/superman x fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> established relationship, clark’s a boob man, unprotected p in v , light nipple play & creampie

WC -> 1.4k

a/n: S ON MY CHEST ‘CAUSE I AM READY TO SAVE HIM! READY TO GIVE UP ON ANYBODY THAT PLAYS HIM, AND I THINK I LOVE HIM, I LOVE HIM LIKE I RAISED HIM. WHEN HE CALL ME MAMA, LIL MAMA, I CALL HIM BABY- 😩

likes, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

you were used to waiting for clark to come back home on a late night.

it’s not common that justice was needed on a late night. you were more focused on him coming back to you in pieces, but your metahuman boyfriend would always reassure you that nothing bad would happen to him.

but sometimes he’s wrong…

like the time the supposed ‘hammer of boravia’ had beaten him up to death, and he had to fly to his ice fortress while on the brink of passing out. and when he came home that day, still looking bruised up after healing, you were more worried about him being like that again. so you took the liberty of waiting for him more frequently these days. clark would always tell you that you shouldn’t have to, but you always said you want to. that his well-being is your concern. you care so much about him, even if he’s a hundred times durable than any other human.

the familiar sound of the window opening made your heart flutter. clark’s home, and you hurriedly walk to the living room to check on him. clark notices you immediately as he offers a small smile in greeting.

“hey, honey.” he greets you, shutting the window behind him as he hovers down at last, his feet land on the floor. you take a good look at him from where you stand. his suit is covered in dust and debris, face still handsome as ever, only a smear of dirt decorates his left cheek, and his slicked hair is mostly intact; only a stray curl rests on his forehead.

“everything went alright?” you ask, like always. clark’s about to answer, but he stops for a moment, eyes suddenly on your chest. you're wearing a blue baby tee, a little tight on your chest, and on the center is his symbol, like on his supersuit.

the symbol of hope, his symbol. something sparks inside him when he can vividly see your nipples peaking through the thin fabric of the shirt- which should be illegal. blood rushes to his cheeks and down there. he suddenly feels hot.

you notice his silence and raise a brow at what caught his attention all of a sudden, until you follow his gaze.

“oh! i forgot to tell you i saw they were selling this shirt on the corner! it has your symbol, so i bought it.” you excitedly tell him, and pointed to his symbol on your chest innocently. “looks like we’re matching.”

clark gulps when you trace it, eyes still focused on your chest. “y-yeah…”

he immediately went over to you, and you were about to say something else when he crashed his lips to yours all of a sudden. you make a noise between his lips, giggling at the sudden onslaught of his affection as you kiss him back. clark holds your hips, trailing his fingers to your ass, and softly squeezes, making you yelp.

“clark!” you scold him as he kisses your neck. “what’s going on, babe?” you laugh when he nibbles that sensitive spot on your neck.

“i love this shirt on you.” he mumbles, and you understood it now.

“why? you think i can replace you?” you joke, and he lifts you off your feet. you wrap your legs around his waist, and his big hands hold your hips as he effortlessly guides both of you to the bedroom. when you felt the familiar tent touching your thighs, your smile turned dangerous as you let him manhandle you to the bed.

“all this for a shirt?” you tease him, and he huffs at you. you giggled as you lay down while he resumed his kisses on your neck. his hands caress your sides and up to the hem of your baby tee, where your skin peeks through. you shudder when he touches you there.

“more than that. it’s you… wearing my symbol.” he answers honestly as he captures your lips in a heated kiss. you moan softly against his mouth when his hands go underneath your shirt, you feel them cup your breasts as clark breaks away from the kiss for a moment. his eyes dart down, solely focused on playing with your nipples underneath that damn shirt.

“you’re gorgeous, baby.” he softly praises, and you smile. you bit your lip as he squeezed your breasts. his big hands cupped them so gently. your own hands then wandered to his chest as you trace his symbol slowly. clark watches you, pupils dilated, he can practically smell your arousal as you make eye contact with him. that dangerous glint in your eyes sets him off.

and in an instant, clothes are thrown off, he stripped his suit so fast that your impressed how eager he is.

you’re in a similar state of undress. the only difference is you’re still wearing the shirt that caused all of this. it’s scrunched up to your neck, baring your breasts before him. and clark takes his time giving the girls his love as he sucks on your nipple while squeezing the neglected one. you can feel his cock grind against your wet core. you feel a little impatient, desperate to feel him inside you.

“clark…” you whine. your hand then caresses his muscled chest, dragging down slowly to his abdomen until it reaches the tip of his cock. you grasp him, and he lets out a loud groan between your breasts. you touch him, gathering his precum at first before pumping him ever so slowly.

“g-gosh, honey, that feels good…” he mumbles on your nipple, still burying his face between your breasts. you let out an airy giggle as you guide him to your entrance. he moans loudly when you guide his bulbous tip up and down against your wet cunt.

“d-do you want me to stretch you first with my fingers, baby?” he suddenly asks, aware of his large predicament. you smile at him, grateful he even asked, knowing he just wanted you to feel comfortable first.

“just want you inside of me right now.” you said, and he nods, letting you guide him inside at last. clark lifts his head up, adjusting his position as he rests his forehead against yours, and lightly kisses the tip of your nose. a silent gesture of encouragement to you as you take him in. Your brows furrow as you feel the familiar stretch of him. clark grips your hips, steadying you.

when he finally bottoms out, burying himself inside your hot walls, he stays still, waiting for you to adjust to his size. your hands grip his broad shoulders, the wave of pleasure finally coming to you as you squeeze around him. clark takes that as a signal to move. he thrusts, grinding slowly at first, then to a steady rhythm as he hears you moan loudly about how good he’s doing.

“look at you, baby. you’re doing so good for me. you’re so good for m-me… i love you so much.” he whispers against your ear as he pounds into you. you let out a series of noises that make his brain all chummy. the sound of that wet skin slapping fills the air as you both dance in the searing pleasure of one another.

“c-clark, ‘m so close.” your nails dig into his broad back. he kisses you sweetly, with the right amount of passion in there as well. he thrusts in faster and harder. he’s close as well from how loud he’s groaning against your lips. his hand snakes down to circle your clit, helping you get to your high.

“oh, god-“ clark groans loudly when you squeeze him so tightly. you let out a whine when you felt that euphoric burst of pleasure finally hit you. clark pounds into frantically, chasing that high as well. and when he did, he practically moaned so loudly that maybe the neighbors woke up. he grinds his hips down, filling you up with his cum.

he collapses next to you, chest heaving, and so were you as you closed your legs, feeling his spent drip down your inner thighs. clark pulls you to his chest, and you lovingly press a kiss on the top of his heart.

“mhmm, i should wear this shirt more often.” you joke, but shuddered when clark’s fingers graze your bare back up and down. you look at him, and he could only smile at you boyishly.

“careful, you might take my job now.” he jests as well, making you chuckle. you gently fix his curly hair, and he looks at you so softly.

“i might, superman.” he chuckles at that. the symbol on his chest wasn’t just for him; anyone can be him. whether without his powers. the symbol represents the promise for a better future; it is hope after all.

“you can, honey. anyone can.”

[mcumorningstar]

DEAR IVY

Clark meets The Daily Planet's 'Love' Columnist.

cw: 18+, smut, poison ivy!reader, she attempts to use her pheromones/toxins to seduce clark, dubcon, off canon, flirting, sexual tension, clark is 'restrained' by ivy's vines, antagonist/villain!reader, handjob, switch!clark, power play, m!receiving oral (you give him very VERY sloppy head i'm talking ball action) (3k wc)

Metropolis had its way of swallowing people whole.

But you were nothing if not adaptable. Gotham had grown far too loud and far too troublesome to continue your little operation — no thanks to a little bat getting in your way. So you'd reinvented yourself entirely, a new city, a new name, a whole new identity.

A PhD in Behavioural Psychology. It was a perfect cover to sell yourself as an 'advice' column expert.

Your pitch to Perry White had been laughably simple: Love sells. The Planet itself already had exposés on corruption, political scandals, and international affairs. What it lacked? Was a wide-eyed girlish touch — someone to entertain the restless hearts of lonely Metropolitans. Perry was hesitant, but the way the circulation instantaneously skyrocketed the ratings of the paper after your first column had him handing you your own designated section.

Barely three weeks in, people were already quoting Dear Ivy all around the city.

Clark Kent often passed by your desk after you'd moved in next to him, noticing the way you had your own little set-up of rotating flora. One week, it was Ghost Orchids, something known to never be able to cultivate outside its natural habitats. The next, Jade Vines — turquoise blooms glowing faint under fluorescent lights.

You'd alternate between those and carnivorous plants, Clark would often spend late hours nervously side-eyeing the scary-looking creatures. But you? You were all sunshine in contrast. Laughing with the interns, listening intently to the editors when they gave you feedback. Always with a sweet word and a smile to match.

His first real conversation with you was…something.

You were staring directly at him while he was spinning his pen absentmindedly, tucking it at the top of his lips in a dorky pout — it clatters to the table when he sees a flash of red manicured nails on his keyboard. He looks up at you, and you're eyeing him with a curious gaze.

He clears his throat forcefully, and when you casually lean up against his desk, he zeros in on the fat of your thighs pressed onto the wood. Your voice snaps his eyes back to you.

"You know, Clark…" you begin, tilting your head as though you were studying him, "you should write to my column. I could fix you up real nice. You're not too bad looking if you'd just…" your fingers lift, brushing over the edge of his glasses. " — take these off."

Before you could tug them off, Clark catches your wrists. He didn't squeeze, but it was enough to startle you. He held you steady, thumb brushing over the pulse on your wrist.

"Uh…I'm good," he says, softer, a little amused at your forwardness.

You only smile wider. Like you'd just found someone far more interesting than a candidate for your column.

Clark adjusts his glasses awkwardly, rubbing at the base of his jaw. "I'm not sure anyone would find…the Kansas brand charming."

"Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind."

He watches you push off his table. Catching himself staring at the sway of your hips as you walked back to your cubicle.

On the surface, you seemed…well…harmless. But his instincts, one that was honed by years of paying attention to physical cues and people's heartbeats, told him there was something about you that just didn't add up.

Though like everyone else, he was sold on the all-sweet front you offered.

The Daily Planet never really slept.

Especially not the archive library. Tucked beneath the buzzing bullpen was Clark's sanctuary. Dust-coated books and files with the faint hums from the aged conditioning vent.

He perused through the tall shelves, footsteps muffled on the carpeted floors. He'd been working late that night, like any other day, looking for the Planet's past investigation into LexCorp in the restricted section.

Someone else was already there.

A smaller figure stood at the far left cabinet, red hair catching in the dim light. You looked up at him, briefly startled, and then you smiled sweetly.

"Clark," you greet, shutting the files with a definitive thud. "Didn't expect anyone to be down here at this hour. Working late?"

He pauses, raking his gaze over the classified files you held. "Yeah...me neither. I didn't see your name card access in the security logs."

You seemed unnerved. Twisting heel to clutch the folder tighter.

"Looking into the recent LexCorp files?"

You laugh, all airy and practised. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ears. "Oh! You know, curiosity. Sometimes the best advice comes from understanding all these corporate power plays."

Clark tilts his head all innocent, "Luthor's biotech division, huh? I looked into that myself. It was clean. No impropriety."

"The biogenetic companies had always been his cover. The real work was the illegal experiments conducted behind the scenes."

He looks at you, quiet for a bit. "I didn't put that information in our database yet."

For the first time since meeting you, your smile falters. Instead of leaving, you turn towards the door, heel clicking it shut.

The air in the room shifts.

There's a low humming in the vents, breathing like it's alive. Clark's expression turns a tinge serious. Not noticing the green twines from the grates behind him — curling along the shelves and slithering down near his feet. Boxing him all around, like a cage of green that threatened to hold him tight if he stepped out of line.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone, Clark," you say, with a lilt to your voice. "I like this job. People adore me, and I help them. Why ruin a good thing? Right?"

He steps closer to you, unfazed. "With all due respect, I don't think you're here to help. You're…hiding something."

Your lips curl into a smile, tipping your head up to look at him. "I get the feeling that you, of all people, understand secrets."

Clark stiffens where he stands, jaw clicking. "Not like that." His head nods to the files you held. "And I can't let lies and deception take root here."

Your eyes glint at the choice of his words, "oh you have no idea where my roots go." Clark doesn't back down, lips pressed tense, clearly not willing to let this go.

"If this is how you wanna do it…" you mutter, stepping closer to him. From your palms, you blow a shimmer of iridescent pink dust that blossoms into the air, sparkling as it floats into his face. The pheromones settle like perfume into his skin, sweet and intoxicating.

Clark coughs, waving the cloud of glitter away. His body now reacts against his will — vision softening, pupils dilating visibly. He shakes his head as heat flushes through his veins. The edge of the desk digs into his palms as he steadies himself.

"What was — what did you do?" He manages, his pulse ticking by the second.

You closed the distance, dragging your finger down his tie to undo the knot. Lips dangerously close to his jaw.

"Just a little something to soothe your nerves."

Clark blinks hazily at you. His chest tensing as you pop the buttons open on his shirt. Softer palms sliding beneath the fabric, grazing over his nipples.

It was working. He was visibly getting relaxed, pheromones numbing his mind in the best ways possible. His breath hitches at the way you rubbed him, not protesting when you drag your nails down to his bulge, guiding his limp cock out of his pants.

"Impressive…" You murmur, earning a sheepish look from him. He tears his gaze away from you. Eyes fluttering shut tightly when your palms skirt over his bare length.

Clark holds back a grunt, jaw tensing with effort — refusing to let a single noise slip. It's evident in the way his hips were bucking into your palms that he was starting to feel really good.

Your smile turns triumphant, free hand sliding up his jaw. It was starting to turn you on, the way your palm looked dwarfed just holding his face. You trace your fingers over his warm cheeks, tilting them to you. He's tensing under your touch.

"Such a big guy…if you wanted, you could stop this, you know."

Clark looks to you, lips twitching, grabbing your wrist when you attempt to pull away. He holds you there, keeping you on his cock. "I…I don't want to." He grits, breathing slowly. You grin, timing your strokes to his breathing.

"Ugh…" You peer up at him through your lashes when a gravelly moan finally breaks free. It sends chills down your spine, and the desire for more takes you. Your tongue catches your lower lip, letting him control the pace of your wrist.

You tighten your grip around his cock, dragging his pre-cum down his shaft. The slippery-ness provides a much smoother stroke. Clark bucks into your hands, panting harder into your ears.

Allowing him the pleasure of a tighter hold, you begin to pump his cock rougher, lips grazing his cheekbone.

"Tighter…please." He chokes through his words, turning to nose at the side of your head, taking in your sickly sweet scent.

Clark shakes his head, craning his neck away from you. Something was dizzying about the dry, vetiver scent your skin was emitting. Something prickly, heady and floral.

Then — he inhales sharply. His body burning the hazy feeling out of his system entirely. He eventually manages to compose his breathing, standing up straighter.

You freeze, looking up at him as he holds your arm to nudge you backwards, his other hand tearing your hold off him. It bobs up to his abdomen stubbornly, but you recognise the look in his eyes — unclouded and awake.

"That's…impossible." Your words are barely above a mutter. Clark looks at you, expression still pained, on account of his still-rock-hard-cock lacking any stimulation at all.

You hadn't accounted for the very possibility that the seemingly normal geek you'd been eyeing wasn't human at all. Your toxins permeated out of him entirely, unable to override his Kryptonian DNA.

Your breath hitches, in equal parts shock and panic. Reflexes take over as the twitch of your fingers brought forth green twines from every crack and surface. Thorned vines snake around Clark's limbs, winding around his chest and arms to incapacitate him. They coiled tight, stabbing at his skin until he slammed into the shelves behind.

"What…are you?" Your voice comes out as a hiss, stripped entirely of the sweetness he'd recognised.

The sharpness digs into him, "I should be asking you the same." He's looking down warily, thorns a little too close to his privates.

Clark grunts, his arm twisting and flexing a tinge. You gasp and stumble back when your twine that should've been unmovable rips apart with ease. The shredded vines collapse by his shoes, curling into themselves.

You brace against the shelves behind you.

He was dangerous, and it was becoming apparent that he was well about to overpower you. Whatever he was. But he wasn't quite looking at you with the intention to hurt you.

The hunger was flickering in his eyes. As though he were battling his own resistance. Clark's hands circle the back of your neck, holding you in place by your scruff. It's then you realise that he wasn't immune to your pheromones, just…fighting it.

His breath turns shallow, fingers tensing at your shoulders. Clark doesn't force you, not really, pressing you deliberately, guiding you lower. The shelves you held onto creaked, hands sliding down the wood for balance, knees skimming the carpeted floors.

Clark's jaw twitches, seeing you look up at him, hesitant but willing. You could feel the tremor in his hands, exercising control still.

You lean in, lips pressing at the base of his cock that was springing back to life with the brush of the softness. He grunts in relief, loosening his hold at the back of your neck to rest at the top of your head. Your nose drags up the vein running up his length, mouthing your way up.

"You're not…human…are you?"

Clark grits through pants, thumb grazing your forehead, carding his finger through your hair. "…No.."

"And neither are you, it seems."

You hum against him, fingers wrapping around his girth, tongue swirling at his tip. Clark hisses, hips bucking into your hot mouth. "Mmhn!" You grunt a little, lips stretching around him, stroking at the skin your mouth couldn't take in.

"Just…like that." Clark's hold on your hand remains, despite it twitching to grab you to fuck your throat. You look at him through your lashes, only the column of his throat visible. His adam's apple bobs, mostly out of attempting to practice restraint.

It bothers you that he is, so you're taking him much deeper. Choking on his length until he tangles his hand in your hair. "Urgh—…s..stop." He's slurring through his words, but you're relentless. Moans coming out as gurgles vibrate through his cock. "Y-You're…going to — unhg — h-hurt yourself…"

You frown at his words, especially at the warmth it incites in your gut. It has you working harder, drowning your split-second feeling.

Clark groans, head resting on his shoulder as he watches your cheeks hollow, sucking at his cock with voracious intensity. Drool coats his length and your mouth, and you're pulling off of him suddenly.

He blinks at you, hazily—hand itching to force you back down. A string of saliva follows from his tip, connecting to your lips, and you grab at his cock. Slapping his tip onto your tongue. Clark whimpers, transfixed at the way the corners of your lips quirk as you did so.

You lower your head, tongue catching the base of his balls. "G-Geezus — oh, g—…hrk…!" He's panting at the way your mouth engulfs his sack. Wetness rolling and massaging it.

Clark groans, whites of his eyes fluttering and fighting in an effort not to lose himself entirely. You watch him, cheeks stuffed with the roundness, slobbering over it before you pull away and drag the wetness back up his cock.

He doesn't hold back this time, cupping your jaw to angle himself onto your mouth. His thumb hooks at the corners of your lips, parting them wider to ease his fat tip flat on your tongue. You're drooling over his fingers, wincing when he holds you by the base of your jaw, bullying his cock into your throat.

Clark groans out shakily, tensing at the way your throat constricts around his tip. You aren't able to breathe anymore, shakily gripping around his thighs as he fucks into your throat.

Your pussy clenches at the lack of oxygen, and your hips lift off the ground. Desperate for reprieve. You feel yourself nearly asphyxiate on his shaft and pull away with a stuttered gasp. Clark's eyes flicker with concern, his thumb and forefinger squeezing around your cheeks. "I-I'm sorry. Are you —"

Your fucked-out giggle cuts his concern short. He's blinking dumbly at you as you lick his pre off your lips with a grin. Without answering him, you drag your tongue flat up his work, taking his weeping tip back into your mouth.

"Yeah —… S-Shit. Feels —" Clark whines. His touch turns tender, cupping at the base of your cheek.

He's trying to hold back, trying to be gentle on you. But the pheromones settle within him, potent intensity prickling at every one of his nerve endings. He chases the feeling the suction of your mouth provides him — grabbing a fistful of your hair to tug your head down to take his full length.

You let out a strangled groan as he picks up the speed of his thrusts, hips bucking to fuck your face faster. His cock is deep in your throat, and you can feel tears trailing down your cheeks, pooling at the base of his shaft. The salty tears mixed in with his musk. Your nails dig into his clothed flesh, a futile attempt to brace yourself at the way his hips snap into you.

Clark begins to feel a strangle snaking up his legs, your powers begin to unravel — thorned vines tearing into the fabric of his trousers. He grits his teeth, grip around your hair turning mean, stiffening as he reaches his climax.

There's no warning when his cum spurts down your throat. Your palms flex where his thighs begin to tense. Hot tears prick at your eyes before they trickle down, taking in jolts of his thick, spend.

Clark pulls out slowly, and you cough through it.

Clarity settles in him when he snaps out of it. The post nut clarity hits him like a trainwreck when his gaze falls on you on the ground before him. Sitting on your thighs. You're looking askew, dazed, your hair a mess from his hold, cheeks flushed with exertion.

He drops to a knee, cupping your face up gently in a mild panic, thumbs swiping across your lips to wipe your face clean. "S-Shit— I'm—I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?"

You barely register his apologetic rambles, blinking slowly as he's combing your hair down neatly, tucking them behind your ears.

"Can…can you stand?" You don't answer him, but he feels your response in the way your cheeks lean into his touch. He exhales slowly, feeling guilt gnaw at his very core.

He doesn't wait, hooking his palms beneath your arms to pull you back up onto your feet, carrying most of your weight. His shoes crunch into something, and the two of you look down, quiet.

The floor was strewn with tangled vines, spanning across the shelves and every crevice.

"….You're Poison Ivy, aren't you?"

[mcumorningstar]

#clark is just a cutie pie, happy to be on the front page

[mcumorningstar]

David Corenswet The Daily Planet Set

[mcumorningstar]

LIKE THE REAL THING

cw: 18+, smut, accidental 'nudes', colleague!reader, clark jerks off to your pictures, m!masturbation, soft dom!clark, rimming, f!receiving oral, clark uses his arctic breath on you, temperature play, p-in-v, overstimulation,clark's all freaked out in this fic, he eats you from the back, doggy, belly bulge, possessive!clark (4.4k wc)

You were halfway through tugging your jeans back on when you realised something was terribly off.

Cat should've been blowing up your phone in all caps by now — a 'GODDAMN BABE YOU LOOK HOTTT', or at the very least, 'buy both, coward'. But your screen remained stubbornly silent. Save for one text you didn't get a good look at.

Weird.

You yanked the curtains open, lingerie draped over your forearms as you shuffled out of the fitting rooms. Swiping your lock screen to open the most recent message. Your thumb hovers over the opened chat and you choke on your breath. No. Oh no. No no no no.

It's staring right back at you. In unforgiving grey & white. Clark Kent. Packaged with two little blue check marks sitting all innocent underneath what you'd consider the most unsexy tit and rump pics of what you'd tried on earlier.

"H-Holy shit," you croak, all too dramatically slumping into the mannequin beside you. You tossed your phone into the clearance panties basket as if that would've reversed the crime scene.

Your heart's slamming out of your ribs when you shakily grab for your phone, hoping it was a hallucination that you hadn't sent racy pics to a man you'd barely been on two dates with. Mr Small-town-farm-boy. The same man who would pull away burned the second your tongue met his lips.

This was it. You were drafting your obituaries in your head — local woman perishes after sending unsolicited boob pics to the most pure adult male alive.

A buzz from your phone nearly has you whipping it, you shakily look down at the thread.

[6:05PM] You: Blue or purple?? You: [4 Attached Images] [6:18PM] Clark Kent: I think the blue one looks lovely on you. 🙂

You're staring at your phone like he'd send you a response in a different language. Lovely. He said you looked lovely, with a freaking millennial smiley face. Your insides do a somersault. Did he like it? Or was this a pity 'lovely' like he was trying to be nice?

You dial Cat's number before you spiral any further.

"Kill me," you breathe out all at once. Clutching the mannequin next to you, staring face-first at the green crotchless underwear in your eyeline.

"Hello to you too," there's an amusement to her voice, replying coolly like this was a regular occurrence, "what did you do this time?"

"I messed up. Big time."

"Easy, babe. What'd you do? Need me to bail you out of jail or something?"

"Worse. I sent Clark Kent boob pics."

There's a beat of silence across the line, and you yank your phone away from your ears when a loud cackling rings out. "No, you didn't."

"I so did!" You whine loudly, resting your forehead on the mannequin. "And it wasn't even hot. I look like….like I'm posing for an overtly-sexualised pudding commercial — CAT. STOP. LAUGHING. Tell me what to do!"

"Okay, okay. Breathe," she's still wheezing between syllables, "what did he say?"

You pull your phone back to squint at the text, and then hold it to your ears. Biting on your thumb. "He said I looked…lovely."

Another round of shrill laughter explodes through the speaker, "girl, GIRL. DO NOT tell him you sent them by accident. Don't you break his cotton candy heart."

"He's gonna think I'm some stupid over-eager slut, Cat!" You're pacing back and forth like a crazy person, gripped around the mannequin for emotional support.

"Oh please! He's still a man. Just roll with it. Let him think you sent them purposely."

"That's insane." You mumble, thumbs already hovering over the keyboard.

"That's how you're gonna get laid."

You're about to argue, but you type out a draft message, thinking more through your pussy than your mind. And then…you click the send button.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah. I'm just gonna wai—"

Your phone buzzes damn near in seconds.

[6:38PM] You: You really think so? [6:40PM] Clark Kent: ues you look perfecft Clark Kent: perfect.

You're frowning at your phone at the uncharacteristic typo, and then you screenshot the thread to forward it to Cat.

"Oh hon he's one hundred percent typing with his dick in his hand."

"Shut up," you manage through a grin, "okay, bye bitch, I'm gonna go pay for the blue one."

"Over-eager-slut."

You roll your eyes, hanging up while you're smiling your way to check out.

Clark had been palming himself for the past five minutes. Or at least, he was, until it got way too painful to just rub at his hard-on. He fully had his cock in his palm now, pumping himself slow, with the picture of you on full screen, splayed on his device.

It wasn't a sexy picture — not really, you thought. But the half smile on your lips? The soft curves of your chest he'd been fantasizing seeing, in a lacy blue fabric?

You devastated him.

He tried to type something sweet back, something that wouldn't expose the fact that he was stroking his cock silly like some easily excitable hormonal teenager. He settles for something safe, because that's what you looked like to him always, lovely. Oh..so lovely.

Clark's thumbs rub at the leaking tip of the slit on his cock head. Eyes unfocused, he zooms in on your tits, noticing a glimpse of your areolas. "…!"

He could feel you on his tongue, rolling the shy nubs until they hardened. He wanted to suck around the fat and….And…it's too much. It was too much.

"Oh…mygosh —" He clicks the side button of the phone. Nothing but the black screen reflecting his still throbbing cock, now bubbling over with thick spurts of pent-up cum. It dribbles over his thumbs, landing onto the device. Clark's panting roughly, rubbing it clean clumsily with the waistband of his pants.

And because Clark Kent was the way he was? With restraint barely carved into his DNA? He does the only thing that's sensible. Especially after violating your likeness.

[7:10PM] Clark Kent: I'm sorry. Clark Kent: I can't make it to dinner tonight.

His pulse was hammering in his throat. Leaning back in his armchair to set his phone down. He couldn't face you like this, not when just the sight of you now was enough for him to want to pounce on you and fuck you senseless.

Clark's phone began to ring the tune of one of The Mighty Crabjoys songs. He froze at the incoming call that flashed a picture he took of you, smiling while holding one of your very first articles making headlines on the paper.

He hesitated for a second, but picks up after the second ring.

"Hello?" His voice was terse.

"Clark? Why'd you cancel? Did I do something wrong?" Clark's groaning internally at the worry in your voice. "I — It's not that, It's not you, I just —" His voice is faltering, hesitating.

Your brows knit into a furrow. Something was wrong. With the way he was stuttering at every word, "Clark." You repeat, softer. Heart racing with Cat's teasing words from earlier.

He grits his teeth, head rested on the edge of his chair, your voice settling in his ears like honey. His hand moves downward to idly rub at his still half-hard cock. "Y..Yeah?" He grunts softer and his tip twitches beneath his palm.

Your breath hitches, "…am I interrupting something?"

Clark goes radio silent for far too long and you hear it — his breathing, slow and strained. Inhaling, then exhaling like he was pained.

Finally, he speaks, low, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Ever since you sent me those pictures — I-I'm such a sleaze. It's not anything you did wrong, I swear."

Your lips part with a stuttered breath. Cheeks warming instantaneously at his admission. You're setting your keys down by the doors.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and he's calling your name, hesitant.

You swallow thickly, the words spilling out before you could consider them.

"You jerked off looking at me?"

There's a sharp inhale at the other end of the line, and then he cuts the call.

You stood there for a solid minute and a half. Staring at your phone.

He hung up.

He hung up in your face.

Offence prickled potent in your chest, but it doesn't last all that long. Your thighs squeeze tighter at the ringing revelation that he'd jerked off to you. Looking at pictures of you. It feels far too hot and heavy in your entryway suddenly.

Your screen lights up with another text.

[7:15PM] Clark Kent: I know an apology won't cut it. Clark Kent: I violated your trust. Clark Kent: I understand if you no longer wish to see me. [7:20PM] Clark Kent: I'm sorry.

You hadn't replied, of course you hadn't. Why would he have thought that pathetic apology would've cut it? Nearly thirty minutes had passed since then. Clark lay face down in his sheets, mumbling to himself, mostly things about how he'd let down his ma by treating a girl he really fancied like this.

Idiot. He was such an idiot. You probably thought he was disgusting, and probably regretted ever even giving him a chance.

Bzzztt.

Clark shot up right like the vibration from his phone had shocked him. He sat up on his thighs, palms flat down on his bed with his phone between.

A message notification, from you.

He's clicking on it with shaky hands. Ready to see you sending a text to end things with him officially.

But it wasn't.

[8:02PM] You: [1 Attached Video]

It was blurry at first, shaky. The frame tilted like you were fumbling trying to prop it against something. But the moment it eased? Clark was zeroing in on you. You, in that blue set, perched on your bed.

You were looking into the camera, biting down on your lips with a shy smile. Head tilted to look down as you smoothed the lace on your thighs. Then, you hook your fingers at the thin band of the thong to adjust it higher onto your hips.

Clark's hand snapped to his mouth. Muffling a curse he'd never say out loud. All blood rushing down south when you pick up the camera, angling it down to run your fingers over the thin lace covering your tits, shy areolas peeking through from the near translucent fabric.

He thought the picture alone was enough to wreck him. But this? This was you saying, it's okay, use me.

Your phone rings even before Clark can finish the video you'd sent him.

The first thing you hear isn't even a hello, it's the muffled click of his door, followed by a slow exhale.

"I don't deserve you."

Your lips twitch, fighting back a slow smile at the way his voice trembles. You drag your fingertips down your belly. Toying with the heart-shaped charm attached to the seams of your underwear.

"Did you like it?" You finally say, featherlight. Clark audibly groans at your voice. There's a pause, and then a laugh tumbles out, breathless at its edges. "I — I did. — Yeah. Gosh, I did. You're unreal. So…so insanely stunning."

He hears a rustle on your end. You shuffle up your bed, wetting your lips, "…are you hard?

Clark hums a stuttered mhm. You hear him adjust, and he's rubbing at himself again, sighing, "I feel like some teenager. It's so…embarrassing."

There's a slow boyishness to his tone, and you're giggling, tracing your fingers over your nipples. "I really…liked how you sounded earlier." You admit.

"Yeah?" He laughs, palming his bulge a little harder, "you liked hearing me sound all pathetic, stroking myself for you?

You let out a stuttered breath, fingers rubbing down and beneath the lace covering your pussy, the sound of his voice teetering you over the edge to slip your fingers into you. Clark's listening to the dull schlick's of you touching yourself. He shuts his eyes, timing his idle rubs to your soft moans.

"I wish…you were here."

There's a sudden silence after your honest whisper. "…Clark?" You frown, looking at the line that wasn't hung up yet.

And then, there's a pounding at your door, like whoever behind was about to rip it off its hinges.

You jolt. Fumbling to grab the silk robe abandoned over your chair. The knocking all but grew more impatient, knocks reminiscent of someone trying not to break the door down. You barely make a proper knot at your hips as you open the door — eyes widening.

Clark Kent stands there, hunched over in your hallway. Panting like he'd just run a goddamn marathon. His hair was messy, glasses sitting crooked on his nose. His white shirt clung to him, sweaty particularly at the chest, wearing what seemed to be printed plaid pyjamas.

"Clark," you breathe out, hands stunted at your door frame. "I was just on the…phone with you. How did you get here so qui —"

"I was already in the area." He blurts out all too quickly. Chest still heaving with effort.

You look at him suspiciously, obviously still in what seemed to be sleep clothes, and sounding far too much like he was lying. But then you see how he's boring holes into you, at your robe. Gaze turning feral by the second as if he could see what was underneath the maroon silk.

Before you're able to press a little further, Clark's figure hunkers in. Forcing you to stumble backwards as he shuts the door behind him with a resounding click.

It's quiet, other than the sounds of his still-heavy breathing.

"You said…you wished I was here." He says, voice cracked and barely restrained.

"…I did."

The air whizzes at the speed of him closing the distance before he's on you — mouth crashing into yours, desperate and messy. His glasses bump into your nose, but he readjusts quickly. Kissing you like a man starved, hands trembling as they cup your jaw. His thumb steadied, feeling the way your cheeks hollow to keep up with him. When your tongue grazes over his lips, he doesn't pull away this time.

Instead, he groans into your mouth. His tongue licking into yours, and then over the softness of your lips. Clark walks you backwards and then lifts you up, like your weight didn't even matter. You squeak into his mouth, arms clambering to hook over his broad shoulders. You knees lock around his hips and he's walking ahead, not knowing his destination while he kisses at your neck.

"Where's — where's your bedroom?" He mutters low, the need in his voice sinking deep into your skin.

Your nose bumps into his glasses, chasing his lips. "D-Down the hall. Second door."

His hair feels wild beneath your fingers. Within barely a second, the walls blur, and he slams your room door open. Your breath catches in your throat at what seemed to be a crackling noise when the door hits your closet. You aren't able to see how the wood splintered beneath, and the hinges now creaked raw.

Thankfully, you're far too hazy to question it.

Clark tumbles into your bed, kissing down your collarbone and down to your sternum. "Mmh—…" He sighs into your chest at the sweetness in your satisfied hums. Your robe snaps open, and you jolt. Staring down at your exposed body and up at Clark, who was pulling back, looking down at you with a slow shake of his head.

"The real…thing…far..far better." He mutters more so to himself. Clark pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid movement, letting you marvel at his body. He smiles shyly, lifting your hand up. Looking at you now, he finds enough control in him to savour the sight.

He kisses at your knuckles, soft pecks travelling up your palms as he twists your wrist slightly. Trailing kisses up to your elbows. "I've been wanting to do this with you…for far too long." He admits, breath ghosting your cheeks when he leans over.

You're squirming at the sensation, curling your head into your neck. "I-It didn't seem like it.."

Clark's shaking his head, burying his face into your pulse. Your fingers card through his curly locks. "That's not it. I've been going insane." You raise your brow at his exaggerated hand gesture, "I want to touch you, all the time, every time."

He pulls away, gazing at you. "But then you send me something like that…how could I not?"

Your eyes are wavering, looking at the scrunch of his features. You drag your fingers down his dimples, and he tilts his head to kiss at your fingers once more.

"Mmm. It wasn't meant for you." You say softly, with a teasing edge. Clark's expression twists, grabbing your wrists.

"Don't even joke about that. I'm barely holding back as is."

"I still don't get why you're trying to be gentle, Clark. I-I want you. Can't you see that?" You finally huff out, a slight resentment building in you at how long it took for you to get to this point.

"I don't want to hurt you." He finally admits after a beat.

"Hurt me how? I want this."

Clark exhales slow, and his hold on your wrists loosen, to guide you to rub at the length of his cock. Your breath stills, and you squeeze at the girth.

"Ngh—that's…that's why." He grits, seeing the way you were rendered silent just by feeling how big he was.

"O-Oh.." You murmur. Clark lets your wrists go, but you don't release him. Watching his lips press taut as you curiously venture, squeezing and rubbing at his more than impressive length in your softer hands. It wasn't a reaction he'd anticipated.

"You're okay? With this?" He manages through a strained pant. Hips bucking to your steady strokes of his clothed cock.

"Are you kidding? Why the hell would I not be? Myboyfriend is hung, I'd be an idiot to complain."

Clark groans and lets out an embarrassed laughter, covering your mouth with the expanse of his palm. "G-Geez... Don't…say stuff like that." He mutters, head falling flush onto the sheets. You smile into his hand, and your hand wanders beneath his waistband.

He lets you touch him, rubbing his thick, throbbing length. Clark groans the second your fingers roll beneath his balls, "…o-ohmy— g-gosh." His head goes dizzy, and he's blinking at you. "Where did you learn how to do that? Wait — no. Do not tell me." He warns, tugging his pants off quickly.

You grin, pecking at his jaw, ghosting a whisper, "college boyfriend."

Clark pulls back slowly, expression turning all serious. He didn't utter a single word.

Your bed frame groans when he flips you to your tummy all of a sudden. You gasp, perking up to look back at him, not seeing much but the intense look on his face. Clark's palm lay flat at your lower back, dragging his fingers over the pretty lace that curved around your hips and thighs.

You let out a shudder, trying to peek a glance at him. "Clark?" You try, growing worried that you might've upset him for real.

He doesn't answer you, and you soon understand why.

Your hips jump when he presses a kiss on the inside of your thighs. Then, he licks a stripe dangerously close to your puckered hole. "Mmn?!" You all but let out a stuttered gasp when he probes his tongue into your ass. Lips curved around it entirely, sucking and licking. The grunt that leaves you isn't something you recognise.

He holds you in place, tongue flicking over the ring. You don't fully process it, still breathing heavy at the aftermath of a pleasure you were not familiar with.

It's simple in Clark's mind though. He wanted to have the remainder of all your firsts.

He feels your hips tremble, and he soothes around the fat, head dipping lower to tug at your thong. You whimper at the string rubbing at your clit. He nudges his nose up your slick pussy, already wet from the stimulation so far. Your hips lift when he licks up your folds, his tongue poking into your pussy nice and slow.

"D-Didn't think….you had that in you."

Clark laughs, the vibrations sending an electric sensation of desire in you. "Yeah…" And he sucks at the softness, tongue grazing your clit. Your eyes roll back. You're close.

"Clark…" you whine, he hums in response, already aware —diving back in. "Give it to me." He mutters, continuing to tongue fuck your pussy with a blinding pleasure. Your hips are writhing, but he keeps up, knowing you were so goddamn close with just how your pussy was trying to clamp down on his tongue and nose.

He must've been there forever, but he doesn't rise up, not even once, not even to take a breath. It was insane. It's like he didn't even need to. That man was giving your vibrator a run for its money, and you were feeling the full force of his apparent expertise in pussy eating. Something you didn't even anticipate him to be this frighteningly good at.

It takes you a second to register the strange shift in sensation, more importantly, the temperature. His mouth felt so hot — and suddenly, there's an icy chill. Grazing your pussy in a way that has your cunt clench. A startled shiver takes you, and you look over your shoulder.

"W-What the hell was that?"

Clark flinches for a second. Lifting his head. "I — uh…" he begins, brushing his messy curls away from his face, "…I was chewing mints earlier. Do you feel uncomfortable?" he manages, voice strained.

You blink at him, not sure what to actually say. But it felt….good. "No…d..do it again."

His lips quirk into a smile, seeing the curiosity on your features. Clark leans back down.

"O-Oh my—..fucking…god, Clark!" You scream out, muffled into the sheets.

He takes his time, and like clockwork, you feel the familiar build. Your hips are nudging backwards, rubbing, grinding back into his face. And you cum. Hard.

Clark doesn't relent, licking you even as your thighs spasm through your release. He's suckling at your folds, kissing, flicking at your clit until you've pulled all stops, palm slapping onto the sheets.

He pulls away then. Licking his lips, watching you shake beneath him. Clark hooks his arm around your hips to turn you on your back. He leans down to kiss you, sucking your tongue with a gentle ease until you taste yourself. A heavy palm steadies on your head, soothing your hair down. "Easy, easy, baby. You're okay."

You're muttering incoherently into his neck, thighs shaking still from your come down. "I c-can't..s'too..much. It's—…can't.."

Clark rubs at your hips, humming. "Mmhm. I know. I know." He peppers kisses down your cheeks, picking you up in his arms, rubbing you nice and slow. For a second, you actually think he would give you a break. But instead, his own legs pushes yours impossibly apart. His cock rests idly on your pussy.

You blink at him confused, and Clark guides your hand to rest at your belly. "I promise you." He murmurs, interlocking his fingers where it lay on you.

"You won't ever need to think about your college boyfriend when you're with me."

The possessiveness in his tone catches you off guard. "H-Hrrk!" Clark notches his cock into you, and then pushes in, slow, inch by inch. You grab at his forearm that rests beside your face, the other, glued to your belly. He's watching you, watching as your expression turns to utter shock when his cock presses, pokes where he held your palm steady.

Clark looks at you, panting heavily. The suction of your cunt, squeezing at his cock with a pleasure unmatched. "You're so…incredible.." He mutters, burying himself into you to the hilt. You groan loudly, fingertips tracing over the bulge on your belly. Clark presses down on it further, and your eyes roll back.

He leans down, breathing against the column on your throat. His hips pick up the pace, starting off with slow, yet hard rocks into you. "Mm—..myg-gosh…so…tight." Your thighs squeeze around his hips, rocking to his movements. "N-No other…no other guy will ever…have you like this. You..hear me?"

You're nodding, through the tears prickling at the side of your cheeks. He was fucking you so full, so deep, you aren't sure if you'll ever be able to recover from this man. Your grip around his arm turns into a claw. You're about to cum again, you feel it.

But Clark tuts, his hand moving off your belly to hold your jaw in place. "Don't…cum." He mutters with a punishing edge, licking up your jaw slow. Your expression twists, and you clench instinctively around him.

"W…What?"

He groans when you somehow get even tighter around him, and he slumps over you. Grinding slow and deep into you. The wind is knocked out of you by the weight on your chest. But the sheer suffocation of his heavy body only served to drive you even more dumb.

You bite at his shoulder, arm slung loose around his back. "Claaark…" You whine his name out, muffled. Tasting the saltiness of your own tears at his relentless thrusts. He's nosing at your jaw, thumbs tracing over the lace on your neglected tits.

"Gosh..even wore this..all…for me.." His thumb rubs over the band, snapping it apart, earning a shocked gasp from you. You'd be angry at him for that later, but now? Now you were far too fucked out with how your pussy was throbbing, begging for release that he didn't allow you.

Clark leans down, massaging the softness he'd been fantasizing ever since you'd sent the pictures to him. His nose drags over the already hardened nubs, groaning into it, groping them with both his palms. His balls tighten when you mewl as he suckles around the fat.

He breathes your name out, reverent, panting until he tenses. Clark pulls out at the very last second. You blink hazily to see his thighs at the other side of your chest. He pumps himself once, then twice. Hot cum sputtering over your tits in jolts.

You're transfixed at the pearlescent white land on your chest. Wincing when some lands on your cheeks. Clark's eyes are fluttered shut, stroking and squeezing at the head, resting his cock on your sternum until the rest of his spend dribbles onto your collarbone.

He looks at you, with his head tilted. A lazy smile creeping on his lips when he spots you gathering some of his cum off your cheeks to lick your fingertips.

"We should've done this sooner."

[mcumorningstar]

[mcumorningstar]

Uh, me and Pa just wanted to call and say congratulations on that front page!

[mcumorningstar]

clark having a debate club winner trophy but crashing out two minutes into an interview with lois is so funny

[mcumorningstar]

— “ CHERRY GLOSS “

summary: clark’s a loser with fantastic arms. you take notice and take advantage.

contains: clark x reader, clark cumming in his pants prematurely, loser!clark, a very awkward clark kent, making out, heavy petting, reader is a bit of a mean girl

୨୧ Clark Kent had never been smooth with women… he’d never been the type to sweep someone off their feet with charm or confidence, but more so to push them away with his awkwardness. he was the kind of man that fumbled with door handles at the most important moments, the kind that stuttered when complimented, the kind that blushed so hard he looked like a stop sign.

and when it came to sex? well, Clark hadn’t gotten any in a lot longer than he’d like to admit. a year and then some, if he was being honest. and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to— it was that he was just too shy, too slow-moving, too convinced that any woman as beautiful as you would never, not in a million years, give a guy like him the time of day.

but somehow (and thank god for him) here he was. in your apartment.

he wasn’t really sure how it had even happened, it was all a beautiful, very lucky blur. one minute he had been talking to you about something you had been drafting for the daily post, and the next, you had been closing the laptop and looking right at him with that lazy, cat like smile that always made his chest tight. “you’re so cute when you’re nervous Clark,” she’d said.

now they were kissing. actually kissing. your lips were soft and sticky with gloss that faintly tasted like cherries. Clark tried to kiss back like a man that knew what he was doing, but he was so wound up and dizzy from your scent and your taste and the sweet warmth of your body that he barely even remembered to breathe. his heart hammered in his chest when you made an amused little noise into his mouth and pressed closer into him, your tits brushing against his chest. his hands hovered awkwardly, like he was afraid to put them somewhere inappropriate.

you noticed, obviously. “you can touch me baby.” you murmured, tone low and deliberately patronizing, pulling back just enough to give him a mocking little pout, eyes glittering. “or are you too scared?”

“i’m not— i mean—” his voice cracked like a teenagers and he cringed inwardly at himself. he cleared his throat and tried to steady himself, placing his big hands gingerly at your waist. he could feel the heat of your skin through your thin top, and it sent a jolt straight to his cock.

“oh my god,” you laughed, “you’re literally shaking, Clark.” and he was, mortifyingly so, and when you shifted, letting your hand slide down his broad, muscled chest to the front of his slacks, his breath caught hard enough to hurt. your palm pressed lightly against him, against the already aching bulge he’d been trying to ignore since the moment they sat down. “you’re hard already?” you grinned in faux sympathy, fake pity for being so easy, “baby, we’ve barely even started.”

Clark tried to laugh it off, but it came out in a strangled sorry.

your fingers curled, rubbing over the shape of him through the fabric. the sensation was enough to make his knees go weak. thank god he was already sitting down. she was touching him. actually touching him after months of pathetically imagining it, of nearly cumming just from thinking about it in the shower… or while trying to go to sleep, or on the drive to work, or wherever else he could.

and he was already so close it was embarrassing.

“god, you’re so big,” you said in that teasing tone, like you were making fun of it rather than complimenting, “big and… you’re, oh, wow—are you literally throbbing for me Clark?”

he made a low, helpless sound that was closer to a whimper than any man would ever care to admit. you giggled and your fingers squeezed, stroking slowly along the thick length, and that was it. the tight coil that had been building up all too quickly in his gut snapped before he could even try to stop it. it hit him white-hot and fast, his hips jerking against your hand as his cock pulsed hard, flooding his boxers with thick spurts of cum. he tried to pull back, mortified, but you caught the neck of his shirt and kept him right there, glossed lips right there.

“awww, baby,” you cooed, lips pushed out in another mocking pout, “did you just cum in your pants?” the pout turned into a grin, mean and amused. you let your fingers run over the wet spot, rubbing just enough to make him groan in humiliation and a little bit of pleasure. “poor thing… couldn’t even last through a little kissing?”

he swallowed hard, the gulp going down his throat like sandpaper, glasses slipping down his nose, hair a slightly sweaty mess. he opened his mouth to say something in protest but all that came out was a crack. you leaned back to look at him, head tilted and smile sharp, “that’s okay, i guess i’m just too much for you,” you laughed, hand giving him one last playful squeeze before you let go, palm dragging down his thigh like you were savouring the power you had over him.

Clark wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. his cock was still sensitive, already half-hard again and wet in against the cling of his boxers, and you were looking at him like you’d just won some private game.

“maybe next time,” you said, voice oozing in a teasing sort of kindness, “you’ll make it to second base before you blow your load in your pants.”

he wanted to be humiliated, but god help him, the thought of a next time made his cock twitch.

[mcumorningstar]

We (yes WE) need more fics abt Clark’s dick I need to suck him off or die trying

─ ✮⋆˙ YOUR LIPSTICK STAIN || C.K

|| dc masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

─ ✮⋆˙ WC: 4.1k

─ ✮⋆˙ CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI, FEM!READER, established relationship, drinking, swearing, pov switch almost halfway through cause i said so, clark kent wearing business casual to the club, semi-public sex, oral sex (male!receiving), wow nat writing a blowjob? the world must be ending, dirty talk, sub-leaning clark, light face fucking, size kink, superman’s super huge dick, hair pulling, the men whimpering agenda, hyperspermia ofc, come swapping & eating, straight nasty porn w/o plot i just really want to suck his dick so badly, no use of y/n.

─ ✮⋆˙ NAT’S NOTE: who am i to deny this sweet anon asking me to wax poetic about clark kent's huge monster cock? thank you for sending this in it made me laugh out loud. this is all filth and depravity, i fully blame my period. it’s really taking a big toll on me. hope y’all love it, mwah!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

clark takes you to a club, you take him to the bathroom...

The bass rattles the floor of the club.

The kind that crawls up through your heels and lodges itself in the empty space behind your ribs, syncing your heartbeat to the rhythm.

Metropolis at night is loud and gaudy, an endless rush of neon and smoke and crowded sidewalks.

The club is no different—light slicing in different pinks and purples, fog machines hissing, bodies colliding like waves on the dance floor. The air taste like liquor and perfume and every inch of the building is saturated with a syrupy heat.

Lois is the one who suggested it, leaning over your desk after you shot her down for the third time and carefully reminding you that ladies drink for free at Supernova on Thursdays.

That was all the convincing you needed to put the positively dull city council piece Perry had you dredging up on the back burner.

Cat and Jimmy jumped on the chance to get a little too wasted on a work day. And you couldn't even remember the last time you really let loose and had a little fun, not until Lois dragged you into the back of a cab after work and told you to stop being a coward.

And Clark?

Well, Clark came because you asked him to.

That's how it always is—one tug at his sleeve, one sweet smile, and he follows.

Now, you're well into your third drink and laughing as Lois' hands grip your wrists and pull you deeper into the current of swaying bodies.

Clark is at the bar.

He sticks out just like he always does in places like this—too tall, too broad, dressed in clothes that don't belong under strobe lights. He's the only one not drinking, the beer he ordered almost twenty minutes ago is steadily sweating in one big hand and still completely full.

You already tried to get him on the dance floor, tugging on his hand until he relented with that shy smile that curved at the corner of his mouth.

The thing about Clark, is that he never lets go of himself easily. Even with the music pulling at you both, even with your body pressed up against his, he held back—polite distance, careful hands.

A complete gentleman through and through. It was sweet, almost unbearably so, but not what your bloodstream is buzzing for tonight.

So you left him at the edge of the crowd with Jimmy, and found Lois. Lois, who doesn't do anything halfway. Lois, who knows just how to take your hand and whirl the two of you into something shameless. Her sharp laughter cuts through the pulse of music as she tugs you closer.

It's harmless, just a little dirty dancing among friends. But Lois moves like she writes—sharp, fearless, a little reckless.

It doesn't stay harmless for long.

Her hands are at your waist, her lips grazing the shell of your ear as she leans in to shout something you quite can't hear over the music. You feel yourself flush, lips stretched into a wide grin as you arch into her just to keep up with the rhythm. The crowd closes in around you on all sides, neon strobes across her face and she looks like sin wrapped in silk.

You’re too caught up in it—Lois’ hair brushing your sweaty cheek as the beat thrums beneath your skin. Your hips roll back against hers in time with the pounding drop of the bass, laughter catching on your tongue, your hands reaching back to slide down the curve of her sides.

The two of you move like you’ve done this a hundred times before—like you know how to tempt an audience, even if the audience is one polite farm boy from Kansas trying his damnedest not to stare too hard.

Trying and failing spectacularly.

You glance over your shoulder once, just to check if your theory is right, if he's watching.

He is. God, he is.

Those bright blue eyes keep darting back to you like moths to a flame. His jaw ticks each time you sway your hips, and his ears are going pink at the very tips—a telltale sign even in the flickering dark.

You know that look. You've seen in before, countless times. When you lean in too close over his shoulder to steal a pencil off his desk and your shirt dips just low enough to show off the lacy edge of your bra in a way makes him forget how to type for good thirty seconds.

This is different. This look is something more than hungry.

He knows you're doing this on purpose. That only makes it all the more fun.

Lois notices too, of course she does. The corner of her mouth curls into a wicked grin as her thumbs slide beneath the waistline of your skirt, her lips brushing against your ear. "He's watching."

You only hum, letting her drag your ass back against her thigh in a way that makes Clark's knuckles whiten on the glass.

It's almost impressive, how long he lasts. How long he tries to be good. Polite. Midwestern. Sitting there pretending the sight of you grinding with Lois isn't clawing something raw out of him.

You can't stop the smug smile that stretches across your face, tipping your head back to rest on Lois' shoulder and rolling your hips in dirty sways as you watch him through half lidded eyes.

Until finally—he isn't sitting anymore.

Clark is up and moving through the crowd with his eyes trained on you and only you.

He doesn't storm over. That isn't him.

He takes his time, like he's debating it the whole way, like he might lose his nerve before he gets to you. But when he does—when that broad chest is right there, blocking out the flashing lights, his hand warm as he gently tugs you out of Lois' grasp—it feels less like an interruption and more like inevitability.

"Mind if I cut in?" Clark's voice is low, pitched down to the bass. A little strained, but still impossibly careful.

"Be my guest." Lois smiles sharply, stepping back with one last pointed look your way before she melts into the crowd.

You're left pressed to Clark' chest, grinning up at him like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. "Come to sweep me off my feet, Kansas?"

He scoffs gently, the barest hint of one. His hands settle hesitantly on your waist, so high up that you have to fight the urge to laugh. "I think Lois took care of that three songs go."

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, throwing your arms around his shoulders loosely. "Then I guess you have some competition to beat out."

At first, Clark doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s shy, hesitant, hands still firmly glued to your hips. His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then away, then down again. His body is far too stiff, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, towering over you in that way he never seems to know how to handle.

You have to make the first move.

Sliding closer, you catch his gaze and smile up at him like it's a dare.

It works.

Little by little, the hesitation slips away. Your hips brush, your chest grazes his, and something cracks open. His grip tightens, sliding lower down your waist as he pulls you into him, your body moving against his as the beat crashes over you.

Clark is warm everywhere, too much heat radiating from him, his breath uneven on your hairline when you press against him harder. When your hands drift lazily down his chest, teasing the buttons of his shirt.

The lights pulse, throwing shadows across his unfairly handsome face. Red. Blue. Yellow.

You know exactly what you’re doing when you grind your hips against him harder, feeling his shoulders stiffen, hearing the little breath he lets out like he can’t stop it.

His head dips, mouth grazing your temple as if he means to say something—maybe a warning, maybe a plea—but the words don’t come. Just that shaky little exhale, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s hanging on by a thread.

Warmth pools deep in your belly, slipping down between your legs to wet the thin lace of your panties. Your greedy hands drag slow up the hard plane of muscle hidden under his jacket until you can bury them in those thick curls.

You tug his head closer, making him bend down enough so you can speak directly into his ear. Your glossy lips brush along the shell of his ear, you can feel the shudder that runs through him at the feeling. "Are you hard?"

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Clark can hear it clear as day. The breathy tone dipping low as heat shoots up your spine with every word.

Clark's hands twitch, his breath catching and stuttering as he screws his eyes shut for a few beats. When he opens them, you gaze up and nearly gasp. The blue is completely gone, swallowed by an inky black like oil slicking the surface of an ocean.

"Yes."

And that's when you decide you've had enough of the dance floor.

You catch his hand, thread your fingers through his, and tug him through the crowd. He follows without a single protest, towering behind you, murmured apologies falling from his lips each time you bump into someone with your impatient haste to get him alone as soon as possible.

It's funny, the way he's so polite even when he's so obviously hard, even when you can feel the tension radiating from every inch of his body.

The bathroom is mercifully empty when you shove the door open, dragging Clark inside and into the only stall before locking it behind you. The bass outside is muffled now, but still there, vibrating heavily through the walls.

"Wait—" Clark's voice chokes out your name as you crowd him, lips mouthing wetly against his neck. His hands fumble like he’s not sure whether to stop you or hold you tighter. “We—we shouldn’t—”

The protest dies in his throat when you sink to your knees.

It's a downright obscene sight.

Clark, shoved into the grimy single stall that's covered in crude graffiti and scrawled messages telling you who to call for a good time, all while being wrapped up in that stuffy polyester suit jacket and neatly pressed khaki slacks. He's still in his goddamn tie and dress shoes for Christ's sake.

His glasses are fogged up, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. His broad shoulders press tightly against either side of the stall, making him look even bigger than usual.

Your pussy clenches weakly around nothing, arousal swirling deep in your core. You can't wait anymore.

Your fingers are fumbling at his belt before he can work up the nerve to try and stop you. His big hands twitch at his sides, half reaching for you, half pulling back like he can’t quite decide which urge to follow.

The belt gives, the button pops, the zipper peels down inch by inch. His cock is already pressing obscenely against the thin cotton of his boxers, straining with an urgency that makes your mouth water.

There's a wet spot seeping the fabric, you want to tip forward and mouth at it until the next stain drenching the fabric is his own release.

But there's something you want even more, so you waste no time yanking his waistband down.

Clark's cock springs free from the ruined cotton of his boxers and slaps against his stomach with a filthy wet sound, flushed a rosy red at the tip and leaking. Precome shines under the shitty fluorescent lighting, dripping down the thick vein along the side.

You moan before you can stop yourself, lips going slack.

He tries to angle his hips away, tries to bite down on a sound that would betray just how badly he’s throbbing, but your fingers tease along him and he keens, the noise cracking right out of him, high and helpless.

You tsk disapprovingly, wrapping your hand around the base to feel the velvety skin. He's scorching to the touch, fever hot. "Don't get shy on me now, baby." Your voice is sugary sweet, commanding, your fist sliding up in a tight grip. "You're gonna let me play with this big cock, aren't you?"

You tilt your head, breath ghosting over his cock, just to watch him twitch and crumble. Clark's throat bobs hard as he swallows, glasses sliding down his nose.

“Please,” he breathes, so soft you almost miss it over the muffled bass thumping through the walls.

That's another thing about him, he'll always say please. Even when he's on the verge of rutting into your mouth, he'll always ask nicely like the good boy he is.

That's all the permission you need.

Clark has never been in such a compromising position.

He doesn’t belong here—he knows it in every cell of his body. Not in this stall, not in this club, not with you kneeling in front of him like this, your eyes shining with liquor and mischief, petting at his cock like you’re born for this, molding him into a shape he doesn’t know how to refuse.

He should stop you. God help him, he should.

But when your eyes flicker up at him, soft and sly under your lashes, Clark’s knees nearly buckle. He swears he can feel the earth tilt on its axis, and his resolve crumble like a house of cards.

“Please,” he breathes before he can stop himself.

Your smile is pure evil, like you know you've won. Like you know Clark could never tell you no.

Clark knows that better than anyone. He knew he was done for the second he stepped inside the club.

Your thumb swipes along the head of his cock and his hands shoot out, gripping the flimsy partition like it might hold him upright. "Jesus."

Clark can't look at you, not if he doesn't want to come before you even get your mouth on him. He stares at the scratched up door above your head, cheeks burning, ears so hot they ache. His cock pulses in your hand, more precome blurting out to drip down the side.

Clark—well, Clark is Superman. He knows what he looks like—he's seen himself enough in the mirror to no that no one should take him, not comfortably.

It was something that always embarrassed him when he was younger, changing in locker rooms, keeping his towel clutched too tight around his hips. He learned to never let anyone see too much, to turn his body into a secret.

Even now, it feels indecent, wrong, this obscene weight in your hand.

And yet—you hold him like he’s not a problem, not a burden, not too much. You hold him like you want him heavy and hot and pulsing against your palm. Like you know exactly what to do with a man like him.

You suck in a sharp breath, and his stomach lurches.

“God,” Clark chokes out, hips jerking when your lips part. You breathe over the head of his cock, wet and hot, and he shudders so hard his knees tremble.

He can’t think. He can’t breathe. His cock throbs, fat beads of precome gathering at the swollen head before they spill down over your fingers. You smear it along his shaft like lube, and the sight of it makes his grip tightening, plastic bowing and creaking under his touch.

“You’re so big, baby.” Your voice is teasing, meant to make him squirm. "So fucking big, you're gonna make my jaw ache."

A whimper claws out of his throat—high, needy, humiliating—and he squeezes his eyes shut. “D-don’t-don’t talk like that-"

And then your mouth is on him.

The heat is searing, your tongue flat as you lick a long stripe from the base to the tip, your lips wrapping around the swollen head and sucking it into your mouth. His eyes snap down to you in time to see your lips wrap greedily around the flushed skin, the curve of your cheek hollowing as you suck.

Clark chokes on his words, his whole body jolts as his hands dig into the partition so he can't sink them into your hair. His head tips back against the wall with a dull thud, a strangled groan ripped from his throat.

Your mouth is obscene around him, wet sounds filling the tiny stall, spit glistening at the corners of your lips. You glance up through your lashes, and the sight is devastating—eyes dark with triumph, mouth stretched wide, throat working as you sink lower, lower, until his tip nudges the soft spot at the back of your throat.

He tries to pull his hips back, too afraid of hurting you, too embarrassed by the pathetic sounds falling from his mouth. But you chase him, swallow around him, drag your nails down the meat of his thighs in warning until his knees almost give.

“You’re—gosh—you’re gonna choke—” Clark's words break apart when you moan around him, the vibration shooting lightning straight to his gut. His cock throbs violently against your tongue, spurting another slick drop of precome down your throat.

You pull back just enough to whisper, lips swollen, spit shining. “I want to.”

Clark sobs, his hands moving before he can stop them. One sinks into your hair, guiding you back down despite himself, despite everything in him that says he should be gentle. The other cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek to feel the obscene bulge of his cock filling your mouth.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, so quietly—more to himself than you. "So pretty like this."

You moan in encouragement, clearly pleased with yourself. Your hands grip either side of his hips, nails digging into the muscle there as you swallow around him. You push and pull, guiding him in and out of your mouth in an obvious invitation.

Clark knows what you want. And he can't give it to you, he can't.

He's already pushing it by even letting himself touch you when he's like this. He can't edge over the line anymore, not when he could hurt you so easily.

Clark squeezes his eyes shut. The stall feels smaller by the second, collapsing in around him. His lungs burn like he’s drowning. He doesn’t know if it’s the heat of your mouth, or the shame of how easily you’ve undone him, or the ache in his cock that threatens to spill right into your throat if you so much as look at him again.

Then you moan, louder this time. Too loud for where you are. A wet, lewd sound vibrating along his shaft, and the edges of his control snap like brittle glass.

His hips rock forward. Just a little, just enough that the head of his cock presses deeper into your throat. His breath catches, a guttural noise ripped right out of his chest as your fingers claw into his skin to hold him there.

“Oh God—oh fuck” His voice cracks, desperate. “I-I can’t—”

Your hands slide to his ass, nails biting as you pull him closer, greedier. He feels you gag around him, feels your throat flutter that much tighter. The sight of you glaring up at him with your mouth full makes his stomach clench, heat shooting down his spine like a live wire. His fragile resolve flies out the window.

He braces his shoulders against the stall, both hands buried in your hair as hips starts fucking aborted little thrusts into the soft heat of your mouth. His voice climbs embarrassingly high when he gasps out, “You’re—oh gosh, you’re gonna kill me—”

You won’t let up. Your spit slicks his cock enough to leave it shining, messy strings dripping down your chin, catching in the hollow of your throat as you bob your head faster. You take him deeper, letting the thick weight of him push against the back of your throat until your eyes water.

Clark whimpers. Whimpers. The sound cracks thin and desperate, breaking apart as he fists your hair harder than he means to, knuckles white. He’s flushed scarlet from throat to hairline, trembling as though he’s the one on his knees.

The pressure in his gut coils tight, unbearable. His balls draw up heavy, aching.

His hips speed up on their own, and the stall rattling around him is starting to grow louder and louder as he chases his release. “I can’t—I’m gonna—” His voice breaks, a whine that sounds nothing like Superman, nothing like the who the world thinks he is.

Now, in this moment, he’s a man unraveling in a bathroom stall with your lips wrapped tight around him.

When you hum around his cock, when you swallow like you’re already inviting his come, Clark shatters.

He spills with a cry, hot and endless, thick ropes of spend flooding your mouth. Biology he can’t control—he tries to stammer an apology, tries to pull back, but you grip him tighter and take it all. His head tips back against the stall again, groaning like he’s being wrecked from the inside out, your throat working frantically to gulp him down.

There’s so much. More than anyone should ever have to take. It dribbles from the corners of your lips, sliding down your chest. Your hand pumps the base greedily until he whines, begging, “Please, baby, please—’s too much—”

You do the cruelest thing of all. You pull back just enough to let his cock fall from your lips and show him your mouth, swollen and wet and full of him, before you swallow it all down in one obscene gulp.

Clark groans—a low, animal sound that claws itself from deep in his chest.

You place one last kiss to the drooling tip, just to hear him gasp, and weakly try to stand on shaky legs.

Clark meets you halfway, his hands impatient as they practically haul you off the ground and drag you to his mouth.

The kiss is filthy. Wet and messy. You moan into his mouth and press your body into his as hard as you can, he can taste himself on your tongue. He can feel the spit and come coating your chin smearing onto his when you tilt your head enough to lick impossibly deeper into his mouth.

You pull back to breathe, humming contently at the milky string of saliva connecting your lips to his. It dips and dips until the weight of gravity has it breaking in two.

You swipe your tongue along your bottom lip, savoring it. "You taste good, don't you?"

Clark groans like he's been shot with a kryptonite bullet, his cheeks flaming as he buries his face in your neck like that will be enough to hide from his own shame. His cock twitches weakly, still a hard plane of heat pressing itself into your stomach.

You laugh, a wicked sound. "Don't worry," you whisper, running your hands through his hair gently. "I won't make you say it."

Clark can’t respond. The stall smells like sex and liquor, like him, like you, and all he can do is cling to you like you’ve knocked his soul from his body.

Your hands are still buried in his curls, soothing him, stroking through the mess you made of him like you’re proud of it. He’s trembling under your touch. His whole body is tight with the aftershocks, thighs trembling, chest heaving against yours.

“Hey,” you murmur, soft, like you’re comforting him—like he isn’t the most powerful man alive, reduced to a shaking mess in a bathroom stall because you decided you wanted his cock down your throat. “Breathe, baby. You did so good for me.”

The praise cuts right through him, sharper than anything else. His cock twitches against your stomach, still hard, still heavy, still leaking. His face burns.

He doesn’t understand how he’s still so hard when you’ve wrung him out until his legs can barely hold him up—but then your lips curl against his ear, your nails scrape lightly at the nape of his neck, and he does understand.

It's you.

Clark pulls back enough to catch your glassy gaze, his hand sliding up from your neck to cradle your cheek, thumb trembling when he runs it along your spit slick bottom lip.

And when you nuzzle into his palm, eyes glittering up at him, Clark thinks he might just let you ruin him forever.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: can you tell that i couldn't help but make reader a little (a lot) gay for lois? i love projecting.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

[mcumorningstar]

Can you do smut with clark Kent, he is so big so he goes to deep and has to take you to the er, even though he hurt you he is very proud of him and his dick

Three inches from heaven

Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938

A/n: as you can tell i'm really enjoying posting weekly extras

Summary: Every inch counts...especially when he knows how to use them.

Classification: Smut +18 | safe vaginal sex, praise, use of X-ray vision in a sexual context, depictions of bruising and visit to a hospital/ER, including unprofessional or comedic remarks from medical staff. Clark is extremely caring but also hilariously anxious, tending toward over-the-top worry and protective behavior but yk...it's Clark.

Word count: 3,7k

Divider by me ;)

“Kinky” wasn’t the word you’d use, it was more “adventurous” than anything else. You’d never had a partner you could trust this much before, so when you and Clark became official, naturally, you wrote a list of everything you wanted to try sexually. It was a long one, scribbled out with the kind of excitement you’d been too shy to ever act on before and Clark had been just as eager, if not more, to work through it with you. 

He treated it like a mission dossier, equal parts thoroughness and enthusiasm, even adding his own notes in the margins sometimes. You were getting close to “Sitting on Clark’s face” which he underlined and punctuated with five exclamation points, as if to make absolutely sure it wasn’t skipped, but tonight’s experiment was prone bone.

The night began like any other with a modest dinner, small talk, him cleaning up while you lingered on the couch, a soft kiss here and a brush of fingers there. You never planned when to cross something off the list, it always came after you were already warm, flushed and at least halfway undone from the way he worshiped you and tonight was no different. 

Two orgasms in, when your muscles were loose and your mind was humming, you finally asked for it.

Face down on the couch, you gazed out at the glittering skyline of Metropolis through the wide windows of Clark’s apartment. Your chest rose and fell in steady anticipation, your body already tingling. Behind you, Clark shifted into position, his knees bracketing your thighs as he bent over you while his lips brushed soft, reverent kisses along the damp trail of your spine.

“Are you sure?” he asked for the second time, voice low while his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.

You hummed your answer but he wasn’t satisfied with just that.

“You can stop me at any time. Don’t wait until it hurts. Even if it’s just uncomfortable, you stop me. You hear?” His tone was firm but gentle, a voice that left no room for doubt.

“Loud and clear,” you whispered, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He tilted your chin up and kissed you languidly, sealing the promise between you.

When he pulled away, he slid a pillow under your hips, lifting you just enough and adjusting you until you were perfectly angled. The cool air brushed your heated skin and then came the warmth of him. Clark’s tip nudged at your entrance, before he pressed forward with care, the stretch was immediate and the invasion enough to pull a groan from your throat and press your forehead hard into the cushion beneath you.

He stilled instantly. “Baby, you okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice tight, before lifting your head to make sure he knew. “I’m okay.”

And you were. The position was intense, restrictive and it made him feel impossibly big inside you. He knew it too, you could hear it in the rough sound of his groan as he pushed deeper, every inch claiming you in slow increments. The way your body clenched down on him, walls fluttering tight around his length, had both of you struggling to catch your breath.

He inched forward until he was nearly bottomed out…nearly. You didn’t have to say a word before he was already checking with that telltale pause as he used his x-ray vision to confirm your body’s limits. His tip brushed your pelvis and he still had a few inches left, but he wasn’t about to risk hurting you.

“We’re gonna go nice and slow,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your hip, reassuring you. His voice was steady but there was an edge of strain beneath it, like it was taking everything in him to hold in his release.

All you could do was nod, gripping the couch cushion as he began to move with careful precision, every thrust calculated and every pause a silent check-in. The city lights spilled across the room as his warmth enveloped you from behind, you felt at once completely overwhelmed and utterly safe.

Clark’s chest pressed fully to your back now, the heavy weight of him both pinning you and shielding you. Each deliberate thrust came in that slow, scooping motion and you felt it all, in the best way possible. The way he carved himself against your velvety walls, the way his hips rocked to angle deeper and the way his cock seemed to drag and nudge at every tender ridge inside you until your entire body shuddered.

“Uhhh–fuck, you’re…so deep,” you moaned, voice breaking on the words. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You’d thought maybe after two orgasms your body would be less sensitive, that you’d float in the afterglow but the opposite was true. Every nerve was heightened, raw and open and all you could do was cling to the moment. Your focus narrowed until all that existed was him, the ridges, the veins and the delicious weight of his cock stretching you. Your nails dug deep grooves into the leather cushions, desperate for anchor, while your blurred gaze caught only fractured streaks of city lights beyond the window. Your mouth hung open, letting small hiccups of sound escape each time he rocked into you while the pleasure bubbled uncontrollably.

His lips brushed the damp curve of your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your skin. He murmured into you like he was kissing a secret there. “You’re taking me so good, baby. So darn good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping forward and you whispered with ragged need, “F–faster.”

He stilled just enough to ask, his voice still low and careful, “Are you sure?” Even now, even with the control it must’ve taken for him not to simply give in, he waited. He needed your confirmation.

You nodded quickly, desperately so. “Yes, Clark. Please...I- I need more.”

The change was immediate. He wasn’t ruthless, he never would be but the shift was enough that your body reeled. His pace picked up, hips rolling with heavier intent and faster, until your moans tumbled free with no control at all. Your back arched further, chest pressing harder into the couch while the tension in your body snapped tighter with every thrust.

“Mmmm–you’re so big…filling me up so good.” you cried, the words ripping free, unfiltered. You didn’t care how shameless it sounded, didn’t care if it made his ego swell, the only truth in that moment was the stretch, the fullness and the overwhelming pulse of him inside you.

He groaned against your skin, his voice dark and low as his arms locked tighter around your middle. “You’re taking it like a champ, baby.”

“Mmmmyeah?” you gasped, the syllable fractured by a sharp intake of breath.

“Mhm,” he hummed, warm and rumbling against the shell of your ear, his thrusts never faltering. His breath was hot, heavy, every exhale ragged. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit you almost as hard as the pleasure itself, leaving you trembling in his arms as the rhythm of his hips drove you closer to that unbearable edge.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long before your bodies found a rhythm that bordered on devastating. It was steady, hypnotic and deep enough to leave you dizzy. Clark’s pace never faltered, never reckless, yet it carried a precision that left no part of you untouched. The air in the apartment grew heavy and humid with the sharp mix of your moans and his groans, the slap of skin against skin filling the darkened room until it sounded like the walls themselves were trembling with you.

Then his hand slid up, warm and broad, wrapping around your throat with a pressure just firm enough to make your head spin. He squeezed lightly, careful yet commanding and your eyes immediately rolled back. 

“Fuck…I’m…Uhhh–I’m coming. Yes–” You choked.

The sensation tipped you over the edge with startling force, your orgasm tearing through you in a whimpering, broken sound that was equal parts whine and cry. It might have embarrassed you if it had come from anyone else’s touch but with him, there was only trust and relief. Only the gentleness threaded through every inch of his strength.

The pulsing of your release gripped him tight, milking him until he groaned loudly, burying himself deep as he spilled into the condom. The sound he made, low, guttural and raw, vibrated against your spine as his forehead dropped to the top of your back. Both of you were shuddering, caught in the tail end of the storm, your breaths ragged and uneven as the room gradually quieted again.

You stayed there like that for a while, two minutes, maybe more, bodies heavy and languid in the aftermath. When he finally pulled out, the absence was met instantly with the comfort of his arms wrapping you close.

As it always did with Clark, the intensity of sex melted seamlessly into tenderness. Aftercare came like instinct, his lips covered you in soft kisses while his voice murmured reassurances, his laugh breaking into warm little chuckles when you did too. There was something almost comical in the way he padded across the room, completely naked, just to grab the list and dramatically cross off “prone bone” with a grin.

You both ended the night in the shower, washing each other with lazy strokes and shared smiles, before collapsing into bed tangled together. His arms caged you gently, his warmth draped around you like a blanket and the last thing you heard before sleep was his quiet, content hum against your hair.

You slept peacefully for about three hours before the unease started creeping in. First a little shift here, a toss there and then the ache bloomed sharp enough in your lower stomach that you curled around it, clutching the spot. The mistake was letting a tiny wince slip out. It was soft, barely audible but of course, nothing ever got past Clark. He sat up so fast it nearly startled you more than the pain.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent and already thick with worry.

You tried to brush it off, rolling onto your back with a weak laugh. “You and your superhearing. I’m fine, Clark. Go back to sleep.”

But “fine” had never once been good enough for him and you should’ve known better. He flicked on the light from his bedside table, casting a warm glow across the room, then promptly pushed the blanket off you.

“Excuse you!?” you protested as he straddled your hips and tugged up the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him. “What do you think you’re doing? Hey, pervert–”

He didn’t even look at your face, his mouth twitching in something dangerously close to a grin. “Funny, you didn’t call me a pervert earlier when I was inside you.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “Well, that’s–”

But your retort cut off when he began pressing gently on your lower stomach, carefully as well as methodically, watching your expression like it was the most important readout in the world. The second you winced, he reacted like you’d been scorched. He practically leapt off of you, hands fumbling for some sweatpants as though fabric could shield you from whatever he’d just confirmed.

“Clark–”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he rushed out, voice strained as he guided your legs into the pants and tugged them up with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re bruising. I can’t see clearly how bad, so…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before helping you sit up, his hand splayed against your back.

The soft sound you made as the motion tugged at your stomach almost broke him completely. His jaw tightened and you realized his eyes were frantic. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said firmly. “We’re making sure it’s not too bad. No arguments.”

His statement was only half a lie. Clark could see perfectly well but his mind had already jumped ten steps ahead, imagining every possible worst-case scenario.

You blinked at him, both touched and exasperated. Superman, absolutely unshakable in every other way and here he was, pale and rattled over the thought of accidentally hurting you.

“Okay then, but Clark I can dress myself,” you said as he tied the drawstring of your sweatpants, trying to act casual even though the subtle brush of his fingers against your skin sent heat racing through you.

He nodded rapidly, eyes soft but frantic. “I know, baby,” he murmured, cupping your face and pressing a string of gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve been more careful. I just—Well, it’s you and I–” His hands lingered as he slipped off your sleep shirt.

“You didn’t. I mean, not really… hard to tell when I was cramping around your dick,” you said, letting your voice take on that teasing edge, “but you know… details.”

He froze for a second, brow furrowing. “Are you… smiling? Why are you smiling?”

“Sadistic, right? Thought so,” you said with a small grin, the corners of your mouth tugging up as you watched him fumble with a clean shirt for you. “I’m trying to keep it in, but… you look really hot when you’re worried.”

Clark’s lips twitched into a nervous chuckle as he pulled the fresh shirt over your head. “Arms…I’m glad you find my worrying hot,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and self-conscious pride, before moving on to dressing himself. “But this really isn’t the right time.”

By the time you both got into the car and drove to the ER, your stomach still ached with cramps, but for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t stop giggling. Half from discomfort and half from the absurdity of it all. His anxious nature made it almost impossible to keep a straight face. 

Clark hovered over you in the waiting room like a hawk, pacing slightly and muttering under his breath about how no one seemed to understand the urgency of your “condition.” He leaned over the receptionist counter, using his most serious, authoritative voice.

“My girlfriend was… uh… injured,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s a… pelvis situation, very sensitive. We need a doctor, immediately.”

The receptionist blinked at him, confused. “Uh… okay… do you have an insurance card?”

Clark flinched, muttering something about bureaucracy slowing down life-or-death situations, then spotted a nurse strolling by, who he waved over frantically.

“Excuse me. Nurse!” he called, his voice full of desperate urgency. “She’s… giggling but bruised. Lower abdominal area. Pretty sure she needs professional evaluation. Stat.”

The nurse stopped and raised an eyebrow, taking one look at Clark’s intense, almost panicked expression and then at you curled slightly on the chair, clutching your stomach with a mix of pain and giggles.

She tilted her head, lips twitching. “Uh-huh… yeah, that tracks,” she said dryly, her eyes flicking back to Clark like, no wonder. “Room 3. You can wait there.”

Clark practically scooped you into his arms and carried you to the room, muttering apologies for the dramatic scene while simultaneously shushing your giggles. You could barely stop yourself from laughing at the sight of him tiptoeing as if the entire hospital were a crime scene.

Once you were settled on the hospital bed, Clark hovered like a shadow, wringing his hands and muttering, “I told the lady at the front desk, twice. I–”

“Clark, it’s a bruise,” you whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “People don’t come to the ER for bruises.”

His brow furrowed as he leaned down, lowering his voice. “People also don’t wake up in the middle of the night wincing. What if it’s not just a bruise? What if it’s a fracture? Or an internal bleed?”

You blinked at him. “You think you broke my pelvis?”

His ears flushed red. “...It’s possible.”

The nurse who had come in to take your vitals, clearly overheard and had to bite back a smile as Clark rattled off every symptom you didn’t have. “No fever, no nausea, no weakness in her legs but she winced three times on the way here and–”

“Clark,” you interrupted softly, pressing his hand, “I think I can handle answering the questions.”

“Sir,” the nurse said patiently, one hand on her hip. “She’s going to be fine. You can take a breath now.”

You tried to muffle a laugh. “Yes, do that before you get hospitalized,” you whispered, still clutching your stomach.

Then the doctor finally arrived, striding in with her clipboard and scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Clark, frozen mid-pacing next to the bed, pale and panicked and she immediately let out a soft laugh, as well as letting out a quiet comment on how giant your boyfriend looked perched in the corner, hands clasped like he was waiting for news of a life-saving surgery. 

“Oh… yeah. Okay. That’s the problem,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. But you?” she nodded at Clark, “Anything wrong with you besides the clear panic attack?”

He shook his head dramatically. “I’m completely worried, normal, casual about this and utterly terrified. All of the above…minus a few, maybe.”

“I know for sure ‘normal’ doesn’t belong on that list,” the nurse muttered. You laughed so hard your stomach pulled uncomfortably.

“He’s just…large,” you managed between chuckles.

“Unreasonably so,” she agreed, with the solemnity of a medical observation as if physics itself should’ve intervened.

Clark flushed bright red but didn’t back down. “I’m concerned. This is a… a delicate… very delicate situation.”

The doctor shook her head, smirking. “I can see that. Let’s get her checked and maybe… keep the heroics to a minimum?”

“He’s never been very good at that.” You snickered, letting your head fall back on the pillow. Clark gave you a pointed glare but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face as the doctor started her exam.

Even in the ER, Clark’s mix of worry, pride and ridiculous intensity made you laugh between groans and you both knew this was going to be a story retold many times, much to his chagrin.

The doctor, still suppressing a grin then gestured for Clark to step back. He hovered reluctantly, arms crossed over his chest like a storm cloud, peeking over her shoulder anyway.

“Alright,” she said, leaning over to examine you, “let’s see what’s going on here.” Her fingers pressed gently along your lower abdomen and pelvis, eyes flicking up at you with professional focus but her gaze couldn’t resist darting to Clark, who had gone completely pale.

“Uh… I’ll just… stand right here,” he muttered, inching closer than strictly necessary.

“Yeah,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “This is… exactly what I expected. Very… inflamed,” she murmured, glancing at Clark. “Not from an accident, I take it?”

Clark stammered. “Uh, no! I mean–well, technically…yes? It was consensual, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“She wasn’t,” You mouthed.

The doctor tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was solving a puzzle. “It happens. It’s nothing permanent. She’s perfectly fine, just bruised.” she said, letting out a small laugh.

You laughed weakly from the bed, covering your face. “See? Told you I’m fine.”

Clark froze. “Well you know I don’t like that word.” His cheeks burned red but there was no hiding the mixture of pride and embarrassment.

The doctor handed you some ice packs and gave Clark a pointed look. “Ice, rest, maybe a bit of over-the-counter pain relief and you,” she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “next time, dial it down to… human levels. Got it?” The doctor joked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Clark said solemnly, almost saluting, though his lips twitched into a grin.

By the time the nurse finally waved you both out, Clark was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had insisted on carrying you to the car to make sure you weren’t in pain, occasionally glancing at you like he might tackle anyone who even looked at you wrong.

“So…” he began as soon as you were buckled in, voice quiet but intense, “maybe we should… reevaluate the list. Make sure nothing on there…physically overpowers you again.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the seatbelt pressing across your midsection a sharp reminder of the last few hours. “Yeah… no way, I’m not gonna do that. God forbid I actually enjoy the stretch! You have a big dick, Clark, get over it! I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I wrote that list and trust me…I’m loving it so far.”

He blinked, trying to look stern but failing spectacularly. “I… okay. That’s more sincerity than I expected and I’m…very proud of you.”

“Been working on it,” you said with a playful smile.

Clark nodded, his expression softening. “I can see that. I still need to make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, tugging gently at your hand that rested on your thigh.

The doctor had insisted on rest, no activity, just to let the bruises heal but your mind had already wandered. “Which I’m sure you’ll enforce, Superman,” you said, pausing with mock seriousness. “Umm… so, about this whole resting thing…”

“Sweetheart–”

“How far are we taking that? Face sitting doesn’t really count, right?” you asked, smirking. “I mean, technically…”

Clark froze mid-hand squeeze, his eyes widening. “We’re still in the ER parking lot and you’re thinking about sitting on my face?”

“Yes,” you said, trying not to giggle. “It’s literally zero impact on the bruising. The doctor said no activity, but… come on, Clark… that face is begging for it.”

He blinked slowly, then cleared his throat, releasing your hand to push up his glasses and discreetly, or not so discreetly, readjust himself. “We’ll… uh… we’ll see,” he muttered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as his mind raced.

“Will I… get an answer by morning?” you asked, glancing at the darkening sky where the first hints of sunrise were creeping in.

He started the car, eyes flicking to you with that mix of exasperation and mischief only he could pull off. “Baby, you’ll get an answer when I stop… leaking into my underwear,” he muttered, voice tight with effort. “Then I can think straight.”

You bit back a laugh, trying not to let the growing smile take over your face. “Will that be… soon?”

He shot you a glance, one brow quirking and lips twitching as if he were fighting his own amusement. 

“It’s unlikely,” he said flatly, though his eyes betrayed every ounce of delight and torment you were causing and you understood then, with a devilish grin, the absolute importance of depth. 

Clark clearly took it very seriously and you intended to test every inch of it.

A/n: If you had to write your own list, what are the top three things you’d put on it? I'll go first! 1. Having the guy wear a ghostface mask, motorcycle helmet or literally anything that covers his face while we... yk, 2. Cockwarming, 3. Watching my partner jerk it *bites finger* (If you judge me you'll have diarrhea for a month straight) Anyway!!

Thank you lots for reading, reblogging, commenting, requesting and following guys! love interacting with you all. See you later this week! 🫶

[mcumorningstar]

clark smut with reader that can’t focus while they fuck🙏

very much relatable. thanks for requesting 💌

CHATTERBOX 18+ ⸻ CLARK KENT

clark kent x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 658 WARNINGS. 18+ only! general filth, pinv, reader can’t turn her brain off and clark being cute and teasing about it. mdni

Turning off your mind is always quite the struggle, it's never quite as easy as you hope it to be. It's like there's no off switch, your brain always seeming to be a rapid pingponging of thoughts, no matter the situation. 

Even now, when your mind should be empty, sole focus supposed to be on Clark with the way he looks and smells and sounds and feels; your brain is drifting back to a conversation you had in passing with someone at the train station, and then to the paper shopping list you made and lost soon after. 

Clark pulls his face out from the crook of your neck, lifting his head to get a better view of you below, your brows scrunched — but not in bliss like they usually are at a time like this, but instead focus. 

He lowers slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips. "Penny for your thoughts," he whispers against your mouth, the tip of his nose skimming yours. 

"I never found that shopping list."

"I did," he smiles lazily, a dopey grin tugging on the corners of his mouth. He presses another kiss to your lips, and the unrushed motion of his hips into yours subside, a lull occurring in the gentle fucking he's giving you. "It's on the fridge."

"You found it?" you ask, eyes ardently softening as you peer up to him. You slip your hands from around his shoulders and up to his neck, palms settling either side of it. "Where was it?"

"Next to your phone."

"You found my phone?" you ask, elated tone genuine.

"I did," Clark chuckles softly and shakes his head, the act small, like he finds the exchange endearing. He presses another kiss to your lips and another and another, searing warm acts of affection across your cheek, along your jaw and then down your throat. "Was by your shoes next to the front door."

You slide one hand up the short dark hair at the back of his neck, grazing your fingers along his scalp until you settle them around the crown of his head. You shake your head slightly, baffled by your own inanity. 

When he thinks your mind to be clear, he resumes the motion he had halted a few moments prior; hips winding into you, cock retracting and pushing back into you in a steady, easy rhythm.

Though that's the case, and Clark should've known that. But really, he got just too ahead of himself.

"Did you know lemons float—"

"But limes sink," he finishes off your fact, an entertained smile lining his lips — temporarily halting the small littering of kisses at the base of your throat. "I did know that."

"Did I tell you that before?" 

"You did," he nods and lifts his head, lining it back up with yours. "But I don't mind it," he kisses the tip of your nose, blue eyes gentle on you below.

"Did I turn the oven off?"

"No," he brings a hand to hold the side of your head, keeping you there. He chuckles. "I did."

"What time tomorrow—"

He dips in to sear a kiss to your lips, disrupting your question as he knew this to be a futile game with you. Clark knew of your inability to shut down your brain, and while he loved your natural inquisitive nature, he knew you needed a little bit of help quietening the contents swirling in your mind. If anything he was doing you a favour.

"No more questions," he shushes you softly, cooing into your mouth. "Focus on me," he whispers, timing it with a slightly more deliberate roll of his hips — cock sinking in that bit deeper.

And as he predicted, a whiney noise falls from between your lips, the blissed sound hindering the chance for you to ask anymore questions. And so he does it again, knocking another airy gasp from you; further disabling the thinking centre within your brain. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[mcumorningstar]

All Pent Up l C.K. 

w.c.: 8.2k

t.w.: Smut, size kink, cum eating, p in v, oral f receiving, light choking, Clark has a big cock, some technical stuff about darkrooms and film developing, Photojournalist Reader, Reader is short, at least shorter than Clark, lots of fluff, lots of sweet silliness, some angst, established relationship (ish)

a/n: Please read all warnings for all works before reading. 18+ only!  Lowkey y’all should search up what a darkroom revolving door looks like lol. I loved my old campus’s darkroom and lab. 

Summary: Clark has been utterly perfect, smart, kind, cute and witty. But a woman has needs and doubts were starting to lead you to a detrimental decision. A breakup. But this Clark guy shows you that he fucks hard and checks all of your boxes.

The hand on your back was warm and so utterly large you wanted to jump out of your skin. 

Clark was nice. Clark was kind. Sure, his suits didn’t really fit him right, and his hair was a mess half of the time. His glasses were garish and his awkwardness was on the edge of endearing and repelling. 

And yet you still decided to go on a date with him. Many in fact. 

It was Lois’ idea, Cat’s too but she was less intimidating than Lane’s expectant stare. She was his friend, she spoke highly of him once she found out about his little crush on you, one of the Daily Planet’s esteemed photojournalists. 

Clark had been looking through the zines you’ve published independently, enamored by the way you captured people in their everyday lives. 

A mother holding their child in the subway was turned into a beautiful mosaic of color as passengers walked past. Another of a dog playing in a park close to the Daily Planet, droplets of water paused in motion, the puppy mid-shaking as children nearby roared in laughter. 

You had no idea how he found your gallery. But you think it was the journalist in him. He liked your older ones too, the ones you made in college. Punk shows and protests, some of your neighborhood and of urban explorations done with friends. 

The scenes you created were insightful. He could imagine the sounds, the feel of the light as it angled to the focal object, the smells. 

Your writing appealed to him. So human, natural, slice of life as you dug into emotions people couldn’t name. 

He fumbled over himself as he discussed this over your first date dinner. You looked so pretty in your dress, he couldn’t help but make a slight fool of himself. You decided he was more endearing, but maybe the next date you would give him the tough talk and finally let him go. 

You’ve been saying this to yourself the past five dates. 

Now you’re waiting for your dinner reservation. His hand at your waist, the other holding your clutch as you stood in the overcrowded waiting area.

His thumb soothes over your hip, you exhale shakily as goosebumps rise from your skin. He was warm, he smelled clean, slightly like the ink of a newspaper. You noted a woody and earthy cologne. His hair more swept back than usual, giving him a put together look. He had his suit jacket resting on his forearm and his sleeves were rolled up because of the heat and humidity that unfortunately lasted deep into the evening. 

The need for sex was growing with each date. An unfortunate need to get laid thrumming through your chest and gathering down south to your pelvis and lower belly. 

Damn it, you needed his hands elsewhere, as if you wanted him to hear the sickening squelch of your cunt as his fingers dragged against your walls. 

But you had a feeling that the farm boy didn’t have it in him to give you what you wanted no- needed. You debated within yourself, feeling the tug of his hand at your waist as you got seated, seeing the way he pulled the chair out for you and pushed it in as you sat, if you should end both of your miseries tonight. 

Surely, you couldn’t lead him on, no matter how kind, how gentlemanly or thoughtful he may be. You needed a rough being, a rough pounding to be satisfied. His eyes narrow slightly as you absentmindedly order, your finger tracing the stem of the wine glass, filled with water. It was amusing, in a way, seeing you zone out. 

In your head you go through the pros and cons. The more you spent time together the more he opened up. And you quickly discovered that he was perfect. He was smart, quippy, funny and cute. He was a good man. Although a little sassy at times, you knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

But he must be a virgin. He’s never made an effort to do more. Not even a simple kiss. There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all. But you needed something to help you sleep at night, like horse tranquilizer and not 5mg Melatonin gummies. Did he even know about sex? Who knows if his parents even spoke to him about the birds and the bees back home. 

You overthink about his inexperience and about the way you might react to it. It would be bad, you’re not good at keeping your faces in check, much less your own words. It was a miracle you haven’t said anything before. The sun that always seemed to be following him had seemingly stopped you. 

Clark’s hand lays on top of yours, his fingers sliding further into your wrist feeling your heart race at the touch. His thumb presses against it, moving side to side. Your head lifts to meet his gaze, you shiver.

God, when did he get so hot? You could see the veins in his forearms, his biceps bulge from the sleeves. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe for a second. 

“You okay?” 

You nod, your lips pursing in a tight smile as he squeezes you in his hold. You take a sip from your water, the server arrives with the appetizers. 

You were telling a coworker about this exact problem that very morning. 

Superman was spotted and you happened to be in the area as you both witnessed him stop a robbery in a convenience store nearby. He was greeting people on the street that had witnessed the crime, children coming up to him and wanting to be picked up or talk. It was an opportunity for a candid picture you couldn’t ignore.

“How’s your boyfriend, Clark, right?”

You had been talking about Clark, the man that was taking you on dates and just hasn’t made the move. You turn the aperture ring as you attempt to focus on him, the sun’s glare had you inching closer, huffing as you circled around him, your companion in tow, still keeping the conversation going. 

You groan at the title. 

“He’s not my…”

You groan again, you didn’t know what he was. The relationship hasn’t been defined yet. 

“He’s fine,” you mumble. You pause, remembering that he came over to your desk the day before while you were uploading some negatives to your computer. He’d gotten you coffee, a bagel. You showed him some of your shots and he showed you the newspaper, his name on the first page, grinning from ear to ear. He was confident that day, even going as far as to tease you, groaning exaggeratedly at the fact that you had spilled some sauce on your blouse. 

His thumb swiped it off, ever so lightly pressing into your breast, feeling the softness briefly before he sucked it into his mouth. You’d given him a wide-eyed look. It was the most action you’ve gotten from him. 

You lower the camera, sighing lightly as you recall the moment. If only he could see the way you shifted in your seat and wet your underwear at his cocky look. You swore his eyes drifted to your lap for a moment, his throat bobbing in a thick swallow. 

“He got on the first page,” you say plainly. 

You shoot. You didn’t think it was good. You try to adjust. Your colleague scoffs next to you, clearly wanting more gossip. 

“I heard.” Silence. They clear their throat. “So. How is he in, ya know…?” 

You sigh, you shoot, you sigh again. 

“Damn” 

“Yeah.” 

“So, no good?”

You give them a look. You speak your thoughts, almost as if a plumber had found a leak and cut open a spewing pipe. 

“Nothing’s happened yet. We haven't even kissed. The man has no sexual bone in his body. I’m pretty sure he’s a virgin and I cannot deal with that- I mean- I need to be dicked down- and in a good way. At this point who knows if he even knows how to put it in- ” 

Your breath catches in your throat. You swore Superman just looked directly at you, his face neutral, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The conversation ended as he spotted you both, your camera lifting quickly to get the shot. 

Perry liked it, he said Superman looked righteous, his face serious, looking deep into the lens of the camera, the audience. Ready to serve. Ready to prove himself.

Whatever that meant. 

…

He walks you home, like always. It was sweet, so sweet you felt your heart chip away with each step as you got closer to your apartment. Your arm was wrapped around his, halfway through the journey he placed his jacket over you. 

You were too focused on the sidewalk, at your feet, to notice his wandering eyes. The way his chest puffed at how large the jacket was on you, how he could see your cleavage whenever he glanced down. 

You rehearse it in your head. Over and over again, finding something new to say, to soften the blow. You felt like the devil. Maybe a demon. A sex fiend? 

A woman has needs. You couldn’t deny it any longer. It was a comparability thing. 

‘I just don’t think we’re compatible. I love sex and orgasms and you don’t give me the vibe that you’d be able to give it to me. We must part ways dearest Clark.’ 

You barely noticed you were at your door. Your heart races. He notices, he somehow always does. His hand moves to your waist. Something’s he’s been doing more of lately. You attempt to find your keys in your clutch. He leans against the wall, watching you. 

It felt like you two were in a bubble. His hand on your waist, you in his jacket, his large chest blocking everything else around you. His scent consumes you, his warm hand burns into your skin.

Your fingers find the keys and you drop them to the floor, he leans down to pick them up as you do. He was quicker. You straighten awkwardly as he holds it up to you, as he rises, he’s suddenly a step closer, his eyes level with yours as he bends to your height. 

Your back was pressed against the door. Did his eyes just flicker to your lips? Did yours? Your face feels as if it’s on fire, his hand on your waist goes lower, to your hip, then the small of your back, his palm resting on the curve of your ass.

You imagine him grabbing a handful, squeezing with his big, strong, sturdy hand… 

“Hi,” he says lowly, he could hear your heart beat out of your chest. He’s never been this close. You could cup his face. You do. 

He smiles, leaning closer. You should be backing off, he should be walking back to the subway with his head down somberly because you broke it off with him. 

“Hey,” you respond back, almost in a whisper. You grab the key, it digs into your hand as he moves in on you predatorially. He looks down on you teasingly, as if he knew something you didn’t. 

You swallow thickly, your mouth parting as you attempt to find your words. His eyes again are directed to your lips. 

“Clark, I need to tell you something-“ 

He slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you close into him. His lips move languidly against yours, your cheeks prickles in pleasure and your eyes widen. 

His eyes were closed as he parted your mouth to stuff his tongue in with yours. You yelp, he groans, and pulls your head closer, his nose smooshing against your cheek. 

You get lost in it, eventually your eyes flutter closed as he sucks in your little sounds, his hand moving under your ass, squeezing it and causing you to moan lightly. He lifts you, scooping you up by the back of your thighs. You didn’t notice how your feet were off the ground, in a haze, in your apartment's hallway. 

His mouth pants in hot wet breaths, nose smoothing down your jaw and neck. He starts to kiss down your throat, your hands move to his head, feeling his soft hair, urging him further, your back lightly pressing against your front door.

He stops suddenly. 

He puts you down quickly, almost making you collapse to the floor from how wobbly your legs had gotten. Your hands tighten over his shoulders in a mix of shock and panic as you land on your feet. 

A door opens a second later, the next-door neighbor sliding past you both. You watch silently, eyes wide. You’re pressed against his chest as he attempts to make more room in the tiny hallway. 

He grimaces, nodding apologetically at the old woman who trudges an overfilled trash bag as she attempts to move past him. 

You didn’t notice that he was so big before. You’re sure his shy demeanor made him seem so much smaller. You were sure he wasn’t that tall before, or his shoulders, you swallow thickly the more you think about it, his shoulders were so broad, his arms tight against his dress shirt. 

You watch with your fingers twisted tightly in his coat sleeves. He went to help the older woman, lifting the trash bag and pushing it into the trash chute for her. 

You feel your pussy throb. He was so nice. And so… dirty. You watch as your neighbor woman pats his chest and he smiles sheepishly down at her. 

She leaves, but not before winking at you from her door. 

You think Clark had awakened something in you. You almost glare at him, your stare intense as he pecked your lips good night, leaving his jacket with you because ‘It looked good’ on you. He turned back with a boyish smile as he walked away, your heart beating out of your chest. 

Your new kink was Clark Kent. 

…

You shift in his gaze. 

You’ve been avoiding him the whole day, flustered, your heart racing whenever he were near. You couldn’t focus as you presented photographs to a reporter you were working in collaboration with that week. 

Some heartfelt story of an old woman being helped across the street by a local shop owner every morning. Who gave a shit. You kept on thinking of Clark’s tongue shoving itself down your throat, exploring your mouth and making you melt against his thick, hard, body like softening butter. 

You could hear him from across the large open media room, chatting with Lois or Jimmy at his desk. He texted you good night, sending you a picture of a midnight snack, as you knew, he always likes to snack. It showed off the obvious bulge in his grey sweatpants, and damn it, you could tell he was soft despite its size. 

Fuck his handful of grapes and ritz crackers, he should have sent a picture of himself shirtless with a hand holding his dick. 

You curse him mentally, you could tell from the moment you walked into work he was going to make the day hellish. His eyes followed your every move as you wandered around his floor. You were usually a floor down, in the photo lab with other photographers who worked in the darkroom just as much as you. 

Jimmy stops you, yelling for you to come hang out for a bit. Damn you, Jimmy, you mumbled under your breath, your boots clicking with each step. Clark had sharply turned his head in your direction, an amused look of confusion in his face as if he had heard you. 

You turn your back to him, ignoring the way he stood up. You were wearing lacy black panties underneath your jeans. Clark could see the way your asscheeks wobbled with each step. He felt an almost possessive feeling in his chest, as if everyone else in the room had x-ray vision. He makes his way over to you, his hand makes its way to your waist briefly and squeezes, causing you to shiver as it slid away.

He looks down at you, smiling with a shrug of his shoulders as Jimmy continues talking about this ‘vintage” camera he found on eBay. The seller was sketchy, he wanted your opinion you guess by the way he was describing the bid. 

“Hey…” Clark whispers, albeit a little loudly. You act as if you couldn’t hear him, pretending to be focused on Jimmy’s computer screen. You could smell him, it made your stomach curl pleasantly, your thighs shift. 

Jimmy looks up, he smiles up at Clark. 

“Oh, hey Clark…” Jimmy continues, starting his explanation all over again once he sees him standing next to you. You twitch, adjusting yourself to cross your arms as Clark's fingers tease along your back, like little spiders crawling all over your spine. 

You give him a sidelong glare, refusing to say anything in front of Jimmy. Everyone knew that you were seeing each other, Clark would spend his lunches on your floor at times, Cat always pressed him about dinner locations. 

He’s never been so bold. Jimmy’s eyes flicker to the touches, the way his finger plays with the belt loop of your jeans, tugging lightly. You inconspicuously slap his hand away. It was unprofessional, others thought it was cute. 

Clark, so awkward. Clark, shy. Clark, the goddamn tease. 

You walk away before he could continue, leaving them watching as you practically stomped out of the room. Jimmy raises his hand exasperated at your sudden departure. You didn’t even give him an answer. 

You disappeared the rest of the day, your fellow photographers mentioning that you were in the darkroom, not coming out, not even for lunch. Clark was shitting himself at your sudden enclosure. What if he went too far, he curses himself and his damn recklessness. He just knew that midnight snack picture was too forward. Shit. 

He makes his way to the photo lab. It was the end of the day, most of the building empty for a select few who wanted the quiet to finish up some report or project. 

He stands, shifting on his feet, his hair a mess from how much he attempted to smooth it back. His curls were gone, he places his suit jacket on the laboratory table’s stool. The room smelled like chemicals, the solution baths by the sink almost making his head spin. Your bag was under the workbenches, the only one in sight. He sighs. 

You were the only person in the lab. 

You heard footsteps, coming closer to the darkroom’s revolving doors. You lift your head from where you were focused on the timer when you hear an attempt to slide the door open. Clark didn’t know how things worked in the lab. Jimmy attempted to teach him once, he just didn’t grasp it. 

“Just keep on sliding it to the left, hop in, and slide it again.” 

You were switching printing paper from one tub to the next, your eyes focused on the timer on the side of the sink. He could see all of your stuff set against one of the desks behind you, a large projector in each desk. The darkroom looked haunted, the light casting a red hue over everything inside. 

He looks you over, you were wearing a tank top, no gloves on even though he thinks maybe you should have some. You shake the picture with your tongs, the excess liquid dripping onto the tray. You clip it on the hangar, waiting for it to dry as you go back to the enlarger and pack up. 

“It’s pretty late,” he mumbles.

You hum in response, he gulps. You were aching not to turn around, all you could think about was that kiss, the way his hands felt against you, his smell, the feeling of him. It was driving you crazy. The darkroom was the only place you could clear your mind and he was invading it. 

He walks around the sink, moving close to you, leaning his shoulder against the shield that divides the space between each enlarger. You glance at him briefly. He looked so handsome, you're sure he didn’t even know it judging by the way his eyes were so sincerely attentive to you. 

“I’m walking you home.”

Not a question, a statement. It sent a chill down your body. You look back at your workstation. Clark watches as you pause, your shoulders tense and square off in a sigh. You nod, slamming your negative contact sheet binder closed. 

He could tell you were pent up and it was all his fault. He almost felt pity, a little guilty from the way he nudged you the past two days. But based on what he overheard from your discussion with your friend yesterday morning, his chivalry had not been as appreciated as he thought it was. 

He had become determined. 

You were waiting for him at the door, urging him inside the tube. 

You push the revolving door, succumbing you both to the darkness as he steps in. The glow in the dark paint and plastic stars shine, not enough to illuminate you both, but visible enough to elicit a simple pleasure from your chests. 

It looked really cool, so he mumbled under his breath. You snorted, keeping you both there to admire the darkness. You thought it was too when you first saw the brush on swirls of green glowing paint. 

“I did this one,” you say softly, blindly reaching for his hand to press it against the side of the metal door. It was a star with your initials inside of it. A lot of the Daily Planet’s photographers placed their marks on the entrance to the darkroom. A rite of passage, even for the interns. 

You slide your fingers against his palm tentatively as he traces along the star. He intertwines your hand together at the light touch, stepping closer to you.

You feel his breath on your cheek, you grip your folder tightly, tingling from the feel of his other hand resting against your shoulder, his thumb tipping your jaw up. You couldn’t see him, but he could see you, your eyes wide, but somehow meeting his even if you couldn’t see. 

The air was getting thinner, his fingers squeezed yours and raised it to kiss the back of your hand. Your lips purse, your brows raising at the affection. It feels ten times warmer than when you first entered. 

“We’re going to lose oxygen,” you say shakily, stepping back and letting go, dragging your hands against the revolving door to open it up to the other side. 

Your eyes adjust to the change of lighting. The harshness of the white lab lights makes you wince, the back of your eyes burning for a second before unblurring. 

He watches silently as you place the finished printing papers in the tub of water by the sink, shifting them lightly around the liquid to completely coat and rinse off any fixing solution left. You were so focused like this. In your zone. Your eyes briefly glancing between your pictures as if looking for any tiny mistake, a blur, a crease, a blob. 

You let them sit there, walking over to the long metal table. You point to the pictures you had ready, sitting in piles with the rest of the finished works that the intern took out that morning as they mixed up solutions and trays. 

He stands behind you, peering over your shoulder, the scent of your musk and chemical, something human and stinging, made his head tip ever so slightly to inhale deeper. 

You felt his breath against your neck as he leaned down against the table, his hand resting against the cool metal as you showed him photograph after photograph. 

He mumbles approvingly with each thwip and slerk of printing paper sliding against each other. The glossy finish soothing against his ears and his tired state. You feel a pleasant shiver trickle down your spine as you feel his chest rumble against your back. 

“You have a good eye. You always capture so much movement,” he mumbles, shifting ever closer. He had taken off his glasses, which confused you slightly. But it seemed as if he took in the image you showcased better without them. 

He was so strange. He smelled like warmth and sunshine. His presence was always comforting. God, you wanted it bad. 

Your last picture feels heavy in your hands, the rest stacked beneath them, the corners and edges pinching your skin as you hold them. You lift it closer to him as he rests his chin against your shoulder. You feel yourself melt against his chest slightly before leaning forward, creating a centimeter of space between you both. 

“Superman. He’s a wonder. Almost looks angelic,” you say quietly. 

Your finger traces the figure reverently. He was surrounded by rubble, creating puffs of grey clouds around him, the light shadowing his face as he floated in the sky with the monster of the week lying unconscious beneath him. A crowd had been forming around it, as if coming out of hiding from the buildings at the edges of the frame, all clapping and cheering. 

He hums, his gaze now directly on you. He studies you, you glance at him, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed at your words. You clear your throat. You weren’t a fangirl, not really. Everyone loved Superman. Everyone appreciated Superman. You hope he didn’t think of you as being part of his fan club. 

He just happens to be around you, maybe you attracted criminals. You're not completely sure, but you always managed to get his attention. He’d look into your cam, almost as if he were waiting for you to take a picture. Perry even seemed to notice that your shots have become more and more about Superman than your usual stuff these past few months. 

It brings in the big bucks, so you don’t mind. 

You turn to your side, facing Clark, tipping your head as you give an inquisitive brow and he looks at you with a half lidded dazed smile. It was shy, intimate, wholly endeared. His eyes pry deeply into yours, as if he knew something you didn’t and was waiting. 

You just didn’t know what for. You offer him the picture, extending it out to him. 

“Could you give this to him?” 

You give him a wanting look, eyebrows creased into the middle of your forehead, almost pleading but not enough to be considered a real beg. You knew he interviewed Superman all of the time. The only other person being Lois. Unfortunately, you didn’t believe Lois had the inner strength to not keep a hold of the picture, she easily swayed with success.

Not that you blamed her.  

Clark straightens up, in utter surprise as you offer him the photograph. It was good enough to be a front-page image. You were willing to give that up. 

“You know him, right?”

He nods wordlessly, gently taking a hold of it, his fingers lightly skimming across yours. A shot of electricity fluttered over your hand, heat spread across your face as he looked you over. As if in awe of you. As if you had personally gifted him the picture. 

He hears you swallow thickly as he places the photo in his laptop case. You point a finger at his chest. 

“Don’t publish it with one of your pieces, alright?” 

His lips quirk up in amusement. He snorts. 

“Superman’s eyes only.” 

You nod firmly.  “Good.” 

Clark bites his lip, looking down at the floor and huffing out loudly. He shakes his head in astonishment, fighting back a grin. You give him a look as he crosses his arms and leans towards you, bending down right in your face. 

“You’re fucking amazing.” 

He says it so sincerely, you let out an awkward laugh, fighting back a smile at the butterflies that he was making you feel from the sudden and exaggerated praise. His large hands cup your face, making you look up at him. 

“What-“

He kisses you, your hands grip his wrists and you gasp as he presses his body into you. 

His lips were soft against yours, your hands move over his forearms, his hand cups the back of your head, his fingers pressing against the nape of your neck. 

“You’re-”

A peck. 

“Fucking-”

Another kiss, this time deeper, his thumb smooths over your jaw, your legs wobble and your eyelids droop. 

“Amazing.” 

Your back hits the metal walls of a door nearby, your hand entangled in his hair, pressing his back towards you to bring him closer. He kissed you harder, groaning as you bit his lip, watching with drunken lust as you pulled back slightly. His cheeks were cherry red, hair a mess, glasses thrown on the floor from when he hoisted you up, his hand palming your ass as he held you up by one arm. 

He tasted like coffee and that tres leches cake he liked from the bakery around the corner. He was so sweet, everything about him was so sugary sweet. You feel his bulge, rising and pressing against the seam of your jeans. Your eyes almost roll back from the size of him, your hips twitch onto it, grinding, your panties were a mess already. 

He kisses you harder, like a starving man, his hand sliding over your hip possessively and underneath your top, his palm against your bare skin and fingers splaying across your ribs, right underneath your breasts. 

You bite your moan back as he pushes your bra up, his fingers finding their way to your nipples. 

“Clark,” you groan out, feeling your body stiffen in pleasure from the stimulation. They were sensitive, his hand squeezing your breast roughly. 

He trails kisses down your throat, shushing you, pushing your strap away to teeth at your skin. He imagines getting you in his bed, tasting you, spreading you out on his sheets and getting on top of you. 

His cock pulses. You feel it and your brain short circuits. You start to unbutton your pants, hands then rushing to his chest to unbutton his shirt. 

He stops you, his head shooting up to face the door. Before you could question him, he opens the door behind you and rushes inside. It was pitch black, you couldn’t see a thing as he closed it. 

“Clark, what are you-”

“Hello?” someone calls out from outside. 

You tense. A fucking intern. You move to buckle your pants, but his hand stops you quickly. Your bags and your stack were out on the table. Your legs tighten around his waist, his hands press you tighter against his chest, his palm resting on the small of your back. 

He was still hard, you had to bite the back of your hand to stifle a moan as you moved against it.

The intern, Micah, you think, calls out your name. You wince. You were in the negative developing room, where you would take out the film from your camera and load the film into a developing tank.

The process had to be done in complete darkness if you didn’t want to risk ruining your film. It was a rather tedious step, annoying if you couldn’t get the roll in place.  

“In here,” you shout. You feel Clark’s chest vibrate, a silent chuckle or snort. You move to slap his chest but miss and hit his collarbone. He makes a hushed ow in response. 

“You ok in there? I’m about to head out.” 

“Yup.” You pop the p. He snorts and you somehow manage to cover his mouth with your palm. His hand squeezes your ass teasingly. 

“I’ll clean up, go home, Micah, have a nice night.” 

A long pause. 

��Ok… good night.”

You could hear the intern open and close the front door. You breathe out a sigh of relief. Clark barks a laugh, and you sigh in irritation. 

“You sounded out of breath.” 

“I did not-” 

“Yeah, you did.” 

You huff. He puts you down, cracking the door open. You both stand out in the light, his chest peeking through, showcasing his defined pecs and collarbones. Your zipper exposes your panties, a little bow at the front making him smirk. 

“Your place or mine?”

He doesn’t think much about the answer. 

“Mine.”

His place was closer, he wanted to see you in his clothes and he wanted to make you breakfast in bed the next morning. It was Friday after all. 

…

You barely had a chance to look around his apartment before he picks you up and walks over to the bedroom. He had a nice city view, open, tall windows that allowed you to see the buildings overhead.

It was nice and very modern. A completely different homestead that you imagined for the farm boy. Then again, you think you might have a lot of wrong ideas about him. 

Your back lands on his mattress. The sheets were soft and fluffy, the pillows silky. He takes off his shirt quickly, taking up all of your attention. 

His hand unbuttoned his pants as he watches you squirm in his bed. He crawls over you, a leg kicking off his pants his cock springing forth from his boxers. 

You moan at the sight. He was out of the ordinary. Long, about seven inches, girthy, you don’t think you could touch your fingertips if you wrapped around him and…

You swallow thickly as it slaps against his ripped stomach. His tip spittles and dribbles pre-cum as he jerks it. Your mouth waters. 

Uncut. 

You’ve never felt need like this. So desperate you felt as if you were underwater, a beast inside of you attempting to claw its way out of your chest and latch onto his expansive one. 

He casts a shadow over you, as he crawls closer. Eyes watching you as if you were his prey. 

His hands make quick work of your clothes, leaving you in panties and your bralette. He touches, presses, squeezes all over your body. 

“Have to get you ready.” 

You pause. He kisses your cheek, pecking down your jaw, his hands briefly squeezing your breast. 

“What?” 

You’re not a size queen, by any means. But you’re sure you could take him. Sure you’ve never had anyone as big as him but… 

You could take him. 

You whine from the back of your throat as he kisses down your belly. His palm pressing against your panty covered cunt. Your thighs close around his forearm, back arching at the stimulation. He could feel your clit through the fabric, pulsing, swollen, ready to be touched.

He presses his face against your pussy, licking erratically, wetting the fabric further with his spit. He could smell your cunt, he groans, his cock throbbing. 

He’s always had a thing for wet pussy. Something in his biology got him so hard at the scent, sometimes enough for him to have to go to the restroom and fix it during your dates. When you were ovulating, his cock stiffened, his body reacting to yours without you even trying. 

Your pussy was so sweet, like it was calling to him. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he finally gets a taste. You smother your mouth with the back of your hand as he pulls your panties to the side, tongue laying flat against your folds, nudging against your fat clit. 

It twitches as he sucks. His fingers pressing against your opening, curling upwards and spreading inside of you. Your gummy walls squelch, a wanton moan escapes you as his tongue enters with his fingers, flicking upwards and pressing against the spongy spot right near your hole’s rim. 

His saliva pools on the sides of his mouth, gliding down your folds and between your asscheeks. You stare at the ceiling in complete disbelief.

The sheets were getting soaked, as if he were a slobbering animal, so hungry for your pussy he started to drool. His hips flex against the ends of the mattress, you take off your bra and start to pinch your nipples as he brings you to the cusp of orgasm. 

He sucks your nub as if there were no tomorrow, tongue circling around it quickly, his fingers pressing upwards and applying pressure. 

Your fingers grip his hair tightly as your thighs start to shake. You feel your lungs start to collapse. 

“Clark.” 

He moans, open mouthed, lips shining with your juices. He looked drunk on it, he swallows thickly as he looks at you from his position between your legs. 

“Say it, say my name again.”

Unbelievable heat courses through your body at his slack jawed expression. 

“Fu- “ He starts to lick and suck again, keeping his eyes on you. “Fuck-Clark” 

One long suck brings you to ecstasy. Your body shakes as an uncontrollable squeal escapes your throat. Your thighs lock around his head, his fingers fuck your through your climax, opening you up, spreading. 

He pulls your panties down your legs as he moves up your body, watching as you twitch and pulse, your mouth open as you panted. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” 

He shrugs. He gives you a smile, soft as he runs a hand over his head, waiting for you to calm down. You feel lightheaded, the world blurs for a moment. 

Your hands shake as they lift to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing against his chin, covered in your slick. 

“Let me suck you off, baby.” 

He shakes his head at your request, head flicking down to lick your thumb clean. He hums and closes his eyes. You gasp at the action. So fucking dirty. 

“C’mon,” you whine. He nibbles on your neck, you melt into his soft comforter. He brings both of your calves to his shoulders to have your thighs press on either side of your torso. A mating press. 

He closes his eyes tightly and shivers at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening, your hole gaping and twitching. 

“Tonight’s about you.” 

He kisses you tenderly, slowly as he licks at your bottom lip, willing you to open up for him. 

“All for you,” he murmurs into your mouth. 

He shifts forward, you let him manhandle you, putting you in any position he wanted. You peek between your bodies, he guides his cock to your folds, rubbing his shaft over you, lubing himself up. His balls were heavy, full. 

His tip pushes into your hole, you constrict around it. You throw your head back as the head pops inside of you with a slimy squelch. Your hands tighten into fists. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out shakily. 

He knew how abnormally large he was. But he loved watching you squirm and whine. He kisses your cheek.

“Relax. I’ll go slow.” 

You nod, leaning your head back, watching as he focuses on controlling himself. His eyes move across your body, watching as goosebumps rise along your skin, smiling lazily at the sight of you so pliant underneath him. 

“Clark-” your words come out garbled, he watches you intensely as your cunt swallows his cock inch by inch. Your hands fist his sheets, your hole twitches and pulses, your walls squeezing so tight it felt as if they were attempting to push him out. 

He shushes you, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, taking one into his mouth and sucking. His thumb circles over your clit, urging you to open up. 

“You're so fucking huge,” you say out of breath, sweat collecting over your furrowed brow. He pushes in another inch, he groans into you and bites your nipple lightly. 

“You can take it.” 

You felt a building pressure in your lower belly, you took deep breaths in. You felt like you were on the verge of overstimulation, your senses surrounded by Clark, his scent, woody and warm, his touch, his mouth, his monster cock. 

You close your eyes and rock into him, moving your hips from your compromised position. Your cunt produces more slick, tinges of pleasure as his cock drags along your walls and makes your mouth open in half moans and half whines. 

He holds your hips in place. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

He straightens up, you could see his upper body, flexing as if willing himself to not push you further than you could handle. Your nipples tighten, pinched and sensitive in the cold air. 

They jiggled with each flex of his hips. 

He looks further down, his eyes focused on your cunt, watching the way it squelched with each press and drag of his cock. You bit your lip to hold in your moans, the headboard starting to rock against the wall loudly. 

He could see himself inside of you, your walls stretching wide and straining. He lightly nudges your cervix, your body locks up. Your eyes well up in tears. 

“So pretty, just a little longer and it’ll feel so good. Already drunk on my cock, uh?”

His voice was deeper than usual, raspy with want. The tremor of his tone digging into your skin and burying into the marrow of your bones. Your brain is turning to mush, lips parted, almost making you drool.

“Yeah- yes.”

He quickens pace, his balls pressing against your ass, the base of his cock kissing your folds. He presses his body weight against you as your slight winces of pain turn to full on moans of mind-numbing pleasure.

Each thrust feels like a punch in the gut, your lungs compressing and releasing your breath all in one go. A good punch, a sexy punch. His head rests besides yours on his pillow, his grunts feral as he erratically ruts into you. 

He grinds against your pelvis, the pleasure shooting through you from your clit, making your body shake. Your words slurred into mumbles, walls so tight around his cock he almost felt as if it could stop him from moving forward entirely. 

Your feet jostle, the backs of your thighs wobbling against his solid chest. 

“Cum for me, baby.” 

He sits up, releasing his hold on your legs and wrapping them around his waist. His palm presses against your lower belly. The pressure mounts again, you close your eyes tightly, but his hand grips your jaw.

“Hey, look at me.” 

He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips squish together, moans escaping you freely. He seemingly gains control over most of your body as he pounds into you. 

You nudge his hand lower, it lands on your throat. He sees you lose it completely. Your hips move to meet his with each movement, he feels his cock brush against your cervix each time, the soft tissue almost pushing him back like a wall made of Jello.

It sends a delightful shiver up your spine each time. Your body throbs, clit pulsing. 

He’s only ever held the throats of bad guys. If that. It felt so aggressive, so demanding. 

This was entirely new for him. He feels his chest tighten at the sight of your utter enjoyment, almost convulsing against his mattress as each flex of his hips presses you further into it. 

He puts the slightest pressure along the sides of your neck, your cunt tightens so much he had to soften his thrusts. He fears he might actually lose control if you continue, but fuck if it didn’t feel good for him too. 

It felt like your insides were being ripped apart, in a good way. You’ve never felt anyone reach so deep inside you, first emotionally and now physically. 

You were on the verge of orgasm, his squeezing in pulses helping you along. He had a gentle hold over your entire body, sturdy and firm but not pushing further. 

The headboard cracks against the walls, his bed creaks.

“C’mon, cum for me.” 

He leans forward, kissing you with all that he has, your wet pussy makes an even wetter mess, each thrust producing gummy sounds to resound around the walls of his bedroom, your juices dripping to the sheets. 

You swore you saw colors across your eyelids as you came. You could feel his hips twitch, body shuddering and mouth stilling against yours as he spilled into you. 

It went on for a few seconds, both of your bodies wrung tight, molded perfectly against each other as you both shook in pulses. 

He came a lot. You could feel the warmth of his seed spew from around his cock, dripping down your abused hole as he pulled out of you. 

His hand smooths over your twitching thighs as he lightly shushes your groans and moans of utter fatigue. 

He licks you up, moving his lips around your folds as if he were making out with them. The overstimulation made you push on his head weakly, but he didn’t move an inch. 

It was like attempting to move a brick wall. You lean back against his pillows as he laps at you, the sounds of his feast making you cover your mouth and bite down your palm.

His hips flexed against the mattress, and he paused to give out a long moan. You turn your head to see him at full mast, cock still slick with his cum and your juices. 

It was a long night.

…

You woke up in a cloud, your body seemingly floating atop a cumulonimbus. You feel deeply satisfied as you laid in Clark’s bed, nuzzling into the sheets and smelling his laundry detergent on them. 

He changed them as you went into his bathroom to freshen up, right before going to sleep. 

Your eyes finally open and you gaze around his room. He had his front-page paper hung up, a framed picture of everyone from the Daily Planet. A picture of you, cut out from who knows where, stuck into the corner of the frame of a candid of his parents, presumably a baby Clark held between them. 

Your heart soared at the detail. 

You hear him in the kitchen, it smelled like bacon, eggs and warming bread. 

The scene was perfect. The sun’s rays were shining in through the wall to ceiling windows, his kitchen was illuminated by the warmth of the sun. He almost glowed from it. 

You pick up your bag, attempting to be as quiet as possible. He pauses as if he could possibly hear you near silent movement for a second but continues. He was quirky you thought, your hands digging through your cam bag to fish out your camera. 

His shoulders and back flex with every movement, his hand stirring the pan full of eggs, you presume, with a spatula. 

You take a picture of him, with your personal digital camera. You feel a giddiness inside of you as you trace his figure in the image, his exposed torso, the sweats low on his hips. 

You narrow your eyes. He looks sort of familiar. The toaster goes off and he picks up the bagel as if it were nothing, holding it in his palm as he coated it with cream cheese. 

You almost want to tell him to drop it on the plate from how long he holds it like that. You wince, he must have tough hands. But they didn’t feel that calloused.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks without turning. 

You swallow thickly, you could feel the bruises left on your hips, he held onto you fiercely throughout the night. Your back was covered in love bites, breasts too. 

You slept like a baby. 

“Good. You?” 

He turns, food plated. He smiles widely as he makes his way to you.

“Great.” 

Your stare makes him almost miss his step, you pull the sheets over your chest as you sit up. He bites his lip and swallows thickly at the sight of you. 

You were gorgeous, he could see darkened spots over your body, his work. 

You look through the camera roll in your digi cam, ignoring him as he places breakfast beside your legs. He sits next to you, peering over your shoulder. 

You glance between him and the picture you have in your tiny screen. It was Superman, grinning widely, after he saved a girl’s cat stuck in a tree. He had waved at you, pointing to your camera and posing. 

Clark didn’t have his glasses on. You look up at him with wide eyes, mouth parting in shock. Same dark hair, same broad shoulders and chest, same goddamn smile. 

Clark hears blood rush through your veins quickly, your heart beating like a hummingbird’s. He gives you an almost pleading look as you stutter. 

He says your name softly; you slap a hand over your face exasperatedly. How could you have not noticed? You curse under your breath as you cross your arms. 

“Don’t-“ Clark attempts. 

You narrow your eyes. He says your name again, this time in a light warning, pointing a finger at you. Clark Kent who wouldn’t hurt a fly and would actually go through hell and back to save it. 

He makes sounds as you attempt to speak, interrupting you each time. You blurt it out quickly, leaving the room in stilling silence. 

“You’re Superman.”

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David Corenswet’s voice is sexy and Superman has been freaky and horny since 1978. This is inspired more on the Lois and Clark dynamic from the 80s movies. Like wdym Lois’ underwear is pink, Clark???? Also, I will fight back against any babying of this man! 

Requests open! Plesss give me Clark Kent ideas plesssss

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-Alejandra 💋 🐇