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rafecameronswhoore · 11 hours ago

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Office Gossip

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

“Cat. Do you think Superman ever has sex in the sky?” Cat bursts out laughing, almost dropping her coffee, and somewhere behind you, there’s a Clark sounding groan in the distance. “No, really, I’m serious. I mean, if you could fly, wouldn’t you?” You swivel around to look at Clark, who's practising the art of trying to look invisible. “I don't suppose you know if Superman has sex in the sky.” Clark lets out a deep sigh, adjusting his glasses with a familiar, flustered expression plastered on his face. “No, no, I don’t.” Or You have a big crush on Superman, and the whole office knows it, especially Clark. When you can't seem to stop thinking about him or talking about him, it has you asking yourself (and the office): Is Superman good in bed?

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, oral sex (male receiving), p in v sex, sky sex, smut, fluff, secret identity shenanigans, Clark is your work-husband, Clark taking care of you, getting together, breakfast for dinner because I'm obsessed with the fact that he likes that

WC: 7.2k

A/N: I felt like I was possessed when writing this, like I needed to get out a Clark fic immediately. Anyways, enjoy!

***

You loved your job. Being a journalist was your calling. Plus, you loved working at the Daily Planet.

One afternoon, on a day like many others, you’re taking a break, lounging lazily next to Cat’s desk. You hope Perry won’t catch you slacking on the job, but then there's a flash of red and blue that appears on the newsroom screen.

Superman.

You sigh as you swoon most audibly and visibly.

Jimmy walks by, raising a brow, “Superman?”

“Superman,” you breathe, eyes fixed on the screen. He was so dreamy, how could you not have a crush on him?

“I swear this is the fifth time today,” Cat laughs without looking up from her phone.

“It’s not my fault he’s always on the news,” you mutter, dreamily.

You listen to the news report. He’s just stopped a monorail from falling off the track, and you sigh again, even louder this time.

On screen, live footage shows him lifting the train with ease, passengers cheering in the background. Then he takes off into the sky, all effortless and majestic. The segment cuts to a montage: Superman saving people from a burning building, catching a meteor fragment with one hand, lifting a kitten out of a tree. The man never stops.

A few minutes later, the elevator opens to reveal a frazzled Clark Kent, a.k.a your unofficial work husband.

You give him a little smile, which he returns in that bashful, lopsided way of his, the one that always makes your heart do an involuntary flip.

As usual, he's late. Normally, you'd be quick to tease him about it, toss a paperclip or some clever jab his way. Do that little thing you two always do, half-flirting, half-daring each other to admit this is more than banter.

But today...you don’t. There’s something on your mind, something which is a consequence of your horniness.

Your smile fades just a touch as you turn back toward the TV playing quietly on the wall. Superman is still on your mind as you spin a pencil between your fingers, eyes distant.

“Hey, Cat?” you say absently.

“Yes?” she replies, not looking up from her computer.

You pause for half a second, then blurt, “Do you think Superman’s good in bed?”

That gets her attention and Clark's.

She looks up slowly, one brow arching with wicked amusement.

“For sure. I mean,” Cat chimes in, not missing a beat, “I imagine he breaks a lot of beds.”

You nod, completely straight-faced, like you’re having a perfectly normal, professional, maybe even insightful conversation.

“Right? Super strength. Super stamina. Just... structurally speaking, it’s gotta be a challenge but definitely worth it.”

Clark coughs into his fist, stumbling slightly as he walks again. “Uh— good morning,” he mumbles, not making eye contact as he practically dives into his desk chair.

Cat smirks. “Morning, Clark.”

You flash him a cheerful smile. “You’re late.”

He fumbles with his glasses. “Uh, yeah. Got... caught up. Traffic.”

You glance at the screen again, a replay of Superman’s earlier save. “You missed the monorail rescue. It was so heroic. And also, seriously hot.”

Jimmy pats Clark on the shoulder as he passes by. “She’s been like this all morning,” he says with a grin.

“I’m just sayinggg,” you drawl, throwing your hands up as if you’re the voice of reason in a debate no one else is having. “It’s Superman.”

You lean back in your chair, biting the end of your pencil, eyes drifting toward the TV again, where the footage is looping. “He’s got to be good in bed.”

Clark chokes on absolutely nothing.

Jimmy laughs and heads to his desk, while Cat just raises her brows, clearly enjoying the chaos. You look over at Clark with innocent eyes, like nothing you said was wrong. “You okay?”

He adjusts his glasses with slightly shaky fingers. “Fine,” he says, voice an octave too high. “Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You smile, slowly. “I mean… unless you have something to add?”

Clark looks at you, then at the screen, then at his computer, clearly calculating his odds of surviving this conversation.

“…Nope.”

“No, no, no, my journalistic instinct is telling me there’s a story there. Spill it,” Cat says enthusiastically.

Clark, across the bullpen, fights the urge to sink lower into his seat. Please don’t encourage her, he begs silently, already sensing where this is headed.

“Please, Clark…” you say, giving him the doe eyes he can never seem to resist. “Can you at least tell me if he’s taken?”

He blinks. Fumbles with the notepad in his hands. “Uh… he’s very busy. You know, saving people, so uh… not really time for relationships.”

“Did you get that off the record?” Cat cuts in, sharp and amused as she walks by with a smirk.

“Uh, yeah…” Clark mutters, adjusting his glasses.

Cat pauses just long enough to nudge you with her elbow. “Looks like you’ve got a chance,” she teases, her grin wicked as ever.

You roll your eyes at her comment. Sure, you could fawn over Superman until the cows came home—hell, most of the city did—but deep down, the only one you really wanted to take you out was the 6’4” farm-raised journalist with floppy hair, kind eyes, and the cutest damn dimples anyone had ever seen.

“Guys, can we switch the conversation… please?” Clark asks, voice a little desperate, eyes darting between you and Cat.

“Fine, fine,” you say, grinning. “I wouldn’t want you to implode.”

You spin away from Cat’s desk on your swivel chair, trying to distract yourself. But then, bam, a ridiculous thought strikes you and pulls you right back in. You spin right back around to talk your shit.

“Cat. Do you think Superman ever has sex in the sky?”

Cat bursts out laughing, almost dropping her coffee, and somewhere behind you, there’s a Clark sounding groan in the distance.

“No, really, I’m serious. I mean, if you could fly, wouldn’t you?”

You swivel around to look at Clark, who's practising the art of trying to look invisible.

“I don't suppose you know if Superman has sex in the sky.”

Clark lets out a deep sigh, adjusting his glasses with a familiar, flustered expression plastered on his face. “No, no, I don’t.”

You giggle, the sound bubbling out of you, light and teasing, but it lands as sweet as ripe peaches in late summer. The kind of sound that makes everything feel warm.

“For your sake, I’ll drop it. Oh! Before I forget,” you say suddenly, reaching over to one of the cups on your desk. “Got you your favourite.”

Clark accepts the coffee with that soft, surprised smile you love a little too much. You were always like this, thoughtful in the quietest ways. Acts of service have always been your thing, your love language.

“It might be a little cold now, but…” you trail off, suddenly feeling a little foolish. You knew he’d most likely be late, so a hot coffee maybe wasn’t your brightest idea, but Clark’s eyes soften instantly. “Thank you,” he says, gentle and sincere, the kind of tone that quiets every self-doubt before it fully forms.

You don’t know how he does that, how he can shut down your entire spiral with nothing more than a look. It’s something special.

***

Clark knew about your crush on Superman.

It was… flattering, sure, but kind of painful. The fact that the girl he liked… liked him, but not him.

He’d watch you laugh and joke around the office, all casual ease and bright-eyed charm, but as soon as his alter ego appeared on a screen, your whole face would light up. You’d be practically glowing.

How it could feel so good, being adored, yet so maddening to know it wasn’t really him you adored.

It’s torture in slow motion as he watches you type away, headphones in, lost in your own world. And he stays quiet, hovering nearby through the whole day.

“How long are you going to stay here?” he asks gently, leaning against the edge of your desk.

“Until I'm done,” you answer.

Clark continues watching you closely. It’s late now, the newsroom is nearly empty, just the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of the old building settling for the night. You've been at it for hours, sleeves rolled up, a cold cup of coffee untouched beside you.

He admired this about you: your drive and unending determination. But it was also what was going to put you in an early grave.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says softly.

You pause, just for a second. “I will.”

Clark exhales. “That’s what you said three hours ago.”

“This piece is important, Clark.”

“I know it is,” he says, his voice sincere. “But so are you.”

The thing is, no one takes care of you the way he does. Not really. He notices the small things: when your coffee cup is empty, when your shoulders are tight from hunching over your keyboard, when you forget to eat because you're chasing a story.

He knows he has to act quickly before you convince yourself (again) that your article is more important than sleep, food, or basic human needs.

“What would you like to eat?” He asks, hoping the mention of food will lure you away from your computer.

“Asking me out to dinner?”

“No. I’m hoping you’ll let me cook for you.”

You're a sucker for a home-cooked meal. The mere thought of it breaking you from the work-induced trance you were in to look at him. “You mean it?”

“Cross my heart.”

The moment you get back to his apartment, you’re already kicking off your shoes and breathing a little easier. You’ve been here a few times, mostly to drop something off, crash after a late deadline, or borrow that one ridiculous external battery pack he always has on hand.

You glance around as he shrugs off his coat. The space is so Clark. Neat, cosy, filled with books, records, and a well-loved flannel blanket folded on the couch. The warm glow of a lamp hums gently in the corner.

“How are you always late…,” you mutter playfully, slipping onto one of the stools by the counter, “when you live ten minutes from the office?”

Clark grins without turning around. “I like to make a dramatic entrance.”

You snort. “What, by nearly missing the morning meeting every day?”

“Time just…gets away from me.”

You snort at his response before you stretch and follow after him, drawn more by the promise of warmth and care than you’d admit out loud.

The two of you step into his apartment — modest, a little cluttered, full of books and quiet charm. The kitchen is small but homey, the kind of place where you want to stay awhile.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed with a playful grin.

“So, what’s on the menu, Chef Kent?”

“Anything you want.”

“Lobster,” you tease.

“Okay, anything I actually have in my fridge and cupboards.”

You stand beside him as you both look through his fridge. It felt sweet and domestic, being close to him, making plans for dinner. You know you shouldn't fantasise, but it was getting harder not to.

“Anything I can do to help?” you ask as you watch him roll up his sleeves to reveal forearms you wouldn't mind holding onto. Strong, dusted with just enough hair to make your heart skip a beat.

“Your company’s more than enough,” he says, glancing up at you with that warm, impossibly sincere smile.

The way he says it…you know he means it, giving you butterflies with only a few words.

You smile and look down for a second, then back at him.

“What?” Clark asks as he starts chopping vegetables.

“It’s just funny,” you say, watching him as he moves around the kitchen.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, curiosity, or maybe nerves, as he glances at you.

“What’s so funny?”

You shrug, half-smiling. “For someone so supposedly awkward, you're really suave. You've got the whole ‘soft-spoken farm boy with a hidden depth’ thing going for you.”

Clark pauses, mid-chop, then goes back to slicing garlic. “Is that something you like?” he asks casually, too casually, not looking up.

You weren’t expecting that.

Your breath catches, and suddenly your mouth is dry. You bite your lip, eyes darting down to your hands.

“I… it’s…”

Your voice fails you, your thoughts scattering like pins.

And Clark, damn him, just keeps calmly working over the cutting board, pretending not to notice how flustered you’ve gotten. But you know he notices. You can feel it in the silence “It’s okay,” Clark interjects gently, setting the knife down. “I know Superman is more your style.”

You pause, fiddling with your fingers, eyes dropping to your lap. There’s a long breath before you speak.

“I mean, sure… I have a crush on Superman,” you admit, softly, then you glance up at him, eyes searching his face like you’re hoping he’ll just know, that he’ll read your mind and spare you the embarrassment if he doesn't feel the same. “But… it’s just a crush.”

He looks at you, and you don’t quite know what he’s thinking. It makes your stomach warp and twist that much more. You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on the counter, the space between you shrinking.

“Just a crush?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.

You open your mouth to answer, heart thudding in your chest—

CRASH.

The sound is sharp and jarring of broken glass and strained metal echoing from the street below. Clark straightens instantly, shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“I uh—” he starts, and you cut him off with a “Yeah”.

You’re on your feet in record time, rushing to grab your camera bag and shoes. “Could be a story.”

Clark nods, already backing toward the door, awkward and hurried. “You go ahead — I’ll, uh, catch up.”

You nod as you pull on your shoes before dashing off out of his apartment and into the rain. And by the time your foot hits the pavement, camera in hand, Superman is already in the sky.

Thunder rumbles in your chest like a warning drumbeat, low and deep. The rain pours harder now, splattering your camera lens, but you keep shooting anyway.

You watch the whole fight unfold, Superman zipping through the air, faster than your eye can follow, trading blows with something you wouldn’t even know how to name. You move to get a better look when —BOOM. A ground-shaking thud knocks you off balance.

You stumble back, breath catching. Superman lays the creature down as carefully as he can, but there’s still debris flying. Metal, glass, chunks of concrete. You’re still too focused on getting the shot, heart pounding, adrenaline blinding, to realise the danger screaming toward you.

You don’t see the huge steel beam until it’s too late, hurling toward you like a missile.

And then suddenly you're not on the ground.

You’re airborne.

Strong arms wrap around you, lifting you up and away in a rush of wind. You’re weightless, the city falling away below you as you're swept out of danger in an instant.

Your arms instinctively tighten around his neck as you look up. Who else would it be but Superman? The object of your affections. Though never in your wildest dreams could you have dreamed that you’d be this close. Close enough to count the raindrops clinging to his lashes.

“Holy shit, you’re Superman!”

He doesn’t answer at first, just holds you tighter, flying higher through the rain before gently landing on a quiet rooftop nearby. His cape settles around you like a shield before he slowly sets you down.

Your feet touch solid ground, but you still feel stunned. You can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline or just the fact that you were literally held by Superman.

Does he have this effect on everyone?

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice smooth, calm and rich enough to send a chill down your spine. You stare at him, soaked through by the rain, shivering slightly, heart hammering.

“I, uh…” you stammer, voice cracking. He looks concerned, and from the way you’re swaying back and forth. You barely even register the question he asked you. You had one chance and you had to make the most of it.

“I have one thing to say to you. And I have to say it now, before I pass out. Or cry. Or both.”

He nods, patient. “Go right ahead.”

You suck in a breath. “I don’t know who you are or why you do what you do… but thank you. What you do for this city — I mean… we can’t thank you enough.”

He doesn’t say anything at first.

But then, he smiles.

A soft, humble, utterly disarming smile.

And your brain short-circuits.

Superman is smiling at you.

You try to say something else, but all that comes out is, “Goodnight,” before everything goes blurry and your knees buckle. You barely register strong arms catching you again.

The last thing you hear, just before you black out, is a voice calling out your name.

***

You wake up to the smell of pancakes wafting through the air.

The sheets beneath you are soft and warm, and for a disoriented moment, you’re sure you’re still dreaming or dead. Maybe both somehow.

Your clothes feel a little damp, clinging in places, but your skin is dry, your hair faintly fluffy like someone had towel-dried it gently while you were out.

The door creaks open.

Clark steps inside, hair tousled like he’d been running his fingers through it, a dish towel tossed over his shoulder, looking utterly domestic and, unfortunately, adorable.

“You’re awake,” he says, smiling, but his eyes widen a second later, and he freezes like he just remembered something.

Then, without a word, he spins on his heel and rushes back out of the room.

You blink. What?

A few moments later, he returns, balancing a tray loaded with pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast, and even a glass of orange juice. He looks slightly sheepish as he sets it down beside you.

Breakfast in bed at 9 P.M., Clark Kent being boyfriend material, what the fuck was going on? Was this a dream? If it was one, then you never wanted to leave.

“I made pasta, but I figured you’d want something more comforting, so… Also, there’s a change of clothes over there,” he says, nodding toward a neatly folded pile on a nearby chair. “You might catch a cold.”

You nod slowly, “Always taking care of me.”

“Always.”

A little while later, after devouring the breakfast-slash-dinner he made you and changing into Clark’s dry clothes, you made your way to his kitchen table.

The second Clark sees you wearing his clothes, his breath catches in his throat. It’s quite a sight to see. You being so comfortable and snuggled up in one of his shirts, seeming so at home here, makes him want things he doesn’t know if he can have.

“Still hungry? I have more waffles and pancakes.”

You nod and take a seat, taking a bite of a fresh waffle, crispy on the edges, warm and golden. Your head’s still a little foggy, the night before playing in fragments.

The last thing you remember clearly… was Superman. Smiling at you. Then—black.

You blink, looking up at Clark, who’s at the stove flipping pancakes with a spatula in hand.

“How did I get back here?”

Clark glances over his shoulder, slightly stiff. “Oh, uh… Superman dropped you off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Here?”

He nods a little too quickly. “Yeah, well—he knows I know you, so… figured it was safe.”

You chew slowly, narrowing your eyes. The only way Superman would know about you would be—

“Wait. Does that mean you’ve talked to Superman about me?”

Clark fumbles slightly with the spatula, flipping a pancake so hard it hits the roof. “Well…maybe. I mean—not in detail. Just—he’s aware of you. In a general, professional, fully appropriate sense.”

You chuckle, watching him a little more closely now. “Clark. Did you name drop me to Superman?”

“Yes, but…” he says, far too quickly, then hesitates. “It’s not like that.”

You wonder how you came up in conversation. You could just imagine it, Clark speaking about you enough during interviews for Superman to remember you. It made your heart flutter and soar like it had wings of its own.

Not to mention the fact that Superman had to have recognised you to bring you back here. So did Clark show him a picture of you?

You tilt your head, grinning your face off. You were absolutely eating this up. “Oh my—What did you say?”

Clark fights to keep himself from blushing, but it’s far too late; he’s already halfway to becoming a tomato.

“I just…”

“Yes?” you tease, leaning forward a little, enjoying how flustered he’s getting.

He quickly turns away, pretending to be very invested in the pancakes sizzling on the stove.

“Just talked about how you’re an amazing journalist,” he says at last. “Tenacious, smart, honest…”

He flips the pancakes with unnecessary precision, buying himself a few more seconds before turning off the stove and sliding them onto a plate.

“Always running headfirst into danger,” he adds thoughtfully, glancing at you for the briefest moment before setting the plate in front of you. Then, after a beat, he sits down beside you.

“And…”

“And?” You repeat back to him as your eyes meet his.

The moment he looks at you, his gaze softens, something unspoken lingering there. And whatever it is, it makes you want to throw all logic out the window and dive into his arms right here.

“And… I told him you're really something special,” he finishes with that characteristically soft smile of his. Your eyes flutter as you try to keep yourself together. He was doing it again, quietening your mind with just a look.

“You really think that about me?”

“How can I not?”

After hearing that, you were so gone. There was absolutely no way you could come back from it; anything he said in that quiet, sincere voice was more than just words. It wasn’t just sweet, it was the kind of thing you’d only ever read about in novels or seen in your favourite movies.

“Fuck,” you murmur under your breath, biting your lip as your fingers curl against the tablecloth. For the second time tonight, you have that aching urge to hold on to him and never let go.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low and warm.

And you pause. Because the way he says it, the gentle cadence and the hint of concern feel… familiar. Familiar in a way that makes something stir in the back of your mind, but not enough to piece it together. So you just shake your head, as if you can physically rattle the thought loose.

“Yeah, I just…” You glance toward the window, rain pouring in silver sheets. “Would you mind if I stayed the night? It’s raining cats and dogs out there, and getting a cab in this weather is impossible, and…” You trail off, realising the real reason you’re asking has less to do with the rain and more to do with the fact you’re far too comfortable here, in pancake and waffle heaven, with the world’s cutest journalist.

His lips curve into a smile that reaches his eyes. “Stay as long as you like.”

***

Clark insists that you take his bed, even though his couch is far too short to hold all 6’4” of him without folding himself in half.

“But, Clark—”

“You’re my guest,” he says firmly, already steering you toward the bedroom with a gentle hand at your back. There’s no room for debate in his tone, just that quiet, old-fashioned kindness that somehow makes you feel like arguing would be rude.

You give in.

And it ends up being one of the best sleeps of your life.

It’s warm, the sheets soft and faintly worn, and you can smell him everywhere. It’s comforting in a way that seeps into your bones, like even though he’s not right next to you, you’re safe.

Wrapped up in his scent, you’re hit with that strange, stubborn flicker of familiarity again. But before you can chase the thought too far, sleep pulls you under again.

You wake up earlier than he does.

You need to get across the city back to your apartment before work, plus you don’t want to overstay your welcome.

After a quick shower, you slip back into your now dry clothes from last night. Stepping out into the living room, you spot the long stretch of his legs hanging off the couch, feet peeking out from under a rumpled blanket.

His head rests halfway on a pillow, hair mussed, the blanket bunched haphazardly at his waist. He doesn’t snore because of course he doesn’t, but you can hear him breathing, slow and deep, the kind of sleep that only comes when someone finally lets their guard down.

You drift closer without really meaning to, studying the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks, the faint crease between his brows even at rest.

How does he look perfect even when he’s asleep?

You lean just a little closer, and then it hits you. Oh god. You’re standing over him like a total creep. You start to back away quickly, desperate not to have him wake up and find you looming like some sleep-deprived gargoyle.

But in your attempt to escape, your toe collides with the corner of his coffee table.

THUNK.

Before you can stop it, you let out a yelp loud enough to wake the city. Clark shoots up from where he lay on the couch, his glasses slipping off his face and landing on the floor.

He doesn’t even notice, too consumed with seeing if you’re alright.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep, and your head snaps toward him.

“Oh, I’m fine, I just…” You gesture vaguely at your foot, like that explains everything, even though your sleep-deprived brain is still catching up to reality.

And then, you freeze.

Was that just…?

You look again. And then again. Then a third time. Then a fourth, because surely you’re hallucinating.

But nope. The image stays the same.

Sitting there on the couch, wearing plaid pyjama pants and a soft, worn Metropolis University T-shirt that’s utterly Clark Kent in clothing, hair tousled into perfect bedhead… is Superman.

Your brain short-circuits. “I’m going to die,” you whisper to yourself.

Clark blinks, clearly confused until his hand drifts to his face and he realises, with dawning horror, that his glasses are not where they should be.

Meanwhile, your mind is sprinting at lightning speed, desperately grasping for some kind of explanation.

Maybe Clark’s been secretly practising magic in his spare time, and this is one of his tricks. Or maybe, and this one feels wild but not impossible, Clark is a shapeshifter who’s been pretending to be two people this whole time. Or maybe Clark is Superman’s long-lost twin brother. The theory swirls in your mind, but the simplest explanation is also the most impossible one.

Clark Kent. Your work husband. The guy who brings you coffee exactly how you like it. The man who makes you pancakes and lets you take his bed.

Is Superman.

“Let me explain—”

“Holy fuck, you’re Superman.”

Your feet feel glued to the floor, like you’ve just stepped in wet concrete. You’re swaying, your vision threatening to tilt, and you’re fairly certain you might faint in front of Superman... again. Twice in less than 24 hours has to be some kind of world record.

Clark slowly stands from the couch, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. He moves toward you like you’re a startled animal, with measured steps and keeping his hands visible.

“Hey… breathe,” he says gently. “You’re okay.”

You can’t seem to tear your eyes from him. The suit isn’t there, but it doesn’t matter — now that you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it. The jawline, the voice, the way he looks at you like he’s seeing every thought you’ve ever had.

“Clark—” Your voice cracks. “You’ve been—this whole time—”

“Yeah,” he admits quietly, stopping just a few feet away. His eyes are earnest, almost pleading. “I wanted to tell you. I just… didn’t know how.”

You stand there, thinking it through — and suddenly, it all starts to line up in your head.

“This is why you’re always late to work,” you say slowly, pieces slotting into place. “Every time Superman’s on the news… you’re nowhere to be found.”

Your brain keeps running, ticking off the little details you’d ignored:

The way he always seemed to disappear right before something big happened.

The fact that he could carry three stacks of paper, a full coffee pot, and Jimmy’s camera gear without breaking a sweat.

And when you really think about it…how did it take you this long to figure it out?

“But how…?” you ask, voice half awe, half frustration.

“The glasses,” he explains simply. “They’re hypno glasses, so they change how people see me. I also keep my posture different, the way I move, the way I speak…”

You just stare at him, equal parts impressed and utterly dumbfounded.

But then another thought slams into the back of your mind like a freight train. Your eyes widen, and you gasp loudly. Oh no. Oh no.Every single thing you’d ever said about Superman comes rushing back, each one more mortifying than the last.

You slap your hands over your face. “I… I talked about how much I wanted to fuck you in the sky.”

“Well…” Clark clears his throat, tilting his head with a maddeningly calm expression. “You actually asked if Superman has sex in the sky. Not that you wanted to.”

“The implication was there,” you groan, dragging your hands down your face in despair.

You let your eyes fall shut, willing yourself to disappear. You really needed to learn to shut your damn mouth. The countless times you’d gone on and on about Superman, right in front of him, played on repeat in your head.

If you could, you’d pack yourself into a box and ship off to some remote island, where you’d spend the rest of your days never making eye contact with another human being again.

The embarrassment is still trying to eat you alive, but at least he’s not laughing at you… not in a cruel way, anyway. Still, your brain is a scrambled mess. What now? What happens now that you know? How are you supposed to act around him? You have no idea.

“I obviously won’t tell anyone,” you manage, your voice firm despite the chaos in your head.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, looking like he’s scared you’ll bolt and never look at him the same.

“I mean, it’s a shock. Definitely in the top 10 craziest things that have ever happened to me.”

“Only top 10?” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“I got locked in the archives with a raccoon once, so that’s pretty high up there,” you joke, and he laughs, and it makes your chest feel warm.

You watch him for a moment, feeling the shift between you, and you know exactly what you want to say. “But… you’re still Clark. And now it just… it feels like you’re even more the man I know you are.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

“A sweet, caring, funny man. The kind of man that would help an old lady cross the street or stop a monorail from crashing,” you say, reaching up, your hand resting gently on his cheek. “The kind of man I really like.”

He smiles softly, leaning in bit by bit like two magnets drawn together. Your lips meet in a kiss you've been yearning for. Gentle, tentative at first, then deepening. He holds you like you’re fragile, like he’s scared to break you, and in that moment, everything else fades away.

“For the record, I like you too,” he says.

“Can I print that?” you tease, already heading toward your laptop.

He takes your hand and spins you back to him effortlessly. The second he has you by the waist, he pulls you in and kisses you so deeply that you both lift off the ground. You're both quite literally suspended in the moment.

“This is going to take some getting used to,” you murmur against his lips.

***

It’s been a little over a month since you found out, and you’ve never been happier.

You smile, reading another one of his Superman articles while covering for him when he suddenly goes missing to deal with a disaster downtown. The moment he comes back from saving the day again, you tease him.

“You need to stop interviewing yourself,” you say, smacking him lightly with the paper.

“Lois would kick your ass if she ever found out.”

“I know,” he laughs.

You spend your days getting each other coffee, sharing quiet moments in the office, and stealing little glances across crowded rooms. It felt right, like everything was finally falling into place.

You’re spending the night at Clark’s place like you’ve been doing more often lately. He’s relaxed, in his usual comfortable jeans and a soft shirt, and you’re cuddled up together on the couch in front of the TV. It’s a quiet night, one of those rare moments where you’re both just taking care of yourselves, not rushing anywhere.

You point at the TV with your ice cream-covered spoon. “See? I told you,” you say with a grin, nudging him playfully.

“There’s no way you guessed the ending,” he protests.

“I’m just that good,” you tease back, flashing him a smile.

Before you can say anything else, he looks at you and gently wipes some ice cream off your lip with his thumb, then sucks it off like it’s the sweetest thing he’s tasted.

He goes back to watching the TV like he didn’t just do something completely distracting. You’re focused only on him now. If he wants your full attention, then he has it.

“Clark Joseph Kent,” you scold.

He glances at you, innocent as ever, as he moves closer to you.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he leans down and kisses you. Honestly, you have no idea if he’s trying to get the ice cream off your lips or if it’s something much deeper. The moment his tongue slips into your mouth, it’s clear he’s not after the ice cream.

You toss your spoon haphazardly across the room and grip his shirt, pulling him closer. He smiles into the kiss, you are just too cute to resist.

Then, suddenly, as if he’s reading your mind, he lifts you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as if you’re weightless. In a few strides, he’s at his bedroom door, pushing it open with his foot.

He lies over you and presses you into the mattress, and you can feel his hard length through his sweatpants. Your body acts on its own as you buck your hips against him. The way you’re showing just how badly you need him is enough to make him smile against your lips again.

“You keep smiling,” you coo, breathless.

“With you, I can’t help it.”

The way he says it with that pretty dimpled smile almost makes you combust. He was going to be the end of you, you were sure of it.

Suddenly, you grab him by the hair, you pull him closer, your lips reconnecting in a fiery kiss. Your hands grip onto him like you’re afraid he might slip through your fingers if you don’t hold on tight enough.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to catch his breath, and you find yourself wanting to follow him, to close that tiny space between you again.

He looks at you, breathless, his lips parted, shirt deliciously half undone. This is the picture of temptation.

“You know, if you wanted to…” he says, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You definitely like where this is going.

“We could have sex—”

“In the sky?” you finish for him, practically buzzing at the thought.

The two of you go up to the roof of his apartment…

“Hold on,” he says, and before you can even process what’s happening, you’re clinging to him like a koala. His arms are solid around you, and then you’re in the air. Wind rushes past, cool against your cheeks, the ground shrinking away beneath you until the city is just a quilt of lights.

It’s… magical.

The moment you break through the cloud line, everything softens, moonlight spilling silver over endless white billows.

“Is this safe?” you ask, glancing around like you’re afraid the clouds might vanish if you breathe too hard.

“Yes,” he assures you. “You don’t have to worry. But if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No, I… I trust you.” The words come out quieter than you intended, but they’re true. Your eyes catch his, and you can feel your own sparkle with the rush of adrenaline and awe. Even though this was more than a little daunting, you knew you could trust Clark with anything and everything.

Being in his arms like this feels… right. Like you’ve been meant to be here all along. You give a small, almost shy smile. “Plus, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this.”

“Is that right? What else have you dreamed about?” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Clark, you can’t just…”

“I can’t?” he whispers back, kissing your neck lightly, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you lose yourself. Every one of your senses is set on fire… the cold of the air around you contrasting with the heat of your body. It was like holding onto pure sunlight, each one of his touches a soft kiss from the sun.

Taking the lobe of your ear between his lips, he gently nibbles, and you let out a little whimper, your arms going slack from the sudden rush of sensation.

Thank goodness he was holding you up, or you might have melted right there and become a puddle in the middle of Metropolis.

He’s only kissed your neck, and you’re already a shivering mess. He cups your face with his left hand, smiling at you like you’re the only girl in the world.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Keep saying things like that and I might just drop dead.”

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your skin as he holds your waist securely with one arm. You can feel the gentle vibration of his laugh against your cheek, making your stomach do a flip.

Using his free hand, his fingers expertly hook under the fabric of your panties, and with a teasing tug, they slip through his fingers, slipping off and disappearing into the wind, landing who knows where.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, a guilty smile on his lips. And honestly, when he’s that cute, how could you possibly be mad?

“Kiss me and I’ll forget all about it.”

And Clark obliges, kissing you deeply, your lips moving in perfect sync. You wrap your legs around his waist, and his hands slide down to hold your ass as he holds you that much closer.

Just then, you can feel his hard cock, pressing against you; it’s dying to be released. You grind your hips, making him let out a hiss of pleasure, which has got to be one of your favourite sounds.

“I want you,” you whine, and you don’t care how desperate you sound. The gentleman that Clark is, he doesn’t keep you waiting. He eases his thick cock inside of you.. Tears prick at your eyes as he stretches you out.

“Please, please…,” you beg, even though you don’t fully know what you’re begging for. Maybe for this feeling to never end. You dig your fingers into his back as he slowly brings you up and down on his cock to match his thrusts.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and you nod quickly. You’re practically sucking him in with your wet cunt, you’d take nothing he could give you. You bite down gently on his neck, trying to keep yourself from losing control. His skin starts turning a light red with each bite you leave.

“You’ll leave marks,” Clark moans, but there’s no hint of anger, only something more like approval. In fact, you think he likes it.

You catch yourself daydreaming about how beautiful he’d look, marked up with your hickeys, a little wild and wrecked. The thought sends a thrill through you.

“Because you’re mine,” you say as if it’s obvious.

“I’m yours,” he confirms. The words do more to him than he’d care to admit, and he puts all that energy into pleasing you.

He fucks you, the sound of your hips meeting echoing softly around you, surrounded by the endless clouds.

You can tell he’s holding back. You knew he could never literally fuck you through the clouds because you’d break in half. But still, you want more.

“You can go harder,” you whisper, breathless. “I can take it.”

“You sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything.”

With that, he flips you over, your legs dangling as his chest presses firmly against your back, impaling you on his cock.

His arms lock tightly around your waist, holding you close as you moan erratically, squirming in his grip. You might just be seeing stars.

“Clark!” is the only thing that comes out of your mouth clearly. The rest is just screams and moans, your mind completely overtaken, the part that handles logic shutting down entirely. He’s fucking the brains out of you, and you’ll be surprised if you’re capable of stringing together two sentences tomorrow.

Not to mention the way he sounds. It was music to your ears, hearing his breathy moans as he lets himself go. He moves at a punishing pace, the bulge of his cock appearing and disappearing in your stomach as he thrusts, but you want it like that. You want him to have you completely, to stretch you out and use your pussy exactly the way you both need him to.

***

After a fuck-session that left your bones aching and your body weak from having been put in positions you didn’t even think were possible, you were in bed together. You're pressed against him, lying more on him than the bed because he’s just that comfy. And who could blame you for wanting to run your hands up and down his abs? He looks down at you, the sun drafting in through the windows and bathing you in its light. You squint, blinking away the lingering haze—you two had really fucked the night away.

“I’m not gonna be able to get up for work later,” you murmur softly. “You’ll have to carry me everywhere.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he replies, kissing the top of your head gently.

“My hero,” you whisper, holding him tighter. Now you could finally put the debate to rest. Superman is definitely good in bed.

Main Masterlist || DC Masterlist

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rafecameronswhoore · 11 hours ago

Text

next door's lemonade

pairing: dilf!clark kent x fem reader

summary: clark kent’s a mild-mannered single dad, but when you decide to turn up the heat, things get messy—literally. three easy steps to seduce your unlikely crush, plus one totally unexpected meltdown. chaos, flustered kisses, and way too much dad energy guaranteed.

cw: age gap, domestic thirst, 40 yr old single dad clark, i had mid 20s reader in mind but it's up to you, soft-spoken filth, oral (f!receiving), pet names, overstimulation, size kink, thigh riding, praise, piv smut, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, 3k wc mdni

you’re convinced clark kent was god’s personal apology to women for everything else men have done.

he’s quiet, polite, and always has that bashful little smile when he sees you. when he walks his daughter to the bus stop every morning, your heart does that stupid flutter thing—but worse than that, your uterus practically weeps. her pigtails are always slightly crooked, like he tried his best and she wouldn’t sit still, and the sight alone makes you want to hand in your iud and volunteer as tribute.

but clark? clark’s completely unaware of the chaos he causes. or so you thought.

you’d always exchanged casual greetings—him with his chipper “morning” and you with a smile that bordered on horny—but nothing past that. until one day, standing outside your front door, key half in the lock, you catch sight of him in his front yard.

his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, hands deep in the flower bed. his shirt clings to his back in all the right places. biceps flex. forearms strain. there's a smudge of dirt on his jaw.

he looks up. catches you staring.

you freeze.

he waves. smiles. it’s boyish. innocent. cruel.

you scramble inside like you just saw god himself—because, honestly, you might’ve.

and that’s when it hits you: this man will not realize you want him unless you physically spell it out. and even then, there’s a 50/50 chance he’ll think you’re just being neighborly.

fine.

you can be aggressively neighborly, because one way or another, you are going to get into clark kent’s dad pants if it’s the last thing you do.

step one: bait the child

you “accidentally” bake too many muffins. double batch. how clumsy of you.

“these? oh no, i can’t eat them all. would your daughter like some?”

she comes over giggling and thanks you every time, bouncing with excitement. and when she beams up at clark and says, “daddy, she made blueberry again!”—your heart squeezes in your chest and your pussy clenches right after from the goofy smile he gives you, muffin crumbs on his lip.

step two: damsel in distress

you wave him over one hot afternoon. “mr. kent! my ac unit’s being dumb again. it’s so confusing. would you mind taking a look?”

he spends twenty minutes crouched down fiddling with it, sweat glistening along his hairline, shirt riding up in the back, glasses slipping down his nose. you pretend not to stare. you fail. miserably. he turns back, flustered. “it was just the filter. uh—real easy fix.”

“still, thanks,” you say, handing him a cold, homemade lemonade. “you’re such a good neighbor.”

his ears turn red. he mumbles, “a-and you can just call me clark, you know. ‘mr. kent’ makes me sound like… my dad.” his laugh is self-conscious, cheeks pink as he glances at you and quickly looks away.

god, how can a 40-year-old dad be so fucking hot and so stupidly cute at the same time?

“sure thing, clark.” you purr. he blinks twice like his brain just blue-screened.

step three: verbal homicide

today’s the day.

you and clark are sitting on your front porch. he’s sipping the lemonade you made. his daughter’s across the lawn, playing with chalk on the driveway. you watch her draw a lopsided sun with a smiley face.

“she’s amazing,” you say softly. clark beams with quiet pride. “next woman in your life’s gonna be real lucky to have your baby.”

he chokes.

full on, hand-on-chest, coughing fit.

you innocently pat his back, wide-eyed. “oh no, clark! you okay?”

“w-wow, that’s… uh… that’s quite a thing to say,” he manages, voice an octave higher. his ears are red. “i mean—thank you, that’s… that’s kind. she’s, uh… she’s my whole world.” he glances away again, adjusting his glasses like they’re suddenly the most interesting thing on earth.

you blink at him all doe-eyed. “i just meant—anyone would be lucky. you’re an amazing dad. sweet. strong. gentle. built like a truck.”

his jaw tightens.

you bite your straw.

he gulps.

it’s so over for him.

step four: reap the rewards

you wait until his daughter gets picked up for a sleepover before making your move.

it’s storming. your lights flicker. and right as scheduled, you're knocking on his door.

“power out?” he asks softly.

“yeah,” you say. “can i wait it out in here?”

he hesitates. then nods. “of course, it's no bother.”

you smile sweetly as he lets you in.

both of you are sitting on his couch now. clark’s all stiff and awkward. his glasses fog slightly every time he exhales.

your legs are in his lap.

he’s definitely pretending not to look at them.

he’s not touching you, not really, but his hand’s resting near your calf and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. his eyes flicker down to your thighs again—just for a second.

then he mumbles, “you’re, uh… you’re real young.”

you blink innocently. “too young for what?”

he opens his mouth. closes it. flusters.

you lean in.

he doesn’t stop you.

you touch his cheek, soft and slow, and whisper, “you’ve been such a good neighbor to me, clark. such a gentleman.”

he swallows again. you’re starting to love how often you make him do that.

then you murmur, “you wanna keep bein’ a gentleman, or can i show you how long i’ve been thinking about your hands?”

you start to climb into his lap and his breath catches.

“i don’t think—i mean, this probably isn’t—” he cuts himself off when you fully settle in his lap. his hands hover near your waist but don’t quite touch. “i’m—i’m not exactly good at this sort of thing,” he says quietly, eyes darting everywhere except your face. “you think i don’t notice when you look?” you murmur. he swallows. “i—well. i try not to.” “that’s cute.” you lean forward. “wanna try failing a little harder?”

then you grind down.

he jerks beneath you.

his hands fly to your waist—but he doesn’t stop you.

“been thinking about this forever,” you whisper against his neck. “thought about riding your thigh just to see if you’d notice.”

his chest rumbles. “i noticed.”

you shiver.

“then why didn’t you do anything?”

he exhales shakily. “i’m not supposed to want you like this.”

you whimper. “but you do.”

“yes,” he admits, breathless. “god help me, i do.”

you start grinding against his thigh, desperate, sticky, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

he’s hard. thick and long and straining against his pants.

his hands move to your hips. help you rock. guide you through it like it’s killing him.

you whimper when your clit drags against the firm muscle of his thigh.

“oh my god—fuck—”

he stiffens. “don’t say that. don’t curse.”

you blink, dazed. “you don’t like it?”

he looks almost pained. “i just—i don’t use that kind of language, and i don’t like hearin’ it on your pretty mouth. not when you’ve got so many sweeter things to say.”

you blink.

then you grind harder.

“you’re unreal,” you pant, high on power. “clark, i swear—your thigh—i’m gonna cum just like this, i can’t—”

his breath comes fast.

“you wanna come on my thigh, darlin’?” his voice is low, but there’s that shy hitch in it, like he’s almost embarrassed to say it out loud. “go ahead. make a mess, it’s alright—i’ll take care of it.”

your whole body shudders at the warmth in his tone.

“yeah?” he murmurs, glancing down at where you’re pressed against him. “you gonna–uh, soak right through these shorts for me?”

you nod frantically.

“pretty girl,” he breathes, thumb brushing your cheek in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. “you’ve been actin’ so sweet lately, real flirty. but– you’re not a bad girl, right?”

“i’m such a slut,” you whisper, breath hitching.

clark sits back just slightly, blinking hard. “hey—hey, now. don’t say that.”

“why not?”

his brows pinch. “’cause that’s not… that’s not what this is. you’re not—i mean, you’re just…”

he looks flustered. desperate to explain. “you’re sweet. and—and good. and i’m probably too old and really not good at this anymore, but—”

you pull him back in by the collar.

“clark,” you whisper. “shut up and keep ruining me.”

“yes ma’am,” he mutters again, voice cracking.

you’re whimpering into his neck, panting like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

your clit is throbbing. his thigh is slick. and he’s so still underneath you, chest heaving with every shaky breath, eyes fixed on where your soaked sleep shorts have turned nearly translucent against his skin.

“clark—i’m gonna—”

“go on, honey,” he breathes. “i’ve got you”

your head drops against his shoulder. you cry out—soft, desperate, overwhelmed—and he shudders beneath you when your body locks up and twitches in his lap.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, a little bashful. “such a good girl for me.”

you’re trembling. sensitive. overstimulated. and yet—

you still want more.

you roll your hips again, chasing that high, gasping when it stings a little but still feels so good.

he freezes, swallowing hard. his voice gets all tight and breathy.

“don’t… don’t do that.”

“why?”

he bites his lip, voice cracking just a little.

“’cause if you keep goin’, i’m not gonna be able to stop… and, uh, that’d be a problem.”

your eyes flutter open.

your lips part.

yes, you think. finally.

“then don’t stop,” you whisper. “please. i want it. i want you.”

he groans—actually groans, like you just kicked the legs out from under his self-control—and then suddenly you’re on your back, clark looming over you, so much bigger than you imagined.

his broad shoulders block out the lamp behind him. his hand cups the back of your knee, spreading your legs gently but firmly, as if he’s trying to be respectful even now.

you’re soaked.

he stares down at your flushed body and breathes, “you look like temptation itself.”

he sinks to his knees at the edge of the couch like you’re holy.

like he’s praying.

your breath catches when he pushes your thighs apart, pulling down your small shorts and panties, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your inner thigh. then another, higher. and another, closer to where you need him.

he looks up at you once, eyes dark, lips parted.

“i haven’t… done this in a while,” he confesses. “i hope i don’t mess it up.”

“you wont,” you whisper, chest heaving.

he smiles. soft and sweet. “okay, baby.”

then he leans in and devours you.

his mouth is warm. firm. so, so thorough. he kisses you like it’s a love language, like it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never thought he’d get to. he eats like a man starved—slow at first, reverent, dragging his tongue through your folds until you’re squirming—and then deeper, rougher, gripping your thighs tight as he licks into you like he’s memorizing the shape of your pussy with his tongue.

you moan. loud. unrestrained.

“oh wow,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to blink up at you, dazed. “you—you taste like—uh—like sugar? or lemonade? is that weird to say?”

you giggle, breath hitching when his tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe through your folds again.

“you can say whatever you want as long as you keep doing that.”

“okay,” he mumbles, immediately diving back in, muffling a sheepish, “yes ma’am” against your cunt like the respectful farm boy he is.

you whimper.

he laps at you again, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one long, messy stroke.

you arch off the couch. cry out. your second orgasm hits harder than the first—shaking your legs, making you grab for him, thighs clenching around his head.

he doesn’t stop.

god, he doesn’t stop.

he sucks your clit right through it, tongue flicking, mouth hot and wet and everywhere, and suddenly you’re crying—hands fisting in his hair, tears streaming down your cheeks.

and clark—sweet, soft clark—he pulls back just enough to kiss your thigh and murmur, “you cryin’, darlin’? oh, honey. did i go too hard?”

you sob. “n-no—feels so good—i just—”

he kisses you again. this time, between your legs. slow. gentle. sinful.

then he presses a kiss to your hip and asks, sweet and red-faced, “may i…?”

you nod. “please.”

he pulls out a little foil packet from his wallet.

“you had that ready?” you tease.

he blushes so hard you think he might die. “i—just in case. not that i assumed—i didn’t! i just… hoped.” you bite your lip, voice soft but steady. “i appreciate the gesture, but i wanna feel you, clark.”

clark blinks fast, mouth opening and closing like a stunned fish before he fumbles, setting the condom aside like he’s a little caught off guard.

you giggle.

and then he unbuttons his pants.

you don’t even get to see him pull it out. you just feel the weight of it as he presses the head against your inner thigh, and even that makes you twitch.

“you sure about this?” he asks, voice tight, breathless.

you nod, voice shaking. “please. want it so bad.”

he leans over you. presses his forehead to yours.

his cock nudges your entrance.

thick. heavy. he’s holding back like he’s scared of breaking you.

he’s so careful when he pushes in. you’re so tight around him he actually groans.

“oh, sweetheart. i’m—i’m sorry, i’ll go slow—”

you nod.

he bottoms out.

his hands tremble when you look up at him. flushed. full.

your hands clutch his shoulders as your body stretches around him. you feel every inch. every pulse. he’s groaning—groaning, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he sinks deeper and deeper.

“feels like heaven,” he chokes. “tight little thing—s’like you were made for me.”

you nod, trembling. you feel so full—like your body had just been waiting for this, built for this, desperate to be filled up by a man with hands big enough to lift you and a voice soft enough to break you.

stays there.

“you okay?” he asks, voice almost shaking.

you nod, tears still on your cheeks.

“clark—i need you to move.”

and when he does?

it’s over.

he breaks you down slowly, tenderly, thrust by deep thrust.

he kisses your tears away.

he calls you his sweetheart.

he thrusts deep, still trying to be gentle.

“feels like i’m dreamin’, sweetheart,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. “i can’t believe this is real.”

you gasp. your walls clench. he whimpers.

he whimpers.

his forehead is pressed to yours. one of his huge hands is cradling the back of your neck. the other is splayed low on your stomach like he’s trying to feel himself from the outside, to make sense of how snug you are, how perfectly your body takes him.

“can feel it, sweetheart,” he pants softly. “you’re squeezin’ me so good. like you don’t wanna let me go.”

you don’t.

you never want him to stop.

you’re crying now, wrecked and wet and shaking, each drag of his cock against your walls sending little shocks of heat straight to your toes.

he murmurs against your skin, “is that too much, baby? you need me to slow down?”

you sob out a broken, “no, please don’t stop—feels so good—clark, please—”

he hushes you softly, lips brushing your temple. “i got you, honey. i know.”

you swear you can feel him twitching inside you, the stretch just bordering on overwhelming—so thick and deep and gentle, like he wants to ruin you but only if you’ll let him.

and you will.

you want to.

you want to feel him lose it. you want to feel him fall apart.

“i wanna make a mess in you,” he confesses, voice cracking just a little, breath heavy. “wanna fill you up good. is that okay?”

you moan. nod frantically. “yes—please—please—”

his thrusts get a little rougher. still slow. still deep. but heavier now, driven by the desperation he’s clearly been holding back this whole time.

“clark—”

and then he kisses you.

not just a press of lips—a real, messy, breathless kiss, mouths open, tongues grazing, teeth clashing a little when he finally ruts deep and stays there, cock pulsing hard inside you as he cums.

you feel it—hot and thick and endless, like his whole body’s pouring into you.

you gasp against his mouth. twitch. your walls flutter around him.

he groans through his orgasm, lips brushing your cheek. “that’s it, baby—take it. take all of it, you’re doin’ so good—”

he stays there.

buried inside.

not moving, not pulling out, just breathing hard and holding you like you might float away if he lets go. you’re both sweaty and sticky and breathless, and your thighs are quivering, but his arms never stop holding you.

you don’t know how much time passes.

just that eventually, you feel his hands—big and warm and careful—slide beneath your thighs as he lifts you gently into his arms.

“where are we going?” you whisper, voice small and dazed.

he chuckles softly. “bed.”

“you want me to stay?”

he kisses your forehead. “if you’ll have me.”

(you will.)

he helps you clean up. tucks you in. finds one of his old flannel shirts for you to wear—big enough that it hits mid-thigh.

you’re curled up in his lap again—except this time, under the covers. his hands are stroking your back slowly. steady. reassuring.

you murmur, “was it weird? being with someone younger?”

he blushes a bright red.

“felt right to be with you.”

you go quiet.

then: “i think i wanna be a stay-at-home wife.”

he laughs—bright, full, happy—and kisses the top of your head.

“yeah?” he murmurs. “that why you keep bakin’ cookies for my daughter and flirtin’ with me?”

“…yes.”

he smiles against your hair. “well. if you’re serious about it, honey—”

he kisses your temple.

“—we can talk about it over breakfast.”

“you’re makin’ me breakfast?”

“of course,” he says, brushing your hair off your cheek. “you like bacon? i make ‘em good. you can show me how you make that lemonade."

and maybe—just maybe—he makes you a baby too.

but that’s for next time :3 a/n: still haven't watched superman. this was supposed to be a request and i got very carried away...

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rafecameronswhoore · 12 hours ago

Note

hii bby!! im currently OBSESSED with Clark Kent and I saw where u did how he would be obsessed with readers ass so could u do a titty version plss???

MDNI 18+

゛⸝⸝ ⋆ clark kent — superman

clark kent is a big titty lover!!

cw: titty obsessed clark, boob fucking (clark wears glasses during it because he swears he sees better)

ֺּׅ⏦ﾟ ֺּׅ　　　⋆ ࣭ masterlist — clark kent masterlist

CLARK WINCED WHEN a rolled up magazine hit him across the head. “stop ogling your girlfriend and starting writing the report,” perry muttered, shaking his head in disapproval as he caught clark staring at your tits once again. now, not only was this awkward for him but for everyone.

clark had no idea that his mouth was wide open and his big blue eyes were wide staring at your cleavage, but he did hear perry mutter something about incompetence and a love sick fool.

now, he wasn’t an idiot, but he was a love sick fool.

a love sick fool that was obsessed with your tits.

now, if the two of you were in your shared apartment, clark would be a little more handsy, after all he was balancing both being a superhero and a journalist.

“come here,” he ushered you softly, large hands shaking around your waist as he pulled you down in his lap, his chest against your back.

you didn’t even need to ask what he was doing.

slowly his hands crept up, before they were just hovering right before your tits, “just had a stressful day,” he sighed, his voice deep. “could use a little distraction?” he raised a brow, his hands gently squeezing your tits.

if he wasn’t squeezing them softly, he would nuzzle his face into it when the two of you cuddled, a content sigh escaping his lips as he nestled like a giant puppy.

that was a cute part, but clark could also be completely feral.

this involved a lot of boob fucking, like a a lot.

his cock was hard and heavy against your soft skin, your tits pressed tightly together by your hands as his cock seeped in and out of your cleavage, the precum leaking out of his sensitive tip making your skin glisten.

“so pretty,” clark chanted repeatedly, in complete awe of the sight. the sensation of your soft supple skin was too much.

with this, clark always wore his glasses.

not that he really needed them, but he was convinced that he saw better with them on, and how could he not wear them? he wanted to see your tits after all.

he awkwardly pushed his glasses back up his nose bridge when they fell, making you giggle. despite how the two of you could be doing something so filthy, clark was still… clark.

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rafecameronswhoore · 12 hours ago

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Sorry Doesn’t Cut It

Clark Kent x F!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: smut, rough sex, unprotected sex, clark spying on you.., size kink, mating press, possessive clark, reader doing something shes not supposed to do, dirty talk, use of the word ‘good girl’ , slight degradation.

You told yourself it was just an interview. Nothing more. Just a chance to get a good story.

Lex Luthor sat across from you in his expensive office, polished shoes crossed, an almost serpentine smile curling at his mouth.

“So,” Lex drawled, leaning back, eyes roaming a little too obviously over your body, “tell me, how does someone like you end up working for the Daily Planet? Surely you could do better.”

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the way his gaze lingered. “Im here to ask you questions, Mr. Luthor. About your new project.”

“Mm.” He waved dismissively, leaning forward, elbows on his desk. “All in good time. But indulge me- what does your boyfriend think about you being here? Clark Kent, isn’t it? The quiet one with the glasses.” He smirked knowingly. “Funny. I don’t see him as… your type.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your voice professional. “My personal life isn’t part of this interview.”

Lex chuckled low. “Then maybe we should skip the interview entirely.” His eyes flickered over you again, blatant and predatory. “Go to dinner instead. You’d look stunning on my arm. I could show you a much better time than Smallville ever could.”

Across the city, Clark’s jaw locked tight.

At his desk in the Planet newsroom, his hand clutched into fists. He told you not to go. He’d told you that Lex was dangerous. And now, with his super-hearing trained on every word, he could hear Lex’s oily tone, his shameless flirting, your nervousness laugh as you tried to deflect

“Dinner instead,” Lex’s voice echoed in Clark’s head. “I could show you a much better time than Smallville ever could.”

The pen in Clark’s hand snapped into two. By the time you walked through the door that evening, Clark was waiting in the shadows- glasses off, eyes burning hotter than hell.

“You went.” He said lowly. “To Lex..”

“Clark-“

“Don’t.” His voice cut like a blade. “I told you not to. And yet..” His head tilted, a sharp little smirk on his lips. “I heard everything.”

Your heart dropped. Of course. His hearing. Every word Lex said, every time you laughed nervously, every time you brushed it off instead of walking away.

You opened your mouth to tell him that you did your best to keep everything strictly professional, but Clark was already moving- faster than your breath could catch. His mouth was on yours, rough, punishing. His hands, big and unyielding, gripped your thighs and lifted you like you weighed everything.

By the time your back hit the mattress, you knew there was no getting out of this. He had you pinned, wrists in one hand above your head. You gasped, heart hammering as his body loomed over yours.

“You let him talk to you like that,” Clark growled, grinding against you through your clothes. “You let him think he could.”

“I-“ you started, but his free hand yanked your clothes away like it was paper. His mouth wad on your neck, kissing, biting, sucking, marking. You whimpered, squirming.

“Disobeyed me.” he muttered against your skin. “Made me listen to him try to take whats mine.”

Then he was lower, between your thighs before you had time to protest. He shoved your knees wide apart, his grip bruising, his eyes dark with possessive fire.

“Clark-“

He didn’t answer. His mouth latched onto your pussy with Kryptonian focus, his tongue relentless, devouring you like a man starved. You cried out, arching up, but he shoved you down with a flat hand on your stomach, holding you down with humiliating ease.

“Too sweet for him.” He muttered into your soaked folds. “This is mine.” His tongue circled your clit, hard and fast, sending shocks through your body. “You think Lex could make you sound like this? Beg like this?”

You moaned, writhing, but there was no escape. His strength pinned you perfectly, unmovable, unshakable. His tongue plunged deeper, his nose brushing your clit, and you shattered, crying out his name.

But he didn’t stop.

“Clark, It’s too much! M’sorry!” You whine out

He only smirked, mouth glistening, eyes burning into yours “M’Sorry?” He mocked, before diving back in, ducking your clit hard, dragging another orgasm out of you until your legs trembled around his head.

Your voice cracked. “M’sorry- Clark, m’sorry-“

He lifted his head, mouth wet, eyes wild. “Yeah? I didn’t hear that.” His tone was sharp and cruel.

“I’m sorry!” You whimpered louder, tears pricking your eyes. I shouldn’t have gone!”

“Good girl.” He growled, but he wasn’t done.

In a blur, he hauled you up, flipping you onto your back again. His hands pushed your knees to your chest, folding you in half. The mating press left you completely exposed, helpless, legs trembling on either side of his waist.

Then he slammed into you. Hard, deep. The stretch was brutal, overwhelming, Kryptonian strength diving into you with a force that left you gasping.

Your palms pressed in his chest, but it was useless. He was a wall of unyielding muscle and heat.

“Clark-!”

“Louder.” His thrusts grew sharper, punishing. “Say it again.”

“Im sorry!” You cried, voice breaking. “I’m sorry- Im yours, always yours!”

“That’s right.” His forehead pressed to yours, his pace brutal, your body bouncing helplessly beneath him. “You’re mine. Not his. Never his.”

Your walls clenched around him, your body on the edge again from his earlier torment. You sobbed his name, overwhelmed, breaking apart under him.

He groaned the sound guttural, desperate. “Fuck- mine-“ he came with a shudder, holding you down, filling you, making sure you felt all of it.

For a long moment, all you could do was cling to him, wrecked and trembling.

Finally his breath slowed. The fire in his eyes dimmed, softened. He kissed you gently brushing the tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t need Lex,” he whispered. “You don’t need anyone but me.”

And this time, you didn’t argue.

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rafecameronswhoore · 12 hours ago

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Consumed with what’s just transpired

clark kent x f!reader

cw: smut (mdni, 18+), heavy overstimulation (reader), oral (reader rec), unprotected p in v, multiple creampies, (light) breeding kink, cum play, usage of safe word, soft!dom!clark, sub!reader

wc: 1.2k

now playing: Sex on Fire – Kings of Leon

Your back hit the mattress, not a single piece of clothing left on your body as Clark parted your folds with his tongue. Electricity cracked between you where his mouth connected with your skin, his lips sucking on your clit with no mercy.

“Oh, m- god, Clark,” you gasped, writhing under him while he worked on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He barely even heard you, focused on smothering his face with your cunt. You could feel him breathe in as he smushed his head further into your thighs, arms reaching out to spread your legs across his shoulders.

You tightened your muscles around him involuntarily, keeping him locked in place. But he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it just made him more determined. Clark’s fingers dug into the flesh of your sides as he kept you from bucking away.

“You taste so good,” he murmured as his tongue swirled across your clit, “Like heaven.”

Warmth pooled in your lower belly while he lapped at you relentlessly. A short glance downwards blessed you with the most divine point of view. The lower half of Clark’s face glinted with your essence and you couldn’t figure out who was more drunk on who. (But it was probably him.)

The coil in your tummy tightened as he lightly grazed your clit with his teeth, just a hint of pain adding to the pleasure boiling at the base of your spine. When he added two thick fingers into your channel while he flattened his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves, your hips lifted off the bed. Your legs fully locked around his neck, effectively trapping him between your thighs.

“Oh, fuck, Clark-,” you moaned, your muscles beginning to shake with your impending release.

He groaned into you like a man possessed and curled his fingers right against your g-spot.

“Shit, I’m-“ The rest of your sentence got lost in a string of desperate noises as your orgasm washed over you, warming you to the tips of your fingers and toes.

Clark didn’t let up on your twitching core until you trembled away under his grip.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispered, slowly guiding your ass back to the mattress, letting you sink into the softness of the sheets. One of his large hands sprawled comfortingly over your tummy, his own body temperature transferring into your skin.

“Again?” He asked once you stopped twitching, a devilish grin on his face that Superman should never carry.

Hours later, Clark still wasn’t done with you. It wasn’t even the search for his own pleasure that kept him going through the night, the moon replacing the sun as orgasm after orgasm washed through the two of you. No, he wanted to see just how far you could go.

Cum was spilling out of you, dripping down your thighs, as Clark yanked up your hips while mushing your face in the pillows. “Look so beautiful like this, my love,” he mumbled, smoothing his hand across the sweat slicked skin of your back. “So full o’me,” he continued, fascination tinting his words. With surprising gentleness, he parted your legs a little further. “Jeez, such a pretty sight,” he whispered, more to himself than you.

One long digit started pushing his cum back into you, your abused hole spasming at the stimulation.

“Clark,” you whimpered, “I… I can’t…”

He kissed the small of your back while he kept sliding his pointer finger in and out of you.

“That’s not your word, honey,” he replied.

Barely seconds later, his cock replaced his fingers. The tip nudged at your opening, slipping in just an inch or two. That alone was enough to make you whine into the pillow, one hand reaching for the headboard to pull yourself off of him. His strong grip kept you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” Clark asked and pulled you right back, fucking you onto his cock. He still didn’t give you more than the first few inches. The mushroom head slipped along your drenched walls, you own slick and his earlier releases making it so much easier for him to fill you up.

“I can’t… I’m so… I…,” you stammered helplessly.

“You know what to say,” he reminded you and you nodded but didn’t give up yet. Another inch breached you and you cried out, fisting the drenched sheets hard enough that your knuckles paled.

“Good girl,” he praised gently, “I know you can do it. It’s so much but I know you still got one more in you. Don’t you, princess?”

You whimpered a sound that resembled a ‘yes’ and felt him smooth a hand across the small of your back.

“That’s it,” he purred and filled you up in one go.

You felt him in your guts, that’s how deep he went. The bed banged against the wall as he set a fast-paced rhythm, his pelvis meeting your ass repeatedly.

“Gosh, you were made for me,” Clark groaned while his heavy balls slapped against your clit again and again, “Need to feel you fall apart, baby.”

Your hole clenched around him as he thrusted into you and he moaned in reply. “Don’t… oh shoot, you feel so good.” Stars crossed your vision while the bedframe creaked so loud you were sure it would break in half.

Clark’s fingers tightened on your hips, surely leaving behind bruises for you to admire in the morning – if you could walk tomorrow, that is.

“Just one more,” he promised, his free hand sneaking along your stomach to your clit to rub you even rawer. “Just one.”

Overstimulated, gasping and trembling, you felt fresh tears prick in the corner of your eyes as Clark brought you closer to your release with every draw of his fingers across your flushed bundle of nerves.

You came with a scream, muffled by the pillow below you, and Clark followed right behind, burying himself so far into your core that you swore you tasted him for a second. Blinding, hot pleasure had you sobbing as his cock twitched with aftershocks against your velvety walls.

He slipped out of you with a hiss tumbling from his lips and you dropped to the bed without question. Soothingly, he ran a hand across the back of your thigh but even that was too much to handle.

“Did such a good job, baby. Love you so much,” he muttered, “Lemme look at you, hmm?”

Clark helped you turn around so that you laid on your back but the peace was short lived as he pried your thighs apart. His eyes watched in fascination as his liquid leaked out of your cunt, translucent pearls decorating the delicate flesh on your legs.

When his fingers found their way to your cunt, your thighs clamped shut, trapping him right there.

“Can’t let it go to waste, baby,” he protested, his eyes clouded with that post-coital haze.

“Kansas.”

The word hadn’t fully left your lips but he had already halted all movement.

“Okay, sweet girl,” he whispered. His expression cleared and your muscles relaxed, freeing his hand. “You’re done, baby, don’t worry,” Clark soothed and gently kissed your forehead, “Thank you for telling me.”

Time passed and the only thing he did was hold you. Your breathing began to steady while he gently squeezed you in his arms. His cum dried between your legs but neither of you wanted to let go of the other.

“I love you, princess,” he murmured into your ear, “You’re always safe with me.”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

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rafecameronswhoore · 12 hours ago

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size kink goes 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

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rafecameronswhoore · 14 hours ago

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Rafe helps you get back at your ex JJ…

collegehockey!rafe x reader

*rafe and jj are on opposing teams

inspired by this p!link 🔗 + this song 🎶

c/w: exhibitionism, voyeurism, recording sex, degradation, praise kink, choking, slapping, unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), rough sex, creampie, language, pet names, + they barely know eachother

2.9K

The win was still buzzing in his blood, thrumming right under his skin. Adrenaline spiking higher with every second as he watched the mess play out across the bar. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, lights strobing in and out—and there he was. #73. Your boyfriend. His hands all over some girl. And she sure as shit wasn’t you.

Rafe barely reacts at first, just watching; jaw tightening slightly. Not because he cared about JJ or your relationship in the slightest. This was actually best-case scenario for him. He was just curious about what would happen next. And, he was ready.

JJ's tongue slips between the girl's lips; leaning into it, completely shameless like he has nothing to lose.

But Rafe wasn’t the only one who noticed.

You walk by the bar, drink in hand, and the moment your gaze falls on JJ, your face twists. It wasn’t the reaction he expected… No tears, no fighting. You lifted your hand, flicking JJ off, catching the eyes of a few of his teammates as you walked toward the door—JJ, still none the wiser. Not yet, at least.

“Gotta go,” Rafe mutters as he pushes up from the table.

“Rafe—where the fuck are you goin?” One of the guys calls after him, but he’s not listening. Kelce points lazily over to the bar, gesturing to JJ, already knowing full-well what would happen next, muttering to Topper about sleeping on the pullout bed in their hotel room tonight.

“Hey—”

“Not in the mood,” you warn before he can even get his words out; your voice, sharp and annoyed as your heels clap along the pavement.

Rafe chuckles, lifting his hands in surrender. “Hey I’m on your team—”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard before you turn, recognizing a familiar voice. Rafe smiles as you meet his pretty blue eyes—his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey. You alright?” He asks gently but you can see in his eyes that he knows the answer.

You let out a dry laugh as you shake your head ‘no,’ wrapping your arms around your waist as you step a little closer. He nods, looking down at you, his smile widening as you close the gap between you.

“Guessing you already know that?” You ask with a playful tip of your head.

He lets out a short laugh, rubbing his hand over his mouth to snuff out his smile. “You’re makin’ it sound like I’ve been stalking you, pretty.”

“Pretty?” You ask, feeling your cheeks warm up from the term of endearment. He bites his lip slightly and smiles. “Haven’t you been—stalking me, that is?”

He shrugs, rocking back on his heels a little as he marinates with that thought for a bit, playing with you. “I wouldn’t say that… But you are kinda hard to ignore.”

“Is that so?” You ask as you bat your lashes a few times, making him blush.

“I saw you sittin’ on the glass,” Rafe admits. “Heard JJ talkin’ in the parking lot after. Figured I’d tell the boys to come here.” His tongue pokes against his cheek as he says the words out loud, making your accusations from before even more laughable. “So, yeah… maybe I am a little bit of a stalker.”

You giggle and shake your head, looking up at him as Rafe glances down at your phone.

“So… What are you sayin’ to him?” He asks curiously.

You scoff and sigh, “M’telling him I saw what he did and that I’m done.”

Rafe nods as if that was the only logical response. Your eyes flick up from your phone as he does the same, matching your gaze—a flicker of something darker in both your eyes. “I just wanna make him pay,” you smile. “Show him, I’m not the only one who can do whoever they want.”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile, catching the way you said ‘whoever’ instead of ‘whatever.’ “You meant that, huh?” He asks as his smile deepens.

“Yeah,” you answer without hesitation.

“So what, you wanna do me? Is that what we’re gettin’ at here?” He asks as he battles back a smile.

“I do,” you answer again with a confidence that makes his breath catch. His smile never wavers as he looks back at you, curious about what you’ll say next, not doubting that you’re surprising him with every word that slips your lips already. “— Under one condition.”

He raises a brow, stepping a little closer. “Yeah? N’what’s that, princess?”

You hold his gaze as your lips curl into a smirk. “We record it. And send it to him.”

Rafe’s mouth parts in quiet surprise, his lashes fluttering as he replays the words in his head, and for a second, you think he’ll say ‘no’—that maybe you pushed it a little too far for night one.

He tilts a little closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, leading you in the other direction from where you were headed.

“I got a mirror on my ceiling.”

The lights are down low, just enough for Rafe to get the perfect shot as he lays down on his big hotel bed, the light of your camera phone glowing as you crawl closer.

“Fuck, you look so good,” he groans as you crawl on top, straddling his lap, your weight on your hands, pressed against his firm chest. Rafe’s heart races underneath as he looks up at you in awe, holding your hip in his large hand, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, following your movements as you grind your wet pussy on his hard dick with his camera pointed right at it.

He lifts the camera to the ceiling, and you look up as well, smiling for JJ to see.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles as he smacks your ass. “Don’t worry, Maybank—I’ll take real good care of her from now on,” he huffs, his words fading to a deep moan as you move your hand between your thighs, wrapping your fingers around his thick dick, tilting your body closer.

You breathe against his mouth as you stroke his long length, nice and slow. "You’re gonna take care of me, baby?" Rafe’s eyes roll back at your words. A deep, gravelly moan thunders in his throat as you kiss along his jawline.

“Mhmm… I am, princess. I promise,” he sighs as he reaches his hand out, propping it up on the nightstand. Rafe's head falls back into the pillow, giving you access to his skin, your lips taking purchase of his neck, kissing lower and lower, his muscles tightening under your soft touches.

You tease him with the tip of your tongue, tracing his deep v-line as you work your way between his thighs, finally getting a good look at his rock-hard cock; pussy pulsing, body aching to be stuffed full of him.

You wrap your fingers around his dick, holding him straight, licking along the side of his dick, making him moan needily.

Your tongue travels across his hard skin, exploring every inch, taunting him some more. He grips your hair suddenly, pulling you back, making you gasp, goosebumps fanning across his thick thighs. You flick your eyes at him, catching his rapid breathing.

"Maybe I should thank him for being a fuckin’ idiot—otherwise, I wouldn’t have you like this, pretty," he taunts, causing a smirk to stretch across your lips.

"It’d be rude if you didn’t," you whisper sweetly before you tap his tip against your tongue.

A little trail of precum rolls down the side of his heavy cock, making your mouth water. You trace the trail of his vein, making him shudder out a breath. "Mpfhh… Thank you," he moans as he shakes his head and smiles, the man on cloud nine, as you kiss and suck on his head sloppily.

“Polite and hung. How did I get so lucky?” You ask sweetly, rubbing his tip against your pillowy lips, his swollen head sheened with spit.

Rafe rests his big hands on the top of your head, scratching his rough fingertips in your hair, causing your eyes to fall shut. You take his cue, wrapping your lips around him, taking him inch by inch. "Yeah, baby. Just like that," he groans.

Rafe guides you, stroking his cock with your mouth, pitching his hips, driving his tip to the back of your throat, causing you to gag. You suck in your cheeks, keeping your lips tight around his thick dick, feeling a slight ache in your jaw as you bob up and down.

"Ugh, shiiit—You... You're so good at suckin' dick. Fuck me,” he moans like a slut as you add your hand, working him closer and closer to his peak.

Your wrist moves in tandem with your mouth, laboring messily, thoroughly coating his cock with your saliva, slurping and squelching, making his toes curl with each stroke of your fist.

Praise falls from his lips as he mutters incoherently, trying to keep his eyes on yours as the phone trembles slightly in his hand.

Rafe's grip on your hair tightens as a husky groan releases from his lips. You take him deep in your throat before sucking back to his tip, pulling a pathetic whimper from his mouth as he looks back at you, watching as tears roll down your cheeks.

Rafe reaches out, brushing them away with his thumb before sucking it clean as you stroke his cock in your hand. "Fuck you look good, princess, Mmm... Gonna cum—"

"Where do you want it," you whisper warmly against his throbbing dick.

"Mouth... Fuck, I wanna cum in that pretty fuckin' mouth," he pleads as your lips circle him again, spit seeping down to his balls. The sensation and pleasure of it all sends him over the edge. Rafe's toned hips jolt upwards, thighs trembling and flexing tightly.

"Fuuck, baby," he moans as his sticky load paints the back of your throat. His eyes pinch shut, cock throbbing on your tongue as you milk out his last bits of pleasure. You draw your lips off him slowly, Rafe's body melting into the bed.

"Co'mere, sweetheart," he whispers drunkenly, sighing as you slink higher, working toward his lips as he sets the phone down on the nightstand. "You're my girl now," he mumbles between kisses. "My fuckin' girl."

"M'Yours, Rafe," you whisper, kissing him deeply.

“You gonna let me take care of you, princess?"

You bite your lip and nod as Rafe rolls you to your back, looks back at you with lust-filled eyes. The damp fringe of his bangs skimming his forehead. He leans down for a kiss, claiming your mouth; tongue working between your lips, sliding along yours.

"Can't believe he treated you so bad. I'm gonna make it up to you. I promise,” he mutters smugly.

“Wanna feel you inside me."

“Condom?”

You giggle as you hold his cheek in your hand, brushing your thumb along his plump bottom lip. “Whatever you want…“

“What do you think I’m gonna say, baby?” He asks as he crawls to your lips, hard cock dragging against your tummy, smudging precum along your warm skin. Rafe lays himself down on top of you, pinning you to the bed. He grabs your cheeks with one hand, kissing your lips roughly.

“I think you’re gonna tell me ‘you wanna cum in my pussy’,” you whisper against his lips as he swirls his fat tip around your drooling hole, pressing in just enough to make your mouth fall in a soft ‘o’, moaning into his mouth at the stretch.

“Smart and soaking fuckin’ wet… How did I get so lucky?” You chuckle sleazily and roll your eyes as his eyes flick to the camera, smiling at it. "Bet you wish you were me right now," he mutters, thrusting into you roughly, giving you all of him, making you scream his name.

“Rafe, shit—“

"Fuck, sweetheart. Keep goin’, Yeah? Keep saying my name," he praises as he grips your thighs, slinging them over his big shoulders. Your eyes widen as his thick cock stretches you out. Rafe presses his full weight into you, making your trembling hands reach for his hips.

"So deep, Rafe," you blubber.

"Too much?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, shaking your head no.

"So damn tight. This fucking pussy, baby." Rafe starts to move, rolling and snapping his hips into you at the perfect pace. “Tell me—was he ever this deep?”

Your eyes flutter shut as you toe the line between pleasure and pain; the knot in your belly threatening to break as you shake your head no.

“Didn’t think so… Look at that shit. Holy fuck," he chuckles raspily. His large hand rests on your lower stomach, the tip of his big cock making a slight bulge in your tummy.

Rafe drops your thighs from his shoulders, taking a bruising grip on your hips, fucking into you rough and fast, causing the hardware of the hotel bed to clatter.

You grab his wrists from your hips, dragging them up your body, curling them to your neck, urging him to squeeze. He smiles as he tightens his hold even more, making you choke and sputter. Your rapid pulse raps against his palm, the metal of his rings chilling your dewy skin.

“Tighter," you pant. Rafe laughs wickedly, applying further pressure, making your eyes fall closed, breasts bouncing with each thrust. Rafe lifts his hand, slapping your cheek just enough to sting.

"Rafe... I." You stutter as you feel your pleasure about to burn through you. "I can't..."

"Mmm... Not until I tell you. You understand?"

"Please!" You moan. You can't hold back your bliss even if you tried. Your climax claims your body. "Rafe, fuck!" You sob. He continues to rail you, not letting up. You force your eyes open, meeting his stare; Rafe quickly hides his smile.

"What the fuck did I say, huh?”

"I'm so—" He cuts you off with his big fingers pushing through your kiss-swollen lips, landing on your tongue.

"Suck." Rafe draws his fingers down to your clit, circling them quickly. You feel yourself right back at the edge of ecstasy; your eyes start to fall shut as exhaustion sets in. "Look at me, or I might just stop." He slows his strokes, hands working slower as he threatens to cease altogether, smiling at you darkly.

"Don’t stop," you cry as you stare into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Manners… C’mon now.”

“Please, baby—” You whimper so pitifully that he’s sticking his bottom lip out with you. Rafe lowers himself to your lips, his muscular body clapping against you again and again. "I want you to be a good girl and cum f'me. Think you can do that?" He murmurs between kisses. "Can you say my name? It sounds so fucking good... So. Fucking. Good."

"Give it to me, daddy," you whine. "Are you—" You start, voice cutting short, as pleasure takes complete control.

"Yeah, baby, I am. Fuck. I'm right there." You pull him in tighter, hooking your ankles around his trim waist, his name punching out with a hoarse, cock-drunk cry, hips pushing one last time, filling you full. He kisses you deeply, breathing heavily with you as tears of pleasure wet your cheeks. Your pussy flutters around him, milking his cock as he rocks sloppily to a stop.

“Jesus Christ, Rafe,” you giggle as your entire body trembles.

He lets out a sleazy laugh, pretty proud of himself for the mess he made of you. “Hear that, Maybank. I win again.”

Rafe reaches over, flicks off the camera before shutting it off, passing it to you.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, your bodies tangled in each other, wrapped in sheets. Rafe looks over at you, his chest rising and falling fast—his hair a mess. You giggle as you match his eyes, your pillowy lips pulling into a soft smile.

“I can’t send it,” you whisper.

Rafe covers his face with his hands, running them down as he lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he breathes as he pulls you in closer. “Was hopin’ you’d say that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“If this were just a one-time thing I’d be pissed,” he breathes, trying to keep his tone playful but there’s no hiding the look in his eyes. He’s dead-serious about this. “M’already gettin’ a little jealous and possessive over you,” he mutters as his eyes shift back to you to gauge your reaction.

“No, I love that shit,” you giggle as your tongue pokes between your teeth as you smile.

“Yeah? Good... Fuckin’ perfect, actually,” he smiles as he reaches over, squeezing your ass in his hand, using his hold on your body to pull you in for a kiss.

You reach over, running a hand over his chest, fingers tracing the sweat-licked skin. “We should send him a picture instead.”

Rafe lets out a deep chuckle. “That’ll do it… Think he’ll know it’s me?”

“Maybe?”

“Hopefully,” he corrects you as he leans in for another kiss.

You lift your phone, snapping the perfect picture of your hand on Rafe’s bare chest, his gold chain and shimmery number two tangled between your fingers, sending it to JJ.

Rafe watches curiously as you tap a few buttons on your phone. His brows furrowed as the TV across the room lights up.

“Oh, you’re something else,” Rafe murmurs, watching as the video you just took starts playing on the screen.

“Someone’s gotta watch it.”

“Round two while we watch it?”

“And I’m something else?” You giggle as you lean in for a kiss, feeling Rafe smile against your mouth.

“Mhmm… And now you’re mine.”

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rafecameronswhoore · 2 days ago

Text

Sex pollen - Clark Kent x reader

Word count: 3.2k

Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.

Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.

Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂‍↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼

archive / masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━

You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.

A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.

“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.

He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.

Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.

“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”

He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.

“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”

He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.

“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.

He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.

God, if only you knew.

“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours … tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.

“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city … I can hear you breathing … your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit … I’m sorry–“

He stumbles backward like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.

“You know can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”

Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.

“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain, ”you step forward, slowly, gently. “It’s not like we haven’t–“

“No you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the block heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling … you just don’t get it … you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you … I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.

You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.

But you’re willing to do anything to help him. Always.

“Clark… you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.

He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.

“I do … I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me … you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you … I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–“ He cries, an actual tear comes out his desperate eyes.

You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.

Because of you.

You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.

You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.

“I love you, I’m sorry–” he blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched while he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you … and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this. Unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”

He nods, frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

“I’ll leave if you tell me to,” he breathes. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”

You want him. God you always want him.

The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.

“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want … I can take it.”

It’s over.

The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.

His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they fly away too.

His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.

“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart … I’m so sorry I can’t help you first … but I need you … I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”

He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you …but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.

“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it … please.”

He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll care about that later.

Right now he is just muscle in front of you.

His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.

You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.

“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”

He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming.

You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.

He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”

He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap … raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.

One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.

You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘thank you’ ‘sorry’ like some sort of chant. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you have sex.

Your breath leaves you in a gasp, your bare back against the cold plaster, legs around his waist, and arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.

“Just like that … you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart … you’re doing so good … fuck, you were made for this … made for me.”

His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.

And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.

“I love you … I’m sorry … I love you …I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”

You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening.

He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.

Still fucking you.

Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.

So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.

And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t.

“Fuck Clark … I’m gonna–“

“Yes? do it … darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you … cum all over this cock baby I got you.”

Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.

He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.

“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me … Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you …. let me have you–“

“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.

He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.

He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.

Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.

“…Are you okay?”

You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.

But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.

You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.

Still needing you.

“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”

“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.

But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?

He melts.

You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.

He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.

He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.

“Shhh … don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart … so good for me… just need one more.”

You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.

None of you cares.

“You’re so wet … so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down … didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”

He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he looses it.

You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.

You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.

It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.

Your head starts spinning.

“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”

His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.

You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry … I can’t … can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.

His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.

“It’s okay, you’re just … you’re so big …so heavy.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just … I don’t want to let you go–”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”

His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.

He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.

And you like it, god you love it.

“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just- I can’t…”

“I know darling, I know … just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it …you’re doing so good.” He soothes, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.

He picks up the pace.

“C-Clark … please, I’m gonna-“

“I’ve got you, darling …I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”

You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.

And he does.

He fucks you like you’re his last breath.

Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching … he keeps going.

You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.

All while he keeps saying, “Just one more … just let me stay inside you a little longer… please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it … this is the last time I promise…”

Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.

Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…

You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.

“Fuck me harder.”

You beg, even when you can’t feel it anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder … deeper.

And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I just need you so fucking much … I love you I love you I love you—”

You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.

You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.

By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you … you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.

Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.

You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.

You’re still trembling a little. Just from… after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.

Worth it.

Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.

Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.

“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.

“Clark … you broke a lot more than my window.”

You both start giggling … glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

I created a blog dedicated to Superman, where I’ll be posting my writing for him from now on 🫶🏼 so if you wanna check it out, go to -> @404superman

Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3

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rafecameronswhoore · 2 days ago

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cw. porn with no plot.

masterlist | navigation

yes, the idea of reader getting used as a fleshlight is fantastic, but what about reader using him as a dildo? not worried about his pleasure. you're only fucking him because he's a loser with a huge cock.

you're stuffing your panties (lacy, soaked through, reeking of your perfect pussy) into his face in a failed attempt to stifle his loud, unabashed moans. he definitely hasn't been fucked before, if so, not like this. due to his inexperience, he's probably came way too many times already inside you, and so you're bouncing on his fat, slimy cock with cum sloshing inside you and leaking with every bounce onto his pelvis.

"oh fuck- shut up, will you? i'm t-trying... mmnh... to focus," you manage out. trying to sound stern is basically an impossibility when you've got his cock smushed inside you to the hilt.

his hands are fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, thighs trembling beneath you as you sink down on him and then rock your hips back and forth while completely stuffed. this method doesn't give him as much pleasure as it does for you, but you don't care. this isn't for his pleasure, or your connection. all you care about is how deep he hits when you sink all the way, how your cunt's clenching so tight he can't stop shaking.

"f-fuck-!" he whines again pathetically through the lace in his mouth, drool soaking the crotch of your panties where they're pressed over his mouth and nose. his eyes are wide, glassy, fixed on the place where you meet him. it's humiliating how desperate he looks.

"you like getting used, huh?" you pant, beginning to bounce again so the overstimulation hits once more. you let his big, drooling cock drag and catch with each rough bounce. it makes that slick, wet sound every time you move.

"ah- ye-yeah, like it soooo much," he moans so loud it vibrates through your soaked panties, tries to say something, but you shove your panties harder into his face so you don't hear what shit he has to say. his cock pulses again and you can feel more warmth spill out of you, overflowing from the tip, dripping down to his balls in glooping heaps. "such a -shit- big fucking cock wasted on a nobody like ngh! you. y-you don't deserve it."

your voice cracks halfway through but you don't stop or pretend this is anything but using him like he's just a toy that happens to twitch and moan and cum without your permission. your hands are braced on his chest for balance, his skin hot and slick under your palms from how hard he's sweating, poor thing.

you push the underwear just enough to see his eyes, which are teary and rolled back. his eyes clamp shut when you drop down especially hard, and his whole body jerks like he's seizing. his stomach tightens under your hands but the second you grind down again deep, slow and mean, he lets out a strangled sob into your panties, soaked through with spit and the sharp scent of your cunt.

"mmnh, fuck, look at you," you breathe out, "you're crying, sweetheart. is it too much?" you coo mockingly, dragging your hips up until just his swollen tip is nestled at the edge of your cunt, nearly pulling out. the area where his cockhead enters you is smeared in cum and slick. he scrabbles at your arms, needing to be back inside you. then, without warning, you slam back down, clamping hard on him.

he screams behind the fabric. legs kicking. you begin grinding down hard as punishment until you feel another twitch inside you, his cock thickening, spurting another weak, creamy load. his fifth? sixth? doesn't matter.

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rafecameronswhoore · 4 days ago

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Sex pollen - Clark Kent x reader

Word count: 3.2k

archive / masterlist

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━

A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.

“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.

He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.

Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.

“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”

“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.

“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.

He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.

God, if only you knew.

Your breath catches in your throat, somehow understanding what this was about.

He stumbles backward like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.

“You know can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”

“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain, ”you step forward, slowly, gently. “It’s not like we haven’t–“

But you’re willing to do anything to help him. Always.

“Clark… you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.

He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.

You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.

Because of you.

He nods, frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.

You want him. God you always want him.

“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want … I can take it.”

It’s over.

His lips hit yours. Tongue desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.

“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart … I’m so sorry I can’t help you first … but I need you … I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”

“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it … please.”

He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll care about that later.

Right now he is just muscle in front of you.

His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.

You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it. You still want him to rearrange your guts.

“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”

You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.

He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”

He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap … raw, hard, you let out a strangled scream.

“Just like that … you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart … you’re doing so good … fuck, you were made for this … made for me.”

And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.

“I love you … I’m sorry … I love you …I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”

You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening.

He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.

Still fucking you.

Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does, not to you, not to him.

So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.

“Fuck Clark … I’m gonna–“

“Yes? do it … darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you … cum all over this cock baby I got you.”

Your body breaks before you can breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, clenching down on him, while you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.

He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.

“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me … Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you …. let me have you–“

“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.

He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.

He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.

Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.

“…Are you okay?”

You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.

But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.

You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.

Still needing you.

“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”

“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.

But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?

He melts.

“Shhh … don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart … so good for me… just need one more.”

You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.

None of you cares.

You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.

Your head starts spinning.

“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”

His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.

You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry … I can’t … can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.

His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.

“It’s okay, you’re just … you’re so big …so heavy.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just … I don’t want to let you go–”

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”

And you like it, god you love it.

“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just- I can’t…”

He picks up the pace.

“C-Clark … please, I’m gonna-“

“I’ve got you, darling …I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”

And he does.

He fucks you like you’re his last breath.

Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching … he keeps going.

You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.

All while he keeps saying, “Just one more … just let me stay inside you a little longer… please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it … this is the last time I promise…”

Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.

You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.

“Fuck me harder.”

You beg, even when you can’t feel it anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder … deeper.

And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m hurting you. I just need you so fucking much … I love you I love you I love you—”

You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.

By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you … you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.

Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.

You’re still trembling a little. Just from… after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.

Worth it.

Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.

“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.

“Clark … you broke a lot more than my window.”

You both start giggling … glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.

“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”

“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”

⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆

I created a blog dedicated to Superman, where I’ll be posting my writing for him from now on 🫶🏼 so if you wanna check it out, go to -> @404superman

Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3

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