Boo*

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee! (and get early access!)☕️✦

gojo : busy?  7:03pm

the reply came five minutes later, a grueling and irritating five minutes. 

trouble : yes. ppl are incompetent.  7:08pm

despite it all, his lips tipped up in appreciation, mind whirring with thoughts of the little pout that probably painted your pretty features, narrowed eyes and a huff. fuck, he missed you. 

gojo : that guy still giving you trouble?  7:08pm

satoru sighed gently, moving to sit properly, elbows rested on his knees as he watched the little dots appear.

trouble : he’s giving me an aneurysm.  7:10pm

satoru chuckled gently, smirking as he typed a response. 

gojo : you know what helps with aneurysms? good dick  7:10pm

your reply came instantly this time and he was more than amused. 

trouble : hmm. ill let u know if i find some then.  7:11pm

satoru smirked, heart clenching as he longed to have this stupid conversation in person. 

gojo : now don’t make me offer myself up like a whore sugar tits  7:11pm

the reply came instantly again, expected with the nickname he threw in that you despised more than anything.

trouble : right. pass. have to study now bye  7:11pm

and just like that, the light he felt momentarily passed with a small huff from him.

he was absolutely done for. 

he’d always heard people bitch about how the person you’re with shouldn’t be the sole source of your happiness, that they should be an addition. well, that simply couldn’t be true, right? 

because it seems as if, these days, satoru’s entire energy is dependent on you. 

across the room, geto glanced up from his place rotting on the couch, “what’s up? someone finally tell you santa isn’t real?” 

satoru rolled his eyes, tossing his phone on the couch beside him with a grunt, “shut up.” 

geto hummed, amused, “trouble in paradise? 

“we’re not in paradise.” 

geto hummed, “is that why you’ve been all antsy the past few days?” 

satoru glanced at his friend, annoyance flickering in his chest. had he made it that obvious? how infatuated was he that even his friends could tell he was restless without you? 

maybe it was the high he was missing, yes. 

he missed being inside you, buried in your warmth. he missed spilling inside of you and feeling that sweet semblance of relief and ecstasy.

most of all, he missed watching you come apart for him, as well. it was the few moments you were completely vulnerable with him. sex always rendered you soft and needy and fuck, he missed that part of you like a drug.

four fucking days. 

he wasn’t needy or clingy. if anything, he was always the one who suddenly disappeared on girls, deciding only with himself when he was finally bored. 

but with you? the silence felt wrong. 

later that night, he found himself staring at your text thread again. 

he typed something then deleted. and again. 

fuck, he felt restless, unreasonably so. 

it wasn’t like you owed him your time but still. 

four days felt like a lot when he was used to you showing up in his room unannounced, immediately being the object of his affections. 

his phone buzzed again and he jumped. 

except it wasn’t you, just another useless notification. 

he was absolutely pathetic. 

maybe he just liked the routine, the sureness. 

he liked knowing you’d show up eventually, standing against his doorframe with that same pretty and unreadable expression on your face, a dry comment on the tip of your tongue that always made his chest ache for you. 

maybe he just liked- 

his phone buzzed again and thai time, he didn’t pretend he wasn’t waiting for it. for you.

he checked instantly and found nothing. 

just a stupid notification. 

satoru sighed gently. 

four days was excessive. 

✺

with his demanding training regimen, satoru couldn’t indulge his sweet tooth as often as he’d liked. 

but once a week, he’d allow himself to get the most obnoxious, calorie dense and sugary drink he could find. 

so that’s where he found himself on a tuesday morning, walking into the cafe that smelled like roast beans and burnt sugar. soft music hummed under quiet conversations and the steady clack of keyboards.

you’d like this place, he concluded. 

it was calm and warm, annoyingly productive. 

as he stepped forward to order, ignoring the batting lashes and googly eyes of the barista taking his order, a small crash sounded from the side, making his head tilt to see that someone had dropped their glass.

but behind that-

“sorry, what was that?” the barista softly questioned, having not caught satoru’s words initially because she was too busy watching him. 

but satoru was long gone by now, mind far away and pre-occupied with something of much deeper importance to him than his weekly treat. 

he spotted you instantly, of course he did. 

you were tucked into the corner by the window, laptop open and wired headphones dangling in the space between. one foot hooked around the leg of the chair, something you did when you were studying for extended periods of time. your hair was falling loose from your little updo, doe eyes flicking across whatever you were reading. 

satoru felt something in his chest loosen but tighten simultaneously at the sight of you, annoyingly so. 

satoru was quick to resist the urge to leave his place in line and walk towards you like he you’d summoned him, quickly turning back to the barista and rattling off his diabetes-inducing order.

he was quick to add, “and uh, one of those banana breads with the chocolate.” 

the barista nodded with a soft smirk, eyes still assessing him like a greek god had entered the establishment.

with a quick thanks, without even letting her get a word in as he quickly taping his card, he was walking away, towards you. you, who had him going insane the last few days because of your mere absence.

you were so engrossed in whatever you were reading, you didn’t notice him approaching until all his 6’5 glory was looming over your space. 

your eyes lifted slowly, blinking once. then you leaned back in your chair a bit, expression unchanged, “you don’t drink coffee.” 

satoru slid into the chair across from you, trying to calm his excruciatingly dramatic heart at the sight of you. you were so pretty and so his. well, somewhat. 

“look at you, knowin’ everything about me, “ he smirked as he leaned back in his seat, “obsessed with me or somethin’?” 

you simply tilted your head, eyes wide and uncharacteristically soft, “what are you doing here?” 

“getting coffee.”

“you don’t drink coffee.”

satoru merely smiled even wider. fuck, he was so happy to see you. 

“trying new things.” 

your eyes narrowed slightly, “you’re getting your double chocolate frappuccino, aren’t you?” 

satoru grinned, “ugh, you are obsessed with me.” 

you merely sighed, pushing your laptop slightly to the side as you gave him your full attention now. 

four days. four days and he felt like a man coming home from war.

“are you coming this weeke-”

“no.” your reply came instantly as satoru groaned at your immediate answer. 

“why do you always do this?” 

“why do you always do this? why do 40% of our conversations consist of you convincing me to come to your stupid parties-”

“they aren’t stupid!” 

you merely shot him a look, sighing gently as you glanced down at your laptop once more. 

satoru leaned forward, going to speak when someone approached the table.

“one frappuccino,” the guy placed the large drink in front of satoru, but the frat president couldn’t help but notice the barista’s eyes were flickering to you, “and one banana bread.”

he placed the banana bread in front of satoru who instantly moved it to you. 

before he could explain that he’d gotten that for you because he knew how much you adored the little treat, the barista was blushing as he placed another matcha in front of you, “you’ve been here for hours, thought i’d get you another one on the house.” 

satoru looked as if someone had spit on his shoe, eyes narrowed and lips curled instantly as he glanced between both of you, watching as your expression softened. 

“oh, thank you, nico.” your voice dropped low, softer than usual and satoru felt like you’d punched him in the ribs. 

“course, let me know if you need anything else.” with his red cheeks and small smile, nico sighed softly before retreating. 

you seemed unfazed, pulling your new drink in closer before glancing up at the white-haired man who immediately made a conscious effort to fix his face. 

“huh.” he commented as you tilted your head. 

“what?” 

“you know him or somethin’?” satoru questioned, watching as you took a sip of your matcha, shrugging gently. 

“i’ve been coming here since sophomore year. he’s also in my neuro class.”

in moments like these, satoru despised your nonchalance more than anything. your voice was neutral, face even more stoic as you merely sipped your drink.

he couldn’t tell if you felt for this guy, if you liked him. 

fuck, he felt ill.

satoru was not the jealous type, not even a little bit. 

even with you, he watched guys look at you a plethora of times, during parties and simply on campus. but he barely cared.

he wasn’t sure if it was because he knew you and knew you wouldn’t give them the time of day or simply because he gets it. 

you were fucking gorgeous, of course guys looked at you. 

at the end of the day, it was his sheets you were tangled up in, so why should he dwell on it? 

but there was something intimate with nico that he despised. 

it didn't help that you’d known the guy longer than you’d known satoru. 

“i got you banana bread. eat it.” satoru pushed the plate forward, watching asyour eyes tilted down to the loaf, eyes instantly brightening up just the slightest bit. 

which was basically a hug and a kiss from you.

“thank you, gojo.” 

you were gonna send him into cardiac arrest with your insistence to call him that. 

nonetheless, he watched you dig into the treat, sighing gently. 

“you have to come this saturday.” 

you rolled your eyes instantly, “have to?” 

“yes. i got you banana bread.”

you eyes narrowed, “that’s not how this works-”

satoru groaned, “please. just come. it’ll get your mind off everything, give you a little break.”

you gestured to your laptop again, “i’m busy.” 

satoru allowed a small stretch of silence, watching as you went back to typing, occasionally sipping your stupid free matcha. 

“come to the party.” the words left satoru quieter, gentler as he watch you through bright lashes. 

his tone made you look up, interest piquing just the slightest bit. 

“why?” 

because i miss being around you, i miss doing everything i can to get you to laugh, i just miss you.

but he didn’t say that,. because if he did, you’d run faster than he could catch up to you. 

he shrugged gently, “i like when you’re there.” 

your gaze held his for a moment longer than usual before sighing softly, “i’ll think about it.”

satoru grinned slowly, knowing that was basically a yes from you. 

he stood up from his chair making you look up once more, “you’re leaving already?” 

and he knew you well enough to know that it wasn’t coming from a place of wanting him to stay, but surprise that he wasn’t opting for pestering you for the next hour.

“i got a party to plan.” 

you tilted your head, “since when do you plan the parties?”

satoru shrugged, “since today. got an important person on the guest list now.”

you rolled your eyes, “go away.” 

satoru grinned, backing up onwards the door, “see you tonight.”

you waved him off dismissively and satoru ignored the clench in his chest that only you could illicit. fucking finally. 

✺

giving saturo a taste of you once more had him practically insatiable.

so much so that the man found himself in the back of your lecture room beside a mildly irritated nanami the very next morning.

satoru gojo, not only willingly attending class, but a lecture for a class he wasn't even in. a class that wasn't even the slightest bit beneficial for his course of study.

alas, he was forced to listen to your professor drone on and on about medical terms he doesn't have the slightest inkling about.

he hadn't seen you, properly seen you, in almost a week. he deserves this!

"you're a nuisance." nanami murmured, glancing down at his notes lazily before looking at the professor once more, satoru turning to shoot him a short glare.

"and why's that, kento? can't a guy develop new interests?"

nanami shot the man the driest look he could muster before facing away from him once more.

satoru wasn't even pretending to listen to the professor, seated like a king, legs manspread and fingers drumming against the armrests as he watched you from his place in the back.

you were seated where you always were, the middle right section, all pretty and focused, fuck, you were everything.

there was an a girl seated beside you and some random guy was to your left, both people completely irrelevant to satoru, because well, how could they be? they were beside you.

you hadn't spotted him yet, no, because if you did, he'd be six feet under by your glare alone, he was sure.

"kento, hey-" satoru whispered, eyes still fixated on you as the blonde turned to the frat president briefly.

"what satoru."

satoru shifted a bit to get a better look at your face, "did she miss a lecture last week? the one on tuesday morning."

nanami's brows furrowed slightly, "i don't know, gojo. not all of us watch her like a hawk, you know." he huffed gently, reluctantly questioning, "why do you ask?"

satoru rolled his eyes just the slightest, "cuz she said her head hurt the night before. i told her to sleep in but i don't know if she did. cuz she said she did but then she seemed all weird that night. i just wan-"

"satoru," nanami shifted to fully glare at his friend, other students turning to glance at the commotion because satoru gojo was anything but subtle, "shut the fuck up."

with a small smirk of defiance, satoru merely raised his hands in mock surrender before turning to face you once more. clearly, he had more important matters at hand.

except when satoru turned to gaze at you this time, you were talking to the boy beside you, all attentive and wide eyed, that unintentional butter wouldn't melt in my mouth expression painting your pretty features. one that drove satoru to madness every single time.

except this time, it damn near sent the frat boy into a frenzy.

satoru sat up abruptly, as if someone poured cold water over his head, brows pinching as he watched the guy tilt his head down to speak directly into your ear and he could've sworn- did his mouth just brush against you?

"nanami," satoru whisper-yelled harshly as the blonde huffed in annoyance, ignoring his friend, "nanami kento, who the fuck is that?"

the man's words left him lowly, harshly, dripping with vexation. for that reason, nanami's interest piqued, offering satoru a glance and quickly figuring out what had the man in a state.

"that's leo. he's her lab partner. extremely intelligent."

like rubbing salt in the wound.

satoru's brows furrowed even further, jaw clenching beneath smooth skin as he watched your lips twitch slightly, not a smile, god forbid.

but close enough. enough to have satoru abruptly stand up in the middle of the lecture, his 6'4 frame, as well as him simply being himself, drawing attention as students turned to glance at his towering stance.

but his eyes were set on one thing, one one person, the only person who could have him in a borderline mental collapse like this.

you still haven't seen him, clearly preoccupied with leo.

satoru was quick to make his way to you, despite nanami's whispered warnings to wait and sit down. the seat behind you was empty, luckily for him.

"you should really pay attention," satoru was seated behind you, now leaning down between you and leo's heads, interrupting your whispered conversations, "know how you get when your notes aren't all perfect."

an agitating noise, is what you would call the distinct cadence of satoru gojo's voice.

with blank eyes and an even less impressed expression, you shifted to glance at the white-haired man seated behind you, face inches away as he leaned down.

and he had the audacity to grin.

not his regular grin, though. you noticed that much. this grin was more strained, less...him.

"gojo." you stated with no intention of asking why he was here. you noticed him sometimes, only the past couple of weeks did he start attending your immunology classes. god knows why. the man was a finance major.

despite the absolute fire in his chest, something about the way you uttered his name soothed him just a bit. just the sound of your voice alone. he was fucked.

he was here going insane over the way you said his name and you were here chatting it up with this nerd.

"you know it, sweetheart." satoru smirked before turning to glance at leo who was now watching the exchange from the corner of his eyes while pretending to listen to the professor, "are you coming over tonight?"

and yes, he was stooping that low. he had to. he couldn't have this leo guy or anyone else, for that matter, wandering around thinking they had a chance with you.

something in his ribs tightened at the mere thought.

you tilted your head at the man, considering him slowly, "you came over here to ask me that?"

your deadpan voice had all the anger and fury in his chest dissipating, he was so easy for you, grinning softly.

"amongst other things."

you hummed lowly once, eyes turning back to the professor for a moment before gazing up at him once more, "okay."

satoru grinned gently, physically reacting as he leaned towards you as if you were pulling an invisible string, "yeah, sweetheart?"

you glared at the name, "stop calling me that."

satoru could see leo physically flinch, shoulders hunching as he sunk into his seat a bit. yes, he put out the flame and now whatever was left of his confidence and hope had retreated.

just as he went to answer, his phone pinged and a glance reminded him that he was supposed to be at practice ten minutes ago.

"ah shit," satoru cursed before turning to you, eyes soft and open, only ever for you, "gotta go, trouble. be good for me."

he leaned down to give your cheek a quick kiss before rushing away, a complete disturbance to the professor and the entirety of the class that were trying to focus.

and he could feel the heat of your glare even from the back and it only caused him to grin wider.

yes, that would show leo.

and satoru didn't have time to rationalize his behavior. he wasn't a jealous person.

✺

greek row was chaos only an hour into the party. 

music bled through the walls like a pulse, bass heavy enough to rattle the floorboards while voices layered over each other in a constant roar. someone had dragged colored lights into the living room, red and purple cutting through the haze of bodies moving too close together. 

and satoru gojo was exactly where he was supposed to be.

at the centre of it all.

laughing too loud, drink in hand and arm slung lazily over the back of the couch while people filtered in and out like orbiting planets.

to everyone else, he looked completely at ease, effortless and light in the way he always was. the life of the party. 

but every few seconds, his bright eyes flicked to the open front door, waiting and watching. 

it was automatic at the point, he didn’t even notice himself doing it.

he told himself it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter if you came or bailed. you said you’d think about it, maybe this time that meant no. you were busy, after all. and it's been a few days since you said you'd think about it, but still. 

his gaze drifted to the door again. nothing. 

“my god,” choso muttered beside him, arms crossed and scowling, “you’re like a puppy waiting for it’s owner.” 

satoru immediately scowled, “shut the fuck up. you’re just pissed i made you cut your addicted ass back.” 

and it was true, he’d made choso start getting high less, threatening to kick him out of the frat. it was an empty threat, but choso didn’t need to know that. 

choso rolled his eyes, “you’ve checked the door fourteen times. i counted.” 

“see? lay off the weed and you can do math.” 

choso scowled once more, “pussy whipped.” 

satoru scoffed, leaning back further into the couch, “watch your mouth.”

“can’t believe our two frat leaders are the ones who can’t think without their dicks getting involved.” 

satoru opened his mouth to defend both him and sukuna when his eyes flicked to the door once more. and just like that, the words died in his mouth. 

you stepped inside like you always did, all unbothered and composed, scanning the room once like you were deciding if you should flee. 

but lately, satoru wondered if the looking around was because you were looking for him. 

you were a fucking dream. 

in your little skirt that tickled your thighs and the tank top that hugged you so deliciously, satoru could swear his mouth watered.

you made his chest tighten the second he saw you. 

choso glanced at satoru, thrown off by the quiet when he noticed his gaze at the door, following before scoffing, “right. and i’m the one that’s addicted and needs to lay off.” 

staoru didn’t answer, he didn’t even move yet. 

he simply watched you as you lingered by the door for a second, adjusting the strap of your tank top before stepping deeper into the house.

people moved around you without touching, you leaning away before anyone’s sweaty skin could brush yours. 

you hadn’t seen him yet. good.

satoru liked watching you before you noticed him, he enjoyed the few seconds where he could just look. 

and just as his heart couldn’t take the anticipation of speaking to you, watching you, feeling you. just as he went to stand up, someone approached you. the guy was tall, light buzzed hair, broad and objectively attractive. 

a guy from another frat, satoru recalled. 

he recognized him vaguely, some business major, harmless overall, but satoru’s blood was already pumping faster than it did a second ago. 

harmless, except he was speaking to you. he approached you and fuck, you haven’t even been here a full two minutes. 

satoru was just irritated, that was all. he wanted you all to himself tonight.

satoru gave you a second, watching as the guy touched your arm once, getting you attention as you turned to hm. 

yes, your face was still expressionless, that was good. 

he’d seen guys approach you before, you usually shut them down with a sharp look, enough to cut glass. except it seemed as if you didn’t mind this man speaking to you. 

so saturo waited across the room, jaw clenched as he grew more and more impatient, feeling his resolve slipping more and more as the minutes passed.

you both kept speaking over the music, well, the guy spoke and grinned more than you but still.

satoru wasn't the jealous type, again. truly, he didn’t care because by tonight, you'll be under him and no one else. 

and you were just being polite, that was all. 

so, satoru used the few moments to assess you lowly. 

fuck, you were so stunning, it was stupid. he thought of everything he’d ached to do with you tonight, of new ways to convince you to stay, of what show you’d wanna watch after he was done with you.

but then, something shifted. 

something truly, inexplicably and extremely offensive to satoru gojo.

you smiled.

not a polite, tight social smile you gave old people. 

not the half-assed tilt of the mouth you gave fuckass leo the other day. 

a real smile, soft and quick, but true nonetheless. 

your eyes crinkled just slightly, nose scrunching up in a way that fundamentally changed him when he’d first seen it. 

satoru’s brain went completely quiet. 

because that smile was his. 

he’d never seen you give it to anyone else but him. not when geto made his best efforts to lure emotion out of you, not even when luna tried.

granted, it was because you kept to yourself most of the time, but still. 

it had taken him weeks to get that smile out of you for the first time, weeks of stupid jokes and restless persistence.

and now you were giving it to some random frat boy that didn’t feel for you the way satoru did. 

choso quipped something out that was inevitably meant to piss him off but satoru didn’t hear a word, ears ringing and already crossing the room, his chest burning and jaw clenched so hard, his molars hurt. 

the crowd parted for him easily, stopping when he was right behind you. 

close enough that the guy looked up at him mid conversation, close enough that you felt the undeniable warmth of the frat president against your back. 

you looked up slightly, “gojo.”

satoru’s gaze travelled over the guy, studying him lowly, “hey, baby.” 

your brows furrowed just a bit as satoru placed a hand on the revealed skin of your hip, pulling you back and against him. 

satoru never called you baby outside the bedroom, he knew you hated the lack of separation. 

satoru’s gaze never left the guy throughout it all, the guy blinking once as his gaze travelled from satoru’s hand to his intimidating gaze. 

“oh, um, are you guys-” 

“no.” you stated immediately,. 

“yes.” satoru grunted simultaneously. 

the guy looked between the both of you before satoru shot him a deadly smirk, "she's just confused. right, baby?"

you merely glared at the man.

the guy chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “right, uh, okay.” 

your eyes narrowed at satoru behind you, the guy quick to step back.

“anyways, it was good to see you.”

you simply nodded at him, watching as he disappeared into the crowd. 

silence stretched between you and satoru, tense and heavy. 

you stepped forward and away from him, turning to face him fully as satoru allowed his hand to fall from your hip, jaw clenched once more. 

you crossed your arms, “what was that.” 

satoru tilted his head, “you tell me.” 

“excuse me?” 

satoru’s fists clenched by his sides, “i didnt know i was the least funniest person ever.” 

your brows furrowed, “what?” 

satoru huffed once, “it took me a month to make you even slightly smile at me and some random sigma asshole comes up to you and you just-”

“smile?” 

satoru groaned, “don’t say it like i’m stupid! you don’t smile at anyone-”

“yes, i do-”

“don’t-” satoru grunted once before his eyes travelled over to the sea of people surrounding you both that simply thirsted for any drama involving alpha phi’s president, “c’mere.” 

before you knew it, the man was gripping your wrist and pulling you through the crowd, up the steps and into the quiet sanctity of his room. 

you were already scowling, a pout painting your features as satoru shut the door and turned to you, “we have an agreement.” 

an agreement? what the hell was he saying? 

truthfully, the man was a mess in his mind. he hated seeing the sight of you with another man, let alone offering him the smile you usually reserved for him. 

and now he was spewing bullshit. your agreement didn’t even say he couldn’t sleep with anyone else, let alone for you not to be able to smile at anyone. 

fuck, you were making him crazy. 

and you could see through him instantly, brows furrowing and arms crossing, “when did we agree that i couldn’t react to other people’s words?” 

satoru huffed once, hands travelling into his white locks and tugging gently, “that’s not the point! between that waiter the other day, fuckin' leo and this stupid goddamn comedian of a fratboy-” 

you frowned gently, watching the man tug at his hair harshly, “stop doing that-”

satoru ignored your words, continuing to pace in front of you, “they don’t get you, you know that right? they don’t know you like me, how your mind works, your body-” 

you didn’t like seeing him this worked up. usually, you didn’t pay half a mind to his little meltdowns, he was extremely dramatic. but this was satoru stressed.

he was frantic and pent-up with god knows what. 

“gojo, what the hell is wrong with-“

“ugh! and that’s the other thing,” satoru took a step closer, jaw clenched with effort, “stop doing that-“

you rolled your eyes just the slightest bit, “i told you, you don’t get-“

“do you like any of them?”

the question made your head tilt in confusion, expression offering him nothing as you considered him a bit, “i don’t see why i need to tell you if i did, gojo. you’re acting insane-“

and yes, satoru did feel insane.

his chest was clenched with effort, hands alongside it, absorbing your words and they felt like a gut punch.

“i deserve to know if you do!”

“why?”

“because-“ his voice raised on octave before abruptly stopping himself. what could he even say?

because i want you? because i think about you always and you don’t seem to care? because if you did like anyone else, that would crush me?

“because we’re sleeping together.”

you scoffed just a bit, “yes. that has nothing to do with talking about our emotions.”

and if anything that night caused his chest to collapse, it was that.

of course. this entire dynamic was based on no emotions.

what the hell was he doing?

satoru was supposed to fuck you, not set his claim over you because as you so kindly pointed out, you didn’t belong to him. you didn’t feel for him.

but god, did he feel for you.

“right…” satoru breathed out, jaw clenching with effort, “yeah, right, no emotions.”

your eyes trailed over the expanse of his face, so clearly tense and eyes low as he watched you.

satoru knew you wouldn’t drag this on longer than you had to, keeping it at that.

you didn’t care enough to go back and forth with him, especially with him being so irrational.

he could practically see the gears turning in your head, looking for an out to leave the party and go back home, as you always did.

you always left.

and he was determined to make you stay because he needed it.

so he stepped forward, crashing his lips onto yours, groaning softly as you whimpered at the impact.

if satoru could rely on one thing, it was that you would always melt into him if he was touching you.

physical, it was just physical.

“gojo-“ you whimpered against him, almost in protest before the man bit your lip gently, leaning down to pull you up by your thighs.

“shh, baby, just let me-“

and let him, you did.

half an hour and three orgasms later, satoru gojo was breathing heavily, face dug into your neck as he tried to breathe properly.

“still with me, baby?” satoru voiced against your damp skin, perceptive as you softly turned your head.

“mhmm…” 

satoru sighed gently, his large hand traced your spine gently as he sat over the edge of the bed, “wanna shower?” 

please stay, stay, stay.

you looked up at him, stretching a bit with a lazy nod.

satoru grinned gently, leaning down to press a kiss onto the plush of your lips, lazy as his tongue dragged onto the swell once before pulling back. he tapped the swell of your ass twice before walking over to his en-suite.

he loved how uncharacteristically gentle you were after, fucked out and so entirely his. 

and when you joined him a few minutes later, gently slapping his wandering hands away when he tried to have you once more , he tried not to think of your soft voice crying out that you were his. 

and how he longed for you to say that in an entirely more sentimental context.

you left the shower before him and as always, by the time he exited the bathroom, you were gone. again.

✺

AN | this was such a long time coming ahhhhh i love jealous gojo! i last minute removed the smut cuz tbh im just not comfortable w that rn so this'll have to do ! :)

enjoy this one guys cuz im starting exams soon and i have to lock in until may 🫡🫡

edit - guys i was half asleep when i posted this ans removed the smut so the ending was kinda weird and so not them. so just changed that lol!

you clench around him on purpose.

he chokes. full-body shuddering. “a-ah! don’t—don’t do that yet, please, i’ll—shit, i’ll cum too fast”

“already?” you whisper. “come on, let me enjoy this a little…” you pout, looking down at him, biting your lip. you move your hips back and forth, moaning softly, “you’re so big, gojo… stretching me so sweet”

he groans, long and wrecked, arms wrapping around your waist to yank you flush against his chest. Face buried in your neck like he’s hiding. “fuck, don’t say it like that —” his voice cracks on the last word, and then he’s mumbling against your skin, hot and frantic. “you’re so warm— so fucking wet… I can’t think straight when you’re on me like this… please don’t stop, baby, please”

you start moving again. slow grinds, little circles now and then. nothing otherworldy. but he’s already babbling.

“s’too fucking good— love how you squeeze me, love how you, ah, ride me, fuck, i’m yours, i’m so fucking yours—” his hands roam everywhere: up your back, down to grip your ass, then back up to cradle your face so he can kiss you. messy and needy. “don’t you dare leave after, ‘kay? i’ll— shit—i’ll do whatever, baby, please…”

you pick up the pace just a little and his whole body buzzes, thighs trembling under you.

“g’nna cum—baby, ‘m gonna—fuck, i can’t hold it—” he sounds panicked, like he’s actually fighting his own orgasm because he doesn’t want it to end.

you lean close — once you’re close to come as well — to whisper right against his ear: “then cum for me, gojo. make me feel good”

that does it for him.

his eyes snap wide— pupils blown, lashes wet, and he comes with a long, shaking moan that cracks into your name. hips stuttering, arms crushing you to his chest, spilling inside you like he’s never going to stop. “fuck—love you, love this pussy-“

when the aftershocks finally fade, he doesn’t push you off. doesn’t roll over and grab his phone like the rumors say he does.

instead he flips you gently so you’re tucked against him, still buried deep. long limbs cage you in. his face smushed between your tits. he’s breathing hard, like he just ran a whole marathon.

you card fingers through his damp hair. “that was something.”

he huffs a laugh, embarrassed. “don’t you ever say a word about this” he mutters, “i’d be dead if you do.”

is this the same guy who was bragging downstairs about never catching feelings and fucking left and right?

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ would try his luck. you and him were in a thursday and friday class, and he'd use his every waking opportunity to grab your attention. flirts, charms, everything infuriating in between. he caught you in town once, rushing to get to campus and of course, offered you a ride.

“c'mon babydoll. is being late to class really better than takin' a ride with me?” he'd grin.

you'd flip him off. hiss another rejection. you knew about guys like him. you saw him in the hallways. loud, boisterous, flirting with any pair of pretty eyes that looked his way.

it confused you though. why'd he only flirt with you on thursdays and fridays? also where were his glasses?

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ would go on to be your enemy of the semester. ever since your altercation in class, he's made it his personal life goal to hate you with his entire being. unfortunately for him, you were also smart. but a bit too confident for your own good, it seemed. did you really think you could compete with him? and so began the most fiery academic rivalry in history.

you'd be neck in neck. fighting for first place as professor's pet and battling it out on the grade scoreboards.

he'd get an assignment back with a stellar 99%, only to look over at your measly 94%. he'd grin, like an asshole. “must be hard being such a loser, huh?”

only to crumple his next assignment into tight fists when you managed to get just one percentage higher than him.

he'd exchange banter with you. debate you in class. call you a brat when you tried to prove him wrong and challenge him.

you were brilliant and unfortunately, beautiful. satoru didn't know what was happening to him. it slowly became something that wasn't just academics. and that terrified him.

as for you? you were in the same boat. the last thing you wanted was to fall in love with this asshole. but you had to admit, he looked cuter when he decided to wear his glasses and tone down the fuckboy act every monday and tuesday.

why'd he switch so drastically through the week? what a weirdo.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ listened to his brother rant about the irritating girl that was his astrophysics desk partner. about how she was so unnecessarily rude and even more audacious. satoshi couldn't help but grin. was satoru, his loser of a brother, actually finding love? and when he found out that the girl in question was you? he couldn't blame him. he's been trying for months to get your number, let alone get up your skirt. he dubbed it as competitiveness. he's never had a girl reject him and thus— it's made him a little obsessed. he couldn't stop thinking about you. in bed, in the shower, hell, seeing you walk around campus and not even look at him was torture.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated himself for the way he turned out. he's not sure how it happened. just one day after a heated debate with you, he'd stormed off back to his dorm. collapsed in his desk. shoved his glasses into his hair. and soon, angry scribbling in his notes became desperate jerks of his hand as he fucked his fist. to the thought of you. that grating voice, that beautifully sharp mind. everything. he hated himself. hated that he was thinking about this. he wasn't satoshi. he didn't want girls like this— he sure as hell didn't fuck his fist this needy to one either. and yet when he spurted all over his hand, panting hard and whispering your name, it felt oddly right. it scared him.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ dragged satoru out at the end of semester to a party. told himself he was being a good brother. might as well try to get along, right? but satoru was so boring. he didn't drink, didn't chat, just sat in some corner with his headset on and scrolled through his phone. and satoshi? he was all over the place. bouncing and bubbling, bumping and grinding. a red solo cup in his hand. keeping as far as fucking away from his twin as possible. fuck. why'd he even bring him here?

his irritation washed away the second he saw you, however. dolled up, dangerous, looking like both sin and sugar. he left behind his friends, ignored whatever girl tried to come his way.

he found you at the drinks table. propped his forearm on it and grinned at your little glare.

“this isn't really your scene, babydoll. tagged along with someone?”

“a few friends.”

“wow. so she can be polite.”

you rolled your eyes and noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. seemed that the fuckboy persona was on for the night. you bit back your questions and swirled your drink in your cup.

“you never give up, do you?” you mulled.

his head took a charming curve as he sipped his drink.

“not when I want something, no.” those blue eyes raked down your frame. tracing every curve. familiarising every inch.

he dared to lean closer. white lashes batting as his grin sets into a stunning smile.

“especially when that something is as a pretty as you.”

your heart fluttered. you shouldn't have talked to him. shouldn't have kept talking to him.

you're not sure how it happened. maybe finally accepting his flirts. maybe after months of touching yourself to the academic rivalry. this heated push and pull between the both of you.

you should have known better, but— you did it. you let satoshi take you to his dorm.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ has been around the block. his touch dripped with experience. he unclasped your bra with ease. barely missed a beat in kisses. large hands roaming your sweet body he's been dreaming about since the start of semester. not an inch of hesitance in his fingertips as he slipped under your dress and dragged your damp panties down. “such a pretty girl,” he crooned to your ear. how many girls had he said that to? how many did he mean it?

he's been after you for months. chasing, wanting— yearning. satoshi never yearned. he got everything he ever wanted in life.

maybe that's why he loved having to work for you. for your smooth body on his bed, opened up and so soaked for him. maybe that's why he actually took his time. mouthing on your skin. burying his face in your cunt.

he only ever ate women out as a way to get them ready. courtesy, if anything. but now? fuck, he's never actually feasted on a girl. with his hands, calloused from endless hours on his bike, dragging your thighs over. trapping you. mouth messily moving on your slit. slurping, sucking, shaking his head and nudging his nose into your clit.

he fucked you on his tongue. made you cum on it more than any girl ever has. and as you gripped his hair and whined for him? not some prissy comment or attitude? he almost came in his pants.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't even care less if you didn't suck him off. he didn't even want you to. he needed to be inside of you. needed to hold you down and fuck you into his sheets. make the girl who was so unattainable finally his.

the second he was buried to the hilt inside your welcoming pussy— he couldn't breathe. you were hot, tight, suffocating him with your dripping slick and clenching cunt. he's had many girls in this position before. but no one looked up at him with those eyes. no one sounded this sweet. made him lose his fucking mind.

satoshi wasn't gentle. he couldn't be. the second his tip smooched your cervix, his hands clamped on your waist as his hips started snapping. hard, controlled. an experienced rhythm that stuffed all his inches deep into your gooey heat and meshed your clit with his pelvis.

“fuuckk, babydoll,” he groaned from the back of his throat. hunching over you. one hand gripped your hip while the other slipped around to cup the back of your head.

he was losing himself. losing his fucking mind. the bed creaked. headboard tapped. but your pretty moans were all he was focused on. your sweet whimpers and little whines as he alternated rhythms. rolled his hips. went from grinding to humping to thrusting, until your toes curled and your back lurched off of the bed.

pretty nails down his back. teary doll eyes on him as your slick dripped down his balls and splattered all over his thighs with each firm thrust.

your lips parted. eyes glossed. he saw it. cradled your head close and slipped a thumb to your clit. he knew what it meant. saw his name on your tongue.

a groan built on his. thrusts surging into wet, rushed slaps pounding against your ass.

“say it for me baby. c'mon, say my name.”

“s-sat— sato—. . .” your eyes fluttered. head thrown back. loud and needy, your moan broke into the air.

“satoru!”

and broke satoshi's mind.

you didn't know any better. they're both reffered to as “gojo” in class and you've only heard one other person refer to one of them as “satoru”. you thought that was his name. thought they were one person.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ frozen. stiffened mid thrust as the last syllables stung his ear. satoru. satoru. his twin brother? did you really just fucking call for his twin while he's balls deep inside of you. making your cunt cream and cry for him. making you— wait.

didn't satoru say you were rude to him for no reason at all?

satoshi's mind worked fast. piecing the puzzle and timeline together. you confused satoru for him back then. he didn't know whether to be amused or angry.

amused because, how in the hell did you think they were the same person?

angry because, he's the one who's been working his ass off for you attention— and it's his brother's name that you call instead?

either way, he grinned. halfway a threat and a taunt. “oh?” he crooned, bucking his hips hard into yours so that his fully seathed cock dragged on all of your sweet spots.

he leaned over you. white hair dusting over icy blues. your jaw trapped in his strong hand.

“you want toru baby? want me to go get him for you?”

your confused look almost had him cackling. before he slammed! into you again. hands bundling your thighs. grin turned sharp. he yanked you down to choke your cunt on his cock and jerked forward. pounding you into the mattress and snapping the headboard into the wall as your moans pitched into cries.

“sato—!”

he gripped your jaw tight. shoved two fingers on your tongue before you said his name again and made satoshi fuck you until you were a limp cumdump.

“satoshi.” he corrected with a pointed sneer. his rabid pace not once letting up. frustration pulsed into every vein of his ramming cock.

“satoshi. satoshi.” he grit, punctuating each repeat of his name with a rough thrust.

“satoshi's the one fucking you. not satoru. satoru's my fuckin' twin. I'm the one fucking this pretty cunt stupid. I'm the one you should be calling for.”

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't give you time to process the fact that you'd thought he and his brother were one person. egged on from the frustration of wanting someone more than he's ever wanted anyone— only to have them moan out his twin's name— spurred his mind feral.

he pounded you into his sheets. pummeling your poor pussy until you squirted all over him. again, and again, and again— until you were saying his name. whining his name. sobbing his name.

he's not sure how many rounds he fucked you through. three? four? he pushed and pulled you into whatever position he could think of. threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked you until your eyes crossed. shoved you onto your stomach and pounded against your ass until your drool stained his pillow.

he couldn't care about finally having you anymore. if you wanted to act dumb— he'd fuck you stupid. fuck his silly girl who couldn't tell the obvious difference between him and his brother who actively despises him.

he made sure it was his name you knew. made sure you knew it was him inside of you. his cock making you cum. his hands holding you through it. and for extra measure? he sucked his name in hickeys on your collarbone.

TOSHI in blushing bruises.

he made sure to cum inside. creampie you nice and full until it was dripping. then snatched your panties and wiped the mess clean with them. he stashed them away for later.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ stirred the next morning to you shuffling out of his arms. he tried to pull you in, kiss your head, but you were up and frantic. he cracked an eye open, watching as you shuffled out of bed and searched for your clothes. you looked almost panicked. he couldn't help but grin at the sight of your nude body prancing around his room, littered in all the marks he'd given you.

he propped his head onto one of his hands, brow arched and grin audacious. “something wrong, babydoll?”

oh, there's that glare he loved. only now you looked utterly embarrassed. flushed face and glossy eyes as you clumsily pulled on your clothes.

“shut up.” you mumbled, but made the mistake of looking in the mirror. you saw it. hickies spelling out his name. the night crashed back into you.

right. you thought the twins were one fucking person.

satoshi could only grin. tilting his head and pouting. as if he felt sorry for you.

“awww baby, embarrassed? 's okay. it was cute.” he sat up, raking his eyes that grew progressively darker down your wrecked frame.

“just a reminder. that it wasn't toru fucking that sweet cunt. toshi bruised those pretty thighs up, kay?”

he snickered as you tossed a pillow at him. still called you babydoll as you called him creep.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ texted his brother the same day.

“the fuck did you dip to? could have told me.”

he nearly broke his phone at the reply.

“sorry. your little rival was all over me. had to take care of her.”

satoru stared at his phone. telling himself it was fine. that he shouldn't be mad. he didn't feel a fucking thing for you— why should he care?

maybe because satoshi always got the girls.

maybe because he hated him.

he shoved his phone into his pocket. got up and went to class. you weren't looking at him. guilt riddled in your stare that remained forward.

fucking. great. of course you were just like every other girl on this campus.

he was in a mood all day. avoided his brother like he always did and kept to himself. all he wanted was to get to his dorm, kick off his shoes, study, maybe read some manga, play on his switch.

so imagine his surprise when he found a crumpled pair of cum-filled panties strewn over his bed and heard the familiar engine rev from outside his window?

it didn't take a genius to know whose those were.

his hands trembled. glasses fogged and slipped down his nose. red swarmed his vision.

satoru didn't quite know how to throw a punch, but he's never wanted to break his brother's jaw more.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

ᝰ.☆ enjoyed this piece? consider supporting or commissioning me <3 part two coming soon!

☆ request ── @/lovebugism I A

☆ grump!reader pt2 ── @/lovebugism I F

the worst part about hating steve is that he loves how mean you are to him

☆ shy!reader ── @/lovebugism I S

steve teaches you how to use your voice in the bedroom

☆ grump!reader ── @/lovebugism I F

steve harrington's plan to win your older brother's favor almost backfires, until it doesn't

☆ the placeholder ── @little-miss-dilf-lover I A

romantic feelings are complicated enough as it is, it’s only worse when it's amongst those in your friend group.

☆ false god ── @pretty-little-mind33 I F

You've liked Steve since forever, while he's only now just realizing you're exactly the girl he's been searching for.

☆ a tad on the nose ── @starrvsn I F

☆ blurb ── @cha0ticstranger I F

☆ weird girl!reader ── @bruisedboys I F

steve gives his curious girlfriend her first hickey

☆ request ── @/bruisedboys I F

☆ rules of the crawl pt2 ── @levanswrites I S

you don’t do dates. you do the backseat. you do frantic, messy sex on hideous shag carpet, killing time in a metal box while you both wait for the world to change, or maybe for it to just end. the rules of the crawl are simple. but whatever this thing with steve is? it's not even close.

☆ the babysitter ── @roanofarcc I H/C

while Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler leave you with their youngest for the evening, an unwelcome guest crashes the party.

☆ eighteen months ── @/roanofarcc I A

in which you're the one to fall under vecna's curse, stuck inside the monster's mind as steve is forcedd to grieve you from the outside

☆ flicker light ── @spider-stark I A + F

steve gives you a ride to the hospital when your brother gets sick and finds out boogers are (basically) the reason you hate him so much

☆ in a lonely room ── @radiowavesteve I A + F

☆ bump pt2 pt3 ── @upsidedownwithemmy I A

☆ he’s an idiot ── @mild-lust I A + F + S

After being stood up by Eddie Munson, you run into Steve Harrington on the walk home from the trailer park. He lends you listening ear and a ride—and instead of taking you home, he takes you to his.

☆ blurb ── @usedtobecooler I S

the person who breaks steve harrington’s dry spell.

☆ i think we’re alone now ── @missmanlykink I S

steves been cranky all month long. he's grumpy, never wants to fool around, tense...but finally, you two have the station to yourself, and you have a way to help your boyfriend blow off some steam

☆ court jester ── @queers-gambit I A + F + ~S

after running into his old crew, Steve thinks he can save face by calling you clingy, but your best friend hears. though, they say Christmas is the time for forgiveness!

☆ drabble ── @tearsandtechno I A + F

☆ king!steve ── @ddejavvu I F

☆ pinching pennies ── @/ddejavvu I A + C

☆ frog and toad ── @/ddejavvu I F

☆ casual conversations ── @supernovafics I F + S

in which what you and steve have isn’t serious by any means, but an honest conversation starts to change that 

☆ operation love me ── @justburningdaylight I A + F

Reader has been with Steve for almost two years. Recently he’s been pulling away. She believes he’s fallen out of love, so she devises a plan to gain his love back.

☆ injured pt2 ── @saltcxrcle I A + C

steve patches you up when you get hurt by the demodogs.

☆ time after time ── @beckys-satellite I A + C

Thank God Steve knows your favorite song.

☆ king sized ── @munson-blurbs I A + F + S

Back in high school, Steve Harrington and his friends made your life miserable. Now you have your chance to get your revenge...unless something unexpected gets in the way.

☆ sunscreen ── @yasministration I F

you and steve share a tender moment before facing hawkin's chaos, barely disturbed by the annoying teenagers and adults around you

☆ dark silhouettes, open windows ── @/yasministration I F

your relationship with steve finally crosses from platonic to romantic, and luckily for you, you don't even have to tell your friends about it.

☆ doubt ── @iheartyouyou I A + F

Steve is still in love with Nancy. It’s so obvious because who races to the top of a 500 ft tower?

☆ two lines, one disaster pt2 ── @/iheartyouyou I A

You find out you’re pregnant with Steve’s child right before the Crawl.

☆ love song ── @vividxpages I F

a slow night at the radio station. or: Steve is just so in love with you.

☆ call out my name ── @keeryhours I S

No one knows you and your best friend Steve are a thing. In fact, everyone is very much under the impression that Steve is still in love with Nancy. When Nancy calls while Steve is in your bed, you have to keep your secret - and Steve isn’t making it easy.

☆ there is no other love (it’s only yours) ── @/keeryhours I F

5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.

☆ jealousy, jealousy ── @colouredbyd I A + F

you can’t shake the sharp sting of jealousy when you catch your boyfriend, steve, engrossed in conversation with his ex, nancy wheeler.

☆ lost in the woods ── @munsster I F

You, the party, and Steve attend an annual winter festival while he's feeling utterly lost in the woods.

☆ to the boy i loved before ── @buckyarchives I A

Dustin’s disappointed by his sister recent decline into loneliness, and after a new discovery that gives him an opportunity to unite his two favorite people—a certain light comes back into you life

☆ make it up to you pt2 ── @munsonsmixtapes I F + C + S

You accidentally stand Steve up and decide to make it up to him the only way you know how.

☆ under the mistletoe ── @g1rld1ary I F

all you want for christmas is for steve to kiss you.

☆ henderson! ── @bunnyscr1bbles I F

steve harrington has a hopeless crush on dustin’s hot older sister

☆ don’t say a word ── @beapeas I F

While stuck in the middle of Steve and Jonathan's arguing, you out your secret relationship with Steve to shut them up.

☆ anklet ── @hungharrington I S

☆ cherry slushies ── @spencersmopbucket I A + F

you kick the shit out of steve harrington for messing with your brother -- from that moment on, he's sickeningly infatuated with you.

“No,” you lied, pretending to pay close attention to the vinyl spinning across from you, “Yes. What’s taking Murray so long?” 

Steve answered with a shrug, glancing around the booth the two of you were currently holed up in. “You’re just like Robin. So antsy.” 

“Well, Robin is currently having a fancy dinner with her girlfriend, while I'm stuck in a stuffy booth with my boyfriend waiting for a psychotic man to smuggle us in intel.” You huffed, body slumping in the chair. “We haven’t been on a date in ages.” 

Your boyfriend’s face softened, pushing himself off the shelf to stalk towards you. “Baby-“ 

“And I know it’s selfish of me to be saying that when the world is basically ending, but-ugh.” You cut yourself off with a groan, watching as he held his hand out for you to grab. You folded your hand in his, letting him spin you out of the chair, pulling your body taut to his. 

“It’s not selfish.” He swore, smiling as your hands wrapped around his neck. The gentle sound of Kim Carnes playing in the background. “Come on, dance with me. We can have our own date here.” 

You didn’t even have time to protest, Steve taking your body against his swaying messily to the music. 

“Okay, okay.” You giggled, doing your best to keep up with each time he tried to spin you in the tiny room. At one point, he kept you latched to his side, leaning over to push the volume control button up. A wide smirk on his face before he spun you around again. Both of your smiles were wide, lost in the joy that radiated off of each other. 

“She’s got Bette Davis eyes.” Steve sang off-key, pulling you back from a spin. His front pressed against your back, the two of you swaying along as the song ended. Both of you are out of breath, bodies wracked with giggles. A sweet reprieve of love, one that neither of you realized you needed. 

“I love you.” He whispered your name, his warm breath against your ear making your body shiver. His hands still gripping your jean-clad hips. 

“I love you. Missed this.” You whispered, feeling his lips trail down your ear, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your neck. This was something else the end of the world didn’t allocate time for; Steve and you rarely got a moment alone. You loved Robin, but if you weren’t so thankful, she and Vicki finally got together, so it meant you two had a night alone. 

His hands reached up your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra roughly. You were so caught up in his hands, his lips sucking the skin of your neck, you didn’t even realize you were both still very much at the station. 

“Baby.” You whined, pushing pathetically against him. You didn’t want him to stop, but the two of you had to keep the music going. 

“Hmmm?” He hummed against your skin, one of his hands reaching down your stomach, cupping your clothed cunt. Your stomach turned with want, burning with desire. You repeated the pet name, warning him to stop.

“It’s just us in here. I’ll be fast.” He whispered, his hand popping open your jeans. Fingers pressing against the wet patch that had formed against your panties. He pushed his hips against your ass, his hardening cock pressing against you. You could feel your resolve crumbling with each gentle stroke of your clothed heat.

“You have to be fast.” 

“Fuck yes.” He sighed, speeding up the movement of his hands. You were ready to succumb to his ministrations before the silence of the music ending brought you back to reasonable thinking. 

“Wait, we can’t let the music go to dead air. They’ll panic.” You whimpered, trying to think as rationally as you could while Steve’s hands were all over you. The last thing you needed was the entire crawl squad busting in here while your pants were down, literally. 

“Fuck, fuck what’s the longest song we have?” He reluctantly took his hands off you, rushing to the crates in the back. All you could do was hum in thought, your mind running a thousand miles a minute while Steve threw around records, the bulge in his jeans prominent. If you weren’t so wound up, maybe you would’ve giggled at the sight. 

“Fuck uhh Iron Maiden three years ago? They had like a 10-minute song, right?” You offered up, his eyes shining. 

“God, baby, I’m gonna fuck the hell out of you.” He whistled, holding up the vinyl like a championship trophy. “13 minutes and 39 seconds to be exact.” 

Your cheeks flushed at his words, your underwear getting damper by the minute. “Do you think that’s enough time?” 

He scoffed, plopping himself down in the chair. “Look at you asking silly questions. Is 13 minutes enough time to make you come? I could do it in 5. Ridiculous.” He mumbled the last part under his breath, setting the vinyl up quickly. 

You rolled your eyes, still unbelieving that you agreed to this. He shushed you while the on-air light flickered on, the neon lights buzzing. 

“Alright, Hawkins,” Steve’s radio voice echoed through the microphone. “We are setting sail. This next one is on the longer side, but trust me. It’s gonna be worth every single second.” His eyes were on you, while you made a show of pulling the rough fabric of your pants down your hips. 

“Iron Maiden, Rime of the Ancient Mariner, hold on to your sea legs!” And he put the needle down, the on-air light flickering off. The guitar riffs bleeding through his headphones matched the thump of your heart. 

“Gotta make every second count.” You smiled, keeping your shirt on for the sake of emergencies. Steve wasted no time in pulling you to him, your lips meeting with a feverish passion. His tongue explored your mouth while his hands found your hips again. His fingers dancing along your waistline, dipping inside your panties. He swallowed your shocked gasps, his fingertips sinking into your soaked cunt at last. “Oh, baby. You really needed this.” 

All you could do was nod, your head feeling heavy as you leaned against him. He rubbed lazy circles around your clit before he slid two fingers inside you with little resistance. “S-steve.” You stuttered out, keeping an eye on the vinyl grooves. 

“Shhhhh. Don’t focus on that. Gotta get you ready.” He cooed, coaxing more beautiful moans from your lips. Stretching you out as much as he could, given the circumstances. His cock was aching in his jeans, his other hand abandoned your back, fumbling with his zipper. His jeans fell to his knees, his cock sitting large and pretty in his tighty whities you always teased him about. 

Your cunt was clenching around his fingers, desperately needing him. When his fingers pulled out tears almost sprang to your eyes, the emptiness made your head spin. “Turn round, baby.” His saccharine voice spoke. You listened, elbows finding the table, leaning against the control panel. His fingers hooked themselves in your underwear, pulling them to the floor. 

A strangled moan escaped his lips, “Fuck I wish I had time to taste you.” 

“Steve.” You were dripping for him, clenching around nothing while he pulled his cock out. He spat in his hand, rubbing the spit against your entrance. Not like you needed it, but the sensation had your eyes rolling into the back of your head regardless. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you. Good girl, just like that, take this cock.” The moment his cock slid in between your lips, you were a goner, your cunt sucking his tip in greedily. With every inch he pushed in, you suckled around him, the sound already obscene. 

When his hips met yours, he let out a pornographic moan. One that you’d keep in your memory for late nights alone. “So fucking tight. Basically squeezing me to death,” He breathed out, “I’m not going nowhere, baby.” He pulled his cock out halfway, admiring his length dripping in your wetness, before slamming back in. Keeping up a steady pace, hitting the deepest spots inside your cunt from this angle. 

“Feel so s’good. Fuck I needed this.” You whimpered out, the faint reflection of the two of you in the glass only spurring you on more. With one hand on your hip, the other cupped the back of your neck, just enough pressure to keep you still. One thing about Steve Harrington was that he knew how to fuck. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and he played it to his advantage every time. 

“I know you did. Letting me fuck you in here. Where anyone could walk in.” He growled, watching your ass ripple with each thrust. You clenched around him at his words, only making a deep laugh escape his chest. 

“Oh, you like that?” He mocked, your head nodding almost instantly. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe. All you could feel was Steve’s cock splitting you apart. 

“Yeah, of course you do, my dirty little slut.” A harsh slap on your ass punctuated his words. This wasn’t making love; this was dirty. A primal fuck that the two of you needed so desperately. 

He wasn’t taking your moans for an answer, continuing as his dirty mind ran rampant with each squelch of your cunt around him. “Say it. Say it or I stop.” 

You could barely hold yourself up with your elbows, desperately trying to make sure you didn’t hit any buttons. “I’m your dirty little slut. Please don’t stop. Please.” 

Tears were pricking your eyes at how fast and deep his movements were, the sound of skin hitting skin drowning out the still-spinning Iron Maiden song in the background. “Not gonna stop. Not until you’re cumming around my cock.” 

A particularly deep thrust hit a spot that had your legs shaking, your body almost falling into the control board. Only stopped by Steve’s arm pulling you up to his chest, the position making him deeper inside you if that was even possible. 

“You don’t want all of Hawkins hearing you cum around me, do you?” He laughed, pressing sloppy kisses to your shoulder. “Or do you?” 

All you could do was nod mindlessly, your high approaching like a freight train. “I bet you’d love that, huh? Do you want me to turn the mic on? Let everyone hear how good I fuck you?” 

All you could do was wail, “Steve, Steve, I’m gonna cum.” 

“Yeah, you are.” He grunted, his hand reaching down to rub lazy circles on your swollen clit. “Should we let everyone hear how I make this pussy cream? How only I can make you feel this good?” 

That was all it took for you to fall pliant in his arms, your cunt spasming around him. Your vision went dark, legs shaking as the euphoria washed over every nerve in your body. 

When you came to Steve’s hips were stuttering, his own high approaching. He was whispering small praises into your ears, hands holding your body close to his. “That’s my girl. Did so well for me. Gonna make me come, huh? Love you.” 

“Want it so bad.” You sobbed, your nails digging into his forearms while he stilled, cock twitching, his release deep inside you. Steve’s head shoved deep into the crook of your neck, grunting your name over and over. 

The booth was hot, the air humid and sticky with sex. The vinyl crackling next to you two, the song almost over. 

“And you thought 13 minutes wasn’t enough.” Steve laughed, sweat dripping off his brow and onto your own slicked skin. The two of you were a mess. The booth's glass is foggy at the bottom. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your head before slipping his length out of you, hissing at the friction. His cum dribbled out of you, dripping down your inner thighs, making his over-sensitive cock twitch. “Stop ogling me and get me a towel.” You whined, snapping him out of his boyish haze. 

He rifled through your bag using a wet wipe to clean you up, pulling your underwear and pants up for you while you were on shaky legs. You left your pants unbuttoned, content to plop down in the chair. Watching as Steve fumbled around for his own pants. A record scratch brought you out of your own ogling, switching over to another song. Unbothered with an intro this time. 

“I’ll get us some water. Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough, was I?” Steve was still out of breath, leaning down to press soft kisses to your lips. You shook your head, a wicked grin on your lips.

“Not at all, baby. Though I didn’t know you were so into the idea of Hawkins hearing you split me open.” 

His cheeks flushed, opening the door to the booth. “Shut up. You loved it.” 

Your giggles wafted through the building as he walked into the kitchenette to retrieve cold water for the two of you. The moment Steve tossed the chilled bottle to you, you were chugging it down. 

“I love you, sweet girl.” He smiled, smoothing down your frizzy hair for you. “Maybe if we get a break from sudden death, I’ll take you to a nice dinner. How’s that?” 

Nodding, you leaned into his touch, kissing his hand. “Sounds like a plan, Harrington.” 

Your eyes were booting into his; there was no one else you’d rather face death with than him. These last few years have brought the two of you closer with every obstacle. 

“Yoo hoo!” A loud voice yelled, the front door of the station banging open with a thud. The two of you jumped up, both still disheveled. “I’ve been waiting outside for like five minutes.” Murray was standing there, eyes already narrowing in on you two. If it wasn’t your appearance, or the sheer smell alone, then your completely unbuttoned pants would have given light to what the two of you had been doing while he waited outside. 

Steve was about to speak, getting cut off by Murray’s pointed laugh. “Oh my god. You disgusting kids.” He spoke, nothing but humor in his words. “Meet me outside in a few, and I'll hand over everything. Wash your hands.” He pointed at Steve while you turned around to button your pants back up. Steve was red in the face, holding his hands out like they were poisoned. 

“He has a point.” You broke the awkward silence that had been hanging since the door closed. 

and he never knew when to stop. the way he stared across the bullpen like a kicked puppy, begging to be the object of your attention instead of those boring articles.

until jimmy smacked him with a “you’re so obvious, man.”

or when he brings your favourite drink, but then he’s forced to set one for jimmy and lois too, or else it’d be suspicious.

the way he begged for “just lunch” when he really meant two hours of being handsy and kissy before superman had to fly.

and now this—sneaking you into the supply room on lunch break because he can’t keep his love to himself—his words, not yours.

your blouse was open, bra tugged down, and his mouth was latched to your breast like a starving man. his tongue flicked your nipple, teeth grazing, sucking until your back arched and you bit down on a gasp. spit and heat smeared your skin where he worshiped you, groaning like the taste of you alone was enough to destroy him.

and it is.

“c-clark, you’re drooling—”

“don’t care.” his voice was wrecked, muffled against your chest as he sucked harder, thumb rolling your other nipple until you whimpered.

so lost in each other neither of you heard the footsteps—until the door banged open.

with a blur of super speed, clark fixed your bra, buttoned you back up, and set you on the ground, standing guiltily just as jimmy walked in with a stack of boxes.

but the damage was done. your hair a mess, lips kiss-bruised, lipstick smeared on clark’s mouth, his jaw, your chest. and worst of all, the straining and very visible outline in his pants, which clark slapped both hands over like that would hide anything.

“h-hey jimmy…!” clark’s voice cracked again, painfully awkward.

jimmy just stared, jaw slack. then he sighed like the weight of the world was on him. “see, here’s the thing. i love rooting for my friends getting laid. i do. but we’re supposed to be lying low, not lying on top of each other.”

“it’s not—”

“we’re not lying—” you and clark chorused, equally panicked.

“oh yeah? it’s just ‘not telling the truth,’ huh?”

“exactly!” you squeaked, cheeks blazing.

jimmy handed clark a tissue. “you’ve got lipstick all over your chest, big guy.” then one for you. “and you, miss, lois is gonna kill someone if you’re not back at her desk in…” he checked his watch. “one and a half minutes. tops.”

“thanks, jimmy!” you hugged him quickly before fleeing the room—only stopping for one last stolen kiss on clark’s lips.

when you were gone, clark and jimmy locked eyes.

jimmy pointed blatantly at his crotch. “you’d better sort that out before anyone notices. try thinking about that old lady who tried to kiss you yesterday—the one who stuck her tongue all the way out.”

“darn it…” clark groaned, head thunking back against the shelf. equal parts despair over losing you too soon—and the cursed image jimmy just burned into his brain.

lois was perched on your desk, reviewing an article with you. clark stood farther than he needed to—though you swore he could be closer—but after the supply room incident at lunch (the one jimmy told lois about), both of them decided it was safer to keep you two apart for a while.

“something feels off…” you murmured, arms crossed as you frowned at the words crowding your screen.

“it does,” lois agreed, leaning in. “it feels like it’s missing something… like a chunk of information isn’t there.”

the two of you kept rereading the article, trying to catch what was bugging you so much—until perry’s voice rang through the bullpen.

“and here’s my most competent team!” he declared, wearing a smile so wide you had to blink at it. perry white, smiling? that was… new.

he called out your name, then added, “lois lane.”

two young adults stepped forward, bright and eager.

right. interns.

“this is clark kent, another reporter, and james olsen, photographer.” perry’s tone shifted flat again, far less enthusiastic than when he introduced you and lois. both men exchanged a glance at the difference.

the girl seemed shy, but her eyes lit up as soon as lois sarted talking. she was already scribbling in her notebook, jotting down everything she thought might matter.

the boy, on the other hand, only had eyes for you. he didn’t once glance at lois or ask a single question about what she was saying, instead, his attention stayed pinned to you, sharp enough that even lois and perry caught it.

“and just to make it clear,” perry added, voice firm again, “at the daily planet, especially in your positions—since we don’t take on many interns—dating is not allowed.”

both nodded obediently, though the boy’s gaze didn’t waver. if anything, he looked like the rule had nothing to do with him.

once perry and the interns moved along for the newsroom tour, lois swiveled back toward you, perching even more comfortably on the edge of your desk. there was a spark in her eye that immediately put you on edge.

“seems like my best friend here is a little too hot to handle, huh?” she teased, smirk tugging at her lips.

before you could even open your mouth, jimmy’s head appeared right beside yours—like he had a built-in radar for mockery. “what are we talking about now?” he asked, far too innocently.

“yeah, especially because your best friend is also my girlfriend,” clark interrupted as he stepped in, brows knitting in that awkwardly serious way of his. he planted himself right next to jimmy, tall frame casting a shadow over both of you like he had to stake some sort of claim.

you let out a groan, dragging your hands over your face. subtlety was officially dead.

“i know that, kent.” lois nearly rolled her eyes, leaning back with her arms crossed. “what i’m saying is the little intern boy couldn’t keep his eyes off your girlfriend.”

you didn’t need to lift your head to picture it—the tiny downturn of clark’s mouth, the faint crease in his brow, the beginnings of a pout tugging at his lips.

jimmy, of course, pounced. “charming young boys now?” he teased, elbowing clark’s side. “and here i thought your type was shy, tall, silly farm men.”

“isn’t it?” clark turned toward you instantly, voice a little rushed, like he genuinely needed you to confirm.

“yes!” you blurted, louder than intended, cheeks heating. quickly, you dropped your voice, leaning in. “very specifically, my type is clark kent.”

that was all it took—his whole expression broke into a proud, goofy grin, dimples showing, eyes shining like you’d handed him the world.

“and i’m not charming no young boy,” you added firmly, pointing at both men. “so maybe the peanut gallery should get back to work?”

neither of them moved.

“now,” you tried again, voice firmer.

jimmy groaned dramatically. “booo. no fun at all.” he shuffled back to his desk, still laughing.

clark, on the other hand, lingered, his grin softening into something shy. he leaned in slightly, like he was debating stealing a quick kiss—already glancing around to make sure no one was watching—when jimmy’s voice called out again from across the bullpen.

“kent, quit mooning and move it!”

clark startled, muttering a quick “coming!” before retreating, his ears turning a shade of pink you adored.

you couldn’t help it—the fond smile broke free, watching your big, silly man shuffle back to his desk like a scolded puppy.

“and what about the—” lois started, leaning in again, mischief returning full force.

“lois. you too.”

she gasped, hand over her chest like you’d insulted her honor. “but i am working!” she said, feigning innocence.

you sighed, defeated, while she kept grinning like a cat who’d cornered the canary, clearly not done with her teasing.

the next day, the interns were ready to go. penny, as you’d learned, was a complete sweetheart. sharp, serious, already reminding you of a younger lois with the way she devoured assignments and scribbled notes like her life depended on it.

the boy, though… still nameless to you, was another story entirely. no matter how hard he tried to play it cool, he was an absolute mess. tripping over his own feet, mixing up files, misreading headlines, fumbling with jimmy’s camera during “training.” every single mistake had one root cause: he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

lois had noticed. you had noticed. everyone had noticed.

but right now—two weeks later—you were nose-deep in polishing an article, fixing formatting with laser focus, when a hesitant voice pulled you out calling your name.

you blinked up. there he was, leaning over your desk, nearly toppling your pen holder in the process. pens clattered, and he fumbled to fix it. “sorry—sorry, my bad.”

“no problem,” you said, tidying it again with a flick of your fingers, gently shooing him back to a safer distance. “and yes, that’s me. how can i help you…?”

“tyler.” he grinned, sticking out a hand like he’d been waiting for this moment.

“…tyler.” you shook it politely.

he seemed to gather his courage in one shaky breath. “i just—uh, I didn’t think there’d be such pretty reporters here. not every day you meet… someone like you.” the words tumbled out in a rush, and though he tried to hold himself upright, his ears gave him away, bright red.

you glanced at your watch—almost lunch break. clark had promised to take you out today.

“uh… thank you?” you said, voice distracted, already mentally halfway to clark.

from across the bullpen, a trio of spectators watched.

jimmy leaned forward in his chair like he was ringside at a boxing match. “twenty bucks says he’s about to ask her out.”

lois smirked. “make it forty. and double down—he’s embarrassing himself while he does it.”

“that’s not fair,” clark muttered tightly beside them.

and then, snap. the pen in his hand cracked clean in two, ink bleeding into his palm.

lois whipped her head toward him, eyebrows raised. “clark. really?”

jimmy stifled a laugh. “guess somebody’s not a betting man.”

lois sighed. “that’s the third pen this week, clark.”

jimmy snorted. “remember the stapler? what about the mug?”

“or the chair,” lois added.

clark’s ears went pink. “th-that chair was already broken.”

“mmhmm,” jimmy hummed, grinning wide. “you really oughta work on your poker face, big guy. one more crush-fit like that and perry’s gonna make you pay for office supplies.”

clark tried to hide his ruined pen under a stack of papers, glaring at jimmy. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

lois smirked, eyes flicking back to you laughing politely at tyler. “sure you don’t.”

and tyler was practically glued to your side. every time you shifted in your chair, he leaned in closer; every time you moved across the bullpen, he trailed after you like a lost puppy. polite smiles kept slipping onto your face, but inside you were counting the seconds until you could escape for lunch with clark.

the worst part? clark hadn’t gotten even a minute alone with you all morning—or in every other. twice he’d tried to check in, only for tyler to appear with a question about headlines. once he’d hovered by your desk with that little folded note he sometimes left you, but tyler had wedged himself in, asking about fonts of all things.

“wow, you type so fast,” tyler said now, propping an elbow on your desk and leaning much too close while you scrolled through your article. “what’s your secret?”

you kept your smile tight. “practice.”

from across the room, you could feel clark’s stare. the weight of it landed square on tyler’s shoulder blades, as if clark were trying to bore holes straight through him. lois, watching like it was her afternoon entertainment, propped her chin in her hand.

“he’s about to crack,” she murmured to jimmy.

jimmy grinned, stage-whispering, “two bucks says the pen doesn’t survive.”

but instead of breaking something this time, clark pushed back from his desk. his chair squeaked across the floor as he stood, straightened his tie with a decisive tug, and strode across the bullpen with that long, farm-boy determination of his.

“sweeth—” he said your name, clearing his throat. voice polite but firmer than usual, a steady note beneath it. “didn’t we have plans?”

your head whipped up, blinking at him. “oh, right—”

but tyler jumped in, oblivious. “plans? oh, hey, I was just about to invite her to lunch, too—”

clark leaned down, resting a broad hand on the back of your chair. his frame blocked half your desk, his shoulders filling your vision. his smile was polite, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes—those impossible blue eyes—were locked on tyler with barely veiled warning.

“no need,” clark said smoothly. “she already has a lunch date.”

“with who?” tyler blinked, still not getting it.

clark didn’t hesitate. “me.”

the bullpen went dead quiet. you swore you heard jimmy wheeze trying to stifle his laughter. lois pressed her lips together, eyes sparkling with barely hidden glee.

tyler froze, face heating scarlet. “o-oh. right. cool. um. have fun, then.” he shuffled backwards, nearly tripping on the leg of a chair before disappearing in a hurry.

lois clapped once, slow and mocking. “smooth, farm boy. real smooth.”

jimmy leaned back in his chair, grinning like a menace. “hey, at least he didn’t break the coffee pot this time.”

you buried your face in your hand, torn between laughter and embarrassment. clark, meanwhile, looked sheepish as he helped you gather your notes. “couldn’t wait five more minutes, huh?” you teased under your breath.

his ears burned pink, but his smile was soft and unashamed. “five more minutes was too long.”

tyler hadn’t left your side all morning. he hovered over your desk, tossing you half-baked leads, leaning far too close when he talked, and laughing just a little too loud. it was getting impossible. so impossible that even penny was bothered. every time she wanted to ask you something, he was there.

you tried to focus on your notes, tried to give polite answers, but across the bullpen, clark hadn’t touched his papers in twenty minutes, eyes flicking up every time tyler bent too far into your space.

when tyler called you “partner” for the third time, like you were already a team, clark finally pushed back his chair with a scrape.

“actually,” clark said, his voice calm but firm, “she already has a partner.”

tyler froze. “what? i thought—”

clark crossed the floor in a few strides, standing behind your chair. one hand braced gently on the backrest, the other resting on the desk near your notebook, like a quiet shield. his gaze lowered to yours, soft and protective. “we’ve been working together for a while now,” he said, voice just above a murmur. “long enough that… it’s more than work.”

your heart fluttered as his fingers brushed yours—just enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting anyone else near you.

tyler’s ears burned red. “i… uh… need to—archives!” he muttered, and vanished without another word.

and then—

“kent.” and, in the same stern voice, he called your name.

both of you turned. perry stood in the doorway, arms crossed, scowl in place but eyes twinkling faintly.

clark’s hand slipped from the back of your chair. you followed him into perry’s office, feeling slightly like schoolkids caught passing notes.

“so,” perry said, leaning on his desk, voice gruff but warm, “how long has this been going on?”

you stared at each other. the cogs in your head turning, trying to make up anything before clark. you know he can’t lie to save his life.

“seven months, sir,” clark admitted and you sighed, kicking yourself mentally. “we didn’t want it to—”

“i don’t care if it’s seven months or seven years. if you two are dating, married, or planning a honeymoon on mars.” perry cut in, though a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. “as long as you still bring me stories that sell papers, it’s none of my business. just… don’t start smooching in front of the interns again, you hear me?”

you exhaled in relief. clark blinked, looking half-stunned, half-proud.

perry waved a hand. “now get outta here before i start regretting being soft. but—don’t think i didn’t notice. you two? cute as hell.”

back in the bullpen, clark’s hand brushed yours again—quick, subtle, protective, and warm—and you couldn’t help but grin.

back at your desk, the newsroom buzzed around you, but clark never really left your side. not hovering, exactly—just… there. his chair slid a little closer than necessary whenever you shifted, his elbow brushing yours when he reached for a pen, fingers lingering just a moment too long. small, innocent things—except tyler noticed them all.

the intern tried, bless him, but every time he leaned in with a question, clark was already there. standing, leaning, reaching, smiling at you in that soft, “don’t-you-dare-look-anywhere-else” way. the boy stammered, took a step back, then muttered something about checking the archives and vanished for a solid ten minutes.

lois and jimmy, of course, had front-row seats.

“ohhh, he’s really claiming her now,” lois whispered, eyes gleaming.

jimmy snorted. “look at that hand. the way it just… hovers. classic kent.”

you bit back a laugh, glancing at clark. his cheeks were faintly pink, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth was all confidence—protective confidence.

and every time tyler tried to step in, clark would casually adjust something near you, brush your papers back into place, or drop a pen into your hand with that same soft, lingering touch, like a quiet reminder: she’s mine.

even though it was subtle, tyler got the message loud and clear. by the end of the month, he was shuffling around the bullpen, giving you polite nods from a safe distance, occasionally glancing at clark like he’d accidentally walked into a fortress he couldn’t breach.

you leaned over, whispering to clark, “you don’t have to be so obvious.”

he smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair from your shoulder. “i think it’s working.”

“it’s terrifying,” you whispered back, laughing.

“good,” he said softly, eyes warm, gaze never leaving yours. “i like terrifying them a little.” clark teased before tilting your chin up to press your lips together.

and just like that, the days slipped by—clark quietly, unshakably protective, tyler kept in check, and you couldn’t stop smiling at the subtle, constant attention that made even the busiest newsroom feel like your own little bubble.