dream high

Your eyes scanned your computer screen one last time, reading through your article before finally sending it. They lingered over every word, every comma, every period, making sure everything was perfect. It was a habit of yours—to review everything over and over until you finally felt at ease. Deep down, though, you knew it was already fine. It was just your nerves playing tricks on you.

You let out a soft sigh and lifted your head, stretching your neck, which had begun to ache from spending so long hunched over your keyboard.

And that was when you met his eyes.

Those blue eyes that had been watching you for the last thirty minutes.

No, that wasn't true.

Maybe an hour.

But if you were being honest with yourself, you'd been feeling them on you for weeks now, always at the most unexpected moments.

Clark had this habit of silently watching you, as though he were trying to solve a puzzle that only he could see.

The moment your eyes met, he immediately looked away and turned back to his own monitor, pretending he was deeply focused on something important.

You almost laughed.

It was such an awkward reaction.

Such a Clark reaction.

If anyone else had seen him from the outside, he probably would've looked like some kind of stalker.

But you knew better.

He was just your boyfriend, completely lost in his own thoughts, imagining something or reflecting on something you could never quite understand.

So you smiled to yourself and returned to your work, although your mind was no longer fully focused on the words in front of you.

Clark had always been like this.

Strange.

But never in a bad or unsettling way.

It was more as if he saw the world through a different lens—one that only he could look through.

Sometimes the simplest things seemed like profound mysteries to him.

Other times, the things that felt impossibly complicated to you were solved by him with astonishing ease.

Understanding him had taken time.

A lot of time.

Patience.

Carefully observing all of his little habits.

But maybe he understood you far better than you understood him.

Because he never complained about your silence or your bad days.

He was simply there, with those blue eyes and his quiet way of loving you.

Despite everything, loving him had never been difficult.

You had been together for eight months now, and your relationship was serious.

You knew his parents, and he knew yours.

You went to parties together, shared an apartment, and your belongings had become so intertwined that you could barely tell what belonged to whom anymore.

Your colorful scarves rested beside his neatly pressed ties.

Your work blouses hung next to his perfectly ironed dress shirts.

You even had matching mugs—the ones he'd excitedly bought from a little shop downtown—and every morning you used them to drink coffee together.

Yet despite all that closeness, Clark sometimes seemed unable to say the things that truly mattered.

Expressing himself with words wasn't easy for him.

Instead, he'd start with those long, lingering looks, as if he expected you to read his mind.

As if he believed you had powers just like his.

Then he'd smile, and you'd convince yourself you had imagined it.

But then another glance would come.

And another.

And the doubt would quietly settle back into your mind.

As your fingers absentmindedly continued typing, you started wondering what could possibly be going through his head.

Was he thinking about breaking up?

No.

That was impossible.

You remembered the keychain he'd given you.

The one that read "Best Boyfriend Ever" in shiny letters with a little plastic heart attached to it.

At first, you'd thought it was ridiculously cheesy and far too flashy.

But Clark had chosen it with such genuine excitement that you hadn't had the heart to refuse.

He carried the matching one.

It said "My Favorite Girlfriend."

And every single time you pulled out your keys, his eyes lit up like a little kid's.

So you carried it proudly, even if your coworkers occasionally teased you about it.

If he'd given you something that meaningful, there was no way he was planning to end your relationship.

Maybe it was jealousy.

But no.

Clark wasn't a particularly jealous person.

Sure, there were those moments when he'd gently place a hand on your waist whenever someone stood a little too close to you.

Or when he'd tilt his head with that unmistakable expression that clearly said,

"I don't like this."

But he always handled it better than you did.

Once you got home, he'd simply ask whether you'd felt uncomfortable.

No scenes.

No accusations.

No arguments.

He was surprisingly calm about things like that.

Sometimes it honestly amazed you.

Maybe he wanted to go on a trip?

But he hadn't mentioned anything, and the two of you always planned those things weeks ahead of time.

No.

That wasn't it either.

One possibility after another disappeared, and you still couldn't figure out the answer.

When work finally ended, he did exactly what he always did.

Without saying a word, he picked up your purse and slung it over his shoulder.

Then he grabbed your coat—the one you'd brought that morning because it had been cold—but now, with the warmth of the evening settling in, you no longer needed it.

Clark carried it neatly folded over one arm, with that effortless way he had of taking care of you without ever making a fuss about it.

The two of you walked toward the exit together, and you slipped your hand into his free one, feeling the warmth of his fingers intertwine with yours.

There was no need to talk.

Sometimes the silence between you was far more comforting than any conversation.

On the way home, you stopped at the little crêpe stand the two of you loved so much.

You ordered your favorite—the Hawaiian one, with ham and pineapple.

Clark ordered his usual.

Chocolate and strawberries.

You ate while walking, stealing bites from each other's crêpes and laughing when whipped cream ended up smeared across his cheek.

By the time you reached your apartment, the sun had already disappeared below the horizon, and the cool evening breeze drifted through the open windows.

Clark placed the bags on the table and, without saying a word, picked up the dishes the two of you had taken to work so he could wash them.

He shrugged off his suit jacket in one smooth motion and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his forearms as he turned on the faucet.

Everything happened in silence.

Just another routine the two of you knew by heart.

Meanwhile, you placed his briefcase beside the couch and set your purse in its usual spot.

You gathered the coffee mugs you'd both left on your little desks that morning and carried them into the kitchen.

After that, you began organizing your shared workspace.

You knew you'd be assigned another article tomorrow, and you'd probably end up working late again.

And Clark simply couldn't work if everything was messy.

It was one of his many little quirks.

You didn't mind clutter.

Sometimes you even claimed it helped you think.

But Clark needed everything to be exactly where it belonged.

So you placed his pen holder on the right side of his desk, perfectly aligned with his mouse.

Then you set his notebook—the one he only ever used at home—on the left side, carefully lining up its cover with the edge of the desk.

You even sorted through the loose papers left over from previous days.

Then you turned to your own desk, arranging things a little more casually, because you didn't care if your pencils crossed over each other or your sticky notes poked out in every direction.

Clark was still washing the dishes, water running steadily as his hands moved with the same calm rhythm he seemed to have for everything.

You knew he'd probably gathered every single dirty plate, mug, fork, and spoon lying around the apartment, because that was just how meticulous he was.

He never left anything unfinished.

No matter how small it seemed.

You walked into the kitchen and started putting away the leftovers he'd carefully stored in different containers, each one tightly sealed and labeled with what was inside.

He was so organized that sometimes it made you laugh.

But it also gave you a strange sense of comfort.

As you closed the refrigerator door, you felt his gaze settle on you once again.

That gentle but unwavering weight of his eyes.

The silent reminder that something important was on his mind.

Without turning to look at him, because you knew you would get nervous if you did, you asked quietly, "Will you tell me someday?"

Your tone was calm, as though you didn't really care about the answer.

But deep down, you knew you did.

Clark paused for a second, his hands still submerged in the soapy water, and lifted his head to look at you.

"What will I say, sweetheart?" he asked, and there was that small smile in his voice that always appeared whenever he felt he'd been caught.

You finally turned toward him and saw him smiling in that sheepish way you knew so well, as though he'd just been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"Exactly. I don't know what you'll say, but you'll say something," you replied with a teasing smile.

He let out a quiet laugh as he continued scrubbing the dishes, moving the sponge in slow circles.

The water continued to run, its sound filling the kitchen, but the silence between you was comfortable, like an old blanket.

"It might scare you," he finally said, his voice softer now, almost shy.

That made you stop what you were doing and move to stand beside him, resting your hip against the edge of the counter so you could look at him better.

He kept washing the dishes, but every few seconds his eyes drifted back to you.

"Scare me?" you asked, not quite understanding what he meant.

You frowned for a moment, thinking of all the things that could possibly frighten you, but none of them seemed to fit him.

"I'd be scared if it were a proposal like... I don't know... doing it on the balcony. Now that would completely ruin Clark Kent's image," you joked with a light laugh.

He immediately blushed, a soft pink spreading from the base of his neck all the way to his cheeks.

That only made you laugh harder.

It was so incredibly easy to make him shy just by mentioning something even slightly inappropriate.

"No... that would be vulgar," he replied seriously.

But there was so much affection shining in his eyes that you couldn't help smiling even more.

"What is it?" you asked, softening your voice so he'd know you genuinely wanted to hear him.

Clark set the plate he'd been washing aside and wiped his hands on his pants, a habit he always had whenever he needed to think carefully before speaking.

"I... hypothetically..." he began.

The words came out with difficulty, as though he were trying to assemble a complicated puzzle inside his head.

"I think everything is going really well and... I don't know... I just..."

He tried to finish the sentence, but the words slipped away from him like water through his fingers.

"Hypothetically," you repeated, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.

He smiled, relieved that you'd given him an easy opening.

"If everything keeps going well... hypothetically, we could get married," you said, finishing the thought he couldn't bring himself to say.

He looked at you with such a huge smile that it seemed like even his teeth were glowing.

"And keep living together," you added, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Because to you, it was.

You had already spent eight months sharing every corner of your lives together, and the thought of that continuing forever didn't feel strange.

It felt beautiful.

"If... hypothetically... that happened..." he asked, his voice more serious now, as though he truly needed to know your answer, "would you want to live in Metropolis?"

You shrugged because, honestly, you'd never really thought about it.

The city had its charm, with all its lights and constant energy.

But sometimes it felt overwhelming too.

"I don't know. Maybe... or we could move to Smallville," you suggested without giving it much thought.

The name had simply slipped from your lips almost on instinct.

But Clark froze completely.

He quickly turned off the faucet, shook the excess water from his hands, grabbed a towel, and dried them in a hurry.

Then he reached into the back pocket of his pants for his phone.

You watched him, completely confused.

"Exactly. Hypothetically speaking," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he unlocked the screen.

"If we moved to Smallville... hypothetically... there's a piece of land for sale there, and the price per square meter is really cheap. Look, here's the listing."

He showed you the pictures on his phone.

Two large lots.

Surrounded by trees.

Plenty of open space.

You nodded as you looked at them, and he kept talking, his voice overflowing with excitement he could barely contain.

"And hypothetically, if you wanted a house exactly the way you like it, we could build it from scratch. I've already looked at blueprints. I have, like, ten different house designs saved in my favorites folder."

He swiped to another picture, showing you the property from a different angle.

"And hypothetically, it's actually inside town. It's only a few blocks from downtown, but it's close to the market too, so it isn't isolated or anything."

He kept swiping.

"And it's close to the schools too. Hypothetically, when our kids start going, they could just take the bus."

Clark switched to another picture.

It showed Smallville High School, its brick walls surrounded by tall trees.

"And I think that school has the best curriculum. Hypothetically, if our kids ever got bored of farm life, they offer dance classes, soccer, art, cooking... even knitting. I asked, and the classes are inexpensive. They also have after-school activities."

He paused for only half a second before adding,

"Hypothetically, of course."

He kept scrolling through pictures on his phone without stopping, while you watched him with an ever-growing smile.

"Hypothetically, the house could have a big backyard where the kids could play. Maybe even a vegetable garden, because you like plants, right? I've already watched tutorials on how to build urban gardens... hypothetically speaking."

He smiled to himself before continuing.

"And the library—I didn't forget about the library. Hypothetically, it'd have a huge window overlooking the fields because you once told me you loved reading with natural sunlight. I even have bookshelves saved from the internet that would be perfect... hypothetically."

He finally stopped for a breath.

You could barely keep yourself from laughing at the overwhelming number of hypotheticallys he'd managed to fit into a single conversation.

"Oh! And hypothetically there's also a hardware store nearby in case we ever need to fix something. There's a park with swings only two blocks away, the grocery store is a five-minute walk, and the church..."

He smiled sheepishly.

"Well... Smallville's church is small, but it's beautiful. Hypothetically... if we ever wanted to get married there."

Then he quickly corrected himself.

"But I know you said you wanted to get married in Metropolis, so we can leave that exactly as it is."

"Hypothetically."

Finally, he stopped.

He realized he'd been talking nonstop for quite a while.

His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

He hurriedly locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket, as though doing so could somehow erase everything he'd just said.

"Of course... all of that was purely hypothetical," he said with a nervous smile, scratching the back of his neck.

You looked at him.

Not with fear.

But with a mixture of surprise and tenderness so overwhelming that it made your legs feel weak.

You had imagined so many things about your future together, but you had never imagined that he had already planned it with so many details... and with so many "hypotheticallys" that fooled absolutely no one.

The future itself didn't scare you.

What scared you was being with someone who didn't picture you in theirs.

But Clark did.

And he'd thought about it in so much detail that it made your heart tremble with quiet excitement.

Getting married? You had always joked about it, casually throwing comments into the air whenever you watched weddings on TV or when one of your friends got engaged. But Clark truly wanted a life with you. He even thought about the children you might have someday, the school they would attend, the classes they would take, the vegetable garden you could plant together. It was so much, and it felt so real, that for a moment you didn't know what to say.

"Isn't... maybe... it a little too soon?" he said, trying to sound calmer, but his voice betrayed how nervous he was. The excitement from a few moments ago faded slightly, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. "I... well... they're... land listings, that's all," he added, as though that explained everything, and a smile formed on your lips before you could stop it.

"Do you really want to marry me?" you asked, and your own voice came out a little shyer than you had expected.

He looked back up at you and smiled with that smile of his—the one that always made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

"Of course. I can't imagine anyone else being my wife. And if we have children, I've been thinking that about a year beforehand we should start buying baby accessories," he said, pulling out his phone once again to show you something. "I've been reading about different cribs, strollers, and baby clothes, but of course, I thought about the wedding first. You said you wanted it at the church in Metropolis, so I made a budget, and I have it right here..."

He swiped across the screen and showed you a spreadsheet filled with numbers, with categories like "flowers," "catering," "music," and even "wedding dress (options)."

You opened your mouth but couldn't say a single word.

He immediately realized he'd given himself away again.

"Hypothetically, of course," he said quickly.

That made you burst into laughter.

You couldn't hold it in anymore.

The laughter came from the deepest part of you, mixed with a tenderness that completely filled your chest.

You threw yourself into his arms and kissed him, feeling his hands wrap around your waist as he pulled you against his chest.

The kiss was sweet and warm, and when you finally pulled away, he looked at you without letting go, his blue eyes shining as though he had just found the greatest treasure in the world.

You smiled, feeling your heart beating much faster than usual.

"So... are you going to propose to me?" you asked, absentmindedly playing with the collar of his shirt.

"It's a surprise," he replied, letting out a nervous little laugh. "I'll show you the budget, but the proposal will happen when you least expect it. Hopefully soon, though, because I want to reserve the date and buy the land before someone else does." Then he quickly added, as though it somehow made it less obvious, "Hypothetically, of course."

You laughed and wrapped your arms tightly around him, feeling his warmth and hearing his heartbeat against your own. But then an idea crossed your mind to keep teasing him, because you knew that if you didn't embarrass him just a little more, you were going to burst out laughing.

You loosened the hug and looked him straight in the eyes, wearing the mischievous smile he already knew all too well.

"Well, Clark," you said, placing a hand dramatically over your chest, "have you also planned what flowers we'll have at the wedding and what song will play during our first dance? Because you've already thought about it, haven't you?" You let out a little giggle that filled the entire kitchen.

Clark opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it again, and such a deep blush spread up his neck that it looked as though he had stepped into the sun. He froze for a moment, and you instantly knew you had hit the mark.

"Well..." he admitted in a quiet murmur, clearing his throat as he pulled you a little closer against him. "Let's just say I have. But it's not just a game, you know. It's the future I want with you. Truly. No jokes, no dancing around it."

His eyes softened, and that shy smile you loved so much appeared on his face.

"And yes, I've already picked the song for our first dance. But that's a secret I'm keeping until our wedding day."

You laughed so hard you nearly doubled over, and he joined in, blushing but smiling just as brightly.

"Oh, Clark!" you said between laughs, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

You paused before adding with a teasing grin,

"Hypothetically, of course."

He laughed with you, pulling you into another hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head while the night carried on outside, filled with stars that seemed to shine just a little brighter for the two of you.

"You look like shit, no offense." Your frown deepened, and Lois winced at the grimace you gave her in return.

"I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours.”

"That's not healthy. Clark, tell her that isn't healthy."

"Sweetheart, that isn't healthy."

"How are you guys even in my apartment?" They appeared out of literally nowhere while you were mid-fanfiction reading. You hadn't even heard them come in and suddenly they were sitting beside you on the couch, caging you between their bodies.

They liked to do that—randomly appear. It happened at the grocery store, the farmers’ market, and the cafe you visit; they were everywhere. Not that you minded. Your other friends said it was weird though, which you never really got. Metropolis wasn’t that huge of a city. It was perfectly normal.

“You gave us a key,” Clark supplied, and oh yeah, you did do that. They'd also given you a pair of their keys in exchange. You previously thought it was for emergencies…apparently not.

"You know, some people would consider this a breach of privacy.

Both of them exchanged a glance, then Lois shrugged. "Do you?"

"No."

"Then you don't need to listen to anyone else, sweetheart." Clark’s hands snaked around your waist and pulled you to his side, and Lois immediately scooted over to join you both.

“Now, why haven’t you been sleeping?

You sighed and slumped against him. "I don't know…" Talking about it only made it worse.

They shared a glance—a conversation within their eyes. "Hey," Lois tilted your chin to look at her, and she cooed as she took in your sunken features and the dark bags underneath your eyes. "You know you can tell us anything, right?

"I think I have a stalker.

There, finally, you admitted it—the thing eating at your insides, slowly devouring you as you wasted away.

Both of their eyes widened, and immediately the arms around your waist retreated as Clark rose from the couch. "What? A stalker? Sweetheart, why didn't you say anything before? We could've helped you."

This time it was you and Lois who shared a look. This was why you didn’t tell them. Clark was a chronic worrier, and lord, he was pacing. This wasn’t good.

“It’s not that bad...” Not even you were convinced.

“A stalker is serious business, Princess.” Lois stated seriously. She wore that expression—the one that meant business

Clark stopped in his pacing, turning to face the both of you, his hands pressed together in front of his face. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, his nostrils flaring. "You're staying with us until this is all figured out."

"I agree. You would be safe with us."

Your eyes widened, and you scrambled up from the couch, the both of them immediately following you. "No way! I wouldn't want to impose like that." You shook your head vigorously. Of course you stayed the night before, but this was entirely different—living with them; it sounded like a dream come true and your worst nightmare.

"No, you are staying with us," Clark shook his head, his voice a low rumble that left no room for argument.

"Hey, no using the Superman voice; that's unfair!

"Princess," you froze at the completely serious voice of Lois. Okay, Clark was one thing, but Lois was another. Unlike him, she wasn't afraid to play dirty.

"Lois—

"Clark, pack her bags. I'll take her home." The man was gone without another word, the only thing left of him being a small gust of wind from how fast he sped away.

"Are you sure about this? I mean—

"Just accept your fate," she spoke, walking over to you and grabbing your hand. You pouted but ultimately let her lead you out of your apartment and across the hallway to theirs.

You should have kept your mouth shut.

She raises an inquisitive brow. “She know you from somewhere?”

“No. And I don’t know her. Made it clear that I was uh, that I’m here with you. That I’m not… not available in that way.”

“Hm.”

Clark scratches the back of his head, grabs a crispy fry with the other hand from their basket and snacks on a few, carefully eyeing her facial expression while she goes back and forth between nodding to the music and looking at the girl that just wouldn’t let up.

When his beer is poured he’s called back to the bar, and Clark holds his breath, kisses her cheek, assures her that he’ll be right back. With a short pause, he goes back to the bar and before he could fetch his drink his shoulder is grabbed.

He winces, knowing his girl is probably witnessing this encounter. “Okay, please just — I thought I made myself clear. You seem real nice, but I’m in a long term relationship. This doesn’t feel friendly anymore. I’m gonna have to ask you to stop….”

Clark sees her in the corner of his eye get up, grab her purse and march straight to the restrooms. He doesn’t bother with the rest of his sentence before he’s leaving his now fourth repeated explanation to the stranger to instead follow and check in on her.

He hangs his head and waits for her to come back out, sheepishly asking if she’s okay. She pointedly says that she’s ready to go if he wasn’t gonna finish his beer. Clark nods like the obedient boyfriend he is, leaving two twenty dollar bills on the table and grabbing onto her wrist to join hands.

The way back home is almost eerily silent, what should have and could have been a nice night out to unwind from their hectic work week instead just felt hollow. He still says sorry, murmurs that he didn’t do enough and should have pushed her away more. She just says it’s been a long day and that she really isn’t angry with him.

Clark nods and kisses her hand that’s still grasping his. When they finally get back home, he knows exactly where he should be.

With a quiet air of shame still lingering over him, he takes off both of his shoes and neatly sets them down to their front entry, shedding his jacket to hang on the hook. Without another word even needing to be spoken he heads up to their bathroom, flicking the light on and leaving the door wide open, folding himself up in a ball and waiting in the tub. Stares at the tile of the floor, keeping his ears open to listen for her whereabouts.

He hears her open the fridge and idly wander about downstairs for a few minutes, the faucet coming on and filling up a glass of water. It made his heart start to race as her footsteps came closer.

“Baby,” he softly calls out, testing out what the energy was. When he’s met with more silence he swallows some dryness in his throat and keeps foolishly speaking. “You looked really beautiful tonight. I’m sorry tonight wasn’t what you wanted it to be.”

She strolls over to the open door, sipping her glass of water in hand. Takes a few more gulps until the glass is nearly empty again, tilting her head back to down every drop. She comes closer to her puppy eyed boyfriend staring up at her with his knees up to his chest, asking if he could please give her a refill.

With urgency and enthusiasm, he gets up and fills her water glass to the top for her, going back to his place in the tub. Watches her throat bob while she drinks up every sip.

His finger traces her mid thigh, hoping he was gonna get his treat soon. She finished that glass down almost quicker than the first, setting it on the counter and lifting each foot to crowd over where he was hunched in the tub. He leans into her touch when she starts petting his hair like he was one of her most perfect dolls, combing her fingers through and tucking it behind his ears, peering down.

“You were such a good boy for me tonight. I saw you were.”

He nods and presses his cheek to her cupped palm. “I always wanna be a good boy for you. Your good boy.”

“Mmhm. That’s right, all mine.”

“Yes,” he shakily gasped. Watching her with bated breath while she peels her panties down one leg at a time, still petting his head.

“Remind me who you are again,” she requests.

“I—I’m your good boy,” Clark answers.

“Again.”

“I’m yours. I’m your good boy.”

“Again for me. You’re being so good for me, baby,” she praised.

“Your good boy, I’m your good boy, no one else’s. Ever. Just your good boy, I’m only for you,” Clark whimpers, watching her spread out, lifting one leg to rest on the side of the tub.

“That’s it. Keep telling me who you are baby boy. Just like that.”

He licks his lips and his eyes threaten to close in a dazed bliss when she spreads her pussy out with two pointer fingers, stream aiming right at his face and already began splashing to his chest. It feels so warm on him, so comforting and rejuvenating, like he’s getting baptized with her fluids, like she has a halo over her head.

“I’m your boy…. Only yours…. I’ll be a good boy just for you….”

Clark parts his lips, ever so slightly sticking the tip of his tongue out so her piss can quench him too. It drenches his button down shirt, makes it stick to his skin while she keeps pulling on his hair and pissing wherever she wanted. He takes it all, showers himself in it, moaning while she speeds up her stream to aggressively paint him in it all over. His dick’s been aching in his pants ever since she first started on her glass of water, crotch more outlined from the wetness seeping through his pants while she drips more and more out.

“Please, yes please, yes that’s— that’s perfect, baby,” he whines. Holds onto each of her legs by the ankles, even the one still propped up on the side of the tub. He sits up straighter to drink more straight from the source, tongue stuck now all the way out to lick up and down on her slit. Eats and slurps like a hungry dog being fed.

She hums more grateful praises towards him, says she knows he’s her loyal good boy, that he’d never even so much as let another woman allude to conquering what strictly belongs to her.

“That’s it. You take it so nice. Look so pretty when you’re all wet,” she smiles, wiping her thumb on his closed eyelid to ensure none got in his eyes or on his eyelashes. He kisses her clit and swirls his tongue around it, greedily sucking up the leftovers while she had a bit more left of her stream from having finished her drinks of water and alcohol. “You want more, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah I need more, need more so they know. So everyone knows I’m only yours,” he pants. Out of breath with her pussy locked onto his mouth, lips to lips, stuttering over some of his gasps and mewls while she clenches her muscles to let more spurts out. “D-Do I need to get you more water? I can—“

“Don’t get up baby, you’re all wet. I’m grabbing myself some more,” she reassures, bending down to plant a kiss on his forehead he leans up into. “Stay right here so I can fuel back up and give you some more, okay?”

“Yes. Okay, okay,” he agrees.

“Good boy.”

While she fills her glass back up, he’s left to licking up some leftover aftertaste on his lips and his face, still savoring every bit. He feels like the luckiest man in the world to be sat here, covered in her, claimed by her.

It doesn’t take long for her to feel her bladder fill to go again, Clark waiting patiently with his half open eyes stuck on her, parted lips also waiting as he pitifully paws at her legs.

She aims more on his face and lips, his mouth now wide open like he was stuck mid-yawn to take every drop, nodding his head and then eventually pressing his palm to his cock.

“You think she’d still want you like this? Covered in your girlfriend’s piss? Think she’d still wanna kiss you with all this piss in your mouth?”

Clark whimpers. “No, no, no. She wouldn’t want me, I don’t want her to. No one can touch me now. I don’t want anyone’s on me except yours. Please, I’m your good boy, please believe me,” he almost cries. Eyebrows pinched in like he could sob through his broken heart. “I don’t want her, I don’t want her, I don’t want her. I want only you baby,” he forces his tongue back up to her pussy and applies harsher pressure with his legs, slurping up everything gushing out and slicking up the hood of her clit.

“That’s my good boy, you’re exceptional. You’re all mine. My beautiful boy,” she yanks his hair so his face is even closer, hardly allowing him any air to breathe that wasn’t her skin.

Clark spoke in muffles, his stray tears getting added to the mix. His hands cupped her ass in a rougher grasp, moving his chin up and down while he sucked and licked on her bud. She howls his name along with some gruff sounds sung in his ears, signaling that she was clearly about to cum. Clark is so enthralled he doesn’t even try to switch his methods or dare to stop, licking and licking, humming and crying in the front of her pussy.

He’s drunk off her piss, off her cum, and she wraps a leg over his shoulder and keeps ahold of his hair, clenching in rhythmic beats onto his mouth while she finished as more gushes on his mouth. Clark gasps when his face is let go of, helplessly trying to dunk himself right back in before he’s put to a stop by her hand in his hair.

“Touch yourself now. I’m sensitive, baby. You licked it all up so good.”

He nods and bites his lower lip hard, ducking his head down while he’s still in her grasp, now quickly groping the thick base of his hard cock through his piss-soaked pants. Doesn’t bother with the zipper, doesn’t bother taking it out. He needed friction right now, even if layers were still in the way.

Clark’s eyes look red and needy while his hand moves. Purses his lips to kiss her clit and lick the inside of her opening while he dribbles at the tip, precum getting lost in the mess of soaked fabric. He pants and licks, strokes, and repeats. The moment doesn’t last long before he strangles through whines of her name while he’s creaming his pants. It bursts and the dam breaks, weak cries muffled in her pussy while he yanks on his tip and strokes the rest of his load out.

Pathetically, he can’t bare the thought of taking his tongue off her clit even though she pulls him back again out of overstimulation, shushing his whimpers while he comes down off his high. Rests his head low and right up against her lower half as he takes a breath, finds his ground again with more praise and caresses from the woman above him.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, thank you,” he whispers. She wipes spare tears away and kissed the top of his head, reminding him over and over how he’s been such a good boy for her, that she knows he always tries his best. How he can’t help how kind he is to strangers before even realizing one has stepped over a clear line.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry baby.”

“Shhh. You don’t have to be sorry, honey. You did everything right. You were perfect. You know how much I love marking you as mine.”

He hums a shy little mmhmm before quickly agreeing and I love it too. I don’t want you to ever stop.

“You drank good tonight, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but, but when you need to go again I can—I can stay here—“

“Don’t be so silly, Clark. Let’s wash you off and head to bed. You need rest,” she laughs, combing his hair with her thumbs gently swiping over his cheeks. “If I need to go again I’ll wake you up. How about that, does that sound nice?”

“Yes, yeah, yeah please,” Clark nods.

And ultimately if it was enough for her then surely it was enough for him.

. . .

“of course. of course this happened, why wouldn’t it,” she laughs coldly. gets up off the bed with the smallest stream of blood barely dripping down her inner thigh. he looks at her with deep concern in his stare. she snatches a towel and scrapes it between her legs like her body was the problem, turning more gentle to wipe his thighs and stomach off with another corner of the towel.

“hey hey hey, stop. stop. it’s fine, you don’t need to,” he tries to assure. grabs hold of her wrist, slight shake of his head and pleading with his eyes. “I don’t wanna get up. don’t want you getting up either,” clark pulls her in and shoos the towel out of her grasp off the bed to drape the floor. leans in to kiss the stubborn worry off. “lay down.”

“but it’s—it’s everywhere,” she tries.

“and I don’t care. come here.”

she whines and curses to herself, nevertheless complying with orders when they’re given in that specific tone.

“are you hurting, baby? come here, don’t move away from me.”

he crowds her in, tangles her up in his arms with little to no space left in between. “you know I think this is a pretty good sign. haven’t knocked you up yet,” he tries to laugh. she scoffs a pitiful laugh of her own and mumbles a pouty shut up.

“nope, m’not gonna,” he retorts. “you feel it in here, don’t you,” he asks with a thumb dipping down to her lower belly and pressing in, gently soothing circles. she winced but still leaned in, quietly asking for more. clark hums and kisses her face, her ears, her chin. he never stops rubbing her stomach, ever so slowly reaching down with his palm to cup her pussy whole. feels the dribbles of blood fall down and just keeps his hand there anyway, putting some pressure on her clit. he sees it on her face, the tired, groggy but pleased expression while her eyes softly fall closed. “that’s it. don’t worry about anything. just lay with me some more, I’ll make you feel good,” he promised. “I’ll make you cum, then I’ll make you breakfast, then you’ll get more rest. I’ll take care of the sheets. don’t think about anything right now. just like this, that’s perfect,” he praised, last few words going down to a whisper.

she unravels slowly, walls she built up now softly getting pushed down while clark whispers more sweet reassurances in her ear. taking his cock and swiping it up and down her bloody slit, cooing more that’s it, that’s it. let me make you feel better. her mewls in his ear only encourage him, lifting his cock head up to her clit to rub in deep circles. her pussy sheds some more blood on him but it doesn’t stop a thing. he takes his time playing with her lower lips, getting her clit warmed up before even lining up to enter. he wanted to take everything boiling inside her and melt it all away, and her clit was gonna be the spot to start.

he lets her start grinding on him herself, weak hips slightly finding the wet friction she’d been dripping down on his dick. clark is in a daze while he watched.

“yeah. just like that. you got it, keep on using me,” he heaves out. stray out of place curls from his hair stick to his forehead while the air in the room gets hotter, limbs of their bodies so closely woven together they could just stay like this, as one. clark felt extra clingy and protective when she was in any kind of pain. “you want me to put it in?”

“mhm, put it in,” she mumbles, lazily grinding back up against him, forgetting how sticky the blood between them gets as more little streams of red gush down on him. he licks the back of her neck, a long lick, almost growling when he lines the tip to her hole and starts sliding in. his hips remain gentle, hoping he won’t hurt her more than she’s already hurting from her natural monthly body aches and some soreness left from last night.

“how’s this pussy feeling, huh? she feel happy? getting better?”

her face is stuck in blissful concentration, closing her eyes and swaying back against his deeper thrusts, gasping while the creamy noise of him going in and out becomes louder. “you always make this pussy feel good,” she slurs. clark’s ego is successfully been stroked, now smiling devilishly while he picks up his speed, grazing her g-spot with his fat tip every pull out. blood soils the sheets and cakes his dick, a thick line around his base that shows exactly how far he’s gone inside her. the sound is extra sticky, extra wet while he fucks her good, smooth — running his length in deep circles that get her to clench.

“I love it, I love making you feel good. mmm you just take it so nice. baby don’t deprive me of this just cause of some blood, I wanna keep my girl’s pussy filled.”

she whines out long and noisy after he sweet talks her, feeling her body go dumb and numb while he kitten licks her neck and gives her kisses as he’s reaching around between the front of her legs to find her clit and play with it. blood is stuck and imprinted on his fingers, even getting underneath his short fingernails. it doesn’t come close to deterring his plans, rubbing and thrusting to rattle her walls and make her squeeze down and milk his dick so good.

“mmm. she’s getting ready on me, I can feel it. I know my girl. you’re gonna cum.”

she nods and stutters a gasp, one leg barely lifting up in the air off the bed. he takes it and holds it by her thigh, keeping his speed the same while she whines out his name, red soaking up his dick.

“cum on me, cum on me, let’s feel good together. let’s get rid of that attitude, I’ll fuck it right out of you.”

“baby—“

“thought some blood was gonna scare me off huh? not a chance—“

“baby I’m cumming,” she wails, quivering and squealing into a pillow, clamping down on him so hard he’s never felt her squeeze this tight. it throws his tempo off, makes him howl out in gruff pleasure while he keeps his cock lodged in now all the way from his tip to his end, staying buried deep to feel every movement of her body amidst orgasm.

“atta girl, atta girl—gosh that always feels so sweet,” he heaves. “damn, got me cumming too—gosh, here it comes,” he warns. feels her clamp down onto him once again, staying that way as his cum leaks out and spears into her walls, flooding her pussy and her womb. the sound of his cum, her cum, and her blood all combined is grotesque — exactly how he liked his sex with her.

“oh god, honey your pussy’s so good, I don’t even deserve pussy this good,” he cries out, ducking his head into her shoulder while he ruts the rest of it out, stray drops of cum falling out and sticking to her blood that’s stained his cock’s base. he wants to feel another explosion, wants to feel a river of her cum drip down onto his, so he pulls the hood of her clit up and roughly strokes it up and down, not stopping even while she whimpers like a wounded puppy. “shhh, just cum again for me, cum again, we both need it. yeah, my good girl.”

when she’s finished shaking and whining, clark takes his wet, bloody fingers and sucks them in his mouth right in her ear. making sure she hears him taste and devour everything.

“you think cumming on me is your favorite medicine?”

she’s so out of breath she doesn’t answer, rolling over to face him and dragging a leg over his waist to crowd into him, hugging him like this kind of fuck was everything she needed for what was to be a rough first three days.

“you falling back asleep? want some breakfast?” he whispers, brushing his fingers on her scalp, tucking some behind her ear.

“mmhm. lay with me awhile, then food.”

he chuckles and grabs onto her leg to massage the muscle. “you need protein, baby. I’ll make you some eggs and toast when you’re up. probably some bacon too, does that sound nice?”

“mmm.”

“good girl. let’s just relax. don’t want you upset,” he idly plays with her hair some more, relieved that he’s turned her mood around from how it started when she’d first woken up. the mess is bigger now, sticking their skin together in dried up blood and cum stuck between their bodies. it doesn’t have her clawing for a towel to clean it up again or scraping the red off her skin — she’s sated now. and when clark sees that he knows he’s fulfilled because she’s fulfilled.

. . .

so tender so lovely <3 I love period fics period sex bloody sheets bloody love

clark gently cups your face with his hand—his big palm cradling your jaw. his thumb brushes against your cheek as he stretches you open inch by inch. your breath catches, walls fluttering around him, already feeling full.

his pace is steady, slow but deep, like he’s got all the time in the world. his body engulfs yours, his thighs naturally forcing your body apart for him. your hands are all over him, fingers dragging across heated skin, nails scraping over the hard planes of his back.

“breathe for me, baby,” he rasps, sliding his hand up your arm and weaving his fingers through yours and lacing them together.

you try, you really do, but fuck, the burn—it's sharp, making your thighs tremble and hips jerk. he’s big, ridiculously so and your walls clench around him instinctively, trying to pull him deeper. 

“that’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear as he brings your joined hands to rest beside your head on the pillow. “taking me so well.”

“mmph—clark!” you moan, feeling his thick, flushed head probe and stretch you to your limit.  

the pleasure is overwhelming as he bottoms out inside you over and over again—dark curls beneath his navel brushing against your clit. clark’s gaze drops, watching where his cock disappears into you, your slick coating him and dripping onto the sheets below.

“doin’ so good f’me,” he pants, hiking one of your legs around his waist. 

the bed frame creaks in time with his thrusts—his cock stretching you open deliciously. his hand tightens against yours, eyes transfixed at the sight of your face contorting in pleasure. your moans spill free, lewd and needy, mixing with the slick sounds of him fucking into you.

“so fuckin’ beautiful,” he mutters, his voice rough.

“clark—!” your voice cracks on his name. 

you feel all of him, every ridge and vein as he rocks into your heat. his thrusts pick up—he’s still holding back but not much as before. you lock your ankles at the base of his spine, heels digging into his back and pulling him in deeper. 

every thrust makes your breath hitch, your body rocking with his. clark dips his head, his lips finding their way to your pulse point—sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there. his hand squeezes yours and the muscles in his forearm constrict as he keeps himself propped up. 

the feeling of his cock is too much, yet somehow, not enough. you arch your back, desperate for more and clark slips his free hand under your lower back to support the curve. the new angle has you moaning in ecstasy and the need for a release becomes greater and greater.

“you close, baby?” he mumbles, sweat dripping down the column of his neck.

unable to stop the gasps tumbling from your lips, you nod dumbly as he fills you over and over again. the rhythmic sound of skin against skin and heavy breathing fills the bedroom with each thrust from clark bringing a new wave of pleasure, leaving you wanting more. 

clark moves his hand from your back and shifts it to your stomach—feeling where he was inside you, how he filled you completely. his palm presses down gently against the bulge of your stomach causing your toes to curl. 

“see that?” clark managed between pants. “that’s all me…”

you feel him throb and pulse inside you as his thumb slides lower and circles your clit. that added stimulation, in time with his thrusts, sends shockwaves down your spine and the sound that slips past your lips is embarrassingly needy.

“i’ve got you, sweetheart,” clark whispers, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you.

you are unbelievably close and one more thrust is all you need before your orgasm washes over you. a broken moan tumbles from your lips as clark fucks you through your orgasm, chasing his own. 

clark’s hand tightens against yours as his thrusts become sloppy—his own orgasm crashing over him. his hips stutter as he buries himself to the hilt and stays there—pulsing hot, thick ropes of cum deep inside you. 

it feels endless—each spurt of cum painting your insides and filling you beyond capacity. you clench around him, your cunt milking every last drop until his cum starts to leak around the base of him, dripping down his balls.

clark rocks his hips lazily into your puffy, swollen cunt, his cock still thick and throbbing. your hips jerk weakly as his thumb continues to rub your clit raw—prolonging your orgasm. 

slowly, clark brings the back of your hand to his lips and kisses it softly as he begins to pull out—your nails leaving crescent marks against his skin. a soft whimper escapes you as he leaves your swollen cunt.

you’re wrecked, and so is he. your cunt misses his cock already, glistening and stretched from taking him so deep. your release mixes with his, sticky strings connecting your folds to his slick, flushed cock.

“easy, baby,” he murmurs, watching you clench around nothing. “i know… i know.”