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✩ has to touch you if you’re near, whether it’s a possessive hand on your waist or holding yours
✩ teaches you how to shoot properly and watches with pride as you take down your first mini herd like a champ, later showering you with praise like “good job, baby” and “‘m so proud of you” and “knew my girl could do it”
✩ steals glenn’s camera to take pictures of you and gets all shy when you try to point it at him
✩ leaves you notes with messy and misspelled words which he makes up for with those dorky doodles he knows you love
✩ is the definition of protective, keeping his eye on you just in case someone so much as looks at you funny or another boy is standing too close
✩ may be your big bad bodyguard in public, but becomes no better than a needy puppy as soon as he gets you alone
✩ loves seeing you in his clothes and leaves them lying around in hopes you’ll wear slash steal them
✩ feels especially smitten on the days you parade around the community in his sheriff’s hat like an announcement that you’re his
✩ put serious time and effort into clearing out a little space in the backwoods so there could be a special place just for the two of you
✩ begs you to play with his hair while he reads his comics just to fall asleep against your chest or in your lap within minutes
✩ takes his frustration out on you after long runs
✩ doesn’t take the time to stretch you out like he usually does, instead just bullies his fat cock in
✩ uses his big hands to hold you down with ease, fingers digging into the swell of your hips rough enough to leave marks
✩ hooks your legs over his shoulders, keeping you open and at his will while he relentlessly fucks you into the headboard
✩ patronizes you upon your crying and begging, clapping a hand over your mouth and grunting out, “got a big mouth for a little thing, don’t ya, sweetheart?”
✩ wraps his other hand around your throat, gripping it for leverage as he pounds your cervix deeper than either of you even thought possible
✩ notices the way your body goes limp, eyes blank and rolling back before fluttering shut, and firmly taps at your cheek with a scolding “uh uh, baby, you keep those eyes on me, understand?”
✩ slaps you with more purpose when you can only manage a moan in response, and barks, “asked you a question.”
He’s never even dated a girl before, let alone been touched by one. His inexperience shows, asking you what he’s supposed to do, eager to please. To which you tell him to just sit tight and let you take care of him.
He’s much bigger than you expected. At least seven inches with veins running down either side. Also somehow insecure so, of course, you have to convince him otherwise by praising him until he goes red in the face.
Between your dirty words and the way you whisper them so intimately into his ear, he’s already a mess. His hips buck subtly, fucking up into absolutely nothing but air.
You haven’t even touched him yet. Cute.
As soon as you wrap your hand around his cock, he’s whining and whimpering like a wounded animal. You cover his mouth, softly scolding, “Shhh, don’t wanna wake up the whole house now, do you?”
He nods, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to do as told. But he just can’t help himself, moaning even louder into your hand as your other picks up speed. His eyes snap open when you come to an abrupt stop, glossy as if he’s about to cry.
“Gotta be quiet, J,” you coo, pouting at his sad expression. “Can you do that for me?”
He nods again.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes,” he chokes out, “please… don’t stop. I—I’ll be good. Promise.”
Once Clark realized he had a perfect view of your bedroom from his barn, there was no going back. Watching you became part of his routine, and his favorite at that.
All day at school, despite having you right in front of him, he would be too excited thinking about getting home and having some alone time with you. From a distance, of course. There was something much more intimate about it.
You were relaxed, uninhibited, and sexier than ever. He swears it started off innocent, just checking in on you reading or talking on the phone. But when he would catch you changing, he found himself unable to look away.
So, here he is, eye to his telescope, watching you prance around your room clad in nothing but a towel. No matter how many times he’d seen you like this, the buzz never wore off.
His gaze darkens, shifting from protective to possessive as you drop the towel and lay up in bed. Your hair is still wet and your shiny legs spread open, inviting him to see more.
He’s been on edge, and your hand dipping between your thighs nearly pushes him right off. He grips the telescope hard enough to break it, his other hand cupping himself in attempt to ease the building tension in his body.
But with your back arched and head thrown back into the pillows, he doesn’t even have a chance to do the right thing. Helpless.
He quickly unzips his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. He strokes himself in time with the way you are yourself.
You use your free hand to cover your mouth, muffling the sweet sounds he would do anything to hear. He pictures how he would rip your hand away and tell you to let it all out for him.
He knows he’s already close and he can only hope you are too. He would never forgive himself if he missed it. Much to his relief and further arousal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hand fisting at the sheets as your hips start to stutter.
He comes right after you, making a mess of himself. He sits there frozen in both physical and psychological filth. And that’s when it hits him. How is he going to face you in school tomorrow?
The cherry on top is you strutting right up to the window, blowing a kiss and waving goodnight.
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Summary: You get too drunk at the work party and Clark is the first to offer to keep an eye on you. Should be easy given he always is. But all dolled and fucked up, you’re making it really hard for him to keep being a gentleman.
CW: smut, drunk!reader, dom/sub undertones, sub!clark, use of pet names, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), praise kink, piv sex, unprotected sex, size kink, tummy bulge, aftercare, fluffy ending
WC: 2k
-
You threw back shot after shot until they started tasting like water. The burn tickled your throat, putting a lazy smile on your usual pouty lips.
This smile only brightens when you see him. Standing more than a foot taller than you, glasses sitting just a little crooked, and more buttons undone to his white dress shirt than you remembered, he makes his way over with that trademark awkwardly eager demeanor.
“Clark!” You throw your arms over his shoulders, leaning against him for support as his hands gently grab at your hips to steady you. They were so big yet somehow so polite, only provoking you.
“Hey,” he beams down at you through a faint blush, “all good?” He cocks his head with concern, one hand hesitantly reaching to brush stray hair from your face, the other still lingering on your hip.
Had you been sober, you would’ve felt the way his fingers twitched against you like they wanted to move, to touch more. Like he’s been wanting to all night, hell, since he first met you.
He didn’t trust himself around you, but he also just couldn’t stay away. He tries to keep both his mind and eyes from wandering. But you make it (him) so hard, he could almost swear you do it on purpose sometimes.
Your work outfits consisted of shirts cut too low, skirts too high, and a bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration. God, you looked like the hot tutor in a bad porno. You even acted the part, the way you treated him like your favorite student.
Either he’s a pervert or you’re a tease. Maybe both.
He was pulled from his thoughts as you take his hand, tugging him toward the floor. With no time to process, he follows you like a lost puppy.
The music gets louder, the bass harsher, the colored lights flashier, and the crowd sweatier. Still, he could only focus on you.
Your hands raising above your head, your eyes fluttering shut, your hair bouncing with your body, and your hips swaying to the music. Pure bliss.
All he can do is stand there with overbearing admiration and attraction. He thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. And seeing you like this... it'll be seared in his memory forever, to say the least. He couldn't even try to imagine anything better.
That is until you turn around, back flush to his chest and ass pressed up against him just right. He lets out a shaky breath into your ear, his hands instinctively sliding around your waist. The intention was to still you, but he doesn't.
He can't. Not when it feels this good.
Instead, he allows himself to revel in the way you fit so perfectly in his hands. Just for a minute, a long one.
"Come on," he finally declares, strained, "let's get you home."
It takes less than a block of you struggling in your heels for Clark to decide to carry you the rest of the way. Faster and more practical, that’s all.
His big arms hold you with ease while you absentmindedly trace his jawline. The feeling of your nails on his skin sends shivers down his spine.
You walked, well, he walked in comfortable silence as you were too busy working him up with simple innocent touches and he, in turn, worked on his breathing.
Finally up the stairs and through his apartment, Clark sets you down on his bed, so gently as if he were afraid you and the moment would shatter.
You’re a delicacy.
He had pictured you in his bed a countless amount of times, dreamed of it even. Which made leaving you alone to lay in it even harder.
He would sleep on the couch, take you home in the morning, then see you at work and continue to wallow in his internal suffering.
“Stay,” you call out, voice so soft and sweet he thinks he imagined it.
“What?”
“Stay with me.”
It’s not a command, but he obeys.
There he lies in his coffin, face paler than ever, trying to make his big body small enough to fit within the imaginary walls.
You immediately close the space between the two of you, resting your head on his chest and tangling your legs with his.
You really are going to be the death of him.
Suddenly, his senses are swamped. He can feel the heat radiating from between your legs, burning him up. His body moves before his mind can stop it, hand slowly inching up your thigh. He doesn't miss the way you open your legs so willingly, only spurring him on more.
Oh my god, you're wet. That's it.
Something inside him breaks. He flips over, trapping you underneath him.
“Please, let me- can I…?” His head frustratedly drops to the crook of your neck. He huffs, as if breathing you in is the only thing grounding him.
“Use your words, Clark,” you coax, fingers threading into his hair and tugging his head back to make him look at you.
He whines.
“Can I touch you?” His fingers are practically trembling at the hem of your panties, desperate to just tear them off.
All it takes is a nod from you and that’s exactly what he does. Way past the point of self control, he throws the ripped fabric to the floor along with your dress and eases two fingers inside.
The stretch makes your mouth fall open in a broken moan. He catches your parted lips in a kiss and lets out a grunt of his own.
It’s messy.
Tongue and teeth and pent up feelings.
He works his way down, leaving a trail from your chest to your lower stomach. Then he stops, looking up at you, eyes wide and pupils blown.
This is your last chance. To stop him, to say you don’t want this, to get up and leave.
Instead, you buck your hips up. A silent plea.
You could almost swear he lets out a quiet ‘thank you’ before attaching himself to your cunt. Always with the farm boy manners.
He laps at your folds like a thirsty dog, fingers still pumping in and out of you. You writhe under him but he’s quick to hold you down, needing to keep you like this.
“Oh, fuck,” you manage out between moans, “feels so good, baby, doing so good for me.”
He can’t help but whimper in response, sending vibrations straight to your core. Looking down at him only makes matters worse. Stray curls framing his face, glasses fogged up, and hips wildly grinding into the bed.
Your head falls to the pillow harshly, face contorted in pleasure as your back arches up.
“Clark," you warn, "I’m gonna-” but he already knows, sucking on your clit while his fingers split you in half.
You cum. Hard.
On your thighs. His fingers. His face.
And he’s not done, licking up the mess you made. He doesn’t waste a drop. “Tastes like heaven,” he mumbles mostly to himself and you just watch in awe.
“Come here,” you coo, voice dripping like honey, “now, let me take care of you.”
He practically teleports to his rightful spot next to you, buzzing with anticipation. His jaw goes slack as you crawl into his lap, undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one. You slide it off his broad shoulders to find his chest heaving dramatically like he’d just run a marathon.
Your eyes drift back to his face which is tilted up, already looking at you. He doesn’t dare move a muscle, not until you say so. Poor thing can’t even see clearly through those clouded lenses, so you wipe them clear for him.
“Take them off,” he pleads, “wanna see you.”
You get rid of them and it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. He cups your face in his hands, as if in disbelief that you’re real and really here.
He whispers your name like a prayer and your lips are back on his like that. Moaning into each others mouths and dry humping like horny teenagers.
Your hand slides down his flexing abs, dipping just under the waistbands to both his pants and boxers. He takes the hint, lifting you up with one arm and tugging the last of his clothes down with the other.
His cock comes springing up and he is fucking big. Far bigger than the biggest you’ve ever had. Like not sure if it would even fit big.
You quite literally stop and stare.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice ironically small and faint. Did he do something wrong? Did he misread the moment? Did he mess it all up?
“Nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reassure him, “you’re perfect.” He turns red.
You run your thumb over his sensitive, leaking tip, collecting the pre and bringing it to your tongue.
“Oh, gosh.”
He’s never been this turned on in his life.
In need of friction, he tries fucking up into your thighs. It’s so sad, you almost feel sorry for him. He sees the look on your face and it only gets him hotter. You would definitely be making a mental note of that.
You put him out of his misery, lining it up with your entrance and sinking down. He chokes out something between and cry and growl. Like he’s the one being torn into.
You claw at his chest, gasping in pain and pleasure. You have to stop when you reach the base, adjusting to his ungodly size.
And that’s when he sees it. He shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, opening them again to the same sight. He isn’t hallucinating.
Following his eyeline, you find a distinctly huge print in your stomach. “Oh my god, Clark.”
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” His gaze flickers between your face and the bulge as he caresses it with so much care you’d think it’s a baby. His expression is so innocent, you just smile and shake your head.
“I’m gonna move now, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jesus.
The room fills with sounds of skin slapping and wet squelching with each bounce. Accompanied by filth from the two of you, of course.
“Been wanting this, wanting you.”
“I know, baby. All yours now.”
“Shittt,” he curses, maybe for the first time ever, as far as you were concerned, “say it again.”
You lean into his ear, lips grazing it as you whisper, “I’m yours, Clark.”
He bites down on your shoulder as an attempt to muffle the pathetic noise that escapes his throat. With that and the way he’s twitching inside of you, you can tell he’s getting there.
“You’re close?”
“Uh huh…” he pants out, “inside? Can I do it inside? Please?”
You couldn’t say no to him. And it’s not like you wanted to anyway.
“Go ahead baby, fill me up.”
He comes like it hurts, chanting your name as he releases into you. It’s hot and there’s a lot of it.
You’re right behind him, coming for the second time tonight. Your walls clench around him, squeezing and milking him absolutely dry. Collapsing into each other, he uses the remainder of strength to hold you tight just in case someone tries to steal you.
You’re barely awake as he carries you to the bathroom, going through all the motions of cleaning you up. Slipping you into his favorite old t shirt and tucking you in. You plant one last lax kiss on his cheek before rolling over and knocking out. He smiles himself to sleep.
-
You slept better than you ever had, lashes fluttering open to soft rays casting into the room.
Clark's room.
"Hey," his voice is just as gentle and comforting as the sun.
"Hey," you feel giddy and almost a little shy. Not used to this overwhelming sense of belonging.
"How're you feeling? Last night…” you can already hear the self doubt in his tone, the preconceived rejection he’s prepared himself for, “you were drunk…”
“Clark,” you cut him off, taking his hands in yours, “I knew exactly what I was doing. And I’d do it again.” And again and again and again.
His face lightens immediately.
“You mean it?”
You prove it with a kiss. And it’s different this time. It’s not urgent or sex driven. But loving. Taking your time since you’ve got a lot more now.
Sitting in Clark’s lap you barely take up half of.
He’s already stripped you down to your panties and he’s still completely clothed. One of his hands works relentlessly at your clit, the other gripping onto you for dear life.
Your back is pressed flush against his chest, ass instinctively grinding down on the prominent tent in his pants. But he couldn’t care less about getting himself off right now (or ever). No, not when your head is falling back on his shoulder and you’re letting out those pretty little sounds.
Knowing that he was giving you this pleasure was more than enough. That it’s his fingers making you soak through the thin lace fabric, dripping down your thighs and onto his.
He knows you’re getting close when your walls start clenching impossibly harder around his digits, as if sucking them in to keep you full forever.
He stops nipping at your neck (/shoulder/whatever he could get his mouth on) to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, worshipping you even after you’ve come down.
