☆dollface☆

❤︎ he has a pretty high libido. he hasn't ever really been with someone for THIS long, especially going this far, he'll take any chance he can to fuck you. he just loves pussy, he's very desperate.

❤︎ CONSTANTLY has morning wood. like i'm being so serious get ready for him to have a raging boner at 8 in the morning because he had a dream about you and just.. god he just couldn't help it, you tempt him with everything you do.

❤︎ loves stalking you. he doesn't love being creepy but god he loves watching you go throughout your day. he follows you every single day he can. as soon as he gets off of work he instantly b-lines for your work. as soon as he sees you he's instantly palming himself through his pants. he just.. watches you. doesn't pull himself out. doesn't make any noise, just silently gropes himself until he creams in his pants. when you get home later he sheepishly has to make an excuse for why his underwear in the laundry is very very crusty.

❤︎ adding onto that he loves all types of voyeurism, especially when you know. when you put on a little show for him while he silently watches from the closet, desperately jerking off in rhythm with your rapidly moving fingers. he watches them slide in.. and out.. and in and out and in and out and he's never felt more jealous of anything in his life. eventually he has to come out and stuff his face into your pussy because your just too good to keep the act up.

❤︎ he loves when you dress up for him on stream. he'll have you sitting on his lap while going on about some magical tirade, you'll be in a cute little costume, lingerie or some cheap party city costume. he'll stop his screaming to take a breath, grabbing and groping your breasts to calm himself down.

❤︎ speaking of that oh boy does this fucker love boobs. yours specifically. he's no better then any other man, when he sees you in a cute little number that pushes up your breasts he can't help his need for you. instant boner.

❤︎ loves when you suck him off on stream. it always calms him down when he gets too emotional. the feeling of your tongue draaaaaaging along his cock will never not instantly bring him to silence. before letting out a long drawn out groan, which he got a lot of shit from his followers for that.

❤︎ very inexperienced when you first get together. he's a virgin loser in his 20s who doesn't shower and streams on sketchy websites online. he's a loser. so when you first agree to date him hes.. floored.. AND now you're having sex with him??? he genuinely doesn't believe this is real

❤︎ your first time he tries his best t make you feel good. he's a smart man, he knows a thing or two just from his extensive porn watching and... his research. yes he researched how to make a woman cum after getting together with you, he can't have your first time be a dud for you.

❤︎ when he is in Arkham he misses you so much, he writes letters to you, treasures your visits, and jacks off to the thought of you every nigh. he sometimes debates... compromising the guards so the two of you have some time together.. but every time he brings it up you tell him that he's here to rehabilitate.. and he can't fuck you if he's in prison forever.

❤︎ you make him a better person, and he loves you for that

Another heavy jab down into her hips brought her away from his face and down to his hips. His fingers digging slightly into her flesh but in such a way she could only call it reverence. If his fingers had bruised her skin she wouldn't have blamed him. But instead he was holding her like she was a delicate piece of art. Firm but careful, not wanting his thumbs to damage her. Being held in such a careful way just to have her close while driving into her at the same time.

It only made her focus on the feel of his fingers centering her into every touch and sensation below her hips. He didn't speak but her eyes when they finally broke away from the view of his cock entering her again and again. His eyes were filled with too many emotions to count.

Excitement. Pain. Like somebody who was realizing a new layer of loneliness. Like he already missed her. It only drove his cock into her faster, the idea of being without her now being blindingly painful. Adoration filled his muffled grunts, high pitched and wistful whenever their eyes met. Her own lips wrapped around his shirt as well. Making sure she could taste his sweat from the piece he had ripped off. His strength in that moment had been surprising.

He had gripped his shirt nervously when she got close. And when he had finished talking the kiss was unexpected. For whatever reason listening to Edward speak was hypnotizing. Maybe because of just how different he was to everyone. The sheer amount of conviction behind his madness that you knew wasn't all that mad. He was right. And if he had been more careful, a little more thought less guns, maybe he would have done it all. Part of you knew you should be disgusted to be agreeing with someone like this. But the rest knew how Gotham deserved it.

Every part of you felt seen as he talked, agreeing to speak to you because you were a reporter. The only one who had solved his little puzzle that he required all to solve before he would actually talk. And when he talked your entire body felt alive. Maybe he just said everything you wished you could in your stories. And when he looked into your eyes both of you seeing the comradery in its truth. You felt a pull like nothing else before.

Without thinking you were drawn to him, leaning closer over the table like you were sharing secrets. And without thinking you had kissed him. He was beyond stunned almost foreign to the feeling. He didn't move and his lips felt like someone's who had never been kissed before. That feeling made you sad as you could physically feel his loneliness. And drove you to continue determined to guide him towards the proper way. You worried he might pull away out of confusion or fear and that you had misread it all. To your relief after a moment his cuffed hand came up to your face and he tried to follow suit in the way your lips moved.

The rest hurried into a blur. His nervous grip on his shirt was so strong when your tongue brushed his, his fingers pulled so hard it tore the fabric. That fabric soon went into your mouth to muffle you both. Your nervous eyes breaking away from each other as he climbed on top of you only to check the door.

His shirt in your mouth was forcing you to steady your breathing and focus on him completely. He took your underwear for himself when he slipped them off which you gave no complaint. The cold table dug into your back slightly but the pain only grounded you in.

The sex you had was fast and messy. Your soaking mess easy for him to enter. Quieted grunts and sighs filled the room as he filled you again and again. Losing yourselves to the fleeting moment of each others company. A closeness that couldn't last. Especially not if you were caught. Those intense eyes of his near filled with tears looked deep into your own.

He was getting close and had no idea what to do beyond try and ask your permission. The sweetness of his gaze mixed with the depravity of fucking an inmate like this was a lot to take. Were you his now or was he yours? You could only nod unsure of what that really meant and in now you didn't care.

He nodded back trying to decide what to do but too excited to think of much else. Had he ever done this? With that same reverence his hand came up to your face and he glanced down to be sure his hips were up turned so he could keep you close.

Touching your cheek with delicate fervor he gazed once again deep into your eyes and pushed his forehead to yours. His eyes practically worshipped yours as his hips started to thrust fast towards his release. Your voice peaked muffled by the cloth as he hammered relentless but kept his eyes on you. Yours watered with pleasure as he chased his end, wishing he could give you yours but doubting you had the time. His jaw tensed as, teeth digging into his shirt, his hips tensing fast. Plunging with finality into you his seed spilled warming you inside.

As you finally came to a slow the coldness of the room suddenly took hold. You shivered from the overstimulation which brought his concerned hands to you. Both his palms held your face close while trying to catch his breath. And near lovingly his forehead pressed against yours, grounding you both to the present again. Slowly the fabric fell from his mouth, also stunned that not a single guard had noticed. Licking his lips and starting to laugh a little nervously, he pulled back and gave that small smile he had before. Neither of you able to believe what had just happened or what this meant,

You curled up on yourself, hugging your knees to your chest as you hunched uncomfortably, head ducked low. Despite the blanket bundled up around you, you were freezing and desperately wishing the radiator would kick on to heat the drafty room. It was dark, all the lights off, and you had been alone for far longer than you would have like to endure.

As if by fate, there came the sound of keys jingling in the door’s lock, and you craned you neck to look. The deadbolt shifted loudly, the door knob turned, and silhouetted against the light of the apartment hallway was a bulkily dressed man.

He strode in, locking the door behind him and tossing his apartment keys on the side table near the entrance. He didn’t bother to kick off his tactical boots, and they thudded against the dusty floorboard. He walked into the next room where you sat, a pitiful sight.

Your eyes lifted to meet the ones behind clear framed glasses, and you perked up slightly, attention completely on him. Edward.

He had the soft, round face of someone entirely unassuming, looking sweet even. Though, you knew first hand what sort of dark secrets and twisted intellect resided in that brain of his. Regardless, you felt a wave of relief as he entered, glancing to the corner of the room where your cage was, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Look at you,” he cooed. It would have been condescending if he didn’t look so pleased to see you. He approached, boots heavy with every footfall, and reached a hand between the bars of the cage to stroke your hair tenderly. “Are you happy I’m home, sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes flitting to where his other hand clutched a plastic bag at his side. He followed your gaze, and withdrew his hand. “Just some supplies,” he explained, reading the question in your expression. “For next time.” You didn’t have to wonder what ‘next time’ meant—all you had to do was look on the news to know that everyone was clamoring about when and where the next Riddler attack would take place.

They called him a radical extremist, an urban terrorist preying over Gotham…but you knew him for who he really was: a visionary, serving justice and pointing a light at the corruption that plagued the city. And, more than that, he was your Edward—brilliant and soft-spoken, and utterly devoted to you.

Edward reached a hand down to unlock the latches of your cage, stepping back so you could crawl out and stretch the limbs that had been cramped for too long. “Sorry I’m home late,” Edward apologized. “There was a shooting at one of the downtown stops—it delayed the whole subway schedule.” He set his bag of goodies on the cluttered coffee table, before turning to walk towards his computer set up.

“We’ll have to eat dinner after the stream,” he hummed, contrite. “It’s scheduled for 8:00pm.” You rose to your feet slowly to follow after him, wanting to be close after being separated for so long. You kneeled down next to his chair so you could rest your head in his lap, and he lowered a hand to stroke you as his other clicked away.

After a few more minutes of clicking and typing, Edward had logged onto his secure, encrypted website. The whole process honestly confused the hell out of you, and it only made you respect him all the more for knowing the ins and outs of computer science and hacking. He really was a genius, and the reminder never ceased to make you swell with pride for being his and vice versa.

Edward rose from the chair, walking to the side of the room to dress into his infamous garb. You watched him don the mask so many dreaded and feared—the face behind the movement, which reaped violence against the rats of the city. All of it Edward had symbolically designed, meticulously orchestrated, and filmed for all to see.

As he strapped in and covered up all of his identifiable features, you saw his figure bulk up with the layered fabric and leather. More so, you saw the shift in him that never ceased to amaze you—Edward was set aside now, and the Riddler had come out to play.

He reached a glove towards you, and you stood still while his hands gently maneuvered a little black, lacey mask over your face. He felt it necessary to protect your identity as well, seeing as you were now an extension of him, his sweetheart. He would always take care of you; always make sure you were safe and looked after.

The Riddler patted your head, before stalking past you to sit back down at his computer chair. You laid nearby, languidly stretching your body along the couch, sighing contentedly as you watched him work. He set up the camera, clicked a few more buttons, and soon the red light had flickered on.

“Greetings, everyone,” his voice garbled out, the voice modulator making him sound deeper and more frightening than the man who usually spoke so softly to you. “I’ve got something real special for you tonight. Something they didn’t want you to see.”

You listened as the Riddler began his manic diatribes, informing his loyal followers of the latest updates. Eventually, growing bored, you tuned him out, deciding to leaf through the latest book he’d brought you: The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein.

Around an hour had passed as you went about your nightly routine, the deep sound of his voice lending a pleasant ambience to your reading. Then, startling you from your book, you heard that intimidating voice—comforting and familiar—call your name.

You glanced up quickly, looking at him. The red light was still on, the stream ongoing, and yet he had his chair turned to look at you. The blue glow of the monitors cast him in a rim light, though the lenses of his glasses seemed to glow as it reflected back. Raising a hand, he crooked his finger at you, silently beckoning you over.

You marked your page and set your book aside, obediently rising from the couch and walking over to him. As you approached, you could see the chat on the side of the screen receiving new messages, the viewers evidently delighted by your appearance.

Jus$tice_anycost: she’s finally back on stream! Thought the system got her lolz XD Eyeswideopen98: She looks so pretty in her new mask omg o///o WakeUpG0th@m: Yo, he’s got a girl?? I’m new /srs Eyeswideopen98: @ WakeUpG0th@m yea, she gets the mission, she’s chill Riddlemesaved: not the only thing she ‘gets’ ;) Rattrapsss: ngl, sometimes I like her voice more than his LOL Riddlemesaved: fuck, those tits always get me…

The Riddler turned his head to read, his hands absent-mindedly trailing your thighs and your ass. There never was a need for him to ask your permission. You were happy to service the one you loved whenever he desired your touch.

His eyes seemed to shine with delight as the waves of compliments rolled your way. He thought his devoted followers were so lucky to see your luminous beauty. “You’ve got fans,” he spoke lowly, the sound growling out of the modulator. His traveling hands dipped into your waist band, and he pulled your shorts down without much warning or fanfare. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you into his lap, your ass planted on one thigh as he helped hook your legs around the armrests. Spread open now for the blinking red camera light, you blushed a little, and gave the fans a bashful smile. His chest flush to your back, you heard his breath coming out heavy and hot through the holes in his mask.

Jus$tice_anycost: Damn look at that, her panties are already soaked… Riddlemesaved: @ Ju$tice_anycost, cause she’s always ready to be used xxx WakeUpG0th@m: Hooooly shit…

A small whine sounded in your throat as one of his hands wrapped around to rub against your clothed pussy. Two leather-covered fingers circled the wet fabric, a filthy sight. More messages flooded in, eager and lustful directed at the two of you.

“Isn’t she so beautiful?” came his throaty garbled voice behind you. “So good to me.”

Eyeswideopen98: She’s perfect for him… Rattrapsss: can we see??? <3

You sighed softly as he removed his hand from you, lifting the glove up to your face. He patted your cheek gently, before nudging the tip of the glove between your teeth. “Bite,” he ordered, and you obeyed. Slowly, you tugged the glove from his hand, revealing his fingers, thick and dexterous from all that typing. You opened your mouth, letting the glove fall limply to the floor.

His hand returned to your pussy, and gently it pulled the fabric of your panties aside to reveal your sex, bare and dripping with arousal. The Riddler glanced up to read the messages in the chat, before a throaty, dark chuckle vibrated against your back. “Guess we’ll be online for a little while longer,” he spoke, and then he pushed two digits into you knuckle-deep.

A soft, draw out moan left your lips as he gently fucked you with his fingers. You felt the leather of his mask press against your neck as he took in a deep, ragged breath. You could feel the firmness of his erection against your ass, poking you. You wiggled your ass against it slightly, feeling pent up and a little cheeky.

Your sweet Edward gasped at the feeling, and the sound made your heart flutter. But soon, the Riddler was placing a firm hand on your hip, the other fumbling with his belt as he struggled to undo the zipper and buttons there.

WakeUpG0th@m: fuck, this is so hot Eyeswideopen98: he’s the riddle, she’s the answer… Riddlemesaved: yesss, this is my favorite part…!

You felt his hot breath panting against the back of your neck as he freed his cock, and eagerly positioned himself up against you. With his back leaned against the chair, he lowered your hips down so he speared you onto him inch by inch. Your face screwed up with the intrusion, a small cry escaping you once he was fully hilted, the head of his cock nestled against your cervix.

His hand moved north to your chest, and he squeezed your breasts through your shirt. With a strangled groan, he began to move, rolling his hips up into you as he grinded against your ass. His cock was covered in your slick, the sight gleaming against the bright light of his set up.

“A-Ah,” you gasped, your hands clinging onto the armrests for dear life as he picked up the pace, hips snapping against you.

“Damn, you’re so fucking tight. So perfect for me,” he gritted out, pumping into you with enthusiastic zeal. He used you freely, and you loved every second of it. You tried to read the onslaught of comments popping in the chat, but you couldn’t make out more than a few words—you were too drunk on the feeling of his cock pistoning into you.

“Oh my god,” you drew the words out in a breathless moan, and you felt his hands flex into the dips of your hips.

“Yes,” he growled out. “I am your god.” His hips punctuated each syllable harshly, and you gasped at each thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you sobbed out as he fell into a wild frenzy, fucking into you so hard you were certain you would be sore later. But he was too intoxicating, moaning so deliciously in your ear, that your pleasure was building at an alarming rate.

“W-Wait, I…mmm, I-I’m—” you babbled out nonsensically, but he didn’t ease up his brutal pace. Your eyes screwed shut and you bit down on your bottom lip. The sound of his balls slapping against you tipped you over the edge—the pleasure was all too much.

You came with a cry, clear liquid squirting from you as it hit the edge of the desk and wetted his keyboard. Edward’s hand flew to your clit, rubbing furiously to extend your orgasm, sending droplets this way and that, making an utter mess of the chair and computer.

Within seconds he was pulling out to shoot pearlescent ropes of cum all over your skin, his climax ripping through him violently as he choked out a strained, muffled sound. You leaned your head back against his shoulder as he gently slapped his cock against your folds, spreading his cum around so that it mixed with your own juices.

Jus$tice_anycost: annnnnd im saving this one to my desktop folder… :P Riddlemesaved: guys I just came so fucking hard I thought I died for a sec Eyeswideopen98: otp (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥  )づ♡

You felt your lover shift beneath you, hugging you to his chest as he leaned forward. His hand moved for the mouse, and he read the comments. His eyes crinkled slightly in what must have been a satisfied smile. “Thanks everyone for attending tonight’s meeting,” he spoke, his altered voice deep and content. “That’s all for now, so be sure to tune in next time for more info on our next rally.”

his happy trail skims at the lower of your stomach with each wind atop you, fuzzy hairs rubbing against your skin with the obscenely close distance he has above you. with the closeness of it all, he has his face buried in the crook of your neck; lips slightly parted on your collarbone as he sears sporadic, timely kisses just below.

yours is somewhat similar, head tipped back into the pillow, chin occasionally nudging and bumping at the meat of his opposing shoulder with each pant you choke out. you hold him tight and dear, arms enveloped around his back with fingers hooked into his skin, nails just shy of making visible marks either side of his spine. 

Clark's great with you, in every sense of the word. you knew that if you were to say something, to announce it — he'd hear you and act upon it. you knew that if you told him you were starting to feel too much, he'd stop. though you weren't sure if that's what you wanted, for it to stop. 

your pants and gasps grow silent in that way they often do when he's fucking you this good, your sounds of utter bliss becoming unsystematic in the time in which they're choked out. and it's as your body holds out on lewd and vocal response that you feel your eyes well — tears brimming quickly and thickly. 

he's so lost in it that he doesn't realise, doesn't notice the slight salty smell blooming in your eyes or hear the difference in your hearts rhythm. he's selfishly consumed by the warm wrapping of you cunt around him and the feel of your skin against his that he's grown unaware. 

and it's only when he feels you clamp suddenly around him and hears you hiccup a stifled sob, that he pulls his face from the side of your throat. he peers himself up and his eyes flicker over your face; movement quick and attentive so as to assess you sooner. 

his winds halt, and it's then you tighten your thighs at the lower of his hips. like you're wordlessly telling him to resume, directionally trying to nudge him into you, even. though he's far, far stronger than you so that doesn't happen. instead, he lifts himself off you ever so slightly, keen to see more of you for a moment.

"too much?" he whispers his ask, voice sort of regretful — like he knew himself to be the reason for your tears.

your arms tighten around him and you reach up to kiss his lips. kissing him again, you pull back and shake your head; motion small and sure. 

"positive?" his eyes soften a smidgen, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. 

his gaze drifts to the little trail of wet running off the side of your face, and it's then he retracts his hand from behind your head to rid the evidential mark of something overwhelming. he's careful as he swipes away the bead of wet, thumb moving in a gentle caress to absorb the tear.

you nod against him and reach up to kiss him once more. one hand from his mid back trails downwards, palm gliding down his skin until you reach the top of his ass. your clasped hold pushes on him, like you're silently directing him to continue and wind into you again. 

and while your pushes and nudges are tempting, he knows he can never fully continue until he knows the reasoning behind your tears. he'd feel wrong to resume while you're so clearly wracked with reluctant emotion.

but you know him well, you can piece together what the expression on his face means. so you reassure him, rather than answer strings of questions.

"it's just really good," you assure.

he smiles shyly a moment. his forehead lowers to yours, weight pressed firm to you as he nuzzles the tip of his nose into yours just below his. 

"you're sure?" he hums, speaking soft against you.

you nod slightly and his head moves with yours. "positive," you hum, and further your pandering tries on the top of his ass. 

"you'd tell me if you weren't?" he confirms, swallowing thickly as he eases his hips into you again. 

you choke out a gasp when you feel him fully inside again, the entirety of his well-endowed, kryptonian cock filling you to the brim. 

"of course."

the only way he can continue now, is if he can see your face. if he can see your eyes and the faces you make as he repeatedly pushes into you. 

he can't enjoy himself if he's not sure that you are too.

He’d kick himself for ever hurting your feelings. He’s a gentle giant. But he’s also superman with alien like strength and a stupidly hot body that makes you drool and while you love sweet sex with him. God you want him to wrap you in headlock and call you the meanest things so badly. Just once to see how it feels. After weeks of assuring him that you want this and that you’d always stop him if it got too much, he agreed.

Now poor Clark slips into the roll a little too well for his liking. God the way his stomach twists and the imaginary scolding his ma would give him if she ever knew the words that he was whispering in to your ear. He’s got you pinned to the bed. Hands intertwined with yours keeping you right where he wants you. His cock is pounding into you with as much restraint as he can manage. His chest resting just a little on your back as he attempts to be everywhere at once.

“Such a slut for me hm? You like being nothing but a toy meant to just lie there and take it. Isn’t that right honey?”

even in his attempts to be mean he can’t help but let that pet name slip through. You’re whining and moaning so loud he should shove you into the pillow so the neighbors don’t hear. But you sound so fucking sweet he just can’t. You’re loving every moment. Your boyfriends deep brooding superman voice is so sexy especially when he’s calling you a whore. You don’t think you’ve ever come harder in your life and honestly…neither does Clark.

But as soon as the euphoria washes away its replaced by mild panic.

“Can I make you pancakes?”

He blurts out as he sees the way your legs still shake from ghost of your orgasm. You stare at him in disbelief as the man stands in all his glory, flushed face and eyes blown wide as he someone shrinks down his massive frame as he frantically reassures himself he didn’t cross a line.

“I just…I feel bad calling you a…you know.”

The man blushes. He just fucked you within an inch of your life and whispered the hottest and dirtiest things and now he refuses to say it again. You can’t help the laugh as you reach your arms out. Clark leaning down into your embrace as you kiss him softly.

“God you’re so adorable.”

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✦

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