Sincerely Rose

Ben, who was reading a book on one of the large couches, watched Johnny stroll to the kitchen island to snatch a fresh Maisie’s cookie from the batch H.E.R.B.I.E was putting on a tray, giving him a little pet in the process. 

“Hey, J,” Ben called, just as Johnny reached the balcony and burst into flames. “If you find anything weird down there, try not to flirt with it,” he teased without looking up, and a robotic giggle was heard from the kitchen.  

Traitor, Johnny thought, narrowing his eyes at Herbert. 

Ben thought he was so smug ever since the whole Herald fiasco. But Johnny, ever the sweet summer boy, just gave him a pearly white condescending smile before finally taking off into the night. 

A few minutes later, Johnny lands in the middle of a street in Times Square, where traffic has stopped and a crowd has gathered around a rattling sewer lid. There’s indeed thick white clouds coming out of it, and Johnny can feel the high temperature as he lands next to them.

People gasp when they see him, then cheer and whistle because salvation has arrived. 

‘Human torch!’ ‘What’s happening?’ ‘I told the mayor he needed to check on the system ages ago!’

“Alright everyone, back up,” he puts on a smile, shooing people away with his arms. “I got it covered–”

A loud metal sound makes him turn around, and the manhole cover blasts upward landing on top of a car nearby with a loud crash. People scream and scatter away, and Johnny flames on instantly, absorbing all the heat that pours out of it.

The white steam subsides, replaced by some lilac, glittering particles that make Johnny cough a few times, swatting at it with his gloved hands. Once Johnny can see clearly again–or maybe not–he notices there’s something peeking out. 

Is that…a hand? 

A hand comes out to grab the edge of the sewer, but he sees no claws or scales or weirdly colored skin, no…it’s a woman’s hand wrapped in delicate lace gloves. Then the other hand comes out, clearly trying to prop themselves up. 

Johnny’s fire dies when he sees no imminent danger, and he frowns at the small coughs coming from inside, stepping closer to see when something finally emerges from the sewer. 

You emerge. 

“Oof,” you say, using all your strength to climb out of…whatever you were in. 

The puffy white gown you’re wearing spreads around you as your heels finally touch the ground, layers upon layers of sparkling fabric drag through the glittery pavement when you straighten yourself up. You brush away dust from your giant skirt, too lost in your own world to notice that the crowd around you has gone dead silent, and Johnny looks flat out bewildered. 

That is, until a car blasts its horn, making you jump so hard you almost fall back into the sewer.  

Strong, warm arms wrap around your waist, catching you immediately. You yelp, clinging to your savior, and that’s when your eyes finally meet. Your breath hitches, but all you needed was one look to that perfect blonde hair and those bright blue eyes to exhale in relief. 

“Oh, thank goodness!” you say giddily, “Is this the Barbie Kingdom?”

Johnny doesn’t answer because quite frankly, what the fuck? 

You don’t seem to mind, your melodic voice keeps spilling out excitedly. “My bad, Ken. I know it’s not a kingdom anymore! That democracy thing you have going on is spectacular, I really admire–” your enthusiasm dies out a little when your eyes dart around, realizing there’s zero pink in this place, only strangers,  a bunch of weird colored lights, and the guy you’re holding onto for dear life is looking at you like you’re insane. “But this…doesn’t look like Barbieland,” you add with a nervous laugh. “Are you…a prince?” 

Barbieland. A prince? 

(I mean, he’ll take the compliment, but ????) 

Johnny’s confused gaze darts all over your face, then down to your dress. A wedding dress. There are actual sparkles woven into it, and he’s sure your skirt alone weighs more than him. The white fabric is pristine and you smell like flowers, not like you just crawled out of a sewer. 

And you just called him Ken. Thank God Ben is not here. 

“Umm, kind sir?” You snap him out of his trance, still gripping his forearms. “Can you please tell me what kingdom is this?” 

He looks at you, then at the crowd that’s just as confused as him, before replying hesitantly. 

“...Manhattan?” He says, and it does very little to calm you down. He clears his throat, finally releasing you from his grip so you feel more comfortable. “You can call me Johnny, by the way,” he says, giving you his best trademark smile. 

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Well, Johnny of Manhattan,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself and trying to avoid making eye contact with the people whispering around you, and the noise of those weird metal boxes with wheels. “Do you know Andalasia?” 

Even with all the extensive space knowledge Johnny possesses, he can’t really point out a place in the universe named like that. 

“Is that your planet?” He asks, making you chuckle softly. Johnny delights in the sound, he feels like any moment now birds will wake up to surround you and start chirping. 

“It’s my world,” you say, your voice turning more nostalgic now. “I was meant to marry The Bat Prince Edward today, my Eddie, and now I’ve fallen into this terrible place...” 

“…Right.”

Johnny tries to consider all options.

Maybe you hit your head? Or you were some junkie? A very dedicated theater kid? Method actor? Or maybe, crazy idea, you were telling the truth. He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it because your laced gloved hand suddenly reaches for his.

“Please, can you help me go back?” You ask desperately. 

Johnny looks where your hands meet, and decides to ignore the creeping blush on his face and the intrusive thoughts. She’s engaged. She’s probably crazy. But she’s so beautiful–no! Stop it, Johnny. 

The last time he had a crush on a woman that showed up unannounced on his planet, things had not ended well. 

“I know someone who might,” is all he says, avoiding your eyes. Since when does Johnny Storm get shy? 

You squeal immediately, practically leaping into his chest to give him a hug he certainly wasn’t expecting. Johnny laughs surprised, trying not to get lost in your sweet perfume. A white flash suddenly blinds you, and your eyes widen in panic at the crowd closing in. 

‘Johnny, who is she?’ ‘Another Herald?’ ‘Is this for a movie?” 

Without thinking you cling tighter to Johnny, who you’ve decided is the only person you can trust in this weird place, and that does something alarming to his stupid little heart. Red flag, red flag–whatever, he decides to step up to the role, shielding you from the photographers. 

“Alright, show’s over everybody!” He announces with a smile, never losing that golden boy persona, before turning back to you. “Okay, princess, you’re coming with me,” he says, pointing upward.

“...How?” You ask, staring up at the sky with a frown. 

“You just hold on, and try not to scream,” he winks at you, and before you can react he’s picking you up bridal style, bunching the skirt of your dress so it’s not on the way. “I’ll try not to scorch it, but no promises.”

“Scorch it? What do you mea–oh my god…” 

The night sky glows with fire coming out of this man’s body, as he flies you across the Manhattan realm. Truth to be told, coming from a world of magic and curses, this may not be the craziest thing that has ever happened to you. 

You land on the balcony of a tower that looks absolutely nowhere near the ones made of stone back home. And thank the universe you’re too busy gawking at the view, because Johnny is able to sneakily pat the ends of your dress that caught on a few flames without you noticing. 

“Oh wow…” you whisper, placing your gloved hands on the railing, overwhelmed by all the movement and lights and floating things. “Your world is strange, Johnny of Manhattan,” you laugh softly. 

Johnny chuckles, and wow, this is not what he thought his night would be like. But then you gasp, pointing at the sky.

“We have the same moon!” You exclaim, placing your elbow on the railing and your cheek on your palm as you stare longingly at the sky. “Don’t you like it, Johnny? Knowing she’s always there?”

Johnny smiles, but he’s not sure it’s because of the celestial body he’s admired since he was a little boy, or the way you seem completely mesmerized by it.

“I’ve always loved her,” Johnny says fondly, stepping next to you with both hands on the railing, but he doesn’t look up. His eyes stay on you. He watches you sigh dreamily, and it makes him smirk. “Is this the part where we start singing about our heart’s wishes?” 

“What? Noo,” you chuckle, without taking your eyes off the moon. “It just means home must be close if we can see the same stars…” 

Right, home. Johnny forces himself to take his eyes off you, and as he peeks inside the empty living room, he notices Ben is no longer there. Perfect. 

“Come on, let’s go inside, princess,” he says, and you turn to him with a smile. 

He bows to let you go first, and you do a little bow in return. Your enormous skirt barely manages to cross the threshold with a few tugs. The black fabric at the ends, courtesy of the human torch, drags across the carpeted floors as you slowly take in every detail. He guides you into a big metal box, and presses a panel. You extend your arms for balance as the thing begins going up all of a sudden. 

“Fascinating,” you whisper.

Johnny watches you with a smile and pride blooming in his chest. The Baxter Building is a marvel even for normal people, to you? It must be mind blowing. The innocent awe in your face makes Johnny feel that familiar flutter of butterflies in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Bad Johnny. 

“Okay, number one rule,” he clears his throat, compensating by the thing he does best: joking. “We’re going into the ogre’s swamp, so you’re better off not touching anything.”

He feels proud of it, at least until you look at him horrified and recoil in fear. 

“An ogre? Oh no no no no…” you shake your head, reaching for the panel and pressing it frantically until the thing stops moving. “I don’t like those, absolutely not.”

“No, wait, sorry,” Johnny apologizes. “It was just a joke. We’re going to my brother in law’s lab, and he’s a bit…particular,” he explains, and only presses the button to keep going up when you nod. “Just uh…follow my lead, and you’ll be fine,” he says, when the elevator comes to a stop.

He stretches his neck, bouncing slightly on his feet and giving himself a small pep talk you can’t really understand. Then the doors open to another colorful, open place that makes your eyes go wide. Johnny strolls in first, and you follow behind like an anxious lost puppy. 

“Reed!” he calls out dramatically, to a figure leaning over a counter. “I bring gifts from my mission!”

The man–not ogre, thank the stars–Reed, doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing. His intention to ignore Johnny doesn't last long though, because he hears a pair of heels clicking on the floor that definitely don’t belong to his brother in law. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes immediately land on you.

“Why is there a bride in my lab?” He deadpans, looking at you up and down. “For the love of God, Jonathan, don’t tell me you–”

“Uh-uh,” Johnny cuts him off, holding a finger in the air before spreading his arms in a flourish to gesture at you. “I present to you: the steaming sewer.”

“Hiii!” You smile politely, waving at Reed. “Are you the ruler of this realm?”

Reed now looks at Johnny, exasperation written all over his face. “Explain yourself.”

“She came out of the sewer,” Johnny shrugs, looking too smug for his own good. “Dress and all.”

“I did,” you nod enthusiastically, not really helping at all.

Reed sighs, rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, but by the time he opens them again, you’ve already wandered to one of his old models with a curiosity that reminds him of his own son. 

“Oooh, what’s this?” You ask, reaching for a red lever.

“No, don’t touch–“

You gasp in delight as the lights flicker when you pull on it, but Johnny catches your hand just in time before you pull the whole thing and cut the power of the entire building. He gently guides you away from the counters, smiling apologetically at Reed’s resting bitch face. 

Ogre, indeed. 

The doors of the metal box you arrived in open again, and a woman storms in carrying a child in her arms. He doesn’t even look a year old. 

“Not only are you working late, but you’re messing with the power while I’m trying to put Franklin to bed and I–” The woman stops in his tracks when she sees you standing in the middle of the lab. Her eyes go to Johnny, and she only has to raise her eyebrows for him to look like a scolded child.

“Sue, I can explain. Don’t panic, she’s just a–”

“Pwincess!” The baby in her arm babbles, clapping his little hands together.

You coo at the baby, but stay put where you are, not wanting to crowd the woman narrowing her eyes at you. You gather the fabric of your dress and give them a little curtsy.

“Thank you, little bean. But I’m not a princess yet,” you say, pressing one hand to your chest. 

Sue notices the way you clutch the fabric of your dress nervously, and curiosity gets the best of her. 

“Did you escape from your wedding?” She asks, but there’s no real malice behind it. 

“I didn’t escape,” you shake your head, looking down to the floor. “I believe someone may have tried to kill me and I ended up here instead.”

“Oh honey,” her expression softens, not entirely sure why she believes you’re harmless to her family. At least at this moment. 

Johnny does, and he sighs, because now you’ve activated Sue’s mom instincts. How is he supposed to not get attached?

At least she won’t be telling him to kill you.

“Where exactly did Johnny find you, sweetheart?” She asks, bouncing little Franklin on her hip.

“Johnny says it’s called a sewer!” 

Sue just nods, looking between Reed and Johnny but the latter just smiles with a shrug. A sudden blue light washes over you, but before you can panic Johnny shows you it’s coming from a little device Reed is hunching over. 

“He’s just scanning you to see how we can help,” Johnny explains reassuringly, and you nod as the light keeps going all over you. 

“Fascinating,” Reed says after a few minutes, walking away from the thingy to circle you. “No traces of chemical intoxication. Her body has adapted to survive in our environment, but her clothing fibers are unlike anything I’ve seen on this planet.” 

“Oh! My dress was hand sewn with the help of my friends. Mouses and rabbits are very talented when it comes to special fabrics,” you say matter of factly. 

“Mouses and rabbits.” Reed repeats and you nod happily. Jesus Christ. 

“H.E.R.B.I.E told me you were all here. What’s going on?” A new voice echoes across the lab as the doors open again. ”Uhh, is Johnny getting married and didn’t tell us?” 

You turn around to see a tall man made out of orange rocks and your shoulders sag in relief. Finally, someone normal around here. But before you can ask him if he knows how to get to your kingdom, Reed is already gesturing for him.

“Perfect timing, Ben. Team gathering. Now.” 

Ben obeys, following him without taking his eyes off you. Sue walks past you, and Franklin giggles when he tries to grab one of your puffy sleeves and fails. Reed motions them deeper into the lab, and Johnny walks backwards to look at you. 

“Don’t touch anything,” he mouths, and your eyes drift immediately towards another lever device on the counter. “Especially that!” He whisper-shouts, and you nod innocently, clasping your hands behind your back.  

He flashes you a grin before jogging to meet the others, who are already explaining the situation to Ben. You can hear the whispering, but you can’t really make out what they’re saying, so you distract yourself with your own dress. 

On the far corner of the lab…

“She came out of a sewer, and you believe she’s a princess?” Ben asks, biting back a smile as he watches Johnny roll his eyes.

“She could be delusional. Experimenting a psychological episode perhaps.” Reed says.

“Then why didn’t your scans show anything?” Johnny crosses his arms. 

Reed hesitates, because the machine may not show physical abnormalities, but your mental state is a different thing. 

“My love?” Reed asks the person he trusts the most in the room.

“She looks harmless,” Sue shrugs, shifting Franklin who’s starting to fall asleep on her shoulder. 

“She is harmless,” Johnny says immediately.

“You've known her for like twenty minutes,” Ben teases. 

“Yeah, and in those twenty minutes she’s been overwhelmed, yet polite enough to ask for our help. After all we’ve seen lately, I think we’re safe–just…look at her.”

They all glance back. 

You’re standing exactly where Johnny left you, carefully lifting the edge of your gown and gasping in visible distress when you notice it has turned black.

“Oh no…my dress…”

Johnny mentally slaps himself when you look at the singed fabric with a sad face. Okay, maybe flying in flames while carrying a hundred pounds of magical tulle had been a bad idea.

“So who’s the lucky fella?” Ben whispers, nudging his arm to get his attention.

Johnny takes a second too long to take his eyes away from you, before turning back to the group with the answer. 

“She said she was marrying some prince named Eddie,” Johnny explains, trying to sound as casual as possible. “But I don’t trust him, what if he’s the one who sent her away?”

“Or…maybe you just want to steal his bride,” Ben says without hesitation, making Sue snort. Even Reed’s mouth twitches. 

Johnny groans, stepping back to point between them defensively. 

“No, no, no. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong! Absolutely wrong,” he defends himself, but his family has the audacity to laugh in his face. 

“Johnny–”

“No! This isn’t another Shalla-bal situation,” he insists, crossing his arms. “That was months ago. Besides, can you really blame me? She was gorgeous.”

“And do you think the princess is gorgeous?” Sue asks with a knowing smile. 

He glances at you once again, and it’s a bad idea, because Herbert has rolled into the room too and now you are bending slightly so you can pet his weird head. You were actually petting him. The droid is complimenting your dress, and you thank him giddily because you somehow understand what he’s saying. 

“I fear the gown may be ruined, though,” you add with a small laugh.

“It still looks pretty on you,” Johnny blurts out loudly from his spot. 

You straighten up to look at him, and your flustered face makes it difficult for him to not smile like a lovesick puppy. What the hell is happening to him? 

When he turns back around, everyone is staring at him. Johnny closes his eyes with a grimace, sighing. 

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“I say you’re toast already,” Ben says, amused, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good thing you can handle some heat–“

“I’m not handling any heat–“

“Alright!” Reed shuts them up. “Until we understand what happened, we can’t exactly send her anywhere,” Reed says, exhaling in defeat.

That makes Johnny perk up immediately with a smile that’s nothing but trouble.

“So we’re keeping her?” He says. 

“We are letting her stay temporarily because she clearly needs help,” Sue corrects, giving him a warning look. “And you are going to behave.”

“Yes, absolutely!” Johnny nods, way too fast and completely unconvincing. Sue narrows her eyes at him. “Your mistrust wounds me, sister. I’m always on my best behavior.”

She glares at him one last time, before gesturing with her head at the group to walk back to you. She notices H.E.R.B.I.E has stuck to your side, and seems to be charmed by you as much as Johnny is. Which is another positive point in your favor.

“You can stay with us until we figure things out,” Sue says with a reassuring smile. “We’ll do our best to find your home.”

Your eyes go wide, the relief washing your face makes you look even brighter. Johnny has to keep himself from clutching his chest dramatically. 

“Oh, I’m eternally grateful to all of you,” you say, lifting the fabric once again to do a full curtsy. “But especially to you, Johnny of Manhattan, because you were the one to trust me enough to bring me to your castle,” you add with a smile, straightening up and walking toward him to pressing a soft kiss on his warm cheek. 

Johnny stills on his spot as your lips delicately graze his skin, before you pull apart a walk alway like nothing happened. His hand lifts instinctively to touch the spot you kissed, and this time his family’s snickers are inevitable.

Maybe Ben was right. Maybe he’s toast. Burned toast. 

As he watches you obliviously hum a little tune for Franklin, who’s drooling away on Sue’s shoulder, acceptance hits him like a train. 

He was absolutely doomed the second you climbed out of that sewer. 

Thank you for reading this small fairytale! Feedback is always appreciated 💗🦇

the tears are already brimming and blurring his vision, causing him to rapidly blink them away and shake his head with a sniffle as he hangs up his coat, takes off his shoes.

she’s there on their living room recliner, reading with her glasses on her nose, cozy with a big blanket swallowing her up. it smells like she made brownies too. the air of comfort should throw all of his worries away and out the door. what happened at work was only at work, he shouldn’t be taking it all home. but that’s not how clark’s head ever seemed to behave. he still remembers all his wrongdoings, his inferiority to some of his peers performing well above him. and their boss surely knows it too.

she puts a bookmark on her page and starts moving to get up and greet clark, a warm open smile on her face. clark immediately shakes his head and goes over to her, murmuring with a low, weak voice to tell her not to get up from her comfortable spot just for him. he marches over to her and doesn’t want to watch her face contort into worry, opening her arms as he comes over and balls himself up in her lap.

“oh no. baby, what happened today? was work too much?”

clark already has tears uncontrollably running down his face before he shoves himself into her bosom, sobbing into her chest as he breaks down and loses any facade of composure he’d tried putting on for his entire day.

“I…. I made…. a mistake,” he whimpers out. “got yelled at. of course. cause I’m just so stupid I can’t seem to do anything right anymore.”

she pats his back and runs her hands over his combed hair. she takes off his glasses for him and sets them down on them table while clark continues to cry, only word able to come out of him being mommy, mommy, mommy.

“shhh. I’m here. I’m here, baby. don’t be scared. you made a mistake is all, we all do. you aren’t a bad person or a stupid person for that. come here.”

he sniffles and licks his lips, suddenly salivating in a trance that’s pulling him out of his head when she starts unbuttoning her top.

“I know what you need.”

he looks at her with a little pout of his lower lip. “I need you, mommy. always need you….”

“I know.”

and then he’s ducking his head and wrapping his lips gently around a nipple, suckling like this is all he needed all day. her nipples harden from the cool air and the bud remains hard as his warm flush tongue swirls around and suckles down, humming as he nurses from his only caregiver.

“I missed you so much. all day mommy. needed you so much. wanted to be here instead, pleasing you.”

“you were so strong today. you’re my strong boy. you know that?”

she coos and plays with his hair. clark whines some more that he’s in heaven when she takes care of him like this, assures him like this. the tears have quietly began to dry as he keeps suckling, little noises coming from his mouth and the contact made on her delicate skin. after a few moments he switches to her other nipple, humming and closing his eyes in a daze. she tells him again that he’s worthy of love, that he’s as human as the rest of them, even if he’s from another planet he’s shown he is just as vulnerable, multifaceted, and caring as anyone else — despite what the news may say, despite what his enemies may try and claim.

“they make up stories about me. that I’m weird, that I don’t belong.”

“exactly, baby. they’re making it all up. where you belong is right here. right in mommy’s lap. you know I’ll always cherish you, especially on your hardest days,” she whispers sternly, making clark agree with a nod, giving in to her words before he helplessly goes back to sucking on her breast.

“I made brownies for us,” she coos after a while of soothing clark as he suckles each nipple. “how does a brownie and a glass of milk sound?”

“mmm. could smell them when I walked in. sounds amazing, momma,” he hums, still cuddling into her, kissing on her collarbones until he reaches her face. she looks at him with an honest understanding, like she knows exactly what he goes through and faces every single day and is all the more proud of him for always getting through it. for being brave, for never changing who he is just because he doesn’t fit certain expectations. if he needs to suck on his girlfriend’s clit, or her nipples, or cry into her shoulder to calm himself down, she’s more than willing — more than happy to provide what he needs to survive such a cold world.

they both get up and head to the kitchen, clark stuffing his face with glee and praising her for her delicious hard work. she pours him a glass of milk to go along with it, and he graciously drinks it up to wash down all the chocolate on his tongue. after dessert she brings him back to the living room with a tug of his arm, this time heading to their couch for more space for his long limbs to sprawl out. clark’s mouth began to water and all the worries in his brain began to fade out as she pulls her sweatpants down, then her panties included in a little pile on the floor. adjusts her top so her breasts can each fall out and be exposed to the air. it’s the most mouthwatering sight clark could have ever seen.

“mommy, mommy I…”

“have your pick, or take turns with your mouth on each. I know what you need,” she beckons him to the couch and he gets down on his knees to the floor right beside her. “I know what you go through. you need mommy now more than ever, don’t you?”

“mmmhm,” he agrees, leaning in and kissing her on the lips, not hiding his possessive side as he grabs onto her breast and twirls with one of her nipples that he’d been nursing on. “I always need you mommy. you’re so smart and so giving,” clark sighs as his lips open up to her skin, licking like he was seconds away from giving her a hickey. “so beautiful. you’ve taught me about what it means to be good. I have to lick you everywhere I can…. tasting you is what I live for, what I wait to come home to all day,” he whimpers. she shushes him and tugs him to bring him closer, having him lay on the other end of the couch between her open legs. “you’re everything and more.”

“I love you, baby boy,” she hums. he says he loves her more. she in turn pulls the hood of her clit up as he brings his face closer in, breathing her pussy in and planting little kisses to prep her for what was to come. “you can start on my clit then go back to my tits, okay?”

“okay, yeah, yeah please.”

and then clark eats all night, putting his mouth to work on her pussy, on her breasts, all down her thighs. scattering kisses and love bites everywhere he desires. she bucks her hips and her breasts up into his mouth every time, watches as he goes completely lax without a single thought to overwhelm him or harm him anymore. he doesn’t have to be in his head when his mouth is going to work on the woman he loves.

. . .

with a plain frown, he scratches his back before throwing his blanket over his body and tip toeing downstairs, hoping some fresh air might do something for his nervous system. every step is carefully placed as to not creek the floor, every move so methodically planned. he hugs himself as he grabs the carton from the fridge and fills a glass up with milk and microwaves it until it’s warm. careful not to let the alarming beep go off before he hugs it to his chest and takes a thick sip as he slowly slides the back door open and steps out.

the air is crisp, with a subtle wind blowing and shaking some of the leaves off the trees in the distance. clark makes a point to keep the main light turned off as to not be noticed and takes thoughtful sips of his milk, looking up at the stars. it could’ve been ten, twenty minutes for all he knew that he’d stayed like that outside. trying to get ahold of his racing thoughts and anxieties manifesting from his fear of being so far away from home. his ma and pa still call to check in on him every now and then and check in to see if his nightmares are still as bad as they were when he was a child. clark is always assuring them that he’s doing just fine even if he’s lying through his teeth. they care enough to notice the dip in his voice while he lies, but they don’t prod any further if he wasn’t opening the door to talking himself through it. they figure he has new friends of his own in his life that he can confide in.

a helpless tear rolls down from his left eye before he can stop it, an unexpected sob rushing from his throat after he finishes his glass of milk and sets it down on the side table. in a quick, anxious attempt to conceal the noise of his sobs he covers his mouth and shields his face with the blanket, knowing that the tears were still coming and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop them. all’s he could do was let them out and hope for the best that he isn’t making noise, that this is just going to be one bad night and that tomorrow night will be better.

his eyes are red and exhausted from his hands angrily scrubbing over them. since he’s in the dark he thinks he’s in the clear.

when he thinks the worst wave of it is over, he tries to swallow the lump in his throat and gets up to head back to the kitchen for another glass of milk, and gets stopped in his tracks from the kitchen light turning on.

like a vampire in the sun, he flinches and covers his face, head going down in shame while he sniffles and tries acting like he wasn’t just crying his heart out like a pathetic loner on the back porch. his roommate, squinting with her own glass of milk in hand, scratches her bird’s nest of bed head and lazily smiles at clark.

“oh. hey! I didn’t know you were out there. I was about to lock you out,” she says casually, yawning and sipping her glass before she notices the great lengths he’s going to avoid her gaze. “woah. are you—hey, are you okay?”

all clark can muster is a piss poor excuse for a blatant lie of “yeah.” his voice even cracks too, adding a cherry on top of a very pathetic cake.

she doesn’t blink or even think for a second before she’s rushing over. the sweetheart that she is. her warm hands felt like a hot stove up against his cool cheeks, pushing her thumbs up his chin so his face can’t hide from her anymore, and she sees it. she sees it all. the tear stained cheeks, the red, puffy eyes, the snot probably still stuck in his nose.

“I’m fine—“ he tries to squeal, the sniffling not helping his case. she looks at him with deep, sincere concern in her eyes, doesn’t speak for a long moment before bringing him in a long, warm bear hug. and clark’s water works begin all over again. sobs wreck his throat, tears gush out to his cheeks and down his jaw, tickling him. he says he’s sorry, says he doesn’t know why he’s acting like this, says he didn’t mean to wake her up and that he’ll make it up to her if he did.

“clark, don’t apologize. don’t apologize.”

she brushes the back of his hair and rubs along his back over his blanket still shielding him. clark says sorry again anyway, desperate to assure her that nothing is wrong, nothing happened, he just ‘gets like this sometimes.’

“I know we don’t talk a lot about things beyond the surface level bullshit, but you’re seriously breaking my heart right now. you can absolutely talk to me, get off whatever is heavy on your mind,” she murmurs. rocks him back and forth in her arms while he towers over her with his stature.

he chuckles through a sob at that, ducking into her shoulder and lets himself get rocked like a baby. can’t help himself but to relish in the warm, inviting embrace, nuzzling himself into her like she’s his lifeline.

“I uh, I just get… I get real homesick. and lonely. I miss my parents, it’s been h—hard to adjust being away from them, they’re all I had for so long,” clark musters to speak, voice quivering through more than half of his words. she offers him her glass of milk with a raised brow, to which he smiles and graciously takes the glass, hesitating at first but ultimately giving in and taking a sip. it did wonders for his throat, thickly swallowing and carefully going in for another before he sets it down on the counter and sheepishly goes back in for another hug, bending his neck down to shove his face back in her shoulder. of course she smells so comforting, and it was addicting already to sniff her hair that was graced with the fresh scent of that shampoo that sat in their shower. it really soothed him to be held, to be held by her, specifically — his beautiful, patient, kind and understanding roommate of three months that hasn’t made a single complaint about living with him, and on paper really hasn’t given clark a single reason to not feel like he could open himself up to her like this. he supposed his nerves always got in the way.

“what do you miss about home the most?”

clark pulls back and looks at her, turning red when she wipes a stray tear away and holds onto his face. “I um, I miss… I miss getting physical touch, physical touch like this,” he admits. “I miss my ma’s homemade bread. I miss both my parents helping me with—with my nightmares,” he swallows, averting his eyes to the floor with a bite of his lower lip. “they’d stay up with me, warm me up some milk, tell me that I’m not alone. I can’t… I just can’t seem to get any sleep when I’m alone,” he breathes out.

she nods her head slowly in understanding. gets up on her tippy toes to give his cheek a kiss, and clark reels from the contact, clenching his jaw and rapidly blinking his eyes while he wonders if what just happened really just happened.

“let’s get you some more warm milk, then I’m taking you up to my room. sound good?”

. . .

clark cluelessly follows her back upstairs to her bedroom, awkwardly stepping as he’s led by her hand in his. she took it to heart when he said he missed physical affection, and her hands have stayed on him since.

her room has always looked cooler than clark’s. posters decked out on the walls, bohemian plants strung out and framing along her window. she has a diffuser that makes the room smell soft and almost tropical. used bras and panties strung along her full hamper, and the sight makes him try to stifle a smile, rubbing his lips together.

“come here,” she guides. laying on one side of her bed, leaving plenty of room for him to get in right beside her. she expectedly holds her hand out for him, watching intently as he carefully sets his full glass of milk down and shuffles into the empty side of the bed, unsure of where his long limbs should really go.

“you can spread out you know. don’t have to stay crumbled up in a ball all night.”

it could have come out snarky, sarcastic, witty — but it comes out sincere instead, like she didn’t want to just watch him remain so uncomfortable.

with a thoughtful sigh, he gives in and spreads his legs out, grazing hers in the process and holds onto his blanket with his other hand that wasn’t grasped in hers. of course it dawned on him how intimate this really was, how she saw him cry and her first actions were to hold him, talk to him, give him more milk. it strangely makes his lower belly start to tingle almost with what felt like butterflies while he works himself up about how maternal his roommate really was towards him. the rocking back and forth in their hug, the gentle reassurance, the open ears that didn’t judge him for a split second.

it fills him with another burst of emotion, enough to make him get on his knees and start to cry again.

he turns towards her, finding she was already looking at him, wondering what the hell he was probably thinking so loud about.

“thank you,” he licks his lips. “thank you for doing this. for being kind to me. I don’t really cry in front of people except my family. I don’t mean to dump all of my problems on you.”

she shakes her head and scoots closer, slowly reaching an arm over his chest, testing to see if it’s boundary crossing or if it comforts him. clark scoots further into her, rushing to answer the quiet question: how close can they really get?

“you’re not dumping anything if I wanna hear it,” she replies. “hate to see a face this pretty cry like that.”

clark’s lip wiggles as if on queue, still chuckling through another little sob wrecking through him while he scrambles to wipe an incoming tear.

“no, no baby, let it out. don’t hold any of it in anymore.”

and with that, clark lets the floodgates open.

he cries again, less soft and quiet as his meltdown outside. this one is thundering, takes over his whole being while his head closes in on her touch while she shushes him and hugs him to her, kissing his wet cheeks while he lets everything else he’s held in come to the forefront.

she hands him a tissue after a minute, letting him blow his nose and drain his mucus, balling up the tissue into his fist to not dirty her side table with any of his germs even if they were bunched up in a napkin.

“does that feel a little better? drink your milk, baby. don’t forget about it.”

he nods and stutters to grab the glass and chug, finishing most of it in one foul swoop before wiping the corners of his lips for stray drips.

she gently fusses with his hair, brushing it in different directions so he never misses out on any physical contact. her leg even crosses over his lap, cooing in his ear that he’s never gonna be alone, not ever again.

clark curls in on her, looking smaller than he ever has even with his frame and build. he lets out hurried little boyish uh-huh’s when she repeats to him over and over, you are safe. and you are not alone.

when he’s floating in a post-cry haze, eyes so swollen he feels like he could’ve gotten punched, a name falls from his lips without his upstairs brain’s full knowledge like it was instinctual.

“mommy…”

the pets never stop. not a single inch of her body reacts, no limb even moving to push him off of her bed. if anything she gets even closer, if that was even possible.

while he nuzzles his nose into her neck, she caresses his back and hums. not giving any indication that he’s said anything out of line.

so he surrenders and says it yet again.

“mommy, mommy I need you so much,” clark whimpers. tries to hold in more of the seemingly endless supply of pathetic tears he’s held back and bottled up for far too long, all his jumbled emotions coming in a whirlwind at the first feeling of someone touching him, someone seeing him and his pain and not running away or letting him go to bed scared and alone.

“you’ve got me. I know. and you’ve got me,” she affirms. kisses the top of his head, never stopping the circles on his back. “you’ve got mommy.”

clark’s tone is hopeful when he looks up at her face to read her as best he can in the dim light, leaning in to her as she cups his cheek.

“I… I do?”

“of course you do. mommy’s right here.”

. . .

this had become a nightly ritual.

a strict, no nonsense break of their curated routine. if clark had a troublesome day and marched up to his room after work, she let him sit it out alone for no more than twenty minutes before she was knocking on his door, crawling on his lap, asking him to let it all out for mommy once again.

if clark had a good day, he would tell her about it too. how he didn’t get any bad feedback by his supervisor on his report, how he got to pet one of the stray cats in their neighborhood that were notorious for running away at the sight of any people.

she praised him when he needed it, smothered him when he needed it. held him too of course whenever he looked hungry for her affection.

she mothered him in a way that made him feel a way he truly hadn’t felt before, and that alone brought up another string of anxieties. about not being enough, about being too much. too needy. too much of a little boy. too much of a momma’s boy.

there were even times she’d have to ring it out of him, what he was feeling. she could read every facial expression that passed over his face like the back of her hand. and it was always taken in a stride. she tells him he’s silly for overthinking like that, but that it’s okay to tell her these things, and that he shouldn’t let thoughts like those start to even fester. because she’s all in.

after one particularly treacherous nightmare he wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily and trying to self soothe with his blanket. in a fit of frustration he kicks off the comforter and of course, in turn, wakes her right up.

“baby boy,” she reaches up for him. knows what’s wrong from the second he stares up at the ceiling, stubborn with a frown stuck on his face. “is it too hot for you?”

clark breathes in deep, fights the thoughts in his head that tell him he’s a freak for needing so much love and so much attention, and leans in to kiss her right on the lips, whimpering in her mouth when she automatically reciprocates.

“mommy,” he smacks his lips against hers, smelling the natural scent coming off of her from her neck. “mommy please. please.”

“tell mommy what you need.”

“I need your kisses,” clark full on whines. doesn’t hold anything back, doesn’t minimize his needs. gives it to her straight. she’s never punished him for telling his truth before, and she wouldn’t start now.

“I wanna touch you, mommy,” he swallows. “can I please…”

his hand shakily trails down her side, feeling goosebumps make way on her skin. it makes him lick and bite his lips, leaning in for another warm, needy kiss that threatens to grow even deeper while he preciously tries to glide his tongue in her mouth and lick along hers.

“you can touch mommy. I know what you need.”

clark’s cock shamefully fills and rolls up against his belly at her words, aching for some stimulation as he trails more kisses from her face, to her jaw, to her neck. hands exploring lower than anywhere his hands have ever explored before. they drift down to her hip, to her waistband, to her stomach and breasts.

“take care of me so good, mommy, always…. I just wanna be a good boy to you. wanna be a good boy for you,” he hums. she beams from his complete one-eighty change in disposition, from his sulking, shivering ball of anxiety into this flourishing, outspoken, touchy boy that knows to voice what he needs.

“can I… I wanna—“

his words are cut off by an unabashed groan when her hand grabs his and stuffs it down her panties, letting his fingers feel the pearly skin of her naked pussy, no layers in between.

“momma you’re so soft,” he whispers. doesn’t let himself tighten his hand over her mound too hard, gently pressing his palm in and applying a slow, easy pressure. his fingers have already started to get a little wet, and that did things to him that he won’t ever be moving on from. “pussy’s so warm. feels so perfect, mommy.”

she grinds into his touch subtly, hips raising up in heated figure eights while he kisses her and swallows up the moans she lets out too, mirroring his to a T.

“I need it. I need to.”

she doesn’t fight or protest anything as he ducks his head and crawled down the bed until his face was right between her open legs.

“take off mommy’s panties. go on, don’t have to be my shy boy. indulge yourself, baby.”

clark nods his head again, eager to follow orders when he pulls them down in a swift motion, dropping them to the floor off the edge of the bed. nothing could stop him from going in, from taking that last final step. he hums like he’s just found the most decadent meal to eat as he stuffs his face into her pussy, wiggling his tongue over her clit, gliding the flat of it down her lips and her hole. it weeps and clenches down and makes squelchy noises the more he sucks, and it’s so juicy and ripe that clark can feel his own dick pulsing even if he’s still completely untouched.

he moans and keeps scarfing down, sheepish voice muffled, only the words please and mommy able to be deciphered.

that tongue proves itself to become a dangerous addiction while she humps against his face, grinding her clit up to his nose while he fucks his tongue up to breach her g-spot and thrust it in and out like his face only existed at her leisure. it was rejuvenating, it was astonishing, how close to another human being he’s felt since he first cried in her arms and showed her sides of himself he never wanted to claim as his own. he hopes his tongue can do the talking, can tell her how much he appreciates her and hopes to give her as much as he takes.

she curses and slams her hips upwards when he curls his tongue so right, nudging her clit with the bridge of his nose with the right pressure and humming in a way that felt divine. clark continues his feast and stares up at her to watch her fall apart, to watch her feel good. her mouth is wide open and her eyes squeeze shut while her pussy walls quiver and gush against his mouth. it felt heavenly, like a religious experience to feel her cumming against his mouth. to get to suckle on her clit and watch his mommy lose it.

when he licks her clean she laughs and pulls his face away, too overstimulated to allow him to keep going. as he gives in despite wanting to stay right where he was, he switches gears to her inner thighs and lays the wettest kisses all over her, cum still smeared all over his lips and chin.

“you taste so good mommy. you fed me so well,” he mutters, licking her spend off his face with his outstretched tongue, leaning in to her hold on his pink cheeks.

“you all full? don’t wanna leave my baby boy hungry,” she whispers. plays with his hair again, one of his favorite forms of her attention and affection.

he closes his eyes and hums, says he’s all full now and ready to go back to sleep. doesn’t care that he ends up faceplanting right between her thighs, cheek laying directly on her naked pussy as he snoozed away with no night terrors getting in the way of his peaceful rest.

she was the antidote. to all his homesick worries, to all of his outside failures and personal interior failures, she was always there to put a lid on all of his troubles again whenever the lid flies off.

the habit became a habit because the high never seemed to wear off, soothing himself by getting his head between her thighs and kissing her pussy or licking her pussy until he was slowly falling asleep. he’s been out like a light with his airways nearly blocked by her crotch, nearly dead to the world in a deep sleep that he couldn’t ever have on his own.

the nightmares eased down the more he gave in to his desires, humping her leg and shamelessly screaming mommy when he cums. eating her out for a good hour at the very least every night so he feels high and buzzed off of pleasing her. taking care of her. thanking her.

“mommy, mommy you’re the best. you’re so beautiful. m’so lucky I have you.”

“I’m so lucky to have you, baby boy. and if you ever need to eat before bed, just eat. you need to be fed.”

so clark eats. he eats to think straight before work, he eats for a good several hours in bed after dark to feel the rush of her cum sticking to his lips. he lives to come home and make his mommy feel good, to make himself feel good. even eats to make himself feel safe again.

she never downplays the affect it has on him, the way it’s comforted him like never before. she knows it’s more than just a bedtime treat for him.

a couple nights in a row he even has her sit down on his face and ride, gladly licking up everything that drips out of her and having her cum against his nose at least three times before they both pass out, her legs still trapped over his face with her head shoved in the pillow.

after several months of their ritual he officially moves into her bedroom, hardly ever going into his old one unless he went for a new change of clothes, still preferring to go straight back to their shared room to change.

once in a while in public he’s let it quietly slip, his little voice uttering a helpless mommy if he’s on the verge of a panic attack. she of course identifies when he needs her touch more than ever to ground him back to reality and step out of the anxieties that plagued his head. and sometimes, only sometimes does he end up dragging her to the nearest family restroom and make his mommy take off her panties so he can soothe himself with his mouth back on her clit to suck.

little sequel here

. . .

I got so carried away with him being sad and homesick and how lonely poor baby would feel, and how he needs a mom-like figure to worship and get love and attention from.

“Hi, honey,” he murmured softly as he dropped a fresh mug of coffee on your desk. He still whispered his sweet words as if half the bullpen didn’t know you were together.

“Thank you,” you reply with a small smile up at him.

God, he was extra handsome today. Or maybe you were just ovulating. Maybe both.

Definitely both.

“I like this tie on you,” you note, fingers reaching up to play with the dark red fabric.

His cheeks went a little pink. “Someone very special got it for me, ya know?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He gulped, those dimples poking into his cheeks as he looked down at you like you’d hung the stars. You could swallow him whole.

“Can I come over tonight?”

You chuckle. “Yeah. I’d prefer if you did.”

He nodded again, just looking at you, taking in a deep breath. You took in how he let his eyes wander over you briefly. Maybe you weren’t the only one feeling it.

Two months, three weeks, and four days.

That’s how long since your first date, and how long you’d been waiting for him to make a move. He was so kind and chivalrous. To a fault. He’d kissed you. He told you about Superman, as if you hadn’t already figured that out. He’d slept in your bed and held your hand and made you breakfast. But he had yet to hold you down and make you forget your own name.

It was getting a little old.

You’d talked to Lois about it a few days ago over brunch.

It was a Sunday, french toast and mimosas between the two of you. The first Sunday of every month, in fact. It was a ritual. Time to decompress and talk to someone who would endlessly ‘yes, and’ you. In a healthy way.

“I am just so… fed up.”

“What? Why?” She laughed a little, sipping on her fourth mimosa of the afternoon.

You sighed. “Clark.”

“Yeah? What’s farm boy doing now? I thought you two were going well.”

“We are. Like… really well. He’s sweet and kind and perfect in almost every way.”

She raises a brow. “So what’s the problem?”

You fiddled with your fork, looking into your empty glass.

“I’m horny.”

She laughed outright.

“I’m serious!” you exclaimed. “He’s so polite. He kisses me and cuddles me, but every time I feel his hands on me I just want to grab them and shove them between my legs. Like what gives?! It’s been almost three months!”

“He’s just… polite. It’s probably some chivalry thing his parents instilled. You know him, all his Midwestern charm.”

“Well, I’d like some Midwestern dick.”

She snorted. “So tell him.”

“I can’t just tell him that.”

“Why not?”

“Lois. Be serious. He’d explode. If I look at him too lustfully his cheeks go bright red,” you reply with a short laugh. “I can’t exactly tell him to just pull out his cock.”

“Then… make him want to.”

“Make him?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Like… tease him a little. Make him want it.”

You pursed your lips. “That… might actually work. Breadcrumb him.”

“Yeah. Sexy breadcrumbs.”

You laughed. But she was right. So you did. Throughout the week, you’d been extra flirtatious. Trying to take it slow, not overwhelm him.

But a girl can only hold out so long. So you did the next best thing to a straight out proposition. A heavy suggestion.

You tug on his tie gently. “Maybe we can order takeout and stay in? It’s a Friday night, we can have a sleepover.”

He flushes even deeper, then nods quickly.

“Oh. Uh… y-yeah. Yes. Yeah, I’ll plan to stay overnight then?”

“You do that.”

“O-okay. Yes, ma’am,” he replies, voice a little shaky as he tries for a small smile.

Clark waddled back over to his desk, trying very hard to hide the fact that he now had a prominent bulge straining against the front of his slacks. He’d been trying to be good. He wanted to make sure she knew he liked her, not just that he wanted to… do other stuff. But he did really want to do other stuff.

It was hard. Mentally and physically.

Two months, three weeks, and four days.

That’s how long since your first date, and the first time he let himself jerk off to the thought of you. He didn’t mean to, honestly.

You just looked so pretty that night.

He made it back to his apartment, floating on cloud nine, and maybe, briefly, actually floating. He’d finally taken out the girl he’d been crushing on for months, and even got to give her a polite kiss at her front door. What felt less polite was the way she looked at him afterward. He had decided on a shower after he’d texted that he made it home safely, and that was mistake number one.

Mistake number two was letting himself reflect on that date.

He ended up thrusting his cock into his fists, pretending it was you. Your hands, your mouth, your… that finished him off. It also sent him on a downward spiral. He couldn’t stop himself from his hands wandering a few times a week with you on the brain. It really didn’t help when he’d smelled your arousal for the first time on your second date. He’d looked up at you on his knee while tying your shoelace that had come undone. He didn’t think it was a particularly sexy event. Clearly, according to his nose, you very much did. He wished you’d stop looking at him like you wanted to eat him whole. But… no. He actually didn’t.

You looked at him like that just now.

He settled into his desk chair, trying to distract himself the rest of the day. But your eyes and your hands and your mouth and body and everything was stuck on a loop in his brain.

Once the clock strikes five, you’re up, packing your things. You make a beeline for Clark’s desk, finding him doing the same with still-pink cheeks.

“Ready?”

“Huh?” He looks up with wide eyes behind his glasses. “Oh. Yes. Yeah, I’m just… I’m almost done.”

You wait until he’s finished, then walk home together. You only lived a few blocks away, a couple building past Clark’s apartment. Yours was smaller, less modern. But extremely cozy. You hang up your bag and keys, toeing off your shoes. Clark does the same, gripping onto the bag of Chinese takeout you’d picked up along the way.

“You get that article done?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Perry had me on a story about some big fundraiser event. Not the most thrilling news, but not every story can be a Superman exclusive,” he replies with a chuckle.

“Oh, yeah. Supes is real hard to get a hold of, huh?” You tease, taking the food from him to start plating it up for the both of you.

“Totally.” He laughs softly, trailing after you to watch you. “How’d you do with those edits? Working with interns can be a little…”

“Shitty?”

“I’d say more stressful, but…”

“But you’re too sweet to be honest.”

He smiles again, pushing his glasses up into his hair. Unfairly sexy. You glance away from him, swallowing.

“What?” he asks gently, his voice even deeper somehow.

“What?” You look back at him.

He raises a brow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. It’s like he was scientifically engineered in a lab to make you horny. You have to tear your eyes away again.

“You can’t look at me.”

“Yes I can. I’m just… busy.”

Clark pouts a little. Then, he decides to be a little bolder. It’s been long enough.

“Liar. I can smell you, you know?”

“My perfume is pretty—”

“No,” he interjects. “No, I mean… I can smell you. Like… your reactions. When you’re excited.”

You feel your face pale. “Pardon?”

“I just… it’s nice. You smell good.”

“Clark—”

“It’s kinda musky and sweet. A little bitter but not in a bad way.”

“Clark!”

“Sorry,” he huffs a small laugh, chewing his lip for a moment. He can tell you’re embarrassed, but he can’t manage to feel bad about it. “It’s hot.”

“Are you trying to make me implode?” You frown, looking at him and ignoring the pulsing between your legs.

“I’m trying to express that I’m… That it’s okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

You raise a brow. “Whenever I’m ready?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I’ve been ready since our first date.”

He swallows. “Oh.”

You just stare at him for a minute, then hand over his food and a fork.

“Here. This is like half of the container so when you’re ready for more it’ll be out here—"

He engulfs you before you could finish the sentence, his big arms tugging you into his chest. Before you can think to ask another question, his lips are on yours.

You’d kissed before, quite a few times now. But not like this. Not with intent.

You hum into his mouth, legs going a little shaky under you as his tongue prods at your lips, begging to be let in. You oblige his silent request, moaning properly when you feel him licking against the inside of your mouth. You try to keep up, hands tangling in his dark hair. You toss his glasses onto the counter haphazardly.

“Hey, careful,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Sorry. Bit distracted right now.”

He chuckles, his smile bright. You let your eyes flit down to his lips and over his face.

“You’re like… extra sexy.”

“Extra sexy?”

You nod. “I can’t stop staring at you today.”

“Oh. Well, you’re ovulating. Natural response,” he says with a shrug, trying to kiss you again.

“Whoa, what— excuse me?”

“Hm?” He kisses you again.

“Baby, Clark,” you huff, holding his face. “How do you even know that.”

“Told ya…” Another kiss. “I can smell you. Just about finished in my pants when I realized you were last month.”

“Oh my god.”

“Can’t stop thinking about you. Didn’t mean to make it a habit, but I can’t stop touching myself when I think about you. You’re the best bad habit I’ve ever had.”

You almost melt, but he slides his hands under your thighs before you can. You let him press his tongue back into your mouth as he pulls you up against him. You squirm in his arms, holding on tightly. He starts walking to the couch, but you lean back, shaking your head.

“Bedroom.”

“Bedroom?”

“More room for you.”

He smiles. “You’re sweet.”

“And you’re big. Let me take advantage of that,” you respond with an equal grin.

“You have no idea,” he mumbles under his breath.

He brings you to your bedroom, laying you down like you’re something especially precious. He climbs on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight as he kisses you again. You kiss him back, hands drifting down his neck and to the buttons of his dress shirt. You tug on the tie you’d gifted him first, pulling the dark red material from his neck. Then, onto the shirt. You slip the buttons out of place one by one until you’re able to push it off his shoulders. A guy shouldn’t look this sexy in a tank top undershirt, but you were certain Clark could manage to look sexy dressed up as the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz.

“C’mere,” he whispers softly, pulling your top off next. He sighs dreamily, his hands brushing over your bra-clad breasts. “So pretty. My girl.”

“It’s a beige t-shirt bra.”

“I don’t care. Still pretty,” he mutters, kissing down your neck and over your collarbones until he reaches your breasts.

He mouths over the pillowy flesh, one hand reaching to press into your right tit. He squeezes softly, experimentally, as he sucks a mark into the left side. You brush a hand through his hair, kissing his forehead.

He smiles against your skin, reaching under you to unclasp the bra. He fumbles a little, you suppose you can’t expect him to be perfect at everything. But he gets it. After a moment.

He whines softly in the back of his throat as he pulls the bra off of your body, mouth watering as he sees your breasts freed from the fabric. Your nipples pebble immediately from the cool air, and the arousal coursing through your body.

“Gosh, honey, you’re… geez,” he huffs, smiling again, though this time it’s a little more desperate.

He leans down, licking over one stiff nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You arch into his touch, his hands drifting all over the bare skin, mouth paying special attention to each side. A graze of his teeth against one nipple has you gasping, body jerking against him.

“My baby…”

“Clark,” you moan softly. You try to pull the tank top off of his body. He leans up to help pull it off, though he jumps a little as your hands drift to the waistband of his pants. “Can I… please?”

“No,” he replies, voice soft and gentle.

You pout.

“Mm? Why not?”

“Wanna make it about you, baby,” he mutters, kissing down your sternum and stomach.

“Trust me, getting your cock in my mouth would please me.”

He groans, stilling with his lips just below your belly button. “Baby…”

“Please?”

He looks up at you through his lashes. “Later. Promise.”

You swallow, closing your eyes as he tugs on your pants. You could work with ‘later’. You let him strip you bare, eyes on his face as he drank you in, head to toe. The look on his face would be etched into your mind forever.

The first brush of his tongue against your sensitive slit was everything. You gasp, immediately reaching for any part of him you can hold onto as he holds your legs wide open, circling your clit with his tongue before sucking it between his lips. You squirm and writhe under his mouth, tempted to ask, but not really wanting to know, where on earth he learned to do that.

“Fuck, please. Right there,” you moan, torn between the overwhelming urge to let your eyes roll back and the need to see him settled between your legs. He just looks too pretty like this. “Right… r-right there. Yes.”

He smiles against you, his finger circling your hole before plunging in. He seems awfully self satisfied as you make a noise you were hardly sure even could come from your mouth. He slides another finger in with the first, crooking them just right as his mouth does the rest of the work.

“Baby… Clark… Please. Please. Don’t stop, I’m so… m’so close, baby.”

He hums softly, the vibration of his voice adding yet another sensation to your already-overwhelmed senses. It only takes a few more seconds of you babbling before you’re all but squealing, soaking his hand and his face as you cum hard.

“So good, honey. Attagirl,” he mutters, still softly kissing you as he slides his fingers out.

He wastes no time in pulling his pants off, his hefty, uncut cock springing free from its confines. And you thought you were impressed with his mouth.

“Shit.”

He grins. “You said yourself I was big.”

“Yeah, but I was more meaning your arms. You’re… fuck. You’re just big everywhere.”

He shrugs, definitely a little smug. “Not that big.”

You roll your eyes, working to try and get him on his back.

“What’re you doin’, baby?” He questions, eyes heavy and lidded as you move to straddle his hips.

“What’s it look like?”

He swallows, hands skimming up your thighs and settling on your hips. “Looks like I’m very lucky.”

“You think so, huh?”

You smile down at him, glad to see him just as flustered as you feel. Even more so once you grip his cock, hard and throbbing and just begging for attention. He groans, hips jerking upward.

“You like that, huh?”

“I like everything you do,” he breathes out, your name slipping past his lips in pleasure.

You stroke him slowly a few times, enjoying how much he seems to unravel. Maybe this is why he didn’t want you sucking him off yet, he may not have survived that and everything else all at once. You wouldn’t complain.

You shift your hips up, teasing the head of his cock against your soaking center. His fingers grip your hips harder, sure to leave little bruises you’d admire in the morning. You lock your eyes on his face as you take him in, his thick head breaching you with a little effort. You each let out some awfully pathetic noises in unison, your hands immediately bracing against his chest. You sink down slowly, enjoying the feel of him filling you past your limits and the look in his eyes that make you feel like he’d combust any second.

It takes a moment before you’re fully settled against his pelvis, and you pause to give yourself a moment to adjust.

“Biggest fucking cock I’ve ever taken.”

He moans, trying to laugh. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I agree.”

You chuckle breathlessly, beginning to experimentally move your hips. You grind against him first, getting used to the feeling of him in you. Then, after a bit, you raise up and sit back down. Hard.

He gasps, eyes rolling back. You repeat the movement, over and over, setting a pace you were certain you wouldn’t be able to keep up with for too long. But fuck if it didn’t feel like heaven.

He whimpers, eyes flitting between your face and your pussy gripping onto him like a vice. He becomes impatient very quickly, easily pushing you up and down at a quicker speed without breaking a sweat. You let him fuck you on his cock, pulling you on and off with ease. Your hands find purchase on his chest and stomach, and eventually behind you on his thighs. Clark liked that the best, the positioning jutting out your bouncing tits.

He sits up against the headboard, still helping you bounce on his dick, the squelching noises of your cunt suctioning him in and your moans the only sounds in the room. He leans in, sucking one perfect nipple into his mouth, face pressed into your chest as you moved on top of him.

Your hands tangled in his hair from this position, holding onto him like you were riding a bull.

He groaned, lips popping off your breast. “G-golly, angel, you’re… mm…”

“Y-yeah. Shit.”

“Hang on,” he breathed out, wrapping strong arms around your waist before flipping you onto your back.

The new angle he hit has you gasping for air, the tops of your thighs pressing against your chest as he bends you in half. He could also go in even harder and faster from here, groaning and whining himself as he pounded into you like there was no tomorrow.

“Good?” He looks down at you with parted lips and wide eyes.

“Fucking phenomenal. Don’t stop.”

He grins, smile bright despite his face fighting the contortion of pleasure. You hold onto his arms, his shoulders, his hair… anywhere you can get a grip as you draw closer and closer to your climax.

“Oh, I know, baby… I know…” he coos softly, kissing you gently. His hand slips down between your bodies, thumb rubbing against your clit to bring you closer to your edge. “You wanna cum?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“It’s okay. Let go, honey.”

You groan, falling over that edge with a cry of his name. Your wrecked pussy clenches around his length, pulsing with the shocks of the orgasm. And he doesn’t fucking stop.

“Geez, you smell even better now,” he whispers, breathing in your release and your skin.

You whine, wriggling under his big body, overstimulated in the best way. He finally stops rubbing at your sensitive clit, hands on your shoulders to move you against him with each thrust. He whimpers, closer and closer by the second.

“W-where d’ya want me, angel?”

“Anywhere. I dunno, don’t care.”

He groans, suddenly pulling out, jerking himself a couple of times before he finishes. His cum shoots out, hot ropes covering your breasts. It doesn’t end until you’re staring at him, slack jawed and wide eyed. You’d never seen someone cum so much.

He breathes heavy, shaking a little as he finally lets himself go. “Gosh.”

“Baby…” You look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“You’re so fucking hot.”

────────

“That’s right, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Keep rubbing it for me.”

You let Eddie’s raspy voice fill your ears as you rub your clit in slow circles, obeying his orders as he watches.

“That’s it, angel. Thaaaat’s it. You’re so fucking hot, you know that? Mmm…Yeah, I bet you do know that, don’t you? Of course you do, sweetheart. This tight fucking body. This pretty….fucking…pussy. And you’re rubbing it all for me. Fuck….”

You let out a whimper, it all becoming so heated while you watch the man that you have fantasized about for so long play with your boobs. Touching, squeezing, kneading them.

“Eddie…” You whine, watching him smirk down at you.

“Don’t worry, sweet thing.” He flirts “Just getting you warmed up. Getting this pussy nice and wet for me before I bury my face in it. Can’t wait to taste you, baby. Bet you taste so fucking sweet, don’t you?”

You don’t know what it was that compelled you to but you nodded. You wanted him to be right. You wanted to be everything that he expected you to be- and more. You wanted to please him. You wanted him just as addicted to you as you were to him.

“Finger yourself.” He growls, staring down at you before bringing his gaze down to your cunt that was growing wetter and sloppier by the second. His dirty encouragements turning you on more and more. “C’mon baby. I wanna see you stretch that tight little pussy out before I fucking eat it, sweetheart. Want you stuffed full while I watch you.”

desires that he caters to without argument. he adjusts the blunt, thick head of his cock against your sensitive bud, rubbing over it purposely to watch your hips jump. then, he rubs, hips moving in a lazy grind that puts his weight into every slide of his length between your puffy folds. each thrust designed to kiss your clit.

his muscles are tightly corded where you claw at it through broken whimpers. whining for him to rub your clit harder and faster.

it's a request that breaks him. with his two calloused palms coming to lift your hips. he tilts your pelvis high enough, hips snapping in short, angled thrusts to satiate your greediness.

"gosh baby…she's noisy today. mm?"

your response comes in a petty squeeze to his biceps, all nails. it was a mean and unfair comment. especially when you'd been trying to keep your voice down.

but that wasn't what clark was referring to, you quickly realise. the wet sounds were coming from where you're currently connected. squelching, wet slaps of him snapping into your cunt. when his cock slips lower, it's met with resistance, his weeping tip notched right into your entrance.

"baby…c'mon…" he'd whisper, begging for your pussy to open up for him.

you weakly shake your head, pleading for him to take what he wanted. the spasms were no longer in your control. so clark does just that, pulling back enough to align himself just right. what you needed wasn't for him to stretch you out any more than he had with his fingers earlier.

in one, heavy thrust, he buries himself to the hilt in you. filling your belly with him. the motion knocks the breath out of both of you. his forehead pressed against yours as he takes it in, each ragged breath tearing at his throat.

each thrust, heavy and unrestrained, had you squeaking at every snap of his hips. clark's weight was overstimulating in every way possible. even better now with the soft cushion of the sand beneath you.

clark can only let out a choked noise when your walls flutter around him without warning. the potent wave of your orgasm pulsing, squeezing his cock in a rhythmic wash. he doesn't stop, pushing through and thrusting even more desperately. you're whining, incoherently, completely fucked out of your mind.

but clark's too damn close to stop for you to catch your breath, too fucking close to let his sweet baby's whimpers stop him from chasing the intoxicating pulse of your cunt as you cum for him.

he'd fist over the gingham beach towel laid beneath your hair, gripping right into the sand as he finally spills inside your spent pussy, before slumping with his dead weight onto your sweaty body.

but he supposed he hadn't accounted for his wife's libido on their honeymoon. because when you push at his already limp body, perching yourself on top of him and coating his abdomen with your slick. he's left blinking at you, all dazed.

the backdrop of the endless, sparkling sea behind you is scenic. gentle rocks of coconut trees shadowing the cozy, private corner chosen for impulsive intimacy. but you — you're the centre of it all. skin, hot to touch, that had nothing to do with the sun. you press your palms to his chest, curling and stretching above his body with a mischievous little grin.

Yandere!Superman who hides you away on a small, cozy farm in Smallville. Completely safe and tucked away from danger.

You're a pampered princess. Completely spoiled by him, whether or not you want it. Just say the word and he'll get it for you.

Anything except your freedom.

Do you want a dog? Well, he loves dogs! Oh, you actually want goats? You can sell the milk at the Smallville farmers’ market with Ma and Pa. Only after you're fully settled down, though.

And don't worry about his work at the Daily Planet. The flight from Kansas to Metropolis is nothing to him. Not when he can break the sound barrier with how fast he flies.

You woke up on the first day with a big fat ring on your finger, forged marriage documents, and an obsessed husband. Congratulations, you're officially Mrs. Kent!

Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time for a wedding, but if you want one, he'll gladly give you one! Small or large, he doesn't care as long as you're happy. What the Mrs wants, the Mrs gets. Happy wife, happy life. He'd also never deny the chance of watching you walk down the aisle with his pa.

For the first week, he lets you have your ‘space’. It's only a facade to lull you into comfort, though. He's able to watch you through the walls and hear everything you do. He also lets you scream, cry, kick, and do anything (within reason), citing that he'd never stop you from trying to cope with your new life.

That's what sucks about him. He's pushy, clingy, and definitely obsessed, but he's smart about it. He lulls you into a sense of comfort and then worms his way into your heart. There's a reason he spent weeks learning about human behavior and the mind. You will love him. Eventually. Whether you want to or not.

Clark is a being who thrives on love and affection. He needs it as he needs the sun. So while he gives you ‘space’ those first few weeks, once the one-month marker hits, all bets are off. He is only a man, after all. A horrible, selfish man.

He manhandles you. All the time. He also needs at least two hours of uninterrupted cuddle time with you each day. There’s no escape from it either. His strength makes it impossible. You might as well just accept your fate and let him engulf you in his embrace.

Clark, at least this version of Clark, would never force you to have sex with him. Now that doesn't mean he won't gently coerce you into his bed, and boy does he ruin you; he's completely pussywhipped. You're going to regret ever saying yes because the moment you do, his advances won't ever stop. You'll be woken up with his tongue lapping at your cunt while he humps the bed.

He definitely fucks you in the fields and the barn and in the hay, literally everywhere. And don't even think about asking for a condom or birth control. He's determined to knock you up. You barefoot and waddling around the house, your stomach plump with his baby inside you. Just the thought of it alone has him cumming. Inside, of course.

Once you're moderately settled down and he knows you won't try to run, not that you could, he'll let you outside and tend to the farm with him. He'll even let you meet his parents, who have been dying to meet you.

He won't ever let you do the dirty or heavy work. You're his pretty little housewife. Picking and throwing hay bales around is not what you should be doing. What you should be doing is sitting back and relaxing while watching as he does all the work for you while sweaty and shirtless.

If you do ever try to run, though, he doesn’t get mad; he's just amused. He'll hover above you just high enough that you won't notice him, and he'll just watch as you try to escape, and once you use up all your energy, he'll swoop down and take you back home. There's no need to punish you, not when escaping from him is literally impossible.

“Uh, Hi, Clark. Are…are you with Bruce?”

You hoped your awkwardness wasn’t as palpable as it felt.

“I am, but he’s driving right now. Is something the matter? You sound upset.”

You could swallow your pride if it meant you could get home in one piece. At least physically, god knows a night with them leaves you emotionally tattered.

“Well, um…” you hated how small you sounded. “I missed the last bus and I wanted to see if Bruce could give me a ride home.”

“Don’t you worry, honey. We’re already headed that way.”

You could practically hear Clark’s smile through the phone.

“We’ll be there in five,” Bruce said. “Be good and stay put.”

The line cut and you endured what felt like the five longest minutes of your life. The wind chill started settling in the longer you waited on the curb and you held yourself tighter, shivering a bit without a proper jacket. The men had gotten closer down the block, laughs even rowdier than before. You checked the time — four minutes since you had called. They’d be here any minute.

One of the men hollered at you, beckoning you to come over to them. You didn’t even spare him a glance, praying he was too drunk to realize you were ignoring him. His jeers got louder as he stumbled towards you, roughly grabbing your shoulder. You yelped and pushed him off of you, taking a step out into the street after being knocked off your balance. Bruce’s car rounded the corner and immediately sped to where you were standing, screeching to an unceremonious halt.

Clark let the passenger door practically fly off the hinges as he slammed it open and put himself between you and the man.

“I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The man slurred a curse at Clark and stumbled off back to his group, slinking away into a nearby alley. Bruce came behind you and placed a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Got here just in time, lovely. Are you okay?”

You nodded, placing your hand over his to ground yourself. Sure, they were creeps, but they were creeps with manners. Their protectiveness over you was a welcome balm to your ails.

“You’re freezing,” Bruce chided. “Here.”

He shucked his over coat off and wrapped it around your shoulders. Clark wrapped his scarf around your neck snugly and opened the backseat door for you.

“Here, let’s get you of this cold, hm?”

You let yourself be guided into the plush seat as Clark climbed in next to you. He was quick to buckle you as Bruce took the driver seat and sped off back onto the streets. Clark held your cold hand in his unusually warm one, and you allowed him this once. You were still shaking from the ordeal.

“Thank you for coming to get me.” You said quietly, breaking the silence after a minute.

Bruce was tense, Clark had a tight smile that left him unreadable. His thumb was rubbing circles into the back of your palm.

“I don’t like you being alone out there.”

The adrenaline had worn off enough for the dread of the situation to seep in. This was a mistake you were going to pay dearly for. Encouraging their obsession was a dangerous move.

“It’s not my fault the bus was early.”

“Hey,” Clark said softly. “None of that. Bruce never said it was your fault.”

“Please,” Bruce sighed. “Don’t be stubborn. We’ve already told you, you need us to look out for you.”

“He’s right, you know. What would have happened if you didn’t call us? Or we got stopped at another red light before we got to you?”

“I’m a big girl,” You said defensively, trying to take your hand out of Clark’s. “I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can,” Clark said. “We can just do it better.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, opting to squeeze his hand as hard as you could. The dread sank deeper when Bruce blew past your apartment building.

“That was my stop, Bruce. Don’t act like you don’t know where I live just because I haven’t told you.”

Because you knew that if he admitted it, you'd do nothing but spiral.

It had always been a problem with you—spiraling to the point of not communicating.

You'd be so caught up in your head that even your questions would remain inside your brain and you'd continue life confused and uncertain simply because the moment your brain talks and talks, your mouth decides to stitch itself shut.

It's what came naturally to you. Previous partners had complained, even with preamble, quickly growing tired of your habit and ending things.

None had the patience like Clark.

Though Clark, your sweet Clark, had thought the same as them.

Your motorcycle vibrated beneath you, the engine revving up alongside your excitement, and unbeknownst to you, Clark could already hear your approach.

Blue eyes stayed in focus precision on the chopping board but his ears had tuned everything out except you.

The air shrills, however, echoing across your small abode and forcing his feet toward the direction of his phone on the counter. 'Lois L.' flashing across the screen before slid to answer, footsteps fading back to his earlier spot.

"Hey, Lois." He beamed.

"Where are you right now?" The woman ignored him, getting straight to the point. "Are you going with the plan—"

"I'm preparing her dinner, then," Clark paused, worry building in his gut, as it always does when revealing this massive secret. "Maybe, I'll tell 'er."

"Maybe?"

"Yes, Lois. Maybe." He heard her sigh—heavily, as though she was reprimanding a child. "This is a massive secret Lois," It was his turn to release a breath, squeezing his eyes shut as his mind jumps between trusting you—trusting that you'd understand why he kept this to himself for so long—and the extreme possible chance that you'd run. "I don't think I can say it yet."

"It's almost been a year, Clark."

Silence.

"She deserves to know."

"Lois—" He turned around, only to face you in the doorway of your kitchen.

You stood there, motorcycle helmet under your arm, with a furrowed brow and increasing worry the moment he ended the call in haste.

"Honey, you're—"

"What was she talking about?" The question came out shakier than you'd prefer, knuckles turning white as your whispers started slowly invading corners of your mind.

What was this secret? How life altering could it be that he's hesitating on telling you? How did he even manage to keep it for so long?

What did Lois know about it?

"Answer me, Clark." You hear him gulp audibly as he stepped towards you, cautious yet hopeful that you'll let him explain.

"Honey…C-can we sit on the couch for this?"

Clark released a breath when you let him hold your hand, guiding you quietly to your couch. "I want to clarify that this has nothing to do between me and Lois. I swear."

"I don't doubt that."

Of course you don't doubt that. Clark couldn't harm a fly, how could you think that he'd cheat on you?

"I-uh…" He sniffed, eyes already watering. He couldn't help but think that this was it—this was where he loses you. "I'm not from…here—here as in this planet, um."

A beat passes.

"You're Superman." You breathed.

So quietly, Clark almost missed it. Almost.

"Wai—what?"

You replied with a soft chuckle, fondness coating your gaze.

"Yes—yes! Uh, yeah. I, um," Clark cleared his throat, hand shakily hovering above his glasses' leg before ripping the thing off his face.

Letting you see him.

Clark held his breath, and for a moment, when the warmth in your gaze didn't falter, and when you stepped up to him, cupping his cheek, eyes never straying from his own, he thought he was in the clear.

But you cleared your throat, face falling as you looked away, doubt melting your face.

Then, you confirmed what he feared.

"I think I need space, Clark…" You continued speaking but Clark heard none of it, all his mind could grasp was that one word: space.

You wanted—no—needed space.

Away from him.

Away from Clark.

You sweet Clark. Your sweet Clark who walked the outer side of the sidewalk, Your sweet Clark who always seemed attuned to you and only you in the room, Your sweet Clark who managed to figure out when you've had enough of crowds.

Your Clark.

"—Clark?"

"Hmm? Yeah! I'll, uh, give you space. You take all of the time that you need, my phone'll be ready—or not—you know, you're not obligated to call or—" Clark wouldn't meet your eyes, hurriedly snatching his glasses from the table, useless now, and putting on his coat but not before passing by the kitchen and turning off the stove all the while you followed his hasty footfalls.

"Clark!"

BANG!

The sound of the door slamming was sharp, shaking every surface of your apartment.

You stood there with hanging limbs, mouth agape in disbelief at both the secret and the volume.

It took you five days. Five agonizing days, two hours and thirty-four minutes for you to pick up the phone and ask Clark to come back over, but who was counting?

His steps caused a creeeeek on the hardwood floors of your apartment's hallways, wringing his hands and wiping them against his slacks, having ran here in the middle of his shift.

Clark took out his copy of your key but paused before the doorknob, tucking it back in his pocket before knocking instead, heart clenching at the muscle memory he might have to forget.

To his surprise, you immediately swung the door open, tackling him into a hug.

Massive hands splayed across your back, face nuzzling itself in the crook of your neck. The door was cold against your back when he pushed you back in your apartment, never parting from your touch.

"'m sorry." Clark felt your mumble vibrate against his shoulder, heat rising from his neck at your closeness before pulling away from yours.

"Why? I should be—"

"It took me almost a week to talk to you, Clark." His hands tighten their hold on your waist, "It wasn't fair to you."

"I was the one who kept secrets," he watches your mouth part in rebuttal, "And before you try to defend me, yes, it was reasonable, but I still kept it to myself. I should've trusted you more."

Having missed the feeling of him against you, your hands ran through his curly hair while he spoke, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, "I'm still sorry," you pressed a soft peck against the skin, "I just, had a lot in mind so it took me a while to pick up the phone properly."

He replied with a hum against your forehead, lips traveling to your temple, "What were you thinkin' about?"

You ignored the soft whine that left his throat when you pulled away slightly, fingers playing with the hair on his nape. "Just the mental toll it would've caused you to save people and have a life of your own, keeping it a secret your whole life. And… some other stuff."

Clark flushed red. Instead of thinking about the massive difference between both of your lives that he thought would part you, you were mulling over how he was feeling instead.

A thought made him pause. "What other stuff?"

His eyes squinted behind his glass when you remained silent, ears picking up the small jump your heart rate took, and when he looked down at you with scepticism, he was faced with the sight of your thighs clenching. Subtle, but it was there.

Clark smirked, the indents in his cheeks appearing deeper. The tilt in his head was immediate, aware of your tendency to avoid his gaze, and he immediately pushed your chin up with his thumb, palm still cradling your cheek.

"What stuff, honey?"

"Nothing important." You breathed, those inappropriate thoughts creeping back into your mind now that he was practically molding himself into you.

You were well aware of how massive your boyfriend was, who wouldn't when he made everything in your home look smaller that it is, but after he revealed his secret the difference in your biology became even more prominent.

Everything about him now has escalated and your mind couldn't help but question just how much and, well, where it escalated.

Now, now he was looking at you like he knew exactly where your mind was at. Proving it by effortlessly carrying you by your thighs, planting his growing erection right against your clothed cunt.

You let out a whimper at the contact, hands clenched amidst his curly strands.

"Nothin' important still?"

"Mm-mm."

"Alright." He pulled away abruptly, causing you to let out such a pathetic whine, you immediately slapped a hand over it. Embarrassment flooded your veins while he chuckled, approaching you again and prying your hand from your face.

Clark tilted his head, looking frustratingly innocent juxtaposing his next words. "You wanna tell me now?" He nuzzled his nose against your temple, glasses hitting your cheek, but he didn't even let you speak before pressing a bruising kiss on your lips.

The contact made you gasp, legs spreading instinctively, and he took it as a sign to immediately cup your pussy. He hummed when you whined against his lips, entirely too smug at his effect on you. "Tell me, honey. Don't go shy on me now."

"Clark…" You warned, though the shakiness in your voice gave away your neediness. "I was-um—just—thinkin' 'bout your—hng!" Your attempt at grinding against his hand was futile, it moved slightly away every time, making sure there was no friction.

"My what?"

"Your cock, Clark! How you—shit—I've always known sex with you was so different and now I know—CLARK!" The man's large palms suddenly grip the backs of your thighs, hauling you effortlessly, reminding you of his strength, before he dropped you onto your sofa.

Your lamp bathed him in a soft orange glow, contrasting the intoxicating look he was giving you through hooded eyes. The blues if his eyes nothing but a thin ring behind his dilated pupils.

The entire living room was silent save for the mix of heavy breathing that slipped past both your lips, and the clink of his belt that had a whimper escaping your throat in anticipation.

Clark made a show of slowly unbuttoning his white dress shirt, a proud smirk dimpling his cheeks. He had always known the effect he had one you—you never shied away from admitting how much you wanted to jump him in the most inconvenient of times; from a balcony at a press gala to his childhood room the first time you visited the Kent's—but now it was different.

A good different.

It was like you were getting to know his body once again.

You would've felt embarrassed at the speed of which you climbed his lap when he finally sat down next to you, clad in only his boxers that strained against his still growing erection. But all you can think about now is the overwhelming strength that coursed through his veins and how he'd been holding it back to prioritize you.

You claim his mouth with your own, not even waiting until he'd given you proper entrance to shove your tongue against his. His warm muscle barely fights yours when you pushed through and flicked the roof of his mouth, swallowing his moans at your obvious lust.

Clark chuckled lightly when you pull away to remove the shirt of his that had now become your pajamas only to surge forward once more when the fabric wasn't even all the way off, trembling fingers pushing off his glasses and throwing it carelessly somewhere as though it offended you.

His nose nudges your cheek when he nudges you away slightly, your breathy 'mngh' making him groan.

With ease that had arousal drenching your underwear, he stood up with your legs still wrapped around his waist, lips dragging kisses down his throat, one hand dragging his boxers down just enough for his erection to spring out and the other splayed across your back.

When he dropped back down the couch, you wasted no time spitting on your hand and wrapping a tight fist around his cock.

His immediate groan rings in your ears and you realize just how much you missed it. How much you missed him.

Those seven whole days were torturous ones. You were left in your empty apartment, mulling over how he was able to keep this a secret his whole life before those sympathetic thoughts melted into lewd ones.

Now, now you had him back. And it seemed like he was more than willing to show you just what he'd kept from you. The most important one being just how long he could keep coming.

Clark was nothing if not an attentive lover, always seeking your pleasure first, and while you appreciated it during the first few months, it started worrying you when he would refuse your offers to make him cum.

You wondered if it was a mental block because it clearly wasn't a physical one—his boners could practically rip the seems of his pants whenever you were coming aport on his finger or mouth.

Your tugging on his cock slows, leaving him thrusting up, trying to find friction. You push at his stomach but your own flips when he didn't back down, easily overpowering you and finding the tiniest bit of friction in your palm. "Fuck, that was—"

A beat passes and he "gives up" in his pursuit of your hand, slumping in defeat against your couch cushions and running his massive palms up and down your sides. You could only look at him with a parted lips before you knelt down in front of him.

"Honey…" Clark breathed, cock twitching at the sight of your hungry eyes.

He felt your warm muscle against the underside of his cock, slowly, reverently, as if you were memorizing every ridge and the prominent vein that ran up his shaft. Your pretty eyes were shut, lashes fluttering against your cheeks as the muscle narrowed approaching his tip.

The tip of your tongue teases his glans, your fingers dragging the flesh down, exposing his tip even more, before you teased his leaking slit with quick relentless kitten licks.

The groan that escaped his chest was guttural, heavenly, you thought, the sound going straight to your core. Clark's fingers tentatively runs through your hair, before he cups your chin in his hand, looking at you with eyes that incentivized you to shove his entire girth down your throat.

And when you did, you would've thought somebody punched Clark right in the gut with the way his entire body curled, balls tight against your chin. His hands curled into your corduroy couch, and your brows raised at the instant tear.

You couldn't even be mad. Not when you looked up to see Clark trying to breath through his building orgasm, head thrown back, his hips completely uncontrollable. The muscles jerk and twitch, inadvertently pushing himself further into your gaping mouth.

You choke slightly at the intrusion before you relaxed your muscles, breathing through your nose and pulling off of his hot flesh. Your cheeks hollow out as you go, tongue swirling around him before lapping at his tip frantically—the liquid that now drips from the corners of your mouth a mix of saliva and his incessantly leaking spend.

"That's it—" He breathed, looking down at you again while you twisted your wrist at his base, pulling his foreskin further. The tip was an angry red now—repeatedly buried beautifully inside your warm mouth. "Oh fuuu—gosh, honey!" Your lips puckered, sucking his head with the tip of your tongue still flicking his slit before you pressed him right against your puckered lips.

You swipe his cock head across your lips, its flushed color akin to a lipstick shade you wore. The sight made him whimper, hips jerking before you took him in, all in one go.

"Lookit you." He murmured, hand still placed firmly underneath your chin, gathering slick as well as guiding your movements. Clark's eyes widens in admiration when he felt your flesh expand, letting him know just how full your mouth is of him.

And boy did you fill full.

He was heavy when it was just his tip you were sucking, but now? Now that you were taking him in slowly, you could appreciate the drag of his cock against every surface of your warm channel, leaving you whimpering when you realized just how heavy he was.

One of your hands pry away from digging into his thighs to cup his balls and fuck.

He was even heavier.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his tip goes past your uvula and you feel his balls tighten when your throat gags around him—the movement squeezing his cock head and drenching his cock with even more of your warm saliva.

The heavy ringing in your ear wanes when you hear him mumbling. "How, gosh—good g—oh you're doin' so fuckin' good."

With the right flick of your wrist and the thumbing on his taint, his hot flesh throbs inside your mouth, twitching as his balls tighten in your grip.

And now you understood why he kept refusing your advances to make him come.

You felt it before you tasted it; hitting the back of your throat. It spurted out of his slit in hot insistent ropes, making him pull you off slightly. But you, you only stared at him through your lashes, keeping your mouth clamped around him—determined to swallow all of him.

Only his spend didn't stop after a few seconds. Your throat worked in gulping down his warm and viscid load but could only swallow so much when he kept filling your mouth.

Clark's seed spurts after each and every throb of his cock, trickling through the corners of your lips and causing your eyes to water.

His groans were violent—vibrating through his chest and echoing across your apartment. His adam's apple bobs, curses and whimpers swallowed before they could reach your ears and you moan at the sight of him undone.

The palm that's been cradling your chin finally pulls you off and on top of him.

With your mouth still full of his spend, he wastes no time slotting his lips against yours. Clark hummed when he tasted himself on your taste-buds, smiling against your spit and cum stained lips when you whimpered.

His tongue tickled the roof of your mouth, entirely enjoying the way you tasted together. The feeling of your dripping chin against his didn't even bother him, it only exhilarated his pleasure—the true essence of him is all over your mouth and dripping down your chin, slwoly making its way between the valley of your breasts.

It seemed he wasn't the only one to feel the rush down his spine as he swallowed your every moan, soft hands carrying setting you on his lap.

Your breathy 'mngh's were going straight to his still sputtering cock, making it twitch against his belly.

It wasn't the only thing dripping against him. Clark was always hyper aware of your body and now, now your dripping pussy was flush against his throbbing cock. His wide hands spread your ass cheeks, exposing both your holes to the cool air, and guiding your hips to a soft grind.

"Clark." You whined, hiding your face in the crook of his neck when he chuckled, smug at his effect on you. "I need you inside me. Please."

Your whisper against his flushed skin sent a shiver down his spine. He wasn't any better than you. Neither he couldn't wait to finally feel you around him—to stuff you full of him.

Moans tore itself out of your lungs when he notched his hot tip against your twitching hole, its slit leaking pre inside you. You pressed your thighs flush against his, your pussy stretching, muscles contracting to accommodate his size.

"Kal..." The name had Clark short circuiting, nails biting into your skin as he thrusts into you.

You hadn't meant for it to leave your lips—hell, you only found out a couple days ago—but by his reaction, you wished you knew if for longer. It felt like the name had a grip on him, like hearing it coming from your mouth and accepting the difference with pleasure was enough for his mind to melt.

The moan that left his lips bordered on a whimper. His hands, needy and shameless, start directing your hips up and down, fingers digging into your soft flesh. His hips follow your movements not a moment after, pushing up into you every time yours descends.

"Say it again, honey—mnnggh—say my name again." Clark whined against your temple. "Please…"

"K—ah-!" You try your best to do so, but fail considering how his cock was spearing itself into you—feeling like its reaching your lungs with every thrust.

"Please, honey, please."

You could only whimper in response, shakily leaning away from him with a hand steadying yourself on his shoulder. You groan at the pressure in your belly the new angle brings, head feeling fuzzier when he let out a cry at the loss of contact.

It was as if your hand had a mind of its own, dragging your fingers through his thick spend dripping between the valley of your breasts to circle your hardened nipples, chest hot to the touch.

You keen when Clark snatched your hand away from your breast, only for him to surge forward, lather his tongue across your and his mixed juices and take your nipple into his mouth, pistoning never yielding beneath you.

He hummed against your chest, sending vibrations through your nerve endings, the tip of his tongue lapping at the hardened peaks.

Though suddenly he pulled away and a jolt of electricity ran down your spine when he blew extremely cold air on the already sensitive nipple, causing his name to rip out of your chest.

"Fuck, Kal—!"

Clark let out an unbridled whimper at the name, one hand pulling you in by your waist as the other spayed across your back, keeping his mouth firmly wrapped around your nipple as he tucked you against his chest.

At this point, he wasn't helping you bounce on his cock anymore—he was borderline using you. You were nothing but a mess of limbs against his chest, fingers sharply tugging at his curls, and letting out ah's every time his tip repeatedly hits that spongy spot in your pussy.

Your warm cunt was was so clenched so tight, you could feel ever twitch and throb of his cock—his cock barely leaving you before he shoves it right back in.

The coarse hairs on the base of his cock was rubbing right against your clit with every grind, and the combination of that; his continuous suckling of your breast, and the repeated pounding of your sweet spot had stars shining behind your eyes—the tight rope snapping in your belly.

And he was right there behind you. His hips stutter against yours before he firmly planted your hips against his, leaking slit right against the crux of your cervix.

Ropes upon hot ropes of spend squirt out of his cock, flooding your entire cunt with its warmth until you were full. But even as he slowly retreated, rubbing your hip softly as he does so, his cock continues to spill inside you—still throbbing, still twitching.

Not that you were any better; the grip you had on his girth was unyielding.

So you both stayed there. With his load mixed with yours spilling through your puffy folds. You look at Clark from your spot in the crook of his neck, his lips part slowly from your nipple, a string of saliva connecting him to your flesh.

He laps at the sensitive skin teasingly, chuckling breathlessly when you whined and twitched in his hold. His lips leave a fleeting kiss on your forehead before looked at your wrecked form.

"What?" You ask, breath hitching when he readjusts your positions on the couch, head lying against the armrest, pussy clenching with a sick squelch when he shifted inside you.

Clark's dimples appear when he smiles and you rub your thumb on the indent. "We could've been doing this the whole time if I'd told you sooner."

"Who says I'm done making up for lost time?"

💌 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞: the dean fic is next guys!

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

©𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦 — DO NOT translate, steal or post my work anywhere else without my permission.𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐈 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐈 𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘.