requests are welcome! i typically respond to requests after i write them so i can link it right to the post. requests can take time— i’m a student so i’m usually writing with whatever free time i have, which is far and few between.
*mainly writing for smallville!clark / tom welling’s clark but any superman can and should be imagined for your personal preference :)
request rules
i will write most things— but here are my ground rules:
i write x readers— not into character x character, as much as i’d like to get lois lane right
most things are good to go- smut, fluff, angst wise. i like exploring all kinds of ideas even if they’re odd/pervy/corny, what have you… we’re all freaks, you will not find judgement from here lmao!
triggering topics can be difficult— we will call them maybes. i will often tap into personal struggles/dispositions, and research what i can if i am writing about an unfamiliar state, but for the sake of being genuine and doing justice to people’s experiences, i tend to steer clear of anything very violent or personally traumatizing (ie. bodily/mental disorders, types of assault, etc.). if you request something like this, it’s possible i may not write it. apologies!
————————————͙͘͡★———————————
my works -- (my ao3)
all oneshots, almost entirely fem! x readers
fluff masterlist!
smut masterlist!
drabbles!
when clark kent crawls into bed, (fem!chubby!reader)
you & clark’s playlist (fem!reader)
being clark’s exchange student… (fem!exchange student!reader)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A/N: Just a short one. I can always write it out more someday, but I thought this was cute. :)
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
Clark had to become comfortable with touch when you came along, and while it was tough at the start, he couldn’t get enough of it now. You never wanted to take your hands and mouth off him. It was just the slightest bit unusual, but it was hard not to fall in love with you when all you did was nuzzle. Like a kitten, or a bunny, or something just as fuzzy. Precious and needy, and all his. All of a sudden, in-between accustoming himself to your obsessive little ways, your touch morphed into the one thing he’d never be able to live without.
Take the way you slept on his stomach. You rested, talked, snored, laughed up at him from the warm and safe plane of flesh that was strong enough to shatter incoming blades, but soft enough for your head. Sometimes you’d poke at it, nose it, gnaw little nibbles into his abs when you got needy. He made sure to keep himself loose so you wouldn’t chip a tooth, but you disarmed him anyway. He was sure that you could hurt him as much as you liked, and he’d let you. He’d let you do anything.
His arms, too– he loved when you squeezed his arms. You seemed to spend most of your time on them, tracing shapes over the curve of his biceps and kissing his shoulders. Your two most volatile moods– sadness or horniness– usually influenced you to snuggle underneath and press your face into his armpit. Whether he had deodorant or a long day or a fresh shower did not seem to differentiate your choice to do so– when you wanted to, you did. You nuzzled deep and breathed in what you could, making him chuckle at your peculiar taste and drag you into his arms. It was rare Clark ever smelled, anyway– Kryptonians didn’t sweat. No wonder you liked it.
Sometimes when you sat on his lap he wished he could stop time and just feel the weight of your body forever. Being a little on the heavier side, he was far more comfortable keeping you close– you weren’t so fragile that the wrong amount of pressure might break you. You held up well when he got rough, and you were easy to haul around, to toss over his shoulder, to throw down on couches and beds and kiss without fear. You loved it, too. You loved being handled. The world had made you out to feel like big women couldn’t be handled, but he made sure to prove that wrong. All the time.
You were irreplaceable, it seemed. You crawled inside him and never left. You and your nipping puppy teeth, your desire to bake him cookies full of butter and sugar that his body didn’t even need, your love for his skin and voice, your passion for being near whenever you could to soak him all up like a sponge. You were sweet and kind, and so clingy, and he had grown so attached that he never wanted to spend a moment away from you again. Soon enough he found rest on your tummy and tucked himself between your legs, discovering his own niches to nest within. It seemed to work out well once he uncovered the clingy parts of himself. You brought them out in him, he supposed.
can i request clarkie with a gf that’s sliiightly obsessed with him (not in like a creepy way but an in love way) he’s amused by how she’ll nestle into his armpits. or she’ll get giddy because his clothes actually fit her or because he can throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes effortlessly. she’ll nip at him, knowing she can’t hurt him. she’ll bake for him lots and make sure he’s fed, even if he doesn’t necessarily need to be bc of his powers 🧁
joined this with a drabble request :))) posting shortly
this is corny but can i request a drabble or smth where reader is just obsessed with touching clark? like laying against his chest and playing with his tummy and arms. she’s shy about her body but utterly obsessed with his in a domestic/sweet way. she sits in his lap (and gets shy every time even knowing his strength), lays against his shoulder, etc??? tysm in advance!! i love ur fics they’re my lifeblood!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Your missing milestones mean very little to Clark.
Word count: 3.3k
Contains: Fluff & some angst. Daily Planet, reader is an archivist & Clark is Clark. Mutual pining, idiots in love, miscommunication, awkwardness. First kiss, one-sided first love & eventual true love.
A/N: I am really happy with this one, I love writing fluff more than anything in the world !!!!! Hope it satisfies my lovely requesters (@freythecrazyfae & @lovesickreader) & the rest of you bunnies :)
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
What is it like to be loved by a man? Like, actually loved. Real, true, unconditional love from a guy who is mature and emotionally intelligent and admirable in character. That was what you always wanted to know, because it seemed every man you have ever crossed paths with was a piece of shit or a con artist; an expert liar or an imbecile with an unfounded penchant for misogyny. Sometimes you wished you didn’t like them so much, but you couldn’t help who you are. You liked men. And unfortunately, they didn’t seem like you back.
Or, at least that’s how it felt. It wasn’t like you had zero experience. Sure, no boyfriend, but you’ve had… relationships. Guys who led you on and promised to take you out and flaked, guys who had voiced interest but lacked the guts to pursue you. Guys who flirted with no real intentions. Just because you hadn’t been kissed or worse wasn’t the only factor to consider. You preferred to consider it a matter of missing the usual milestones– of acquainting yourself with the male sex in a much more unorthodox way. Which was as frustrating as it was humiliating. It’s hard not to measure yourself up against a society that expects you to have had three boyfriends by the time you graduate high school and a pregnancy scare by twenty-one, or else you haven’t lived right. It was tough out there. And you did want those things– well, not the pregnancy scare per se, but the first times. You wanted to feel love, to know it inside and out.
What you would have liked most was to be loved by Clark. Who didn’t want that? Clark Kent, quiet and thoughtful, strong yet soft, cute as a button and incredibly smart. You have loved him all your life, but he never loved you the same way. You had to learn to just push that down and foster crushes on new guys, guys who could try but never be him, because Clark was the ideal. Plus, he loved Lana for like, ten years. So Clark Kent was out of the picture.
All that mattered was yourself. You had to consciously think it every day. Men did not define you, and your experiences (or lack thereof) did not define you, but what you did with your life and how you treated people did. Whether that was just some stupid narrative made to cushion your bruised ego, you weren’t sure, but whatever it was, you had to believe something. If you couldn’t even control your own self-image, what could you control?
It was all just so much work. You wished it would be over and done with, and you would never feel the urge to be loved by a man again, but alas, things are never so easy. What you could do was focus on your work. Where Clark also was.
That couldn’t make it any worse, right?
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“Did you want to go to the movies tonight?”
“Hm?” You blinked, tearing your focus away from the desktop in front of you. The archives were quiet, save for Clark’s gentle voice, and being deep as you were in a masterfile of old Planet clippings from May of 1930, you barely heard him. “Sorry, Clarkie, I wasn’t listening.”
Clark’s eyes flickered around the room, seemingly everywhere but you. It was his day off today, but he promised to help you find a specific article on an old movie theater that burned down back in the day. He wasn’t helping much at all, instead choosing to sit on the floor against your desk drawers with a banker’s box of materials in his lap while he talked at you. The man swallowed and repeated his question: “Um, I was asking if you wanted to go to the movies tonight. When you get off. With me.”
You glanced down at the former farmhand and smiled with a touch of surprise. “Really? You don’t like the movies.”
“I don’t like how expensive the concessions are,” Clark corrected with a crooked grin, “I still like movies, though.”
“Was there something you wanted to see?” You asked absentmindedly, eyes drifting back toward the screen.
Clark watched you lose focus and poked your thigh. Your skirt always rode up when you sat in that office chair. He tugged the hem of it down. “Hello? Down here.”
You chuckled softly and clicked out of the file. “Sorry. I’m listening.”
“I don’t know. I thought you could use a night out.” Clark peered up into your face as he suggested it. You still had all the same features he loved as a kid– the chubby cheeks, the happy eyes, the imperfect teeth. You were taller and you wore your hair differently now, but you were still the same timeless kind of beautiful. You never lost it, like they say people can. You proved a lot of things wrong by just waking up in the morning, he thought. “A little break, y’know? I can never get you to leave this place anymore.”
You sighed softly. “I probably could. I’ll buy your popcorn if you let me pick the movie.”
“Deal.”
You reached down to ruffle his hair, admiring how the thick locks bristled your fingers. “Thanks, Clarkie. You’re a good friend.”
His cheeks tinted pink as he looked down at the box again. “Right. Sure.”
If you were smart, you would’ve asked why he seemed slightly disappointed, but you weren’t. You were very, very blind.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“You look beautiful.”
“Oh, stop it!”
“No, I mean it, you look… it’s…” Clark floundered, lips parted in search of the right adjective. Nothing came. “Just… beautiful.”
You smoothed your palms down the skirt of your gown. It was secondhand, and you had to have Lois help you makeshift a corset around the back, since it was just a tad too tight to zip up. She was a wizard with that sort of thing. It was floor-length and red as Christmas, made of a smooth taffeta that clung to your tummy. You found a little black shawl to wear over it specifically to hide that problem area, and it looked entirely like you borrowed a grandmother’s dress from the good ol’ days, but it would work well enough. The Planet was throwing their annual summer gala, and to avoid attendance would be to suffer the consequences of your boss. Clark offered to be your company-mandated date, since seats only came in twos. His tie matched your dress, the handsome devil.
“Is it new?”
“Yes and no,” you flushed, “I got it at Goodwill. It was the only thing that remotely fit, and even that was a struggle.”
“Well, you’d never know.”
You shifted on your feet as he stared you down. You worried something was on your face, or maybe there was some awful stain somewhere, because he’d never looked at you with quite so much intensity before; it felt like he was trying to convey something without words, which was very unusual for a guy who could talk forever. “Is everything okay?” you asked, scratching your neck.
Clark cleared his throat and stepped closer, brushing some fuzz from your shoulder. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… not used to seeing you like this.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
Clark smiled softly and took a chance on brushing some loose hair from your cheek. Your skin was warm. So fucking warm. Warm enough to make him want to touch you again. “It’s good, I think.”
You glanced away nervously, because Clark smelled like the nice cologne you bought him for Christmas, and you didn’t do well when he got close. “Okay then.”
When he caught your averting eyes, his heart gave a little leap. He let his knuckles run selfishly down your arm before lacing his fingers with yours and glancing toward the ballroom doors. This was a big hotel, and that room would be full of people. He’d have to keep an eye on you. “Ready?”
You nodded meekly, thinking that his hand was quite large, and you still weren’t used to the size after all these years. “Mhm.”
Clark looked back at you, because he always looks back. “Come on.”
He had to stop himself from calling you beautiful again. If he had said it, maybe you would’ve caught on.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“Clark, what is this?”
“What’s it look like?”
“It looks like you got my door painted!”
“Good, so your eyes do work.”
You gaped at the frosted glass of the archives office. It had been just you back there for nearly two years, working on digitizing the entire stock of the Planet while paper issues perished in the dawning era of digital news. People rarely came to visit unless they needed to do research, and you were like the dusty old resident in the dark library of the news building, waiting for their arrival. The big boss– Clark’s boss– had promised to have the door labeled with your name when he made you the sole archivist, but he had yet to fulfill the request. Now, your name was lettered in a bold title case. Anybody who walked by would know these were your archives. Your work that you perfected, day in and day out.
Clark’s stomach swirled as your sweet eyes widened with joy. You reached a careful finger out to trace the wording like a child seeing its first pony, or something equally prized. “Do you like it?’
Your throat was tight with emotion, so you just nodded eagerly.
You were always so beautiful when you got what you deserved, he thought. You were the prettiest woman in the world when you smiled, when you achieved things, when you felt worthwhile. He had strove most of his life to ensure you always looked that way– like all your passion had finally come to mean something to someone. Your menial, outdated, important, incredibly dorky passion. He wondered for a few moments about the day he might get that door repainted with another last name, and how much space five letters might take up.
You turned to him and clasped your palms under your chin, grinning with every tooth you had. “I love it, Clarkie! Thank you! How’d you manage this?”
“I just called in a favor,” he flushed, tucking his hands into his pockets. “The repair guy owed me one.”
You beamed, returning to the crisp door. “It’s my name!”
Clark felt himself melting in his shoes. “It is.”
“Seriously, thank you,” you sighed, reaching to squeeze his arm. “You always know how to surprise me.”
The man shrugged, refusing the innate urge to shiver when you wrapped yourself in a tight hug around his bicep. So fucking warm. “You’re welcome. You deserve surprises.”
He wondered when you’d get the hint, if ever. He thought that was a pretty good effort.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“You’re on a dating website?”
You startled and looked up, catching Clark stealing a mortified peek over the top of your monitor. You didn’t even hear him come in. “I– well, it wasn’t me, it was Lois. She made me make an account.”
“I didn’t know you were looking for a new relationship,” he mumbled, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. He came around the side of the desk and stood behind you, bracing one hand on the back of your chair and the other on the tabletop, leaning in to see the screen better.
There you were– your profile picture was one he took of you on your last birthday, with confetti in your hair and a big smile. He had that same picture in his wallet, although you didn’t know it. He loved that picture. Your name, your birthday, your interests, it was all listed. Reading (obviously), history (clearly), movies (amateur stuff), iced coffee (with a sprinkle of cinnamon, but you didn’t list that). There were a lot of things you didn’t list. All the important stuff, actually. The fact that you dreamed of sightseeing the greatest empires of the past in Egypt and Greece and Rome, or that you liked to watch old network television reruns before bed, and that your favorite cookies were chocolate chip but you’d take brownies over cookies any day, or even that your favorite book used to be Little Women but recently changed to Pride and Prejudice because Darcy was a more desirable type of coward that Laurie. All the things he remembered about you, the ones he felt were most special, were nowhere to be seen. Just filler. Empty, vapid expressions of a false girl. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel angry or relieved, but overall, he was unhappy.
“I’m not really looking. Lois just thinks I need to put myself out there.”
“What does Lois know?” he snapped. When he heard the sharpness in his tone, he softened up. “She can’t even pick good guys for herself.”
His face was looming over your shoulder, and when you turned, his cheek was a nose’s brush away. His eyebrows were drawn together in some kind of silent turmoil. “Well… I don’t know. She knows more than me, at least."
Clark scoffed and stood tall. “You know plenty.”
“Not as much as I’d like to sometimes,” you murmured, clicking out of the window with embarrassment. “I wasn’t planning on really using it, anyway.”
“What do you mean, not as much as you’d like? You’ve been with plenty of guys. None of them were good enough.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never had a real relationship before! Not like a normal one, at least, with all the kissing and confessions and sleeping together stuff,” you defended, feeling your chest constrict from nerves. Why was he so angry? Clark Kent, ever temperate, was angry with you. It was enough to strike a woman down. “I guess I just thought I should try, I don’t know.”
“You have real relationships,” he frowned.
“I don’t, though. I have friends. That’s all. Can anyone blame me for wanting more than that sometimes? I– I get lonely, Clark. And I’m falling behind. At this rate, if I don’t find someone, I might just go unloved forever.”
The expression that crossed his face was very simple. You’d seen it before, and you thought you knew it well, but if you were being honest, it had never looked like this– so potent, so pure, so clear. His dark eyes fell on you, and he uncrossed his arms as if he were releasing everything inside him. It seemed like a major effort just to move.
“I get it,” he said quietly. “Sorry I asked.” Then, he stepped away from the desk and slipped out of the archives door, leaving you in the familiar blanket of darkness that was your workplace.
The expression was, without a doubt, heartbreak. If you were expecting yourself to know who it was for, you thought too highly of your intellect. And clearly, so did Clark.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“You are so unfair, you know that?”
You yelped and spun around, jolted by the sudden statement. You thought you were alone, but clearly Clark had let himself inside and wandered between the shelves to find you wedged between box stacks labeled Aug 1945 and Sep 1945.
It had been a week since you spoke to your best friend. You two never went so long after an argument; not during a middle school dance, not during a high school football game, and not as adults in a workplace. But he had been so upset with you the other day and you had no idea why, so you figured it was best to let him settle it alone. Being Clark’s friend was already more than you ever felt worthy of, and to go pestering him enough to potentially lose even that would have been devastating. Clark didn’t see it that way, though. Clark didn’t see you at all like the way you saw yourself.
“What?”
“You’re unfair,” he repeated, stepping closer. Close enough that you felt the shelving digging into your back, and your fingers clutched the plastic-sleeved newspaper in your hands. “You don’t talk to me for a week, I don’t even see you, and still you’re all I can think about. How is that fair?”
You swallowed a lump before asking eloquently: “...Huh?”
Clark smiled at you and stepped closer again, except you had nowhere to go. His breath tickled your nose as he tilted his head down and boxed you in with two palms on the shelving behind you. “I thought you were a genius, but I guess you can’t figure everything out, can you?”
“I’m a little confused,” you winced, heart hammering against your ribs. You worried the sweat of your palms would seep through the plastic and damage the paper, and so you hurriedly tucked it onto the shelf before looking back at him. He took the quick movement to swap his hands to your waist, and that was enough to send you into near-heart failure.
Clark squeezed the skin, feeling incredibly reckless. “Delete that dating profile.”
“Delete it?”
“I love you.”
Did you hear that right?
Clark knew you were asking yourself the question. He saw it behind your eyes, that twinkle of curiosity and concern. It was sweet. And aggravating.
“I love you,” he recanted. “I grew into loving you when I realized what good love was, and maybe I’m a little late, but I’m saying it now because I don’t want you to go on a blind date with some idiot from the internet all for it to go terribly, and to have you come back to me with some story about why you’ll never be lucky and how you’re not destined to find love. I can’t do it. I want to be the idiot who takes you on a date, and I want to love you right now.”
You heard that right. You definitely heard that right. In fact, your eyes didn’t leave his mouth the whole time he confessed it. You watched the mauve pout mold around words you had dreamed of hearing but convinced yourself were a dream at best. Your body buzzed with the realization that the guy who had your heart, who was the reason your expectations were so high and your let-downs so harsh, who was the exact type of person you’d been trying to replace all your life but never could because there’s only one and its him, was telling you that he loved you.
But you were not one to believe so quickly. So you said, “You love me?”
Clark laughed, his voice so fucking warm, and reached for your face, hoisting you up into a kiss. He was cautious because he was aware it was your first one, but he did not shelter you. He caught your skin with his teeth, and he guided your head so you wouldn’t bump noses, and he made soft sounds and said your name. You tasted morsels of break room coffee cake that he hadn’t caught with a napkin, and you felt for the first time what it was like to have your hair tugged. You learned that kissing was a bit messy and entirely addictive, and that Clark was very, very good at it. When he pulled away from you, you had to clutch the shelf so your knees wouldn’t collapse.
Clark rested his forehead against yours, laying peck after peck along your jaw, and he whispered, “Please don’t leave me hanging.”
You found your voice long enough to make it work. “I have always loved you,” you promised, “always wanted you, Clarkie.”
You felt his smile bloom against your skin like magic. “Good. Now come here.”
Oh. So this was what it was like to be loved by a man. No, not just any man– Clark.
wait i don’t know if you’re taking requests so feel free to ignore this but maybe something where reader has never had a boyfriend or any romantic experience and is generally overlooked (or thinks she’s overlooked) so she’s just so confused when clark starts being nice to her and doing things for her? 💘💘 i just love everything you write soo much!!
yes!!! I combined w another request & am posting rn!!!
Hi!!! I've loved your writing for so long, and your one fic where the reader constantly feels the need to be the perfect girlfriend to Clark is probably my favorite fic of all time, I reread it whenever I'm having a bad week. I wanted to ask, do you think you could write a fic where reader has never had any kind of romantic relationship and struggles a lot with having any meaningful friendships, and because of it thinks she's unlovable, and Clark finds out and helps her through it? I understand if you can't or don't want to, but thank you if you do!!!
absolutely :) posting it rn, joined it w a similar request!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Contains: Smut. Plot what plot…? Bunny kink up front, SoftVERYdom!Clark, lots of praise and care, Clark has a dirty mouth. *Fingering, soft restraints, prone bone.
A/N: You guys love the bunny thing sm it’s in so many of my requests lol. You’re all my little bunnies now. Enjoy this short thing — for Vienna !!! @vigilxnte-shit
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
“You really like that, don’t you, bunny?” Clark chuckled with an air of unexpected surprise, half talking to himself. “You just can’t stop.”
The notching of his knuckles inside the velvet rings of muscle between your folds had your stomach turning over itself again and again, tossing you around a ferris wheel of pleasure that rode high, high, high until he slid them out again and hummed in approval. Clark had your back snugly pressed up against his chest, and he tucked his knees under yours to trap you and spread you open. You were stuck there, pinned like a butterfly, and the robe strap tied around your hands was surely made of plush, but tight as anything. You huffed as another wave of tension curled in your gut, and your bunny ears began to slide down your forehead as you gazed upon his thick fingers disappearing into you.
Clark grinned and used his dry hand to smooth your hair back and tuck the ears in place again, and he tipped your skull back to rest on his shoulder. Diving for the very biteable flesh of your neck, Clark nibbled and murmured, “How’s my girl doing, huh?”
You released a quivering breath and flexed your pins-and-needles palms, bucking against the slow puncture of his fingers. “Good…”
You felt his lips curling against your skin. “Such a smart girl, honey. Just needed to give up all that power for a little while, didn’t you? You worked so hard today, I saw it… somebody’s gotta take care of you after all that.”
A deep magenta flush began to spill over your skin like fire, and you writhed between moans as his thumb pressed on the swollen little button cresting your cunt. The wires in your head shorted and you gasped. “Clarkie!”
Clark let out a happy sound and circled the sensitive flesh, timing it with the thrust of his fingers. He watched with satisfied eyes as your hands fell limp in the soft restraints and your body began to slump with pleasure. The fuzzy bunny ears tickled his cheek. “There she is. Let it out, sweetie.”
“Clarkie,” you whimpered, lashes fluttering over your burning cheeks. “Please…”
“I know, bunny, I know, you just want to cum, don’t you?” he lilted, “but you told me to make it last, remember? Before I tied you up, you said to draw it out until you couldn’t take it anymore– and sweetheart, you look like you could take a whole lot more.”
You whined through the fuzzy feeling stuffing your head with cotton. You did say that, didn’t you? Stupid thing to say. The ferris wheel went around again.
Clark purred at your clenching muscles. “You can take it, sweetie. Be a good bunny.”
You gulped and flexed your fingers again. “How long?”
Clark kissed below your ear. “Well, you’re still talking pretty well. I think you want to be a little dumber than that, don’t you?”
Flames licked down your back as he said those words, and what followed was an extra finger slotting in place beside the others, stretching the canal of your cunt wide. A squelch sloshed sweetly against his hand as he worked you open, smirking at how your legs jerked to get free from his trap. He only pushed his own legs wider, spreading your hips in a steep curve. You arched and cried softly at the helplessness, but it numbed you beyond belief as he scissored his fingers along your sensitive pink walls.
“Ah, ah, bunny,” he chided without an ounce of sadism. “That’s not how good girls behave.”
“M’sorry,” you panted between blurring visions.
“Don’t be, honey,” Clark whispered, planting slow smooches down your jaw. “Who do you belong to, huh? Tell me, bunny girl.”
“You,” you shivered.
“Me? Who’s me?”
You fluttered as he prodded you, and arched again. “Clarkie!”
“That’s right. Clarkie makes you feel good, doesn’t he? You love when Clarkie uses his fingers on your pretty pussy, don’t you, bunny girl?”
The dirty words on his wet lips made you tighten up as the ferris wheel crested the apex, and you squealed as he pushed himself up to the knuckle, tickling that spongy spot deep inside. “Ah– mmf! Yes!”
“Mm, I know. Clarkie loves to touch you, baby. He loves watching you let all that stress go, seeing you melt into his arms and give right in… melt into the dumb little bunny he knows you want to be all day long, when you’re out in the world without him…”
The longer he cooed into your ear, the more you struggled to breathe. Words left you first, and then thoughts, and it seemed within seconds of his brushing and poking but never really following through, you’d grown brainless. Clark waited for this stage just to slide his fingers right out and leave you gaping. When you began to protest unintelligibly, Clark shushed you with a few salty fingers in your mouth. “Oh, it’s okay, baby. Give me one second.”
Clark very carefully shifted you down onto the bed bellyfirst, placing your weak hips over a pillow and pushing your face down. You laid there, hips elevated just enough, bound wrists left to stretch out over your head, as he draped his welcome weight across your back.
“You just lay there, bunny girl,” Clark groaned, pinning you once again. “Clarkie will take care of it.”
It wouldn’t be long now. When Clark laid you down like this, you lasted minutes at best.
A guttural groan escaped from the man’s lips as he pushed himself between the meat of your thighs, sinking into the mess. Your ass perked a bit more as he sunk deep, and you mewled at the delicious stretch of his cock. Clark cupped you with his hips, fingertips digging into the bedding for purchase, and he rutted slowly, dragging his length along your textured walls. You were burning hot inside and squeezing like a vice; it took all he had not to pound without care.
“Christ, bunny,” he rasped, “you feel so good.”
You didn’t have words for him– only sounds. As Clark began to drive into you, knocking the plush of your behind with his hips, grinding you through the mattress into nothingness, greeting your gut with an eager and relentless spear, you babbled into the pillows and took it. Your heart pounded against your ribcage and your legs twitched beneath the weight. Every thrust made your vision blur at the edges.
Clark nipped at your soft back and smiled at your unintelligible noises. That was the sign he’d been waiting for. “Who do you belong to, pretty girl?”
“Ynngh,”
“What was that?”
“You-mf!”
Clark laughed as you writhed with pleasure, panting and grunting like a trapped animal. He drove his hips deeper, faster, feeling himself white out, and by the time you constricted and trembled with orgasm, he was spilling like a river, bucking hard, fucking himself dry. You yelped out in gratitude, eyes rolling and pretty mouth drooling against the sheets of the bed.
Clark slowed to a stop when his own stamina struggled to keep up, and he nestled himself deep in your heat before draping over you like a blanket, crushing you under the warm mass of his body. He felt you buzzing, gasping for air, and gave you all his weight– you loved that feeling. It was safe there, beneath him. He reached a hand up to untie your wrists, and soon enough you were free and limp, licking your sloppy lips.
Clark helped you tidy up, swiping spit from your cheek. He hummed gently, admiring the stupid glaze on your face, and said, “Thinking?”
Your eyes fluttered, and you shook your head.
“Good girl. Just needed some quiet, yeh? Such a smart girl… none of that for the rest of the night. Bunnies don’t need to think, do they? Bunnies give their pretty brains a rest.”
Clark sighed and tucked himself into your neck, breathing in the soft scent of your overworked skin. He’d go again in a few minutes, but it was only fair you caught your breath first. He wasn’t cruel!
hi lovely <3 my name is vienna, i’m a huge fan of your work (my @ is @vigilxnte-shit and i’m looking for more clark moots if you wanna be friends!!) i loved beach safety especially as a girl who’s religious about sunblock hehe but if you have time i would looooove a fic that’s just soft smutty sweetness with looooots of clark telling reader how smart she is, i am such a sucker for that 🫦
Summary: Clark would have been just fine if Eugene didn’t come along.
Word count: 3.1k
Contains: Fluff & suggestive themes. Entertains the idea that Clark can take small doses of Red!K like a Xanax for his anxiety LMAO… this leads to a dubious substance abuse/dubious-to-willing consent for fun of the plot. Smut tease IM SORRY IT WAS FUNNY. Daily Planet!Clark & reader. Reader is gullible and trusting, Clark is grumpy and paranoid, Lois is sick and tired of them both. Shenanigans and teasing. Kissing & more implied.
A/N: This is so silly I hope you like it I was in the mood to try and be funny
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
“Look at him. He’s all over her. It’s disgusting!”
“Says you, Smallville,” Lois sniggered, quirking an eyebrow at the reporter to her left.
Clark’s eyes were glued to the sight of you across the bullpen, and the stress running through his veins was making him look borderline murderous. The poor coffee stirrer snapped in his palms as he clamped down on it.
“It’s his first day, Clark,” Lois rolled her eyes, brushing past him to steal a sugar packet. “He’s as adorably clueless as the rest. Why don’t you go and say something if it bothers you? Make it clear?”
Clark frowned at her. “I don’t want to look controlling.”
“Well, standing here like you’re planning a homicide isn’t doing much to dissuade the public. Take a chill pill, buddy. You know she’s all yours,” Lois grinned. “Oh, quit making that face. Buck up, cowboy. I’m out.”
Clark grunted unhappily as Lois sauntered away for her lunch break, and his eyes drifted back towards the doors to the copy room. You were in your nicest shirt today, because it was a big day. Perry had given you the privilege of training a new copyboy with reporter aspirations, meaning that you had written enough articles and done enough scut work that you could be trusted to teach someone else. You were very proud of this appointment, because it made you feel like your work was paying off. To have someone looking up to you was an honor. You dressed up in the polka dot blouse you kept for important days and a pencil skirt, one Clark was realizing might be too short for the bullpen, and you had a red marker stuck in your hair and a file balanced on your hip. Gorgeous and professional and entirely too happy.
This kid couldn’t even be out of high school, he was sure of it. He was two seconds away from calling up Chloe and ordering a background check. What kind of name was Eugene anyway? Eugene Cunningham. It was somewhere between too British and too cartoonish, and it was 100% stupid. Clark hated Eugene. Eugene wore thick-rimmed glasses and an argyle vest, which Clark was positive they didn’t even manufacture anymore, and his shoes were white and black like the ones girls wore with poodle skirts at some distant point of past light. He was an utter geek, and Clark was determined to discover what was so goddamn funny that you were smiling and tilting your head like the pretty bunny you were at Eugene Cunningham, the new copyboy from the 20th century.
He didn’t move his feet, though. He stood there and watched while you walked the newb around the bullpen, introducing him to people and showing him how the system worked. He stood there long enough that Lois came back from lunch and found him in the same spot, and it took walloping his arm with a rolled up issue of the Planet to wake him up.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“I think he’s into you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Clark!” You chuckled, clacking away at your keyboard. When you heard a huff behind you, you swiveled in your chair and found your boyfriend frowning like a child. It made you feel the teeniest bit sick. “Sorry. Your feelings aren’t silly.”
Clark grumbled incoherently and crossed his arms, before saying more clearly, “You can’t tell me he doesn’t follow you around like a dog.”
“Sure he does, I’m his supervisor! I’m just trying to teach him how to survive, it’s a pretty cutthroat place to be. He’s just a kid. You were just a kid only a couple years ago. Can’t you have a little bit of sympathy for him?”
Clark peered down his nose at you, seeing your sweet eyes and smile and struggling not to agree with your every word just because you sounded so pretty speaking them. He frowned harder out of spite. “I get a bad feeling about him, bunny. He’s after something.”
You couldn’t contain your sigh of aggravated humor. “He’s after a career. Really, Clark, I understand your concern, but I feel like you might just be seeing something you want to see,” you reasoned. “I think he’s just eager to please. He trusts me. And he hasn’t said anything weird or done anything to convince me he’s got any motives, so why worry? He’s a sweet kid. I really think he’s just gelling to me, y’know?”
Clark shuddered at the very implication. Only he could be gelled to you. “I still don’t like it.”
You smirked and whirled your chair back around. “I’m sorry, Clarkie, but it’s as much your choice as it is mine. Perry gave me the job. I’m gonna do it.”
Easy for you to say, he thought between two incredibly knitted eyebrows, you don’t know what it’s like to see a punk trying to steal your girlfriend.
Clark was still glaring at your computer when you glanced over your shoulder, swatting his hip. He startled. “Huh?”
You giggled softly and jerked your chin in the direction of your monitor. “You’re frying my server, honey.”
Clark looked at your desk to find he’d projected enough radiation in his glare to make your computer start smoking. He flushed red as a cherry and circled around to his desk, sitting quickly to hide his mortification.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
The Eugene dilemma has been causing him ridiculous amounts of undue stress. All he did was worry if the kid would try to make a move on you, or worse, if you’d find something in him worth admiring. You were such a lovey type, always so willing to see the good in people and fall in love with their humor or speech or smiles; it made you gullible and usually heartbroken by the end, and while Clark adored your open heart, he was intent on shielding it from abuse. He simply couldn’t stop worrying.
Chloe had concocted a helper for him when stuff like this happened. With the hormone inhibitors she cracked through some serious studies on red kryptonite alongside Emile in the Watchtower, he found that in manageable doses, Clark could take it for his anxiety. It would work the same as a Xanax, offering him short term relief, but she had been careful to extract the addictive genes in the crystal so he couldn’t get hooked on the medication. It was entirely safe for fast-acting results, and fast-acting was what he desperately needed.
You were sitting back in your desk chair, fiddling with a pencil and reading over a draft Eugene had written. You gave him a scoop under Perry’s nose, insisting you could get it published if he got it done in time– you were trying to give him a leg up, because you were just that kind of person. But Eugene was perched on the edge of your desk, watching you proof it, and cracking jokes. Every few minutes, hidden in the corner by the water cooler, Clark could see you tip your head back in laughter as if the copyboy was the second coming of George Carlin. Sometimes you’d grin with all your teeth, sometimes you’d sit up to show him what you marked in red, and the rest of the time you sat patiently and gave his work all your attention, preciously oblivious to the fact that the kid was absolutely staring down your cleavage. Clark just couldn’t take the stress anymore. He fished the little tin of pills out of his pocket and popped one, washing it down with the plastic-tinged water from the cooler, and he took a deep breath.
Fast-acting was no joke. An instant calm settled over him like a blanket, releasing the tension in his back and neck, and his lungs felt full for the first time in two weeks. He felt so good that he walked right over and stood beside your chair.
“Hi, bunny,” he grinned, eyes glinting. “Hey, Cunningham.”
The copyboy straightened a bit, glancing up the two feet Clark towered over him with. “Hello, Mr. Kent.”
Clark cocked his head and said, “It’s rude to sit on people’s desks, has anyone ever told you that?”
You fumbled the story in your lap and set it askew on the desk, laughing awkwardly and sitting up straight. “Clark!” you reached to pat his leg, throwing him a side-eye. “Did you need something, honey?”
Clark stared at Eugene until the kid got the hint and stood up, scratching his burning neck. Then, he leaned down, capturing your chin between his thumb and finger, and he laid one big kiss right on your mouth where everyone in the bullpen could see. You let out a hum of surprise, but succumbed to the softness of his lips for the few seconds it lasted. When he pulled away, you blinked as if you were Tom, and Jerry just wacked you over the head with a loving frying pan.
“Just that,” he murmured, drawing back and walking away, hanging a left out of the doors toward the elevators. Where he was going, you had no idea, but you certainly watched him leave.
Eugene coughed a bit, snapping you out of it. He asked, “I forgot you mentioned that you two were, um… together.”
You felt heat creep under your skin and nodded, gathering his story up again. “Oh, yes. Very much so.”
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
“That kid’s got it bad,” Lois nudged your elbow, passing you a piece of gum. “I’d be careful.”
You pouted, unwrapping the foil and placing the minty stuff on your tongue. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Does it look like I’m giving him signals? I’m very professional! And I talk about Clark all the time!”
Lois propped her chin in her hand and shrugged, watching closely at the spectacle across the room. Clark was struggling, with gritted teeth and many squeezes of the nose bridge, to show Eugene how to reboot the old desktops. The poor guy had never looked so miserable with any task in his life. “That’s not the point. It’s not you, it’s them. Men. They want what they want.”
“That’s stupid,” you grumbled, stirring your tea with its own bag. Your lunch sat half-eaten next to Lois’. You lost your appetite when the whole thing came up again. “He’s just a kid.”
“A nerdy kid who probably has no idea what to do around women,” she lilted, smacking her gum like it amused her to watch you cringe. “Seriously, if he brings you any coffee, don’t drink it. He looks like the kind to buy a love potion off the street.”
You whined softly and buried your face in your arms, resting on her desk. “This is all so juvenile. Even Clark won’t let it go.”
“Shocker. Guy who loves emotional self-flaggelation doesn’t want to let go of his pretty girlfriend getting flirted into oblivion.”
“It is not oblivion! He’s not flirting!”
Lois ruffled the crown of your head. “Sure he isn’t, cutie.”
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
In hindsight, it was a very bad idea and you’d probably be very angry with him later, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He’d pocketed the lipstick as a backup. A hail mary, if you will. He wasn’t even planning on using it. It just seemed like a smart move when you swiped on that red shade this morning. But when the opportunity presented itself…
It was all Eugene’s fault, anyway. The kid was stupid enough to try. What was Clark supposed to do?
If only you weren’t so quick to laugh. You just burst into these fits of sweet, sing-song laughter at the stupidest jokes, jokes that wouldn’t be funny to anyone but you in a million lifetimes, and it was as endearing as it was agonizing lately. Eugene liked to make you laugh, especially because it made you stumble. You would clutch to a chair or wall when you giggled yourself unsteady. That was his chance. Clark knew because he used the same tricks.
Today, Clark had taken two pills, which made him a bit overly free, but not so free he felt like stealing a motor vehicle. He was so anxious he wasn’t sleeping, so he had to double down. He only insulted Perry by accident, accidentally dented the elevator door, and told the hot dog cart guy down on the street that relish was a hoax by Big Condiments to make pickles unappetizing– y’know, normal red kryptonite behavior. As it stood now, he was tapping his foot in his chair and trying to remember that getting up to throttle Eugene’s skinny little neck in front of distinguished colleagues would be a very bad idea and was the work of the drugs. But there you were, laughing, and he couldn’t fight the effects off.
Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t hysterical enough for you to stumble into the copier, but you were sunshine on weak legs anyway. Clark watched in slow motion as Eugene’s hands shot to your waist to steady you, fingertips sinking into the pillowy skin shielded by only your sweater, and that broke the last straw on his hulking camel-back.
You wiped at your eye between cackles as Clark suddenly appeared beside you, tugging you free from the copyboy’s hands and righting you. You drew in a hiccuping breath and beamed at Clark. “Oh, Clarkie! You missed it, Eugene just said the silliest thing about relish–”
“You have to be more careful, bunny, you almost fell,” he chided softly, kissing your cheek and watching the way the kid shifted uncomfortably at the show of affection. It made his chest buzz with pride. He added curtly, “She can help herself. No need to touch, kid.”
“Oh, stop it. I can be a klutz sometimes, you know that,” you faltered, collecting yourself.
Clark used your distracted glance towards the trainee to tuck his hand into his pants pocket and pull out the silver tube. The one you applied before work was silver, too, and you didn’t use this one all that often– only on nights when Clark felt like being a little bad– so he hoped you wouldn’t notice. “Here, sweetheart, you smeared your lipstick.”
You turned back, seeing his thoughtful gesture and softening right up. “Oh! Gosh, thank you,” you blushed, wiping the corners of your lips with two fingers. “Can’t look a mess, can I?”
Clark hummed happily and watched with rapt attention as you uncapped the lipstick and smeared it right on. Eugene shifted on his feet once more before slipping away from the copier, uncomfortable even mere feet from Clark. The reporter saw him leave, debating whether making his pants smoke would be worth the suspension. When he glanced back, you were staring up at him with pupils big as dimes.
“Clarkie,” you purred, tossing the lipstick onto the nearest desk– he quickly snatched it up, damage control– and threw your arms around his neck. Clark didn’t resist your hungry kiss, and was wholeheartedly relieved when you dragged him out of the bullpen doors down the hall to the phone booth.
Despite the fumbling to squeeze inside, you wrangled the door shut and attacked him with kisses. The red kryptonite lacing that makeup was not the same stuff in the pills, and the chemical surge that overrode his veins lit his nerve endings up like Christmas. It was another invention of Chloe’s (like taking a gummy, it would wear off shortly, but had a much more intensive high) and was strictly reserved for the house, but Clark had broken the rule now. It was a dumb rule anyway. He shoved you up against the wooden wall and groaned needily, sliding his palms under your sweater to reach the searing skin.
You squeaked and arched into his touch, gasping for air as his teeth scraped down your plush collarbone. Your brain struggled through the fuzz to ask, “Y-you used… the special lipstick… didn’t you?”
Clark grunted like an animal, taken with the fact you were coherent enough to figure it out. In fact, he felt you needed to match his level. The reporter dragged his wet lips across the valley of your neck, rooting for the tube again and unearthing it from his pocket. When he pulled away, he tugged on your arm and smiled down at you, flashing his sharp teeth. He shoved your sleeve up with haste.
Your glazing eyes blinked slowly while you tried to steady yourself. “What were you thinking?”
Clark twisted the makeup up and pressed the flat, crimson edge to your forearm; in hurried and careless letters, he spelled C-L-A-R-K. “You’re mine, bunny, and that kid should know it,” he cooed, “that’s what I was thinking.”
The toxins seeped right through your skin, suddenly everything burned a million degrees, and you were aching with a desire that had you nearly collapsing to the phone booth floor. Clark laughed as you flung yourself at him, lips and teeth gnashing, and he wasted no time working his hand down your pants.
From the outside, nobody could be sure what was happening inside the phone booth. It was soundproofed for journalist-source confidentiality, seeing as so many anonymous tips were called in directly to the Planet. The glass was frosted, too, on every pane, because the booth was decades old and still carried the styles of the original building. Now and again there would sound a growl or a yelp from inside, and it seemed to shake every so often, but nobody dared get close enough to investigate. They knew better than to pry when they saw Kent and his well-written girlfriend go anywhere together.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
Almost an hour later, you sat back down at your desk to find it covered in neon sticky notes full of phone messages, and a cup of coffee which had a note scribbled on it in a familiar script: YOU’RE LUCKY I COVERED, FREAK! Lois had even been generous enough to leave a half-eaten donut behind, too. Good thing. You would need the sustenance.
The lipstick still stained your arm, but with your sweater sleeve down, no one would know. You cleaned up alright, save for the wild back of your head. Clark, on the other hand, was always a flushed mess after a quickie (if an hour was quick), and his hair and tie and shirt all showed the rumpled signs. He came to sit at his desk across from yours a few minutes later, totally discreet and unsuspicious, rubbing at a red stain near his ear. He grinned at you like an idiot as he sat down, until he hissed, and you had to hide a laugh. Sensitive, you teased silently. You handed him your coffee without a word.
And when the copyboy Eugene came up to you a little while later to ask a question about the copier, you stood up and gave him a hand, just to see Clark’s mouth fall open all over again. Now you were aware of the game, and thought you might play a little. It was only fair.
Hi lovely! I absolutely love, love, love everything you write, you truly are amazing and your writing makes my day brighter. Last night I was rereading your red!kryptonite fic for The 18283829 time and a thought came into mind: Clark on red!kryptonite while reader is being the one in charge to help the new intern at the daily planet? Picture this: the guy is good looking (very good looking), Clark is feeling a bit silly for feeling insecure about it, he knows reader loves him and only has eyes for him, but this dude is persistent! He’s all smiles and attention, he stares at her for too long, Clark can see exactly where his mind is roaming to by the way his eyes travel through her curves. Not that Clark can blame the man because seriously, his bunnygirl is amazing, but HIS entirely! And our girl, bless her soul, she’s oblivious to it. In her head the guy’s just another clumsy intern who needs help navigating the chaos that is the daily planet and she’s more than happy to help because she was once a clumsy intern herself.
Lois jokes and points the obvious fact that the guy’s trying to hard to be by her side all the time “If he brings you any coffee, don’t drink it”, Lois jokes (but is she though?). Until one day, the intern makes a joke, and our girl smiles too widely for Clark’s liking, and then this dude has the nerve to pretend to trip just so he can touch her, HIS girl. And that’s the final straw for our Kansas beef. Red!kryptonite (and her bold red lipstick used as a pen against her skin) comes into play just to remind bunnygirl who she really belongs to 😏
HEHEHE yesssss posting rn… made a few tweaks for humor’s sake but i hope you like it :) i loved this idea it felt cute for a funny story !
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
