Live Laugh love

okay first of all thinking of me when u see pics of gabe luna 😩 ill cry rn youre my fav

and second OMFGGGG YES 😭😭😭 i can literally see it in my head, and truly when has uncle tommy ever told you no???? OH YEAH THATS RIGHT NEVER

Tommy has always been more of a dog person. But the moment that little kitten turns its head and looks up at you, orange ears all floppy and eyes all big, he knows it’s over.

Summary: You visit your boyfriend and get invited to his mentor's compound. You begin to question reality; the only thing you know for certain is Cameron. AU! Cameron Cade x Fem! Reader.

Warnings/AN: bit of a horror piece. canonical violence, smut, oral, p in v, rough sex, creepiness. The limited plot is basically an excuse for smut. Dark! Characters.

You stand, frozen with tension as you wait behind the ornate wall divider of the hotel room. Bare feet shivering against the cool floor. You slide, silent, eyeing the hotel’s balcony from where you are. The sounds of him entering the room are everything you hear–the heat of your phone in the side pocket of your dress is a push forward. When you hear his sigh, heavy and deep, you take it as a sign.

From beyond the wall divider, you jump out and yell.

Cameron leaps, almost hitting the bedside table. His hand goes to his chest as he shakes his head, looking at you softly. “What the fuck, Honey?”

You giggle, lifting the box you’d packed filled with his favourite things and gifts you’d been saving up on your Media Internship pay. Cameron sits at the edge of his bed, looking up at you with his deep blues, which look darker in the shadows of the amber lamplight of the hotel. The smile that had spread across his lips widens as he takes you in. It had been weeks since you last saw each other, so now, you couldn’t wait to spend some time with him.

Cameron takes the box, setting it aside before pulling you down to his lap. He kisses you, slow, tongue and lips seeking comfort in your mouth. His hands sprawl against your hips, fists opening and closing, gripping and lifting the polyester material of the dress you’d worn on your drive over. He pulls back, and neither of you mean to do the next thing, but both yawn into each other’s mouths. The two of you jolt apart, eyes wide into each other, before falling back into the bed laughing. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, laughing, burying his nose in your hair. You laugh into his chest, inhaling the musk of the Gucci perfume you’d bought him for Christmas. 

“It’s okay. I’m super tired too.” While you weren’t at training camp for the past few weeks like him, you’d just started your Master’s degree and were juggling three jobs to manage loan repayments and personal upkeep. Not that Cameron knew, he’d been under the assumption that you were on scholarship and that your parents were still paying for your apartment and upkeep. As far as he was concerned, your freelancing and Internship were all for resume-building. 

Cameron strokes your arm and tells you about his new team – the excitement of signing his contract and his success bleeding through his voice. You admired and loved his dedication to his career, the sacrifices he’d made to get to where he is. How could you go to him now and complain about the sacrifices you had to make for your own dreams? That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t the partner you wanted to be for him. It wasn’t that Cameron demanded anything of you. In fact, he kept saying how you didn’t have to do your Master’s if you didn’t want to. That he had sacrificed enough for both of you, he’d insisted on taking care of you. 

But you’d felt guilty about it. A feeling you’d been trying to get over back when you could’ve afforded the $200 an hour for a therapist. You’d made progress, though; you’ve let him take over all your utilities. That was something. Right?

Hours later, you awake in the dark, with your silk bonnet on your head and your face dry of product. You ran your hand over the front of your body, the feel of a too-big t-shirt on your skin. Warmth filled you at the knowledge that Cameron had taken care of you, but guilt at the fact that your first night reunited was not as sexy as you’d wanted it to be. You slither out of his hold and tiptoe to the bathroom. Rubbing your face, you stretch your worn limbs to the ceiling and breathe slowly. Fully. When you’re finished, you flick the light back on and wash your face with a dollop of Cervae. When you raise your head and look into the mirror, you leap almost a foot into the air at the shadowy figure of Cameron standing at the doorway, boring into you with intensity.

“Jesus, Cam.” You curse, snatching the small towel from the hook to dab your face. You throw the towel at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

He doesn’t say anything, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and looking down at you. You stare back at him for a moment. Then it blossoms into a minute. Then ten. You shiver before turning to the side, facing the shower. You pull the t-shirt off, not surprised to be naked beneath it. You take a hanging shower cap, something Cameron always keeps in his hotel rooms in case you come by, and carefully tuck the inches of silk-pressed hair inside.

There is a chill down your spine as you turn on the water. Feeling his gaze on your skin. Not in the usual appreciative way, but in a colder, distant gaze. Your hand trembles as you set the water to warm, palm out to feel the change of the droplets from cold to warm. You glance over at him. Still there, unblinking. You step in, closing the sliding door – but his hand shoots out to stop you. Cameron pushes the door open, and the gaze that made your skin crawl ebbs away into his usual hunger when he looks at your naked form. You relax. It must have all been in your head. Right? 

“You know, there’s a drought right now.” He tosses out, slowly sliding out his sweatpants. “We need to conserve water.”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “I could’ve sworn it rained yesterday here.”

Cameron huffs, kicking his pants to the side and throwing his socks off, “Fake news.”

You smile, back hitting the tile, and he crowds you. Your joke falls flat, “God damn, CNN.”

With some rest on you, you feel the press of his lips and the searching push of his tongue. His hand rested at the base of your neck, thumb and index forming a V and applying the softest of pressure as he kissed you. You wrap an arm around his neck, fingers scratching the scalp made available from his buzzcut. The other, you feel his chest, abs – the muscles rippling under your gentle touch. You taste the intake of his breath; a hushed, harsh thing between the two pairs of lips. Cameron pulls away, then crashes back in, taking and taking. His hand leaves your throat and goes to your waist, gripping the dip between the fat of your hips and the slender curve of your waist. In this way, he covers the water from getting to you. He stops it from purifying you of filth. 

Cameron lifts you against the shower wall. The slap of your back to it only stings for a moment until he’s kissing you again. Hungry. Sloppy. Your hand goes between the two of you, you grasp the base of his stiff dick, hand tight as you give it a stroke. 

His lips pull away, hoarse, he whispers in your ear, “Spit on it.”

Never one for obedience, you dip your fingers inside yourself, coating them before returning to his dick. Covering it in your own essence as you tugged him. Cameron flattered, for a moment, looking down as you rubbed him from base to mushroom tip, tight around the nestle of curls before using his own leaking fluids to coat it all over again.

 “Put me in,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “I know you miss this dick, baby.”

You shiver, guiding his tip into the velvet moisture between your legs – trembling as he groans. “Agh!” you yell, startled as your hand falls away and he goes to the hilt within you. You throw your head back, the hand not gripping his muscular shoulder, making sure your shower cap doesn’t slide off.

Cameron is thick and long as he piles into you, his hands moving quickly to your round buttocks to grip, to touch, possessing. His groans resonate deep within your belly, making your toes curl as he stamps his mark – as if you could ever forget.

“You’re being so good for me, baby,” he mutters, dick hitting deep within, making you almost cry. “Look how you look at me. Pussy is as good as ever. Rub your clit for me, baby. Yes, yes – just like that. You want me to make this pussy come? C’mon, baby. Baby. Baby.”

“Cam,” you whisper, releasing his shoulder and rubbing your clit. Your arms feel weak, but you don’t need to be strong right now. Cameron balances you against the wall of the tile, using it to drive into you at this punishing pace that sends delicious desire all through you – your fingers can’t compare to the good wellness of thorough fucking. You wrap your legs at the ankle, pulling him closer. You want to melt together. You want to become a mutated oneness, one thing in the heat of lovemaking. 

His dick goes deep into the shallow, pulling until only the head remains, then sheathing himself completely until his pubic hair grounds against your working fingers. Cameron’s mouth finds your own tongue sliding over your own, then pulling away to suckle at your skin. Biting your skin, nipping, then kissing.

You whimper, feeling the rise of your impending collapse. “Cam, Cam, C-Cam!”

He snarls, mean-looking as he continues. Blue eyes, black in your desire-blurred vision. Even when your hand falls in your peak, he releases one of your butt cheeks, to continue, pressing circles into your overworked clit. It's pain seeking wonderful pleasure against your weeping. The thrust of his hips builds into something more hurtful. Cameron's moans grow in decibels, trembling inside and around you. He whimpers, as if in pain. “Gimme one more, baby.”

You shake your head, but you’re already building up to a second, quick pulse of overwhelming pleasure. Cameron whispers, doing short, deep slams into you. “Fuck.”

He presses you against the wall, impossible to be separate as he jerks against and into you. His own release is a warm, overflowing thing into you. You blink, looking at his face that is already staring into you, eyes brighter than cornflower blossoms. 

You kiss him and try to ignore the pit forming in your stomach.

***

“You’re going to love it, Honey,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the two of you enter the hotel’s elevator. His mentor had invited the two of you over for some drinks, sent a car and all. Isaiah White had retired over a year ago, and since then, Cameron had seemingly taken over as the star player of the ‘Saviours’. You didn’t pay much attention to football, but you’d never missed a game your boyfriend played. 

Cameron is dressed, head-to-toe, in expensive brands. More gold than you’d ever seen on anyone but him was draping all around him like it was something casual. He’d bought you diamonds – and even a minidress. When you ask him how he knew to have this prepared for you, he smiles. “I just had a gut feeling.”

Your gut was telling you to run. But you stifled the feeling and slid into the backseat of the Escalade, warm as Cameron presses himself against you. You look at him, in the dark, and he looks like a stranger. “I missed you,” he says, and you shiver as his mouth covers your own. 

“I miss you too,” you say, cause it's true. You miss Cameron. This person, changed by fame, differs from the man you adored. But in these moments, you see them as one. You tried to vanish this feeling of thinking him different and reconnect with the fact that people were allowed to change, everything changes. This does not make them less or more. You kiss him again, hand sliding up his soft sweater to the smooth, bare skin. 

Cameron hums, dropping his hands to your shoulders. From the deep cut of the dress’s bosom, he feels the braless softness of your breast. Long fingers tweak your nipple, tugging it and pinching, rolling it between the digits. He was so easy to set off these days; a touch and his greed sent him wanting you. You tried to blame the distance, the time apart, but this feels like a kind of desperate want. Cameron pulls you to his lap, rising his hips to grind against yours, desperate as he seeks release. The car jerks, stopping abruptly and almost sending you flying if not for his grip on you. 

Cameron curses, setting you aside and rapping the roof of the car. “What the fuck was that man? Do your fucking job!”

“I’m sorry!” the driver responds. “A deer came out of nowhere.”

Cameron exits the car, and so does the driver. You roll the window down slightly and peer out into the dark. Cameron towers over the guy – pointing at him and squaring himself above him. The driver nods, obviously terrified. You feel cold. 

Cameron shoves the guy, almost sending him off-balance. The man falls and raises a hand. You grab the door to go outside, but stop when his face turns to you, staring into your eyes. He mouths at you, Close the door. 

And you do. 

Three minutes later, Cameron climbs into the car. Then the driver. In the reflection of the rearview as he looks back at you, he smiles with a swollen eye before returning his gaze to the road and revving the vehicle. 

“Why are you so far away?” he says, reaching for you.

You shake your head, turning your face to the window. “What the fuck was that, Cam?”

“Oh, baby,” he whispers, gentle as he pulls you on top of him. He kisses the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulder. “That’s nothing. It’s just how things are done.”

Isaiah White’s home is a monument. When his wife, Elsie, opens the door, it in a glittery dress, and you try to stifle the pressure building in your stomach. 

Run, your very bones seem to whisper. But you step forward and shake her hand. Isaiah comes after, a handsome older man whom you’d met a few times, but never his wife. They move in sync, but still – there is a distance between them. A chill.

Elsie hooks her arm with your own, guiding you away from Cameron. “Let’s let the boys talk shop. Let me give you a tour.”

You turn and see Cameron and Isaiah standing beside each other, Isaiah’s back turned while explaining something on the wall – Cameron’s eyes are on you, though. Intense. Burning. The mammoth size of the home dwarfs you. Your childhood house could fit here, ten times over. Your YSL heels burn your feet by the time Elsie leads you to the pinnacle of the tour. At least, in her opinion. 

She has her own ‘quarters’ in the house. The space in which she dresses is about the size of your two-bed apartment. There are hanging garments that could pay off your student loans, and standing here makes you sick at the excess – the decadence.  

Elsie mistakes your concentration on a Balenciaga gown as admiration, resting her slender hand on your upper arm, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you lie. Gaze turning to a mirror nearby. Elsie has an ethereal look about her. An uncanniness. You feel mortal, petty, and small beside her. You turn your gaze, ready to leave, when you hear a ripping sound and feel a rip in the material of your dress. In horror, you turn your back to the mirror and see the dress ruined. 

“Oh, no.” Elsie says, “My bracelet must have gotten caught in it. Don’t worry, I’ve got something you can wear in here.”

Shame burns you. You step out of the ruined dress and watch as Elsie disappears into the dark caverns between the many aisles of her clothing. She brings something out. Something linen and flowy. “It’s quite big on me, maybe snug for you with those hips and breasts.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, you hold the white dress up, and it falls to your feet. It looks thin, guazy, but feels expensive. She helps you put it on, her hands lingering over you as she hums and mutters strange words to herself. When the dress is finally on, you are startled by how you look in the mirror. The diamonds Cam had given you earlier sparkle in the light. Your thong is a hint beneath the semi-sheer material, and each curve of your body is dipped and highlighted beneath the linen. You look like a bacchnal goddess, a deity of excess and sin. Elsie appears behind you, with black-eyes and hands upon your body. 

“Don’t we look divine?”

Dinner is held beneath the desert sky. Waiters stand by a buffet of plenty, Cameron and Isaiah sit at a long table, at two different ends. Cameron looks up, standing as you step down into the courtyard. He captures your hand, kissing the ringed knuckles. “You look amazing, baby.”

Isaiah smirks. Folding his arms as Elsie stands beside him. “How are you finding the city?”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, feeling cold. “Your home is lovely too.”

“Look at her,” he says, eyes on Cameron and not you. “All mannerly. All trained. Are you going to be staying with him?”

“For the weekend. I have a job to get back to on Monday.”

“A job?” he says to you, by the way, looking at Cameron. “You not handling that, youngblood?”

“I like her independence.” He says, hard.

“Hmm,” Isaiah says. 

No one else speaks for the remainder of the meal. Not when served, not until the dessert plates are taken away. 

Isaiah breaks the silence. “Why don’t you guys stay the night? Late as hell to ride back in the night.”

“Sure,” Cameron says before you can protest. “We’re beat. Gonna turn in early.”

Isaiah smirks. “Beat? Well, try not to beat that pussy too much, you gotta tighten up that game. You guys barely won last time.”

“It was a ten-point gap.”

“And still too close.”

The tension bleeds into the red wine of your glass. You set it down and take his hand, feeling him soften as your thumb rubs his own. Cameron looks at you and nods. “We’ll head in now.”

Isaiah raises his glass and gestures for one of the helpers to show you guys your room. It’s not far from the courtyard, just a few well-calculated turns. The room is grander than any hotel you’ve ever been to. There are sleeping clothes on the bed, toothbrushes and a silk wrap for your hair. You take a seat at the edge of the King-sized bed, dragging yourself up and resting on your elbows. You eye the ceiling and look back at him.

Cameron is locking the door and already removing his jewellery. When he gets to his chain, you stop him. “Keep that on.”

He removes his sweater and slowly removes his pants and briefs. You touch the clasps of the dress, prepared to remove them. “No,” he growls. “Keep that on, take the panties off.”

You obey, sliding the thong off and hiking the skirt of the dress up to reveal yourself to him. The turgid member bounces as he walks up to you; you shiver in anticipation of being filled, but are not disappointed as he drops to his knees and plants his mouth on you. 

Your hand cups the back of his head, rising and grinding against his mouth as his lips smack and tongue licks. His thumb presses and circles your clit, nose nozzling as he licks and kisses, mouth wide open against you.

Cameron feasts. He’s greedy between your legs, relentless as he demolishes your senses and leads you close, then pulls back, pushing, pulling, tugging, rolling until you scream into the space of the room, dark spots dotting your gaze as you grow weak. 

He stands up, mouth wet, tongue cleaning your fluids. His thumb trails over the nub and lips, sinking inside you, whirling in slow, circular motions. 

“You look like a goddess, Honey,” he says with veneration. Cameron pulls you until your ass hangs off the bed, removing his thumb from your wetness and replacing it with his dick in one swift thrust that makes you howl.

He hooks your legs, keeping them wide as he moves his hips. You cup your breasts, pinching your hardened nipples between your fingers. The diamonds are brushing against your tender skin as you rub them through the sheer. 

Cameron leers at you, staring with unabashed want and hunger. So very hungry. He ducks his head, capturing your fingers and nipple into his mouth, the diamond clashing against his teeth as he bites on your nipple, tongue flat and lips suckling it all.

When his head raises, he grins at you – in the light, clouded by utter pleasure, you see diamonds in his teeth, but it's gone in a moment. He kisses you and keeps fucking you so hard you claw at his back to race against the mounting pressure. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open, fucking you without reprieve. In, out, deep, deeper, hard, harder. He pistons into you until his gait falters a little. 

You whimper at the change, but his hand relinquishes a thigh to add pressure to your clit. He stops moving, just presses full into you. The width and weight, heavy and burning, as he chases an orgasm with his thumb. You shiver, eyes rolling back as you cum. While you scream, he releases and starts again, letting go of your thigh and simply crowding you, humping into you like a feverish beast, violent and hot.

Through tears, you feel him stop and pull out, dick no longer plugging the thick cum that drops onto the expensive dress. Cameron tries to tuck it back in with his thumb, smearing it all over your pussy.

“Turn over,” he says, crawling off of you. 

You shake your head, kissing him and flipping him onto his back. “Let me make you feel good.”

He bites his lip and nods. 

You turn yourself around, backing him as you lower yourself to his hard dick. There’s a mirror facing you that you had not seen before. In its reflection, you are ruined. You are desire personified. You are divine. You lean forward and grab his ankles and start to slowly ride him. Your hips move back and forth, then up and down. 

Behind you, his hands molest your moving cheeks – groping and smacking them, muttering dirty, dirty things.

“You like this pussy, Papa,” you whisper at him, looking back to see his concentrated face. “You make me feel so full, this big, fat dick.”

He raises his hips, in an attempt to make you lose balance, but you keep him still – squeezing your walls around him and slamming your ass down. “Fuck.” you hear him curse, big hands on your hips, begging for you to go faster.

You turn back to the mirror and freeze. At the door of the room is Cameron, not the one beneath and inside you, a separate one. He appears darker – face shadowed by an unnatural growl. He is covered in blood and diamonds. You scream. The Cameron below you doesn’t understand and mistakes it for you wanting to switch, he turns you onto your belly and presses a hand onto your head, fucking you into the mattress. Dick pistoning and hips slapping against the meat of your round ass, whispering how good your pussy was, how tight, how warm, how he could die surrounded by you. 

Your eyes don’t leave this other Cameron.

Not when your Cameron cums deep inside you and smacks your ass sore; how good you are, how perfect his lady is, how he knows you want more, how you feel best filled with his cum. Not when your orgasm makes you shiver and scream Cameron’s name and your hips move to reach his own, craving more of him always, as the bloodied one grins. Not when he massages your breasts and thrusts anew until both of you reach your heights. 

You stare until the bloodied Cameron disappears into the closed door, like some terrible apparition.

***

You awake before 4 AM. 

You’re alone. But there’s a note at the bedside, in Cameron’s scrawl – gone to train, be back by 5. Rubbing your face, you look around the room, empty and cold. The night runs through your mind, and it doesn’t take much for you to make your next decision. You were getting the fuck out of there. Getting up, your head spins when you get up too fast. That didn’t make sense; you’d only drunk one glass of wine and a shot of Bailey’s. 

Holding your head, you try to stand upright for even a moment. Straightening, you dizzily walk to the connected bathroom – throw some water onto your face and drink some. The water eases some of the spinning, and you don’t even bother looking into the mirror. You pack whatever things you’d brought with you – your purse, your panties, your phone. You pack whatever belongs to Cameron as well; his phone is notably missing, determined that both of you will leave.

Dialling Cameron’s number, you bite your nails as it rings and rings. You stumble out of the room. The hallways are awash in red light as you stumble. You lean against the wall until you stumble into the courtyard. Elsie is sitting at the table, taking seeds from a pomegranate, her pale face lit by candlelight.

Your words choke, “Where is Cam?”

She looks up at you, eyeliner so thick and eyes so black, it looks like two abysses staring back at you. Her ruby lips spread into a wide, stretched smile, like her skin was being pulled back. “Why don’t you join me for breakfast?”

“No.” You snarl, barely maintaining the facade of politeness. “Tell me where Cameron is and call us a fucking car. Please.”

Elsie doesn’t respond. Instead, she laughs. Your skin chills. You turn and see, not a few feet behind you – Cameron. Not your Cam. This blood-soaked, black-eyed one stalks towards you. You heave, racing away towards the table. You drag your arm over it, grabbing a bronze candle holder and hitting him in the face with the heavy metal. You do this over and over, Elsie laughing in the background as you kill the spectre of the man you love. As you flatten his face, you hear his voice call your name, urgent and repetitive. 

When a splash of blood coats your eyes, you wipe it away and see – not the courtyard, not the blood, not the laughter, but the foyer of Isaiah’s home. Elsie and Isaiah are staring at you. Cameron’s arm around your waist. 

“I don’t think she heard you,” Cameron laughs, hand patting your waist. “They asked you if you’d like a bottle of the wine you enjoyed last night, baby?”

You lick your lips, dry beneath the slither of your tongue. “I, uh – no, no thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Elsie says, smiling. She hands you a dusty, aged bottle of no doubt expensive wine. “It’s a gift.”

You accept it, feeling sick. “Thank you.”

The car does not with the same driver as last night. The two of you leave the compound, the ice in your skin does not retreat, and the sickening feeling in your stomach remains leadlike and heavy. Cameron wraps himself around you, nose in your hair. “Did you have a good time?”

You eye him, searching in his eyes, cornflower in the daylight. “I don’t ever want to come here again. I think I need to move closer to you, at least a state closer. I don't like this.”

Cameron’s brow quirks, but he doesn’t say anything, kissing you before laughing. The laughter is unrestrained and vicious like Elsie’s. You hold him tight, nails digging into his flesh – afraid that if you let go of him, you’d let go of reality. 

Beneath you, Cameron’s heart blooms at the success of your clinging to him. Now, all he needed was to get you to move out to San Antonio. "Whatever you want, Honey."

REBLOG, REVIEW 🍀

It's the First Day of October!!! 🧡🎃🍬🍭👻🎉

Time to start watching my Halloween movie and show watchlist!! 😁

pairing: clark kent x reader

synopsis: clark kent wants to kiss you so bad but you don’t let him until he actually loses his mind from all the pathetic yearning

a/o: i’ve been sick with jealousy watching the various make out clips of the superman kitchen scene so i have to write this otherwise like clark kent i will explode. david cornswet- [redacted]

returning to your apartment after a long day of work at the daily planet and seeing your boyfriend clark kent in your kitchen cooking you dinner wasn’t on the agenda, but who were you to complain about a pretty boy doing domestic work for you like a simp?

you smile, sneaking up to your boyfriend (who obviously hears you with his super-hearing, yet entertains your antics.)

“ah yes, superman’s favourite reporter,” you tease with a grin and clark spins on his heels to turn towards you, eyes lighting up. he takes two big steps forward and his huge frame towers over yours. his arms fit your waist like a glove. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“hey,” his voice is sweet as he greets you, still in his work clothes. “don’t be jealous,” he smiles, gorgeous dimples sinking into his cheeks on his handsome face. “you can be superman’s second favourite reporter,” he muses, bending down to kiss you.

you subsconsciously divert, shifting to his side, backing up into the counter. clark’s eyebrow raises, slightly perplexed, before following your turn, backing you into the counter. your hand places on his shoulder.

“well, it doesn’t matter to me since superman seems to lack some morals if he’s always conspiring with the same reporter,” you taunt, grinning wide. “who also happens to be the same person as him.”

clark smiles, teeth and all. it’s boyish and delightful as always, the type to make butterflies erupt in your stomach. “fine,” he moves down again, hands on your hips. “so i’m a little unethical, but i’m only human,” clark’s voice becomes a faint murmur by the end of his sentence because he’s leaning in, lips parted to kiss you—

you turn to your side, dramatically rolling your eyes. at first, avoiding clark’s kisses was unintentional, but seeing the heat of frustration rise in his neck, the way his hands tighten on you, and the way his teeth grit slightly every time you dodge his kiss plants a cruel idea in your head.

“or maybe superman has his favourite medium for positive media representation,” you pester, eyebrow raised.

your boyfriend frowns. “ouch,” he pouts at the accusation, caging you against the counter. “but the articles i write are never biased. they’re factual, with the most valid source possible. it’s perfect journalism,” he defends. this time he moves in more skilfully, head blocking yours, but you quickly begin to speak as his mouth inches closer.

“but superman would know exactly what to say!” you gently smack his chest when he leans in to kiss you again. clark groans, hands seamlessly lifting you up onto the counter as if you weight nothing. he hums absentmindedly while you continue to complain, hands gesticulating to drive your point home.

“fine,” he concedes, eyes moving down. “you’re right,” he gives up so you can stop lecturing him, leaning in again. you scoot back against the counter, creating distance between the two of you. frustration bubbles inside clark’s chest.

“it’s not really fair, is it?” you continue to question, eyebrows raised as your eyes find his face. and clark’s face is..

completely fucked out.

his lips are parted, breathing heavily through them, bottom lip slightly jutted out, eyes locked on your mouth. his glasses are carelessly lopsided, hanging from a thread on the tip of his nose. your lips curve upwards in the hint of a grin. he’s lost it.

“clark,” you breathe, hands suspended in the air at his shoulders. you use the inside of your wrist to nudge his broad shoulder. “i’m not done scolding you.”

he almost whines. “yeah,” his deep voice is unusually high pitched and feeble. “yeah— sorry,” it cracks, a thick gulp bobbing down his adam’s apple.

his eyes flicker up to your eyes for one second before uncontrollably twitching back down to your lips. frustratingly, you begin again:

“it’s just not ethical,” you lean back, head resting against the bottom of a cabinet while clark hums, not registering a word you’re saying. “interviewing yourself, knowing all the questions beforehand—”

this time when his will falters— he leans in, hands moving from your waist to your cheeks, fingers digging into your soft skin to ground you to one place. his mouth parts to capture your lips in a kiss when you grin wide, pulling his glasses up and off his face, his curls bouncing at his forehead. you turn your head to the side right when clark reaches you to place them on the counter, so his lips press into your hair instead.

he closes his eyes, sucking in a deep, patient breath. hold it together, kent. you’re saying something, but he can smell your shampoo, and god he’s going to rip out of his pants.

“and the thing is, if you just keep interviewing yourself, eventually someone’s going to piece together how suspicious that is,” your eyebrow raises as you give him a plain smile.

he nods, attempting a new strategy, that if he behaves, you’ll eventually give in and kiss him back. you smack your lips disapprovingly, and clark’s beautiful baby blue eyes darken.

he leans in again when you’re silent for a moment, determined to capture you this time, his mouth open. his lip grazes your top lip when your mouth falls open to block his.

god, for once, clark wishes you’d stop talking. just this once.

“but then again the glasses,” you turn to the side, eyeing his disguise. you turn back to him, hands sliding up his neck to tangle with the curls at the base of his neck. “sure, but i still don’t think they’re enough to curb suspicions if they ever arose.”

now you’re just not playing fair. clark chokes momentarily on air when he feels your fingers on his neck, chest heaving up and down heavily.

clark snaps. not vocally, but in restraint.

his voice is sharp when he gasps out your name, eyes closing. “you—” he purses his lips, his pretty dimples making an appearance.

you shamelessly reach down and poke one, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. “can you just kiss me first? please?” clark is so polite with his words, despite how you’re torturing him. his volume isn’t raised, tone isn’t demanding. he’s pleading like the usual, sweet ol’ clark he is, deep voice shaky.

“i promise i’ll listen to you scold me,” his eyes open and they’re pathetically glossy when they meet yours. his eyebrows crease, lips pouted slightly. pity fills your chest and you smile cruelly.

you shrug. “maybe i just don’t want to kiss you right now,” you smile, and clark’s eyes widen slightly. his expression falls, lips parting as hurt fills him. he tries to open his mouth to say something, eyebrows twisting in despair. he’s about to go crazy with questions, asking if he’s done something wrong, if you’re mad at him, if you suddenly hate him, when you chuckle.

“just kidding.”

and then your hand at his nape tugs forward, pressing your lips to your gentle giant of a boyfriend’s mouth.

clark moans. shamelessly, unabashedly, moans. his eyes close tight, hands flying over your frame, hard and huge on your waist and back as he tugs you closer, hips pressing into yours. his mouth is bordering aggressive as it opens and closes around your lips, taking them in between his plump ones, kissing you like a starving man.

which he is, considering you were torturing him for so long. his hands glide over your back again and again, feeling you up while there’s zero space in between your bodies, your legs fitted around his hips while he grinds against you.

your hand moves down his large arm, over his rolled up sleeves and then up, tangling into his curly black locks. your chin tilts up to better make out with him, panting heavily. it’s a messy, rough, desperate kiss, clark’s super-mouth having no intention of stopping, lips continuously gliding in and out from between yours, teeth clashing while he’s plunging his tongue into your parted lips with each kiss, cheeks dimpled as he swirls his tongue around yours in your mouth.

he presses his lips harder against yours for round two, shifting between sucking your bottom lip and then your top lip, equally dividing the attention. for a moment in between he keeps his lips parted against yours, intimately breathing hot air into your mouth, before pressing another long, never ending kiss against your lips with intense pressure.

you have to tap his bicep three times to remind him that you’re only human, and he breaks the kiss with a loud wet squelch, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights as if he hasn’t just kissed the life out of you.

his hands tighten around your waist, moving up your back and down, almost apologetically.

“gosh,” he breathes, drowning in guilt when he sees you struggling to catch your breath, panting and heaving. his own chest is rising up and down exasperatedly, cheeks flushed. “gosh, i’m so sorry..”

he leans in, nuzzling his nose against your cheek apologetically. “wanted to kiss you so bad..” he tries to justify, his words fluffy air on your cheek. “you were scolding me, and you weren’t stopping, and i just needed it..” his deep articulate voice is dark and whiny, his heart racing in his chest.

he gulps and it’s so fucking loud in the silence. your own heart is thrumming against your chest, your hands gripping his biceps.

“you forgive me, right?” clark breathes, nose digging into the warmth of your cheek while he intentionally nuzzles it around until it collides with your own nose, his plump, wet lips pressing a gentler, softer peck to your mouth. the quick sound of the kiss rings in your ears and your head feels dizzy.

“i just really needed it,” clark’s hand slides to your abdomen, reaching up and grabbing your wrist, gently bringing it down.

he places your palm over his crotch. god, your palm is nothing in comparison to how huge—

“see?” he presses a kiss to your cheek, lips parted as he breathes heavier against your skin. “just had to kiss you otherwise i’d explode.”

meanwhile— you’re a blushing, light-headed mess. how stupid of you to torture your sweet, monster kisser of a boyfriend. when clark pulls away enough to see the hazy look in your eyes, he blinks, eyebrows furrowing in genuine worry.

“golly, was that actually too much?” he switches from whiny and pathetic to genuine worry, lips pressing into a concerned thin line, cheeks dimpling as his hand reaches up to sweetly caress your cheek, thumb rubbing up and down.

you give him that same breathless look. “clark,” you breathe, voice bordering sulky. “clark i can’t be wanting you to fuck me everyday,” you complain, sounding like you’re about to cry.

clark’s pants tighten. he sucks in a breath, closing his eyes. he nibbles on his lower lip, trying to maintain himself, hands tightening around your hip and cheek.

“god,” clark’s voice is on the edge, and it’s probably the first time you’ve heard him say ‘god’ and not ‘gosh’. you gulp, practically feeling him tighten underneath your palm.

Morning after

Synopsis: You and Clark fuck on his kitchen counter the morning after sleeping over at his.

Tags: dom Clark Kent, fingering, p in v, vaginal sex, tabletop sex

You walked into Clark's kitchen wearing nothing but his t-shirt. It was 8 o’clock on a Saturday the day after the little drinks with friends event you’d organised with the rest of the group ended up with you spending the night with Clark Kent, the one friend you know least in your friend group. You dragged yourself slowly towards the cupboards and opened some in the likely case one was full of cups. The moment you found some, you picked out a small glass and placed it under the tap that you filled with cold water. As you waited for Clark to get up, you sat at the coffee table in the centre of the kitchen slowly sipping from the glass and reminiscing about the night.

No doubt he was good in bed, you could tell it wasn’t his first time. The way he touched your skin and ran his hand through your hair told you he had touched someone the same way before. It wasn’t like you minded anyway, you were both adults so sleeping with other people was common.

As you finished the glass and placed it back on the table, Clark came into the kitchen with nothing on but a pair of pyjama pants. The moment he saw you, his eyes lit up and his eyebrows relaxed. He probably thought you’d left already or regretted the night when neither were true. You’d just needed something to drink.

“Good morning.” He whispered through his soft smile as he brushed your cheeks with thumb.

You smiled back at him and blushed slightly. You shivered under his touch, the memories of last night falling over you again.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asks as he approaches the fridge.

You politely decline and get up from the table to wash up your cup.

“Dont worry,” Clark cried as he rushed behind you. “you don’t need to do that, I'll do it.”

His arms were now resting on your shoulders and his chest was pressed up against your back. You tense up at the gesture, his body feeling so close to yours just as they were before. He took the cup out of your hands and washed it from over your shoulders. His arms pressed into the sides of your neck and slightly brisked the corner of your cheeks. Your stomach dropped and your cheeks flushed as you felt the veins on his arms pulsating against your skin.

“Have I told you how hot you look in just my t-shirt?” He asks the question as if it’s a passing statement.

You shake your head side to side. You're speechless. You watched him put the cup down and his arms retreat behind you. He placed his hand swiftly on your thigh and slowly began to creep up your leg, his knuckles catching the corner of the t-shirt and lifting it up with it. Your breath hitches as you feel his fingers crawl up your skin. His fingers continue to wander forwards until he finally finds your clit, gently massaging it as he begins to kiss your neck. You let out a gasp in reply and bite back a groan as you feel your thighs shake under his touch. Your head tips back in pleasure as he carries on placing kisses against your shoulder and neck.

“You make me so hard when you're like that my dear,” He whispers between his kisses.

You back up slightly to feel his erection poking at your back. You couldn’t hold it back anymore, suddenly turning around and kissing him ravenously, touching him all around his chest and arms. He suddenly pulls you onto the kitchen counter, pulling the shirt over your head and throwing it onto the coffee table behind you both. He takes off his pants in return and now the two of you are in his kitchen naked, still kissing each other as if you’d let go you’d die. He gently places his leaking tip on your clit and you moan loudly as he tenderly rubs it up against the tip of his glossy cock.

“Promise you’ll go slow at first, It's too early for anything too extreme.” You stutter out.

He looks down at your lips and nods slightly as he lower his cock right in between your folds, slowly pumping in and out as you both whine and moan in intense pleasure. His mouth finds its way to your nipples, sucking at your tits as he listens to your moan get louder.

“Good girl.” He groans.

You thrust quicker without thinking, the feeling of his huge cock squeezing into your tight entrance making you moan in pleasure. Soon enough, neither could he stop whimpering as he whines into your stomach with every thrust. His dominant facade fades away as you watch him gasp and moan in need.

He picks up the movement as you feel him build up inside of you, clasping your ass in support.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum-” He pants every word after every hasty breath.

He unloads quicker than you expected, his body loosening and his eyes rolling back slightly as he did so. He slowly retracts his cock and gently kisses you on the cheek.

A/N: I’ve finally tried writing smut for the first time and I wouldn’t say it’s my best work but it’s still good. Support me on AO3 here

Clark Kent x reader

Summary: Clark can't get himself to cum and needs your help

Warnings: smut, rough sex/power play, unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight dub con, accidental use of super powers, established relationship, oral (m/f receiving), deepthroat, overstimulation, possessive behavior

You’re at home when you hear the jingling of keys later than usual.

The door opens and Clark steps in, his shoulders tense with the weight of Metropolis still clinging to him. He greets you in the kitchen, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. It was more from muscle memory this time rather than affection.

“Work was hell,” he mumbles, not waiting for you to ask about his day. He heads straight for the shower, his broad back disappearing down the hall.

You let out a hum, finishing up dinner and setting plates out as the sound of the shower runs in the background. But the minutes drag. Clark usually showers like he’s on military time, just in and out in 10 minutes. Tonight? twenty pass, then nearly thirty when you’re knocking lightly on the door.

“Everything alright in there?” You call through the steam.

There’s a pause, his voice pierces through with a strain to it “Yep! Everything’s fine” There’s cracks around the edges, not fully convincing you.

When you finally sit down and finish your own plate, you make him one and set it on the counter, calling out to him “dinners waiting when you’re done, okay?”

The bathroom door creaks open. Clark finally emerging with only a towel around his waist, gripping it awkwardly with both hands as if It might fall. His faces flushed uncomfortably red, with his forearms flexing hard, veins standing out like he’s at the gym instead of fresh out the shower. He stands there for a moment, frozen halfway into the kitchen, staring at you like he’s been caught.

“…whats wrong?” You ask carefully

His gaze flicks down to the towel. His throat works before he mumbles “…don’t judge.”

Your brows pinch together. “Clark…”

“I can’t —“ he exhales sharply, shifting on his feet. “I can’t make myself cum. Ive tried, and it’s just— it’s not working. And it’s driving me insane.” His tones half frustrated, half pleading. He looks up toward you then, vulnerable despite the sheer physicality of him “I just… need help”

Your heart trips in your chest, but you give him a nod. A forced shaky smile. “Of course. Whatever you need.”