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Your eyes scanned through the remainder of the clothes still on hangers when a sparkly number caught your eye.

It was pink, coated in iridescent glitter. It made a mess in your closet, sure, perhaps that’s why it was tucked so tightly away close to the wall. You yanked it from the hanger, causing the plastic to pop off the pole and into the rest of the pile of clothes.

Walking it over to your full length mirror, you pressed it against your figure. After a few seconds you opted to try it on. Before you did, you were sure you had some accessories to go with it. Along the shelf in your closet, you pulled some boxes that were hidden away, knowing you stuffed a few miscellaneous items in there. You couldn’t remember exactly what was in there, but it had to be something to go along with a costume of some sort.

As the boxes fell onto the floor, you pried them open, quickly digging through them. There was a few headbands, some satchels, a tiny hat. “What a bunch of junk” you murmured to yourself. Your hands kept digging through when something shiny caught your eye.

It was a crappy tiara, tiny and cheap, but it would do.

You tossed it onto your bed, with a sigh you pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it to the side. You then struggled out of your jeans, stepping over each leg to free yourself from them.

Standing in your room, clad in your underwear, you unhooked your bra, knowing there wasn’t one to go well with the dress when you felt a pair of eyes watching you.

Turning around, you pressed your loose bra against your breasts when your breath hitched to see Billy at the door frame. “I thought you said you were ready-“ he whispered as he stayed leaned against the frame.

“Change of plans” you argued.

“We’re going to miss the movie.” He added, yet stayed in the same position.

“You don’t have to take me.” You snarked, half joking. It didn’t phase him though, he was used to your bratty attitude.

“I know. Doesn’t make us any less late.” Still in the same spot.

There was a silence between you two, only interrupted by the music playing through your radio.

You're talking a lot, but you're not saying anything

“What are you choosing?” He wandered out loud, you didn’t know if you were more annoyed or embarrassed that he seemed to have no reaction.

“I don’t know, I was going to try this on.” You confessed.

“Then try it on.”

The music again taking place instead of your bickering. Suddenly there was a knot in your throat, he was slowly chipping away at your wall.

“Are you just going to watch me?” Your face contorted as you tried to keep the facade.

“Yeah.” He said in a matter of fact manner. There was a faint appearance of enjoyment in his face, if you squint you could see it. You knew your cheeks reddened at his abrasive mannerism, there was a silent mutual agreement that if anyone was uncomfortable, something would be said.

Secretly, Billy was expecting you to yell at him or shoo him out of the room.

“I mean, I think you would’ve closed the door if you didn’t want anyone to see you, but you didn’t.” Billy argued, letting a smirk form on his lips. He got you there, but you didn’t think he would check in on you like this.

There was nothing for you to say, other than to let your bra fall to the ground along with the rest of the piles.

The air only seemed to thicken. You hated that he was getting his way, but you hated even more that you were sinfully proud that your bare chest finally caused a reaction, even if it was so subtle. You saw the shift in his posture, but his face remained the same.

Reluctantly, you pulled the pink dress into your body, shimmying into the bodice, for a moment forgetting Billy was watching your breasts shift around with your movements. You pulled your spaghetti straps to sit upon your shoulders properly.

“Spin.”

He really had some nerve and again, you hated that something in you listened to him. You twirled around once, the skirt of your dress along with your movement.

You flattened out the wrinkles of your dress after it set from the abrupt spin.

“Put the crown on.”

“What?” Your breath halted, you looked over at Billy in confusion.

“The crown” he gestured to the piece of plastic on the bed.

“Really?” You pressed your lips together throwing daggers at him through your eyes.

“Really.” He confirmed.

You hesitantly reached for the tiara, holding it in your hands for a few moments before putting it on your head, the teeth of the tiaras band hooking into your locks.

When you felt it secure onto your head, you waited for a moment before looking back to Billy, who stared at you in awe.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss a princess.” Billy hissed through his teeth, taking the pressure away from the frame and making his way towards you. Your body turned to face him, staying put until he reached you, nearly breathing on your head.

Taking a step back, he took a step forward to follow you. What the hell is he doing?

His eyes were eating you alive, tracing all the outlines of your face, then your neck, down to your collarbones. You could feel his mouth watering, you could see his pupils getting larger.

Billy’s hand rose to touch your bare arm, his other trickling into your waist. You felt goosebumps form as his hands met your body for the first time. Your face looked up to him as he towered over you.

You’d never admit out loud that you were completely his, if he said strip you’d strip, if he’d ask you to bend over, you would, if he told you to pose for a photo, you would.

But he didn’t ask for any of those things.

Instead he dipped his head low, lips open and ready to consume you. His hot breath grazed your chapping lips, he stood there for a moment before he wrapped his arms around you abruptly.

His hands gripped you in an animalistic manner, his lips clashed against yours, you felt his tooth bump against yours as he bit down to your bottom lip. You were just limp in his arms, opening your mouth to let his tongue swipe across your bottom lip and against your own tongue.

Billy’s hands gripped your figure as he backed you up against the bed, the back of your knees hitting the corner. His hands reached down to lift you by the back of your knees, your dress hitched up by his grip. His hands traveled up your thighs as he gently placed you to fall against the mattress. Your hands wrapped around his neck, trying to intensify the kiss as you felt more and more of his hands explore the bare side of your body.

You felt his fingers hook onto the waistband of your underwear making way to shimmy it down your legs. You moved however you could to help him undress you, your arms still attached to him like he was going to disappear any second.

“Pretty little princess.” He murmured against the corner of your lips. Billy opened his mouth to press wet kisses against your cheek, his tongue and lips clashing against your jaw, then down to your neck. He sucked and nipped at the sensitive regions of your neck, slow at first, but eager not too long after.

All you felt was the sting of his bite, feeling the welts form as he kept sucking and nipping, not giving you time to catch your breath.

“Let me hear what makes you feel good.” He pleaded, smiling at the breathy moans he worked out of you.

“I’ve always wanted this little princess sitting on my lap. But I think this is better.” He groaned out, pushing two fingers against your folds. Your heart raced when you heard his breath hitch as your slick coated his fingers, he was already involuntarily moving his hips against you, pants still on, constricting him. He must’ve been aching.

You gathered up all your strength to reach down to his belt, trying to work at unhooking it.

“Don’t be a fucking brat.” He hissed, abruptly using his free hand to pull yours back causing you to lay flat on your back. You looked up at Billy through your lashes, his cheeks were flushed, hair was tousled and his chest was moving faster than normal.

Before you could whine, he sunk two fingers into your wet mouth, pulling them down against the corner of your mouth, forcing you to moan louder. He took this opportunity to sink his other two fingers into your slick hole, pumping in and out slowly before forming a hook with his fingers.

The feeling was pure bliss, your tongue spewed out, trying to describe your pleasure through a moan, it just sounded like a wet mess. Your eyes crossed as he wiggled his fingers roughly inside of you, he did this more for him than you.

“Bi-“ you choked out, causing the fingers in your mouth to grip your cheek tighter. Your legs were held open by his waist, only your knees were able to touch each other.

“Fuck. Good fucking princess. You’re such a mess.” He groaned, smeared lipstick stained your cheeks due to his grip, mascara stains were already forming due to the sinful tears of delight he was brewing in you.

“Fucking good little whore too, y’know that?” He asked without wanting a real response, you cried out when he kept his moment fast, still hooking into your cunt, your hips bucked at the overstimulation, forcing your eyes shut as you descended into bliss.

“My slutty princess looks so good when I play with her. Haven’t even sticked my dick in her, I wonder how many times I can make her squirt before I even take off my pants.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, half there, half not. Squirt? Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before it turned into pleasure, feeling your core tighten as he kept his speed only adding a third finger.

Billy was always so pushy with his poor little girlfriend, wanting to move onto the physical stuff within weeks of starting their relationship, but y/n had gently turned him down every time. It wasn't because she didn't like him, she absolutely adored Loomis and still couldn't believe she was somehow dating such a cute guy, but she just wasn't ready for the physical side of things yet. Billy seemed to have been patient and understanding... until now...

It started off small, but still hurtful to sweet, sensitive y/n. First Billy would start making fun of her to Stu right in front of her face, telling his friend in great detail how squeamish she'd get whenever he tried copping a feel or kissing with tongue, his exaggerated stories always making Stu laugh even harder than he usually did. Billy also became a lot more cold whenever she'd reject his advances, making a show out of sighing heavily and saying how he should've known she didn't like him enough to put out.

Of course this hurts y/n's feelings, but she doesn't want to break up with Billy over it. After all, they're in love! They're going to be together forever! But she hates it when Billy gets so mean... and he's really cute, he could have any girl in the school but he was nice enough to choose her, so she should be grateful for that, or at least that's what Billy always told her, and she was really starting to believe it... So after agonizing over it for a long while, y/n finally decided to give Billy what he wanted.

The next time Billy tried slipping her the tongue and moving his hand too high up her thigh when they kissed, this time y/n didn't refuse of push him away, instead she simply took it without whining... much. Billy seemed pleasantly surprised by this, his eyes widening fractionally before a devious grin split his handsome face and he gently patted her head, as if rewarding a compliant little bitch for rolling over.

Billy is pretty happy that y/n is finally complying, but now that he's getting the one thing he wanted, Billy doesn't have to pretend to be nice anymore. He won't be straight up cruel... yet, but he'll be a lot more insistent, pushing her head down and pressing her face towards the tent in his pants in an unspoken demand for her to open wide, for lubrication of course! He wants it to be good for both of them. Billy being so sweet and considerate makes her innocent heart skip a beat, and she eagerly sucks him off, even if she doesn't like the sweaty taste.

He then pulls her off abruptly, declaring that he's ready now, even if she isn't. Billy conveniently forgot to bring a condom this time, but he pinky swears that he'll remember to pull out in time, and that he'll stop if it doesn't feel good for her, offering her that sweet and reassuring smile of his that made her fall for him in the first place.

He pushes into her gently, moaning when he hits bottom and feels her wrapped around his cock, groaning out quietly how good she feels and how he was waiting for too long for her to finally stop teasing and give it up already. He stays buried there for a long moment, and when he does start to finally move, he isn't exactly sweet anymore.

Once he's settled into the feeling of a hot vice around his cock, he'll start harshly thrusting into her, his hips battering against hers as he shows her the full extent of his lust love for her, despite her whines and pleas for him to slow down, and how she isn't ready yet, but Billy pays her whining no mind, talking her through it by telling her what a good girl she is and how tight she's gripping him, her pussy hugging his cock like she never wants to let him go. Further proof she was made just for him. Proof that she belongs to him, and since she's his that means she shouldn't complain about a little roughness.

Even though Billy promised that he'd pull out in time, she's just too tight for him to pull his cock out of her pussy in time, and he ends up cumming inside of her despite her protests of not being on the pill, by accident of course. Once he's gotten his rocks off he's a lot less nice, telling her to stop complaining and that she agreed to this, despite having just flagrantly disregarded her wishes.

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee! (and get early access!)☕️✦

you would consider Clark Kent to be a long-time friend of yours, maybe even your closest friend, considering you had lost contact with your previous ones after graduating from university.

you both had been acquainted since childhood, but halted communication when you moved away from Smallville. however, your friendship soon rekindled when you both attended Metropolis University, as fate would have it, both majoring in journalism and both being given the opportunity to intern for the renowned Daily Planet News due to your previous academic success.

you knew everything there was to know about clark, all his quirks and mishaps, his likes and disinterests, as well as the big secret that he was the man of steel himself, Superman.

at least, you thought you knew everything anyway.

you stared at your phone as the unopened messages you had sent clark about his whereabouts for the past couple of days stared back at you, unmoving.

you had half the mind to think that he was out fighting some interdimensional being, which was a common occurrence, but still you couldn't help but feel anxiety creep up your spine as clark, being the sweetheart he was, would still inform you of his happenings even if that was mid-combat, which you had scrutinised him for in the past.

no one at the Daily Planet was aware of where clark had suddenly disappeared to either, only amplifying your unease.

you continued absentmindedly typing away on your keyboard as your mind insistedently wandered back to the gentle giant you had grown to become slightly codependent on, despite your reluctance to admit the reality of your relationship.

the work day was dragging as time seemed to stretch by more slowly with the absence of your beloved desk buddy, clark.

as soon as the large analogue clock displayed in the centre of the office arms ticked 5:00pm, you hastily made your exit, already packed to leave as you started a swift 15 minutes beforehand, muttering a quick goodbye to jimmy as you brushed passed him in your wake.

you beelined to clark's apartment complex, desperate for answers as you prayed you'd be greeted with his presence.

truth be told, your anxiety about the whole ordeal had you coming to the realisation how much you were attached to the man, you were of course in love with clark, how couldn't you be? he was so soft-spoken and kind and considerate and everything you'd ever want in a partner. of course clark was unaware of this; you wouldn't want to risk him possibly not reciprocating your feelings, leaving you all alone in the world, so you'd refer to him as like an older brother to others, as strange as it felt at times.

the commute had been a quick one as you approached clark's locked apartment door. your breath hitched as you halted all movement, idly standing by as your mind blanked.

well, now what?

fuck.

you were here now anyway.

you hesitated as your hand ascended, three shaky knocks thumped on the hardwood door.

clark woke in a sweat. azure eyes adjusting to the fading sunset, illuminating the large expanse of his room.

he groggily arose from his bed already in a foul mood, as this was the most amount of sleep he was able to garner in the last few days, all his senses being forced into overdrive as his rut clouded his mind.

his rut was an annual occurrence that caused him to retreat into hiding, his room acting as his own form of solitary confinement for the coming two weeks. he hated it. he hated the way he would become a shell of his former self, only thoughts of lust and malice occupying his thoughts.

his hostility was only heightened by the fact that this specific rut was unprecedented for this time of year, as well as seemingly more intense than usual, causing him to crawl into isolation unexpectedly despite how he prided himself on his excellent tracking and routine.

another series of quick knocks bombarded his front door, this time much more audible and much more aggressive.

clark's eye twitched in irritation as he lifted himself from his bed, only donning a pair of black boxer briefs as he stormed towards the front door.

he knew you were the one knocking because who else would it be?

clark wasn't necessarily angered by this. in normal circumstances, he would be overjoyed, a fumbling mess of words as he'd swing open the door, a pink dust planting his features at the thought of you standing outside alone.

the object of his adoration.

clark was irrevocably and hopelessly in love with you.

but as he harshly swung open the chained door ajar just enough to peek his head out, you would've never guessed by the look of hostility in his eyes, causing you to slightly flinch back in shock.

"clar—"

"what?" clark interrupted, coldly and bluntly.

you blinked up at him, his eyes dark and emotionless.

he was unrecognisable to the man you were familiar with.

"i just-" you started, twisting your features, but soon twisting into one of annoyance.

"where the fuck have you been? why've you been ignoring my-"

"busy," clark interjected as he started to close the door as quickly as the interaction was.

you unconsciously put your foot in the door in an attempt to keep it ajar for longer, whincing at the pressure.

a look of concern flashed across clark's face as he hastily swung the door back open, the chain halting it from being swung back any further.

"gosh- y/n are you—"

"let me in", you cut clark off bluntly, masking the shooting pain in your right foot with coldness.

clark blinked back at you before he reluctantly unchained the door, letting you in with a grunt as you shoved past him.

clark shut the door, turning towards you as you were now glaring daggers at him.

"the fuck is with you?" you quizzed, eyeing the muscular man up and down for a little longer than intended, taking in his dishevelled half-naked form and very prominent bulge.

clark's eyebrows seemed to be in a permanent scowl as his eyes darted to anything but you to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes. you seriously shouldn't be here right now because clark knew if he snapped, nothing would stop him from taking you right there and then in the most disrespectful of ways.

"helloooo?" you snapped your fingers in his face "what's your issue?"

"i have no issue."

"then why are you actively trying to phase me out of your life"

"you're being dramatic", clark retorted

you froze as your eye twitched.

"me?" you quizzed as you took slow, predatory steps towards the giant, blood boiling in your veins.

"you're the one acting like a little bitch, clark. you won't even fucking look at me, you coward!"

clark's wandering eyes finally set their sights on, and you shivered as the cold, icy stare he harboured seemingly went right through you.

"listen to me and listen closely, y/n, i'm going to need you to get the fuck out of my site for your own good, okay?"

you knew clark, so you knew that he rarely ever cursed, especially in situations regarding you, indirectly or not.

you felt your heart sink. you didnt know why clark was acting the way he was and you knew for whatever reason, the warning he gave was probably with good reason, but your ego couldn't accept clark's entire rejection of your presence, it felt as if he was completely shutting you down and in a weird twist of fate, as if he could see how your heart bled for him and dismissed any feelings of love you harboured towards him.

you felt yourself breaking down as waves of confusion and vulnerability consumed you, and you'd rather swallow glass than let him see how much his words affected you.

but he could see. the way you stiffened and how your eyes slightly glossed over were telltale signs. the rational side of clark wanted to comfort you, hold you close as he whispered how sorry he was for his unnecessarily cruel treatment towards you, leaving chaste kisses in his wake.

but the feral side of clark wanted all but to see how pretty you'd cry being split in half on his cock.

"i hate you, clark kent'', you muttered breathlessly.

the words hung in the air, ringing throughout the silent hallways.

clark's eyes widened slightly before his spine went rigid.

"fuck you", you said as you attempted to charge past the man towards the door.

you raised your hand reaching for the doorknob until you felt a firm grip encase your wrist. before you even had time to snap at the man once more, he pulled you into his broad chest before slightly craning his neck down to ear level.

"i warned you", he whispered.

that was all he gave you before you were transported into his room in a blur.

he threw you onto his bed as if you were a rag doll, the whiplash causing you to slightly keel over in an attempt to catch your breath.

you were terrified. you had never seen this side of clark.

your heart was practically a lump in your throat as he took predatory, looming steps towards your dishevelled form.

he began carelessly, aggressively pulling your work attire from your body, stripping you despite the audible tears in the seam work.

"wait clark—"

"you have no idea how long I've been trying to be good, trying to keep my distance, but no, you decided to stupidly come to me, right?"

you stammered, trying to decipher what the fuck he was talking about?

you were now in your undergarments.

"please.."

"please, what? I fucking told you to leave, but you didn't listen. your unnecessary persistence is gonna be your own undoing, doll."

he climbed onto your limp body, shoving his face into your neck and taking a deep inhale of your saccharine smell.

he let out an audible groan, barely containing himself as he left open-mouth kisses down your jugular. you whimpered when you felt him leaving harsh sucks to your neck, surely leaving bruises for the world to bear witness to tomorrow.

"I'll go clark i swear, p-please just stop, you're gonna leave marks and everyone at work-"

"you're telling me this as if I care?" clark interjected.

"let them see," he replied coldly.

"let them see how your older brother's ruined you for anyone else."

you stiffened.

"that's all, i am right? just like a big brother to you, hm?"

you gasped as you felt him bite down on your neck, whining when he sank his sharp canines into the soft flesh.

you didn't know how to respond. was that why he was mad? you had been referring to clark as an older brother since pre-teens in a weak attempt to stop constant teasing from other classmates. why was he getting mad now all of a sudden?

before you had time to even question the man, you felt your bra being torn off your body.

"fuck yes", clark groaned as he marvelled at your breasts, saliva barely being compelled to stay in his mouth.

he immediately dove into harsh sucks of your sensitive nipples, making you let out a choked-out whine as his other hand fumbled to pull your other erect nipple taut, kneading the fat of your tits as he encased a tit in his warm, hot mouth.

you felt him nudging against your pussy as he rutted into you, humping you dry.

he pulled off your nipple with an audible pop, letting out a groan at how he marked your chest.

"mmf can't wait any longer", clark slurred as the ordeal only seemed to work him up more than expected.

he hastily removed his box briefs, exposing all 8 thick inches of his dick, making you gasp.

clark seemed to analyse your facial expressions as you took him in, and he came to the conclusion that you were absolutely terrified.

this was further solidified as you crawled up the bed in a feeble attempt to escape the oncoming assault.

"don't you dare try running from me", clark commanded as his large hands encased your ankles, dragging you back down the bed until your cunt was flushed with his heavy dick, causing you to squeal.

clark angled his angry, red tip directly at your slick-covered hole that pulsated, awaiting the intrusion.

"clarkie, please.."

clarkie, being the childhood nickname that you bestowed upon him.

"you're being mean."

you were still met with that icy gaze you were becoming to grown acustom to.

"am i, am i being mean?" clark replied before he thrust his length into your weeping hole, letting out an audible growl as your warm, tight walls encased his length, stretching to accommodate his thick cock.

"FUCKK", you screamed as you weren't given a second longer to adjust to his inhuman size.

clark's hand snaked upwards, enveloping your neck as he began a brutal pace, splitting you on his cock

"such a fucking sluut making me wait this damn long", he slurred, heavy balls slapping against your pussy.

"oh my godd clark i-i can—"

"yes you can fucking— take it!" clark emphasised with a harsh thrust, splitting you on his cock.

your mind became a haze as you began to stupify on his dick, his bruising pace making you let out unabashedly loud moans as you continued to suck him in, pussy walls contracting around him, making him groan.

"shiiiit you're tight sweetheart, feels s'ffucking good hnnmghf" clark blabbered as his eyes rolled back, your pussy being his only relief in the last brutally long days.

"you feel me, don't you? you can you feel me riiiight— here," clark let his palm press down on the bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, making you scream at the pressure.

"NNGH PLEASSSE CLARKIE, I C-CAN'T—"

"yeah, you can't, baby, can't do fucking anything right, can you? such a stupid little thing, aren't you?" he groaned into your ear.

his degrading words, as cruel as they were, made you whine as a gush of slick spilt from your sore pussy.

"yeah, that's right, baby, stay quiet for daddy, slut. let me have this," clark groaned as he continued to ravage your poor cunt for his own pleasure, spearheading his cock deeper into your sensitive soft spot.

between clark's unrelenting grip of your neck and the inhuman speed, you felt as if you were going to pass out from the blinding pleasure as you continued moaning like a whore.

clark was moaning just as much as you, the sweet relief of pleasure clouding his mind.

"keep squeezing- j-just like that, baby mffm g-golly gonna get you pregnant— make you a mommy, y-you want it too, dont'cha?" clark babbled as his pace sped up impossibly more.

"yesyesyesyesss" you slurred, mind breaking from the ludicrous amount of stimulation you were feeling all at once "brreed mee clarkiee!"

at your words, clark's eyes rolled back as he let out a feral animalistic growl, shooting rope after white, scalding rope into your pussy. clark's orgasm triggered your own as you began seizing, squirting geysers of slick onto his bed sheets with a loud, pornographic moan of clark's name.

as soon as the last long rope of cum was shot into your achy cunt, clark collapsed on top of you, pressing your sore body into his mattress.

your breathing began to stabilise as you inhaled copious amounts of air, not realising how out of breath the ordeal had left you.

"y/n.." you heard clark weakly mumble, cutting the brief silence short.

"yes, clark," you replied, still dazed and out of breath.

"i'm so so sorry", he apologised, face still tucked into your neck. you began forming a reply.

that's until you felt his dick twitching back to life as his arms scooped your thighs upwards, forcing you into a mean mating press.

this was just the beginning.

directly after the end of clark's long and drawn-out brutal Kryptonian rut, he dropped to his knees apologising for your forgiveness and mercy. explaining how his rut had made him have a heightened sex drive as well as a hostile, feral nature he couldn't contain.

you wanted to let him wallow in his sorrow for a bit longer than intended, but the way clark would follow you around, head bowed, and a teary, snivelling mess, unfortunately tugged at your resolve.

as well as the fact he would show up to work, eyes red and irritated from crying, and hair a dishevelled wreck, causing whispers from the entire office wondering what had occurred to trigger his current state.

despite all things considered, you still loved the man but you made sure to thoroughly scolded him on his lack of communication, emphasising how you would've helped him if you knew about his this part of his Kryptonian biology instead of him having to push you away.

overjoyed, he turned into a blubbering mess, confessing all his pent-up feelings to you as he cried in your arms as you were both perched on his couch one evening.

from then on, you two had officially begun going out to no one's shock.

and when the next annual rut came rolling around, you were prepared for the best, most degrading, mind-blowing sex of your life.

a/n: ive been mulling about the ending for some hours now and this was all i got im sorry guys i was genuinely at a loss ik its sloppy but i didnt wanna end it at the sex scene because erm idk closure anyway hope you enjoyed this shit show, ik i didnt! mwah! glad to be back

The great hall of Ithaca, once a den of boorish thieves, was a royal court once more. The scent of spilled wine and greasy smoke had been replaced by beeswax, polished wood, and the faint, salty air drifting in from the sea. Your father, Odysseus, sat upon his throne, his presence a heavy, grounding force that had finally brought order to the island. Your brother, Telemachus, stood at his side, no longer a boy but a prince who had earned his place. Your mother, Penelope, was a vision of serene grace, her weaving telling stories of triumph now, not sorrow.

Everything was perfect. A storybook ending.

Except for the ghost who haunted the palace. And the secret you held tight in your heart, a secret that would shatter this perfect picture into a thousand pieces.

Antinous.

He had survived. In a moment of political calculation your father called "mercy," the ringleader of the suitors had been spared the arrow. After a spectacle of begging, groveling, and swearing eternal fealty on the graves of his ancestors, he was allowed to live. But not to leave. He was a prisoner in all but name, confined to the palace grounds, his family's power and wealth holding him in a gilded cage to ensure the loyalty of the other nobles. He was a shadow, a whisper in the corridors, his once-blazing arrogance banked to a cold, watchful ember.

And he was yours.

Your love had been a secret, forbidden bloom even before your father's return, born from stolen glances and whispered words in moonlit gardens. You had seen past the swaggering pride to the fierce, passionate man beneath. In the tense, strange peace of your father's new reign, that love had become a desperate, secret solace. A lifeline.

Today, that lifeline was stretched to its breaking point.

You were seated on a cushioned stool near your mother, the picture of a dutiful princess. Before you stood Philoetius the Younger, a suitor from Zakynthos. He was handsome, obscenely wealthy, and praised for his skill with a chariot. He spoke of his lands, his herds, his devotion to the gods. He was, by all accounts, a perfect match for the daughter of the King of Ithaca. And as he smiled at you, his teeth white and even, you felt nothing but a rising tide of nausea.

Because across the hall, leaning against a marble column half-hidden in shadow, was Antinous.

He was dressed simply, the fine silks and gold he once favored replaced by the plain, dark tunic of a man with no status. But it couldn't hide the coiled power in his frame, the broad set of his shoulders, or the sheer, dangerous intensity of his presence. He wasn't looking at the suitor; he was looking at you. His dark eyes were chips of obsidian, and his handsome face, the face you traced in your dreams, was a mask of such cold, possessive fury that a shiver traced its way down your spine.

He knew. He was watching this man try to court you, and the jealousy radiating from him was a palpable force, a poison that seeped into the very air between you.

You offered the suitor a tight, polite smile, your mind racing. "Your lands sound bountiful, my lord," you murmured, the words tasting like ash. "You honor our house with your visit."

As soon as protocol allowed, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. You didn't dare look in Antinous's direction, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you fled the great hall. You didn't go to your chambers. You went to his.

His rooms were small, tucked away in a disused wing of the palace. The cage within the cage. You slipped through the door without knocking, closing it firmly behind you and leaning against the solid wood, your heart hammering against your ribs.

He was waiting for you, standing in the center of the spartan room. He hadn't moved, yet he seemed to fill the entire space with his rage.

"A headache?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft, a low rumble that promised violence. "Or did the brilliance of your new admirer simply become too much for you?"

"Antinous, please," you whispered.

"Please what?" He took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. "Please allow you to entertain the next rich lord who comes sniffing at your door? Am I to stand in the shadows and watch you smile at him, fluttering your lashes as he describes the fine sons he will give you?"

"It is not my choice! It is my father's will."

"And you are the dutiful daughter." The words were a sneer. He was in front of you now, close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body. He braced his hands on the door on either side of your head, trapping you completely. His dark eyes bored into yours, filled with a terrifying mix of jealousy and pain. "Did you like him, Y/n? Did his talk of chariots and herds thrill you? Are you already imagining yourself as his queen?"

"You know I am not," you said, your voice shaking. "I want no one but you."

His expression wavered for a fraction of a second, the cold fury giving way to a raw, desperate vulnerability. That was the truth of it. He had lost everything—his ambition, his pride, his freedom. You were all he had left. The thought of losing you was not just a heartbreak; it was an annihilation.

"Then prove it," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his head, his lips crashing down on yours.

This was not one of your gentle, stolen kisses. This was a kiss of pure, desperate possession. It was angry and punishing, his mouth hard and demanding, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You gasped, and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. All the frustration, all the jealousy, all the fear he felt was poured into that kiss. And you met it with your own desperation, your hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer.

He broke the kiss only to press his mouth to your neck, his lips hot against your skin. "Mine," he snarled, and you felt the sharp sting of his teeth as he bit down, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a definite, angry mark on the sensitive flesh just below your ear. "You are mine. Not his. Not your father's to give away."

His hands moved from the door to your body, gripping your waist with a bruising force. He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the rough wood of the door, hiking your chiton and peplos up with an impatient rustle of fabric. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered in anticipation.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice a guttural rasp in your ear as his hand splayed across your bottom, squeezing one cheek hard. His other hand worked at the lacing of his own trousers.

"I'm yours," you choked out, your mind already spinning. "Only yours."

"Who do you belong to?" he pressed, his hot breath ghosting across the mark he'd just made on your neck.

"To you. I belong to Antinous."

The sound of his release of breath, a shuddering sigh of satisfaction, was your only warning. You felt the thick, hot head of his cock press against your entrance. He was massive, and in his anger, he seemed even larger. He wasn't using any oil, and you were slick with arousal but tight with a nervous tension. It didn't matter. He wanted to possess you, to fill you so completely there was no room for thoughts of anyone else.

He shoved into you with a single, powerful thrust.

A sharp cry tore from your throat, a sound that was half pain, half exquisite pleasure. He was huge, stretching you, filling you to your very womb. You could feel every thick inch of him inside you. He paused for a moment, letting you feel his complete possession, his body pressed flush against your back, his hand gripping your hip to hold you pinned against the door.

"Feel that?" he whispered hoarsely, his lips against your ear. "That is me. No other man will ever feel this. No other man will ever fill you like this. You were made for me."

Then he began to move.

His thrusts were punishing, a savage rhythm driven by jealousy and fear. He slammed into you again and again, his pace fast and brutal, forcing a choked gasp from you with every deep, powerful stroke. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the cool wood of the door as you gave yourself over to the onslaught. This was what he needed—to fuck the thought of any other man out of your head, to brand you with his body, to reclaim you in the most primal way possible.

And gods, you needed it too. You met his desperate rhythm, tilting your hips back to take him even deeper, your own hands pressing against the door for leverage. The sound of his flesh slapping against yours filled the small room, a raw, wet, percussive sound that was utterly obscene.

"Did you smile for him?" he grunted, his pace becoming frantic. "Did you imagine his hands on you?"

"No," you cried out, your voice strained. "Only you, Antinous. Always you!"

Your confession seemed to break something in him. The rhythm of his thrusts changed, the anger bleeding away, replaced by a deep, desperate passion. The movements became slower, deeper, each one a deliberate act of love and possession. He pulled almost all the way out before sinking back into you, stretching you, stroking a secret, sensitive spot deep inside you that he knew better than you did yourself.

"Gods, Y/n," he groaned, burying his face in your hair. "What you do to me."

He reached around with his free hand, his long fingers finding your clit through your damp folds. He began to rub you with a firm, knowing pressure, perfectly in time with his deep, rolling thrusts. The dual stimulation was too much. Your vision began to starburst. The feeling of being so completely filled from behind, of his thick cock hitting your cervix with every powerful lurch, combined with the skilled attention of his fingers, was sending you over the edge.

"Antinous, I'm close," you panted, your body trembling violently.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice thick with his own impending release. "Let me feel you fall apart around me."

He sped up his rhythm, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts becoming powerful and driving again. Your orgasm hit you like a lightning strike. Your back arched, your inner muscles clenching violently around his cock, milking him. You screamed his name, a high, keening sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your climax triggered his own. With a final, deep, guttural roar, he drove into you one last time, his body going rigid as he emptied himself deep inside you, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, he stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. His forehead rested on your shoulder, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. The rage was gone. All that was left was the man, vulnerable and trembling, clinging to the only good thing in his shattered life.

Slowly, he withdrew from you, the feeling of emptiness almost as profound as the feeling of fullness had been. He turned you around gently, his eyes, now clear of rage, searching your face. He saw the mark on your neck, his own thumb coming up to trace it with a look of regret.

He didn't speak. He simply lifted you into his arms and carried you to his narrow bed, laying you down on the rough-spun sheets. He lay down beside you, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his powerful arms and legs around you, cocooning you. He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you might vanish.

He buried his face in your hair, his lips pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your head.

"Promise me," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, stripped of all its former arrogance. "Promise me you will not let them give you to another. Promise me you are mine."

You tilted your head back, looking into his dark, desperate eyes. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

You belong to the god now, whether by choice or not. None of it seems to matter. You are his lover now. One to do as he pleases. Zeus tries to be romantic, even honest with you at first. Would you rather he take the form of some animal or a strange unfamiliar man? The god enjoys the sight far more than he anticipated. You – naked under his touch, his mercy. Eyes brimmed with tears and if you tried to move your face away, shut your eyes. Anything to make it all the more bearable. He’ll simply tilt your face back. 

There is no questioning that Zeus is greatly fond of you. He has kept you far longer than most of his escapades. That alone sets you apart. But your fate shall remain like any other. Zeus will never be truly loyal to you. Zeus may promise you many things; gifts beyond your imagination. He’ll indulge your many whims, drape you in gold and silk, say all the sweet words. Yet you’ll never be owed his faithfulness. 

So he may take lovers as he pleases. You, however, are not granted the same privilege. For all his indulgence, Zeus is terribly jealous. Shall you dare to entertain any notion even if it’s a mere mimicking of a romantic closeness. You may as well have written your signature on their fate. Their crops, their houses all destroyed, following their death. Zeus will tell you it was mercy. For he knows many ways, countless ways to make one’s end slow and agonizing. And because he is a merciful god, he’ll not tolerate a second time. 

Zeus is not willing to entertain the idea of you remaining among other mortals for too long. Not when they look at you too freely, something he considers his. You’ll be taken somewhere hidden. Safe from Hera’s wrath. She wouldn’t harm you. She wouldn’t dare. But Zeus doesn’t want to take the risk. He promises protection. Do you wish to face his wife’s wrath? Other gods’ trickery? You’ll live in a palace of marble with servants for your every need. Would you not want to be spoiled and doted upon by a god?

HERA

Hera is the goddess of marriage, family and childbirth as well as the queen of Olympians. Hera is proud and clever, but she is also infamous for her jealousy and vengeful nature. Being the goddess of marriage, she remained faithful to Zeus, not taking lovers. But what were the odds that Hera would find herself entranced by a mortal, the very mortal being you. 

The goddess takes it all as an insult, a wound to her pride. At first, she hates you for this perceived betrayal. How could you, a mere mortal, make her feel this strongly? Making this offense even worse is that you continue living blissfully unaware. Oh she is to strike you down where you stand. But you are just so radiant, a delicacy. A flower she wants to pluck all the petals. 

For all her pretense, the goddess designates herself as your protector. No one shall harm or even look at you wrongly. The woman who mocked your appearance awakens with her face scarred beyond recognition or transferred into some beast. The man who catchcalled you shall be struck down with “madness” and for his seed to never bring forth a child. 

It’s not enough for the goddess to just watch you from afar. She wants you to know. That you’re under her divine protection. Hera will find it an insult if you assume any other god is watching you. So it’s not long till you are brought before her. Unlike many gods, she sees no reason for a disguise. Nor does she expect a rejection. 

What Hera expects is awe, loyalty, devotion – as expected from any mortal who is given such an offer. She has been oh so lonely those few days. She clothes you in soft robes, fed to your heart’s content, laying in soft cushions. All by her side of course, as her hands roam your body, a hand inching between your legs. Won’t you like some pleasure and give her some in return, she coaxes. Her husband has been denying her for some time. 

Speaking of her husband, Zeus who is very much known for his jealousy and wrath. Hera assures she’ll protect you, keep you hidden. That is…if you comply. Should you reject her; you’ll not only face her wrath but her husband’s. He will forgive her after some time, the same cannot be said to you. Hera has you right where she wants to and she will never let you go.

POSEIDON

Poseidon is the god of the sea, earthquakes, storms and horses. One of the Olympians who aided in overthrowing cronus. He is tempestuous and vengeful, known for holding long lasting grudges. Poseidon has had many lovers; mortals, nymphs or otherwise – siring multiple demigod children. And in time, you will become one of his notorious lovers. 

The god first took notice of you by the sea. Perhaps you were collecting seashells by the shore or maybe swimming in the shallow water, wet fabric clinging to your skin. For a fleeting moment, Poseidon might have nearly mistaken you for a nymph. Or perhaps you were praying – praying for a loved one’s safe passage across his seas. 

In any other circumstance, Poseidon would have taken you the second you piqued his interest. He is not a god known for his patience. Yet just for a few moments he watches from afar. Not with admiration or tenderness but with lust. With hunger. Poseidon is unashamed in his pursuit. He’ll make it impossible to ignore that there is a powerful force intervening in your everyday life. His version of mercy in preparing you for what's to come. 

Storms will come and go, yet you are left untouched. Still, you can’t help but feel uneasy, the same feeling one gets when they think they’re being watched. Only to turn each time and find nothing. Should anyone get too close to you, news of their misfortunes reach you. Drowning at sea, home torn apart by quakes. Times you dream of the ocean. Day after day the waves call to you. To take a step, further and further till you are deep in the abyss. 

At least, the mystery is solved, the very answer to what seemed to tug at your soul, urging you closer to the sea. Poseidon couldn’t wait any longer. Revealing a bearded man with a trident in his grasp towering over you. You’re given no time to comprehend that the force haunting your dreams, shadowing your every move is the god of sea himself before you’re snatched. 

Your struggles are futile and your cries deafen beneath the waves. Yet you don’t drown. Not even suffocating when the water fills your lungs as the god drags you deeper and deeper where his palace resides; made of coral and pearl. Everything happens too quickly. You are taken with haste. The god is neither gentle nor slow. Doing nothing but taking his thrusts, eager to make his claim. Make you his lover with no room for refusal. And if you prove worthy one day, be a good little sweetling, he may grant you immortality.

HADES

Hades is the king of the underworld, the god of the dead. It was said Hades was grim, stern and unyielding. Unlike his brothers, he kept to his realm, hardly visiting the world above; unmoved by prayer or sacrifice. Hades never intended to fall in love, he was no Apollo or Zeus – a mortal lover was not something that crossed his mind, but somehow you vexed the king of the underworld. 

Perhaps the god first saw you draped in mourning clothes, lighting candles for the dead. Eyes soft with sorrow and hands clasped. Hades couldn’t understand what drew him to you so strongly. Was it your beauty? You were watched for some time and before you knew it, you were abducted by one riding a chariot. Feeling the earth crumble as you’re dragged to the underworld, to a realm you are forced to call home. 

Hades would, surprisingly, not force himself on you. At least not right away. Not because of some moral obligation, but because he sees no need for it. You have no one. No other god to reason with. No trickery, no hidden knowledge that can help you escape the Underworld. You are simply trapped, with no choice but to fight some useless internal battle or accept this realm as your new realm. 

For now, Hades wishes to give you no further reason to hate or fear him. Eternity will be spent here; no need to rush the inevitable. He gives you space. Taking it upon himself to treat you well. You’re not chained in one place, allowed to walk freely throughout the Underworld though certain areas are forbidden. Whatever creature or soul you encounter will not dare to lay a hand on you. 

There will be as much food and drink as you desire, a warm and soft bed to lay in, gifts and comforts almost fit for a queen. Yet you are denied one thing. Never again feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, never watching another sunset, never watching the stars glint at night. And there is no shaking that feeling off – the one that strikes up your spine, that unrests your stomach; the god wants something. Something you can't take back.

If you recoil from his touch, that is fine. As said, the god will give you all the time you need. But even an eternal being finds that thread of patience loosening. All due in time, Hades will have you underneath him; naked and wreathing. Either cause you came to him willingly or he thought your fragile mind could endure it. Hades will have no need for other lovers, why would he need them with you at his side? A pretty little thing he’ll have seated upon his lap as he rules from his throne. 

DEMETER

Demeter is the Goddess of agriculture, of harvest and grain. She is responsible for the fertility of Earth. She is well known, above all, for her infamous grief when her daughter Persephone was abducted by Hades, causing a famine around the world, explaining the cycle of seasons. The goddess has loved a mortal before. Ending in tragedy with Zeus killing him out of jealousy with his thunderbolt. 

One would assume such a thing wouldn’t occur again. Yet there must have been someone who was wishing for your downfall. For how else would your fate end with catching the eyes of a goddess? Demeter noticed your existence long before you ever crossed paths. Even before she allowed herself to feel anything. You weren’t special, no divine blood, no beauty to make men wage wars, nothing remarkable to set you apart from the rest of humanity. 

Still you remain in her thoughts. Perhaps she is reaching out to you out of loneliness. Persephone is gone once more, returning to Hades in the underworld. Yet even during her ‘grief’ when winter arrives with its harsh snow. You step outside your home to find flowers still blooming, your crops growing just fine. Your neighbors have said that you’re blessed.  

Demeter sees your hesitation. How you glance around, at the sky; clearly confused as anyone would. Oh, how she wishes to just reveal herself, wrap her arms around you and soothe it all the way.  She tries holding off as long as she can. And when she can’t bear it, Demeter will not reveal her true divine form. Coming to you in the form of some old traveler. She speaks kindly, wanting to hear the sound of your voice up so close. The disguise doesn’t last long before Demeter finally shows her divine form in gold and green robes, hair woven with dried grasses. 

In shock, unable to comprehend such beauty, you fall to your knees. Demeter only chuckles, reassuring you there is no need to fear as she draws you close. She’ll take you to Mount Olympus where she is prepared to face Zeus and his wrath. Demeter will do anything, bargain even. If she must keep you a few months at a time, she’ll accept. If she must make you immortal, then so be it. 

Refusal is not a choice you can make, for you will face her wrath instead. A terrible famine will come upon your homeland; your friends and family will starve. So why don’t you just stay with her? She will force your head on her lap, let her take care of you. Become her lover. And when Persephone comes to visit, oh she cannot wait to introduce you. Her daughter will take a liking to you, she assures.

ATHENA

Athena was the goddess of wisdom, strategy and handicraft. She was disciplined, a goddess who valued wit. Stubborn and proud. She refused marriage and was believed to have never taken a lover. So imagine the utmost surprise when a mortal catches her eye. A circumstance the goddess herself didn’t believe would come to fruition. Nevertheless, your fate has been sealed. 

It all started with a simple curiosity. Perhaps in her temple or in one of the many libraries inspired by her. Still when that curiosity turned into interest; it took some time. Athena is not as impulsive as Apollo nor as hasty as Zeus. She’ll merely watch. Even the goddess of wisdom, if confronted, couldn’t entirely explain why you caught her eye in the first place. 

Observing the way you move around, how you sit with a book resting in your hands – fingers carefully flipping the pages. Your eyes are so full of life, of curiosity. Sometimes you sit near her statue, gazing up at it with awe. To you, she only exists in myths. An interesting figure you cannot help but admire, speaking to her statue as if she’ll listen. And she does. Oh how eloquent you sound. 

Still, Athena will not make her move. As said, she is far more patient than most. Athena will allow you to believe that she is out of reach. But there is a string of luck that surrounds you; subtle. Never too obvious for others to be able to piece it together. If someone dares to harm you such as a thief, they trip and fall upon their own blade. If you could stumble that will result in serious injury, it feels as if an invisible force is keeping you upright, steadying you. You belong to the goddess. After all, you dedicated yourself to her, did you not? And in return, you will remain in her protection. 

When Athena finally decides to make her move. At last approach you. It’s not in her true form, but rather in the form of an old woman or another curious scholar who happened to find you between the scroll columns. She doesn’t want to alarm you. No, she rather you ease yourself, to fall into her arms. Truthfully it’s another test. Athena has already set her mind. She’s certain. But just one last push to see if you are worthy of her. And you did not disappoint. 

She pretends to need your assistance. Discuss all sorts of matters; philosophy, politics, poetry. She asks such personal questions even when she already knows the answers to each. And when she thinks you are ready. Truly ready. She stands tall in a chiton with a spear plated firmly on the ground; revealing her true form. You would not reject her, would you. It would be an insult, the greatest form of disrespect. She offers you to be her companion, willingly. Not by force. So would you dare to offend a goddess?

ARTEMIS

Artemis was the goddess of the hunt, the wilderness and wild animals. She was fierce and strong-willed, known to be protective over those she cared for and at times had a vengeful nature. Artemis famously vowed and maintained eternal chastity. Still, the vow doesn’t stop the goddess from claiming you as hers. Oh she would be a fool to not take the lure for herself. 

She finds you alone. Wandering through the woods, plucking berries from the bushes or washing yourself in the riverbank – your naked body glowing under the sun. To the goddess, you remind her of a deer. Gentle, delicate and...vulnerable. Artemis shared her twin’s passion, but while her brother would have swept you off your feet by now, she shall bide her time. 

So the goddess stalks her prey. She knows all your favorite spots, the paths you take home, your hums by heart, your favorite flowers to pluck and admire. You swear you could hear branches crack behind you, spinning around to see nothing. Animals seem to circle you. You can feel eyes between the forest trees. Something’s off, but there is nothing you can prove. 

Artemis wishes you remain a little longer, she enjoys your little visits and yes she can easily follow you all the way home. But she rather you stay here, in her domain. With a little touch and tug from the Goddess, tiredness overtakes you. Drowsiness lulling your body to sleep in the green fields. Unaware the goddess will lay next to you, caressing and admiring your face. And when you finally awaken, it’s to find wildflowers either braided into your hair or crowned on top of your head. 

Artemis waits until the moment feels right; she has done enough to ease you into finally meeting her. A tall strikingly beautiful woman shall appear before you, dressed in a simple chiton with high sandals. Approaching your trembling form, cupping your face – promising no harm will come. 

From now on, you belong to the goddess. She will take you to come live with her, wouldn’t that be nice? Where you will eat berries from her hand, bathe together under the moonlight. She promises to make you happy. If you try to flee you’ll be surrounded by haunting dogs, wolves, stags, whatever she chooses. If you cry, she’ll wipe your tears, urging you to just accept your fate, to stop making this harder for yourself. If you beg to return home, she’ll say she is your home now.

ARES

Ares was the god of war and courage. He was impulsive, proud and short-tempered. Reasons he was disliked by many gods and mortals. Having a mortal lover was nothing unusual for the god of war, but for some reason, you were a spoil, a prize Ares refused to let go of. The other gods could hear your pleas of mercy but none stepped in. You realize the harsh truth; you’re very much alone. 

It's what sets Ares apart from most gods. He doesn’t leave signs that you caught his eye nor does he shower you with blessings nor does he leave gifts at your doorstep. Ares doesn’t even bother entertaining the idea of leaving you mingling with the other mortals. He won’t share, won’t allow others to admire or touch what he already considers to be his own. 

So you’re taken. One moment you are living the everyday rhythms to the next thing being forced on a war horse; a tight grip around your waist. You can try to struggle, you can try to cry out. It makes no difference, if anything the god loves the fire in you. Taken to Thrace, where you’ve yet to register the green fields, the vast hills and mountains before forcibly taken right there and then. 

Your clothes are torn as the god lays you underneath him. He chases his pleasure, he loses himself in it. Every thrust is ruthless, driven deeper while you breathlessly sob. In his own form of mercy, Ares at least tries to make it pleasurable for you as well, to ensure you reach your climax, He tells you to simply accept it, to give into your body’s desire. 

The days blur together and in the cruelest ironic twist of irony, it’s not as horrible as one might believe. Yes he stole you away and yes he forced himself upon you. But Ares truly desires nothing more than your devotion, for you to look at him with love, to grow to worship him. He brings you to dine with him. To sleep beside him. To sit on his lap. 

He’ll entertain your little spats. When you turn your face aside or hand away from his touch. This small rebellion is all amusing to him. Still, he is a prideful god. If you insult him, reject him outright, he will remind you where you stand. He is being far lenient – you don’t want to see what happens when he is not. So you learn not to fight him, to lean into his touch, to murmur the right words. He becomes generous, indulgent even and in time being seated on his lap won’t feel like a humiliation ritual.

HEPHAESTUS

Hephaestus is the god of fire, carpenters, blacksmiths and metalworking. The god can be capable of loyalty and hard work yet just as prone to be vengeful, selfish and moody. In some myths, it was Hera who threw him off Olympus and in some, it’s Zeus. Either way rejection is something Hephaestus knows all too well. To rub salt on the wound, his wife famously had an affair with the god of war. So is it truly surprising that you have caught his eye? 

It could be that you were given as an offering, a sacrifice to appease the volcanic eruptions or left abandoned on a cursed island. What was expected to be a slow or quick death ends with a miracle. The god doesn’t reveal himself at first. Leaving tools to help build your shelter and live another night, before he ever spoke to you. He watched as you accepted them, thinking they were fortunes a kind soul has lent to you. 

For a god, Hephaestus is painfully lonely and emotionally starved. You have become his fascination, burning through his bitterness. His thoughts revolve around you obsessively. Desperate to get you in his arms. To which he does, not caring if you struggle, not caring if you cry out as you’re brought to his domain, forever trapped in there. 

Hephaestus hates it when you cower or cry at your predicament. He grows angry and confused. Does he not keep you safe? Don’t make him punish you. He shall treat you gently if you yield to him instead of being so stubborn. Hephaestus is eager to provide, will that make you happy? Shall you want a jewel? A crown? A mirror with enchantment? Let him craft anything your heart desires. 

Even with small chances of it happening; Hephaestus is terrified of you leaving him. He'll seal every exit, ensure there are no hidden passages or cracks for you to slip through. The god likes to keep you close while he works especially when you watch him molt and bend something he’s making just for you. Hephaestus tells you the mortal world is cruel and unsafe. They would envy your gifts, steal or kill you for them. Why would you wish to return? 

His jealousy runs so deep that he even forges a veil that keeps you ‘hidden’ from the other gods. Hephaestus wants your constant reassurance, won’t you shower him with love? Be at his side and press kisses all over, whisper sweet words on how much you adore him, desire him. Be compliant and willing when he rips your clothes, when he promises you a life of just the two of you, forever in love. 

APOLLO

Apollo was the god of archery, music, dance and poetry. Apollo was wise, but passionate, arrogant, vain and wrathful especially when he felt his pride was wounded. Even your worst enemies would pity you to know that you have caught the eye of Apollo; for you might as well be considered cursed. When Apollo falls in love, he falls in love hard. His love is fierce and all burning, it will engulf you, swallow you whole. 

The god may have first seen you during a festival. Or you were simply laying in a sunlight field, ignorant to your dooming fate. With Apollo, there is no patience, no time. He has watched you only briefly and thinks you must be his. Already imagining a lifetime together – spoiling you, loving you, doting on you. Your future has already been decided and it will begin with him. 

So Apollo makes himself known right away. He’ll write poetry praising your beauty, your voice, your very essence. He’ll compose and play melodies dedicated just for you. And the gift never ends such as a lyre despite you never playing one. It’s all too…overwhelming but there is not much room to refuse a god’s offering. 

Therefore Apollo expects delight, awe, worship when he finally reveals himself. Has he not spoiled you enough?  Shown you the depth of his love and devotion? And his beauty will have you —  a simple mortal starstruck. Apollo doesn’t wait long before pouncing on you, his lips on yours. He wants to make love right there and then.

That said if you dare to reject him. Apollo will stop, almost frozen in place. His smile will falter, face hardening. Even if you try to reason; it’s all too much, it’s all too fast. Apollo won’t accept it. He will repeat your words back to you as giving you a chance to reconsider. A final mercy. And if you stand your ground, then so be it. 

Apollo will curse you. Let you return to your mundane life. Let you suffer the consequences of your choice. Given visions that are cryptic, terrible frightening dreams night after night. If you once loved to hum or sing, he’ll go far as to take your voice away. The curse shall do nothing but bring misery. Should you try to move on, suitors will either be turned blind or cursed by madness as well. All you have to do is run back to him. Choose him and he’ll undo it all. Crawl back to his arms, does that not sound wonderful? 

APHRODITE

Aphrodite is the goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and sexuality. She is vain, manipulative, jealous and vengeful like many gods. Her being so interested in a mortal is not much of a surprise yet it remains a mystery to how you’ve caught her eye. Who knew the goddess of beauty herself would find you so beautiful, but not as beautiful as her course. You were a fruit that was ripe, ready for the taking, and who was Aphrodite to deny herself such a temptation. 

Aphrodite doesn’t exactly fall in love with you. Love seems too simple. You have enchanted her. Made her addicted to your very existence. She spends most of her time now watching you, takes notice of everything you do, of  everyone who you talk to. She knows all there is to know. Still the goddess isn’t satisfied. It is not enough. She must have you; wholly and carnally. 

The goddess hates how you think yourself so ordinary. How you busy yourself trying to please other mortals, listening to their demands and trivial concerns. They are all beneath you. Aphrodite often lends help, intervening even when it's not needed. She enhances your beauty. Others notice; no longer tormented with dark circles, acne. Your skin glows, your smile seems brighter. Captivating all those around you. 

Aphrodite makes you never notice the little transformations, leaving you so confused as to why you’re showered in so many compliments. But that means more attention, more possible pursuers. Aphrodite curses them all. How dare they desire what’s hers, think they can even compete? They will be turned ugly, grotesque even. Some incompetent so they can never get it up. 

The goddess thinks enough is enough. She will go mad if she waits a second longer. The goddess can change her form to whoever gazes upon her, so you have no choice but to find her so devastatingly beautiful. To feel nothing but the arousal that coils low in your stomach. She chuckles at how flustered you seem around her, how you can’t even look at her without stumbling over your words, aren’t you just adorable?

Simple as it is, she wastes little finding her way to your bed. Even if you hesitate. Even if you think there is something odd about all of this. Her touches are gentle as they roam your body, coaxing you with her honeyed voice. You will not be able to resist her, she made it that you can’t. She will make you love her. Get rid of all your senses, your doubts so it’s her and just her you feel. And when she reveals herself, there is no escaping. That you won’t know if it’s her manipulation or you truly desiring her. In time, the difference will no longer matter. 

HERMES

Hermes is the god of traders and travelers. He is the protector of thieves and orators, said to be a “bringer of good luck”. Hermes is known to be quickwitted, cunning and a mischievous trickster. He is able to move through realms, often acting as the bridge. That said, your life does unravel when the god notices you. 

He doesn’t fall in love dramatically like Apollo or Aphrodite per say. You simply intrigued him. Why, he cannot say. You are neither the most beautiful nor the cleverest still the god was interested, a little bored too. He found himself circling your home, following you across the sky. Waiting for the right moment.

Perhaps you drop something or perhaps you are lost in an unfamiliar place, Hermes appears conveniently. Not as himself, but as a young handsome traveler. He offers assistance showing you the way. He makes you laugh, charms you with so much ease. It’s all going according to plan, how gullible and naive mortals are and you, his silly sweetling are no different. 

Hermes makes all sorts of excuses to keep coming back. He warms his way into your heart. Going on long walks, handing you gifts from his ‘travels’, speaking of stories from distant lands. Hermes also has a way of avoiding all your questions, too clever with his words. He eventually warms himself into your home, teasingly stealing your things and returning them in the strangest places. When you question how he did it without you noticing. He’ll jest he has quick hands (and feet). 

It’s not too long before he also warms his way into your bed, becoming your lover. You have grown to trust him, telling him of your dreams and fears, none the wiser. Growing accustomed to Hermes leaving for long periods of time yet forgiving him each time he returns. 

It is at the worst possible moment when Hermes reveals himself. During another one of your passionate love making. By the time you realize, it was too late. As you were lost in pleasure to not see his features change, the slight gleam of light. When you try to push him away, to flee, do anything. He only cages you beneath him, chuckling; Hermes teases you, asking if it really took you that long to notice. 

DIONYSUS

Dionysus is the god of wine, vegetation, festivity and ecstasy. Known to bring joy and release to his followers, but also unleash madness and brutality; making him quite a terrifying god. He is a god driven by feelings, his emotions always burning hot. And there you were, a mortal he can bring to ruin. Catching his attention in one of his wandering festivals. 

You’re not drunk, not yet at least or simply not enough to fully lose yourself. The god is captivated, for whatever reason. He approaches in a handsome mortal form, walking through the celebration just to get to you. He charms you. Praising you, easing you into him. And then he offers you a cup. Just one sip. You hesitate of course, he is a stranger making an offer. But Dionysus has his ways, he tempts you. Just take it, you know you want to. 

One sip of the wine has you downing it. It tastes divine; like honey, so sweet. Even having the urge to ask for more. The world seems all the more alive, colors more vibrant, the sounds melt into melodic laughter. You are in complete bliss as giggles escape your lips. Dionysus kisses you and you lost in it all, let him, even kiss him back. 

Dionysus dances with you still in his mortal form, spinning you around even briefly lifting you. The god lays you on his lap among the soft cushions after. Finally showing his divine self. Those around are indulging their desires further, becoming a puddle of naked bodies. Their moans reach your ears as Dionysus has you all to himself and soon enough your moans join theirs. 

Your days are all blurred together, time passing like a running river. You're spoiled and adored by the god of wine. Flowers braided into your hair, fruit fed to you by his hands. Either you are up dancing with him, parading you to his followers or resting in his lap even sleeping against his chest. Anyone who touches you without his consent will dance till their feet bleed or he’ll have his maenads tear them apart in a frenzy. 

It could be the wine wearing off or even witnessing the horrifying act that snaps you briefly back to your senses. Given a moment of sobriety, you try to make a run for it. His followers surround you, trapping you from leaving. Dionysus will embrace you from behind as he offers you another cup back to your lips. Don’t leave. Lose yourself again. Let him cherish you. And as your mind is in haze again, he wonders aloud wouldn’t it be beautiful if he made you immortal?

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James's room was dark, despite the effort of the large yellowish lamp in the corner of his desk, the lighting was dim, just enough to cast shadows over their imposing figures and highlight the ghost of a malicious smile on both young men's faces.

Sherlock remained standing, leaning against the small wooden desk with his hands in his pockets and an indescribable look. James, on the other hand, was sitting carelessly in the worn leather armchair, his posture relaxed and his eyes focused on your presence.

The atmosphere was warm, the soft breeze coming through the open window of the room. You felt warm, and perhaps it wasn’t only the humid weather’s fault. Perhaps it was the intense fixation the two young men had on you. Maybe you could feel the hunger emanating from Sherlock’s enigmatic gaze, or the malice dripping from the way James’s eyes examined you from head to toe. It was agonizing in a delicious way, the anticipation forming in your stomach, the rapid beating of your heart, and your dry mouth.

However, a girl can only wait so long.

You, with the calmest steps you could manage, walked toward Moriarty, who opened a smile so characteristic of himself. You watched as he diverted his attention for a moment to Sherlock before returning his focus to you, the hand that held a glass of whisky extending it in your direction. You took the glass, taking a quick sip without breaking eye contact for even a second. James stood up quickly, facing you, still with a smile on his lips, but his expression seemed darker, almost feral.

– A lady shouldn’t be in bed at this hour?

– Maybe. Why? Are you offering to put me in bed, James? – You shot back quickly.

– If it pleases you.

– You two make me sick. – You heard Holmes grumble.

– I believe what I hear in your voice is jealousy, my dear friend. – James teased him, the two now staring at each other.

– Nonsense. Sherlock has no time for futile emotions like jealousy. – You turned to look at him, catching James’s soft laugh behind you.

– Is that so? – James whispered.

One of his hands snaking around your waist delicately, then bringing his lips close to your neck from behind, the threat of a soft kiss so subtle that all you could really feel was the boy’s warm breath near your ear. However, your eyes remained fixed on Sherlock, who seemed unbothered so far. If you didn’t truly know him, you’d say the scene meant nothing to him, but you noticed the almost imperceptible way his hands shifted inside his pockets, the effort it took him to restrain himself. He looked majestic under the dim light of the lamp, his hair still slightly damp after a bath, his casual white shirt clinging to his skin in all the right places. He barely blinked, as if the spectacle before him was unmissable.

Meanwhile, behind you, James - also with his eyes on Holmes - provoked you both by hovering his lips over your neck, almost a kiss yet far from one.

It was a game for him and for Sherlock as well; but you were the board.

Slowly, you raised your free hand to James’s hair, threading your fingers through his silky curls and pulling him. The action drew a small sigh followed by a laugh from James.

– I hope I’m not bothering you. – Your tone was full of sarcasm. Sherlock returned it with a small smile.

– Not at all.

As soon as the words left his mouth, James finally pressed his lips to your skin, leaving a light, wet kiss there, making you shiver and close your eyes, savoring the contact. But apparently Holmes didn’t like the idea of no longer having your attention, because suddenly he walked toward you and grabbed your chin roughly. The act surprised you. You had never seen him with such a serious expression outside of one of his interrogations. Moriarty took advantage of your shift in focus to run his tongue along your jaw, tracing it with his saliva.

You tilted your head, opening access for him, while Sherlock scanned your expressions with fascination. He released your chin only to hold the back of your head, his long fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back. You smiled mischievously at the bold touch. James stopped the kisses and, still with his hand on your waist, analyzed your face.

– It seems you like it when he’s rough. That’s a pleasant surprise, isn’t it, Sherlock?

– Indeed, it is. – His beautiful eyes dropped to your mouth before returning to your gaze. – Sit.

His tone made it clear it wasn’t a request but an order, one you obeyed gladly. You sat on the neatly made bed, your feet nervously swinging back and forth as you waited for the two to join you. Sherlock was quick to follow and sit beside you, letting the tips of his fingers wander over your thigh covered by the thick fabric of your long skirt. James took longer, calmly removing his vest, folding it, and placing it on the desk. When he finally sat down, he caressed your hair, bringing a strand close to his face and smelling it.

– Your scent is a delight in itself after hours of smelling the sweat that emanates from him.

– She doesn’t seem to mind. – Sherlock replied, bringing his face closer to yours, his calm breath brushing against your cheek.

Moriarty was right, he did have a distinct scent, but you loved it. You tried to turn your face to get closer to him, but the young man didn’t allow it, pulling away and leaving you disappointed. Then you turned to James and found him staring at you with soft sweet eyes. You looked at his trousers and, boldly, moved one of your hands to his thigh, dangerously close to his groin. You startled when you felt Sherlock’s cold hand slip between your legs beneath your skirt, moving higher and higher. You looked at him. He watched you with a cynical expression.

– Don’t let me interrupt you, please. James is eager for your attention.

– Hey, hey, my friend. Let’s not pretend I’m the only one who daydreams about our companion’s beauty.

The back-and-forth between the two men left you confused. It was as if you weren’t even in the room with them, and at the same time you knew you had all their attention, because you could still feel Sherlock’s cold fingers tracing the inner path of your thigh and James’s hand unbuttoning the buttons at your back. It was dizzying, without a doubt, but it also caused an effect you could barely admit.

His touch grew bolder and more intense as it reached your underwear, slowly caressing you through the thin fabric. All you could do was close your eyes and throw your head back. Words wouldn’t even come out of your mouth.

– See how beautiful she looks like this? – It was James’s voice. – I told you.

Moriarty took your hand, guiding it to his bulge, you explored the area, taking the opportunity to feel him while holding back your sighs. His hand covered yours again, guiding your torturous movements.

– Open your eyes. – This time it was Sherlock speaking.

You obeyed gladly, watching James with his head thrown back, mouth slightly open, and eyes squeezed shut. It was a spectacular sight. The great and sarcastic James Moriarty falling apart from just a touch over his trousers.

– Lower his trousers. – Holmes asked, murmuring in your ear.

You promptly unzipped James’s trousers, and he lifted his hips to give you access, lowering the fabric and freeing him, half-hard, the light reflecting on the tip where pre-cum leaked. The sight made you salivate. Sherlock seemed to appreciate it as well, in his peculiar way. You wrapped your hand around his length, stroking him up and down, applying more pressure at the tip and spreading the thick fluid over it.

– All that arrogance reduced to this. It’s refreshing, isn’t it? – You agreed with a gesture.

You barely noticed how your back came to rest against Sherlock’s firm chest; you only realized it when you felt him rub his face against yours like an affectionate cat. You turned your face slightly, feeling his soft lips against your ear, desperate in search of his mouth. He noticed, and to your satisfaction, gave in to a slow kiss.

His tongue explored your mouth as if it were a new and unfamiliar activity to him. You let him take advantage of the moment. During the kiss, James opened his eyes and marveled at the scene before him. He had never seen Holmes appear so wild, and he loved it. You pulled apart for a second to breathe, and right after, you felt your face being pulled, this time by James, who sought your tongue with frightening precision.

His kiss was different, more experienced and quicker. At the same time, you felt the familiar pressure in your stomach, like a knot slowly unraveling. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to notice.

– What a good girl, isn't she? Being so good to both of us.

James broke the kiss with a crooked smile.

you would consider Clark Kent to be a long-time friend of yours, maybe even your closest friend, considering you had lost contact with your previous ones after graduating from university.

you both had been acquainted since childhood, but halted communication when you moved away from Smallville. however, your friendship soon rekindled when you both attended Metropolis University, as fate would have it, both majoring in journalism and both being given the opportunity to intern for the renowned Daily Planet News due to your previous academic success.

you knew everything there was to know about clark, all his quirks and mishaps, his likes and disinterests, as well as the big secret that he was the man of steel himself, Superman.

at least, you thought you knew everything anyway.

you stared at your phone as the unopened messages you had sent clark about his whereabouts for the past couple of days stared back at you, unmoving.

you had half the mind to think that he was out fighting some interdimensional being, which was a common occurrence, but still you couldn't help but feel anxiety creep up your spine as clark, being the sweetheart he was, would still inform you of his happenings even if that was mid-combat, which you had scrutinised him for in the past.

no one at the Daily Planet was aware of where clark had suddenly disappeared to either, only amplifying your unease.

you continued absentmindedly typing away on your keyboard as your mind insistedently wandered back to the gentle giant you had grown to become slightly codependent on, despite your reluctance to admit the reality of your relationship.

the work day was dragging as time seemed to stretch by more slowly with the absence of your beloved desk buddy, clark.

as soon as the large analogue clock displayed in the centre of the office arms ticked 5:00pm, you hastily made your exit, already packed to leave as you started a swift 15 minutes beforehand, muttering a quick goodbye to jimmy as you brushed passed him in your wake.

you beelined to clark's apartment complex, desperate for answers as you prayed you'd be greeted with his presence.

truth be told, your anxiety about the whole ordeal had you coming to the realisation how much you were attached to the man, you were of course in love with clark, how couldn't you be? he was so soft-spoken and kind and considerate and everything you'd ever want in a partner. of course clark was unaware of this; you wouldn't want to risk him possibly not reciprocating your feelings, leaving you all alone in the world, so you'd refer to him as like an older brother to others, as strange as it felt at times.

the commute had been a quick one as you approached clark's locked apartment door. your breath hitched as you halted all movement, idly standing by as your mind blanked.

well, now what?

fuck.

you were here now anyway.

you hesitated as your hand ascended, three shaky knocks thumped on the hardwood door.

clark woke in a sweat. azure eyes adjusting to the fading sunset, illuminating the large expanse of his room.

he groggily arose from his bed already in a foul mood, as this was the most amount of sleep he was able to garner in the last few days, all his senses being forced into overdrive as his rut clouded his mind.

his rut was an annual occurrence that caused him to retreat into hiding, his room acting as his own form of solitary confinement for the coming two weeks. he hated it. he hated the way he would become a shell of his former self, only thoughts of lust and malice occupying his thoughts.

his hostility was only heightened by the fact that this specific rut was unprecedented for this time of year, as well as seemingly more intense than usual, causing him to crawl into isolation unexpectedly despite how he prided himself on his excellent tracking and routine.

another series of quick knocks bombarded his front door, this time much more audible and much more aggressive.

clark's eye twitched in irritation as he lifted himself from his bed, only donning a pair of black boxer briefs as he stormed towards the front door.

he knew you were the one knocking because who else would it be?

clark wasn't necessarily angered by this. in normal circumstances, he would be overjoyed, a fumbling mess of words as he'd swing open the door, a pink dust planting his features at the thought of you standing outside alone.

the object of his adoration.

clark was irrevocably and hopelessly in love with you.

but as he harshly swung open the chained door ajar just enough to peek his head out, you would've never guessed by the look of hostility in his eyes, causing you to slightly flinch back in shock.

"clar—"

"what?" clark interrupted, coldly and bluntly.

you blinked up at him, his eyes dark and emotionless.

he was unrecognisable to the man you were familiar with.

"i just-" you started, twisting your features, but soon twisting into one of annoyance.

"where the fuck have you been? why've you been ignoring my-"

"busy," clark interjected as he started to close the door as quickly as the interaction was.

you unconsciously put your foot in the door in an attempt to keep it ajar for longer, whincing at the pressure.

a look of concern flashed across clark's face as he hastily swung the door back open, the chain halting it from being swung back any further.

"gosh- y/n are you—"

"let me in", you cut clark off bluntly, masking the shooting pain in your right foot with coldness.

clark blinked back at you before he reluctantly unchained the door, letting you in with a grunt as you shoved past him.

clark shut the door, turning towards you as you were now glaring daggers at him.

"the fuck is with you?" you quizzed, eyeing the muscular man up and down for a little longer than intended, taking in his dishevelled half-naked form and very prominent bulge.

clark's eyebrows seemed to be in a permanent scowl as his eyes darted to anything but you to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes. you seriously shouldn't be here right now because clark knew if he snapped, nothing would stop him from taking you right there and then in the most disrespectful of ways.

"helloooo?" you snapped your fingers in his face "what's your issue?"

"i have no issue."

"then why are you actively trying to phase me out of your life"

"you're being dramatic", clark retorted

you froze as your eye twitched.

"me?" you quizzed as you took slow, predatory steps towards the giant, blood boiling in your veins.

"you're the one acting like a little bitch, clark. you won't even fucking look at me, you coward!"

clark's wandering eyes finally set their sights on, and you shivered as the cold, icy stare he harboured seemingly went right through you.

"listen to me and listen closely, y/n, i'm going to need you to get the fuck out of my site for your own good, okay?"

you knew clark, so you knew that he rarely ever cursed, especially in situations regarding you, indirectly or not.

you felt your heart sink. you didnt know why clark was acting the way he was and you knew for whatever reason, the warning he gave was probably with good reason, but your ego couldn't accept clark's entire rejection of your presence, it felt as if he was completely shutting you down and in a weird twist of fate, as if he could see how your heart bled for him and dismissed any feelings of love you harboured towards him.

you felt yourself breaking down as waves of confusion and vulnerability consumed you, and you'd rather swallow glass than let him see how much his words affected you.

but he could see. the way you stiffened and how your eyes slightly glossed over were telltale signs. the rational side of clark wanted to comfort you, hold you close as he whispered how sorry he was for his unnecessarily cruel treatment towards you, leaving chaste kisses in his wake.

but the feral side of clark wanted all but to see how pretty you'd cry being split in half on his cock.

"i hate you, clark kent'', you muttered breathlessly.

the words hung in the air, ringing throughout the silent hallways.

clark's eyes widened slightly before his spine went rigid.

"fuck you", you said as you attempted to charge past the man towards the door.

you raised your hand reaching for the doorknob until you felt a firm grip encase your wrist. before you even had time to snap at the man once more, he pulled you into his broad chest before slightly craning his neck down to ear level.

"i warned you", he whispered.

that was all he gave you before you were transported into his room in a blur.

he threw you onto his bed as if you were a rag doll, the whiplash causing you to slightly keel over in an attempt to catch your breath.

you were terrified. you had never seen this side of clark.

your heart was practically a lump in your throat as he took predatory, looming steps towards your dishevelled form.

he began carelessly, aggressively pulling your work attire from your body, stripping you despite the audible tears in the seam work.

"wait clark—"

"you have no idea how long I've been trying to be good, trying to keep my distance, but no, you decided to stupidly come to me, right?"

you stammered, trying to decipher what the fuck he was talking about?

you were now in your undergarments.

"please.."

"please, what? I fucking told you to leave, but you didn't listen. your unnecessary persistence is gonna be your own undoing, doll."

he climbed onto your limp body, shoving his face into your neck and taking a deep inhale of your saccharine smell.

he let out an audible groan, barely containing himself as he left open-mouth kisses down your jugular. you whimpered when you felt him leaving harsh sucks to your neck, surely leaving bruises for the world to bear witness to tomorrow.

"I'll go clark i swear, p-please just stop, you're gonna leave marks and everyone at work-"

"you're telling me this as if I care?" clark interjected.

"let them see," he replied coldly.

"let them see how your older brother's ruined you for anyone else."

you stiffened.

"that's all, i am right? just like a big brother to you, hm?"

you gasped as you felt him bite down on your neck, whining when he sank his sharp canines into the soft flesh.

you didn't know how to respond. was that why he was mad? you had been referring to clark as an older brother since pre-teens in a weak attempt to stop constant teasing from other classmates. why was he getting mad now all of a sudden?

before you had time to even question the man, you felt your bra being torn off your body.

"fuck yes", clark groaned as he marvelled at your breasts, saliva barely being compelled to stay in his mouth.

he immediately dove into harsh sucks of your sensitive nipples, making you let out a choked-out whine as his other hand fumbled to pull your other erect nipple taut, kneading the fat of your tits as he encased a tit in his warm, hot mouth.

you felt him nudging against your pussy as he rutted into you, humping you dry.

he pulled off your nipple with an audible pop, letting out a groan at how he marked your chest.

"mmf can't wait any longer", clark slurred as the ordeal only seemed to work him up more than expected.

he hastily removed his box briefs, exposing all 8 thick inches of his dick, making you gasp.

clark seemed to analyse your facial expressions as you took him in, and he came to the conclusion that you were absolutely terrified.

this was further solidified as you crawled up the bed in a feeble attempt to escape the oncoming assault.

"don't you dare try running from me", clark commanded as his large hands encased your ankles, dragging you back down the bed until your cunt was flushed with his heavy dick, causing you to squeal.

clark angled his angry, red tip directly at your slick-covered hole that pulsated, awaiting the intrusion.

"clarkie, please.."

clarkie, being the childhood nickname that you bestowed upon him.

"you're being mean."

you were still met with that icy gaze you were becoming to grown acustom to.

"am i, am i being mean?" clark replied before he thrust his length into your weeping hole, letting out an audible growl as your warm, tight walls encased his length, stretching to accommodate his thick cock.

"FUCKK", you screamed as you weren't given a second longer to adjust to his inhuman size.

clark's hand snaked upwards, enveloping your neck as he began a brutal pace, splitting you on his cock

"such a fucking sluut making me wait this damn long", he slurred, heavy balls slapping against your pussy.

"oh my godd clark i-i can—"

"yes you can fucking— take it!" clark emphasised with a harsh thrust, splitting you on his cock.

your mind became a haze as you began to stupify on his dick, his bruising pace making you let out unabashedly loud moans as you continued to suck him in, pussy walls contracting around him, making him groan.

"shiiiit you're tight sweetheart, feels s'ffucking good hnnmghf" clark blabbered as his eyes rolled back, your pussy being his only relief in the last brutally long days.

"you feel me, don't you? you can you feel me riiiight— here," clark let his palm press down on the bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, making you scream at the pressure.

"NNGH PLEASSSE CLARKIE, I C-CAN'T—"

"yeah, you can't, baby, can't do fucking anything right, can you? such a stupid little thing, aren't you?" he groaned into your ear.

his degrading words, as cruel as they were, made you whine as a gush of slick spilt from your sore pussy.

"yeah, that's right, baby, stay quiet for daddy, slut. let me have this," clark groaned as he continued to ravage your poor cunt for his own pleasure, spearheading his cock deeper into your sensitive soft spot.

between clark's unrelenting grip of your neck and the inhuman speed, you felt as if you were going to pass out from the blinding pleasure as you continued moaning like a whore.

clark was moaning just as much as you, the sweet relief of pleasure clouding his mind.

"keep squeezing- j-just like that, baby mffm g-golly gonna get you pregnant— make you a mommy, y-you want it too, dont'cha?" clark babbled as his pace sped up impossibly more.

"yesyesyesyesss" you slurred, mind breaking from the ludicrous amount of stimulation you were feeling all at once "brreed mee clarkiee!"

at your words, clark's eyes rolled back as he let out a feral animalistic growl, shooting rope after white, scalding rope into your pussy. clark's orgasm triggered your own as you began seizing, squirting geysers of slick onto his bed sheets with a loud, pornographic moan of clark's name.

as soon as the last long rope of cum was shot into your achy cunt, clark collapsed on top of you, pressing your sore body into his mattress.

your breathing began to stabilise as you inhaled copious amounts of air, not realising how out of breath the ordeal had left you.

"y/n.." you heard clark weakly mumble, cutting the brief silence short.

"yes, clark," you replied, still dazed and out of breath.

"i'm so so sorry", he apologised, face still tucked into your neck. you began forming a reply.

that's until you felt his dick twitching back to life as his arms scooped your thighs upwards, forcing you into a mean mating press.

this was just the beginning.

directly after the end of clark's long and drawn-out brutal Kryptonian rut, he dropped to his knees apologising for your forgiveness and mercy. explaining how his rut had made him have a heightened sex drive as well as a hostile, feral nature he couldn't contain.

you wanted to let him wallow in his sorrow for a bit longer than intended, but the way clark would follow you around, head bowed, and a teary, snivelling mess, unfortunately tugged at your resolve.

as well as the fact he would show up to work, eyes red and irritated from crying, and hair a dishevelled wreck, causing whispers from the entire office wondering what had occurred to trigger his current state.

despite all things considered, you still loved the man but you made sure to thoroughly scolded him on his lack of communication, emphasising how you would've helped him if you knew about his this part of his Kryptonian biology instead of him having to push you away.

overjoyed, he turned into a blubbering mess, confessing all his pent-up feelings to you as he cried in your arms as you were both perched on his couch one evening.

from then on, you two had officially begun going out to no one's shock.

and when the next annual rut came rolling around, you were prepared for the best, most degrading, mind-blowing sex of your life.

a/n: ive been mulling about the ending for some hours now and this was all i got im sorry guys i was genuinely at a loss ik its sloppy but i didnt wanna end it at the sex scene because erm idk closure anyway hope you enjoyed this shit show, ik i didnt! mwah! glad to be back

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

✦End note: sex pollen fics are so fun i feel like im getting a secondary high✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee! (and get early access!)☕️✦

He was a constant, walking irritation. The crude, suggestive jokes he lobbed specifically to make your cheeks burn, the dark, rolling timbre of his laugh that reached you no matter how loud the room or how hard you tried to ignore it, and those damn storm-grey eyes that always , always, found you like they were hunting.

Tonight, though, he wasn’t just looking.

He was staring.

You’d pushed far beyond your usual boundaries for this last-minute Ravenclaw party. The black dress you’d chosen clung to every dangerous curve you normally kept hidden beneath tailored robes. Low-cut enough to feel sinful, short enough that every step reminded you how exposed you were. The firewhisky your dance partner kept tipping into your mouth had set your blood alight. Your skin tingling, cheeks flushed, the room pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You didn’t even know his name properly. Jake? Jacob? Something forgettable. What you did notice was the clean, cedar-and-citrus scent of his cologne, the confident way his hands settled on your waist, the warm drag of his palms as they slid lower, guiding your hips to the heavy bass. For once you let yourself sink into it, let your body roll against his, let your fingers trail up the back of his neck. A small rebellion. A reminder that you didn’t need anyone’s permission to feel good.

But Theodore Nott's stupidly handsome face was ruining it.

He hadn’t moved from his spot against the far wall. His long legs crossed at the ankle, cigarette hanging loosely between two long fingers, smoke curling lazily upward. His eyes were locked on you with an intensity that made your stomach clench. The easy smirk he usually wore was gone. In its place was something darker. Jaw tight, pupils blown, a muscle ticking beneath the sharp line of his cheekbone.

You should have looked away.

Instead you arched your back a little more dramatically, pressed your ass back against your partner’s hips, let your head tip back onto his shoulder so your throat was bared. If Theo wanted to glare, let him choke on the sight.

Theo wished he was choking.

It would be a cleaner explanation for the vise tightening around his throat every time that Hufflepuff prick’s hands wandered a fraction too low, fingers splaying possessively over the curve of your hip like he had any claim to you. Choking would be easier than admitting to Enzo, to Blaise, to fucking anyone that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, of all people. The same sharp-tongued Slytherin who’d spent years trading venom with him like it was fucking foreplay.

He hated almost everything about you.

The way your smart-ass mouth could cut deeper than any hex, quick and precise, always aimed right at his ego. The infuriating kindness you showed everyone else. Your dumb soft smiles for first-years, easy laughs with the girls in the common room, even a patient ear for that whiny Ravenclaw prefect who wouldn’t shut up about N.E.W.T.s. Everyone but him. To Theo, you were ice and barbs, and he reveled in melting that frost just to watch you flush crimson and spit fire back.

He loved to fluster you. Loved the way your eyes would narrow, lips parting in outrage before you snarled something cutting. Loved pushing until your composure cracked and you shoved him against a wall or stormed off with that delicious sway in your hips.

What he did not love—what was currently carving a hole through his chest—was that fucking dress. Black fabric so tight it looked painted on, clinging to every dip and swell like it was daring him to peel it off. The neckline plunged low, silver snake pendant glinting between the soft swell of your breasts with every breath. The hem skimmed scandalously high, flashing perfect thigh with each sway to the music. Why did you even own something so offending? And that Hufflepuff nerd was treating your waist like his personal playground.

Theo’s cigarette burned forgotten between his fingers, ash crumbling to the floor as he watched the boy’s palm slide lower, cupping the underside of your ass for one brazen second. Your head tipped back on a laugh all light and tipsy and fucking irritating. Something in Theo’s gut twisted viciously at just the idea of you leaving with him.

Before the thought could even solidify fully in his mind and before he could talk himself out of it with another drag of smoke or a muttered curse. Theo crushed the cigarette under the heel of his boot, the ember hissing out against the sticky floor like a warning he ignored.

Ruining your little dance was better than letting you slip away into some dimly lit corridor with that spineless Hufflepuff, letting him fumble through disappointing, half-hearted sex that would leave you unsatisfied and scowling tomorrow. Really, if you thought about it, he was doing you a favor. Protecting you from mediocrity.

He cut through the crowd like a shadow given purpose, long strides eating distance until he was right behind your date. You didn’t startle when his presence registered—didn’t flinch at the sudden wall of heat and cedar-and-smoke cologne that enveloped you both. Your partner, though? He stiffened instantly, shoulders hunching as if he’d felt the blade before it even touched skin.

Theo’s eyes were cold steel, lips curved in that dark, amused tilt that promised violence wrapped in velvet. The Hufflepuff spun, took one look at the towering Slytherin looming over him with broad shoulders blocking the light, jaw clenched, grey eyes promising something psychotic. The color drained from his face before you even made eye contact.

“S-sorry, I—uh—getting a drink,” he stammered, tail tucked so fast it was almost comical. Then he was gone, melting into the throng like he’d never existed.

You feigned disappointment beautifully, eyes narrowing into slits as you turned to face the culprit. Chin high, lips pursed in that way that always made Theo want to bite them until they bled. “Do you need something, Nott? Think scaring my date off is going to finally get me to fuck you?”

Theo closed his eyes for one single, measured second, inhaling through his nose, forcing the red haze of rage and raw want back behind his teeth. He wanted to bend you over the nearest table right then, yank that sinful dress up around your waist, and spank your ass raw until it glowed crimson, until tears streaked your cheeks and you sobbed apologies between broken moans. The fantasy alone made his cock throb painfully against the confines of his trousers, thickening further at the memory of how you’d looked strutting past him earlier in this horrible dress.

He didn’t think twice.

One hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your waist and yanking you flush against him hard enough that your breasts crushed to his chest, hips slotting together with brutal precision. His erection dug shamelessly into your lower belly, thick and insistent through the fabric, letting you feel exactly what your little show had done to him.

His breath was hot against the shell of your ear, voice a low growl that vibrated straight down your spine. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

A shiver ripped through you traitorous and immediate. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, slick heat blooming between them at the dark promise in his tone. Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy, cheeks burning despite yourself. “Yeah? Or what?”

Theo’s free hand slid up, cupping the back of your neck, his thumb pressing just under your jaw, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to meet his molten gaze. His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, not quite a kiss, more a threat.

“Or I’ll fuck it,” he whispered, each word deliberate, filthy. “Right here. Shove you to your knees in front of every single person in this room, pull that smart mouth open, and stuff my cock down your throat until you’re choking on me. Until the only thing you can say is my name around my dick.”

Your breath hitched audibly, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your dress, core clenching around nothing at the vivid image. You hated how wet the threat made you, hated how your body responded to his violence like it was praise.

Theo felt the subtle tremor in your frame, the way your hips shifted forward just enough to grind against the hard length pressing into you. His grip tightened, possessive, bruising.

“You think that little Hufflepuff could ever make you this worked up?” he murmured, lips grazing your pulse point, teeth scraping just enough to sting. “He’d fumble, come too fast, leave you aching and unsatisfied. Me? I’d ruin you. Split you open on my cock until you’re sobbing, begging, coming so hard you forget how to hate me.”

Your hands fisted in his shirt, whether to shove him away or pull him closer, you aren't sure. “You’re delusional.”

“Liar.” His thigh wedged between yours without warning, pressing up against the damp heat soaking through your lace. The friction sent sparks shooting up your spine; a soft, involuntary whimper escaped before you could swallow it.

Theo’s eyes darkened to near-black. “Doesn't feel like I'm delusional sweetheart. Now tell me again how much you hate me while you’re dripping down my thigh.”

You opened your mouth but he swallowed any sound you could make with a bruising kiss. All teeth and fury and years of tension snapping like a curse finally cast. You bit back just as hard, nails raking down his back, tasting smoke and whisky and the sharp edge of everything you’d both pretended not to want.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing ragged, foreheads pressed together.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Now. Or I make good on that promise right here.”

You didn’t argue.

You let him haul you through the crowd with his hand possessive on the small of your back, erection still evident, pulse roaring between your legs, knowing the night was about to burn everything you’d built between you to ash.

The door clicked shut with a finality that echoed in the sudden quiet, the muffled bass from the party downstairs now just a distant throb, like a second heartbeat.

Theo didn’t give you time to breathe.

He spun you, shoved your back against the wood so hard the breath punched out of your lungs in a soft gasp. The impact rattled your spine, but the sting was nothing compared to the heat of him crowding in immediately after. His broad chest pinning you, hips grinding forward so you felt every thick, insistent inch of his cock straining against his trousers.

One large hand roamed greedily, shamelessly. Palm sliding up your dress to cup the heavy swell of your breast, thumb dragging rough circles over your nipple until it peaked hard beneath the thin fabric. The other hand yanked his shirt over his head in one impatient motion, muscles flexing and rippling under pale skin dusted with dark hair. He tossed the shirt somewhere behind him without looking, but your mouth runs dry at the sight.

Merlin, he was devastating.

Every line of him carved like he’d been sculpted to ruin you. Sharp collarbones, defined pecs that shifted with each ragged breath, the deep cut of his V disappearing into low-slung trousers, abs tightening as he pressed closer. A faint scar curved along his left ribcage as if proof he wasn’t just pretty but also dangerous made your core clench around nothing.

You hated how perfect he was. Hated how it made the ache between your thighs sharpen into something painful.

No time to dwell on your hatred. Theo’s fingers hook into the fragile lace of your soaked panties that cling obscenely to your folds and shoves them down your thighs in one brutal tug. The fabric caught briefly on the swell of your ass before sliding to pool at your ankles. He stepped back half a pace, just enough to rake his gaze over you like he was memorizing every filthy detail.

Your dress was rucked up around your hips, silk bunched and wrinkled. Thighs slick with your own arousal, glistening in the low lamplight filtering through the cracked window. Hair a wild tangle from his earlier grip, lips swollen and red from biting back moans, cheeks flushed a deep, guilty crimson. Eyes glassy, pupils blown wide with want and fury in equal measure.

He stared like you were art he’d waited years to defile.

A masterpiece, he thought. Every forbidden fantasy he’d buried under layers of spite and cigarettes finally breathing in front of him. Wet. Trembling. His to take.

You reached for the hem of your dress, fingers trembling as you started to drag it over your head, needing to feel skin on skin, needing more.

Theo’s hand snapped around your wrist like iron. Hard and unyielding. He pinned it above your head against the door, the wood cool against your knuckles.

“The dress stays on,” he rasped, voice wrecked, thick with Italian gravel and something darker. His thumb pressed into the racing pulse at your inner wrist, feeling it flutter like a trapped bird. “I’ve spent all night imagining bending you over in this fucking thing. Watching it ride up while I fuck you stupid. You don’t get to take it off until I’ve ruined it.”

Your breath hitched in half protest, half plea. The silk was already clinging damply to your skin where you’d leaked onto it, the fabric suddenly too tight and imposing.

Theo released your wrist only to slide both hands under the hem, palming your bare ass and lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, heels digging into the small of his back as he ground his clothed cock against your dripping center. The rough drag of his zipper and the hard heat beneath it made you whimper loud, broken, embarrassing.

“Feel that?” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you open that smart fucking mouth. Every time you glare at me like you want to hex me into next week.” He rocked forward again, deliberate, letting the ridge of him catch against your swollen clit. “And now you’re going to take every inch while this dress is still on you. So when you walk out of here later with your legs shaking and cunt still dripping. You'll feel me with every fucking step and remember exactly who ruined this sinful dress.”

You tried to snap something back, some cutting retort or some kind of denial, but it dissolved into a moan when his fingers found your entrance, two sliding in without preamble. Deep. Rough. Curling immediately against a deep spot that made your vision blur around the edges.

“Fuck—Theo-”

“There it is,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, voice low and filthy. Deep rooted satisfaction bloomed behind his chest, the nickname slipping out so easily when you've refused to use anything but his full name in years. “My name on that pretty mouth. Say it again while I stretch you open. Tell me how much you hate me while your pussy sucks my fingers like it’s starving.”

He pumped harder, scissoring, thumb finding your clit and rubbing merciless circles. Your hips bucked, chasing, thighs trembling around his waist. The door rattled hard with every thrust of his hand and even you, miss perfect, couldn't seem to care about the prospect of anyone hearing you.

“You’re going to come like this first,” he ordered, teeth sinking into the soft skin below your ear hard enough to mark. “Gonna soak my hand, then I’m flipping you around, bending you over and fucking you until you can’t remember why you ever hated me in the first place.”

Your nails scored down his bare back, leaving red trails he’d happily wear like badges tomorrow.

“Promise?” you gasped, pleasure taking over every rationale part of your brain.

Theo’s laugh was dark, dangerous “Trust me, sweetheart,” he breathed, curling his fingers harder, faster, “I promise.”

Your orgasm hit like an explosion. Shattering, violent, thighs locking around him as you pulsed and clenched, slick coating his wrist, dripping down to stain the silk bunched at your hips. You cried out his name unabashed and he swallowed the sound with a bruising kiss, drinking every tremor, every broken whimper.

The tremors still rippled through your thighs in aftershocks that made your knees threaten to buckle when Theo flipped you with brutal economy.

One hand fisted the silk bunched at your waist, the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints, and he spun you so your front slammed back against the door. The wood was cool and unyielding against your overheated skin; your cheek pressed flat to it, breasts crushed to the panels, nipples scraping painfully sensitive through the thin fabric with every heaving breath. The latch rattled faintly from the force.

He wished, fiercely and uncharacteristically irrationally, that he’d dragged you all the way down twisting corridors to the Slytherin dungeons. To his own four-poster, heavy drapes drawn, sheets already carrying his scent. Somewhere he could chain this moment, repeat it until sunrise, mark you so thoroughly that even if this was the only night he ever got inside you, you’d wake up tomorrow feeling him in every bruised inch of your body. Just in case you never let him again.

But patience had died somewhere between the wall downstairs and the first landing. This anonymous room above Ravenclaw Tower with it's bare stone, single narrow window letting in pale moonlight and faint smell of dust and old books, would have to be enough. The door would have to be enough.

Your back arched immediately, involuntarily, spine curving like it had been trained to seek him out. Your cunt throbbed in vicious, oversensitive pulses, still swollen, still leaking from your release. Every tiny shift of your hips made the ruined silk drag across your folds, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly he’d already wrecked you.

Theo stepped in close. His bare chest pressed to your back, skin fever-hot, heart slamming against your shoulder blades. One long arm snaked around your front; calloused fingers wrapped around the slim column of your throat, not squeezing just yet. Possessive. Just like all the times he'd thought of this in his head, he almost moaned at just the idea he was choking slytherin's only good girl. His thumb stroked once along the frantic flutter of your pulse while his other hand shoved between your bodies, guiding himself.

He kicked his trousers and boxers aside in one impatient motion. The heavy length of him sprang free thick, flushed dark, veins standing out under pale skin, the blunt head already glistening with pre-cum. It slapped wetly against the curve of your ass before he angled it down.

No warning.

The fat head shoved against your soaked entrance, parting slick folds with inexorable pressure. Your whole body locked up. Muscles seizing, breath snagging sharp in your chest as the sheer size registered all over again. He was impossibly thick, stretching you open inch by burning inch even before he’d pushed inside properly. The stretch was obscene: a deep, aching burn that bordered on too much, the kind that made your eyes water and your thighs tremble harder.

There was no possible way you could take all of him.

No fucking way.

And there was absolutely zero chance in hell you’d ever admit it out loud.

Theo felt it instantly—the sudden, involuntary clench of your walls, the way your whole body locked up the second he tried to push an inch deeper.

He really should have known.

Some smug, rational corner of his mind had always known.

He was big. Thick. Unapologetically so. He’d never had to wonder whether a girl could take him; most of them either begged for it or tapped out early with wide eyes and shaky apologies. But you? Your perfect, dripping cunt had never been properly stretched, never been forced to make room for someone like him. Of course it hadn’t. Look at the boys you let touch you. Look at the soft-handed loser you danced with downstairs, the ones who probably came in their trousers before they even got your dress off. They’d never come close to filling you the way he was about to.

Your body knew it too, even if your mouth would never admit it.

The tension snapped through you like a taut wire, your spine stiffening against his chest, thighs quivering, breath catching in sharp, shallow hitches. Your walls fluttered wildly around the blunt head of him, clenching in reflexive panic, trying to push him out even as your traitorous body betrayed you in the most humiliating way possible. Another hot, slippery rush of slick coating his cock, dripping down the seam of your folds and onto the floorboards beneath you.

He could feel every pulse of resistance, every helpless spasm as your cunt fought to accommodate him.

And fuck if that didn’t make him harder.

Theo’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding for a second as he forced himself to hold still barely an inch deeper than before, letting you feel the impossible stretch, letting you feel exactly how much of him was still waiting. His hand on your throat flexed once, thumb stroking the frantic flutter of your pulse like he was soothing a wild animal.

His grip on your throat tightened just enough. Not cruel, but deliberate. Commanding. The pressure curled your spine further back against his chest, forcing your head to tip, neck arching in a long, vulnerable line so you had no choice but to look at him over your shoulder.

Storm-grey eyes met yours and held. Dark. Molten. Pupils blown so wide the silver was nothing but thin, razor-sharp rings around endless black. He looked wrecked already. Sweat beading at his temples, dark curls clinging damply to his forehead, lips parted on shallow, ragged breaths, and still somehow in complete control. Like he could unravel you with nothing more than that stare.

“Relax,” he rasped, voice pure gravel and smoke, fraying at the edges with the effort it took not to just snap his hips forward and bury himself to the hilt. His lips brushed the shell of your ear soft, almost tender, before his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there. A slow, deliberate scrape that sent fresh heat flooding between your thighs.

“Finally figured out how to get you to shut the fuck up.” The words were low, mocking, laced with dark satisfaction. He rocked forward another torturously shallow inch, barely anything, but enough to make your walls flutter and burn, enough to drag a choked whimper from your throat that you couldn’t swallow back.

“You took my fingers, baby,” he murmured, lips curving against your ear in something too feral to be called a smile. “Two of them. Deep. Stretching you open while you soaked my hand and begged with those pretty little gasps. You can take my cock.”

Another slow, relentless push. The thick ridge of him dragged against every swollen, oversensitive inch inside you. Your cunt spasmed, clenching hard in reflexive protest even as more slick leaked out around him, dripping obscenely down the seam of your folds, coating his balls, trickling warm and sticky onto the floorboards beneath you both.

Theo groaned low, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back where he pressed against you. His free hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice rough with something dangerously close to awe. “Trying so fucking hard to keep that smart mouth closed now. But your pussy’s telling the truth, isn’t it? Clenching around me like it’s scared I’ll pull out. Dripping like you’ve been waiting as long as I have for this.”

The stretch was vicious. A deep, searing burn that radiated outward from where he was splitting you open, every ridge and vein dragging against your swollen, oversensitive walls like he was carving his claim into you one brutal centimeter at a time. Tears pooled hot and immediate in the corners of your eyes, not from pain alone but from the overwhelming collision of too much and not enough. Your body screaming it couldn’t possibly take more while your cunt clenched greedily around him, betraying every hateful word you’d ever spat in his direction.

He still held your head angled back by the throat, fingers firm around your pulse, forcing you to keep looking at him over your shoulder. No escape. No hiding the way your lips trembled, the way your pupils were blown wide with a mix of fury and want, the way tears clung to your lashes before one finally slipped free and tracked down your cheek.

Your thighs shook violently, muscles quivering so hard they threatened to give out. Your nails scraped uselessly at the wood above your head, leaving faint, desperate gouges in the ancient oak as if you could claw your way out of this moment, out of him. A broken sound tore from your throat before you could clamp your teeth down on it. The satisfied look on his face was enough to piss you off.

“Fuck. You.”

The words came out wrecked, breathy, more plea than insult. Your voice cracked on the last syllable, raw from screaming his name earlier, from biting back every whimper he’d already dragged out of you tonight.

Theo’s thumb stroked once along the frantic hammer of your pulse, the barest whisper of tenderness in the middle of all this violence. His lips curved against the shell of your ear, dark and dangerous.

“Oh trust me,” he rasped, voice low and frayed, thick with the same barely-leashed rage that had simmered between you for years. “I plan to, all night long.”

He punctuated the words with another slow, punishing roll of his hips and burying that last thick inch until he was seated so deep you felt him in your fucking throat. The blunt head kissed your cervix with brutal precision; your whole body locked up in a full shudder, walls spasming wildly around the impossible girth of him. Slick gushed out around where you were joined. Hot, obscene, dripping steadily down your thighs, coating his balls, pooling on the floorboards beneath you both with soft, wet patters that echoed in the quiet room.

You hate him.

Hate how perfectly he fills you.

Hate how your body arches back into him like it had been waiting for this exact moment for years.

Hate the way fresh tears slip free even as your hips tilted higher, silently begging for more.

Theo felt every tremor, every flutter, every helpless clench. His free hand slid from your hip to palm the curve of your ass. Fingers digging in hard enough to leave crescent bruises before he cracked his palm down once, sharp and stinging. The slap rang out; your cunt clamped down so hard around him he groaned low in his throat, hips stuttering for the first time.

“Still hate me?” he growled, lips brushing the tear track on your cheek, tasting salt. “Still want to pretend this isn’t exactly what you’ve been dripping for every time you glared at me across the common room? Every time you shoved past me in the corridor and your breath hitched?”

Another thrust harder this time. The door rattled violently behind you. Your breasts dragged against the wood through the silk, nipples scraping painfully into sensitive peaks that sent sparks straight to your core.

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice fraying into something darker, more desperate. “Tell me to fuck off while your pussy milks me like it’s terrified I’ll stop. Tell me you hate me while you’re crying on my cock.”

Every thrust he gave you made your stomach warm, low molten heat spreading outward like liquid fire, coiling tighter with each brutal snap of his hips. The door at your back rattled in time with the rhythm he set: deep, punishing, unhurried enough to make you feel every single inch dragging out before slamming back in. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him, still hypersensitive from the last orgasm he’d ripped out of you, every ridge and vein stroking places you didn’t even know could ache like this.

His hand on your throat flexed, squeezing just enough to make stars flicker at the edges of your vision while his other palm slid down to grip the front of your hip, holding you hard against him. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely in the small room, mingling with the slick sounds of your arousal coating him, dripping down your thighs in steady, shameful rivulets.

“You can spit venom at me tomorrow,” he continued, voice fraying at the edges with his own building need. “You can glare across the common room and pretend this never happened. But we both know the truth.”

He pulled back almost all the way leaving you empty, aching, walls fluttering around nothing, then slammed home again, burying himself so deep your toes curled against the floorboards.

“You’ll always want more after tonight.”

The words land like a hex so quiet, certain, devastating. Because he was right. You hated that he was right. Hated how your body arched back into him, hips tilting higher despite yourself, chasing the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness only he's ever given you. Hated how fresh tears slipped down your cheeks even as your cunt spasmed around him again, milking him like it never wanted to let him go.

Theo’s forehead dropped to the curve of your shoulder for a heartbeat, breath hot and ragged against your skin.

“Fuck—Theo—”

“Look at me,” he growled, fingers flexing tighter around your throat enough pressure to make your head spin sweetly, enough to remind you who owned this moment. “Watch my face while I fill this greedy little cunt.”

You obeyed with glassy eyes, lips parted on shallow pants, staring back at him as he sank impossibly deeper.

“So fucking tight,” Theo growled against the shell of your ear, voice raw and frayed, each word punched out in time with the brutal snap of his hips. “You can hate me forever. But I’m the only one who gets to fuck this pussy.”

Your head was spinning with pleasure crashing into the sweet, dizzy pressure around your throat, blurring the line between oxygen deprivation and the white-hot ecstasy building low in your belly. His fingers flexed once, loosening just a fraction, just enough for you to drag in a ragged, desperate breath—before he slammed back into you, hard and deep, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the stone walls like a curse being cast over and over.

“Fucking say it,” he snarled, teeth sinking into the soft skin below your ear hard enough to bruise, hard enough to mark. His hand on your throat tightened again, rhythmic, possessive, making stars burst behind your closed lids. “Say who this cunt belongs to now.”

Your voice came out wrecked, high and broken, trembling on the edge of another shattering orgasm.

“You, Theo, please.”

The words slipped out soft, broken, desperate and the second they hit the air, something in Theo snapped.

There was a time, not long ago, when he was certain hell would freeze over before you ever begged him for anything. Before you’d ever let that pretty mouth form his name like a plea instead of a curse. He’d spent years imagining it in the dark corners of his mind. Your voice cracking, your pride crumbling, you finally admitting what he already knew: that beneath all the venom and glares, you wanted him just as badly as he wanted to ruin you.

And now here you were.

Begging.

For him.

Gods, he had a sickening feeling he'd do whatever you asked if you just tacked the word please on the end.

His pace turned feral.

He slammed into you faster, each thrust a punishing claim that rattled the door on its hinges and knocked the breath from your lungs in sharp, staccato gasps. The wet, obscene slap of skin on skin filled the room, louder than the distant party thump, louder than your own heartbeat thundering in your ears. His cock drove deep, relentless, the thick head kissing your cervix with every brutal snap of his hips until stars burst behind your closed lids.

Your eyes rolled back, whites flashing, head thunking against the wood as pleasure overloaded every nerve. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but feel him: the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness that made your toes curl against the floorboards and your thighs quake uncontrollably.

“Again,” he growled, voice wrecked and commanding, lips pressed to the sweat-slick curve of your neck. His hand on your throat sliding up to fist your hair instead, yanking your head back so he could see your face. “Say it again. Beg me like you fucking mean it.”

“T-Theo—ah!—fuck—please!”

His name fell from your lips like a chant, broken and breathless, each syllable punched out by the next punishing thrust. Tears streamed freely now with pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, dripping down your cheeks to mix with the sweat and the faint smear of mascara.

“That’s it,” he rasped, teeth grazing your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave another blooming mark. “My name. Only my fucking name. No one else gets to hear you like this. No one else gets to feel this perfect little pussy.”

He angled his hips, shifting just enough, and the ridge of him dragged over a swollen, sensitive spot inside you with devastating accuracy. Once. Twice. Relentless.

“Come,” he ordered, voice fraying. “Come on my cock right here, milk me while you scream my name into this fucking door.”

Your whole body seized.

The orgasm built so fast it stole your breath, coiling vicious and tight before exploding outward in a blinding rush. You screamed his name raw, echoing, shattering off stone walls, cunt clamping down so hard around him his rhythm stuttered, hips slamming forward one last time as he groaned low and guttural against your ear.

"Theo- I can't take-"

“You can take it, baby,” he snarled against your neck, teeth sinking into the soft skin just below your ear. “Let the whole tower hear how good you cum when I fuck you stupid against a door. You'll take every fucking drop, gonna fill you up just to watch it drip down these pretty legs while you try to walk back like nothing happened.”

His orgasm stole his breath only seconds later. Hips slamming deep, burying himself to the root as he came with a broken groan. Hot, thick spurts flooded you, spilling out around his cock, dripping down your thighs to join the mess already on the floor.

Theo’s forehead dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing the bite mark he’d left there, soft now, almost reverent.

“Say it one more time,” he murmured, voice hoarse, stripped raw. “Just once more.”

You swallowed, throat dry, voice wrecked, but the words came anyway, quiet and honest in the aftermath.

“Theo… please.”

His low, breathless laugh vibrated against your skin. “Good girl,” he whispered, pressing a slow kiss to the nape of your neck. “That’s my girl.”

He didn’t pull out yet.

He stayed buried deep. Still half-hard inside you, arms banding around your waist to keep you upright as your legs threatened to give out completely.

“We’re not leaving this room until I hear it a hundred more times,” he promised, lips curving against your ear. “And maybe not even then.”

The door stayed locked.

Your dress stayed on ruined, clinging, soaked.

The house had belonged to Bucky for years now.

The room was quiet, all but for some oldies music and the crackle of the fireplace. Despite its size, the library was always the epitome of cozy. It was once one of your favorite places in the world. You would spend hours there, curled up on the couch with—and sometimes without—Bucky, listening to his ancient record player, napping, reading the day away.

No matter what was going on in your life, when you were in that library, all felt right in the world. But as you began to slowly open your eyes, groggy and sick, it was clear that things had changed. Your body felt heavy and strange as you sat up, cradling your head in your hands. A dim light cascaded from the fireplace, and even that made you wince. You breathed in through your teeth as you clamped your eyes shut. You slowly opened them again, attempting to adjust to the light. Your head ached. 

The noise startled you, making you sit up straight. 

“I’m sorry.”

You turned and there he was, handsome as ever. He studied you carefully as you shifted around in your seat. He was quiet for a few moments as he stared you down, which shouldn’t have felt as uncomfortable as it did. You had experienced a great many silences from your ex-boyfriend during your time together, so this was nothing unusual.

But something felt different this time.

Something was off.

You hadn’t seen him in months. 

“Bucky?” you croaked. You didn’t sound like you. Your voice was harsh and gravelly, the kind of voice that came to fruition when you hadn’t slept well, or had slept way too much. Just how long had you been out for? And where were you before you fell asleep? “My head…it hurts.”

He cringed at your words. “I know. I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. Nervously, like he feared your reaction. “I tried not to hurt you too badly, doll. I really tried. But I had to get you here somehow. You wouldn’t have come willingly.”

You barely even registered his words. You were too focused on the blurriness of your vision. Even through the fog, you could see that he was dressed formally, strangely so. Vintage. 

“Are you…are you going somewhere?” you asked, squinting at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, walking closer towards you. He kneeled down on the floor in front of you, reaching forward to hold your hands in his. You looked at him in utter confusion. You hadn’t seen him in months, and now here you were in his house. What was happening? “And neither are you.”

His words snapped you out of your daze, sending a chill down your spine. The little hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You looked at him for a second, at his dark hair, slicked back perfectly. He never did his hair like that. You studied the wrinkles in his forehead, the blue of his eyes. And then you had a look around the room. Everything in Bucky’s house looked newer, somehow. 

Newer and older at the same time.

Unlike the house you were used to, the wallpaper looked flawless. The upholstery was in pristine condition, the bookcases freshly painted, the floor unscuffed. The tv was nowhere to be found. And the record player, that ancient record player, looked brand new. A pit began to form in your stomach. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Bucky’s eyes were wide. Afraid. In spite of his stature, he was afraid of a lot of things. You learned that early on in your relationship. 

“Bucky, where are we?”

He reached forward and brushed your hair away from your eyes. He thought about it for a few seconds, then spoke. “You know where we are.”

You could very faintly hear the sound of voices nearby. Your gaze shifted towards a nearby bookcase. On one of the shelves sat an old radio. A very old radio. You had never seen it before. 

“Bucky…” you repeated. Bucky turned to look at where your line of sight was, noticing the radio. He turned back towards you and ran his knuckles across your jawline. 

“I missed you so much. I…I’ve missed a lot of things. The last few months of our relationship were hard on me. You were so distracted with work, and your friends, and your life and I just…”

Your eyes began to tear up, hands shaking. You knew about Bucky’s time traveling, universe bending adventures. It was a piece of his life you had never been a part of. You also knew he came from the 1940’s.

“You can focus on what’s important now,” he pleaded with you, as if trying to convince you everything was alright. “It’s simpler here, in this world.”

“Oh, Bucky. No…”

“Few more minutes,” he responded, muffled as his lips pressed against your delicate skin. You sighed, putting the lit cigarette in your mouth.

Once you inhaled, Sirius placed his open mouth closely above yours. You exhaled the smoke in through his parted lips.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Sirius grinned, kissing you passionately. You groaned into the kiss, slowly sliding a hand into his hair.

He bit your lip hard, earning a moan from the deep point of your throat.

Sliding his tongue in, you uncontrollably rolled your hips up, heat building in the core of your stomach.

Sirius’s lips left yours, eyes misty. With a smirk, he whispered, “So horny.”

You furrowed your brows with a pout. “Tease.”

Sirius laughed darkly. “You said we needed to get up, no?” He stood up, picked up a black shirt from the floor, and put it on. You sat up, back pressed against the headboard.

You were naked, white and black blankets curled up around your body.

“Clothes, please?” You asked quietly, smushing the burnt cigarette in the glass ashtray on your nightstand. Sirius looked around the floor, searching for your clothes.

Opening a drawer, he tossed you a loose Metallica shirt. No shorts or underwear—just a shirt.

“Babe.” You raised an eyebrow.

“Hm?”

“Actual clothes.”

He stayed quiet for a moment.

“Not until I decide if I need to fuck you.”

Your stomach twisted, blinking as you stared blankly at his back. He turned around, facing you with a grin.

“Nasty.” You muttered, sliding your bare legs off the bed. You ran your fingers through your hair, then slipped the shirt on—it was two sizes too large. As you stayed seated on the mattress, the shirt was covering half of your thighs.

“But you like it.” Sirius walked over, standing directly in front of you. You looked up with big eyes.

Tilting your head, you teased, “Maybe.”

He cupped the side of your face with a cold hand. His silver rings pressed against your warm skin as he rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. “You’re such a slut."

You smiled mischievously, slowly opening your mouth and sucking his thumb. You flicked your tongue against his finger, maintaining eye contact.

Normally, it was hard to read Sirius’s face.

Now, you could tell how turned on he was.

Your eyes flickered down, watching his dick get harder by the second.

That made your stomach squirm.

With a subtle pop, you removed your mouth from his thumb, leaving a string of warm saliva. Shuffling further onto the bed, you propped yourself up on your elbows,

“Have you decided yet…?” You grinned, biting your lip.

“Now that you’re like this, I have.” Sirius breathed, slipping off his pants and kneeling on the bed. You laid flat on your back as he towered over you, kissing your lips, then the fabric over your sternum.

Your nipples hardened under the shirt as chills ran down your spine. He cupped one of your breasts, slowly massaging it. You tilted your head backward, as Sirius’ messy kisses trailed down your stomach.

“So soft,” Sirius murmured, both of his hands sliding down to your thighs and spreading them apart.

Your bare pussy convulsed emptily with need. Sirius planted quick pecks on the insides of your smooth thighs, and an unexpected one on the middle of your wet cunt.

You squeezed your thighs, pressing them against Sirius’ sides of his head. With a hollow laugh, he joked, “I haven’t even started yet baby.”

Sirius’ hands were planted on your thighs, roughly gripping the flesh, definitely leaving some mark. He went fully in like he was starved—tongue flicking your clit, kissing your entrance, and licking your folds.

Your moaning was uncontrollable. It echoed off the walls and filled Sirius’s ears—yet all you heard was pure static, fully engulfed in pleasure.

You gripped his dark hair, tugging it as your core tightening and your legs trembled.

“Keep doing that,” Sirius groaned, voice raspy yet smooth like velvet. He bit down on your clit, causing you to jolt and forcefully pull his hair.

“Fuck- Sirius,” You whined aloud. Your orgasm was almost there, the knot in your stomach ready to rip.

You could feel the smile on his face as he hummed against your dripping cunt. His nose bumped against your clit as he sucked your entrance.

Squeezing your eyes, you used all your restraint to not cum, to savor the moment—

Until Sirius pushed away.

You opened your eyes, breathing heavily, and looked at him.

“You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be,” he replied. Wiping his mouth from your fluids, the corners of his lips twitched up. “Had other plans.”

He traced two fingers down your pulsing pussy, then shoved them inside your hole. You arched your back with a sharp hiss.

His fingers curled against your walls in a slow, steady motion. Tears stung your eyes from the sudden intrusion and building pressure. He hit the spongy, sensitive part, causing you to squirm.

With his other hand, Sirius pressed your puffy clit hard, occasionally pinching it.

“Babe- fuck!” You cried, gripping the blanket beneath you.

That was when the tension was too high to hold.

You came—loudly, body shaking as your legs trembled in pleasure. Your breathing came in a hitched pattern.

Sirius pulled his fingers out slowly as your climax began to end. They were covered in your clear cum. Your pussy convulsed weakly around nothing, the warmth from Sirius’ fingers fading away.

“Open your mouth,” Sirius ordered. You obeyed, parting your lips. He slipped his sticky fingers in your mouth, and you sucked off the fluid, tasting yourself. He pulled his hand back. “How do you taste, sweetheart?”

“G-good.” Your mind wasn’t clear—you felt like a train had ran you over. Sirius smirked at your lame response.

You watched as he pulled down his black boxers. His dick was hard, slightly curling towards his stomach; precum leaked from his tip.

He traced down your folds with the tip of his cock, teasing your hole. The touch on your sensitive pussy made you flinch. Sirius noticed, licking his lips.

“My poor baby, so sore already?” Sirius mocked, pouting. Before you could bite back, he thrusted in so roughly, you screamed. He tilted his head back in half laughter and half pleasure.

You were seeing stars at this point. Your breathing came in sharp inhales as tears threatened to fall.

Sirius snapped his hips in a continuous motion, every second of it being painful.

“Sl-slower-!” You begged, the grip on the blankets beneath you tightening as he pounded into you mercilessly.

“No, take it, bitch,” Sirius barked, his thrusts becoming more passionate and quicker. You heard the slap of skin against skin and his heavy breathing.

Your walls clenched, signaling your orgasm. His pace quickened, which meant he was going to cum as well.

“Oh god-” Sirius groaned, his movement stuttering. His body stiffened as you felt his seed leak inside your pussy.

This made you go over the edge as well.

You were a moaning mess—your cheeks were flushed and your entire body was sore. As you closed your eyes, they rolled back in pleasure.

But instead of stopping, Sirius thrusted once again.

“Sirius!” You whined, your cunt numb and walls irritated.

“I know you can take a little more, baby,” Sirius grunted, shoving in deeper.

The sound of wet skin smacking against each other filled the warm room, along with your rip of a moan and Sirius’ words.

“Look at me when I fuck you, slut,” Sirius demanded as you felt the knot twist once again. Your lips were parted, tears spilling out from your eyes.

For the second time, you arched your back as you reached your high, your pussy sharply convulsing. White lights flashed in your eyes every time you blinked.

With a guttural groan, Sirius slouched and his thrusts staggered.

After a few seconds of stuffing you with his cum, he carefully pulled out, making you wince. His liquid, which was mixed with yours, leaked out of your pussy, spilling messily onto the bed.

Then, he collapsed on top of you. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, both of your skin covered in sweat.

Your breathing pattern matched his—rapidly rising and falling. You tangled your hand in his hair, smelling his dark musky scent.

“That was…holy shit,” Sirius breathed after a moment. You smiled, playing with his damp hair.

“It felt good though, right?” You mumbled, cheeks still a bit red.

Sirius propped himself up on one elbow, looking at you with lovestruck eyes. “Of course it felt good, baby.” He leaned in to kiss your lips, then pecked your cheek. “You’re mine. Forever.”

You smiled, lifting your head up to kiss his lips again. “I love you too.” Glancing at the clock on your nightstand: about 30 minutes had passed. “Shit.”

“Hm?”

“I’m late for work now. We are.”

Sirius slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Okay,” He dragged out the word, then looked at you with a smirk. “Round three?”