𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 ~ "𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘"
Clark Kent (Superman) x Childhood!Best-friend!Fem!Reader
boarders by @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine 👠🧸🎇
wordcount. 5.5k ~ masterlist.
Warnings: Fem!Reader, SMUT (Minors DNI), Fingering, Lots of Pet Names, Lots of Praise, Minimal use of Y/n, Sexual Assault, Assault, Panic Attack, Vomiting, Drunken Decision Making, Sweet Clark, Just Adorable Clark, Unsafe Sex, Jealousy and Unrequited Love leads to Sex, What are we, Angst City, I am Mayor, Childhood Friendship, Fluff, Alcohol Consumption, First kiss, Reunion, Verbal Fight, Hint of Physical Abuse, Flashbacks, Tension, Consent is so Punk Rock, Seemingly Unrequited Love, Guilt, Expert Pining, Yearning City, I am Mayor, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Even Clark isn't perfect, We are all human, Sexual Context, Loss of Virginity, Punk Rock Kindness
"𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝐼 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘,
𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑔 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟"
The sparkling lights of the gym shone in the wake of your eyes. Your gown hung around your waist in calculated waves, and Clark's palm lightly grazed your lower back. His collar was popped, tie was loosely hanging on for dear life. Rented suit jacket abandoned on a random chair.
His smile was wide, bringing out your own as you gazed into ocean blue irises.
This was it. Senior prom.
And you were looking absolutely breathtaking.
The night had already been full of laughter, punch, and dancing until you had to peel off your high heels. Clark was your date, of course. The two of you were inseparable, giggling and shrugging off the common "it couple" comments. Clark was dragging you back to the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips to the rhythm while you shrieked, mouthing the words to "Sexy Back."
Everyone around you stood out of the way.
Because Smallville High's sweethearts were the center of the energy. Best friends who had been through every high and low, but refused to take the next step. Captain of the football team and the captain of the theater club. Talk about a dramatic couple.
Neither of you even considered bringing a date, knowing that you were bound to ditch them for each other's attention and company anyway.
Clark's piercing tenor rings in your ears as he sings along, hands spread wide on your hips, as he pulls you taut to his chest. If it weren't so casual, so normal, you'd be blushing, freaking out inside.
You totally weren't freaking out.
The feel of his fingers protectively gripping your skin through the fabric, and the way the sweat of his hair rolled from his forehead to yours as you danced along. It was enough to drive any sane girl mad.
You two were truly idiots. This was just normal. This was just friendship.
It was obvious to anyone but you both.
But that would all change tonight.
You pull back from Clark, eliciting a groan and a pout from his cocky frame. He pulls you back, "Where do you think you're going, sweets?"
"Cmon Kent, I need more punch."
The two of you make your way to the tables of various snacks and drinks, Clark grabbing a can of ginger ale as you gag and grab your own cup, pouring some more punch.
"What's wrong with ginger ale?"
"What are you, seventy with stomach problems?"
You smile, poking his dimple with your finger like you always do, and strut away dramatically towards a table. Clark lingers, rolling his eyes, and heads to the football table to see some friends.
His hand clenches the can a little bit tighter as he lets go of a tight breath. He couldn't wait another night.
You've made your way back to the table where your clutch lies, picking it up and mindlessly reapplying the lip gloss you brought. You sit with a groan, rubbing at the arch in your foot.
"Wow, I can't believe Kent would leave you here when you're looking like such a snack." A sickening voice proclaims from across the table.
You grimace, facing none other than Gabe Peters, a very bad-for-school biker. He'd been after your attention all senior year, showing up any time Clark left you alone. Which wasn't much.
"What do you want, Peters?" You grumble, narrowing your eyes as you set down your drink, cracking your knuckles, and sighing. He mocks offense, dragging a hand to his face and slapping himself lightly, "Just wondering what you're doing after this, prom queen."
You roll your eyes at his efforts, glancing to where Clark's jock buddies continued to laugh at their table. He had to be at least halfway across the gym. The smoke from several machines made it much harder to make out anything but the dance floor.
Gabe stood, crossing to your side as you discreetly pushed away, body language completely closed off to him.
"Nothing with you, Gabe, piss off." You glance across again, willing for Clark to look back your way.
"I figure Clark can't see you over here, huh?" He smiles wickedly, grabbing your chin with a grimey hand and leaning in. Your own hand flies up to swat him away, but you aren't quick enough.
Gabe lands a wet kiss on your lips faster than you can say, "Fuck you."
You swerve away, slapping him as jaws drop and gasps ring out around you. He brings a hand to his cheek, rubbing it and grasping for your wrist.
Your eyes begin to well with tears, and you stand, "Fuck you, Peters!" You flinch as his fingers wrap around your slender wrists, squeezing with a familiar force. He harshly pulls you to his chest, palms making their way to your ass.
You bring a knee to his crotch as he grazes it, and he doubles over.
"Goddamn it, you bitch!" He cries.
Heart pounding and eyes scanning a forming crowd, you can't see Clark... so you run. Pushing through the yearbook staff, who have enthusiastically formed a hurdle, cameras at the ready. You make a break for the doors leading outside, bursting through them as tears flow freely down your cheeks, running south to your neck.
The wind outside whips at the skirt of your dress, bracing yourself against the bricks, you lean over and hurl from anxiety. Your chest feels tight, too tight.
His hands are around your wrist. "You bitch!"
Mom is on the floor, hands over her ears as Dad kicks her stomach again, cracking another rib.
He turns towards you to grab your neck, a violent glint in his eyes.
Clark appears behind you in an instant, hands bunching up your hair as he whispers, "Sweetheart, hey, hey. Let it out, I'm here. Hey." Another hand rubs comforting circles into the small of your back as he surrounds you with warmth, a letter jacket being placed gently over your shoulders.
You spit out whatever is left, eyes crushing together in a pinch as you turn and bury your head into his chest, sobbing in ragged motions. Clark catches you instantly, hands wrapping possessively around your back, one on the nape of your neck. He curses into the cold night, the twilight of the moon shining on his eyes.
"He- he..." You start, but Clark shushes you, cooing and stroking lightly at your curled half-up-half-down hairdo. "I know. I know, the boys are taking care of it, let me get you home, sweets."
"No! N-no, Clark. I can't go home, not now, my D-Dad." You cry, pitifully shaking in his grasp. He nods, bringing his forehead to yours as he instructs you to match his breathing.
Your noses bump in a fit of intense silence.
"There you go, good, good sweetheart. Cmon, I'll take you to mine then, fuck prom." Clark announces, brushing away some tear-stained strands. He stares at your defeated face and sighs. Why were you so damn beautiful when you cried?
You nodded, letting him pick you up now, carrying you bridal style to his truck in the parking lot across the field. Hands wrap around his in comforting stability as you lean in and kiss his cheek.
"Thanks, super-boy." His ears turn pink.
You pass the home goal posts, and Clark quietly shouts, "Go Clark, go Clark, go Clark!" The last one comes out high-pitched and squealish. You slap at his chest, a soft grin replacing the frown.
"What? I'm just imitating you in the stands."
You smile, laying your head in the crook of his neck as you sigh, "Whatever, you were the one crying in the audience when I died as Juliet."
"I still can't believe Dean Matthews got to kiss you before me." He teases back, causing another smack to his chest. You each laugh.
You've both danced around a kiss for weeks now.
"Whatever, Mr. football star. Half of the cheerleaders would pass out if you even winked at them." Clark huffs out a laugh, throwing his head back at the thought.
He reaches the truck, holding you with one arm as the other pops open the passenger seat. He drops you inside, making sure you don't knock your head.
"Your carriage, m'lady." His dimples are so prominent in this lighting. Eyes watching you with an amused glint, something else lying beneath them. Your throat catches, before you fake another quip.
"Why, thank you, oh galliant knight." You croon, leaning up to meet his gaze, Clark breaks away first.
"A knight! I'm your knight!" He yells, making you jerk up a hand to cover his mouth. But all it does is muffle his yelling, "Yo-umm-hea-er-thmat smmmallville! I'm her kmmight!" Your laugh comes out unashamedly, "Clark!"
He just flashes you another crystal white smile, shutting the door gently and walking to his side. When he gets in, you lean back into the leather seats. "You're really gonna give up the prom king crown for me? I'm honored."
Clark puffs, "Ah, whatever... Plus, I won it last year." He glances towards you, giving you a "oh, cmon" look when he realizes you haven't buckled. You just fake innocence and grin back at him.
"Okay, humble bragger." That pulls another laugh from his chest, as he leans across the truck to grab your seat belt.
You gulp at the close proximity of his chest to yours, his breath fanning over your face in a restrained way, making your heart pound a little more. But as intimate as the moment is, it's fleeting, and Clark is sitting back in his seat before you blink.
"Alright... Joe's, and then mine," Clark announces, wiggling his eyebrows at you as he starts the truck. Your eyes sparkle at the hint of trouble in his tone, making your fingers twitch with excitement. Joe's liquor store it is. The engine roars to life, and "The Police" blast into each of your ears.
You both gasp as the familiar tune "Roxanne" fills the truck. Clark gives you a smile, leaning a hand over to your side and presenting an imaginary mic, "Take it away, baby."
You wince as a hand flies up to your neck, rubbing at the quickly sharpening ache there. This damn Jeep can't support my fucking back.
A pit begins to form in your stomach as you turn onto Hartford Drive, headed just south of Joe's and towards the Kent farm. Tommy sent you to return some gardening tools he'd borrowed from Martha. You were half sure he was doing it just to mock you.
Usually, this wouldn't be an issue; you'd swing by, kissing Johnathan on the cheek and hugging Martha around the back. They'd welcome you in with lots of compliments, stating how good you looked, and how nice it was of you to come by.
Iced tea would be plunged into your hand before you could think, and you would be rushed to a recliner, Johnathan and Martha taking the dusty couch. They'd flood you with questions, wanting to know everything from what you'd eaten that morning to how your love life was. Martha was always extra curious about your love life.
But today... It was different; Clark was home.
He was home, and you'd already avoided him once.
The driveway came into view, and you took a deep breath, turning on your blinker and sighing. You pushed down every conflicting thought and prayed for this to be quick and painless.
Your eyes flash to the barn.
You hadn't been in there since July of senior year.
You hadn't seen the inside of that damned barn in 5 years.
Everything felt very emotional once again.
You're giggling like an idiot, bottle of hard whiskey in your hand, and your head is leaned back into Clark's chest behind the mighty fine establishment of Joe's Liquor Store. You're sitting, he's pulling the bottle from your lips as you try to take another swig.
Clark had tipped off a guy to buy it for you, paying him a crisp twenty and smiling with a crooked grin. The man had chosen a pretty intense bottle, in which two chugs had your head buzzing and your heart racing.
"No more for you, sweetheart." Clark tuts, stealing it and taking another drink of his own, choking slightly as you shift around between his legs.
You pout, "Cmon, Clarkie, I want some more." He grins, shaking his head at you lightly and chuckling as you look up into his eyes, lips inches from each other. The stars above you both, twinkle in a magical way, making this night one both of you couldn't help but remember.
"No. You don't need more. You're plenty tipsy now, sweetheart," Clark laughs, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. He takes a deep breath, but doesn't lean in. Even as beautiful as you are, he can't kiss you while you're drunk. Not after the night you've had.
Even though it kills him not to.
But you've leaned in now, grazing your lips on his in a sensual way, and his stomach is fluttering in a silly spin. "Y/n..." he warns, a lower tone taking over his throat.
Clark doesn't mean for it to come out as a croak, but he's a weak man. Hell, he's still a boy, mentally. You were perched in his lap, nothing short of sinful. Your prom dress pulled up for easier movement. The skirt was dirty with mud, and the summer sweat clung to your skin.
"What?" You ask, breathless and shocked that you'd done that. You lean away quickly, pushing off the ground and trying to stand. Cheeks burning, your legs wobble as you brace against the brick of Joe's store.
Clark jumps up, "Hey. Be careful."
But you're desperate to make the moment less awkward as your heart wrenches in sudden rejection. So you give him one last look before you're off to the corn fields. It takes Clark by surprise, although he'd have no trouble catching up. Super speed and all.
But you're buzzed, and he doesn't trust those cute little legs to carry you all the way back to the farm. So, being the genius eighteen-year-old boy he was, Clark zoomed off after you. He sees you giggling as you struggle through the stalks, and he sighs to himself.
You're pushing through the field, a drunken giggle falling from your mouth, when all of a sudden, you're back in Clark's arms, flying above the field. Your jaw drops, and a jolt in your stomach begins to form.
"Oh fuck!" You scream, tightening your hold on his arms and digging your nails into his skin. Clark is laughing his ass off, doing some over-exaggerated spins and kissing your hair.
You feel very sick again, and you try to warn Clark, but it's too late. He rushes you to the ground as you hurl. His apologies spew out like water from a hydrant, but you wave him away.
After a moment of deafening silence, you laugh out loud.
Clark's eyes widen in surprise as you turn around to face him, hair a mess and eyes wild like fire. Your dress is seriously ruined, with dirt, grime, and bits of cornstalk all over it. But you've never felt so alive.
"That was one way to get it out of my system," you say, looking back up at Clark affectionately. He wishes he could just freeze this moment and have you look at him this way all night.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Clark starts, but you grip his lapel, dragging him towards you and smashing your lips to his.
His eyes close immediately, and his hand wraps instinctively around you, one taking you by the neck as he deepens the kiss. You pull away, though, gasping and apologizing, "Oh my god. I finally kissed you, and I kissed you with throw-up breath!"
The panic that had stirred in his chest was squashed as he grabbed you by the throat gently and redirected your mouth to his with a huff. He kissed you deep and slow, until it felt like your lips were burning and your breath was waning.
You didn't realize the ground beneath you was feeling so distant, but the second Clark pulled away, you were staring into his eyes amid the air.
He was staring at you like you'd just given him a pack of first edition Star Wars tapes.
"You think I care about throw-up breath when the prettiest girl in the world is kissin' me?" Clark teases lightly, forehead coming to rest against yours.
"Clark, I'm brushing my teeth if we're going to make out for the first time."
He sighs and rubs his nose against your cheek. "Alright, I'll go get my extra brush. You get your cute butt to our spot." All you can do is nod when he speaks to you like that. With a dominant tone that makes you feel all warm and suddenly pent up. He sets you both back on the ground, pecking at your lips again with a soft groan, and finally breaks for the house in flight.
You stand there for a moment, holding the crown of your head with your palm and squealing. It was just like you'd imagined it. Nothing big, nothing too much.
Everything had just clicked into place, naturally.
You hold a fist up to the door, balancing the box of tools on your good hip. Knocking lightly, you let out another long breath. There's a rustle from inside as Clark Kent's frame makes its way to the door from the hall.
He opens it with a quick swing.
You both stare. Neither one daring to speak first.
But your hip gives way slightly, and you shoot your gaze down with a gasp of sharp pain.
"Oh shit," Clark says, reaching a hand out to stabilize you as you begin to tumble. A soft groan follows from your lips, and you grasp his arm with a quick hand, squeezing it. He takes the box without another word.
"Thanks," you whisper, cheeks burning in an embarrassed tint.
"N-no... ahem... no problem, sweetheart," Clark says lightly, his hand leaving your hip as you pull away, patting his arm in a purely friendly manner. You glance up at his face when you hear the familiar nickname, and he looks just as shocked as you.
"It's just my hip," you breathe out, mesmerized by the eyes that stole your heart in the third grade. Clark looks just as conflicted, as his eyes flick between yours and your very full, very close lips.
"Right, your hip, the accident." He says, in a cracked tone that's full of pity. It makes your heart hurt on the inside. You couldn't let this affect you. Not again, Y/n.
"Um... right, so. There are Martha's tools." You say, backing away from him with a quick step, and making a break for your Jeep.
You yelp out a haphazard thank you from Thomas as you quickly walk to the vehicle, limping. Clark calls out your name, and you pause.
Without a doubt, you could walk away. You could pretend he didn't exist, and go on your way.
But this was Clark Kent, your best friend. The first, only boy you'd ever loved. The man who saved squirrels from the road and cats from trees. His heart was bigger than the moon. You couldn't do that to him, even after all he'd done. How selfish he'd been.
He gulps, a nervous look on his face, short fingernails picking at the cardboard around the corner of the box.
Your stomach churns very uncomfortably.
"It's alright, Clark." You respond, brushing off the rawness that scraped its way up your throat. Harsh words begging to come out.
"No!" He shouts, dropping the tools to the deck and taking a step down the porch.
"S-sorry. But, no. It's not. It's all my fault." Clark admits, and his voice almost sounds as if he'll cry.
"Clark..." You whisper, he's made his way to you. He's merely steps away.
"It's not okay. But I'm home. And I won't leave until you know how sorry I am." He mutters, reaching a hand to graze yours.
You pull it away and face him, "Good luck with that, Clark. Six years don't just fly by." No smile, no teasing grin. The softness in your eyes had hardened over.
His face freezes as if you'd slapped him. Eyes wide and hurt, brows furrowed together tightly, painfully. His hands clench and unclench at his side, the way they did when he hadn't caught the football and missed a touchdown.
"Goodbye, Clark." You say, opening the door and climbing inside. He just stands there, gazing at you through your windshield until you're backing up. He looks as though he wants to stop you, but his feet won't move. He just stares.
Then he finally retreats, slowly turning away and heading back to the porch, back inside. The tools stay on the deck.
You feel guilty, but it was better than letting your heart break again.
You take one last glance at the Barn before you drive away. Nights spent dreaming of Clark Kent were over; it was time to wake up. You missed his hand on your thigh as you drove away.
When Clark climbs up the ladder, his heart jumps to his throat. Toothbrush and paste in hand, he peeks his head up through the loft, seeing you lean against the wood.
You're staring back at him with a look that makes his cock jump in his suit pants. Be a gentleman, dumbass.
You accept the toothbrush with desperate hands, immediately pushing some paste from the tube and brushing at your teeth rapidly. Clark watches you, amused at your fierce determination.
"Not too hard, sweetheart, don't want your gums to bleed."
He takes his place next to you, exhaling as he slides down the barn wall, sitting beside you and swinging an arm over your back.
You give him a look, and he laughs, poking your nose with a cheeky grin on his face.
You stand, and spit out your paste, giving him a smile, waiting for his approval. Clark laughs and gives you two thumbs up.
"There. Allllll clean." You laugh, Clark hooks a hand around your ankle, and topples you over onto him.
You land with a shriek, hands bracing themselves on his chest. His nose brushes yours again as he takes you in for a kiss. His lips are soft, lingering as they explore the kiss. It makes your fingers twitch against his chest, smoothing out whatever wrinkles the field caused.
Clark swipes a tongue against your lips, and you finally let him in with a soft moan. His tongue catches your teeth. It's not messy, but it's new. He groans as a hand finds the back of your head again, fingers curling protectively around your skull as he deepens the kiss further.
He breaks away after what seems like twenty minutes, breathing in short pants, eyes flickering around your face.
"God, you are beautiful." Your cheeks feel insanely warm again, and you avoid his gaze. But Clark catches your chin, "Ah ah ah, no, look at me, sweetheart." You can't help it, your eyes find his again.
They speak a million words.
"I want you. I do, Clark." You tell him, fingers now curling in the soft hair by his ears. He breathes.
"Y'sure? We don't. You've been drinking." His voice fails him, coming out as more of a pathetic ask than an offer.
"It's out of my system, and I want you, Clark."
Clark doesn't need to hear another word as he drags your mouth back to his, claiming it with a brusque kiss. He scoots you away from the wall, placing you down gently against the wood and hay, and kisses you senseless. His hands roam all over your frame, becoming romantically familiar with your body.
You, however, are too utterly atonished at his kissing skills, moaning as he scrapes his teeth against your lips, your tongue. How he nips against your neck as his body crowds yours.
He whispers out words of comfort, "You're so good for me, so beautiful," as he kisses your ears, your eyes, your veins. His hands find your breasts, and he breathes in quickly, squeezing and rolling at your nipples through the fabric.
You mewl into his neck, begging him for more.
"Shh, shh, baby. I'm here," he calls, smothering your collarbone with kisses.
"God, you're so soft, and you're here with me." His voice is laced in disbelief. You pull at his hair, bringing his lips to yours, and he groans, a hand slamming against the wood next to your head.
"I need you, Clark." You beg, a hand lacing in his locks and a sob escaping your lips.
It's pitiful, it's wretched.
It's exactly what Clark needs to hear to rip apart your dress.
His hands find the bust, and he rips each stitch. You don't mind, the dress is plenty ruined, and you'd much rather be naked than clothed right now. So you reach for his shirt, pulling at buttons and popping them open. He groans when he tears it away from your breasts, a lace bra holding them in place.
He sighs, burying his head between them with kisses, worshiping the skin, wet with sweat. You moan out, legs wrapping around his middle and pulling him towards.
"Let me get this damn dress off." He croaks, face against your chest, and you nod. You sit up, giving him better access as he drags the zipper down quickly, pulling the dress from your torso and towards your feet. His eyes graze over every inch of you with a severe need.
Clark pulls his shirt from his chest quickly, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them to his ankles quickly. You stare up at him, balanced against the wood of the loft. You looked so soft, and your skin glowed in the light.
"You're everything," Clark whispers, his eyes raking over the lace as hands find the clips, struggling with a huff before unclipping it successfully and dragging it down your arms.
Then he just sits back on his knees, taking you in. His breath catches, and his fingers gently place the bra on the floor. A hand raises to your neck, tracing down to the valley of your breasts with two fingers.
Clark finds a nipple, rolling it, watching you gasp, and crawls to you again. He gropes at your chest as his lips find yours with a heated kiss. Lips of heat smash together, tongues searching for hidden secrets.
You pull him against you with a mewl, fingers brushing lower towards his boxers, towards the hard outline there. You touch his cock through the fabric, and his voice breaks, ragged and desperate. His tongue sweeps across your neck.
"Fuck! I need you." He rasps, a hand reaching towards your panties and tearing them down your legs. "Please, p-please Y/n, tell me I can touch you," Clark begs, voice raw with genuine need. You nod, pushing his hand to your fold with your own, guiding him to you.
Clark moans as he finds you soaked, two fingers part you, and he strokes softly through your folds. You are a moaning mess beneath him, hand pulling down his boxers and gripping his cock with a solid fist.
He grunts, circling your clit as you begin to pump him slowly. The two of you make sounds of pleasure at the feeling of finally touching each other. Clark pulls your hand away from his cock.
"No, you get to come. I need you to come." He whispers against your lips, kissing them softly and finding your clit again. You whine against him, completely helpless.
"I know, I know. It feels good, sweet girl." He coos, the other hand finding your hole and pressing gently, slowly.
He finds your eyes. "Do you think you can take my finger?" You whimper, nodding rapidly and begging him to let you take it.
"You gonna let me be your first, pretty?" Clark asks, voice soft and adoring as he watches you pant. You whine, a tear running down your cheek as you beg, "Please, Clark. It's yours, I'm yours."
His heart lurches, and he leans to kiss the tear away, "I love you, y'know that?"
You smile, wide and pretty.
He pushes the finger in, shushing your moans with a kiss, nipping at your hairline, and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.
"There you are," he groans, sweetly and safe. His voice guides you, as his finger finds its way into your walls. You're crying now, curled into his neck, purely pitiful as you take his finger.
Clark still draws lazy circles around your clit, loosening your pussy for his second finger, which dips to join the first, stretching you wider for him.
"Good girl, you're doing so well."
You kiss at his neck, bringing your hips up to his hand, trying to push him deeper, "Please, Clark, more." He huffs out a laugh, pushing the second finger to the hilt as he fingers at your bundle of nerves.
"Don't get greedy on me, baby. You'll get it all. Be patient." He warns, pinching your clit lightly between a thumb and forefinger, making you cry into his chest, sobbing with overstimulation.
Clark kisses you again, finding your worn lips with his as he begins to pump you, curling his finger against your walls. He hits a spot that makes you gasp.
"Fuck!" You cry, hips bumping his hand with passion, you're chasing the release that builds low in your belly. Clark obliges, pumping faster and drawing tight circles now.
"Please come, let me feel it on my hands, baby. I want to feel it." He begs, kissing your cheekbone. The cord pulls tight as his teeth graze your earlobe, and it snaps.
Your hips twitch, legs sprawled and wild, as Clark fucks you through the pleasure, his lips kissing at the tears which fall down your cheeks.
"Oh, good girl, good girl." He croons, fingers slowing down gradually as you gush against them.
You pull him into another kiss, and he raises his arousal-soaked hand to his mouth, sucking in his fingers as you draw a breath. He groans around his digits, kissing you and forcing his tongue into your mouth so that you may taste.
He pulls you towards him, and his heavy cock slaps against your stomach.
"We don't-t, have to," Clark strains as your fist finds him again, pumping him with solid strokes and kissing at his jaw, "Please, Clark, please."
Your begging weakens him, and he lines his cock up, rubbing it against the wetness. His hands are tight fists, roughly placed against the wood of the loft.
The head is thick, pink, and angry. Pre-cum drips around the slit, running down to the base where soft curls lie. Clark slaps his cock against your clit, once, twice. You groan and claw his shoulder. "Please."
"Okay, okay, pretty girl, take me." He whispers, voice ragged and tight as he pushes the head into your pussy. Your walls oppose him, but he eases in slowly, letting you take a couple of inches before he retreats.
He pushes in again, a long and broken cry exiting both of your mouths as he goes another inch deeper this time.
"You're so tight." He grunts, hand cracking the wood by your head as he grips it like crumpling paper.
You're clenching around him, and he brings a hand down to thumb at your clit again, "Let me in, cmon baby." His voice is barely a whisper, raw and full of passion that has been pushed down for years.
His constant circles make the cord tighten again, but this time, he holds you there, letting you teeter on the edge as he eases himself in, inch by inch, until he finally lies hip to hip with you. Clark kisses you now, murmuring his love again and again against your skin as you milk him. A long and slow release squirting around his cock.
It makes him grunt as you cry in a quiet whimper, completely fucked out. Clark's hips pick up the pace, and your legs wrap around him in overstimulation.
"Oh god, I'm close, please- please." He cries now, hips becoming erratic in their movements, and he suddenly cums, painting you with his load, owning you. He sinks to the floor, hands cradling your head as he showers you with love.
"So good f'me, you're my girl. You're my baby. Oh god, you're so beautiful, look at you." He mumbles, disbelief and pleasure etched all over his face.
Clark finds your lips as he drags you back into his lap.
You could lie here in his arms, in this barn, forever.
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PART TWO: "NOBODY GETS MY JOKES"
