#pinktober

It twitches under his palm, the fabric of his briefs catching on his fingers as works himself over.

His head is tilted back, jaw slack and pink lips open in a heavy sigh. His eyes however, never leave you.

He’s on the floor, back against your (thankfully absent) roommate’s bed frame. His text book, long forgotten as it sits open on the ground next to him, the pages wrinkled from his haste to get it off his lap.

You’re on across the room on your bed, pressed to the wall with your legs crossed in front of you.

It’s like a staring contest, the eye contact is unwavering, almost painful in its intensity. The air is heavy, filled with breathy gasps, the wet slide of your fingers, and Clark’s shitty studying playlist.

Who the fuck puts this on their studying playlist?

It’s bass heavy, rough vocals plastered onto a sultry guitar.

Think Closer by Nine Inch Nails, but less screaming. Whatever it is, it’s way too charged for a platonic, strictly academic dissection of Media Ethics and Law.

You don’t even know whose hand moved first, which of you started whispering the other’s name. The distance between you feels a glass wall, and you’re sure the entire room would fracture if you tried you tried to close it.

All you know is you’re the wettest you’ve ever been, and Clark looks like if lust with blue eyes and dimples.

“Touch yourself.” You say, pissed off by the barrier. You’re selfish and curious and you want to, need to see him.

Clark grunts, his palm rolls over his bulge, his hips twitching into his own hand.

He’s fucking huge, the outline of him alone is intimidating. The light catches a wet spot on his briefs, pre leaking from his tip and leaving a messy splotch in its wake.

“I am.” He groans.

You shake your head, a trembling breath falling from your lips as you circle your clit again. “We both know you’re not gonna be able to cum like that.” You argue. You reach and grab the moisturizer off your end table, tossing it down to him. “Don’t be shy now Clark.”

He huffs a laugh, but ignores the tube entirely and pushes down his waistband.

The size him is greater than you expected, but even more surprising is that fact it’s pretty?

His cock bends from its own weight, curving into Clark’s abdomen. The head is flushed, pink like kiss bitten lips. A thick vein runs along it, curving around and disappearing into the bulbous tip. You can’t see his balls, but you imagine they look just as heavy.

His hand sits loose around the base, a lazy grip as he starts to work himself over, dry.

Your own fingers get meaner, curling in on yourself as you try to find that spot.

“Your turn.” Clark grits, his jaw is tight with tension. His thumb sweeps over his slit, making him hiss as he gathers some pre.

Your eyes widen, but fair is fair.

“What do you want to see?”

Clark’s eyes dip to the hand under your sweatshirt, the one playing with your nipple. He can see it moving under the fabric, rustling as you tweak and pull at the sensitive peak.

“Please?” He asks, when his eyes find your face again his pupils are dilated, black and shining.

You tug it off in a rush, regretfully pulling your hand from your pants to do so.

It lands somewhere at the foot of your bed in a crumpled heap.

Clark makes a tortured sound, something between a whine and a gasp. “You weren’t wearing a bra this whole time?” He asks as his hand tightens.

You nod, taking your right nipple between your fingers and pinching it. Your back arches into your own touch, goosebumps spreading under the weight of his greedy gaze. “Was hoping you’d try and cop a feel.” You try to make it sound like a joke, but it calls flat, so you give away the truth instead. “Changed my sheets and everything.”

A vein in Clark’s neck pops.

“And then I sat on the floor.” He finishes. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping himself, hips jerking up into fist as he twists it over his head.

You nod as a whine falls from your lips. “Clark,” you gasp, as your fingers finally, finally hit the spot. “Mmhnn close.” Your mind drifts to his hands, the size of his palms, the way he dwarfs everything he touches. “Shit,” you curse, “Wish it was your hand.”

Clark moans, “Feelings- Gah!“ He cuts himself off with a hard pull, his palm rolling over and polishing his slit, “Mutual.”

Conversation dies, replaced by fast breathing and pounding hearts as you both pitch closer and closer to orgasm.

It’s messy, sweat across either of your brows as you work yourselves over, playing your bodies like a private concert.

It’s one step closer.

Pinktober Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The last Clark of pinktober! I can’t believe it’s here but I hope you lovelies enjoy it, Clark Kent I’ve only known you a short time but I do love you so. Thank you for reading!!!

Taglist: @alex-cheraya @seraphina-barnes @its-carlerrr @pestoluvr8 @strawbvrrystrgirl @nothing-behindher-eyes @purple-soldier @shadeaave @x-fanaccount1-x @youvebeenbrekkered @avgdestitute @billieatusn-blog @aeriwifee @mistalli @bad-wolf1991 @star-yawnznn @absinthe-xxx @lilbloggs @j23r23 @ssasa-romanoff @miraclediviner @metal-armed-muse @clarknsun @helloimokaynow @hailmary-yramliah @phoenix-in-writing @3lectric-hearts @chateaubarnes @whatwonderful-world @barnesgirlx @spinningyarnsandshame @diorbymel @jeanournal @mistressofallthingsgeeky

You’d worn something floral, but it had an underlying layer of musk, a woodiness that deepened the profile. One of your favorites, a scent you pick when you want confidence and a little extra femininity.

You’d been grateful you’d chosen it the second you saw him in the elevator.

It made Clark’s head spin. He’d told you later, how the smell had filled the whole room, wafting over him as you leaned over to press the button for your floor. It stayed with him all day, long after you’d stepped out onto your floor with a sweet “Have a nice day!”

The next day you wore it again, arrived at the same time again, hoping you’d catch him.

You didn’t know he’d done the same, sat behind a newspaper in the lobby and waited until he heard the click of your heels. This time it was him who slid through the doors.

“I was dying to smell it again,” he admitted, face flushed with embarrassment, “I’d spent all night trying to figure out how I could bump into you again.”

You’d made small talk that time, telling him you worked in HR, and had heard plenty of stories about the reporter who knew Superman.

He joked that one more tardy and he’d probably be sent to your office.

You half wished he was right.

The third day you flirted, armed with the same florals you even pretended to bump into the buttons so you’d have some extra time.

He’d asked if you’d like to get coffee, you’d beamed and told him you’d love to.

He’d doubled back to your floor a half hour later because he forgot to get your number.

When you asked how he found you, he lied and said he asked someone.

The truth was that he followed his nose.

You slowly introduced him to your catalog of scents.

Orange blossoms and sweet spices for coffee.

Sandalwood and Patchouli when he offered to walk you home.

Lavender and tuberose the first time you kissed.

Vanilla and cardamon the night you asked if he wanted to come upstairs.

Slowly, Clark learned your rituals.

Jasmine and neroli when you have a big meeting.

Cedar wood and lemon when you’re feeling overwhelmed.

And just like that first night, vanilla and cardamon when you want him.

Again, it was an accident, choices you make so unconsciously you hadn’t even realized you’d fallen into such a pattern.

Clark didn’t notice either, but his body did.

An extra slow kiss on your lips when he says hello.

A possessive hand on your lower back while walking you home.

A low growl in his throat when he kisses your neck and catches whiff of it.

When you wore it work one day, only to get pulled into a supply closet, met with heavy breathing and fogged up glasses.

“Driving me crazy today.” He’d said, like it was an excuse, “Smell so good.”

The night he took you out to dinner to celebrate six months, you’d spent half the meal with his hand up your skirt, a low drawl of “Smell like sugar…” a drag of his thumb over your clit as he gathers your wetness. “What’s that sayin’ about having desert first?” Slowly bringing that same finger to his mouth and sucking it clean.

Your cousins wedding reception, vanilla on your collarbones and Clark’s hard on pressing into your back all night. Genuine apologies whispered in your hair as he used you as a shield. Teases of “See what you do to me?” as he nibbled your earlobe.

You’re not stupid though.

It only took so many dingy bar bathrooms, and ruined panties before you realized the common denominator.

Now you wield it like a weapon.

A drop on your ankle for him to find mid thrust, savoring the way his hips falter when it hits him.

A spritz behind your knee, perfect for when he sits between your thighs and pulls them over his shoulder.

A rub on your wrist, tantalizing as you reach over him to grab something. Exhilarating when his hand grabs yours and brings it to his lips, laving a wet kiss over your pulse point.

Vanilla starts to invade all of Clark’s world.

The shampoo he got you for his shower.

The candle that sits on kitchen island, chosen because ‘it smelled like home.’

His fabric softener, the first time he’s ever picked something that wasn’t what his Ma used.

A box left on your side of the vanity, topped with a bow and a note in messy scrawl

“You know me better than I know myself.”

Inside is a bottle of vanilla and cardamon, in the largest size possible.

On the back of the note, a time next to your favorite restaurant, the one with quartz sink and a big mirror in the private bathroom.

“Almost as well as I know you.”

Pinktober Masterlist

Main Masterlist

I run a tight program (psychological warfare)! 3 days left, be careful out there my friends if you see a SINGLE man dressed at Clark Kent it’s actually the worst man alive, don’t let them trick you!

(This warning does not apply to men in Superman suits, they are safe to pursue. Couples dressed as Clark Kent and Lois Lane are also exempt, however they will kick your ass at drinking games.)

Taglist: @alex-cheraya @seraphina-barnes @its-carlerrr @pestoluvr8 @strawbvrrystrgirl @nothing-behindher-eyes @purple-soldier @shadeaave @x-fanaccount1-x @youvebeenbrekkered @avgdestitute @billieatusn-blog @aeriwifee @mistalli @bad-wolf1991 @star-yawnznn @absinthe-xxx @lilbloggs @j23r23 @ssasa-romanoff @miraclediviner @metal-armed-muse @clarknsun @helloimokaynow @hailmary-yramliah @diorbymel @jeanournal @after8hore