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jinkiezzsstuff · 2 days ago

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he's your older bf — Clark Kent headcanons pt.1

note: he's in his mid-thirties, and you're in your early twenties (or anything you want). can be read as an unofficial sequel to he's touch starved. just a little something for today since my next fic might take some time. kind of nervous posting this omg but i hope you guys enjoy! tags: size difference, soft dom clark (non sexual), age gap, ditzy+scatterbrained f! reader, clark & reader are coworkers, no plot, just pure fluff

୨ৎ even before dating, clark acted like the best boyfriend — to you only. he would walk you home after work, walking the side of the road, and he wouldn't touch you, not yet, but his hand would hover on your back, gently guiding you without even having to touch you, even if he so desperately wanted to.

୨ৎ he would pack you lunches, after you told him how you always forgot to make food so you often went entire days without eating (your brain makes it difficult for you to remember things you don’t really care about), and then pester you (gently) until you finally stopped typing on your keyboard and started eating. “atta girl,” he would praise you.

୨ৎ when he becomes your boyfriend though? that’s when the restraints finally come off. a hand on your neck, on your elbow, or his favorite, on the small of your back. he’s always touching you, always reassuring you. when the world gets too noisy and you can’t leave, he would gently squeeze the back of your neck, allowing you to focus solely on his touch and presence.

୨ৎ he knows that sometimes you get too engrossed in whatever it is you’re reading and refuse to look up from your book until you’re finished, and he’s fine with that. even if you like to read while walking with him. you don’t need to have eyes when he’s around. he’ll be your eyes and your guide. he would gently stir you away to keep you from walking head into a light pole or from walking into traffic. he doesn’t even mind that you don’t even notice. that you don’t even realise the full extent of what he would do for you to keep you safe — and happy

୨ৎ before him, you only had bad boyfriends. guys who made fun of your hyperfixations, your passions, the way you talked and the way you weren’t very perceptive, and were slow to the uptake. it’s so difficult for you to trust people again, to truly be your authentic self, but around clark, since the first day you met him, you felt safe. for the first time in your life, you met someone who truly loved all of you without condition.

୨ৎ clark loves that you feel so safe around him. in fact, he encourages it. “let me see all of you, love. you don’t have to hide anything from me.”

୨ৎ his love language is acts of service, so guess what? you’re serviced from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. he is the one to wake you up every day, knowing how you like to hit the snooze button. he makes the both of you breakfast, and he lets you snooze a little on his lap while he reads his newspaper and drinks his coffee.

୨ৎ and don’t get me wrong, it’s not that clark doesn’t think you’re not capable of handling yourself. it’s not that at all. he knows you’re more than capable to do anything you put your mind into if you had to. he knows that your weird girl persona is just what people see on the surface and assume it’s all you are, but he knows better. he knows it’s a coping mechanism, and how you feel good. he knows you’re independent and strong and smart, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make your life easier. as long as you would have him, he will have you.

୨ৎ on date nights, when your feet would hurt from walking all night with your cute (but painful) pink heels, he would drop to his knees in the street without a care in the world and take your feet out of your heels, before lifting you in his arms, and holding your heels in his other hand. you tell him you can handle it, and he says “i know you can, sweetheart. but that doesn’t mean you have to. not when i’m around.” so, blushing, you let him lift you like a princess in his arms. he doesn’t even let you hold the heels. he holds them himself.

୨ৎ you’re not stupid or naive, you just want to see the best in people, even when it doesn’t exist. in that regard, you’re just like him, and he loves you so much for it.

୨ৎ clark is a jealous boyfriend, but not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he doesn’t trust other men. it’s a protective kind of jealousy, born out of love and care, not insecurity and fear. he is secure and confident in your love for him.

୨ৎ clark kent is the ultimate masculine man. not because he’s strong or tall, but because he’s so confident in his masculinity that it hurts (in a good way). he always wears your pink and cute and hyper feminine purses or bags while you’re busy shopping, waiting until you’re finished. he doesn’t hide the purse or act like he’s disgusted, no. he puts it over his shoulder like it’s part of his outfit. he also never uses his phone around you. he was already chronically offline, but it’s worse around you. he never answers calls or even texts when you’re with him. even if you’re busy. and when you’re busy, he busies himself with watching you, his hands in his pockets.

୨ৎ he never lets you buy anything, even when he doesn’t even understand what you want, like when you had an obsession with labubus and you absolutely had to have the pink one, and clark doesn’t even understand what he’s looking at, but he can see how badly you want it, so he gets it for you, no questions asked. he gets upset when he learns that you used your own money on something he could have easily bought you.

୨ৎ clark is always respectful and polite, but he never smiles more than necessary to women. never touches them or talks to them if it’s not an absolute necessity. you tell him you don’t mind if he has girl friends, but he says, “you’re the only girl friend i need”.

୨ৎ conversely, he does let you have male friends. both because he trusts you and because he refuses to dictate what you do or what you can’t do. and he trusts you to always tell him if one of them spoke out of turn or did something they shouldn’t have.

୨ৎ clark would always read for you. he reads for you your favorite romcom books, and when you giggle at a passage, he would file that information in his mind for later.

୨ৎ he gets mad when people say you’re only with him for the money, or when people call you a sugar baby or a gold digger. you’re used to it, because people see the clothes and the hair and the rings and the older men at your side and instantly assume you’re some sort of sex worker. nothing wrong with sex workers, so you don’t really care, even if it does chip at your self-esteem a bit. will people only ever see you as a product package?

୨ৎ clark would listen intently while you talk to him about your latest obsession. one time he listened to you psychoanalyze holden caulfield from the catcher in the rye, in absolute awe of your intellect and hidden depth. another time, he listened to you talk about ducks and their soft feathers and how round and white and soft they are for hours, with just as much focus. he gets you a collector edition of the catcher in the rye and he takes you on a picnic date the next day by the lake, so you can see the ducks. he even brought duck-safe food for them. you’d never been happier.

୨ৎ clark never is surprised when you say something really smart. he knows. he always knew. he hates that people act like they never would have imagined you capable of being so intelligent, but at least he knows. he sees you. he gets you.

masterlist ᯓ★ part2? requests! ᯓ★ directory ᯓ★ come say hi

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jinkiezzsstuff · 5 days ago

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Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

THE 'YES' LIST

SUMMARY: You get to fulfil your 'to-fuck' list with Superman. Based on the Gossip Columnist!Reader drabbles. TAGS: 18+, smut, intern!reader, playful banter, recorded interview, sexual tension, dry humping, kissing, he cums prematurely, power play, clark is petty that you consider him to be too vanilla, off canon (2.3k wc)

𖤓 david corenswet masterlist | main masterlist | inbox 𖤓

The bullpen was quiet for nine seconds before gossip ensued. You were leaned against your desk, sipping a warm cup of coffee while the other girls from The Daily Planet gathered around. All comparing notes from the 'hypothetical celebrity fuck list' game earlier.

Cat was halfway through reading your list out loud from a torn yellow notebook paper you'd scribbled your answers on, "Ultraman, Batman… —"

Her voice pitches higher, "The Joker?"

You sputter over your mug, when the table of interns erupts in laughter. "Hey! Don't kink shame my list."

She shakes her head at that, squinting her eyes a little at the last minute scribbled & cancelled out name at the bottom. "Last but not least…" Cat smirks up at you knowingly, "Superman."

A chair screeches from behind you. Clark, who had been passing by with a stack of manuscript edits, stands there stiffly after having bumped into the piece of furniture. "Superman?" He breathes out, too hastily, "you put Superman on your — you like him?"

Your brows raise at his statement, "why? Is that weird?"

He readjusts his glasses, shaking his head. "No, no…I just…I didn't know you thought of him like that."

"Oh she likes him a lot. Like, wants to climb him like a tree if she had the chance type of hot." You gasp audibly, careening a stack of sticky notes at her. "Cat!"

"That's not what I said." You ground out, snatching the note to stuff it in your research stack. "I just…thought about putting in there. Just because. I wouldn't actually sleep with him. Little bit too much of a goody-too-shoes for me. You know."

Clark coughs into his fists, a look of apprehension on his face. "Right. Well…that's uh…good to know." He doesn't entertain the giggles that still surround over your admission, agreeing with you. Clark nods at you and then to Cat, "Miss Grant," taking the chance to skitter out of the crowd.

The end of the day draws closer at The Daily Planet. Clark spins in his chair, calling for you. Tipping your head back, you swivel yourself closer to him. "Yeah?"

His voice dips low enough only for you to hear, "I'm a little tied up this week." Clark rubs at his nose, as if he hadn't been practicing what to say to you for the past hour. "Think I could have you take an interview for me?"

Your brows shoot up, "Me?"

Clark nodded with an assured hum. Standing up to reach over to the manila coloured folder across his desk, palm holding his tie over his abdomen. "You'll be fine. The source…uh..requested a Daily Planet reporter. You're more than capable."

You flip open the folder absentmindedly, breath caught in your throat when you read the words in bold serif.

INTERVIEW WITH SUPERMAN — 8 PM, THURSDAY

When you'd looked up, Clark was already gone. And all you could do was stare blankly at it.

Thursday came, and you'd waited and waited.

Your recorder sat on the table next to you. Watching the clock in the bullpen ticking past the hour mark. Even the night-time janitor had bid you goodbye then. It was obvious — Superman wasn't coming. Sighing defeatedly, you attempted to squash the disappointment churning in you.

You thumb a quick text to Clark before you gathered your belongings to leave the office.

You (22:20): Superman was a no-show. Guess he had better things to do.

The dots that hovered on his chat to signify he was typing was instant. And it stops, then pops back up.

Clark (22:20): Oh. Clark (22:20): I'm sorry to hear that. Clark (22:21): Something urgent came up. Clark (22:21): For him, I mean. Clark (22:21): Are you…still in the office? You (22:21): Yeah. No worries though. You (22:21): Text me his next availability. :-)

The building is eerily quiet by now, only the low hums from the fluorescent bulb in the elevator keeping your company. Just as the elevator doors open though, you're ambushed by a larger shadow stumbling in your path.

"Jesus!" You were practically shrieking, purse clutched over your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Clark pants in place with his palms raised up, looking all sweat slicked, bruised and dirty. Unmistakably out of the ordinary in his shiny leather suit and cape still fluttering, like he'd just landed.

"Superman." The words come in the form of a breath exhaled. And you stare at him in all his glory. Looking far less heroic in the purgatory lighting.

He says your last name, with a polite Miss in front, with the same amount of breathlessness.

The two of you wordlessly step into the open elevator together. Doors closing in, solidifying the awkward silence between you two. Only the faint hum of the cables overhead, and his still laboured breathing.

"Sorry for my…tardiness. There was a situation. Downtown." He offers, tilting his head so his voice was directed at you, while still looking ahead at the elevator windows. You don't turn up at him, eyeing the floors that passed. "It's okay. I mean, you were out there. Doing hero stuff…"

"Yep. You uh — look lovely today."

A warmth blooms in your cheeks and slowly, you side eye him, your peripherals catching how the large 'S' on his chest was glinting in the light while he was heavily panting from exertion. Head tipped up looking at the numbers in the display on top.

When did he even look at you?

"…Thank you."

The two of you step out of the thirtieth floor, and he gestures for you to step ahead first as you lead the way to your cubicle.

Clark clears his throat, and like a natural born gentleman, he helps to turn your swivel chair out for you, while he grabs a chair towards yours. Which you note, was from Clark's desk.

You raise an eyebrow at just how easily he's made himself at home.

Scooting over to your chair, you tuck your skirt neatly beneath you. A recording device sitting atop your stack of papers. "Ready when you are." You finally say, a tinge of nervousness edging out in your voice.

He nods, wiping the edge of his nose with a polite smile. Voice steady despite his exhaustion.

"Let's do it."

You pressed the ON button of your recorder, turning properly to look at him.

"So. Superman. We're here at…The Daily Planet. And you've agreed to a little coverage for our article. Titled, The 'Yes' List. Where readers would like to know what about it makes you…a catch."

[Clark clears his throat, a rustle is heard while he straightens up.] "So it seems, that this was a topic people were…interested in."

"Great, let's get into it. So. You've saved the Metropolis a couple of times. Yet, it seems that you still have an image problem."

[He looks to you, perplexed.]

"Me?"

"Yes. You. As in…our poll has uncovered, that readers feel like you're a little too nice. So much so that…—" [A pause, you flip a page from your notebook.] "That even Batman has more charisma points than you."

"Well…I'm not exactly competing with Batman."

"Oh. That does sound like what someone who's losing out on the poll would say."

[Clark laughs at that.]

"I think I'm pretty likeable."

"Maybe too likable." [You lean back in your chair, the wheels squeaking.] "Women like their men a little…rough around the edges."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

"I'm speaking for our readers."

"Your readers. I see." [Clark hums in thought.] "What about you, then?"

[A shuffle is heard when he readjusts, hands clasped together, elbows on his lap]

"Let's talk about you."

"This isn't really about my tastes though."

"Except you said you speak for your readers, I'm sure. You like your men a little rough, What'll make me more rugged for you, then?

"I mean… you could be more assertive. everyone knows about your shit with Lois Lane, and how she, you know, dumped you."

[A pause.]

"What Miss Lane and I were is not relevant to the column now is it?" [His voice is oddly tense.]

"Except it is, we want to know what makes you a catch. And it seems to us that you simply aren't man enough to keep a woman."

"I'm plenty man enough."

"That's not what I mea — "

[He stands up, leaning up against to your desk.] "Do i make you nervous?"

"What?"

"I can't help but notice, this." [Clark lifts a torn yellow paper. Flipping it around for you to see. It's the fuck-list.]

"Ultraman? I just beat him myself last week and…batman is irrelevant." [His voice goes lower.] "If i truly do not meet your standards, why was my name considered on your listen before you got rid of it?" [He points to where his name was cancelled out.]

[You stare at it. Biting the insides of your cheek]

"Because I don't think you can handle me."

[He leans over, resting his palm on her armrest of your chair, dragging you closer to him — close enough that you can smell the distinct scent of concrete on his suit.]

"I think I can handle you just fine."

[You shrug.] "Prove it, then."

Clark tucks his hand underneath your thigh, lifting you up in one fluid movement. You let out a soft oomph when he unceremoniously drops you onto your desk with a thud. He rests his hands on the edge of your desk. Lowering his head to meet your eye line. It's clear you weren't expecting this from him.

It's near impossible not to notice just how blue his eyes were. Your lips part, letting out a breath you didn't know you held. His thighs forcing your legs uncomfortably apart, considering his overwhelming size. Your skirt rolls all the way up.

"You realise this is on record, right?"

He's close enough now, breath ghosting your lips when he huffs out a smile. "Something to play back later, then."

Clark lips gently connect with yours, nudging your head back with his kiss. You let out a content sigh as he tugs your hips closer to the edge. He pulls apart, letting you breathe, mouthing a trail up your neck, other hand rested on his your lower back, pulling you snug onto his thigh.

You jolt at the sensation when your bare skin meets the leather of his weirdly ribbed super suit.

"That excited to meet me, huh?"

You blink at him, mirroring a confused huh in response.

"Got a lot of red on you." He comments. And you look down, frowning. You opted for drab colours, grey top, white skirt…

Your head snaps up immediately to look at him. Accusatorial. Beneath, you'd opted for a matching set of deep red coloured lingerie.

"…How did you?"

"Perks of being superman." Clark shrugs with a cheeky smile, eliciting a laughter of both annoyance and fluster from you. "Wow. You're a perv."

"That's not a word I'd use to describe myself, but if you insist."

He leans in to kiss you, feeling the smile on your lips dissipate as you drown in your shared desire. Clark's tugging at your hips, and you you properly grind on his thigh, edging your hips just enough with your heel on its' tippy toes. Notching yourself just right.

You can feel his hardened length poking you at your abdomen, spanning long enough to meet your breasts. "Oh…my..god.." You pull away from his lips and look down, in slight mortification, but he gravitates towards your neck, nipping at your ears.

Your neck squirms, giggling at the sensation, and Clark follows suit. A smile quirked at his lips. You on the other hand, was transfixed — fingers grazing over the outline of his cock.

He's hunched over a little, tipping your head to look at him, you can tell he liked that by the way he was now breathing roughly into your lips, staring deep into your eyes. Clark's breath hitches more when you trace over his tip. And with a few more rubs, his hips stutter, knees twitch with an effort where you notice the spot darkening beneath his suit.

You don't stop to question if he'd actually cum at that. Because a blinding pleasure grips you, the second his thigh moves to grind right onto your clit.

Gasping, you grab at his shoulders.

"!.."

Your breath stutters when he lifts you with ease, carrying you with him as he seats himself onto the chair behind him, pulling you to straddle on his thighs. Your legs folds underneath you, snug on his larger figure.

The white hot pleasure creeps closer when your clit catches on the hardened outline entirely.

"..A—…Almost there." Clark nods, guiding you to rock your hips harder on him. He's fully buried his head onto the softness of your chest. Presses kisses over the sensitive buds over your clothes.

His palm roughly squeezing the fat around your ass, coaxing it in his palms while the other slips underneath your skirt. You let out a whine when his fingers loop around the string of your thong, tugging at it. Damn near blacking out when it causes a delicious friction to your clit.

Instinctively, your hands curl at the nape of his neck, tightening around his curls painfully. Panting against his cheeks. Your slick coats his bulge, making it easier to slide up and down over his clothed cock.

Clark grits his teeth, gasping your name out pitifully, eyes fluttered shut at he edges closer to his release. He grabs the scruff of your neck to look at you in utter daze when you both cum together in heavy pants.

The force of it all has you boneless, head falling limp on his shoulder, and you feel his heavy hand come to rest on your head, stroking your hair while you come down from your high.

Your recorder beeps, and you lazily lift your cheeks enough to see Clark facing it down onto your desk.

"Think we've got enough material for that article of yours?"

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jinkiezzsstuff · 5 days ago

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me genuinely tweaking out when i see my fictional man with his canonical love interest

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jinkiezzsstuff · 8 days ago

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Loser!Clark Kent jizzing his pants at the simplest of touches.

He can't, for the life of him, understand why a woman as gorgeous and amazing and perfect as you would choose him.

He doesn't get what you see in him, doesn't understand why you like him so much. But he goes along with it, believing you every time you call him cute or hot, melting when you kiss him, losing his mind when you touch him.

Just like now. It was supposed to be a simple date, you in his apartment, drinking coffee and watching TV. Instead, you've ended up on his lap, your pants tossed to the side as you make out with him.

He's losing it. He's truly out of his element. You're out of his league and he doesn't know what to do or how to please a goddess like you.

He's awkward and shy, not sure where to put his hands. They move from your thighs to your hips, then to your waist, then to the sofa, then back on you. He doesn't touch you much, only brushes his fingertips against you. He's afraid he'll mess up, afraid you'll realize how pathetic he is and leave.

You, sensing he's distraught and finding it adorable, take the lead.

“It's okay, baby. Relax,” you whisper in his ear, making him shiver. You can feel his heavy cock hard against you, pressing right against your pussy through the fabric of your panties.

He nods softly, breathing heavily. “Relax. Right. Relax.”

You smile gently, grabbing one of his hands and leading it to your tits. He grunts, his cock twitching, as he feels the weight of your breast in his palm.

“Touch me,” you encourage, grabbing his other hand and leading it to drag down your front and between your thighs. You show him to press his fingers against your clit through the wet fabric of your panties, and he groans when he feels how slick the cotton is.

You grind yourself against his hand, little moans leaving you, and Clark feels like a simple being in the presence of a deity.

Watching you take pleasure from him is too much. He's feeling your breasts with his hand, alternating between them. Meanwhile, your pussy is dribbling slick onto his hand that's between your thighs, and you're moaning and whining and gasping.

As you rock back and forth, your thigh brushes the bulge in his pants and an onslaught of ecstasy crashes over him. Next thing he knows, he's spilling his thick, sticky cum onto the front of his sweats. He gasps and groans, body trembling as he rides out his orgasm.

When he opens his eyes, ashamed and embarrassed, his cheeks a bright pink, he finds you're smirking at him. You move his hand away from between your thighs, sitting right against his crotch, dragging your pussy against him.

“I'm gonna have to lick that clean, aren't I?” you say, and his eyes widen.

“W-what?” His cheeks turn pinker.

You grin at him. “God, you're just adorable, aren't you? C'mon, take your pants off. Next time you cum, I want it to be down my throat.”

Oh, you're going to be the death of him. And what a sweet death it would be.

♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing

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taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛

@booboobear-12 @savvysavsblog13 @donnadiddadog @akkahelenaa @tysukier @animegamerfox @absolutelybloodyhopeless @teenytinylilcrawdaddies @simpingreader @tezooks @justheretoreadmydear @lovexbunny @lahniii @dolleciita @tinawantstobeadoll @preciselyshifts @markiplex @kissmxcheek @buckyisveryhot @rayamaya @fae-dreamer-99 @heynanasposts @lahniu @paddockspookie42 @lilychristine01 @chronic-fangirl-222 @sunnyteume @take-it-on-the-run @ninikrumbs @smzyyx @shamlesslipzz @spn-reader @gettingprettyfvckintired @cherryresidence @mollymal

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Clark Kent masterlist

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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 days ago

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so starved for content I might go to the real hellsite (wattpad)

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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 days ago

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how it feels going through the x reader tag every night despite the number people hating on y/n and calling x reader lame

because why would I want to read about another character being with MY man and MY woman?

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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 days ago

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how i feel trying to find angst but only finding smut

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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 days ago

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clark when you have a wet dream

cw : smut mdni, fem reader, dry humping, thigh riding, could be considered light somno, making out, praise, somewhat subby clark, cumming in pants, brief descriptions of vaginal sex

requests are open!!!

3:16 AM, the clock reads as clark turns over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

he looks down at you, curled into his chest, the picture of serenity. your head rests comfortably on his right pec as though it's a pillow. your right arm is strewn across him as well, your fingers curling around his left bicep, as though he'd slip away from you if you didn't keep him there. one of your legs is bent and slotted in between his own, cozy as can be.

your face is smushed into him as you sleep and clark can't help but admire you. he's sleepy, very much so, but he almost debates staying awake just a few minutes longer just to watch you. it would be creepy in any other context, but he's just so in love with you.

he sighs and shuts his eyes, snuggling into his pillow once again when he hears you start to whimper. he opens his eyes again, concerned he's woken you up somehow, when he realizes you're still fast asleep.

he dismisses it and goes to close his eyes again when you mumble out a "mmm clark". he's surely awake now. he starts to wonder if you're dreaming about him, almost letting out a little "awww" at the thought. how much more precious could his sweet girl get? that's when he feels you lazily roll your hips against his thigh.

oh.

clark immediately feels his cock begin to harden at the realization of what was going on. he certainly wasn't going back to sleep now.

you whimper again, still completely asleep. he feels his cock twitch, at which he lets out a groan. he tries to quiet himself after, wanting to let you enjoy your dream. you rut your hips against his thigh and moan again, lips parting, eyes still shut in pure bliss. god, he could cum right there.

you continue your ministrations a little more consistently now and clark is just melting. he doesn't know whether to wake you up or just keep watching. torn, he decides to just gently help you along, placing his hands on your hips and guiding you in rocking against him. as he does so, he begins to feel your need soaking warmly through your thin sleep shorts. he shamelessly lets out another groan.

it's not long after this that you start to stir. "clark?" you murmur, your hips slowing just barely as you become conscious. "whaddya doin?" you question, referring to his hands cradling your hips, still moving you back and forth.

"were you havin a dream baby?" he asks, ignoring your question. your eyes widen.

"mhmm," you respond simply, starting to remember. his grip on you tightens slightly.

"yea, i thought so hun," he says, voice deep with lust. "wanna tell me about it?"

you hesitate, half because you're still sleepy and half because you can hardly string together a coherent thought as he continues to move you back and forth on the muscle of his thigh.

" i- mmmh- you were letting me ride you," you stutter, the friction on your clit delicious as his thigh flexes and he pushes you a little harder against him.

"oh yeah? what'd it feel like baby?"

"so fucking good clarkie. you were stretching me out so much- oh god," you start to roll into him on your own accord.

"gosh your so hot," he whispers, growing impossibly harder, his cock now straining against the soft fabric of his flannel pj pants.

"and you were telling me that i was so tight and- ohhh fuck- you were gonna fill me up so good-"

"mmmfh, c'mere," clark moans lowly, moving his hands up to your waist to change your position. you whine at the loss of contact on your clit that is absolutely throbbing at this point, moaning in relief again when he sets you atop his clothed cock.

god he feels so big. you don't wait for instruction, you start to drag your achy clit against him with fervor, both of you moaning out in unison.

"baby im not gonna last if you keep makin those pretty noises," he says, eyebrows knitting together as he tries to hold back.

you whimper again at his words alone. "me either," you breathe out between moans. "just cum with me clark," you state, your orgasm building embarrassingly quick within you.

he pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue immediately slipping past your lips and into your mouth, causing you to moan against him. he allows you to break away as his hands snake up under your tank top and he begins to play with your nipples.

everything becomes too much. you press yourself against him even harder as you continue to bounce. you let out a near incoherent string of please and clark like it's a prayer, eyes rolling back at the increasing pleasure he was giving you.

"yeah, oh my, just like that baby, make a mess on my pants, god you're perfect," he encourages breathily. you cry out at the praise and speed up.

clark bucks up into you one, two, three times, and the coil within you snaps. your moans are borderline pornographic and your toes curl as you ride out your high, release leaking through your shorts and right onto his dick.

you're so caught up in the bliss of your own orgasm, you barely hear his broken whimpers, let alone notice him cumming in his pants.

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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 days ago

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— Truth Serum - Clark Kent

pairing: Clark Kent x gn! reader

summary: when you hear your boyfriend is injured on a mission, you prepare for the worst. what you didn't expect? him being high on truth serum

word count: 1.4k

cw: civilian! reader, truth serum, drugging, mentions of being high, clark is verrry loopy and silly, slight JLA cameos

— requested by anon, request can be found here

i hope you don't mind me tweaking the req a bit nonnie! no idea why but when i started writing this i got confused and wrote for kon instead </3 i hope you still enjoy it! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

You walk into the room like a hurricane, negative emotions storming off of you. Under any other circumstances, you’d be nervous, but right now, the room full of superheroes is nothing compared to the worry you’re feeling for your boyfriend.

“Where is he?”

Green Lantern and the Flash both take a big step back at your raised, stressed tone. The only one brave—or crazy—enough to face you is the only man brave enough to patrol the streets of Gotham.

Batman steps forward, his steps as sure as they are cautious. “He’s in an interrogation room. You’re welcome to see him, but—”

“Good.”

You shoulder past him, your mind focused on only one thing: finding Clark. When you’d first heard the news that your boyfriend’s transmissions were cut off deep in the arctic, you’d made yourself sick with worry. A million thoughts raced through your mind, and right up until you’d gotten a curt call from Batman, you’d considered rescuing him yourself.

Green Lantern snickers. “Did Batman just get cut off?”

Flash elbows him in the ribs but laughs with him. The sight of a civilian interrupting Batman, shoving past him and ignoring his loud footsteps trailing after them is simply too funny to ever forget.

“Hey,” his gruff voice calls after you. “You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Like hell I don’t.”

Bruce clenches his fists and takes a deep breath. Where does Clark find these people? He catches up to you, resting a hesitant hand on your shoulder. “He’s been injured.”

It’s enough to make you stop in your tracks, your heart doing a somersault in your chest. Injured? You could count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen Clark injured and could count on one finger the amount of times it was significant.

He sighs and leads you to a huge computer system with at least a dozen monitors. He clicks a couple times on a keyboard before live footage of Clark—still clad in the Superman suit and resting in a cold metal chair—pops up.

You squint, raising an eyebrow at the screen. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy, but there’s no signs of injury. No blood, no wounds, not even a bruise. Your pulse settles, relief washing over you.

“He’s not injured.”

“Not in the traditional sense.”

You tilt your head in confusion, watching Batman click a few more buttons to pull up an image of Clark’s stomach. You’ve seen it a thousand times, memorized the smooth muscle and skin so well that you could navigate it with your eyes closed. What you haven’t noticed is the small, dark mark and massive bruise on his left side, surrounded with a red swell of hives.

You frown. “Is that from—”

“Kryptonite,” Batman finishes. “They used a kryptonite needle to inject him with some form of sodium pentothal. We’ve been monitoring his vitals but we’re unsure of the full range of effects.”

“Sodium pentothal? That’s what they call ‘truth serum’, isn’t it?”

He nods solemnly and your worry doubles tenfold. You know there’s only a few people in the world with the means to make a kryptonite needle and a truth serum strong enough to work on Superman, and only one person in the world with a resolve strong enough to do it.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine physically but he’s confused. He’s in a vulnerable state and he is being,” he cringes, “incredibly honest. Do you still want to see him?”

You agree with no hesitation. If Clark is vulnerable, he needs you now more than ever—even if it’s going to hurt your heart to see him in such a state.

Aside from the goofy smile on his face, Clark looks fine. He has his legs stretched out, arms crossed over his broad chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was just relaxing.

You tear up, the worry that’s plagued you for the last few days catching up to you.

The minute Bruce unlocks the door, you rush to his side. “Clark!”

His name catches in your throat and your limbs turn to lead, dragging you down with every step you take towards him. Clark opens his arms to you, letting you fall into him before he pulls you onto his lap.

He takes you in, strong arms moulding around you, finally allowing you to collapse.

“I missed you so much,” a tear rolls down your cheek, dripping into his lap. “Are you okay? You had me worried sick!”

“I’m great.” He shrugs his broad shoulders, before leaning in and whispering to you, “but I think I’m a little high.”

You blink. “What?”

“Don’t tell Batman.”

You glance over your shoulder to the black clad man in the doorway who clearly heard what Clark just said.

You try to keep your voice steady despite the confused laughter creeping up on you. “Why do you think you’re high?”

“I was out investigating some unusual activity in the arctic and—” he frowns like he’s struggling to remember, “I met these guys and they injected me with something and…now I feel all high.”

Bruce answers before you can, stepping into the room so quietly it startles you. “Did these guys ask you anything?”

“Yeah, how did you know that?”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose through his cowl, muttering something under his breath that you can’t quite hear. He takes three deep breaths, trying to regain his composure.

“Clark, baby, what did they ask you?”

“They tried to ask about my secret identity and I told them no way, that’s top secret information.”

The breath catches in your throat just thinking about your boyfriend being captured, drugged and asked about such personal things. You drag a hand up and down his arm—whether it’s to soothe him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“What else did they ask?” Batman’s voice brings you back to reality.

“Just boring stuff like secret identities and my relationship to the Justice League and—oh, they asked about you, too,” he looks at you sheepishly.

You swallow. “They asked about me?”

His cheeks flush, a guilty look flooding his eyes. “Only a little bit.”

“What did they ask?”

That sheepish look on his face is as cute as it is concerning. He rubs a hand up and down your thigh, the movements soothing and rhythmic. You’ve only seen him get like this once before, and that was when he’d accidentally broken your bedframe.

“They asked me,” he swallows, “what my pet peeve with you is.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to speak. Why would they care about your relationship with Clark—how did they even know about your relationship with Clark? A million thoughts race through your head, running laps around your brain, but somehow, none of them come out.

Instead, you ask: “So what is your pet peeve?”

“You never let me help you.”

Your eyes widen and you find yourself once again making eye contact with Batman, the man looking equally as confused as you feel. He raises his hand in surrender, taking a few steps back as if to say, I’m not getting involved.

“What?” Is all you manage to say.

“You never let me help you with your groceries, or your shopping bags. And when something is too high up, you insist on climbing the counter and getting it yourself.”

You stare blankly at him, thinking back to all the times he’s offered—insisted—on helping. It’s a silly thing to be upset about but it’s the most Clark thing that you can imagine.

“And when you get tired and your shoes hurt your feet, just let me carry you! And—and stop saying you’re too heavy. I can lift cars! And buildings! And that weird Kaiju thing.”

Finally, your resolve breaks and you laugh. You tussle his hair, the gel he meticulously combs through it coming loose.

He looks at you sadly, his mouth set in a slight pout. “Why don’t you ever let me help you?”

“I just don’t like to inconvenience people. That’s all.”

Clark somehow looks more offended, taking on a facial expression similar to a scandalized Southern lady. “Inconvenience? Inconvenience?!”

“Maybe that’s not the right—”

“Sweetheart, I would walk barefoot through a field of Kryptonite for you. Carrying your groceries in is the least I can do.”

You sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

He shakes his head.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. Once we get out of here, I'll pick us up something to make for dinner and you can carry the groceries to your heart’s content. How does that sound?”

His eyes light up, sparking with excitement. “That sounds perfect.”

dc masterlist | navigation

tysm for reading & have a great day <3

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jinkiezzsstuff · 9 days ago

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An alternative version of me and my bestie:

(I made my meme on Instagram plis don't judge me 💔)

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jinkiezzsstuff · 12 days ago

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If You Were Mine | Clark Kent

PAIRING: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: You're drunk and Clark's pining, but he doesn't know how to tell you. Turns out, drunk you reveals that sober you wants the same thing.

WARNINGS: Drunk reader, intoxication

W/C: 1.8k

The neon lights in the bar shone like rays of moonlight throughout the room, bathing everybody in a fluorescent glow. It was getting late and Clark was wondering what had possessed him to stay out this long, given that there weren’t any extraterrestrial threats keeping him up for once. He was sitting at a four-top with Jimmy, nursing a drink that had no effect on him, looking around and trying to ignore the fact that his skull was pounding from the music. The curse of super-hearing.

It wasn’t hard to determine what was keeping him in that bar when his attention snagged on you. His eyes had rarely strayed from you the entire night and there you were across the room with Lois, dancing without a care in the world. The two of you were celebrating the fact that you got your first front-page article and Lois had picked this bar for the music and atmosphere. So far, you seemed to be having a good time, laughing and spinning with Lois like nothing else in the world mattered besides this moment, right here.

And Clark couldn't look away.

You were hypnotising in your pretty blue dress and heels. Your eyes were bright, skin lit up by the lights surrounding you. They seemed to shine a little brighter on you, like beacons drawing his focus to you. You entered a room and commanded attention without you even realising. Or maybe that was just Clark, who couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from you.

Eventually, you and Lois staggered back to the table, giddy with happiness and carrying plastic cups full of water. The both of you had drank too much, movements unsteady from the influence of the alcohol in your systems, but you didn't seem to care. You were on cloud nine and Clark would happily watch you for the entire night if he could.

He held out a hand to steady you and you grinned at him. "Are you sure you don't wanna dance, Clarkie?"

He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to step on your toes."

You chugged your water and placed the empty cup down on the table. "I wouldn't mind."

Lois checked her phone and her eyes widened. "When did it get so late?"

"About the same time you were asking to do body shots off each other," Jimmy replied.

You snorted and glanced at your phone. "It is kinda late."

"We should call it," Lois conceded. "I need to sleep off this hangover and get the jump on it."

"I think it's too late for that," Jimmy said.

Clark glanced at you. "How are you getting home?"

"Taxi," you replied with a shrug. "I guess."

"Lois?" Clark asked.

"Jimmy said he'd walk with me," Lois replied. "I only live a block away."

Clark turned to you. "I'll go with you.”

You looked at him, gratitude shining in your eyes. "You sure? You don't even live on my side of town."

Clark didn't mind. He also didn't need to tell you that his journey home from your place would be a matter of seconds. Not that the distance mattered; he’d walk as many miles as he could manage if it meant he got to spend even a second with you.

The four of you made your way out of the bar with you clinging to Clark's arm for balance. On the sidewalk, you hugged Lois and Jimmy goodbye while Clark flagged down a passing cab. Watching the two of them head off down the street, you waited until they were out of sight before turning to find Clark holding open the door of the cab for you.

"Such a gentleman," you giggled, sliding into the backseat and shuffling over so that Clark could join you.

He chuckled nervously and closed the door behind him, reaching over to fasten your seatbelt for you when he saw you struggling. "C'mere, let me-"

The click drew your eyes up to his and a tiny gasp left your lips at the closeness between you. "Clark-"

His heart shouldn't leap in his chest when you say his name. You were his friend and he would even go as far as to say you were his best friend. He brought you coffee in the morning and you made sure his tie was straight when he came into work late and flustered. There wasn't supposed to be this heat between you, where you looked at him like that and he was expected to remain calm and collected.

You were so tempting, though. His feelings had blossomed over time and now he was left looking for the right time to ask if you felt the same way he did. If you got that same rush whenever he looked at you, if you looked for him in crowded rooms, if you cared about him beyond the parameters of friendship.

He would never act on his feelings while you were like this. If he was going to tell you how he felt, then he would do it when you were sober. It wouldn’t be while you were drunk, because his mama raised him better than that. There were so many things he wanted to say to you but was scared to voice aloud.

If he ever got the chance, he would lay you down and take his time with you, worshipping at your altar like a man praying to a goddess. He would treat you like your body was sacred and he would spend his life making sure you knew how loved you were.

Friends didn't think these things about each other. There wasn't a part of your body that Clark didn't want to explore with his hands. He would be gentle, of course, but he wanted to make sure he knew every curve of your body.

You were still staring at him when the driver of the cab cleared his throat. "Where to?"

Clark leaned back in his seat and gave the driver your address. As the cab pulled away from the bar, you reached over and placed a hand on Clark's leg. It wasn't inviting, nor did it feel remotely charged with anything other than kindness. The gesture was sweet, a comfort stretched across the divide he had drawn between you by moving away in the moment; a reminder that you were still there.

You were leaning across the middle seat. "Clark, you know you're, like, my favourite person, right?"

He smiled. "You're mine, too."

Your grin was infectious as you said, "Thank you for coming home with me."

"It's not a problem," Clark said. "I wouldn't let you go home alone."

You patted his thigh and withdrew your hand. "I've had a really good night."

"Good," Clark said. "I'm glad. You deserve it."

By the time you got back to your apartment, you were dozing off in the backseat. Clark paid the driver and made his way around to your side of the cab, opening the door and finding your sleepy eyes on him. He helped you out of the cab and you stifled a yawn behind your hand, raising your arms above your head.

"Carry me?" you asked, pouting slightly.

"Elevator still broken?" Clark asked.

You nodded, eyes half-closed. "So many stairs, Clarkie."

"I got you," he assured you.

He reached for you, one hand sliding behind your back as he crouched and lifted you into his arms, the other arm securely hooked beneath your knees. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and let your head fall against his chest. Clark walked towards your building, opening the door with his foot and heading for the stairwell.

"Thank you, Clarkie," you whispered.

By the time he got to your apartment door, you were almost asleep in his arms. He had to put you down while you fished your key from your bag and when you struggled with the lock, Clark reached out and took it from you. He kept one arm around your waist and unlocked the door with the other.

You stumbled into your apartment, drunk and unsteady on your feet. Beelining for your bedroom, you flopped face-first down on your bed and Clark lingered awkwardly in the doorway, unsure what to do.

"Uh, are you gonna be okay?" he asked.

You grumbled something into the mattress.

Clark said, "You need some help?"

You rolled onto your back and forced yourself to sit up. "Need to take my shoes off."

"Here, let me do that," Clark offered, coming into your room and kneeling before you.

He undid the straps on your heels and slipped them off your feet as you watched him, a drunken grin on your face. "You know you're, like, the best person I've ever met, right?"

First you tell him that he's your best friend and now he's your favourite person? Clark wasn't entirely sure why it felt like his heart was being trampled on over the compliments, but it was hard to hear them from you when he knew you were drunk. If sober you were saying the same things, he might react differently, but instead he just chuckled and tucked you into bed.

"Wait," you said, catching his wrist as he made to leave. "Don't leave, Clarkie."

"I have to get home," he said.

You pouted at him. "Stay, c'mon. Breakfast in the morning?"

Clark knew that if anyone were going to be making breakfast in the morning, it wouldn't be you, but he had always been unable to say no to you.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he said.

"But you won't fit," you grumbled. "C'mon, Clark, just stay. I like having you near."

If you were an empress, ruling over the land, then Clark was but a humble servant to your every wish. You looked so pretty, staring up at him with wide eyes, like you were afraid of letting go for fear that he would disappear.

"Fine," he conceded. "I'll stay. But I want breakfast."

"I'll make the best breakfast," you promised. "With pancakes and everything."

Clark climbed into bed with you, shifting beneath the covers so that there was space between your bodies. He could hear your heart beating in your chest. He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin, see the flush in your cheeks as you rolled over and looked at him.

"Hey, Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

He turned his head to look at you. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Of course I think you're pretty," he said.

"Well, I think you're pretty," you said. "And if you think I'm pretty, we should go on a date."

Clark's breath stuttered from his lungs. "What?"

"I wanna go on a date with you," you said. "Hold your hand and have dinner and do all that with you."

Clark wanted that with you, too, but not like this. So he reached over and placed a gentle hand on your cheek. "We'll have this conversation in the morning, okay? Then we'll see."

"Deal," you breathed.

By the time Clark withdrew his hand, you were already fast asleep.

Now he just had to lay there until the morning and find the courage to actually ask you on that date you wanted him to take you on.

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jinkiezzsstuff · 12 days ago

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thinking about clark kent whose so excited to tell you about his day even while his dick is out(?)

yet another informal drabble- i promise im working on a better one cuz this sucks

p!link

“perry was all over me today about that article with- oh gosh- with superman” he complained, hands waving around dramatically as he spoke as if your hand wasnt wrapped around the tip of his cock, stroking him like you had all the time in the world

“mhmm im sure he was.” you hummed in response, too focused on the way the thick vein that runs along the side of his length seemed to throb in time with your strokes

you ran your finger down the side of his cock, tracing over the veins you could find and the faint trail of precum that had been smeared around by your hand- and clark kept talking

“y’know i had someone come up to me and say theyve never seen me interview superman.” he huffed in annoyance, one of his hands stoping their theatrical waving to slip under the top of your shirt, palming at your breast like it was a stress ball for him

you only hummed in acknowledgment, too busy running the tips of your fingers all over his length, like you were trying to memorize every long inch of him and commit it to memory.

“its like no one believes me-” his breath hitched as you ran your thumb over his slit, swirling around the precum that threatened to drip down him.

“keep doing that.”

he said it like it was an off hand comment before he kept going on and on about work and how he saved the city in some new way

you only bit your lip and smiled up at him, playing with him in ways you knew he loved, cause he really just needed the distraction after a long day of being superman

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jinkiezzsstuff · 13 days ago

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pairing : Clark Kent x tipsy!Reader. warnings : sexual content. grinding, pussydrunk!Clarkie, cunnilingus, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise kink, cumming untouched. porn with no plot. 18+ only !!

˚⋅౨ৎ x p!link

"But Clarkie, I'm horny !" you pout, stomping your foot— all bratty and defiant— your hands curled into little fists at your sides. "I know. I know, baby. But you're drunk, we shouldn't b—" he placates and you roll your eyes before straddling his lap, determined to crack that infuriatingly responsible exterior and have your way with him.

And knowing how easy Clark is to rile up ? He'd be doing exactly as you say in no time.

"I don't care. I'm like soo wet." you whine, batting your eyelashes up at him, dragging the soaked lace of your underwear against the big, tantalising bulge —already straining against his sweats from your earlier make-out— in a deep grind that makes him gasp, his hands hovering over your hips, hesitant and trembling. "I needed your dick like yesterday, Clarkie. I've literally been thinking 'bout you the entire day... 'bout how you fuck me stupid, how you feel deep inside my pussy. Ugh, I need it s'bad, baby. Please ? " you whisper, your words slurring even more from the way the thick ridge of shaft grinds perfectly against your clit, making you moan. And finally, his hands settle on your waist.

Clark's face is buried between your legs, big hands pinning your thighs open to the bed from the way you're writhing uncontrollably, bucking against his mouth, your hands tugging at his hair as you moan— loud and pornographic— from how good he's making you feel.

He laps hungrily at your clit— circling and then sucking with just the right amount of pressure that borders on too much— groaning into your weeping cunt like he's the one getting off just from tasting you. And from the way his hips grind into mattress below with desperate little thrusts— he probably is.

He works you over with his mouth like he's starving and when your first orgasm hits— hot and blinding— your hands clawing at the sheets as your thighs clamp around his head from the way he's moaning into your pussy, the vibrations making your eyes roll back— he doesn't stop. He just pushes your thighs open wider, his eyes flashing with warning as he mumbles, "Keep them there. I'm not done yet."

He doesn’t even fully pull away to speak, just enough for you to make out his words before his mouth is back on you with a stuttered groan — like every second he spends without his mouth on you is killing him. His tongue laves through your soaked folds— deep and desperate— working you up into another frenzy till your whimpers of overstimulation melt into cries of pleasure, once again.

"C-Clark, m'gonna cum again !" you whine and he redoubles his efforts, your body going pliant under the weight of his whorish need to make you cum over and over and over again, until he's satisfied.

Each thick, filthy drag of his tongue against your dripping pussy has your vision starting to blur at the edges when your second orgasm hits, pleasure and overstimulation warring against each other, making you push at his head in desperation. Clark grunts into your oversensitive folds, shaking his head earnestly like he's begging as he pins your wrists your sides.

No one would expect the big, bad Superman to be a slave to pussy, but here Clark Kent was, eating you out like it's goddamn job and he can't even bare to think about stopping.

"I-I can't anymore. Please— it's too much." you sob but he isn't listening, rutting harder against the bed as he pushes your thighs up to your chest with a groaned plea. "I know you can, baby. You're my good girl, yeah ? Just gimme one more. I know this sweet little pussy's got another in her." And his mouth is back on you again, relentless and selfish.

By the time your third climax rips through you— overwhelming and borderline painful— you're actually crying, tears of oversensitivity running hot down your cheeks as you whimper weakly. Clark moans— loud and satisfied— into your pussy, leaving you clinging to the absolute edge of consciousness. He finally pulls away after licking you clean, a dopey, fucking boyish grin of utter delight on his face— like he didn't just make you pass out from his mouth alone. His face is the absolute picture of debauchery— flushed with sticky rivulets of your slick running down his mouth and jaw from how long he spent eating you out, his hair sweaty and sticking all pretty to his forehead.

You smile, slow and lazy at the sight of him above you, your eyes half-lidded. " Don't think you're gonna be able to take my cock after this, baby." he whispers, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to your cheek before pulling you against him.

"But what 'bout you ?" you slur and he smiles sheepishly, blushing harder. "Don't need to worry 'bout me, sweetie." he says and your eyes fall down to his bulge, your jaw dropping in shock when you see the front already soaked through, obscenely, with his cum.

a/n : saw this clip and my pussy brain went "Yup, that's Clark. Now write about it." if anyone would like to be added to the taglist for Clark Kent please don't hesitate to let me know <3 taglist : @y0inked, @castielsonlyangel, @zenoxl, @bowxs.

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jinkiezzsstuff · 13 days ago

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OH MY GOD MY SHAYLAAAA

OH MY GOD

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jinkiezzsstuff · 14 days ago

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this is a special birthday request from @little-wicked10 so everyone wish them a happy (late?) birthday!!

you liked hughie- he was a sweet guy! he cared about you, you could tell, but you didnt quite like him like that. sure, youve given him a chance in bed and he wasnt bad, he just wasnt... your speed, per se

but when it came to butcher on the other hand, god was he good.

his dick bullied in and out of you at an angry pace- someone from the team probably pissed him off again, but when didnt they piss him off? it didnt matter to you of course, cause you always got to see this side of him after

his mouth was all over you- on your shoulder, your neck, your chest- anywhere he could mark you as if you were his to claim. you wouldve told him to be careful where he left them if it werent for his tip constantly pressing up against that sweet spot that had you seeing stars with every thrust

"butcher- shit- your gonna split me in half-" you said with a breathless laugh, but you were quickly cut off by another moan. fuck him and his perfect dick. you can hear him chuckle, and his head shakes a bit at your words

"i really fucked you stupid, love" hes smirking like a cocky idiot and normally youd make some snarky comment, but he really did fuck you stupid, rendering you with no response to him. "i aint gon' break you"

the bed is creaking with each one of his thrusts, your pussy is squelching every time he pushes back in, your neck is covered in his marks, and its all so filthy that its perfect- you cant imagine how you ever put up with anything less

"hey uhm- whats going on with your neck there?" was the first thing hughie said the next time he saw you, and god did you want to just crawl into a hole and disappear forever

"i- uh- nothin' hugh, just uhm-" "i can take the blame" butcher rudely interrupted, walking in through the door behind you, giving your ass a quick swat before he sat himself down on the couch like nothing is wrong. now would be a good time for that hole to appear

"you what?" you can feel hughie looking between you and butcher, his eyes wide and confused. "did i stutter, hughie? i aint think i did."

"dont look so scared, hughie, its a normal human process. next time you can watch"

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jinkiezzsstuff · 14 days ago

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let me out (I’m starving)

warnings/tags: 18+, dark themes, DUBCON, implied NONCON, woc!reader (south asian coded but yk), office worker!reader, toxic workplace, obsession, manipulation, possessive behavior, forced intimacy, Lex sucks but what's new, implied murder (blink and you'll miss it), workplace abuse, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 6k

summary: Your job as one of Lex Luthor's corporate drones sucks, but at least the paycheck is steady. So when Lex asks you to care for his newest prodigal monster, you think nothing of it. The thing about monsters, as you come to find out, is they don't only exist in the dark.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

ultraman's anakin allure got me a little bit... please let me know your thoughts and happy reading!!!

Lex asks you to care for Ultraman.

“At least make him think you do,” he says dismissively.

He takes another cursory look over the file in hand before he slides it to you, uncaring of how some of the papers spill out. A photo loosens from the paperclip, and you catch a glimpse of the masked figure that is now slated to be Superman’s rival. Marketing must’ve had a hand in this given the white background and his stiff demeanor. You wonder if he’s smiling behind the mask—if he knows how to smile—then shrug off the thought.

You take the file, straightening the paperwork inside by tapping against his desk obnoxiously. Lex’s left eye twitches, but he says nothing as you shuffle through the admittedly sparse file. It has little past his basic information.

“You want me to be his friend?”

Lex chews over this for a moment. And then he gives you a half-nodding, half-shrugging gesture. “Essentially.”

It is only the two of you in his office. You’re sure that goes against HR protocols, but Lex has never been the sort of boss to give a fuck about proper channels and all that.

“For how long?”

Lex lets out a heavy breath. “For however long it takes,” he emphasizes, glaring at you. “It’s not that hard of a task.”

Years of working underneath and now alongside Lex has taught you how to pull off the illusion of patience. A smile will gain you sharper vitriol whereas any visible dissatisfaction will earn you an increased workload. You press your lips into a line, not because you care to give Lex the impression you are overlooking the venom coating his tongue but because disappointment haunts Lex’s every step, and you love to give him a reminder.

“My apologies for wanting a deadline, Mr. Luthor,” you say flatly.

From how Lex explains it, your new role sounds much simpler than the current one he has you doing. But you’re not sure of the ethics involved in befriending a creation of his and taking a paycheck for it. Nor are you sure you can pull this off.

He presses his fingers on either side of his nose. “Don’t call me that.” It takes concentrated effort for him to loosen his shoulders and unclench his jaw. “I’m sorry. Things have been a little…stressful on the social media front.”

You relax your own defensive stance. Lex is an asshole, but he’s never been unreasonable with you. The history you two share is too storied for him to treat you so carelessly. He’s consumed with not only getting rid of Superman but tanking his reputation, so that all that’s left is a tarnished legacy and a vacuum of power Lex can take advantage of. You’ll cut him some minor slack. You get paid more than enough to do so.

“The monkeys aren’t ragebaiting properly or what?”

His eyes close for a moment and then reopen with a sigh. “They are. But public opinion is still quite high,” he admits.

The dark circles under his eyes are pronounced, and his cuticles have been torn to shreds. The red of his eyes is from days-old exhaustion, but you would not be surprised to find out he cried right before calling you into his office.

“And you think giving Ultraman a friend will help because…?”

“Because he’s a fucking idiot,” he finishes, throwing a pen at the door.

You glance back down at the picture now peeking from the top of the file. No, he doesn’t know how to smile, you decide. With Lex as his creator, there is nothing to smile about.

“This is Ultraman.”

It’s strange to say you are impressed Lex has provided him an apartment. It’s within the LuthorCorp campus, and you assume his freedoms are severely limited, but it’s much better than those pocket dimension prisons Lex is entirely too fond of. For as rancorous as Lex has been about Ultraman in the short time you’ve learned of him, he must hold some derivative of fondness for him if he’s willing to also include furnishings to Ultraman’s home.

“Hi,” you greet with a wave.

The man looks to Lex.

“You see what I’m saying?” Lex says out of the corner of his mouth. He clicks his tongue, motioning towards you. “Say hello.”

“Hello,” the man says robotically.

A slight chill touches the base of your spine, sending threads of unease reverberating up your back. His instant obedience is nothing to marvel at, your stomach twisting uncomfortably at the sight.

Lex waits a beat then snaps his fingers. “Be polite. Take off your mask.”

Immediately, he goes to unclasp whatever mechanism connects his mask to the suit. There’s a brief moment where his fingers spasm as if reluctant, but it’s gone before Lex notices.

The file had informed you he is a clone, but you are still not prepared for how much he looks like Superman. His hair is longer and greasier with eyes not quite as bright, but other than these minor differences, he’s an exact copy of Earth’s strongest defender.

“Impressive, right?” Lex says. He’s watching you with rapt interest.

The knot in your stomach begins to crawl up your throat. You thought you’d be able to think of Ultraman as an identical twin of sorts but seeing him in front of you like this is more horrifying than you could have imagined.

Memories are not stored in DNA, so you know without a doubt Ultraman does not hold a single connection to Superman outside of appearance and physicality. Did he wonder what he was rather than who he was when he opened his eyes for the first time? Did he inherently know he was different? Or was that shown to him through whatever cruelty Lex deemed satisfactory as a teaching tool?

“Don’t let Mr. Handsome hear you say that,” you say instead.

Lex scoffs at that, but his lack of argument is telling.

It doesn’t take him long to deem other matters more important and he leaves you with Ultraman, muttering about how he’ll leave a few PlanetWatch members to stand guard outside. His gaze lingers on Ultraman, a frown pinching his brows before he heads back.

You’re left standing in the middle of Ultraman’s living room. You gesture towards the couch, a question in your eyes. He nods, taking a seat on the ottoman opposite of you.

Sweat slicks your hands and you wipe them off, forcing a smile when he continues to sit there. He steals a glance at you. His bottom lip is chewed raw and the hair on the back of his neck sticks to his skin, dampened by sweat.

What do you even talk about with a man whose entire live revolves around Lex’s next order?

“How has your day been so far?” you ask, infusing cheer into your voice.

He turns to look at you fully. His expression is completely slack, and his hands sit in front of him. He looks neither comfortable nor uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he says.

The corner of your mouth cramps. “That’s good! Have you been to training yet?”

He’s not due back to the lab until lunch, but it won’t hurt to ask. From what you can tell, it is one of the few things he does, so maybe he finds some enjoyment when he is able to go.

His face remains placid. “No.”

Well, you concede, it hurts a little to ask.

“Is there anything else you do other than train?”

And be Lex’s punching bag?

Immediately, you exorcise that train of thought. It’s a right of passage at LuthorCorp. If Lex hasn’t used you to vent out his frustrations, it does not bode well for your tenure at the company.

It takes Ultraman longer to answer this. The silence stretches between you two until it snaps, and you’re shifting on the cushion of the couch. The threads of your cardigan fray further underneath your twitchy fingers, unraveling a seam or two in the process.

“I sit,” he says finally.

You smile freezes in place. Lex is going to hell. He has to be.

“That’s” —you swallow, biting your bottom lip—“that’s definitely something you can do.”

The silence makes an appearance once more, and you desperately scavenge your limited small talk topics. He doesn’t go out often, so you don’t think bringing up the weather will spark any conversation other than a blank stare. You do not want to talk current events with him, and you’ve seen his schedule. He doesn’t do much at all. And you have never been that talented in making conversations out of nothing.

“Do you like being called Ultraman?” you ask without thinking.

You immediately bite your tongue. That is not the question you should’ve asked, but it’s the question that’s been at the forefront of your mind since Lex informed you of your new task.

You close your eyes and reopen them to find Ultraman’s head tilted as he takes in your question.

“I’m sorry. You do not have to answer that. I don’t know what came over me,” you say, holding a hand up. You wrack your brain for some common ground between you guys, but the file Lex gave you was fairly bare. “Um, I heard you—“

“I don’t like it,” he answers quietly.

“It’s a pretty shit name,” you agree heedlessly. For as smart as Lex is, he lacks creativity. And humanity. A correlation exists between the two but finding it won’t mean much in changing Lex. He likes who he is.

“What’s his name?” Ultraman asks suddenly.

You blink. There is no one else inside this apartment other than the cameras as far as you know. “Who?”

He points behind you.

You don’t want to turn around. From his expression, or lack thereof, whatever is behind you should be harmless, but in your line of work, anything can happen. If mutants are real, who’s to say ghosts aren’t? But you are being paid to follow Lex, and subsequently, Lex’s creations so you turn around slowly, eyes half-closed as if to stave off any fear that will close your throat.

Behind you is a picture. It takes up nearly the expanse of the narrow wall and if you were to guess, it’s at eye level with Ultraman. The photo is protected by a sheet of glass with a plain black frame surrounding it. It’s much simpler than you’d think it to be for being the only wall decoration in the apartment.

Superman stares back at you, eyes crinkled and teeth gleaming as he stands amongst the rubble. His hands are on his hips. Small tears rip at his suit, but the ’S’ is untouched, a hint of blood smearing the sharp corners. In the background stand cheering citizens, the sun shining brightly down upon them.

Your stomach churns, queasiness unspooling in your gut. There is too much to unpack here, so you decide to look away. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Superman?” you clarify, jerking your thumb behind you as you turn back to Ultraman.

He nods.

“It’s Kal-El. Supposedly.”

For all you know, the naming conventions of Krypton are more complex and Superman keeps it simple for the sake of it being an easy name on most tongues. It’s not a name used often anyway in regards to Superman. Lex has searched for every anagram iteration of Kal-El to see if it would yield any hints as to Superman’s alternate identity if such one exists. So far, his search has led him nowhere.

“Kal-El,” he repeats slowly. He thinks for a long time. “Can I be called Kal-El?”

This is above your pay grade.

“Do you want to be called Kal-El?” you ask hesitantly.

He studies you, searching you for an answer you cannot provide. Then he shakes his head.

“Is there something you’d like to be called?”

“I don’t know.”

His honesty splits you at your fault lines. There is no weight to his words. He has no opinion which is natural given what Lex has done to him but unnatural to his humanity. And despite how Lex portrays him, Ultraman is as human as you are.

“Would something similar to Kal-El work?” you offer. “We can always change it later. It’ll be like a placeholder until you find a name you like.”

He thinks this over. He looks ridiculous without his mask on in this suit, and the sight touches something tender in you.

“Okay,” he agrees, quicker this time.

Off the top of your head, you cannot think of any names similar to Kal-El. Kal seems too on the nose. Kyle does not suit him whatsoever along with any other K name that crosses your mind.

You settle on one after a few minutes.

“Does Kol sound okay?”

He brightens.

You smile, relieved.

“Kol it is then.”

It gets easier the more time you spend with Kol.

He’s not talkative by any means, but he no longer blinks as a response. Getting him to voice an opinion, however, is akin to pulling teeth.

“Do you want to watch one of my favorite movies then?” you ask after waiting a full five minutes for him to speak.

Seeing how regimented Kol’s life is, you opt to give him choices whenever possible. The first few days were incredibly boring given Kol doesn’t have many likes or dislikes and seems disinterested in finding out what those things could be for him. The only interest he has is watching you work, carefully placing himself behind you so he can watch over your shoulder.

He nods, a careful tuck of his chin, and hands the remote to you. You hold you hand out, palm flat and fingers relaxed. Sometimes, when your patience runs thin and you breathe in deeply and repeat your question for what feels like the nth time, Kol’s attention will involuntarily flick to whatever object is nearest to you. His shoulders will straighten slightly, and his jaw will jut out as he bears down on his teeth.

You take to quiet breaths and neutrally asked questions.

“I don’t think I’ve shown you a romcom yet, huh?” you say, more to fill the air than get an answer.

Predictably, he says nothing, but he watches intently as you scroll through the options before settling on a tried and true. You haven’t heard Kol laugh in the few weeks you’ve known him, so you’ll be pleasantly surprised if this movie earns a chuckle from him.

The first ten minutes are slow as the story finds its footing, but Kol’s attention is fully on the TV. At the beginning, Kol expected you to quiz him after each and everything you guys watched together. He’d sit at the dining table with his back stiff and straight against the uncomfortable wood, hands placed in front of him. It was unnerving to look up and find him in that position after throwing all of your things onto your couch.

It took seventeen times before he broke the habit.

Your stomach grumbles, and you place your hand over it. Kol tears his eyes away from the screen.

“Are you hungry too?” you ask sheepishly.

He considers this for a moment and then nods. It takes two minutes for you to order at the Thai restaurant down the strip that he likes so much, and then another two minutes to order some ramen for yourself. Once that’s done, you turn the movie back on and resist the urge to check your phone mindlessly.

The first time you saw Kol’s meal prep in his fridge, you thought he had provoked Lex to punishment. The food was bland, and it was rows of the same thing in his shelves. It took more questions than you expected for Kol to confirm this was how he always ate.

You took it upon yourself to order from every restaurant in a mile radius, curating each dish chosen to what you knew you and your friends enjoyed.

He had been overwhelmed by both the amount of food showing up at his door and the smell of it. It took some coaxing for Kol to eat the food, most of it given to him by your hand, but he seemed surprised by how much he enjoyed it.

It’s easy enough for you to get his meals changed, but he still vastly prefers the food prepared by a restaurant than whoever his personal chef is.

It will take fifteen minutes for the food to be dropped off, and he opts to wait to restart the movie until it does come. His fingers tap against his thighs as you guys wait, eyes flicking to the preview the movie has taken to play. He answers whatever questions you throw his way, but it takes him longer to come up with a response whenever the preview replays the moment when the main leads kiss in front of the male lead’s apartment. The scene cuts right before the male lead drags the female lead into his apartment, hiking her dress up her thigh and slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Kol watches as you unpack the food when you come back after grabbing the delivery from Langdon—your very own PlanetWatch bodyguard. His eyes trail after you, darting to your mouth for a too long second before dropping down to the food you place in front of him.

You don’t want to share your ramen, so you take a seat far from him.

“Ready?”

With his approval, you press play.

As the movie moves into the second act, Kol becomes more invested. He all but abandons the last of his food, leaning in closer as the two leads argue on screen. Worry furrows his brow when it seems the argument is spilling into territory that should be unexplored until the male lead swoops the female lead into a kiss. The fight leaves her all at once, hands going up to pull him closer.

Kol’s eyes widen as their breathing gets heavier. The male lead breaks the kiss just enough for his lips to brush against hers as he whispers something adoring. She smiles, nearly teeth to teeth with him as she teases him.

Having watched this movie more times than you can count, you know this scene is the calm before the storm. It never gets old, but you are finding Kol’s rapture far more interesting.

He doesn’t move until the movie finishes, eyes flitting all over the screen as the credits roll. The couch creaks underneath his weight as he turns to you, wonder making the blues of his eyes especially bright.

You grin smugly. “I have good taste, huh?”

The wonder quickly bleeds into anticipation, and he shifts closer to you. His lips part as if to speak but he remains quiet. Instead, he stares at you, waiting.

You frown, unsure why he has such an expectant look on his face.

“Do you want to watch another one?” you ask, cocking your head to the side.

You turn back to the TV and begin scrolling the available titles.

And if his shoulders slouch, you pay it no mind.

Kol begins to look to you for approval.

It’s a subtle change, one you don’t even notice until Lex invites you to observe his training. Kol’s intense training schedule usually left you with two to three hours to yourself during the work day, and you long to tell Lex no, but Lex isn’t asking.

Kol completes the sequence of moves flawlessly under Lex’s orders and immediately looks up to your viewing station. Lex is an arm’s length away from you, fingers curled over the railing until the skin over his knuckles are a bloodless white. He waves his hand towards The Engineer and a new sequence commences.

The kick thrown to Kol’s is dodged once he drags his attention from you which is only done when you nod at him encouragingly.

He reminds you of a dog, you think.

“He’s only good for following orders,” Lex mutters, hand pressed to his lips. He barks out a random assortment of numbers, growing increasingly frustrated as Kol does all of them. “Why can’t he think to do these himself?”

“Because no one is as smart as you, Lex,” you say dutifully.

Your answer doesn’t impress him.

Kol throws a truck at The Engineer. The metal crumples as it flattens her against the wall. A spare part—a broken part from the transmission perhaps—spears into her gut, pinning her to the wall. She spits something out, nanotechnology crawling across her skin to staunch the wound, but Kol’s not paying attention to her. He’s turned back to you. Even with his mask obstructing his face, you get the feeling he wants praise.

You suppose you’d find it impressive if he wasn’t a literal meta human. You count yourself lucky for not having to witness him crush a man’s skull between his hands as Lex had bragged about. Nonetheless, you give him a smile. He turns back, satisfied.

Lex is scowling when you look at him. One of his orderlies takes initiative and begins calling out numbers, but Lex brushes them off.

“What was that.”

The phone in your hand buzzes at that same moment. Helena from HR needs your help drafting an email to Lex about one of his preferred data engineers resigning for an opportunity at InfiTech.

Please, please, please!!!!

I’m scared he’ll throw a stapler at me again

The skin on the back of your neck prickles. Did Lex have undiagnosed phone telepathy?

“What was what?” you repeat tentatively. Is it less suspicious to keep your phone screen unlocked but with your palm covering the bottom half of the screen or lock your phone?

“Why did he do that?” Lex says. Each syllable sticks to the roof of his mouth.

It’s very rare for a competing firm to offer a salary higher than LuthorCorp or a benefits package as comprehensive, but you doubt either of those contributed to him leaving. Working for LuthorCorp as a whole is like any other large corporation: long hours, pay that sounds good on paper until they make you work for every cent, catered lunch, bullshit performance reviews, and the like. Working directly under Lex poses a different challenge and while many believe they welcome it, the reality of it is much worse.

Platitudes skitter around in your mind, too slippery for you grab onto one and hope for the best. Fuck, his nostrils are flaring.

“Why was Ultraman looking at you like that?”

“He wasn’t looking at me,” you deny reflexively. Then you process his question and its implications and amend with, “Maybe a little bit.”

“What did you do to him?” Lex snarls. He takes five fast and sharp steps towards you, chin tipped upwards and lips curled.

“What you asked of me,” you say evenly.

Your chest aches with how quickly your heart races. Luckily, he ignores your shaking fingers, entirely too focused on seeing if you’ll cower.

“I did not ask you to make him even more useless,” he says excruciatingly slow. His hand lashes out quicker than you can react, and he has your face between his boney fingers, turning your head to look down. He pushes your cheeks in harshly, forcing the soft flesh into the grooves of your teeth. “You are to be a companion. Nothing more.”

You meet his stare, trying not to blink too much. You’re hyperaware of your breathing and slow your breaths to match every second beat of your heart.

Lex tilts your head slightly and then seemingly appeased, he lets you go.

“He’s not human,” Lex says, stretching his fingers. He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes, bordering on dismissive. “Don’t think that you can make him one.”

“You won’t be needed today.”

Langdon holds his hand out to bar you from the entrance. His mouth twists uncomfortably as he relays to you Lex’s latest order.

“Mr. Luthor needs you to go over some videos of Superman.”

“Does he now?” you ask, intrigued.

You touch your tongue against the roughened imprint of your teeth on your cheek, mentally rolling your eyes. Yesterday must’ve done a number on his pride.

“He’d prefer if you worked from home today as well,” Langdon carries on, adjusting his watch. “As a precaution, of course.”

“Of course,” you parrot back, a disbelieving amusement weaving itself through you. He won’t even risk the chance of seeing you. All because Kol wanted some encouragement while he was working. Unbelievable. “I’ll see you later then Langdon.”

He rearranges his stance so his helmet obstructs his mouth from the cameras. “Good luck with Lex.”

A wry smile curls the corners of your mouth. “Don’t I need it.”

“You want to try a matcha?”

Kol rolls the syllables on his tongue, raising his eyebrows at you when you say nothing else. He’s been attached to your hip since you were allowed back. He follows you around the apartment like a duckling as if fearing you’ll disappear the moment his eyes aren’t on you.

Your stomach swoops uncomfortably when you catch the moments of relief that cross his face when you are exactly where he expects you to be. As the only person who he sees outside of his mandated training and missions, the last few days must’ve been gut-wrenching. But perhaps it was a good thing. Codependence is good for no one.

“It’s a drink,” you explain.

You don’t think he’ll like it, but you’ve learned to not inject your beliefs into what you say even accidentally. Kol will act accordingly because he thinks it’s what you want rather than go along with his own tastes.

“Okay.”

You go to grab a hat and face mask for him. He spends so much of his time suited up, and you loathe to add to it, but his face is too recognizable to risk for an outing. You hand him the mask, laughing when he goes to tuck the strap behind his ear and gets confused when there is no hair to keep it from chafing against the thin skin.

You offered to trim his hair when you came back, having spent your unexpected week off watching videos on men’s haircuts. He had acquiesced, sitting motionlessly on the edge of his bathtub as you took careful snips of his hair. When you trimmed off the front pieces, he stared unapologetically at you to the point where you were beginning to feel shy.

You did a decent job considering your inexperience. Now that it has been a couple of days and his hair has grown out, the haircut is looking a lot better.

Not that Kol cares.

It’s a ten minute walk to one of your favorite cafes, and you talk his ear off the entire way. He’s unfamiliar with the area and will likely continue to be, so you try to give him a glimpse of the world outside of the small one Lex has provided him.

He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps himself angled towards you as he walks. It’s nice. You’re almost tempted to tell him about how much Metropolis Generals are pissing you off and genuinely ruining your day by killing their chances at the playoffs but keep it to yourself. Just because he’s a willing participant doesn't mean you should take advantage.

You leave Kol to loiter outside, unsure of what sort of reaction a small and crowded space will cause for him. When you turn to check on him after ordering, he’s nearly pressed up against the glass window staring at you, face shadowed by his hat. You make a subtle motion for him to back up, a quick flick of your fingers, but he remains where he is. Two passersby slow their gaits and exchange looks with one another as if trying to decide if something should be done.

Luckily your name is called and with two drinks in hand, you meet Kol outside. The passersby wait for a moment longer and you meet their curious stares over Kol’s shoulders with a small nod.

You hand Kol the matcha, amused by the gleam of distrust in his eyes when he lifts the drink up.

“It’s green,” he says.

“Pretty, right?”

He flattens his mouth into a line and then takes a long drink from the cup. When he finishes swallowing, he immediately hands it to you and takes the pineapple juice from your other hand. You’ve taken one sip but not nearly as a large of a one as Kol.

“That bad?” you laugh, accepting the trade.

He wrinkles his nose. “Grassy,” he grumbles, sticking the straw in his mouth.

“It can be an acquired taste,” you admit. “But I’m glad you tried it. Maybe we’ll try a papaya next.”

You lead him towards the park and sit yourselves on a bench. It’s a pleasant day with clear skies and no monsters in sight. For once, Superman is taking a break, so Kol hasn’t had to work at a breakneck speed. It might be nice for him to feel the sun on his skin and the breeze through his hair.

Kol sits close to you, ignoring the other side of the bench. His thigh is flush against yours. You move an inch over, and he follows you. You don’t know how to feel about it, so you choose to ignore it. It doesn’t work quite as well as you hope.

Moving again so you can brace your hand in the space you’ve forced, you lean back on the bench. “Being stubborn won’t get you what you want with Lex,” you say, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. The matcha goes down easy.

He sips the juice, lips wrapped around the straw. When he releases it, there’s the tiniest smattering of your lipgloss in the center of his lips. It’s so out of place, you can’t help but stare. You quickly look away from his mouth when he looks down at you, confused.

“He won’t bring me back to training just because you don’t want to impress him anymore,” you clarify. “He doesn’t believe in rewards.”

Charles, Langdon’s replacement after a sudden transfer, had let you know Kol threw his version of a tantrum the first day you were absent. He was less obedient than usual, and it sent Lex into such a rage Eve had begged you to let her crash at your place. You obliged, obviously, and lent her your phone, so she could spend the night with that Jimmy guy she’s been talking to.

Charles was reluctant to let you know of anything else no matter how much you pestered him. You can only assume Kol was difficult enough to warrant Lex giving you a thoughtful look when you dropped by his office. He had said nothing inflammatory nor insulting. His ‘welcome back’ hadn’t even been sarcastic.

Kol reaches out, brushing a knuckle against the phantom bruise Lex has left behind on your face. He’s gentle, exceedingly so, but you flinch before you can stop yourself. His mouth twists, eyes downcast as he keeps his hand still.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” he says. His voice is barely more than a breath.

“Lex shouldn’t do a lot of things, and yet he does them anyway,” you shrug.

It’s a tale as old as time.

Nothing will be done to change it.

You wake up to an arm around your waist.

It’s early, so your brain is foggy and unable to process the strangeness of your situation with the urgency it necessitates. The weight around your waist is a chain, pinning you to the mattress when you try to shake it off.

Fear skitters throughout you immediately, your heart rate rising into something you almost can’t feel with how quick your heart flutters in your chest. You twist to try and loosen yourself from their grasp but find yourself in the same predicament no matter how you move.

They allow you only enough space to turn around.

“Kol?”

Your heart pounds heavier when you realize who it is in your bed. Something tight curls around your throat, preventing you from getting a full breath in.

He mumbles in his sleep, wrapping his arm tighter around you and dragging you to his chest. His bare chest. Which you do not have enough bandwidth to be thinking about, so you focus on what you can. His breaths are even, but you aren’t fooled.

“Kol, what are you doing here?”

In my bed.

He cracks open an eye, gauging how serious you are before committing to waking up. “I missed you,” he says, tender and terrible all at once.

“Kol,” you groan, bringing a hand up to press the inner corners of your eyes with your knuckles. It somewhat alleviates the pressure accumulating in your head. “That doesn’t meant you sneak into my bed.”

“I’m not in your bed,” he says plainly. “I took you home.”

“What.”

He adjusts you, so you are on top of him. There is a red crease line on his cheek and his hair is messy having grown out significantly in the past two weeks. His skin is hot, branding you where your shirt has ridden up. And alarmingly, he looks happy.

“Your bed is too small,” he explains. “I thought you’d be more comfortable at home.”

You sit up. He allows this but moves his hands upwards so they rest on your hips. You try to slide off of him, keeping the movements contained, but Kol catches on quickly and adds pressure until you are flush against his stomach. His expression hasn’t changed, but his fingers dig into you warningly.

“I was home,” you say slowly. “And I would like to go back home.”

“But you’ve already been away for three days,” he says, almost whining. “Charles said you’d be gone for another two.”

“Because I am on vacation, Kol,” you say, fighting to keep yourself calm. You are trying to keep your breaths measured but failing spectacularly at it. The room feels hot, your vision narrowing in until all you can see is Kol. Everything else is blurry and smudged.

“I missed you,” he says, disregarding what has just come out of your mouth. He tilts his head, eyes rounded out innocently. “Didn’t you miss me?”

“Okay, we need to talk about boundaries,” you say lightly. You blink away the spots dotting your vision and take a deep breath. It resets you just enough to focus. “You can’t just kidnap me, because you missed me.”

“I didn’t. I took you home,” he repeats. He loses some of that innocence, eyes hardening. “Didn’t you miss me?”

“My home is my apartment. This is your home,” you say. Bringing your hands down to one of his, you try to pry his fingers off of you.

“No. Your home is here,” Kol states firmly. He traces his name against your hipbone. “With me.”

Your breath does not seem to fill your lungs. You struggle to swallow over the lump in your throat as your fear swells. A shuddery breath is all you can manage as Kol stares at you, unyielding.

“Lex gave you to me,” he continues.

Bile burns at the back of your throat. As awful as Lex is, you do not think he would tell Kol as such. It goes against his plan to humanize Ultraman.

Right?

You shake your head, hand tightening on top of his, but Kol doesn’t stop.

“His gift to me for being good, for listening,” he stresses. “Superman will never have you.”

“Kol, I’m not—you can’t just—” Your tongue twists uselessly in your mouth. The thoughts scrambling in your brain are incoherent, and you can’t grasp at a single one to drag to the front. They fracture even further when Kol adjusts his hips slightly, and you feel how hard he is.

His hands then move, trailing up your body, reveling in all the places he has not yet written into memory. His touch steadily grows more bold as you still.

“Lex does whatever he wants,” he reminds you, his fingers tracing the underside of your chest. There is nothing human left in his eyes when he looks up at you.

“Why can’t I?”

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

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