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hms-no-fun · 9 months ago

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Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

#sarahposts #ai #ai art #llm #chatgpt #artificial intelligence #genai #anti genai #capitalism is bad #tech companies #i really don't like these people if that wasn't clear #sarahAIposts

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beaucate · 5 months ago

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part two / master list.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞ OBLIVIOUS!READER who always watched clark from a distance, a frown visible on the rosy plush of her lips as his eyes strayed away from her own. he never watched her, and how could he when lana lang was always beside her, capturing the farmer boy’s attention with ease.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t see the way clark’s drift towards the side of her face when she isn’t paying attention. his breathing rapid, and palms clenching his locker so it bent under the tips of his fingers.

OBLIVIOUS!READER not noticing the glances mr. and mrs. kent would share whenever she came over, watching as their son’s eyes widened and his words spluttered as she asked for his mother’s apple pie recipe.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t catch the way clark’s lips part ever so slightly when she laughs on the outside benches of school. the sound seeming to unravel him entirely, zoning out when the laces of her skirt lift slightly above her thighs. she assumes he’s just zoning out, daydreaming about the green eyed brunette who sat along her — but in truth, his thoughts are consumed by her, and the way the sun light dances in her eyes.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who brushes off the way clark insists on carrying her books, his hand brushing hers as he does, leaving her cheeks burning red and heart pounding louder than she’d like. she convinces herself it’s just because he’s a gentleman, a farm boy raised by the kindest of people in town; not realising how much it takes for him to steady his superhuman heartbeat every time her lashes flutter his way.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who never questions why clark’s excuses to spend time together are, if anything, endless — offering her rides to school, and staying late to help her study for exams.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realise she’s the reason clark’s nights are sleepless, watching her home from afar in the comfort of his barn, his mind replaying every rise of her chest and shudder from the cold. he swears her perfume lingers in the air longer than it should.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who catches clark watching her once —just once — and dismisses it, thinking he must be distracted by something behind her. meanwhile, clark’s heart is lodged in the base of his throat, and he’s trying not to panic at the idea of her realising his gaze was drawn to her pouty mouth.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t explain why mrs. kent always smiles teasingly at her when she visits the farm, or why mr. kent’s chuckle feels a little too amused every time his son fumbles his words around her. she assumes they might be picking on her — though theyre too nice; but what could possibly be the reason?

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realize clark’s awkward stammers and shy smiles aren’t just his usual charm — they’re reserved for her. and when his hand accidentally brushes hers and she pulls away, muttering an apology, clark wonders if she’ll ever see just how much his mind has memorised the lines etched on her palms.

❀˚ dividers by @/ fairytopea

#๑°⋆｡ ୨୧ ⌗ clark kent #๑°⋆｡ oblivious!reader #clark kent drabble #clark kent x reader #clark kent x fem reader #clark kent imagine #superman x reader #smallville clark kent x reader #smallville x reader #tom welling #clark kent x you #oblivious reader #clark kent fluff

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innorality · 1 month ago

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hiii ! I saw you were still taking requests so here's mine : clark kent overhearing reader pleasuring themselves and jerking off to it 🫣

cw ;; is this considered voyeurism?, whiny whimpering moaning clark, misuse of superhuman abilities, masturbation, on a rooftop, he almost shot lasers out his eyes lmfao

an ;; I like your mind nonnie. I like it.

clark tells himself it's for your safety.

he's not spying on you, he's just keeping an ear on what you're doing. so yes, sometimes he'd be on patrol and get bored. when that happens, 9 times out of ten, he decides 'why not check on my love?' and decides to focus. his ears shift, everything goes quiet, and he hears... your heartbeat.

you're alive, that's that. but it's not enough. he focuses once more, closing his eyes this time. he hears you, breathing—no, panting. your breath is heavy, it's loud. were you working out? it's a bit late for exercising in his opinion but, who is he to judge? he's just an alien!

he unfocuses and opens his eyes, flying towards a quiet rooftop in metropolis. the sounds of you—the music of your life—gives him peace. he likes listening to you doing stuff.

he enjoyed listening to that movie you were watching, he laughed along to that girly podcast you put on while cleaning your room, and he rooted for you quietly when he heard you struggling to cook-

his thoughts came to a screeching halt when he heard it.

a moan.

yours.

that sweet sound that he knows all too well, the audible proof of your pleasure, he heard it. he tried to hyper-focus noa—he wanted to hear everything, in fear of you being with someone else. but no, it's only your heartbeat, your cunt getting wetter and wetter, and your fingers pumping in and out of your pussy with a wet squelched sound.

clark kent was bewitched.

his hand sneakily set itself on the bulge of his growing boner as he licked his now dry lips, eyes unfocused, as he gets lost in the sound of you. he imagines you, your back arched and your hips lifted up, twitching at the pleasure your knowing hand gave you.

he unzipped his suit, sighing a shaky breath. thankfully, he wasn't wearing any underwear under his suit, so he got to grip his half-hard cock directly.

"c-clark..." he threw his head back when he heard you moan his name in that syrupy voice of yours, gripping his base tighter. he started pumping his dick to the rhythm of your fingers going in'n'out of your wet pussy. "h-holy shit..." he exhaled slowly, thighs clenching as he visualized you touching yourself, your body twisting like a snake in utmost pleasure.

fuck, listening to you fingering yourself made him unreasonably aroused. he was already close, his balls tightening at the sound of you speeding up. he could hear you suck air through your teeth quickly, short breaths accelerating the beating of your chest.

he twisted his wrist and squeezed his own tip just the way you did it, trying his best to mimick the way you jerked him off. "f-fffuhh- ck- im gonna- its- its so good, oh... clark..." your words were barely coherent when you felt your orgasm bubbling up, preparing to burst out of you any second.

"shit... oh, yeah.. cum f'me, baby.. shit- please-" he talked to you through it as if he were there, as if you could hear him the way he could. "o-oh, clark!" you whined, and he knew your orgasm had hit you because your heart was beating faster than it ever has before. he heard your muscles flex and your juices get squeezed out of your pulsating pussy and he couldn't help himself, he let himself go—he let out a few whimpers as long and thick ropes of cum jumped out of his cock, his balls tight and his dick twitching.

his vision went red for a moment as he was riding out his high before he realized he almost shot lasers out of them and caught himself.

he caught his breath slowly, panting while flopping down onto the floor of the rooftop he was on.

then, the sound of your voice made his softening dick twitch back to life.

"c-clark? baby, I know you hear me... come back... i-.. I need you."

clark thinks he has never recovered this fast in his life.

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hanasnx · 9 days ago

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anal w fuckboy!clark bc he’s never done it before and you’re sooooo desperate to differentiate yourself from the other girls on his roster you’ll give him anything

ANAL — c.kent

“ i heard from a friend of a friend, that dick was a ten out of ten ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: fuckboy!clark nsfw twitter porn link video reference, must be logged in to twitter with age to see it. disclaimer; fuckboy!clark is my au, do not use it without explicit permission. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ au; fuckboy!clark ノ established relationship; fwbs ノ mention of reader having hair ノ allusions to unprotected sex ノ explicit sexual content ノ anal (f receiving) ノ anal virginity.

It’s a dangerous slope, you know. Having a little thing on the side with FUCKBOY!CLARK KENT was bound to end in flames. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, one day you knew him as your classmate, and then you were hitting each other up in the AM to come over for a quick one. There’s a sort of effortless charm about him, he acts strangely gentlemanly in a way a modern man can. Unfortunately you know you’ve hit rock bottom in standards because you think it’s sweet when he buys your Plan B, or stays a little longer than he needs to watch something with you until he’s gotta head home. It’s almost friendship, in a way.

The worst part is, you’re catching feelings way too quick. Sure you were attracted to him initially, but now your heart actually skips a beat when he says your name. You wait by your phone trying to catch a text from him to see what you’re up to. It’s pathetic, you think, brushing your hair back over your forehead. You’re not even the only girl he’s seeing right now, and you told him he’s not the only guy on your roster… yet you dive for your cell as soon as you hear it ring.

“You mean it?” Clark reaffirms, smoothing a hand over the cheek of your ass you’re presenting to him. Back at his place yet again, you’re in a familiar position, yet you’re offering up something new. His parted lips in quiet awe enclose so as drag his bottom one through his teeth, tilting his head at how you glisten in the dull light, pretty pussy all open while you await his answer. It’s like you’re getting wet just talking about this. “You’ll let me fuck your ass?” It’s such a crude way of saying it, and it makes you surge forward with the pillow still hooked under your hips. Thick fingers slot in between the fat of your pelvis and thighs, adjusting you right back where he wants you.

“Are you gonna do it or are you just gonna stare?” you challenge, resting the side of your face on his mattress so you can look back at him. From your peripheral, you can see his meaty dick fill out to full attention until the base is grasped by his hand. He gives it a couple of healthy jacks. You’ve been prepping for this, you did a bunch of boring research and you stuck stuff up yourself to loosen the virgin muscle. Just because your little asshole hasn’t been fucked before, doesn’t mean you can’t make it as comfortable as possible for yourself.

He doesn’t waste any more time, bringing the flat of his fingers up to his mouth so he can spit. A fat gob of it drips down, and he gently brings it to your puckered hole, massaging the natural lube in. His callused thumb swipes up and down until it visibly relaxes, when he gets cheeky the tip of it dips in. If you could see his face right now, you’d see stars in his eyes and a slack jaw. You lean into his touch, stowing your nervousness and crossing your arms under your head. The cold air hits the moistened tissue, and you hiss. It’s nothing compared to the clumsy bump of his mushroom-shaped head, the velvety skin coming into contact. You suck in a breath just as he exhales a throaty groan, shoving the whole tip in in his enthusiasm. “Oh, fuck…” he drags out the curse, tipping his head back as his hips lazily chase the feeling. You whimper in turn, but there’s a pleasurable sting in your belly coursing through you from his reaction that acts as more than enough payment for your sacrifice. “For me, baby? This all for me?” he asks, and you nod even if he can’t see it.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum back, clutching tighter onto his sheets as more and more of him is introduced to the new hole.

Once again he bites down on his lower lip hard, inclining his great body to the side to lean on his fist, the mattress dipping with his weight. His other hand palms your tailbone, pushing you down onto his dick as he surges, forcing himself into your little asshole. It hurts, but it’s a different pain than the ache of your neglected pussy. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to relax into the experience while he presses on. “You’re so- fucking- tight.” reverently, he sings your praises. His pre mixed with his spit helps to lube up the entry, but because it’s an entirely different feeling than what you’re used to, you’re not sure what change could help it feel better. It’s not bad, it’s just hard to wrap your head around. It’s probably because it’s your first time. “This your first?” He read your mind.

Once again, you can’t speak, so you nod and hum in confirmation. A grin breaks out onto his face, eyeing you with a dark hooded gaze as he laughs a little breathlessly… the kind that makes your knees go weak. “Yeah? Givin’ me your anal virginity? You want me or sum’n?” he taunts. At the sound of his assumption, he bottoms out, and all the air is pushed from your lungs in a keen. It’s a soreness in your stomach you can’t explain, but you don’t want him to stop.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

#indy: drabbles #ch: clark #au: fuckboy!clark #clark kent drabble #clark kent smut #clark kent prompt #clark kent x reader #clark kent x fem reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfiction #superman smut #superman x reader #reader insert

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raekensluver · 3 months ago

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one more round

masterlist | main masterlist

description: you would've never thought that going out for a few drinks with your best mates would have led to the three of you in a bed together.

pairing: george clarke x fem!reader x arthur frederick

contains: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, intoxication, porn with no plot, mean dom!george, switch!arthur, switch!reader (?), threesome, mmf, unprotected sex, p in v, p in v from behind, oral sex (m recieving), female ejaculation (squirting), handjobs, fingering, pet names (poppet, pet, love).

song rec: meddle about by chase atlantic- "baby, show me what you're doing, come and turn around"

w.c: 4.8k

a.n: sorry- this feels like a mess but i just needed to finish it and post.

you, arthur, and george stumbled into george's apartment, the door swinging wide to reveal a cozy, dimly lit space. the scent of men's cologne filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of takeout from earlier in the evening. the living room was a mess, with discarded shoes and jackets scattered across the floor, evidence of his roommates' recent departure.

"chris and arthur are out, thank fuck," george murmured, his breath hot against your neck as he closed the door. the sudden quiet of the apartment was a stark contrast to the noisy streets you'd just left behind. you nodded, your heart racing as you took in the sight of him, his eyes dark with desire. the sexual tension between the three of you was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

without warning, arthur pounced on you, his eyes dark and glossy from the alcohol. his body pressed against yours, his hands fumbling with the hem of your shirt. you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a hint of panic. his kiss was sloppy, his tongue probing your mouth with an urgency that was both thrilling and overwhelming. your skin prickled with the sensation of his stubble scraping against your cheek, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. you tasted the faint hint of vodka on his breath, and the scent of his cologne, something musky and expensive, filled your nose.

you stumbled backward under his weight, colliding with the wall. george watched, his eyes alight with something unreadable. his cheeks were flushed, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath. you felt his gaze on you, hot and intense, as if he were a predator watching its prey. his hands balled into fists at his sides, and you wondered if he was fighting the urge to join in or to step away. the room felt smaller, the air thicker, as the three of you remained locked in this silent tableau of desire and confusion.

finally, arthur pulled away, his eyes searching yours for approval. you nodded, breathless. the heat of his body left a cold spot where he had been, and you felt a sudden need to bridge that gap again. george took a step forward, his movements deliberate, and placed a hand on arthur's shoulder. "easy, mate," he murmured, his eyes flicking to you with a silent question.

you felt your cheeks flush and took a shaky breath. "it's okay," you managed to say, your voice a whisper in the quiet room. george's hand moved to your face, cupping your cheek gently. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, sending a shiver down your spine. "do you want this to happen?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

you silently nodded, unable to find the words to express the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. the nod was all the encouragement george needed. he stepped closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. his hand traveled down to the base of your neck, his grip firm but not painful. “use your words poppet. ‘can never understand ya’ when you mumble like that.” he murmured.

“yes,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “i want this. i want both of you.”

a smile, both tender and predatory, curved the corners of george’s mouth. he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek, and whispered, “good.” with that, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was everything arthur’s wasn’t—slow, deliberate, and intoxicating. his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space between the two of you. you felt arthur’s presence behind you, his chest pressing into your back, his hands sliding over your hips.

his touch was different from george’s, more tentative, as if he were afraid you’d push him away. but as george’s kiss grew deeper, your body melted into his, inviting arthur’s touch to become more daring. his hands roamed up your torso, his fingers teasing the waistband of your pants. you moaned into george’s mouth, the sound muffled by his tongue.

the three of you swayed together, a tangled mess of limbs and desire. the room spun slightly, not from the alcohol but from the intensity of the moment. you’d never been in a situation like this before—sandwiched between the two men you’d had known for what felt like forever. it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to end.

you tugged at the strings of george’s hoodie, desperate to feel his bare skin against yours. he broke the kiss, looking down at you with a smoldering gaze. without a word, he pulled the garment over his head, revealing a chest that was more defined than you’d ever imagined. your eyes roved over the planes of muscle, the smattering of dark hair that trailed down to his waistband. the sight of him half-bare was almost too much to handle.

meanwhile, arthur had been busy. his sweatshirt was off now, too, and you couldn’t help but compare the two of them. george’s body was broad and powerful, a testament to his previous years playing rugby. arthur’s was leaner, muscles honed from countless hours at the gym. the stark contrast was oddly erotic, and you felt your pulse quicken as you took in the sight of them both.

george reached for the bottom of your sweater, his eyes never leaving yours. with surprising gentleness, he lifted it over your head, revealing the white tank top you’d chosen to wear tonight. there was no bra underneath—you hadn’t expected the evening to go this way. the cool air of the apartment kissed your bare skin, causing your nipples to peak under the thin fabric. arthur’s gaze dropped to your chest, his eyes wide with surprise and hunger.

you felt a rush of vulnerability, but instead of backing away, you leaned into george’s touch, letting his hand glide down to the hem of your tank top. his fingers hovered there for a moment before dipping beneath the fabric, tracing the line of your ribcage. the touch was light, almost reverential, as if he couldn’t believe he had the right to explore your body like this. your breath hitched, and you arched into his hand, silently begging for more.

arthur’s hands slid down to your waist, deftly unbuttoning your jeans. the zipper whispered open, and you could feel the material loosen around your hips. his breath was warm against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "you're so fucking pretty," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. you shivered, his words sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

his hands grew bolder, cupping your ass as he pushed the jeans down your legs. you stepped out of them, kicking your sneakers off at the same time. your toes curled against the cool wooden floor as you felt the fabric slide away, leaving you in just your tank top and underwear. arthur’s eyes took in the sight of you, a soft groan escaping his lips. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, and you felt his erection against your back. the pressure grew as his hands roamed further, tracing the curve of your hips and sliding down to the edge of your panties.

george’s hand stilled, and he stepped back, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. his eyes smoldered with need, and you knew you’d never felt more desired in your life. with a gentle nudge, he led the two of you to his bedroom, the anticipation building with every step. the room was even darker than the living room, only illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. the bed, unmade from earlier in the day, looked like a sea of rumpled sheets and blankets.

“go on the bed with him,” george said, his voice thick with desire. his hand slid from your neck to your wrist, guiding you towards the bed. your legs felt like jelly as you stumbled forward, arthur’s hand still on your waist, keeping you upright. you felt the mattress give under your weight, the cool fabric of the comforter sending a shiver down your spine.

george followed, his eyes never leaving yours. he climbed onto the bed, his body a shadow in the dim light. he moved closer, his hand brushing against arthur’s as they both reached for you. it was like you were in the center of their universe, the object of their desire. your heart raced, the thump of it echoing in your ears.

arthur’s mouth found yours again, eager and demanding. this time, george’s lips were there too, pressing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck. you gasped at the sensation, your eyes fluttering closed. your hands found their way to arthur’s shoulders, gripping him tightly as his tongue slid against yours. and then, george’s mouth was there, too, kissing you with a fierceness that stole your breath away.

you felt the bed shift as they repositioned themselves, george now on one side of you, arthur on the other. your tank top was lifted, cool air kissing your skin as it was pulled over your head. your breasts were exposed, and you felt their gazes on them, hungry and appreciative. arthur’s hand cupped one, his thumb flicking over the peak, while george’s mouth trailed a line of fire down your neck to your collarbone. the combination of their touches was dizzying, your body responding instinctively.

their kisses grew more insistent, and you found yourself eagerly returning them, your hands roaming over their bare chests. arthur’s skin was smooth and warm, the muscles beneath your fingertips firm and responsive. george’s chest was a landscape of stretch marks and dips, each one making you want him more. their mouths met yours in turn, one kiss deep and searching, the other quick and teasing, until the three of you were tangled in a web of desire.

you pulled back for a breath, the room spinning. your eyes fell on arthur and george, still lost in the passionate kiss. it was a sight that sent a jolt of electricity through you—your two best guy friends, kissing like it was the most natural thing in the world. the soft sounds of their lips meeting filled the air, punctuated by their heavy breathing.

you felt a pang of jealousy, a whine escaping your lips. "you two are hogging all the fun," you complained, a playful pout forming. george pulled away from arthur, his eyes flashing with amusement. "what's wrong, pet?" he said, his voice low and teasing. "not getting enough attention?"

before you could respond, his mouth was on yours again, his hand sliding down to cup your bare breast. your nipple tightened under his touch, and you moaned, arching into his hand. arthur took the opportunity to kiss along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. your eyes rolled back in your head as the two of them worked together, each touch and kiss driving you closer to the edge.

you felt george’s hand move downward, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. his fingers found your wetness, and he groaned into your mouth. “fuck, you’re so wet for us,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. your cheeks burned with embarrassment and desire. you’d never felt so exposed, so wanted.

you whined again, a needy sound that seemed to spur them both on. arthur’s kisses grew more insistent, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh of your neck. his hand moved to the other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and you bucked your hips against george’s hand.

george chuckled against your mouth, his thumb brushing over your clit through the fabric of your underwear. “not so fast, love,” he murmured. “let’s get you out of these, shall we?”

his hand tugged gently at the waistband of your panties, inching them down over your hips. the fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your thighs, and you felt a rush of cool air against your most intimate parts. arthur’s eyes were glued to the show, his pupils blown wide. his hand stilled on your breast, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

once your underwear was gone, george’s fingers delved deeper, slipping inside your folds. your back arched off the bed as he touched you, the sensation overwhelming. arthur’s kisses grew more frantic, his hands roaming your body. you could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of what was to come.

you reached for the button of arthur’s pants, eager to feel him the way he was feeling you. your trembling hands made quick work of the button and zipper, pushing the fabric down. his erection sprang free, thick and hot against your stomach. george’s eyes flicked down to watch, his own arousal palpable.

you took arthur’s length in your hand, marveling at the velvety skin. he hissed, his eyes squeezing shut as you tentatively began to stroke him. your hand was small, but it fit around him perfectly. you watched his face, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes rolled back. it was like you were learning him, mapping out his reactions. with a gentle squeeze, you felt him pulse in your hand.

his precum had gathered at the tip, glistening in the faint light. without thinking, you smudged it with your thumb, spreading it over his head. "fuck," arthur groaned, his hips jerking forward. he was so close, you could feel it. "please," he begged, his voice a desperate whisper. "please, i need more."

you gave him a wicked smile, enjoying the power you had over him. "patience," you murmured, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck. your teeth grazed his skin, and you felt him shiver. your hand stilled for a moment, making him whine. "please," he said again, his voice strained.

you looked at george, seeking his approval, his eyes glinted with mischief in the dim light. "are you asking for my permission?" he said, his tone light and playful, but with an underlying seriousness. you bit your bottom lip, feeling a thrill at the thought of being in control of this situation. "yes," you whispered, your eyes flicking between the two of them.

george chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that sent warmth spreading through you. "you don't need to ask, love," he said, his hand stilling for a moment, "you're in charge here." his eyes held yours, a silent dare to push the boundaries of your comfort zone. "but remember, you can always say stop."

you nodded, your heart racing as you took arthur's cock in your hand again. his eyes rolled back, and he moaned as your strokes grew firmer, your rhythm steady. his breath grew ragged, and his hips began to rock into your hand. "yes," he hissed, his voice strained. "just like that."

george's eyes never left yours as he slid his fingers through your wetness. he found your clit, and you gasped as he began to circle it, matching the tempo of your hand on arthur. your eyes squeezed shut, the sensations becoming too much to handle.

arthur's hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for a deeper kiss. his tongue danced with yours as you both lost yourself in the moment. you could feel him getting closer to climax, his hips bucking against your hand, his breaths coming in short, sharp bursts against your lips.

you still your hand, watching the anticipation on his face as he waited for release. his eyes shot open, searching yours, and you smirked, feeling a thrill of power. "not yet," you murmur against his mouth, and he lets out a frustrated groan, his hand moving to grip your hair.

you break the kiss, turning your attention to george. with a boldness that surprised even yourself, you grab his wrist and pull his hand to your mouth. you suck on his fingers, one by one, your tongue swirling around each digit, tasting your own arousal. his eyes go wide, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan. the sound sends a fresh wave of desire crashing over you.

you look at him, your eyes hooded with lust. "you're still wearing too many clothes," you purr, your voice a sultry whisper that fills the air with a heady tension. arthur's hand stutters in your hair, his eyes flicking to george's half-dressed form.

george grins, a wolfish expression that makes your stomach flip. without breaking eye contact, he reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, the sound echoing in the quiet room. his zipper hisses as it's drawn down, the sound seeming to slice through the silence. you watch, your breath catching in your throat, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down. his cock springs free, thick and proud, and you can't help the way your eyes widen at the sight of him.

he’s thicker than arthur, the head of his cock a dark, tempting shade of red. a bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your mouth waters at the thought of feeling him. his length isn’t quite the same as arthur’s, but there’s something about his girth that makes him seem so much more substantial. you can feel your pussy clench with anticipation, eager for the feel of him inside you.

his kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours, and his hand slides between your legs again. his fingers slip easily inside you, filling you up and sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. you moan into his mouth, your body arching off the bed. his thumb circles your clit, and the pressure builds, your breath hitching in your throat.

arthur watches, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it with a frenzied energy. his eyes are dark with lust, his jaw tight with restraint. you can feel his eyes on you, devouring every move, every sound you make. he watches with rapt attention as george’s fingers move in and out of you, his hand slick with your arousal.

george’s kiss grows more urgent, his tongue dancing with yours in a passionate tango. his fingers work their magic, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. your moans grow louder, and your hips buck against his hand. you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

but just as you’re about to tumble over, george pulls his hand away, leaving you gasping for more. you whine in protest, but his grip on your hips is firm, turning you over so that you’re on your stomach.

his hands are rough as they grip your hips, urging you up onto all fours. you look over your shoulder, eyes wide with anticipation, and see the hungry look in his eyes. you look ahead of you and your breath catches in your throat as you notice arthur's gaze, sitting at the headboard, his hand still moving in jerky strokes over his own erection. the sight of the two of them, so focused on you, sends a thrill down your spine.

without a word, arthur moves closer, his cock bobbing with the motion. you feel the tip of him brush against your lower lip, and you open your mouth instinctively. he groans, his hand guiding himself into you. the taste of him is faintly salty, the scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. your tongue darts out, eager to explore, and you feel him throb in response.

george’s hands are on your hips, his fingers digging in. with one swift thrust, he enters you from behind, the suddenness of it making you gag around arthur’s cock. your eyes water, but you don’t pull away. instead, you push back into him, eager for more. his grip tightens, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that matches arthur’s thrusts. the sensation is overwhelming—being filled by one as you take another into your mouth.

arthur’s moans grow louder, his hips moving in time with george’s. you can feel the tension in his body as he nears his climax. your own pleasure builds, each thrust of george’s cock sending a fresh wave of desire crashing over you. your mouth moves over arthur, his taste filling your senses.

george’s hand finds its way to your clit, his thumb circling it in a torturously slow rhythm. you can feel yourself tightening around him, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. arthur’s moans become more desperate, his hand gripping the back of your head.

“you’re doing so well, poppet,” george whispers, his voice thick with lust. “so eager to take both of us, aren’t you?” his words are like a drug, sending a fresh rush of excitement through your veins.

his thrusts grow deeper, more demanding, his fingers playing your body like a finely-tuned instrument. you moan around arthur’s cock, the vibrations sending shivers through him. he groans, his grip tightening in your hair. "fuck, you're going to make me cum," he pants, his voice strained.

george chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your ear. "that's it, love," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. "just like that. let him feel how much you want it." his hand moves to your neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin as he teases, "are you going to swallow for him, poppet?"

his words only serve to spur you on, and with newfound determination, you hollow your cheeks and take arthur deeper. you feel him hit the back of your throat, and the sensation is both foreign and exhilarating. your eyes water, but you don't pull back. instead, you push through the urge to gag, eager to take all of him.

arthur's eyes squeeze shut, his head thrown back. "fuck, she's amazing," he gasps out, his voice tight with pleasure. george grunts in agreement, his strokes becoming more urgent. "so tight," he says, his voice strained. "you're so fucking tight, love."

the two of them talk about you as if you're nothing more than a toy to be used, their words a mix of praise and possession. "you love this, don't you?" arthur says, his eyes meeting george's over your body. "love having us both inside you."

george's reply is a gruff growl. "so fucking hot," he says, his thrusts growing more erratic. "look how eager she is for it." his hand squeezes your hip, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

you whine around arthur's cock, the sensation of george inside you and arthur in your mouth too much to handle. your body is a live wire, each touch sending bolts of pleasure through you. your own orgasm builds, the pressure coiling low in your stomach.

arthur’s strokes become erratic, his breath hitching. "i'm going to cum," he warns, his voice tight with need. you nod, your eyes locked on his, and you feel a strange mix of fear and excitement. his eyes never leave yours as he reaches his peak, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing in your mouth.

you feel the hot spurt of his release hit the back of your throat, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the sensation. but you remember george’s words and swallow, taking all of arthur in. his moan echoes through the room, and his grip on your hair relaxes as he slumps back, panting. you pull away, licking your lips, feeling a sense of pride at your own bravery.

george’s eyes are on you, his expression a mix of admiration and pure, unadulterated lust. without warning, he pulls out, and you feel the sudden emptiness. but before you can miss him, his hand is on your chest, urging you up onto your knees. you comply, and he kneels behind you, his thighs pressing against the back of yours, his cock nudging your entrance again.

his murmurs grow more insistent, his breath hot against your ear. "you're so fucking beautiful," he says, his voice a low rumble. "so perfect, taking us both." he enters you again, his strokes fast and hard. your moans fall into tempo with his thrusts, the sound a symphony of pleasure that fills the room.

you look at arthur, his face a picture of bliss as he watches. his hand is still around his cock, stroking it lazily, his eyes never leaving the sight of you with george. "you're so good," george whispers, his voice thick with satisfaction. "so fucking good." the words are like a caress, and you find yourself pushing back into him, eager to feel him deeper.

suddenly, george’s hand wraps around your neck, his grip firm but not painful. it’s a dominance that sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away. instead, you lean into it, the thrill of it all making your body respond in a way you never thought possible. his strokes become more erratic, his hips slapping against your ass as he drives into you.

the pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter, until with a strangled cry, you squirt around his cock. the feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced—wet and warm, your pussy clenching around him in a way that makes his eyes roll back in his head. "fuck," he groans, his grip on your neck tightening for a moment before he relaxes it. "you're so fucking incredible."

his thrusts grow more frenzied, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. his hand moves from your neck to grip your hip, his other hand sliding around to tease your clit. you're lost in the sensation, your body moving instinctively, your hips rocking back to meet each of his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm approaching like a runaway train, unstoppable and all-consuming.

"please, george," you beg, the words barely audible through your moans. "cum inside me." his eyes flick to yours, his pupils blown wide with lust. the request seems to push him over the edge, and he groans, his strokes growing even deeper, more possessive. "you want it?" he pants, his voice rough with need.

you nod, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "yes," you whine, your voice high and needy. "i want it." the words seem to echo through the room, setting something primal free in both of them.

george's eyes flash with something almost feral, and he slams into you one final time, his cock hitting your g-spot with a precision that makes your vision swim. your orgasm crashes over you, your body shaking with the force of it. his own follows closely, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he releases.

you collapse onto the bed, his weight comforting as he holds you close. arthur moves closer, his hand gentle as he strokes your hair. the three of you are a tangled mess of limbs and damp skin, panting in the aftermath of what just happened. the room smells like sex and sweat, a musky scent that fills your nostrils and makes your head swim.

"bloody hell," arthur says, his voice filled with awe. "that was…" he trails off, unable to find the words. george chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back. "yeah," he agrees, his voice still thick with lust. "that was something else."

you can't help but smile, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction spread through you. the reality of what just happened begins to sink in, but there's no room for regret or doubt in this moment. you're surrounded by the warmth of your best friends, their arms a comforting embrace as you all try to catch your breath.

george pulls out of you with a groan, and you feel the stickiness between your legs. his cum leaks out of you, a testament to the intensity of what you've shared. arthur's hand trails down your spine, his touch tender. "are you okay?" he asks, his voice concerned.

you nod, still trying to catch your breath. "yeah," you murmur, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "i'm more than okay." the truth is, you're floating on a cloud of pleasure, your body still humming with aftershocks of your orgasm. "that was…" you trail off, unable to find the right words. "amazing," arthur supplies, his smile mirroring yours.

the three of you lie there, the silence comfortable, the air charged with a newfound intimacy. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, a strange mix of emotions swirling through you. but you don't want to ruin the moment with questions about what happens next. instead, you revel in the feeling of their skin against yours, the way arthur’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and the gentle kisses george presses along your spine.

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livvymd · 20 days ago

Text

full throttle. ˢᵐᵘᵗ

꣑ৎrequest: I was hoping I could request something, like a smut with george clarke based on the photo he posted on Instagram with the helmet, kinda like maybe your taking those photos and you ride him while he's wearing it, whatever you think girl your writing is incredible and I'm completely and utterly obsessed xx

THE MOMENT you lift your phone and snap the photo, you already know how this ends.

George is sprawled across the dark couch like temptation sculpted into flesh ⸺ all casual sprawl and unconscious dominance, every inch of him demanding attention. His long legs are spread in that deliberate, indecent way he never quite admits to, the white trousers clinging in all the right places, creased and pristine over thick, solid thighs. One arm is thrown lazily along the backrest, his hand curled loosely like he owns the room. like he owns you. The other hangs down by his side, fingers grazing the rug, the pose effortless and arrogant, like he’s moments from pulling you in and making you beg.

The light floods in around him, harsh and honeyed. Behind his slouched frame, the sea shimmers through the floor-to-ceiling windows, each wave glinting with silver-blue light that dances across his shoulders and jaw. Heat radiates off the glass, sinking into your skin, making the air feel heavy, like late-afternoon lust, like something about to tip over. Every breath tastes faintly of salt and dust and the unbearable possibility of touch.

And then there’s the helmet.

That ridiculous, idiotic, infuriatingly teal helmet perched on his head like some inside joke. The visor is down. mirrored, sleek, impenetrable, hiding every trace of his face, of his smirk, of his eyes that you know are watching you even now. It should be laughable. It should break the spell.

But it doesn’t. It heightens it.

Because he looks devastating. Like a sculpture you’re not allowed to touch. Like a sin you’re going to commit anyway. The curve of his neck disappearing into the stupid strap, the way the shadow of the visor catches the slope of his cheek. it makes him untouchable. Anonymous. Owned. And somehow that’s worse. Somehow it makes you ache. Your mouth goes dry. Your thighs press together without thinking.

Because you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them. Because he hasn’t said a word, but your body’s already responding. Because that helmet, absurd and unnecessary, only makes you want to get on top of him and pull the truth out of his mouth.

He’s all power and restraint and obscene stillness, and you want to ruin it. You want to ruin him.

And he’s watching you.

Even though you can’t see his eyes, not even a flicker. you feel it. That unbearable stillness, stretched tight between you. Like the air itself has stopped moving. Like every line of his body, every inch of his slouched, open sprawl is a trap he’s laid just for you. He hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t said a word, but you know. You know. He’s watching you like a slow drag of fingers over bare skin. Like he’s already touched you everywhere and is just waiting for you to catch up.

Your skin prickles under the weight of it. Heat pools low in your stomach.

You pretend to stay casual. shift your weight, tilt your head, let your phone lower just slightly in your hand ⸺ but your breath’s already gone uneven. Your pulse trips in your neck. Your eyes skim his frame again, helpless to stop. That posture, the slack confidence in it. The teasing spread of his legs. The helmet. Fuck, the helmet.

“Why the helmet?” you manage, aiming for lightness, for a tease, but it comes out softer than you mean it to. warm at the edges, tinted with heat. Your gaze drags over him slow, deliberate. “Planning to ride something?”

The sound that comes from the helmet is low and rough, like gravel warmed by sun. It’s a laugh, but twisted through the filtered visor, it comes out darker, deeper, almost mechanical. A sound made for shadows and closed doors. It rolls through the room and coils between your legs.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says it. Languid. Intimate. Like you’re already halfway undone and he’s just pointing it out. Like he knows exactly how slick you are under that dress. Like he’s been counting the seconds since you walked in, waiting for your legs to start shaking.

Your stomach flips. Your fingers tighten on the phone.

He still hasn’t moved. Still hasn’t taken off the helmet. And somehow, that makes it worse. Somehow, that makes you want him more.

It hits like a slow slap of heat ⸺ that voice, warped and velvety through the helmet, all smoke and shadows and something filthy just beneath the surface. It vibrates straight through your chest and coils low in your stomach, a throb between your thighs that’s impossible to ignore. Your breath catches, half a gasp, and your lips part on instinct.

He doesn’t need to say more. He knows that. He lets the silence sit, thick and deliberate. A silence full of implication.

The tone alone does it. rich and dragging, dipped in suggestion, just this side of dangerous. Like he could fuck you without lifting a hand. Like he will, when he’s ready. When you’ve earned it.

Your eyes fall again before you can help it. Down the long line of him ⸺ the tension hiding beneath the slouch, the precise, teasing stillness of his posture. The curve of muscle beneath white cotton, the deep stretch of his thighs, the subtle shift of his hips. He’s not obvious about it. Not blatant. But he’s half-hard already. Thick beneath the fabric, heat rising from him in waves. Waiting.

Your throat tightens. The words slip out before you can stop them. a whisper more breath than sound. “You’re unbelievable.”

And it feels like too much. Like confession. Like surrender.

But George doesn’t move.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t tip his head or twitch a finger. He just sits there. sprawled, silent, helmeted ⸺ like a fucking altar. Like he knows you’ll come to him.

And that’s why you do.

You step forward. One careful stride across the rug. Then another. And then, without fanfare, without breath, without permission. you climb into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like the room was built for this. Like the heat was meant to melt you into him.

Your dress rides up around your hips as you swing a leg over him. The fabric snags, whispers up your thighs. You settle, slowly, knees pressed into the cushions on either side of his body, your core lowering to hover just above where he’s already thick and twitching under the fabric. The soft give of his trousers bunches beneath you, heat pressing through the layers like it’s pulsing.

Your hands find purchase ⸺ one braced on his shoulder, the other sliding up the helmet until your fingers curl over the crown.

You sit there, straddling him. Breath shallow. Skin flushed. And still, he doesn’t move.

His hands stay right where they were: one on the backrest, the other draped low beside his thigh. Like you’re a dream he’s letting play out. Like your weight on him, the way your thighs press open and your dress clings, is just part of the show.

The air feels molten now. thick with heat and possibility, every breath tasting like sunlight and sweat and something about to break. The whole room is suspended in gold, dizzy and overripe, like the sun’s been holding its breath along with you. Time doesn’t move. Nothing does. Except you, perched on top of him like a storm waiting to happen.

George doesn’t touch you at first. He just watches.

Or, he makes you feel watched, that unbearable attention leaking through the mirrored visor. The kind that strips you bare and holds you there, still and open and humming. You can’t see his eyes, but you can feel them everywhere. on your mouth, your thighs, the damp heat between them. Your nipples pebble through the fabric of your dress, aching and obvious, and still he stays perfectly still, a monument of restraint.

Then, finally, his hands lift. Slow. Measured.

Gloved fingers find the backs of your thighs and settle there, leather-rough and deliberate, anchoring you. Not pulling. Not guiding. Just holding. As if he’s offering the illusion of control when you both know who really has it.

“Thought you wanted a picture,” he says.

And through the helmet, his voice is thick. Lower now. Wrapped in static and something dangerous. That strange echo makes it worse, more intimate, more private, like the helmet doesn’t muffle him, it possesses him. Like you’re hearing thoughts he hasn’t spoken aloud.

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders. “I got what I needed,” you breathe.

And then you roll your hips. Once. So slow, but so so so deliberate.

The drag of your bare heat over the thick ridge of him is obscene ⸺ too much, not enough, perfect. Even through layers, it lights you up. You hear it: the grunt that rips from his throat, low and guttural, caught somewhere between restraint and ruin. His hands clench, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t move beyond that. He can’t.

The helmet turns him into something tethered. Leashed. Controlled. And you are the one doing it.

You lean forward, breath shaky, and press your lips to the glass of the visor.

Just a kiss. Soft. Fleeting. A whisper of contact.

But it lands. A faint, glistening smear of lip balm and heat. A ghost of you, marked on him. It lingers there, a perfect imprint of desire and denial.

He can’t kiss you back. Can’t see your face clearly. Can’t move the way he wants, the way he’s aching to ⸺ and the tension of it thrums through him like a live wire, vibrating just beneath the surface of his skin. His thighs twitch beneath yours. His jaw tenses behind the mask.

You grind down again.

Harder this time. Slower. Letting your slick heat smear across the thick line of him, fabric dampening between you both. He’s huge like this, already swollen and straining, trapped beneath cotton and leather and control, and he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. Half choked. Half sacred.

You rock again, and again, breath hitching with every drag, and all he can do is take it. Take you.

Helpless beneath you. Helpless for you.

And it’s delicious.

The sound he makes isn’t even human ⸺ it tears out of him like something primal, raw, somewhere between a growl and a gasp. Choked. Guttural. Helpless. It scrapes through the helmet, distorted and thick, like static over thunder, and it shoots straight through you ⸺ a jolt of heat, of power, of need. His fingers clamp down around your thighs, gloved and rough, leather biting into the soft backs of your legs hard enough to bruise. But he doesn’t push you off. Doesn’t try to stop you.

He just takes it.

Every drag of your hips. Every slick grind of heat against the rigid line of him beneath his trousers. Every breathless taunt you spill across the glass.

“Bet it’s driving you mad,” you whisper, lips hovering a hair above the visor, breath fogging the mirrored surface. “Not being able to kiss me. Not being able to see properly. Just sitting there while I fuck you like this.”

He jerks beneath you, whole body twitching like you’ve struck a nerve, a muscle reflex. A need. His hips snap up once, unthinking, desperate. His fingers dig deeper, breath catching so sharp it hitches through the helmet.

“You’re such a little ⸺ ” he breaks off, voice mangled in his throat. “Fuck.”

You giggle. breathless, teasing, drunk on the power. On the sight of him, still restrained, still masked, still aching. “What was that, love?”

His voice cracks when he speaks, like it’s being torn from his chest through the heat. “Keep going,” he groans. “Fuck, just ⸺ don’t stop.”

You don’t. But you do shift.

Your fingers trail down his stomach, over the soft cotton of his shirt, until they find the waistband of his trousers. You move slow on purpose, every motion deliberate, savoring the tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace. Your fingers dip under the band, grazing hot skin, and then ⸺ there.

You find him. Heavy. Hard. So hot. Twitching in your palm like he’s barely holding it together.

His reaction is instant ⸺ a ragged gasp that sounds like it’s being torn from the deepest part of him. His thighs tense under yours, hips jerking up involuntarily, desperate to fuck into your hand. But the second he thrusts. the second he tries ⸺ you pull back.

He makes this noise. something wrecked and strangled and furious with need. A sound of frustration and surrender all at once, like he’d say your name if he could remember how to breathe.

You smile. Slow. Sweet. Cruel. You almost feel bad.

"Uh-uh," you murmur, running your fingers lightly over the head of him, not giving him friction, just tease. Just presence. “You don’t get to move unless I say so.”

And god, the way he trembles. The power in it. The tension. Like he’s straining against invisible rope, held in place by the sheer force of your control. The helmet turns him into something bound. an icon of denial, of raw, leashed desire ⸺ and beneath it, you can feel how close he is. Every inch of him throbbing, aching, undone.

You grind your hips down again, slower this time. Meaner. His cock trapped between you, still clothed, already leaking.

And he shudders. Every breath he takes sounds like a plea.

You roll your hips again, slow, filthy, obscene ⸺ dragging your slick heat over the thick line of him with just enough pressure to drive him mad. It’s torture by rhythm, the kind that makes your thighs ache and his body tremble. The pace is deliberate. Intentional. Every grind, every pulse of wet heat, a reminder that you’re in charge; that he can’t see you properly, can’t touch you the way he wants, can’t do a thing except sit there and feel you.

And the helmet? The helmet makes it worse.

It traps him inside ⸺ muffling his breath, turning every sound he makes into something distorted, guttural, desperate. You can hear how wrecked he is in the way the air fogs the glass. How it shortens, catches, breaks. He can’t cool down. Can’t get enough air. He’s burning from the inside out, and all he can do is take it.

You reach up slowly and drag one finger across the visor, right over the faint, glistening kiss mark you left earlier. A stroke so light, so mocking, your nail clicks faintly on the tinted surface.

“You look so good like this,” you murmur, voice syrup-slick with heat. “Like a fucking toy.”

And god, the way he groans ⸺ it tears out of him, deeper now, completely shameless. It’s a surrender, a command, a need so raw it scrapes.

“Get on with it then,” he growls, hips twitching up again, no control left in him. “Come on. Ride me.”

You smile. soft, wicked, indulgent ⸺ like you’re giving in just to be merciful. But you’re not. You’re savoring it.

Your hand slips between your legs. You hook two fingers into the crotch of your panties and tug them aside. not off, never off. Just to the side. Just enough. It’s crude, efficient, hot. Your arousal clings, glistens, strings slightly in the space between as you hover over him, your breath catching.

And then, slowly, you lower yourself.

The tip of him catches at your entrance, swollen and already slick from your teasing. He stretches you open, thick and hot and unrelenting, the first inch making you gasp, your thighs already trembling with the sheer pressure of it. Your hands brace on his chest . still clothed, still heaving ⸺ and you sink down, inch by inch, swallowing him deeper, your body fluttering around him as he fills you.

Your breath stutters. A choked moan slips free.

Until finally, finally, you’re seated fully, thighs shaking, cunt pulsing, your body stretched to its limit around him.

George bucks beneath you. helpless, raw, overwhelmed ⸺ and the sound that comes out of him isn’t even a word.

It’s wreckage.

Somewhere behind the helmet, he’s unraveling. unable to see you, unable to touch you, just feeling you clamp around him, warm and slick and so fucking tight. His whole body surges, trapped between resistance and surrender, and the groan that breaks from him sounds like it’s clawing its way up from his spine.

You stay there for a moment, full of him, your chest rising and falling with broken breaths.

Then you roll your hips, slow and deep, and he shudders.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, voice thick and ragged as you brace your hands firmly on his broad shoulders, steadying yourself while sinking fully down onto him. The stretch is deep, impossibly deep. every inch of him filling you so completely it steals your breath away. Your muscles clench around him, hot and tight, gripping like you’re trying to hold him inside you forever. “Fuck, baby ⸺ so deep ⸺”

His hands fly to your hips, desperate and trembling, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He’s holding you like if he loosens his grip, he might shatter ⸺ like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. The slight hitch in his breath makes your skin crawl.

You start to move.

At first, it’s slow. Torturously slow. Grinding, teasing, every slick drag of your slick wetness rubbing along the thick length of him inside you like a sin. Your hips roll with a languid, sinful rhythm. a teasing promise that builds and builds. Your hands stay flat against his chest, fingers spread wide, palms pressed into the warm cotton of his shirt, feeling the pounding thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. The sunlight streams through the windows, painting your skin in molten gold and sharp shadows that trace every curve, every tremble of muscle, every shiver of heat that you radiate.

Each movement sends a tremor through your thighs, shaking and trembling with effort and pleasure. The air between you thickens and tightens, your breath misting the visor, fogging it with every desperate inhale he takes.

“You can’t even see me properly, can you?” you murmur, voice low, teasing, dripping with heat.

He shakes his head, the word caught and broken in his throat, thick with need. “I can feel you,” he rasps, voice rough and raw.

That’s all it takes to make your pulse spike, your breath catch like a fire storm.

You angle your hips, chasing that perfect friction, grinding harder, deeper, slow but vicious. The slick, wet sound of skin sliding against skin fills the room. soft, sticky, sinful. The couch creaks beneath your weight, the afternoon sun melting into a golden haze around you.

Your nails dig into his chest suddenly, sharp and demanding, as your rhythm stutters and falters, then speeds up. frantic, urgent, insatiable.

“You feel so ⸺ fuck, George ⸺ so full,” you gasp, breath shuddering, the words trembling on your tongue. “I can’t ⸺ ” You ride him harder now, hips snapping down in a maddening rhythm, chasing the edge of everything. “You’re mine like this. Mine.”

He growls low and guttural ⸺ something inside him snaps, raw and urgent. His hips jerk upward, hard and relentless, slamming into the deepest, most sensitive parts of you. Each thrust is sharp, brutal, making you cry out with a heady mix of shock and need. Your back arches instinctively, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure crash over you, wild and unforgiving.

Your hands slide down, fingers circling your clit fast and tight, desperate for the pressure, the friction, the edge that will push you over. Your breath comes in ragged pants, the room spinning, everything narrowing down to the dizzying pulse between your legs.

“Fuck, yes,” George rasps through the helmet, voice thick and barely coherent, raw with need. “Touch yourself. Come on. Want to feel you fall apart ⸺ ”

And fall apart you do.

Your orgasm hits like a blast of molten fire ⸺ white-hot, trembling, all-consuming. Your muscles clamp down around him, trembling, shaking as your body collapses against his, whining his name through clenched teeth. The world narrows to the heat and the weight of him, the slick, aching pressure flooding through every nerve ending.

George answers with a broken, desperate sound. a growl somewhere deep in his throat as he thrusts up once, twice, then lets go, coming hard inside you. His hips jerk and lock beneath you, every inch taut with release, his breath ragged and shuddering.

Then, silence.

Just the ragged rise and fall of your breaths, the faint fog swirling on the visor’s glass, and the distant, soothing crash of waves beyond the windows.

Your forehead leans against the cool, solid helmet, intimate and strange, a tether between you.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, breathless.

George lets out a breathless laugh, low and warm. “That’s one way to test a visor’s fog resistance.”

You snort, still trembling, draped over him like silk. “You’re not taking that off.”

“No?”

You nuzzle the side of the helmet, grinning against the hard shell. “Nope. You’re wearing that next time too.”

299 notes · View notes

st4rfckerz · 6 months ago

Text

Ski Lodge | Clark Kent x Reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, slowish build up

summary: a holiday trip to a ski lodge takes a turn when an unexpected encounter with an ex reignites old emotions

a/n: happy holidays!!! i conjured this up when i was listening to last christmas while decorating my tree so i hope you all enjoy 😛

The frost-kissed windshield reflected the hazy glow of string lights lining the quiet mountain road. The car’s heater hummed warmly as laughter echoed from the back seat, where your best friends debated which cabin room had the best view. A burst of snowflakes swirled in the air as you passed a wooden sign that read “Welcome to Evergreen Peaks Resort.”

You leaned forward, adjusting your scarf, heart fluttering with excitement. The promise of cozy nights by the fire, thrilling runs down the slopes, and a week of laughter with your favorite people felt almost too perfect. Outside, a landscape straight out of a postcard sprawled before you: towering pines draped in fresh snow, the jagged peaks of the mountains piercing the pale blue sky, and a lodge glowing with golden light at the base of the slopes.

The crisp mountain air hit you as soon as you stepped out of the van, your boots crunching against the snow-packed ground. Your group hustled toward the lodge’s main office, arms full of bags and faces red from the cold. The towering pine trees and faint sound of laughter from distant skiers created the perfect holiday scene.

Inside, the warmth of the check-in lobby wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. A massive stone fireplace crackled to one side, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air. The receptionist confirmed it was as incredible as it sounded: multiple bedrooms, a hot tub, a fire pit, and a view of the mountains. With keys in hand, your group set out, eager to see it for yourselves.

As you trudged up the snowy path toward your cabin, dragging your bags behind you, the warm glow of lights spilling through the windows was the first thing you noticed. Laughter and muffled voices filtered through the frosty air, carrying down the trail and cutting through the silence of the woods.

You knocked twice on the sturdy wooden door, and almost immediately, the noise inside quieted. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal the rest of your friends, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

The group erupted in laughter and greetings as you all spilled in, shaking off the cold and wrapping each other in hugs. The energy was infectious, and for a moment, you felt completely at ease, surrounded by the people you cared about most.

But then, as you pulled back from a hug, your eyes caught on someone standing at the edge of the room. Clark.

You didn’t know he’d be here. He looked just as stunned to see you, though he quickly masked it with a polite, awkward smile. Unsure of what else to do, you mirrored it, your heart racing as you struggled to process his unexpected presence.

Around you, your friends carried on, laughing and catching up as though nothing had shifted. But for you, the air felt different, charged and heavy with the weight of unspoken history. Clark’s gaze lingered on yours for a moment longer before someone else pulled his attention, and you turned back to your friends, forcing yourself to join in the chatter.

Afterwards, the cabin was filled with the soft glow of string lights and the comforting crackle of the fireplace.

The scent of pine mingled with the faint sweetness of hot cocoa, and laughter echoed as your friends debated the placement of ornaments and tangled tinsel. You found yourself standing near Clark, more by coincidence than intention, as you reached into the same box of ornaments. The two of you had barely exchanged a few words all evening, careful to stay on opposite sides of the conversation whenever possible.

“Who keeps putting all the ornaments on one side?” someone joked from across the room.

You laughed softly, distracted, and reached for another ornament just as Clark did the same. Your hands brushed—a fleeting touch that sent an unexpected jolt through you.

“Sorry,” you muttered quickly, pulling back, your cheeks warming.

“Sorry,” he echoed, his voice just as quiet. For a brief moment, your eyes met, and the tension was palpable, unspoken words hanging in the air.

But before either of you could say anything more, someone called out for another string of lights, breaking the moment. You turned away, your heart racing, and focused on hanging the ornament in your hand, pretending nothing had happened.

As the night wore on, the lively chatter and laughter that had filled the cabin slowly faded. One by one, your friends began heading off to their rooms, their goodnights accompanied by the muffled sound of footsteps on wooden floors. The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights cast a warm hue over the now-quiet living room, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers.

You lingered in the kitchen, busying yourself with small tasks—wiping down the counter, adjusting a stray mug on the table, and rearranging a bowl of leftover snacks. The cabin felt different now, quieter, almost too quiet, and the stillness wrapped around you like a heavy blanket.

You’d stayed up longer than everyone else, lost in your thoughts, but now the exhaustion was starting to catch up with you. You reached for the door to what you thought was your room and pushed it open, stepping inside.

The soft glow of a bedside lamp lit the space, and your heart stopped when you saw Clark sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up abruptly, clearly surprised.

Your cheeks burned as you froze in place, the realization hitting you hard. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This isn’t my room,” you stammered, backing toward the door. “I’ll just leave.”

As you fumbled to back out of Clark’s room, mortified, you reached for the door handle. But just as you were about to close it behind you, his voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone soft but firm enough to freeze you in place.

You hesitated, the door still slightly ajar, peeking back into the room. Clark had stood up from the bed, his expression a mix of something you couldn’t quite place.

He cleared his throat, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting your gaze. “How are you?” he asked, the words coming out awkwardly, as though he wasn’t sure if he should be saying them at all.

For a second, you were too surprised to respond. The question felt heavier than it should have, loaded with all the things left unsaid between you. “I’m fine,” you finally replied, your voice cautious. “How about you?”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint, self-conscious smile. “I’m good. Just… didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, gripping the edge of the door. “Me neither.”

The silence that followed felt both unbearable and strangely comforting, and for a moment, neither of you seemed to know what to do next. Clark stepped further into the room, his hands tucking into his pockets.

“This place is great, isn’t it?” he said, his tone casual but slightly awkward, like he wasn’t sure how to start a conversation.

You nodded, leaning lightly against the doorframe. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. The tree, the fireplace, it’s like something out of a postcard.”

Clark takes a few steps towards you, looking you over for a moment before speaking, his voice low but clear. “You look good,” he said simply, the words carrying a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Thanks, you do too.” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

For a moment, the air between you felt charged, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more electric. You swallowed, unsure of what to say, and Clark tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that familiar, maddening smile. His closeness was enough to make your breath hitch, but before you could react, he moved slowly, reaching past you.

The soft click of the door closing behind you broke the quiet, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized he had gently shut it, leaving the two of you alone in his room.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, your pulse racing.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he leaned down slightly, almost matching your height. The smile on his lips softened, but his tone remained calm, almost teasing. “Just making sure we don’t wake anyone up.”

Without warning, he closed the distance. His hand came up, brushing against your arm before settling firmly on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips met yours in a strong, deliberate kiss.There was nothing tentative about it. The kiss was bold, filled with a fiery urgency that left no room for hesitation.

You kissed back just as fervently, your hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him. Your tongue darted out, tracing the seam of his lips, and he groaned into the kiss, opening for you. His tongue slid against yours, hot and slick, and you could taste the sweetness of his mouth. It was dizzying, the way he kissed you, like he was trying to devour you. Like he wanted to consume you whole.

Clark's hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to his bed. He laid you down gently, his body covering yours, his hips nestling between your legs. His lips never left yours, the kiss growing more urgent, more demanding. His hand slid under your shirt, his palm warm and rough against the smooth skin of your back. He stroked up your side, his thumb brushing the side of your breast, making you gasp into his mouth.

Clark's lips trailed down your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He kissed along your collarbone, his teeth grazing the spot he knew drove you crazy. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the dampness of his tongue, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, holding you in place as he lowered himself further.

Clark's hands slid down your body, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pajama pants. You lifted your hips, helping him, until he could slide them off completely, leaving you bare before him. He settled between your legs, his hands sliding up your calves, your inner thighs, his touch teasing. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your panty clad pussy, making you shiver.

His nose brushed the damp cloth that covered your most private part as he took a long, deep breath. He inhaled in your scent, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the aroma of your arousal. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

“Missed her.” he murmured to himself before leaning and pressing a kiss to your clothed cunt, his lips moving against the damp cotton. He kissed you there, his mouth open and eager, his tongue flicking out to taste you through the barrier of your underwear.

Clark frantically yanked your panties down, tossing them carelessly to the side. Before the fabric even hit the floor, he had thrown your legs over his broad shoulders and dove in face first, burying himself between your thighs. You gasped as his tongue, hot and slick, dragged through your folds in one long, slow lick. He groaned at the taste of you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he held you in place. His tongue circled your clit, flicking and stroking the sensitive bud, before suckling on it greedily.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping the short strands tightly as you pulled him closer, urging him on. The sting of your nails digging into his scalp made him moan against your folds. He responded eagerly to your unspoken demand, his tongue delving deeper, thrusting harder into your fluttering walls.

Clark's hand slid up your body, cupping the soft swell of your breast, his palm warm and rough against your skin. His fingers kneaded the tender flesh, squeezing gently, relishing the weight of it in his hand. He brushed his thumb over your nipple, feeling it pebble and harden at his touch. Your hand covered his, your fingers splaying over his knuckles.

As Clark's tongue continued swirling against your clit, he slid a single finger inside your dripping entrance, feeling your walls clench tight around the intrusion. He pumped it slowly, his finger curling and stroking your inner walls, teasing that sensitive spot deep inside. Your grip on his hair tightened, your nails digging into his scalp as you arched your back, pressing your breast more firmly into his kneading hand.

Soon he added a second finger, stretching you wider, filling you fuller. Clark could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around his fingers, your body tensing as the pleasure mounted. He looked up at you, his dark eyes wide and blown, taking in the flush of your skin, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

“I feel it.” he rumbled. He pumped his fingers faster, thrusting harder, curling them just right to stroke that special spot inside you. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and sucking, before taking it between his teeth and tugging gently.

“Cum on my face pretty, I know you can do it.” The nickname you hadn't heard in what felt like forever rolls off his tongue effortlessly, as though no time has passed at all. It all sent you spiraling over the edge, leaving completely lost in him. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down around Clark's fingers like a vice.

Clark groaned as he felt your release, your cum flooding his mouth, coating his fingers. He worked you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and sated.

Before you could catch your breath, Clark was climbing up your body, his now exposed hips nestling between your thighs. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his lips moving demandingly against yours.

You could feel his hard cock pressing against your sensitive skin. With a single, powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself inside you, filling you completely.

You cried out unexpectedly, your voice muffled against Clark's hand as he quickly covered your mouth, silencing your moan.

“I need you to stay quiet or I’ll stop.” he demanded. Clark felt your head nodding eagerly against his hand, your silent agreement to stay quiet. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the need for him to keep going, to not stop.

He began to move again, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your slick cunt. One hand remained over your mouth, muffling your increasingly loud moans, while the other gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him with each powerful thrust. Feeling him again was like stepping back into a memory you thought you’d forgotten, grounding you in a way that felt achingly familiar.

Clark's thrusts grew more erratic, his hips slamming against yours with a desperate, almost frenzied need. You could feel his length throbbing inside you, growing harder, hotter, as his climax approached.

“I'm close,” he grunted, his voice strained and tight, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. “Can't hold back much longer.”

His hand tightened on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you harder against him, driving himself impossibly deeper.

“Need to feel you cum with me.” he growled, his hips jerking and stuttering as he chased his release. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you again, your body wound up like a bowstring ready to snap.

Clark buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he came. At the same moment, your walls clamped down around him, fluttering and squeezing as your own orgasm crashed over you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he spilled himself inside you, his cum hot and thick as it painted your walls.

Eventually, reality tugged at the edges of your quiet bubble. You both cleaned up quietly, exchanging a few soft smiles and glances.

Curling back up beside him, the warmth of his body against yours lulled you into a light, restless sleep. But as the early morning light began to filter through the curtains, you stirred, your chest tightening at the thought of anyone else finding out. Carefully, you slipped from his bed, dressing quickly and slipping out of his room before the rest of your friends woke, the soft click of his door closing behind you a bittersweet reminder of the night you’d shared.

#nai writes ୨୧ #clark kent blurb #clark kent drabble #clark kent x you #clark kent smut #clark kent x reader #clark kent #superman smut #superman #tom welling #smallville #st4rfckerz

659 notes · View notes

neilsbeloved · 11 days ago

Text

company of four

summary: your world stops the moment clark tells you he’s finally introducing you to his friends, not because you want to stay hidden as his mysterious girlfriend, but because of your distasteful past encounters with his friends. (based on this request!)

pairing: clark kent x fem!popular!reader!

tags: fluff / mentions of past bullying / clark being whipped / hidden relationships / first meetings / uses y/n (like twice)

Clark, who was lying down on his bed with arm stretched behind his head, has been watching you try on a gazillion combinations of tops, pants, and earrings for the past hour.

When he had told you that his friends had been wanting to see this mysterious girlfriend he's been hinting on for weeks, you were quite hesitant to say the least.

Actually—you were very hesitant.

Not only were you one of the most popular students in Smallville High, but you didn't exactly have the cleanest track record when it comes to your relationship with people. Clark and his friends—Chloe and Pete—included.

Now, you're still on your fifth pair of earrings. Your ears all red and itchy already.

"You're meeting my friends, not some editor at a fashion magazine." Clark throws a football up in the air, catching it just in time with you turning around.

"Clark," you say sternly, shooting him a look. "Circle one or triangle?"

He straightens up, muttering a quiet apology before answering: "Circle. Chloe likes circles."

You nod, removing the dangling triangle earring on your left ear before replacing it with the circle one. You grab your hair brush from Clark's cabinet, running it through your hair as you walked to the other side of the room in a rush.

"For the bag—which one do you think Pete'd dig?"

"Are you their girlfriend or mine?" Clark jokes, hoping to see even a small smile on your face. He quiets down when you glare at him once more. "Sorry, the brown one."

You throw Clark the burgundy one, moving your regular items from your everyday bag to the brown one he chose.

Clark stands up from the bed, groaning softly as he stretches his back.

"Look, babe, they've been waiting to meet you for over a month now. I'm more than sure they'll be happy to meet you whether or not you're wearing Chloe's favorite color or you know Pete's favorite comic book." He rests his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the back as he rocks you side to side.

You sigh, glancing at him over your shoulder. His nose bumping with yours. "Clark, that's before they find out that your girlfriend's one of the people that were bullying them for years."

"Oh please, you never really wanted to be involved with those people. You were just…" Clark purses his lips, trying to think of the best word. "…misguided, okay? You're not anymore, so you could stop worrying about that and just relax, y'know?"

"I had Chloe be removed as the Torch editor for a whole school year," you start, "Pete got injured in his shin because my friends found it funny to trip him while playing basketball," you add again, Clark cringing at the memory.

You exhale defeatedly, pulling away from Clark to sit on the edge of the bed. Massaging your own temples to try and relieve some of the stress.

Clark keeps a determined look. Taking a seat beside you before he places an arm around your shoulder. The warmth of his body immediately making you melt into him.

"I know you've done things you aren't proud of, things you don't even want to remember… but you can't just avoid those you've wronged forever," Clark pulls you close, nuzzling his face in your hair. "Sooner or later you're gonna have to actually speak to those people and say sorry."

"And if they don't accept my apology, what then? Clark, I'm not gonna let you choose between me and your friends." You snap at him.

Clark looks at you with a surprised look, not expecting you to lose your temper. When you notice what just happened, your features soften, mumbling a continuous apology as you looked at your hands on your lap.

He shushes you, taking your hands in his as he intertwines both of your fingers together. "Who said I had to?"

"If there's one thing I know about my friends, it's that they're not the kind of people you think they are." Clark looks into your eyes with a tenderness you've grown to love about him. "They know how to forgive, and they know how to understand people."

A small smile comes onto your lips as he kisses your forehead, tightening his hold on your hands. "Now stop worrying about my friends and focus on getting ready. I don't think I can last thirty more minutes helping you choose the color lipstick you should wear."

His face shines when he hears a laugh come out of you, willingly letting you go as you stand up to resume getting ready in the corner—close by the window, so you had some natural light whenever you put on make-up—Clark had cleared out just for you.

You smirk at him, teasing and lighthearted, holding out the bullet lipstick you keep in your bag. "Don't worry, Clark, I don't have blue lipstick for you to choose anyway."

The jitters gnaw at you the faster you and Clark arrive at the Talon.

Clark kept his hand in yours, squeezing it every now and then as a sort of comfort. When you see the Talon's signage appear into view, you tense up indefinitely.

"We're here," he announces, parking on the curb faster than you expected. "Ready to meet them?"

You shake your head as an answer but Clark only laughs at you. He exits the car, running over to your side to help you get down from the truck. One of the chivalrous things Clark does that you've gotten used to.

The two of you stand outside the Talon's doors, a considerable amount of distance between the two of you.

Clark calls your name, stopping you right before you can come inside the cafe. "Are we coming in as a couple or as chemistry partners—babe, come closer," Clark pulls you to his side with a scoff.

"Clark." You glare at him, biting back the complaint that tries to surface. "Don't get pushy."

He ignores your warning, shamelessly slipping his hand into yours as he pushes open the doors, immediately getting overwhelmed by the dozens of people inside of the Talon.

Your eyes quickly latch onto two of Clark's friends sitting around a circle table, Chloe and Pete having their own respective beverage as they conversed—or argued—with each other comfortably.

Each step you took felt like a step towards suffocating yourself. Feeling the air inside the Talon barely enough for everyone inside of it.

You clench your jaw, trying your best to keep calm despite the percussions pounding inside of you. Clark kept a smile on his face, unaware of the internal dilemma you're having.

When you finally reach their table, Clark yells out their name. Both Chloe and Pete turning to your direction with a smile, only for it to drop the moment their eyes drop to your interlaced hands.

You gulp. Unable to speak.

Clark opens up with a normal hey, giving them both a side hug before gesturing towards you. The way your name slips off of his mouth making you cringe.

"This is…" Your name rolls off of his tongue in a way that makes you cringe uncharacteristically. "And she's my girlfriend." Clark turns to you with a smile, wide enough to show everyone his sharp canines.

An uneasy silence settles over the four of you—this time, even Clark isn't safe from it.

This is the worst experience ever you think to yourself as you start brainstorming the quickest way to just fall on the floor unconscious.

By the time you've thought about five ways, you hear someone speak.

"Is this some silly prank? I'm sure I vividly remember you and your group of highschool hotshots doing everything you can to make all of our lives a living hell?" Chloe, being the ever-so upfront member of the trio, says in one breath.

Your jaw drops. Out of all of the things his friends can bring up to you, that one was something you didn't expect.

You try your best to speak up—to apologize for it, but Chloe beats you to it. Again.

"I'm just kidding," she laughs loudly, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons as all of you let out the breath you were all unknowingly holding. "It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N."

You quickly take her hand and shake it, a surprised huff leaving your lips as Pete shakes your hand as well.

Clark looks at the three of you with a proud smile, pulling out a chair for the both of you once the introductions ended.

Before the conversation between the four of you even started, you apologized first. Showing them the raw and genuine side that you had to yourself; apologizing for everything that you and your friends had done to them since grade school.

Clark squeezed your hand from underneath the table, gazing at you affectionately as you began engaging his friends in an all out conversation about something niche.

The moment a Talon staff placed two extra glasses of mocha cappuccinos, another member of Clark’s circle is introduced. This time, someone you’re partially close with already.

“You’re with Clark?” Lana’s voice raises, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Clark cuts in, “Lana, this is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

The brunette looks to Chloe and Pete, both of them looking at you consolingly. You didn’t expect another round of awkward silence to happen but it does, and maybe you should’ve expected this one the moment Clark told you he’s taking you to the Talon.

After some time of you waiting for Lana to speak, she finally does. “It’s good to see Clark finally happy.”

“Oh,” you turn to Clark, slightly growing confused at the entire situation. “I, uhm—“

“She makes me very happy, Lana,” Clark says with a tone of finality, placing an arm on your shoulder. “Hopefully, I make her happy too.”

Lana smiles, nodding as she excuses herself. A loud huff coming from Chloe when she finally notices your earrings—though you know it was only to get rid of the thorny situation.

A compliment left her lips as she stared at it with fascination, the genuineness in her voice making you smile. Pete follows up with a compliment too, this time about your bag—you're practically glowing with happiness.

Clark throws you a look, catching your eye as that smug little smile on his face tells you that he's soaking up every compliment you got thanks to his brilliant choices.

As it turns out, meeting his friends wasn't as scary as you thought it'd be. Or maybe that's only because they aren't what you're used to.

Nevertheless, it made you feel very much at home; sipping coffee at the Talon, your boyfriend's hand in yours, enjoying everyone's company.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! xoxo

#00:requests #00:works #clark kent fic #clark kent x reader #clark kent fluff #superman x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent #dcu #smallville fic #smallville clark kent #smallville imagine #smallville universe #superman fluff #smallville clark kent au #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfic #clark kent au #clark kent imagines

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nightingale-prompts · 16 days ago

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Mountain Troll- DCxDP prompt

It was summer and this meant the most obnoxious thrill seekers were climbing Mt.Everest again. Except during the winter something had set itself up there.

No one was able to find a usable pass up the mountain and anyone who tried would find themselves turned around and back at the base.

The mysterious force ended up being a cause to investigate and no one could make it up there on two legs. Instead, it was Superman who took the short flight up there.

The air was thin on top of the mountain. An inhospitable place for all life. People came here to say that they were on top of the world. A notion that was lost on Clark, but he probably had no right to say that with abilities like his.

At the peak of the Everest he saw a creature—a boy—something at least.

He had pale blue-green skin and frost white hair. He was focused on his task of breathing puffs of frost around him, covering the landscape with snow.

When Clark landed in the fresh piles of snow the creature's bright green eyes snapped in his direction.

"Hey, stop that! I just cleaned that area!" He snapped "And get off my mountain!"

"Uh, sorry?" Clark said reflexively as he floated instead of touching the snow. "This is your mountain?"

The creature huffed and went back to to freezing everything in sight.

"Well, no one was living here and it's not like humans can live here."

"That's true but people like to use it?"

The creature shrugged.

"For what? To die on? This place is filthy. Covered in trash, corpses, and human waste. Just look at the empty oxygen tanks. And look at what they've done to the peak. The messy footprints are an eyesore."

Those were all fair points. It would cut done on casualties if people couldn't climb the mountain.

"But there are those who come here for research. They need access to the mountain." Clark reported.

The creature's sharp ears wiggled or maybe flicked in annoyance at the comment.

"They have the base of the mountain for that. But there is nothing up here they need." He said.

Clark surmised that this was the best he was going to get out of the being. He had already formed his assumption on the situation. This was a nature spirit or a yeti. I mean stranger things exist and if there was anything with a vested interest in keep people off their territory that would be it.

"Why are you up here?" He asked.

"I dunno, it felt comfortable up here. It was also a mess so I started cleaning it up. Look if you are up here help out and move these bodies. You can't bury them up here so you need to take them to the base. I need to rebuild the peak." The yeti ordered.

Clark obeyed the bossy kid without much thought. He was sure he was some sort of force of nature. Other than himself few people could survive in the harsh conditions as maybe the kid was an alien.

****

Danny needed a new haunt. One that really fit him.

Naturally, he wanted somewhere where he could see the stars. The one place that felt right was the highest point on earth, where he was closest to space. It was nice and cold—perfect for his frost core. The only problem with his new haunt was the people. He hated tourists. They only come to the peak to take a goddam selfie and leave their litter everywhere. Not to mention the dead bodies piled up. No, Danny didn't need that. The ghosts on the mountain were another thing.

Regardless Danny kept them away while he repaired the damage on the mountain and destroying the travel routes.

He really didn't care about Spandex other there as long as he didn't bother him.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton

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sexygaywizard · 8 months ago

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What was going on at Mt Pinatubo Clark Air Base Angeles City in '91

#i post

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gatorbites-imagines · 9 months ago

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Kinktober day 9

Clark Kent + sounding

I’ve spent all day drawing giraffes for class, so time to write. How has everyone’s October been so far?

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

Clark, or should he say Kal-El, was seated back in one of the seats in the fortress of solitude. He was naked from the waist down, legs spread open, and feet placed on the control panel in front of him as he panted audibly. Kryptonians couldn’t sweat, and at times like this Clark cursed such biology, as his body felt like it was burning up on the inside. Everything was so sensitive, so raw that even the brush of cold wind against his skin made him tense up and whimper.

This was all your fault, Clark decided. You were the one who had nicked the pink kryptonite from Bruces collection, claiming to want to study it. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Bruce knew immediately what you were planning to do, you two had worked together for many years so of course he would know.

Clark could barely open his eyes to look at you as you stood between his shaking thighs, the muscle inside jumping and twitching, the kryptonian wanting to snap his thighs shut from how overstimulating your very presence was. You looked borderline gleeful as you watched him, you hadn’t had to touch Clark even once, only needing to pull out the thin cylinder of pink rocks to get Clark like this.

Your lover would twitch and stifle moans when you as much as brushed the pink kryptonite against him, the upper part of his suit already stained with stripes of pre. You could never quite get over just how big kryptonians were, and how much they produced.

Part of you had thought that Clark would be a gentleman, a real country boy coming to the big city vibe. That was until you two started dating and he got more comfortable, where you learned just how much of an animal he could be.

The noise Clark made as you finally grabbed him around the base reminded you a bit of a wounded animal, his entire body so tense in his attempts not to lose control of his super strength, or any other of his powers for that matter.

He was pulsing in your hand, which wasn’t uncommon, with you having gotten used to kryptonian libido and what came with it. But the deep red, almost purple tint to his tip made you flick your tongue against your lip. It was borderline impossible to ever overstimulate Clark, and at times very difficult to even edge him, especially to this point. Normally it would take hours, but this time it hadn’t even taken you thirty minutes.

Soft warbled words in what you knew was kryptonian passed his lips, mixed with different half formed curses and begs in a thicky accented voice. You loved how his accent would melt into his words when he got like this, or when he was feeling extra affectionate, how it became so clear that yes, he may be superman of krypton, but he is just as much Clark Kent of Smallville.

His tip oozed more than you were used too as you brought the cylinder of pink kryptonite closer, his shaft so slick you almost caught your hand slipping right off it. Clarks eyes were wide, pupils blown so far you could barely see a tiny ring of blue around them, as he seemed hyperfocused on what you were doing between his legs.

“Take a deep breath, alright Clark?” you mumble, eyes boring into his flushed face, waiting for him to audibly gulp in air as his chest expanded. His eyelashes were wet and clumped together, Clarks eyes flicking up to meet your own, looking so vulnerable and needy that you almost wanted to just pull him into your arms to hold him.

“You ready?” you purr out, smiling softly at his shaky but excited nod, his Adams apple bobbing as he gulped the spit in his mouth. With a shaky inhale of your own, you slowly work the rod of kryptonite downwards, watching Clark closely to make sure everything was as it should be.

His jaw dropped, but no noise passed through his lips, his eyes flickering a few shades of red before they rolled almost all the way back. His toes were curling and muscles tensing hard enough that you would have been worried, were he a normal human. Clark so clearly wanted to arch his back and writhe around, but he stayed still for you, letting you slowly push and pull the rod of kryptonite back and forth.

The praises that passed through your lips didn’t even seem to fully register for Clark, who seemed to almost be experiencing something akin to a holy experience. What little noises that did leave him were choked and whiny, like a chew toy whose squeaker had started breaking and leaking air. He was adorable, in his own musclebound, teary eyed kinda way, in a way that only really made sense because it was Clark.

“There we go, good boy Clark” you pant out, eyes transfixed on where you could see the faintly glowing space rock sinking and rising out of him, splashes of shiny pre gushing out with every outwards pull, further soaking his lower body and your hands. The praise seemed to register enough for Clark to give a scratchy grunt, his voice breaking again as the kryptonite pressed against some spot that made him forget to swallow, a line of drool running down his chin.

It was clear from the start that he wouldn’t have lasted long. Clark never really did, since he had close to no rest period between rounds, so why would he need to hold back when he would be ready to go again in two minutes, tops. The pink kryptonite only seemed to shorten his usual time, his entire body wriggling in his seat to notify how close he was.

With a loud pant you slowly pulled the rod out, watching how shiny it was, coated in all his fluids, spurts of pre squirting out of his slit like a fountain finally getting unblocked as you pulled the kryptonite out the last bit.

The squeeze around his base and an approving noise from you was all he needed to spill all over himself, Clarks body tensing even more, if that was even possible, as he exploded like volcano. The first many times you had been shocked at how hard he would finish, and how much there was. Even now, this time there seemed to be even more, and his orgasm lasted longer than you were used too.

When Clark finally slumped into the seat, his entire torso, all the way up to his chin, was covered in thick splashes of white, when you were covered in quite a lot of it, but that you had expected. You had also expected that Clark would at least be somewhat out of it, just because you were involving a type of kryptonite. That meant you weren’t too shocked when he didn’t react as you put the kryptonite away in its lead box, to be cleaned later, or when you tried to wipe you both down the best you could.

Luckily you were used to carrying him around, so it wasn’t too hard to pick your still shivering lover up. You had a feeling he was purring, your difference in species just meant you couldn’t hear it, but the barely noticeable thrum to his throat as it rested against your shoulder was telling enough. Clark nuzzled against you with a relieved sigh, eyes shut and body limp, proving that even the man of steel could be wrung out one way or another. You just hoped you hadn’t traumatized the other residents of the fortress, even if they weren’t completely alive like Clark or you.

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kjhbsies · 1 month ago

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A Minute Too Late

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join my 500 celebration!

Smallville Clark Kent x reader

synopsis: She ignored his warning, and he let his anger push her away. But love doesn’t disappear that easily, especially not when he’s ready to make it right.

wordcount: 3, 061

note: angst to fluff. clark was kinda mean here :<< based on this request.

You and Clark came from different worlds. Sure, his rise in popularity after joining the football team had gained him attention, especially from girls. But your circles never overlapped. Not really. His friends were known for being in everyone's business, especially Chloe, who had earned a nickname "nose sticker" for her relentless digging into Smallville's strange happenings.

Your own friends didn't hate them. There wasn't some vendetta against them. But to put it, their interests just didn't align. Investigating meteor freaks and tracking some unexplained phenomena didn't exactly fit into weekend spontaneous trips or late-night parties. So no one expected you and Clark to become... anything.

But one fateful physics project threw you together. And slowly, bit by bit, you and Clark started to understand each other.

To Clark, you were intimidating. He'd talked to girls before— hell, he'd even dated a few. But something about you has made his throat go dry and his words stumble out half-formed. You weren't loud or cruel as the stereotypes had painted you to be. You just... carried yourself like you didn't need anyone. And your smile? Oh, it went straight to your heart. You presence was magnetic— he hated how drawn he was to you.

But you weren't dating. Not officially... yet. You two were just figuring things out together. Letting the moments between you speak louder than any labels ever could.

So when you invited him to your friend's party, he hesitated. Not because he didn't want to go out with you, but because something didn't sit right. Chloe and Pete were surprisingly eager, ready to mingle and blend into your world for once. You were thrilled, too. But Clark was reluctant.

The next day, you were glowing with excitement. You picked out your dress, chose what hairstyle you'd do, and what type of makeup you'd wear.

Until Clark texted you.

Don't go to the party. It's dangerous. Something bad is going to happen.

You stared at the messages. Confused. Alarmed. But mostly hurt.

He wouldn't answer your calls. Wouldn't explain anything. And part of you thought— maybe that was his way of bailing. After all, he seemed adamant about going. Maybe this was his way of saying no without saying it. You tried to shrug it off, tried not to let the disappointment wash over you. So you went anyway. You told yourself he was just being overprotective. Or paranoid.

But he was right.

Not even thirty minutes in, chaos ensued. A creature— something inhuman— crashed the place. Screams filled the air. People ran in different directions. Smoke, fire, glass shattering— a havoc unfolding before your eyes.

You were nearly trampled on the way out. But then, strong, unrelenting arms scooped you from the crowd and carried you out.

Clark.

His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were burning.

"Clark—"

"Save it." His voice was low, sharp, and cold. He opened the passenger door and gently placed you inside. Despite everything, his touch was still careful. Still him. "I asked you for one thing. One damn thing. Stay home."

"Without telling me why?" You shot back, breathless and shaking. "What did you expect me to do, Clark? Blindly obey?"

He turned, grabbing the first aid kit from the back of his truck. "I was busy. Trying to prevent the incident. I didn't have time to spell it out for you."

Ouch.

You softened. "Clark... how was I supposed to know? I just..." You swallowed hard. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

He didn't answer right away. He placed a bandage on the scrape on your cheek, his touch gentle despite the fury in his bones.

"Won't it?" He asked, voice low. "You were so eager to go with your friends. To fit into that world. How do I know you won't do it again next time I told you to?"

You parted your lips to say something. But nothing came out.

He closed the kit and placed it on the back again. His words were quieter as he started the engine. "Just say it. Say that you trust your friends more than me."

"I don't..." You whispered, eyes stinging, but he didn't meet your gaze. Not even once in the whole ride back home. You turned your face towards the window, letting the tears fall silently. Not that it mattered. He won't even look at you.

When you reached your house, Clark got out and opened your door. Still not saying a word.

You stepped out, eyes red, and looked at him one last time. His expression hadn't changed— still serious, unreadable. Though a small flicker of worry passed through his eyes as he saw your face through the dim light. Still, he didn't say anything.

"Goodnight, Clark," You said softly. "I'm sorry."

You tiptoed and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek— barely there, trembling— and he didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't stop you from walking away.

The next morning, you went to the Kent farm. To be honest, you didn't even know what to expect. An apology? A hug? Some kind of warm smile that gently said, 'It's okay now.'

Maybe.

All you knew was that the ache in your chest hadn't gone away since he dropped you off last night. So you went, because it hurt too much to sit and do nothing. You need to see him. Talk to him. And fix whatever's going on with you two now— if there's even anything left to fix.

When you knocked on their door, it was Martha who opened it.

"Oh, sweetheart. Clark's in the barn right now." She said, offering you a kind smile.

You made your way across the yard, trying to rehearse the words in your head. 'I'm sorry again. I should've trusted you. Can we talk now?' You tried to stay optimistic. Maybe he'd cooled off. Maybe last night's anger dissipated today, and he might understand you now.

But when you reached the barn and found him there, standing with his back to you— working on something, you hesitated.

"C—Clark," You said gently.

He didn't turn. Didn't even pause on what he was doing.

"I'm busy," He muttered and then walked away.

Just like that.

You stood there, stunned. The air felt heavier at this moment than it did during the chaos of the house party. Because, at least then, he held you. Now? Now, he wouldn't even look at you.

Still, you didn't give up. You tried the next day— approaching him after your shared class. But he walked too fast the moment the instructor had dismissed it. Like he was in a hurry. Like he couldn't even stand being near you within a minute.

The day after that, you waited by the bleachers during football practice. You sat there the whole time, under the scorching sun, hoping he'd glance your way. It's impossible that Clark didn't see you. Of course, he did. But he didn't glance at your way, at least, not without you knowing. He kept throwing the ball with more force than usual, almost enough to make his teammate stumble whilst catching it. And when you stood up and waved at him, he turned his back. Again.

You approached him in the hallway when he was with Chloe and Pete. He didn't even acknowledge you— just kept walking. It was Chloe who answered when you asked him how his leg was after practice. Pete gave a sympathetic smile and a gentle tap on your shoulder. But Clark said nothing.

It went on for days.

A week.

A week of chasing. A week of trying. Of questioning your worth. Wondering if you'd been stupid enough to think he'd ever cared. For ever believing you could mean something to someone like him.

And then, one afternoon, you saw him at the library.

It was at the same corner table where you two worked on the physics project that had started it all. The table where he first called you brilliant without flinching. The place where you two brushed hands and laughed at the same dorky pun.

For a moment, you thought about walking over. You even took a step. But when he turned his head, you panicked— ducking behind some shelf like some child playing hide and seek. You peeked, quietly, heart hammering in your chest as you watched him gather his things and quickly joined Chloe and Pete.

There was a voice in your head urging you to try again. To say something, anything. Maybe this time, he'd listen. But another part of you— the bruised, part— told you to just... stop. To let go.

Maybe it wasn't just meant to work. Maybe whatever's going on between you and Clark has burned out. You wanted it to be him— God, you wanted it to be him. To feel his arms around you again. To laugh and be the best version of yourself that existed around him. But maybe... wanting him isn't enough.

So, you stopped sitting beside him in class, found a new seat between your friends, and started showing up to your hangouts, more movie nights, just to keep yourself busy. Just to distract yourself from the fact that your eyes always drifted to where he was. That you still waited to hear the sound of his voice.

But you didn't chase him anymore. And in a strange, bittersweet way, it was freeing. To stop obsessing. To stop waiting for his presence.

But the what-ifs kept haunting you.

What if he had turned just in time to see you at the library?

What if you just waited a little more?

What if he had just... tried too?

Meanwhile, Clark noticed. He always noticed.

He saw how you stopped walking towards him after class. How your seat stayed empty beside his. How your laughter echoed from across the room, distant now. Like a sound haunting his mind and dreams.

He told himself that it was what he wanted. Maybe it wasn't just meant to work between you two. But the hollow in his chest had said otherwise.

"So, what's up with you and Y/n?" Chloe asked casually, as the three of them were seated in the bleachers.

Clark opened his mouth to say something smart, but the glare Chloe had sent him had shut him up.

He sighed, "I got mad at her for going to the house party. After I told her not to."

"That was last week, Clark." Chloe snapped. "You still haven't talked to her since?"

He shrugged, trying to look unfazed. "I mean... yeah."

But even he could hear the sadness in his voice.

"You're dumb as hell," Chloe said bluntly.

"Wow, thanks." He muttered.

"May I remind you that Y/n doesn't know about your..." She gestured vaguely at him. "Superpower alien situation? She's not psychic. And I bet you didn't even explain anything. You just shut her out."

"But still, shouldn't she be trusting me and not be so hard-headed on insisting on going to that house party?" Clark threw his hands helplessly,

Pete, who had been watching, stretched his legs and stood up. "Man, I get that you're scared people will find out. But seriously? Y/n was clueless. It's not fair for you to get so mad when you never told her the real reason you didn't want her at that party."

Clark exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. "I was just trying to protect her."

“And you hurt her instead,” Chloe said quietly. “And now? You’re the one walking around like you lost something important.”

Because he had.

Maybe you weren’t just pulling away.

Maybe he had pushed you out.

And maybe— just maybe— he wasn’t sure how to get you back.

Once Chloe's and Pete's words had hit him like a truck, he realized what he'd done— what he'd lost— if he didn't try to fix this immediately. He thought his powers could solve most of his problems: with his super speed, strength, and even flying when necessary. But somehow, he couldn't get to you.

He would walk around the halls, searching for you after class, but you were already gone. A blur of motion, always just out of earshot, your laughter fading behind a closing door or around the hallways. He would show up to your next class, waiting, only for your friends to steer you towards another room, another place far away from him.

He watched you from a distance, every part of him aching. You still smiled— just not at him. You still spoke— but never to him. And he hated himself for the relief that flooded his chest every time you looked at him, even if briefly, like it was a muscle memory. Like a small piece in your heart still remembers him.

One afternoon, he thought he finally had his chance. You were sitting on the grass outside the campus cafe, and Clark had approached you slowly, heart thudding like a human's for once. But just as he neared, you stood up— and your friends were already calling you over.

"Y/n! Come on, let's go shopping!" One of them laughed, waving the keys in the air.

You hesitated, looking over to where Clark was. "I— I-uh..." You gulped, you didn't even know why you were stopping.

"Come on, you promised!" Another friend teased, pulling at your arm.

He tried to call your name weakly. But it caught in his throat.

You looked back at him— really looked—and he could feel the war going on in your head. He could see the part of you that still wanted to stay. But you didn't.

He even tried going to your house one night. Showing up on your porch like a teenager in a romcom movie, holding a bouquet of flowers— sunflowers— because you said it reminds you of summer.

But your mom answered with an apologetic smile.

"She's not here, honey. Sorry."

He left the flowers anyway, hoping you'd take them. But they withered before you ever saw them.

Pete had also been giving him side eyes, full of sympathy but also that quiet judgment.

"Maybe just give her time, man." He said. "You broke her heart."

"I didn't mean to." Clark quipped back.

"Doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"Karma," Chloe said. "You avoided her for a week, and now you're acting like she was the one who owes you the time of the day?"

Clark sighed. "I just... I need her to know that I'm sorry."

"Then stop waiting for the perfect moment. Just talk to her. Tell her what she means to you."

And he did. He tried.

One day, he got lucky.

You were alone near the field. The late afternoon sun was hitting the trees just right, golden and soft, and there you were, leaning against the wooden fence, watching the breeze move through the grass.

Clark walked towards you immediately.

And when you turned around— and when your eyes met his— he nearly broke.

Because there you were. The girl he hurt. The girl he likes. The girl he missed the most.

"Y/n," He breathed, voice cracking.

You tensed. You watched him with careful eyes, but you didn't move one bit.

"I've been trying to find the right time," He said, stepping closer. "But I guess... there isn't one. So I'm just gonna say it."

You opened your mouth to say something— but then a loud honk stopped you.

Your friends pulled up in a small car, grinning, waving at you.

"Y/n! Let's gooo!" One of them yelled. "Golden hour photoshoot by the lake!"

You looked back and forth— at the car, then Clark, who was standing now in front of you, desperate.

"Please," He said softly, reaching out to take your hand. His touch was gentle, like he was afraid you'd pull away. "Just a minute. Please, I need to talk to you."

You look at your friends, biting your lip. "You girls should go."

"Alright. Go on, lovebirds!" They yelled, grinning like idiots as they waved off and pulled away.

You turned back to Clark, and he didn’t waste a second.

“I was stupid,” He said. “I was scared, and I shut you out. I told myself I was protecting you by not explaining everything, but that’s not fair. You deserved honesty. You deserved more than silence.”

You blinked, but your throat was too tight to speak.

“I was angry at you for going to that party, but the truth is, I was mad at myself for not telling you why it scared me so much. Because I’m not just some guy who’s overprotective— I’m someone with… secrets. Big ones.”

You looked up, eyes searching his. “Secrets?”

He nodded, eyes filled with guilt.

“I’m not normal, Y/N. Not in the ‘I have baggage’ way— more like, I’m not even from here. Not really. I have powers. I can run faster than sound, lift tractors, and hear conversations from miles away. I’m different. And the idea of something happening to you when I wasn’t there— when I couldn’t protect you…”

He exhaled, voice trembling.

“It terrified me.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Processing.

“I wish you had just said that,” You whispered.

“I know. I should have. And I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me now. I messed everything up. I ignored you. I hurt you. And I regret it more than anything.” He stepped closer. “But I miss you. Every day. And I’d do anything— anything— for a chance to make it right.”

You looked at his face. Red-rimmed eyes. That clenched jaw. The way he was holding your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“I still like you,” You finally whispered.

Clark’s breath hitched.

“Really?”

You nodded, a small tear slipping down your cheek.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” You admitted. “I’m tired. I don’t want to keep getting hurt.”

“You won’t,” He promised, stepping closer, hands now cradling yours. “You won’t. I’ll prove it every day if I have to. Just— please, let me try again.”

You looked at him for a moment longer.

And then you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

He hugged back immediately, like his entire soul exhaled the moment he held you again.

“I missed you, too,” You murmured against his shoulder.

©kjhbsies

#smallville clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x fem!reader #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent angst #clark kent fluff #tom welling #tom welling x reader #kjhbsies #smallville!clark kent x reader

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sweetbans29 · 10 months ago

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Stress Ball - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: The little things you do for Caitlin when she is stressed during a game (based on THIS request)

Warnings: Stressed CC

Word Count: 1.6k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: What I would give to be able to do this for her.

The expectations that the world has on Caitlin are unrealistic. Still in her rookie year, people have higher expectations on her than they do veterans who have been playing 5+ years in the league. Now that is not to say Caitlin is not capable because she very much is but the last thing she needs is someone else adding on to the expectations she has on herself.

When you first met Caitlin it was always in passing, playing against each other in tournaments and things like that. It wasn't until you both got drafted to Indiana that you really started to get to know each other. The two of you immediately hit it off in training camp and it was right before the first preseason game when you asked her out. To say things moved fast was an understatement.

It's now 4 months into the season and it has felt like you have been together for years. Being with Caitlin came so easy it was almost scary. Yet every time it felt like it should have gone up in flames, it didn't. The two of you would figure it out together and grow. You complemented each other well.

That leads you to right now. The Fever are playing the Lynx for the last time this season and everything is going wrong for the rookie star. At the end of the first quarter she has no points, 1 rebound and 1 assist. That is including the 2 personal fouls and 2 turnovers.

Everyone breaks from the first quarter huddle and Caitlin doesn't stand up. She just sits there her Gatorade towel bitten between her teeth. She loves those things more than she loves you (not actually but you tease her about it all the time). You can tell she is stuck in her mind which is exactly where she shouldn't be in a time like this. Down 10 after the first, the team needs her to not be stressed but locked in.

You grab your towel and place it around her shoulder. Usually you would pull at her towel and annoy her but seeing her state you decide against it.

Caitlin doesn't look up at you and continues to chew on her towel. You place your hand on her head, moving it to the side of it to sooth other her hair when she leans her head into your hand.

Nothing is said, nothing needs to be said. You know where she is at and she knows you know what she is at.

The buzzard rings and Caitlin finally stands. You remove the towel you put around her shoulders and she puts down her towel as the two of you walk back out to the floor.

The second quarter goes a little better. Caitlin gets on the board with a quick 4 points and it seems like there is momentum building. That is until things get heated between Temi and Alana.

You know Caitlin hates when she is starting to build momentum and something stops it. With a little confrontation on the floor, Caitlin becomes visibly frustrated and she throws her hands up in the air. walking in the other direction. You first help Aliyah grab Temi as the teams are told to go to their respective benches while the refs watch the replay.

Cait is standing on the floor with her hands on her hips, completely unamused. You walk over to her and push her to the bench. While walking behind her, your hands massage her shoulders before coming down to pinch her waist.

"Don't worry, your rhythm will be there when we get back on," you say softly to her. She nods once.

You never want to overstep when it comes to comforting Caitlin on the court. And you would say you do a pretty good job of making sure that you don't but today seems like one of those days where you just can't do enough.

At the half, Caitlin has been doing better but you can tell by her mannerisms that she is not playing near to the standard she is holding herself to.

As everyone is walking back out to the court to stay warm, you grab Caitlin's arm before heading out of the tunnel.

"Hey," you say but she won't make eye contact with you. "Look at me."

When she doesn't, you know she is internally fighting with you and she doesn't want to give in.

You grab her face and force her to look at you. You want to say something, give her encouraging words but know that would only piss her off so you settle with kissing her on the nose.

The action earns you a little smile from her and you let go of her. She begins walking back out and you give her a little slap on the butt.

"Hey!" She squeals causing you to laugh and run out in front of her onto the court.

The third quarter is better. You can see she is playing more like herself. She has made the decision to out the team on her back and carry everyone to the finish line. Everything was going much better until she is fouled and the refs don't make the call.

Her arms come up in a 'how did you not see that' motion and you are quick to grab her arm. The ball goes back the opposing way and Phee draws the foul on Lyss. Everyone is just standing around while the refs discuss something and you notice Caitlin getting frustrated with her hair. You look over at her redoing it for the second time in a row as she lets out a annoyed puff.

You walk over to your girl and pull her hair out of her last attempt. She is about to protest but you are forcing her to bend over so you can collect all of her hair. She giggles, surprising you as you allow her to flip back up.

Now standing begin her as you sooth out the bumps and tie the hair tie around it.

"What is so funny?" You ask as you finish and she turns around smiling. The refs finally walk back over and give Phee her first free throw shot.

"I drooled," Caitlin says as you both look down at the court where sure enough, there was a little pile of Caitlin's spit.

"Ewww gross," you say teasing her and she pushes you playfully. She uses her shoes to clear out it out and you help her. When one of the court-side workers see the two of you trying to clear something up, they run over and wipe it with a towel.

"Careful there, she might be contagious," you tease as the guy looks at you confused. Caitlin just rolls her eyes and pushes you again.

You finish helping her with her hair but bringing her little headband back up to keep the little fly-aways out of her face.

"All better," you say and she looks at you with a little smile.

"Thank you," she says.

"Now let's win this game," you say and push her back to the back court to get the inbound pass.

The game comes down to the wire as the Fever somehow manage to pull out the win. Caitlin and Aliyah head to the pressor after while you and the rest of the team get to head back to the locker.

They are almost through the pressor when someone asks about the interactions between you and Caitlin.

"Caitlin, how do you manage stress when you are on the floor? It seems like you weren't playing like your usual self starting the game off but then came back and dominated the second half." The reported says.

Aliyah looks over at Caitlin with a knowing look.

"Ya, how do you manage your stress on the floor?" Aliyah says egging Caitlin on.

"Well, I have great teammates that know how to lift me up. The success of the team doesn't rely on one person. The win didn't come with me in the second half - ya sure, I helped and contributed but it first started off with Aliyah in the first half. She kept us in the game until I was able to heat up a little." Caitlin says, not specifically mentioning you. Regardless of if she mentions you or not, she knows there are going to be a disgusting amount of edits by tomorrow morning of the two of you, not that she ever minds.

As Aliyah and Caitlin are walking back, Aliyah bumps Caitlin.

"I am so telling your girl you just called her your teammate," Aliyah says.

"She is, she is our teammate," Caitlin says.

"Ya but you and the whole world knows she is is the sole reason you were able to get out of your head and back in this game and you just called her a teammate," Aliyah says.

"It isn't a big deal," Caitlin says.

"Fine, then I am going to go and tell her exactly what you said," Aliyah say as she picks up her pace to run and tell you that Caitlin only called you her teammate and not her girlfriend.

"No, wait!" Caitlin calls after Aliyah as she picks up her pace to stop her from tattling.

AN: Short and sweet! Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist

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