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house rules

summary: when you have to crash on earth, Clark offers his apartment. he soon realizes he’ll need to help you blend in to keep you safe.

pairing: clark kent x alien! female reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: sexual tones and suggestive scenes so MDNI 18+, cursing, clark being a lovestruck goner

a/n: so this is a part of a collection of works i’m starting i guess. i just loved the dynamic of clark and reader in the previous fic so i wanna keep it going. clark is a goner for reader and reader loves one direction, okay cool.

read part one and the keep up with the collection here

now playing: home to another one by madison beer

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“SHIT!”

Normally, the sounds of vulgarity and anger weren’t something Clark was used to hearing in the fortress. The only times curse words would reach his ears while secluded in ice was when his cousin came crashing in.

“Damn it!

Krypto had dragged him out of the fortress in the early hours when the shrill screech of your frustration piqued his interest. Upon following the pup, Clark’s brows furrowed as he watched you smash your large platform boot-covered foot into the side of your ship. He couldn’t deny the rising blush in his ears as he watched you unleash your rage on a sleek chrome spacecraft at least 8 times your size.

Packed snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way over. Smoke wafted from the back of the craft, the sight of damage far clearer as he reached you.

“Motherfucker!” Your words paralleled another swift kick before you threw your hands up and backed away from the ship. Clark watched as you threw yourself into the snow that surrounded the clearly busted vehicle, pulling your knees up to your chest and screaming into your hands.

“I don’t think you are, so I won’t ask if you’re okay…” Clark gently approached, hands up as if bracing himself for the attack of a feral animal. From the glare you sent him, maybe he wasn’t that far off.

“It’s finished, it’s completely fucked!” He tried not to wince at the excessive curses that tumbled from your mouth. You were new, something unexpected and spontaneous; the kind of twist in life that his Ma always said you could never predict. But when it happens, you’ll realize how much you needed it. He wished he could say you were like Kara; maybe that would be easier to understand. But you were nothing like her beyond the parties and drinks; you were enigmatic.

It didn’t miss him the way you shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself in the snow. The holographic plastic materials of your short clothing did nothing to keep the biting cold from nestling into your bones. If anything, the sleek and hard material of your skirt just made it worse. Clark dropped beside you, clumsily trying to mimic your pose. His long legs seemed to fail him. You felt his cape drape over your shoulders, the tremors wracking your body lessening when wrapped beside him.

“What’s going on?” Clark asked.

“She’s been holding on by a thread for a while, but this is it… It’s busted,” Peaking your gaze up from behind your hands, you took in the sight of your spacecraft’s smoking engine. The black haze filled the cool arctic air, dancing around you before fading into the bright midnight sun. “Must’ve been the landing last night and the cold. It’s done.”

“Well, where’s home? Maybe Kara and I can—” Clark’s instinct to fix the situation, to do what he could, seemed to fail him as you cut him off.

“That’s home!” You threw your hands forward, gesturing to the wheezing ship before you. “I live out of my ship, Clark.”

The hissing sound of the dying engine filled the silence, giving Clark a moment to consider what to say next. Consider how his skills could be of service. Looking over at you and seeing how defeated you looked, this person, whom he’d only known for a day, yet somehow took a camp inside a small corner of his heart, he knew he couldn’t sit in the snow and watch.

“Well…are you in a rush to leave? Stay here, on Earth, for a bit,” his eyes couldn’t stop fixating on the way your fingers pulled at the loose threads on his cape. How your nose scrunched and brows furrowed each time the wind pulled another groan from the spacecraft.

“And stay where? There’s no heat in the ship anymore…” You said with a scoff.

“You…you could stay with me… at my apartment,” Clark’s stomach dropped as he watched your fingers still. He wasn’t one to put himself out there like this. Sure, he had no problem catching crumbling brownstones or derailing nuclear missiles. This was different, laying down his defenses for the woman he’d taken apart only hours ago. But something in the way the fluorescent white glow of your eyes pulsed at his words told him you may say—

“Really?” you asked, meeting his gaze.

With a soft shrug of his shoulders, Clark flashed you that famous Kryptonian grin. “Of course, grab your stuff.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

Maybe he was expecting you to have more, given that you had made your ship your home. After coming back from inside the craft, dragging just two full bags, Clark couldn’t help but wonder what drove you to camp out inside a tin can rather than back on the planet you came from. Maybe you were more alike than he thought.

Clark always kept that window unlatched, giving easy access to the high-rise. When he set you down on the dark hardwoods, he was expecting a more frantic reaction. Everyone he found himself sweeping off their feet always let out a yelp that made him chuckle. Yet when he plucked you off the arctic floor, you hadn’t even flinched.

While he didn’t spend a lot of time in the minimal flat, it wasn’t like he didn’t feel at home. He never felt anxious, not until he found himself standing by the window watching you creep around.

“So this is it, huh?” you asked. You padded through the living room with the kind of comfort one would only expect of an owner. Your hands, covered by those iridescent gloves Clark had felt on his chest just hours before, were just as delicate as they brushed over the black leather sofa. He wondered if you were always this delicate, or if it was a sort of gentleness reserved just for him.

“It’s… I know it’s kinda bare, but I’m not here much, so…” Clark said, rambling as he followed you through the apartment.

“Do I really make you that nervous?” Your words were blunt, spinning on your heels to give him that stare. The same one you gave under the neon lights of the club on Mors. Not much had changed; you were still wearing your skirt and boots, and he was still clad in the same blue suit. Maybe now that your hands had been all over each other in these same clothes, something was different.

“You don’t…I-I,” Clark stammered.

“Or are you always like this?” his gaze was observant as you found your way into his kitchen.

He assumed you’d be more surprised by the smartphone on the counter or the digital screen on his fridge. But no, you seemed to linger in confusion on the yellow bananas hanging from a stand by his coffee maker.

“You can crash here as long as you need. It’s the least I could do for someone who has to deal with Kara more than me,” he walked over to you, taking a banana in his hands and peeling it back for you. Your brows arched in surprise as he revealed the soft fruit and passed it over to you.

“She’s not that bad, she has a cute cousin,” so busy taking a bite from the fruit, you missed the deep scarlet that bloomed over his cheekbones from your comment. Clark couldn’t hold back his chuckle as your eyes widened from the sweet taste.“You guys just eat these? Like all the time?”

“You can have as many of them as you want,” he propped himself against the wall, watching as you slipped up onto the countertop. Your boots swung and bounced softly against the cabinets. Finishing up the fruit, you pulled the peel close and chewed on the leathery rind. When your nose scrunched in disgust, Clark’s giggle pulled a smile he hadn’t seen before from your lips.

Coming to stand between your thighs, he pulled the peel from your fingers. With a mind clear of the adrenaline from the night before, your thoughts fixated on the way his large hands dwarfed yours. How even from your elevated spot on the granite, he still had to look down at you. After tossing the peel into the trash behind him, his now freed fingertips lingered along the cool counter until they met the shadow cast by the hem of your skirt.

You cocked your head, leaning in to duck your head back into his gaze. His eyes trailed along the gap between your skirt and boots, where the soft flesh of your thighs showed. Your knees pulled in, pressing together till they gently rested at his hips. By the time he met your glowing eyes, you swore the thick pads of his fingertips had found the hem of your skirt.

Perhaps you’d know what was coming next if his morning alarm hadn’t gone off. Clark’s Adam's apple bobbed, and his jaw tensed as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, a groan falling between his red lips and tickling your collarbone.

“I gotta go to work,” he said.

With that same boldness from the night before, your hands slipped over his, where they rested on your thighs. You rolled your head back, giggling as his nose brushed against the tender skin under your jaw.

You weren’t expecting the hunger you saw in his eyes when you finally looked back. The tautness in his jaw told you just how much he was holding back.

“Will you be okay today? I mean, I’ll be in and outta the Planet. With Superman stuff, so you know—” Fuck, you loved how he rambled.

His tumbling words stalled when your lips pressed against his. His teeth pulled your bottom lip between, tugging softly as you pulled back. His smile was cruel, given his early departure.

“I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl, Clark Kent,” you said.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

He didn’t know why he expected you to be sitting in the apartment when he got back. That wasn’t you; he barely knew you a day, and that much was clear. You didn’t strike him as the kind to sit back and wait, or to be entertained by the tech in his apartment that came nowhere close to matching the advanced gadgets you had strapped to your boots.

When Clark came back to find the place empty, lights still on, and television blasting the local news, he knew he had his work cut out for him. Zipping over the tops of Metropolis, he tried to hone in on your strange heartbeat. It was unlike anything he’d heard before, but then again, so were you. Erratic and unpredictable, no steady thump or rate; each beat displayed a different strength. He couldn’t judge your anatomy; he himself had some unusual features due to the Kryptonian roots.

By the time he reached Midtown, back out where he was not too long before, he could hear that peculiar heartbeat. He ignored the awes and gasps of onlookers, excited to finally catch a Superman sighting in person as he zeroed in on your location. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for him, no super senses were needed to spot you in the busy streets. Your metallic and neon attire made that a task even the Gotham police could accomplish.

Clark liked your look, he really did. It was arbitrary and demanded attention, reminding him that you were different from him in so many ways. A different planet, culture, maybe even galaxy— he hadn’t yet pinned that down yet. Your clothing showed your spunk and guts before you got the chance to speak; he loved it. What he didn’t love was the attention it would draw.

He didn’t care that it was flashy or short or eye-catching. What he was afraid of was those who did. Since his stint with Lex Luthor just a few months ago, Metropolis had changed. Despite his friend, Lois, revealing it all— his corruption, underhanded cruelty, and bitter jealousy of metahumans such as himself— his rage still pulled back the curtain on a sentiment that he didn’t realize was brewing in his city. Luthor’s plot seemed to give some citizens the free pass to showcase their anti-alien sentiment on full display.

He didn’t want you to hide, to shield who you really were. But he also knew he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened to you. It would destroy something in him he didn’t even know was there.

The aura of Superman let the crowded street part as he touched down on the speckled sidewalk. A few tight-lipped nods and fleeting waves, and he was right up beside you. Softly clearing his throat, he reached a ginger hand to tap your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, coming by your side into your view.

Your stance was rigid and on guard until the flapping red served as a white flag. Clark watched as your shoulders softened and your lips curled, the bottom slipping between your teeth.

“Oh, hey!” you said, enthusiastic and with a tone that called just as much attention as your bright green boots. Not to mention the otherworldly weapons.

Eyes from onlookers lingered and latched onto you as they passed, taking in the sight of Superman engaging with some woman with glowing eyes and silver guns strapped to her legs. Before they could make any more assumptions, or even worse prod, Clark’s arms were around you. The spot where your boots met pavement was empty, leaving civilians to gasp and stumble away.

By the time you reached the rooftops, Clark’s anxiety had dropped. He placed you down by the water tanks, taking a moment to make sure you were alone.

“What’s with you?” you asked with a giggle.

“Y/n, you can’t… You can’t just be out like this,” he said, gesturing to your attire. You raised your brows and smirked.

“Yesterday you liked my skirt just fine,” you snickered at the way he blushed and dodged your gaze.

He closed the space between you, hands coming to rest at your hips but stilling. They hovered just above you, begging to glide along the reflective plastic around your hips.

“I don’t care what you wear, I like how you dress,” he said. “But you’ve never been here. And things are different lately. People aren’t as open to the idea of aliens right now.”

You furrowed your brows and tilted your head. You could see the hurt in his eyes as he spoke. The hollowness as he fed you words you could tell burned to speak. There was more beneath the surface, a tone that said I know this because I lived it.

“I just need you to blend in for a bit. Just until you know the planet and feel safe. You don’t know this place, you’re not from here, and…tensions are high, I don’t want any—”

The mood was growing too sappy for you, too serious. It almost hurt just how much he cared. How deeply you could see the concern. It was new, foreign. You loved it, but from habit, you needed to break the tension.

“Aw, you care about me, Kent?” you said.

“Yes,” there was no humor or slyness in his tone. Just benevolence, devotion.

Whoa.

“I get it,” you said.

“You know, I love your clothes. Your home planet must really be something,” he meant it as a compliment, he really did. But the look on your face after he said it, the way your eyes dropped, and your jaw went taut. He wished he could take it back, and he didn’t even know why.

“Let’s go find you some stuff, it can still be crazy and fun like you,” that brought a smile back to your face. “Maybe just less plastic and no weapons.”

“That’s very fair,” you took his hands and finally let them rest at your hips.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

He wasn’t used to this, a presence in his apartment besides himself. Someone other than the person he became when a deadline was approaching and he buried himself in his computer on the couch. Or when he’d don the red and blue before leaping from the window, only to return hours later to a setting sun and dim lights.

His apartment was quiet; it always was. Bare, impersonal, and serene. You were none of those things. Your boots were loud, you constantly asked questions, and you insisted on leaving the window open to ‘hear the city’. The apartment came alive with your presence. Your scattered clothes brought much-needed colors to the greyscales of his one-bedroom.

Clark found himself sat on the couch, sinking back into the plush leather as you paced the room. You looked different, still you— still something out of his world. But different.

He wasn’t sure what you’d settle on when he took you to find something more Earthly for your time here. Maybe he was expecting you to stick with the neons and shimmers and metallics, but something more mundane. He wasn’t expecting the layered mesh, the short skirt with way too many buttons and zippers, or the leg warmers that ran so far up your thighs they almost seemed like an homage to those boots he loved so much. You looked sleek, almost reborn.

“This is so good!” You said, stilling from your pacing before him. His phone sat in your hands, blasting through a 2013 playlist he had never searched himself. Your hips swayed to the beat with a rhythm he got a glimpse of briefly the night before. “Who sings this?”

Clark leaned forward in his seat, taking the phone to see the familiar boy band so many of the girls he grew up with loved.

“One Direction,” he leaned back, placing the phone on the coffee table.

“It’s great! The music back home is not like this!” Your dancing carried you over to where he sat, leaning down to get his attention. Though it never left you, it hadn’t since you yanked him into the neon lights outside the club. “Do you know them? Are you their friend?”

“Am I friends with One Direction?” he couldn’t mask the soft giggle that slipped. If you noticed, you didn’t let it show, nodding eagerly as you sat at his side. “No, no, I don’t know them…”

Clark sat, leaning back to take in the way your head bobbed to the melodies that flowed through his phone. Song after song, he could watch you for hours. At some point, he noticed just how close you’d gotten; your knees pressed into his thigh, and your propped arm behind his neck. Your eyes were closed, lost as you hummed along to some Ke$ha song he hadn’t heard in at least six years. You were mesmerizing, alluring, dangerous. There was no more kryptonite on Earth, but Clark began to wonder if he had brought some back from another planet by bringing you to his home.

He was a goner.

“We should…um, go over some house rules,” he said, hand lingering by your thigh.

“Mhm,” you hummed, leaning into his shoulder. Your fingers fidgeted with the pleats in his trousers, flicking back and forth along the pressed seams that ran down his legs.

“You can’t…you can’t leave all the windows open if you leave,” he tried to focus, his mind racing for minuscule rules he could think of to pry his thoughts away from how close your lips were.

“Okay…but you have to help me get one of these,” you pointed to the phone on the table. “I need to hear more of this music.”

He nodded, his body subconsciously drawing closer to yours. Your fingers found the hairs at the nape of his neck, trailing up and carding through the curls. He couldn’t control the stutter your hands pulled from him, “yea, yea, we can get you a phone…”

“Well, if you get rules, so do I. No being a buzzkill,” that pulled him from his haze with a joking scoff. “I’m serious!”

“Okay, then you can’t eat all the bananas,” he was grasping at straws; he knew it. You could leave the windows open all day, cause a banana famine in his home, anything— something told him he wouldn’t care.

“Fine! Then you can’t be a baby about my blasters!” You were engaged now, propping yourself up on your knees and leaning in. Clark lowered his hand, resting at the back of your thighs. When his fingertips began to explore the hems of your legwarmers, he thought of another rule.

“Then you can’t wear these around the house,” he said.

The glow of your eyes pulsed at his words, the bright white hue bursting with a quick spurt of energy. Clark’s smile grew wide, biting his lip softly as he leaned closer. Under his breath, you could hear the desperate and faint words of ‘gosh, i love those’.

Before he could take back his words, maybe play them off as a joke or a lapse in judgment, your hands were cupping his face; the tender skin of your palms finally resting on his jaw with no gloves to separate you. Your movements were spontaneous and assertive, pulling him closer as you slipped yourself onto his lap. His hands quickly moved to rest at the small of your back and cradle your head.

When he felt your nose gently brush against his, he pulled back. Resting his forehead to yours, his hand traveled back to the legwarmers, gently tugging at the plush knit material.

“Okay, maybe we can forget that rule.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

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i like to write angst