Summary: Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.
Warnings: This series has physical violence, gun violence, parental abuse, smut. It’s not ‘dark’ per se, but please use caution and make sure to read the individual warnings for each page. Thank you!
A/N: *drabbles for the series are listed/indented under each corresponding part!*
Smut = 🔥
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Part 1 - The Wedding (w/c = 5.9k)
Part 2 - Assecondami (w/c = 8.1k)
Chris Confronts Readers Father (Chris POV)
Chris Challenges Reader at Breakfast
Part 3 - Ferris Wheels and Cotton Candy (w/c = 5k)
The First Kiss (Chris POV)
Part 4 - Come Home To Me (w/c = 6.2k)
Chris and Reader Discuss a Dog
Part 5 - Amore Mio (w/c = 6.5k) 🔥
Chris and Reader Discuss a Holiday Card
Tattoos with Chris 🔥
Part 6 - Blindsided (w/c = 8.3k)
Better Make This Quick
Lydia and Seb Drabble (Lydia POV)
Part 7 - Free (w/c = 7.1k)
Jealous Reader Pulls Chris From a Poker Game
Part 8 - Detained (w/c = 10.4k) 🔥
Part 9 - A Fresh Start (w/c = 6k)
The Mutt Sheds (Dodger Drabble)
Part 10 - You Make It Easy (w/c = 8k) 🔥
Followed
After Followed
Daylight - Seb and Lydia Drabble (Lydia POV)
Lydia and Seb Tie The Knot (Reader POV)
Incinta
Everything We’ve Always Wanted
Domestic Bliss
Arranged Epilogue - Endgame
Arranged Extended Epilogue - Sempre e Per Sempre
Arranged Series 4k Drabbles -
4k Celebration Drabble (Prompt - “I’ll die for you” & “I’ll kill you myself if you even as much as think of putting yourself in danger”)
4k Celebration Drabble (Prompt - “You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been.” “ and “You can’t lie to me, you know”)
4k Celebration Drabble (Prompt - “I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important.”)
[A Social Media AU] Bucky Barnes is the “most handsomest man” that you have ever laid your eyes on and oh, would you look at that. He’s your professor. [COMPLETE]
you don't think sharing a room with your lecturers is a big deal. not until professor rogers starts going a little too far with his sleepwalking. thankfully, professor barnes is there to talk you through it.
content warning: dark!steve x f!reader x soft!dark!bucky, age gap, somnophilia, dub/noncon, naive!reader, smut, voyeurism, booby stuff, fingering, penetrative sex, rough sex, cream pie, cockwarming.
As you lie on your side, the gentle sound of rain pattering against the window soothes you. You've never been quick to fall asleep, but the motel's lumpy mattress isn't helping. You are appreciate of Steve's warmth, though, and the fact that you don't feel uncomfortable to be sharing a bed with him at all.
When Professor Barnes invited you on this research trip, you knew you couldn't turn the opportunity down. Two weeks with two of the greatest minds in quantum physics? You had to say yes, utterly honored that they allowed you, a mere freshman barely two months into her college career, to accompany them.
Bucky was happy to take the sofa bed, where he lays now. He's still awake; you can hear him typing on his phone every so often. It's only been ten minutes since you got into bed but they did tell you Steve takes only minutes to fall into a deep sleep. They also warned you that he's prone to sleepwalking, which doesn't worry you - until you feel his arm wrap around you.
"Professor Rogers?" You whisper, turning your head to find his eyes closed as he softly snores.
"Everything alright?" Bucky asks you from the couch. The lamp by the TV is still on so you can clearly see him sitting up.
"Uh, yeah," You reply lowly. "All good."
Not convinced by your tone, Bucky stands up to check on you, his brows furrowing. "Steve sleepwalks, as we mentioned, pay it no mind," He assures you. "Try and get some sleep, flower. Big day tomorrow."
You take his advice, shutting your eyes and trying your best to relax - but then you feel Steve's hand cup your breast. You suck in a gasp, your eyes flying wide open.
"Professor Barnes," You call out to Bucky, who's still standing by the couch.
"What's wrong?" He asks you, taking a step closer.
"He.... he's touching my... chest," You manage to spurt out, cringing inwardly.
Bucky tuts, slowly walking over to you. "I'm sorry about him, but you must stay calm," He tells you firmly. "You can't wake up a sleepwalker."
Steve's fingers start rubbing and pulling at your nipple, making you freeze up. "He... Professor Barnes, please stop him!" You beg him desperately.
"Shh," Bucky whispers soothingly, coming closer to where you lay. His glasses rest lowly on his nose, the pipe in his mouth letting out smoke. "Be brave, flower. It can be incredibly dangerous to wake someone while they're sleepwalking."
"I - this isn't sleepwalking," You whisper, holding back your whimpers while Steve paws at your tits.
"Ah, but it is," Bucky retorts. "Sleepwalkers don't only get up and trot around in the night. I've heard some cases where they cook and eat an entire meal while asleep, and one man even drove all the way to work. It's a dynamic ailment, flower, please be patient with him. I'm sorry, I didn't know Steve's sleepwalking could manifest in a sexual manner, but I'm sure he'll stop soon."
You bite down on your lip and hope he's right. Carefully, you try to move Steve's hands off your breasts, but he only squeezes them harder, making you squirm. Suddenly he pulls up your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold air - and worse, to Bucky's eyes.
"Professor," You shudder, bringing your hands up to cover your chest.
"Just relax," Bucky says lowly, his eyes dark. "It'll be over soon."
Steve pins your left shoulder down firmly before moving his head down. You aren't sure what he's doing until you feel his lips wrap around your nipple. A whimper leaves your mouth as he sucks on your tit, conflicting feelings coursing through you. Though you're terrified and embarrassed, you also feel pangs of pleasure shooting through you like electricity.
"Remain calm, flower," Bucky utters soothingly. "Let him continue and he'll stop on his own accord. We cannot wake him."
You're slightly frustrated at his words - surely a professor forcing his way on a student, whether consciously or not, is more important than whatever danger to Steve you would be posing by waking him up? You try to push him off you, but even in slumber, he's much too strong and heavy for you to try and fight against him.
Steve's hand suddenly pushes past the hemline of your shorts and bypasses your panties. You almost squeal as his fingers plunge into you with no warning, three digits stretching your entrance. The ease with which he's able to slide in, the juices which coat his fingers, leave you incredibly ashamed.
"Professor Barnes," You cry lowly between shaky breaths. "It - he's hurting me."
"Shh, shh, shh," Bucky hushes you as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry about this, honey, I really am, but there's nothing I can do. Try and close your eyes, think about something else."
You squeeze your eyes shut but no pleasant thoughts can distract you from Steve fucking you with his fingers. He curls and scissors them inside you, making your stomach flip. The sound of his fingers sloshing in and out of your wet cunt fill the room, and you're utterly humiliated.
Small whines and moans rush past your lips uncontrollably as Steve fingers you faster, his mouth still latched onto your hard nipple. You wince, trying not to let the pleasure take over, determined to remain professional.
"You're doing so well, flower," Bucky says as he looks your body up and down, watching as Steve violates you. "Being such a good girl, so calm."
"Please, Sir," You whimper, shaking your head. "Make him stop."
"I'm sure it won't be much longer, now," Bucky assures you, biting on his smoke pipe. "That's it, flower, stay nice and relaxed."
Your heart is beating out of your chest and it only beats harder when you feel Steve's hard cock resting against your bare thigh. Before you can move away from him, he pulls his fingers out of you and rips apart your shorts, panties and all. Your body is frozen in shock as he shoves you onto your side with a gruff grunt, and before you get the chance to realize what's about to happen and brace yourself for it, Steve pushes his entire cock into your cunt.
"Oh, my God!" You can't help but cry loudly. Hoping it's enough to wake him, you feel a sense of relief as he stops moving. There are a few moments of silence and just as you look up and meet Bucky's eyes with your tear-filled ones, Steve begins to roughly fuck you.
His hips snap against yours over and over as he mercilessly probes you with his thick cock. You could swear it feels like you're being torn apart, every inch of your skin on fire as you tightly grip onto the sheets.
"Just stay calm," Bucky says casually as he strokes your hair, watching Steve fuck you like an animal. "That's a good girl, just take it."
"Please," You whimper, crying with every hard thrust he serves you. It makes you feel even worse when the pain begins to make room for pleasure, as though you're just as animalistic and depraved as Steve's unconscious alter ego.
The springs in the mattress squeak beneath you as Steve fucks you harder and the headboard repeatedly smacks against the wall with a heavy thump. He lets out low grunts and growls into your ear, his hands keeping you pinned to the bed. A part of you doesn't believe that he's genuinely sleepwalking when you see the look in his eyes - but you remember what Bucky said. Some people can cook meals and drive cars while sleepwalking - it is so crazy to think someone could have sex while sleepwalking?
Still, though, you refuse to let Bucky know that a part of you is finding the sordid encounter enjoyable. While pleasure envelopes you and cascades down your spine, you keep on a strong face in hopes that it'll convince Bucky you can remain professional even in the most difficult and absurd situations.
"That's it, flower, you're being so good," Bucky mumbles, gently stroking your cheek. "It's almost over, I promise. Just a little longer. You're taking this all so well, being so good for us. We knew you would be."
His words confuse you for a second - did they know this was going to happen? But you shake away those thoughts. There's no way they would have let you come if they knew this was possible, you must have misunderstood him.
Steve's thrusts become quicker and harder as he fucks you into the mattress. Your legs shake and you can't believe how close you are to climaxing. You try to hold it back, refusing to orgasm in front of your professors, but when Steve suddenly begins rubbing harsh circles onto your clit while pulling and twisting your nipple, you know you have no control. With a loud cry, you cum onto his cock, your cunt squeezing around his pulsating shaft.
"That's it, good girl," Bucky mumbles, stroking your slacked jaw as your eyes roll back and your body trembles and shakes.
Steve thrusts a few more times before he cums with a grunt, filling you with his seed. You gasp at the feeling, his warm cum coating your insides, his twitching cock beating against your walls.
"You did so well," Bucky says, his own cock hard and leaking precum, threatening to burst through his pants. "You've been such a good girl tonight."
All you can let out is a weak whimper.
Bucky gives you a soft smile. "Now, get some sleep," He tells you firmly before making his way to the bathroom.
You breathe heavily, trying to process the events of the night, equally as ashamed as you are exhausted. A few moments pass and you wait for Steve to pull out and return to his side of the bed, but he remains where he is with his cock inside you, heavy arm around your body, soft snores leaving his mouth.
You try to push him off you but he only grips you tighter and even thrusts his softening cock in and out of you a few times, scaring you into remaining perfectly still for the rest of the night.
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Summary: A late-night walk home, a mutual confession, and one soft kiss on the cheek and suddenly, the professor-student line doesn’t feel so untouchable.
Tags/warnings : Professor!Clark Kent x Grad Student!Reader, Fluff, Tension.
A/N : thinking of making this a series, let me know what you think :)
===============================
The first time I saw Professor Kent, he was trying to untangle the cord on a classroom projector and apologizing to the entire seminar for “the world’s most stubborn HDMI cable.” He had his sleeves rolled up, hair just a little mussed, and that quiet, unassuming voice that made you lean in to hear him.
Now, halfway through the semester, I’ve learned exactly three things about him
• He’s a walking encyclopedia of 20th-century journalism.
• He sometimes forgets his coffee until it’s cold.
• He has the kind of smile that makes you want to hand over every secret you’ve ever had.
Unfortunately, none of that is useful when you’re trying to write a thesis without looking like you’re writing it just to impress your professor.
Which is how I end up outside his office during posted hours, folder clutched to my chest, rehearsing how to casually say “I need help” without sounding like I’m hoping he’ll notice my new lipstick.
“Come in!” he calls, and I push the door open to find him behind his desk, glasses halfway down his nose as he reads through a stack of papers.
“Hi, Professor,” I say, trying not to notice the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck.
“Hey,” he greets warmly, standing just enough to gesture me toward the chair opposite him. “How’s the paper coming?”
“It’s… existing,” I admit. “I’m stuck between over-explaining and not explaining enough. So I thought maybe you could…”
“Be a sounding board?” His smile tilts, dorky and genuine. “That’s what I’m here for.”
We talk through my outline, and he’s so earnest, so present, that it’s almost distracting. He leans forward when I speak, nodding thoughtfully, sometimes scribbling little notes in the margin of my draft.
“You’re onto something here,” he says at one point, tapping the page. “You just need to trust your own analysis a little more.”
I arch a brow. “Is that professor-speak for ‘stop second-guessing yourself’?”
He chuckles, soft, low. “Exactly that.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m wondering if he knows just how much I hang on these moments. The way he never rushes me out, the way he listens like what I’m saying might actually matter, his not so subtle glances at me during lectures.
When I stand to leave, he offers a shy smile and says, “If you need another sounding board session… my door’s always open and if my hours don’t work shoot me an email we can work something out.”
“That’s so nice! I was actually going to camp out in the library tonight, keep chipping away at it.”
“Good idea,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “But pace yourself. Burnout isn’t part of my syllabus.”
I laugh, gathering my notes. “Don’t worry, I’ll have caffeine on hand.”
His eyes flick to my nearly empty travel mug, a faint crease forming between his brows like he’s cataloging how long it’s been since I refilled it. “Alright. Go get some work done.”
—
I’m tucked into my usual corner of the library, drowning in citations, when a shadow falls across my table.
“Thought you might need this.”
I look up, startled, to see Clark standing there, holding out a fresh coffee, exactly how I take it. He’s still in his dress shirt from earlier, sleeves rolled, tie gone. It’s all just enough to make my brain skip.
“You… came all the way here?”
He shrugs, casual, but there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t match. “Had some reading to do. Thought I’d check in.”
I wrap my hands around the cup, feeling the warmth seep into my fingers. “You know my order?”
“You get the same thing every Tuesday before our lab,” he says with a tiny smile. “Not exactly a tough puzzle to crack.”
“Still,” I murmur, taking a sip, “this is hero-level behavior.”
That earns me a quiet chuckle, the kind that makes me want to say something clever again just to hear it again.
“Mind if I sit? Might be easier to focus here than in my office.”
“Sure,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as excited as I feel.
He sits across from me, unpacking a notebook and a thick stack of papers. For a while, the only sounds are the scratch of his pen and the occasional sip of coffee. But it’s impossible to ignore the way he glances up, just a flicker, every time I shift in my seat.
“You keep looking at me,” I say finally, not looking up from my notes.
“Do I?” His tone is mild, but the corner of his mouth tilts up.
“Mm-hm. Like you’re checking to make sure I’m actually working.”
He leans back in his chair, pen tapping against his paper. “Maybe I am. Last time we talked about this draft, you admitted to over-editing.”
“That’s not what you’re checking for.” I tease.
His brows lift just slightly, a trace of a smile lingering. “And what am I checking for, then?”
I glance up, meeting his eyes just long enough to make my point. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He chuckles, quiet and warm, then looks back down, but not before I see the faint pink at the tips of his ears.
For the next couple hours, it’s a game. My foot brushes his under the table by accident or maybe not entirely and he glances up with the barest hint of a smirk. His pen rolls toward me and I hand it back, fingers grazing his.
By the time the library announces closing in fifteen minutes, I realize I’ve written maybe three new sentences.
As we pack up, he says softly, “If this is what studying with me is like… you might be in trouble.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder, smiling. “Pretty sure we both are. You graded a total of what? Two papers.”
“Fair enough,” he smiles.
The library lights are dimming by the time we step outside, the air cool and crisp. My bag feels heavier after hours of “working” and barely making progress, but the coffee in my system and Clark’s glances have me buzzing.
“Which way are you headed?” he asks, falling into step beside me.
I tell him, and he nods. “That’s not far. I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he says with that mild, matter-of-fact tone, “but it’s dark. And you’re carrying half the library in that bag.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t protest. There’s something about the way he says it, quiet, steady, like it’s just obvious that he should be here.
I hitch my book bag higher on my shoulder, already regretting the number of hardcovers I thought I needed tonight.
Clark glances at it once, just once, before saying, “Here, let me.”
“I can carry it,” I protest automatically.
“I know,” he says, already sliding the strap off my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But you’ve been hunched over that laptop for hours. You’re not hauling this home too.” I don’t argue. The bag looks almost comically small in his hand, but he carries it like it’s something important.
We fall into step, his long strides matching mine easily. The streetlamps spill soft light over his glasses, catching in the edges of his smile whenever we pass under one.
“So…you do this for all your students?” I tease.
“Only the ones I… care about,” he says, then looks away quickly, like he didn’t mean to let that slip.
I stop walking for half a second. “You mean that?”
He slows too, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s thinking about every word before he says it. “Yeah. I do. I’ve been… trying to keep it professional. You’re my student, and I wasn’t sure if it was fair to you to blur that line.”
I swallow, heart thudding. “Clark… I like you probably since the day you accidentally opened your photo gallery on the projector in class and I saw all those pictures of your dog. I just didn’t think you’d ever…”
His eyes soften immediately, his smile turning almost shy. “You thought I didn’t notice you?”
“I hoped you did,” I admit, my voice quieter now.
We stand there for a moment, the city’s hum around us, until he says softly, “There’s nothing in the rules saying we can’t… see where this goes. We just have to be careful.”
I smile, feeling that strange, light rush in my chest. “Careful I can do. I’m not going to pretend I don’t want this.”
His gaze lingers on me, warm and steady. “Neither am I.”
When we reach my building, he hands me my bag gently. “Goodnight.”
I smile, stepping closer, and before I can talk myself out of it, I rise onto my toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. His skin is warm, and when I pull back, his eyes are wide and just a little dazed.
“Goodnight, Professor,” I murmur, my lips curving into a smile I can’t hide.
As I turn to go inside, I catch the faintest grin on his face, the kind that says this isn’t the end of the conversation. And I can’t wait until our lab tomorrow.
Summary: the last time y’all went out with friends Clark got hit on he was making sure that didn’t happen this time.
Warning: smut with a plot. Sex in a bar’s bathroom.
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“Come on, Y/n, it would be so fun.”
Cat leaned over your desk with an exaggerated pout. Before you could respond, Jimmy appeared, grinning as if he’d been waiting for his cue.
“Yeah, you and Clark never come out with us,” he said, rounding your desk like a restless puppy.
You glanced at Lois, who was already giving you that look—the one that silently said, They’re right, you know.
“Does no one remember the last time Clark and I went out?” you asked.
Jimmy let out a boyish laugh. “Of course. You got us banned from one of my favorite clubs. But this time could be different.”
You shook your head. “Yeah, sorry, but my boyfriend’s still hot, so I don’t think so.”
Still, your mind couldn’t help drifting back to that night.
⸻
You’d left Clark at the table, sipping his drink ( root beer) while Jimmy wandered off to charm a blonde at the bar. You and the girls slipped away to the bathroom, laughing over some inside joke as you fixed your hair and reapplied lipstick.
But when you stepped back into the hazy, neon-lit club, the sight that greeted you stopped you dead in your tracks.
There she was—a girl you didn’t recognize, draped across your very uncomfortable-looking boyfriend. Clark sat rigid in his seat, his hands hovering awkwardly as he tried, with polite firmness, to peel her off without actually touching her more than necessary. His brows were drawn, that tight, polite smile he wore when he didn’t want to embarrass someone plastered on his face.
You might have let it slide, maybe, if she’d just taken the hint and left. But instead, she suddenly climbed onto his lap, her arms looping around his neck, and before you could blink, she smashed her lips against his.
That was it.
You didn’t remember crossing the distance, but you remembered the red-hot surge of fury that exploded through you. One second she was kissing him, the next she was stumbling back, clutching her face. Let’s just say she walked away with more than a bruised ego. She was lucky she could still walk at all.
Clark had immediately jumped to his feet, catching you by the waist as you lunged again. He was apologizing before you’d even processed the security guard heading your way. Over and over, he kept saying he was sorry, like he’d done something wrong, like he’d cheated.
But you weren’t angry at him; how could you be? Clark was too nice for his own good. Even when she’d invaded his space, he’d been trying not to hurt her feelings. You, on the other hand, had been two seconds away from knocking her into next week.
It had taken all of Clark’s strength (which let’s be real no it didn’t) to drag you out of that club, your glare locked on her until the doors shut behind you.
⸻
“Clark? Hot?” Jimmy scoffed, snapping you out of your memory. He shook his head like the thought itself was absurd. “Nah. That girl was just too drunk to see straight. He’s just tall.”
You tilted your head slowly, letting a slow, wicked smile curl across your lips. “Jimmy… don’t make me bust your face in too.”
The girls erupted into laughter, while Jimmy’s grin faltered. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly, hands going up in mock surrender.
“Jimmy, are you messing with my girl?”
Clark’s voice rolled in from behind you, warm and teasing, the kind that always made you straighten a little. He set your coffee on your desk before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“Doesn’t he always?” Lois chimed in without looking up from her notes.
“I resent that,” Jimmy muttered under his breath.
Cat gestured between you two with her pen. “He’s trying to convince her, to convince you, to go out with us tonight.”
“It’s not happening,” you said with a laugh, grabbing a folder from your desk and heading toward the fax machine.
“Ugh, you’re boring,” Cat groaned.
“Sorry, not sorry.”
Clark trailed after you, hands in his pockets. “Why not? You love to dance.”
“I do,” you admitted, sending a page through the machine. “And I love dancing with my boyfriend even more. But after last time, when you were literally sexually harassed. I don’t want a repeat performance.”
“It won’t happen again,” he promised without hesitation.
You turned, one brow arched. “Oh, really?”
“I’m serious,” he said, taking the folder gently from your hands.
You stepped closer, fingers hooking around his tie and gave it a playful tug. “What, you want another chance for me to defend your honor?”
His grin deepened. “That was hot,” he admitted, voice low, “but no. I just want us both to have fun. You trust me?”
“Always.” You answered without a doubt.
“Then that’s all I need.” He glanced toward the door. “I’ve got to chase down a source, but I’ll be back in an hour, tops. Then tonight we can pick which dress you’ll wear tonight.”
His smirk earned him a chuckle from you before you brushed your lips over his. “Okay, loverboy.”
⸻
Later That Night
You wore a slate-blue mini dress with a plunging neckline that dipped into a delicate keyhole cutout, cinched by thin, dangling ties. The flouncy, tiered ruffle skirt swayed with every step, catching the light in soft, playful waves. Beneath it, a sheer white lace long-sleeve embroidered with tiny florals peeked through, lending a romantic softness to the look. Knee-high dark brown leather boots grounded the outfit, their worn sheen adding character, while the glimpse of white socks above them gave a cozy charm.
“Golly,” Clark murmured the moment his eyes landed on you.
“Golly right back, big boy,” you shot back with a grin.
He looked unfairly good—dark brown, almost black, leather jacket zipped over a what you assume is a fitted black tee, wide-leg charcoal jeans hanging just right, and crisp white sneakers to finish the look. The contrast of smooth leather, matte denim, and clean rubber made him seem effortlessly cool—like he’d just stepped out of a magazine without even trying.
“Maybe we should stay in…” you teased, fingers toying with the collar of the thrifted jacket you’d given him.
“You’re tempting me,” he groaned, his hands sliding down to claim two generous handfuls of your ass before catching your bottom lip between his teeth. You moaned softly into his mouth, which only made him chuckle against your lips.
“What?” you giggled, pulling back just enough to see the playful glint in his eyes.
“You’re really trying to get out of this, huh?”
“Maybe,” you said with a shrug that wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Not happening,” he said, his voice dropping in that firm-but-teasing way that made your stomach flip. “I want to dance with my girl tonight.”
⸻
You were glad he’d insisted to going out. Jimmy’s choice; a dimly lit, hole-in-the-wall bar tucked between two shuttered storefronts, turned out to be perfect. The five of you had been laughing and drinking for hours, the music loud enough to drown out your voices but not so loud you couldn’t shout along to the chorus.
Clark stuck to you like a second skin, which was exactly how you liked him when you’d had a few drinks. Tipsy you thrived on PDA. His chest stayed pressed against your back as you moved together to the beat, his big hands occasionally settling on your hips to guide your sway. It felt like the rest of the room had faded, the two of you moving as though you were the only ones who mattered.
Then nature rudely intervened.
“Clarkie…” you whined, looping your arms lazily around his neck, your lips brushing his ear.
He grinned at the slur in your voice, eyes crinkling. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to pee,” you admitted, lips puckering in mock misery, “but I’m scared someone might try to steal you from me.”
His answer was a kiss so slow, warm, and deep that it made your knees threaten to betray you. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low and certain. “Ain’t nobody taking me from you, sweet girl. Not as long as I’m breathing.”
“Y/n, come on!” Cat called from across the dance floor, her drunkenness on full display.
“He’s a big boy,” Lois teased without looking up from her drink.
“Yeah, plus the ladies want me,” Jimmy added with a smug little smirk.
You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.” You gave Clark another quick kiss, promising to be quick—though “quick” turned into gushing about him to the girls in the bathroom and a twenty-minute selfie spree.
When you finally emerged, the crowd parted just enough for you to see him; and your heart stopped for a beat. Clark was leaning casually against your booth, jacket slung over the back of the seat, the overhead light catching the curve of his jaw. But what really caught you was the shirt.
In bold, unapologetic letters, it read: I love my super hot beautiful girlfriend. Beneath it, in smaller print: So please stay away from me.
Your chest tightened, heat pooling in your cheeks.
“Hey, hun—” he began, but you didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance and kissed him hard enough to make Jimmy whistle, Cat shout, “Get it, girl!” and Lois smirked knowingly.
You didn’t stop. Your hands roamed from the solid mass of his chest to the warm skin at the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned softly into your mouth, and in that moment you knew there was no way you were letting him go tonight.
Without breaking the kiss, you reached down, laced your fingers through his, and tugged him away from the booth.
“Where are we—”
“Bathroom,” you murmured against his lips, glancing back just long enough to see Jimmy’s eyebrows shoot up and Lois shaking her head with an amused smirk.
The second the door swung shut behind you, you pressed your back to it, pulling him into you. His hands found your waist instantly, and the kiss deepened until you felt his chest rumble.
“Clark…” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to smirk up at him, “Melt the door handle.”
His brow furrowed for half a second before realization, and that wicked little smirk he only ever showed you, crossed his face. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
You looked down at the shirt he was wearing and clicked your tongue at the roof of your mouth. “you’re the one wearing that insanely hot shirt. Plus you love it.”
With a barely audible hum, his eyes flared red for a split second, the metal handle glowing faintly before warping into a twisted, fused lump.
“Locked,” he said, voice dropping low.
“Good.”
You pulled him back to you, your fingers threading into his hair as his hands slid over the curve of your hips and down to grip your thighs. With a soft gasp, you let him lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist. The heat of him pressed into you.
The kiss turned hungry, your fingers tangling in his hair, his mouth tracing down your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear.
“Someone’s going to notice we’re in here,” he murmured against your skin.
“Let them,” you breathed, tugging him closer until there was no space left between you. “They’ll just think we’re… fixing my lipstick.”
His laugh was low and rough. “Pretty sure they’ll know better than that, sweetheart.”
Your reply was cut off by his mouth finding yours again, slower this time, deliberate like he wanted to savor every second before you inevitably had to face the world again.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. You brushed your fingers over his cheek, smiling at the faint pink still glowing in his eyes.
“I’ll hang on while you pull yourself out of your pants.”
His eyes darkened, and he followed your instruction without question. You pressed hot, lingering kisses along his cheek, down his neck, and finally to his lips as he unbuckled his belt and slid his zipper down.
Clark pressed you harder into the door, keeping you steady as he freed himself, the thick, heated length of him resting firmly against your soaked lace.
“Golly… you’re this wet, hun? Just from a little dancing?”
You giggled, drunk not only from the drinks but from him. “And your shirt,” you admitted, kissing him again and shuddering when he tapped himself against your covered center. “You staking claim over me.”
He gave a low, seductive chuckle and began pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking lightly until you whimpered. “I like having you all over me,” he murmured. “I got this shirt because you’re the only one I want everyone to know belongs to me.”
“Clark,” you moaned helplessly, rolling your hips to chase his friction. “Please… put it in.”
“You don’t need my fingers first?” he asked, half-smirking against your lips.
“No.” Your whine was desperate.
Clark hummed, pulling back just enough to hook your thighs over his forearms, spreading you wide for him. His knuckles brushed the lace between your legs before he slid it to the side. He met your eyes, aligned himself with you, and kissed you deeply. “Ready, hun?”
“Clark… please,” you begged, nodding quickly.
He slid himself through your slick folds first, coating himself in your wetness, your moans bouncing off the walls of the dingy bar bathroom.
“I’ve got you, pretty girl.” And with that, he pushed in slowly, stretching you open with just the tip, drawing broken, gasping sounds from your lips.
“So good,” you mumbled as he breached you. “Need more.” You kissed him messily, and Clark groaned, pushing in halfway before pausing, letting you adjust to his size.
“So big… my big boy… so full,” you babbled, eyes half-lidded.
Feeling you tighten around him had his breathing turning ragged. One hand moved from your hip to press his thumb against your clit, circling firmly until you cried out in pleasure. The reaction had you dripping down his length, making it easier for him to slide in fully with a deep, satisfying thrust.
“You’re so beautiful,” he panted, glancing down to watch where your bodies were joined. “And so mine.”
“Yours,” you managed to gasp, barely forming the word before his rhythm picked up, each thrust striking deep.
“Yeah, you’re mine. Mine to claim. Mine to ruin for anyone else.” His mouth crashed into yours hungrily, not breaking rhythm as he moved inside you with purposeful, unrelenting precision.
You could only whimper in response, eyes locking onto his piercing blue knowing that he loved to watch you come undone for him. His thumb worked your clit again, and your body jolted with every brush, heat building rapidly in your belly.
“Clark—” your cry was cut off by his hand clamping gently over your mouth.
“Can’t have them hearing, hun. You’re too loud… they might come knocking. You don’t want me to stop, do you?”
You shook your head wildly, and he removed his hand just long enough for you to plead, “No—so close.”
He kissed you hard, gripping your hips so firmly you knew bruises would bloom there later, and you’d wear them proudly.
The tension in your body snapped. Your breath hitched, vision blurring as pleasure ripped through you.
“That’s my girl,” Clark groaned into your mouth, feeling you pulse and release all over him. “I’m so close, baby… just one more and then we’ll go home—and I’ll prove to you no one could ever compare to my girl.”
Keeping one of your legs hooked at his hip, he threw the other over his chest and drove into you with brutal, perfect thrusts.
“Holy… fuck, baby—right there.” Your mind went hazy as he used you like you weighed nothing (which to him you didn’t). He bounced you on his cock, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing shamelessly in the cramped room.
Your teeth sank into his shoulder in a weak attempt to stifle your moans, but it didn’t hide the wet, rhythmic slap of your bodies.
A knock rattled the door behind you. “Security! Open up!”
You barely registered it, clinging tighter to him as your release built again.
“So close, hun… you’re squeezing me so good. So warm.” His voice cracked with urgency as he picked up the pace, hips pounding into you.
Your second climax hit hard—eyes rolling back, toes curling, hands fisting in his hair. Clark’s groan was loud enough to make your ears ring as he slammed into you one final time, spilling deep seed into your gummy walls with a shudder. “Golly… my girl is so hot.”
The banging on the door continued, but he stayed buried inside, holding you through the aftershocks until the guard’s voice cut in sharply: “If you don’t get out now, we’ll call the police.”
“Be out soon,” Clark called back, unwilling to move just yet.
“Now!”
With a huff, he pulled out, and you whimpered at the loss. “You did so good, baby,” he murmured, sliding your underwear back into place and lowering your trembling legs. You clung to him for balance, stealing a quick taste of your mingled release from the tip of his cock.
“Mm,” you sighed sucking on your finger, earning a breathless ‘curse’ from him. “Holy hay. You’re killing me, baby.”
Once you were decent, he fixed his own clothes, pulled you in close, covering you from any outsiders view; and opened the door.
The security guard’s glare met Clark’s calm, polite smile, and your hidden face was flushed, with a dazed expression. “You’re both banned,” the guard snapped, snapping a picture for proof.
“Not another one!” Jimmy’s voice rang out from the booth, making you bury your face in your hands.
Clark just grabbed his leather jacket, turned toward the crowd, and declared proudly, “I love my super hot girlfriend!”
The bar erupted into cheers and laughter—your friends the loudest of all. And as you pressed into Clark’s side, you silently decided… yeah, maybe no more clubs or bars for you two.
"you asked to see me, sir?" | boss!clark kent x fem!reader
summary: clark kent is your grumpy boss. you’ve been hopelessly attracted to him for years. one evening, he calls you into his office, and you find out he’s even bossier than you first thought… (w.c. 2,928)
warnings: 18+ mdni, dom!clark, spanking, praising, in an a/u where clark has the lex edit, he's just too b i g for me not to write him as a dom
“That’s not fucking good enough!”
The shout ricochets through the otherwise quiet office space, along with the sound of a mug breaking and pencils shattering. Some of the new hires gasp, but people who have been here for a while - people like you - listen with emotionless expectancy.
Because you’ve been hearing it for years.
And you all know exactly where it’s coming from.
Clark Kent’s office.
You peek over your shoulder just in time to see Steve Lombard scurrying out of the CEO’s office, a panicked expression on his face, and his tail well and truly between his legs.
It doesn’t take long for your boss to appear in the doorway, thick arms crossed over his wide chest. Even through the white shirt fabric, you can see his muscles rippling. His face is a picture of thunder, nostrils flared and jaw clenched.
The sight takes your breath away.
From the moment you started working at Kent Industries, you’d been warned about Clark’s temper. How he was able to command a room with a few words - and empty it just as quickly.
You can still remember the first time you witnessed it. You weren’t on the receiving end of it, but it had stayed with you ever since, burrowing under your skin and refusing to leave.
You didn’t think beforehand that you were the type that enjoyed that kind of stuff. The dominating. The controlling. But there was something about the way your boss ruled this place with an iron fist.
It made you hot under your corporate wear. It made you need to cross your legs under the table every time he opened his mouth.
It made you want Clark Kent to fuck you sideways.
“Take that,” Clark used a giant finger to point at Steve’s scrambling form as he addressed the rest of you sitting at your desks, “as a warning. We need to be on our shit this quarter and, if you’re not - well, you know where the fucking door is!”
Nods and murmuring agreements reverberate across the office. People start typing on their keyboards again but you know their shoulders are tighter, their bodies on high alert.
With Clark’s attention clearly occupied, you allow yourself to indulge in your fantasy for a moment longer. You take in the way the veins protrude in his throat, the way the rise and fall of his chest is more laboured, the way his eyes are pointed and scanning the room - and then they flick to yours.
Fuck.
You spin around in your chair, facing your desktop once more. You pin your eyes on your keyboard. Heat rages in your cheeks.
Maybe he didn’t notice? Maybe you’ve blended into the sea of other faces in the office? Maybe he wasn’t even looking at you?
You glance back over your shoulder and your stomach practically falls ten storeys to the bottom of the building.
Clark Kent is still looking at you.
His expression, at first, is unreadable. His devestatingly-gorgeous features still seem fixed by anger - but then they change. His eyebrows soften, raising slightly, and his eyes rake down your form and back up again. He puts his hands in his pockets, his chest still pushed forwards; a strong pose. He licks his lips.
Is this actually happening right now? Is Clark Kent actually looking at you like he wants to eat you?
You swallow, unable to adjust your gaze. You’re wholly focused on each other. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, your breaths suddenly shakier. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach.
Then, after giving you another hungry look over, Clark steps back into his office.
You feel like you can breathe again, taking a deep and pained inhale like someone has been holding you underwater.
Not a few moments pass before you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look up. Clark’s blonde assistant smiles down at you.
“Mr. Kent has asked to see you after hours in his office,” she states, “alone.”
Your eyes widen. As if paying no attention to your now-shocked expression, she gives you a nod and walks back in the direction of her desk.
Clark Kent, mega CEO and business powerhouse, has asked for a private audience with you?
The whole concept reels around your head. What could he want with you alone? Was he going to yell at you? Fire you?
You resist the urge to hide under your desk or run at full speed out of the front door, and look at the clock in the corner of your MacBook. It was only noon.
How the fuck are you supposed to focus for the next five hours?
News flash, you don’t.
You spend the rest of your day as a ball of stress, getting barely anything done, counting down the hours until the office empties out and you can find out what Clark really wants with you.
You try to be as inconspicuous as possible but the jiggling knee under your desk probably gives you away. You even turn down an invite to the bar with Lois, Jimmy and Cat, which results in some confused looks.
“You feeling okay?” Cat asks, her eyebrows furrowed behind her thick-rimmed glasses.
“Yep, completely fine,” you all but squeak. “Just got some extra pieces I need to finish.”
She gives you a ‘Sure, Jan’ look. You nod eagerly.
“Honestly, I’m okay! You go on without me.”
“Alright, Miss. Suspicious,” Cat grabs her bag, throwing it over her shoulder. “Just don’t stay too late; you’ve been looking a little peaky since lunch.”
You call out your goodbyes as your most trusted comrades disappear into the elevator.
You take a deep breath and throw a glance at Clark’s office.
It was time.
The coast is clear, except for a pretty stressed out Steve still bashing away at his keyboard.
You mutter some encouraging words to yourself, crossing the threshold of the office and into Clark’s private area. His assistant has already gone home, and the soft scent of vanilla hits your nostrils.
Butterflies build in your stomach. You knock tentatively on the door.
“Come in,” you hear your boss’ gruff voice call from within.
You turn the handle and let yourself inside, closing it gently behind you.
And then you and Clark Kent are together, alone, with no other eyes in sight.
Your legs feel like goddamn jelly.
He is sitting behind his sizable desk, flicking through a folder of some kind. Up close, you notice just how big he actually is. His arms, his jaw, the way his hands are able to hold most of the folder’s size. He’s any woman’s wet dream.
The glasses he sometimes wears sit discarded upon the desk, his dark blazer thrown over the adjacent couch. This leaves him in his suit pants and white shirt. The first few buttons are undone so you can see the top of his dark chest hair. A large watch curls around his wrist.
Yeah, this is a powerful man.
“You asked to see me, Sir?” You proffer. He hasn’t looked at you yet, so you’re hoping to snag his attention.
It works. Clark raises his eyes and finds you, your body immediately running hot. His blue eyes are captivating, holding something you can’t work out. He closes the folder and puts it down on his desk.
Resting his elbows on the rests of his chair, he clasps his hands together.
Clark regards you. “Yes, I did. Y/N, isn’t it?”
You nod, your tongue refusing to form words.
“Thank you for coming. Sorry to be keeping you after hours. Your friends looked very disappointed that I’d stolen you for the evening.”
Your mouth goes dry. He’s been watching you?
“They’ll get over it.”
Clark smirks. “You’ve been with us for a while, haven’t you, Y/N?”
You nod. “Four years and counting, Sir.”
“That’s good, very good indeed. We like loyal people around here. And do you think you’re good at your job, Y/N?”
Your mind panics, not quite knowing what to say. “I like to think I am.”
“Confidence is very attractive in a person,” Clark states, reaching for the folder on his desk. “But, you see, I was looking through your latest report,” - he has your report in there?! - “and I noticed there were a few mistakes, so to say. Would you mind sitting with me to discuss them?”
Then Clark pats the most unlikely place you would have expected.
He pats his fucking lap.
You look around the room, your breathing suddenly a lot more shallow. “On your lap?”
Clark nods, patting himself again. “Yes. I promise you it’s comfy. And I don’t bite… that hard anyway.”
Your mind spaces out. This has to be a dream, one of your private fantasies that somehow seems too real in your head.
Because you’ve thought about this scenario. Quite a lot.
Sitting on Clark’s lap. How thick, how hard he would feel beneath you. A solid block of pure man.
Whatever this is, dream or not, who are you to turn down such an opportunity?
You cross the room in your ballet flats, taking slow but purposeful steps over to your boss. When you round the corner of his desk, there he is, offering you his very sizable self to perch on.
You refrain from letting out an excited squeal and slide onto him. Your entire body is a bundle of electricity, every inch of your skin on edge. You didn’t wear tights today so you can feel the silkiness of his suit pants on your thighs, the flex of his thigh muscles beneath your ass.
You look at your boss. Your faces are inches from each other. Clark gives you a wide, pearly white smile and reaches into a drawer. He presses something, and the blinds on his office windows begin to close.
“Let’s give ourselves some privacy, shall we?” He all but breathes.
You nod again. God, he makes you so obedient.
Reaching an arm on either side of your waist, he flicks open the folder again, splaying the papers for you to see. One of his hands comes to rest on your bare thigh, the other on your report.
You feel his face right behind your shoulder. “So, the report is good, great even. But did you know you left in a couple of spelling mistakes, a couple of grammar errors?”
Your eyes widen, immediately scanning down the blocks of text. You can’t have done. You went through this piece about a million times.
“I- I did not. I’m sorry. I thought I’d caught all of them.”
Clark chuckles, rubbing your thigh. You like the heat of his palm on your bare skin. You’re grateful that your skirt covers your pussy because you’re sure you’re growing wetter by the second, too.
“Good girl for saying sorry,” Clark purrs in your ear. “This kind of stuff can’t continue, not if we’re going to keep impressing our stakeholders. Do you know the best way I’ve found for ensuring greatness?”
You shake your head. Your entire body is on fire. Clark’s hand is still rubbing your thigh but it’s inching towards the inside, slinking higher and higher.
Now his lips are directly at your ear.
“Have you ever been spanked, Y/N?”
If Clark wasn’t holding you, you fear you might have slipped straight onto the floor. Spanking was one of your biggest fantasies, yet you’d never experienced it in real life before.
“N-no, I haven’t,” you breathe out in response.
“What a shame. I thought a good girl like you would love a good spanking.”
“I would, Sir.”
“Perfect,” Clark grabs your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a nip. You shift on him but he grips your hips in place. “Lay across my lap please, Y/N.”
You oblige, not questioning him in the slightest. This was probably way against what should be happening in the workplace, but you weren’t going to tell anyone.
Your mouth-wateringly hot boss was about to spank you in his office? Yeah, this was going to be your personal secret.
You’re now laid on your front, your body bent over his large thighs. Air tickles at your panties. Anticipation bubbles in your stomach.
Clark runs a sizable hand up the back of your thighs, coming to rest on the curve of one of your ass cheeks.
“Look at you, all ready for me to make you obedient,” he growls. “But, in this kind of thing, we need to have a safe word. If it gets too painful, promise me that you’ll say the word ‘kryptonite’?”
“I promise,” you murmur.
He gives your ass an introductory smack with his palm. It’s not hard enough to move you, but it’s enough to make your clit throb.
“You promise, what?”
You know exactly what he’s getting at. You let out a soft chuckle as the following words leave your lips, “I promise, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
Clark starts to caress the round of your ass, and you hear him adjusting the sheets on his desk.
“So, to start with, you misspelt ‘publicly’ in your first paragraph. Not a great start there, Y/N.”
Clark brings his hand down on your butt again. This time, it’s harder, leaving a sting on your skin.
“We need to be perfect from the start. Do you understand, Y/N?”
You nod.
He spanks you again.
“Yes, Sir.”
The papers crackle. “And here, third paragraph, second page. Your first sentence here reads clunky. It really should have had a comma in it.”
Clark’s spank this time is harder yet, leaving a more intense sensation in its wake. You let out a gasp, squirming, curling your fingers into your palms. You know he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He’s turning you insane. And you know he likes it this way.
His hand gives your ass cheek a squeeze this time through your skirt.
“Are you enjoying this, Y/N?” Clark growls, the sound coming from the very depths of his stomach.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Is it making you feel good?”
“Yes, Sir. It feels so, so good.”
“Do you want to go a little harder?”
Your eyes widen, your pussy pulsating and your skin tingling. “Please, Sir. Give it to me harder.”
Clark wastes no time in yanking your skirt up, exposing your bare ass. You know what he’ll be seeing. Soft, puckered skin that boasts the brand of his handprint. The tiny red lace thong covering your quivering pussy.
You hear him exhale, breathy and hot.
“Fuck, Y/N. You have the perfect ass. And it’s all mine, right now. Isn’t that right?”
He brings his hand onto your bare skin. It makes you jolt forward, another gasp leaving your lips. He wasn’t wrong when he said he’d go harder.
“Yes, Sir.”
“How do you feel when I tell you you’ve made a mistake in the work you’re doing for me?”
Another spank, harder than the last. You pull the excess material of his suit pants into your fist.
“Bad, Sir.”
“And how do you feel when I teach you how not to make mistakes?”
He gives you another hard one. You let out a sound that’s a mixture of a moan and a pained groan.
“Good, Sir.”
“How bad do you want my hands on you?”
The hardest spank yet lands on your ass. This time, you actually scream out.
“So badly, Sir.”
“Tell me again.”
“So badly, Sir!”
The next spank Clark gives you makes you see stars, your skin crying out in pleasure and pain. If he keeps going, he’ll bring you over the edge, only needing to brush your pussy to make you all his.
But instead, he cups the area he’s been punishing, giving it a few careful rubs before pulling your skirt back over you. You stay in place for a few long moments, composing yourself, letting your pleasure mix with the pain for just a little longer.
Clark gives you two little pats on the ass. They’re soft but with the damage that’s been done, they still send jolts of discomfort through you.
“You’ve been such a good girl today. You can stand up now.”
You push yourself up with shaky hands, using his thighs to help. You relish in the feeling of them one last time. Now standing, the ass cheek he was spanking pulses and throbs.
Your boss drags his eyes over you. “Now, Y/N, I’m sure you’re going to be much more obedient from now on - but I think we should keep doing this. Just to make sure you’re staying on track. How does that sound?”
You’re barely aware of your surroundings, completely enamoured by him and what’s just happened.
He could have asked you to join him on a Bonnie & Clyde crime spree and you would have agreed.
“I think that would be good, Sir.”
Clark nods, shuffling your report back into the folder. “Great. When’s your next report due?”
“Friday, Sir,” you answer.
“Come Thursday,” Clark slides his glasses back on and fires up his MacBook. “Send me a draft and I’ll give you some feedback, just like today.”
“Sure,” you breathe. “Sure thing.”
“You are dismissed. Have a great night, Miss. Y/L/N.”
And with that, you find yourself back out in the office space you share with your colleagues. Your legs carried you here, heavy and satisfied, your ass cheek feeling swollen. You like it. It’s a little secret only you and Clark know about.
That your boss had just spanked you to within an inch of orgasm.
You can’t wrap your mind around what had just happened. And yet, you are already eager for Thursday to come, your fingers itching to write up your report so you can find yourself under Clark’s touch again.
You might make a few more spelling mistakes, might make your grammar worse than usual.
Anything for Clark to make you his good girl again.
boyfriend!clark seeing chubby!reader wear a dress and feels confident in it for the first time. (pure fluff and clark kent being truthfully in love with your body)
You aren't really used to wearing certain clothing items, especially the tight ones. It's not that you don't like them, you'd love to be able to show more of your body. You just can't.
You've always been insecure about your weight. You feel like you're not shaped for others' eyes, like you need to constantly hide your body. It's something that has tormented you all life long, since that day in 6th grade, when a boy pointed out how your tummy giggled when you ran.
Meeting Clark Kent changed many things. He is different from every man you've ever met in your life. He surely lets you know without hesitation that he absolutely adores your body.
In the morning, you wake up with his arms around you, one hand resting on your soft stomach. He just loves how warm it feels under his touch.
During the day it's almost impossible for him to keep his hands off of you. Whether he has his hand on your thigh, stroking your sensitive and smooth skin, or he has his arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers dancing across your belly.
His favourite part of the day is the evening. He can pull you on his lap and listen to you as you speak, or watch a movie with you, as his touch pays attention to your whole body.
He's not able to keep his hands to himself when it comes to you.
"No, no way i'm wearing this" You look at yourself in the changing room's mirror, checking out yet another dress. It's already been a few hours, and you changed 4 shops and who knows how many dresses.
Clark had been invited to a business dinner along with his colleagues of the Daily Planet, and he insisted you come along with him. Eventually, you accepted, even tho the invite clearly said "dress code: elegant and fancy" , exactly the type of style you avoided.
"I like it. hugs your body just right" Clark has been with you all day, helping you find the right thing that makes you feel comfortable. he comes closer, his hands running down your sides as an appreciative grin grows on his face.
You huff, looking at yourself more intensely. Each second passing, it's like the dress keeps getting uglier and uglier, showing off way more of what you can afford. "It's too revealing, i look too big"
Clark furrows his brows, and it's like your statement hurt him physically. He just doesn't understand why you can't see how gorgeous and special you are. You only see your "defects", as you call them, because for him they definitely aren't defects.
You close the curtain behind you, ready to change the dress once again. Clark just waits outside, sitting on an armchair. You slide out from the piece of clothing, hanging it back on the wall.
This is the last dress of the shop. You already lost hope, and you know you'll probably end up not attending dinner with your boyfriend, even tho you can already see the sadness in his eyes as you tell him.
With a deep breath, you put on the dress, struggling a little with the zipper, but you make it without much effort.
It looks... different. It has some kind of fabric folds on the stomach that make your tummy less noticeable. the skirt part hugs you just right, not making your thighs look enormous.
"Everything's okay there, sweetheart" Clark's voice comes from right behind the curtain. You take one last look in the mirror, then turn around to let him see.
You move the silk curtain aside, and he actually thinks he could have a heart attack on the spot. Clark just looks at you. He swears he's never seen something more beautiful and breathtaking.
You start to get concerned when you notice his eyes are fixed on your body. maybe he doesn't like it. Maybe he thinks you look too big in it, and he would be ashamed to be seen with you. "So..?"
He snaps out of his trance, his eyes locking back on yours. "Love.. you look perfect" His voice is above a whisper, and his words hit you like a breath of fresh air on a hot day. "You know that i always think you're perfect.. but this dress completes you"
You might actually cry, and you can tell he's about to do the same. You turn back towards the mirror, and this time you don't see yourself getting uglier and uglier each second that passes. "I kind of like this.. it makes me feel more comfortable than the other ones"
You're surprised by your own words, you never thought you would ever say something like this. Maybe it's also because of your boyfriend's continuous appreciations on your body. Maybe his insistence when he tells you you're breathtaking actually moved something inside you.
Clark insisted on paying, and even if you managed to convince him you were going to pay, the moment you have to hand the cashier the money he's quick to lower your arm down and hand the payment with a grin.
You glare at him, even tho you can't help but melt because of his love for you.
You walk out, hand in hand, the shopping bag in Clark's free hand. He squeezes your hand, smiling down at you. "Can't wait for the dinner to end, so i can see you in my favourite outfit" He smirks, and you push his shoulder playfully, slightly harrowing your brows. "The dinner is next week, Clark"
He acts like he's thinking about it, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. "Right. guess you'll have to wear my favourite outfit tonight" He lowers his voice, a shiver running down your spine.
"The dress?" You look up at him, a slightly confused look on your face.
"No, your body. Naked" Your eyes widen, his name leaving your lips like you're scolding a child. Meanwhile, he's just smiling, thinking about how lucky he got to have you in his life.
a/n: hii! new fic with chubby!reader today. it's one of the !reader i prefer, it makes a lot of people feel included and appreciated. love all of u and hope u like this🤍
summary: clark had never realized just how touch starved he was until you came into his life and started touching him like it your god given right.
notes: disgustingly sweet. a thank you for 100<3 and also because this was the most voted fic, ty to everyone who voted!
word count: 5.5k words
content warning: size difference, a lot of physical affection, clark is down bad but also so stupid, weird girl! f reader (she is autism coded), clark is obsessed with you and how tiny you are compared to him. mention of reader having hair (bc i felt like her haircut made a lot of sense to who she was). i hope i didnt miss anything else</3 this is disgustingly fluffy, be warned, also this isn't betaread. i wrote it in like three hours straight, but still, i hope you enjoy!
Clark had never noticed just how much he’d missed human contact until you came into his life.
Sure, he’d had plenty of girlfriends, but somehow it had never felt enough. Kissing and having sex was nice, but he craved more. He had friends who enjoyed the occasional hug, but he needed more.
And then you’d entered his life in a whirlwind of sparkles and pink glitter. It only took you three days to put the entire office in your pocket, wrapped around your little finger, Clark first. There was something about you that just appealed to everyone’s basal protective instincts.
“Clark, right?” you had said to him the first time you both met properly. You’d offered him a hand, soft and small and nails freshly painted with a pearl pink hue. You were wearing clay rings. Each of them more colored than the last one. Your fingers were long and small, and when he’d held your hand with his to greet you, he was suddenly afraid of accidentally breaking you. You were just so — small, and his hands were so big and so used to destroying and punching and lifting, that he was worried he’d forgotten how to handle something small and precious.
Your hand was just as he’d imagined it. It was like his own hand had been molded with yours in mind, so that could slot together like two pieces of the same puzzles.
“Uh, yes, yes. I’m Clark Kent. It’s so nice to finally meet you, and, um, of course, welcome to the office.”
Everyone knows Superman’s greatest weakness is kryptonite. But Clark Kent’s greatest weakness had always been pretty girls. He’d wished he could be more suave, more charming, but all of his cognitive abilities seemed to fly right through the window whenever you spoke to him.
As luck would have it, you were given a desk right in front of his. It took you two hours to turn it into a pink haven. You’d brought your own keyboard and mouse — both pink, of course — and a wrist pad. Your pastel purple travel mug found itself sitting next to Clark’s own and boring black thermos.
You also had a lot of pencils, and suddenly, Clark, who’d never lost a pen before, found himself losing his every single day, just so he could ask you for once. He would feel guilty about it if you weren’t always so sweet about it.
One week into your job, you’d become sort of friends, bound together by missing pencils and neighbor mugs.
Every time you caught him staring at you, you just stuck your tongue out at him, making him flush so red you actually got worried for him.
The first time you’d touched him unexpectedly, Clark had thought his powers had left him and that he’d turned human, because his heart had suddenly stopped working.
It was during lunch, but he’d stayed behind, too into the text he was writing and he wasn’t willing to lose that state of flow just to go eat something he couldn’t even properly appreciate. You’d come backv into the office first, holding in your arms two sandwiches and a drink — you look like you need to eat a lot to keep up with that muscle, you’d explained, so it was just the two of you.
“Hey,” you said. “I saw that you didn’t take a lunch break so I brought you something to eat.” Your rings shone in the midday light.
Clark had looked up, entire body shifting to face you, article instantly forgotten. “Oh, um… that’s so sweet of you, thank you so much. You shouldn’t have, really, but I appreciate it immensely.”
His face had turned red once again. You put the food on his desk and approached him, slightly frowning. “Are you sick?” you’d asked. And before waiting for an answer, you gently touched his forehead with the back of your fingers.
His entire body had gone rigid, before slowly melting until he was entirely sure that he’d turned into a puddle. Subconsciously, mortifyingly, he’d realized that his head had leaned against your touch, like a sunflower always trying to reach for the sun. He couldn’t get enough. A simple touch, and he’d already gotten addicted.
Your hand was fresh like a summer breeze, and soft the way clouds felt when he slowly flew through one. Her touch was morning dew against his feverish skin.
“Oh gee,” you said. “You’re quite hot. Are you sure you’re okay to keep working?”
And you were so genuine. You had no idea that the only reason he was this hot was because you were talking to him, and now your hand was touching him, and the only moments he’d ever felt this good was when he flew close to the sun.
“It’s fine,” he croaked out. “I’m fine. It will pass, I promise. But thank you for your worry, and the food. Really– thank you, darling.”
The petname had come out unbidden and Clark was really close to just giving up and fleeing Metropolis altogether to go back to Smallville. Why did he even think that a farmboy like him could be made into a city boy?
But – you’d blushed, at the petname, and you’d let out the softest Oh he was only able to hear thanks to his superhearing, instead of slapping him and running away, and maybe he hadn’t messed everything up. Maybe he could still stay in Metropolis for one more day. Maybe he could still be your friend for one more day.
One month into your friendship, Clark Kent had hopelessly and pathetically fallen in love with you. He couldn’t help it. None of his Kryptonian biology had helped him prepare for the hurricane that was your existence. He had survived the destruction of his own home planet; he could survive an entire building falling down on him; he could hold his own against the universe’s strongest creatures. But all of that meant nothing in the face of your shy smile and your glitter.
As naturally as water inescapably found its way back to the ocean, Clark had found its way right to you. Falling in love with you was just the natural consequence of life and atoms and everything else Clark hadn’t listened to in class.
He hadn’t messed anything up yet, but he was messed up. Simply from seeing your smile first thing at the office, or smelling that kiss touch of vanilla that always floated around you.
“So…” Lois started, with a knowing glint in her eyes that meant that she’d found a good source to dig from. She was half sitting against Clark’s desk, one bent leg against his desk, the other stretched, while she cradled a cup of coffee — nine parts sugar, one part watery coffee — with both hands. “You and the office’s sunshine, huh?”
“What the what?” he yelped, sitting up straight in his chair. You’d gone to the break room, but it didn’t mean that you couldn’t accidentally overhear Lois from there, even if Clark knew that you were completely human (even if your otherworldly beauty begged otherwise). “What are you talking about, Lois? There’s… there’s nothing between her and me,” he whispered, his heart a spooked rabbit trying to outrun a wolf — Lois.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I know you, Clark.”
And she did. They’d dated before. They gave it a shot, and they were good together. Nothing crazy, just good. And so, three months into the relationship, they’d both naturally came to the decision that they were better off as friends. But that also meant that Lois knew him better than any of his other friends, and nothing flies past her. It’s part of what made her so good as a reporter, and so bad as a friend.
“I hate you,” he’d muttered angrily. Well, as angrily as he could get.
“I love you too, big guy,” she replied mirthfully, taking a sip of her disgusting potion. He’d tried it once and almost spat it out. The only reason he didn’t actually spit it out was because his ma had raised him better than that, so he’d reluctantly swallowed everything with a wince-smile while Lois was busy making fun of him and Jimmy had taken pictures of the entire ordeal with his fancy camera. Very humbling experience. “So, why aren’t you asking her out?” she asked, bending forward to look him in the eyes. The sugary smell of her potion was potent and sickening.
“None of your business,” he’d replied, trying to sound stern, but failing almost adorably so.
“Clark,” she started. “You know I’m always right, right?”
He nodded, but reluctantly. She was right of course — as always — but that didn’t mean that he had to like, or even accept it.
“So trust me when I say this: she likes you too. Go for it. Stop being a pussy.”
His mouth opened before closing, realizing he’d almost manexplained to Lois Lane — the most woman to ever woman (and also accessorarily the world’s most feminist person he’d ever met) — how saying that word to insult someone was sexist and misogynist because it implied that people with a female reproductive organ were somehow less than people who didn’t.
She knew. She knew he’d almost done that, and she was looking evilly gleeful about it. He’s half convinced she only used that word around him to mess with him.
“Think about it. Sleep on it. Do whatever the hell you want with it, but for the love of God, talk to her and confess. I’m sick and tired of seeing the two of you pine over each other like the world’s pinkest reendition of Romeo and Juliet.”
Maybe she was right. But Clark Kent was a coward. Maybe Superman wasn’t, but Clark was, and that’s how it is. He was too afraid of losing you to ever risk it, even if the reward was high.
Heels clicked against the floorboard, approaching the two of them. Your crinkets were softly tinkering together, announcing your presence with your very own theme.
“Hi Lois,” you chirped at her with one of your dizzying smile. Even Lois wasn’t immune against it. Then, you turned to him. “Hi Clark, how are you?” you asked. And then you did the thing that you always did yet always took him in complete disarray — you brushed the messy curls on his forehead. He didn’t know why you did it, only that you did it whenever you saw his hair was messier than usual. And just like every single other time you did it, his shoulders dropped and his head leaned towards your touch, like a dog asking without asking for more pets.
Lois was watching the two of you with the focus of someone who’d just stumbled across the idea of their next top story. “Remember what I told you, lover boy,” she’d said to him as parting words.
Lover boy. He closed his eyes and used all of his strength not to blush again.
“Hey darling,” he said instead, ignoring Lois and her mocking vibes. She wasn’t even looking at him anymore but he could feel her judging and mocking him inwardly. “Um, I’m good thank you. How are you?”
“I’m good,” you replied, but you sounded distracted and unlike yourself. He opened his eyes to look at you, and found you slightly frowning, looking at Lois’ retreating figure. “Lover boy?” you asked, sounding so unsure and betrayed Clark’s heart broke. Gosh darn Lois. She’d probably done it on purpose, like the world’s most evil Cupid.
“She just calls me that sometimes to make fun of me,” he explained quickly, stumbling over his words. “She, uh… there’s nothing between her and me. I mean, we used to date, but really, we were better off as friend so we quickly broke up, and there are no lasting feelings.”
For a man who could face the sun directly in space without flinching, watching your face break into the world’s sunniest smile without looking away was his weakness.
“Okay. I like it,” you said. “Lover boy. It really suits you.”
I could be your lover boy if you just said the word, he thought so fervently he’d worried he’d accidentally sent it to you through telepathy — let alone that telepathy wasn’t one of the super powers he had.
Clark Kent stayed late at work the next day, not because he had an important deadline coming up, but because you’d stayed late, and he didn’t feel good at the thought of leaving you behind all alone — and worse, walking home all by yourself, with only your cat keychains and frog clay rings and your disarming smile as protection.
So he pretended he had to stay behind too, and used that time to actually be productive, but the majority of his time was spent gazing upon you. If Lois were here, she would tell him to stop the sickening yearning and act like a man, but she wasn’t here, so that meant Clark could be as disgustingly and as pathetically forlorn as he wanted to be.
He was lucky you were completely dead to the rest of the world when you were working, because it meant that he could drink his fill of you all he wanted.
Your hair was looking particularly soft and pretty that night. He had never seen it before, this type of haircut, but you’d said it was a jellyfish hair cut because you loved jellyfishes, and that if you could, you would become one.
It was shorter in the front and longer in the back. He wasn’t very good with everything that had to do with hair care and even skin care — when he dated Lois, she’d hated how he could just wash his face with handsoap and have a clearer skin than her, even though she had a ten-step skin care routine daily and nightly — but he was willing to make an effort for you, just so he could understand you and everything you did better.
The tips of your hair were pink too, and you had two front long strands of hair pink too. It made him go crazy. He’d probably lost ten hours of his life that he’ll never get back just staring at your hair and wishing he was woman enough to touch them just like you always touched his with ease, as if it was your birthright. (Clark would definitely not make you think otherwise.)
Lois was wrong, though. He wasn’t a lover boy. He was love sick.
When he offered you to walk you home and you’d said yes, he had to take a second to calm down enough to not combust.
Your hand kept brushing his as you walked, because you were the kind of person whose arms swung as they walked, and he tried so hard to not find that as devastatingly endearing as he did. And of course, he failed. Everything about you was a losing battle to him, only in the loveliest of ways.
You’d almost gotten to your place when you stopped him with a hand on his — his heart going thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. — and you asked him to wait for you while you stared at the rat the size of a shoe that was holding a honest to God piece of cheese in his ratty hands, eating it without a single care in the world.
You were a strange girl. The kind of girl who stopped traffic to help a lazy pigeon who refused to fly away from getting killed. The kind of girl who forgot to continue talking because you’d noticed a dog walking down the straight in a way that was particularly cute (you said the same thing about all types of dogs). And now the kind of girl who thought somehow that a rat eating cheese was the world’s most entertaining sight. Clark was sure that if Perry had allowed you to, you would write about it and fight to get it on the first page.
And Clark would fight with you.
The first time you held his hand and kept it in yours was the second time he’d walked you home. You were the one who actually asked him if he wanted to walk with you, and he said of course, anything for you. Well, he didn’t actually say it, but he thought it so strongly he felt it vibrate his bones.
You’d held his hand because you noticed a bakery you’d never seen before, and said that you must try it, or else the croissants and what have you will be sad, because they definitely called for you, and it would be rude to not answer their call.
So, you grabbed his hand and dragged him the other way of your way home, and didn’t let go of his hand. Not even while you ordered for the both of you, or when he’d fought you to pay for everything (he won, because of course he did).
You only let go of his hand when you realized that sitting and eating was impossible while holding hands. So you squeezed his hand softly before letting go, as if you were sad to do so, and sat down.
Clark’s heart threatened to flee from his mouth.
“This is good, right?” you said, before even biting into your cookie.
(Maybe you’d meant this as in, the two of you, sitting in a bakery, eating together. Like a date.)
“Y-yeah,” Clark said, before clearing his throat. “Really good.”
He didn’t even know what you’d picked for him. He hadn’t paid any attention to anything in the entire bakery but you and everything in your vicinity.
When you both left the bakery, you’d taken his hand in yours. Water, ocean, all that. (Bury Clark with that feeling.)
“What is this?” Clark asked, looking at you with a blend of helpless adoration and expectation. It was a few days after the unofficial official date, and instead of telling him good morning like a normal person, you’d branded a gift in his face like a threat.
“A gift,” you replied helpfully. “I saw it yesterday and it made me think of you. I hope you like it.”
You could offer him a brown leaf and he’ll encase it in resin so he could keep it forever.
He opened the gift wrapping gently, aware of how Jimmy and Lois had not so discreetly rolled their chairs to his desk, neck craning trying to spy and cursing him for taking so damn long.
It was a box of pencils. A pack of a dozen pencils, with Superman design. Did you know? No, that was impossible. But how..?
“You like it? Maybe I should have gotten you pencils like mine? I don’t know, I just thought since you always lost your pencils, this would help you. Not that I don’t like lending you mine, of course, that’s not what I’m saying, but I thought maybe that would be nice? Especially if I’m not here one day to lend you one, so you can always be prepared,” you said, both excited and nervous, slightly bouncing on your feet. “So, do you like it? Do you? Or should I change it?”
“No!” he said, before clearing his throat, aware of how insane he’d just sounded. “No, I mean, no, don’t do that, I love it, and I love that you thought of me like that. Thank you so much, darling.”
I won’t ever use them. I’ll just keep them in my shrine of you, he thought.
Your smile was blinding.
Lois coughed. “Lover boy,” she said, disgusted. Jimmy snorted. They both went back to their desk.
You’d used no strength but throwing yourself at him to hug him punched the air out of his lungs.
He’d almost forgotten how small you were, until you were pressed against him and his hands instinctively found their place on each side of your waist and he realized he could easily circle your waist with just two hands.
And then he was blushing for a completely different reason.
After that, he kept noticing it. How you barely came up to his chest, how his left hand could easily hide both of yours if he wanted to.
He didn’t think you were made for him. He thought he was born this way just for you.
He was invited to your place after almost four months of friendship. Simultaneously the best and worst four months of his entire life. Lois’ words haunted him every waking moment. Even when he was Superman and was fighting for his life, he kept thinking about it.
What if I just confess right here and then?
But no. Not yet. He didn’t want to rush anything.
Your apartment was exactly the way he’d envisioned it to be. Pastel pink and colorful and sparkly, and homey. You didn’t have a couch, and you said it was because you preferred sitting on the floor. You said it’s a family tradition, and you’d grown used to it.
So he sat down on your soft carpet (of course it was soft, you hated anything that wasn’t), knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees like a little kid, waiting for you as you prepared homemade strawberry lemonade.
“There you go,” you said, handing him a tall glass of pink lemonade. “Make yourself at home. I hope the carpet’s not too uncomfortable for you. If you want, we can move to my bedroom so you can sit on my bed.”
The simple thought of him being inside your bedroom was enough to make him flustered. “N-no, that’s alright, I don’t mind sitting like this.”
Especially not when you’d sat down cross legged right next to him, so close your knees touched. Clark’s entire focus was on that single point of contact. The rest of his body no longer existed. He could only feel his knee, and the rest of you.
He wished he could ask you to hold his hand again. Touch his hair, touch his thigh. Make the rest of his body come alive again.
But he was too scared. Too much of a coward.
But as if you’d heard him, your hand was on his thigh and you were suddenly on your knees, showing him something on your phone excitedly. You were showing him pictures of the time you’d decided to follow the color pink all over Metropolis and ended up in Gotham, but had to go back home because there wasn’t nothing pink in Gotham.
He took a huge sip of his lemonade, barely tasting it. He was sure it was delicious, but he just couldn’t handle just how close you were.
It became a regular occurence, Clark going to your place. At first, it was just after work, after he walks you home. But then, you invited him over during weekends as well, and then days off too. Until suddenly, he was at your place almost every single time.
That day, when he came over, you opened the door in your pajamas and quickly dragged him inside your living room without even bothering to say hi. Clark figured you’d forgotten how to be a human again.
But this time, instead of stopping at your living room, you took him to your bedroom. He’d never seen it before today, partly because he felt it was too intimate, even though you’d offered him plenty of time.
“We’re going to watch rom-coms until we fall asleep. I made cookies and bought chips and popcorns and drinks. You’re staying the night,” you’d declared, with the confidence of a general leading his army to battle.
“I– um, okay?” was all he could say. He couldn’t say no, even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t. He hadn’t had a sleepover in eons, and while he’d never particularly cared for it, he found that he suddenly really wanted one. “I don’t have clothes, though.”
“It’s okay, you can just sleep in your boxers if none of my clothes fit you,” you said while you were sorting through actual DVDs, totally oblivious to Clark who was fighting for his life after swallowing wrong.
If it were anyone else, Clark would have thought you said it on purpose, and that you just wanted him to get naked, because there was no possible way on Earth that any of your clothes would fit him, but this was you. The girl who said hi to every single animal she crossed in the streets. The girl who hugged like she breathed. Who thought social cues were a myth and marched to the beat of her own drums.
You probably didn’t even think anything of it, which made it really embarrassing for him to be so hung up about it.
In the end though, he did find clothes that fit, because you were a lover of oversized clothing and you hoarded them like dragons hoarded gold. But Clark could smell the faint smell of men, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were from your old boyfriends.
He really despised the idea of wearing clothes that once belonged to men who were with you in a way he never would be, but he did it anyway, just because you were so happy you found him something to wear.
Dressed comfortably (it wasn’t as bad, all things considered, because he only smelt the other guys if he really focused, and your smell was the strongest one anyway), you made him get on the bed before bringing all of the snacks — holy moly, you’d even cooked — and climbing next to him. You pressed play on the first movie of your choice — The Princess Bride — and nestled comfortably against him, your head against his shoulder.
Clark may have stopped breathing for ten minutes because he was so worried he would somehow bother you, until you’d murmured sleepily about how weird it was that he didn’t seem to be breathing at all.
God, he loved you. He loved everything about you, and it was getting more difficult by the day to keep hiding how he felt.
But there was nothing he wouldn’t do for preserving his relationship with you.
He wasn’t really sure why you’d picked The Notebook as part of your rom-com marathon, but he didn’t question it. Especially not when it meant that you sobbed into his neck, crying about how it was so unfair and how sad it was.
He just held you through it, wrapping you with his arms, reminded once again of just how bigger he was. How easy it would be for him to protect you against anything and everything.
“There, there,” he cooed, gently holding you against him.
You sniffed one last time before untangling yourself from his arms. You wiped your snotty nose with the sleeve of your pajamas. “Okay, I’m done crying,” you said.
He chuckled, because this such a you thing to do — deciding that you’re done with something, and just stopping.
“Let’s watch Pride & Prejudice now,” you said.
You sighed dreamily. “Mr Darcy is the dream, isn’t he?”
Clark had nothing against men, or women. Only the fact that they weren’t you.
“He’s alright,” he said, trying not to sound jealous. He was here. Darcy wasn’t even real. And Clark was sure he could treat you better than a man who insulted Elizabeth in the same breath he confessed to her with.
“You don’t get it,” you huffed indignantly. “It’s the yearning, the desperation, the restraint. So dreamy,” you repeated.
Clark thought to himself that he did all of that on the daily, and you never noticed. Why didn’t he get that treatment too?
Today was finally the day, Clark thought. He was going to ask you out. No, scratch that, he was going to ask you if you would do him the honor of being his girlfriend.
Quite frankly, he wasn’t completely ready yet, but as Lois had told him the night before, he was only going to regret not asking you out now. She said she overheard you talking to coworkers abou a guy who asked her out, and Clark realized he had to act quick.
There was no way he could let someone else steal you from him.
So, he’d asked you to meet him at a fancy restaurant downtown. He told you to wear fancy, though he didn’t care if you came in sleepwear.
He came thirty minutes early, because he was a loser like that (Lois’ words, not his). He was just so worried that something would happen and he would lose you forever.
He almost tilted the chair back when he saw you, because he stood up so fast and so strongly.
You were absolutely stunning. Of course, he always thought you were stunning, but tonight even more so. You were radiant, and you reminded him of the moon. Not just the moon you can see with the naked eye. But the moon he sees when he’s in space, and it’s so bright and huge it was all he could think about.
You were breathtaking, and he was so glad for his Kryptonian biology for the nth time around you, because he wasn’t sure how he could have survived you without his in-built invincibility.
“You look absolutely mesmerizing,” he said. And he was so convinced that you were the prettiest sight the universes had to offer that he didn’t even sound flustered for him.
You blushed prettily, and he fought the urge to kiss you right then and there.
He pulled the chair back for you and helped you sit down.
You talked about everything and nothing. Conversation had always been so easy with you. You could talk to him about the life cycle of bugs, and he would be just as enthralled. And you did, by the way, you spoke of bugs to him one day for almost four hours. Another day, you talked about ducks for five. You weren’t even being smart or scientific about it. You were just talking about how cute and fluffy they were, and how you loved going to the parc to watch them all day long.
But he knew he was running out of time when their desserts came in (you picked his dessert because it was your second option, and you couldn’t make up your mind so you asked him to pick it so you could taste both, and he happily obliged).
It was now or never.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh… I have something I want to ask you,” he said nervously.
You barely looked up from cutting into your lava cake. “Yes, Clark? What is it? Did you lose a pencil again? I wish I could help but I didn’t think to bring any tonight. I didn’t think we would need any.”
That made him chuckle, and it eased some of his nerves. “No, uh, it’s not about that. It’s… listen, darling, I was wondering if…”
You finally looked up, and you put your fork and knife down. “Yeah?”
“If you would do me the honor of being my girlfriend,” he blurted out quickly before he lost his courage.
He’d imagined you reacting in a thousand ways, but frowning confusedly was not one of them. “What?” you said.
“I, um, I am asking you out. These past few months being your friend were perfect, but I’ve always wanted more. I realized being just your friend wasn’t enough, so…”
You still looked confused. “Friend?” you repeated, head tilted to the side. “Clark, I have been your girlfriend for the past five months. What are you talking about?”
“Uh…” It was his turn to be confused.
You started enumerating things off your fingers. “You walk me home every day, you sleep over, you have your toothbrush at my place, you let me talk to you about insect, we go on dates every day, we hold hands and hug and sleep together. Am I missing something? Isn’t this what people do when they’re together?”
Clark’s entire world just shifted on its axis.
“I, uh…”
You were right but…
“I just assumed you didn’t want to kiss because you were too shy,” you said. “And I’m completely fine with that too. I’m shy too, so I get it.”
Clark’s brain still couldn’t form a single thought. You guys were dating all this time?
“You okay?” you asked him, leaning over the table to check his temperature on his forehead with the back of your fingers.
“Ah, yes,” he said, before clearing his throat again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We have been dating all this time.”
Summary : A cozy movie night with Clark turns into a kiss that burns hotter than either expected
Tags/warnings : lots of making out, nerdy!Clark
A/N : happy to be posting again!! I’m working on the requests I’ve gotten and some will be posted tomorrow! Thank you to everyone for all the kind words💙
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Work is… fine. Technically.
I answer emails, review reports, nod at coworkers like I’m listening. But my brain is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere with a soft-spoken man in glasses who kissed me goodnight and made my heart feel like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest.
I haven’t heard from him yet, and honestly with all the excitement and nerves nobody thought coherently to exchange phone numbers. But that didn’t stop me from checking my phone obsessively.
At 11:47 AM, my phone buzzes.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hi. This is Clark Kent. I got your number from Jimmy, I hope that’s okay.
I stare at it for a second too long.
Me: Definitely okay. I was starting to wonder if I’d imagined you.
Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then come back.
CLARK: Nope. Still real. Still tall. Still nice. What are you doing tonight?
My pulse jumps.
Me: Hopefully eating dinner with someone who knows how to cook. And watching the “first” Star Wars, but not the actual first? Still confused.
CLARK: Episode IV. A New Hope. It’s the only correct place to start. I’ll explain everything over pasta.
Me: You’re feeding me and giving me a crash course in nerddom?
CLARK: Tall, nice and very very useful.
I grin at my screen like a dork.
Me: I’ll bring snacks. 7 ok?
CLARK: I’ll be at the door like a golden retriever.
By the time I get home from work, there’s exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes until I’m supposed to be at Clark’s door.
I’m calm for maybe five of them. Then the chaos begins. I try on a black top, cute, fitted, a little shoulder action and stare at myself in the mirror. Too much? Not enough? Is this a “watching Star Wars with a sweet guy who makes pasta” top or a “meet my mother” top?
Off it goes.
Next is a vintage tee with faded lettering. I bought it at a thrift store years ago and it says something cryptic like “Waffles: A Breakfast Journey.” It’s kind of cute. Kind of dumb. I like it. But what if Clark doesn’t get it? Toss.
I tried on a skirt. Change into jeans. Swap my jeans for comfier jeans. Switch from boots to sneakers. Debate slippers. Consider faking food poisoning.
By the time I’m ten minutes out from needing to leave, my room looks like a tornado hit a department store.
Sweaters hang off my dresser like they’re clinging for dear life. My bed is a mountain range of rejected fits. I’ve somehow managed to lose one sock and my self-esteem.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, pulling on a simple black tee, my comfiest jeans, and the jacket Clark lent me last night.
I stare at myself. Okay. This feels… right.
Soft. Not trying too hard. Still wearing something of his. Which should be embarrassing, except it makes my stomach flip in a good way.
I glance at my phone. 6:58 PM.
I grab the root beer, take a deep breath, and whisper to myself “Don’t be weird. Don’t be weird. Don’t be…”
I grab my keys. Time to go see if Episode IV lives up to the hype.
I knock once, barely, and the door swings open like he’d been standing on the other side waiting for it.
Clark’s hair is just slightly rumpled. His apron is already on, and there’s a faint smudge of flour on his forearm. The smell hits me first: something tomato-based, something buttery, something warm.
And then he hits me, visually, emotionally, Clark, with that wide-eyed, kind smile and a blink of pure surprise.
His eyes drop to what I’m wearing. Specifically, his jacket.
“Oh,” he says softly, voice catching somewhere between his throat and chest. “You’re wearing…”
“I figured I should return it,” I say quickly, hugging it a little tighter around myself, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t want you filing a missing jacket report.”
He stares for half a second too long, lips twitching like he’s trying to hold in a smile and failing miserably. “Right. Good. Because I was about to issue a city-wide alert.”
I smile. “Emergency bulletin: ‘Fluffy, good-smelling jacket stolen by girl with excellent taste in books.’”
Clark steps aside, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guilty.”
I step in. It’s warm inside. Cozy. Like him.
His place is clean but not perfect, one of the kitchen drawers is sticking out just a little, and there’s a dishtowel slung over the back of the couch. A saucepan is simmering gently on the stove.
He closes the door behind me and hovers for a second, like he’s not sure if he should offer a hug or just combust where he stands.
“I—uh—made garlic bread,” he says.
My stomach growls in response. Loudly.
“Okay,” I laugh, “either I’m really hungry, or that bread has some kind of psychic pull.”
“It might,” he says, heading toward the kitchen. “It’s sourdough. My mom sent it.”
“I’m already in love with her,” I call after him.
He pauses and peeks around the corner with a soft, pleased grin. “She’d love you back. She has great taste.”
I freeze. So does he.
“…in bread,” he adds awkwardly. “I meant in bread. And aprons. She bought me this one. Not that I usually wear it. I mean—I do. But not, like, for company. I’m just going to check on the pasta now.” He disappears.
I hide my laugh behind my hand and look around, smiling to myself.
I follow the sound of clinking pans into the kitchen, where Clark is doing his best impression of a very tall, very flustered chef.
He’s stirring a pot of red sauce with one hand and using the other to swipe his glasses up his nose, leaving a streak of tomato across the bridge. He hasn’t noticed.
“Need help?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.
He glances over like I just offered him CPR mid-panic. “You cook?”
“Ehhh, I burn things with confidence.”
He grins. “That makes two of us.”
I move toward the stove anyway. “Okay, Chef Kent. What can I do?”
He gestures with the wooden spoon. “Garlic bread needs to come out in… two minutes? Maybe three? I think? And then I was gonna do the salad, but I lost the motivation somewhere around the croutons.”
“I can handle salad. I’ve seen lettuce before.”
I wash my hands and join him at the counter, grabbing a bowl and pretending not to be hyper-aware of the fact that he’s standing next to me. Very close. Smelling like herbs and laundry and nervous energy.
I chop, he stirs. At some point, my hands brush while reaching for the same spoon, and he freezes like someone hit pause.
“Sorry,” we both mutter at the same time. Then we both laugh.
I peek at him out of the corner of my eye. His cheeks are tinted pink, glasses a little foggy again.
“You’ve got…” I gesture vaguely to my own face. “Sauce. Across the nose bridge.”
“Oh—no.” He reaches up and just… smears it more.
I burst out laughing and grab a towel. “You’re gonna need adult supervision.” He lets me gently wipe the smudge away, standing perfectly still as my fingers brush his skin.
When I finish, he exhales like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.
“Thanks,” he says, voice a little quieter.
I just smile. “Anytime.”
Garlic bread is out. Salad is tossed. Pasta is ready. And the two of us are loading up plates like we didn’t just flirt through half of a domestic fantasy montage.
“I feel like we just unlocked a new level of intimacy,” I say as I carry my plate to the living room.
Clark follows, grabbing drinks. “What, because you touched my sauce face?”
“Exactly. I know your kitchen weaknesses now.”
He chuckles, setting down the root beer bottles. “That’s dangerous information.”
I settle on the couch beside him, legs tucked under me as he hands me my plate. His knee brushes mine and he doesn’t move it. He moves a blanket that laid on the back of the couch between the two of us.
“Ready for A New Hope?” he asks, reaching for the remote.
I gave him a look. “Only if you promise not to quote every line.”
“I unfortunately can’t make those kind of promises.”
The lights dim, the screen glows, and Clark hits play. The opening crawl rolls across the screen. Clark is already on the edge of his seat. Not literally, but emotionally? That man is dialed in. His hands rest on his knees. His plate is on the coffee table, untouched now. I sneak a glance at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, lips parted slightly as the music swells like he’s five years old again and this is a candy store.
I decide right then I’m going to mess with him. In the gentlest, most loving way.
“So…” I murmur, mid-crawl. “Is this the one where Voldemort kills Jon Snow?”
Clark slowly turns to look at me.
“…What?”
I bite your lip, fighting a grin.
He blinks. “I—I think you crossed about five universes.”
“Oh,” I say innocently. “So this isn’t the one with the wardrobe and the little British kids?”
His jaw actually drops. I lose it, snorting into my drink, nearly spilling it down my shirt.
Realization dawns. “Oooh you’re kidding.”
“Obviously.”
He groans and hides his face in his hands. “You can’t do that. My heart can’t take it.”
“You looked like you were about to write me off entirely.”
“I was actually planning an educational PowerPoint.”
I grin. “Was there going to be a quiz?”
“There still might be.”
“You know,” I murmur around a bite of garlic bread, “Leia’s energy is very ‘I’ve had three coffees and will ruin your life before breakfast.’”
Clark hums in agreement. “She’s my favorite character.”
I glance at him. “Is it the buns?”
He blushes. “No…I mean—kind of. But mostly her leadership qualities.”
“Of course.” He shifts like he’s trying not to touch me too obviously, but his knee presses into mine again, just lightly.
“And Luke?” I ask. “Sweet guy. Bit of a golden retriever. Might cry if you raise your voice.”
Clark chuckles. “He’s just… earnest. I like that about him.”
I nod thoughtfully. “And Obi-Wan?”
Clark sits up straighter. “A tragic legend. Wise. Noble. Underappreciated.”
I smirk. “So Clark Kent coded.”
He looks startled. “What?”
“I said what I said.”
He starts to respond, then closes his mouth again. His ears are red.
“You’re… not wrong,” he says eventually.
I lean my head against the back of the couch, full from dinner, warm from the blanket, and so aware of how close he is. I glance over and catch him watching me instead of the screen.
“What?” I ask.
His voice is soft. “You’re actually watching.”
I smile. “What, did you think I’d fake it just to get to dessert?”
“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Most people zone out or make fun of it.”
I shrug. “I make fun of it because I like it. I like you liking it.”
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me with that stunned, vulnerable look like I cracked open some part of him without trying.
Then quietly “That means a lot.”
I nudge his knee. “Relax. I’m just trying to pass the quiz.”
His smile curves slowly, eyes bright. We both go quiet again as the X-wings zoom across the screen. Clark’s hand rests on the couch cushion beside mine, fingers inching closer every time I shift.
By the time Luke says “I’ve got him in my sights,” my pinky is grazing his and he doesn’t move it.
The music swells one last time, then fades into silence as the credits scroll up the screen.
Clark sits back, remote resting lightly in his hand. He doesn’t turn to me right away. I can feel him hesitate. Like he’s working up the nerve to hear me say it wasn’t your thing. That I were bored. That it didn’t live up to the hype.
But I just say, “Okay… so when Leia says ‘you came in that thing?’ to Han, I felt that.”
Clark blinks. Slowly turns toward me.
I sit up straighter, animated now. “Like—Leia’s just been tortured, nearly executed, and the first thing out of her mouth is ‘that’s your ride?’ That is high-level sass. That’s character.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it.
I continue. “And Han? Peak overcompensating man-child energy. The boots? The vest? The ‘I’m a loner’ talk? He’s absolutely the kind of guy who would pretend he doesn’t believe in feelings and then cry during Titanic.”
Clark makes a noise that might be a laugh or a gasp. He’s stunned.
“I mean,” I go on, “Luke is sweet, don’t get me wrong. But Leia and Han carry the tension. You can tell they’re going to either fall in love or kill each other within three movies.”
Clark’s just staring at me now. Like I’ve performed a miracle.
“…You actually watched it,” he says, voice soft.
“Clark,” I deadpan, “I could write a dissertation.”
“Can you?” he whispers. “Can you write a dissertation? I’d read it and give you notes.”
I laugh. “I will mail it to you.”
There’s a long beat of silence. And then he does it, he beams. Full, dimpled, stupid-happy grin. Like he’s just found someone who speaks his language.
“I was seriously expecting you to hate it,” he says.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he says quickly, then sheepishly, “ You were so quiet during the last part, I thought you fell asleep.”
“I was absorbing, Clark, my brain needs time to process.”
He shifts toward me more, eyes bright behind his glasses. “Okay. So then, real question. Who shot first?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Leia.” Clark blinks. Then laughs, loud and helpless.
“I’m in so much trouble,” he mutters.
I smile and lean back into the couch, both of us still facing each other, legs tangled up in the blanket.
“I liked it,” I say softly, more serious now. “I liked spending time with you.”
He sobers a little. His fingers twitch where they rest near mine.
“I liked this too,” he says. “A lot.”
There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just heavy with something new and warm settling between us.
His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up again. His voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “Is it too soon to ask for a third date?”
I smile. “Only if you make me watch the Christmas special.”
Clark groans. “I wouldn’t do that to you, no one deserves that.”
I’m already leaning in. So is he. But even though it’s only inches, maybe less, we both pause. Hovering. Sharing the same breath. His eyes flick between mine and my mouth like he’s waiting for a green light I haven’t realized I was already giving.
“Is… is this okay?” he asks, voice barely audible.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Is it okay with you?”
He blinks, surprised. Then softens. “Definitely.”
I smile, suddenly shy again. My pulse is thudding. His hand, hesitant, warm, rises slowly to my cheek, brushing the hair away.
“I’ve never…” he starts, then shakes his head. “I mean, I have, I just—”
I cut in, equally flustered. “Me too. Like… not like this.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling faintly. “Not like this.”
And then, finally, his lips meet mine.
It’s gentle. Too careful at first. Like both of us are trying to figure out where to put our hands, our mouths, our hearts. His glasses bump my face a little and we both laugh, nervous and breathless, foreheads tipping together for a second.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Do you want me to—?”
“No,” I whisper. “I like you like this.”
His hand slides to the side of my neck. Mine find his chest, broad and solid and rising just a little too fast beneath my palm. We kiss again, longer this time. Still shy, still nervous, but braver now his thumb is tracing small, absent circles behind my ear. We’re both smiling. Glowing. Dizzy.
“Still okay?” he asks again, like he can’t stop himself.
“Still yes,” I say. And I kiss him again. This time, we both stop checking, because we already know. I feel brave and gently tug his bottom lip with my teeth.
My fingers curl into the soft fabric of his shirt, the steady thump of his heart under my palm anchoring me even as my own pulse runs wild.
Clark makes a quiet sound, half-surprised, half-delighted, when my teeth graze his bottom lip again. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand on my neck slides just a little lower, warm and steady at the curve of my shoulder, his thumb stroking slow, almost absent patterns like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me.
I tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and that’s when he finally leans into me, not just meeting me, but answering. The shy hesitance gives way to something warmer, more certain, the gentle press of his lips turning into a slow, molten pull that leaves me breathless.
His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose, bumping against my cheek again, and I feel the smallest huff of laughter from him against my mouth. He doesn’t break away, though, just nudges closer until the frame is no longer between us, the faint scent of flour and soap clinging to him.
I part for a moment, barely, just enough to feel the whisper of his breath against my lips. His voice is rougher now, low and uncertain in the most endearing way.
“Still okay?”
I nod, a little too quickly, and my fingers tighten at his chest. “Better than okay.”
That seems to be all the encouragement he needs. His other hand finds my waist, the heat of his palm seeping through the denim as he draws me in until our knees brush, the blanket slipping further around us both. His kiss turns more insistent, not rushed, but lingering in a way that feels like he’s trying to pour everything he’s been holding back into the space between our mouths.
I sigh against him, my hand drifting upward to the back of his neck, feeling the soft hair there as his lips move with a shy kind of hunger, like he’s still afraid to push too far but can’t quite bring himself to stop. When I shift closer, his breath catches again, and for a split second I think he might actually pull away.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he kisses me again, slower, deeper like he’s savoring every second before we have to let go.
My hand stays at the back of his neck, thumb brushing against the warm skin there, and I feel the slightest tremor in him, like he’s fighting between pulling me closer and keeping himself in check.
I tilt into him again, my lips coaxing rather than demanding, and that’s when something shifts. It’s subtle, but I feel it, the way his hand at my waist tightens, the way his other hand drifts from my shoulder to your jaw, angling my face just so as his mouth claims mine with a little more certainty.
Clark kisses like he’s learning the map of me, but now there’s heat under it, slow, curling warmth that winds low in my stomach. His thumb traces my cheekbone as if he can’t help touching me everywhere he can reach, the pads of his fingers gentle but lingering.
I part for a breath, our foreheads resting together, and I catch the flicker of his eyes down to my mouth again before he swallows hard.
“You make it really hard to be careful,” he murmurs.
My pulse kicks. “Who says I want you to be careful?”
That pulls a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh from him. His gaze softens even as his lips press together like he’s trying to contain something bigger. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leans back in.
The kiss this time is fuller, hungrier, though still wrapped in that Clark Kent sweetness. His fingers slip into my hair, and the moment my lips part for him, his breath hitches like the permission startled him. He follows through anyway, deepening the kiss until my head tips back just slightly, and I feel the world outside his arms blur.
His chest is rising faster now, and when I press just a little closer, his arm around my waist draws me in until I’m practically in his lap.
My knee brushes his thigh. He exhales sharply. And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I swing one leg over and settle astride him.
The look in his eyes changes. Still Clark, still gentle, still that same shy awe, but threaded with something older, deeper, more primal. His hands span my hips like he’s afraid to grip too hard, but the heat in his gaze tells me he wants to.
The next kiss isn’t careful. It’s hungry. His mouth moves against mine with a need that pulls a small, involuntary sound from my throat, and when it does, his hands flex at my waist, drawing me closer until our chests meet, until there’s no space for air or second-guessing.
My fingers find the back of his neck, threading through his hair, pulling him closer still. His breath hitches when I shift on his lap, the friction drawing a low, muffled groan from deep in his chest.
It’s unsteady, almost messy, our mouths finding each other again and again, tongues grazing, lips parting, his glasses sliding crooked on his face. His hands roam in hesitant, reverent sweeps from my hips to my ribs, up my back, down again, as though he’s mapping every inch of me through my clothes.
When I roll your hips, slow and deliberate, he breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s fighting for control.
“You’re,” he breathes, voice low and strained, “you’re… making it really hard to think.”
I press my lips to his jaw, then his neck, feeling the shiver ripple through him. “Don’t think.”
His laugh is low and shaky, his hands tightening just a little on my hips. The tension between us feels like it could tip over into something else any second, hot, urgent, unstoppable.
And that’s exactly why, after one last slow, lingering kiss, he rests his forehead on mine again and just breathes me in.
The want is still there, raw, impossible to ignore but so is the thought that we should wait. I don’t want to rush him and it sounds like he’s trying to think. The last thing I want to do is make him think I’m a crazy sex obsessed freak who used Star Wars to get in his pants.
Our breaths are tangled, both of us flushed and unsteady, still sitting there with my legs around him and his hands warm against my hips like they’re meant to be there.
Clark’s gaze flickers over my face, my kiss-swollen lips, my flushed cheeks, the way I’m still holding on to him like I’ll drown if I let go. I can see the battle in his eyes: the pure, aching want for me and the stubborn gentleness that won’t let him take more than I’m ready to give.
He kisses me again, slower this time, lingering like he’s memorizing the taste of me and when he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against mine again.
His voice is quiet, but there’s something fierce beneath it.
“I want you so much,” he says, almost like it’s a confession he’s been holding back. “But I want all of you. Not just right now… not just because we can’t stop kissing.”
My chest tightens, and for a second I forget how to breathe. His hands slide up my sides, gentle and steady, stopping at my ribcage like he’s holding the frame of something sacred. “If we keep going,” he murmurs, “I won’t want to stop. And you… you deserve better than just now. You deserve the moment we both know we’re ready. The one that wrecks us, in the best way.”
I swallow hard, my heart beating so loud I’m sure he can feel it.
“I can wait,” I whisper.
His lips curve into the faintest, almost shy smile, the kind that still manages to undo me completely. “Then I will too. For as long as it takes.”
He tucks me into his chest, my knees still beside his hips, his arms around me like he’s never letting go. There’s still heat under my skin, still the electric hum of what almost happened, but now it’s wrapped in something deeper, something warm and steady and heartbreakingly sure.
We stay like that for a long time, neither moving, neither speaking, both knowing without saying it that when we do cross that line, it will be because we chose it together.
And as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled my ears, I realized that waiting with him might be the most romantic thing we’d ever do.
˚⋅౨ৎ thinking about loser!Clark Kent who is soo depraved he jerks off to your panties...
You'd invited Clark over to your place after work to finish the article the both of you were working on. Now, nearly 3 hours later, you were exhausted and tired and besides, Clark could finish up the rest on his own. "Leave the article on my bed after you're done, Clark. I'm gonna go shower." you hum deliberately, knowing the effect the last sentence would have on him. After all, he is just a stupidly jacked loser with a dick too big for his own good that he has no control over.
And exactly as you'd predicted, he turns a deep shade of red, stammering out an affirmation — the imagery of you naked and glistening under the shower with steam curling around your flushed skin, enough to make his pants start to tighten. He is soo easy to rile up, it's embarrassing.
-
After he's done typing out the last bit, he heads to your room, the sound of the running shower pattering through the door of the bathroom as he sets the file down on your bed.
And that's when he sees it— a tiny pair of pink lace panties, lying carelessly on your unmade bed. His eyes widen, his cock stiffening painfully from a single glance as he stares helplessly at the crumpled scrap of fabric. He knows he should leave but his feet don't move, his eyes transfixed on the delicate lace— all soft and inviting like it's begging to be touched, to be caressed....to be dragged, slow and filthy, down your thighs.
Clark glances at the bathroom door, hesitance and a heady sense of utter perverse want warring heavily in his heart. He knows just how wrong this is. You’re his colleague, his friend. And he's the guy who's so respectful and well-behaved that he physically flinches when someone curses around him, the guy so painfully awkward and shy that he starts to stammer the moment you talk to him about anything outside of work. The one person he’s sure you’d never expect to find salivating over the sight of your underwear. But his cock's hard and leaking already, straining against his zipper, begging him to touch the fabric. Just once.
He snatches the panties before he can stop himself, his fist closing tightly over the lace and golly, he can picture you in them— your skin smooth and soft under the dainty lingerie... under his palms. His mind spirals before he can stop himself—images of him sliding them down your legs or tearing them off of your flushed body as he buries his face between your thighs the way he's been desperate to for so long— filling his brain. Clark groans, his lower lip caught between his teeth from the effort of holding back as he instinctively palms himself— slow and shameful— through his pants, his mouth pressing a deep, affectionate kiss to the lace.
His trembling hand brings your panties to his clothed erection as he presses his hips forward and into it, the barely existent friction making his cock throb harder than it ever has before. He knows how pathetic he’s being. How this is way worse than all the times he's spent fisting his cock in desperation right there in the office bathroom just because he'd accidentally caught a peek at your cleavage or you'd brushed against him once. He knows how he shouldn’t be doing this, but...he’s too far gone.
Clark fumbles with his belt, yanking his pants down just enough to free his cock— heavy and leaking with a slutty amount of precum that dribbles all the way down the thick shaft to his base. He hastily wraps the lace around himself— mumbling apologies that only serve to remind him of how pitiful this act of sheer depravity is— the soft fabric dragging against his shaft, making his eyes roll back, his knees buckling from just how good it feels. He bucks into his fist, , squeezing the petite fabric tightly around his aching dick, the bulging veins wrapped around his shaft throbbing with every slide of your panties across his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he whimpers- low, desperate and barely stifled- fucking into your fisted underwear while imagining it’s your pussy instead, slick and hot, stretched wide around his girth and so fucking tight around him as he’d pound into you so hard, he’d see stars.
It doesn't take long for Clark’s strokes to get faster and messier- precum soaking the lace in copious amounts and leaving stains that he's too worked up to worry about. He’s panting, deep moans— he's too inexperienced and horny to stifle—slipping out of him, the guilt inside only making it hotter. “ Oh gosh y-yeah, j-just like that, baby.” he grunts. He knows how taboo it is. How you’re his best friend and he’s fucking into your panties like he’s in heat. But he can’t stop.
The lace, slick and wrapped around him, the thought of him burying his cock inside your tight little pussy till you're screaming his name, the knowledge that you'd be so small around him, struggling to take his cock— making him approach his orgasm rapidly with each sloppy, erratic stroke. He thrusts into the panties one last time, whimpering- loud and sharp- as ropes of his come spill hot over the lace, making a sticky, ruined mess as it soaks the fabric further. He pants through the overstimulation as he draws out his orgasm till he’s drained.
The shower cuts off suddenly and Clark's eyes shoot open just in time to see you step out, a thin towel wrappedc unid around you as your hair drips with water. You gasp in surprise as your eyes lock on him... and then drop to the mess in his fist.
a/n : if anyone would like to be added to the taglist for the same please don't hesitate to let me know <3
taglist : @y0inked, @castielsonlyangel, @zenoxl, @bowxs, @redsbookshelf, @nuhveah, @boba-is-a-soup, @maryjlawrenceatservice.
loser!clark kent who.. could never keep himself under control at the sight of you
cw: masturbation (m), kinda somno, pet names (baby, sweetheart), established relationship
clark bit his lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to slip past his lips, squeezing a fist around his thick, leaking cock. he was painfully hard and his tip was swollen an angry red, the beady white pearls of pre cum pooling at every stroke.
you lay peacefully beside him, cheeks flushed a soft pink from the warmth of the sheets, only wearing a tank top with straps that fell down your shoulder at the smallest movement and clarks favourite pair of lace panties. your eyelashes lay gently against your face as you shifted ever so slightly in your deep sleep, your bare legs brushing against your boyfriends.
he kept his strokes slow, shutting his eyes and imagining his fist was your tight pussy, jerking his hips up in desperation as if he was thrusting into you. “b- baby.. s- so good, mmph-“ he grunted, clamping his free hand over his mouth.
clarks head snapped over to you sleeping beside him when you stirred momentarily, now giving him a full view of your pretty sleeping face, your lips parted and your hair falling over an eye. the sight of you looking so soft and comfortable made his cock twitch in his hand.
he began to jerk himself off harder and fast now, tugging roughly on himself as he felt how close he was getting.
clark groaned deeply and bucked his hips up off the mattress as he squeezed a fist around his length one last time, his cum shooting onto his hand and stomach in thick spurts. for a few moments, he simply lay there and tried to catch his breath, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed steadily.
“i love you sweetheart, fuck.” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, being careful as to not wake you before getting up to clean himself up.
masterlist ⊹ request something ⊹ join my taglist
a/n: he is so pathetic i love him i just wanna squish his cheeks and kiss him. not proofread, lmk if there are any mistakes!!!
clark kent taglist: @bowxs , @y0inked , @sammyslittledoll , @sunnyteume , @nicetomeachum , @mar-munteanu06 , @iminlovebutimkeepinitlowkey , @kissmxcheek , @mollymal
˚⋅౨ৎ clark kent fucking you mid-air just because he can...
this was not what you had in mind when you'd told clark you wanted to try something new.
"clarkie, I'm- I'm scared, baby." you whine, your voice slurred and high-pitched from the way he's thrusting up into you with the kind of force that feels like too much every time he bottoms out. your nails claw into his biceps for support you don't even need, the thick muscle bulging under your grip he holds you up...mid-air.
you weigh nothing to him as he lifts you, your legs hooked over his arms as leverage to spread you wide open so he can pound into your soaked cunt. "nothing to be scared of doll, y'know I'm never gonna let anything happen to you. don't you worry your pretty little head about nothing. just lemme use you the way I need, yeah ?" he grunts, silencing your whimpers with a kiss, his tongue laving hot and desperate against yours and you submit willingly, too dumb on his cock and blissed-out to care.
it's obscene how worked up you are from the twisted sense of excitement and risk born being fucked in this position, your slick making a mess down your thighs as the thick, filthy sound of his dick sinking balls-deep into your pussy fills the room with every stroke.
you're clinging to clark tight enough to feel the way his grip never falters, the way it doesn't even tremble once as his thrusts take on a harder edge, his tip slamming into your sweet spot with every aggressive pump of his hips. "golly, I can't b-believe we waited this long to try this—mmnnh— f-feels soo good. squeezin' me so tight, think you actually love this baby." clark moans.
and it's true, painfully so. you're clenching so tight around the heavy shape of him that you can feel the thick veins wrapped around his girthy shaft throbbing inside you with a heady mix of the raw, masculine power he seems to live and breathe and a kinky thrill that comes from bouncing you on his cock mid-air with nothing but his strength to support your pliant, fucked-out body.
who knew mr. soft spoken, well-behaved to the point of saying the word "golly" like it's a slur clark kent of all people had such a filthy side to him.
a/n : why would I ever let this wither in my drafts. anyway, if anyone would like to be added to the taglist for the same please don't hesitate to let me know <3
taglist : @y0inked, @castielsonlyangel, @zenoxl, @bowxs, @redsbookshelf, @nuhveah, @boba-is-a-soup, @maryjlawrenceatservice.
summary: although she’d been working at the daily planet for a few months, staving off social invites left and right, she never thought saying yes to getting drinks on halloween would’ve led to clark kent talking her down from a panic attack in a back alley of a bar.
18+ mdni, slow burn, bit of angst, anxiety, fluff, smut, piv, oral + fingering (f!receiving), office romance, hea
wc: 8.9k (requests open)
She hadn’t expected to be there. Still not quite understanding how Lois was able to drag her out to a bar downtown on Halloween. She wasn’t the going out type, in any sense of the word. The thought was always just… overwhelming.
Maybe she still wasn’t accustomed to the city. Her mother had told her this would happen. That it was too big and she was used to a world too small.
Despite lacking in the social variety, something she even struggled with back in her hometown, she had fallen in love with the world and wanted to see it. In some way, even if it was baby steps. That being said, she hadn’t been doing too well. She’d been working at the Daily Planet as a photographer for a few months now and had staved off every single invite thrown her way. An excuse always on her lips. Guilt nipping at her sides when Jimmy or Cat’s face would fall in disappointment. Looking away awkwardly as Lois would look at her knowingly, but not saying anything.
She wasn’t the only one, as soon as she’d say no, they’d turn to Clark. Who of which, would look over his shoulder with a bagel half way to his mouth and a sort of dumbfounded look to his face. Muttering a, “what?” Completely clueless to the discussion happening around him.
“We’re getting drinks tonight,” Lois would say, eyes already on her computer because she knew what the answer would be.
But now there she was, sitting in a vinyl booth with cracks in it and the lights a dark orange and purple for the holiday. Jimmy brought over a flight of shots, all looking like an odd arrangement of colors that shouldn’t be safe to consume.
“What’s in them?” She asked.
He shrugged, grinning and reaching for one. “No idea.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, eyeing the alcohol warily before grabbing one. It was a strange green color. Maybe supposed to be Frankenstein’s Monster themed.
Just about to tilt the glass back at her lips, someone approached their table. Stumbling a bit as he ran into the corner of another table.
“Sorry I’m late,” Clark apologised, smiling a little sheepishly with dimples looking devastating.
She blinked up at him, shocked by his presence and he seemed to halt in his steps as his eyes fell on her.
“I didn’t know you were coming out tonight.” He said, his voice low but carrying over the Halloween playlist the bar was playing.
Her lips parted, brain short circuiting for some reason. He looked handsome in his costume. It wasn’t anything crazy. He was dressed in a cheap Dracula outfit. A boyish charm to it because he was still wearing his thick framed glasses and his dark curly hair was in its usual mess.
Clark slid into the seat next to her, grabbing the last shot from the flight and threw it back without any hesitation. His face screwed up in momentary disgust.
She looked down at her own shot, her heart thudding in her ears. She might as well, she was there after all. She’d probably need the liquid courage.
Clark suddenly bumped her shoulder and she looked up at him, starstruck for a moment at his smile.
“It’s good to see you.”
“You see me every day.”
“Yeah but, it’s different.”
She looked down at her drink, not knowing what to say and thankful that the group swept Clark into some conversation about Jimmy’s latest article.
She wasn’t quite sure if it was the alcohol that was making her feel hazy. Because she let her anxiety catch up to her she was on her fourth cocktail of the night, but she felt… off. And not in any sort of ditsy intoxicated way. She had half hoped the drinks would soothe her mind. Lull her thoughts into silence. But apparently her physiology had other plans. Everything felt dialed to eleven. The noise. The sounds. The heat. Her clothes not fitting right. Her bones itched.
Too much.
She just needed to breathe. Yet as she tried to inhale slowly it felt cloudy. Nothing was getting in. Her lungs expanded around nothing. Panicked eyes flicked over her friends, all drunk and laughing with heads thrown back. She couldn’t even hear what they were talking about. Muffled and distorted.
Breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
Her heart picked up and stumbled.
Clark turned to her suddenly, frowning, He might’ve said something. Might’ve asked if she was okay. Looking at her like he could see and that made it all so much worse.
She stood up without a word, using the table for leverage. Every limb felt too heavy and her head swam as she looked around desperately for an out. She just needed air. Air and she’d be fine. She had to be fine.
Her eyes caught the glow of an exit sign and her body practically slumped against it as she shoved it open, the sound of her shoes hitting damp cement echoed faintly in ears. She sucked in a breath, the air cold but… but it was wrong. Her vision swam, taking in the sight of skyscrapers. Cars honking and engines roaring. People shouting laughter as they stumbled out of bars. Crowded and loud and not what she needed. She needed–
Her shoulder hit the brick wall harshly as she slumped over, head spinning. Was her mom right? Was she in over her head? She couldn’t even go out with people she considered friends and… God, did they even consider her a friend? Why would they? She barely gave them the time of day. Barely talked at work. Eyes focused on her computer and headphones over her ears. Not knowing how to talk to any of them unless they started it. She wasn’t even trying.
Sliding to the ground, the brick wall tore at her shirt but she didn’t care. She didn’t care as the rain soaked ground stained her clothes and she pulled her knees up to her face, pressing her eyes harshly into them until multicolored dots appeared. Her head was spinning and she felt nauseous. Awful. Like she could throw up her own skeleton and she was half tempted to try and yank it out herself. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Hey.”
Her head flung up and it would’ve slammed into the wall behind her if his hand hadn’t shot forward and cradled the back of her skull.
Clark was knelt down in front of her, his brows furrowed. Looking concerned and it made her feel worse.
“I’m fine,” she blurted. It was all she could think of.
His head tilted to the side, lips pressed together in a way that told her he thought she was full of it.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, completely ignoring her last statement. Inching a little bit closer like he was approaching a wounded animal. His hand gently fell from the back of her head to rest against the side of her throat, his thumb gently brushing over her racing pulse.
She didn’t mean to but she leaned into his touch. The warmth of him comforting and the roughness of his hand grounding her a little bit.
“Nothing, just… I don’t know, overwhelmed I guess. I’ll be fine, Clark.”
His eyes flicked between hers, biting the inside of his cheek for a moment. “You can talk to me, you know.” He said slowly, offering her a slightly lopsided smile. “I don’t bite.”
When Clark pulled away, her stomach dropped in both disappointment and panic, but it was momentarily abated as he sat down next to her and leaned against the wall of the building. The lights of the city reflected in his glasses as he looked around before peering down at her. “I know the city can get a bit much.”
Her lips parted, still feeling breathless but she wasn’t sure if it was her panic attack or him. “How’d you know?”
He shrugged a shoulder, the action causing him to gently bump against her. “I get homesick, sometimes.”
She looked down at her shoes, shoving some gravel around. “You’re from Kansas, right?”
Clark was quiet for a moment before humming quietly. “I love it here but…” he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment and she took the opportunity to look at him. Really look at him.
He was beautiful.
“I’m always going to miss Kansas,” he muttered before slowly opening his eyes and and she didn’t have the thought to look away. Couldn’t if she tried.
“What’s it like there?” She asked, speaking low in fear she’d shatter whatever bubble that had surrounded them and drowned out the sounds of the city.
Clark leaned his head against the wall, still looking down at her and he smiled, bumping his knee into hers. “Sunsets were the best, especially when the light would hit the wheat and cornfields. Everything looked golden.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
He hummed, looking at her but seeing something far away. Echoes of a childhood clouded by nostalgia.
“The air is different. I don’t know if clean is the right word, I could always smell the dirt and oil from my dad’s truck but it was… I don’t know.”
“Home?” She offered and he nodded.
“Yeah, home.”
“Would you ever move back?” She wrung her hands in her lap. The thought had been silently plaguing her for weeks. Shutting it off before it could take roots but she knew it was already blooming. It felt weak for even considering moving back home. Pathetic. A failure. Picturing her mom’s face made her stomach churn.
Clark sighed, his lashes dark over his eyes as he watched her. Everything about him was sharp, visually at least. But there was such softness to him, like he knew how to handle fragile things carefully. He knew how to be gentle.
“I’d like to,” he eventually admitted. “When I’m older. My parents have a farm. When I was a kid I hated the thought of taking over. Now I think it would be peaceful. Let my mind rest, for once.”
She finally offered up her own smile. “Clark Kent the farmer,” she whispered softly. “Has a ring to it.”
“Oh, does it?” He laughed, the sound light but rough around the edges. Hearing that sound was like a shot of strong liquor. But the sweet kind that goes down easy and it went straight to her head.
He was still smiling, but his lips pressed together and he considered her for a moment. So close and his breath was warm on her face. “Why do you always do that?”
Her own smile fell a bit, “do what?”
“Divert the conversation away from you.”
It was her turn to shrug. “Not much to tell–”
Clark shook his head. “People want to know you. It wouldn’t hurt to let them.”
Her brows furrowed, chest feeling tight. “Are you people?”
His hand brushed against hers, calloused and warm. Comforting. His thumb slid against her knuckles as he looked at her. “I can be.”
Clark seemed to be everywhere, yet nowhere when she expected him.
He’d come in late to work like always, throwing out muttered good mornings with a cup of what she knew was hot chocolate instead of coffee in his hand, that morning's edition of the paper tucked under his arm. There was a slight change in his routine, though.
Her desk wasn’t on his route to his desk. She was tucked away against the far wall, the morning light always bathing her desk in an annoying amount of sunlight with a glare on her screen that made it difficult to edit. Her hand was halfway to her cup of tea when a shadow suddenly fell over her.
“Mornin’.” Clark grinned at her.
She froze, hand still hovering uselessly near her tea with her lips parted. Eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Um…” she blinked. “Morning?”
Clark dipped his head, looking sheepish before turning on his heel to head to his desk across the bullpen.
When he walked away her eyes fell on Lois, who was looking at her quizzically before returning her attention back to her keyboard.
He’d say good morning to her now everyday, directly.
Half of her hated how much it made her day. Half of her didn’t mind.
Snow had fallen in a blanket over Metropolis.
Christmas neared with every hour and she couldn’t help but smile as the office slowly got more and more decorated.
The tree Jimmy had put up was a little pathetic, in a Charlie-Brown-Christmas sort of way, but it only made it more charming. Multicolored fairy lights were strung around the office along with tinsel and it made late nights a little easier to bear.
The hour was late as she was working on some of her latest photographs, chewing on a pen as she hummed along to Christmas music she had playing in her headphones. She was a sucker for the holidays, it was a brief moment where she felt like the world slowed down a bit and got fuzzy at the edges.
She felt the vibration of someone knocking against her desk and her eyes flicked up, not all that surprised to see Clark standing there with two cups that had steam billowing from the rims. He was often there late since he’d disappear for random hours at end. Perry hardly gave him a hard time for it nowadays, given Clark usually had a Superman interview to type up.
She slid her headphones off, the sound of Winter Wonderland playing faintly and the Christmas lights reflected in Clark’s glasses as he smiled down at her.
“Hot coco?” He offered, reaching a hand out and she thankfully took it. Repressing a shiver as their fingers brushed.
“Thanks, Clark.” She mumbled before blowing on the hot drink. He’d even put whipped cream on top, something she wasn’t aware the office kitchen had. She hummed in content as the sweet contents hit her tongue.
When she lowered the cup, the look Clark was giving her was unreadable.
“What?” She said dumbly.
His smile was soft and he lifted a hand hesitantly, “nothing you just got…”
Her breath hitched as his thumb swiped against her lips, the rough pad of his finger sending jolts of electricity through her. Staring as he pulled his hand back, the sight of whipped cream on his thumb and she was sure she was as red as a tomato when she watched him suck his finger clean.
“Thanks,” she muttered numbly, her mouth suddenly dry.
Clark was blushing too, but waved her off and hid behind his own cup as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. He cleared his throat when he lowered it, his own mouth had a bit of whipped cream on it but before she could even consider doing anything his tongue darted out and cleaned it away.
“So, what are you working on?” He asked, voice a little rough around the edges as he rounded her desk to stand beside her.
His presence was… a lot. She didn’t know how else to put it. Consuming but not in any way that was uncomfortable. He was warm and faintly smelt of cedar and citrus. A little bit of chocolate and mint too, due to his favorite drink of choice.
“Um,” she took another drink. Hoping it would knock some sense into her. “Just some of my latest stuff. Things for Jimmy’s next article, mainly. Some freelance.”
“Freelance?” Clark raised a brow and set his drink down, leaning against her desk with one hand while the other rested against the back of her chair as he leaned closer to her monitor. “Can I see?”
“Oh,” she was blushing for a whole other list of reasons. Showing her own personal work always felt leagues more vulnerable than anything else. “It’s really not anything crazy, Clark.”
He looked down at her, eyes an endless blue and dimples teasing at his cheeks as he smiled at her. “I’d love to see them, if you’d let me.”
She gnawed at her lip as she considered him. This was Clark. Sweetheart, too good for this world Clark. He wouldn’t be scrutinising or cruel. She knew that. She also knew he’d be honest. Maybe he was just the critic she needed to slowly step out of her comfort zone.
“Okay,” she breathed, turning back to her computer and clicking on a few things before opening up her portfolio. She slid her mouse over to him, “have at it.”
Clark looked at her for a moment before his gaze went to her work and he slowly began to click through them.
Painfully silent.
She sat there as she wrung her hands, eyes flicking back and forth between him and her work. Her throat tightened as she watched a crease form between his brows.
When he got to her last edited photo he stood up and leaned against her desk, arms crossed and she buried her face in her hands.
“God, they’re awful aren’t they?”
She felt his fingers gently tug her hands away from her face.
“They’re perfect.”
“Clark—“
“Kind of like you.”
That shut her up, except for the disbelieving laugh that left her. “Ever the people pleaser.”
It didn’t mean anything. He was just being Clark.
“Which ones your favorite?” He asked, gesturing to her monitor and she considered for a moment before clicking through a few.
When she found it, she leaned an elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her hands. Eyes gazing at her work. “It’s nothing award worthy but, I think it’s beautiful.”
Clark was quiet for a moment before his low voice swirled around her. “Yeah, I think so too.”
When she looked up he quickly looked away and cleared his throat again. “So,” he started. “You going to the office Christmas party?”
“Oh, I don’t—“
“I’d love to see you,” Clark offered and began to walk away. “You liven up the place.”
And that’s how she found herself that upcoming Friday night.
She felt silly. Dressed up more than usual for a workday.
As she got ready she repeatedly told herself it was not for Clark Kent. Her dark blue sweater he had complimented months ago wasn’t for him. Her skirt she ironed was especially not for him. Her heels she saved for special occasions were certainly not chosen at all for him. Not her sweet smelling perfume or the way she bothered to style her hair.
And all of it seemed to be true because two hours into the office gathering Clark was nowhere to be seen.
She leaned against the wall, swirling her cider in her hand and the holiday music fell faintly in her ears mixed with chatter. She smiled faintly when addressed and helped take photos with her always in hand camera slung over her shoulder.
Trying desperately hard not to let the disappointment chew at her stomach.
She didn’t know why she felt like that. Clark was in and out of the office all the time. A schedule not existent.
Hell, he was probably interviewing Superman.
She couldn’t compete with that. Not that Clark’s attention was a competition.
God, she felt stupid.
He’s just a coworker with a Midwestern-sunshine-kindness to him. That was all.
She should've known better than to let a few acts of kindness get to her head. It was presumptuous and egotistical of her to assume anything at all. And just flat out dumb. What would Clark Kent want with her?
She looked down at her drink and bit the inside of her cheek. That was her problem. She would get too into her head but at the end of the day just shrug it off as being pragmatic.
Pushing off the wall, she weaved her way to the kitchen and poured out her drink. She just wanted to lay down in her apartment. Curl up in a ball and cry in self deprecation as she put on a rom-com that set wildly unattainable expectations.
Shrugging on her coat, she muttered goodbyes to anyone who asked and finally took a breath as the elevator doors shut, slumping against the wall and watching the floors tick down with exhaustion.
When the doors dinged open, her eyes were on her phone as she scrolled trying to find a cab to book as she walked through the empty lobby. Heels clicking against the tile before she heard someone walk through the front doors just as she was walking out of them.
She didn’t pay them much mind till she heard her name.
Looking up, she blinked in surprise at the sight of Clark through the door before taking a few steps back into the building.
His hair was messier than usual. His wool coat fit him snugly and his hands were shoved in his pockets. He looked bashful and romantic with snowflakes still stuck in his dark curls.
“Are you leaving?” He asked, shoulders slumped a little.
She bit at the inside of her cheek, her thoughts from earlier still loud in her mind. “Yeah, it’s late and—“
“Stay.” He blurted, looking surprised himself that he said it.
He’s just being nice. Get over yourself.
“I’m gonna go, Clark.” She offered a small smile, trying not to read too much into the way his face fell. “Merry Christmas.”
She walked back out of the building, the cold immediately biting into her skin and she shivered. Her fingers trembling not just from the cold as she tried to tap away at her phone.
Merely seconds passed before she heard footsteps approach. “Let me walk you home,” Clark offered.
“But the party—“
“I only came to see you.”
Her lips parted, not knowing what to say to that. Was she dreaming?
“Clark.”
He smiled at her, his cheeks red from the cold as he stepped closer. “Let me make it up to you.”
Her head was spinning and doubts, as always, crawled up her spine like a spider. Tickling each nerve ending and not letting her enjoy this the way she wanted to.
She swallowed thickly, looking away from him and out into the snow covered city. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
She didn’t know why she felt like crying. She just felt… it sounded so pathetic, but she felt so small compared to him. Compared to everyone, really. A small town girl trying to make a name for herself in Metropolis like so many others. Not unique or groundbreaking in anyway and Clark had met so many amazing people doing what he does as a journalist and she—
“You’re thinking too much,” he said quietly. His breath fogged in the air and she sucked in a breath as he brushed some hair away from her face. “Let me walk you home. Please?”
“Okay.”
He nodded. “Okay, lead the way my lady.” He gestured an arm out and she slowly turned, still hesitant.
The walk to her place was quiet but in a way that helped her heart calm down a bit. The distant sounds of the city a low lull and the streetlights caught in the glittering snow.
When they finally reached her building, she looked at him and raised a brow at his dumbfounded expression. “What?”
He shook his head, laughing a bit. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
“How would you?”
“It’s just,” he nodded down the street. “I live a block away.”
Her own brows furrowed. “Then how in the hell are you always late in the morning?”
Clark waved her off, mumbling about being a heavy sleeper before he took a few steps closer to her. Looking at her intently, like he wanted to ask her something.
“You okay?” Is what he eventually landed on.
“Of course I am.”
“I meant what I said.”
She licked at her chapped, wind bitten lips. Doing her best to try and not think about how his eyes darted down to her mouth as she did so.
“I want to know you.” His hand slowly lifted, resting gently against the side of her face, giving her the opportunity to pull away. When she didn’t, he let his thumb lightly drag against her cheekbone. “Please, let me.”
She leaned into his touch without thinking, the warmth of him being a magnet.
She didn’t understand. Didn’t understand him. Scared he’d get bored. Scared if she did let him know her, he’d lose interest.
Clark stepped closer, his other hand reaching up to rest gently against the side of her throat. “We’ll go slowly, just… just teach me how to hold you properly and I swear I won’t break you.”
She shook her head. “You can’t promise that.” Nobody could. And part of her was terrified because he very well could. Clark Kent could shatter her into pieces if he wanted to and she knew at the end of the day, despite how horrifying the heartbreak would be, she’d be thankful she even got to know him. He was just one of those people. A person that truly knew how to touch people with kindness. Tenderness. Giving glimpses of hope despite the world growing darker each day.
Clark’s eyes searched hers. “Then trust me.”
“People don’t always tell the truth.”
He smiled, that boyish grin making her heart skip a beat. “If people always told the truth they wouldn’t need trust.”
She sniffed. “Fair enough.”
Clark laughed lightly, the sound warming her up. “Is that a yes?”
Her own hand reached up and took hold of his wrist, taking in the warmth of him and feeling his own heartbeat. Steady and strong.
“Slowly?”
He nodded. “You set the pace, sweetheart.”
Hell, she could’ve melted then and there.
Clark always let her catch her breath when she needed it.
Trying to offer his comfort in a way that wouldn’t spook her into flight. Something she felt awful about, but he was beyond patient.
Giving her space when she needed it and holding her close when she might shatter.
Pulling her out of her head when she dug herself deep into a hole. Feeling like a burden for the way she crashed sometimes, but he never seemed to mind.
They weren’t necessarily a thing. She had no idea what they were.
Friends seemed too… it didn’t encompass them correctly.
But they also weren’t more than friends. At least that’s what she assumed, given they’ve never kissed.
Though she thought about it often despite all her efforts not to, she really couldn’t help it.
Feeling helpless as she looked at him from across the bullpen. Stealing glances when he was hunched over paperwork. Acting like she hadn’t even seen him walk into the break room at lunch even though that was what she had been looking forward to all morning. Hand twitching with the urge to brush against his as he walked her home when he was able to.
It was hell, in a strange, painful and enjoyable way.
With Christmas gone and passed, Jimmy and a few others convinced her to go out for New Year’s Eve.
Though she desperately wanted to know if Clark would be there, she didn’t bother to ask. Even if he did say yes, it was never a guarantee with him.
She sat at a table, wine glass in her hand as she people-watched. Her dress provided little warmth. Cat had convinced her to go with something a little more revealing and not in her typical comfort zone. Albeit, it was gorgeous but she felt like an imposter.
She watched in a numb sort of detachment as the clock was a minute away from midnight. Watching people start to cheer louder, grins widening, couples getting closer. Her eyes danced around and faltered when a familiar pair of blue eyes met hers.
Closer and closer.
Thirty seconds.
Clark was wearing a suit. Different from ones he wore at the office. Glasses perched on his nose and hair still damp from a shower.
“Clark?”
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
He took hold of her hands, pulling her up easily and she swayed a bit in her heels, the wine going straight to her head and she rested her palms against his chest to steady herself. Breath hitching as his large hands rested against her waist.
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
Fifteen seconds.
“I didn’t want to miss the turn of the earth with you.”
She laughed lightly. The alcohol made everything a little hazy and warmer at the edges. A little easier.
“I’m happy to see you,” the admission slipped past her lips and the smile he gave her was devastating.
Clark’s hands slid up from her waist to gently take hold of her face, tilting it up towards him.
Five seconds.
“Can I tell you something? Off the record?” He asked.
She blinked at him. Dazed and hormonal. She nodded, leaning into him.
The clock struck midnight and she didn’t have a thought occur to mind as his face lowered and lips pressed against hers.
Didn’t have a thought at all, simply the feeling of relief as she melted against him and wrapped her arms around his large shoulders. Thankful for the liquid encouragement as he deepened the kiss, tongue easily sliding into her mouth. Warm and minty and she smiled into the kiss as she tasted hints of chocolate.
She could do this.
She could be okay.
Slowly.
Clark’s hands dug into hair, the crowd nonexistent, teeth gently bumping into each other and his glasses slipping down his nose as he kissed her like he’d been starving for it.
When they finally pulled back, his teeth gently tugged at her bottom lip. His grin sharp as he looked at her.
She knew she was red in the face for a whole list of reasons.
“Off the record?” She asked, voice wavering as she held onto him.
“Happy New Year.” He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.
He was a terrible singer.
She noticed he had a habit of karaoke whenever he cooked. Dancing in a funny, disjointed way as he moved around the kitchen.
She’d watch from the couch, knees pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on top of them. A small smile on her lips.
The Way I Are was blasting from the stereo, the beat crackling as he made pancakes despite it being 11pm.
The hours were odd.
Even for a journalist.
Noticing his lack of schedule at work was one thing, but she slowly started to spend nights at his.
Easing into… something. She didn’t know.
He’d have random rain checks but insisted she stay and make herself comfortable. Or she’d wake up in the middle of the night and he was gone, a sticky note on the nightstand saying Jimmy called him to do something. Sometimes he’d come back in the morning looking disheveled with dirt on his nose, his notebook in hand and muttering about how he had an interview with Superman.
“What’s he like?” she asked one morning as they walked to work. One of the rare days where he’d actually be on time.
Clark hummed, shrugging. “What you’d expect, really. Humble. To the point.” He smiled at her then. “Heroic.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like you have a crush.”
Clark laughed and shook his head. “Wouldn’t that be complicated.”
“I don’t know, seems like you’re his type.”
It brought her too much amusement as she watched him choke a bit on his drink.
“What?”
“You’re the only person he does interviews with.”
“That’s because I’m a good journalist.”
“Two things could be true at once, Clark.”
Other things were odd, too. She supposed she noticed a while ago, though it remained in the back of her mind.
One night though, it clicked.
He never took off his glasses.
She assumed he just may have horrible vision.
The specifics of what led to the current events were fuzzy. She didn’t really care to dwell on the details, not that she even would’ve had the chance.
Clark was all over her.
Nothing was special about the day initially. It was a Tuesday and the work day had been draining, as expected. Her eyes still hurt from hours of staring at a screen and Clark had been rampaged with questions from Lois and Jimmy about his most recent interview with Superman.
When the hour was running late, he knocked a fist on her desk and asked her to come over. Order some take-out, unwind.
How was she supposed to say no when he was looking at her like that?
A science fiction movie was playing faintly on the tv, a few boxes of Indian food spread out on the coffee table. Her breath felt a little tight in her chest and it had nothing to do with the spice.
Clark leaned back against the couch, legs spread far out in front of him, arm draped over the back and he was lightly playing with her hair. His fingers brushed against her scalp as he watched the movie.
If she were being honest she had no idea what was going on. The music was nice, but so were the visuals. Not being able to help it as she kept looking into the corner of her eye.
Clark’s eyes slated to the side, blue catching in the light as he caught her staring and she looked away, blushing at the smile that stretched his lips.
“It’s okay, you know?” He said quietly. Still twirling some of her hair around his fingers.
She looked at him again, a little breathless with their proximity. He was just so… beautiful. In every sense of the word.
“What’s okay?” Her voice was quiet, a whisper carried faintly over the sound of the movie.
“This,” he tugged her hair lightly, bringing her closer. “To want more. When I told you I wanted to know you, I meant it.”
Biting the inside of her cheek, she resisted that urge to fly again. To lean away and say she didn’t know what he meant. That it didn’t mean anything.
Her heart thudded in her ears. Maybe she could be okay. With this. Maybe she could be fine.
“I know.”
He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against hers. “So let me,” his hand came up, thumb gently brushing against her bottom lip. “Teach me how to handle you properly.”
“Clark.”
“Sweetheart,” he tugged her a little closer, breath warm against her lips.
“Okay.”
Clark leaned in closer, glasses perched on his nose. Looking at her intently.
“Okay?”
A laugh left her, involuntarily and a little hazy. “Yeah.”
His mouth was on hers before she had the chance to blink, a hand burying itself in her hair while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her easily into his lap.
She felt weightless in his arms. A feeling she wasn’t exactly sure how to describe but it made her feel strangely safe.
Her own hands twined themselves in Clark’s hair, the dark curls soft against her fingertips and his tongue easily mapped its way around her mouth. His smile into the kiss infectious.
He pulled back, dimples on show. She only had a moment to appreciate them before his mouth moved lower, trailing down her throat. Muttering between open mouthed kisses. “You’re perfect.”
She laughed, sighing in content at the feeling of his tongue sliding against her skin. “I’m really not.”
“But you are.”
“Clark—“
He took hold of her chin, making her look at him. His lips a little red and tantalising. “Let me show you what I know.”
Her brows furrowed but when she felt his grip tighten on her waist her breath hitched.
Then he stood up, taking her with him like it was nothing.
Her arms wrapped around his neck for support, not like she needed to. He held her easily as he walked to the kitchen and she felt light headed with anticipation.
Clark neared the counter, his arm sweeping contents to the side, sending a few things clattering to the floor but before any concern could flicker in her chest his mouth was on her again. She sat perched on the ledge, legs wrapped around him and fingers tugging at his shirt.
Clark’s hand was at her throat, the pressure light but intoxicating. His thumb trailing up and down along the center of her neck and pressing up against her between her legs and… he was a lot.
When she felt the hardness of him as he yanked her closer an involuntary sound crawled up and slipped out of her mouth, right into his.
Clark paused before she felt him smile. He leaned back slightly, looking a bit dazed himself. Eyes dark beneath his lashes and his cheeks were tinted pink.
“Do you trust me?” His voice was low. Rough around the edges and heavenly.
She nodded before she even thought about it. But she supposed, yeah, she did.
A heartbeat passed before she watched him slowly lower himself to his knees. His large hands rested on her thighs as he pushed them apart gently, his eyes remained on her all the while.
Her hands were resting uselessly on his shoulders, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she stared at him wide eyed.
“Lift up for me?”
She didn’t know if she was just hormonal or if it was the tone of his voice but she did as told almost immediately.
Her pants button and zipper were undone before she could blink and he was tugging them down her legs, followed by her shoes.
“Clark…”
He was trailing kisses up her leg, his large hands caressing her skin before he took hold of her left thigh and hiked it over his shoulder.
A sort of guttural sound rumbling up his throat when he finally let his eyes fall between her legs.
“Gosh, look at you.”
On self-conscious instinct she tried to shut her legs but she wasn’t moving anywhere. His fingers dug lightly into her thighs which made her muscles twitch.
“Perfect,” he mumbled before pressing a kiss directly to her clit that sent her hips jolting upward and her hands flying to his hair.
“Way to cut to the chase,” she gasped in a half moan as his tongue began to work against her.
He hummed and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot up her spine, rocking against his face with embarrassment she was sure she’d feel in the morning.
“You taste like heaven,” he panted, glasses fogged up as he ate her like a man starved. His lips closed over her and she yelped when a finger sank inside of her.
Calloused. Larger than hers. Delicious.
His rhythm was even, curling up slightly and her back arched.
“More,” she gasped. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. “Please.”
“I was planning on it,” Clark laughed lightly, looking up at her to gauge her reaction as he added another finger. His smile lazy as he watched her mouth drop open at the sensation of being stretched. Filled.
The slow drag of his fingers was torture and her face flushed red with the whine that left her.
It felt like a day dream, watching him between her thighs. Knealt down as if she was an altar he came to for worship.
Clark Kent.
Shy, clumsy, nerdy Clark Kent who was always late and always knew what to say.
He was so painfully perfect she could sob.
Why her? Why had she gotten so lucky?
“You’re thinking too much,” Clark said, picking up his pace and silencing her mind effectively as he then sucked her clit.
His fingers curled as he dragged them out and she felt the crash of an orgasm slam into her all at once. Nails digging into his scalp to hold him close, his tongue and fingers not stopping as he worked her through it. Smiling against her as she moaned his name.
She was panting heavily, hands falling from his hair to his shoulders as he slowly stood, his hands dragging up her legs as he did so. Her eyes heavy as they fell on his mouth which was glistening slightly.
Her rationality was cut off her shoulders, she was sure of it.
“Clark?”
“Hm?”
She slid off the counter, chest pressed against him and she reached up and took hold of his tie that had gotten loose. His hair was a mess and it made him look unkempt and terribly romantic.
She yanked on his tie, lowering his face to hers. “Bedroom.”
He nodded, his enthusiasm nearly laughable if she wasn’t so turned on. She stepped back, walking towards his bedroom and dragging him along by his tie. Clark followed like a love sick puppy as he stumbled over his feet trying to kick off his shoes.
They barely made it through the doorway of his room before she felt his hands take hold of her waist from behind and lift her, a laugh of surprise leaving her before he gently put her on the bed.
She was engulfed by him. Feeling him kiss up her back as he lifted her shirt, his fingers hot and searing against her skin. Turning underneath him, her hands pulled his face to hers, his mouth addicting and the smell of cedar and citrus was everywhere. His sheets soft beneath her as she felt his fingers work her bra off.
“Clark, please. I need—“ His mouth latched onto the space beneath her jaw, sucking and biting and driving her insane. She tried to tug him closer if even possible.
He leaned back on his knees, staring down at her like she was some sort of miracle he’d been graced with as he undid his tie.
“You’re perfect,” he sighed after tugging his shirt off and her mouth watered at the sight of pure muscle and Christ, he was so much larger than her.
“Stop saying that,” she said quietly. Watching in a strange sort of fascination as Clark undid his belt.
“You want me to lie to you?” He asked, his tone lower than she was ever used to hearing.
Her heart faltered and her brain short circuited as he took his pants off along with his boxers, the sight of all of him making her truly speechless.
Her eyes were heavy lidded as Clark crawled over her, his knee pushing her legs apart to make room for him to settle between her hips.
“Do you want me to lie and say I haven’t thought about having you here like this for months?” He said into her ear, his lips grazing the shell and sending goosebumps over her flesh.
“I can lie and say I don’t look at you everyday and fight the urge to kiss you senseless right in the middle of the office.”
Her breath hitched when she felt the head of his cock brush up against her entrance, sliding up from the wetness and rubbing directly into her clit. The sound of Clark laughing low, vibrating in his chest against her made it feel like she was in some sort of opium induced haze.
He kissed up her neck to her mouth, catching her lips with a sort of ferocity that still had hints of restraint twined between it. She could tell he was holding back. And if he did she thought she might cry.
She wanted all of him. In every way.
“I’m not perfect, Clark,” she panted between kisses, her hands finding his hair again like a magnet. “But sometimes you make me feel like I am.”
He paused, lifting his head to look at her and she couldn’t help but smile at him as his glasses started to slip down his nose. She lifted a hand to take them off but he gently took hold of her wrist to stop her.
“You want to know me, right?” She whispered.
He nodded, kissing the inside of her palm softly.
“Then let me know you, too.”
Clark didn’t take a moment to consider. Didn’t seem to hesitate at her demand. He simply kissed her again and dragged both of her arms up above her head, twining his fingers with hers when she felt him start to push his cock inside of her.
The moan she let out was captured by his mouth. He was practically drinking her up, his own groan leaving him as he slowly pushed inside. The pressure of it unlike anything she’d felt before.
His head fell into the crook of her neck and if she wasn’t so dazed herself she could’ve sworn he was shaking a bit.
“Gosh, you’re tight.” He panted, teeth scraping against her searing skin. She thought he might’ve muttered perfect again but she didn’t have time to think about it as he thrust forward and completely bottomed out. The head of his cock bumping into her cervix and her hips bucked up into him on their own accord, her muscles clenching around him.
“Clark, oh my god.” She cried, her fingers tightening in his hold as he began to move. The drag of his cock making her delirious before sinking back into her again, the pace slow and brutal and he barely seemed like he was holding it together as he breathed heavily into her ear.
His pelvis was grinding directly into her clit and if she didn’t get more she genuinely thought she’d suffer from a psychotic break.
She laughed at the thought. He was making her lose her mind.
He lifted his head at the sound, peppering kisses across her face and smiling slightly, thrusting into her a little harder. “Something funny?”
Shaking her head she looked at him, her mouth hung open as she moaned when he grinded against her clit again. “Please.”
“Please, what?” He asked, looking a little too cocky. “Use your words, sweetheart."
How was this Clark Kent? The first time she laid eyes on him she would’ve never expected he’d be the type of guy to eat her out on a kitchen counter.
“More, Clark. Please.”
He picked up his pace a little bit but it wasn’t enough and she felt insatiable.
“Clark.”
Her tone was a little snappy but she couldn’t currently find it in her heart to feel bad.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” The words were spoken into her mouth.
And if that didn’t ignite a whole new flame of curiosity and desire…
Without thinking she pulled her hand from his and wound it in his hair, yanking harshly to bring his eyes up to her. He didn’t wince. It didn’t seem to hurt him at all and she was half tempted to see what else he could take.
“Clark Kent if you do not fuck me with your full hearts content I’m going to have a mental breakdown.”
He blushed a little bit at her crude wording despite the fact his cock was buried deep inside of her and love bites were beginning to bloom across her body.
His tongue ran along his bottom lip as he looked at her. “You sure?”
She nodded. “Completely—“
He didn’t let her finish as he pulled out before thrusting his cock back into her again almost violently, his bed frame sliding a little bit and slamming into the wall.
“Perfect,” she moaned and when that got her a laugh out of him she thought she might come again by the sound alone.
It hurt a little bit and it was perfect. It really was. He was all over her, his hips slamming into hers with months of restraint snapping. One hand holding her jaw as he kissed her, his tongue tracing the side of her cheek as she moaned. Everything about him was electric. Powerful.
His other arm reached down and hooked beneath her knee, pulling it up so he could get deeper and the new angle made her head spin as she threw her head back and practically screamed his name.
Clark muttered praises into her skin as he fucked her like she asked.
You’re taking me so well.
Gosh, look at you.
You sound so pretty right now.
Say my name again, please.
She didn’t realise she was crying till she felt his thumb scrape along her cheek.
“Fuck, you okay?—“
She was crying from pleasure and if the sound of his swearing wasn’t enough to drive her over the edge, it was definitely the dazed look to his eye that did it.
“Clark, I’m…“ she came with a cry, unknowingly biting his shoulder but he didn’t seem to mind as he all but picked up his pace again. Working her through it and he moaned as he felt her clench around him.
“This is gonna sound so messed up, but you’re gorgeous when you’re crying. You know that, right?”
She wasn’t sure if she answered him, she was sure the things leaving her mouth were unintelligible. And when she felt Clark start to falter in his pace, his thrusts getting harsher and more erratic she knew he was close.
“One more for me, baby. Please.” He kissed her again and she felt his hand slide between them before applying pressure to her clit in circles. “Together.”
Her back arched and she seemed to come on his command and she felt the muscles in Clark’s stomach clench and tighten as he came inside her, her name a moan on his lips as he continued to thrust, not being able to stop himself chasing the high and when his eyes flicked down to where his cock was sliding in and out of her she could’ve sworn she heard him whine.
The sound made her clench again and he shuddered before falling limp on top of her.
She was panting heavily but with difficulty, tugging on his hair a bit to get his attention.
“Oh, sorry.” He mumbled before rolling off her a bit but his arms remained fastened around her.
She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, not quite sure if she was dreaming but… as her head rolled to the side there he was. Clark Kent, though not out of breath by any means, the fucked-out look to him made her heart falter.
“I can’t believe you’re real.” She whispered, not entirely meaning to say that out loud.
Clark laughed, lifting his head up to kiss her lightly on the forehead. “That good?”
“Oh, shut up.” She sighed, leaning into his touch. “I don’t know how you’re not tired.”
He shrugged. “I have great stamina.”
That made her raise a brow and he blushed again.
When she woke up the next morning it was early. The sunrise only just beginning to kiss the skyline of the city.
Clark’s arm was heavy around her waist and when she moved a little bit, his hold on her tightened. Though when she looked over her shoulder he was still asleep and…
Holy shit.
Her eyes flicked to the nightstand and there they were.
His glasses.
She looked back at him, half convinced she was most certainly dreaming but no. No, this was all real. Clark Kent was sleeping soundly wrapped around her, sunlight dancing along the planes of his face and making different hues of dark brown show in his otherwise black hair.
Either she was genuinely insane or Superman was in bed with her.
Clark Kent.
What?
When she felt him start to wake up she panicked and shut her eyes, not knowing what else to do.
She felt him sigh against her as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder before reaching over her, to the night stand, and grab something. Something she could only assume were said magical glasses that made him look… not different but unrecognisable? How did that even make sense?
“I know you’re awake,” he muttered. His voice still rough with sleep and sounding faintly amused.
She peeked an eye open and her breath hitched.
He had his glasses pushed up into his hair, looking at her because he knew she knew.
Clark smiled, a little hesitant. Maybe nervous. Did Superman get nervous?
“Why?” She blurted.
His brows furrowed. “Why what?”
Her mind struggled to string together a sentence as his fingers traced patterns into her stomach.
“Why tell me?”
Clark’s eyes were so blue it felt surreal. Seeing them without the glasses to provide a shield made her feel like she was admiring him for the first time all over again.
His hand gently rested against her cheek, his eyes searching hers.
Clark sighed, his hand sliding down from her cheek to take hold of her chin. Tilting her mouth up to his and he kissed her softly before leaning back just enough to speak.
“Off the record?”
She couldn’t help it as she smiled. “Sure.”
“If I plan on having you around here as often as I’d like, you were bound to find out eventually and I… I didn’t want to keep hiding this from you. I wanted it to be on my own terms.”
“So post-sex was your choice?” She was only teasing but she liked making his face turn a little red.
“Admittedly this was sooner than intended, I was hoping I’d wake up before you and have them on already.”
She lifted up on her elbows and kissed him, sliding the glasses off his head and holding them in her hands.
“Late as always, Clark.”
“We’re both going to be late today, I think.” He said as he kissed her again, taking the glasses from her hands and tossing them carelessly somewhere in the room as he leaned her back into the sheets.
i think perhaps clark likes it when you cry but kinda feels bad abt it like even when you’re genuinely upset he’s trying to hide that he’s hard because you’re just soooo pretty with watery eyes and ruined makeup but this also applies to him fucking you so good you can’t help but cry and he really likes that too
pairing : loser!Clark Kent x Reader.
warnings : sexual content. heavy dacryphilia, mentions of (m) masturbation, Clark gets boners at the worst possible times, size kink, belly bulge, p in v, unprotected sex. porn with no plot. 18+ only !!
Having sex with Clark always entailed some degree of crying. If it wasn't because of how hard he was pounding into you in those rare occasions where he allowed himself to let go, it was because of just how big he was. I mean, the man was a kryptonian God of sex and muscle who ripped through xxl condoms like they were nothing.
The stretch was always too much and you couldn't even take half of his shaft before you were teary eyed and trembling— all flustered and distressed— as he tried to coax all of himself into you, telling you how good you were being for him and just how proud you'd make him when you'd take all of his cock. Your body visibly struggled to accommodate his girth, his palm pressing— heavy and warm— against the faint bulge of his cock pushing against your lower stomach. And Clark loved it. He loved watching you sob into the pillow as you clung to him, your pretty kiss-swollen lips parted with little sniffles that made his cock throb inside your tight walls.
However, the problem that came with his secret, filthy little kink was how hard he got every time you'd cry in front of him...yeah, even the times when you were genuinely upset, curled up in his arms and whimpering in that sweet little complaining tone of yours. The moment he'd see your lower lip curve into a pout, quivering in that tell-tale manner that told him exactly what was coming, he'd resign himself to his fate with an adorable but horrified mumble of "Golly." under his breath.
You hadn't caught on yet but he knew it was a matter of time. Every time he watched your eyes turn all pretty and glassy with tears, your mascara running soft and wrecked down your cheeks— his cock stiffened painfully within a split second. And he sat there— shushing and comforting you while his cock twitched in time with every fresh tear that slid down your flushed cheeks— waiting for the moment when he could lock himself in the shower and fist his cock till he came with a stifled grunt, feeling like a perverted little slut for cumming to the thoughts of his sweet little girl crying in the room, outside.
And the day you did find out ? It was mortifying for Clark and equally delightful for you. You'd been sobbing and whining for what felt like hours about something so trivial it shouldn't have even mattered let alone made you wail like a baby. Clark had been sitting stiffer than usual, patting your back in a manner that was obviously awkward, with a pillow smushed into his lap. This time, you were dressed in nothing but one of his shirts and on top of that you were crying, your eyes all wide and empathetic when they stared up at him. He was waay too out of it to pay attention, trying to will away his shameful hard-on instead. "Are you even listening, Clarkie ?" you suddenly whined, shoving the pillow away and settling on his lap...directly on the thick of bulge straining against his pants. You gasped, your eyes widening and Clark grunted from the sudden pressure, turning a feverish shade of red as he started stammering out a whole entourage of apologies.
You dragged him to bed soon after and the way he was rutting into minutes later— his voice slurred and incoherent as he babbled sorry's and thank you's on repeat like he couldn't decide whether to be grateful or ashamed— his cock pounding into your soaked pussy harder every time a fresh bout of tears welled up in your glassy, fucked-out eyes.
You didn't stop teasing him for a week after that.
a/n : qualifies as Clark being a canonical little loser I think. if anyone would like to be added to the taglist for Clark Kent please don't hesitate to let me know <3
taglist : @y0inked, @castielsonlyangel, @zenoxl, @bowxs, @redsbookshelf.
Summary — One night at the bar. One drug in your drink. And you’re clinging to the bouncer of the bar like a koala.
Warnings — mention of drugs, a/b/o, soft Curtis, a lot of fluffy clinginess, nicknames (Koala), some teasing
Wordcount — 7.000 Words
Authors Note — Shoutout to @gremlin-girly for brainstorming and supporting me while writing this fic! And a shoutout to @krirebr and @stargazingfangirl18 for making me obsessed with that guy!☹️😂 @elixirfromthestars thank you so much for proofreading!❤️❤️
The music is a loud thrumming in your ears, the drink burning its way down your throat as you sit at the bar. Your friends dance somewhere or got some guy to take them home.
You're not sure about it. But you don't really care, either.
The bartender, who introduced himself as Nick, smiles at you as he walks toward another person standing a few feet away from where you sit.
Your eyes follow him toward the man who’s leaning against the counter, grinning as he orders another whiskey for himself.
He was at the bar, at least four times before, and always ordered a whiskey.
Either he really had to wash away some sorrow and pain, or he’s one of those guys who can have a dozen drinks and can still walk straight like he only had some water.
The guy smirks at you, plopping down in the seat next to you.
“Evenin’ sweets,” he grins, one of his hands moving to rest on your knee and you wrinkle your nose slightly, turning to look at Nick behind the bar again.
He notices your gaze, giving you all of his attention as he approaches you.
“Need something? Maybe something sweeter with mango or cherry?” He asks, but you shake your head, your eyes moving toward the Alpha next to you for a brief moment before they flicker back to Nick.
He nods, turning his attention to the man next to you.
“Excuse me, but I think the nice lady here doesn’t appreciate your closeness,” Nick says, his voice rough but steady as he watches the man’s hand trail along your thigh.
“She doesn’t, huh? That’s why she doesn't say anything?” He asks with a sick grin on his face. “Gonna make this sweet little thing sing and scream for me. Can’t quite decide, both sounds will sound amazing from those—”
“Sir, I will ask you again to back off the woman or I'm gonna call security over here,” Nick growls this time, his eyes darken as they flicker toward the entrance where one of the thick, handsome bouncers is standing.
His blue eyes roaming over the people at the bar to make sure everyone is following the rules.
“Lemme have some fun with this sweet thing here,” the Alpha rolls his eyes as he lets his hand slide off your leg and turns away from you.
Nick huffs, shaking his head in disbelief as he offers you a soft smile. He pushes another drink over the counter.
“It’s free. If you need anything, you call me,” he says before he turns toward another person to make their order.
You sigh softly, watching the Alpha next to you who keeps grinning into his drink like a weird idiot.
Then you take a sip of yours. It’s delicious just like always. The sweetness of the mango mixed with the burning of the alcohol.
Nick knows exactly how to make that drink, and he even added a small cherry to the edge of your glass — knowing you like to order drinks with some on the edge or ask for them if your drink doesn't include one.
But the sweetness is replaced by some bitterness when you swallow another sip of your drink.
A bitterness that wasn't supposed to be in the drink, it makes your eyes narrow.
Maybe he used some other alcohol this time? But he wouldn’t do it unless you asked for it. And you didn’t ask for another kind of alcohol in there.
Your head feels suddenly way heavier. You’re feeling light headed afterward, groaning softly as you place the glass down on the counter. Or more likely slam it down because everything is spinning.
Your body feels cold. Then hot. And you’re craving something, but you don’t know what it is.
“Aw, look at the little omega trying to be all tough and independent. You know, this little pill here helps to show you what you really need,” the Alpha who’s now turning toward you again grins as he holds up a small package with pills in it.
They look colorful and fun. But they are definitely not as fun as they look. Tiny hearts, or clouds? Maybe circles— you’re not sure as it’s all spinning. And spinning and moving around in a way it shouldn’t.
“W-what did you—” you whine, gripping the counter as you look around with panic rising inside of you.
Where’s Nick? Where’s anyone except that Alpha who has definitely no good intentions? Especially now that you’re at his mercy with the effect of the pills in your system.
“Oh, oh, c’mon, sweets,” the Alpha leans closer, his scent surrounding you, but instead of the wanted effect you wrinkle your nose. Your scent is sour when the panic raises even more to the surface and the Alpha curses under his breath. “What the fuck? You should be addicted to me, bitch.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. You should be addicted to him because of some weird drugs?
“CURTIS OVER HERE!” You hear someone shouting, noticing the voice belongs to Nick who's waving his hands in the air.
Your head whips toward him, it only leads to more dizziness, but you notice his worried look on you and a soft sigh escapes when a scent that warms your insides fills your nostrils.
“Sir, I'll have to ask you to leave now,” a rough voice says, and you look at the source of it.
The bouncer who was standing at the door before stands next to you. His muscular arms bulging as he crosses them in front of his chest and glares at the Alpha who’s sitting next to you.
“I’m not asking again. At least not nicely. I have no problem kicking — literally kicking — your ass out of here,” the bouncer growls and you take a deep breath of his scent.
So soothing and warming. You need more of it. More of him.
And suddenly your instincts take over, your eyes are wide as you lift your hands and wrap them around Curtis's strong arm, whining softly as you can’t cling to him like you want to.
“What the—” Curtis mutters as he turns to look at you.
Your small fingers fidget around his arm when you try to get a better grip of his muscular tattooed arm.
“Hey,” he says softly, waving another bouncer over so he can take care of you.
You ignore him, nails digging into his skin as you claw at him. He smiles softly, shielding you with his big frame from spectators as he holds his arm out for you a bit more.
What he didn’t expect are the arms that curl around his arm and cling to him with a strength that he can’t shake off of him.
“Nick, I-I—” he calls out for the bartender, looking back and forth between you and Nick. “What did he give her? She’s acting like that one a few days back who was addicted to the Alpha that gave her the drugs.”
Nick nods with a slightly amused, but still worried, expression.
“She whined and wrinkled her nose when he tried to get closer. But you walked up here and she's clinging to you — maybe it’s not about the alpha who gave it to her, but her inner omega who has chosen an alpha?” Nick suggests.
“Like some true mate thing?” Curtis wonders as he watches you curling into his side and hugging his arm even closer. “But it’s a drug, not some stuff they offer at every shop.”
“Maybe it’s not completely tried out, yet,” Nick says as Bucky approaches them again.
The broad Alpha is smirking softly as he looks at Curtis and Nick. Then he nods, letting them know the guy is thrown out of the bar.
“You should go to Ari with her, maybe he can help. And he might want to report that,” Bucky suggests as his eyes land on you and soften a bit.
Curtis nods, trying to pull his arm back, but you don't budge or attempt to let go of him. He huffs, shaking softly but you remain where you are.
Nick and Bucky exchange a look before laughing.
“That’s how you find omegas nowadays?” Bucky asks with a laugh, patting Curtis on his shoulder. “Gonna do your work now, Everett.”
Bucky chuckles as he walks past them and back to the entrance to do his job.
“Yeah, gonna ask Ari for some help then,” Curtis mutters.
He turns around, taking a step forward. He hoped you would let go of his arm and walk next to him, but you don’t.
You only hum happily as he lifts his arm and you dangle off it. Nick laughs as he watches the whole interaction.
“Lift your arm,” he mutters more as a joke, but Curtis does it and your legs are lifted off the ground. “Strong Omega."
Curtis nods as he then walks behind the bar to Ari's office. You're humming to yourself as he carries you with his arm.
“You’re not gonna let me shake you off like an annoying fly, huh?” Curtis mutters under his breath before he hisses slightly.
Your nails dig deep into his skin, leaving red marks. As much as you try to hold yourself, your fingers slip a bit.
So you have to move them back in place, clawing at Curtis's arm with a whine.
Only then do you finally manage to get a hold that holds you no matter if he shakes or walks or does jumping jacks—your fingers are tight enough around his arms.
“You’re not planning to let go of my arm, are you?” Curtis asks as he stops in front of Ari’s office and knocks softly.
“Come in,” Ari says from the inside.
He looks up from his desk toward the wooden door where Curtis pushes it open, and pushes his head through the slit.
“Ari, we got a problem,” Curtis mutters when he pushes the door to his boss's office further open.
The other man looks up form his papers on the desk, his eyes moving for a second toward the board that shows all the employees working today, before he looks at the television screen with the ongoing football game.
No one called in sick. And the football team Ari loves has still way more points than the other.
There can’t be a fight at the bar, because Bucky would have called him already.
“What is it, Curtis?” Ari asks, narrowing his eyes as he turns his face toward the door and the man who’s still half hidden by the wooden door of the office.
Curtis pushes the door open further, taking a step into the room as he holds up his arm and presents the dangling Omega to his boss.
You don’t flinch when another pair of eyes settles on you. You don’t even realize it, too mesmerized by the beauty of the strong Alpha that carried you through the bar like you weighed nothing. On one arm!
The corner of Ari's mouth twitches upward as a wide, amused smile forms on his face. A deep rumble vibrating through his chest that makes Curtis even more irritated.
“This isn’t funny!” Curtis mutters, walking into the office so he can close the door.
No one has to get a peak of the dangling Omega on his arm. Nor your state — which is definitely either way too drunken, or truthfully, drugged by some idiotic Alpha.
“Can you help me, this isn’t—” he mutters, shaking his arm with you on it, but you don’t budge. Your fingers curl further around his strong, tattooed arm as he tries to wiggle you off him like an annoying fly or something.
“Why do you need help with her? She looks pretty content on your arm,” Ari says, grinning when he watches your determination to keep stuck where you are. “She likes you. Got yourself a pretty Omega, huh?”
Curtis rolls his eyes slightly, holding his arm out. You keep clinging to him like a koala.
“She’s pretty strong for such a delicate and soft Omega,” Ari mutters as he pushes himself back from the desk he’s sitting at, and takes a few steps closer to where Curtis and you stand.
The bouncer nods, impressed by your strength, but he can’t have you hanging down his arm all night until the drug has faded.
“Help me. please!” Curtis tries again as he shakes his arm once more. “She just doesn’t want to let go. It’s that drug we had awhile back, that one Alpha put it in her drink and now she’s clinging to me.”
Ari grunts in amusement. Not about the drug, but about his thoughts.
“You’re her knight in shining armor, of course she's clinging to you, Prince Charming,” Ari mutters, but stops just a few inches away from Curtis's arm and your frame.
He keeps grinning as he takes another good look at Curtis and his outstretched arm.
“Sure you don’t want that little Omega dangling off your arm?” Ari laughs, earning a low growl from Curtis.
Ari lifts his hands in surrender, then he brings his big palms to your waist and pulls.
Not enough to hurt you, but enough to hopefully have you loosen the grip around Curtis's muscular arm.
But you still don’t budge. You only dig your nails into the bouncer's skin, making him hiss slightly as you almost cut your nails into his arm.
Then a loud whine bubbles up your throat. The sound making both Alphas stop in their tracks immediately.
Ari takes his hands away, looking at you with concern in his eyes.
“What the fuck—” he mutters, taking in your scent. Distress. Panic.
You didn't have this scent before he touched you. Before he tried to pry you off Curtis.
But now your scent is sour, making the big Alphas almost flinch at your sudden unease.
Just a few minutes later, your scent is normal again. At least almost, the drugs change your scent and make it sweeter. Making the scent pretend the omega likes what the alpha could force on them when they took the drugs.
Except — you choose Curtis to cling to.
He didn’t force you to cling to him.
Ari takes a deep breath, looking at Curtis who nods before he reaches out to grasp your hands this time.
Maybe he can peel your fingers off Curtis's arm. But Ari’s fingertips against your wrists are enough for you to growl low in your throat and hiss at him. With a snap of your head toward his hands, you try to bite into his thick fingers.
He pulls his hands back fast enough, so you can’t reach them, but his eyes widen slightly at your defiance. Then he grins once more at Curtis.
“Got a fierce little thing here,” he laughs as he takes a step backwards. His back resting against his desk as he crosses his legs and keeps his blue eyes on Curtis and you.
“It’s getting hard to keep her like that,” Curtis grumbles, unsure of what to do.
Both of them know what the drug does. And they both don’t want to risk anything. But they can’t keep you dangling off Curtis's arm until the drug has faded.
“We can’t let her out of our sight until the drug is out of her system. Other alphas might take advantage of a more or less willing omega,” Ari mutters more to himself than to Curtis.
His free hand reaches out to wrap around your hips so he can pull you closer. And you let him, wrapping your legs around his waist.
Then you let go of his arm to curl yours around his neck, pressing yourself tightly against his firm chest. Your scent filling his nostrils and his eyes darken for a brief moment.
Curtis can feel something shift inside of him, a feeling he never had before. Your scent. Your smaller, warm body pressed to his. It’s like his arms are shaped for your form, like he's shaped to fit with you together.
Curtis growls low in his throat, a protective growl that makes Ari tense immediately.
He has never seen Curtis be so protective around an omega. Though, the broad man is protective in general, that’s why he’s so good at his job. But he has never growled so low.
Even Curtis's eyes widen as he notices the sound he made.
“Protective of that feisty little Omega, huh?” Ari chuckles, but takes another step back.
It was a primal instinct, actually not even directed at Ari, but he doesn’t need to get the wolf in Curtis to lash out.
Maybe the drugs do things to alpha’s, too. Or they don’t, and it’s just Curtis's natural instincts stirred with you cradled in his big arms — a precious, clingy omega.
The door bursts open, slamming against the wall with loud thud. While Ari and Curtis glare with slight surprise on their expression toward the door, you keep clinging to Curtis like the door wasn’t just slammed open.
“Feisty omega?” Someone growls, making Ari grin wide.
Watching his Omega with fire burning in her eyes, her shoulders tense, and clenched jaw make him chuckle softly.
Possessive little thing, he thinks.
“Yeah, just like you, firecracker,” Ari mutters, taking a step closer to the door where his Omega stands and glares at him.
She huffs, looking from Ari to Curtis and to you clinging on Curtis like a koala.
Then she narrows her eyes slightly, titling her head before glaring at Ari once more.
“I’m nothing like your little new toy,” she hisses in rage as she points with her pointer finger at Ari’s chest and presses into his thick muscles. “Having fun with her and Curtis?”
“Omega,” Ari growls low in his throat, his voice leaving no room for argument. And even you tense in Curtis's arms. “You’re not supposed to talk like that. And she’s no toy, she was drugged by someone and clings to Curtis now.”
She keeps glaring at him until Ari's hand shoots out to wrap around her throat, making her yelp.
You whine against Curtis neck, your breath warm against his skin, and he tightens his grip even further around you.
He tries as much as he can to stay professional, but with your scent surrounding him. With your body curled into his arms and so tightly pressed against him, it makes something in him stir. Something primal. A want he never felt before.
“Shh, I've got ya, pretty little koala,” Curtis mutters into your neck, his voice rough, but so soothing that you press your nose with a whine into the crock of his neck. “That’s it, Omega.”
Ari smirks at the interaction between you and Curtis, his eyes still on his Omega, though.
“You gonna behave yourself now, firecracker?” Ari growls with a mischievous grin, as he pulls his omega closer by her neck.
She grins playfully as she shakes her head. Ari curses under his breath.
“You can have the lounge,” Ari mutters, nodding to the door that leads from his office to another room next to it. “Get comfy. If you need anything, you know where the bar is. If you need help or me, just lemme know. But first, I have to teach this firecracker here a little about obedience.”
Curtis hums in appreciation before he turns and walks toward the other room, opening the door to slip in before he closes it.
A heavy breath escapes him as you loosen your grip slightly, finally letting him breath again.
“C’mon, sit down so I can make ya a drink,” he mumbles as he leans over the couch to sit you down.
But you don't let go, your grip only tightens once more as you whine loudly, and dig your nails into his neck.
Curtis chuckles softly, trying to pry you off him, but you keep your grip. Firm and steady around him.
“Koala, c’mon, let go for a second so I can get you some water,” he mutters under his breath, his hands grasping your hips tightly to push you into the soft cushion of the couch.
You whine loudly like an omega in distress when he moves you an inch away from his body.
A sound that wrecks his heart, bursts it into pieces. Your eyes are big and pleading as you keep trying to hold yourself against him — but he’s strong. Way too strong for you.
Not only is he an alpha, but he’s also well trained and has bulging, thick muscles.
“Please, Omega,” he says with a more commanding tone. Not an alpha command, but maybe enough to make you obey him.
You keep whining, scratching along his neck as he pushes you further into the couch until you’re finally seated, and he can take a step backwards.
Tears well up in your eyes, your bottom lip wobbles as they threaten to roll down your cheeks and leave strains of your make up all over them.
“Shh, Omega. Shh, c’mon sweet Koala, lemme grab that bottle over there,” he says, his voice soft and soothing as he points toward the bottle of water that’s standing on the counter at the other side of the room.
You shake your head, reaching out to grab him again, but he moves back so he’s out of your reach.
Curtis sighs, but walks over to the other side of the room to grab the bottle of water. Your whines get louder with every step he takes further through the room, but you don’t move.
“Omega!” Curtis mutters, not wanting to get other alphas attention with your persistent whines.
Your eyes widen, but your noises are quieter now. His voice so rough and commanding it made something inside of you stir and obey him.
“Good girl. Now be quiet for me and let me get you a glass of water,” he says as he takes a glass and walks back to the couch.
You’re sitting there with big doe eyes, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt as you watch him intensely.
When he's close enough you reach out for him, wanting to grab him, but your fingertips only brush his shirt and a pitiful cry leaves your lips.
“Shh, tell me what you want, Koala. Be good and stop whining,” he tries to get anything, except a whine, out of you.
But you shake your head, only making grabby hands in his direction. Your fingers curling and uncurling while you brush his shirt over and over again.
Curtis sighs softly and pours a glass of water for you, placing the bottle on the table before he holds out his hand with the full glass.
Except, you don't reach for the glass, instead for his arm. Trying to pull him closer, a tear makes its way down your cheek and you whimper quietly.
You just want his arms around you. His scent surrounding you and his warmth and security. But he just doesn’t want to give you what you ask for.
Curtis has witnessed an omega on the drug before, but he hasn’t been the chosen alpha who had to stay around the omega all night.
And somehow, it looks like omegas who are on the drug need the closeness and protection of the alpha their omega brain has chosen.
But he has to make you drink a bit, and he’s sure that once you cling to him you ignore everything unless he uses an alpha command. Which might not be the best idea in your current state where you’re already lead by your inner omega.
Curtis sighs with a soft smile on his lips, as he pulls his hand back and places the glass on the table in front of you.
“Drink,” he says, motioning to the glass of water.
Your eyes remain on him, never leaving his ocean blue ones when you’re supposed to drink.
“Omega,” Curtis growls slightly with a hint of desperation when you don't do as he says.
You whimper, feeling a rush of sadness and something you can’t quiet put a finger on. But the tone in his voice and his upcoming anger makes your heart clench uncomfortably.
“A-Alpha,” you whisper, holding your hands out toward him.
Curtis sighs. At least it’s something else than the constant whining, you finally said something even though it’s not that much.
“Yes, drink, please,” he tries again, but you don’t move. Once again.
He wants to scream. Wants to slam his hand onto the table. Or he could force the glass to your lips and make you drink, but he doesn’t want to scare you.
You keep staring at him with wide eyes, your bottom lip wobbles as he doesn’t attempt to move closer.
Not even your grabby hands make him do what you ask him for — more or less.
With a sigh he gives in. Curtis sits next to you on the couch, opening his arms for you to crawl onto his lap and cling to him once more.
Your arms curl around his chest, clamping your fingers into his shirt to make sure he can’t change his mind and push you away.
He reaches for the glass before he leans hack. Maybe if you’re thirsty enough you will finally drink a bit. But for now, he lets you curl into him, his free calloused hand rubbing up and down your back softly.
And to his surprise it doesn’t take long until you turn your head a bit, reaching for the glass of water before you bring it to your lips and take a small sip.
VICTORY! It was only a small bit of water, but it’s still more than nothing.
“Good girl,” Curtis whispers into your hair as you give him the glass back and hide your face in his thick chest again. “Such a good little Koala.”
You chirp softly, not even realizing that you made the sound until it already left your lips, causing Curtis to chuckle softly.
“Chirping now, huh?” He teases, watching you hide your face even further.
Your hands wander down his sides and toward the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath the fabric with a soft sigh as you get your hands on his warm skin.
Cold hands, to be exact.
Curtis inhales deeply, shivering slightly as he feels your icy hands against his warm stomach, his muscles tensing for a moment before he relaxes into the couch again.
“You cold, Omega?” Curtis asks softly, but you shake your head.
You're not cold, only your hands are. But Curtis's warm body helps you to warm them up now, too.
The two of you sit in silence for a few more minutes. It’s not uncomfortable, though.
The Alpha hums softly when your breathing evens out, it's less intense and he can feel your smaller body relax more into his muscular chest.
Curtis reaches for the remote control, turning on the television on a low volume while he shifts you slightly, so you’re even more comfortable on his lap.
His thick fingers draw small circles over your back as he watches you, the television only playing for some background noise, but his ocean blue eyes are on you.
He's never felt like this. Content. Protective. His heart beating faster whenever you look deeply into his eyes, and now, with you curled against him and softly snoring, he can’t help but feel his alpha literally whining.
Curtis wants to claim you, wants to make you his so no one can ever hurt you again. Your body so perfectly shaped to fit with his, his scent mixing with yours and creating a warmth that’s settling into his chest.
He remains like that, watching you more than the game on the television. Even when his eyes grow heavy, he tries to keep his eyes steady on you to make sure you’re safe and secure in his arms.
“How’s it going?” Ari asks quietly as he walks in a few hours later.
Curtis is half asleep, you still clinging to him as he turns his head to look at his boss who smiles at the two of you.
It’s not a teasing or mocking smile, but a soft and tender one.
“She’s sleeping. But I got her to drink a tiny bit, guess the drugs do a pretty good job,” Curtis mutters softly, chuckling softly.
Ari nods, leaning into the doorframe as he keeps an eye on his Omega who’s looking through his drinks and snacks behind his desk.
“We're gonna leave now, but you can stay here if you want. Or we can bring her home, maybe she has an ID or something on her?” Ari suggests, not sure what’s the best for you in your current state filled to the brim with drugs.
And knowing less than what Curtis does, who might spend all night with you at the club only to make sure you’re content and happy.
“Gonna stay here for the night. Your couch isn't that bad,” Curtis laughs softly, running his hands through your hair.
You shift slightly, whining into his chest as you curl even more into him and hum softly.
“Oh,” Ari grins. “The couch is amazing—”
“Okay! Stop that, I don't want to know what you did on this couch,” Curtis almost whines when he notices the mischievous expression on Ari’s face.
The other Alpha laughs and nods, pushing himself off the door frame as he looks at his Omega for a moment.
She’s still rummaging through his shelf, placing bottles in their ‘right’ places and stuffing snacks into her mouth.
“Firecracker, if you keep eating all that stuff you’re gonna get sick,” he reminds her, chuckling when he only earns a huff from his Omega. “Feisty one.”
“Could you hand me the blanket and the pillows over there, though?” Curtis interrupts his boss and his Omega's interaction as he points to the other side of the room.
A few blankets and pillows are placed neatly in a shelf, and Ari immediately nods and moves over to the shelf to grab some of the pillows and blankets to hand them to Curtis.
“You need something else? Drink or some food?” He asks as Curtis takes the pillow and places it on one end of the couch.
“No, it’s fine, thank you!” Curtis says, leaning back to make it more comfortable for him too.
Ari nods, watching the other Alpha lean back onto the couch until he’s sprawled all over it. He then pushes you a bit until you’re comfortable on top of him, your side pressing into the backrest of the couch and a content sigh escapes you.
“Goodnight then.If you need anything call me,” Ari says, holding his hand out for his Omega to take it before they leave the bar.
A quietness settles into the room once more, only your soft breaths and snores fill the air as Curtis keeps watching you a while longer.
“Pretty little Koala,” he chuckles before he tightens his arms around you, and kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well, sweet Omega.”
The sun shines softly through the blinds of the room, making you stir awake and shift a bit.
It’s warm underneath you, but soft and yet somehow hard. A lot of muscles, a rising chest, and a warm breath against your neck make you furrow your brows.
Where were you? And how did you get here?
“Morning, Koala,” a rough voice comes from underneath you, and you immediately tense on top of the man. “Slept well?”
You keep your face hidden in the shirt, breathing in his soothing scent, but you don’t move. Maybe you can pretend you’re still asleep and he will push you off him and leave.
Or maybe he won't.
Curtis moves his hands down your back and places his calloused hands on your hips, smirking as you try to stifle the gasp that threatens to escape your lips.
“I know you're awake, Omega,” he mutters with a low chuckle that vibrates through his chest, as he tightens his grip around your hips.
His voice is still laced with a certain sleepiness. And you would love to turn your head to look at him, to see if he’s as beautiful as he sounds.
“Do you remember anything from yesterday?” He asks after a moment, shifting you once more, but you keep trying to ignore him and his questions.
Closing your eyes once more, you try to remember what happened last night. Pictures of the events of the night flash through your mind and you feel your cheeks heating up.
Embarrassing.
“You know I can smell you,” Curtis mutters with another chuckle, pressing a kiss to your head. “You gonna ignore me all day or you gonna talk to me?”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper into his chest, curling further into his side. “I’m not sure what was wrong last night.”
Curtis lifts you up slightly, sitting up to place you back on his lap. This time he has you almost at eye level. His ocean blue eyes bore in yours when you — for a second — look up at him before your face falls again.
“C’mon, Omega, look at me,” he whispers as he brings his hand to your chin. His thumb and forefinger curl around your chin and turn your face to look at him. “I’m not gonna bite, unless you want me to.”
You whimper slightly, lost in the depth of his blue eyes, though there’s a tiny bit of green that makes you smile softly.
“So, you remember what happened yesterday?” Curtis asks and you nod, your cheeks burning by now, but he keeps your chin where he wants it.
“I’m sorry, I-I had a drink and then I felt so dizzy and then I don’t know, I just had no control,” you mutter, craving to lean into him again and take in more of his scent.
Maybe it’s still the drug talking or your inner omega who’s more than content around the broad Alpha.
“The Alpha who was harassing you, he put a drug in your drink. We are not completely sure what kind of drug it is, but it kind of creates an addiction to an Alpha. Most likely to an Alpha who could fit with you,” Curtis explains as he watches your eyes widen with every word he says.
You take in the information with a soft nod.
“You thirsty or hungry? You didn’t let me hand you a drink last night,” Curtis asks as he notices you parting your lips for yet another apology.
You nod your head slightly, your mouth is dry, so are your lips, and your stomach can use some food too. But you only let yourself fall forward against his broad chest, chirping when he wraps his strong arms around you and his scent fills your nose even more.
“You like my scent, pretty Koala?” Curtis asks as his chest vibrates with a low rumble.
You whine as you hide your face in his chest once more.
“Don’t be embarrassed, it's cute. I like your scent a lot too,” Curtis whispers into your ear. “How about we check what the bar has to offer for breakfast, huh?”
You nod softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs still feel wobbly, and since he carried you all evening last night, he can keep doing just that, right?
“You just keep clinging to me?” He mutters as he heaves himself off the couch, his arms tightly wrapping around your waist. Curtis tries to stretch himself as best as he can while having you cling to him.
“Mhm, you're pretty soft and thick, but most importantly you’re warm, so warm,” you purr as you nose along the side of his throat.
Curtis swallows down a possessive growl that’s about to escape his lips, as he walk out of the room and through Ari’s office. He moves surprisingly quiet for a man his size, as he walks along the hallway to a small kitchen in the back of the bar.
“Welcome to our own little kitchen. You like pancakes with bacon?” Curtis asks as he pulls out some ingredients with you still in his arms.
You hum and nod your head, whining when he places you on the counter. He pulls out more ingredients and places them next to you on the counter.
“You know, I like to sing when I cook,” Curtis confesses, humming softly as he starts swinging his hips playfully.
You watch him with wide eyes, laughing softly. And it’s a sound he adores by now, your sweet laugh is one of his favorite sounds.
Curtis mixes the flour with the other ingredients and scoops a fingertip of the dough. He brings his thick finger to your face and slides his fingers over your nose with a grin.
“Now you have to kiss it away!” You mumble, pouting softly as you lean forward so he can kiss away dough from the tip of your nose.
Curtis smirks and leans toward you to press a soft kiss to your nose, kissing away the dough.
“Better?” He asks, before he kisses your nose once more and turns back to finish the dough. “Sweet little Koala, do you mind mixing that a bit for me so I can heat the pan already?”
You nod and do as he says, keeping your eyes on him as he puts some oil in the pan. Curtis keeps watching you, too, even when he pulls out another pan and some bacon.
“Can you do heart shaped pancakes?” You ask quietly, watching his face light up as he reaches for something in the counter that you can’t see just yet.
He holds a heart shaped mold in front of you, metal. Your eyes light up too as he places it in the pan and nods.
“Put some of it in there,” he says and points at the bowl in your hands.
With a grin, you hold the bowl above the pan and let some of the dough drip into it.
And a few minutes later you don’t have just one heart shaped pancake, but a whole plate of heart shaped pancakes. Curtis keeps grinning as he makes another pancake and puts it on top of the others. The bacon already ready and sitting next to it on another plate.
You keep watching him as he lets you pour the dough into the pan. Curtis always makes sure that he touches you softly, either your knee or your thigh, sometimes your hands.
And he has a smile on his lips, so soft and warm, it makes you heart flutter.
This Alpha really made his way into your heart. Not only with heart shaped pancakes, but with his warmth and love. And with that breathtaking smile of his, and those shining blue orbs.
“You're drooling, Koala,” Curtis chuckles as he wipes, with his thumb, a bit of spit from the corner of your mouth.
You huff, but get interrupted when the scent of another Alpha and an Omega fills your nostrils. You turn your head to look at them, noticing the mischievous glint in the Alpha's eyes as he grins at you and Curtis — and maybe the heart shaped pancakes on the kitchen counter.
“Look who we got here. Prince Charming and his Koala,” Ari smirks as he leans against the doorframe of the kitchen with an amused glint in his eyes. “Gonna have a spare pancake for me and firecracker too?”
Curtis laughs, but nods. “We could feed the whole bar team with the amount of pancakes and bacon we made."
With that, Ari reaches for four plates and places them on the table in the small kitchen of the bar. He adds forks and knifes before he looks at you again.
“I’m Ari, owner of the bar. And this little Omega over here, is my feisty little firecracker,” Ari introduces himself and his Omega, who has her arms tightly wrapped around Ari’s waist from behind, and only sneaks a glance at you from her hidden place. “You feeling better by now or is the drug still in your system?”
“Feeling way better, thank you. And sorry for the embarrassment last night,” you apologize once more.
But Ari shakes his head, stealing a piece of bacon from one of the plates to hold in front of his Omega.
She giggles and squeals as she reaches for it to munch on it. Ari’s expression softens even more when he watches his Omega happily chewing on a piece of bacon.
“Don’t worry about last night. It’s not your fault that some guy put some drugs in your drink. And it looks like Prince Charming finally found a match for himself,” Ari tells you, patting Curtis's shoulder who’s secretly grinning from ear to ear while he makes the pancakes.
Curtis huffs playfully as he turns toward you and pulls you over the counter and closer to him, to stand between your thighs while still turning pancakes.
“Can I kiss you, pretty Koala?” He asks, his voice low and quiet as he asks you. Though, Curtis's eyes are bright and capturing as he holds your gaze.
You giggle softly, nodding your head. It might look like an act of possession or something, but you know it’s way more than that. It’s a bond the two of you slowly formed between the two of you, a bond built with love and softness.
Curtis leans closer, capturing your lips softly with his. His scent changing softly into a sweeter one, and you melt into him as his lips start moving softly and tender against yours.
“Get yourself a room,” Ari laughs as he brings his hands in front of Firecracker's eyes. She squeals and wiggles behind his hands to sneak a glance. “Prince Charming found his princess.”
“Shut up,” Curtis mutters as he presses another peck against your lips with a grin.
