a/s/l: 22, femme, the states (not going in more than that, c'mon now)
who i write for found here
all of my stories are fem!black readers. if requested, i can do woc!reader or nb!poc!reader, but i do "x reader" for the black girls over here darlings. just fyi
recent works:
snippet from gar logan fanfic on wattpad (slow updates... like molasses)
can be found on: wattpad (working on fics about: gar logan, stiles stilinski, cw gossip girl, hbomax gossip girl, taking requests if you've got cool ideas)
daily (maybe) rambles found here
recs: #fubu recs
blogs (for other black & poc fandom writers)
shows/movies (cuz… that’s literally the reason i’m here)
i hope you enjoy my page, please feel free to send messages and requests! just getting started so patience is appreciated
bigots, stay away. if you’re not black, you can still enjoy but i’d much rather hear from my girls/gays/theys who look like me (the whole point of f.u.b.u., ya know?
A/N : In my defense, I'm ovulating 👀
Warnings : 18+ MDNI, smut, vibrators, masturbation (f), Tit worship, oral (f rec), PinV, PwP, foul language, glasses kink (this is super self indulgent lol), Clark being a nerd and hot soft-dom boyfriend at the same time, perverted reader, even more perverted Clark
Word Count : 1.8 k
Nerd Clark who is the quietest person at the daily planet. Quiet to the point where people wonder if he's even fit to be a reporter. But as his interactions with the superman have proved, he's very worthy of his position despite being so……mysterious.
Nerd Clark who is shy to return smiles when you wish him a cheery good morning summoning the brightest smile on your face.
Nerd Clark who slowly opens up to you. And by opens up I mean he lets a few good mornings and goodbyes slip free when he watches you arrive or leave.
Nerd Clark who thinks you're friends.
Nerd Clark who has no idea how bad your intentions are. That you hardly want friendship from him. What you want is for him to ruin you.
Nerd Clark who watches you stare at him, thinking its a loving look on your face except your eyes are raking over his body thinking about how soft those curls would feel under your palms, how those glasses would fog up when you have him panting under you, how those massive ridges of muscles would ripple when he's thrusting into you and how those veins would feel if you traced it with your tongue.
Nerd Clark who snaps you out of your wild imagination with a snap of his fingers and you're left breathless and wet in the office in the middle of the day.
Nerd Clark who believes your excuse of not feeling well when you look all red and leave for home early.
Nerd Clark who would never know that you spent that night riding your vibrator pretending it to be him, moaning his name out loud until your walls have it memorised. (I meant bedroom walls, what're you even thinking, you dirty minded duckling)
Nerd Clark who's all shy when you kiss him for the first time. All nervous smiles and fumbling hands as his lips move over yours in a slow rhythm.
Nerd Clark whose glasses nugde against your nose when he leans in for a second kiss, much to his annoyance but only until you end up giggling against his mouth.
Nerd Clark who does not understand why you're so keen on him leaving his glasses on during the kiss even when it's in the way.
Nerd Clark who you think would be shy and soft and sweet in bed and turns out he's anything but.
Nerd Clark who has you pinned against the door the moment you close it after getting home.
Nerd Clark whose hungry eyes, dilated pupils, and shameless strokes of his fingers under your shirt surprise you in the best way becuase where did that shy nerd go who was nervous to kiss you?
Nerd Clark who has known everything since the beginning and still let you work for him, and yearn for him, all this time.
Nerd Clark whose voice is possesive and dark and rough when he leans in close to your ear and whispers “You've been testing my patience, baby” before his mouth is on you.
Nerd Clark who revels in watching you all shocked and dumbfounded at knowing how his shy personality just switches off around you.
Nerd Clark who has the filthiest mouth on him and loves to rile you up “Why do you look so dumb baby? Were’nt you the one who invited me here?”
Nerd Clark who chuckles against your lips when you have no words left and you decide kissing him would be the appropriate response.
Nerd Clark who picks you up like you weigh no more than a pillow before he trudges toward your bedroom.
Nerd Clark who takes his sweet time with you. Kissing his way down your body, worshipping every inch of skin revealed.
Nerd Clark who you know is gone when his eyes zeroe in on your tits, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips before his mouth is on you. Warm and wet and so fucking desperate as he laps at your skin, nipping your nipple with his teeth ever so slightly to draw out those quiet gasps and whines you make for him.
Nerd Clark who spends way too much time fondling your tits, only stopping when they're tender and red from the assault his mouth put them through. He finally moves on with a whine when he sees you whimper at the overstimulation, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to both of your breasts like they're something living and could feel his affection.
Nerd Clark whose mouth is a weapon of mass destruction and you somehow have the misfortune (or should I say, fortune?) of being his target.
Nerd Clark who laps at your pussy like a man starved. Holding your thighs apart with those chiseled arms of his while he attacks your clit with little kitten licks. Giving only enough for you to writhe beneath him.
Nerd Clark who works you patiently, drawing your pleasure out until you snap on his tongue with his name loud in your mouth and your body convulsing around him.
Nerd Clark who let's you harshly tug at his hair as the force of your climax consumes you whole. He doesn't so much as whine in complaint when your thighs all but suffocate him with how tight they're wrapped around his neck, shoving his face deeper into you.
Nerd Clark who has almost all of his face shiny with your release when he crawls back up to you. The sight stealing all air out of your lungs becuase holy shit is this a sight to see. You're pretty sure you'd pay good amount of money for just another moment to watch him like this again.
Nerd Clark who has you losing your mind on his fingers next “This what you were thinking about that day, sweetheart?” He says as he curls his fingers slightly, hitting the spot that makes you cry out and confessing your ugly fantasies to him.
Nerd Clark who revels in the fact that he's got you so worked up you don't even know what you're confessing.
Nerd Clark who makes the mistake of trying to take off his fogged glasses to avoid losing the sight of you. Much to your displeasure as you shove them back on.
“Baby, I can't see you with these on” he punctuates between kisses, of course he wants the glasses off. Who would be dumb enough to not want to see you, all naked and flushed and moaning for him?
Nerd Clark who realises you have a very specific kink when he sees your reluctance to let the glasses leave his face.
Nerd Clark who slides them upward instead, letting the black frame rest in his hair like a little tiara and god if it doesn't drive you crazy.
Nerd Clark who can see the shift in your energy at that in the way your eyes go dark, and can't wait another moment before he's inside you.
Nerd Clark who is big enough to hurt even after he's stretched you out. And damn it if he isn't proud about it. “Am I too big for you, baby?” He teases, inching inside slowly, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. “You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?”
Nerd Clark who becomes utterly insufferable when he watches his cock slide all the way into you “Look at you, sweetie. All stretched out on my cock”
Nerd Clark who makes you think you've descended to heaven when he starts to move becuase surely a feeling like this doesn't exist in this universe.
Your hips rock up themselves, meeting his every thrust as endless curses spill from his lips, emphasising how good you feel around him, how perfect.
You let the praise wash over you and drive you closer to the climax.
Nerd Clark who is dominant and unrestrained but never rough enough to hurt. Always looking for signs of discomfort and monitoring your micro expressions to see if you're hurting.
Nerd Clark who doubles down when he hears your sounds pitching higher. His hands make their way to your knees pushing them toward you, making the angle steeper and hitting that deep spot inside you.
Nerd Clark who praises you through it when he sees how you react to it
“Such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”
“Taking my cock so well”
“You're gonna come for me? You gonna be a good girl?”
It makes your skin prickle, fingers tremble and toes curl into the mattress as you bite down on his shoulder to muffle the cry that tears out of you as your orgasm swallows you completely.
Nerd Clark whose thrusts grow erratic when he feels your warm walls convulsing and fluttering around him. The feeling addictive and ruining him at the same time.
His hand find your breasts again “Fuck me, these tits” he grunts, mouth enveloping a nipple as one of his hands grips and massages the other breast as if it is an achor he needs to hold onto to keep himself tethered to you.
Nerd Clark who is loud when he comes. Loud enough that you'll probably have your neighbours complaining tomorrow but your name in his mouth sounds so fucking delicious that you can't bring yourself to care about anything but the fact that you want to hear it again and again and again.
Nerd Clark who cleans you up after. And boy is it a sight to behold. His skin is flushed and glowing with the soft sheen of sweat. His curls all messed up, and you feel a flutter down south knowing its your hands that did that.
There's a shy smile on his face as he's back to the gentle, nerdy part of himself that you so dearly adore.
Nerd Clark who is a cuddler, he pulls you close immediately after he settles onto your bed, rubbing comforting circles on your back making you sleepy in his arms.
And you swear you hear him mumble something like “Sleep good, sweetheart” and soft lips pressing against your forehead before you finally let your eyes close, falling asleep in the arms of the man who you might fall in love with. Especially given everything that happened today. There's no way you're gonna let this be a one time thing.
Synopsis: You’ve always been shy. Quiet. Invisible, even. But working at the Daily Planet gave you a badge, a desk… and a seat across from Clark Kent. What starts as silent glances and white chocolate donuts turns into a walk, a bar, a moment —where maybe, just maybe, your heart begins to hope he sees you too.
Warnings: fluff, nervous!Clark, shy!reader, slow burn, social anxiety, comfort, soft moments, no use of y/n, modern AU
WC: 3,650 aprox
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Ever since your family found out you had decided to pursue journalism, there were doubts. Not because you weren’t capable, but because you had always been so shy. In high school, making friends was hard. Words felt heavy, glances were awkward. But even so, you followed your dream. You held onto it so tightly that now, when you sat at your Daily Planet desk, you could look down and smile just by seeing your badge hanging with your name on it.
Reporter.
Specialized in politics, sometimes in cooking. Nothing big, but enough to feel useful. Interviews left you breathless, but the articles Perry published, even if buried inside, made you feel —for a moment— fabulous.
But there was one thing. One that not even your best coffees could sweeten: loneliness.
Your mother used to ask about your love life, though there was never any news. Or so you said. You’d barely mention a guy, and she already wanted details: if he looked at you, if he greeted you, if he breathed near you. In those conversations, you ended up believing something might actually be there, just because she imagined it so beautifully. So you learned to stay quiet.
And you also learned to keep your secret. One more hidden than Superman’s real name:
You were in love with Clark Kent.
Your coworker. That sweet, clumsy man with glasses that slipped down his nose. You fell in love the moment you started working and they placed him right across from you. No one knew. Not even you fully admitted it. No one spoke to you beyond courtesy, and you didn’t make much effort either. Not because you were mean, but because you didn’t know how. Or maybe because you were afraid that if someone got too close, one day they’d just leave —like everyone else.
Clark Kent wasn’t your friend. He was your ritual.
The man who greeted you with a soft voice. The one who sometimes tripped over his backpack. The one who looked at you —and you could only hold his gaze for two seconds before looking down so he wouldn’t notice your hands trembling.
“Late again, Clark?” Jimmy teased with a smile you didn’t see, but knew was there.
“Yeah…”
His footsteps paused for a few seconds. Then, a “thank you” from Jimmy and Lois directed at Clark, followed by the familiar sound of him walking to his desk.
“Good morning,” he said as he passed by you. His voice was close. Very close.
You looked at him for two seconds.
“Good morning, Clark.”
Your smile was for him, but it ended up directed at your screen. A coward. Always the same.
“Ah… here.”
He left a little box on your desk.
“It’s a donut dipped in white chocolate. They say they’re good. I bought a few.”
You looked at the box. Then at him, already sitting at his desk. His height allowed him to see you perfectly, though you barely dared to glance up.
“Thanks,” you whispered. A warm blush settled on your cheeks. You looked back at your computer. You didn’t see that he smiled too, blushing, just as nervous as you.
“Pretty little flower,” said a louder voice.
Cat appeared, leaning on your desk.
“It’s Katie’s birthday. We’re going to the bar near the Hoper Bridge. You coming?”
You hesitated. You weren’t good at saying no. And Cat tried so hard to include you.
“Yes,” you said, with a polite smile.
She clicked her tongue, satisfied.
“That’s it. Here’s to more social life.”
You just nodded.
But what you didn’t know was that Clark —from his desk— had also heard everything.
And his heart, like yours, beat just a little faster at the thought of seeing you in that bar.
✄ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Time passed between final edits to your article and stolen glances at Clark, who seemed absorbed in writing what was surely another exclusive interview with Superman.
You could tell he was doing well when he stopped bouncing his leg, that he was excited when he adjusted his glasses with a light push of his index finger, and that he felt inspired when he mumbled the words as he typed them, as if testing them before letting them live on the page.
Needless to say, his name would be on the Daily Planet’s front page the next day.
You were content with a few lines in the politics or cooking section. But even so, you felt proud. Of him. Of you. Of being there.
And though you’d wanted to congratulate him a thousand times, the moment always slipped through your fingers.
By the time you finished your text, the place was almost empty. The desk lights had turned off one by one, like spotlights at the end of a play.
Only the hum of your monitor remained as witness. You turned off your computer, massaged your temples, and stood up. You didn’t expect to see anyone else.
But when you looked up, you almost tripped in surprise: Clark was still there, right in front of you.
He stood up at the same time, as if waiting for you to do it first. His tall figure stood out under the dim glow of the building’s night lamps.
“Didn’t you leave with the others?” you asked, more surprised than anything.
Clark smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Did I scare you? I should’ve… coughed or made a noise.”
Then he looked away, mumbling,
“Jimmy said you weren’t sure where the bar was… and… well, sometimes Maps isn’t much help, you know? I thought maybe… we could go together.”
You looked at him. This time for more than two seconds.
“You know where it is?” you asked cautiously.
“No.”
The honesty drew a nervous smile from you.
Clark shifted, uncomfortable, but with a soft gleam in his eyes.
“But it’s better to get lost with someone… than to get lost alone, right?”
You let out a small laugh. One of those that escapes without permission, but you don’t want to take back.
“I guess so.”
You put on your coat while he adjusted his briefcase. Then he walked with you to the elevator. With that very Clark-like gesture, he slightly raised his glasses and let you in first. You followed him with your heart beating a little faster than it should’ve been allowed.
“Did you try the donut?” he asked as you descended. His voice was almost a respectful whisper.
You nodded. “Yes. I had them months ago. Just yesterday I was craving one. I told Lois to come with me, but with Perry’s meeting… I couldn’t leave. They’re my favorite.”
Clark feigned surprise, though inside, a small pride bloomed. What you didn’t know was that he had heard that quiet request to Lois. He had also noticed your sad glance toward the elevator before entering that meeting you knew would run late.
That very night, he had checked if the shop was open. And when it wasn’t… he promised himself he’d buy you one the next morning. And he did.
“Really?” he murmured. “What a coincidence…”
Outside the building, the night embraced you with its cool air and the distant murmur of the awake city. Metropolis lights flickered among tall buildings, fast taxis, and still-open shop windows. You walked side by side. Not too close. Not too far.
Clark took out his phone and opened the Maps app. Pretending to search for the way, though in truth, his super hearing had already picked up Jimmy and Lois’s laughter a few blocks ahead.
In fact, he could hear the ice clinking in their glasses as they toasted. But he needed this walk with you. He needed those minutes stolen from the night.
“I heard you interviewed Superman again,” you finally said. “How’s that piece going?”
Clark nodded.
“Good. He was more reserved this time. He told me… that lately he feels like people are losing faith in the good. But that it’s enough for just one person to believe… for all his effort to be worth it.”
You paused for a few seconds.
“That’s… beautiful.”
Clark dared to look at you. Your cheeks were slightly lit by the nearest streetlamp.
Your eyes lowered, as if the compliment had been too big to hold.
“Yeah… it is,” he answered softly.
“Do you… believe in him?” you asked.
Clark smiled to himself, looking ahead.
“More than you think.”
In the distance, Hoper Bridge glowed with yellow lights. The bar was just across the street, full of life, low music.
It was filled with laughter, dim lights, and clinking glasses. In the back, the Daily Planet table was nearly complete. You spotted Lois laughing with Jimmy and Cat, standing, waving at you when she saw you enter with Clark.
“She came!” said Cat with a big smile, as if announcing it was a personal victory. “Guys! Our shy flower is with us tonight!”
The words were sweet, not mocking. But the nickname made you blush. Clark, by your side, simply gave a small half-smile and nodded slightly for you to walk ahead.
Cat came closer as soon as you sat down.
“I’m so glad you came. And you came with Clark, huh…”
She smiled playfully, but before you could answer —or turn even redder— she had already turned toward Lois.
“Didn’t see that coming. This bunch of antisocials is becoming human.”
The jokes and laughter rose with the music. Cat disappeared into a toast with Jimmy, and someone slipped a cocktail into your hand, pink with sparkling ice.
Clark sat next to you.
Because Clark Kent didn’t just look at you. He felt you.
From the outside, no one noticed anything. You were sitting calmly, back straight, lips closed. But he heard everything.
Every time your throat swallowed hard.
Every time your nails scratched slowly at your other hand.
Every time you looked toward the exit, like a bird eyeing the only open window.
“So Clark,” asked Jimmy from across the table, “when’s your Superman interview coming out? Tomorrow?”
“Probably Monday,” he replied, never taking his eyes off you. “I want it clean. He was more personal this time.”
“Personal? Superman? What, did he cry?” joked Cat.
Clark chuckled politely, but his eyes still checked in on you every now and then.
“Hey!” A voice snapped him out of it. Andrew, one of the new editors, had stood up with a beer in hand and was heading straight to you.
“You! The one who writes about cooking… and politics, right? I never remember the name. But your jasmine tea piece was nice. What’s it like working here at the Daily Planet?”
Your stomach flipped. Eyes turned to you. Your usually quiet voice now seemed to have vanished entirely.
“I… really like it…” you murmured.
But you said it so low, so soft, you weren’t even sure you had said anything at all.
Andrew frowned, not with bad intentions, but with zero tact.
“What’d you say? You like what?” The smile he wore was that of someone joking, unaware they were breaking something fragile. “Can’t you speak louder?”
And it was like being fourteen again. Standing in front of classmates laughing because you didn’t speak up. Feeling your throat tighten, blood hot in your cheeks. Panic growing like a knot in your chest.
Clark felt it all. Literally.
Your racing heart. Your uneven breathing. Your fingers scratching your skin with such force.
“Andrew,” Lois cut in like an arrow. “Why don’t you check if Katie started her karaoke ritual before she hits the stage with tequila in hand?”
Andrew laughed, distracted by the mood. “Whatever you say, boss.”
The laughter swept him away. The moment passed.
For everyone… except you.
Then, when some started moving toward the dance floor, you stood too. But not to dance. Not to laugh. Just to disappear.
You left. Walked aimlessly. The night air hit your face like a cold whisper. You walked faster, not looking back, until you were far enough.
Only then did you stop.
Your cheeks were wet. Your hands red from pressure. You closed your eyes, wishing the world would stop looking at you. That your heart would stop pounding so hard.
“Wanna go get ramen?”
The voice was soft. Kind. With a touch of shy hope.
You turned. Clark was there. Breathing like he had walked the whole way behind you —and he had.
The bar was far now, but he hadn’t hesitated. He followed you. Without permission. Without words.
“What…?” you murmured.
“There’s a place I like. It’s open all night. They serve ramen. Good ramen. It’s… peaceful.”
You hesitated.
Looked at your feet. Then at him.
At his slightly crooked glasses.
At his poorly wrapped scarf.
At his face that demanded nothing, just waited.
“Okay,” you whispered, starting to walk.
And Clark followed you.
Like all those times he followed you with his eyes from his desk.
Like when he closed his eyes just to hear your voice —that sweet, small, trembling voice— talking to Lois or murmuring to yourself.
Like when he listened to your heartbeat from afar, just to make sure you were okay.
Like when he saw you smile, those few times you did, and wished one of those smiles was because of him.
Clark followed you.
And he was ready to keep following you from now on.
To follow you with real steps. With small gestures. With words that asked for nothing.
To follow you until you could see him.
See that he wanted to take care of you.
See that he had already chosen you.
See that his way of loving was that: looking through you, slowly, tenderly, until you could love with the same calm with which he always waited for you.
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This work is mine. Copying or translating this fic is strictly prohibited. Any issue must be notified directly to me. Thank you.
💌 I take requests occasionally! If you have an idea, feel free to send it my way. I’d love to bring it to life 🤍
i saw a tiktok that said “zuko, who stays awake at night softly caressing your cheek, wondering if you and azula would have gotten along had things been different” and i’ve been thinking about it all day … tug at the heart strings a little bit please ☹️💞
-–—•
The palace was always quietest at night.
No council meetings. No guards announcing arrivals. No heavy expectations pressing against his shoulders for a few fleeting hours. Just the candlelight mixed with the moonlight, and you beside him.
Zuko should have been asleep.
Instead, he lay awake with his head resting against the pillow, watching you breathe softly beside him while his fingers traced absentminded patterns along your cheek. Gentle. Careful. Like touching something sacred.
You stirred slightly at the touch but didn’t wake, only leaning unconsciously closer into his warmth. His chest tightened. Because all he could think about was her. Azula.
Not the version the world feared. Not FireLord Ozai’s perfect daughter. Not the girl sharpened into something cruel and dangerous before she even had the chance to become a child.
Just his little sister… he wondered; painfully, endlessly - if things had been different… would she have loved you too? The same way Sokka loves Aang as his own brother?
Would she have sat with you during dinners, making dry comments that only you seemed able to answer without fear? Would you have made her laugh? Real laughter, not the sharp-edged kind she used like a weapon. Would she have trusted you enough to let her guard down? Would she have seen you as a sister?
Zuko’s thumb brushed beneath your eye softly. You were everything warm in his life now. Everything patient, kind, safe. Sometimes he mourned the fact that Azula never got the chance to know softness without suspecting weakness. That she couldn’t have the growth he had with his real friends.
“She would’ve liked you,” he whispered quietly into the darkness, almost like a confession. “I think… maybe she would’ve hated how much she liked you.”
You shifted slightly in your sleep, your hand finding his instinctively beneath the blankets. Zuko looked down at your intertwined fingers and swallowed hard.
In another life, maybe the three of you could’ve sat together beneath the palace gardens without fear or politics or cruelty poisoning every moment.
Maybe Azula would’ve teased him for the way he looked at you. Maybe she would’ve rolled her eyes every time you defended him during arguments. Maybe she would’ve called the two of you disgustingly affectionate before secretly lingering nearby anyway. She’d know became a third wheel yet refused to change anything about that.
Maybe she could’ve been happy. The thought hurt too much to hold for long.
Zuko leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead before closing his eyes beside you.
Somewhere deep inside him, the little boy who once chased after his sister despite everything still hoped that one day, somehow, she’d come home too.
clark kent is the type of guy to wave at you when you look back at him while he's giving you backshots
That's So Clark Kent
Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader
Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, fluff, super backshots, Clark being cute
WC: 0.3k
A/N: I wrote this because I could. Thank you anon 😙
***
You’re face down, gripping at the sheets like they might tear under your hands. While Clark's fucking you deep enough to rattle your bones.
Your voice raw with want and need, yelling “Clark!” for what must be the millionth time, now hoarse and cracking, nothing left but breathless pleas.
When you shoot a look behind, his face is carved in concentration, eyes blazing with heat, sweeping over your naked body like you’re to be cherished and loved.
Making sure not to hold too tight to bruise but memorising all the little textures and tremors of your skin, from the curve of the small of your back to the trembling arch of your thighs.
But the moment you make eye contact, he softens, gives you a dimpled smile, and waves at you. That's right, he waves.
You know that wave.
It’s the kind he gives you when he spots you at work, after being late for the third time that week. Or when he’s searching for you in a crowded place and finally finds you, relief softening his whole face. Or when he’s standing on the street outside your apartment at night, waving up at you with the stars in his eyes as he reluctantly leaves.
This was not the wave he was supposed to be giving you when he's giving you backshots and turning your brain to mush.
His pace doesn't even slow when he does it. He just keeps thrusting into you from behind with expert precision.
You giggle a little, half your face pressed to the mattress, your smile muffled in the sheets. The sound makes Clark pause just enough to glance at you, brow furrowing as he asks what happened, his lips quirking into a pout when you can’t get the words out.
But you don’t need to explain. Because waving at a time like this was so Clark Kent.
A heavy hand ruffles Zuko's hair softly, starting at the top of his head and effectively ruining the style he did that morning. He merely sighs as he accepts his fate, soaking up the begrudgingly relaxing feeling of his friend carding his fingers through the long, silken strands.
“Do I get to know why I'm being groomed like an ape?”
Aang laughs good-naturedly, an easy shrug of broad shoulders as he broaches the subject. “I thought you said you were gonna cut it; what made you not bother?”
The question freezes him momentarily, and then he takes a sip of tea to avoid the other man's near-scrutinizing gaze. A flush overtakes your lover's cheeks as he thinks about how best to answer his friend, who's waiting with an expectant yet fond look.
Logically, Zuko knows he should say it's the way you make moving wayward strands from his eyes look so tender and domestic. Another safe answer is because his hair is the first thing you absentmindedly reach for when you want to keep your hands occupied in some way. He often lets you toy with the strands, plaiting or twisting the locks into various sizes while he works and having to stifle a snort or quiet laugh when it tickles his ear.
How does he say it's really the way you'd loop your fingers through the dark tresses after he's had a long day?
You'd be straddling his lap, his arms tight around your frame and head on your shoulder, while your fingers would run through his hair, smoothing out whatever knots you could. Every so often, they'd weave themselves in the strands closest to the root, and it always made him shiver in anticipation.
Blunt nails would lightly scratch at his scalp and nape, making him grunt quietly as he sinks into the couch, trying to push himself closer to you at the same time. Then your fingers would tighten and yank, forcing a startled but relieved groan from his throat. His hair spills from the spaces between your fingers as you bunch the locks in your grip. Your teeth find the column of his neck, and his answering keen was one he couldn't quite hide.
The blissful tugs on his hair are so hard they sting, so hard they swell his dick until it's almost painful. A whispered plea and you're quick to indulge him. With your free hand stroking his cock, the other is still in his hair, twisting his head to the side to suck a bruise into perspiring, pale skin. His digits sink into the plush skin of your thighs, trying to ground himself as the smarting tug had him arching his spine as if it were suddenly malleable.
Your lover would always end up with fluttering lashes, uttering a mouthful of curses when your thumb would swipe over his weeping slit, the same time you yank hard enough to tilt his head back. His Adam's apple bobs under your lips, breath coming out in a shudder as you lave your tongue and nip your teeth at his throat.
His hips buck when you force his gaze back to you with another harsh tug. But he just couldn't stop his darkened and lidded eyes from rolling to the back of his skull when you started to fondle his balls, other hand still gripping his now disheveled hair.
The esteemed Fire Lord surely couldn't tell his friend that he'd also miss the fact that his hair is the first thing you grab onto when he finds home between your legs.
When his warm tongue teases your slit and laps at your arousal like he's dehydrated, you forget your restraint; completely disregard that there's a person attached to all the hair you're pulling, and he loves it. It makes him even greedier for you, that you got so caught up in the pleasure he's giving that you don't even realize the literal strands you've managed to pull from his scalp.
The sensation and thought had him grinding into your shared bed, his long, pretty cock weeping pre that stains the expensive sheets a darker shade of red. There's going to be a crick in his neck from how hard you pulled his hair to drag him in for a kiss. But he supposes that's his fault for wanting to be a willing puppet, to let your loving hands manipulate his strings with an expert but tender grace.
When your hands grip his biceps, he's soothing you with a kiss to your forehead. When he starts bullying himself inside you, said hands find his hair. The tip of his cock weeps at your entrance, begging to be let into your warmth, and that was the night he realized your pussy is the only thing tighter than your stabilizing grip on his hair. You're panting into his shoulder, teeth digging into the skin with a muffled whimper as he rolls his hips into a tentative thrust.
The pull of his hair and your sweet whines make him impatient; he doesn't want to wait to sink inside you. It's a little like pulling teeth waiting for your warm and wet hole to give; hurting you is the last thing he wants to do, but the soreness in his scalp makes his cock throb. The tingling at the base of his skull has him near whimpering as he fucks his leaky tip into your sopping cunt, the warmth making him shudder and bring your legs up, pressing them to your chest.
“My wife likes it.” He finally answers, and it might be underwhelming to the other male, but it's a safe deterrent from more questions. He doesn't feel like explaining that you're pulling on his hair makes him bust faster than anything, spilling his cum hot and heavy inside you, while his hair spills like ink from the spaces between your fingers.
summary// you ended up realizing that making clark your lab rat would simultaneously be the best and worst decision of your relationship.
content warning// conditioning, mating press, doggy style, nasty filthy sex, creampie, clark is feral, clark has an alien dick, clark swears, improper use of x-ray vision, kryptonian breeding kink, squirting, clark is pathetic
2k words whew
with clark kent fucking you like that, you don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
.
on monday, on the evening, you decided that you could begin your sick little experiment of conditioning on clark. after reading an article about it online, you wanted your alien boyfriend to be your lab-rat for it, and saw no apparent downsides to the experiment, so you went on with it.
starting with the trigger, you decided for it to be a duck emoji. weird enough for clark to be confused, not too weird for it to have him worrying like the sweetheart he is. ten minutes before you arrived home after work, you had sent him a singular duck emoji with no context or follow-up to it, which, as expected, had your poor clarkie as confused as ever. you smiled when he immediately texted back with ‘???’—success. as soon as you arrived home, you barely let him finish his questioning before pouncing on him, interrupting his sentence with a kiss he welcomed with open arms.
that night, you rode the man to the moon and back—gave him such mind-numbing pleasure that he couldn’t even bother to remember his previous confusion about the duck emoji.
and so, with the first day being a success, you repeated the process.
every day following that one, you would do the same thing—no texts or news all day, a duck emoji ten minutes before coming home, mind-blowing sex.
after a few days of repeating the process, you began to space out these encounters, opting to send the duck emoji every two to three days—a great way to keep the man on his toes, anticipating, waiting for the next time you'd send him that emoji.
then came the most awaited experiment—your greatest mistake.
it was on a friday night that you had decided tonight was the night. you had sent clark the usual duck emoji, smirking as he had immediately seen the text. however, when you arrived home, it wasn't like usual. usually, upon sending the emoji, you'd pounce on him and drag him to the bedroom. tonight, however? radio silence. well, not quite, but that's it felt to clark. you didn't give him those bedroom eyes you usually did on nights you were feeling particularly needy, you insisted on taking a shower all by yourself (he almost crumbled at that) and after dinner, you lounged on the couch to watch a tv show without even asking him to follow you! you just did!
the thing about clark kent is, he's a gentleman through and through. his ma had raised him to be one, and for christ's sake, he was superman! how could he not be a gentleman? but, he sympathizes with himself, you can't spell gentlemna without man, and clark was a man before he was anything else. a very aroused and hopelssly in love man, at that.
he stands awkwardly in the doorway of the living room, staring at you. you noticed, of course, but this wasn't unusual. clark has always had sort of weird quirks—you had always found them endearing. "is something the matter, honey?" your sirupy voice cut through his stream of thought, and suddenly his eyes focus again, gaze meeting yours.
clark has his phone in hand, and he brings it up to look back at the duck emoji you had sent. duck meant sex. you wanted this. he can indulge. you want this.
he knows you do. you sent the text, and he feels like he can almost smell your arousal and it's driving him fucking insane because he just wants to dive in it and taste it and fuck you everywhere so the entire place smells like you and-
in the blink of an eye, his phone is abandonned and he's on you, lips smashed against yours. you barely have the time to react but you do, arms now hanging around his thick neck. his hand latches itself onto your cheeks, fingers pressing into both of them, urging you to open your mouth. as soon as you do, his tongue, which was inhumanely long, snaked into your cavern, exploring its depths. he moaned at the taste of your saliva, almost melting into you as if the flavor of you was his ultimate salvation.
noticing the lack of air filling your lungs, he pulled away, his eyes softening at the sight of you catching your breath. "c-clark... what's... whta's gotten into you?" you licked your lips, face flushed. he looks at you like a puppy begging for its treat. "the emoji... you sent the emoji but you didn't... i thought..." his mind is a rush, moving at a thousand miles per hour as his entire body is begging him to rip your clothes off and take you.
he gives up, his head falling into the crook of your neck. "i just... i really need to fuck you, sweetheart." and as he's confessing this, his hand is gliding towards the waistband of your bottoms, sliding swiftly underneath it.
you think you could ascend.
you bite your lip, rendered mute at the sheer tension of the moment. "i know you want it, baby..." he scoffs, eyes closed. "can smell it."
curse him for being such a dangerously hot and multi-abled alien.
his hand makes its way underneath your panties, finger running through your slit, collecting the slick you've been trying to keep to yourself for the past hour. "ah..." you let out a low sound, almost imperceptible but clark was so hyper-focused on you that the little moan made him shudder.
he uses his forearm to push himself upwards, his hand escaping your bottoms to rush up to his mouth, and when you look at him, you gasp, feeling your walls clench.
because clark has never looked this feral.
his eyes were half-lidded and impossibly dark, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows your juices, eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. he moans, his cock twitching and growing inside his sweatpants.
"you're gonna give it t'me, right sweetie?" he asks in that low, sultry voice that he only allows himself to use when he'd rather die than not touch you.
the eager nod you gave him marked the moment you knew you were done for.
.
how long has it been? you don't know. you don't know anything, actually. your brain is fogged with how clark was pounding you into the fuzzy carpet, your eyes crossing when the buds running along his dick grazed against the ridges of your walls, the added sensation making you spasm. "f-ffuck-! clark- oh my god, ohmygod—" you can barely form a sentence, let alone link two words together when he knocks at your cervix, your tits bouncing in rhythm with every thrust.
and clark isn't even listening to you, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his cock splitting you open repeatedly, a vein bulging on his forehead at his intense use of his x-ray vision. "look at that, b-baby... look..." and you don't even bother, too lost in the ecstasy. he sees it all though, the strings of your arousal clinging to his tip every time he pulls away, the ridged of your pussy hooking onto his buds, the contractions of your muscles.
he finally manages to pull his eyes away from the sight, only to be met with the even prettier, albeit messier sight of your fucked out face. tears and drool glossed your skin, your eyes rolled back nearly to the back of your skull, throwing your head back when clark's hips stutter against yours, a white-hot wave washing over him over the sight.
he stilled when his buds hardened and hooked onto your walls, pulling him impossibly deep as he shoots buckets worth of cum deep into your womb. "a-ah! holy sh- hmm, fffuck, baby- i- fuck!" he sobs, jerking down towards you and you moan at the feeling of him filling you up once more, droplets of his sweat dripping onto your buzzing skin.
despite his orgasm, he doesn't stop, "n-need m-moree- needa fill you up-! ah, fuck!" his voice jumps up an octave when his buds finally relax again, allowing him to keep pistoning into you. "d-don't stop, clark! please dont- oh-!" he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders before beeending down, succesfully folding you in half. his face is now slotted right in front of yours, and the eye contact is so intense you almost feel shy under his gaze.
a mating press. clark kent had you in a fucking mating press.
you get lost in his ocean blue eyes, barely able to keep the eye conatct when he fucks you almost like he hated you, digging in your pussy. "you're... you're so beautiful, honey... so fucking pretty- all f'me, yeah? all f'me?" you nod, hands pressing against the back of his head to bring him impossiby closer to you, "all for you, clarkie," you confirmed being hastily pressing his against you, imprisoning him in a feverish kiss. clark moans into your mouth, eyes closing. you jolt slightly when you feel a tear drip down on your cheek, peeling your eyes open to see clark crying.
he pulls away, gasping for air as his throat restricts. "i l-love you, love you s'much— need you so, ngh, so bad... wanna breed ya'..." he sobs, whimpering for you. seeing clark become such a slave to his love for you had an inescapable effect on you, and your orgasm was almost immediate. you came with a gasp, the pleasure being so heavy that your eyes had given up on their function, unfocusing and leaving you with the blurry image of clark's flushed expression. your back arched as cream dribbled out of your hole, creating a white ring around clark's base.
in the midst of your orgasm, he pulls out, making you whine for the few seconds your face isn't smushed against the carpet because in a matter of moments, your world tilted before you found yourself face down ass up for your boyfriend. he pressed a hand on your back, urging a deeper arch. "m'sorry baby, m'so sorry..." he apologizes for the his unceremonial behavior but his apologies fall on deaf ears as you couldn't be happier.
your hands clutch the fluff of the carpet when he slams back into you, kneading the flesh of your ass. "just... just need this. s'your fault for making me wait... so long.. to have you- ngh, gosh..." he's hypnotized by the rippling of your ass, and the way your back bends impossibly for a second each time he rams back inside you, pressing you further into the carpet.
with clark kent fucking you like that, you really don’t think you’re making it out alive.
well, your fault for trying to experiment on a poor, farm-grown kryptonian.
your moans are rhythmic, matching the pace of his hips. leaning in, he wraps an arm around you to squeeze your tits, massaging them and rubbing your hardened nipples. "so obedient..." his comment makes your walls flutter around his fat cock. he begins to roll his hips, not quite thrusting. he presses against you, making you drool. "nghhh... fffuuuck... love you... so much.. c-clark-!" you slurred, going crazy at the sensation of his buds hardening slowly again, hooking onto your insides.
"w-want your cum-! want you to b-breed me!" you egged him on, "yeah? y'want it, baby? oh gosh, i'm cumming, m'cummingm'cumming-" he gritted, spilling into you once more. "oh my god! oh god, sweetheart!" he whined, your name escaping him as his hips bucked again, releasing rope upon rope inside you. his orgasm triggered yours, drops of your release trickled down onto the carpet before his hand snaked down to your clit, rubbing furiously and suddenly an intense stream released itself onto the now soaked carpet, the intensity of both of your orgasms making the two of you collaspe in a heap.
he layed on top of you, both of you catching your breaths. "i feel so... sticky." he remarked, "shit... i ruined the carpet." you groaned, knitting your eyebrows together.
a silence settled in, before you broke it. "i'm glad my experiment worked." a beat passes before he reacts, "experiment?"
"i tried conditioning you into associating sex with the duck emoji. it worked."
clarks hums, choosing not to react any further.
a few days later, minutes after the end of your shift, you receive a text from clark.
Note I love Clark Kent so much and I still have no idea why I only have one fic about him here, that's gonna change from now. Anyways, I am sorry if this is a tiny bit angsty but I swear there's fluff and smut and you're gonna be nauseous because these two love each other way too much. Like a lot.
Clark’s night had been a particular kind of hell. He didn't remember landing on your terrace.
One moment he was standing in the cratered ruin of what used to be a warehouse district on the outskirts of Metropolis, his hands still trembling from the echo of kryptonian fists meeting flesh, and the next he was here—boots silent on the weathered tile, the city sprawling beneath him like a circuit board of light and shadow.
The villain had called himself Pavor. A meta-human with the unsettling ability to weaponize fear, to reach into the deepest, most vulnerable parts of a person's mind and pull out their nightmares made manifest. Clark had faced worse. He'd faced world-enders and reality-benders, creatures from the Phantom Zone and gods from distant pantheons. But Pavor had done something that none of the others had managed.
He'd made Clark watch you die.
Not just once. A hundred times. A thousand. Each death more intimate and horrible than the last. A car accident on a rain-slicked street where Clark was too slow, too far away, his super-hearing catching your final breath across seven city blocks. A terminal illness that ate through your beautiful, laughing body while Clark held your hand and felt the life drain out of you, powerless to stop it because even he couldn't cure the incurable. An explosion in your apartment building that he arrived at two minutes too late, your favorite mug still warm on the kitchen counter, your scent still lingering in the hallway.
The worst one—the one that still had his hands shaking even now—was the simplest. You'd been walking home from the grocery store, a bag of oranges in your arms, and a man with a gun had wanted your wallet. In the vision, Clark had been standing right there. Right. There. And he'd still been too slow. The bullet had entered your chest before he could move, and you'd looked at him with such confusion, such betrayal, as if to say why didn't you save me? when you didn't even know he was there at all.
The villain was neutralized now. Sedated in a meta-human containment cell, his fear-dust swept up by biohazard teams. But the images lingered, burned into Clark's brain like afterimages from a nuclear blast.
He needed to see you.
The thought was urgent, desperate, clawing at his chest with something that felt dangerously close to panic. He needed to see your face, to hear your heartbeat, to feel you—warm and solid and alive—under his hands. The rational part of his mind, the part that had been doing this for almost two years, told him to go home first. Change out of the suit. Put on the glasses and the flannel shirt and the carefully constructed persona of Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter. That was the agreement, wasn't it? Not a formal one, not something you'd ever demanded, but something he'd built between you anyway. With you, he got to be just Clark. Not Superman. Not the symbol, the icon, the guy who caught planes and deflected asteroids. Just the man who burned his toast in the morning and left his socks on the bathroom floor and kissed the back of your neck while you were trying to make coffee.
But tonight, the thought of putting on that mask felt unbearable. Like another layer of separation between him and the thing he needed most.
So here he was. Boots on your terrace. The cape heavy on his shoulders, the House of El crest emblazoned across his chest. He'd never shown up like this before. Not once. You knew who he was—he'd told you, three months into the relationship, sitting on this very terrace with his heart in his throat and the words “I'm Superman” tasting like broken glass in his mouth—but you'd never seen him like this. The suit had always been something that happened somewhere else, in a different part of his life, the part he tried so hard to keep separate from the quiet sanctuary he'd found with you.
The sliding door was unlocked. It was always unlocked when he visited, a small act of faith that still made something in his chest ache. He could see you through the glass, curled on the couch with a book in your lap and a mug of tea steaming on the side table. You were wearing his university sweatshirt—the one he'd almost thrown away a dozen times because it was faded and threadbare, but you'd fished it out of the donation bag and claimed it as your own. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, still slightly damp from a shower, and you were absently chewing on your lower lip the way you did when you were concentrating.
His knees nearly buckled.
He'd watched you die tonight. He'd watched your eyes go dark and your heart stop and your blood pool on pavement, on tile, on the pristine white sheets of a hospital bed. He'd screamed your name in a dozen different nightmares, had reached for you a thousand times and come up empty. And here you were, reading one of your favorite books with your feet tucked under you, completely unaware that somewhere across the city, a so called God had been weeping over your corpse.
Clark slid the door open and you looked up immediately, a smile already forming on your lips—and then froze. Your eyes went wide, traveling from his face down the length of his body, taking in the suit and the cape and the way he was standing there like a man who'd just survived something he couldn't name.
“Clark?” Your voice was soft, uncertain, already tinged with concern. You set the book aside and rose from the couch, moving toward him slowly, carefully, the way you might approach a wounded animal. “Baby, what's wrong?”
He tried to speak. Tried to form words, to explain, to apologize for showing up like this without warning. But the sound that came out of his mouth was closer to a sob, raw and broken, and suddenly he was crossing the room in two strides and pulling you into his arms.
The contact nearly undid him.
You were warm. So impossibly, achingly warm, your body fitting against his like you'd been made to be there. Your heartbeat thrummed against his chest, steady and strong and alive, and Clark buried his face in your hair and breathed you in. Lavender shampoo. The faint trace of the tea you'd been drinking. Something underneath that was just you, the scent he'd committed to memory months ago, the one that meant home.
“Clark.” Your hands came up to cup his face, gentle but insistent, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your thumbs swept across his cheekbones, catching tears he hadn't realized he'd been shedding. “Talk to me. Please.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “There was a man tonight,” he said, and his voice came out rough, scraped raw. “He could—he could show people their fears. Make them real, somehow. In their minds.” He swallowed hard, and the next words came out on a shudder. “He showed me you. Dying. Over and over again. I watched you die so many times, and every time—every single time—I couldn't save you.”
Your breath caught. He felt it, felt the slight hitch in your chest, the way your fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his jaw.
“Clark,” you whispered.
“I know it wasn't real.” The words came faster now, tumbling out of him like water through a broken dam. “I know that. I've dealt with fear-manipulators before, I know how it works, I know none of it actually happened. But I couldn't—I couldn't shake it. I couldn't stop seeing your face, couldn't stop hearing—” His voice cracked. “I needed to see you. I needed to hold you. And I couldn't go home and change first, I couldn't put on the glasses and pretend to be someone else for one more second, because I'm not—I'm not someone else, not with you, I've never been someone else with you, and I just—”
The words were coming too fast now, tripping over each other, spiraling. Clark could feel it building in his chest—that familiar, terrible pressure, the one he'd learned to recognize over years of burying things too deep. His heart was hammering, which was ridiculous because his heart didn't do that anymore, hadn't done that since he was a teenager learning to control his powers, but here it was, pounding against his ribs like a caged animal. His breathing was too quick, too shallow, and he couldn't seem to get enough air even though he didn't technically need to breathe at all, not really, not the way you did, but his body didn't seem to care about technicalities right now.
She's dead. She's dead and you're hallucinating and any second now you're going to blink and she's going to be gone and you're going to be back in that warehouse with her blood on your hands and—
“Clark.”
Your voice cut through the spiral like a blade through silk. Not loud. Not demanding. Just there, steady and warm and impossibly, impossibly present.
“Clark, look at me.”
He couldn't. He couldn't look at you because if he looked at you, he'd see the bullet hole or the sickness or the closed eyes or one of the thousand other ways he'd watched you die tonight, and he couldn't—he couldn't—
Your hands moved from his face to his shoulders, and then you were guiding him, gently but firmly, until his back hit the wall beside the sliding door. Not hard—you didn't have the strength to move him if he didn't want to be moved—but he went willingly, bonelessly, because some deep part of him recognized that you were trying to anchor him, and he needed an anchor more than he needed air.
“There you go,” you murmured, and your hands were on his chest now, right over the S-shield, and he could feel the warmth of your palms even through the suit. “I've got you. I'm right here. Feel my hands, Clark. Can you feel them?”
He nodded, a jerky, desperate motion. Your hands. He could feel your hands. Smaller than his and soft and warm, pressed against the symbol of his house, against the place where his heart should have been beating out of control but was instead starting, slowly, to calm.
“Good.” You stepped closer, and now your body was pressed against his, not in a way that was sexual but in a way that was grounding, solid and real and undeniable. You were warm all along his front, from his chest to his thighs, and he could feel every point of contact like a lifeline. “Now breathe with me, okay? Just breathe. In...” He felt your chest expand against his. “...and out.”
He tried. He really tried. But the images were still there, flickering behind his eyelids every time he blinked, and his breath came out in a shuddering gasp instead of anything resembling controlled.
“That's okay,” you said, and your voice was so soft, so impossibly gentle, like you were soothing a spooked horse rather than the most powerful being on the planet. “That's okay, baby. Just try again. In...”
This time, he followed. His chest rose against yours, and he felt the way you smiled—felt the curve of your lips against his collarbone where you'd pressed your face.
“Good. So good. Now out...”
He exhaled, and some of the pressure in his chest went with it.
“That's it.” Your hands started moving on his chest, slow circles over the fabric of his suit, soothing and repetitive. “You're doing so well, Clark. Just keep breathing with me. In...”
She's warm. She's warm and she's solid and she's here.
“...and out.”
Her heart is beating. I can hear it. I can feel it.
“In...”
It's not the vision. The vision was cold. She was cold in the vision.
“...and out.”
She's not cold. She's never been cold. She's the warmest thing I've ever known.
“In...”
She's alive.
“...and out.”
She's alive. She's alive. She's alive.
Clark's eyes opened. He hadn't realized he'd closed them. And there you were—your face tilted up to his, your eyes soft and patient and full of so much love it made something in his chest crack open all over again. But this time, it wasn't the bad kind of cracking. This was the kind that let light in.
“Hi,” you said softly, and there was the barest hint of a smile playing at your lips.
“Hi,” he managed, and his voice was wrecked, scraped raw, but it was his again.
Your hands slid up from his chest to his face, cradling his jaw, your thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. You were so gentle with him, so careful, like he was something precious rather than something dangerous. He didn't understand how you did it. Didn't understand how you looked at him—at the suit, at the symbol, at the man who'd just fallen apart in your arms—and saw something worth holding.
“I'm here,” you said, and it wasn't the first time you'd said it tonight, but somehow it felt different now. Slower. More deliberate. Like you were pressing the words into his skin, making sure they stuck. “I'm here, Clark. I'm not a vision. I'm not a hallucination. I'm not going to disappear.”
He opened his mouth—to apologize, probably, because apologizing was what he did, was what he'd been training himself to do since he was old enough to understand that his existence was complicated—but you shook your head slightly, your thumbs pressing gently against his lips.
“No,” you said. “Don't. Don't apologize for needing me. Don't apologize for falling apart. You're allowed to fall apart, Clark. You're allowed to be scared and tired and overwhelmed and human, even if you're not—even if you're more than that. Especially because you're more than that. You carry so much. All the time. You never stop. You never let yourself just... be.”
Your hands moved from his face to his hair, pushing back the dark waves that had escaped the gel, your fingers carding through the strands with a tenderness that made his eyes sting.
“So here's what's going to happen,” you continued, and your voice was still soft but there was something underneath it now, something fierce and protective and utterly, utterly sure. “You're going to stand here with me for as long as you need to. And I'm going to hold you. And you're going to feel me—every part of me—and you're going to let yourself believe that I'm real.”
You took one of his hands—his stupid, heavy, dangerous hands, the hands that could punch through steel and crush diamonds—and pressed it flat against your chest, right over your heart.
“Feel that?” you asked.
He felt it. Of course he felt it. He could feel the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his palm, could feel the expansion of your lungs with every breath, could feel the warmth of your blood moving through your veins. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever felt.
“That's me,” you said. “That's my heart. It's beating because I'm alive, Clark. I'm alive, and I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not for a very, very long time, if I have anything to say about it.”
“But you can't promise that,” he whispered, and the words came out broken, aching, almost childish and he didn’t stop himself. “I can't protect you from everything. I couldn't in the visions. I tried, and I couldn't, and what if—what if one day—”
“Then we'll deal with that day if it comes.” Your voice was firm, unyielding, nothing like the soft, soothing tone from before. This was the voice you used when you were drawing a line in the sand, when you were refusing to let him spiral any further. “But it's not today, Clark. Today, I'm here. Right now, I'm here. And you're here. And we're together, and we're alive, and we love each other, and that's enough. That has to be enough, because it's all we have.”
You lifted his hand from your chest and pressed a kiss to his palm, right in the center, your lips warm and soft against his skin. Then you turned his hand over and kissed his knuckles, one by one, a slow and deliberate ritual.
“These hands,” you said between kisses. “These hands have caught airplanes. These hands have held up buildings. These hands have saved the world more times than I can count.” You looked up at him, and your eyes were shining. “But do you know what my favorite thing about these hands is?”
He shook his head, not trusting his voice.
“They hold me,” you said simply. “They hold me when I'm sad. They hold me when I'm scared. They hold me when I'm happy and when I'm angry and when I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open. They hold me like I'm something precious, something worth protecting. And every time you hold me, I feel safe. Not because you're Superman. Because you're you. Because you're the man who loves me.”
A tear slipped down his cheek. You caught it with your thumb, wiping it away like it was nothing, like it didn't matter that he was crying in front of you for the second time tonight.
“I love you,” you said, and the words were so simple, so small, and yet they filled every empty space in his chest. “I love you, Clark Kent. I love the reporter and the hero and the farm boy from Kansas. I love the man who burns toast and leaves socks on the floor and cries at dog commercials. I love the man who showed up on my terrace tonight in his Superman suit because he was scared and he needed me. I love all of you. Every broken, beautiful piece.”
Clark let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours. The tension in his shoulders—the tension he hadn't even realized was there until this moment—began to ease. The images were still lurking at the edges of his mind, but they seemed dimmer now, less urgent, like nightmares fading in the light of morning.
You stepped back just enough to look at him properly, your hands sliding down to rest on his hips. Your eyes traveled over him—the suit, the cape, the S-shield—and instead of fear or uncertainty, he saw something else. Something that looked like wonder. Like acceptance. Like love, pure and simple and absolute.
"You know," you said, and your voice was lighter now, teasing at the edges, “I've always wondered what this suit would feel like. Before meeting you, of course.”
Despite everything—despite the nightmares and the panic and the tears—Clark felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Your fingers traced the edge of the S-shield, following the curve of the symbol. “It's softer than I expected. I always imagined it would be... I don't know. Hard. Impenetrable.”
“It is,” he said. “Impenetrable, I mean. Mostly.”
“Hmm.” You looked up at him through your lashes, and there was something in your expression now that made his breath catch for an entirely different reason. “And yet I can still feel you through it. Still feel how warm you are. Still feel your heart beating.” Your palm pressed flat against his chest, right over the symbol. “Still feel how much you love me.”
Clark's hands came up to cover yours, pressing them more firmly against his chest. “I don't know how to explain how much I love you,” he said, and his voice was raw but steady now. “I don't have words big enough. I don't have gestures grand enough. I just... I love you. I love you in ways I didn't know I could love someone. I love you in ways that scare me, because it's so much, and if I ever lost it—if I ever lost you—”
“You won't,” you said, and it wasn't a promise—not really, not one either of you could guarantee—but it was close enough. It was hope, and sometimes hope was all anyone had.
You rose up on your toes and kissed him, soft and slow and sweet. It wasn't the desperate, frantic kiss you always have. This was something else. Something that felt like a vow. Like a benediction. Like you were trying to pour every ounce of love you felt into him through the simple press of your lips.
When you pulled back, your eyes were bright, and your smile was the one he fell in love with—the one that crinkled the corners of your eyes and made him feel like he'd come home.
You kissed him again.
But now, it wasn't a gentle kiss, not the soft, sweet kind you usually shared over morning coffee or lazy Sunday afternoons. This was urgent, desperate, your mouth slanting over his like you were trying to pull the pain out of him through sheer proximity. Your fingers tangled in his hair, not caring that the gel he used to keep it tamed was probably leaving residue on your palms, and you kissed him until he forgot how to breathe.
When you finally pulled back, your eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I'm here,” you said, fierce and quiet all at once. “I'm right here, Clark. I'm not going anywhere.”
He made a sound—something broken, something grateful—and kissed you again. And again. And again, each kiss softer than the last, until he was just pressing his lips to your forehead, your temples, the corner of your mouth, the pulse point at your throat where your heartbeat still sang its steady, beautiful rhythm against his skin.
“I love you,” he said against your neck. The words felt too small for the enormity of what he felt, but they were all he had. “God, I love you so much.” He murmurs, nipping at your neck. “Can I take you to bed?,” he said softly, and his voice had shifted into something lower now, something that made his stomach tighten. “Please. I need—I need to feel you. All of you.” All you did was nod and that, besides that look in your eyes, was all he needed.
He started to lift you—one arm under your knees, the other around your back, the way he always did because he could and because you made that delighted sound every single time—but you pressed a hand to his chest and stopped him.
“No,” you said, and there was a new edge to your voice. Something determined. Something that made him pause, his hands stilling on your hips. “No, Clark. Tonight, I was going to—I was going to take care of you.” Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, right over where his heart was hammering. “When I saw you standing there, in the suit, looking like you'd seen a ghost—I thought, “okay. I've got this. I'm going to hold him. I'm going to love him. I'm going to make him forget every single terrible thing he saw tonight”.”
His throat tightened. “Sweetheart—”
“But then you kissed me.” Your voice softened, your thumbs tracing small circles against his chest. “And I felt how much you needed this. Needed me. Not in a way that I could fix by being on top, or by taking control. You needed to hold me. You needed to feel me underneath you, alive and warm and yours.” You looked up at him, and your eyes were so full of love that it almost hurt to meet them. “So I'm not going to fight you for it. But I am going to get this suit off you first.”
Clark blinked. “What?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth—the first real smile he'd seen from you since he'd arrived, and god, it was like watching the sun come out after months of rain. “You heard me, Kent.” Your hands moved to the clasp of his cape, fingers working with a determination he'd only ever seen you apply to stubborn jar lids and particularly difficult crossword puzzles. “I love you. I love that you showed up here like this, that you trusted me enough to come to me when you were falling apart. But I am not having sex with you while you're wearing enough spandex to make a 1980s rock band jealous.”
A surprised laugh escaped him—shaky, wet, still caught somewhere between a sob and actual humor. “It's not spandex. It's a Kryptonian combat weave—”
“I don't care if it's woven from the beard hairs of Zeus himself,” you interrupted, finally managing to unhook the cape and letting it pool to the floor in a dramatic puddle of red. “It's coming off.”
And just like that, something in his chest loosened. Just a little. Just enough for him to remember that this was you, that you'd never once treated him like a symbol or a savior, that you'd always been more interested in the man beneath the armor than the armor itself.
“Help me with the boots,” you said, already reaching for the zipper on the side of his right boot, and Clark found himself sinking onto the edge of the couch, letting you kneel in front of him and pull each boot off with a kind of focused intensity that made his heart ache.
You worked in silence for a moment, the only sounds the soft rasp of fabric and your steady breathing. When both boots were off—thrown unceremoniously into the corner, where they landed with two heavy thuds—you looked up at him, and your hands came to rest on his knees.
“Stand up,” you said softly.
He stood and you rose with him, your hands sliding up his thighs to hook your fingers into the waistband of the suit. “Arms up,” you murmured, once you saw it was a two piece suit and he obeyed, lifting his arms above his head as you peeled the top half of the suit off him in one smooth motion. The Kryptonian fabric whispered against his skin, and then he was standing in front of you in nothing but the blue undersuit and you paused, your hands flat against his chest.
“There he is,” you whispered, and your voice cracked just slightly on the last word. “There's my Clark.”
He couldn't speak. Couldn't form words around the lump in his throat. He just stood there, trembling under your touch as your hands explored the landscape of his chest—the scars you'd memorized months ago, the hard planes of muscle, the places where his heartbeat pulsed warm against your palm.
“Let me see all of you,” you said, and it wasn't a demand. It was a question, soft and open, and Clark nodded because he couldn't say no to you. Not tonight. Not ever.
You peeled the undersuit off him slowly, almost reverently, your knuckles brushing against his stomach, his hips, the sensitive skin at his sides. When it pooled at his feet and he stepped out of it, leaving him in nothing but his briefs—black, plain, the kind he bought in multipacks from the department store because who was going to see them anyway—you made a sound low in your throat that made his cock twitch.
“Beautiful,” you breathed, and your hands were on him again, tracing the lines of his hips, the jut of his hipbones, the soft trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his briefs. “You're so beautiful, Clark.”
“Sweetheart, mmhm I—” His voice came out strangled.
“Shh.” You pressed a finger to his lips, then replaced it with your mouth, kissing him slow and deep. “You said you needed to take care of me tonight. So take me to bed. But I want you naked when you do it. I want to feel you—all of you—nothing between us.”
He lifted you then—finally, finally—and you wrapped your legs around his waist with a quiet moan, your center pressing against the thin fabric of his briefs, and he could feel how warm you were, how ready, and it took every ounce of his considerable self-control not to just take you against the wall right there.
The walk to your bedroom was short but eternal. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, fast and steady, and your mouth was on his neck, your teeth scraping against the sensitive skin just below his jaw, and by the time he laid you down on the bed, he was so hard it was almost painful.
You reached for the hem of his sweatshirt—the one you were wearing, the one that still smelled faintly of him underneath your shampoo—and pulled it over your head in one fluid motion. You weren't wearing anything underneath, and Clark made a sound like a wounded animal at the sight of you, bare and beautiful and spread out on the sheets like an offering.
“Clark.” Your voice was soft but steady. "”our briefs. Off. Now.”
He couldn't help the broken laugh that escaped him. “Bossy tonight.”
“You almost died in a who knows where and then watched me die a thousand times in your head,” you said, and your eyes were serious now, deep and unwavering. “I think I'm allowed to be bossy.” A pause. “Besides, you're the one who wanted to take care of me. Can't do that if you're not even undressed yet.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down, his cock springing free, hard and flushed and already leaking against his stomach. Your eyes dropped to it, and your lips parted, and Clark felt a surge of heat so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet.
“Come here,” you said, reaching for him. “Come here, I need you, honey.”
He crawled onto the bed, settling over you, his weight braced on his forearms so he wouldn't crush you. The contact was overwhelming—skin to skin, chest to chest, his cock pressing against your thigh—and you both groaned at the same time.
“I kept hearing your heartbeat stop,” he admitted, the words spilling out of him in a whisper as he pressed his forehead to yours. “In the visions. It would just... stop. And I would scream, and it wouldn't start again, and I couldn't—” He pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in. “You have to understand. I've heard things. Seen things. In all my years doing this, I've witnessed horrors that would break most people. But nothing—nothing—has ever hurt like watching you die.”
Your hands slid down his back, fingers digging into the muscles there, pulling him closer. “I'm here,” you said, and your voice was steady even though your eyes were wet. “Feel my heartbeat, Clark. Feel it.”
He did. He pressed his ear to your chest, right over your heart, and listened. thrum-thrum, thump-thump. Steady and strong and real. Your hand came up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, and he felt the vibration of your voice through your ribcage as you spoke.
“I love you,” you said into the quiet. “I love you, I love you, I love you. That heartbeat is yours. It's always been yours. Every single beat, from the moment we met until the moment I die—and I'm not dying tonight, Clark, I'm not dying anytime soon—every single one of them is for you.”
He kissed his way down your body. Slowly. Deliberately. Each kiss a confirmation, a reassurance, a tiny prayer of gratitude. He kissed the spot where your pulse beat at the base of your throat. He kissed the hollow between your collarbones. He kissed the swell of your breasts, took one nipple into his mouth, and you arched beneath him with a cry that went straight to his cock.
“Clark, mmhm oh fuck”
He sucked gently, then harder when your fingers tightened in his hair, and your other hand scrabbled at the sheets like you were trying to anchor yourself. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and your hips were rolling against his, your wetness slick against his stomach.
“Please,” you gasped. “Please, Clark, I need you inside me—”
He lifted his head, looking down at you. Your eyes were dark, your lips parted, your chest heaving. You were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he'd seen galaxies born and die.
“Not yet,” he said, and his voice was rough but steady now. “I'm not done taking care of you.”
He kissed lower, trailing his mouth down your sternum, your stomach, the soft curve of your belly. When he reached the waistband of your pajama shorts—the tiny cotton ones you wore to bed, the ones with the little strawberries on them that made him smile every single time—he hooked his fingers into them and pulled them down your legs along with your underwear, tossing them somewhere behind him.
And then you were bare beneath him, open and wanting, and Clark settled between your thighs like he was coming home.
He kissed the inside of your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher, and higher, until his breath was hot against your center and you were shaking, your hands fisting in the sheets.
“Clark—”
“Shh,” he murmured, and then he licked you—one long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—and the sound you made was enough to bring him to his knees if he hadn't already been there.
You tasted like heaven. Like home. Like everything he'd been desperate for since the first nightmare had taken hold. He buried his face between your thighs and worshipped you, his tongue drawing patterns on your clit, his fingers sliding inside you and curling just so, and you were crying out his name, your hips bucking against his mouth. He loves spending his time with you, licking, sucking and sometimes his teeth are involved.
“That's it,” he murmured against you, and the vibration made you whimper. “Let me hear you, my love. Let me feel you. I need to know you're real, sweetheart, I need to feel you come apart for me—”
You came with a shattered cry, your whole body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his head, and Clark didn't stop. He licked you through it, gentler now, softer, until you were pushing at his shoulders with trembling hands.
“Too much,” you gasped. “Too much, honey, I can't handle more.”
He crawled back up your body, kissing you so you could taste yourself on his lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close, and he could feel your heart hammering against his chest.
“I love you,”he said, and it came out like a prayer. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much, baby.”
“Then fuck me,” you said, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “Please, Clark, I need to feel you deep inside.”
He reached between you, positioning himself at your entrance, and paused. Looked down at you. Your eyes were wet, your face flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses. You looked utterly wrecked, and utterly here, and something in his chest cracked open and healed all at once.
“Talk to me,” he said, and his voice was raw. “While I'm inside you. I need to hear your voice. I need to know you're with me.”
“I'm with you,” you said, and your hands cupped his face, pulling him down until your foreheads touched. “I'm always with you, Clark. Now please—”
He pushed inside you. Slowly. So slowly. Inch by agonizing inch, watching your face the whole time—the way your eyes fluttered shut, the way your lips parted, the way you gasped his name like it was the only word you remembered how to say. When he was fully seated, buried to the hilt inside your heat, he stopped. Just held there, letting you both adjust, letting himself feel every pulse and flutter of your body around him.
“Gosh,” he breathed. “Oh Gosh, you feel so good, my love.”
“I know.” Your voice was wrecked. “I know. Move, Clark. Please.”
He pulled back and thrust forward, and the sound you made was obscene, perfect, the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. He set a rhythm—slow at first, deep and deliberate, each thrust a reaffirmation that you were here, you were alive, you were his.
“I watched you die,” he said, and the words came out between thrusts, ragged and raw. “I watched you die in a hospital bed. I watched you die in a car crash. I watched you die in something that could be our shared home.” His voice broke, and he thrust deeper, and you moaned. “I watched a man shoot you in the chest while I was standing right there, and I couldn't—I couldn't, oh damn.”
“Clark.” Your hands were everywhere—his face, his shoulders, his back, pulling him closer, holding him like you could keep him from flying apart. “I'm here. I'm here. Feel me—feel me, honey.”
He did. He felt the way you clenched around him, the way your nails dug into his shoulders, the way your heels pressed into the backs of his thighs, urging him deeper. He felt your heartbeat thrumming against his chest, faster now, matching the rhythm of his hips. He felt the wetness on his cheeks—tears, his or yours, he couldn't tell anymore—and the warmth of your breath against his neck.
“You're so beautiful,” he said, and he was crying now, actually crying, the tears falling onto your face and mixing with yours. “You're so beautiful and I can't lose you, I can't—”
“You won't.” You kissed his tears, your mouth soft and desperate against his cheeks, his eyelids, the corner of his lips. “You won't lose me, Clark. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. I'm right here, I'm right here, I'm always here.”
Your words became a chant, a mantra, a prayer, and Clark fucked you through it, hard and deep and desperate, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles.
“Come for me,” he said, and it wasn't a request. “Come for me, sweetheart, I need to feel you—I need to know you're real, that you’re here, that you’re mine.”
You shattered. Came apart around him with a cry that was almost a scream, your body convulsing, your inner walls clenching around him like a vice, and Clark followed you over the edge with a groan that was torn from somewhere deep in his chest. He spilled inside you, wave after wave, his hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go.
For a long moment, there was nothing but breathing. Nothing but the sound of your hearts—his steady and strong, yours fast and fluttering—and the rustle of sheets as you both trembled through the aftershocks.
Clark collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, your head tucked under his chin and your legs tangled with his. He could feel your tears on his chest, could hear the little hitches in your breath as you cried, and he held you tighter, his lips pressed to the top of your head.
“I'm sorry,” he said after a long moment, his voice muffled by your hair. “For showing up like this. For—for dumping all of that on you. You didn't sign up for all this mess, baby.”
“Stop.” Your hand pressed flat against his chest, right over his heart. “Don't you dare apologize. Not for this. Not for needing me.” You tilted your head back to look at him, and your eyes were red-rimmed but fierce. “I signed up for all of you, Clark Kent. The good days and the bad ones. The nightmares and the morning coffee. The cape and the glasses. You don't get to hide parts of yourself from me just because you think they're inconvenient or scary or too much.”
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. “I love you,” he said, because the words were inadequate but they were all he had. “I love you more than I know how to say.”
You smiled—that soft, devastating smile that had undone him from the very first moment he'd seen it—and snuggled closer, your ear pressed over his heart.
“Then show me,” you said quietly. “Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Clark looked down at you—at the tear tracks on your cheeks, the love in your eyes, the way your body was pressed against his like you were trying to crawl inside his skin and stay there—and he felt something shift. Something settle. Something that felt like hope.
“I will,” he said, and his voice was steady now. Certain. “Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Outside, the city hummed its endless night-song. Inside, wrapped in each other and the quiet aftermath of love, Clark Kent let himself believe that everything might just be okay.
He had you, after all. And that was enough. That was everything. You are his everything.
being a kid and hearing adults say stuff like "woah 2011 was 4 years ago haha" didn't really convey the fucking horror of a youtube video crossing my recommended labelled "9 years ago" and it's from 2017. that's not true. 9 years ago is 2010 or something. don't lie.
You're curled under the covers, screen glowing in your face, finger mid-scroll. Clark shifts beside you, already in his usual sleeping position: one arm tucked under his head, the other reaching for you blindly like a sleepy sea creature.
"Baby," he mumbles, voice low and warm from sleep. "Put the phone down."
"In a sec," you murmur. "Just one more thing."
“Mhm.” He doesn’t believe you. He never does.
Instead of arguing, he does what he always does — rolls over slowly and wraps himself around you like a human weighted blanket. Big chest pressed to your back. One leg thrown over yours. A soft kiss behind your ear.
“Five more minutes,” you promise.
Clark lets out the smallest dramatic sigh. “That’s what you said twelve scrolls ago.”
You snort. “Are you counting now?”
“Yes,” he says. “Because I’m being ignored. Neglected. Replaced by a tiny glowing rectangle.”
He nuzzles into your neck like a needy puppy. “I’m cold. And alone. And possibly dying.”
“You’re 6'4" and 200 pounds of cuddle,” you giggle, leaning into him.
“Exactly,” he says, smug now. “You’re lucky I haven’t suffocated you with affection yet.”
With that, he gently but firmly grabs your phone and sets it on the nightstand. The room dims immediately, leaving only the soft yellow hue of your bedside lamp.
“Hey!” you whine.
“No more blue light, sweetheart. It’s time for cuddles.”
And then he tucks you into him. Tight. Chin over your shoulder, arms around your belly, one hand petting slow, sleepy circles into your hip.
“See?” he whispers. “Way better than doomscrolling.”
You huff, but you’re already melting. The warmth of him, the rhythm of his breath, the safety of his arms — it’s your favorite place on Earth.
“You’re annoying,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
“I’m Mr. Bedtime,” he corrects, smiling against your skin.
You roll your eyes. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
And before you can argue, he whispers:
“Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
You fall asleep five minutes later. Phone forgotten. Heart full. Clark already snoring softly into your hair like the big bedtime menace he is.
summary: flirting with your hot neighbour comes easy to you, but obviously you're never actually going to make a move. at least, until you find out a little secret.
wc: 1k
cw: both reader and clark are pervs
Clark doesn’t need to know you to know you’re important. He’s learned your lifestyle by looking at you through your apartment windows, directly parallel to his own. You have a standard routine; you get up early in the morning, walking back and forth between your bedroom and the living room many times in different states. The first time you’ll always be in your pyjamas, opening the door to the balcony to let the fresh air into your apartment. When you reappear from your bedroom the second time, you’ll be dressed, placing your work bag onto the couch whilst you prepare everything else for the upcoming day. You’ll return from your kitchen with a tupperware that you shove into your bag, but Clark can tell you often skip breakfast. He sees you walk back home sometimes — either whilst he’s walking to his own place or when he’s enjoying a warm cup of tea on his own balcony, which is much smaller than yours.
Sometimes you bring your dinner out onto the balcony with you. It’s often a home made meal; other times, you’ll have a bag of takeout and lay back on your cushioned chair that you keep covered when you’re inside. A lot of those times Clark will be having his own dinner outside, on the single plastic chair that barely fits between the door and the railing. Eye contact between you isn’t rare, and Clark always raises a hand up to wave at you with a friendly smile, watching as you return the movements with equal companionship.
He wonders if you return this curiosity. Do you sometimes look into Clark’s window, wondering what sort of life he leads, and do you often guess to yourself what his job is and his hobbies are? Does Clark look like a journalist to you or do you think he works in something boring like finance? He doesn’t think he cares, as long as the image you have of him isn’t negative.
But there’s a side to Clark that isn’t so innocently curious about you. Many nights, he wonders what your neighbour on the other side of the building experiences. The side of the building where your bedroom is located, big windows going up and down the wall to offer whoever lives across from you a beautiful view. Clark has seen you in your pyjamas, but he briefly wonders if you walk around in your underwear at night before sleeping. He asks himself if you frequently bring men over, and if you keep the curtains open while you have sex with them.
Do you grant that neighbour such a view? Or are you wary of your surroundings, tightly shutting your curtains the second the sun sets, or grabbing your clothes and changing in the bathroom so no one can get a glimpse of you.
All these thoughts without knowing what goes through your head. He doesn’t know that you wish every night that your bedroom faced his apartment and not the one belonging to the divorced woman in her late forties. He doesn’t know how much you wish you could tease him by stripping your clothes in front of your open window every night, leaving a trail of garments on the floor as you make your way to your closet, finally pulling out your short night gown and pulling it over your body. If only he could be the one you’d get to lay your eyes on at night, wandering around his bedroom shirtless. You bet he has a beautiful set of abs hidden underneath his graphic shirts — you can tell when he strips from his heavy blazers into his comfortable clothing that he has muscles for days. You’re too afraid to take your courage to the living room, even though you know it doesn’t make much difference at all.
Would it hurt to just invite him over? Wave at him from across the street and shout from your balcony for him to join you for dinner? He’d probably say yes. He waves at you from his balcony everyday after all. Maybe you can try a paper airplane. Fly it over to his balcony and have him fall in love with you. Jot your number down in bold on the paper.
Whatever. You can’t complain about not having him when you won’t do anything about it. When you don’t even know his name.
But you never know, maybe a better opportunity will come by than the man who lives across the road from you. Maybe there will be a man in shining armour who’ll fly onto your balcony one day while catching his breath, taking a short break from fighting crime and monsters. Maybe he’ll wear a red cape that will swing back and forth on your balcony, and he’ll hear someone’s breath hitch behind him as they come onto the balcony. Maybe Superman will apologise, hopping off your railing and floating in front of your balcony, and you’ll vigorously shake your head, offering him the glass of water you were taking to enjoy the warm weather on your balcony.
“Please, sit down.” You’ll insist, and he’ll obey your words, gratefully taking the water from you.
“Can I ask why a cape?” You’ll eventually ask after a moment of silence, and that’s when Clark will find out you work in fashion, watching with enticement as you take the fabric of his cape between your fingers, humming at its softness.
And when Clark will leave, maybe he won’t notice you watching from where you’re hidden behind your kitchen counter, your jaw dropping when he flies over into his apartment, just across from yours, letting you find out his biggest secret. But of course, you’ll keep your mouth, deciding in that moment to become friendlier with your neighbour, because fuck, you think he’s hot, and he’s superman.
You're so so pretty boy, I'm paranoid I made you up
Yeah I'd love it if you walked me home, If you promised we could go real slow
'Cuz I got chewing gum, And a bunch of stuff I'd like to know
content warnings: reader used to be a space nerd and also is a little prickly
a/n: This song has been stuck in my head for so long and I HAD to write something for Clark because this is what I think crushing on Clark kent would feel like tbh. Ugh idk im still getting used to writing for him so i hope it's not total ass gasdlkj
wc: 2.3k
You always preferred night time to the morning. You hated the way the sun would blind you in the morning and your alarm that blasted annoying sounds into your ear, ruining whatever peaceful dream you were having. Your brain only really started working after lunch anyways.
Which is how you find yourself typing away far past 5 o'clock. Pretty much everyone else had gone home by now. For once it's been a slower news week. No extraterrestrial being coming to Metropolis and wrecking havoc. No Superman seen flying through the sky to save the day. It was just, normal.
Still you had a lot of articles to edit and a lot of stupid reporters who can't write for shit to deal with. You sigh as you stretch your arms above your head. Your head starting to hurt and honestly you were really hungry too.
"Of course you're still here." You jump at the sound of another voice. You look over to see Clark Kent still sitting at his desk, a small smile on his face.
"You should really stop staying so late." Clark says as he rolls his chair over to your desk. Abandoning the article that probably had yet another Superman interview in it. He leans his elbows on your desk, a curl falling in front of his forehead like a fucking movie scene.
"And you should stop being so late in the mornings so you aren't stuck here with me." You say back, glancing up from your computer screen. He blushes so soft you can barely see it from the glow of your computer.
"I'll be here bright and early tomorrow if you finally stop working and give yourself a break." He pushes and you sigh. Sweet Clark, always so worried for everyone's wellbeing besides his own.
"And here I thought you just loved my company." You tease as you start to close the tabs on your computer. He was right, your back hurt and your eyes were strained from staring at the same article for the last two hours.
"I do, but more so in the day time. With the sun out."
"The sun? Are you trying to kill me or something Kent?" He rolls his eyes playfully, standing up as you do. He doesn't even think as he pulls your chair out for you and shuts off your computer as you gather your things.
"Yeah yeah, you're a vampire who hates the sun." He jokes making you smile.
He places a hand on your back, it's just a gentle innocent touch. His hands are so big and warm. Fuck. If it was someone else they'd probably try and cop a feel or have less pure intentions but with Clark you never had to question it. He was like a fairytale prince sometimes.
Like if you picked up one of those books you read as a child and shake it he'd fall out with his nerdy glasses and all. It was really not fair. Sometimes when he saves you the last donut or buys you lunch you have to do a double take. Like you're afraid you've actually gone crazy and created the perfect man in your head. But he's not imaginary, he's real and he's holding the elevator door open for you.
You shiver as you step into the cold air of Metropolis. It wasn't as busy as normal but there was still a good amount of people out. You only lived about a 15 minute walk from the planet but in the opposite direction of Clark.
"I'm holding you to what you said earlier by the way, bright and early." You tease as you turn to head home. Clark frowns slightly, his eyes darting around like he's trying to sense something that no one else can see.
"I'll walk you home, it's dark out." He says. A hint of worry in his voice. God he's just too fucking perfect sometimes.
"I'll be okay, It's just a short walk Clark, I can handle myself. I have a mean right hook you know." You tug on the strap of your bag. Maybe you should just cave and say yes but you really don't want to force him to walk 30 minutes more than he has to.
"I know. I'm not saying you can't. It's just...I would like to walk you home anyways." Then that caring worried look crosses his face and you can't say no to him.
"Okay, I guess I'll let you walk me home." You say with a smile.
Clark was never turned off by what others described as your prickly personality. Making jokes far too often that some could consider mean. But he never did. He sometimes matched your banter but he always did it in his own Clark way.
He slips off his jacket and places it around your shoulders, guess that shiver didn't escape him. He smells like vanilla and oak wood and it seeps into his jacket. Maybe he'd forget he gave you his jacket and you'd get to keep it for the night. In a totally not creepy way.
Normally you're rushing to get home. Big strides as you think about your day, think about Clark and whatever cute thing he did at work, about dinner. But you're extra slow tonight. If he notices he doesn't say anything.
"Gum?" You ask as you pull out some pink bubble gum. He chuckles as he takes a piece.
"What's so funny?" You ask.
"Nothing, I just thought you'd be a cinnamon gum kind of person." He says, popping the gum into his mouth. You raise an eyebrow and shoot back
"And I thought you'd be a no nonsense peppermint guy."
"Guess we were both wrong." He replies, blowing a bubble with his gum much to your surprise.
"You're good at that." You say slightly annoyed. You were never good at blowing bubbles with your gum but Clark makes it look so easy.
"Had a lot of practice. Everyone on the baseball team chewed it crazy so I did too."
"You played baseball?" You ask surprised.
"Yeah but only as a kid, sports were kind of a big deal in Smallville when there's nothing else but farmland and cows." He can't tell you that he had to stop once his powers started to manifest themselves as strongly as they did. A swing from him could send that ball from Kansas to Utah.
"Every time you talk about Smallville it makes me want to go so much more. I am dying to see the place that Clark Kent grew up in." You tease, though there is a lot of truth to it.
The way Clark talks about his parents makes them sound like the most loving and caring people. Their little farmboy now a big city reporter. Calling him every time he makes it on the front page and sending him homemade cookies in care packages that you and Jimmy devour when Clark brings them to share.
"Oh you'd be bored in 10 minutes. The new crosswalk they put in town made front page news. My ma called to tell me all about it."
He's dead serious too.
"I don't know, sometimes I think it'd be nice to get away from the city and go somewhere you can actually see the stars." You say as you glance up at the sky. The light and noise from Metropolis meant that the stars were outshined much to your dismay. Clark hums, the lights of metropolis were no match to the night sky of Smallville that's for sure but there's something else that could rival it. You look over at him and he feels his heart stop. His cheeks dust with pink and he's so glad you can't see it. God he's so embarrassing sometimes, he's Superman for goodness sake but you disarm him so easily. Take him apart and reduce him to nothing but a puddle.
"I think you'd outshine every star in Smallville." He mumbles but you hear him. You can't help the smile, the butterflies in your stomach.
"Take me someday?" You ask and he smiles back, an unspoken feeling reaching out to intertwine the two of you.
"Anytime." You don't want this to end. The conversation flows so easily, like you have to keep talking or it'll all be over too soon.
"You know I used to be a huge space nerd." You admit and he raises an eyebrow.
"Really?"
"Mhm, I used to stay up past my bedtime and try and look for constellations with a book I stole from the library." "You know the library is free right?" Clark says amused.
"Yeah but I really didn't want to give it back. So my 7 year old self conveniently lost it." You air quote around the words lost, you hid that thing under your bed for years.
"Didn't know I was friends with a criminal." Clark says with a playful shake of his head.
"Yep, a dangerous one in fact. Think of all the kids who couldn't check out National Geographic Backyard Guide to the Night Sky because of me." He laughs and you think its the sweets sound you've ever heard.
"I should call Superman on you, have him make a citizens arrest." He teases.
Your eyes light up as another memory is pulled from your brain. Honestly, it's been so long since you ever thought of all this. It wasn't something you really shared with people anymore. Too childish, so unlike who you are now. But Clark pulls it out of you with ease.
"That reminds me, I was convinced I could make contact with aliens from my bedroom window with a metal coat hanger and a radio." You say with a snort.
Metropolis was a big city but sometimes the loneliness felt ever bigger. The stars were just so big, the sky was so vast. You were convinced that there was something else out there.
"And then one day Superman showed up and I had never felt more vindicated."
"You think he heard your attempts to make contact?" Clark asks, albeit a bit more cautious this time.
"No, I don't even think the neighbors could hear me. But I like to think he showed up for a reason."
"What reason?"
"I don't know, to prove that there's still people who are good at heart. There's a lot of people who can do great things and he's one of them. Lifting falling buildings, saving civilians, giving mediocre interviews to the daily planet," You shoot Clark a teasing look and he puts a hand to his heart.
"Ouch."
"But there's not a lot of people who are out there doing good. Does it make sense grammatically? No but still. He cares so much about a species that he isn't a part of it's amazing. He's an alien he feels so...Human" You say, trailing off as you notice Clark hasn't really said much.
He feels guilty knowing that you're talking about him and don't even know it. Like he's betraying you from keeping this secret. But he can't just blurt it out now. What would you think of him? But The things you have to say, the absolute trust you have in Superman, in him even if you don't know it . It makes his head spin.
"Anyways sorry for rambling, It's just been a while since I thought about the stars." You say, now slightly embarrassed as Clark stays quiet. Ugh you've gone and rambled too much about things he clearly doesn't care about.
"Don't apologize. I like hearing you talk."
"About space?"
"About anything." He says honestly and it has you reeling.
"Careful, you know I love the sound of my own voice too much sometimes." He chuckles and his knuckles brush against your own.
"That's okay, I do too."
Your footsteps slow as your apartment building comes into view far sooner than you had hoped. Glancing at your phone you see that your 15 minute walk had turned into 30 minutes.
"This is me." You gesture lamely to the cold looking building.
"Yeah." Clark says lamely, wincing as he can't think of a real excuse to keep talking to you. It's late and you need to rest. You start to shed his jacket but he stops you.
"Keep it." Keep it forever if you want. But he can't exactly say that. So he hopes you forget your jacket again tomorrow so he can just tell you to wear his again and again.
This is where you should say goodbye, that you'll see him tomorrow. But you just don't want to let him go.
"It's a long walk back to your place," You say and he nods along.
"The least I can do is get you something to drink." He grins as you unlock your building door, following you close behind.
Your hand grabbing his like it's nothing, like that's what you've always done. Like that's how it should be and he thinks it is. He squeezes your hand as you step onto the elevator. Your heart pounding in your chest. The sharp words that normally slip from your lips so easily completely fail you. Like Clark is your weakness and all you can think about is his cute face and gorgeous hair and dorky glasses.
You stop at your door, fiddling with your keys as you feel the urge to do something really stupid. You shouldn't listen to it but it your brain is being outweighed by something else.
"Hey Clark?" You ask as you turn around, leaning against your door.
"Yeah?" He asks, a sudden fear striking him as he worries that you've changed your mind.
Your heart is racing and he can hear it in his ears. It's the only thing he can hear, not even the pounding of his own heart. Thumping harshly against his chest. It's just you and him. You and the handsome, kind, sweet guy that you've decided you never want to let go of.
summary: You're in Smallville as Clark's date to a childhood friend's wedding and the longer you're there, the more it feels like you don't fit into his life like you thought you did.
warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, insecure reader, self sabotaging reader, they wear a dress to the wedding, townspeople being mean gossips, Lana Lang appearance and mention, Clark is a little bit of an idiot.
a/n: Oo I needed angst baddd with a happy ending and I watched Season 8 Ep 10 and Season 10 Ep 4 of Smallville and decided to take inspiration from both of those eps and write something about a reader who thinks a little bit too much like me with some nice Clark comfort because I love this man so much ug idk I hope it makes sense and doesn't suck okay thanks hope u enjoy!!
wc: 4.6 (god damn this is the longest fic ive written in a hot minute)
Life with Clark had been amazing. Sure you'd only been dating for six months but he had been everything you could have dreamed of. Sweet, caring, thoughtful, and a literal superhero.
Sure he had to miss a few dates but you knew that was part of the deal. Superman belonged to the people but Clark Kent belonged to you. He was the bumbling reporter and you were the rising star photographer.
You knew he favorite pastry from the bakery down the street and his coffee order. You covered for him when he disappeared and Superman mysteriously appeared in the sky. Of course he'd let you catch exclusive pictures of the caped hero as a thank you.
And when Superman came home from saving the world he became just your Clark. You remember the day he told you he loved you. It was late. About 2 in the morning. He had come back from his Superman duties and you were making him pancakes. He just watched you for a while. You were tired but still you insisted on him getting some food in his stomach.
It's not like it hit him like a truck, he knew he loved you for a while now but this just solidified the fact. I love you He blurted out causing you to freeze. In that moment home had become something more to the two of you. This was home.
So of course Clark would ask you to be his date at a hometown wedding and of course you accepted. You had met his parents a couple times but you hadn't met the town of Smallville. Gossip spreads like wildfire and you knew that Clark Kent's city date would be on the list of town gossip.
It was terrifying.
You were stepping into the unknown. Seeing a side of his life that you hadn't been apart of. It felt silly to be so worried about it. The Kent's loved you and so did Clark so nothing else should matter. But that poison seeped into your head the more you let yourself think about it.
You glance at the mirror of the Kent's guestroom for the hundredth time this morning. The dress you bought just for today laying on the bed as you work up the courage to put it on. You're wasting time and you know it. The ceremony is supposed to start in an hour and the drive was 10 minutes and you know that the Kent's are going to get stopped to chat which adds another 30 minutes before you can even get into the venue.
"Honey? We're leaving soon." Clark calls through the door. The door twists open and he peeks his head in.
"Oh!" He blushes as he covers his eyes with his hand when he see's your state of undress. You let out a laugh as you pull him into the room.
"Clark you don't have to cover your eyes, you've seen me naked before." You tease as he keeps his hand firmly over his eyes.
"That's different." He argues and you just shake your head.
"Not to rush you, but we do have to get going soon. Ma loves to chat and I already know that Mrs. Baker is going to stop us and that conversation is going to be very embarassing for me." Your smile falls slightly as you turn away.
"Just, a little nervous is all." You pick the dress up off the bed and step into it.
"Nervous for what? They're all gonna love you." Clark says with such confidence you almost believe him. What could possibly be nerve-wracking about going to a wedding in your boyfriends childhood hometown where everyone is going to gossip and grill you about your relationship with him?
"Can you help me?" You ask, dodging his question as you stare into the mirror.
Clark finally puts his hand down, grinning like a fool as he walks up behind you. His hands ghosting your hips as he kisses your cheek.
"You know it's rude to outshine the couple honey." He teases as his warm hands gently trace your back. The blush on his face still burning through his skin as he zips up your dress.
"Oh please, you've shown me the engagement photos I don't think that's possible." You say as you turn to adjust Clark's tie.
"Well, you outshine anyone in the room to me."
Kids! Come on we gotta go!" Martha calls from the kitchen.
"Coming Ma!" Clark calls back.
With a flash of his smile he grabs your hand and leads you down the stairs. Thank god for Mrs. Kent's ability to talk because she kept Clark busy the whole car ride. It was so sweet how happy she was to have Clark actually home for more than just a quick visit. He slipped back so easily into that charming farm boy persona that you had only seen glimpses of back in Metropolis. It suited him.
It seems this wedding was a whole town affair as you saw the group of people standing outside of the church. With a deep breath you tell yourself to calm down as the truck came to a stop. Clark hops out of the car first and jogs over to the other side before you can even think about opening the door.
He never let you open doors anymore, that was his job now. He holds his hand out to help you out of his dad's truck. Smiling as he offers you his arm to take as you walk towards the group who's eyes had turned to you and Clark.
"Well I'll be, Is that Clark Kent?" An older lady calls, a big smile on her face as she walks over.
"Told you." Clark mumbles in your ear before flashing a smile. Ah, Mrs. Baker.
"Yes Ma'am it is."
"I haven't seen you since you were a little boy." She grabs Clark's face and squishes his cheeks. You laugh as he gently pries her hands off his face.
"And you must be his date! Oh aren't you a pretty thing." She turns her sights to you and you smile nervously.
"I used to look after Clark when he was just a baby. Oh he was just the cutest thing. When he was three he had this blue blanket that he would refuse to let go of and cried when Martha tried to wash it." You laugh as you look at Clark who has turned bright red. She leans in closer to you winks at Clark.
"He swears he got rid of it by 5 but between you and me he slept with it till he was 10."
"Okay thank you Mrs. Baker, We should really be finding our seats soon." Clark interrupts, gently guiding you away from the woman before she could reveal any more embarassing things.
"She's exaggerating." He says as he tries to calm his burning face. You look over at him and nod, though your face smiling too wide for it to be sincere.
"I'm sure she is. So what did you name it?" You ask jokingly and he just huffs.
"Blankie..." He mumbles and you pinch his cheek teasingly.
He takes your hand and guides you through the crowd of people. It seems everyone knows him as they call his name and try and drag him into a conversation. He does his best to evade them but right as you're about to sit Martha calls his name.
"Clark! You remember the Lang's right? Come over and say hi." He groans and looks at you sadly.
"Go say hi honey, I'll be here." He hesitates, clearly wanting to stay here with you.
But you knew this was going to be a part of the day so you push him towards his mother. You could survive a few minutes alone and frankly it also means you can let yourself breathe for a second.
"Hi there!" A perky blonde woman appears in front of you. Her smile scares you a little as you reach out and shake her extended hand.
"Hi…" You look over and Clark was deep in conversation. Shit. She follows your line of sight and gasps as she puts two and two together.
"So you're Clark's date! Well aren't you just a lucky duck." She looks you over and you start to feel uncomfortable.
"So so glad you could make it, ever since Martha let it slip that her son was seeing someone we've all been dying to meet them. I mean after Lana what other great love story could Clark have?"
"Lana?" You ask and her expression turns curious.
"Lana Lang? Clark's old girlfriend. Oh they were so good together. We all thought they were going to be together forever but then she got accepted to a school on the other side of the country. Brillant one she was. And then Clark left for Metropolis and well." She sighs as she fails to notice the growing unease on your face.
Clark had never told you about Lana. Sure you never asked and it really wasn't your buisness either but seeing the way this lady was making them out to be some epic fairytale romance, it made you wonder why you hadn't even heard her name.
"I always thought they'd meet down the road one day. Right person wrong time kind of thing you know? But it seems I was wrong and you seem lovely!" She flashes that smile again and you let out a strangled hum. Was it hot in here or was it just the ugly feelings brewing in your stomach.
"Well I better go, nice to meet you." As she leaves Clark slids into the pew right next to you barely giving you time to breathe.
"Jeez am I glad to be out of that conversation." He mumbles as he takes notice of the woman you were speaking to.
"That's Mrs. Haroldhaus. She is the leader of the PTA and as my ma put it, a very unkind woman."
"Wow, those are some harsh words coming from her." You try and joke back. Clark looks at you for a moment.
"Did she say something? Because whatever it is is complete nonsense." You dig your nails into your palm but Clark locks his fingers with yours the moment he sees it.
"No she didn't say anything, it's just a lot of people I don't know who all seem to know me already." You tell him.
"That's Smallville for you, but I promise it's nothing but town gossip. Seeing your beautiful face is probably the most exciting thing to happen in weeks." He leans in to kiss your forehead and for a moment all the voices in your head are silenced.
He doesn't let go of your hand for the whole ceremony. His thumb brushing the back of your hand soothingly throughout it. Clark swears he's not a crier but you saw him wipe his eyes as the vows were said. And you almost cry when he leans over and whispers that he loves you as they say I do. The bells ring and everything that woman said has left your mind. Clark's very presence doing enough to quiet the doubt that's been growing in your heart.
It's no surprise that the reception is held at a barn just down the road from the Kent's. It's the biggest venue in town after all. It barely feels like a barn with all the decoration and the distinct lack of animal smell. It was interesting watching Clark almost revert back to his Smallville self. A southern drawl even slipping its way out now and then.
He looked so free. So natural back here. Free from the weight of Superman and the deadlines of the planet. Was this what his life was like before?
You meet his eyes and his body seems to relax. His smile becoming more natural as he sends you a small wave. You wave back and take another sip of your drink. You decided it was best to stay planted at your assigned seat. Making small talk occasionally but nothing more than complimenting the couple or admiring the decoration. The people of Smallville were still watching you.
Maybe not literally but there's a lot of people here and as you've witnessed, they love to talk. The music slows as couples start to move to the dance floor. Clark finally breaks from a conversation with an old high school friend to make his way back to you.
"Can I have this dance honey," Clark beams as he holds his hand out.
"Of course." You take it and he leads you to an emptier spot. He rests his hands on your waist as you wrap you place your hands on his shoulders.
"You look beautiful. Gosh I am the luckiest guy here." He hums and you look away. Compliments from Clark always made you so flustered.
"Oh please, I'm the envy of everyone here. I'm Clark Kent's date." Now it's his turn to get all nervous as he shakes his head.
"Careful, my ego can only handle so much." You snort as you pull him in closer, hands now around the back of his neck. You look into his eyes and everything just feels so right. Like you are meant to be here dancing with him. There's a ripple of whispers and excited voices as the barn doors open.
"I'm so sorry I'm late. My flight got delayed and I only just landed and came straight here." An angelic voice floats through the room. Cutting through the music and the noise of everyone around you. Clark's eyes widen as his head snaps in the direction of all the commotion.
"Lana?" Clark whispers. Your heart drops. Lana…Lang? Clark's high school sweetheart Lana Lang? Clark looks back at you, then at her. The crowd of people part like a fucking movie so that it's just Lana and Clark.
Lana and Clark and You. His arms fall to their side and so do yours. People go back to talking, the music never even stopped but to you it was like your world had completely frozen. You could feel a million eyes on you and you wanted to puke.
"I'm going to get a drink." You mumble. Clark's head whips back to face you. His eyes wide as he starts to stutter out something. His hand reaches for yours but you dodge it.
"Honey?" He asks, frowning as you refuse to look hin in the eye.
"Clark? It's been forever!" Lana's soft voice fills your ears.
Echoing across your head until its all you can hear. Clark looks at a loss. Torn between you and his former love. You take a step back from them. Shooting Lana a weak smile as she smiles at you. God you wished she was cruel about it. It would be so much easier if she was. But no. She was completely sincere in the way she introduces herself to you. She's beautiful. No wonder everyone in town seems to love her.
Your eyes shift towards Clark who was staring at her. Not you. Her.
"I'll let you two catch up," You blurt out before you can stop yourself.
God even Clark looks confused as you walk away. Why would you say that? Why would you leave your boyfriend to speak to his high school fucking sweetheart. It's like you want him to be as cruel as he is in your head right now.
"Oh Clark and Lana, still as perfect as they were in high school." Someone says with a sigh. You should keep walking. Tune them out and go but your feet feel like they're tied down. Forcing you to listen to words you know will only hurt you more.
"I always thought he was soo dreamy but even I couldn't deny the connection they had." Someone else says.
You refuse to turn around, afraid that if you do you'd see what everyone else sees. That Clark belonged to someone who isn't you.
You walk right past the refreshment table. Slipping past people until you were finally out of that barn. The cold air helps as you feel tears threatening to fall. Maybe you should have grabbed a drink before coming out here. You really need one.
"It's too cold for you to be out here alone hon." You wipe your eyes as you turn to see Clark's mom has followed you outside.
"Hi Mrs. Kent, I'll be back in a moment." You say but she doesn't seem convinced. She see's right through you and the look on her face says it all.
"I told you to call me Ma." She scolds and you let out a tired laugh. She looks sadly at you before grabbing your hand.
"Did Clark ever tell you that he called us after your first date?" She asks and you shake your head.
"He sounded so giddy, told me Ma, I think I'm gonna marry this girl one day." She brushes your cheek as a stray tear falls down.
"He loves you more than anything in the world. Now I'm not saying he's perfect, he is his fathers son after all and you and I both know boys can be a little foolish sometimes." You let out a real laugh this time and she pulls you into a hug. You see where Clark gets his warm hugs from. You try not to get your tears on her dress as she squeezes you tightly.
"Thank you, really." You reluctantly let go of her. Wanting to stay in her safe embrace for longer.
But you can hear the laughter coming from inside and you suddenly feel so silly for getting so upset. But in truth you don't think you could go back in there and pretend everything was okay. But today isn't about you and your black hole of insecurity. It was about that happy couple inside.
"I think I'm going to head back to the house, if that's okay with you." You say quietly.
"Let me go get-"
"No no, you guys stay here." You interrupt her before she can finish.
"Please I don't want this to ruin anyones night. Besides its just down the road I swear I won't get lost." Smallville was as safe as you could get and you refused to let anyones night be cut short because of you. She looks like she doesn't want to let you go but to your surprise she relents.
"Call as soon as your home alright and tell Clark the spare key's still under that one rock." She gives you one last hug before disappearing back inside.
"Mrs. Kent what…ah nevermind." You kick off your shoes and start down the dirt path towards the Kents.
The stars shined so bright they almost lead the way back to the farm. They're never this clear in Metropolis. You wonder if Clark ever stargazed when the sky was the clearest. He probably did, perched up in that barn on the hay past his bedtime watching the stars and knowing that's where he came from.
Then your brain wonders if he ever brought Lana with him and the thought sours. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander to that again. But you'd be a fool to pretend like all of yours and Clark's firsts hadn't happened with someone else. You were unbelievably and embarassingly jealous.
Clark…he'd never hurt you on purpose. You know that. He loves you, you know that too. But the idea that he could have settled for you haunts every step. He loves you, but did he love her more?
Was your relatonship something easy for him? Were you just the consolation prize because he couldn't be with his high school sweetheart?
A literal blur stops you in your tracks. You let out a scream as Clark suddenly stands before you. His tie is undone and he looks upset.
"Clark! I told you I hate when you super speed right next to me!" You huff as you try and walk past him. His hands grip your waist, stopping you from leaving.
"What are you thinking?! Walking back alone?? In the dark?? With no shoes on??" His hands move to cups your face, he quickly checks over you.
As if you could have sustained any injury in the 5 minutes you were walking. The barn is still in view yet he's acting like you went around the streets of Gotham.
"Clark I'm fine, what could even hurt me on the 10 minute walk back to your house anyways?" You ask and he thinks for a moment, his hands not leaving your face.
"A…bear?"
"A bear. In Smallville, Kansas." You repeat.
"Clark go back to the party, I'm fine." But he doesn't budge.
"You walked away in tears. I don't mean to push but I don't think that means your fine."
"Clark please. I really don't want to talk about this. Just go back to the party and back to Lana." The last part comes out much more venemous than you intend.
The guilt hitting as soon as the words leave your mouth and the way Clark's face falls only makes it worse.
"What?" He asks and you feel bile rise up your throat.
"Nothing, forget I said anything." You mumble as you're able to get out of his hold. He grabs your wrist firmly, not in a way he could hurt you but in a way that tells you he isn't letting you run. Not this time.
"No. I won't."
"Clark." The tears in your eyes break his heart.
"I won't because you're upset and I know you think it's easier to push me away but I'm not going to let you this time." He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to where you have to put your hands on his chest to steady yourself. His blue eyes silently begging you not to run anymore.
"Please honey, talk to me. I'm here. There's nothing you could say that I can't take."
"Sometimes I forget that you're more than just my Clark." You say quietly. Your eyes are trained on the top button of his shirt. On the tie that you helped straighten this morning that was now undone.
"It's so stupid and I hate that I feel this way but seeing you today, Seeing the way you looked at Lana…I don't know it was like I was…nothing." Clark nearly whimpers hearing you say that. Nothing? In what world could you ever be nothing to him.
"All day I've watched you fit back into Smallville like a puzzle piece. I don't. I get stares and whispers and-and people talking about how they thought you'd end up with someone else. It's like im the side character in some movie that gets tossed aside once the hero realizes they don't belong."
"Stop." Clark says firmly. He can't take it anymore.
"You are not nothing. You could never be nothing. Not to me, not to anyone. So please. Don't say that." He frowns as he sees your face tightens like it's trying not to cry.
"I am so sorry I didn't see you were hurting. That I made you feel like you don't belong in my life." His lip wobbles as he sees the hurt in your eyes.
"Lana is in my past. It's been a long time since I've seen her and I was just surprised. I swear." His stomach twists remembering the look on your face.
Guilt eating him alive at the very thought that something he did could cause you so much pain. He should have stopped you from leaving right there in that barn but he was too shocked. Too confused by your sudden exit. Then he saw his Ma follow you outside and it made him relax just a little bite. Still he believes he's failed you by letting you think for even a moment he doesn't love you.
"I won't deny that I loved her a long time ago. But that's when I thought love was just butterflies in your stomach and holding hands." He explains. One of the greatest things about humanity is love. Clark learned that multiple times throughout his life.
"Don't get me wrong honey, you give me butterflies every day but I didn't understand what it truly felt like to love and be loved until I met you. I promise on every star in the sky that you're the only one I want."
"You just seem so happy here. So at peace. What if Smallville and…everything that comes with it is where you're meant to be. You could be Superman anywhere. So why Metropolis?"
"I'm happy because you're here with me. Because I get to share this part of my life with the love of my life. And why Metropolis? Because where else would I find a bossy photographer who makes me pancakes in the middle of the night?" He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your lips.
"Smallville is the place I grew up and I love it here, but you're my home now. Where ever you are is my home." He presses another kiss to the other corner.
"I'm sorry for letting you feel like you're not. Even if it was just for a second. I can't stand the thought of you not knowing how much you mean to me." He presses a final kiss to your lips.
It's gentle and loving and so careful and so Clark. You feel yourself relax into his embrace. You drop your shoes and tangle your hands in his hair. Ruining the slicked back hair he messed with all morning. He lets out a small relieved laugh when you part.
"It's not just your fault. I let the worst parts of my head get to me tonight when I should have just talked to you." You admit.
It's embarassing to face your worst parts head on. It's ugly and irrational and something you wish Clark never has to see again.
"Hey, I am always here to talk to. I love everything about you. The good parts and the not so good parts. You've seen both sides of me so please, trust that I can handle both parts of you too."
"Okay…Okay." You want to cry again. You were expecting the worst and here he comes to break every horrible thing your mind has already built up. He's too nice you swear it'd be annoying if you weren't so in love with him.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"Now, let's get you home." He reaches down and grabs your shoes, holding them in one hand as he picks you up in his arms.
"But the reception Clark." He silences you with a look.
"Like I'd force you to go back in there with those vultures." He huffs, still upset at all the pointless town gossip.
"That's not very Supermany to say." You tease, used to his goody-two shoes attitude and he shrugs.
"They made you cry. If they apologize then maybe I'll consider taking it back." You bury your face in his neck, laughing as he walks you back home. Could he have used his powers to get you back faster? Yeah, but why would he when he could spend an extra 5 minutes with you in his arms.
The insecurities haven't gone away. In fact they'll probably live there for a while. But you don't have to fight them alone anymore. He can't fix it with his super speed or heat vision, but he can hold your hand and kiss you until your brain goes fuzzy.
i think clark is hesitant at first, very weary as to how this whole thing will go.
“darling, i respect you asking, but can i just ask why?” he asks, rubbing a calloused hand on the back of his neck, carding through his curls. “baby, it’s just something different! y'know you can always say no, but it’ll be fun to try!” you smile, your face laying pliant on his lap, half your face squished against against clark's built thigh. clark looks at the tv for a bit, contemplating if he should play into your antics. you look up at your fiancé, eyes curious as to what's going on in his head. you fix your mouth to say something until clark beats you to it with a sigh. "well geez. im sure it wouldn't hurt to try, sweetheart." clark grins, looking down at you, still unsureness in his eyes. you shoot up, taking clark's much larger hand in yours, pulling him up and leading him upstairs to you two's shared bedroom.
you push clark onto the bed, him sitting up on his forearms as you rummage through your walk-in closet to find the cute little pink strap you had hidden for this very moment. clark's eyes widen at it, all of it's eight inches of glory. you coax clark to lay on his back with a soft, "lay down, please." and clark does just that, slowly sinking onto the memory foam with a soft sigh. you caress his legs before pulling down his gray sweatpants you'd bought for him some birthdays ago. clark watches in awe as you shimmy the strap on, it finding purchase on your hips. you noticed how hesitant the brunette was as you poured lube on his puckered hole, his eyebrows synched and his lips pouting. "what's wrong?" you ask, your manicured fingers grazing his hole. "'s nothing.. just nervous." he mumbles, bucking his hips up.
"just breathe. we can stop whenever you want to, okay?" you say, starting to push your fingers into his hole as your other hand caresses his leg. clark lets out a moan at this intrusion. your fingers slowly push in further, curling as you slowly find pace in his ass. "feel good?" you ask, kissing along his built abs. clark moans out, hands squeezing the satin sheets. "feels so good, holy.." he groans. "are you ready, love?' you ask, fingers starting to slowly pull out. "mhm.." clark hums back, eyes still shut. "verbal." you say sternly before fully pulling your fingers out. "yes..promise m'ready.." he whines, eyes opening only a sliver. you pull your fingers out and slowly start to push in, your forehead resting on top of clark's as he whines and babbles out it "feeling so good" you grin at his reaction, bottoming out as you caress his chiseled face.
"move, please.." clark mewls, lip jutting out as his eyes start to water. you slowly rock your hips back and forth, kissing along his jaw and neck as tears fall down his face in both pleasure and being so overwhelmed by the new feeling. "i love it s'much...feels so good." clark cries out, body gently thrashing around. "need you to stay still so i can make you feel good, clark." you mumble in his ear, slowly starting to pick the pace up. clark whines at this, mewling out apologies and meek moans.
clark is most thankful for the 3 orgasms he had that night for your soft words and that dumb little piece of plastic.
clark trying to breakup with reader bc he thinks she deserves better than an alien boyfriend and reader is nottt having it and she’s yelling at him for ever thinking he could leave her (she knows hes just self sabotaging himself) and she ends up having clark underneath her and when she’s fucking his brains out she’s saying things like “how could you ever think i’d allow anyone else but me to have this cock ? this is mine”. i’d just loveee the concept of reader being possessive and standing her ground when clark thinks he can just walk away from her 😩
Waitttt anon your MINDDD!!! i love this plz be back when u have these sexy thoughts again
Thank u lots for the idea/request! love always, mani
Word Count: 1.6k
Content: MDNI (18+) Smut. Reader is a little rough with him but he likes it and deserves it. Angst and Fluff. Clark is called an idiot multiple times, but you'll see why.
Clark was an idiot. He was stupid, stupid man. He let some stupid comment from coworker get to him.
“I don’t think Superman could be in a relationship, y’know? He’s always busy and almost dying. Not exactly boyfriend material.” Steve said as Cat asked jokingly if Superman was seeing anyone. Clark glanced around the room at the seeming agreement of the comment and they moved on to another topic but it kept ringing in Clark’s mind. Not boyfriend material. And it was true. You sometimes stayed up late waiting for a message from him, worried sick. He’d flaked on a dozen dates because someone needed Superman.
And you, you were the best thing. So, so worthy of everything good but you had a boyfriend who couldn’t give that to you. He had always thought you were out of his league, c’mon, he wasn’t an idiot. He was your biggest fan, he had eyes. But you seemed to love him without any prejudice, any restraint or dissent. So he forgot about that and focused on being happy. And boy, was he happy. You were perfect, perfect for him. The dates were full of laughter, the late night talks were all comfort and honesty, the early mornings were sickeningly sweet like honey. And the sex, my god, the sex. It was insane. You were a siren, dirty and sweet. A challenge, he had the time of his life getting to know you and how to work your body, what you liked and what you loved. And you worked his just as well.
So, he was here, shaking as he held your hand and you sat in front of him. He had just spat it out, and your eyebrows were crossed as you inspected him.
“You wanna break up? With me?”
“I- uh. Yes.”
“Clark, at least have the balls to look at me.” You demanded, letting go of his hand and crossing your arms defensively. You looked particularly pretty today, so he rather not look up as he was saying it. Also, you could probably see in his face how awful he felt. He looked up, glancing at you once before his eyes drifted away to the window as if there was something interesting going on.
“And may I ask why?”
“Uh- I don’t think things are working out.”
“What things?”
“Y’know… things. Like you snore when you sleep sometimes.”
“You’re going to dump me because I snore sometimes?” You continued your inquiry because you didn’t believe for a second this was actually what he wanted. You knew Clark; he wasn’t a blabbering idiot. If he wanted to talk or had a problem, he’d come right out and say it. This wasn’t a sure Clark, this nervous and unserious man in front of you seemed like he had a gun pressed to his temple and was forcing him to do this.
“Among other things-“
“What other things? Clark, Jesus Christ, look at me. Look me in the eyes and repeat the words and I’ll believe you.” You put both of your hands on the table, smacking them down and making him look at you. He tried to focus on your eyes, a deep breath and instead of saying what he meant, his eyes started to fill with tears.
“I just think you deserve better.”
“Better? What are you talking about?” Clark looked up and blinked away the tears pricking his eyes as he looked up to the ceiling now.
“I- I’m an alien, for god’s sake! And I can’t be there for you all the time, I have so many things to do. You deserve someone who’s there for you.” Clark’s words were more rushed and seemed like he had been holding them in for a long time, like they had been hammering into the back of his brain since he thought them.
“Clark, you’re there for me! Where did this come from? You’re pissing me off now. You think I’m some sort of weak woman that can’t decide what she wants? What she needs?” You sounded angry, offended and confused as to the conversation you were having. You were supposed to go out for sushi and then come home and pretend to watch a movie while you fucked. How did it turn into this?
“No, I don’t think that. I think you’re amazing, as are all woman - not the point- but I don’t want you to settle.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m settling for Superman? Do you hear yourself? You’re a fucking catch, Clark. Do you not see what everyone thinks of you? How much they love you? I’m so lucky to have you. Don’t tell me what I want.” You whispered the last part, as if your anger was fading into sadness. The last thing he wanted. Clark’s mind had been somehow relaxed as he heard what you actually thought of him and let his fears and insecurities quiet down somewhat to listen to you. How there was no stutter in your breath, no doubt in your words. You were mad he had a considered doing this.
“I- fucking love you, Clark. I don’t want anything more, I don’t need it. I need you. Can you just- listen to me? To yourself?” Clark nodded, standing and taking you into his arms with a tight hug, mumbling sorry’s and I love you’s into your mouth as he finally convinced himself to push all those negative thoughts.
“Don’t do this, don’t sabotage yourself. Scared me to death, you idiot.” You said and finally took his kiss, the anger seemingly melting away from your mind as you felt how desperate and sorrowful he was against you. This had probably been eating at him, his stupid brain baiting him into thinking he was noble and kind to try and force you to find someone better. The tears kept falling from his eyes, and they were on the verge of falling once again half an hour later while you took a break from riding him with force of a knight in battle and were drawing small circles with your hips.
“Trying to leave me, huh? You want some other girl? Is that it?” You asked as you held his head back, pulling on his hair. His hands were steady and brushing on your hips, trying to get you to go faster again but with no increase. You were calling the shots and he was so into it.
“No, no, baby. I want you.” Clark shook his head, what a preposterous accusation to think you hadn’t ruined him for everyone else. There was nothing better, no one better.
“That’s right. How could you ever think I’d allow anyone else but me to have this cock? This is mine.” Clark groaned at your words, nodding his head eagerly.
“I’m yours. Everything is yours.” He was pretty sure your pussy had been molded to fit him too. It always felt like the perfect fit, the perfect press. You nodded with a smirk and went back to riding him with harder movements, hips grinding back and forth, up and down, feeling the perfect kiss of his dick onto your cervix.
Your hips rolled as you continued to ride him, still holding his hair back with your hand to force him to keep his head up looking at you. Looking at what he wanted to give away.
“You’re- you feel so good. Taking me so deep.” Clark whispered basically, eyes midway shut like he couldn’t keep them open with his dick receiving the tide of his life but he still wanted to look at you, not only because you wanted him to, but because he wanted to. You were a sight for sore eyes, sweaty and hot and your mouth hung slightly open to help you breathe. Your lips were plumped from the kissing and the necklace he got you for your sixth month anniversary hung from your neck. He was such a fucking idiot.
“What were you gonna do without me? Huh? Be alone? Find some Smallville girl? Some alien? Think they’d make you happy?” Clark shook his head, your grip getting harder and hips getting rougher as you even entertained the idea of Clark being without you. You could feel him twitching inside you, his palpitations on his tip making your pussy squeeze; Clark moaned at the feeling and pressed the fingertips of his hands harder into your hips. You knew he was close, you could tell all the signs by now. Idiot.
“No fucking way, baby. I’m it.” His moan was whiny and absurd as he unloaded inside you, a ridiculous amount of cum filling you up as you still fucked yourself on him, slower and with longer jumps. You pushed his head to look down; letting him see how his cum poured out of you with every slight movement. It wasn’t about finishing yourself off, you knew Clark wouldn’t let you go without making you finish; but about letting him see how much you knew him. What he liked; how to get him to spill his heart from his dick in copious amounts.
“I love you, honey. I love you to death. Forever, you and me. Right?” Clark spoke as he looked back into your eyes when your hand finally let go of his hair. You smiled, nodding as he kissed your whole face. You could tell he was sorry. You closed your eyes as you felt his mouth wander around your face, so it took you off guard when he grabbed harder onto your hips and lifted you off, gasp escaping your mouth. He placed you onto his face, holding you up by your ass as he looked at your pussy still gushing and swollen.
“I’m gonna spend forever between these legs.” He said and kissed the tip of your clit, looking at the mess of white he had created inside you, marked you his. He sucked your clit into his mouth, making your laugh get lost between a whine.
“I’ll take a break to get you a ring tomorrow, though.”
