summary: when you run into your childhood friend clark at a bar, the only question you want to ask him is 'when did you get hot?'
pairing: female reader x clark kent
notes: we collectively say thank you to ms sabrina carpenter for her new album which means a whole lot of new inspo for fics xx
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You couldn't remember the last time you'd been properly touched by a guy.
Actually you could. But you had decided to expunge your shitty ex from your record. He was more cheating rat than human, so he wasn't really deserving of the status.
Besides, the emphasis was on properly touched.
After months of sulking at home your friends had finally convinced you that it was time to saddle up and get back on the horse.
Three bars in and you were wondering why you'd wasted so much time hermitting. Your feet were feeling gloriously numb in your new heels, your shoulders had finally stopped bunching around your ears and giggles were falling from your lips with ease as you and your friends walked arm in arm.
Your last stop was the Rodeo, a trendy bar that was apparently where all the suits of Metropolis flocked too after a long day of corporate grind.
You felt like you were at a prospect convention. Men were practically falling from the disco light flecked ceiling. You could feel them analysing every inch of you and your new dress that clung tightly to your body as you weaved through the crowd, sizing you up like you were a prized heffer up for auction.
Then again, you were doing the same thing in return.
He was hard to miss. His massive frame dwarfed the bar. A crisp white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, grey suit pants that were barely containing thighs the size of your torso as he leant over to talk to the bartender.
You could barely hear your friends over the thumping bass as they chatted animately. You swore you heard one of them say something about a 'Jimmy' when your course to the bathroom was suddenly diverted.
Your eyes found him again as your friends corralled you towards the other end of the bar. Heâd turned ever so slightly, enough that you could see that thick glasses framed his face. A mass of black curls piled on top of his head.
Kind of nerdy. Just your type.
It was so dark that you couldnât make out his facial features. Not that you were complaining about the current view.
You let your eyes wonder over behind the bar, watching the bartenders make quick work of the drinks - lithe fingers cutting fruits and toned arms shaking cocktails in a flurry. Maybe you should quit your job and become a bartender, then you wouldn't have to worry about doing upper body weights.
He was facing you now. If the bar hadnât been so packed you would have sworn he was staring directly at you.
The sound of your name being called was like a sharp pin loudly popping your balloon of thoughts. A hand darted out to pull you forward.
âThis is Jimmy.â
You tore your gaze from the bar to be met with a freckled face grinning at you. His eyes lit up in recognition at the sound of your name.
"Oh don't you know Clark?"
Your eyes followed his hand gesturing towards the other end of the bar.
Your brow furrowed.
You only knew one Clark. And that Clark was a weedy salt of the earth farm boy. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Youâd have spotted him from a mile away in here.
âHuh?â
"Clark Kent. Arenât you both Kansas country bumpkins?â
You turned back to look down the bar.
âHeâs ordering us a round.â You followed Jimmyâs finger and froze as you realised who he was pointing at. There was no way. Youâd remember if he had a face like that.
As if heâd somehow heard his name over the thrum of the bass, the man turned in your direction again. A familiar smile spread across his lips. A hand raised in awkward greeting.
As if it had been orchestrated, the lights flickered just as he tilted his head, momentarily illuminating his face in a pale pink hue. His features finally on full display.
You blinked.
The strong cut of his jaw, the chisel of his chin, the astute slope of his nose. Someone could have told you that heâd been modelled after a statue of Zeus and you wouldnât question it.
"Jesus." You murmured.
"What was that?" Jimmy queried.
"Oh I just uh-" You forced yourself to look away. "I haven't seen Clark in years that's all."
You didn't hear Jimmy's response as you did a double take, then a triple take.
"Why don't you go help him bring the drinks over?" Your friend suggested. Even in the dark, you could see a familiar twinkle in her eye. She knew you too well.
"We'll go grab a table. Let you two catch up."
A tipsy chorus of agreement sounded out at the suggestion. Jimmy didn't seem to need any extra encouragement as he eagerly led your friends towards an empty booth before you even had a chance to argue.
"And if you don't take him home and play naked twister with him, I might have to." You smacked her playfully as she pulled away from your ear. Her loud laughter reverberated through you as she left you to go join the others.
Your dress was suddenly too tight, your heels too high as you started to make your way towards him, his eyes never leaving you as you did.
His features came more into focus. Once you were inches from him it was clear that it was definitely Clark. You remembered those eyes so vividly, the perfect shade of blue. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He'd just doubled in height and width.
Your name left his lips as you reached him. Not a voice crack in sight. The deep reverb of it sent a shiver up your spine.
You were suddenly very grateful that you had some liquid courage flowing through your veins as you spoke.
"Hey stranger."
"Hi yourself."
He shot you that smile that used to lift you out of the foulest of moods.
Careful not to spill your drink, you lent up and wrapped your arms around him. His muscles rippled under your fingertips as he embraced you back. He smelt like a mixture of smoke, bourbon and vanilla.
"So what brings you here-"
"How are you-"
You both laughed as you cut each other off.
"Sorry, you go." Clark apologised, shoving his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose as he gestured for you to continue.
"How are you? I've been reading your articles you know. You're killing it."
Clark smiled shyly. "Thanks, yeah work has been good. Busy. You know Metropolis, always something to write about."
"Yeah never a dull day." You sighed. Your commute to work was interrupted at least once a week with some metahuman wreaking havoc. But you couldn't bring yourself to leave, the chaos was almost addictive.
"What about you?"
"Oh I'm actually working in the marketing department at LutherCorp." An unreadable emotion flashed across Clark's face.
"Marketing huh?"
"It's alright." You shrugged. "Pays the bills."
"I always thought your dream was to be a fashion designer."
You couldn't believe he'd remembered that.
"It was but....I don't know." Another shrug. "Isn't that every girl's dream growing up? No one actually ends up doing it. It's practically impossible."
Clark frowned as you sipped your drink.
"It's not impossible. I remember your designs in school, they were great. You could definitely do it, you just have to believe in yourself."
You looked up at him. If it was anyone else you would have brushed them off, that they were just saying whatever they could to make you feel better.
But this was Clark. The same Clark who had emphatically supported you when you declared that you wanted to be a mermaid at age 7. He believed everyone on this planet could achieve incredible things. He could convince you that you could fly if he really wanted to.
"I have been thinking about going back to school. Metropolis University has a pretty good fashion program." You admitted. You couldn't believe you were telling him this. You hadn't even told your friends yet.
"You totally should. The fashion world would be lucky to have you.â
This time it was your turn to blush. âThank you.â
"You keep in touch with anyone from school?"
"God no." You scoffed. "I only go back home to see my parents." You twirled your straw through your drink as you studied him.
"What about you?"
"Same." Clark nodded.
"Are your parents still up at the farm?"
His smile widened, "yeah they are. They still ask about you, you know."
Your heart warmed. "They were always so kind."
It only felt like yesterday that you were spending nearly every afternoon after school there, running around chasing the cows with Clark as his mum desperately tried to corral you inside for afternoon tea.
"Remember those scones your mum used to make? God they were good."
"She still makes them for me when I visit."
You groaned dramatically, "I'm jealous."
"I should try and visit them more." Clark sighed, dampening the mood slightly between you two.
"Yeah..." You trailed off, a wave of homesickness washing over you at the thought of your parents.
"They keep trying to get me to come back for the county fair."
Clark chuckled, "Me too."
"Mum rang me last week and told me that I simply had to come this year because they've added an apple bobbing stall."
"Well, how could you turn that down?"
You laughed into your drink at his response.
"True, as born and bred Kansas folk, apple bopping is literally in our DNA."
Clark's laughter dissipated as he studied you, a smile on his lips.
"You know." He began, taking a sip of his drink. He coughed as the liquid slid awkwardly down his throat. You watched him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shot you a sheepish grin before placing his glass down.
"We could always go together." He said it so casually you nearly missed the way a blush had begun to emerge on his cheeks.
You grinned. "Two city slickers crashing the Smallville county fair would be fun."
"Yeah and you know...it would make our parents happy. And I'd have good company." His eyes locked with yours. "It'd be fun."
You cocked your head slightly as you studied him. "It would be."
Before either of you could say anything further, the bartender plonked two cocktails in front of you.
You looked down at the little pink umbrellas sticking out of them.
"Are these....pina coladas?"
"They're delicious." Clark protested.
You threw your hands up in defence. "I didn't say they weren't!"
Clark shot you a look as he pushed one over to you. "It was meant to be Jimmy's, but I don't think he needs another one."
"Well I'm certainly not going to turn down a free drink." You picked it up and held it up to his.
"To making it out of Smallville."
"And to running into friendly faces." Clark added.
You smiled. "Cheers to that." You agreed as your glasses clinked together harmoniously.
Your eyes never left his as you pressed the glass to your lips, the eye contact too long to be casual. The reminiscing had made you momentarily forget just how gorgeous he was.
His adams apple bopped as he swallowed. His perfectly shaped lips glistened with the remnants of the liquor in his glass. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he focused on not spilling his drink. You could stare at his face all day, you decided.
"Is there something on my face?"
Shit, you had actually been staring.
"No." You answered quickly.
"Are you sure?"
You frowned, "Yes. Why?"
"It's just- I don't know." He looked at you sheepishly. "You keep giving me this weird look. I thought maybe I had pineapple in my teeth or something."
The laugh slipped out before you could stop it at the sight of his puzzled, innocent face. You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle your giggles. Your reaction made him look even more like a confused puppy.
"Sorry I'm not laughing at you it's just-" You cut yourself off as you tried to level out your voice. He looked at you expectantly. The assorted mixture of alcohols swirling around in your stomach helped you blurt out your next words.
"When did you get hot?"
Even the dark lighting couldn't conceal the violent crimson that bloomed across his face at your words. He couldn't be nervous at that, could he? Surely someone that looked like him didn't get shy. He'd have girls throwing themselves at him constantly.
"You- you think I'm... hot?"
A vision of young Clark flashed before you. Sweet, nervous, awkward, bumbling. He may look different, but he hadn't changed one bit.
It made you want to rip his clothes off even more.
"Are you kidding me? You look like Superman or something."
You took a sip of your drink, missing the way he flinched.
"S-superman? Why do you say that?"
You peered up at him over your cocktail glass. "Clark." You gestured to his body. "You look like you could lift my car up with your hand."
"Oh." His blush deepened.
"Seriously I cannot believe I didn't see the vision in school."
"Well, I was a pretty ugly kid."
"You were not!" You protested.
"Kids at school certainly thought so." He remarked.
Your mood faltered. Clark had gone through a rough time before puberty hit, especially with the other boys. Unfortunately, most country kids weren't raised to be accepting of people who were different. And in Smallville, being gentle, sensitive and selfless almost to a fault as a guy was practically unforgivable.
"Kids are jerks."
"You weren't." Clark countered. "You always stood up for me."
"You would have done the same." You brushed it off, trying to ignore the way your heart raced under his gaze.
"And you were never ugly you were just..." You trailed off as you studied him. "I don't know you were just Clark, kind and sweet Clark. But now you're..."
Clark's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
âWell now you're kind and sweet and also really hot Clark.â
He laughed at your explanation, his nerves visibly dissipating as he studied you intently.
"And no one's going to look their best in school anyway." You gestured to yourself to illustrate your point.
Clark shook his head. "You don't count."
"Why not?"
"Because." He slung the rest of his drink down his throat. "You've never had an ugly phase."
You tried to hide the effect his words had on you. "I don't know about that. Remember my side ponytail phase in sixth grade?"
"I do. And your emo phase in year seven. And your Mighty Crabjoys phase in sophmore year."
"The Mighty Crabjoys were not a phase, thank you. They still rock."
Clark looked at you like you'd hung the moon in that moment.
"You're beautiful. You always have been." His words came out softly. Almost reverently, like he was saying a prayer.
You looked up at him, your lips slightly parted as you tried to rack your brain for a response. It was like you'd forgotten how to speak.
You couldn't believe out of all the bars in Metropolis, you'd ended up at the same one as him. That he was the one person who had made you feel more alive in the last twenty minutes than any guy had ever made you feel in your whole relationship. You were't religious by any means, but it almost felt like divine intervention.
"Oh sorry." The liquor swished dangerously close to the lip of our glass as someone accidentally bumped into you.
The moment between you two shattered, allowing you a brief respite to collect your senses off the floor.
"It's busy huh?" You observed lamely.
"Yeah it is." Clark cleared his throat, "you know, I know a pretty good pizza place down the road. It's usually not too busy, if you wanted to maybe go somewhere quieter to-"
"Yes." You answered, probably a little too eagerly. But you were too entranced to care. "I'd like that. Us hot country bumpkins have to stick together."
A knee-weakening smile split across Clark's face as he laughed. "We do."
He twisted around to look in Jimmy's direction. "I don't think our friends are going to miss us."
You followed his gaze. Jimmy was seated in the middle of the booth, your friends huddled up to him like nesting birds desperate for warmth. They were giggling and hanging on to his every word, like he was a messiah spouting gospel.
"What the..."
"It's best you don't ask." Clark sighed, "I gave up a long time ago."
You shook your head in disbelief, letting your eyes linger on the sight for a few moments before turning to look at him.
"Shall we?"
You glanced down to see his large palm extended out for you. An invitation that you were more than happy to take.
You nodded, letting your hand slide into his. It was warm, and ever so slightly clammy. It entwined perfectly with yours. In that moment, you knew.
Clark squeezed your hand and smiled down at you, like he knew it too.
This was what being properly touched felt like.
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cw : NOT PROOFREAD, lack of capitalisation, wrong uses of periods and comas, girl idk i do this in my free time iâm no writer
a/n : jesus christ i forgot this was my drafts yâall! lmaoooooo. iâm wrapping up superman summer with this fic. a palate cleanser and a little break from the andrew series lol. i donât know how to feel about this one, but i hope you like it. i listened to a los of sabrina carpenter when writing this, feel welcome to do the same. my asks are open if you want to chat, give me constructive criticism or have any ideas or requests in mind. remember to treat people with kindness, because thatâs the real punk rock!
your friendship with clark kent is something that feels like breathing. easy and natural. you started working at the daily planet around a year and a half ago, where you met this big, clumsy man. a nerd trapped inside the body of a bodybuilder.
entering the building you feel your nerves getting the best of you. thundering heart against your ribs and clammy hands, biting your lip.
the loudness of the place, the frantic pace and the coffee smell was a lot to take in at once, but you took it like a champâŠor so you thought.
you donât last more than two minutes before you turn your heel and accidentally bump into a- wall!? no it cannot be a wall, itâs far too soft to be concrete.
you feel a pair of arms grabbing your arms, stabilising you
âgolly! iâm sorry didnât see you thereâ
the way you tilt your head back is almost comical, i mean the man is huge! you donât say anything just stare with wide eyes, trying to make sense of what just happened.
your way of staring is not very subtle. you study every inch of this manâs face. his jet black hair, the way a curl falls over his face like someone had put it there on purpose, his pink cheeks and bright blue eyes covered by those black frames. the way his lip tilts with an apologetic smile. this guy is gorgeous. and thatâs an understatement.
before you can say anything, someone is already talking for you.
âyouâre scaring the new hire, kentâ at the sound of a womanâs voice you finally tear your eyes off his face.
you are met with another pair of blue eyes, but this girl wasnât as tall as the behemoth of a man than you had just encountered. the deep purple cardigan she was wearing made her feature pop.
she offers her hand, which you quickly shake. âiâm lois lane, this is clark-â she say as she point that the man in front of you â-iâll show you aroundâ
âoh- thank you!â you reply, still shaky.
lois shows you around the bullpen, she tells you a little bit about her- well now your- coworkers. jimmy, cat, steve, clark.
âthe one that almost pushed you into oblivion is clark. donât be scared, heâs the kindest guy i know- which gets annoying at times- but donât let his size fool you. heâs a big softieâ you nod in understanding.
at the end of the tour, she drops you off at your new cubicle, in which you spend your entire first day setting up.
at the end of the workday you pack your things, ready to just get a nice, warm shower and go to bed. until a voice interrupts your thoughts.
âhey! iâm sorry for bumping into you earlier. i can get very clumsy at timesâ you could tell he was flustered.
it was so interesting and captivating seeing such a big and obviously strong man (i mean the way his shirt hugs his arms is insane???) being so flustered andâŠsoft?
âoh donât even worry about it. iâm just glad i didnât run into a wall or somethingâ you say as non chalant as you possible can.
âiâm still sorry. how do you take your coffee by the way?â your eyebrows furrow instantly at the question, but you answer it anyway.
âwell umâŠ.i usually just go for an iced latteâ youâre met with silence and a quizzical look.
âall year around?â
âyeah?âŠi mean im pretty hot all the time, no matter the season, so iced is usually my go toâ you didnât realise your choice of words until you say the deep red shade of his cheeks.
âOH- NO! i didnât mean it like that i meant that my body temperature-â
âitâs okay, i understood what you said itâs just your choice of words that took me by surpriseâ
you just smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say.
âwell i guess ill see you tomorrow then, miss..?â you fill out the blank space with your last name, which is met with a nod from his side.
âsee you tomorrow, kentâ
next morning
you were running late thanks to superman. of course he had to destroy the red line last night, making you late for your second day on the job.
you practically run to work. on top of being new and nervous, now you were also sweaty and frazzled.
you push the doors of the bullpen and quickly make your way to your cubicle. you stop in your tracks. there was a transparent plastic cup, filled with a soft brown liquid and ice. condescension running down the cup. a yellow post-it on your desk, next to the cup.
âsorry for yesterday i hope you like it
-c.kâ
you look up, in hopes of making eye contact with the person you were hoping for, but he was already looking your way, with that beautiful smile of his.
âthank youâ you mouth to him
âno problemâ he mouths back, leaving you with a dimpled smile.
since that day you and clark have been really good friends. the friendship growing deeper, softer and stronger by the day. every shared secret, every shared meal, all those late nights at the bullpen. it all led you to a dead end street. you donât know where those innocent feelings flowered into something more, something that you could no longer control.Â
the type of feelings that make your stomach turn every time he smiles at you and. the type of feelings that makes you look for him in a crowded room. the type of feelings that makes you gravitate towards him.Â
you have tried to make those feelings go away. dating apps, blind dates, but everything failed. everything failed because you constantly comparing the guys from the dating apps and the blind dates to clark. thinking âclark would never do thatâ or âclark would've done xyz insteadâ. so instead of taking your mind off clark, it just made you think more of him.Â
you like teasing him. the way he turns red is quite amusing. you think that heâs just shy and incredibly susceptible to your banter, but everybody else knows that isnât the case.Â
his entire existence is an oxymoron. a tall man with huge muscles that are noticeable even through his blaze and a mess of black curls on top of his head. one single curl always falling on his forehead like a domino. you think thatâs insane, being that hot and nice? almost like heâs from a different planet.Â
today is just an average day at the daily planet headquarters. two hours into the workday you lean on clarkâs desk, as usual. you noticed the dark circles around his eyes and the unusual slouch on his shoulder when he came in this morning, so you walked over to his desk trying to cheer him up, but you see that jimmy had the same idea as you
 âi mean, come on man! how are you single? youâre like perfectâ jimmy exclaimed with a knowing smirk on his face.Â
clark doesnât look up. just clicks something on his computer screen a little harder than necessary. jimmy ignores that, of course. âcome on, man, donât give me that. youâre massive â in the way that makes people trip over their own words. that whole farmboy charm? thatâs like crack for half the women in this office.â
you see it â the way clarkâs jaw clenches, ever so slightly. the way his shoulders stiffen just enough to tell you that today might not be the day for jokes.
âitâs actually astonishing really- âi have my flaws, you just donât see them because youâre too focused on the good onesâ he said, trying his best to not trip over his own words. eyes still focused on the screen in front of him. he was tired, the night before hadnât been easy. fighting that creature took a toll on him. any other day he would've recovered in the blink of an eye, but today was a gray day, which means that the sunlight was covered by the clouds. he wasnât trying to brush you off, not at all. he just didnât know how to behave, even less now when his energy was so low.
âwell-â you said, standing straight, ready to make your way back to your desk. âi think youâre a great guy, your girl will come soon enoughâ a giggle escaping your lips. before he could reply, you started making your way across the office. turning your head you make eye contact with lois. a knowing smirk painted on her face after listening to your interaction with clark. you winked back.Â
-
an hour after your little banter break with clark, you saw him walk out of perryâs office. his brows were furrowed and his steps were faster and heavier than usual. worried, you walked over to the coffee station where he was making his fourth cup of the day. his movements were frazzled and aggressive. âwoah, is everything okay?â you murmured. a strained âiâm fineâ came out of his lips. you were not gonna give up, and he knew that. you leaned closer, trying to not attract attention to yourselves. âhey if you need something iâm here, you know thatâ that caught his attention, only responding with a stiff nod. and with that, a gentle pat on his arm and a soft smile you left him alone.Â
halfway to your cubicle you hear lois. âhey whatâs up with him?â she asks with worry lingering in her voice âi donât know, iâm gonna give him space. heâs probably just tiredâ lois nodded, understanding. âhey weâre going to oâclubs afterwork, just a couple drinks with it being friday and all. you should come! i think clark is comingâ she said, wiggling her brows and giving a you knowing smirk. pushing her arm playfully you replied. âshut up-â a smile drawn on your lips âbut yeah sure. i mean i donât have any plans soâ dragging the âoâ sound in the end. âgreat!â she replied, full smile this time âsee ya thereâ.Â
-
five hours later thatâs where you found yourself. sitting by the end of a table at the pub around the corner with a vodka cranberry in hand. you all sat on a big table, clark sitting on the other end, right across from you. you made eye contact from time to time. sometimes he would just give you a lazy smile, other a knowing nod. you would smile back.
the bar was crowded. people flowing in and out of the bar. you could tell most of them came for afterwork drink, just like you. the smell of beer and fast bar food lingering in the air along with loud laughs and the sound of the different television broadcasting sports games and news channels.Â
after a while you see him stand up, making his way to the bar. you figured he was getting a refill. looking down to your drink, you figured you could use one too.Â
turning to your left, you lean to lois and speak in her ear âiâm getting another one, do you need anything?â lois didnât reply, she just shakes her head with a smile on her face. she is definitely tipsy.Â
with that, you stand up from the table, making your way to clark. leaning on the the counter you tell your order to the bartender, and quickly turn to face clark. this part of the bar wasnât as loud as where the tables were situated, so you didnât need to scream someoneâs ear off. âhow are you holding on?â you blurt out, trying to sound cheery when in reality you were worried. i mean you were good friends? you felt a tug on your heart at the thought that maybe clark felt like he couldnât talk to anyone. but you were there! he could talk to you about anything! and yet he didnât. maybe he got heartbroken by a secret girlfriend no one knows he has and he is too uncomfortable to tell you anything about it because the only thing you do with him is banter. just the thought of it makes jealousy run through your veins.
another strained âiâm fineâ came out of him. his voice was deeper than usual. maybe he was sick? âare you sick? you donât look fine to me, clark. i think you should see a doctor or maybe talk to some-â you didnât finish that sentence because the unthinkable happened.Â
âI SAID IâM FINE! DIDNâT YOUR HEAR ME THE FIRST TIME?â you had never seen clark scream at anyone, much less at you. you flinch at the loud voice, fear taking over your body. a cold shiver running down your spine. you take a step back, shame washing over you âi-iâm sorry clark i was just worried about you- âI said Iâm fine! God! not everything is about you, you know? Not everything needs your constant hovering, your⊠neediness.âÂ
that word. neediness. it felt like a slap. it landed hard. your stomach dropped, you take. a big step back. you immediately feel the lump in your throat and the sting in your eyes and the way your heartbeat started rising up. unbeknownst to you, clark could hear it. he could hear and feel the way your your heart started thrumming against your ribs and the sudden change of temperature.Â
he could practically smell the fear, the humiliation he had caused. and in that moment heâd realize what heâd done. how deep heâd cut. and that pretty much did it, he crashed back to earth.Â
he took it out on you. he turned the tiredness from the night before, the frustration over perryâs tantrum, into a white hot ball and threw it at you. you! the last person that deserved any of that. all you had done was check in on him, trying to cheer him up after taking one single look at his tired face.Â
and you knew that. you knew that his treatment was far from deserved. whether you had been annoying or not, it doesn't fall on you! he has a mouth which he could have used during one of the MANY times you annoyed with with your âunimportant things" to let you know that he needed space. but he never did. and now you were here. at oâclubs with a yelling clark kent in front of you. one moment he was red and screaming, the next he looked white as a sheet.Â
âjesus, i-iâm sorry you didnât deserve that-â you quickly cut him off. your sadness shifting into something stronger. something like anger. âdamn right i didnâtâ your voice is cold. cutting. you turn around, leaving him dumbfounded leaning on the counter. you didnât even wait for the drink. you couldnât be around him right now.Â
making your way over to the table, you felt a sting starting to form tears in your eyes. you had to get out of here before anyone could notice the shift of atmosphere. lois took a look at you, trying to gather your thingsâ.Â
âhey, hey, hey! whatâs going on? what happened?â your face and teary eyes sobered her right up. âitâs nothing- iâm just tired im gonna go homeâ you said, your throat was starting to give up on your. âdo you want me to come with you?-â you pause âwhat? no! youâre having a great time. iâm fine. really! iâll see you on mondayâ you said, straining a smile from your lips. with an understanding smile she just nodded.Â
clark scanned the crowd, but you were already out the door. and it was his fault. he. ouldnât stay there. he needed to get out. the crowd, the smell, the remorse. everything. it was eating him from the inside out.Â
after a couple rounds of half assed goodbyes, he tried to walk away from the table to make his way to the exit, a slap on his arm stopped him. turning around he found a very angry looking lois. âwhat the fuck did you do, clark?â he opened his mouth but was quickly cut off âshe was crying you know that? she tried to hide it but she was crying! youâre lucky youâre a big man because i would hand your ass over to you if i could.â with a finger pointing at his chest she said âyou better fix this, kent.â and with that she turned around and walked back to the table, as if nothing had happened.Â
later that night, clark will lay on his bed. wishing he could rewind, wishing he could turn back time to a different time where he hadnât screamed at you. a time where he hadnât taken out his feelings on the wrong person. the person that cares about him, that always tries to cheer him up. a person that he probably lost. you.
clark doesnât sleep that night. his mind too full of regret, of remorse and sadness. anger at himself, anger at the world. it wasnât often he felt that way. but he did now, the difference is that he doesnât have you to feel better this time.Â
across the city, your night was no better. you tossed and turned under the covers, unable to sleep, unable to rest. nothing worked. not music, not journaling, not the cold side of the pillow.
because this didnât feel like any old argument.
this felt like heartbreak.
the daily planet bullpen. monday, 07:45
you donât expect to see clark already seated at his desk. he was early. heâs never early.Â
you tear your eyes off him, quickly making your way to your desk. you stop in your tracks. a beautiful iced latte sitting on your desk. yellow post it sticked next to it, but there wasnât a corny note this time.Â
âim sorry for yesterdayâÂ
you didnât need a signature to know who it was from. you feel his burning gaze from across the bullpen. you donât look up. you donât smile. you donât walk over to his desk and bother him with your neediness. instead? you take the note and the drink, walk over to the trashcan and dispose both of them. i can buy my own damn coffee. was it petty? yes. was it necessary? absolutely.Â
what you donât see is that is not only one se of eyes fixed on you. thereâs three sets of eyes following your every movement. clark, jimmy and lois.Â
their eyes widen at he sight of you throwing it all in the trash.Â
âi know thatâs rightâ mumbles lois, earning a glare from clark. jimmy just lets out a dramatic exhale along with a âwow. iâm so happy iâm not clark kent right nowâ giving him a pat on the shoulder and getting back to work.Â
the morning drags. you keep yourself busy, trying to tune everything out. drowning yourself in work. your inbox was full, so that wasnât a problem.Â
last minute edits, quick revisions, a short meeting. you donât even realise itâs lunch time until you come back from your meeting. your favourite sandwich sitting on our desk. a napkin sitting next to it, something scribbled on it.Â
âi know this doesnât fix anything, but i thought you might be hungry. -ckâ
you end up gifting it to cat, not wanting anything to do with it.Â
monday passes by, and so does tuesday.Â
wednesday stays the same. a coffee sits on your desk,Â
then a sandwich at lunch time. on friday you get a bag of those chips you like. you gave everything away every time. your coffees were given to the overworked interns, your sandwiches to cat or daisy, the receptionist. the chips were gladly received by steve. on thursday when you got a donut from the bakery down the street, you handed it over to jimmy.Â
clark never said much, but he looked. he looked for a reaction, for an emotion, something. but you were not gonna give him the pleasure. keeping a poker face every time.Â
this would be so much easier if he werenât so..clark-like. this wouldn be so much easier if he were cruel and rude. if he yelled and left it there. but no- he had to go around giving apologies in form of caffeine and sandwiches, sweet notes and puppy eyes.Â
so after a whole week of nonsense, you know you have to make him stop. you donât even stop by your desk, you donât want to risk seeing another perfect latte with some fucking post it signed by âc.kâ. no, you walk over to hid desk instead.Â
this takes everyone by surprise, everyone being lois, clark and jimmy.Â
âwe need to talkâ you huff out.Â
he looks up from his screen, his eyes are wide. not bothering to hide the shock on his face.Â
âuh- yeah! yeah sureâ you give him an expecting look âwha- now?â
âyes, kent. nowâ you never called him by his last name. his heart beat started accelerating. he stands up from his chair, following you into the break room, not before look back to lois and jimmy. both giving him pity looks. âit was nice knowing you, clarkâ says jimmy, earning a slap on the arm from lois.Â
thankfully the break room was empty.
once the door shuts behind you, you cross your arms and turn to him.
he stands awkwardly by the counter, like heâs not sure whether to apologize or brace for impact.
âokay,â he says, voice quiet. âiâm listening.â
you let the silence hang for a beat too long.
then, flatly:
âyou need to stop.â
his brows pull together. âstop what?â
âthe notes. the drinks. the food. the lingering looks across the bullpen. i donât want it.â
you watch the words hit him like cold water. he swallows once, hard.
âi get it. you feel guilty, and youâre trying to make it up to meâ you swallow, trying to keep yourself together. trying not to break. âbut you can stop now. weâre coworkers, and i guess i forgot about that when i talked your ear off about my personal stuff and my needinessâ you feel you heart start to ache, but you keep going âyou donât need to pretend that you like me anymore, youâve made yourself very clear. i wonât bother you anymore, just please stop with the giftsâ
clarkâs expression isâŠutterly confused. âwhat do you mean âcoworkersâ? weâre more than thatâ but you start shaking your head âno clark, it was one sided, i thought we were but i guess i read your kent friendliness for something more. you donât have to pretend anymore. itâs fine, iâm a big girl i can take itâ you see the way he shakes his head as he makes your way over to you.Â
âno! stop doing that!-â
âdoing what? iâm not doing anything. iâm just respecting your boundariesâÂ
âstop, youâre forgetting the part where i didnât mean it. i didnât mean when i said you were needy. i would never think that about youâÂ
âitâs fine clark really, letâs just not make it awkward. itâs bad enough as it is.â he opens his mouth but nothing comes out.Â
âletâs just get back to work, but please stop with the gifts. itâs fineâ
before he can say anything out, you slip out of the room. at your desk you find the coffee that he left that morning, before you dragged him into the break room. you give it over to agnes, the intern of the month.Â
-
the gifts didnât stop. they just changed.Â
instead of lattes every morning and sandwiches appearing magically by lunch time, you were gifted notes.Â
on monday it was a simple âi miss you, iâm sorryâ
tuesday âyouâre more than a coworker to me, i hope you know thatâÂ
wednesday âi didnât mean to hurt youâÂ
by thursday you were losing your goddamn mind. the notes caused you to lose focus. which is why you ended up staying late on thursday, trying to finish up your upcoming article.Â
youâre the last one in the bullpen, or so you think. your screen glows pale, youâve been staring at the same paragraph for- at least- ten minutes.
you donât notice her, until she speaks. âyou need to get yourselves out of this miseryâ you glance up searching for the source of the voice, catching lois leaning on the side of your cubicle.Â
âexcuse me?âÂ
âlook, if he had said to me what he said to you, i wouldâve dragged him by the tie across the bullpen, you know that. but i think weâre past that, donât you think?â
âhe hurt me, loisâÂ
âyes he did, and he shows up everyday, coming up with new ways to show you how sorry he is. he shows up everyday, leaving notes and whatnot on your desk, begging for you to hear him. heâs not even asking for redemption. heâs asking you to hear him out.â
âi did hear him out-â
âno you didnât. you are trying to come up with new ways to avoid getting hurt again, i know you more than you thinkâ you stare in disbelief, she keeps going âthere's nothing else he can do, he canât go back in time and fix what he did. he has done his part, itâs time you do yours. i know you are trying to push him away, but we both know thatâs not what you want or need. youâre hurting him tooâÂ
âiâll say one last thing, itâll clear the air. iâm not justifying his actions, but he wouldâve never lashed out that way unless something really wrong had happenedâÂ
the words wash over you, like a cold bucket of water. âshitâ you whisper to yourself. you need to make things right, you need to at least hear him out.Â
âi gotta goâ you say, turning off your monitor and gathering your belongings as fast as you can.Â
âatta girl, see you tomorrow. i want to know every detail!â lois basically screams after you.Â
you donât even bother taking the metro, you catch a cab, telling him clarkâs address.Â
the drive is quick. you make yourself known to the door man and run up the stairs. you donât even wait for the elevator.Â
you huff and puff as you knock on his door. silence.
you knock again. nothing.Â
you press your ear to the door for a second. nothing.
but just as youâre about to step back, defeated- you hear movement.
finally you call off him. âclark? i know youâre home!âÂ
and then you did something you shouldnât have, but you would end up being grateful you did. you grab the door handle and slowly twist it. the door was open. of course.Â
you step in, leaving your coat and bag by the door, ready in case he kicked you out. âclark? i know youâre in here!â you keep walking towards the living room, and then you see a body laying in the sofa. it started stirring. âoh god. iâm so sorry did i wake you? iâll lea-â
you stop.Â
you stop dead in your tracks.Â
because it wasnât clark kent laying on that sofa, it was fucking superman.Â
âsuperman?â you keep walking closer, curiosity getting the bets of you.Â
you blink hard. once. twice. was it the lighting? were you just sleep deprived or was stress staring to make you crazy? but it was unmistakable. the suit cringed perfectly to his body, the red cape serving him as a blanket.Â
he kept stirring, and the he opened his eyes. your brows furrowed. because those eyes belonged to clark. you quickly put two and two together.Â
âwait- clark?â that completely wakes him, wide eyes trying to make sense of what was happening.Â
âdarn it- you werenât supposed to find out this way-â
âyou-youâre superman?âÂ
he looked defeated, didnât even try to out you a fight.Â
âyeah..â
âyouâre superman? and youâre also clark?âÂ
âkind of- yesâÂ
you start to put the pieces together. the late mornings, the frazzled looks, the constant cancellations. clark kent is superman.Â
youâre frozen. âholy shitâ he stands from the couch, suit and all. he walks closer to you, slow steps. trying to test the waters.Â
âare you..scared?â
âwhat? no iâm just- i came over to apologise and i didnât expect to find superman-â
âwait- apologise?â
heâs standing now, fully awake, cape dragging slightly on the floor. the version of him you thought only existed on front pages and emergency broadcasts is now right in front of you⊠barefoot, hair messy from the couch pillow, voice laced with disbelief.
you nod, still trying to catch up to your own thoughts. âyeah. i mean, that was the plan before this happenedââ you gesture vaguely toward his glowing chest emblem. âi had a whole speech, actually.â
âoh.â his voice is soft. he looks a little dazed, like he just remembered heâs in the room too.
âbut now i feel like iâm the one who owes you about seventeen more apologies. or⊠at least a drink. or maybe a sedative, because this is a lot, clark.â
he huffs out a short laugh. it sounds tired. âtell me about it.â
you stay silent for a moment. âwhy didnât you tell me? we couldâve talked about it, you know?â
he looks down âi know. but i was scared, it hard enough for me to be around you as clark kent, i didnât want to mess up as superman tooâ
you are taken aback âwhy is it hard for you to be around me?â
he looks up, he looks into your eyes âit was easier pretending it was all one-sided. safer. if you didnât really know me- all of me- you couldnât really reject me. and i could keep orbiting you without ever crashing.â
âclarkâŠâ your voice is soft now. something in your chest aches.
âbut then i crashed, and i took it out on you. i was tired and overwhelmed, and you were there being the sweet and caring person that you are and i just- explodedâÂ
your eyes soften. this big man, with the weight of the world in his shoulders looked like a kicked puppy.Â
âiâve been trying to fix it. iâm not expecting forgiveness, but i do hope that you can understand that i didnât meant what i said to you that night.â you eyes starts to sting âi cannot stand the thought that you might go around thinking that i find you annoying or needy, because i donâtâ
âwhen you said we were âonlyâ coworkers, it hurt me because youâre not âjust a coworkerâ to me, not just a friend eitherâ you heart rises higher and higher. he takes a step closer. âi love you, not in a friendly way. every time you sleep over i can only think about how it would be to sleep next you every night. to feel you stir at night and have your body next to mine. or how a slow morning would look like. i know this sounds silly because maybe you donât even feel the same, and iâve just ruined whatever was left of this friendship beyond repair but-âÂ
âyou havenâtâ you feel your heart pounding against your chest, and now you are aware than he can probably hear it too.Â
your voice is barely above a whisper, but itâs enough. his eyes flicker with hope, but he doesnât speak. he waits. you take a slow step forward.
âyou didnât ruin anything, clark.â you pause, trying to steady your breath. âi was angry. i am angry. but not just because of what you said- i was angry because i care about you so much it scared me. i didnât know what to do with that.â
you look up at him, letting the truth sit heavy in the room. âand iâve been trying to convince myself that you didnât care. that you were just being⊠you. kind. clark. but every time i told myself that, it felt wrong. and when you kept showing up- with coffee, and notes, and dumb snacks- i couldnât ignore it anymore.â
he exhales, like heâs been holding his breath for weeks.
you keep going. âyou said it was easier pretending. i get that. it was easier pretending for me too. but i donât want easy anymore.â
âwhat do you want?â he asks. a whisper, brittle and vulnerable.Â
you donât answer him. not with words anyway. you stretch your hand, caressing his cheek, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck, softly. bringing him down to you.Â
you kiss him. itâs soft and innocent. vulnerable. the kiss s-ears for itself, saying those things youâre still afraid to put into words.Â
you feel the way his hand sneak around your waist, pulling you closer. tongues clashing. the kiss transform into something deeper. itâs hungry, making up for the time wasted.Â
finally you pull away, looking him in the eye. heâs awestruck. his lips are bruised from the kiss, his cheeks flushed.Â
âwell-â you say âthatâs one way to clear the airâ you smirk, teasing him.Â
that smile that youâve missed so much appears on his face. dimples and all.Â
you stand there for a moment, arms around each other, letting the stillness settle between you â not heavy, not tense. just full. like something cracked open and finally, finally let light in.
âso⊠what now?â he asks, quieter this time. âdo we just⊠go back? to the newsroom, to our desks, to pretending we didnât almost fall apart?â
you shake your head. âno pretending. not anymore. weâll figure it out â one step at a time.â
he smiles. and itâs so clark â that soft, earnest curve of his mouth that feels like home.Â
leaning into him again, your voice soft. âiâm glad i came.â
âme too,â he says. âeven if you broke into my apartment.â
âdoor was unlocked.â
âstill broke in.â
you kiss him again, just briefly. âwhatever, hannah montana.â
the next morning. the daily planet bullpen 7:55
you step into the bullpen, iced latte in hand. this time, you bought it yourself. making your way over to your desk you feel a presence behind you, sneaking up on you.Â
you sit down on your desk, clark lays on your desk as you unpack your things.Â
âgood morning, kentâ smirk on your face. you catch the way loisâs neck almost breaks because of how fast she looks up.Â
âgood morningâ he says smiling. he leans down, close to your ear âlunch later?â which earns him a wink and a nod from you.Â
as he walks back to his desk, you see lois and jimmy scurrying over to yours. âokay. what was that?â hisses jimmy.Â
before youâre able to answer lois speaks up âdo you took my advice?â
âwhat advice? why does no one ever tell me anything?âÂ
âshut up, jimmyâ both you and lois say in unison.Â
finally you speak up. âthereâs nothing to say. canât people flirt with their coworkers anymore?â
jimmys eyes widen like saucers âare you out of your mind?â lois just laughs, playing along.Â
âyeah, jimmy! donât you flirt with cat like- every chance you get?â remarks lois.Â
âwhateverâ he mumbles.Â
from his desk, clark can hear the entire conversation, smiling to himself.Â
Youâve been Clark Kentâs best friend for years. Youâve patched him up after patrols, covered for him in the newsroom, and loved him in every way except the one that terrifies you most. But after one too many failed dating app matches and the gnawing ache of inexperience, you ask him to do the unthinkable: take your virginity.
At first he refuses, horrified at the thought of hurting you, of crossing a line heâs spent years building. But when you threaten to give yourself to someone else, his protective streak wins out. What begins as âlessonsâ in intimacy slowly unravels the boundary between friendship and something deeper.
Lesson by lesson, touch by touch, you both edge closer. Interrupted moments, quiet nights of worship and tenderness, the no-kissing rule that becomes the last fragile shield between you. Until one night, that rule shatters, and with it, every illusion that this was ever just practice.
Content Warnings
18+, MDNI, Explicit sexual content (oral sex, mutual masturbation, penetrative sex, first-time exploration, light overstimulation), Virginity loss, Emotional angst, jealousy, avoidance, fear of rejection, References to Clarkâs past relationships (Lana Lang, Lois Lane), Heavy yearning, slow burn, best-friends-to-lovers tension, Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Gentle but Hungry Clark Kent, No-Kissing RuleÂ
Word count: 34kÂ
A/N: yes both parts are gonna be named after sabrina carpenter songs bc i have the album on repeat rnÂ
Part 1: When Did You Get Hot?
Status: posted!!!
You and Clark Kent have always lived in comfortable patterns, late-night dinners, movie marathons, patching him up after patrols, covering for him at the Planet. Heâs your best friend, steady and certain, the one constant youâve always been able to count on. And when your frustration with your lack of experience boils over, you blurt the unthinkable: you want him to be your first.
Clark refuses at first. He's horrified, protective, pacing your kitchen like a man afraid of breaking something precious. But when you threaten to give yourself to someone else, his fear of losing you outweighs everything else. He agrees, reluctantly but resolutely, and the two of you strike The Pact. Rules are set: slow steps, gentleness, dinners and handholding, and above all: no kissing on the mouth.
Part 2: Tears
The lessons were never meant to last forever.
Clarkâs tenderness carries you further than you ever imaginedâ whispered praise, worshipful hands, nights that blur the line between practice and something more. But perfection brings fear, and the boundaries you set begin to crack.
Jealousy, distance, and silence threaten the fragile balance between you, until the weight of what youâve both been holding back finally breaks. What began as lessons in intimacy becomes something neither of you can deny any longer.
Because some rules arenât made to protect you. Theyâre made to be broken.
Posting Schedule: Part 1 posted now (surprise!) and Part 2 on Tuesday, Sept 2nd.
summary:Â a routine fire alarm inspection leads into you proving to clark that he does have a suckable dick (kinda.)
tags: 18+, smut, roommate!clark, established friendship, f!reader, i broke clois up (sorry,) clark is older than reader (non-specific,) reader doesn't know clark is superman, fire alarm inspections, clark kent is a DORK, reader just barely realizes she has a crush on clark, blowjob, messy blowjob, big dick!clark, big boobs!clark, big arms!clark, sub!clark, size difference (sorta?), m!nipple play, reader swallows but there's also kind of a facial, begging for like two seconds, sweet!clark, aaannd he picks reader up one time.
a/n:Â yayy my first clark fic !!! (facedown drooling twitching)
wc: 4.5k, reread once by my eyes
my masterlist - my askbox - this fic is available on my ao3 !! - pt ii: fuckable
Youâve been roommates with Clark for approximately⊠seven months.Â
Itâs been great really. No complaints, especially since heâs never home long enough to be annoying. He does the dishes, he takes the trash and recycling down every Thursday, and he usually makes enough food that thereâs leftovers for your lunches the next day. The friendship between you two is easy, but not intimate. Clark, to you, is personable, but not personal.
You do know that he moved in with you after moving out with his ex girlfriend, and that the relationship ended as amicably as possible for âprofessional reasons.â Clark also works at the Daily Planet and being a writer may or may not be why he needs a roommate in his thirties. He grew up somewhere not Metropolis to your knowledge and he goes back home usually one weekend a month.Â
And thatâs it. Thatâs all you know about your roommate of seven months. Itâs kind of nice to live with a dependable man, especially when heâs not just kind but also sort of intimidating. Your last roommate was a young woman around your age, and though she was fun, you were always a little worried about the weird neighbor down the hall. He really liked talking to you when youâd take the recycling down, or god forbid, when youâd have to do your laundry in the basement of your building. As soon as Clark found out about that he made a point to start taking the trash down for you and coming with you to do your laundry. The weirdo neighbor backed off pretty quickly when you began walking around with a 6â4 grown man who gave him the stink eye any chance he got.Â
Obviously youâd rather be living alone, or with a romantic partner, but neither of those things seem like theyâre in your cards at this point. Clark is a good alternative. You get plenty of alone time when you have a day off since Clark is at work until five most days, and on top of that sometimes he goes out with his friends. Alternatively to the time you get to spend alone, you also get to feel just a smidge safer at night. Metropolis is nowhere near as dangerous as Gotham is, at least not at night, but you can never be totally sure. Superman can handle whatever huge creature is toppling buildings over, but you canât really call Superman if thereâs someone trying to break into your apartment. You can call Clark though, or rather, knock on his door. Usually.
Tonight Clark is out. Heâs actually out a lot later than usual, which is strange. He said something vague this morning about having to go to a meeting later tonight with his friends after work and heâd âbe back aroumd smghmsgh.â His voice muffled at the end of his sentence because he had stuffed a cinnamon swirl eggo in his mouth. Helpful!Â
Around ten you finally peel yourself off the couch. It feels strange to get ready for bed without Clark being around. You arenât dependent on him, but like, itâs routine by now. You brush your teeth, he brushes his teeth, and then you both go to bed. Sometimes he showers, but thatâs not your business to think about. At all. Clark is your friend and roommate. Your kind, dependable, tall, handsome, buff, protective, roommate. You walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, telling yourself you arenât prolonging the time before you get ready for bed sans-Clark.
The water pools in the sink as you run the tap for a moment before sticking your glass under. It fills a little too quickly. You chug it, pour more water in the glass, then let your eyes flit to the overhead cupboards. A notice is taped to one of them, one which you taped up.Â
NOTICE: Fire alarm inspection
Dear valued tenants,
This coming Saturday the MFD (Metropolis Fire Department) will be entering your apartments to test your fire alarms. These tests will happen between 8am-11am. If you are unable to be present this Saturday please let me know by e-mail so we can rearrange a time.Â
Thanks.
Ugh. Your landlord is a nice person but is it necessary to start fire alarm testing at 8am on a Saturday? You were kind of hoping Clark would get home early tonight so he could be the one to let the fire department in tomorrow morning, but you guess not. Heâs going to end up sleeping in late if heâs not home soon, so you better set your alarm.Â
âÂ
Itâs 7:59am. And theyâre already here.Â
You had woken up to a strong knock on the door of your apartment that had you gasping for breath as you stumbled out of bed, throwing a more presentable shirt on. Thank God the fireman that you opened the door to looked worse for wear than you did. If you had opened the door to a sexy fireman while wearing your somewhat holey Snoopy sleepshirt, which youâve had since middle school, you might have lit yourself on fire to test the alarm.
Now youâre sitting on the couch backwards, staring at the fireman as he stands on a ladder in the kitchen. Youâre kind of wondering if the fire department needs to do this. Youâre pretty sure Clark could check the fire alarm without using a ladder, which youâre tempted to tell the fireman, but he seems nice enough. Itâs just early, youâre grumpy.Â
âIâve been doing this for almost a decade now,â the fireman says. You hum in an interested tone, watching as he uses a screwdriver to unscrew the panel of the fire alarm. It falls down into his other palm and he checks the batteries.
âExpired,â he says disapprovingly.
Okay fire alarm guy.Â
He takes a couple batteries out of his shirt pocket and replaces the old batteries. Then he screws the panel back on. It kind of feels like watching you dad or uncle fix something, which would be sweet if you werenât sleep deprived and annoyed that somehow this guy made his way to your fourth floor apartment before these tests were even supposed to start.Â
The fireman puts his screwdriver back into his toolbelt and then looks back at you from where heâs standing on the ladder.Â
âMight be loud,â is the only warning you get.
A shrill beep screeches through the apartment as he presses the âtestâ button on the alarm. It wakes you up all over again, making you jolt upwards. Youâre close to cussing, but then you hear a different loud noise. Two loud thuds echo from behind Clarkâs bedroom door.
Oh shit, he was still sleeping.
A couple more thuds sound out before Clarkâs door is ripped open. Thereâs a wild look to him as his chest puffs anxiously.
âFire?â He asks at the same time the fireman says âalarm works now!â Proud as ever.
No, thereâs no fire. But itâs starting to get warm.Â
Youâve never seen Clark straight out of bed. Typically he showers at night, after you go to bed, so that you can have the bathroom in the mornings. That means that by the time you see him each morning heâs already dressed for work, curls tamed, and heâs all put together. Right now though, heâs the least put together youâve ever seen him.
His hair is somewhat screwed up, the curls flat on one side of his head from how he sleeps, and his glasses are a little crooked from how hastily he must have shoved them on. Clark is also shirtless, which is surprising. You kind of took Clark as the kind of man who has old fashioned cotton pajama sets considering he wears a suit to work everyday. You very much wish he was right now.
Clark is obviously a strong guy. Heâs got great arms that youâve been able to admire multiple times over the last seven months, and sometimes youâre able to see how big his chest is when his dress shirts strain just right. But right now, youâre getting a full view of everything, and heâs so, terribly, attractively, big. Clarkâs arms are much bigger than you thought they were, but so is everything else. His stomach pushes against the stretchband of his pajama pants just right, making you think of the time that he had shared the fact that âMa fed me well,â over dinner. Fuck yes she did. Thanks Ma. His stomach looks dense with strength, like heâs been bulking his whole life, and his tits⊠Lord. Never in your life have you ever thought that a man having tits could be attractive, but Clark Kent doesnât seem to be able to be unattractive. They look heavy and the skin looks soft and for a split second you think about what it would be like to run your hands up his body and cup them.Â
You notice that youâre staring at him, but he doesnât. Instead, Clark seems to realize that the guy in your apartment isnât an intruder, but is actually checking the fire alarm. He walks over quickly, and in typical Clark fashion, strikes up a conversation with this guy. Heâs distracted fully, giving you more time to kind of drool over the new angle youâre getting of his arms.
Normally you wouldnât do this. Youâve purposefully been avoiding being attracted or generally objectifying Clark no matter what because when he moved in with you he was sorely broken up over his last relationship ending. Clark was much too sweet for you to think about in that way, no matter how delicious he is to stare at. But itâs been months now, and he seems more okay, and damn it heâs shirtless and itâs 7:30 in the morning and youâre pissed! You deserve a little eye candy, no?Â
You let your eyes drop back to his stomach as he stands while talking to the fireman. The profile of his tummy almost hanging over the waistband is making your whole body heat up, but then your eyes drop lower and it gets worse.
Heâs not wearing underwear.
Thereâs literally no possible way that heâs wearing anything beneath the pajama pants. You can see the outline of what you think is morning wood, but you arenât entirely sure. If he had a boner that big right now he wouldnât just be casually talking to a stranger in your apartment, right? But then again, thereâs no way heâs packing something that much. It wouldnât be human to be that big soft. He must just be oblivious. Fuck, youâre perving out right now.
Itâs pressing against the plaid pattern of his pants in a way that maybe is camouflaged to the poor fireman who now looks like heâs trapped in a conversation with Clark. You watch as the fireman slowly packs up his ladder and moves unsubtly toward the door in an attempt to drop a hint that Clark isnât picking up. It, yes it, isnât camouflaged to you though. You watch from the couch as his pants tent around it, the thickness of it pressing against his leg as he moves toward the door with the fireman. Sweat starts to form at your brow as you swallow dryly.Â
Maybe his last girlfriend just couldnât stand the hospital trips after they had sex? Thatâs the only plausible reason you can see someone dumping Clark. Heâs suffering from the success of all those inches.Â
The fireman finally shuts down the conversation Clark had started with a gentle âI have to go test other alarms now,â and slips out the door. Clark turns to you now, still clearly oblivious to the third leg he seems to be showing off.
âI totally forgot about that inspection, geez.â
You are braindead. His words donât even seem like words anymore as you get another full frontal view of his less-than-normally-clothed body and the inside of your skull feels fuzzy. Itâs too early for all of these emotions of frustration and then sudden insatiable heat. Maybe youâre getting close to ovulating or something, but Clark is triggering you badly.
âAre you hard?â You ask.
Clark instantly reaches his hands down, covering his crotch.
âWhat? No, I justâ I just threw these on. They must be too small.â He sputters.Â
Just threw those on? Your brows scrunch together in confusion. If he just threw those on before coming out of his room and heâs not wearing anything else (other than his glassesâŠ)
âI sleep naked,â Clark admits flusteredly. Your eyes widen just as your mouth hangs slightly open in surprise. This is not something that you thought Clark would ever say, nor admit if it was the case. His ears are turning pink as his hands cover his crotch area still, though you doubt heâs actually covering all the square footage of his downstairs property.Â
âI started sleeping naked when I moved away from home. It was like a freedom thing, I think.â
Oookay. Coolio. Packing that tidbit of info into your brain and saving it for later when Clark isnât home and you have a certain something charged. You nod with your mouth still open, then swallow back the dryness on your tongue before speaking again.
âWhy do youâŠâ you start speaking but then he moves toward the couch and your voice trails off. He sits opposite you, looking a little ashamed as he shoves a pillow over his lap. âWhy do you still sleep naked?â
He canât make eye contact with you now, heâs too embarrassed. It almost seems like he never really thought about the fact it might be strange to still sleep naked, and now he has to face the music.Â
âClothes just⊠restrain stuff,â he admits quietly.Â
Stuff.
âStuff?â You reply. âWhat stuff?
He shakes his head, says your name quietly like he wishes youâd forget this. âYou know what stuff. My stuff.â
This is insane. Thereâs no way heâs that big all the time. Thatâs not something you believe.Â
âYouâre seriously not⊠thatâs not just morning wood or something?âÂ
Clark shakes his head again and seems even more embarrassed now. His fists push into the throw pillow on his lap nervously.
âIâm sorry,â he says weakly. âI know itâs strange. Or scary, Iâve been called scary.â
Aw. You feel kind of bad for him amidst all your curiosity about this newfound limb on your roommate. The best comfort you can offer in this awkwardness is a shrug.
âItâs okay, Clark,â you attempt a normal voice, âitâs just a surprise.âÂ
He laughs quietly, thank goodness. His smile is always a ray of sunshine but right now it breaks up the insanity of the situation.
âGolly, itâs a surprise to you? Imagine growing this thing,â he chuckles. Like itâs normal.
The honesty is somehow scarier than the fact that his dick is really that big. Thatâs just Clarkâs life, he has to have that in his pants all the time, and now you have to know that he has that in his pants all the time too. What the fuck? What is this morning?
Clark finally works up the courage to look at you again, though you can still see the remnants of his flustered expression from moments before. His eyes stroll over your face and he seems to realize your befuddlement.Â
âAre you okay?â He asks. You raise your head to nod, but then feel the tug of a question caught in your throat.Â
âHow big is it?â You ask. The tables turn again and Clark is back to being the one caught off guard. He sputters some breaths and attempts words but you shrug. âIâve already basically seen it, Clark. Iâm just curious.â
The last thing you say seems to ease him some more, as silly as it is. Itâs true, youâve basically seen the outline of the whole thing now, so he has less reason to be shy. Clark, again, nods. Then he picks the pillow up off his lap and places it on the ground beside his feet. This gives you a chance to see the way his stomach pouts out from his body while he sits, and the way his tits sit. They still look so soft, but you canât make Clark any more uncomfortable than he already is, so you try your best to maintain eye contact.
âEight and a half inches,â he manages to spit out. God, he sounds ashamed of it. Why is he ashamed?Â
You gawk at him. âI donât even think I could fit half of you in my mouth.â
Why did you say that? Oh my god, why did you say that?Â
It sounds like a challenge. Your eyes drop back to his lap, searching for a moment until you can finally focus on the visible outline against the worn fabric of his pajamas.Â
âI could try,â you suggest. Clarkâs head tilts down a little as he tries to meet your eyes that are currently feasting on the sight of his lap. He starts to say âwhatâ but you stumble out more words. âLike just to see. Not in a sex way, but in an experimental way. Just to see.â
He seems a little speechless, his mouth forming the shapes of words that donât come out, seldom for a shocked whisper of your name. Clark swallows the saliva in his mouth and then leans back against the couch, nodding.
âNot in a sex way,â he repeats as you slide off the couch and maneuver yourself between his legs. âAw geez.â
Stupid cute man with a stupidly big cock. You arenât technically breaking the âroommate ruleâ of donât-fuck-your-roommate at least. Youâre not fucking him, you are both just trying to see how much of Clarkâs dick is humanly possible to suck.Â
He lifts his hips for you as your hands reach up and slide his pants down his legs, pulling them off with little struggle. It exposes his thighs to you, the hair that feathers out from his pubic area into a softer dusting around the outer area where his dick lays. Itâs too heavy to even stand up on its own, it just lays against his thigh. Heâs uncut but the foreskin is pulled back slightly, exposing the deep pink of his tip and how itâs starting to drool pre-come.Â
âSorry, itâs um, been a bit. Iâm a shower so donât worry about,â he swallows nervously again, âabout it getting any bigger than this.â
It is a little comforting to know you wonât have to deal with any more than you signed up for, but mostly you just want to soothe him. Clark seems so ashamed of how big he is, which isnât totally unfamiliar. He always seems awkward in social situations, like a mega block in a world of lego bricks, but this is something you can help. Youâll prove to him that he is suckable.
But youâll prove it in a moment. First you focus on what your mind, whatâs left of it, wants to do.
You lean down and nudge your nose against the side of his cock, inhaling a little bit. He smells clean, just like the rest of him, but also a little different, a little more Clark than everywhere else. Your eyes meet his as you let your tongue loll out of your mouth and drag up his shaft, then lap at his tip as his head falls backward.
âY-you said it wasnât a sex thing,â he protests weakly.Â
âIt isnât,â you protest. Itâs not a total lie. âIâm making sure youâre as hard as possible. You have to be fully hard for me toââ
âPlease just put your mouth on me,â he blurts out. âPlease? You wanna figure this out too, right?â
Holy needy. You werenât really expecting Clark to be this submissive. Heâs probably just desperate because, as he said, itâs been a little while, but heâs already begging.Â
âYeah,â you mumble against his tip, âyeah okay.â
Heâs so much more than a mouthful. You were expecting it to be a lot, but you canât breathe at all once his tip is fully in his mouth. Clark isnât just long, but heâs thick too. It feels like you bit off more than you could chew, literally, and youâre just desperately swallowing around him. Itâs especially hard to focus on not choking because he keeps making these little sounds and grasping at the arm of the couch. Clark clearly doesnât want to push you at all. The hand that isnât on the arm of the couch is gripping the couch cushion ferociously and his hips keep trying to buck up but he resists it, though just barely.
It isnât a sex thing, itâs an experiment, you need to focus.
Your eyes slide shut as you decide to lock in, tuning out the noises and movements heâs making. Most of your focus goes into relaxing your jaw to fit more of him in. You know youâll ache later, but itâs worth it. Heâs so heavy in your mouth and in your hands as you hold him. The wetness of your mouth doesnât seem to be enough and so you keep drooling out more and more saliva, trying to lube your throat so heâll slide in easier, with less resistance. It doesnât feel humanly possible, heâs completely right.
You attempt to say his name, but just gargle around his cock. He struggles back a âyeah?â and thatâs when your eyes open again.
Youâre far enough down on his dick now that when you open your eyes and look up at him, youâre met with a slight underside view of his stomach and tits. Clark looks back down at you with clouded eyes and a sweaty brow, meeting your own accidental doe eyes. Itâs hard not to look pathetic and needy when you have a dick in your mouth, itâs just what happens. You maintain eye contact as you work your throat, attempting to open it up more to take him further and he whines while looking into your eyes.Â
Clark breathes your name once, then shuts his eyes tight as his chest heaves.
âAre you trying t-to make me come?â He asks. His voice sounds pained, but his cock throbs in your mouth as he asks the question.
Well, are you?
He looks close already, even more wrecked than five minutes ago when this âexperimentâ began. Obviously you want him to come, youâre sucking his dick for gods sake, but heâs just making sure. Heâs just being good and making sure that heâs allowed to come. The two of you are losing any inhibitions about this pretense of an experiment and youâre ready to fully let loose.
You canât respond to his question without pulling off his cock, and you sure as hell donât want to lose the progress youâve made on his length, so instead you give in. Reaching up from the floor with your hand, you trail your fingers up his body and then cup his left tit in your hand. His breath catches as he looks down at what youâre doing, and thatâs when you rub your thumb over his nipple. It hardens immediately and he lets out a rough moan as you nod, resuming bobbing your head up and down his cock.Â
Yes youâre going to make Clark come. You want to make this big, delicious, kind, man come his brains out, either in your mouth or on you, or both.
Whatever efforts you were making previously tenfold as you start to start to jerk off whatever you canât fit in your mouth with your free hand, the other one still entirely focused on groping the soft fat of his breast and toying with his nipple. Clark starts to let his hips buck up more as he begins to repeat your name, whining each time you stimulate his nipple just right. Drool leaks out of your mouth and onto your balls as you let the back of your throat get pummelled relentlessly. It feels like your brains are melting in your head each time you feel him throb or taste him leaking a little more pre-come.
âIâm gonna come,â Clark warns. He says it again, but makes no move to pull you off him.Â
Your eyes meet his with some sense of determination, and you hope the bob of your head and the nod of your head donât look too similar as you try to reply with a nod of âyes, yes, come.â The message, thankfully, is received. Your hands work relentlessly to stimulate him fully through his orgasm as he spills down your throat. You try to keep up with swallowing but it starts to feel like if you donât pull off of him youâre going to have come drip out of your nose. Finally you jerk back, watching as his cock doesnât slow down at all, shooting ropes not just on your face and neck, but dripping onto his own thighs too. Heâs so noisy as he comes, on top of all the things in motion heâs moaning your name and thanking you.
âThank you, thank you,â he whimpers, âm sorry itâs such a mess.â
It is such a mess. You didnât take into account that him having a big dick might mean him having bigger balls, which you certainly wonât neglect if the two of you ever do this again, but now heâs coming so much. Some of it is already half dried on your sleepshirt by the time heâs finished.
Clarkâs head rolls back again, his legs falling even further apart, as he catches his breath. He has half a mind to hand you the pants you peeled off him earlier, apologizing for not being able to clean you up properly. Itâs a sweet gesture, and youâll excuse his lack of aftercare since it seems like he just emptied his entire bloodline down your face and shirt.
After somewhat cleaning the come off you, youâre surprised as he lifts you up onto the couch, moving his spent cock out of the way so you can sit on him.Â
âThank you,â he says again, pushing his nose against your shoulder, âsorry I ruined your experiment.â
It seems that despite what just happened, Clark will always be the considerate, sweet, guy that heâs always been during his time as your roommate. His breath is soft against your shoulder as his eyes flutter and look down.
âAnd sorry for ruining your shirt.âÂ
A giggle pushes its way through your chest and past your aching jaw.
âItâs fine. Iâll just take off my shirt next time we try.â
Clarkâs posture goes a little rigid at the mention of a next time. He pulls his nose away from your shoulder and looks at you a little curiously.
âNext time?âÂ
Youâre quick to respond, shrugging it off casually to avoid the many questions and considerations youâre sure Clark will chatter away at you once his brain rebuilds itself from his orgasm.
âYeah, next time. I only fit like⊠half of you in my throat. I think I can do better than that,â you say defiantly. Clark huffs a laugh of disbelief out. âI just need more practice.â
âMore practice. Sure,â he agrees softly.
>///<
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pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 2.2k
summary:Â everyone calls clark kent a boy scoutâtoo polite, too perfect, "too good." at the Planet dinner, he shows you just how wrong they are.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), semi-public sex/risk, fingering, rough sex, power dynamics. (soft!clark has left the chatâdonât look for him here.)
- a/n:Â another draft for now! hope you enjoy <3 (barely proofread btw!)
Clark came home stressed. Again.
He walked through the door, already pulling his glasses off, fingers yanking the knot in his tie loose before he even made it to the couch. He sat down hard, sighing like it had been building all day. His version of sulking.
You leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a beat, already knowing the reason behind his mood. It had been the same for the past three weeks.
Still, you crossed the room, lips curving soft as you slid onto his lap. Straddling him, your knees sank into the cushions, one hand threading into his hair.
âItâs not a bad thing, Clark,â you murmured, voice edged with amusement you didnât bother to hide. A full smile tugged at you, but you kept it containedâfor now.
His gaze lifted to meet yours, flat and unconvinced, like youâd completely missed the point.
âReally?â His voice dropped low, the weight in it thicker than before. âBecause Lois and Jimmy started a jar in the bullpen. Like a swear jar. Except instead of swearing, itâs whenever I do something âtoo good.ââ
He gestured toward the air as if the absurdity needed room to breathe. His mouth twisted.
âI hold the elevator. I fix the printer. I say âpleaseâ too much when I call sources. Five dollars.â
You bit your lip, failing to stop the grin this time.
It was unfair, reallyâhow adorable he looked when he was this annoyed. Delight fluttered in your chest as you leaned in closer, fingertips still resting lightly against the back of his neck.
His eyes snapped to yours, sharp now. âYou think itâs funny, too?â
You blinked, trying to reel it back, smoothing over the moment the only way you knew howâa soft laugh, coaxing and warm.
âMaybe a little,â you admitted, voice gentling. âI meanâitâs sweet. Youâre sweet. Whatâs so terrible about everyone noticing?â
His expression didnât shift. Not in the way you hoped. Instead, it hardened, the weight behind his eyes darkening.
âBecause thatâs all they see,â he said. âSome boy scout who says please and thank you too much. Who canât stop being the good guy.â
You tilted your head, fingers still brushing lightly through his hair. âClark⊠youâre Superman. You are the good guy.â
The second the words left your mouth, the air changed.
His jaw tightened, eyes cutting across your face before he muttered under his breath, voice like gravel.
âRight. Makes sense.â
Your stomach dipped. Whatever tease had lingered on your lips vanished.
âClarkâŠâ you whispered, regret blooming too late.
He leaned back into the couch without a word, his shoulders rigid beneath your hands.
The silence that followed wasnât gentleâit stretched, uneasy now.
You almost pressed, but thought better of it.
By morning, the air hadnât cleared. Not even a little. Youâd hoped the night would wear the weight down, soften whatever still lingered between you.
It hadnât.
So you tried.
You made his coffee just the way he liked itâtwo sugars, one cream, mug warmed first. Set his favorite pen beside his notepad before he left for work. Brushed your hand over his shoulder when you passed him in the kitchen, tentative and light, like an apology in motion.
He said thank you, of course he didâClark Kent never didnât. His voice was warm enough, polite enough. But something in it had changed.
Not cold. Just quieter. Sharper at the edges. Like the words from last night still echoed, lodged somewhere deep.
Still, you didnât push it. You let it be, telling yourself it would smooth itself out⊠eventually.
Later that evening, the Daily Planet had traded deadlines for dinner, the restaurant buzzing with the easy chaos of coworkers off the clock.Â
Lois was already halfway through her wine glass and a story that had Jimmy laughing into his drink. At another table, someone from Features was arguing with Perry about the cityâs best bagel shop, the back-and-forth as loud as it was pointless.
Beside you, Clark sat with his jacket draped over the back of his chair, tie loosened just enough to pass for casual. To anyone else, he was his usual self. Easy smile, steady voice.
But you saw the cracks in it. The way his laugh landed just a second too late. The faint crease between his brows when he thought no one was watching.
And then it happened.
He reached for the wine bottle, offering top-ups around the table. Jimmy leaned toward Lois with a grin, cupping his hand like it mattered. âFive dollars,â he whispered.
Lois smirked, biting the rim of her glass to hide it.
Clark didnât flinch. Not outwardly.
He just set the bottle down. A subtle pause in the motionâhis shoulders locked tight, only for a moment, but long enough for you to catch it.
So when his hand slid onto your thigh beneath the table, your first thought was that it was a lifeline. The first touch all day that didnât feel filtered or distant. You welcomed it, even leaned in a little, the heat of his palm familiar against your skin.
Then his fingers moved, grazing your leg slowly, a reminder of how close the hem of your dress really was.
You didnât react. Not at first. It felt like an accident. Like maybe he didnât even notice how high up he was.
A moment later, his hand shifted, pressing in, parting your thighs just enough to slip between them.
Your knee jerked. A tiny motion. Reflexive.
You masked it with a laugh, breathier than you meant, tethered to a joke you didnât even hear. Your head turned toward him, pulse ticking up without permission.
He was already looking at you.
Expression soft. Innocent. Like heâd done absolutely nothing at all.
You realized, far too late, he was leaning into it. Wearing the look everyone expected of him while his fingers pushed further beneath the fabric of your dressâthen past your underwear.
Conversation hummed on around you, oblivious. Silverware against plates, glass clinks, laughter layered into laughter.
His fingers slid through, coaxing rather than demanding, drawing slick from you like it was something owed.
You swallowed hard. Your spine stayed straight, your shoulders loose. Every instinct in your body fought to stay still.
Then Lois leaned in with a grin, waving her wine glass toward your side of the table. âHe tell you about the jar yet?â
You blinked. Your throat caught.
âYeah,â you said, a thin laugh chasing the word, covering the low moan that nearly escaped when Clark curled his finger ever so slightly. âHe mentioned it.â
Lois laughed with you. âItâs fitting, right?â
âDefinitely,â Jimmy added with a smirk. âWe might have to add another jar.â
Clark laughed, soft and genuine. Or at least it sounded that way.
Then he turned to you, eyes warm with quiet amusement.
âYou agree?â he asked, that smile still in place. âAm I really that good?â
You didnât respond, your answer lost somewhere in a strangled inhale. Instead, you reached for the only out you hadâyour wine glass. Your fingers trembled as you lifted it, the faint clink against the table barely audible but deafening in your chest.
Your knees drew tighter together, thighs closing in around his hand, but he didnât pull away. His fingers kept moving, slower now. More deliberate. Like he knew how close you were to unraveling.
And just when you thought youâd held itâwhen the wave almost passedâhe teased one final stroke through you, light as air, stealing your breath all over again.
Instinct took over. You reached under the table and clutched his wrist, stilling him.
It shouldâve ended there.
But when you turnedâready to give him a look that said enoughâhe tilted his head slightly.
Still smiling. Still soft.
Not a single flicker of guilt.
It hit you then. This wasnât about affection.
No, this was proof.
That Clark Kent wasnât just pleasantries and polite smiles. That beneath the tie, beneath the kind voice and perfect manners, there was something else. Something sharper. Something that wanted to be seen.
You reached down and guided his hand back toward him, slow, composedâunderstanding. It wasnât a refusal. Just a redirection. One you were hoping heâd follow.
When you stood, the chair legs scraped softly against the floor.Â
âExcuse me,â you murmured, adjusting your dress, smoothing your hands down the fabric.
A few heads turned, but no one said anything.
You walked away without rushing, every step measured. But your heartbeat was racing, wild in your chestâheat you couldnât hide.
That was all the invitation he needed.
Clark waited five, maybe ten seconds, then stood too.
âIâm just gonna check on her,â he said lightly, the smile in his voice easy. Almost sweet.
But there was nothing sweet about the way his hands were on you when he caught up.
You didnât hear him coming. Only felt itâthe sudden press of his chest at your shoulder, his hand curling around your wrist as he hauled you out of the hallway and through the nearest door.
The bathroom was dark for half a second, cold tile under your heels, the air thick with soap and silenceâthen the latch clicked shut.
And his mouth was on yours.
He kissed you like he hadnât touched you all night, hands rough on your waist, pulling you up onto your toes until you were caught between the hard edge of the counter and the harder line of him.
Then he drew back, breath hot against your cheek.
âYou didnât answer me,â he said.
Your eyes opened, dizzy from the lack of space between you. âAbout what?â
His hands didnât pause.
One fisted the fabric of your dress, yanking it up past your thighs in one pull. The other found your underwear again, fingers sliding beneath with no hesitation.
You gasped, back arching as his fingers found you.
âDo you agree?â he asked, lower now, closer.
âYou think Iâm too good?â
The sensation lingered, muddling your thoughts until only one truth surfaced: you didnât know how to answer.
Both options felt dangerous. Like saying yes might push him to prove he wasn't. Saying no might make him show you just how much you'd underestimated.
So you aimed somewhere in the middle.
Your voice stayed even, casual, like it didnât matterâlike the thought had only just occurred to you.
âSomeone could walk in.â
It wasnât a warning. You didnât flinch, didnât pull away. You just let the words settle in the space between you, quiet and deliberate. A test, soft in delivery but pointed where it counted.
But instead of easing back like you half expected, he pressed further, his lips hovering above yours.
âThen Iâll be quick.â
His fingers sank into you, and your mouth fell openâthe only chance he gave you before his mouth crashed into yours, rough and hungry.
The pressure of his knee held you wide, immovable, while each drag inside grew sharper, more insistent, demanding more with every stroke.
And only once you were teetering on the edgeâhips grinding down, muscles locked, that first tremor catching in your coreâdid he pull away.
The absence hit like a shock, but before you could even form a protest, his hands were back on you.Â
In one quick motion, he gripped your hip, turned you, and bent you forward. The counter met your chest, cool marble flush against your overheated skin as his weight pressed in behind you.
You heard the drag of his zipper, followed by the sharp intake of his breath. His hand held firm at your waist, the other shoving your panties aside.
Clark didnât wait. He lined himself up, the blunt head of him catching onceâthen he drove in, one rough, claiming thrust that had you crying out his name.
And he didnât stop.
His hips crashed forward again and again, each movement punctuated by the ragged grunts spilling from him.
It was fast. Brutal. Blinding.
Exactly like he promised.
Your nails scraped the counter, slipping over stone before your grip locked down hard.
There was no rhythm to cling to, no space to thinkâonly the ache and the pressure and the sheer force of him behind you.
He didnât falter once. Not when your legs shook. Not when your voice broke into half-formed sounds and unfinished sentences.
Your gaze liftedâjust for a secondâand found his in the mirror.
The look that met you wasnât patient. It wasnât kind. It was a verdictâthat he would keep going, unrelenting and unyielding, until there was nothing left to mistake about who he was.
Clark Kent was good.
That was true. It would always be true.
But what you hadnât realizedâwhat you felt now with every thrustâwas just how far heâd go to prove a point.
That goodness didnât mean soft.
Buried beneath all his restraint, a darker edge hummed just below the surface. And when it finally broke through, it left no question:
Clark was never âtoo good.â He was just good enough to hold backâ
Until he didnât.
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summary: in which Clark becomes very familiar with your voicemail after choosing work and Lois, once again. when you finally call, heâll drop everything for you.
content: fluff and then just hurt with little to no comfort or resolution :/ feeling less than and like a second choice (story of my life!), clark basically begging bc he loves you obvi, sorry im an absolute sucker for angst
âhey - you know who it is, and you know what to do.â beeeeeep.
heâd gotten used to hearing it. he could recite your voicemail from memory, the amount of times he got it when heâd call.
after the first couple dozen calls, they became less frequent until they shrank down to zero. you werenât going to pick up. he knew that, but some small part of him thought maybe, just maybe, heâd hear the line click and your breathing on the other end.
he missed you, so much, and it was his fault you were gone.
you stare at the string of texts - as if your glare could alter reality.
made those cupcakes you love, canât wait to see you! really missed you today âčïž
i missed you more, pretty girl. Iâll be home soon.â€ïž
part of you had just been waiting for it to happen again. another night - some baked good getting staler by the minute propped up on a pretty plate, awaiting Clarkâs arrival. the frosting on the cupcakes looked sadder each hour that passed where Clark didnât walk through the door. you knew where he was, who he was with, and what he was doing.
you canât get mad at him for doing his job. itâs who heâs with, and when that person happens to need him, that bothers you. youâll never get used to the feeling of your stomach dropping when you check find my friends, and their locations are directly next to one another at the office.
you think youâre numb to the situation. that it shouldnât be a suprise anymore. you donât cry - yet. all you do is sigh, pick yourself up, and crawl into bed. tears fall, but not for him, for you.
The last text he sent was at 7:30. you asking where he was sent at 8:00. Itâs almost midnight when you hear the front door creak open. you donât get up to greet him. instead you close your eyes, resuming your curled up on your side position under the sheets.
when your bedroom door pries open, you still donât open your eyes. you hear him pad across the hardwood, landing on his side of the bed.
he peels back the covers, gently crawling into the bed next to you. you feel the weight in the bed shift, but donât move a muscle. he leans over, kissing your exposed shoulder and down your bicep. you softly stir on instinct, halting your movements as quickly as they started.
ââm so sorry, baby,â he whispers between pecks. âcaught up at work again - perry has been on us this week.â he attempts to joke.
you donât roll over, you donât shift, you only softly reply, âi canât keep coming in second.â
his brow furrows, pulling back. âwhat do you mean, honey?â
âWere you with Lois?â
the silence is deafening. and itâs all you need to hear. itâs a moment before he speaks up again.
âyeah, uh - i was. why?â
âi donât think we should see each other anymore.â you mutter, voice hoarse - evidence of the sobs that wrecked you not even an hour prior.
time stops for clark. a tear you didnât realize had been forming slides across the bridge of your nose.
âwhat?â his voice is no longer a whisper. âwhy? baby-â his hand is on your arm, prompting you to turn to him, but you donât. not looking at him makes it easier. you canât cave, you canât keep doing this to yourself. letting him do it to you. he pauses, pieces falling into place in his mind. âbecause- cause of Lois? baby, we were working, I promise-â
âI know,â you interrupt. âyour work is important to you. you should focus on that.â
âno, baby - no. stop it,â heâs lightly shaking your arm, begging you to just look at him. âbaby - can you just look at me? please?â nothing.
âLois, too - you can have the best of both worlds without worrying about how to make time for me.â
heâs panicking now. youâre right next to him, but he can physically feel you slipping further and further away. heâs trying to grab you, pull you back in, but your slipping through his fingers like sand.
âhoney, what are you even saying? i love you, more than anything, youâre the most important thing to me.â
âit doesnât feel like it.â
âthen Iâll do better. youâre the best thing that ever happened to me, and Iâm so sorry for making you feel like you werenât. I love you so much, donât wanna lose you,â his voice is breaking. you fight every urge to turn around and comfort him.
âyou started losing me the first time you didnât show.â
he thinks heâs going to be sick. your words hit him like a punch to the gut. all those missed dates, all those late nights - they come flooding back to him. he can just see you, alone in the apartment, glancing at the door every few minutes for him to come in, and it never happens. how could he do this? what has he done? is he losing you forever? all these thoughts are running through his head - all he knows for sure is it is no oneâs fault but his.
before he can say anything, before he can keep begging for you to listen to him, that he loves you, that heâd never intentionally make you feel like less than you are to him, you speak up once more, with a finality in your voice that breaks his heart into even smaller pieces than it already had.
âleave your key in the morning. goodnight, clark.â
he lies awake that night, listening to your breathing, unsure if heâll ever fall asleep to that lullaby again. in the morning, with tears in his eyes and a heavy heart, he slips out the door. you choke on sobs when you hear the door close on your lives together.
you shouldnât call him. you owe yourself that. yet you canât ignore the pull you feel towards him when something goes wrong - after the day you had, you yearn for just a glimpse of the comfort he always gave you before. fuck it.
the tone only drones once before it clicks, and Clarkâs voice comes through the speaker.
âhello?â
âhey,â you breathe. thereâs a beat where neither of you speak, silence killing you softly. âI, um- sorry, I shouldnât have bothered you - I just didnât know who else to call,â he hears you sniffle on the end of the line, perking up as alarms sound in his mind.
âno, swee-,â he stops himself before he can fully call you sweetheart. he bites his lip prevent him from further embarrassment. he canât call you that anymore, but it was once so natural. like instinct. you catch it too, more warmth growing in your tummy at the slip up than youâd like. âno. yâre not bothering me. ever. whatâs going on?â
âcan you just- can you come here?â you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for an impact that wouldnât possibly come. he would come. any time you call, heâd come - no questions asked.
heâs caught off guard, making few sputtered starts of sentences. he manages to set himself straight, speaking an eager (but not too eager), âof course i can. im wrapping up in the office, be there in 15?â
âyeah, no rush. thank you, clarkie.â
he smiles at the nickname. âalways. whenever you need me.â
he was going to fix this - with hopes that heâd never have to hear your voicemail again.
Can I request accidental pregnancy after a one night stand with Superman but reader want nothing to do with him and wants to raise the child on her own but she works at the planet so Clark is trying everything he can to help her <3
Clark's Baby Daddy Chronicles l C.K.
w.c: 8.3kÂ
t.w.: Smut, P in V, Oral f receiving, sub/dom headspaces mentioned, brief Daddy kink, Pregnancy, lots of fluff, lots of angst, lots of silliness, Reader does not like Superheroes, Clark is just a sweet man trying to take care of his babies, lil grumpy x sunshine vibe, descriptions of pregnancy and discomfort that comes with it
a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I loved this! <3 Please read all warnings before interacting with my works. 18+ only!
Summary: Clark ensures he could be part of the baby's life and yours.Â
Month Four: Nausea
You hated being coddled. A group dinner was turned into a love fest, just for you.Â
It was suffocating being around people who had baby fever, especially when they werenât dealing with pregnancy themselves. You depart from the table, gaining the courage to order some food. You hear a metal chair scrape irritatingly across the ground.Â
You knew exactly who had followed behind you.Â
You stand in line with your hands in your pockets, you briefly think about how you needed new trousers, they were getting a little tight on your stomach. You loosen your belt, allowing more room for the soft swell.Â
The atmosphere was mellow, lights dim and verging on yellow in the trendy new spot near the Daily Planet building. Fake plants collecting dust were scattered around the restaurant.Â
Clarkâs arm bumps against yours as the server takes their sweet time taking orders. You check the time on your watch, they had a whole speech, the line was unnecessarily long. You catch his eye, lingering over your hands lightly cradling your stomach, thumbs hanging on to your belt loops.Â
You put them down to your sides self consciously. Â
The options were rather limited, gourmet deep dish, gourmet chicken tenders, gourmet burgers, gourmet deli sandwiches. You settle for a chicken Caesar salad, Clark butts in with his own order of a double cheeseburger with fries before the cashier could ask if you wanted anything else.Â
The total was given, and Clark pressed his card against the screen before you could even reach into your pocket for your wallet.Â
Your arms are crossed lazily as you balance yourself against the counter near the pickup area. Clark has his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground beside you. He told you to wait at the table with the rest of your coworkers, but you refused.Â
âYou didnât have to do that,â you say lowly. He gives you a tight-lipped smile. He waves a dismissive hand.Â
âPfft. No big deal.âÂ
His cheeks were rosy with a light blush as he avoided your gaze. You sigh, you didnât really want the pity or extra attention.Â
Much less from him. He was the most annoying coddler of them all.Â
He takes the tray of food back to the table, walking a step behind you. Everyone turns to see you walk over. You hold back a snort as Lois awkwardly pulls back a chair for you.Â
Everyone eats and chats, sometimes the conversation is directed to you, asking indirect questions about your pregnancy.Â
How are you feeling? Seeing anyone? Have you set up a registry?Â
You were four months along, you were just barely showing underneath your loose clothes. But months before, everyone figured out your gestational status.Â
Maybe it was because you were more irritable. You think it was because of the way you stormed out of an editor meeting mid way through to puke your guts out in the bathroom nearby.Â
Clark had always been the most attentive. He even confirmed it in front of everyone. Steve invited the newsroom out for drinks, you agreed.Â
Clark narrowed his eyes at you, everyone gathered near the entrance to the Planet, dividing up and waiting for Ubers. Lois was nudging your shoulder, challenging you to a drinking game.Â
âArenât you pregnant?â Clark blurts out.Â
You were about to tell Lois that you werenât going to drink, hoping she would catch the hint as you pressed a hand to your stomach. You froze in place, blinking as everyone turned to you.Â
The casual drinks turned into a celebration. Everyone wishing the new mother a healthy pregnancy. Youâd smiled through grit teeth as everyone made a ruckus at the bar and toasted to you.Â
Clark would never forget your glare. You didnât speak to him directly for a week. Your dry emails scalded him.Â
The conversation is focused on something else now, you pick at the pieces of parmesan cheese left in your bowl. It was really good. Your lips are downturned in a small frown. You should have gotten something more filling. Your stomach growls lightly, imperceptibly.Â
Clark shifts the tray of his fries in your direction, his attention directed at the conversation as Jimmy tells a story of a date he recently went on, his hand flinging every which way as he dramatizes the woman.Â
You cautiously take some of his fries, dipping them into the ketchup he had poured out on the tray.Â
Clark glances in your direction, sending you a soft smile, mouthing a âyou ok?â from across the table. You nod and his eyes twinkle. His smile widens for a second.Â
Your cheeks sting from the heat rising within them.Â
âŠ
Month Five: Development
Whenever you look through the maternity section, your brain shuts off. You leave the site or leave the store entirely.Â
They were just so boring. You liked your style, you thought your bump looked cute when you wore a tank top and cargo pants. But a lot of your usual attire didnât fit anymore.Â
You think the babyâs a big one, judging by the look on your doctor's face, when she told you the growth was super healthy for 19 weeks.Â
The adjective makes you gag. Superman gives you a super baby. You sigh, your folder landing on your desk a little too forcefully as you scoot the chair out from under the desk.Â
You sit down and unzip your fly, finally allowing yourself to take a deep breath, the soft swell of your belly starting to rest against your lap. Your shirts ride up and your pants were held on by a hair tie you borrowed from someone when you just couldnât zip up your jeans again.Â
A cup lands on your desk, a smoothie cup. You sigh. Clark says itâs a good source of nutrients, all natural sugars and all of that other healthy bs. They were also extremely good, no matter how hard you try to find anything negative to say.Â
Clark was behaving like a mother hen, but most of the time you couldn't be bothered to push him and his attention away.
He waits by your desk as you take a sip, as he usually does to ensure your satisfaction.Â
You wince lightly. It tasted greener than usual. You smack your lips as you try to decipher if it was spinach or kale.
He extends a hand towards the smoothie, fingers bending repeatedly in a âgimmeâ motion.
âI could get you another one,â he says softly, humorously.Â
You hold the cup tightly, pulling it closer to your chest. Gosh you were so cute. He knew how sensitive you were with smells and tastes now.Â
He changed his cologne after he gave you a side hug goodbye one night and you flinched.Â
It was right after taking you home, like he does most days.Â
It was strange how he stays as late as you now. He must be busier than usual. Certainly not waiting for you to pack up so he could offer you a ride or anything.Â
âIâll deal,â you mumble, taking the straw and taking another sip. He lifts his hand in a sign of surrender, and he makes his way to his desk a couple of cubicles away.
You could see him in his cubicle because of his broad shoulders. Your hands twirl the straw absentmindedly, watching him clumsily organize his workspace.
You lean back against your chair, rolling it back to see his face more clearly over the desk shields.Â
He could feel your stare, the way you analyze him. He misses being able to tease you about your cold gaze.
He could hear you gulp. He could tell you liked this flavor. Some weird name like caterpillar fruit salad or something.Â
âThank you.âÂ
He lifts his head, glancing around the room. He almost wants to point at his chest to see if you were speaking to him.Â
You snort. His face turns red as he watches your lips spread into an amused smile.Â
You lift the cup, tapping against the side.
âThank you, Clark.âÂ
He smiles bashfully. Ducking his head as he waves you off. He sits down and you smile to yourself as you scoot closer to your keyboard.
A hand meets your shoulder, you jump. Your hands are pressed to your chest.Â
âWhen are you going to take that white boy home?âÂ
Youâre appalled. You make a sharp noise from the back of your throat, utterly appalled. Catherine Grant looks at you with a craze you havenât seen before.Â
You pull her in closer, into the cubicle space. She moves your papers and sits on your desk, bending down to hear your whisper.Â
âItâs not like that.âÂ
She scoffs. She looks at your desk, finding one of Clarkâs notes on an article draft you were working on, he quite literally drew a smiley face and heart on a post-it. She scoffs again.
Cat was smart as a whip. She knew everything about everything. You couldnât disagree with her more in this regard.Â
âItâs not,â you affirm. She gives you a look. The man was already clingy, helpful, and kind, sure. But if you would have asked him to jump off a cliff, heâd do it with a running start.Â
âHeâs just nice. Iâm literally pregnant."
She bites her fingernail, shaking her head.Â
âPregnant and single,â she corrects.
She shimmies in her seat, wiggling her brows.Â
âMilky tits, a fat ass, câmon. That would not stop a straight man with half a brain.âÂ
Unfortunately, most men had even less than a third of a brain. You cross your arms. She stands at your glare, making her way back to her desk.
âI hear wedding bells in your future, babe,â she whispers harshly right next to your ear.Â
She passes by Clarkâs desk and makes a motion of eating from a plate with a fork behind his back.Â
âŠ
The newsroom was nearly empty, but you could hear typing ahead of you. You slowly peek to the side from your desk, Clark was ever so diligent at his desk.Â
The glow of the computer monitor reflects off of his glasses. You slowly inch away from the edge and refocus on your work.Â
He wonders when youâd start to pack the hell up and actually go home. He didnât even think his fingers were capable of cramping up. But they did from being on the keyboard for so long.
He could see you, two desks away from him. His vision makes you easily visible. The fetus snugly cradled in your belly.Â
It makes him smile softly. He overheard you tell someone the baby was the size of a mango today. That was adorable.Â
He just wished he could go to appointments and shopping with you. He sighs, focusing back on his screen. Maybe get some kissing in too.Â
You donât open your balcony door, thereâs an excessive pile of leaves and dust on the ground and over the patio chairs.Â
You donât even go out there anymore.Â
He was frustrated, but he understood. He used to joke that you had the same mentality as Lex Luthor who has progressively become an opposing voice to the conversation on Metahuman intervention and conflicts.Â
He understood your point. Superheroes could turn at any point. A bad day, a missed calculation could end up in so much destruction. And it already has.Â
But Superman was starting to show you how you and many others didnât have to worry. There will always be a prevalence of good people.Â
It all fell apart.Â
He visited every night the week you found out you were pregnant, looking into your bedroom with X-ray vision, and watching as you retook pregnancy test after pregnancy test.Â
Heâd watched you cry, heâd watched you zone out into your ceiling fan, even watched you as you slept, still sniffling.Â
You were scared. He was too.Â
âHoly shit- Clark.âÂ
He sits up at your voice, his thoughts disappearing, replaced with a spike of anxiety rising through his throat.Â
Your chair rolls loudly as you push away from your desk.Â
He stands, almost knocking down his cubicle along with his chair as he rushes to your side. He kneels to your level. He looks over your body.
âWhat, what, what, what?â he asks in a panicked frenzy.Â
Your stare at your bump, eyes wide and flickering. As if waiting for something to rip through your skin and maul your face.Â
You yelp again, cupping your stomach in panic. He grips your desk chair, swerving it to the side to have you face him, his body between your legs.Â
His eyes squint lightly as he stares at your stomach. He doesnât find anything wrong. The baby was curled in the amniotic sac, heartbeat stable.Â
A tiny leg twitches and he flinches. He takes a deep breath in.
âKicking,â you sigh softly, astonished. It felt like flutters, you pressed a hand to the side, where you felt the movement.Â
You take his hand and place it to where the kicks are prominent. His hands shake, his palm smoothing over the fabric of your shirt. Clarkâs hand was large. So warm. You just realized how close he was to you. His fingers glide underneath the waistband of your trousers, thumb rubbing the kicked spot tenderly.Â
It was so intimate, you swore his eyes were glistening with welling tears. He exhales shakily, adjusting his glasses and sweeping a hand across his curls as you let go of his hand.Â
His eyes land over your pelvis and he looks away quickly, clearing his throat as he stands. His cheeks turned pink. You glance down and you curse at yourself. Your panties were on full display, zipper wide open. You needed new pants.Â
âŠ
It was a cool night, you zip up your jacket quickly and clutch the strap of your bag as you hop out of Clarkâs car, he comes out of the driver's side and stares at you, opening and closing his mouth, wanting to say something.
It was cold, you wanted to get inside.Â
âClark-â you start, wanting to thank him for the ride.
âI want to take you out to dinner.â
Your mouth shuts and your breath stutters. He stands up straighter amidst the silence.Â
âI mean- can I take you out to dinner- may I?âÂ
âŠ
âHe asked you out?âÂ
You nod.Â
âI think he has a fetish,â you say calmly as you hold up a onesie and feel the texture of the fabric. It was so soft, you pouted at the cute baby elephant design.Â
Lois looks concerned by your statement. She pushes down the onesie in your hand so that you drop it back into the pile of baby clothes already in your shopping cart.Â
She lifts a brow and crosses her arms.Â
âIâm sorry, what?â
You shrug, pushing the cart to the maternity aisle. Lois follows, lifting up clothes, allowing you to either nod or wince before it either goes into the cart or is left behind.
âWell, he just likes you. He always has,â she says carefully. You attempt to recall instances where you felt his interest before your pregnancy. You guess you just didnât notice.Â
âSince when?â you ask.Â
âThe moment he walked into the Planet and saw you almost put your fist in Jimmy's stomach for stealing your story.âÂ
You purse your lips and shake your head. Lois sighs.Â
You bought some pants and shirts for work, a dress, pjs and underwear. Lois also chipped in and bought some onesies, claiming that as godmother she needed to provide early.Â
You grumbled at the self-appointment.Â
Being on your feet had you winded, your soles ached. You sip on your lemon water, taking a break from shopping as you take lunch. Lois swirls the straw in her drink.Â
Everyone was too afraid to ask you questions. No one knew you were seeing anyone. Many were theorizing the baby was Clarkâs but given by the way you spoke about him, it seemed unlikely.
âSo, do you know who the father is? I mean has he offered to be there for the baby?âÂ
She avoids your gaze as she asks, looking to the side as if the topic didnât interest her as much as it did. You look off into the distance and let out a long, heavy sigh.Â
âRemember that interview I did about five months ago?âÂ
It took her a moment. She startles you as she leans over the table. She cups your face and makes you turn your head. Your lips pursed, her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock.
âSuperman?!âÂ
âŠ
Month Zero: Conception
âYouâre so annoying,â you grit out.Â
âThatâs not what you said the night before, or the night before, or the night beforeâŠâÂ
You grip onto his shoulders tightly. His suit was on the floor, each piece making a trail to your kitchen. Your ass slid against your kitchen island as he pumped into you.Â
You kiss him harshly, teeth clinking, lips bruising and leaving him breathless. Your thighs spread as you wrap your legs around his waist.Â
His hand twists your shirt at the small of your back as he thrusts in a steady rhythm, the fabric tightens around your torso and highlights every dip and curve. His hips slam onto your pelvis, making your body jiggle with each beat.Â
âS-shut up-â you stutter.Â
He came to you at this point. Your work relationship strong due to his punctuality.Â
Heâd arrive at your apartment's balcony, wait there as you got your recorder, your pen, and your notebook ready.Â
Youâd open your sliding door, dressed professionally in your pajamas. Heâd step in with his hands intertwined and in front of him. His cape would caress your bare legs, like a breeze in the summer night.Â
You came at him with tough questions. Heâd get heated, youâd shift in your seat. He always smelled your arousal.Â
And youâd always spread your legs for him the second he confronted you, stepping between them as you sat on your couch, his cock covered in Kryptonian fabric straining in your direction, willing you to touch.Â
You wouldnât publish the interviews. So, heâd come back to try again.Â
He carries you to your bed, despite your growls and barks, you really didnât bite. He could feel you soften underneath him as he drills into your tight wet hole over and over again.Â
Your nails dig into his skin, barely leaving a mark, if only light red lines on his back as you took his cock throughout the night.Â
Youâre left a panting mess, lower belly painted in white, a path leading to your pussy, his seed dripping from your folds.
He had left a 50-dollar bill on your dresser. He didnât pull out quick enough. An honest mistake when your walls got so tight he didnât even want to move.Â
He was going to come back the next day, probably check if you took a morning after pill, if not tease you about your frequent forgetfulness due to stress.Â
That was the plan, until he was accused of attempting to conquer the world and build a harem.Â
Your balcony was locked, blinds closed shut. You never answered despite his soft knocks. You didnât trust superheroes, he knew this well.Â
He broke what little faith you had in him, and it wasnât even his fault.Â
âŠ
You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing out as you finish your recount of events. It gave you a headache whenever you thought about Superman for too long. He just recently stopped knocking at your balcony door, about the same time Clark asked you to dinner.Â
Lois nods along. Oh Clark. He was going to be a father. Out of wedlock no less, she wonders what the midwestern farm boy thinks of that. Her lips purse.Â
Heâs too open minded to be thinking of that type of stuff. She doesnât approve of his âplanâ. She wonders what you would say when you realized. Because you will realize.Â
The baby has potential super strength and might have laser beams shooting out of its eyes, but the childâs will also have an uncanny appearance to Clark Kent.Â
âWhat did you say to Clark?âÂ
You look down at your plate of lunch, picking at the pieces of food with your fork. Lois sips her lemonade as you mutter.
âI said yes.âÂ
She almost spits out her drink from laughter. Clark is so screwed.Â
âŠ
Month Six: Libido highsÂ
You were so soft. Softer than a rose petal. He could tell you liked being cared for, pampered. But you just didnât open up.Â
He could tell by the way your heart fluttered each time he got you something sweet from the cafe next door. When he would bring you fresh flowers to decorate your desk each week.Â
He loved taking care of you, taking you home, asking about your day especially when you had difficulty expressing yourself with anything other than irritation.Â
A compromise was made as you started dating. A subconscious compromise. Heâd take you home right after seven at the latest. Straight home. Heâd come in and make you dinner, maybe even let you help.Â
Then heâd be on his merry way home.
Youâd relax and work on your laptop, snug as a bug, freshly showered, and in your pajamas for the night, an oversized shirt and sleep shorts.Â
You were doing just that tonight, watching reality tv, a hand absentmindedly rubbing over your belly as you zoned out.Â
But something was different. Your energy finally increased over the past week or so. You move as if your center of gravity wasnât shifted completely. Like a lioness on the prowl. You turn to stare at him as if he were prey, hands tight against the back of the couch.
You had acted this way the whole day, eyes following him as he made his way through meetings, calls, errands.Â
âCan you stay the night?â you ask, your head resting on your arms, resting on the back of the couch as you watch him wash the dishes from your kitchen. You bite your lip as his tank top was visible over his dress shirt. You imagine this was how it felt to see a girl's bra through her shirt.Â
You smile innocently as his eyes roam over the way you're on your knees on top of the couch. He shifts and faces the sink, willing his growing boner to soothe over. The shirt was loose over your shoulders, exposing your collarbones. You werenât wearing a bra, apparent by the lack of a strap.Â
âY-yeah,â he clears his throat, his voice cracked.Â
You havenât had sex with Clark. But Clark remembers the feel of your body in hyper detail. He shivers as you make your way over to him, pressing your front to his back as you reach over to the cupboards.
Your belly presses against him, he straightens his back. His hands squeeze the sponge in his hand and he closes his eyes, almost in prayer.Â
Your hand meets his side as you reach for a mug and your tea bags. He gets them for you, glancing briefly to see the way you rest a hand on top of your belly, fingers highlighting the curve of your breasts by pressing the fabric of your shirt underneath them.Â
The more your pregnancy progresses the more he wants to tear apart a room, maybe even your clothes. How dare you walk around the editing room with a shirt that pronounces your bump and the breasts that rest atop it, pants that show off your thickening hips and juicy ass.Â
He grips the sponge so hard it almost rips from the pressure. He wants to touch your soft tits so bad.Â
âTheyâre throwing a baby shower for me next week. Wanted to know if youâre coming with me.âÂ
He pauses briefly at the invitation. He wasnât just invited as a guest. He was invited to go with you. As your partner. He fights a grin of elation.Â
Your water heater boils loudly. You press a hand to his back, rubbing up and down. You could feel his back muscles. You bite your lip as they flex under your touch.Â
He turns.Â
âIâd love to go with you.â
You smile softly, genuinely. He dries his hands with a rag, takes your hand and presses a soft kiss against it.Â
âYeah?â you ask breathlessly.Â
He nods. His hand squeezes yours as you swing it lightly between your bodies.Â
âYou donât have to. Iâm not trying to ask anything of you,â you rush out.Â
He takes a step towards you, you avoid his pointed gaze. You were asking so much more than a baby shower.Â
âWhat if I want to?âÂ
You take a step, bringing your intertwined hands to the side of your bump.
âYou want this?âÂ
He bends down to meet your gaze, willing you to meet his eyes. He cups your face gently, tapping your chin with his thumb when you couldnât quite look up at him.Â
Your eyes were red, slowly welling with tears. Frustration, anxiety, fear. He cups the side of your belly, thumb rubbing soothing circles over your skin.Â
âI want this and more.âÂ
You sigh in relief, arms winding over his shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of his flannel as he kisses your cheek and pulls you close into his warm embrace.Â
âŠ
You sit on the couch behind him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling it back as he types in his laptop, grumbling about the red line highlighting underneath proper nouns.Â
Your legs were spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders as he sat on the carpet facing the tv.Â
He was in a shirt and sweatpants. Some of your most oversized clothing items you had on hand. They were form fitting, luckily.Â
You fight the urge to pounce on him. You didnât think he could be so large. Tall, yes of course. But muscular and shaped like a Greek God?Â
Who would have known. Then again, he is from a farm. He must know a thing or two about working with his hands.
His kisses have gotten even more adventurous. The tension is sticky and dewy. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. At least you hoped he did so that he could follow through.Â
You peed yourself in the morning, after rushing to work and having missed your alarm. The kid kicked harder and harder each day, your organs losing space inside of your body. A hit to your bladder was imminent.Â
Clark had watched you straighten up from your chair to stand stiffly, hand on your back to handle the weight. You were 26 weeks along, just about to get into your third trimester.Â
You were waddling to the restroom and he was pretty sure you werenât waddling the night before as he left you at your apartment door. You texted him SOS.Â
He had to look through your desk drawers for spare undies. He pulled them out of your drawer to shove in his pocket quickly. They were maternity panties, the ones that stretched over your belly.Â
He was flustered as he made his way to the bathroom, looking behind him after barging in to the womenâs.Â
He held the underwear between his fingers as he handed them to you, snickering under his breath about granny panties. You pinched his side and used a stall to change.Â
âYou could have asked Lois,â he mentions, completely embarrassed from being inside the womenâs bathroom. Even if the door was locked and no one could enter.Â
âYou're my boyfriend, I donât want her to see my intimates,â you retort behind the stall.Â
The word repeated in his head over and over again. He couldnât not think about the casual way you said it. He felt his pants tighten, he grinned as you came out of the bathroom. He was your boyfriend, and you were his pregnant girlfriend carrying his big baby that just made you pee your pants. Â
He came up behind you and pressed himself against your back. The proximity surprised you, his hands cupped your belly, adjusting the stretchy strap of your maternity trousers lower and lower until it bundled up on your waist.Â
His fingers press underneath your belly, inching closer to your cunt.Â
âWhat-âÂ
He kisses you as you turn your head, holding you in place as his lips moved languidly over yours, his hands wandered, softly at first, resting on your bump but it quickly evolved into passionate fondling.Â
He cupped your breast, squeezing as you leaned further into him and lifted a hand to caress over the back of his head. The other hand pressed against your hip, pressing you against him to grind on you.Â
You felt his hot erection press against your ass, you arched your back to press your mound against the bulge.Â
The knock at the door didnât soften him, but his groping slowed to a pause. He caresses over your belly, his head buried between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.Â
They knock again.Â
âClark, we need to go.â
He growled, kissing a path to your jaw and shocking you from his possessive hold. His glasses were skewed as he unwillingly pulled away.
He was flushed as he made his way out of the womenâs bathroom behind you. Cat stared at you pointedly as you avoided her gaze. She gave a wry laugh as Clark said a quiet âexcuse meâ.
You couldnât focus the rest of the work day, and now as he sits on the floor of your apartment between your knees, you couldnât help but feel frustrated.Â
Your hands travel, smoothing over his shoulders, then over his biceps, squeezing the mass until it hardens with a flex.Â
He turns his head, the side of his face meeting your bump. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. You tip his head so that you could meet your lips with his.Â
He must be shy. The bastard.Â
In his own head, he was thinking if youâd find his body familiar if things continued. Heâs visibly nervous. Heâs had time to think over the possibility of you somehow remembering the shape and size of his dick from months before.
You shift in your seat. You stick your tongue in his mouth and moan. He suddenly forgets about all of his worries. He turns his body, departing from your lips and kneeling in front of you.Â
You lean forward to peck his lips.
You wince as your feet meet the ground. He stops, parting from your lips, like a dog straightening up from a rustle in the bush. Heâs been noticing you wincing a lot lately.Â
âWhat is it?â he asks softly, cupping your cheek.
You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him again. He pulls away. You whine from the back of your throat and you surprise yourself with the noise.Â
He bites back a smirk. His chest rumbles with satisfaction at your neediness.Â
âTell me whatâs hurting.âÂ
You groan and slump against the cushion. You lift your foot. Your usual heels didnât fit anymore, you had to wear sandals. It's been like this for a couple of days now. You could barely bend down to see your toes.Â
He pushes his laptop off to the side and takes your feet to his lap. His thumb presses against the arch of your feet, a tingle shoots through your leg and to your center. His touch was firm yet gentle.Â
Your head lolled against the cushion, and you sank deeper into the softness of your couch. You groan as he presses and kneads your foot. You didnât even notice one of his hands started rubbing up your calf and to your inner thigh.Â
Your eyes are closed, your leg twitches in a short burst of pleasure as he continues.Â
He kisses up your leg. You sit up but he pushes you back down against the couch, palm right up against your mound and cupping your belly.Â
His fingers on the sole of your foot continue to massage into your muscle.
âLet me take care of you. Hm?â he says, mouth parted as he played with the waistband of your shorts.Â
You gush.Â
âSo good,â he hums against you, tongue flattening over your folds. You cup his head against you pressing his face deeper. You roll your hips.Â
The lower half of his face was covered in your arousal as he pulled back. He kisses your inner thigh as you lift yourself up on your elbows.Â
âYou taste so good. So sweet.â
Your leg twitches, breath stuttering. You internally squeal. You want to grab your throw pillow and shove your face in it to bite and scream. His eyes narrow and his eyes flicker from your chest, your heart pumping erratically, to your cunt.Â
He grips your hands pushing them against the cushions as you attempt to reach for his head as he dives in again, you moan out at the strength he displayed. Sweet, shy Clark, holding you down as he ate your pussy like a man starved, not caring for the breathy whines of overstimulation that vibrated through the walls as he pressed the tip of his tongue around the rim of your hole.Â
Clark loved your attitude. He loved being able to turn you into putty in his hands. Heâs sure you didnât even realize as he maneuvered you onto the bed, over his body.Â
You were somewhere else, somewhere not quite away but never quite conscious enough to retort or scowl or take the control you so desperately required at work, in public with your colleagues.Â
Even Superman got you fucked out and stupid, despite your skepticism and cold demeanor.Â
You were always so warm when he had you like this, underneath him, his cock impaling you, his mouth licking over your skin.Â
He situated you on his lap, your eyelids were threatening to close completely, and you had lost all of your words. He took your clothes off of your body, hands wandering and squeezing, your hips, your ass, your breasts. His lips praised you as he brought you to ecstasy over and over again with his tongue, fingers, and cock.
âGood girl.âÂ
Your hips stutter, your eyes widen. You look at him as if he held the world in his hands. Putty in his hands. You bounce on his cock, his hand lightly holds your throat, the other playing with your sensitive nipples, squeezing your swollen flesh.Â
âFucking me so good, my good girl.âÂ
You lean forward, your round stomach pressing against his. You kiss over his neck, although due to the deep thrusts from below, you often paused just to moan out. You close your eyes tightly as he lifts his hips up into you.Â
You lose your inhibitions completely to a place heâs never taken you before.Â
âDaddy,â you blurt out, word coming out as he thrusted and his cock punched the breath from your lungs.Â
He pauses, he makes you sit up straight again. He teases you, failing to hide his smirk at your completely petrified face. He was a daddy, technically.Â
âFuck, I donât-â you press a hand to your mouth in shock, your eyes were teary from pleasure, you were shaking.Â
He sits up against the headboard, taking your hands away from your face and kissing your lips softly and slowly. He cups the back of your head, keeping you in place as he moves your hips back and forth, plunging you onto his cock like a sex doll.Â
He uses your body, you break the kisses to moan, to bite your lip and attempt to contain yourself. That wonât do.Â
âWhoâs your daddy?âÂ
You try to say it, you try to answer him but your shyness prevents you. You bite your tongue, pursing your lips as your face scrunches as if you were in pain. He cups your belly, he kisses down your jaw, coaxing you to let go.Â
âYouâre so stubborn. Whoâs your daddy?â he repeats, his pace quickens. You let go with tears in your eyes, you babble your answer repeatedly into the air.Â
âFu-You. You, Clark, You, You, You.â Â
He makes you repeat yourself all night.Â
âŠ
He was so peaceful asleep, his arm was holding you close by the waist, his face shoved in the pillows, hair a complete mess. He snores a little.Â
Your finger caresses his cheek lightly, he takes a deep breath in, his eyes fluttering open. It was eleven. You both slept in.Â
Your stomach growls and he looks pulls you closer, his face gently resting against your breasts.
You didnât really like being cuddled in bed. There wasnât enough space to spread out, your body was too hot during the night and now with your pregnancy, the discomfort made it hard to sleep.Â
You melt into his touch, burying your nose into his hair and smelling your shampoo and a hint of salty musk.Â
He kisses up your neck, to your lips, making you groan as he attempts to use his tongue to open your mouth.Â
âMorning breath,â you mumble self-consciously, keeping your lips pursed as you speak groggily. He hums pressing a kiss to your temple, rolling his eyes.Â
âIâm making you breakfast. You two hungry gals need to eat.âÂ
You donât say anything as he sits up, you stare at him as if he grew a second head. How did he know? Youâve barely asked your obstetrician for the gender the day before after being so indecisive for months.Â
Maybe you mentioned it. The confusion is excused as pregnancy brain.Â
He knows his way around your kitchen, your apartment in general. As if he lived there himself. He serves you from your favorite plate, turns on the tv in the background as you talk because you hated the silence between each shift in conversation topic.Â
You hated yogurt but you let him feed you a scoop of his.Â
He had a lot of his things here you notice, some snacks he likes, a Smallville sweater he left. The crib he built, the stuffed cow he bought the baby, up as decoration against your spare bedroomâs window because âitâs a safety hazard to have stuffed animals and thick blankets in the crib, y'know".Â
âHow are you feeling?âÂ
You're ripped away from your inner thoughts. He rests his hand on your stomach. You nod.Â
âNo heartburn?â Â
You shake your head. He lifts your feet to his lap, massaging the swelling around your ankle. You feed him the rest of the food on your plate, he always serves you too much.Â
âNo bleeding gums?âÂ
Your disturbed expression tells him no. He laughs and you stuff a piece of toast in his mouth.Â
He was treating you like his baby momma, as if the child growing in your womb was his. But you had to admit, you could see him as a father to your baby. Some part of you already did.Â
Your chest feels heavy. You sigh. You have to tell him who the father is. One of these days.Â
âŠ
Month 8.5: LaborÂ
Maternity leave just started, albeit later than usual due to your stubbornness. He hated seeing you in so much discomfort.Â
You were mentally done with pregnancy at 35 weeks. It was uncomfortable to sit, to lay down, to eat, to shower, to just be.Â
The final straw was when you started leaking. You were one of the lucky ones to express colostrum. Some cheesy and outdated âmommyâ blogs called it liquid gold, stating that the milk was a blessing.Â
Your blessing made two large wet spots in the middle of lunch, your coworkers avoiding looking you in the eye for the rest of the day as a result.Â
You had cried that night, completely humiliated. You were leaking all day and Clark couldnât help but think that this was all his fault. And it was.Â
That was the final straw. You stayed home.Â
You were sitting on your couch, staring at the ceiling in deep anger.Â
âI hate him,â you mutter. Clark leans over the back of the couch and rests his head against your shoulder.
âWho are we hating today?âÂ
You shake your head. Youâve been anxious to tell him. He knows the man, they talk for interviews all of the time. You think they were friends.Â
You sigh.Â
âThe man who did this to me.âÂ
He says nothing but a short âoh.â and kisses the side of your head. You blink up at the ceiling, having expected him to ask clarifying questions.Â
He pats the side of your belly, like he would a dog that would bound up to him at the park whenever you wanted to walk outside.
He chuckles at the sound it made, like a hollow watermelon. You grip his hand tightly, head turning slowly to glare.Â
You stand, wobbly, pressing a hand to your back to steady yourself.Â
âAre you not going to ask?â you ask accusingly. His visible confusion makes you even more upset. You turn the corner.
âWhat do you mean?âÂ
You scoff. He was a journalist. Youâd think heâd be better at asking questions, that heâd yearn to learn the truth, to know more.Â
His lack of interest on the topic of the biological father wasnât going to be healthy in the long run.Â
âYouâve never asked, Clark.âÂ
Your hormones were getting more rampant, more irregular. You went through emotions quickly. Having a metahuman baby would surely make the effects even more intense. You scowl.Â
âAsked what?âÂ
You groan lightly, you cross your arms. He was too calm, too genuine. It made you pause. Why did he fit into the father role so perfectly? He never seemed concerned at the prospect of his newish girlfriend having a baby from another man.Â
âAbout the father.âÂ
He shrugs. He swallows thickly and smooths his hair back.Â
âDo you want me to ask?âÂ
You nod.Â
âYou have to know. In caseâŠâÂ
You drift off, your voice trembling. What if he doesnât want a metahuman baby? What if itâs too much? What if the child looks too much like his buddy?Â
âYou have to know,â you say with finality. He sits down on the loveseat, gesturing for you to sit on the couch, facing him. His lips twitch, as if he found the situation funny.Â
You huff.Â
âWhat- how do you want me to ask? Serious, casual, w-what?â he stutters wittily. You stare at him, unblinking. He nods, pursing his lips at your eyes full of scold.
âWho is the father?âÂ
You swallow thickly. He mimics the action. His leg bounces, ready to hear you say what he already knew.Â
âSuperman.âÂ
His lips twitch, your hands were wringing in your lap with nerves. You look down at your feet, as they shift against the carpet.Â
He chuckles. He stands.
âSuperman?âÂ
You scoff at his tone. His voice was filled with disbelief. He kisses your cheek sweetly, rubbing a hand over your belly before standing up straighter.
âOk.âÂ
He swallows so thickly that he almost chokes on his tongue as he goes back to the kitchen. His face pales as he faces away from you.Â
He was panicking. What will happen once that curly dark-haired baby comes out looking exactly like Clark Kent. Will you shrug it off as coincidence? Should he tell you the truth before you figured out Clark and Superman were one in the same? Â
He chopped some fruit, dwelling in the silence that followed his dismissal. He hears the couch shift, you stand, determined.Â
âYou donât believe me,â you state. He avoids your gaze. He chops up a mango for you to snack on. He shrugs.Â
âYou donât think your buddy Superman could ever be an absent father?â you spit out. His hands tighten. He places the knife against the cutting board softly. He was about to retort a sharp no.Â
Because Superman was not an absent father.Â
You huff heavily through your nose at his silence. Your body starts to shake with frustration.Â
âWhy donât you call him up. Ask him.âÂ
He says your name slowly.
âYou get an interview from him any other day, I'm sure you could get him alone to ask about child support.âÂ
He turns to face you, your eyes hardened. You turn to your balcony, throwing your hands out. You ignore the slight pressure on your belly. It must be a strong kick.Â
âYou know what? Iâll call him right now.âÂ
You open the sliding doors roughly.Â
âSuperman!âÂ
He follows you outside. He feels his chest ache as he looks around. A sense of nostalgia from stepping into your balcony.Â
âSuperman!â you shout again, a tad bit louder. Clark stands behind you. The sounds outside were deafening, you didnât think you would be able to hear yourself from the street belowÂ
âWhat are you doing-âÂ
You cut him off, holding a finger up as if his voice was disturbing your call.Â
âHe said he would answer my call no matter where he is, what heâs doing, he could hear me.âÂ
He does. He hears you perfectly well. Superman wasnât going to come. He looks at you softly, you shout a few more times. Annoyance builds within you, sadness festering with it.Â
You clutch your belly with a hand, you wince, the pressure around your bump becoming more prominent. You felt your heart in your throat, you groaned at the tightness. Clark jumps to action, hand moving to cup your bump and ask you what was wrong.Â
You clutch the balconyâs thin metal railing as you lean away from him. Petty and still upset.Â
He notices the creak coming from the rusty bars. He sees the way it bends forward from your weight. You pushed away from him and suddenly you were weightless.Â
You yell out as your feet slip from the ledge.Â
He holds you up by the waist, another hand cupping your head. You stare at him, terrified to fall. Your chest rises and falls, you wrap your arms around his shoulders tightly.
You hear the fence clash against the street below.Â
A pressure releases from your center, it felt like you pissed yourself, but your bladder wasnât squeezed by the babyâs kick. Your pajama pants dampen.Â
He was floating, the soles of his shoes lightly brushing the walls of the building. His curls flop forward as you stare up at him.
Your yell was so loud he flinched.Â
âHospital!âÂ
âŠ
Month 6: Family Road trip
She babbles from the back of the car. You could see her from the mirror you set up in front of her seat, biting into the teething toy Clark froze a while ago as he drove.Â
The drive from Metropolis to Kansas was almost 6 hours long. It was like a family road trip, even though youâre sure she wouldnât remember a thing about her travels along the state.Â
Clark has his hand on your thigh, resting there. You place your hand on top of his and he glances in your direction, giving your leg a squeeze.Â
Driving back to Kansas was annoying, admittedly, but after groveling at your doorstep or whenever you dropped off his Dolly at his apartment, he finally managed to make you agree to seeing him again.
He couldnât fly you both to Kansas, no matter how much he attempts to convince you to climb on his back.Â
The car parks right outside the Kent household. He takes little Martha Dorothy, Dorothy mostly your silly little suggestion for a middle name because Kansas, out of the car seat and into his arms. He coos at her, mimicking her slight fussiness from the hot humid air she was blasted with as the doors opened.Â
She was so small in his arms, she leaned against his shoulder. Clark blew on her face lightly, providing a cool breeze. She sleeps as he rubs her back in circles.Â
Martha and Jonathan Kent greet you all with open arms.Â
âŠ
Martha was in Clarkâs old crib, she slept peacefully, Clark rubbing her belly as she snoozed.Â
âShe liked the cows,â he says almost in a whisper. You looked over at him and could see the adorable way he was crouched over the wooden crib, his hulking form watching the teeny tiny half human dream of candy clouds and rainbows probably.Â
You hum, crossing the room and pressing against his back, arms winding around him and palms sliding over his chest.Â
Heâs been begging for you back for months, ever since Dolly was born. You press your face in his neck. His flannel smelled like him. Not like smoke and dust from debris like Superman. Not like printer ink and that expensive coffee that he gets from around the corner.Â
He smelled like plain old Clark, hot chocolate and firewood.Â
âI really want to marry you.âÂ
He touches your hand, playing with your fingers. He wasnât nervous as he told you this. He was surprisingly calm, and his voice was steady. He tips his head lightly to glance at you.Â
You were surprisingly not freaked the hell out.Â
âNot right now, though, obviously.âÂ
You nod, snorting at his clarification. You peck his cheek, smoothing back his hair.Â
âObviously, yeah.âÂ
You watch the baby settle into deep sleep. She had Clark's hair and his eyes, a slightly darker shade. You wonder if you would have ever realized the similarities.Â
You tsk. You definitely would have.Â
â-----------------
Hope you enjoyed anon! This was fun and silly to write. Iâve never written about some of the smut aspects. lol I'm exploring.Â
Requests will be closing soon (a day or so) because Iâm about to move into my new apartment soon and start the semester and lowkey I gotta lock in for senior year. I need that honor chord twins. đ
summary: clark kentâs a mild-mannered single dad, but when you decide to turn up the heat, things get messyâliterally. three easy steps to seduce your unlikely crush, plus one totally unexpected meltdown. chaos, flustered kisses, and way too much dad energy guaranteed.
cw: age gap, domestic thirst, 40 yr old single dad clark, i had mid 20s reader in mind but it's up to you, soft-spoken filth, oral (f!receiving), pet names, overstimulation, size kink, thigh riding, praise, piv smut, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, 3k wc mdni
youâre convinced clark kent was godâs personal apology to women for everything else men have done.
heâs quiet, polite, and always has that bashful little smile when he sees you. when he walks his daughter to the bus stop every morning, your heart does that stupid flutter thingâbut worse than that, your uterus practically weeps. her pigtails are always slightly crooked, like he tried his best and she wouldnât sit still, and the sight alone makes you want to hand in your iud and volunteer as tribute.
but clark? clarkâs completely unaware of the chaos he causes. or so you thought.
youâd always exchanged casual greetingsâhim with his chipper âmorningâ and you with a smile that bordered on hornyâbut nothing past that. until one day, standing outside your front door, key half in the lock, you catch sight of him in his front yard.
his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, hands deep in the flower bed. his shirt clings to his back in all the right places. biceps flex. forearms strain. there's a smudge of dirt on his jaw.
he looks up. catches you staring.
you freeze.
he waves. smiles. itâs boyish. innocent. cruel.
you scramble inside like you just saw god himselfâbecause, honestly, you mightâve.
and thatâs when it hits you: this man will not realize you want him unless you physically spell it out. and even then, thereâs a 50/50 chance heâll think youâre just being neighborly.
fine.
you can be aggressively neighborly, because one way or another, you are going to get into clark kentâs dad pants if itâs the last thing you do.
step one: bait the child
you âaccidentallyâ bake too many muffins. double batch. how clumsy of you.
âthese? oh no, i canât eat them all. would your daughter like some?â
she comes over giggling and thanks you every time, bouncing with excitement. and when she beams up at clark and says, âdaddy, she made blueberry again!ââyour heart squeezes in your chest and your pussy clenches right after from the goofy smile he gives you, muffin crumbs on his lip.
step two: damsel in distress
you wave him over one hot afternoon. âmr. kent! my ac unitâs being dumb again. itâs so confusing. would you mind taking a look?â
he spends twenty minutes crouched down fiddling with it, sweat glistening along his hairline, shirt riding up in the back, glasses slipping down his nose. you pretend not to stare. you fail. miserably.
he turns back, flustered. âit was just the filter. uhâreal easy fix.â
âstill, thanks,â you say, handing him a cold, homemade lemonade. âyouâre such a good neighbor.â
his ears turn red. he mumbles, âa-and you can just call me clark, you know. âmr. kentâ makes me sound like⊠my dad.â his laugh is self-conscious, cheeks pink as he glances at you and quickly looks away.
god, how can a 40-year-old dad be so fucking hot and so stupidly cute at the same time?
âsure thing, clark.â you purr. he blinks twice like his brain just blue-screened.
step three: verbal homicide
todayâs the day.
you and clark are sitting on your front porch. heâs sipping the lemonade you made. his daughterâs across the lawn, playing with chalk on the driveway. you watch her draw a lopsided sun with a smiley face.
âsheâs amazing,â you say softly. clark beams with quiet pride. ânext woman in your lifeâs gonna be real lucky to have your baby.â
he chokes.
full on, hand-on-chest, coughing fit.
you innocently pat his back, wide-eyed. âoh no, clark! you okay?â
âw-wow, thatâs⊠uh⊠thatâs quite a thing to say,â he manages, voice an octave higher. his ears are red. âi meanâthank you, thatâs⊠thatâs kind. sheâs, uh⊠sheâs my whole world.â he glances away again, adjusting his glasses like theyâre suddenly the most interesting thing on earth.
you blink at him all doe-eyed. âi just meantâanyone would be lucky. youâre an amazing dad. sweet. strong. gentle. built like a truck.â
his jaw tightens.
you bite your straw.
he gulps.
itâs so over for him.Â
step four: reap the rewards
you wait until his daughter gets picked up for a sleepover before making your move.
itâs storming. your lights flicker. and right as scheduled, you're knocking on his door.
âpower out?â he asks softly.
âyeah,â you say. âcan i wait it out in here?â
he hesitates. then nods. âof course, it's no bother.â
you smile sweetly as he lets you in.
both of you are sitting on his couch now. clarkâs all stiff and awkward. his glasses fog slightly every time he exhales.
your legs are in his lap.
heâs definitely pretending not to look at them.
heâs not touching you, not really, but his handâs resting near your calf and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
his eyes flicker down to your thighs againâjust for a second.
then he mumbles, âyouâre, uh⊠youâre real young.â
you blink innocently. âtoo young for what?â
he opens his mouth. closes it. flusters.
you lean in.
he doesnât stop you.
you touch his cheek, soft and slow, and whisper, âyouâve been such a good neighbor to me, clark. such a gentleman.â
he swallows again. youâre starting to love how often you make him do that.
then you murmur, âyou wanna keep beinâ a gentleman, or can i show you how long iâve been thinking about your hands?â
you start to climb into his lap and his breath catches.
âi donât thinkâi mean, this probably isnâtââ
he cuts himself off when you fully settle in his lap. his hands hover near your waist but donât quite touch.
âiâmâiâm not exactly good at this sort of thing,â he says quietly, eyes darting everywhere except your face.
âyou think i donât notice when you look?â you murmur.
he swallows. âiâwell. i try not to.â
âthatâs cute.â you lean forward. âwanna try failing a little harder?â
then you grind down.
he jerks beneath you.
his hands fly to your waistâbut he doesnât stop you.
âbeen thinking about this forever,â you whisper against his neck. âthought about riding your thigh just to see if youâd notice.â
his chest rumbles. âi noticed.â
you shiver.
âthen why didnât you do anything?â
he exhales shakily. âiâm not supposed to want you like this.â
you whimper. âbut you do.â
âyes,â he admits, breathless. âgod help me, i do.â
you start grinding against his thigh, desperate, sticky, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
heâs hard. thick and long and straining against his pants.
his hands move to your hips. help you rock. guide you through it like itâs killing him.
you whimper when your clit drags against the firm muscle of his thigh.
âoh my godâfuckââ
he stiffens. âdonât say that. donât curse.â
you blink, dazed. âyou donât like it?â
he looks almost pained. âi justâi donât use that kind of language, and i donât like hearinâ it on your pretty mouth. not when youâve got so many sweeter things to say.â
you blink.
then you grind harder.
âyouâre unreal,â you pant, high on power. âclark, i swearâyour thighâiâm gonna cum just like this, i canâtââ
his breath comes fast.
âyou wanna come on my thigh, darlinâ?â his voice is low, but thereâs that shy hitch in it, like heâs almost embarrassed to say it out loud. âgo ahead. make a mess, itâs alrightâiâll take care of it.â
your whole body shudders at the warmth in his tone.
âyeah?â he murmurs, glancing down at where youâre pressed against him. âyou gonnaâuh, soak right through these shorts for me?â
you nod frantically.
âpretty girl,â he breathes, thumb brushing your cheek in a gentle, almost hesitant touch. âyouâve been actinâ so sweet lately, real flirty. butâ youâre not a bad girl, right?â
âiâm such a slut,â you whisper, breath hitching.
clark sits back just slightly, blinking hard. âheyâhey, now. donât say that.â
âwhy not?â
his brows pinch. ââcause thatâs not⊠thatâs not what this is. youâre notâi mean, youâre justâŠâ
he looks flustered. desperate to explain. âyouâre sweet. andâand good. and iâm probably too old and really not good at this anymore, butââ
you pull him back in by the collar.
âclark,â you whisper. âshut up and keep ruining me.â
âyes maâam,â he mutters again, voice cracking.
youâre whimpering into his neck, panting like itâs the only thing keeping you alive.
your clit is throbbing. his thigh is slick. and heâs so still underneath you, chest heaving with every shaky breath, eyes fixed on where your soaked sleep shorts have turned nearly translucent against his skin.
âclarkâiâm gonnaââ
âgo on, honey,â he breathes. âiâve got youâ
your head drops against his shoulder. you cry outâsoft, desperate, overwhelmedâand he shudders beneath you when your body locks up and twitches in his lap.
âthatâs my girl,â he murmurs, a little bashful. âsuch a good girl for me.â
youâre trembling. sensitive. overstimulated. and yetâ
you still want more.
you roll your hips again, chasing that high, gasping when it stings a little but still feels so good.
he freezes, swallowing hard. his voice gets all tight and breathy.
âdonât⊠donât do that.â
âwhy?â
he bites his lip, voice cracking just a little.
ââcause if you keep goinâ, iâm not gonna be able to stop⊠and, uh, thatâd be a problem.â
your eyes flutter open.
your lips part.
yes, you think. finally.
âthen donât stop,â you whisper. âplease. i want it. i want you.â
he groansâactually groans, like you just kicked the legs out from under his self-controlâand then suddenly youâre on your back, clark looming over you, so much bigger than you imagined.
his broad shoulders block out the lamp behind him. his hand cups the back of your knee, spreading your legs gently but firmly, as if heâs trying to be respectful even now.
youâre soaked.
he stares down at your flushed body and breathes, âyou look like temptation itself.â
he sinks to his knees at the edge of the couch like youâre holy.
like heâs praying.
your breath catches when he pushes your thighs apart, pulling down your small shorts and panties, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your inner thigh. then another, higher. and another, closer to where you need him.
he looks up at you once, eyes dark, lips parted.
âi havenât⊠done this in a while,â he confesses. âi hope i donât mess it up.â
âyou wont,â you whisper, chest heaving.Â
he smiles. soft and sweet. âokay, baby.â
then he leans in and devours you.
his mouth is warm. firm. so, so thorough. he kisses you like itâs a love language, like itâs something heâs always wanted to do but never thought heâd get to. he eats like a man starvedâslow at first, reverent, dragging his tongue through your folds until youâre squirmingâand then deeper, rougher, gripping your thighs tight as he licks into you like heâs memorizing the shape of your pussy with his tongue.
you moan. loud. unrestrained.
âoh wow,â he breathes, pulling back just enough to blink up at you, dazed. âyouâyou taste likeâuhâlike sugar? or lemonade? is that weird to say?â
you giggle, breath hitching when his tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe through your folds again.
âyou can say whatever you want as long as you keep doing that.â
âokay,â he mumbles, immediately diving back in, muffling a sheepish, âyes maâamâ against your cunt like the respectful farm boy he is.
you whimper.
he laps at you again, dragging his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one long, messy stroke.
you arch off the couch. cry out. your second orgasm hits harder than the firstâshaking your legs, making you grab for him, thighs clenching around his head.
he doesnât stop.
god, he doesnât stop.
he sucks your clit right through it, tongue flicking, mouth hot and wet and everywhere, and suddenly youâre cryingâhands fisting in his hair, tears streaming down your cheeks.
and clarkâsweet, soft clarkâhe pulls back just enough to kiss your thigh and murmur, âyou cryinâ, darlinâ? oh, honey. did i go too hard?â
you sob. ân-noâfeels so goodâi justââ
he kisses you again. this time, between your legs. slow. gentle. sinful.
then he presses a kiss to your hip and asks, sweet and red-faced, âmay iâŠ?â
you nod. âplease.â
he pulls out a little foil packet from his wallet.
âyou had that ready?â you tease.
he blushes so hard you think he might die. âiâjust in case. not that i assumedâi didnât! i just⊠hoped.â
you bite your lip, voice soft but steady. âi appreciate the gesture, but i wanna feel you, clark.â
clark blinks fast, mouth opening and closing like a stunned fish before he fumbles, setting the condom aside like heâs a little caught off guard.
you giggle.
and then he unbuttons his pants.
you donât even get to see him pull it out. you just feel the weight of it as he presses the head against your inner thigh, and even that makes you twitch.
âyou sure about this?â he asks, voice tight, breathless.
you nod, voice shaking. âplease. want it so bad.â
he leans over you. presses his forehead to yours.
his cock nudges your entrance.
thick. heavy. heâs holding back like heâs scared of breaking you.
heâs so careful when he pushes in. youâre so tight around him he actually groans.
âoh, sweetheart. iâmâiâm sorry, iâll go slowââ
you nod.
he bottoms out.
his hands tremble when you look up at him. flushed. full.
your hands clutch his shoulders as your body stretches around him. you feel every inch. every pulse. heâs groaningâgroaning, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he sinks deeper and deeper.
âfeels like heaven,â he chokes. âtight little thingâsâlike you were made for me.â
you nod, trembling. you feel so fullâlike your body had just been waiting for this, built for this, desperate to be filled up by a man with hands big enough to lift you and a voice soft enough to break you.
stays there.
âyou okay?â he asks, voice almost shaking.
you nod, tears still on your cheeks.
âclarkâi need you to move.â
and when he does?
itâs over.
he breaks you down slowly, tenderly, thrust by deep thrust.
he kisses your tears away.
he calls you his sweetheart.
he thrusts deep, still trying to be gentle.
âfeels like iâm dreaminâ, sweetheart,â he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. âi canât believe this is real.â
you gasp. your walls clench. he whimpers.
he whimpers.
his forehead is pressed to yours. one of his huge hands is cradling the back of your neck. the other is splayed low on your stomach like heâs trying to feel himself from the outside, to make sense of how snug you are, how perfectly your body takes him.
âcan feel it, sweetheart,â he pants softly. âyouâre squeezinâ me so good. like you donât wanna let me go.â
you donât.
you never want him to stop.
youâre crying now, wrecked and wet and shaking, each drag of his cock against your walls sending little shocks of heat straight to your toes.
he murmurs against your skin, âis that too much, baby? you need me to slow down?â
you sob out a broken, âno, please donât stopâfeels so goodâclark, pleaseââ
he hushes you softly, lips brushing your temple. âi got you, honey. i know.â
you swear you can feel him twitching inside you, the stretch just bordering on overwhelmingâso thick and deep and gentle, like he wants to ruin you but only if youâll let him.
and you will.
you want to.
you want to feel him lose it. you want to feel him fall apart.
âi wanna make a mess in you,â he confesses, voice cracking just a little, breath heavy. âwanna fill you up good. is that okay?â
you moan. nod frantically. âyesâpleaseâpleaseââ
his thrusts get a little rougher. still slow. still deep. but heavier now, driven by the desperation heâs clearly been holding back this whole time.
âclarkââ
and then he kisses you.
not just a press of lipsâa real, messy, breathless kiss, mouths open, tongues grazing, teeth clashing a little when he finally ruts deep and stays there, cock pulsing hard inside you as he cums.
you feel itâhot and thick and endless, like his whole bodyâs pouring into you.
you gasp against his mouth. twitch. your walls flutter around him.
he groans through his orgasm, lips brushing your cheek. âthatâs it, babyâtake it. take all of it, youâre doinâ so goodââ
he stays there.
buried inside.
not moving, not pulling out, just breathing hard and holding you like you might float away if he lets go. youâre both sweaty and sticky and breathless, and your thighs are quivering, but his arms never stop holding you.
you donât know how much time passes.
just that eventually, you feel his handsâbig and warm and carefulâslide beneath your thighs as he lifts you gently into his arms.
âwhere are we going?â you whisper, voice small and dazed.
he chuckles softly. âbed.â
âyou want me to stay?â
he kisses your forehead. âif youâll have me.â
(you will.)
he helps you clean up. tucks you in. finds one of his old flannel shirts for you to wearâbig enough that it hits mid-thigh.
youâre curled up in his lap againâexcept this time, under the covers. his hands are stroking your back slowly. steady. reassuring.
you murmur, âwas it weird? being with someone younger?â
he blushes a bright red.
âfelt right to be with you.â
you go quiet.
then: âi think i wanna be a stay-at-home wife.â
he laughsâbright, full, happyâand kisses the top of your head.
âyeah?â he murmurs. âthat why you keep bakinâ cookies for my daughter and flirtinâ with me?â
ââŠyes.â
he smiles against your hair. âwell. if youâre serious about it, honeyââ
he kisses your temple.
ââwe can talk about it over breakfast.â
âyouâre makinâ me breakfast?â
âof course,â he says, brushing your hair off your cheek. âyou like bacon? i make âem good. you can show me how you make that lemonade."
and maybeâjust maybeâhe makes you a baby too.
but thatâs for next time :3
a/n: still haven't watched superman. this was supposed to be a request and i got very carried away...
Hot water cascades through your hair and down your back, soothing your aching muscles. The steam heats your face, weighed with exhaustion, and you sigh. This is exactly what you needed after the week you just had⊠until itâs not.
The water stutters, hisses, and dies, pipes groaning like theyâre giving up their will to live. You freeze, twisting the knob while hoping it was just your imagination, but the shower wheezes and spits one last pathetic splash before surrendering completely.
You stand there for a beat in the deafening silence, dripping, while your brain slowly catches up to what just happened before you finally admit defeat and step out of the shower.
âPerfect. Just perfect,â you mutter, wrapping yourself with your towel.
Your ex had always been the one who handled the house stuff. Leaky faucets, creaky doors, the washing machine that sometimes decided it was a trampoline. Now that heâs gone, all you have is a butter knife and an overconfident YouTube search history, but this problem seems to be more than one that your âtoolboxâ can handle. You need help, now, and have had no one to call but⊠well, a stranger.
Five frantic minutes later, youâre Googling âemergency handyman near meâ and calling the first number that pops up, âKent Servicesâ. He said he could be there in ten minutes. Ten minutes. You barely had time to stick your head under the sink and try to rinse out some of your shampoo before the doorbell rings, making you jump.
You pad down the hallway of your apartment, hair still dripping down your shoulders, cheeks flushed from the humiliation of the situation, and towelâŠÂ precariously short. Your mind is full of worries and regrets, but the moment you open the door, the air seemed to shift.
Heâs⊠not what you were expecting.
Before you stands a man, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a snug white T-shirt dusted with sawdust, jeans low on his hips, and a toolbelt that looks like it belonged in some kind of very specific daydream. His expression was friendly, confident, and just shy of sinful. Your eyes linger for just a second longer than what would be considered polite.
âSomeone called for a handyman?â He asked first, breaking the tension.
You nodded frantically, hand coming up to hold your towel securely over your chest.
âY-Yeah. Hi, umâyeah, the showerâs, uhâŠâ you stammer, unable to string the words together for some reason, and you trail off when you notice the faint twitch of a smile tugging at his mouth, feeling your face flush deeper than it already has.
âPlumbing emergency?â He fills in.
âYep.â You nod, avoiding eye contact and moving aside to let him in.
He follows the trail of water on the floor to your bathroom, you close behind.
âAlright, letâs take a look.â He says as he enters the bathroom, making his way to the shower and kneeling in the tub. âSo, when did it stop working?â
âMid-shower, which is why I look like thisâŠâ
You tighten the knot of your towel and suddenly catch his gaze flick upward quickly, politely, as if he hadnât just almost seen something he wasnât supposed to.
He brushes it off casually, shrugging. âCould be worse, it couldâve been mid-shampoo,â
âIt was.â You state, deadpan.
Your tone earns a quiet laugh, rich and low. He clicks his toolbox open and gets to work, sleeves pushing up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. Youâre curiously entranced by his skilled motions, and soon catch yourself watching the flex of muscle as he reaches for a wrench.
âYou okay there?â he asks without looking up.
Your cheeks warm, and you chuckle. âYeah, just⊠making sure you donât drown in there,â
âMm,â he hums, pausing before continuing almost too casually. ââŠIâve been in worse situations.â
Minutes pass, punctuated by the soft clink of tools and the occasional mutter under his breath. You watch intently, both hands holding your towel closed. Soon, you notice the way his smoky cologne has infiltrated your bathroom, intertwining with the familiar scent of your shampoo and body wash that youâve grown almost nose blind to over the years⊠as the smell surrounds you, youâre suddenly very aware of the drop of water sliding down your spine.
Finally, he sits back on his heels and looks up at you. âI can fix it, but itâs gonna take a little bit. Are you sure youâre comfortable likeâŠÂ that?â
His gaze flickers to your towel suggestively and you swallow. âIâll manage,â
His smile shamelessly deepens, intrigued by your confident decision.
âAlright, then letâs get you back to hot water.â
The way he looks at you makes you wonder if youâre still talking about the shower at all, hungry eyes staring right through you. You swear you can see him wink, and it only excites you more. You lean back against the edge of the sink and watch as he works, tools clinking softly, his broad back bending over the tub.
You should be thinking about how soon youâd be able to rinse the rest of the shampoo from your hair. Instead, you find yourself noticing little things that you honestly had no business noticing. The way his T-shirt stretches across his shoulders when he leans forward, or the sturdy, precise grip his hands have on each tool⊠you have to break the silence.
âSo, you do this a lot?â
âFix showers?â He glances over his shoulder at you before scoffing, âevery week.â
âI donât see a lot of people in their towels, though,â
You adjust yourself, humoring him with a soft chuckle. âWell, I wasnât exactly planning on having company over so soon.â
âCouldâve fooled me,â
You tilt your head curiously, âand whyâs that?â
He pauses for a second, thinking over his answer, before his voice drops lower. âBecause you look like youâre handling it just fine,â
You cross one ankle over the other where you stand, the towel pulling slightly higher on your thigh when you shrug. âGuess Iâm a quick adapter⊠whatâd you say your name was?â
âClark,â he nods, subtle friendly grin on his face when he looks up at you again. âThis shower looks like itâs had to have been fixed a few times before, you got a boyfriend around here that I donât know about?â
You shake your head with a playful smile, âno, my ex used to take care of all of this stuff but, now that heâs out of the picture⊠I usually just⊠call someone,â you admit
âWell, you called the right someone,â he states confidently with a grunt, tightening a valve and testing it with a careful turn of his wrist. âIâm pretty good with my hands,â
Your gaze drops down to those hands again⊠big, capable, veins winding up back and stretching up his forearms. You suddenly need to look away before he notices where your mind has wandered, but the problem is that Clark did notice. You can tell by the small, satisfied smirk he gives when he catches your eye, you turn away with a rosy dust on your cheeks.
With a final twist of his wrench, the shower water comes raining down once again and splashes into Clarkâs shirt and jeans. He quickly steps to the side, getting out of dodge.
âHot waterâs back,â he announces, and you jump off the sink counter.
You groan in relief, âthank you, I seriously donât know what I wouldâve done without you.â
âAnytime,â he nods appreciatively. âIf you want, I can hang out outside the door until you finish showering in case something breaks againâŠâ
When your heart skips a beat, you nod. âY-Yeah, sure, that would be great.â
âAlright,â Clark packs his toolbox, âIâll be right outside if you need me.â
He leaves, and you push the door shut behind him⊠sure to leave it just a crack open, not enough to be obvious about your intentions, but just enough to get away with it.
Clark would be lying if he said he wasnât looking at you through the crack in the door, watching as you drop the white towel from around your chest and expose the plump curve of your ass. His lips part with awe as you step into the shower. When you draw the curtain behind you, he swears he can see the silhouette of a hardened nipple.
He finds himself disappointed when the sight of your naked body leaves his sight, but he keeps his promise and waits patiently outside the door as you finish your shower.
âHey, I think somethingâs broken in here,â you call.
âYeah?â
Your heart pounds anxiously against your chest as you hear the bathroom door creak open after a polite knock, watching as his shadow inches closer to the curtain.
In a flash, you reach your hands out, grabbing at his cotton shirt and pulling him into the shower with you, feeling very little guilt as his clothes were already wet. Your mouth is on his in the blink of an eye, and youâre pushing him back against the wall. Clark hesitates for a moment before placing his calloused fingers on your hips.
His fingers are cold against your steaming skin, and you moan softly against his lips when his grip strengthens, pulling your naked waist against his own. You pull up his shirt, undoing the tuck and pulling apart for just a second to pull it off over his head, discarding the damp shirt on the bathroom floor.
His hands are all over you, wandering up from your hips to cradle your jaw, then one of them moves down to massage your tits⊠before finally trailing down your stomach and landing between your legs. You instinctively step up on your tiptoes to lean into his touch while two thick fingers trace over your pussy, almost as if theyâre trying to study you.
Your hands are also quick at work, his tool belt already having joined his shirt on the floor, and now youâre reaching for his zipper.
Once Clark is left just in his boxers, he finally sinks his middle finger inside and makes you gasp. His excited mouth nips down your jaw while he strokes your velvet walls. Once he adds a second finger, you reach to pet his hardened cock through the black elastic, eyebrows raising at the size of the outline⊠but when your hands start to wander inside of you, he pulls back.
âMm-mm,â he shakes his head. âI gotta stretch you out first,â
He doesnât stop his hypnotic movements for even a second, twisting his two digits inside you and hijacking your nervous system as your nails claw into his shoulders, head tilting back as your eyes flutter into the back of your skull. Youâre letting out breathless moans that are getting swallowed up by the sound of the running water, still steaming up the tight space between you. You wonder what heâll be able to do to you if he already has you this dumb on just two fingersâŠ
You donât even notice when he sucks a wine-red mark above your collarbone, too caught up in your daze as his skilled movements light a fire inside the pit in your stomach. He doesnât even notice how fucked out you are until your legs start shaking beneath you and he has to stabilize you with his other sturdy hand, landing once again on the curve of your love handles, squeezing softly.
âCome on, baby, stay with meâŠâ he urges you, slowing down his pace. âWe havenât even started yet.â
You whine, shameless and needy as you reach back for his underwear again, but this time he joins you in pushing them down and letting his dick spring free. You waste no time reaching for it, smile full of mischief when he moves back in to kiss you once more. You start off with slow strokes, twisting your wrist up and down his thick shaft while his fingers pick up the pace once again, sliding out momentarily to rub a few teasing circles against your clit before plunging back inside of you again. You moan into his mouth.
âFuck me,â you whisper against his lips, stroking his cock at the same rhythm that his fingers have made.
âUh-uh, youâre not ready yetââ
âPlease, Clark, fuck me.â You beg, and how could he resist when you ask him so sweetly?
With the help of your guiding hand, he introduces his cockhead to your soaked lips, pulling his fingers out of you to make room while he glides teasingly against you, catching the tip on your puffy clit when he pulls back, and then on your throbbing hole when he pushes forward again. With every subtle movement, youâre whining into his hot mouth. His teasing touches make your skin so hot that the boiling water against your back feels like ice. You need him.
âClark, pleaseââ
In a swift motion, heâs turned you around, now bending you over as he widens his stance behind you. Your hands fall against the tile wall for support. You look back over your shoulder, catching a brief glimpse of him biting his lip with focus, eyes fixated on your needy cunt as he lines up and finally plunges inside of you.
Your back arches, legs shaking again and gasping, the pressure immediately overwhelming you as he stretches you out.
âFuck, youâre so tight,â he hisses, eyes screwed shut behind you.
But you can barely hear him. Not with the way youâre drowning on his dick, breath caught in your throat.
The water rushes down Clarkâs chest as he steadies his grasp on your hips, slowly thrusting in and out of you just to help you adapt to his size, but heâs so big; and when Clark finally picks up the pace, youâre done for.
âOh, f-fâhah, ah, ah, fuckâ Clark-!â
You reach a hand back for him, trying to get him to slow down even just a little bit, but he only takes your gentle hand in his and pins it behind your shoulder blades with no sympathy.
âYou asked for this,â he reminds you. âSo, take it like the good slut that you are,â
You only cry out louder, surrendering to whatever he wants to do with your body, happy to take everything he will give you.
Clark can feel your muscles finally loosen, too, and soon the bathroom fills with the sounds of his hips ruthlessly slamming against your ass harmonized with your desperate moans.
âLook at you, so easy for me,â he grunts, âI bet youâd just let anyone who walks in here fuck you like this, huh?â
Youâre able to gather up the strength you need to shake your head, trying your hardest to keep yourself together as his dirty words, punctuated with every push of his pistoning cock, melt you. Heâs nearly splitting you open with the way heâs drilling you with his length, making you see stars.
He slows his pace for just a second to feel the way your cunt squeezes him, and he growls when he feels your slutty hole flutter around him. His eyes screw shut again and he cranes his neck forward, damp curls falling in front of his forehead.
He hisses, âGodââ
Your eyes are rolling back, and once he starts back up again, it isnât long until the coil deep in your stomach begins to tighten with a burning heat. Your cries slip up a pitch higher, and Clark knows what you need.
âAre you getting close?â He asks, already sure of the answer.
He just loves to hear you call out brainlessly for him, yes, yes Clark! Fuck, it feels so good! Please donât stop, please!
He wonât, and he wouldnât for the world.
He quickly spins you around to face him now, picking you up by your slippery thighs and burying his cock into you once more. Your arms wrap around his neck forward safety, but thereâs no chance in hell heâd drop you.
âI wanna watch your face when you cum for me,â he pants, words once again pulling whine after whine from your lips.
Tears begin to prick your eyes as he bounces you up and down, gravity slamming you back down on his cock heavily, making you yelp as he starts to double-time it, fucking you rough and dirty, his pace unforgiving. With every deep thrust, every stroke of his dick, heâs reeling you closer and closer to your edge. You can just barely see a proud, self-satisfied grin on his face when your eyes come back to focus, right before your eyes screw shut as you brace for the impact of your orgasmâŠÂ itâs so close you can taste it.
Then, suddenly, the cord snaps inside of you. Your vision flashes white as your body quickly spirals out of control, scratching pink lines down Clarkâs shoulders as you cum, your twitching hole clamping down on him and milking his cock for all itâs got as your body spasms in his grip. Your back arches, teeth grit before your jaw falls slack with some breathless gasps.
âThere you go, yeahâŠâ he eases you, voice contradicting his unforgiving pace. âYeah, you look so pretty when you cum,â
His words make you whimper, still shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm as he continues to use your body for his pleasure, now swollen and overstimulated. Youâre so good for him.
Suddenly, his hips stutter, foot planting down against the floor of the tub as he chases his own release, delivering each thrust now with a deep growl, gradually getting louder the closer he gets until he turns around and pins you back against the time wall, trapping you as buries his cock deep inside of you with one final blow. Thick white ropes paint your insides, and his head drops to the crook of your neck.
With a few final gentle strokes, Clarkâs muscles relax, and he starts to come down from his high. Both of you share deep pants as you catch your breath, going still for a moment to take in the afterglow. The water is still hot as it rains down over you, cleaning the mess of your affair off of you before you both have to come back down to the real world.
Eventually, you twist the shower knob off and the two of you dry off, you getting wrapped up once again in your white towel that does absolutely nothing to hide the violet marks littered around your neck and shoulders, while Clark puts on his still-damp work clothes with no complaint. He begins to slowly pack his tools, as though in no rush to leave. Then, once fully dressed and packed again, he glances at you with that same amused gleam that he had when he walked into your apartment.
âIf anything else breaks â anything at all â you know who to call.â
You laugh lightheartedly at his insistent tone, resting your hand on the door frame as you walk him out.
âOh, donât worry, Iâm sure a lot of things are gonna be broken from now onâŠâ
loser Clark x reader, heâs like super down bad for her and pathetic but oh so adorable
pairing : Clark Kent x tipsy!Reader.
warnings : nsfw fluff !? Clark getting hard in the worst situations, Reader teases Clark, mentions of (m) masturbation, kissing. 18+ only !!
Clark always thought you were way out of his league. He was awkward and shy while you were the exact oppositeâ confident and smart and so gorgeous it hurt to look at you.
You knew he liked you back. Heck, the entire office knew. It was impossible not to tell from the way he'd turn that adorable shade of red every time you'd smile at him in passing or the way he'd stammer excessively when you'd try to talk to him about anythingâ even work.
And then there was the one thing only you'd noticedâ the way he'd harden within a split second anytime you'd accidentally even brush against him, his pants tightening obscenely to the point where he'd drag something over his lap in a desperate bid to hide the thick bulge tenting against his zip. It was hard not to notice something like that when a big man like him was shifting around uncomfortably with an even bigger boner all because your fingers brushed against his for a moment when you'd passed him a file.
And when it became clear to you that he was just a sweet, pathetic loser with a dick too big for his own good...you started to have your own fun with him. Those accidental little touches turned into your palm resting on his shoulder when you'd pop over to pick something up from his desk, your hand resting on one of his gargantuan sized ones and when you were feeling particularly sadisticâ your tits brushing his side when you'd bend over to have a look at something he'd point out to you in the article he was working on or when you'd let your blouse dip just enough for a peek at the curve of your tits and the soft lace against your skinâ only to watch him excuse himself to the bathroom and practically boult out of his chair with a murmur of "Golly." under his breath. Ugh he was just soo easy to play with, you couldn't help yourself.
What you didn't know, however, was how he'd fist his leaking cock inside, flushed and desperate, sweat glistening on his skin from how hard he'd try to will his hard-on away in an attempt to appear presentable when he'd come face-to-face with you next.
Clark did try to work up the courage to ask you out, he even took advice from goddamn Jimmy Olsen because of how down bad he was for you. But the second you flashed him that sweet smile, he'd all lose all train of thought, the words he'd memorised all night inside his head for a date, disappearing as he'd settle back to admire you instead. And you'd have to watch in real-time as the one question you'd been waiting so long to hear died in his throat, right in front of you.
And when you got tired of games, rather wanting the real deal, you cornered him by his desk. "Hey Clark, you wanna go out for coffee after work ?" you asked and his eyes widened. "And I mean as a date." you clarified knowing he'd never assume anything without you spelling it out. "Wha-yeah, c-coffee sounds-sounds good...as a- a date." he stammered, colour rising defiantly to his face. "Great!" you exclaimed happily, pressing a kiss to his cheek before bouncing off to get some more work done, leaving him breathless and practically struggling to stand up from the way his knees were buckling.
_
That evening after your date, when he finally admitted how he feltâ his dimples popping sheepishlyâ you kissed him, sweet and perfect, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. When you pulled away, the look on his faceâ dazed and delighted, his cock pressing stiffly against your stomachâ told you that this night was far from over.
a/n : if anyone would like to be added to the taglist for Clark Kent please don't hesitate to let me know <3
taglist : @y0inked, @castielsonlyangel, @zenoxl, @bowxs, @redsbookshelf.
Clark adored you. To him, you were perfect. You were everything. But if he had to pick one flaw, it would be when you got hung up on something, you wouldnât give up. Usually heâd admire it, the way you sunk your teeth into a story or keep on questioning until you got the questions you needed for your latest article. Only, it wasnât quite the same when he was on the receiving end.
âYou know your magic glasses?â you asked as you lay against Clarkâs chest in bed.
âHmm,â he replied, too engrossed in the article he was reading.
âYour glasses,â you repeated.
âMy hypnoglasses?â
âYeah, your magic glasses. If I wore them would I look different?â
Now that got his attention. He put his book down and sat up, a smirk across his face. âWhy would you want to look different, sweetheart? Youâre gorgeous.â
âI know,â you said with a smile, âjust wondering if itâd work for me.â
âI mean, no one has tried them on apart from me. They wouldnât work on me, of course.â
You giggled, âof course, but it would be cool you know. Could get an extra free cookie on free cookie day, get double the free samples, commit crimes-â
Clark shot you a look.
âKIDDING!â
You snuggled back into his side again and he thought the conversation maybe was over for now, your curiosity settled for now at least. How wrong he was.
âOH! If I wore them to the work Halloween contest would I win or would no one recognise my costume? How do they even work? Where did they even come from?â
Clark listened to you rant and ramble. He loved it but it was also getting late and he didnât have the answers to your questions. âSweetheartâŠsleep. Please.â
âBut I have too many questions. My brain is too full to sleep.â
Clark shook his head. He picked up his book once more, hoping youâd get the signal to settle down.
âClarkâŠif youâre glasses are meant to make you look different and less attractive how come I wanted to fuck both you as Clark and you as Superman?â
He sighed, slipping his bookmark into the page he was on. He wasnât going to be finishing this chapter tonight.
âYou knowâŠcome to think of it, itâs incredibly creepy you hypnotised me without my consent. Thatâs just rude.â
âIt was for your own protection, canât have the people I love being put in danger by hanging around with Superman.â
âWaitâŠso if you wore them in front of ma and pa, would they not recognise you?â
âWellâŠIâve never worn them in front of-â
âAND how did you even get them? What are they made of?â
âSweetheartâŠwhere has all this come from?â Clark finally asked, he didnât mind the curiosity but it was midnight and he knew if you didnât sleep youâd be cranky in the morning.
âDunno, just curious.â
âGo to sleep. If you still wanna know I can tell you in the morning.â
You snuggled down further in the bed with him, still snuggled against his chest listening to his steady heartbeat as you closed your eyes. Clark felt your breath even out and he relaxed a little.
Before he could release a breath of his own at you, finally falling asleep your eyes shot open once more. âOne more thingâŠif you look at yourself in the mirror with them, does that mean you donât recognise yourself?â
He let out a groanâŠneither of you would be getting much sleep.
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