under pressure — c.k.
pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: smut | wc: 3.1k | KENT <- collab m.list (be sure to check out the other lovely fics & stay tuned for more!!!)
summary: clark can’t leave you alone—even when he really, really should. the pressure builds… and something has to give.
warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), clark cusses 2.5 times, unprotected sex (p in v), pussy drunk!clark, rough sex, loss of control, furniture breaking, overstimulation, nsfw themes + language, reader called “baby”
a/n: clark breaks the bathtub while fucking you. that’s it. that’s the fic. A BIG THANK YOU to @tw1sters for including me in this collab!!! i had so much fun writing this and can’t wait to read everyone else’s!! hope you guys enjoy! <3 //graphics: @sparklingsin — thank you ash for the beautiful header below. still can’t get over how talented you are!! 🤍🤍
Clark was supposed to be leaving for work.
Well, that had been the plan, at least. He was mostly dressed for it too, shirt crisp, tie half-adjusted, sleeves buttoned, everything in place except the last few steps that would actually get him out the door.
His shoes waited by the couch. His jacket was draped neatly over the dining room chair. Just a few final adjustments and he’d be gone.
It should have been simple. Really, it should have. But when it came to you, simple had never been something he could count on.
You were minding your own business. Relaxing. Existing. Apparently, that alone was enough to ruin whatever focus he had left.
Clark stood at the sink, adjusting his tie in the mirror, fingers working at the knot with practiced precision. He fixed it once, then again, and again, like something about it still wasn’t sitting right, even though it had been perfect the first time.
Behind him, the tub sat visible in the reflection, and you were there, sunk low in the water, completely at ease. Steam filled the room in slow curls, softening the edges of everything, including you.
Clark’s eyes kept flicking toward you in the mirror, quick at first, then slower. Then longer. And longer. Long enough that he’d forget what he was doing entirely before dragging his gaze back up to his own reflection like that might somehow fix it.
He swallowed hard and forced his attention back to his tie.
Focus.
Clark straightened, running a hand through his hair before adjusting his glasses, eyes fixed on his reflection to anchor him there, to keep him moving, to keep him from—
His gaze slipped again.
Slower this time. Heavier in a way where he couldn’t even pretend it was accidental.
The water moved when you shifted your legs, the surface breaking just enough to catch and follow, offering brief, shifting glimpses before settling again. Droplets clung to your shoulders and throat, slipping slowly over your skin each time you moved, tracing small paths he couldn’t stop noticing. The whole room felt warm with it, thick with quiet and water and the faint scent of whatever you’d poured into the tub.
You weren’t even doing anything, not really, which only made it worse. Clark couldn’t seem to look anywhere else, or think of anything else for that matter.
That didn’t stop him from trying, though.
And God, did he try.
Clark let out a slow, steady breath, deeper than it needed to be, like it might push whatever this was back down where it belonged.
“Alright, baby,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “I have to go.”
He turned and stepped closer as he said it, already leaning down before the sentence had fully settled between you. It was supposed to be quick. Normal. Just one last soft kiss before work.
Clark’s hand braced on the edge of the tub as his lips met yours, gentle and familiar, something that should’ve ended there but didn’t. You were warm, your mouth slightly parted, soft where you gave under him without resistance.
He lingered a second too long, catching the faint drag of your lower lip before pulling back just barely, his breath brushing yours.
His gaze dropped to your mouth again—and stayed there.
Something tightened in his chest, heavier now, pushing up from where he’d tried to bury it.
He kissed you again.
Longer this time.
And then again, deeper, his mouth pressing into yours with intent, the kiss opening, getting away from him, losing whatever restraint had been left in it. His hand on the tub clenched tighter, grounding himself in the strain while the other came up to your face, thumb pressing along your jaw as he pulled you into him.
He should have stopped. He knew that. Knew that this was the last thing he should be doing right now.
The thought flickered, thin and useless, drowned out by the way you felt, by the way your lips moved with his, by the immediate reaction in his body. Heat hit him low and sharp, his cock caught tight beneath his slacks, the pressure there before he could even pretend otherwise.
Still, he didn’t pull away.
His mouth stayed on yours, each kiss deepening with every second he didn’t stop. His breathing shifted, uneven, heavier now, pulling through his nose in quiet bursts that brushed hot against your skin. Every inhale came tighter than the last, tension winding through his chest instead of easing down.
You laughed softly against his mouth, a quiet, breathy sound that brushed his lips when you spoke. “You’re gonna get all wet,” you murmured, the words light, amused, as if this was still something easy. Still playful.
His response came in the way his mouth pressed harder to yours, more insistent, the kiss turning urgent without pause. His hand flexed against the edge of the tub again, grip tightening, fingers pressing into the porcelain for resistance, for something solid to hold while everything else slipped further out of his control.
A faint sound gave under his palm.
Small. Thin. Barely there.
A hairline crack split through the porcelain, too quiet for anyone but him to hear, but he caught it all the same. That faint give beneath his hand, the smallest surrender under pressure, something yielding when it shouldn’t have.
It echoed too closely. Too much like the way his restraint had been going, not all at once, but splitting, fracturing, giving in pieces he wasn’t getting back.
He didn’t notice himself leaning closer at first. It just happened gradually, his weight shifting forward, his body following where his mouth already was, where his focus had narrowed completely.
The edge of the tub pressed into his body, then more and more. He kept going. Closer. Further. Until there wasn’t really a line left to cross.
His weight tipped past the edge before either of you could slow it, one knee dropping into the water, then the other, his mouth still fixed to yours. The bath surged around him, spilling hard over the sides as his clothes soaked through all at once. His shirt and pants stuck to him in seconds, ruined and heavy, water streaming from the fabric and pooling across the floor.
It didn’t matter. None of it did. The mess, the sound, the fact that he had been halfway out the door minutes ago. All of it dropped away under one singular focus.
You.
His hands were already on you, firm, urgent, pulling you up and into him with a kind of need that made it clear he was past the point of caring how it looked. Water sloshed violently with the movement, spilling over again, your body shifting against his as he maneuvered you onto his lap.
It wasn’t neat or careful. It was messy, rushed, a little clumsy in the way urgency always was with him when he got like this. Clark moved fast, driven by how badly he needed you there, by how little patience he had left to get you there any other way.
You startled, breath catching sharply, the surprise obvious in the way your hands braced against him, the way your body reacted to the suddenness of it. He didn’t ease up, didn’t even think about slowing down. His mouth found yours again, rougher, open, all urgency now. He sank lower into the tub beneath you, water shifting hard around his body, soaking him through completely, but it didn’t register. Not with you on him.
His hands moved like he couldn’t pick a place, like he needed all of you at once. One slid up your back, broad and hot, pressing you down into him, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades before sweeping lower. The other traced down your side, slow for half a second before taking hold of your hip, then shifting again.
Higher.
His hand closed over your breast, fingers curling around the weight of it as he squeezed. His thumb moved slowly over your nipple, pressing, rolling, pulling a breathy reaction from you. The sound you made hit his mouth, and he swallowed it instantly, tongue pushing in to taste it, to take more of you anywhere he could.
His hips worked beneath you with no real attempt to hide it anymore, rolling up against you with purpose. His cock pressed against you through the soaked fabric of his slacks, the friction pulling a low, strained sound from him as it jumped against you, needy and insistent. His hands settled harder at your hips, keeping you right where he needed you.
Steam hung thick around you both, heat wrapping tight, softening everything around the edges until even his glasses began to fog.
It registered for half a second—
That was all it got.
Clark’s hand shot up, ripping the glasses from his face before they could fog over completely. He tossed them aside without looking, the frames skidding across the bathroom tile with a sharp crack that failed to pull his attention.
His mouth crashed into yours again, deeper, sloppier, breath hot and wrecked as his hands went right back to you, gripping, sliding, squeezing like any space between his hands and your body was too much.
Clark wasted no time. One hand dropped from you just long enough to fumble at his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency as he yanked it loose. The buckle knocked dully against itself before he shoved his pants down, fabric resisting under the water, soaked and clinging as he forced it out of the way beneath you. The movement jostled you both, water splashing up and over the edge again, but he didn’t pause, didn’t dare break the rhythm of his mouth against yours.
He didn’t give you the usual slow slide, didn’t ease you into it like he normally would. The second he freed himself, he was already pulling you closer, lining himself up more by need than patience, his breath catching the moment he found you before pushing in all at once.
The stretch hit immediately, sudden and full, pulling a cry from you as your body clenched around him. Clark groaned at the feel of it, low and broken, his head dipping forward like the sensation had knocked the rest of him loose.
“Shi—”
The word broke apart in his throat, cut off into something rougher.
There was no time to adjust, no chance for your body to catch up before his hands found your hips and started moving you again. His hands locked onto you, fingers sinking in as he guided you into motion, pulling you down onto him, lifting you back up, setting a pace that hit hard and fast right from the start.
Water sloshed violently with every movement, spilling over the edge in steady waves, the sound of it mixing with breath and skin and the wet slide of your bodies coming together again and again.
It didn’t take long before you caught it, matched it—
Then took it.
Your hands twisted into his soaked button-up, fingers curling tight in the fabric as you shifted your weight and rode him properly, not just following anymore. You bounced on him, harder now, faster, the angle changing as you ground down between each lift, dragging him deeper every time you came back down. The friction got to him immediately.
A ragged sound slipped out of him, as you took over, his hands braced at your hips while your pace started pulling him apart. Each movement worked more out of him, left him less steady, less able to hide how badly you had him.
You felt too good.
Too tight, too warm, too perfect around him, every bounce pulling another rough sound from him, every grind making his grip tighten.
He was already gone.
Fucked out in a way that stripped him down to instinct, to reaction, to nothing but the feel of you working him over. He could feel it bleeding into everything else too, that lack of control, the way heat built behind his eyes each time you sank down, the way his strength kept threatening to slip into his hands where they held you. Even the air leaving him came out wrong now, too hot, too wrecked.
He tried to keep it all in check, tried to rein it in before it got away from him.
Clark’s jaw tightened, breath snagging as his hands clung to you with a care the rest of him had no room for. Everything in him wanted to push harder, take more, fuck up into you with all the strength he kept buried under skin and restraint. He held it back by inches, barely, muscles locked beneath you while his touch stayed careful through sheer force alone.
It worked.
Mostly.
Until you leaned forward.
Your arms slid around him, pulling him close, pressing your body flush against his as his breath broke hard in his chest. The sound of his name left you in a low, wrecked moan, dragged straight out of you with the roll of your hips, each one locking tighter around him.
“Baby—” he tried, the word breaking halfway through, strained, like the start of a warning he already knew wouldn’t survive the next second.
You didn’t slow down, didn’t give him the space to finish it, and he didn’t fight for it either. The warning lost shape in the way you kept moving, in the fact that he didn’t want you to stop at all.
Your hips drove down again and again, relentless, the pressure building with every movement, taking him deeper each time, too much and not enough all at once. It stacked on him fast, sensation piling as his hands dug into your waist.
And then your hips sank lower.
One deep, filthy grind.
It pressed him all the way in and held him there, your weight settling fully, the drag of it hitting something sharp and exact that tore straight through whatever control he had left.
Clark’s entire body seized before a loud, guttural groan ripped out of him as he came hard, hips jerking up into you on instinct.
His hand slammed down with it, the force splintering through the side of the tub hard enough to break a chunk loose. Porcelain gave way beneath his palm, the side splitting open as water flooded through the gap and rushed across the floor.
At the same time, his eyes flashed.
Just for a split second.
A flare of heat vision shot wide, too sudden for him to catch, striking the metal faucet behind you with enough force to shatter it clean. The pipe split with a harsh snap, water bursting out hot and pressurized, hissing into the room and adding to the chaos.
“Shit—”
His eyes squeezed shut instantly, jaw clenching hard as he tried to rein it back in, like he could force himself under control if he just held tight enough. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, locking you against him as another rough groan tore out of his chest, muffled against your skin.
Water poured around you now, from the split-open side of the tub, from the broken pipe, soaking everything, flooding the tile, but he didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
Your reaction caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, a choked inhale, a sound that never fully formed as the pace hit too fast, too hard. Your body tried to respond, hands tightening on him, fingers gripping into soaked fabric, but every attempt got swallowed by the next thrust, the next snap of his hips that stole whatever you were about to say.
The break in the tub shifted everything, the side giving way enough to let his legs spread wider beneath you, changing the angle completely. He felt it and used it without hesitation, hips bucking up into you even as he was still coming.
He kept you pressed to him, hands locked at your hips as he fucked up into you through the broken rush of water, through the soaked mess around you, through the wreckage of everything he’d already let go too far.
“I’m sorry—” he gritted out, the words catching as his hips snapped again. “I’ll fix it—I promise—just—” His hands pressed harder into your hips, breath shuddering hot between you.
That was the only thing left in his head.
Need.
His pace changed, not easing, only deepening, his body rising to meet yours as he dragged you down against him in heavy rolls that kept him buried inside you while he chased the feeling again and again. His hands moved with it, guiding the motion, making you feel every inch of him as he ground up hard, breath breaking with each grind.
Clark forced his eyes open, pulling himself back into it, into the moment, into you. His brows pulled tight immediately, mouth parting on a ragged breath as his gaze dropped between you, locking onto where your bodies met. He watched the way you took him, the way he disappeared inside you with every movement, and the sight tore another wrecked sound from his chest.
The reaction chased up his spine just as fast, too much, too immediate, and his head tipped back on instinct, eyes squeezing shut again before it could go any further. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he tried to contain it, tried to fight that heat building fast and dangerous behind his eyes again. It came back stronger, hotter, threatening to spill if he lost even a fraction more control.
But that didn’t stop him.
“Keep—” his voice faltered, breath catching, “keep going—don’t—”
You could see how badly he was fighting it. It was there in the hard set of his jaw, in the faint tremor running through his hands, in the way his breathing refused to settle even after everything. The pressure hadn’t eased. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Your mouth parted, instinct kicking in, ready to ask if he was sure—but he caught it.
Maybe it was the way your hips stilled for half a second. Maybe it was the breath you pulled in, that slight pause before you spoke. Whatever it was, he felt it instantly, his hands locking at your hips hard enough to keep you there.
“Don’t—fuck—don’t stop,” he groaned.
His hips ground up as he pulled you down harder, the motion breaking his words into something rougher, something he barely seemed to realize had left him.
The edge of it cracked just as fast as it came.
His voice dropped in sync with your hips, the tone softer but no less strained—
“Please.”
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