a/n: (Loosely inspired by Tears by Sabrina Carpenter) This is my attempt at easing back into smut after october lol. Also, how do authors on here make a quick cute little smutty fic? Like less that 1k words, because that was the plan here and it obviously didn't go well. Please teach me your ways :(
Summary: A responsible man helping you prep for Thanksgiving shouldn't make your knees this weak…yet here you are, leaking gratitude onto your couch.
Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | Coworkers hooking up, loverboy and whimpering!Clark, oral f!receiving, unprotected p-in-v sex with creampie, praise kink, fear of getting caught, use and malfunctioning of superhuman abilities during sex.
Word count: 3,6k
Divider by me ;)
The thing every woman swore she would do after leaving an unfulfilling relationship was, “I’ll take time to be alone and explore,” a noble declaration of independence you genuinely intended to follow, except that promise disintegrated almost immediately the second your coworker and friend, who had absolutely no business being that handsome, that thoughtful or that willing to lift heavy objects without breaking a sweat, proposed to fill something else entirely… and not metaphorically.
You were hosting a Thanksgiving dinner at your new place for the first time, and Clark…responsible, reliable and maddeningly helpful Clark…apparently decided that helping you move in, carrying boxes like they weighed nothing and building IKEA furniture with the kind of focus usually reserved for bomb defusing, had not been an adequate use of his abilities, because of course he had to go and offer to help with the décor and the cooking too, like some kind of domestic superhero sent to sabotage your commitment to emotional celibacy.
Hooking up with him hadn’t exactly been the plan when you first accepted his help all those months ago, not when he was just your coworker with soft eyes, big shoulders and a smile that could undo nations but it had happened anyway and to be entirely honest with yourself, dangerously so…it was definitely the longer end of the stick.
…Literally and figuratively.
The table was full, the turkey was in the oven, your guests were minutes away and yet you were sprawled on the couch with your dress bunched up around your hips, legs parted wide and Clark’s shoulders wedged between your thighs like you had all the time in the world.
You hadn’t asked for it this time…truthfully, you hadn’t asked the first time either. All it ever took was the thought of him, the weight of him moving around your home, the sound of his deep voice telling you “Sit back, I’ve got it,” while he chopped, stirred and prepared everything with that devastating combination of gentleness and authority. Something about the way he operated when someone knew who he really was made him…different. Less restrained and more sure of himself.
It also made him confident enough to stalk toward you with quiet intent, kneel beside the couch and roll your dress up slowly, purposefully never once breaking eye contact as if your body were the only project worth finishing tonight.
“Oh my god, uh,” your nails dug deep into the couch cushions as your back arched helplessly. Your hips moved on instinct to meet the slow, hungry strokes of Clark’s tongue as it pressed past the fabric of your soaked slit repeatedly while his nose nudged your throbbing clit each time he licked lower, the warm exhale from him just as sinful as the wet heat of his mouth. He knew your body with a frightening precision, like he’d spent months memorizing every twitch, gasp and potential point of weakness. In many ways, he had and he already knew it better than your vibrator did or even worse, better than the ex you wasted five years on.
He took his time with you, that was the dangerous part. Clark wasn’t rushed, sloppy or in any kind of hurry.
He licked you with the slow, measured patience of a man starving after days without a meal, tasting, savoring and following every pulse and throb with his mouth open and ready to swallow it all down. Your sweet slick coated his chin, dripping down in thin glistening trails he didn’t bother wiping away.
Clark was, in every sense of the word, an eater.
The sounds alone…wet, needy and obscene were enough to push you toward your climax embarrassingly fast. He kept your thighs spread with ease, thumbs hooked into warm skin as he worked and tugged his glasses off with one hand before they fogged over too much to see. He always needed to see you, he insisted on it after the first time he’d made you come, precisely thirty-five seconds after you’d claimed confidently, “Orgasms aren’t really something I do.”
But now? It was practically your hobby, in fact, it was all you could do. Before bed, when you thought of him…In the shower, while still thinking of him and now, right here on your couch with his mouth wrapped around your clit like it belonged there.
“Fuck, Clark…” you breathed out, voice already cracking as your eyes rolled back. His mouth tightened around your clit, sucking gently before dragging the softest part of you between his lips. One of his big hands slid up your stomach to cup your breast, kneading the tender flesh until your feet curled and your breath stuttered.
This was always his favorite part, watching you fall apart.
He never looked away if he could help it. He was so focused, so present in these moments that it almost felt unfair. With you, he felt fully human, grounded by the one thing he couldn’t tune out even if he tried, which happened to be the sound of your pleasure. Hell, there could’ve been a metahuman threat half a street away and he wouldn’t have noticed, because the only thing he heard was you. From the way your plush walls clenched and fluttered and the way your voice broke on a moan that vibrated straight into his skull, to the sharp inhale that meant you were right on the edge.
And God, did you clench.
So hard he could feel your orgasm building just from the way your thighs trembled around his ears. Your slick coated his tongue, warm and sweet and he mouthed at you harder, letting you trap him there as your body tightened like it was trying to keep him while beads of sweat formed along your cleavage, glistening under the soft lamp light.
He watched each droplet trace down your skin and your pulse flutter in your neck at a rhythm his own unfairly thick cock eagerly matched, straining, throbbing and already dripping into the confines of his pants as if he were the one being touched and still, he didn’t stop, not until you shattered.
He continued until the tremor running through your body ebbed and softened, licking you carefully through every last ripple of pleasure until the wave finally passed and only then did he lift his head slowly, unwilling to breathe anything that wasn’t your scent, before crawling up your body and nudging his nose into the warm crook of your neck where he finally inhaled deeply, luxuriously, in a way that made your whole spine tingle while you struggled simply to draw in a lungful of air.
“I could die between those thighs,” he exhaled against your skin, the words warm and thick with affection and hunger, “are you okay?”
You swallowed and nodded, though your head barely moved because everything in you still trembled, your hands shaky, impatient and undeniably needy, were already fumbling with his belt and then his fly, desperate to free him, desperate to feel the heavy, pulsing weight of his cock filling the space he’d left aching and empty after last week’s frantic, unforgettable encounter.
Clark was big, your own personal unfair advantage and far too humble about it, which somehow made every part of the situation even more devastating. At least this time he wasn’t shy or flustered about the dark wet spot soaking through his underwear, he couldn’t be, not when the thick, flushed head of his cock was already leaking, twitching and pulsing in the same fevered rhythm your clit still throbbed with.
He wrapped one large hand around his length, hissing through his teeth at even that slight touch, guiding himself down between your legs and pressing slowly, torturously so, inside you, stretching you so deeply and so sweetly that you threw your head back against the cushions and moaned without reservation, your body instantly gripping him hard, impossibly tight, like you were trying to swallow the whole man in one greedy pull.
It felt like fighting the tide, the way your walls fluttered and squeezed around him, already trying to drag another orgasm out of you embarrassingly fast, your body always so ready for this man…too ready and eager in a way you’d never been with anyone else. “Oh heavens,” you moaned, your hand sliding up his back as you struggled not to tear his pristine white shirt to shreds. God, he looked sinfully good above you like this, flushed, focused and slipping so carefully into you.
He was always gentle with you despite his size and strength, pushing into you with that careful, reverent pace that let you feel everything…every thick vein, ridge and obscene detail you wanted imprinted permanently inside your greedy walls. He buried his face in your neck, something intimate and startlingly tender for a casual hookup and then his arms wrapped around you…his stupidly huge and impossibly strong arms…in a full-bodied bear hug that lifted you just enough off the couch for both of you to whine pathetically right before you gasped in shock and pleasure when he finally bottomed out. That sound, that involuntary gasp, nearly unmade him entirely, he swore it was enough to ruin him like he wasn’t anything more than a man hopelessly in love with the way you said his name.
You were even wetter now, embarrassingly so, your body giving him everything it had as he rolled his hips in careful, possessive motions like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving the warm clutch of your pussy for even a second, fucking himself into you while releasing these low, sensual moans he kept trying and failing to muffle against your skin. The noises the two of you made together were truly obscene and straight from x-movies, the kind of sounds you used to swear were exaggerated by performers until you found yourself living inside them, only to later stand in the elevator next to your eighty-four-year-old neighbor and wonder with burning humiliation if they’d heard anything through the walls and whether you should apologize or simply move countries.
“Uh yes!” you cried out as he rolled his hips up at just the right angle, the tip of his cock pressing hard into that soft, devastating spot inside you that made your whole body go electric, the spot that made it rain, something you genuinely didn’t think you could do until Clark had discovered it, apparently determined to prove your body had pages you hadn’t even read yet. He knew he shouldn’t play that dangerous game…shouldn’t target that place, tease it, circle it and worship it now but he’d been so entranced the first time it happened that now he couldn’t wait to play plumber again.
“C–Clark…behave,” you whimpered.
You couldn’t see it but Clark’s mouth curled into a wicked grin against your skin. You knew he would behave or maybe you were willing to lie to yourself and pretend he might, but the truth was he liked letting you know that he could break you open all over again if you needed him to. He groaned, fighting back the urge to give you everything all at once, though even the image of your nails digging into his back and your legs trembling around his hips was enough to bring him straight to his edge.
But luckily, you were right there too.
Your chest heaved with every helpless breath, your lips parted and trembled like your mouth was unable to decide whether it should gasp, moan or beg beg for more. Clark kissed you then, swallowing your sounds like he needed them to breathe, though the kiss was also a warning or maybe a preventative measure, because…
Your doorbell rang.
Your rolling eyes jerked to him, then snapped toward the door, wide and glassy with tears from the orgasm clawing up your spine. You met Clark’s maddeningly calm eyes. “Are you broken?! You didn’t know?!” you whisper-yelled, the words shaky, frantic and interrupted by whimpers you tried desperately to swallow, because right then, of all times, Clark decided to fuck you like the entire planet depended on it, driving into you hard and balls deep while grinding his pelvis against your swollen, sensitive clit.
“Ignore it. Focus on me,” he breathed, choosing very intentionally not to admit he was in fact unbelievably and catastrophically broken, and had been from the first time he kissed you or maybe even earlier, since the moment he walked into the office and saw you there with your small box of belongings and that devastatingly sweet smile. He hadn’t heard anyone at the door until they lifted their foot to step onto your floor but he’d be damned if he left you hanging until after the party.
You nodded, mostly because you couldn’t do anything else, think anything else or breathe anything else.
“Good girl,” he groaned and the words spilled out of him instinctively, instantly and your eyes went wide at the way they hit you…at the way your body reacted so violently and visibly, like he’d pressed a brand-new button he didn’t know you had. He felt it too and you, well, you…
“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, absolutely certain you were about to scream the building down.
“Yeah you are,” Clark hissed as your walls tightened viciously around him. He pressed one large, steady hand over your mouth just in time to catch the scream as your legs twitched violently and your whole body writhed beneath him, your teary eyes rolling back as Clark thrust through your orgasm and then fell with you, his hips stuttering, jaw slackening and body shaking as he came harder than he ever had in his life, painting your walls white with a low, wrecked groan. His ears rang so loud he swore he’d gone deaf on his left side and he couldn’t wait for it to happen again.
He met your eyes as you both panted for breath, asking silently if he could remove his hand and trust you to stay quiet. When you nodded, he let go.
“Lois, Jimmy and Cat,” he said, still breathless, pulling out slowly while hissing again at the sensitivity and the way he was somehow still half-hard and visibly struggling, truly struggling, to tuck himself back into his slacks.
He rose to his feet so fast it almost startled you, immediately hurrying toward the bathroom with that mix of nervousness and tenderness he always tried and often failed to disguise, running the tap to wet a towel while you collapsed back into the cushions, eyes fluttering shut as a fleeting, microscopic part of you regretted ever proposing to host Thanksgiving dinner at your place for half a second before that regret melted into a blissful haze, because you had genuinely reached cloud nine. Drifting into slow, delicious thoughts about the many, many different ways he could pound you next…on the counter, over the dining table, against the wall…until Clark returned and pressed the cool, damp towel between your legs to clean you up, making you gasp in surprise at the sudden temperature against your oversensitive skin.
“Are you hurt?” he asked immediately, worry etched in every line of his voice.
You rolled your eyes. “Morally. I don’t know if that counts,” you muttered as you sat up, his quiet chuckle brushing warmly against your ears and that’s when you finally looked at him properly and your eyes widened. “Oh… shit.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Your hair,” you said, gesturing helplessly. “I swear I tried to not mess it up…well, no, that’s a lie.” Because the truth was that the second his tongue touched your pussy, all good intentions vanished from your mind entirely.
The doorbell rang again, making you jolt and you swatted his hand away before standing much too fast on legs that had the structural integrity of overcooked spaghetti. “I’m coming!!… I–I mean to the door…not…the other thing. Fuck!” you stuttered, mortified, as Clark caught your stumble with one big hand on your waist, chuckling softly as he bent down to place your heels neatly in front of you so you could slip your feet into them while still clamping the wet towel between your thighs with the least dignity imaginable.
“It’s not funny,” you hissed.
“No, of course not,” he said with a shit-eating grin, leaning in to kiss you quickly, just a soft little press of lips that made butterflies explode in your stomach, because kisses with him weren’t sensual so much as… devastatingly sweet and torturously tender, the kind that made your heart stutter even though you were both very much half naked and debauched just minutes earlier.
“Your glasses,” you reminded him, grabbing them from the couch and slipping them onto his face while his hands slid your dress back down over your hips, palms warm, fingers lingering and then because he was Clark, he kissed you again repeatedly, like he already dreaded the idea of being in the same room with you for hours without being allowed to touch you the way he wanted.
Still adjusting your dress mid-walk, you stepped toward the hallway and tossed the damp towel into the nearest room which was your office, slamming the door as if that would magically trap all evidence of your sins inside, then took a deep, steadying breath as you approached the front door. Just before opening it, you caught sight of yourself in the hallway mirror, frantically fixing your hair, lipstick and mascara, making sure nothing screamed ‘I was just getting railed on my couch by Superman’, and then finally opened the door.
A sudden current of air rippled through the room, barely a whisper of movement and when you looked over your shoulder, Clark was gone. Of course he was.
You forced a smile as Lois, Jimmy and Cat walked in carrying an assortment of sides and drinks.
“What’s going on with you?” Lois asked immediately, her grin widening into that investigative-reporter stare that could strip steel.
“What’s… what?” you asked, eyes going round.
“We rang twice, I called you five times…I thought you needed help with the–” Lois began.
“Oh, that!” you cut her off, waving a dismissive hand as you shut the door behind them. “Poor time management on my part, but everything’s fine and–”
“Are you seeing your ex again?” Cat accused instantly, stepping inside behind Jimmy.
“What!? No!” you laughed, though the sound came out painfully awkward. “What makes you think that?” you asked, panicking already.
Jimmy simply pointed at the bouquet of flowers Clark had brought, sitting innocently on the counter.
Cat eyed it, then eyed you. “Yeah…that and you look…”
“That’s a new guy glow,” Lois concluded, nodding confidently. “Trust me.”
“Guys, c’mon…” you rolled your eyes, trying to act offended and failing miserably.
“It has to be that guy from the third floor,” Jimmy said. “No judgment…I just hope it’s for a good time, not a long time.”
They continued chatting as they set their things down and you moved toward the dining table while pretending to listen, only to suddenly freeze because something was missing. A very important something.
With the softest, most suspicious laugh in response to whatever Lois had just said, you drifted back to the couch and tried to discreetly search for the panties Clark had removed…and found absolutely nothing.
The doorbell rang again.
“I got it!” Jimmy called, bounding toward the door as Cat poured wine for herself and Lois.
Jimmy opened the door, revealing Steve…and Clark, right beside him, looking clean, polished and absolutely not like a man who’d just had his head between your thighs. His eyes met yours instantly, reading your panic like it was printed on a poster board. You approached with tiny, stiff steps, greeted Steve, then turned to Clark with a scold ready on your tongue but before you could speak, he slipped a hand into his pocket and held up your neatly bunched panties.
Your eyes blew wide as you snatched them out of his hand. “What is wrong with you?” you whispered furiously. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice!?”
“Took you less time than I hoped for but we can talk about it when they leave,” he murmured. “You should put them on.”
“I ‘should’?” you hissed back, insulted. “If I want to go incognito the whole night, I–”
“There’s a…tear…running down your thigh,” he said calmly, eyes flicking to the exact spot beneath your dress using his x-ray vision, before he looked back up and had the audacity, the absolute NERVE, to adjust his glasses. Your mouth fell open and closed in outraged silence before he added, “I’d love to have them back when the night ends and leave with them as a parting gift. Preferably out the door this time.”
“No one asked you to fly out my window!” you whisper-yelled, storming toward your bedroom but only making it a few steps before pivoting back, pointing at him accusingly. “And stay away from my underwear drawer tonight, you thief!”
Clark watched you go, grinning to himself, then strode casually into the main room, greeting everyone like he wasn’t an absolute menace. A few minutes later, you returned with a much less forced smile and a blissfully leak-free situation.
Lois was on you immediately, handing you a glass of wine with a wicked grin. “What are you thankful for tonight?”
You took the glass, exhaled and said softly, “My very giving friends.”
Clark met your eyes across the room, subtly licking his lips as you sipped your wine, already drunk off the sweetness he could still taste from you.
It was going to be a very fun night…
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
A/n: Just a heads-up for anyone browsing the archive, there’s a dad!Clark section now! I’ve organized it in chronological order as best as I could and I’ll do my best to keep doing the same since this has unintentionally turned into a little series. Enjoy following Clark navigating parenthood and all the chaos that comes with it!
Summary: Clark didn’t mean to see it but one accidental glance through his x-ray vision changes everything. Suddenly faced with an undeniable truth, he struggles to figure out how to tell you without freaking you out or himself. What starts as a quiet morning quickly turns into a whirlwind of nerves, affection and fumbling declarations of love.
Classification: Fluff/comedy | Talks of pregnancy, use of x-ray vision.
Word count: 3.9k
Divider by me ;)
Clark didn’t mean to eavesdrop.
Okay…that wasn’t entirely true. His hearing was just sharper than usual lately, tuned too fine, like the whole world had turned its volume up half a notch. Every clink of the silverware in the drawer, every faint hum of the refrigerator, every subtle change in your heartbeat while you brushed your teeth…he caught it, whether he wanted to or not and that was the problem.
Because your heartbeat had changed. It wasn’t faster, though it sometimes was. It wasn’t just softer, though it lulled him in quiet moments like background music he could never tire of. No, it was something else entirely, something that made the back of his neck prickle the first time he noticed it lying in bed beside you. A second rhythm, faint but steady, tucked inside yours like an echo.
He watched you as you moved around the bedroom, brushing your teeth, setting out tomorrow’s clothes and washing your face. There was a subtle glow about you tonight, the kind of light that wasn’t just from the bedside lamp. Clark tried to pinpoint what was different, your scent, your energy, the way your body moved…every clue was amplified through senses he couldn’t shut off. Nothing about it screamed danger, nothing about it screamed wrong either but it was different and that difference hummed inside him in a way that tugged at every corner of his mind.
He wanted to ask, to reach out and say something but the words got stuck in his throat. This wasn’t a crisis, not the kind he could solve with speed or strength. This was something delicate, fragile… something entirely human and Clark felt more acutely than ever the responsibility of approaching it carefully. So he stayed quiet and just watched. Noticing how your shoulders relaxed as you slipped into pajamas, how the rhythm of your heartbeat subtly shifted with each deep breath and how the air around you seemed just a little warmer, richer, full of a subtle, indefinable promise.
Then, finally, he stood, glasses in hand, feigning the need for a glass of water but really, he didn’t move toward the kitchen sink, he hovered at the edge of the room, staring at the tile floor, trying to reconcile the impossible sound echoing in his head.
Clark pressed a hand to his chest, heart hammering in quiet anticipation and disbelief. He was a man who had faced threats that could destroy cities, who had held the fate of the world in his hands and yet here he was, completely unmoored by something so ordinary and extraordinary at once. Something so…human.
And in that quiet, midnight kitchen, he realized just how much he wanted to understand it, protect it and be part of it… even before he fully knew what it was.
The next morning, Clark moved around the kitchen with his usual quiet efficiency, plating up your breakfast with care. The sizzling of the pan, the faint hiss of the coffee machine and the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the space but he barely noticed. His senses were tuned to something else, something subtle and entirely new. As he placed the final slice of toast on the plate, he paused mid-motion, head lifting slightly, nostrils flaring almost unconsciously.
The smell hit him first, delicate but unmistakably different. It was you, your natural scent, familiar and comforting but layered with something else, something richer, warmer and subtly charged. It wasn’t unpleasant, if anything, it made his chest tighten in a way that was equal parts awe and wonder. He set down the plate with a soft clink and took a breath, trying to steady his voice before speaking.
Just then, you walked into the kitchen, the morning light brushing over your hair and eyes still half-lidded with sleep. Clark froze for a moment, studying you without meaning to, before finally giving in to the words that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue for over a week now. “You… you smell different,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, as if admitting it aloud might shatter the fragile truth he’d only just begun to grasp.
Your eyebrows rose in mild amusement and a soft chuckle escaped you. “Different? In a bad way?”
Clark’s eyes widened slightly and he held up a hand in quick reassurance. “No, no! Not that. Not at all. It’s… it’s just… noticeable to…me. In a good way...really good way. I’m sure.” His lips twitched into a nervous smile as he tried to find the right words but mostly he just stood there, heart pounding, hoping you understood the awe in his tone.
You laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth and padded over to the kitchen island. Clark placed the plate carefully in front of you, smoothing the napkin underneath as if it were a ceremonial gesture, before moving around the counter, brushing a hand over your hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Then, almost instinctively, he trailed a soft kiss to your shoulder and for a moment he lingered there, inhaling, letting the subtle warmth and scent of you fill his senses.
You shifted slightly, sensing the intensity of his attention and looked up at him with a small, curious frown. “Clark… are you okay?”
He blinked, a faint flush rising to his cheeks as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “Yeah, yeah…sorry, told you it was in a good way.” he murmured, stepping back a little, though his gaze never left you. “Eat up,” he said and somehow, even as he stepped away, the simple words felt imbued with awe, as if the breakfast itself was a small celebration of something.
You grabbed your fork, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “You’re not eating?”
Clark shook his head, voice quiet but urgent. “I–uh… first I need to fix something in the kitchen. I just realized the garbage disposal isn’t draining properly.” He gave the sink a cautious glance, then moved to the edge of the counter, eyes narrowing as he extended his vision beyond the tile, past the pipes, tracking the exact point of blockage. His x-ray vision hummed softly in his mind, pinpointing the snag.
“Clark, you don’t have to play handyman before breakfast,” you said, smirking.
“I…I just need to check,” he said, voice tight with concentration until you spoke again.
“Especially if you want me to keep my hands to myself.”
Clark turned to you with the beginning of a smirk that soon twisted into shock, eyes widening in a way that made your stomach flip. “OH MY GOD!” he shouted, jerking his head up.
Your fork clattered onto the plate. “What?! Did you see a roach?!” you said, eyes wide and voice dramatically panicked. “Is there a–are we being invaded? Should I grab a broom?!”
Clark held up a hand, stepping toward you, his expression somewhere between awe and panic. “Sit down. Just…sit down, please.” His hands froze midair near your hips, trembling slightly, while his gaze dropped to your stomach. He tried not to stare, tried not to betray the storm of certainty and disbelief roaring in his mind. “I–I’m sorry,” he murmured, quickly shaking his head while repeating in his mind ‘I’m not a doctor… I can’t be sure of what that is’… Still, he was barely keeping himself together, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.
“It was just– I thought it was one pipe but then there were…uh…bonus pipes. Surprise pipes...You know what? I don't know what I saw. I’ll go get the toolbox,” he blurted, moving quickly toward the hallway. In his flustered state, he misjudged a step, his shoulder clipping the kitchen arch frame hard enough to crack the wood with a loud splinter.
Clark froze, eyes darting back to you, then cleared his throat nervously. “I–I’ll fix that too, just…eat. Do you want another plate? You must be hungry from…sleeping…no? You…just tell me if you need more food, I’ll make you anything…anytime.” he added, before disappearing into the hallway.
You blinked at him, fork now poised midair, trying to process the mix of chaos and utter Clark-style disaster unfolding around you. Even before you could ask what he meant, it was clear something monumental had just happened and Clark…Well, Clark was already panicking in the most endearing way possible.
He managed to get you both out the door hours later without unraveling, though it felt like every second was stretched thin by the secret buzzing under his skin. You kissed him goodbye with your usual warmth, completely unaware of the way his heart jackhammered in his chest. He smiled, waved and promised himself he’d act normal.
Instead of heading straight to the Planet, Clark detoured. The public library had just opened and he stood there in his work clothes like a man on a mission, scanning the shelves until his arms were stacked with books on early pregnancy, human development, fetal growth, and, he winced even as he grabbed it, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. He checked them all out at once, earning a raised eyebrow from the librarian.
By midmorning, half the Daily Planet staff had assumed Kent was having “digestive issues” because he disappeared into the bathroom so often. In reality, he was crammed into a stall with his glasses sliding down his nose, flipping pages so fast they blurred, his long legs folded awkwardly against the tiled wall. Every paragraph felt like it pulled him further into awe and panic at once.
At his desk, he checked in on you more than usual, sending you small texts, calling under the pretense of “just hearing your voice.” Perry nearly chewed him out twice for being distracted and Clark swore he’d keep it together at home.
And he did. Over dinner, he laughed at your stories, clinked his fork against yours when you teased him and kept his gaze from lingering on your middle no matter how badly his chest ached to. By the time you fell asleep curled against him, Clark looked like the picture of calm but once your breathing evened out, he slipped away.
The living room lamp glowed low as he settled on the couch, laptop open, books spread around him in a messy arc. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to recall exactly what he’d seen that morning with his x-ray vision.
It had been small, smaller than his fingertip. Just a cluster of faint, translucent shapes tucked deep inside you. He remembered how it seemed half-formed and yet so precise: the thin shadow of a yolk sac, the faint outline of tissue that wasn’t yours but carried its own rhythm. That tiny echo he’d heard the night before pulsed faintly in his memory, soft but insistent, perfectly in time with the image he’d caught.
Now he sat hunched over diagrams of embryos at 2-3 weeks, comparing what he’d seen with medical illustrations: descriptions of implantation, how cells began dividing and how a faint flicker could already be the start of a heart. His glasses slid down again as he scrolled through forums and medical articles with feverish focus, trying to ground the impossible in fact.
He ran a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the reality sank deeper. If what he saw was right, then you weren’t just different, you were carrying the beginning of something extraordinary and Clark Kent, the man who could hear a thousand heartbeats at once, was suddenly terrified of how he could ever keep his own steady long enough to tell you.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, scrolling back and forth over the first article that had popped up after his frantic search: “What does an embryo look like at 3 weeks?”
He didn’t notice the soft creak of floorboards or the faint shuffle as you padded in from the bedroom. He didn’t even notice when you perched yourself on the back of the couch just behind him, chin resting in your hand as you peeked over his shoulder.
“…‘Three weeks after conception, the fertilized egg is now a tiny ball of cells…’” you read aloud, your tone making the words sound absurdly out of place.
Clark jumped so violently he nearly knocked the laptop off his knees. “Sweetheart!” He slammed it shut with a snap, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes and a nervous smile. “I–I didn’t realize you were awake. Are you okay? Do you need something? Are you hungry? I can–uh, I can make something.”
You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. Slowly, you leaned forward a little, your gaze drifting past his side toward the coffee table. Clark followed your eyes with dawning dread.
The table was a battlefield: pregnancy manuals stacked three deep, a glossy medical diagram of fetal development half-sliding off a page and a scribbled notepad where Clark had scrawled bullet points in his quick, clumsy handwriting.
You arched a brow at the sight, lips quirking into something between disbelief and amusement. “…I’m inclined to believe you didn’t suddenly have a change of heart and decide you want to become a doctor.” Your gaze flicked back to his face, sharp but curious. “So… is there something you want to tell me?”
Clark opened his mouth, then shut it again, his throat working like words had been caught halfway up. His hands hovered in the air, halfway between gesturing and covering the books, as his pulse stuttered out of rhythm in his ears.
Finally, his mouth opened, words tripping out of him before he even realized he’d started talking.
“It’s just–you…you’ve been looking a little different. Not in a bad way! In a…glowy kind of way and then this morning you smelled different, again, not bad, just…different. And your heartbeat, it–it isn’t the same, it’s like there’s this second rhythm, like an echo and I swear I didn’t mean to notice but it’s just– my hearing’s tuned too sharp lately and I catch things without trying and then, God, I didn’t mean to look but I was using my x-ray vision on the sink and I–I glanced at you and there was something there. And I know we never really talked about how we’d find out when it happened and I know we only just started trying, so it feels way too soon, but this morning–.”
He realized he was speaking too fast, words tumbling like a dam had cracked, his voice rising as though he couldn’t quite breathe. Then, suddenly, he froze, every muscle in him tightening as the truth pressed its way up his throat and out.
“You’re pregnant.”
The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong to him, like he’d borrowed them from someone braver, someone who didn’t feel like the room was tilting under their feet.
Your eyes widened, lips parting in stunned silence.
“Well–well, no need to panic, right?” Clark rushed on, hands lifting helplessly before dropping again. “I mean, I’m not a doctor. It–it could be too soon to tell. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and maybe you didn’t want it to happen this quickly, I know we only just started talking about this and trying–”
He faltered when he saw it, the shine in your eyes, the way your lips curved into a trembling smile, tears gathering faster than you could blink them away.
Clark finally, blessedly, shut up. His throat closed around the rest of his rambling and his whole chest softened, every ounce of frantic energy collapsing into something tender and fragile.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, voice breaking as he reached for you.
You slid off the back of the couch and into his arms before he could move and Clark caught you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this one hug. He buried his face against your temple, clutching you close as if he could keep both of you, all three of you, safe with sheer willpower alone.
His big hands spanned your back like he was terrified you might slip away if he let go. His voice was soft but trembling with something raw and his lips brushed the crown of your head as he spoke.
“Are we…happy about this?” he asked carefully, almost timidly, as though your answer carried the weight of his entire world. “Because–I am happy. If that’s alright with you. I just…want to make sure.” He pulled back slightly, enough to see your face, eyes darting over the tears on your cheeks, his own brow furrowed in concern. “These are happy tears, right? They’ve got to be, because your heart is beating so fast and–and I don’t think I got to that chapter yet.”
The last part slipped out with a nervous laugh, his attempt to lighten what suddenly felt so huge.
You let out a shaky laugh of your own, swiping at your damp cheeks before leaning back to look him in the eye. “You realize you’ve been giving yourself away all day, right?”
Clark blinked, confused.
“Bonus pipes,” you teased, repeating the first odd thing he’d blurted out that morning. Then you ticked them off on your fingers, mocking his earnest tone. “‘Look four times before crossing the street.’ ‘I’ll make you anything, anytime, even the weird combos and I’ll even eat them with you…’” You grinned through the tears, shaking your head. “Clark, I should’ve known.”
A blush crept over his ears, his sheepish smile tugging wide as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, your strange husband was acting strange,” he admitted, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. “Nothing weird about that.”
You arched a brow knowingly, the corner of your mouth still curled in a smile.
He let the silence hang for a moment, his thumb brushing absently over your hip before his face softened again, the weight of it all crashing back into him. His voice dropped, quieter, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be. “I might be wrong about this,” he said, though the words didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.
You held his gaze, steady and sure, your smile gentler now. “We both know you’re not.”
Clark’s chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, like he’d been waiting for you to say it, waiting for that permission to let the joy take him under. His arms tightened around you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real, then suddenly, he was sinking down, his knees pressing into the floor as though pulled by something stronger than gravity. His palms spread reverently over your hips, gaze locked on your stomach with a mixture of awe and disbelief before he bent forward and pressed a trembling kiss there, his lips lingering like a promise, like a prayer.
You laughed through fresh tears, threading your fingers into his hair. “Clark…”
“Just–just let me stay here a second,” he whispered against you, voice hoarse. “I can’t believe it. I don’t deserve this.”
It took more than a second to convince him to get back up. When he finally did, you coaxed him toward the bedroom, tugging his hand until he climbed in beside you. You lay down first, rolling onto your side with a small, tired sigh and he immediately started fussing, smoothing the blanket over you like you were made of glass.
“You need a better pillow,” he muttered, already eyeing the one beneath your head like it offended him. “Maybe we should think about replacing the mattress, too…something with better support, right? I can run out tomorrow morning–”
You burst out laughing, cutting him off. “Clark, it’s fine.”
“Except it’s not, I want you two to be more comfortable and…actually maybe it’s time to move–”
You cut him off with another laugh, covering his mouth with your hand so he’d listen for two seconds.“Clark Kent, if you don’t stop nesting like a six-foot-four golden retriever and just sleep, we’ll have more issues than a suddenly uncomfortable mattress.”
That earned you the lopsided grin you loved most, the one he could never quite hide when you teased him. He looked unconvinced but settled beside you anyway, still mumbling half-formed plans as his hand rested on your waist with a sigh so full of peace it was almost boyish. Eventually, his breathing slowed, your laughter softened and the both of you drifted into sleep.
In the morning, you woke to an empty bed and a neat little note left on the nightstand in Clark’s handwriting: Had to step out. Don’t skip breakfast, please. I love you both.
With a tiny doodle of a cape flapped off the edge of the page.
You smiled, pressing it to your chest before getting up. After making yourself something to eat, you decided you couldn’t sit still and wound up at the flower shop downtown, filling your arms with soft, bright blooms that already made you imagine them in the kitchen vase.
The bell above the shop door jingled as you stepped out, your mind still lingering on Clark and you only made it a few paces before realizing the sidewalk had gone still. Strangers were frozen in place, their necks tilted back, pointing and whispering.
Curiosity prickled so you followed their gaze upward.
The clouds were shifting. Not drifting like usual but moving in precise strokes, curling and unfurling across the blue expanse. At first, it looked like a trick of the light, wisps pulled thin by the wind. Then the shape became clearer, sweeps of white carved into deliberate curves. It was a heart, etched against the morning sky.
Your breath caught.
Inside that vast heart, a smaller one appeared, tucked just off-center, its edges brushing against the larger outline until they overlapped. Interlinked. Two hearts bound together, one enfolded within the other. Subtle enough that anyone else might see it as nothing more than a flourish of artistry but to you, it was unmistakable. His way of telling the world without really saying it in a private message disguised as a public marvel.
Around you, the crowd murmured in awe, some even clapped, convinced they’d just witnessed Superman putting on a show but you knew better.
“Subtle.” Your lips curved as you clutched the bouquet tighter to your chest, warmth blooming in you that no one else could see. You tilted your head back toward the sky, whispering to the clouds he’d left behind, “We love you too.”
Clark hovered in the sky, looking down at the crowd but more than anyone, at you. Even from that height, your voice reached him, a sound only he could hear. Before you could blink again, he tilted his head toward the clouds, then, like a streak of silver lightning, he shot upward, weaving joy into every curve until he disappeared into the cotton-white heights above.
You stood there, bouquet pressed tight to your chest, smiling to yourself, realizing he just turned a simple morning into a memory that will last forever. The clouds shifted in his wake, leaving beautiful patterns etched into the sky, like a secret trail left just for you to follow.
And in that moment, with the world watching but none of them knowing, you knew in your bones he’d always find a way to show the world you were his.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Next up: 'Twice the man' Let’s just say, you’re about to find out what “double trouble” really means ❤️🔥
A/n: I'm working on your requests, I swear but i'm sure i wrote this in my sleep. Lets be clear, i didn't intend for this to be this long. I was meant to stop writing after the argument but obviously didn't
Summary: Three years in, petty arguments turn into foreplay and tonight, it’s about whether cockwarming really makes you moan. One teasing debate spirals into cockwarming, self-touch and the slowest, deepest sex of your life, until Clark's proven right in the messiest ways possible.
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of cockwarming in a humoristic argumentative context, minimal brat taming, unprotected cockwarming, fingering, clit and g-spot stimulation, unprotected PIV intercourse, orgasm control/edging, female ejaculation/squirting, creampie, breeding implications, size kink, dirty talk/praise kink, possessive language, power imbalance themes, biting/gentle marking, mild pain play, intensity of overstimulation, use of superhuman strength for restraint, use of superspeed.
🔥 Need an encore? Good girls swallow has just the right amount of trouble.
Word count: 8k
Divider by me ;)
You and Clark didn’t argue often. When you did, it was rarely over anything serious, more often than not, it was over something ridiculous, something so trivial it was laughable. Tonight’s topic? The sounds you made while cockwarming, and somehow, as with most of your petty debates, it had all started because of your cat’s complete lack of boundaries.
Now you sat perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, your chin propped in your hand as you watched Clark move around the kitchen with practiced ease. He was barefoot, sleeves rolled up, muscles shifting under the thin fabric of his shirt as he stirred a simmering pot. The smell of garlic and fresh herbs lingered in the air, the room warm and homey despite the fact that your current conversation was anything but calm.
“He has no boundaries and no sense of privacy, sweetheart,” Clark said with a dramatic sigh, ladle in hand as he pointed toward you like a prosecutor presenting evidence. “I swear, you could be halfway through giving me the best time of my life and in comes Alpine, ready to interrupt with his furry little face like he thinks it’s completely normal.” He shook his head, lowering his voice in exaggerated dismay. “…And you let him, too. You’re the one who lets him in and then starts cooing over him every time.”
You gasped, clutching your chest like you’d been personally attacked, your voice dripping with mock offense. “Well excuse you? We’re technically just laying there while I’m enjoying the fullness. Can’t I just pet the damn cat?”
Clark turned, brows furrowed in a mix of exasperation and disbelief, both hands lifted from his sides like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Oh, so now it’s just ‘laying there’?” His tone was incredulous but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a grin. “Last time it happened, you were moaning two seconds prior like I was doing the Lord’s work and suddenly it’s ‘we’re just laying there’?… With your legs wrapped around me? Your nails digging into my back? Your breath all shaky? … Yeah, okay, sure. Totally innocent.”
He turned back to the stove, shaking his head while giving the pot another stir, muttering like he was talking to himself but very much talking to you. “And fine, pet the cat but don’t act surprised when he sits on my head like he owns me and ruins the mood or when I whisper in his ear ‘This is not a group activity’ menacingly.”
You stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment, your mouth falling open before twisting into an incredulous grin. “Ummm, I don’t moan that much when we’re cockwarming.”
Clark grinned, practically rolling his eyes as he leaned against the counter, spatula in hand. “Oh please. Yes, you absolutely do. Don’t even…” He let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he had to explain this to you. “Once you get all soft and needy and I’m just lying there like I haven’t been craving you for hours while my other head does all the thinking… Honey, you moan plenty, and I won’t apologize for making that obvious.”
You chuckled in disbelief, folding your arms across your chest like you were preparing to defend yourself in court. “I do not.”
Clark responded by blowing a loud raspberry, dismissing your words as if they carried no weight. He gestured loosely with the spatula in his hand, animated as always when he got going. “You so do. Are you forgetting I have superhearing? The little sighs, the way you bury your face in my neck when you shift your hips just right? That breathy ‘Baby… stop it…’ when I move even an inch?” He pitched his voice higher in an attempt at mimicry but without an ounce of mockery, just earnestness, which somehow made it funnier. “Yeah. That’s moaning and don’t act like Alpine doesn’t pause pre-jump every time like he’s asking himself ‘Do I really want to walk into this again?’ And then he does! So he lacks common sense too.”
Your jaw dropped, half-indignant, half laughing at the absurdity of it. You jabbed a finger in his direction, trying to hold onto your composure. “Well if you fucking move then you know there’s gonna be friction. It’s not moaning, it’s telling you to stay still.”
Clark grinned, flashing you that smug farm-boy look that always made you want to smack him and kiss him at the same time. He leaned against the kitchen island, spatula still in hand like it doubled as his gavel.
“Ah, I see. So every time you gasp and go, ‘Clark, don’t move,’ it’s not because you’re overwhelmed with sensation? Nope! Totally just a ‘safety announcement’...When your nails dig into my back? Just ‘friendly reminders’. And that little whimper when I accidentally move? Not moaning, no, just…uh…‘corrective feedback’. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
You narrowed your eyes but your lips twitched into a smile as you tried to keep your voice steady. “You do that thing with your hips to readjust, forgive me if it feels far too much like a thrust.”
His eyes widened in mock triumph and he pointed the spatula at you like he’d just uncovered damning evidence. “So you admit it? You do moan when I adjust. You just like to lie about it and blame the cat for everything else. …And what, now you’re complaining about my hip movements? I could be perfectly still and you’d find a way to complain about it. If I’m too still, I’m being boring and cautious. If I make the slightest move, it’s because I’m out for intense and overwhelming. I just can’t win.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “I didn’t admit to anything. What if it’s just air coming out at the movement? Even when we’re not moving much, it’s… it’s intense, you’re not exactly small, you know?”
Clark nodded sagely, like the case was already closed in his favor. “Right, right. Because now it’s just air. If I do the tiniest hip roll and it makes you sigh, it’s air. …And if a little moaning happens to come out, I guess that’s also just air, right?”
You gave a little shrug, tilting your head at him with faux innocence. “What do you define as moaning? Or should I just not breathe?”
Clark rolled his eyes again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this debate. “The sounds you make,” he clarified, his voice taking on that calm-but-pointed tone he used whenever he was certain he was right. “You know, when you get comfortable and make those little gasps? All those small whines and whimpers that sneak out when you think I’m not paying attention? News flash, sweetheart! You’re all I can focus on! That’s what I consider moaning… Now you’re getting all picky about the word itself.”
Your eyes went wide, like you were scandalized by the accusation, even if the corner of your mouth twitched with a suppressed grin. “Are we forgetting that I’m the one with the dick inside of me?” you demanded, as if that single fact automatically won you the argument.
Clark pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, his chest shaking with the effort. “The amount of sassiness you have when we’re talking about your favorite activity is astounding,” he muttered, wagging a finger at you for emphasis. “…And no, I have not forgotten, thank you very much. I literally remember every detail about those moments, as well as the little sounds you make, in case you haven’t noticed.” His smirk deepened like he’d just played his trump card.
You tossed your hands up with exaggerated exasperation. “Okay, so let your girl exhale a little, damn.”
Clark only nodded, his expression softening even as his eyes sparkled with smug satisfaction. “I’ll let you exhale all day, sweetheart,” he promised. “As long as you don’t try to cover up all those perfect sounds as ‘air’ or ‘adjustments’ or anything else. I love hearing you get all happy and whimpery. The very least you can do is let me enjoy it without acting like you don’t moan when I stuff you… even when I know you do.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting back a laugh as you muttered, “Whatever,” but the playful lift of your lips gave you away.
He smiled at you with so much love in his eyes, his hand slipping down to discreetly readjust his hardening cock in his pants. “That’s my favorite response when you don’t have a rebuttal,” he said warmly, his grin growing smug. “I love it when you act like you’re annoyed after getting called out.” He pointed at your face, amused by the way your expression shifted. “That little pouting and all the feigned indifference…Then we do the thing for real and suddenly all that anger and irritation go away so fast… We should do this more often.”
You burst out laughing, leaning over the kitchen island just to get a better look at his lower body. “Yeah, cause it’s probably making you hard as a rock. Are we forgetting that you groan too?”
“Oh, I know I groan,” he admitted without hesitation, eyes sparkling. “But you? No. You just ‘exhale with intensity.’” His tone dripped with sarcasm but his smile softened at the end. “And yes, sweetheart, guilty as charged. You do make me hard just by being near me… and even harder when you argue with me. So stop being so difficult and go lay on the couch for me, I’ll be there in a minute.”
You grinned, your legs already going weak at the thought of what was coming next. “Same time next week?”
Clark chuckled, nodding with a grin of his own as he reached to turn off the stove before wiping his big hands on the dish rag, like he had all the time in the world. “Knowing you? Probably earlier than that.”
You were already halfway to the couch, tugging your shorts and underwear down in a clumsy shuffle, your excitement beating out any sense of patience. “Love doing business with you!” you teased over your shoulder, grinning wickedly.
It was almost comical how quickly your petty arguments withered into nothing. As Clark had asked, you stretched out on the couch, bare from the waist down, the cool air brushing your heated skin. The sight of him approaching, broad shoulders framed by the soft light of the kitchen, hunger burning in those blue eyes of his and the heavy strain of his cock outlined against his pants, made your body respond instantly, slick pooling between your thighs like you’d been waiting for this all day.
He paused just a step away, his gaze sweeping over you slowly, reverently, like you were some decadent offering placed before him on a silver platter. His throat bobbed with a quiet swallow before he leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss that was achingly tender for the heat behind his stare. The kiss deepened as he sank to his knees beside the couch, his hand cupping the line of your jaw with a gentle possessiveness, thumb stroking over your chin before it began its journey down, tracing over your collarbone and gliding over your stomach, until finally settling between your legs with a touch that felt both practiced and worshipful.
His fingers stroked you with care, first grazing lightly as if reacquainting himself with every curve and contour, then pressing with firmer confidence the moment he felt your hips lift in search of more. Your breathing quickened, small gasps slipping out before you could stop them and Clark’s gaze flicked up to watch your face, hanging on every shift and tremor.
“You’re so darn beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, his breath warm and steady as his lips skimmed the delicate skin there, pausing to taste. His voice dropped, carrying that familiar mix of affection and want. “Even when you’re trying to pick fights…So mouthy.”
His words vibrated against your throat, his lips moving in tandem with his fingers, the heat of his breath and the heat of his touch tangling until you couldn’t tell which one set you trembling more. He drank in every reaction, the way your chest rose and fell faster with each stroke, the way your thighs parted without hesitation and especially, the way your body arched subtly into his hand like instinct overrode every thought.
Clark loved this part. He loved coaxing sounds from you with nothing but his touch, giving you every ounce of his focus before taking anything for himself. This was his ritual, the way he worshipped you, slowly and entirely yours. Because once he finally penetrated you, once he slid home, he wanted the pace to be sweet, not rushed, filled with nothing but closeness. Deep and tender. The kind of intimacy where no space existed between you at all.
He kept his mouth locked to yours as his fingers moved with greater urgency, stroking you with the kind of practiced precision that made your body sing for him alone. He coaxed pleasure from the apex of your thighs with ease, dragging you higher and higher until your walls fluttered desperately around nothing, your clit swollen and sensitive under his relentless touch. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled but not lost to him and he smiled against your lips. A smug, growing smirk that spoke of his satisfaction, though he never broke the kiss.
The first wave of release hit you sharp and sudden, quiet but intense, your body seizing around the bliss as heat rippled through you. Clark didn’t falter. He stayed with you through every shiver, every stuttering breath while his fingers slowed into a torturous rhythm that teased your clit gently, drawing the aftershocks out until you trembled beneath him. Only when your breathing had begun to steady did he finally ease back, withdrawing his hand with a reverence that made your pulse skip.
Rising, he pushed to his feet just long enough to shove his pants and underwear down, kicking them carelessly aside until nothing stood between you. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, the tip slick with precum as it twitched in his fist. The sight alone stole your breath, your body clenching in anticipation. He sank onto the cushion between your thighs, his broad hands sliding up to cradle them, coaxing them open wider with the gentlest insistence.
The hunger in his eyes softened into something deeper as he lowered himself over you, his weight braced carefully so he didn’t crush you, every movement measured. With one hand steadying himself and the other guiding his length, he pressed against your entrance, eyes never leaving yours. The gaze felt like a vow in itself, a silent promise spoken without words.
Then, slowly, achingly so, he pushed inside. Your slick walls welcomed him without resistance, stretching to take him in with a heat that made both of you groan. The fullness overwhelmed you instantly, the thick weight of him filling you inch by inch until your breath hitched and your nails dug into the couch cushions. You moaned at the intrusion, unable to hold it back, the sound breaking free from your chest as your body adjusted around him, greedily accepting every part of him as if he belonged there.
He smiled at the sound of your moan as he eased deeper, the noise filling his ears like the sweetest music, proof of just how perfectly your body took him in. His head dropped into the curve of your neck and shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as a low, guttural groan tore from his chest, raw and unrestrained. The weight of being so completely joined with you, of being allowed this closeness, filled him with a mix of hunger and aching tenderness that nearly undid him.
“You okay, baby?” he whispered, his voice roughened with a need that went far beyond desire, scraping low in his throat. His hands settled on your hips, thumb stroking small, soothing circles against your skin as if he needed to remind you, remind himself, that you were safe, that this was love. “Still with me?” His tone carried both vulnerability and intensity, reverberating through the quiet room as though the question mattered more than anything else.
You managed a breathless “yes,” your voice barely more than a whisper and that was all it took. Clark released a shuddering exhale, his whole body trembling with the effort it took to stay still inside you. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes shut tight, as if by breathing you in he could ground himself against the storm inside him.
“God,” he murmured, his voice breaking into something raw and unfiltered, “I love being inside you. It feels like… like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
His hips shifted with the smallest, most careful roll, not even a thrust, just a subtle grind that sent sparks rushing through you. The motion was enough to draw a sharp gasp from your lips, the very sound you’d been teasingly denying minutes ago. Clark’s mouth curved into a half-smile against your skin as he gathered you tighter in his arms, holding you as if you were something precious he could never risk losing.
He kissed the slope of your temple, lingering there, before capturing your mouth again, slower this time, less of a claim and more of a vow, each brush of his lips carrying the weight of everything he felt for you.
“Are you comfortable?” you asked softly, fumbling with the blanket in an attempt to drape it over the both of you.
Clark lifted his head just enough to look at you, his chuckle low and warm, before shifting his weight a little to settle more fully against you. The movement pressed him into your body in a way that made your nails instinctively dig into his side, earning another amused rumble from his chest.
“Yeah, baby, I’m comfortable,” he reassured, voice laced with that easy affection that always managed to soothe you. With one big hand, he reached down and tugged the blanket higher, until you were both fully cocooned in its soft weight. “Besides,” he added, the corners of his mouth lifting into a playful grin, “I’ve got the best pillow in the world right underneath me. How could I not be comfortable?”
The teasing sparkle in his eyes made you laugh, the sound soft and genuine, your earlier tension slipping away. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though your smile betrayed you as you finally let yourself relax back into the cushions.
Clark hummed in contentment, nuzzling into you as though he intended to stay there forever. You absentmindedly threaded your fingers through his hair, the silky strands sliding between them, while your gaze drifted toward the TV. The screen flickered with scenes you weren’t fully paying attention to, the hum of dialogue becoming little more than background noise.
With him sprawled over you, warm and heavy, his heartbeat steady against your ribs, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered.
He closed his eyes, a soft hum vibrating against your skin as your fingers continued their gentle path through his hair. The sensation lulled him, grounding him in the kind of quiet, effortless intimacy he cherished most, the kind that didn’t need words or heat to feel profound. Even with him still nestled inside you, there was no urgency, no pressure. Just closeness…just you.
His head rested where your neck met your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, while his hand traced idle, lazy patterns along your side as if he wanted to memorize every inch by touch alone.
“You’re gonna put me to sleep doing that,” he murmured, voice slurred with teasing fatigue. “Keep it up and I might just doze off right here…on top of you.”
“You can,” you whispered back, your tone soft and reassuring. “I feel okay. I’m comfortable.”
You felt the faint curve of his smile against your shoulder at your words before his arms tightened around you, drawing you even closer. His chest pressed to yours, syncing with the steady rise and fall of your breathing. The rhythm of your heartbeat drummed against him, each thrum sinking deeper into his awareness until it became the only thing he could hear.
It soothed him in ways nothing else could. Not the quiet of Smallville’s fields, not even the vast stillness of the night sky. This? your warmth, your softness, your heartbeat steady against his? was peace.
“Yeah?” he whispered back, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “You sure you’re okay with me sleeping like this? I don’t wanna crush you.”
Your nails began to trace gentle lines along his back, feather-light but enough to make him shiver under your touch. “We both know you won’t let that happen,” you murmured, your voice soft but certain. “And if you do, I’ll let you know. I promise.”
The reassurance made something in him loosen and he exhaled a long, quiet sigh, melting against you even more. His body, all warmth and weight and safety, molded perfectly to yours. “Okay,” he relented, his words slipping out with a lazy smile. “But don’t hesitate to push me off if I start snoring or something.” His lips brushed your skin as he added, half-teasing, half-serious, “I know I can be a dead weight sometimes.”
You chuckled, your fingers still moving slow and soothing on his back. “Okay, big guy.”
The sound of your laugh vibrated through his chest and he tucked you closer with a sleepy hum, as if the very idea of being parted from you, by sleep or anything else, was out of the question.
Clark let out a low, drowsy laugh at your response, his eyes still closed, lashes brushing faintly against his cheek. “Big guy,” he repeated under his breath, the words softened by sleep and affection, as if he wanted to tuck them away and keep them forever.
He sighed contentedly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he melted into you, his weight settling heavier without ever becoming uncomfortable, just enough to remind you that he wasn’t moving, that he wasn’t going anywhere. His breath fanned across your skin as he murmured, almost like a vow, “You’re stuck with me.”
“Best place to be,” you whispered back, your voice gentle but steady, a truth spoken without hesitation.
The simplicity of it hit him harder than anything else you could have said because it meant that of all places, of all choices, you wanted this. You wanted him. A warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward until it ached and he hummed low in response, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck. “Mm,” he breathed, voice rough with emotion. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”
The room seemed to fall even quieter after that, wrapped in the steady rhythm of your breaths. Still joined with you, cocooned in a blanket and the unshakable intimacy of the moment, Clark let himself surrender to it. His breathing evened, steady and deep, as he drifted off inside you, the weight of his body and his love enveloping you completely.
Without realizing it, you had drifted off to sleep too, only to wake about twenty minutes later with a small jolt, startled by the thought that Clark was moving off of you. A groan escaped your lips when you realized he wasn’t moving at all, he was just leaning over, watching you carefully. Your sudden movement beneath him made him immediately alert, his eyes widening with concern.
“Hey, baby, easy,” he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I was just checking on you… making sure I wasn’t squishing you or anything.” He reached out, his hand brushing your cheek in gentle strokes, tracing the curve of your face as if memorizing it in that quiet moment.
“I wasn’t getting off of you, I swear,” he continued, his eyes searching yours with a mix of reassurance and lingering worry. “Just wanted to make sure you were comfortable… you alright, baby?”
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, the weight of his presence grounding you. The faintest smile tugged at his lips as he chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “You scared the hell outta me for a sec,” he added, nuzzling against you slightly. “Thought I might’ve hurt you or something.”
You let out a small laugh, your fingers curling against his side. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice soft but teasing, eyes meeting his.
Clark smiled, that familiar warmth flooding his expression as he tightened his hold just slightly, letting you know in the quietest way that he wasn’t going anywhere.
He chuckled softly, the tension in his chest easing at the sight of your small, reassuring smile. It had a way of grounding him, calming that little storm of worry he carried around for you. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, voice full of warmth. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I wanted to check on you, make sure you weren’t all squished.”
He then shifted slightly, easing back just enough to give you space, though his gaze lingered on the spot where he was still intimately nestled against you. “We’ve been like this for a while now… You sure you’re okay?” His hand hovered lightly near yours, hesitating, unsure if he should intervene or simply watch.
You let your fingers drift, circling your clit just enough to tease, your eyes fluttering closed as a quiet, breathy whine slipped past your lips. “…You?”
Clark’s hearing spiked in an instant, every subtle note of your voice amplified, every tiny sound of your movement crystal clear. His gaze flickered between your face and the motion of your hand, the sight of you touching yourself beneath him sending a surge of heat straight through him. His chest tightened, breath catching just a little and he let out a low, almost involuntary hiss.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice filled with an aching need that made his words tremble just slightly. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck, soft and lingering, then trailed lazy kisses along the curve of your shoulder and collarbone, savoring the warmth of your skin. “Yeah… I’m fine, baby. More than fine.”
He let his hands drift over your hips, fingers grazing lightly. Every small sound you made, every subtle shiver beneath him, only made him press closer, hold tighter and savor the way you felt beneath and around him.
You tilted your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck, while your fingers pressed slow circles over your clit. “You want to move a little?” you breathed, knowing it’d been a while and he probably needed to get hard again.
He groaned softly at your words, the sound low and rumbling, his body already responding. Even half-soft inside you, it felt like home, perfectly familiar and impossibly intimate. He pressed a slow, feather-light kiss to the column of your throat as you moved beneath him, your fingers circling just the right spot to draw out delicious tension.
“Mmm… yeah,” he rumbled against your skin, voice thick with need. “I could move for you.” His hips gave the faintest, testing glide forward, a tender motion that gauged the sensations you could both handle. His hands slid beneath you, lifting slightly to shift the angle, giving him deeper access. “Tell me how much,” he whispered, lips brushing against your collarbone, “I’ll go real slow… unless you want me not to.”
You let out a soft, sleepy whimper, “T-This is good,” your voice barely above a breath and kept circling your clit, teasing yourself with slow strokes.
Clark faltered at the sound, that soft, half-drowsy whine vibrating through him. It went straight to his dick, a delicious ache that made his jaw clench as he fought to keep his movements measured and slow. He could feel you teetering on the edge, drowsy yet exquisitely sensitive, your body reacting to every glide of his hips and the gentle pressure of your fingers.
“If that isn’t moaning, I don’t know what is,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and ragged with desire. A groan rose from deep within his chest as he rolled his hips again, this time a deeper, steadier glide that made you gasp quietly into the otherwise still room. “Keep doing that,” he urged, voice husky, “keep touching yourself… let me feel you come around me.”
His hands moved instinctively, bracing your hips just enough to hold you, feeling every subtle flex and shiver as your body pulsed around him. The intimacy between you both hung heavy in the room tenderly, every small movement amplifying the connection you shared.
Clark always encouraged you to orgasm several times while cockwarming, insisting it was so it wouldn’t hurt and you’d stay comfortable for longer. Your walls tightened around him at your hesitant question, “Right now? I can still hold on.”
He let out a low, rough groan, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as your walls pulsed around him once more. Just the thought of you holding back for him sent heat spiraling straight to his core. He lifted his head slightly, eyes dark and shimmering with quiet reverence, studying you as though memorizing every curve and shiver.
“Take it,” he murmured, his voice rough and wrapped in silk at once. “Don’t hold back on my account, baby. I want every drop… every shiver.” His hand slid between your bodies, not to take control but to gently press against your clit through your fingers, offering just the right amount of pressure. He stilled his hips completely as your fingers sped up, your moans spilling unabashedly into his shoulder.
The sensation of you, so raw and open, made him dizzy. He marveled at the way you trusted him to simply be present, how he could distinguish when it was a moment for sex and when it was purely yours, like this one. You whimpered softly, biting into his shoulder for leverage and the sound went straight to his core, making him ache in ways he hadn’t expected.
He listened, utterly mesmerized, as your fingers moved with a familiar, desperate rhythm. Your breath came in shallow, hot bursts against his skin, each one sending tiny shocks of want through him. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to take over and bring you off himself but he knew this wasn’t about him. This was about you, about letting go in your own way.
So he held himself back, jaw tight, heart hammering. He let himself be consumed by the sight and sound of you, by the way your body moved and shivered beneath him. Every small sigh, every shiver, every whimper was a piece of the story he could watch unfold and he waited patiently, his restraint an act of devotion, until you reached your peak.
Your legs twitched around him, toes curling reflexively as your orgasm peaked, your walls clenching and pulsing around him until the knot finally loosened. You pressed your body into his, vision blurring to white as you whimpered and shivered against him. He felt every tense spasm, every quiver of your body, wrapping around him like a vise, your soft whines muffled against his shoulder. His own breath hitched, hot and ragged, each pulse of your release sending tiny shocks of need and ache through his body, tightening his control to its absolute limit.
He stayed perfectly still, letting you ride out each wave, arms locked around you as if holding you like this could somehow keep the world at bay. His lips pressed against your temple, trailing slowly down to your neck, his voice a low, hoarse whisper. “Beautiful…”
Only when he felt your muscles fully relax and go boneless beneath him did he press a lingering, tender kiss to your neck. “You okay?” he asked. “Still want me here?”
You nodded, drawing shuddering breaths, letting yourself melt entirely into him, feeling every inch of his weight and warmth pressing down like the safest place in the world.
“You sure?” he teased softly, though the concern threading through his tone was unmistakable. “I know you said you’re comfortable, but I don’t want you to get tired of me just laying here on top of you like a damn weighted blanket,” he added with a self-deprecating laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, lips brushing his in a quiet, intimate confession. “I could never get tired of you. You make me feel so good… so sexy… so loved.”
His eyes softened at your words, warmth pooling in his chest, heart swelling with a deep, almost overwhelming affection. You always seemed to have this innate ability to strip away his doubts, to make him feel like he deserved every ounce of love and care you gave him. Being this loved, this cherished, was something he never took for granted and hearing you speak so openly against his lips, intimate and unguarded, it made him feel like the king of the goddamn world.
"You're gonna make me get sappy if you keep talking like that," he warned, his voice low, rough around the edges, carrying a mock seriousness that did nothing to hide the tenderness underneath.
You chuckled softly, the sound blending into a moan that made him groan in response. “Can you move… please?” you sighed and without hesitation, he started. His thrusts were slow, deep enough to press you into the couch but measured with a near-painful patience, each movement designed to draw out the moment as long as possible.
Your lips parted, eyes rolling back slightly, a soft moan escaping you as he shifted and a surge of desire rolled through him, electric and consuming. He couldn’t deny the pull, the hunger coursing through him, even if he wanted to.
“You sound so pretty,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse, lips brushing your collarbone. “And you look even more beautiful… makes me forget all we were arguing about.”
His hips moved in that familiar, intoxicating rhythm you had begged for earlier, slow and unrelenting, each motion calculated to keep you teetering on the edge. In that moment, he knew he’d give you anything, every desire or whim, just to see that exquisite mixture of pleasure and contentment painted across your face.
You gasped a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the measured pace, your head tilting back against the couch. “Y-you okay… like t-this?” you asked, voice trembling, part awe, part disbelief at how deeply it affected you.
God, he loved the way you sounded…so soft, broken and completely undone, and how his slow movements seemed to push you closer to the edge with every glide. Your question caught him slightly off guard; for a fleeting moment, a pang of worry flickered across his mind. But when he realized you were checking on him, making sure he was enjoying himself too, that worry melted away, leaving only heat and desire. A low huff of laughter escaped him, rough and ragged, vibrating against your ear.
"Better than okay, baby," he assured, voice husky, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck with a teasing, almost possessive bite. "Don’t worry about me; what I enjoy most is seeing you like this… completely lost in it. Doesn’t matter the pace, baby.” He pressed a lazy, lingering kiss to your neck, letting his lips trail lightly across your skin, tasting the warmth and tension there.
You frowned without meaning to, that unconscious little crease that always appeared when pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. “Didn’t—we… didn’t put anything…under us,” you whined, your voice catching on the words, half embarrassed, half needy.
Clark let out a soft, amused laugh, the sound low and rolling, never breaking his rhythm. He knew that look too well: the crease of your brow, the subtle bite of your lip, the way your hands clenched involuntarily, it meant you were feeling everything and he loved it.
"Shh," he murmured against your skin. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up later." His hand slid down to cup your ass, pulling you slightly closer with each measured thrust, anchoring you against him. "You know I’ll handle everything. Right now?" He pressed a gentle, teasing kiss to the corner of your frown. "Just let go for me… I don’t care if we ruin every damn thing in this room as long as I’m inside you."
He lingered there, letting the words sink in, giving you permission to lose yourself completely, his body molding to yours with steady, controlling pressure. Each movement was a balance of tenderness and dominance, coaxing you further into pleasure while keeping an intentional pace.
“I think… ‘m gonna squirt,” you warned, voice breathy and uneven. The pleasure was almost unbearable, each push of his hips sending electric fire through your core. Even at this measured pace, his tip nudging against your G-spot with perfect timing, the sensation was building fast, coiling tighter with every roll of his hips.
Clark groaned low, the sound vibrating through his chest and down into his hard cock. Your warning, your soft whimpers, every small quiver of your body, it went straight to him, twisting him tighter with want. He could tell exactly how close you were, how every tiny movement of his was bringing you to the edge and he knew he’d never hear a sweeter sound than what was coming. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice thick with need.
When it happened, it wasn’t an overwhelming eruption but a slow, progressive release that had your muscles tightening around him and your hips pulsing in sync with his. Every time he sank deep and then eased back just enough, a soft whimper slipped out, accompanied by a little slick that coated both of you more with each pass. It was a rhythm that drove you wild, intense in its unrelenting persistence, yet gentle enough to make the experience feel intimate and controlled. You dug your fingers into his lower back with every pulse, grounding yourself while he guided you through it with the precision and care only he could provide.
Clark leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours as you wrapped your arms tightly around his broad shoulders, the warmth of your embrace making his chest tighten. Your nails traced lazy, teasing paths across his skin, sending shivers up his spine as a low hum escaped his lips. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, leaving soft, fleeting kisses along your skin, drinking in the scent and warmth of you. For a moment, he just stayed there, eyes soft and wandering over your features, utterly captivated.
“So wet and loud for someone who doesn’t moan,” he whispered against your skin, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips, his voice rough with awe and amusement.
“Shut up,” you managed, a tired chuckle slipping past your lips and Clark couldn’t help the satisfied grin spreading across his face, quiet yet full of pride. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, letting the warmth of his lips stay for a heartbeat longer, while his hips continued their deep rhythm, each movement more about connection and sensation than raw need.
He shifted ever so slightly, angling deeper with a single glide, just enough to make you gasp and arch instinctively into him and then held there. “Still good?” he asked, though the way your body reacted told him everything he needed to know.
Your legs instinctively parted wider, opening for him and the sight of you trembling beneath him made a low groan escape his chest. God, the way you took him, how sensitive you were, how you couldn’t even keep still, it sent shivers of raw need shooting straight through him. Every shiver, every quiver, every small gasp, was a symphony and he wanted to memorize every note.
“My good girl,” he whispered, nibbling at the shell of your ear in a mix of affection and desire. “Let me… let me show you how good you are to me.” His lips trailed down your neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses that left delicate, fleeting bruises in their path, each one a mark of his admiration for the way your body responded to him.
He paused at the hollow of your collarbone, letting the weight of his gaze and the heat of his touch linger. “Can you be good for me, baby… just keep still for a minute?”
“Y-yes…” you moaned, the word trembling against him, full of trust and desire, the sound like honey in his ears, urging him deeper into that perfect rhythm.
Clark let out a low, approving hum, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hands settled firmly yet gently on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Not rough, just deliberate, his grip a perfect balance of control and care. He pulled back slowly until only the tip of him remained inside, letting you feel the empty ache before pushing in again, agonizingly thick and deep. The way your face twisted with pleasure-pain made his chest tighten and he watched every claw of your fingers into his back, every tiny shiver that ran through your body.
“There you go,” he mumbled. “Just feel it… all of me.” His words were thick with desire, reverence and awe. “You’re so darn perfect like this… taking me so good.”
Another slow glide out, a deliberate pause to let the emptiness sting just enough, then back in, every inch pressing against your most sensitive spots, making your body quiver and your breath hitch. His eyes roamed over your face, drinking in every detail, the flutter of your eyelashes, the subtle twitch of your lips and the way your expression melted from tension into pure surrender. He wanted to memorize it all, store it away in the corners of his mind in case the world ever tried to make him forget just how breathtakingly vulnerable and exquisite you were to him.
“Hold on, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just a little more… I want to feel you completely undone for me.”
You could feel it, the way his cock throbbed inside you, each pulse heavy and demanding, veins standing out like ropes leading him to heaven. It was painfully hard, a burning weight pressing into your slick walls and every tiny twitch of your inner muscles seemed to send shivers up his spine. He let out a shaky, ragged breath as your soft whimper vibrated against him, a sound that made his body clench involuntarily. He knew you felt it too, the subtle, almost imperceptible pulsing of his length as it sank deep into you, betraying how close he was even as he tried to restrain himself.
His hips stuttered forward on instinct, just a fraction and you gasped in response, fingers tightening against his shoulders. “You wanna make me come, baby? Gonna squeeze me like that and pull it out of me?” His voice dropped lower, gravelly, thick with need. “Or are you gonna come first… and let me follow right after?”
“I… don’t know if I can,” you breathed, voice soft, barely audible over the mingling of your heartbeats and ragged breaths.
He leaned closer, lips brushing against your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, his own breathing uneven. His voice was a low growl now, rough and possessive. “Try,” he murmured, fingers coming up to cup the side of your face. His touch was gentle, thumb brushing across your bottom lip, tracing the line with care, as if trying to memorize every tremor of your expression. “I wanna watch you… I wanna see you come for me.”
You nodded, giving him permission without words and he moved with purpose, letting his pace quicken just enough to push you both over the edge. His eyes never left yours, dark and burning with a desperate, primal need to bring you pleasure, to own this moment with you. Every tilt of his hips, every measured thrust, was in sync with your body’s responses, the way your pupils dilated, your cheeks flushed and the tiny whines that slipped past your lips. His hands stayed planted firmly on your hips, holding you close against the cushion, making sure no part of you slipped from him.
He rocked deeper, fingers and hips in perfect tandem, each stroke tapping gently against your cervix, coaxing another wave of sensation through you. Your walls clenched around him, every pulse and twitch drawing out more from him and your clit throbbed in heated rhythm as he guided you through another orgasm, your body shaking in ecstatic surrender. The moment he felt your muscles squeeze him so perfectly, it pushed him past the edge and his cock throbbed violently inside you.
You gasped, nails digging into his back as his warmth spilled into you, thick and unrelenting. He shuddered, letting out a guttural groan as the sting of your nails mingled with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged and hot against your skin, hips twitching through the waves of his release, riding out every pulse with you clamped tightly around him. He didn’t and couldn’t, pull away, even as his weight settled more fully atop you.
“…Worth the argument,” he whispered hoarsely to himself, “every second of it… just to hear you come undone with me and prove you wrong.”
You exhaled, still trembling, a faint smile teasing your lips. “Well,” you breathed, “I’ll let this one slide for today…but if I were going to reply to that, I’d argue we didn’t just cockwarm.”
Clark’s grin faltered slightly just as he was going to reply once his ears caught the sudden, panicked meowing.
“What?” you asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
“Alpine,” he murmured, carefully disentangling himself from you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.”
You groaned softly at the loss of him, a moan that quickly turned into a chuckle as you watched him stand there in the middle of the living room, his still-hard cock cupped in his hand, body taut with a mix of frustration and focus. You opened your mouth to speak but he lifted a finger, signaling you to wait and his eyes flicked around the room, scanning, tuning and filtering. He was straining his hearing, honing in on the source of Alpine’s cries, tuning out everything else, the racing of your heart and the lingering thrum of your intimacy, until he found it.
With a soft, careful shuffle, Clark padded across the room, still cupping his softening cock in one hand like it was suddenly an inconvenience. You followed him with your eyes until he disappeared through the doorway, then, in the next instant, you heard it. A rush of air barreled down the hall, brushing across your skin and ruffling your hair like the ghost of a storm. The faint, telltale gust made you bite your lip to stifle a laugh. Moments later, he was back, moving at a perfectly normal pace as if nothing unusual had happened, except now Alpine was cradled securely in his other arm. The cat let out a plaintive little meow as Clark bent to set him gently on the carpet. Alpine wasted no time before hopping up and settling squarely on your chest, tail flicking smugly across your chin as you stroked his snowy fur.
You glanced up at Clark, bemused, mischief in your eyes. “Really?”
“I–I thought he’d finally learned about privacy,” Clark said flatly, lips pressed in a thin line. “Turns out he got locked out on the rooftop this whole time.”
You snorted, covering your mouth to hide your laugh. “And you… you went to get him like that?”
Clark’s gaze flicked down at himself, then back at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Super-speed,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
“Right…” You burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the room and he stood there, waiting with that familiar mix of patience and amusement, for you to realize, while probably letting himself enjoy, that he was hard again. All because of you.
A/n: If you liked this piece, check out the archive for more and consider liking and sharing it! reblogs help others discover my writing and comments always brighten my day plus it encourages me to keep creating :) Thanks for reading, lovelies.
Next up: Eating for two! I can’t wait to share it with you!!
Can you do smut with clark Kent, he is so big so he goes to deep and has to take you to the er, even though he hurt you he is very proud of him and his dick
Three inches from heaven
Pairing: david!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
A/n: as you can tell i'm really enjoying posting weekly extras
Summary: Every inch counts...especially when he knows how to use them.
Classification: Smut +18 | safe vaginal sex, praise, use of X-ray vision in a sexual context, depictions of bruising and visit to a hospital/ER, including unprofessional or comedic remarks from medical staff. Clark is extremely caring but also hilariously anxious, tending toward over-the-top worry and protective behavior but yk...it's Clark.
Word count: 3,7k
Divider by me ;)
“Kinky” wasn’t the word you’d use, it was more “adventurous” than anything else. You’d never had a partner you could trust this much before, so when you and Clark became official, naturally, you wrote a list of everything you wanted to try sexually. It was a long one, scribbled out with the kind of excitement you’d been too shy to ever act on before and Clark had been just as eager, if not more, to work through it with you.
He treated it like a mission dossier, equal parts thoroughness and enthusiasm, even adding his own notes in the margins sometimes. You were getting close to “Sitting on Clark’s face” which he underlined and punctuated with five exclamation points, as if to make absolutely sure it wasn’t skipped, but tonight’s experiment was prone bone.
The night began like any other with a modest dinner, small talk, him cleaning up while you lingered on the couch, a soft kiss here and a brush of fingers there. You never planned when to cross something off the list, it always came after you were already warm, flushed and at least halfway undone from the way he worshiped you and tonight was no different.
Two orgasms in, when your muscles were loose and your mind was humming, you finally asked for it.
Face down on the couch, you gazed out at the glittering skyline of Metropolis through the wide windows of Clark’s apartment. Your chest rose and fell in steady anticipation, your body already tingling. Behind you, Clark shifted into position, his knees bracketing your thighs as he bent over you while his lips brushed soft, reverent kisses along the damp trail of your spine.
“Are you sure?” he asked for the second time, voice low while his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.
You hummed your answer but he wasn’t satisfied with just that.
“You can stop me at any time. Don’t wait until it hurts. Even if it’s just uncomfortable, you stop me. You hear?” His tone was firm but gentle, a voice that left no room for doubt.
“Loud and clear,” you whispered, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. He tilted your chin up and kissed you languidly, sealing the promise between you.
When he pulled away, he slid a pillow under your hips, lifting you just enough and adjusting you until you were perfectly angled. The cool air brushed your heated skin and then came the warmth of him. Clark’s tip nudged at your entrance, before he pressed forward with care, the stretch was immediate and the invasion enough to pull a groan from your throat and press your forehead hard into the cushion beneath you.
He stilled instantly. “Baby, you okay?”
“Yes,” you breathed, voice tight, before lifting your head to make sure he knew. “I’m okay.”
And you were. The position was intense, restrictive and it made him feel impossibly big inside you. He knew it too, you could hear it in the rough sound of his groan as he pushed deeper, every inch claiming you in slow increments. The way your body clenched down on him, walls fluttering tight around his length, had both of you struggling to catch your breath.
He inched forward until he was nearly bottomed out…nearly. You didn’t have to say a word before he was already checking with that telltale pause as he used his x-ray vision to confirm your body’s limits. His tip brushed your pelvis and he still had a few inches left, but he wasn’t about to risk hurting you.
“We’re gonna go nice and slow,” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your hip, reassuring you. His voice was steady but there was an edge of strain beneath it, like it was taking everything in him to hold in his release.
All you could do was nod, gripping the couch cushion as he began to move with careful precision, every thrust calculated and every pause a silent check-in. The city lights spilled across the room as his warmth enveloped you from behind, you felt at once completely overwhelmed and utterly safe.
Clark’s chest pressed fully to your back now, the heavy weight of him both pinning you and shielding you. Each deliberate thrust came in that slow, scooping motion and you felt it all, in the best way possible. The way he carved himself against your velvety walls, the way his hips rocked to angle deeper and the way his cock seemed to drag and nudge at every tender ridge inside you until your entire body shuddered.
“Uhhh–fuck, you’re…so deep,” you moaned, voice breaking on the words. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
You’d thought maybe after two orgasms your body would be less sensitive, that you’d float in the afterglow but the opposite was true. Every nerve was heightened, raw and open and all you could do was cling to the moment. Your focus narrowed until all that existed was him, the ridges, the veins and the delicious weight of his cock stretching you. Your nails dug deep grooves into the leather cushions, desperate for anchor, while your blurred gaze caught only fractured streaks of city lights beyond the window. Your mouth hung open, letting small hiccups of sound escape each time he rocked into you while the pleasure bubbled uncontrollably.
His lips brushed the damp curve of your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into your skin. He murmured into you like he was kissing a secret there. “You’re taking me so good, baby. So darn good.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, head tipping forward and you whispered with ragged need, “F–faster.”
He stilled just enough to ask, his voice still low and careful, “Are you sure?” Even now, even with the control it must’ve taken for him not to simply give in, he waited. He needed your confirmation.
You nodded quickly, desperately so. “Yes, Clark. Please...I- I need more.”
The change was immediate. He wasn’t ruthless, he never would be but the shift was enough that your body reeled. His pace picked up, hips rolling with heavier intent and faster, until your moans tumbled free with no control at all. Your back arched further, chest pressing harder into the couch while the tension in your body snapped tighter with every thrust.
“Mmmm–you’re so big…filling me up so good.” you cried, the words ripping free, unfiltered. You didn’t care how shameless it sounded, didn’t care if it made his ego swell, the only truth in that moment was the stretch, the fullness and the overwhelming pulse of him inside you.
He groaned against your skin, his voice dark and low as his arms locked tighter around your middle. “You’re taking it like a champ, baby.”
“Mmmmyeah?” you gasped, the syllable fractured by a sharp intake of breath.
“Mhm,” he hummed, warm and rumbling against the shell of your ear, his thrusts never faltering. His breath was hot, heavy, every exhale ragged. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit you almost as hard as the pleasure itself, leaving you trembling in his arms as the rhythm of his hips drove you closer to that unbearable edge.
Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long before your bodies found a rhythm that bordered on devastating. It was steady, hypnotic and deep enough to leave you dizzy. Clark’s pace never faltered, never reckless, yet it carried a precision that left no part of you untouched. The air in the apartment grew heavy and humid with the sharp mix of your moans and his groans, the slap of skin against skin filling the darkened room until it sounded like the walls themselves were trembling with you.
Then his hand slid up, warm and broad, wrapping around your throat with a pressure just firm enough to make your head spin. He squeezed lightly, careful yet commanding and your eyes immediately rolled back.
“Fuck…I’m…Uhhh–I’m coming. Yes–” You choked.
The sensation tipped you over the edge with startling force, your orgasm tearing through you in a whimpering, broken sound that was equal parts whine and cry. It might have embarrassed you if it had come from anyone else’s touch but with him, there was only trust and relief. Only the gentleness threaded through every inch of his strength.
The pulsing of your release gripped him tight, milking him until he groaned loudly, burying himself deep as he spilled into the condom. The sound he made, low, guttural and raw, vibrated against your spine as his forehead dropped to the top of your back. Both of you were shuddering, caught in the tail end of the storm, your breaths ragged and uneven as the room gradually quieted again.
You stayed there like that for a while, two minutes, maybe more, bodies heavy and languid in the aftermath. When he finally pulled out, the absence was met instantly with the comfort of his arms wrapping you close.
As it always did with Clark, the intensity of sex melted seamlessly into tenderness. Aftercare came like instinct, his lips covered you in soft kisses while his voice murmured reassurances, his laugh breaking into warm little chuckles when you did too. There was something almost comical in the way he padded across the room, completely naked, just to grab the list and dramatically cross off “prone bone” with a grin.
You both ended the night in the shower, washing each other with lazy strokes and shared smiles, before collapsing into bed tangled together. His arms caged you gently, his warmth draped around you like a blanket and the last thing you heard before sleep was his quiet, content hum against your hair.
You slept peacefully for about three hours before the unease started creeping in. First a little shift here, a toss there and then the ache bloomed sharp enough in your lower stomach that you curled around it, clutching the spot. The mistake was letting a tiny wince slip out. It was soft, barely audible but of course, nothing ever got past Clark. He sat up so fast it nearly startled you more than the pain.
“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, urgent and already thick with worry.
You tried to brush it off, rolling onto your back with a weak laugh. “You and your superhearing. I’m fine, Clark. Go back to sleep.”
But “fine” had never once been good enough for him and you should’ve known better. He flicked on the light from his bedside table, casting a warm glow across the room, then promptly pushed the blanket off you.
“Excuse you!?” you protested as he straddled your hips and tugged up the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him. “What do you think you’re doing? Hey, pervert–”
He didn’t even look at your face, his mouth twitching in something dangerously close to a grin. “Funny, you didn’t call me a pervert earlier when I was inside you.”
Your cheeks heated instantly. “Well, that’s–”
But your retort cut off when he began pressing gently on your lower stomach, carefully as well as methodically, watching your expression like it was the most important readout in the world. The second you winced, he reacted like you’d been scorched. He practically leapt off of you, hands fumbling for some sweatpants as though fabric could shield you from whatever he’d just confirmed.
“Clark–”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he rushed out, voice strained as he guided your legs into the pants and tugged them up with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re bruising. I can’t see clearly how bad, so…” He trailed off, swallowing hard before helping you sit up, his hand splayed against your back.
The soft sound you made as the motion tugged at your stomach almost broke him completely. His jaw tightened and you realized his eyes were frantic. “We’re going to the hospital,” he said firmly. “We’re making sure it’s not too bad. No arguments.”
His statement was only half a lie. Clark could see perfectly well but his mind had already jumped ten steps ahead, imagining every possible worst-case scenario.
You blinked at him, both touched and exasperated. Superman, absolutely unshakable in every other way and here he was, pale and rattled over the thought of accidentally hurting you.
“Okay then, but Clark I can dress myself,” you said as he tied the drawstring of your sweatpants, trying to act casual even though the subtle brush of his fingers against your skin sent heat racing through you.
He nodded rapidly, eyes soft but frantic. “I know, baby,” he murmured, cupping your face and pressing a string of gentle kisses to your cheeks and forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should’ve been more careful. I just—Well, it’s you and I–” His hands lingered as he slipped off your sleep shirt.
“You didn’t. I mean, not really… hard to tell when I was cramping around your dick,” you said, letting your voice take on that teasing edge, “but you know… details.”
He froze for a second, brow furrowing. “Are you… smiling? Why are you smiling?”
“Sadistic, right? Thought so,” you said with a small grin, the corners of your mouth tugging up as you watched him fumble with a clean shirt for you. “I’m trying to keep it in, but… you look really hot when you’re worried.”
Clark’s lips twitched into a nervous chuckle as he pulled the fresh shirt over your head. “Arms…I’m glad you find my worrying hot,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and self-conscious pride, before moving on to dressing himself. “But this really isn’t the right time.”
By the time you both got into the car and drove to the ER, your stomach still ached with cramps, but for some inexplicable reason, you couldn’t stop giggling. Half from discomfort and half from the absurdity of it all. His anxious nature made it almost impossible to keep a straight face.
Clark hovered over you in the waiting room like a hawk, pacing slightly and muttering under his breath about how no one seemed to understand the urgency of your “condition.” He leaned over the receptionist counter, using his most serious, authoritative voice.
“My girlfriend was… uh… injured,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s a… pelvis situation, very sensitive. We need a doctor, immediately.”
The receptionist blinked at him, confused. “Uh… okay… do you have an insurance card?”
Clark flinched, muttering something about bureaucracy slowing down life-or-death situations, then spotted a nurse strolling by, who he waved over frantically.
“Excuse me. Nurse!” he called, his voice full of desperate urgency. “She’s… giggling but bruised. Lower abdominal area. Pretty sure she needs professional evaluation. Stat.”
The nurse stopped and raised an eyebrow, taking one look at Clark’s intense, almost panicked expression and then at you curled slightly on the chair, clutching your stomach with a mix of pain and giggles.
She tilted her head, lips twitching. “Uh-huh… yeah, that tracks,” she said dryly, her eyes flicking back to Clark like, no wonder. “Room 3. You can wait there.”
Clark practically scooped you into his arms and carried you to the room, muttering apologies for the dramatic scene while simultaneously shushing your giggles. You could barely stop yourself from laughing at the sight of him tiptoeing as if the entire hospital were a crime scene.
Once you were settled on the hospital bed, Clark hovered like a shadow, wringing his hands and muttering, “I told the lady at the front desk, twice. I–”
“Clark, it’s a bruise,” you whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “People don’t come to the ER for bruises.”
His brow furrowed as he leaned down, lowering his voice. “People also don’t wake up in the middle of the night wincing. What if it’s not just a bruise? What if it’s a fracture? Or an internal bleed?”
You blinked at him. “You think you broke my pelvis?”
His ears flushed red. “...It’s possible.”
The nurse who had come in to take your vitals, clearly overheard and had to bite back a smile as Clark rattled off every symptom you didn’t have. “No fever, no nausea, no weakness in her legs but she winced three times on the way here and–”
“Clark,” you interrupted softly, pressing his hand, “I think I can handle answering the questions.”
“Sir,” the nurse said patiently, one hand on her hip. “She’s going to be fine. You can take a breath now.”
You tried to muffle a laugh. “Yes, do that before you get hospitalized,” you whispered, still clutching your stomach.
Then the doctor finally arrived, striding in with her clipboard and scanning the room. Her eyes landed on Clark, frozen mid-pacing next to the bed, pale and panicked and she immediately let out a soft laugh, as well as letting out a quiet comment on how giant your boyfriend looked perched in the corner, hands clasped like he was waiting for news of a life-saving surgery.
“Oh… yeah. Okay. That’s the problem,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of her. But you?” she nodded at Clark, “Anything wrong with you besides the clear panic attack?”
He shook his head dramatically. “I’m completely worried, normal, casual about this and utterly terrified. All of the above…minus a few, maybe.”
“I know for sure ‘normal’ doesn’t belong on that list,” the nurse muttered. You laughed so hard your stomach pulled uncomfortably.
“He’s just…large,” you managed between chuckles.
“Unreasonably so,” she agreed, with the solemnity of a medical observation as if physics itself should’ve intervened.
Clark flushed bright red but didn’t back down. “I’m concerned. This is a… a delicate… very delicate situation.”
The doctor shook her head, smirking. “I can see that. Let’s get her checked and maybe… keep the heroics to a minimum?”
“He’s never been very good at that.” You snickered, letting your head fall back on the pillow. Clark gave you a pointed glare but couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face as the doctor started her exam.
Even in the ER, Clark’s mix of worry, pride and ridiculous intensity made you laugh between groans and you both knew this was going to be a story retold many times, much to his chagrin.
The doctor, still suppressing a grin then gestured for Clark to step back. He hovered reluctantly, arms crossed over his chest like a storm cloud, peeking over her shoulder anyway.
“Alright,” she said, leaning over to examine you, “let’s see what’s going on here.” Her fingers pressed gently along your lower abdomen and pelvis, eyes flicking up at you with professional focus but her gaze couldn’t resist darting to Clark, who had gone completely pale.
“Uh… I’ll just… stand right here,” he muttered, inching closer than strictly necessary.
“Yeah,” the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. “This is… exactly what I expected. Very… inflamed,” she murmured, glancing at Clark. “Not from an accident, I take it?”
Clark stammered. “Uh, no! I mean–well, technically…yes? It was consensual, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“She wasn’t,” You mouthed.
The doctor tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was solving a puzzle. “It happens. It’s nothing permanent. She’s perfectly fine, just bruised.” she said, letting out a small laugh.
You laughed weakly from the bed, covering your face. “See? Told you I’m fine.”
Clark froze. “Well you know I don’t like that word.” His cheeks burned red but there was no hiding the mixture of pride and embarrassment.
The doctor handed you some ice packs and gave Clark a pointed look. “Ice, rest, maybe a bit of over-the-counter pain relief and you,” she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder, “next time, dial it down to… human levels. Got it?” The doctor joked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Clark said solemnly, almost saluting, though his lips twitched into a grin.
By the time the nurse finally waved you both out, Clark was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He had insisted on carrying you to the car to make sure you weren’t in pain, occasionally glancing at you like he might tackle anyone who even looked at you wrong.
“So…” he began as soon as you were buckled in, voice quiet but intense, “maybe we should… reevaluate the list. Make sure nothing on there…physically overpowers you again.”
You laughed, shaking your head, the seatbelt pressing across your midsection a sharp reminder of the last few hours. “Yeah… no way, I’m not gonna do that. God forbid I actually enjoy the stretch! You have a big dick, Clark, get over it! I knew exactly what I was signing up for when I wrote that list and trust me…I’m loving it so far.”
He blinked, trying to look stern but failing spectacularly. “I… okay. That’s more sincerity than I expected and I’m…very proud of you.”
“Been working on it,” you said with a playful smile.
Clark nodded, his expression softening. “I can see that. I still need to make sure you’re safe,” he murmured, tugging gently at your hand that rested on your thigh.
The doctor had insisted on rest, no activity, just to let the bruises heal but your mind had already wandered. “Which I’m sure you’ll enforce, Superman,” you said, pausing with mock seriousness. “Umm… so, about this whole resting thing…”
“Sweetheart–”
“How far are we taking that? Face sitting doesn’t really count, right?” you asked, smirking. “I mean, technically…”
Clark froze mid-hand squeeze, his eyes widening. “We’re still in the ER parking lot and you’re thinking about sitting on my face?”
“Yes,” you said, trying not to giggle. “It’s literally zero impact on the bruising. The doctor said no activity, but… come on, Clark… that face is begging for it.”
He blinked slowly, then cleared his throat, releasing your hand to push up his glasses and discreetly, or not so discreetly, readjust himself. “We’ll… uh… we’ll see,” he muttered, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as his mind raced.
“Will I… get an answer by morning?” you asked, glancing at the darkening sky where the first hints of sunrise were creeping in.
He started the car, eyes flicking to you with that mix of exasperation and mischief only he could pull off. “Baby, you’ll get an answer when I stop… leaking into my underwear,” he muttered, voice tight with effort. “Then I can think straight.”
You bit back a laugh, trying not to let the growing smile take over your face. “Will that be… soon?”
He shot you a glance, one brow quirking and lips twitching as if he were fighting his own amusement.
“It’s unlikely,” he said flatly, though his eyes betrayed every ounce of delight and torment you were causing and you understood then, with a devilish grin, the absolute importance of depth.
Clark clearly took it very seriously and you intended to test every inch of it.
A/n: If you had to write your own list, what are the top three things you’d put on it? I'll go first! 1. Having the guy wear a ghostface mask, motorcycle helmet or literally anything that covers his face while we... yk, 2. Cockwarming, 3. Watching my partner jerk it *bites finger* (If you judge me you'll have diarrhea for a month straight) Anyway!!
Thank you lots for reading, reblogging, commenting, requesting and following guys! love interacting with you all. See you later this week! 🫶
A/n: This is what i think living with a man who loves you looks like (which i've been told is incredibly delusional and clearly just a fantasy of mine but #needthat) Also quick question, English is not my first language and i've seen people write "come" and "cum" which one is used more? or more correct? i feel like i should know this 😬
Summary: Clark being a handsy freak, fully devoted to the art of making you come.
Classification: Smut +18 | Fingering, nipple play, dry humping and praise + depictions of female orgasms
Word count: 2,2k
Divider by me ;)
You had never been one to orgasm easily. You’d had them before on your own, in quiet and careful moments but never with a partner and certainly never this often, this intensely. That changed the moment you started dating Clark and now that the two of you had moved in together… It felt like it happened all the time.
On weekday mornings, you and Clark usually fell into a comfortable routine where one of you would shower while the other made breakfast, trading off depending on who needed to leave first. But when Clark was the one manning the stove, there was always the risk that he’d cheat the system.
Steam was curling lazily around you when the sound of the shower curtain rings rattling broke through your thoughts, right before a rush of cooler air slipped in as the curtain was pulled back and in stepped a very naked, very unapologetic Clark. His hands were already eager and insistent, sliding along the damp curve of your hips.
“What about breakfast?” you asked, not turning toward him, though you could practically feel the grin stretching across his face.
“That’s what food delivery is for,” he murmured against the back of your neck, his voice deep and playful as his fingers curled around your hips and pulled you flush against him. You felt the solid press of his body almost overwhelming in the misty space. “We’ve got fifteen minutes.”
“For?” you breathed, though your voice betrayed you, already breaking under the anticipation.
His hands drifted lower, one steadying you while the other slid between your thighs. Two deft fingers parted your folds with unhurried confidence, finding your clit with an accuracy that made your knees threaten to buckle. The first sweep of his touch had you gasping, the sound bouncing sharply off the tile walls.
Even Clark’s breath hitched as his sensitive hearing caught every shift in your voice and every stutter in your breathing. It fed something primal in him and you felt it in the way his body tensed behind you. His cock was unsurprisingly already hard, pressed against the curve of your ass but he never pushed for his own release.
His focus was entirely on you, on wringing every desperate sound from your lips until you were shaking against him. His excuse? You deserved to start the day relaxed, unrushed and thoroughly loved on, body and soul, until there wasn’t a trace of tension left in you.
His touch was unrelenting yet precise, coaxing you toward that sharp, dizzy peak you’d once thought impossible to reach with anyone else…and with Clark, you knew it was only the beginning.
You didn’t know people could genuinely come from nipple play, until it happened to you.
You’d been holed up in the study for four straight hours, eyes glued to your laptop, fingers tapping away as you chased one piece of research after another. Clark had brought you lunch earlier, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before quietly leaving again, but when he returned to collect the now half-eaten plate, he caught the sound of a quiet, weary sigh on his way out.
He stopped at the doorway, watching you for a beat before striding back in. “Can you please stand?” he asked, his tone calm but carrying that subtle authority that made your pulse skip.
You glanced up, brows knitting, waiting for an explanation that would never come…unlike you. “Clark, I’m in the middle of–”
“I won’t ask you twice,” he interrupted smoothly, voice firm. “You know I can do it myself.”
You chuckled under your breath because you knew exactly what that meant, he wasn’t above simply picking you up and moving you, he’d also do it with infuriating gentleness. Still, you rose, only for him to drop into your chair and tug you effortlessly onto his lap.
“What’s this about?” you murmured, already melting a little against him as his large hands settled on your waist.
“Taking a break,” he said casually, as if the way his palms were sliding under your shirt was perfectly normal. “Tell me about your research.”
So you tried, words spilling haltingly as his warm fingers traced slow, deliberate paths up your ribs until they cupped your breasts. His chin rested on your shoulder, his voice a low hum of encouragement while his thumbs brushed over your now hard nipples.
When you faltered mid-sentence, breath catching, he murmured, “Keep going. I’m listening.” And he was, though mostly listening to every change in your breathing and every subtle shift in your voice as he rolled your nipples between his fingers with expert precision, coaxing wave after wave of heat through you.
Your body tightened in response, thighs pressing together reflexively as the pressure kept building until you were trembling, head tipping back against his shoulder. He never rushed you, never broke his steady rhythm, just kept you balanced perfectly on that knife-edge until pleasure rolled through you sharp and sweet.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, one hand splayed firmly over your belly as if holding you together just to make you fall apart again. “Relax. You know I don’t like seeing you stressed.”
And you could only lean into him, boneless and dazed, wondering how on earth you’d ever get any work done in this house again.
Other times, it wasn’t stress or work keeping you up, it was that restless, inexplicable inability to fall asleep. You’d toss and turn beside him for what felt like hours, huffing in frustration before flopping onto your side with a loud sigh.
That was always Clark’s cue.
Before you could shift again, he’d hook an arm over your waist and pull you flush against him, caging you in like you were some wayward blanket he refused to let escape.
“You’ve been at it for 20 minutes,” he whispered into your hair, his voice a warm rumble. “What’s wrong? You’re not cold, it’s not too hot and your heart’s at a normal rate, except for a few jumps every time you flip over.”
You squinted into the dark. “Are you using your powers on me?”
“I always use my powers on you,” he mumbled and you could practically hear the grin.
You rolled your eyes and got more comfortable in his arms but the movement pressed your hips more firmly back against him. The low, involuntary groan it pulled from his chest made your clit pulse.
“Are you frustrated about somethin’?” he asked, voice going a touch lower.
“Just go to sleep, Clark. I’ll go take a walk or something.”
“Or,” he interrupted smoothly, “you could get off on me. Same effect, faster results and you stay where I can see you.”
You were about to scoff but the heat already curling in your belly told a different story and so you did. Tangled in his arms and unable to move more than your hips, you grinded against the hard length straining against his boxers. The restriction made it all the more maddening, making pleasure coil tight until it burst over you and not just once either.
By the third orgasm, your limbs had gone boneless and your body melted into the bed as sleep pulled at you with irresistible force.
The only one left wide awake, aching and frustrated was Clark. His powered stamina meant he could’ve gone for hours but with nowhere to put it, all he could do was lie there with his boxers damp from a twice-over release.
If there was a hell designed specifically for the superpowered, this might’ve been it.
But your favorite of those random orgasms was definitely movie night.
Dinner had gone smoothly and now the two of you had settled on the couch with a blanket tossed over your laps. No matter how sprawling the couch seemed, you always ended up in the same spot, curled against him.
Under the blanket, his hand slipped under your underwear, his large fingers sliding in and curling just the way you loved. You weren’t ashamed to admit that you had never been this sexually satisfied in your life.
He couldn’t resist watching your reactions, the way your body quivered under his touch and how your breathing caught in little hiccups that made his own pulse quicken. His lips brushed your temple, nuzzling into your hair as his fingers worked, coaxing pleasure from every nerve ending.
“You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and rough against your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nodded, thumb brushing over his forearm in a silent affirmation. This wasn’t just about physical satisfaction, it was the intimacy of it and the way he could make you melt while you were both just existing together. Clark loved having you this close and feeling every subtle tremble and shiver that ran through your body at the slightest touch. You whimpered softly, a quiet sound of surrender that made him grin against your skin.
"That's my good girl," he cooed, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I love how responsive you are to me."
You hummed in contentment, eyes half-lidded as the TV flickered in front of you, though your attention was far from the film. Every slow blink, every parting of your lips and shiver of your body under his touch was a testament of your trust in him, allowing yourself to be consumed by the sensation rather than thinking about the ending.
Your legs shifted slightly then, opening more as you relaxed fully into him, your body responding eagerly.
Clark smiled at the sight, his lips grazing, nuzzling and pressing soft kisses as his fingers continued their steady intrusion. He always wanted to prolong this, draw it out, teasing and building you bit by bit while feeling the way your nails dug into his unbreakable skin as your pleasure grew. He savored how your muscles tensed and quivered under his touch, each gasp and whine only spurring him on while guiding him to just the right pressure and rhythm.
"Enjoying the movie, baby?" he teased, his voice low, though he already knew the answer. Your gaze was fixed on the screen sometimes but your mind and body were entirely elsewhere.
His fingers moved faster now, skilled and confident, curling, pressing and drawing you higher while his thumb circled your clit in a steady, rhythmic motion.
You threw your head back, letting out a moan that rang clearly through the room, your body arching into his hand as your knee splayed against his thigh. Every nerve seemed on fire, every inch of your skin alive with sensation as Clark held you close while he pushed and pulled, coaxing you closer to that familiar edge again and again, by then the flickering TV ceased to exist.
You were lost in him and he reveled in that total, perfect surrender.
"Such a beautiful sight," he awed, lips brushing along your neck in a tender kiss, teeth grazing ever so lightly. "All soft and blissed out… and I’m not even done yet."
“Unghhh, fuck. Clark–” you gasped. “I–”
"I know, baby. I know," he said in a mock empathetic tone, fingers continuing their unrelenting assault. "Feels good, doesn’t it? You like what I’m doing to you?"
Your breath hitched and moans spilled freely from you, every sound a confirmation of the pleasure he was giving. “You’re so good to me,” you whispered more to yourself than to him, voice trembling with need.
"You deserve it, baby, don’t you think?" He paused. "I’ll give you anything you want, anything you need. You know that. Just keep making those pretty noises for me, yeah?… let me take care of you."
You quivered in his grasp, hips tilting slightly against his hand. “’M close,” you moaned, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, each sound feeding the fire that built between the two of you.
Clark’s grin was audible in the warmth of his low chuckle, his hands expert and insistent, holding you on the cusp while making sure every moment stretched deliciously, until your entire body surrendered in shivers and cries that filled the room.
You gasped and trembled, hips pressing insistently against him, letting out the loudest, most unrestrained moan yet as your body arched and your thighs closed around his forearm. Clark drank it in while a mix of awe and satisfaction flooded his chest. He could feel your tension breaking, releasing under his touch and it made him ache with pride and want.
"So darn gorgeous," he murmured against your temple, lips brushing lightly over your skin as his fingers slowly coaxed you through your release. His free hand slid into your hair, threading through the strands, cradling your head and keeping you pressed securely against him, holding you even as your body shivered in the throes of pleasure.
You let out a deep, shuddering sigh as the last waves of sensation rolled through you and only once he was sure you were completely spent did he withdraw his hand. Bringing two soaked fingers to his mouth before licking them clean with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He wrapped his arms snugly around you and placed an affectionate kiss on your forehead.
"Told you I’d take care of you, sweetheart," he said, voice rich with satisfaction and tenderness, fingers now tracing idle, gentle patterns along your back. "Feel good now?"
You sighed, closing your eyes as you sank fully into the afterglow, letting your breath find a steady rhythm. “So good… missed half the movie, though.” you admitted, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips.
Clark chuckled quietly, nuzzling the top of your head as he held you close.
"Look at you, all blissed out already and the night just started,"
“Give me five minutes and I'll take more than two fingers. ” You mumbled, voice still thick with lingering pleasure.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, ma’am, you will.”
Clark Kent loves nothing more than making you cum. His excuse? You make him feel human.
A/n: Don’t hesitate to let me know in the comments if you guys want the extended version of any of these scenarios!
Reader is weakkk for some Clark neck kisses while pregnant. Praises her on everything she’s done for him a whole heartfelt praise on giving him a family, something to come home too… no smut just some fluff neck kisses 🥺 the kitchen scene is embedded in the mind lol ( I don’t know if I doubled sent this too you?!) if I did I apologize!
Superdad in training
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader
Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
a/n: I would also let him impregnate me ngl
No warnings or spoilers for the film!
Word count: 1.4k
The rooftop belonged to the two of you. Not officially, of course, because the building had its rules, its lease clauses and common space policies but over time, the rooftop had quietly become yours. Strung fairy lights danced across the concrete railing, a cozy bench sat in the corner with a slightly threadbare blanket tucked over the backrest and a few struggling potted herbs lined the edge like hopeful, green confetti.
It wasn’t much but it was yours.
You were bathing in the afternoon sun, one hand resting absentmindedly on the curve of your belly, when a familiar low whoosh hit the air, followed by the gentle scrape of boots touching down and a gust of wind that curled around your ankles like a welcome-home greeting.
Clark landed behind you with a box in his hand and a look on his face that said he’d been flying too fast and too far for you. After all, a car ride was rarely an option.
“What’re you doing out here?” he asked, voice warm but already threaded with concern. “It’s not safe.”
You laughed because it was so him. “Clark,” you said, turning slightly, hand still protectively resting on your bump, “you literally reinforced the railing…twice and tested it. I couldn’t fall off this rooftop if I tried.”
His brows tugged together. “I know. I just…” His eyes flicked downward for a beat to your stomach, then your feet and finally to the box of donuts in his hand before meeting yours again. “I worry.”
“You always do.” You smiled.
“And I always will.”
You stood and stepped toward him. He closed the distance in the way he always did, with gentle touches and that quiet, whole-body sort of love that made you feel like the center of the galaxy.
“I got the ones you like,” he murmured, lifting the box. “From that place in Chicago.”
You gasped, dramatic and delighted, reaching for it. “You flew halfway across the country for powdered donuts with cream filling and rainbow sprinkles?”
“I’d fly across the universe for you,” he said easily, walking you toward the stairs with a gentle arm on your lower back.
You snorted through a smile, letting him lead you. “You’re such a sap.”
“And you keep falling for it.”
By the time you were inside the apartment, barefoot and glowing from fresh air, you were already halfway through your second donut. Clark trailed you into the kitchen like a shadow made of soft cotton and love, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
You stood there chewing thoughtfully with a few rogue sprinkles dotting your shirt.
He stepped up behind you, sliding his arms around your waist with the reverence of someone holding the whole world. His hands splayed gently over the curve of your belly, thumbs brushing idle circles like a lullaby for the little one growing inside you.
“You’re really doing this,” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing skin with featherlight care. “You’re creating a whole person…a whole life.”
You tilted your head slightly, offering more of your neck without meaning to. He took the invitation with a smile and another kiss.
“Didn’t do that one alone…”
“I know, I just–” His voice cracked a little and he pressed his lips against the same spot again, like anchoring himself to the moment. “I still can’t believe it. That I get this…you, this baby and a home to come back to.”
You stayed quiet, chewing slower now, blinking back something soft and messy from your lashes. He kissed the shell of your ear and kept talking, low and steady, voice wrapped in honesty.
“I grew up thinking I'd always have to be two people. That there’d never be space for both, but somehow…you found room for both of them. You don’t just love the reporter or the cape, you love me and you gave me a family.”
You turned slightly, donut still in hand, neck warm from affection. “You make it very easy to love you, Kent.”
He chuckled softly and kissed your jaw once more, then rested his chin on your shoulder and swayed you gently back and forth. “Even when I hover like an overprotective nurse?”
“Especially then.”
A beat passed. You finished the last bite of your donut and licked powdered sugar off your fingers.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?”
He hummed. “Anything.”
You nudged him lightly. “Can you take a peek in there? Just…let me know if the baby’s got the middle finger up or something.. You know, like those memes? I swear, ‘baby of steel’ kicked me with an attitude earlier and it’s really not my fault I couldn't stop sneezing. I don’t want this to be our first fight.”
Clark pulled back slightly and laughed, that deep, honey-warm laugh you loved. His eyes flicked downward for just a second, long enough for a discreet scan before he smiled again.
“She’s smiling,” he said softly, hand still rubbing circles against your belly. “Kind of.”
You blinked. “...She?”
His smile froze and your jaw dropped, sugar-dusted mouth hanging open. “You said she!”
Clark looked like a man caught in a courtroom cross-examination. “I didn’t say—well…I didn’t mean–”
“You totally did! Clark, I’m pregnant, not deaf.”
You could read the apology on his face but you were already squealing, eyes wide and half-laughing, half-crying, as you bounced on your toes in pure, unfiltered joy.
“She?!” you shouted again, holding your belly with one hand. “Clark, she?! Oh my god! We’re having a baby girl?!”
You started to do a little victory hop, just a tiny one…a celebration bounce but Clark’s arms immediately shot out in alarm, hands hovering like airbags.
“No jumping!” he yelped, already trying to steady you. “Feet on the ground, sweetheart! Flat. Both feet!”
You only laughed harder, utterly radiant with happiness, tears springing into your eyes and powdered sugar still dotting your mouth. “I’m fine! I’m just happy! I’m so happy!”
Clark didn’t answer, he was already walking briskly toward the living room, opening drawers and scanning the shelves like a man on a mission, while muttering under his breath. “Where’s the book? The baby one with the illustrations, the index and the emergency checklist. You were jumping…That counts as an impact, right? I don’t know. Where is it?”
You followed, half-laughing, half-concerned, as he located the dog-eared maternity guide and flipped through it with the intensity of someone researching a potential alien invasion.
“Clark,” you said gently.
“One second, baby.”
“Clark.” you said again, grinning and slightly breathless. “How long have you known?”
He froze mid-page flip and answered sheepishly without looking up. “A few days, you kept tossing in your sleep.” He paused, “Couldn’t help it, my eyes wander when I’m worried.”
Your chest tightened around the affection and the swell of something too big for words but he was already talking again before you could say anything.
“Sweetheart, maybe put on your shoes.”
You blinked. “My shoes? Are we getting celebration donuts? I’m kinda hungry.”
“We’re taking a trip to the hospital,” he said, still flipping pages at hyperspeed. “Not for anything bad. Just a precaution…soft precaution. We’ll call first, I’ll carry you and get you more donuts after but we’re going.”
You burst out laughing again before crossing the room to him and throwing your arms around his body from behind—the powdered sugar from your face leaving a faint print on his back.
“She’s fine, okay?” you whispered. “And so am I.”
He stilled, then slowly lowered the book and turned in your arms. Big, warm hands finding their place once more over the life you were both months away from meeting.
“She’s fine,” he repeated. “And so are you.”
You hummed and leaned forward, resting your head on his chest, cheek pressing against the soft stretch of his shirt now. There, beneath your ear, was the steady thunder of his heart, only not so steady right now.
“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you murmured.
Clark stilled for a beat. Then gave you a tight, nervous hum that sounded like it came with too many spiraling thoughts.
You grinned into his chest, patted his back and caved. “I’ll go put on my shoes.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the last three minutes, head tipping back in blessed relief. You pulled away slowly, still laughing under your breath as you padded out of the room, voice lilting just loud enough for yourself.
“Good thing you didn’t see the backflip I did to get out of bed this morning—” You joked.
“What!?” came Clark’s alarmed voice behind you, sharp with concern.
You froze mid-step, grinning. “Nothing, Smallville!” you called sweetly but he was already following, half-panicked and full of love.
“You said a backflip?!” He asked, and the apartment echoed with your laughter and the warm, overprotective footsteps of the man who loved you more than gravity.
----
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Request idea: reader and clark are best friends,, in metropolis there's a broadway type theater, and reader auditions for something and gets the lead!! She's only ever had ensemble or small parts, and she's so excited,, but she has to kiss her co-lead aaaand she hasn't had her first kiss yet. She asks best friend!clark to be her first, just so it's someone she knows, but it turns out they really like kissing, and maybe like more too...
Friends to lovers type???
Method acting
Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
a/n: Took a week long trip out of the country, i'm so tired but it felt so good being able to actually speak english with people but now I'm back with something sexy for y'all! This isn't a great depiction of loss of virginity, if you want something sweeter, check out "Tell me lies"
Classification: Smut +18 | Cocky!Clark, first kiss and loss of virginity, fingering, unprotected p-in-v and creampie, kitchen sex, little to no foreplay, spitting and ripping of clothes.
Word count: 4,4k
Divider by me ;)
You stood in front of Clark with your arms hanging loosely at your sides, fingers barely twitching with nervous energy as you watched every tiny furrow of his brows and every subtle shift of his mouth as he read the script in his hands. He kept going back and forth through the pages with care like the paper itself was fragile, like it had been printed on the same material as the constitution and one wrong movement might tear history apart.
He had only just arrived at your Airbnb, his hair was slightly disheveled from the flight over and the soft crease of a long journey lingered in his clothes. You had rented the place specifically to get away from the city, tucked somewhere quiet and far enough from the noise that you could actually breathe and focus on the role you had been dreaming about for years. You had gotten the news two days ago and told absolutely no one, not even him, which had taken a monumental amount of restraint on your part, only sending him an address and a time and trusting that he would show up and of course he had.
Now he sat in the armchair like he owned the place, elbows resting on his thighs, shoulders broad and slightly hunched forward in concentration. His glasses perched ridiculously high on the bridge of his nose like he actually needed them to read while carefully scanning every page like a man studying sacred scripture instead of a theater script.
“Are you like…out of batteries or something?” you asked quietly, tilting your head as you stared at him. You had been standing there for what felt like ages, waiting for the inevitable moment where he would simply blur through the pages at superspeed and be done with it in a second. Instead, he was reading at a painfully human pace, taking the time to dissect every letter, every word they formed and meaning behind them, while you stood there vibrating with anticipation.
“Almost done,” he murmured without even glancing up.
That was it, you threw your head back with a long, dramatic sigh, your eyes rolling toward the ceiling as it felt like the words you had been holding inside for two whole days suddenly burst out of you all at once.
“It’s a really big deal…huge,” you started, gesturing vaguely into the air as you began pacing in front of him. “They took forever to decide because the script also got picked up to be extended into a movie and they want to keep the same actors, so they really had to make the right choice.” You nodded to yourself like you were confirming the logic aloud. “I’m not saying I’m the right choice, that would be…stupid.”
You let out a short, awkward chuckle as your pacing picked up speed.
“And narcissistic, which I’m not. I mean, I’m terrified.” You admitted, glancing over your shoulder at him briefly before continuing your restless circuit across the room. “Absolutely terrified which is funny because I’ve wanted this for so long but now that it’s actually happening it’s…scary. Like, I can literally see the success coming straight at me and it feels like that time I almost got ran over and I just froze in the middle of the street.”
You pointed at him mid-pace.
“Thank the stars you were there because if you hadn’t been I’d definitely be dead. I mean who freezes like that? Who just stands there while a car is coming straight at them?” You kept rambling, words tripping over each other faster and faster. “And it’s not even like that’s a just a mere possibility because the show’s already been sold out, the company posted the dates and the paid waitlist and all the dates sold out immediately which obviously means I cannot die, but it feels like that would be the safest option right now because–”
Clark finally closed the script. The soft sound of the pages folding together cut cleanly through your spiraling monologue as he leaned forward and placed it gently on the nearby table before looking up at you.
“If anyone deserves this,” he said simply, “it’s you.”
“Well you’re saying that because you’re you and I’m ‘me’ only to you,” you replied instantly, waving a dismissive hand, “and not to the thousands of people who’ll come see it.”
You paused for half a second before another thought struck you.
“By the way, I wanted to get you a seat but you’re too tall for the first row and it’s fully booked because I forgot to do it in time, so maybe just do the thing where you look through walls…from the opposite hemisphere.” You shrugged. “Actually that might be safer for everyone because what if I projectile barf all over the front row? It would be really unfortunate if you were sitting right there.”
“I can make myself really small,” he said casually as he stood up and stepped directly into your pacing path, timing it perfectly so that you walked straight into him before you even realized he had moved.
“Oop,” you blurted out as your forehead collided with his chest and you stumbled back, looking up at him. “Great example you just gave me right now.”
“You’re vertically and orientationally challenged,” he replied, one corner of his mouth curling slightly. “My size has nothing to do with it.”
You punched him lightly in the chest before slipping past him toward the open kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.
“You know they paid for my stay here?” you said over your shoulder, leaning against the counter as you took a sip. “I mentioned once that I like finding quiet places to work on my parts and they just went ‘How much do you need?’ It’s insane, Clark and you’re standing there making jokes about it.”
“You’re tense.”
“I’m scared,” you countered immediately, your eyes drifting toward the script across the room like it might suddenly grow teeth and bite you. “What did you think about it? Do you think I can do it?”
“Why are you doubting yourself?” he asked, genuine concern slipping into his voice because this had been your dream since before either of you were old enough to understand what dreams really meant.
“It’s…it’s different,” you said with a small shrug.
“You mean the sex scene?”
“Implied sex scene,” you corrected quickly. “At least on stage.” Your voice dropped slightly. “I’ve been told I’ll need to think about how much of my body I want to show for the movie version. They have body doubles and prosthetics and all that…” You waved your hand vaguely. “Which I’m not worrying about yet because that Hollywood debut won’t happen if it doesn’t go well on stage.”
“You should start worrying about it.”
You groaned loudly. “Clark! You’re not helping!”
“Then tell me what you need!” he replied, laughter bubbling between his words.
You nodded once. “Page thirty-eight, there’s a–”
“Makeout scene,” he finished.
“Kissing scene,” you corrected immediately. “I was thinking about taking creative liberties with it.”
He let out a small chuckle before he could stop it. “You’re telling me you’re thinking about giving a peck to the guy you’re supposedly head over heels for?”
“My character…not me,” you corrected again, pointing vaguely toward the abandoned script like it might back you up in court.
“Right…right,” he said slowly, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “That’s not realistic.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“I’m not an acting coach…or a director,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin, “but I can sure try.”
“I’m really regretting this,” you whispered mostly to yourself, dragging a hand down your face.
“I’m at your service.”
“For anything?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes at him. “No matter how weird and completely out of nowhere the request might be?”
“Anything,” he repeated, nodding firmly this time, like a man unknowingly signing a legally binding contract.
You inhaled once, bracing yourself. “You need to be my first kiss,” you said and when Clark didn’t move, you spoke again. “And second…and third,” you continued, warming up to the idea the more you said it out loud. “Actually I’m thinking we should regularly kiss all throughout rehearsals and until the premiere so I can really know what I’m doing.” You gestured between the two of you like the plan was extremely reasonable. “And it’ll be you and not some…guy I’m contractually obligated to make out with for six hundred and forty thousand dollars after tax.”
Clark blinked at you once, so you kept going.
“Just in case,” you added quickly, “if it makes you feel better, I’ve been thinking about it for…” you glanced down at your watch dramatically, “fifty-two hours, forty-six minutes and thirteen seconds.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since I met you.” He breathed and you almost froze.
“Which,” you said after a moment, recovering with a small nod, “makes you the perfect candidate and teacher. And it also means it’s time we forget the ‘we can’t do it because it’ll mess up the friendship’ pact we made.” You lifted a hand dismissively. “I know, very selfish of me but do you really think I’d willingly go twenty-five years without having my first kiss if I didn’t think it mattered who the guy was?”
Clark drew in a slow breath. “I can’t tell if that was a rhetorical question or–”
“The answer to both questions is ‘no,’ Clark,” you said flatly, rolling your eyes. “Now please tell me you’ve kissed a thousand girls and you’re secretly a kissing champion or something,” you begged, clasping your hands together briefly before another thought struck you. “Actually minimize the number, whatever it is. Keep it under ten…no, five.” You grimaced. “I don’t like how jealousy makes my blood sugar spike.”
“That amount is in negative numbers by now,” he sighed.
You blinked.
“Every time I think about kissing you it just goes lower,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck, “and that goes really fast when the starting number is zero.”
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach. “We’re fucked,” you muttered to yourself.
Clark scratched the back of his neck again, clearly uncomfortable. “Not even that,” he said. “Given we’re still both virgins.”
You stared at him with wide eyes and obvious disbelief. “Clark, I thought you got over me!” you blurted out.
“Me?” he shot back immediately, throwing his arms out from his sides. “What about you!? Am I wrong for thinking there still might be hope?”
“It’s different! You’re Superman!” you pointed at him, stating the most obvious fact in the universe because…well, he was perfect either way and it’d be foolish to hope no one noticed it.
“And I want you!” he replied, sounding almost offended. “Can’t a guy be picky?”
You would’ve tried to match his indignation if he didn’t look so painfully sincere standing there, big, awkward and impossibly earnest in the middle of your temporary kitchen. Instead you exhaled slowly and nodded to yourself, your brain clearly trying to reroute. You spoke again after a whole minute.
“Are there YouTube tutorials for this kind of thing?” you murmured.
Clark nodded thoughtfully. “I thought they would let us kiss when we did Romeo and Juliet in middle school.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Is that why it didn’t take any convincing for you to audition?”
“I was thinking about my extracurriculars,” he mumbled, suddenly very interested in the pattern on his socks.
A laugh burst out of you before you could stop it, bright and sudden, carrying away a small piece of the tight knot of anxiety that had been sitting in your chest all day. The two of you had probably been idiots for not exploring this years ago but it wasn’t like your friendship hadn’t already been its own kind of relationship, just one that somehow skipped the kissing part.
“Okay, okay,” you breathed, lifting your hands in surrender. “We can figure this out.” You studied him for a moment. “You said you’ve thought about it, right?” you prompted. “Conjure up something that happens here and just…do it.”
Clark glanced around the place as if an invisible audience might suddenly materialize to judge him. He looked genuinely conflicted for a second, like he was weighing whether he was actually allowed to listen to you but eventually he decided.
He took three slow steps toward you before placing his hands on your hips, the warmth of his palms grounding you in place for half a second before he effortlessly lifted you up and set you on the counter. The movement was so easy, so controlled, that it felt like if he let go you might just float straight up and knock your head against the high ceiling.
When he set you down carefully, you cleared your throat.
“Do you need time to think about it?” you asked. “Maybe go on YouTube again and–”
You were cut off by his lips crashing onto yours. It wasn’t rushed exactly because his mouth was soft, gentle even but the suddenness of it made your eyes fly wide open for a second before your body finally caught up and your eyelids fluttered shut. With one last press of his lips against yours he pulled back just slightly, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw as he tilted your head toward him.
Clark barely parted his lips before meeting yours again and this time you followed instinctively, mirroring the movement without thinking, like both of you had simply discovered something you’d been missing and now needed a little more of it.
“This is weird,” you breathed, your smile pressing against his lips as they curved in response.
“Feels good though,” he grinned, drawing a soft chuckle from you. His mouth trailed from the corner of your lips to your jaw, then down to your neck in a series of dizzying kisses that forced your eyes to flutter shut. He could even hear your pulse racing, feel it throbbing against his full lips. The hand gripping your hip tightened, pulling you closer, while your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there.
Nervousness fluttered in your chest, unrelated to him, as every heartbeat aligned with the heat of his kisses.
“Where did my confident girl go?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky in a way you'd never heard, sparking a smile even as pleasure built steadily within you.
“Overly confident…which apparently was another role she played a little too well, then had the nerve to say method acting wasn’t her thing.”
“What’s this then?” he asked, his hips rutting forward instinctively, grinding his hardening cock against your thigh through his pants.
“Told you…rehearsals…practice, if you will.” Your words dissolved into a whimper, a needy whine of his name escaping as desire coiled tighter. “For which I’m willing to go all in.”
“All in,” he echoed, his breath hitching as your hands dropped to his belt, fumbling with the buckle before tugging at the zipper of his pants.
“I intend to study that script thoroughly.”
“The script or what’s in my pants?” he teased, nipping lightly at your neck before capturing your lips again in a deep and messy hungry kiss.
“Both.” You breathed the word against his mouth, your hands slipping into his boxers. He shivered as your fingers wrapped around the thick base of his cock, all the pent-up longing from that first kiss surging forward, demanding release.
“If we’re working on the sex scene, you need to stop doubting yourself.” His voice was rough with want as he gripped your thighs, hauling you to the edge of the counter. He shoved his pants and boxers down just enough to free his length, the heavy shaft springing out, already throbbing with need.
“You can coach me about confidence later,” you said, hooking your thumbs into your shorts and starting to nudge them down your hips. “Help me with this.”
Clark scooped you up effortlessly with one arm banded around your waist, his strength making your pulse spike. He tried to shove your shorts lower, but they caught on the curve of your ass. With a growl of impatience, he set you back down and gripped the fabric, ripping it apart in a sharp tear that drew a startled shriek from you and a quick slap to his arm.
“You’ll make enough to get new ones,” he teased, his grin wicked as he did the same to your panties, the scraps falling away to reveal your soaked pussy. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of your arousal hitting him like a drug, making his cock twitch and a bead of precum pearl at the tip. The sight of your glistening folds had your thighs clamping around his hips, slickness smearing against his skin.
“We don’t know what we’re doing,” you breathed, your gaze dropping to his impressive length, thick and veined, making your mouth water with raw hunger.
Clark cupped your chin with his palm, tilting your face up to meet his intense stare. Without breaking eye contact, you spat into his hand, watching his eyes darken as he wrapped those slick fingers around his cock, stroking from base to tip, mixing your saliva with the leaking precum. His other hand slid between your thighs, thumb brushing over your pubic bone before finding your swollen clit, circling it with firm, teasing pressure. The motion stirred memories of overhearing you across the city, your moans muffled into your pillow as your fingers spread your pussy lips wide, plunging deep. Those nights left him no recourse but to stand under a freezing shower, fisting his cock until he came hard, over and over, spilling ropes of cum against the tiles.
He leaned in, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. “I do…we go all in.”
With that, he aligned the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, the heat of him teasing your dripping folds. In one swift thrust, he pushed inside, stretching your tight pussy around his girth. Your breath caught sharply, a gasp tearing from your throat as he filled you completely, far beyond what your fingers could ever achieve, his thick length hit depths that sparked unbearable pleasure and a little pain, the nerves igniting like fire.
He pulled his hips back slowly, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending shivers through you, before slamming forward again, burying himself to the hilt. You moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating between you as your lips crashed together in a messy, desperate kiss. His thrusts built a rhythm, each one deeper, harder, his hips snapping against yours with a wet slap that echoed in the kitchen. Your pussy clenched around him, slick and greedy, pulling him in as waves of ecstasy built, your nails raking down his back while he groaned your name, lost in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.
“What are you?” he asked between deep groans, his voice rough with the strain of holding back as his cock plunged into your slick heat.
You whined sharply, your eyes squeezing shut as the thick tip of his cock dragged along your sensitive inner walls, sending sparks of ecstasy radiating through your core.
“Horny…very horny,” you gasped, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.
Clark chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he nipped at your jaw with his teeth, a light bite that made you arch into him. His large hands splayed across your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the soft flesh to anchor you in place, preventing you from sliding too far back as he drove his cock fully inside, bottoming out with a satisfying slap of skin on skin.
“Won’t deny that, but I mean on stage. What are you every time you act?”
You whimpered through the relentless thrusts, your mind fogging over as pleasure coiled tighter, each powerful stroke pushing you closer to the edge. His cock stretched you wide, filling every inch of your pussy with its throbbing girth, the veins pulsing against your clenching walls.
“You’re a star. Always have been and I need you to say it.” His eyes roamed hungrily over your face, taking in the way your brows furrowed in concentration, your lips parted as you fought to hold onto coherence amid the building bliss. Your nails scraped deeper into his shoulders, leaving red trails on the skin under his shirt as you clung to him.
“What did I say about coaching me?” you breathed out shakily, a faint grin tugging at your lips despite the haze, which only made his dick swell harder inside you, twitching with renewed urgency.
His hand shot up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip as his mouth mirrored your grin in a wicked curve. “Don’t get smart with me, or I’ll stop.”
“You won’t,” you started, but the words cut off as his hips slowed to a torturous pace, drawing out each thrust in long slides that teased your entrance before sinking back in deep. His grip on your jaw tightened just enough to guide your gaze to his, the pressure firm and commanding. You blinked your eyes open, struggling to clear the lust-induced blur, your thighs and legs trembling at his sides as need pulsed through you. “Clark…” you breathed, hips tilting forward instinctively, desperate to take him deeper, to feel that full, overwhelming stretch again. “Clark, please.”
“What are you, sweetheart? You’ve always known it, so say it. The more you do, the faster I’ll go,” he assured, his tone laced with dark promise, eyes locked on yours.
“A star,” you whimpered, the admission spilling out like a plea and the moment the words left your lips, he rewarded you by picking up speed, his hips snapping forward with renewed force.
“And it’s time everyone else sees it too,” he groaned, feeling your pussy tighten around his pistoning cock from the praise, the slick walls fluttering in response. “Again.”
“Clark, please,” you begged, voice breaking as the pressure built unbearably.
“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured, his thumb returning to your clit, rubbing firm circles over the swollen nub that made your hips buck wildly. “Come on, humor me.”
“Uhhh, fuck! I’m a star,” you breathed, the words fracturing into a moan as ecstasy crested.
Clark’s thrusts quickened, pounding into you with raw intensity that made the cabinets rattle, dishes clinking together from the force of his slams. His lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss, both of you whimpering into the shared space as tongues tangled messily, seeking a rhythm that dissolved into chaos under the onslaught of pleasure. When it became too much, you broke away, burying your face in his shoulder, moans muffled against his heated skin as he fucked you harder, his cock dragging relentlessly along your g-spot with every plunge.
“I’m a fucking star!” you screamed, the climax ripping through you like lightning, your pussy convulsing around his shaft in powerful spasms, milking him as waves of release crashed over your body.
The sound and squeeze pushed him over the edge. Clark shuddered violently against you, his cock pulsing as he came deep inside in hot spurts of cum that flooded your clenching walls, filling you to the brim.
You both remained locked together, breaths heaving in the sudden quiet, chests rising and falling in sync. After a long moment, he pulled out with a wet pop, his softening cock slipping free and he groaned at the erotic sight of his thick cum leaking from your stretched entrance, dripping down your thighs in creamy rivulets.
You closed your legs tightly, your pussy twitching with residual aftershocks, aching for more of his thick cock even as his intense stare only heightened the lingering heat between your thighs.
“Hard to believe you learned all that from YouTube,” you murmured, voice husky with satisfaction and a touch of awe.
“Is improv not allowed during rehearsals?” he asked, his words shaky with renewed desire, his cock already stirring and hardening at the erotic sight of your hardened nipples straining against the thin cotton of your shirt, begging for attention.
You nodded repeatedly, fingers fumbling to grab the hem of your shirt and tug it down in a futile attempt to cover yourself, though the fabric clung damply to your sweat-slicked skin. “You did good, just…you did really good. We should take five and redo it.”
“No pointers?” he grinned, that cocky smile making your core clench anew.
You shook your head firmly. “No, none of that…you have great creative instinct.”
“Sex scene back from the top?” he asked and you were nodding before the words fully left his lips, eagerness flooding through you.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s hard working through a scene without a script. We should rehearse until we find…the right angle,” you said, your eyes drifting inevitably back down to his impressive length, already thickening and curving upward with promise. “There’s a lot of choices here…I mean, the writers have…they have choices. It could happen anywhere.”
“Couch…shower…” He trailed off, glancing around the room with a predatory glint in his eyes, and you hummed in heated agreement, imagining the possibilities. “Thought you said you wouldn’t worry about the movie yet.”
“Time goes faster than you can fly,” you chuckled softly, the sound breathy as anticipation built.
“I should start charging you for the confidence coaching,” he teased, his voice dropping low. “That’s if you’re fully convinced.”
“All in,” you nodded, locking eyes with him as you watched his muscles flex while he strolled closer, the air between you crackling with tension. In one effortless motion, he scooped you up, hoisting you over his broad shoulder like you weighed nothing, drawing a surprised giggle from your lips that dissolved into a gasp when his large palm came down firmly on your ass, the sharp smack sending a jolt straight to your dripping core.
His fingers teased your slick entrance as he carried you toward the couch, tracing the swollen folds of your pussy, coating themselves in your mixed arousal. You squirmed against his hold, the position exposing you completely, your thighs parting instinctively as two thick fingers pushed inside your clenching heat, stretching you just enough to reignite the fire. He curled them expertly, stroking your inner walls with firm pumps that made your hips buck and your breath hitch in sharp moans.
“Then I guess I’ll see you in the movies,” he grinned wickedly over his shoulder, thrusting his fingers deeper as he reached the couch, the wet sounds of your pussy sucking him in echoing with each step.
You moaned loudly into the start of a wild, unrestrained rehearsal night, one that wouldn’t include any acting on your part, just raw, endless fucking until every unscripted doubt was shattered.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Could you please write a pic fic for Clark where the reader is friends with Superman but doesn't know that her coworker and crush happens to also be Superman?
Superman and reader are friends where the hero regularly visits her on her balcony, where she vents about her workday and vice versa. Reader confesses to Superman that she has a crush on a coworker but doesn't know if she should pursue it. The twist is that Clark assumes she's talking about Jimmy Olsen when she's actually talking about him.
Being the selfless person he is, Clark advises her to move on and suggests that she shouldn't waste her time on someone who doesn't reciprocate her feelings. It's all a big miscommunication.
Taking Superman's advice to heart, the reader starts avoiding Clark at work. Clark becomes confused and hurt when he notices her gravitating toward Jimmy instead and giving him the cold shoulder.
Eventually, Clark confronts her about the sudden distance. She admits she had feelings for him but was told by a friend that it was a lost cause. Clark blurts out, "I thought you were talking about Jimmy, not me!"
That's when the reader puts two and two together and realizes Clark is Superman!
He's just not that into you
Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
Classification: Angsty fluff | Dual identity (Kal-El x reader and Clark x reader), slight miscommunication trope and love confessions
Word count: 6.2k
Divider by me ;)
You walked around your apartment with your phone pressed to your ear, moving between the kitchen, where you checked on your dinner in the oven and the living room, where your desk sat cluttered with an organized chaos only you understood. Your laptop was open on a document half-filled with notes and beside it lay a notepad you grabbed quickly, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you scribbled down details. Your gaze kept drifting to the wall in front of you, a space that had long stopped being decorative and had instead become an extension of your work, covered in pinned articles, photos and lines of thought that connected everything in a way that only made sense when you stood right in front of it.
“You know, it’d be great if you could get him on it,” Lois said over the phone and even through the line you could hear the soft rhythm of her pacing.
You let out a quiet, breathy laugh as you kept writing. “That’s not an option. It’d be smarter to reach out to your contact. If she can get us into the LuthorCorp labs before the press junket, we’ll have something more solid than the speculation we're currently sitting on.”
“It wouldn’t be speculation if you asked a certain someone,” she continued, her tone light and smile practically audible. “You know, I don’t see how you don’t take advantage of the current situation. He’s–” Her voice trailed off just as two distinct knocks sounded against your balcony window.
Your head turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound before you even had time to think. Through the glass stood a figure that was, by any measure, not subtle about his presence, raising one hand in a wave.
You walked toward the door, already shaking your head at Lois’ ongoing rant. “I mean, he’s practically a goldmine of information that you just refuse to–”
You unlocked the door and pushed it open as far as it would go so he could step inside, which always required him to angle himself slightly to fit. “Lois, this isn’t really the best time for this conversation to happen again,” you said, closing the door behind him and immediately pulling the curtains shut, because at least one of you needed to think about privacy.
Superman stepped in quietly, removing his boots before he reached the rug and placing them neatly to the side because you had tripped over them enough times. His eyes followed you as you moved, making sure every curtain was drawn and every possible line of sight blocked.
“It’s as good a time as any, because I know you won’t hang up,” Lois said, entirely unconcerned on her end.
You sighed, walking back toward your wall and glancing over your notes. “It’s unlikely, given you still haven’t given me the information you called me for, though I wouldn't call it impossible.” You paused. “It’s definitely tempting.”
“You said you’d talk to him,” she reminded you. Earlier that day, the entire bullpen had paused to watch the live coverage of one of Superman’s saves, something about another failed LuthorCorp experiment spiraling out of control.
“So you think he has a phone…And that I have his number? Sure, Lois, let me just text the extraterrestrial hero and ask him to walk me through what happened today. Do you also want me to ask if he’s single and allergic to pollen?”
“I am,” Kal said quietly from a few steps behind you.
You turned so fast it nearly made you dizzy. “What?” you mouthed.
“Single,” he clarified, unfazed. “Not allergic to pollen.”
“Who’s that?” Lois asked immediately.
“My plumber,” you replied flatly.
She laughed, the sound bright and knowing. “You get visits from your plumber on Thursdays at 8:34 p.m.? What kind of leaks is he fixing?”
“Okay, that was almost funny,” you deadpanned. “Can we get back to it? I don’t have all night.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to keep your plumber from tightening your bolts,” she said, clearly pleased with herself before shifting back to her notes. “Alright, forget everything we knew about that scientist who disappeared.”
You moved along your wall, pointing at a pinned photo. “The one who worked at the Summerholt Institute?”
“Yep. His entire research was funded by LuthorCorp, so–”
“We need to assume he was targeted because of that connection, not just his work,” you finished, repositioning the photo with one hand.
As you spoke, Kal moved into your kitchen with that decisive efficiency he always had when it came to saving the day…which immediately worried you. You stepped away from the wall and followed just in time to see him pull the tray from the oven with his bare hands, completely unfazed by the heat, before cooling it down with a soft breath. You groaned at the sight of your failed and slightly charred dinner.
“...Exactly and from there we have nothing. It would be great to ask our beloved–”
“I heard you the first time. Goodnight, Lois,” you said, ending the call with a sigh then audibly winced. “It’s toastier than I’d hoped. I was aiming for a…bronze.” You paused, then added “Thank you.” Which earned a nod from him.
You carelessly set your phone aside and walked closer to pull out another plate for him out of habit, even though his presence hadn’t been planned. “Boring night?” you asked, glancing at him as you started plating the food, unable to think of another reason he would be here.
“I got your call,” he simply said.
You turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “Is there an astral phone line we share that I don’t know about?” You raised your brows. “Do you have mind reading abilities?”
“You could say that...but if I do, they only work on you.” He smiled, something soft and amused in it. “You were at work, I think.”
It took you a moment but then it clicked, the memory of you pacing the hallway, muttering to yourself about how to get his attention after everything that had happened. “Oh…that,” you said flatly, turning back to the counter and reaching for a knife to cut the chicken. “Your eavesdropping is worse than I thought.”
“Hey, you don’t need to feed me,” he said, stepping a little closer as if he might actually stop you this time, though there was no real intention behind it. It was something he said every time, almost ritualistically, as if repetition might one day change your mind, even though it never did and he never truly tried to make it, because staying here like this, had never really been about the food.
You let out a small chuckle, not even looking at him as you continued working. “And you don’t need to remove your shoes every time you come in, but it’s appreciated.” You gestured toward the cupboard without missing a beat, your movements easy in a space that was entirely yours. “Mind getting some glasses?” you added, already knowing he wouldn’t need directions, that he had memorized your kitchen the same way he seemed to memorize everything else. “I have a nice wine you might enjoy the taste of.”
“Are you getting drunk for the both of us again?” he teased, the memory still lingering somewhere vivid for him because of the way your laughter had filled every corner of the room that night, unrestrained and bright in a way he hadn’t been able to forget.
“No, of course not,” you replied, popping a baked green into your mouth as if to punctuate your point, your tone casual in a matter that almost sold it. “I’m a responsible adult, I have work tomorrow…” you trailed off slightly before adding, more lightly, “but I’m free after.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, nodding as he set the glasses down on your small dining table with care that didn’t quite match his strength, the normalcy of the action mattering more than anything else.
“So tomorrow it is,” you answered, the words settling easily between you as you moved to the fridge. You grabbed water for yourself and without thinking, some cold milk for him, your familiarity with his preferences so ingrained it didn’t feel like a choice anymore. As you poured it, your attention drifted back to him, your eyes following the quiet way he moved across the room, watching as he stepped toward your wall and took it in again.
“You know you can ask, right?” he said without turning, his gaze scanning the notes, photos and connections you had pinned up, your thoughts made visible in a way few people ever got to see. “About anything.”
“I know that, Kal,” you replied, your voice soft as you took your seat, waiting until he joined you across the table. The chair beneath him gave a faint groan, a subtle wobble that didn’t escape your notice and before you could stop yourself, you were already reacting to it. “I’ll change these chairs, I swear,” you added quickly, standing again to scribble it down on your to-do list.
You heard his low and unrestrained laugh, to him this had always sounded like a joke, ever since the first time you mentioned it weeks ago, your seriousness about something so minor never quite landing the way you intended.
“I’m serious,” you insisted as you returned, settling back into your seat and glancing at him just long enough to confirm he had already started eating. “The chair breaks, you fall to the floor so hard you don’t just hit it, you go through it, straight down like a cannonball.” You gestured vaguely downward as if mapping out the disaster in real time. “There goes keeping this on the down low, which you’re terrible at, by the way…My balcony is visible from the street,” you reminded him, pointing as if that alone should settle the argument.
“How secret do you want to keep this?” he asked after swallowing, his tone somewhere between curious and amused, though it was obvious that he wanted to understand where your line was.
“Depends on how much you want the press to know you almost crashed into my apartment wearing cheap latex tights and without those adorable red shorts of yours…” you said, the teasing coming easily until it didn’t, your smile faltering just slightly as his eyes met yours and his head tilted in quiet interest. “Which I definitely don’t look at,” you added, a little too quickly to be entirely convincing.
“You’re the press,” he reminded you, leaning back slightly, his arms lifting in mild protest. “And every superhero has tough beginnings.”
“Sure, big blue,” you grinned, taking a sip of your water. “Yours just included debatable flight trajectories.”
“I thought we agreed to re-label it as a badly timed exclusive delivery,” he countered, the corner of his mouth lifting as he leaned into the version of the story he preferred.
“Right, to the balcony you almost ripped off? Sure, yeah, we’ll just pretend you knew exactly where to land, right on a Daily Planet reporter’s doorstep so she could write the exclusive of your debut.”
“Which you didn’t,” he pointed out. He had never forgotten that part, the choice you made when you could have changed everything for yourself in an instant, the restraint that had meant more to him than any headline ever could. He hadn’t been ready then for the world or for what he was becoming but you had been there anyway unassuming and somehow that had made all the difference, because knowing at least one person saw him and didn’t turn him into something else had given him courage no amount of strength ever could.
Whatever the world made of him, you had known him first and chosen him without needing anything in return.
“No I didn’t. You still had some polishing on your techniques to do.” You paused just long enough for it to land, the corner of your mouth lifting faintly. “You’re welcome,” you added, as if the entire evolution of him from falling out of the sky to sitting in your kitchen had somehow been part of your doing, your attention already drifting back to your plate as you kept eating, unaware of how closely he was watching you.
“So what was it about?” he asked after a moment, his tone shifting slightly, curiosity settling in where the teasing had been. “What did you need?”
“Ummm,” you started, buying yourself time as you chewed and swallowed, your gaze dropping to your plate. “It’s not about work.”
“It never is,” he replied in a tone you hadn’t really heard before. Whether it was relief, frustration or some complicated mix of both, you couldn’t tell. Part of him wondered if things would be easier if what existed between you could be contained to something simple and professional, something Clark could survive without feeling like he was constantly standing just outside of it.
“It’s personal…and you’re a guy, so I figured you’d be less biased than–”
“Who? Lois?” he cut in, already knowing the answer before you gave it.
“Yeah…she’s…” you trailed off, your expression softening slightly. “Well, I love her and she wants the best for me, which is exactly why I can’t consult her about this…” You paused, catching the way his eyes had narrowed just slightly, the weight of his attention pulling you back. “Not that you don’t want the best for me too…or maybe you don’t care and I’m reading this wrong…not that this is a thing–”
“You’re rambling.”
“Yep. I noticed,” you admitted quickly, clearing your throat to reset the moment, though the nerves had already settled in too deep.
“Tell me,” he said quietly this time, the insistence softened by something that made it difficult to look away from him for too long.
“Um, I…” you hesitated, then pushed through it anyway, your voice lowering as if that made it safer. “Have you ever had a crush on a coworker?”
“Coworker?” he echoed, the word catching in a way that made it feel unfamiliar on his tongue, even though it shouldn’t have been.
“Right,” you said, the realization hitting you a second too late, your shoulders lifting slightly. “I mean, I guess you don’t really have…that kind of job or coworkers you see enough to accidentally fall for them.” You stood abruptly, draining the last of your glass so the movement alone could end the conversation. “Forget it, it’s stupid.”
Before you could gather the plates and fully retreat into the safety of dismissing it, his hand closed gently around your wrist firm enough to make it impossible to pull away without really trying.
“I want to hear it,” he said, the words certain. “Please, sit.”
The way he held your gaze made it difficult to refuse, it lingered even after he let go, his hand falling away only once you moved, trusting you to come back on your own.
You sat again, your composure not quite as intact as before. “Well…” you started, clearing your throat again as your eyes avoided his, drifting instead to the table, the wall, anywhere but him. “There’s this guy at my job…I’ve known him for a while now, so it’s not…new. I think I was just keeping myself busy so I didn’t have to notice it.”
He didn’t interrupt, didn’t move, didn’t give himself away in any obvious way but his attention sharpened, narrowing entirely onto you like nothing else existed beyond the sound of your voice and the rhythm of your heartbeat, which had already begun to betray you, picking up in a way that made every word feel heavier in his chest.
You smiled faintly as you continued, unaware of how much each detail was doing to him. “He’s really charming and witty, even if he doesn’t think so…he’s the reliable type, you know?” You paused, searching for the right words, your fingers absently tracing the edge of the table. “He might not be there when you want him but he’s always there when you need him…a little like you, actually.” You let out a quiet breath. “It’s just getting harder to ignore and it’s not like I can’t do my job properly or anything but him knowing would just…make things easier. Clearer.”
Kal nodded slightly, encouraging you without pushing, even though every instinct in him was starting to tighten, to brace and prepare for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.
“Is it…” you hesitated, your voice faltering just enough to betray how much this mattered to you. “Would you say it’s a good idea to tell him?” You paused again then added, almost under your breath, “It wouldn’t be anything big, just…telling him how I feel and then probably hiding in a broom closet until he leaves for the day.”
“Do you think he feels the same?” he asked, the question coming out more careful than he intended, his voice catching slightly before he steadied it. “He’d…he’d be dumb not to, but…it’s your coworker, so it might not be–”
“Worth the risk?” you finished for him. “Trust me, I’ve considered every angle.” You shook your head lightly, your gaze dropping again. “He…I’ve never really heard him talk about his feelings, not seriously and I’m too scared to ask his friend who’s another coworker of mine…in case he runs his mouth.” You let out a quiet but heavy breath, you were too self-aware of how you spoke next. “It’s stupid, because I like to think I’m sure of everything else, you know? Everything that matters at work, every lead and instinct…except this.” You glanced down at your hands. “Except when it comes to me as a person and not a reporter.”
A small, almost embarrassed laugh followed. “I mean, I know nothing about guys. Not a single thing and I’d hate to mess up what we have over something I don’t even let myself be sure of.”
“Your heart’s beating really fast,” he said before he could stop himself, the observation slipping out with awe that made your eyes snap up to meet his immediately, startled not just by the words but by the intimacy of them. “I’ve heard it when you’re stressed…scared,” he continued like he was retracing something only he had access to. “I’ve heard it when laughter makes you forget how to breathe and when you’re angry.” He paused, his gaze dropping briefly as he noticed your hand instinctively move to your chest, palm pressing there as if you could steady it through sheer will alone. “But I’ve never heard it beat like that.”
The admission lingered between you and for the first time he wondered if he had simply never listened closely enough before, if somewhere between trying not to overstep and trying not to reveal too much, he had missed something that had been there all along. At work, he was always careful, too careful, splitting himself in two so precisely that maybe he had overlooked the way you looked at Jimmy, the way your voice shifted and how your attention lingered…because of course it would be him.
Jimmy, easy and charming, Jimmy.
Quick with a joke and even quicker with a smile, the kind of person who fit effortlessly into places Clark always felt like he had to earn. It just made sense and that sat uncomfortably in his chest, a reluctant conclusion that followed him even now.
You swallowed, your gaze dropping. “I’m not good at talking about things like these.”
“You’re perfect,” he countered immediately, the words leaving him before he could make them smaller or safer. “And I’m sure he can see that too, unless he’s blind.”
Your eyes lifted to his again, searching his expression as if there was something there you were trying to understand. “Or maybe it’s both of us that are blind,” you said quietly, doubt threading through the words. “I hoped you wouldn’t be this biased.”
“I never said I was the exception,” he replied, his tone just as quiet.
You shifted in your seat, pulling your knees up to your chest despite the instability of the chair, curling into yourself so it made you look smaller, trying to take up less space inside a feeling that had already grown too large.
“You would be in my book…guys like you aren’t ever single for long but me…I’m starting to think I’m the rule,” you admitted after a moment, your gaze unfocused as it drifted past him. “That these kinds of stories just…don’t happen to me.” You let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “I was even spiraling the other day because he’s never called me. Always Lois…” you added, shaking your head faintly. “And I get it, I mean, how could he not? She’s…she’s the best at everything but then I stupidly convinced myself of the fact that I might not look or act available enough. ‘He might not even have my number!’” You quoted yourself, “…but he does. I’m sure he does.” Your voice faltered just slightly before you steadied it again. “The one thing I should know is that if a guy wants to see you–”
“He will see you,” he finished firmly, nodding once and grounding the statement as an undeniable fact, something he himself was living proof of, sitting here late into the night simply because he wanted to be near you, because knowing you were here and not coming at all would have been worse. The thought tightened in his chest and before he could stop himself, before he could filter it into something more careful, the words pushed forward anew. “If a guy wants to date you, he will make it happen. It’s not…your job to figure him out or to decode every little thing he does and build reasons for him where there aren’t any.” His eyes searched for yours. “You shouldn’t have to convince yourself of something he hasn’t given you.”
You sniffled quietly, the sound small but unmistakable and when you blinked, the gloss in your eyes caught you off guard more than anything else because you hadn’t realized how close you were to it until it was already there. The vulnerability of it made you recoil even as it surfaced, the idea of being wanted, of waiting for it, suddenly felt heavier than it should. “Like I said…I might just not be busy enough,” you said, forcing a faint smile that didn’t quite hold. “Is it dumb that I still need to hear it from him? Even if it’s a no?”
He heard it then, the slight hitch in your heartbeat that didn’t match the rest and before he could think too much about it, he was already moving, standing in front of you with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency behind it. His hand came up to your cheek, catching the tear that slipped free before you could stop it and for a moment you just sat there, feeling exposed in a way you had spent so much time trying to avoid, embarrassed by how much it mattered, by how much you had tried to keep contained.
Kal leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against your skin where the tear had fallen.
“Especially then,” he answered quietly but with a certainty that came from experience more than understanding, because he knew what it felt to not know, to exist in that space where something could be everything or nothing at all.
He knew that sometimes the only way forward was through the hurt, that closure, even painful, was still a form of release. Still, selflessly, there was a part of him that wished you would never have to hear that ‘no’ from Jimmy, that the negative answer you were waiting for would never come if it meant breaking you like this, because the thought of watching that happen again settled heavily in a place he wouldn’t allow himself to name but couldn’t ignore either.
Clark kept his attention fixed on you in the days that followed, though he tried to convince himself it wasn’t intentional, that it was simply habit, proximity or the natural rhythm of the bullpen but the truth of it lied beneath every glance he failed to stop and every moment he tuned everything else out just to track the shifts in your routine. You hadn’t seen Kal again, not after that night and part of him remained unable to decide whether the kiss he had pressed to your cheek had been comfort or something far more selfish, something he hadn’t earned and hadn’t been ready to examine. The wine you had promised sat untouched in your kitchen, the plan dissolving into nothing when the city called for him and he answered as he always did and you, of course, had understood without question, which somehow made it worse.
At work, you were different in a manner that didn’t invite questions but demanded to be noticed by him. You were sharper, your focus cutting clean through distractions that would have once pulled you away, your voice was steadier too, more certain when you spoke, like something had been sealed off rather than opened. You followed a schedule he tried not to memorize and failed anyway, your movements no longer drifting from your desk just to fill the spaces between tasks.
You arrived, worked and left, and everything in between felt structured which didn’t leave room for the version of you he had come to know outside of it. Even the smallest details had changed, the way you sat in your chair, the angle of your posture, the arrangement of your desk that he absolutely was not looking at right now, his gaze slipping past Jimmy who stood directly in front, unknowingly obstructing his view.
“I need something, Y/n. Anything,” Jimmy insisted, leaning forward over your desk, his voice low but insistent. “I’d do anything for the smallest hint.”
Clark didn’t need to see your face to know you were smiling, he could hear it in your voice, in the way your breath shifted just slightly and still, with an almost embarrassing certainty, he knew you hadn’t told him yet.
“You need to drop it,” you whispered back, your tone light but firm enough to try.
“I can’t. I can’t,” Jimmy swore, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, his restlessness almost comical. “It’s keeping me awake at night.”
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “No, it’s not. Lois shouldn’t have mentioned anything in the first place,” you said, pointing vaguely, though the moment the words left your mouth it was as if you had summoned her, because she appeared behind you seconds later, leaning in just enough to make you jump.
“I’ll get it out of you if it’s the last thing I do,” Lois declared, her tone carrying far too much enthusiasm for your liking.
“Okay. Stop. Just stop, you two,” you whispered, your voice dipping into pleading as you glanced between them.
“Just tell us and we’ll go,” Jimmy pressed, clearly not intending to honor that request.
“Tell us what?” Clark’s voice cut in from across the bullpen, louder than he intended, the question slipping out before he could stop it and drawing more attention than he had meant to.
He only realized it after the fact, when heads turned slightly and the moment stretched just long enough for it to feel noticeable. He watched as you straightened immediately, Lois stepping away like nothing had happened while Jimmy only took a step back before turning to you again.
“I’ll find out,” Jimmy pointed, catching your gaze and Clark saw it then, something small but new in the way you looked back at him. It settled in him as you stood, grabbing your empty mug and excusing yourself with a quiet word before walking away.
Jimmy made his way over to Clark then, lowering his voice as if whatever he had to say required discretion, his eyes flicking around briefly before settling on him. “You didn’t hear it from me,” he started, already leaning in. “We went to the bar Friday night–”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Clark interrupted, the question too sharp as his focus narrowed.
Jimmy blinked, thrown off for half a second. “Lois, Cat, Y/n and I,” he clarified before continuing. “And I–”
“Where was I?” Clark asked and once again, the words left him before he could stop them. There was an edge of unfamiliar jealousy slipping through.
“I don’t know, man, we tried calling you,” Jimmy said, exasperation creeping in as he gestured vaguely. “Can I speak now?”
Clark nodded quickly, the memory clicking into place just a second too late. He had been somewhere else entirely, wrapped up in activities far removed from who Clark Kent was to people.
“I introduced Y/n to a friend…good looking,” Jimmy continued, his voice picking up again. “The vibes were so good, even I was falling in love with the guy!…works in the building at the end of the street, great potential…he asked her out and she declined.”
Relief came faster than Clark expected, a quiet exhale slipping out before he could stop it and when he realized it might have been too visible, he reached up to adjust his tie, pretending it had been the reason all along, though Jimmy didn’t seem to notice.
“Then Lois went on about some plumber she’s allegedly seeing that she likes and that might be allergic to pollen?” Jimmy added, his tone shifting into confusion. “I don’t know, I was drunk and I’m still confused but I want answers.”
Clark hesitated for just a moment before asking, more carefully this time. “Did…some confession occur?”
“What?” Jimmy’s face twisted in confusion.
“No exchange of truths?” Clark clarified, the phrasing careful enough that it didn’t quite land.
Jimmy stared at him for a second longer before shaking his head and stepping back. “You’re so…odd, man,” he muttered, already turning away, leaving Clark sitting there with more questions than answers and the lingering sense that whatever he had missed, it hadn’t passed as cleanly as he wanted to believe.
Eventually, he stood up and crossed the bullpen faster than he meant to, each step toward the kitchen clicking something into place, pieces aligning into a realization he hadn’t even known he’d been building toward. In all the changes he had tracked in you over the past few days…the schedule shifts, the distance and careful avoidance, there was one thing he had completely missed, one thing so obvious now it made his chest tighten...
“You’re ignoring me,” he said as he pushed the kitchen door closed behind him, sealing the two of you inside while you stood halfway bent into the fridge.
You went still instantly, your back straightening as if pulled by a string and for a full second you didn’t move at all. Then, slowly, you closed the fridge door and cleared your throat, buying yourself time that didn’t come.
“What…do you mean?” you asked, your voice just unsteady enough to give you away.
It hit him sharply all at once and it felt like the first time he’d ever left the ground and realized there was no going back.
“We take the elevator together in the mornings,” he said, voice low but certain now. “We haven’t in three days because you’ve been getting here earlier each day. You’re getting your coffee in here so we don’t cross paths at the bullpen machine and you’ve been eating lunch at your desk while working.” His brow furrowed. “You never do that.”
You let out a small, strained laugh, grabbing your empty mug just to have something in your hands. Without looking at him, you moved toward the door he was still blocking.
“Clark…please,” you said quietly, the word catching as you tried not to meet his eyes at this distance, your heartbeat loud enough in his ears to drown everything else out. How had he missed it? How had he been so blind?
“I’m your exception,” he said under his breath.
You blinked and finally met his eyes. “My what?”
“You said…” His voice faltered for the first time. “I thought you were talking about Jimmy.”
Your face twisted immediately. “What are you talking about? When do I ever talk about Jimmy Olsen?”
“I’m the plumber,” he insisted, the words tumbling out rapidly like it was easier than spelling it out for you.
You froze, staring at him like he had just split into two people in front of you, because everything he was saying were pieces he should not have had, unless...
“Kal…?” you asked, your voice dropping, fragile and uncertain.
Clark reached up and pulled off his glasses.
Your entire expression collapsed. “I’m going to puke,” you said, taking a step back and setting your mug down, your hand coming up instinctively to your chest as the situation crashed down around you all at once.
You had confessed, you had cried….You had done all of it without knowing it was him. He stepped toward you carefully, putting his glasses back on as you steadied yourself.
You swallowed. “Can you…”
He understood immediately and took them off again. Your brows furrowed as you looked at his face, then at the glasses in his hand, then back again, trying to reconcile the two.
“And could you…” you started again and when he put them back on, you let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Oh god.”
“I understand if you hate me–” he began, lifting his hands slightly but the words didn’t make it far.
Your palm hit his chest in an attempt to push him and he didn’t move which somehow made it worse. “What makes you so sure I won’t walk out there and tell everyone?” you demanded, your finger poking and pressing hard into his chest.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said quietly, his hand closing gently around yours.
“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped, pulling away only to hit him again, harder this time, both fists landing against him in quick succession. “It’s been months since I met the other guy and I’ve known you for years.” Each word came with a strike he didn’t try to stop.
You pulled back, breath uneven. “Was it a coincidence at all?” you asked, your voice sharpening. “How we met…I mean, how I met Kal. Was that–”
“I went to tell you,” he cut in, the confession immediate, unguarded. “It felt safe to tell you and then I crashed and it all came out wrong.” Back then, even with everything he felt for you, he trusted you first, because you would have known what to do with the truth when he didn’t.
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh as you took another step back. “You’re an asshole…and a liar.” The words trembled.
“I know,” he said, following slowly, careful not to crowd you. “You have to know…that I don’t call you because my voice shakes when I talk to you…It’s pathetic.”
“I should probably kick you,” you added, a smile breaking through despite yourself.
“I deserve it.” he nodded.
“Stop agreeing with me,” you shot back, your voice rising before dropping again as your ass hit the counter. He stopped a few feet away, giving you space. “It could’ve slipped out while I was drunk…with…with you,” you realized aloud, your eyes widening. “For fuck’s sake, Kal! You could’ve heard me say it to Lois from across the city. That’s unfair!”
“Clark,” you corrected suddenly, your hand pressing to your forehead. “Sorry. Fuck.”
And there it was, the exact reason he loved you, laid bare without you even trying. You understood him in a way no one else did, not just Superman or Clark, but both.
“Call me whatever you want,” he said softly. “We’re both yours.” Your eyes snapped up to his then. “I was too focused on being Clark,” he admitted. “I couldn’t hear it.”
You shook your head, the instinct to take the blame rising even now. You had never planned to tell him at all, not without certainty that he felt the same. You were careful with your feelings, methodical, waiting until it was safe.
“I’m always on the verge of telling you everything,” he went on, his voice quieter now. “All of it, but then–
“We both risked losing someone,” you finished, the understanding settling between you. The worst outcome had always been possible, even if neither of you wanted to admit it right now.
He looked at you like he was waiting to be judged, to be forgiven or rejected, caught in that fragile space where silence stretches too long.
“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” You closed the distance, heels clicking against the floor, loud in his ears and before he could react, your hand was on his tie, pulling him down until your lips met his, his glasses pressing crookedly against his face. It took him a second to catch up but when he did, he leaned into it, holding onto the moment like it might disappear.
Your lips parted with a gentle pop and your eyes lifted to meet his.
“Does this mean hiding in a broom closet is useless?” you asked, straightening his tie, then his glasses because of course…he didn’t need them.
“I happen to have great vision,” he nodded, still looking at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “And a hard time looking away from you.”
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
