Summary: It's 93 degrees, your ac is broken, and the human embodiment of the sun is trying to smother you in your sleep.
Wc: 900-ish
Tags: Fluff, suggestive but nothing happens, established relationship, domesticity, short n sweet, mentions of nudity but nothing descriptive, gn!reader, no use of y/n
A/n: Something cute before I crack my knuckles and start working on Whumptober
You can feel the sweat dripping off of you, rolling down your face and neck, onto your pillow. Wiping it away, you fan yourself with your hand in a futile attempt to cool down. Tilting your head to the side takes effort, the tackiness of your skin sticking to your sheets.
An unprecedented heatwave had struck Metropolis, and even in the dead of night it was unrelenting. Your dinky little window unit had kicked the bucket earlier that evening, and even with the power of Youtube tutorials and the world’s cheapest tool kit, you and Clark couldn’t get it running. Groaning, you kick off your duvet cover, baring your legs to the humid air of your room in a last ditch effort. A poor effort.
Clark shifts on the mattress, and you love him. Truly, you do. Almost everything about him actually. His kindness, his cute dimples, the fact that he can make eggs really well but almost always burns the toast. That he always had fresh flowers for you on the table every Sunday. But he ran warm. Super warm. It was great during the winter- but you felt like you were about to melt just by being next to him.
Then he throws his arm around you, unconsciously pulling you closer.
“Nope,” You grunt, grabbing his arm and attempting to lift it off of you. Both of you are sticky with sweat, and you swear you can feel your skin beginning to fuse together, “Love you, but nope.”
“Huh…?” You feel bad for waking him up, you do. Not bad enough though. Rolling out of bed, your feet hit the hardwood floor. “ ‘at’s wrong? The house on fire or s’mthn?” Clark stirs awake, hand brushing through his hair as the other props him up. You ignore him, focusing instead on ridding yourself of the minimal clothes you had on.
“Don’t play, you’d know if it were on fire- probably before it even caught fire.” Your tank top, soaked with sweat, was flung into the hamper, underwear quickly following. That seems to wake Clark up.
He reaches for his bedside, turning on the small reading lamp, eyes following you as you cross the room. “Where ‘re you going?”
“To take a cold shower. I feel like I’m about to burst into flames and die,” You sigh dramatically, gesturing to the small window unit that remained frustratingly off. “I know you’re convinced you can fix that thing, but tomorrow we’re going out and buying a new one.”
Clark huffs, sitting up fully, running a hand down his damp face. He can’t even front anymore- it is getting a little warm, “I can totally fix her- Betsy just needs a little TLC-”
“Oh so you’ve named her now?” You quirk a brow, a small laugh escaping you as you pass by Clark’s side of the bed. A large hand shoots out to grab your arm, gently pulling you away from the promise of a cold shower, and towards the furnace you share a bed with. Muffling a noise of surprise, Clark pulls you into his grasp and rolls over quickly, trapping you at his side. “Kent- I’m serious,” You struggle to pull yourself from his hug, “I’ll scream.”
Clark presses his nose to the top of your head. Would it be weird to say he liked the smell of your sweat? “I could take us to the fortress instead, ‘lot cooler than a shower-”
“Nooooo- then I’d have to get dressed, and I know you’d hate that.” Clark hums in agreement, and you can feel it against your head, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands paw at you in a way you might’ve considered any other night, but instead you break free, rolling away to your nearly cool side of the bed, “Too hot for sex. Nope.”
He smacks his lips in a sigh, but his dopey little smile shows he’s not frustrated in the slightest. Coy, you bring your finger to your mouth, like you’re considering something, before reaching a verdict. “You may have my hand.” As if doing him a great favor, you stretch your arm out, fingers opening and closing quickly against the sheets. “To hold. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Clark snickers, face scrunched up, dimples on full display- as if it wasn’t your greatest weakness. He takes your hand, squeezing it twice. “A little sweaty, huh?”
“I can go take that shower any time-”
“I think you’re forgetting you’ve got Superman in your bed,” He lets out a deep laugh and purses his lips, as if getting ready to whistle. Instead, a beautifully cold breeze brushes against your cheeks, tickling against your lashes, and cooling the sweat that beaded down your temples. The flush on your face from the heat subsides, an almost glacial feeling nipping at you.
"Again, please," You practically beg. It almost hurts to smile- but thank fuck, because this was the best you’d felt all evening. Had you feeling so good you leaned across the cotton sheets for a little reward. Lips brushing against your boyfriends so gently that it was almost chaste. “Thanks for savin’ me, Superman,” you mumbled, going in for one more.
Clark pushes forward, nose brushing up against yours, nudging you into the pillow, if only slightly. “All in a day's work.” He smiles into it, like he was exactly where he wanted to be, pressing you up against the pillows of your bed. Again- if it were any other night.
Summary: Where do babies come from? Well, when a Kryptonian and a Human love each other very much...
AKA
You find out Clark can get pregnant.
Wc: 6.1k
Tags: Implied mpreg, top!reader, bottom!Clark, alien anatomy, blowjobs, pegging, sex toys, synthetic cum, praise kink, marriage promises as dirty talk, established relationship, you're both dorks who haven't done this before so yippee, no use of y/n, reader is afab but nothing really descriptive sooo, no gendered pronouns used
A/n: When I said I wanna get this man pregnant I wasn't lying. Idk if this counts as a/b/o bc it's not rlly that, but I did barrow the slick aspect bc I care ab biological accuracy ☝️🤓 if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes no you didn't.
Clark was in a good mood. A fantastic mood even.
You had made extra cinnamon rolls the night before, so he had something sweet to eat with his morning coffee. He saw a cute baby on the metro, and she smiled when he waved at her, all gummy and wide. He was early to work for once, and was able to make it past Steve’s desk unscathed from semi-rude and woefully underthought insults.
Cat had called his tie “fashion forward” because of the little blue bows that dotted it, and he got to tell her gleefully that “my partner actually picked it out for me”. It was Perry White’s birthday, so lunch was catered for the staff, and it was from a good restaurant. One where the sandwiches actually had toppings you wanted, and were bursting from the wax paper they came delivered in.
The sun was warm on his face as he made his way home. He gave some money to his favorite busker who always played classical music on his violin, and one of the aunties at the local fruit stand gave him a bag of oranges for free, just because he had a “kind face”.
His cheeks practically hurt from all the smiling he had done by the time he got home. He could already hear you shuffling about inside, and he couldn’t wait to sit next to you on the couch and relax while watching a show together. The apartment was nice and warm when he got in, dropping his keys into the dish by the door with a clatter. Dress shoes abandoned, he worked to undo the buttons on his coat, calling your name softly.
“I’m home! You know, I was thinking we could try some of that tea you bought the other day,” His coat slung over the rack, he rounded the corner into the living room, rustling through the bag of oranges, “A nice lady gave these to me, and I really think they would pair well together.”
You looked up at him from across the room, situated on the couch with your legs pulled tight to your chest, chin resting on your knees. Your phone was brightly lit, and held way too close to your face. Speaking of…
The smile you had on was one of thinly veiled amusement. The apples of your cheeks are full, the lines of your brows soft. Borderline mischievous. Clark’s movements slowed- like you were a grizzly bear and he was trying to decide whether he should play dead or run.
“What.”
“What? I didn’t say anything,” You chirped, falling back onto the couch and pulling your phone close to your chest.
Clark crossed his arms.
Your grin grew impossibly wide, turning onto your side to a better look at him. “Just, you know, scrolling through twitter.”
“You know that stuff isn’t good for you!” Clark chided, moving into the kitchen so he could turn on the kettle. “It’s all so negative. Everyone’s so mean.”
He could hear you laugh again, throw blankets from the couch rustling as you got up to join him. You leaned against the pillar separating the rooms as Clark grabbed two mugs from the rack. A quick glance told him you still had your phone cradled close to your face. “Oh c’mon there’s some really interesting stuff on here…” He could practically feel the amusement dripping off of your words. Dumping the oranges into the sink, he turned on the tap to wash them, peeling away the stickers as he went. “...Like how, apparently, both sexes of Kryptonians can get pregnant.”
The orange slipped from his grasp with a splash of water, soaking the counter as well as the front of his dress shirt. You burst out laughter, hurrying to grab him a hand towel.
Clark's ears always flushed first, the tips a bright red by the time you handed the towel over. “I- How… I just-” He stumbled, taking off his glasses and shoving them onto the counter after thoroughly drying it off.
He was so cute when he was flustered, even if it was just off of some baseless internet rumour-
“I mean… How do they even know that? There are only two of us left-”
Hold up. Pause.
Your laugh was instantly wiped from your face, a look of sheer bewilderment replacing it as Clark stumbled through his words.
“-I mean, obviously I have archives of it, from what was sent over with me… in the pod and stuff. Not everything! Of course, just the basics, you know-”
“Clark Joseph Kent,” You said slowly, like this was all an elaborate prank being pulled on you by your beautiful boyfriend and the evils of twitter. But it couldn’t be, Clark could barely stand to open the damn app. “Is twitter right?”
He’s made a mistake. Clark recognizes that instantly. He tries to go back to washing the oranges and making you tea, but he knows it’s a moot point. You’re at his side now, phone entirely discarded on the countertop, looking at his profile as he really, really tries to ignore you.
“Can you get pregnant?”
“It just makes more evolutionary sense for both sexes-”
“Oh my god!” You’re getting fucking yolked right now. Whipping your head around the kitchen, you wait for the camera crews to start barreling in. “Really? Really?” You say incredulously, hands running down your face in pure disbelief.
Clark shakes his head, hands held out wide as if to say ‘Is this my life?’ “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal!”
“So why wouldn’t you tell me? Oh my god, I found out my boyfriend can get pregnant through fucking twitter-”
The oranges were finally discarded, because apparently this was how tonight was going. Clark watched, face flushed and hands shaking, as you zipped towards your phone. Luckily Clark was closer. “You are not posting about this-”
“That wasn’t what I was going to do!” You insisted, bent at the waist over the counter, laughter bubbling out of your lips, tears edging your lashline. “I was just gonna see if anything else they’re saying online is right!”
Luckily, one of the few things Clark knew how to do with a phone was turn it off. Cloistering you against the fridge, he shoves the phone on top of it, hidden just out of reach. You buried your face in Clark's chest, muffled laughs still wracking your frame. You smelled nice, and you were warm- so all wasn’t totally lost. You mumbled an apology into him, and he sighed.
“But for real,” You asked, laughter finally subsiding, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well for starters, you just laughed so hard you cried,” Clark said, thumb gently wiping away errant tears from your flushed cheeks, “And I guess it just… isn’t really important?”
You gasp, affronted, and pull away to rest your hands on Clark’s trim waist, turning him side to side, “Not important? I wanna know everything about you- like, where would the baby even go?”
Clark tried to ignore your wandering hands, trying to ignore the fact that he’s practically hardwired to your touch that was travelling dangerously low, “Well we weren’t like the main ones getting pregnant, it was just something we could do-” He gingerly grabs your wrist before you can start tugging his damp shirt from the waist band of his pants. You let out a noise of discontent as he lifts you up onto the counter, trying to distract you with a flurry of kisses across your face, “-Anyways, It’s not like you could really… get me pregnant.”
You pull away, and Clark has made his second mistake of the evening.
“We could test it out.” You say, running your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks gently. Clark lets out a low chuckle, letting you manhandle him, tilting his head like you would a particularly adorable puppy.
“It wouldn’t work-”
Your hands shifted to the back of his head, threading through the dark curls situated there, and pulled him in. Close enough for him to feel the amused huff you let out fan across his lips. “C’mon Clark,” A chaste kiss, “You won’t even let me try to get you pregnant?”
Clark smacked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, face hot and dazed. He tried so hard to be better than his instincts, but he could smell you- all bothered, wriggling beneath him- which made him kind of feel like a creep. Ironic, considering you were trying to convince him to… get pregnant.
Which totally wouldn’t work. And totally wasn’t confusing him at all because it was kind of getting him hot right now?
His voice pitched up in the way it always does when he’s semi-embarrassed about his response, a shaky “I guess…” earning him a proper kiss. One that’s messy and desperate in a way that makes him a little weak in the knees, pressing closer into you as your thighs clench around his waist. Your tongue barely creeps into his mouth, a teasing lick at the edge of his teeth before you retreat entirely, pulling away with a lewd sound. Clark tries to follow you, but a sharp tug reminds him your hands are still firmly wound in his curls.
And then you jumped off the counter, padding away back into the living room.
“Wait- Hold on, where are you going?” Clark protested, awkwardly readjusting himself in his slacks. You turned around, still walking backwards towards your shared bedroom.
“You wanna make a baby in our kitchen? Freak.”
You love being rough with Clark. He just makes the cutest noises whenever you pull his hair too hard, shove his head around as he goes down on you, sink your teeth into his skin and claw your nails down his arms. It’s even better because you know you can do all this without physically hurting him. Though, sometimes you wish the marks you left would stay just a little longer, long enough for him to have to stutter out some lame excuse to his coworkers.
Clark loved it too. You knew he did, because every time you shoved him around, into bathroom stalls in restaurants, the perpetually empty fax room because no one sends faxes anymore, and any wall that seemed even remotely sturdy enough, he got hard as a fucking rock, all wide eyed and flushed.
Your bed, the third one this year, creaked loudly as you shoved him onto it, straddling his hips in an instant. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as you grabbed his jaw, tilting it to the side to gain access to the soft spot beneath his ear- it was always deliciously sensitive, the easiest place on him to bruise. Teeth sinking into flesh, the hand not holding him in place slipped down his chest, working on the buttons to his shirt. Clark shuddered as your cold hand finally made contact with his skin, pushing his undershirt up once his button up fell open.
You were so overwhelming- when you both got going it was like all Clark could notice was you. Your breath, your heartbeat, the thrush of your blood in your veins. He could smell the sweat clinging to your body, sweet and familiar, because you both used the same shampoo. Could taste you on his tongue, overwhelming and addictive. His hands, soft yet strong, made their way under your sleep shirt, gripping the flesh of your hips as he tried to pull you closer- flush against his body in a way that was getting pathetically needy.
He groaned into the air of the room as your mouth abandoned the spot beneath his ear, trailing down his neck to his collarbone- he wanted more. Any longer, and he was sure he’d break the zipper on his slacks. “How are we- ngh- how do you wanna do it?” Clark pulled your head back, almost immediately missing the stickiness of your tongue on him.
Your pupils were blown wide, scanning him in his entirety before licking your lips. Considering something. “I… bought something. For us to try- you can say no if you want.”
“Show me?” Clark asked, kissing your cheek, skin hot beneath his lips.
Extricating yourself from him was almost impossible. But you found yourself rushing towards the closet in a way that you would call unsexy- if only you weren’t so dazed. A box was hidden in the back, disguised amongst your shoes. “I bought this like… kind of a while ago?” You said sheepishly, bringing it back to your bed. Clark had an inkling of what could be inside, if only because of the embossed sex toy logo on the very top. “I chickened out before I could suggest it though.”
“You can always tell me if you wanna try something.” Clark said, his sincerity only embellished by the giant tent he was pitching. You laughed softly, pulling the lid off the box and tilting it towards him. Clark considered the strap on for a moment. The silicon a midnight blue against the black velvet of the box. “It’s a little big, don’t you think?”
“I made sure it was smaller than you,” You rolled your eyes, taking it out of the box along with the harness, “You saying I’m better at taking it?”
Clark ran his hands down his face, smushing his palm against his mouth in a way that muffled his words. “I mean… definitely, you are.” It’s like an ache in his stomach, though, looking at your expectant eyes. Is this how you feel? All heavy down there? He wants to… “But yeah, let’s, uhm, we can do it this way.”
Your teeth mash against his in a sloppy kiss that you hope conveys how happy you are. Again, like in the kitchen, only a brief slip of tongue that leaves him wanting, chasing. “You wanna get undressed for me then, while I put this on?” Clark doesn’t really trust himself to speak, only nodding his head forcefully as he turns away and strips himself of his clothes. There’s a clinking noise, reminiscent of a belt, from behind him as you busy yourself. Then the slide of a drawer. Right, lube. Should he tell you that…
He’s not sure he can verbalize that either. Clark feels like he’s on fire, and wonders if it’s unreasonable to turn on the AC during winter, turning around to finally face you. You’re, fortunately, not looking at him quite yet, instead fussing over the straps and making sure everything is secure. You’re kneeling on the edge of the bed, and the sight feels like something he’s blessed to see. Because you’re stunning, and you’re all his, and… some more instinctual part of his brain seems to be clouding his judgment, something that’s screaming about the… the baby you’re gonna give him. His legs, independent of his rational mind, carry him to the edge of the bed and deposits himself at your feet.
That breaks you out of your worry, a smile beaming down at him as your hand comes up to ruffle his hair, “You ready, baby?”
It’s not really an answer, pulling apart your thighs and kissing them to the base of your strap, but it’s all Clark can manage. “I wanna…” You shudder beneath him, legs instinctively drawing in as he licks around the elephant in the room. “...like how you do it?”
“Oh,” You coo, grip tightening in his hair, “You wanna suck me off?” His big arms cage your hips against the bed, and your leg hinges against his waist, pulling him closer until his cock can rut against the bed sheets. “Want me to teach you?”
Clark nods, but he kind of has an idea of what to do. You’ve gone down on him enough times that he knows what feels good, even if you can’t technically feel it. He knows what makes you look pretty. You guide his head regardless, and he sticks his tongue out to gingerly lick the tip of you, eager but unsure if it’s right.
You can’t feel it- but you can feel it. Know what his tongue feels like, how warm and soft and wet it is. Thumb stroking against his cheek in encouragement, Clark suckles it into his mouth fully, eyes lidded in concentration. It tastes like plastic, but if he tries he can almost imagine the taste of your sweat, how sweet you are, how warm you are. He lets you push his head down further, just enough to sit on the back of his tongue. There’s more left to take, but you don’t rush it, just let your pretty boyfriend sit on his knees and suck you off in a way that feels right for him.
Clark gulps around it, saliva pooling on his tongue, slicking up the toy. He lets it sink in a bit further, enough to make the back of his throat tickle, before pulling all the way off, spit stringing him to the tip, before he goes back to kiss the side. Your voice is like honey, “Doin’ really well for me, Clark,” If he could get drunk, he imagines it would feel like this. Like you beneath his hands, making sure he feels loved. “I’m so lucky, you know that?” You let the toy press against his lips, before it slips against his cheek, a smear of saliva along its path.
He takes you again, bobbing his head in a way that seems tentative. He tries to look up at you, eyes round and glossy, unfairly thick lashes slightly damp. Clark’s curls, normally gelled, lay heavy against his forehead, your fingers pushing them away, leaving your hand on his head as an anchor. Slowly, like a request, you cant your hips upwards.
Clark hums around you, his own hips rutting against the duvet- in tandem with your gentle thrusts. He tries to memorize this. He’s seen almost every facet of you in your time together, every little piece that comes together to form what you even are, but this is a side of you that he’s never experienced. He’s pretty sure no one has. It makes him feel even warmer, energy buzzing like a current beneath his skin, makes him feel good. His tender tip catches against a fold in the duvet cover, pre smearing against the fabric, trying to keep up with the pace you’ve set. It’s almost maddening, the stimulation, and from this alone he can feel that tension winding up in his stomach.
He finds himself closing his eyes, letting you use him until his impending orgasm- but you have this sixth sense about you. You know when he’s about to fall over that ledge, and just like that, you pull yourself from his mouth, leaving his jaw slack and empty.
Before he can protest, voice horse, you grab his arms and pull him onto the bed, the frame squeaking beneath your weight. “I think we’re getting carried away,” You laugh, thumb tracing his bottom lip, swollen and wet. “You still wanna do this?”
Clark has always been honest to a fault. You think the only lie he’s ever really kept well was Superman. “Yes- want it, want it real bad.” His hands are all over you, pushing you down onto your back like he was the one in control. You remedy that quickly, pushing his hips and rolling the both of you over. You can practically see the cogs turning in his head as it hits the pillows.
You wipe the self-satisfied grin off your face, trying to give off the aura of someone who knew what they were doing. Because watching porn wasn’t really the greatest starting point. You shuffle down, knees rustling the sheets, hands warm on Clark's thighs as you spread them open for you. “I want you to tell me if anything hurts, ok? I’ll stop immediately.” Clark’s little laugh was immediately speared by a moan, your thumb brushing the base of his cock, right above his balls. You push a little, your ring finger joining to encircle him. A small, dry tug undoes him quickly. “Need you to be serious.”
“I am!” Clark insists, hips jolting at your touch. You let him buck up a few times before taking your hand away, caressing the inside of his thigh, all muscle and warmth and… wet?
Your gaze shoots down, every jolt and twitch of Clark’s hips show that he’s fucking wet. And if you think about it for like, more than two seconds, that kind of makes sense? Because other people who can get pregnant self-lubricate but, like…
Your finger nudges at his hole, and slides right across it, gathering the wetness onto your fingers. Holding them up to the dim light of your bedroom, and letting it string as you pull them apart. Brows furrowed, you looked at your boyfriend, and his sheepish “oops, you caught me” kind of look that just made the whole situation worse. He’s so lucky he’s kind of the most beautiful person on the planet, because you had unnecessarily spent thirty American Dollars on lube that you didn’t even need. You even got the strawberry flavored one! Because he liked strawberries!
Love had made you a fool.
There’s a lewd squelch as you bully one of your fingers into him, “When you’re a little more coherent, we’re going to have a loooooong talk about why you feel the need to hide things from me.”
Clark nods his head, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you prep him. Another finger joins the first quickly enough, curling every which way trying to find the best angle within. But that’s not good enough for you, crowding his legs over your own as your free hand grabs his jaw, “Use your words, Kent.”
“Yeah-” He pants out, “-Yes.”
Your fingers finally find that spot, the spot. The one that makes him buck up so wildly you almost lose your balance. Pre-cum oozes from the tip of his cock, smearing over the bottom of his tummy. “Right there-” He asks, hand coming up to muffle his moans. You could never stay mad at him long.
The room fills with sounds that you’d be embarrassed for your neighbors to hear, which unfortunately they probably do. Sorry to them. You can’t stop though, pulling each and every moan and whine and whimper from your boyfriend as you loosen him up for you. Without much effort, you can slip a third finger in, trying not to disrupt your rhythm. Clark always tries to last longer than he really can, and you can tell he’s getting close by the twitch in his brow, and the way he tries to rub the tears from his eyes. “You can cum if you want to baby,” You encouraged, holding your fingers in place against his prostate, just pure pressure.
Clark nods his head fervently, “No- I wanna save it.”
“It’s ok,” You say again, finally thrusting your fingers in again, faster, harder, “I’ll just make you cum again, you can do that for me, right?”
He clenches tight around your fingers, head hitting the bedboard with a sharp crack, one that would make you concerned if it were literally anyone else. But it’s Clark, your boyfriend who can hold a high rise above his head, your boyfriend who could fly around the Earth in the time it would take you to change into your pajamas, your boyfriend who could hold his breath for over an hour (well that one was impressive for entirely selfish reasons). Clark, your boyfriend who was cumming around your fingers, your boyfriend who was about to let you fuck him into the mattress because you were a pervert, your boyfriend who you were gonna give a baby to.
Ropes of cum coated Clark’s chest and stomach, the sticky fluid running down between his abs and pooling in his belly button. You let him catch his breath for a few seconds, watching pridefully as his chest heaved. A gentle kiss broke him out of his daze. Clark wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you in for another one the moment you disconnected from each other. Softly, so only he could hear, you asked, “What position do you wanna be in?”
“On my back, I need to look at you.” Like it wasn’t even a question. Your heart swelled, unable to handle just how cute and sincere he could be, ducking down into his neck to lave over the very first spot you made, still sensitive. “Can we… start slow?”
You lined yourself up to his entrance, hole still wet and ready, “Yeah,” you pushed yourself in, the tip popping just past the ring of muscle, “ ‘course baby, anything you need.”
Staying just like that, you let Clark decide when he was ready for more of you, instead taking in the view. Hands come up to squeeze his hips reassuringly. Clark, of course, was built, there was no doubt about that, but he was still soft, a cute layer of fat insulating every bit of muscle. Something to grab onto a little. Gently, Clark leans up, hand finding the back of your head to meet his kiss half way. He kisses you as softly as he wants while he gets comfortable, ignoring the itch in your own skin at your need to move.
You couldn’t feel anything, but it was like phantom pleasure. Just imagining how it felt, and being able to see how Clark was reacting to you was enough to get antsy, resisting the urge to thrust deeper into him. But he was always so gentle and abiding with you, so he deserved that in kind.
It was only when Clark broke your kiss, one tiny peck to the corner of your mouth, did he mumble “You can move a lil’ more now.” To which you gladly obliged. He flopped back down onto the mattress, wiping his sweaty curls from his eyes as they drank up the view of your conjoined bodies. Was this how you felt when he was inside you? Clark shifted his legs a little wider, muscles straining to allow you more room. He was so wet that it didn’t hurt- but there was an ache, right in his center. One that only grew as you slid further and further in. One that felt like only you could solve it.
His dick stayed hard through all of this, twitching against his abs as his back arched a little, getting comfortable with something inside of him. Clark was used to all types of extreme temperatures, the arctic cold of the fortress, the smoking heat of burning buildings, the wet humidity of Kansas summers. But the way you were looking at him, blurred and excited and lovingly, felt like he was about to melt from the inside out.
You had finally slid all the way home, your hips sitting flush with Clarks. It was intoxicating. Your soft hand moves to encase the bottom of Clark’s dick, giving it a quick tug in time with the roll of your hips- experimental, not exactly moving. The man below you full-body shuddered, something low and stuttered leaving his mouth as a moan. That was a good sign. “Can I move?”
“Please.”
You gathered Clark’s legs, one for each arm, and leaned in. The first thrust is slow, but hard, watching as blown-wide pupils hide behind lidded eyes, Clark struggles to keep his composure. He was always a bit sensitive. The second thrust is quick and shallow, and you revel in the way his eyes snap shut and his mouth falls open. You decide to alternate, not quite sure which reaction you like the most.
Clark can feel your sweat dripping down onto him, the room muggy as you panted softly out your mouth, brow furrowed in concentration as you found your rhythm. It was so different feeling something inside of him, and a part of his mind preened at the attention, like this was something that Clark had been neglecting all this time. It’s mind-numbingly good, and all Clark can think about is you, you, you. Arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders, he pulls your body down, chests flush together as he buries his face in your neck, tongue working against the area under your ear. A matching mark to his.
He can feel your laugh, breathy, against his skin, falling off into a moan.
“You feel good- makin’ me feel so good,” He mumbles, kisses placed between his words.
The encouragement drives you to go faster, trying once again to find that spot within him. “ ‘m glad,” You say, sincere, hands groping along his sides until they find his chest, fingers sinking into the plush of him.
You pull away ever so slightly, just to dip down again and let your foreheads connect, breath mingling, staccato and varied along with the effort. The ache in your hips means nothing as your lips connect again in a mash of teeth and tongue, pawing at one another like it was both the first and last time. “Thank you- means everything to get to do this with you-”
Clark’s arms and legs feel heavy, every effort that screams at him to just go limp and give in, instead he hooks them around you, legs pulling you closer in. His cock is trapped against the soft skin of your tummy, humped back and forth, smearing fresh pre and last rounds spend between your bodies in a way that only slicked his thrusts further. “I love you-”
“Love you too- love you sooooo much that I’m gonna give you a baby, alright?”
It’s involuntary, the way he spasms at those words, locking your hips even closer to his, responding to your grinding hips with his own. He shut his eyes tight- trying not to come so soon. “Yeah- want a baby, your baby-”
You kiss his temple, then his hairline, “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you. Make you a mama, right?”
“Please,” You thread your fingers with his, your nail crossing over his ring finger.
The slap of your skin, the squelch of your bodies, is lewd beyond comparison. The headboard of your bed, cracked from earlier, is only breaking further as it jolts against the wall. You squeeze Clark’s hand tighter, “Gotta get married too- make you an honest man Clark. Be my lil’ husband-”
“Oh gosh- gonna get married?”
“Yep, get us rings, and we’ll have a baby- one big family.” Clark isn’t really sure he can last much longer, and he’s sure you won’t either, the way your thrusts keep falling out of time, tired with exertion. You’re pushing his hair out of his face again, his stubborn curls slicked back, just looking at his face in a way that makes him feel like he’s the only one on Earth.
You give him one last kiss to the nose before pulling back, hands trailing down his sticky skin to grab firmly onto his hips, thumbs tracing the area just below his navel.
“Gonna put a baby right here, mkay mama?”
Clark nods furiously, the wave of his orgasm building up to a crescendo, ready to crash any moment.
“Words-”
“I want a baby, want you to fill me up- want you to get me pregnant-”
You can feel yourself getting close too- it’s almost romantic, loving someone so much that just seeing them this way can make you cum. Something to add to Clark’s never-ending list of skills. There’s a syringe on the other side of your harness, one of your hands reaching back to thumb over the button- the other envelopes the top of Clark's cock, pressing your thumb into his slit and angling him up. His tip’s practically oozing, coating your fingers in sticky pre, the same coating the bottom of your stomach, that helps your hand glide up and down in quick succession.
Clark’s moan is almost strangled, voice cracking in a way you’ve never heard before. So cute and private and yours. “I’m gonna- oh golly- I’m-”
“Me too-”
“Really?-”
He says it with stars in his eyes, and you groan, speeding up to a pace that you definitely can’t sustain for much longer, but it doesn’t matter because-
Clark shudders beneath you, eyes screwing shut with pleasure, mouth dropping open to the cutest little “O”. His hair falls back down onto his face, and he cums. More than he ever has before, mixing with the first round splattered across his chest, some even getting up onto his chin before it drips down into his clavicle. It’s downright obscene. And then Clark feels something different.
Something warm, and wet.
Something new inside him- flooding into him, so good that he cums again. It’s like synapses popping in his brain, like floating, and crashing, and rising back up again. Clark thinks he might be drooling a bit, but he can’t find it within himself to wipe it away- not when he feels so good.
You timed it just right. Your nails brushed against the now empty container hidden behind you, legs shaking as you grabbed Clark's hips for the last time, pushing all the way in and grinding there for a moment as your own orgasm washed over you like a wave. It’s followed by a pathetic little half-thrust, and you’re kind of in awe that Clark can last multiple rounds doing this. Being Superman might help a little, but still.
It actually takes you a few seconds to catch your breath, wiping the sweat from your face because holy shit this room has gotten hot. Given by the far-away look Clark’s got in his eyes, it might take him a few more seconds to come to. For the umpteenth time tonight, you swipe his hair from his face and press a kiss to his temple, which you can feel him smile for. Slow as you might, pulling out of him is still something that draws a hiss.
“Sensitive-”
“I know,” You placate, rubbing your thumbs over his hip bones in a way you hope is comforting, “Gonna get you cleaned up, mkay? Gonna take care of you.”
Clarks huffs in acknowledgement, head flopping to the side as you get up. He tries to stifle a laugh at your attempts to get out of the harness, and you only give him a half-baked glare. The ceiling fan isn’t on, mocking him and his sweatiness. He knows the remote is just on the nightstand- but he suddenly can’t bring himself to move. Was this how you felt after? Limp and heavy and sore and satiated? He could still feel the residual pleasure holding on in his limbs, a welcome reminder. The faucet in the bathroom creaked on, and you soon returned, somewhat damp from wiping down your face and neck, with a clean, wet hand towel.
The moment the cold water hit his face he preened, leaning into your touch as you gently wiped the sweat and cum from his face and neck. “Love you.” He said softly.
You smile, searching across the bed to lace your fingers with his and squeeze before letting go, moving the cloth lower to wipe at his stomach and legs, “I love you too.”
“I love you more-”
“-We are not doing this game right now,” You laugh. The moment you're satisfied, the cloth goes in the hamper. Like you can read his mind, you reach for the remote for the fan, clicking it onto the highest setting before crawling into bed next to him. Clark finds just enough strength to draw you into his chest, resting his cheek on top of your head, pulling the covers up. It could be a million degrees and he would still cuddle you to sleep. “...You liked that, right?”
Clark definitely felt like there was more to him then even he knew at this point. Because he never really expected to… like what had happened tonight as much as he did. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to biology, but it was mostly the act of doing it with you that made it all… pleasurable, exciting, something that he… “I think I’d like to do it again- that is, if you’re up for it?”
His skin was soft as you pressed a kiss to his collarbone before looking up at him, “I think I need to, like, train or something. I have no clue how you last that long.” Clark laughs, energized just enough to roll you both onto your back, laying his weight on you like a blanket. Your hand slaps playfully at his back before resting on his shoulder blade.
“It’s ‘cause I’m Superman,” Clark supplies unhelpfully, kissing at your cheeks, “And ‘cause I love you.” You push his face away to look into his eyes, dark blue and soulful and perfect. And you love this man, so much that you want to pour it into him, let him feel it. But you’re way too tired for that, and settle for a kiss instead.
Summary: Clark would much rather spend his New Years Eve with you on his folks farm. Instead, he's been stuffed into a bowtie while wondering why Lex Luthor invited him to this gala.
Tags: Major Character Death like for reals, blood, heavy angst, violence, poisoning, hurt no comfort, no use of y/n, gn!reader, you do have a purse tho bc someone has to carry things around and the word bag seemed too casual ignore that if you want, guys I'm serious about the angst
Wc: 4.3k
A/n: This prompt spoke to me, yes I'm sorry I skipped to day 20 </3 I'll probably do a few other whumptober prompts (out of order and definitely not all of them), and maybe some kinktober if college decides to stop beating me w a stick
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
You sigh, tightening Clark’s bowtie just enough to make him choke before you loosen it. “You can’t say that about everything Lex Luthor is involved with.” Letting him go, you pace around your apartment, shutting off the lights before you leave.
Clark shifts from one foot to the other, watching the silk of your outfit shimmer in the lowlight. You looked stunning- well, you always looked stunning- but tonight especially so. He just wished it didn’t have to be for some New Years Eve Gala being held by The Worst Guy Ever. Instead of that, he’d much prefer if you were both out doing your own thing, but together. Ma and Pa had asked if you guys were coming down for the holidays, and looked so disappointed when he said it was this event or his job. You had to stop him from putting his head through the wall out of shame.
Making sure you had cash for the valet, and an extra set of cufflinks for when Clark inevitably lost his, because boy does that man fidget, you snapped your purse shut. Clark looked peeved. Not at you, but in general. “Why are you acting like I want to go to this?”
“I’m not!- I’m- You know that I know that you don’t want to go to this,” You crossed your arms as Clark stumbled through his words, “I just-”
“-wish Perry wasn’t making us go?”
“Exactly!”
“Well then make sure to tell him when we see him in-” You glance at your phone, “half an hour, now come on, we’re gonna be late.”
Like an oversized baby, Clark flung his head back in protest before grabbing his suit jacket. “I just don’t get why we have to go.” Grabbing his keys from the rack, he holds the door for you as you step into the hallway of your complex. You switched off the holiday lights you’d pinned over the threshold as Clark locked the door, an attempt on both your parts to be a little more festive.
“Because,” You grabbed his hand, leading Clark to the elevator, “Luthor asked for us specifically-”
“-He’s definitely trying to buy us out-”
“-and because we just started our 401k’s, so we need to keep our jobs.” He loved the deadpan look you gave him. He wished it was after some stupid joke he’d made at the dinner table while you were both on a farm in Kansas instead. “Listen, we don’t have to stay that long,” You pressed the elevator button, “We just have to thank Luthor for inviting us, pretend to have a glass of champagne, and then make our Irish exit.”
You both shuffle into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close so you could get on the road and end this night quickly. Clark adjusted his glasses, already beginning to fiddle with his cufflinks, which earned a small slap to the back of his hand. “Stop that, I only brought one extra set, so you’ll have to behave.”
“You look stunning tonight, if they have a mistletoe, you’ll save me a kiss right?”
“Don’t change the subject.” The elevator doors slide open, revealing the garage. “Who else would I be kissing?”
Your feet already ache and you’ve only been here twenty minutes. The balls of your feet screaming at you to sit down, but no matter where you look- there’s nowhere to catch a break. All the tables are tall, littered with pristinely ironed table cloths and tasteful decorations. Everyone here somehow seems to know each other, and despite your promise to leave quickly, Perry had whisked away Clark to show him off to his Commissioner friends, a conversation you were glad to be absent for. A white-vested waiter floats by you, a tray of hors d'oeuvres balanced on one hand that he tips forward.
“Thank you,” You mumble politely, taking a small pancake topped with créme and caviar on a napkin. It was better this way, sitting off to the side, because the moment Clark could find an out in his conversation, he’d make his way back to you, and then you could go home and spend the Midnight Count Down together. You might even have enough time to take a quick flight to the Midwest.
That dream crumbled soon enough, because at that moment you heard your name spoken by a familiar-yet-not voice.
Lex Luthor stood a few feet away, dressed in a pristine wool suit that would likely never be worn again after tonight. Two coupes of champagne stood sparkling in his grip, and he was making his way towards you.
Hiding your wince was almost difficult, an awkwardly cracked smile taking its place. You hoped it didn’t look too forced. It only made sense that Luthor would be here, it was his damn party after all- and he had specifically invited you and Clark. Frankly, you were surprised he hadn’t tracked you down sooner.
“You look radiant tonight, are you enjoying yourself?” Luthor compliments, something of which you’re certain he doesn’t mean. There’s almost nothing on his face other than a smile to indicate his honesty.
So that’s what he’ll receive in kind. “Of course, you’ve outdone yourself.”
He shakes his head, finally turning from you to scan the crowd, you take a moment to dart your gaze across it as well, completely unaware that you’re looking for the same person.
“You flatter me, I didn’t do anything to plan,” He gestures towards the crowd of people, “This.”
That, you can believe. Wordlessly he holds one of the coupes towards you.
Your smile tightens, a hand raised congenially, “Oh, I’m not much of a drinker, but thank you.”
Lex doesn’t falter, if anything he pushes closer into your space, “I insist, consider it a toast to yours and Mr. Kent’s work at the Daily Planet.”
Oh, so that was what he was getting at.
It was true that your work had entailed a scathing exposé on an incredibly lucrative business partner of Luthorcorp. As it turns out, defrauding investors and scamming employees out of their pensions was something that could make a company very unpopular. Veele & Co.’s stocks had dropped within the hour of your article going live, something that undoubtedly cost Lex Luthor millions.
You took the champagne from him.
“Speaking of, I don’t see Mr. Kent with you tonight, I could have sworn I invited him.”
You cross an arm over yourself, hopefully the sip you take is big enough to disguise your glare as distaste for the drink. It was overwhelmingly acidic, reminding you nothing of other Champagne. Biting back a gag, you take a bigger gulp, not allowing the taste to linger. “He’s making conversation, I’m sure he’ll be over to say ‘Hi’ soon.”
“Oh I’m sure he will be.”
Your nail tapped loudly against the crystal coupe in your hand, crossed arm bunching up the fabric at your waist. Your feet didn’t hurt much anymore, in fact, they were practically numb. “You know, Luthor,” It comes out with such vitriol, and you’re suddenly feeling taken aback by your own tone, “I don’t get why you invited us here-” It’s like you can barely control the words as they come out of your mouth, the vowels beginning to slur. “But you sh’d a’lease… have thuh…”
Your tongue almost feels like lead in your mouth, the way it feels when you’ve had way too much to drink, but you’ve only had one glass-
Lex poises one of his hands behind his back, the other coming up to chivalrously brace your shoulder as you stumble on your feet.
“Th’ sense to..” Your vision blurs, and even getting that short sentence out felt like a herculean task. Leaning forward, you pull your arm up to grab Luthors as he makes contact with your shoulder. But your arm doesn’t move. And it’s only when you see it slack at your side, do you fall forward.
Lex clenches the fist behind his back, and just like that the ballroom is plunged into darkness.
Clark had been watching you from across the room the whole night.
Your feet probably hurt, and you hadn’t eaten anything real tonight- what would be open by the time you guys left? Probably nothing, and it would be rude to go out on New Years Eve anyways. Maybe there was something he could heat up for you at home, you had made soup the other night… Clark felt himself laugh politely at a not-very-funny joke one of Perry’s friends made, before focusing his attention back on you, trying to figure out a way to excuse himself.
A sea of guests parted ways in the crowd, and Clark could make out the top of Lex Luthor’s head, the man of the hour, headed towards you with two drinks in his hand. As good of an excuse as it gets.
“Perry?” The man in question breaks a laugh over his cigar, glancing at his star journalist. Clark nods his head in your general direction, and Perry claps a hand on his back in a way that almost makes Clark jump.
“Nice talking to you kid, have a Happy New Year.”
Clark's quiet “you too” is lost in the conversation as it resumes, and he pulls himself away. It’s almost perilous, wading through a sea of drunk party goers, “sorry” and “excuse me” falling from Clark’s mouth as he tries to keep his eyes on you. He knows you don’t like to drink, but he watches you take Lex’s offered champagne anyways, and finds himself fiddling with his cufflinks. A clink resounds across the floor.
Sure enough, Clark watches as his cufflink bounces once, twice, and then rolls under the closest table.
“Shoot,” Clark huffs, taking one last look at you, champagne coupe raised to your lips, before ducking down. An older woman in a brilliantly sequined red dress glares at him as he makes his way underfoot, stepping back to allow him to collect his cufflink, “I am so sorry ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” She scoffs incredulously.
Oh geez.
The hall goes dark.
Like a springshot, Clark’s off the floor, looking back in your direction. He can see you slumped over, Luthor collecting you in his arms as a guard hustles over, taking over your weight.
Lex, like he can feel Clark’s gaze, snaps his head to look at him. It’s for the briefest of moments, so slight Clark could maybe think he hallucinated it. Lex smiles at him.
Something above the room explodes, gas spewing from the vents- within minutes it’s complete pandemonium. Panicked screams come from all directions, the gas shrouding what little visibility people had left within the darkness.
Glass cups shatter as people rush towards the exits, the only signs still burning bright red above the chaos. But it’s not enough, he can already hear people stumbling over each other, tables teetering as plates and cutlery break and scatter. If he’s not fast enough- you- they’ll-
He can hear the blood rushing through his ears as he waves his arms, clearing the smoke. In through his nose, out through his mouth. You’re strong. Much stronger than he ever gives you credit for-
“Everyone stay calm! We’ll all get out safely- Just stay calm.” Clark dips to pick up the older woman he’d offended earlier, helping her stand and grabbing one of the cloth napkins discarded on the floor and pressing it into her hands. He kicks his cufflink further across the floor. “Napkins over your mouths! Don’t breathe the air-”
He can’t risk changing now- too many people, not enough space-
The thundering of heart beats is overwhelming, and he can’t find yours among them-
Boots on the ground- Helicopters above- Walkies crackling-
“Everyone put your hands in the air and proceed to the exits in an orderly fashion!”
And that’s all Clark needs to slip away from the chaos.
His dress shoes slide across the floor, sticky champagne marring the polish as he barrels towards the direction he saw them take you. The utility door barely meets the frame before he’s off in the air. Clark finds the few security cameras that litter the halls, lasering them in half before he can even make it into frame.
He can finally hear it- your heartbeat, faint and covered by the concrete and steel of the building. Like a dog, he follows the sound, turning sharply through the corridors before he makes it to one door. Small, unassuming, “Supply Closet”. The door is unlocked, and he tries not to crush the knob in his grip. Your heartbeat mingles with his, but yours is slow, labored, and his feels like it’s about to jump out of his chest-
You’re sat slumped in a chair, head bowed and arms unbound, like whoever had taken you wasn’t worried you’d fight back. Clark says your name softly, like it hurts, voice echoing in the deceptively large room. Blood’s dripping from your nose, mixed with a viscous, clear fluid that almost separates itself from the rust color staining your lap. He can’t remember how, but he’s in front of you, your skin soft and cold beneath his hands. His knees strain against the fabric of his slacks, scratching against the concrete floor. Any attempt at wiping the blood is asinine, it only stains his hands and crusts under his nails.
Your eyes are barely open, small slivers of color peeking out from under your lashes, pupils wide and unfocused. But you know he’s there, his worry practically rolls off of him.
“That took you a while.”
Clark whipped around to face Lex Luthor. The man stood with his back pressed to a table at the far left of the room. Soft blue light from a large, floating screen throws his shadow across the floor. It’s the only light in the room, other than a small reading lamp placed to the right of your chair. “It’s quite rude, you know, to not greet your host,” Lex seethed, fingers gently twisting the crystal coupe of champagne, holding it up to see the bubbles fizz, “Especially after I went through all the trouble of getting you here.”
“What did you do?” said almost like a whisper.
“Tell me, Superman, how has your evening been so far?”
“I’m not-”
“Oh drop the pretenses. This is all your fault, anyhow.”
Your mouth lulled open, a breath escaping. If Clark’s senses weren’t heightened, he would’ve missed it- “...not.”
It was like you’d been smacked over the head and held upside down all at once- it hurt to keep your eyes open, but Clark was here, looking at you in such a way that you couldn’t imagine closing them. Your mouth might have been filled with cotton, the dryness coating your throat, the iron hitting your taste buds as your blood seeped into your mouth. You wanted to hold his hand, tell him that you were fine. That you would both be out of this soon- that you were confident in it. But you couldn’t. Your heart stuttered in your chest, slow to a point where you could have counted between the beats.
“ ‘s not… your…”
“You can save them, you know.” It was so easy, like dangling a carrot on a string in front of a hungry pig. Lex felt a shiver run down his spine from the sight in front of him, Clark Kent… Superman down on his knees. His hands were almost shaking from the satisfaction. “Of course, that would only be possible if you were Superman.”
You hunch even further in on yourself, eyes shut tight in pain- but you plead anyways. “Don’t” and Clark has to clench his jaw to stop his bottom lip from trembling. His shadow encompasses you as he stands, hand twitching at his side before coming up and slowly removing his glasses. Your sob is gutwrenching as he presses the lenses into your hand, helping your fist close around them.
Clark is only an inch taller than Lex, but much, much broader. You can’t even see the man as Clark steps up to him, frame entirely hidden- it’s no use anyways, you let your head fall forward.
“What did you do?”
It’s sharper, deeper when Clark asks, well demands, once again. Lex only raises his coupe, smirking behind the glass as he finishes what’s left of his drink.
“Shoot,” Clark huffs, taking one last look at you, champagne coupe raised to your lips, before ducking down.
The crystal is snatched from Lex’s grasp and smashed against the wall in seconds, shards littering the ground like diamonds. “They have nothing to do with this.”
Lex rolls his eyes, straightening his watch to check the time, then sweeps his arm across the room. His next words aren’t a response. Not really.
“You have about… a minute.”
And Clark isn’t stupid. He can be childish at times, like when he pretends not to understand your jokes to hear you giggle through explaining them. Feigning confusion at work to give everyone an excuse to get takeout and talk into the wee hours of the night, conversations derailed from articles and leads and everything else that stresses them out. Acting like he doesn’t have super hearing to eavesdrop on what Jimmy is getting him for Christmas.
But he’s not stupid.
The room is turned upside down within seconds- there’s minimal furniture to hide anything in, the desk Luthor was leaning on practically a pile of scrap metal shoved in the corner now.
A bottle, a tube, a syringe- anything at all- there just had to be something. The walls were lined with lead, taunting Clark, asking to be ripped open.
The drywall and lead sheets beneath it were gutted, exposing the steel frame, rivets cracking from the force of being bent aside and pried open. The debris began to clutter, dust filling the air as Superman tore the room apart, and yet-
There was nothing.
In the blink of an eye, Lex was pinned to the floor, chest pressed tight against the concrete, gasping for breath, “The antidote-” Clark screamed, neck growing taut. The bow tie you’d straightened earlier falling limp around his neck, “I know you’ve put it somewhere-”
A dry, mocking laugh left Lex’s lips, a sneer overtaking him. “You’re so naive.” The word is spit like a curse, the vein at his temple bulging in disgust. “You just assumed there was a way to fix all of this- as if I’d just hand it over to you.”
The edges of Clark's vision seemed to blur- body taut like the string of a bow just waiting to be shot.
“Tell me, Superman, what do you hear right now?”
Clark can hear the blood rushing to his head, pulse pounding, so vicious that his ear drums might burst.
Clark can hear his remaining cufflink that had been knocked loose- rolling around somewhere in the wreckage.
Clark can hear Lex Luthor’s excitement, his trembling hands tapping the floor. Heart pounding in his chest, berating his ribs.
Oh.
“So simple. So hopeful. You ran your mouth and made up some- some dream where I had methodically hidden away the one thing you wanted. Bouncing around like a buffoon!-”
Lex’s eyes were crazed, mouth split so wide with vitriolic success that he didn’t even look human. Clark was frozen, elbows locked and cheeks wet with quickly shedding tears.
“-I had my suspicions, and you just confirmed them.” He wiggled one hand free, fingers poised to snap, “Because I know relatively little about Superman, but I know everything about Clark Kent.”
Holographic images flooded the room, moments- private moments assaulting Clarks senses. Footage of him on his way to work, stumbling through the crowd as he packed himself onto his regular metro line, every bit of information linked to his transit card added like a sticky note. Addresses, contact info, the instagram account Cat made him that he never posted on, the IP address associated with it. Security footage from the shop across the street from his apartment showed him disheveled and pajama clad, buying you ice cream and popcorn for your movie nights. Traffic cameras and their grainy resolution showing the date you’d taken together only weeks before, the kiss you shared outside the restaurant before you both walked home, swinging your clasped hands between you.
But it wasn’t just you two. Voicemails and text messages were plastered to the ceiling, pictures from Ma and Pa, they were blurry and one of them had a thumb covering the lens, but he had smiled so wide it hurt, because they wanted to show him all the hard work they were doing back home on the farm. Crops and cattle, and the new calf that had just been born, even though they didn’t know her mama was pregnant.
“What do you want for dinner tonight? I was thinking we could go to that new…”
“Jo, you know Jo, she works at the hardware store, said she read your article, her daughter wants to be a journalist just like you…”
“I’m not sure what you did to Jimmy, but I think he’s having a breakdown? You should get back to the office soon…”
“Clark I’m like, 110% sure the AC in the bedroom is broken, can you pick up a toolkit or something on your way home? It’s meant to be a million degrees this week…”
“We’re thinking of you, Clark.”
Those- those had been phone calls. There was nothing left of them after he’d said goodbye.
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him, soaking him down to the bone. He… hadn’t saved you. He had put you in danger. You were- And it wasn’t just you, it was everyone. Everyone he had ever helped- anyone he had ever cared about- anyone who ever cared about him.
Lex was trying to- Lex Luthor was going to take that all away.
When Clark was 10, he’d got into a fight during recess. His first fight ever. Danny Katchadorian had taunted him for being adopted, acting like he knew anything about anything. And Clark had just… hit him. It wasn't right. Pa had told him that on the drive home after being called to pick him up. It wasn’t right, but he wasn’t wrong.
“Clark, there will always be people in this world, who… who are mean. To you, to other people, to themselves. Ev’ryone’s got their own reason, but that doesn’t mean they’re reasonable. And if they hurt you, hurt others, oftentimes it doesn’t really matter why they did it, just that they did.”
Clark was picking at a scab on his knee that he got from being pushed over, already trying to heal, but he was listening.
“But remember this, son, lots’a people are capable of change. Most people, I think. But they have to do it. It’s not a choice you can make for them, you hear? If… if you find it inside yourself, though, you always have the choice to believe in them.”
Maybe it was Clark being naive. Simple.
Hopeful, even.
But Clark had- he’d given Lex that chance- that chance to be better. The chance to fix things, tell him how to fix this.
He searched for your heartbeat, and silence was what met him.
What had that chance cost him? What would it continue to cost him?
“I’ve never… I’ve never done anything to you.” Clark bit out, voice booming, vision blurring.
Lex was resolute. “Your existence is enough.”
Clark remembered how it felt to hit Danny Katchadorian square in the mouth. His knuckles had stung, and his face was hot from just how angry he had been, and it felt like a big knot was forming in his chest-
It felt just like that when he punched Lex Luthor. That feeling doubled when he did it again, and again, and again. That knot getting bigger and bigger each time, until it reached his head, and he couldn’t even think straight. Didn’t even register the cracking of bone, or how Luthor’s face was getting softer. Couldn’t feel the blood on his hands, thick like honey, sticky as it spread across the floor.
Luthor realized- at one point he must have- that Clark wasn’t stopping. Wasn’t softening.
“Wait-” came out a garbled mess. Choked between teeth.
Why should he?
Had you said anything when you were being carried back here? Being set down on a chair, in pain, in wait. If you had, how had Lex responded? If he did at all- had he been kind to you? Had he shown you the mercy you deserved?
You must’ve been scared. So scared, as you felt yourself grow limp, wholly aware of the world around you, but unable to do anything about it. Just observe, and try to keep breathing until-
Until he could get here. To save you.
Clark pushed himself away from Lex, who now lay limp, the concrete beneath his head cracked in.
You sat serenely in that chair, blood smeared across your face, quickly drying against your lips.
“5!” He heard Metropolis shout, just beyond the concrete walls surrounding you. Children screaming in joy as a few stray fireworks shot off, bursting in the sky like stars before falling back to Earth.
Clark brushes a shaking finger across your cheek, pallid and cold.
“4!”
Your head barely moves at the touch, body slouching a little more into the leather of the chair, away from him.
“3!”
He gathers you within seconds, curled up against his chest, head tucked underneath his chin. You told him once you could fall asleep anywhere, as long as he was holding you like that, because there wasn’t anywhere safer.
“2!”
“I’m sorry,” His voice cracked. Kisses littered the top of your head as he smushed his face into it over and over. “I’m sorry,” like it’ll change anything.
“1!”
“I love you.”
“Happy New Year!”
guys is it obvious i love italicizing for emphasis
