⚠️WARNING: This fanfiction contains excessive Kryptonian stamina, repeated creampies, aggressive titty worship, and a Superman who takes the “you owe me a Mother’s Day gift” Facebook rule way too seriously. Side effects may include ruined panties, sudden outbursts of “Oh my God, Clark,” soaked bedsheets, spontaneous ovulation, and an uncontrollable urge to climb a certain reporter like a tree. Reader may experience heart palpitations, weak knees, and an irrational desire to bake him apple pie afterward. Do not read in public, while operating heavy machinery, or if you have a weak heart—Super strength and super tongue have been known to cause blackouts from sheer pleasure. If you become emotionally attached to fictional farm-boy abs or start calling your partner “Smallville” in bed, seek help immediately. Batteries not included. Keep away from kryptonite and people with no sense of humor.‼️
You were scrolling Facebook in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, when the post popped up. Clark was in the kitchen making breakfast—because of course he was—his broad back to you as he hummed something old and Midwestern under his breath. The morning light poured through the windows of your shared apartment, catching on the ridiculous “Kiss the Cook” apron you’d bought him as a joke last Christmas. It barely fit across his chest.
The status read: If you cum in/on me or sucked my titties, you owe me a Mother’s Day gift.
You cackled so hard you nearly dropped your phone.
“What’s so funny?” Clark called, voice warm with that Kansas sunshine smile you could hear even when you couldn’t see it.
“Nothing,” you lied, still giggling. “Just… Facebook.”
He appeared in the doorway a second later, two plates balanced in one hand like they weighed nothing. God, he was unfairly beautiful in the morning—dark hair tousled, glasses slightly crooked, the faint shadow of stubble he never quite needed to shave thanks to Kryptonian biology. His eyes flicked to your phone, then back to your face, curious.
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you’re scared of owing me presents.”
He raised an eyebrow, setting the plates on the nightstand before crawling onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he loomed over you, one hand braced beside your head. “Explain.”
You showed him the post. He read it, cheeks tinting pink, then let out that low, surprised laugh that always made your stomach flip.
“So… by that logic,” he said slowly, voice dropping into that dangerous register he used when he was teasing, “I’ve been racking up quite the debt.”
“Massive debt, Kent. Years of it.”
His gaze darkened, playful heat turning into something heavier. “Then I guess I’d better start making payments.”
Breakfast was forgotten.
Clark’s mouth found yours first—slow, deep, the kind of kiss that reminded you he could bench-press buildings but chose to touch you like you were the fragile one. His hand slid under your oversized sleep shirt (actually one of his old Daily Planet tees), palm warm and huge against your ribs. When his thumb brushed the underside of your breast, you arched into him with a soft sound.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Mother’s Day is tomorrow. Think I should get a head start?”
“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, but the sound melted into a moan when he ducked his head and latched onto your nipple through the thin fabric.
Clark sucked gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking in lazy circles while his hand kneaded the soft flesh. He’d always been obsessed with your breasts—something about the way they fit in his palms, the sounds you made when he played with them. Today he was thorough. He pushed the shirt up and off, baring you completely, then worshipped. Slow, wet pulls into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. He switched sides, humming in satisfaction when your fingers threaded into his hair and tugged.
“Clark—” you gasped.
He released your nipple with a wet pop, lips shiny. “Already? We’re just getting started, baby.”
He kissed down your stomach, pausing to nuzzle the waistband of your panties before peeling them down your legs. Then his mouth was on you—hot, eager, Superman on his knees for you. His tongue parted your folds and licked a long stripe up to your clit, sucking the sensitive bud between his lips while two thick fingers pressed inside you. He curled them perfectly, stroking that spot that made your thighs shake.
You came the first time with his name on your lips, hips bucking against his face. He didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, gentler now, until you were trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally rose up, his cock was straining against his sweatpants, the outline obscene. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist gently.
“Not yet. I still owe you.”
He stripped quickly—God, that body. Years of working the farm and then saving the world had carved him into something almost unreal. Broad shoulders, defined abs, that perfect V leading down to his thick, flushed cock. It curved slightly upward, already leaking at the tip. You licked your lips.
Clark noticed. He stroked himself once, slow, eyes locked on yours. “You want it?”
“Yes.”
He settled between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your clit until you whined. Then he pushed in—slow, careful, even though you both knew you could take him. The stretch was delicious, filling you inch by inch until he bottomed out with a groan that vibrated through his chest.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Every time.”
He started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot inside you. One hand braced beside your head, the other cupped your breast, thumb flicking your nipple while his mouth claimed the other again. He sucked hard, matching the rhythm of his hips, and the dual sensation had you clenching around him.
“Clark—oh god—”
He switched breasts, lavishing the same attention on the other while his pace quickened. The wet sounds of his mouth and the slap of skin filled the room. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper.
He gave it to you. Super strength carefully reined in, but the power was still there—each thrust driving you up the bed until he had to hold your hips to keep you in place. When he hit that perfect angle, you came again, harder this time, walls fluttering around his cock.
Clark growled, the sound low and primal, but he didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, then flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. He pulled your hips up and slid back in from behind, one hand reaching around to rub your clit while the other braced on the headboard. The wood creaked dangerously under his grip.
“You’re gonna come again for me,” he murmured against your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Then I’m gonna fill you up. That count toward my debt?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
He pounded into you, relentless but never rough enough to hurt. His fingers circled your clit perfectly, and the third orgasm crashed over you, leaving you shaking and moaning into the pillow. Clark followed right after, burying himself deep as he came with a guttural groan. You felt every pulse, hot and thick, flooding you until it leaked out around his cock.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath. Then he carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back, kissing you softly.
“Round two in the shower?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.
You laughed breathlessly. “You’re really committed to this debt, huh?”
“Baby, I’m just getting started.”
The shower was slower. Steam filled the bathroom as Clark washed you with reverent hands, soapy palms sliding over your breasts, down your stomach, between your legs. He dropped to his knees again on the tile, water cascading over his shoulders, and ate you out until your legs gave out. Then he stood, lifted you effortlessly, and pinned you against the wall. Your back pressed to cool tile, legs wrapped around his waist as he slid back into you.
This time he fucked you with long, deep strokes, eyes locked on yours the whole time. “I love you,” he whispered between thrusts. “Love this. Love coming home to you.”
You came with his name, clenching around him. He followed, spilling deep again, hips stuttering.
Afterward, he carried you back to bed—wrapped in a towel, hair damp—and fed you the now-cold breakfast with his fingers, both of you laughing at how ridiculous and perfect it was.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of touches and teasing.
You tried to work on an article at your laptop. Clark “distracted” you by sucking marks into your inner thighs under the desk. You retaliated by dropping to your knees while he was on a video call with Perry—muted, of course—taking him down your throat until his knuckles went white on the edge of the table.
By evening you were both exhausted in the best way, tangled naked on the couch watching some old movie. Your head rested on his chest, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare hip.
“So,” you said, tracing the ridges of his abs, “still think you’ve paid your debt?”
Clark chuckled, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Not even close. I’ve got plans for tomorrow.”
“Plans?”
He tilted your chin up, kissing you slow and sweet. “You’ll see.”
Mother’s Day morning dawned bright and golden.
You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. Clark was already up, wearing nothing but boxers and an apron again. When you padded into the kitchen, he turned with a tray—pancakes shaped like hearts (slightly lopsided, because even Superman couldn’t make perfect circles every time), fresh fruit, and a single red rose in a vase.
But that wasn’t the gift.
After breakfast, he led you to the living room. On the coffee table sat a small, beautifully wrapped box.
“Open it.”
Inside was a delicate silver necklace with a tiny pendant: a stylized sun and a Kryptonian symbol intertwined. You knew what it meant—family. Home. The life you were building.
Your eyes stung. “Clark…”
“There’s more.” He looked almost shy. “I talked to my mom. She’s coming for dinner tonight, but she’s staying at a hotel so we have the apartment to ourselves after. And I… I booked us a weekend at that cabin up north. The one with the big fireplace. No phones. Just us.”
You kissed him fiercely, climbing into his lap right there on the couch. The towel you’d wrapped around yourself after your shower slipped open. Clark’s hands immediately found your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked.
“Still not done paying?” he teased, voice husky.
“Not even close, Kent.”
You pushed him back against the cushions and straddled him, guiding his already-hard cock inside you. You sank down slowly, savoring every inch until he was buried to the hilt. Then you rode him—slow at first, grinding your hips in circles, then faster, hands braced on his chest.
Clark’s head fell back, eyes half-lidded, watching where you were joined. “God, look at you. So beautiful taking me.”
His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, occasionally pulling you down harder. When he sat up to suck on your breasts again, you moaned loudly, fingers tangling in his hair. He lavished attention on them—licking, sucking, gently biting—while you bounced on his cock.
You came first, clenching around him, crying out. Clark flipped you onto your back on the couch and thrust deep, chasing his own release. He came with a groan, filling you again, hips jerking as he rode it out.
Later, when you were both catching your breath, he pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” he whispered, even though you weren’t a mom yet. The words felt like a promise.
You smiled, tracing the necklace now resting against your skin. “You know… according to Facebook, you still owe me.”
Clark laughed, bright and warm, and rolled you beneath him again.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep paying. All day. All night.” His lips brushed your ear. “Super stamina has to be good for something, right?”
You pulled him down for another kiss, already feeling him harden against your thigh.
