thanksgiving heat
ship: clark kent x f! reader | established relationship cw: mild spice, heavy kissing, suggestive content, touch intimacy, implied fade-to-black, domestic setting wc: 1,450k now playing:electric by alina baraz (ft. khalid)
martha and jonathan finally head upstairs, exchanging warm goodnights that cling to the air long after their bedroom door shuts. the farmhouse settles instantly, like the whole place exhales once it’s just the two of you. the only sounds left are the ticking of the stove as it cools and the soft winter wind brushing the barn outside.
krypto trots into the living room, nails clicking on the old wood floor. his tail wags so hard it shakes the end table as he drops his stuffed turkey at clark’s feet like he just made the greatest catch of his life. clark laughs softly. “he thinks it’s real,” he says, kneeling to give krypto a good scratch. you smile and chuckle, “he’s dedicated.” clark glances over his shoulder, and that shy, boyish grin—his grin—hits you right where you’re weakest.
“he’s not the only one,” he murmurs. your breath stutters a little. you drift to his side near the frosted window. the fields outside are dusted with the first thin layer of snow, the barn glowing gold from the lantern jonathan left burning. “pretty,” you whisper. clark doesn’t look outside. his eyes stay fixed on you. “yeah,” he murmurs. “it sure is.”
he’s so warm beside you—clark always runs hot, heat rolling off him like a small sun—and when you nudge his arm gently, he huffs a soft laugh, cheeks going pink. “you okay?” you ask, he pushes his glasses up, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s steadying himself. “just… thinking.” you press, “about?” his voice drops low. “you.”
your stomach flips hard—clark turns toward you, his hand brushing your waist—gentle, careful, but with something heavier simmering beneath it. something he’s been holding back all day. “you did amazing today,” he says softly. “my parents adore you.” your eyes soften, “yeah?” you tease. “even after your dad caught us making out in the loft?” clark’s ears go scarlet. “he, uh—didn’t say anything.” you quip back, “he winked,” you say, stepping closer.
clark lets out that helpless, warm laugh that melts you every time. then his hands slide fully around your waist, drawing you into his chest like he’s been waiting hours to do it. “you looked beautiful today,” he murmurs into your hair. “you always do. but today… god.” your fingers curl into his flannel. “different how?” he lowers his head, lips brushing your temple—slow, careful, aching. then his mouth trails down your cheek, warm and lingering.
“made it impossible to think straight,” he admits, voice deeper. “impossible to focus on dinner. on anything.” a spark runs down your spine at the way he says it. krypto gives one sharp bark, tail tapping against the couch like he’s reminding clark he’s there. clark groans under his breath. “you are not helping, buddy.” you let a soft giggle out.
then, before you can speak, clark scoops you up like you weigh nothing effortless farmboy strength and carries you to the couch. the quilt martha laid out earlier is still warm, soft beneath you as he lowers you down. he leans over you, glasses fogged, breath warm against your lips. his eyes look soft and starving at the same time. “you tired?” he whispers searching for an out, you shake your head. “not even close.”
his thumb brushes your cheek, light but burning. “i’ve been wanting this all day,” he breathes. then his mouth is on yours. the kiss starts slow—warm, sweet, clark—but the moment you tug him closer, something in him breaks loose. the kiss deepens, heat blooming fast, his hand sliding to your hip, gripping, his breath catching against your lips like he’s been holding it in all night.
your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently, and the quiet, shaky sound he makes sends heat curling low in your stomach. outside, snow falls against the fields. inside, the fire crackles low, krypto curls at your feet like a fluffy guardian, and clark’s warm weight presses into you, his touch growing more sure, more desperate. his lips trail down your jaw, your throat, slow but hungry, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs your name like it’s something he can’t stop tasting.
your hands wander—his flannel, the warm skin beneath it, the steady thrum of his heartbeat—and clark shivers, leaning into your touch like he’s losing himself in it. the farmhouse hums softly around you, warm and safe, the rest of the world fading as clark leans in, forehead against yours, voice low and wrecked. “tell me if you want to stop,” he whispers. you pull him down to you instead and the night melts into the glow of him.
clark is already breathing hard, but the moment you pull him in again—really pull him—something in him cracks open.
his lips crash against yours like he’s been holding himself back for years and suddenly can’t remember why. his hand slips beneath your sweater, warm palm spreading across your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer, like he needs every inch of you pressed to him. your breath leaves you in a sharp gasp. he groans—quiet, shaky, right against your mouth—like the sound alone is enough to undo him.
“god, you feel…” he can’t even finish the sentence, just kisses you again, deeper this time, slow and hungry, like he’s savoring the way your lips part under his. your fingers fist in his shirt, tugging him down, and the shift makes his breath catch hard. he buries his face against your neck, inhaling you like you’re air he’s been deprived of. “you’re driving me crazy,” he whispers, voice cracked and trembling. “you have no idea.”
his nose brushes along your throat, and you feel him smile—this broken, breathless smile—right before his lips trail upward, soft and open-mouthed, every kiss slower and hotter than the last. your back arches without meaning to. his hand catches it immediately—steady, big, warm—guiding you up against him until your chest meets his and both your breaths tangle into one messy rhythm. you can feel how badly he wants you in the way his hands shake just a little.
his thumb drags over the edge of your hip, teasing, slow, leaving sparks in its wake. the kind of touch that makes your stomach tighten and your thoughts slip out of order. “tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw. you breathe out, shaky. “don’t stop.”
he makes a sound at that—low, almost helpless—and pulls you into another kiss that steals every bit of air you had left. it’s needy, urgent, clark’s hands roaming higher up your sides, then lower, then back again like he can’t decide where he needs you most. you break for breath, but he doesn’t go far. his forehead rests against yours, noses brushing, breaths mixing, both of you shaking just a little.
“you don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs. you slide your hand under his flannel, fingertips tracing the warm skin beneath. his whole body jolts like electricity shot down his spine. “clark,” you breathe, teasing, “you’re shaking.” he lets out a laugh that’s not really a laugh—more like a sound of someone completely undone.
“i can’t help it,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then back to your lips. “you make me… god, you make me lose my mind.” you tug him down again, biting gently at his bottom lip. he inhales sharply—too sharply—his hand gripping your hip with a need he’s clearly been trying to hide all night.
“you keep doing that,” he warns softly, “and i’m gonna forget how gentle i’m supposed to be.” your smile is slow, wicked, breathless. “maybe i don’t want gentle.” his breath stops. literally stops. then— “come here,” he whispers, voice rough, and pulls you onto his lap in one fluid, effortless motion.
the shock of the movement knocks a soft gasp out of you, and clark’s hands immediately settle at your waist, steadying you, holding you there, breathing you in like he can’t believe you’re real. your thighs bracket his hips. his hands slide up your spine, then down again. his gaze is dark, blown wide, fixed on your mouth. “you’re gonna be the end of me,” he whispers.
and then he kisses you again—slow at first, but quickly spiraling into something deeper, hotter, messier. his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head just enough for his mouth to claim yours fully. the farmhouse feels too warm. the snow outside feels too far away. his breath, his hands, his voice—all of it wraps around you like heat you can’t escape and don’t want to.
every kiss gets heavier. every exhale gets shakier. every touch feels like a promise he aches to keep. you’re both breathless, tangled, trembling with need, kissing each other like you’re afraid the world might stop if you pull away. and clark—sweet, gentle clark—holds you like he never intends to let go.
au: hi darlings ♡
just wanted to drop in with a little update and explain why i’ve been gone for a bit. i’ve been super caught up with school and honestly needed a break from writing after nonstop uploads for kinktober. i’d get random bursts of motivation, but every time i sat down to write, my brain was like “yeah… no thoughts actually.” it happens.
i’ve also been traveling and spending time with family for the holidays, and right now i’m actually in the valley of rio grande city soaking everything in. it’s been good for me to just pause, breathe, and refill the creative tank a bit.
sending loads of love and blessings this thanksgiving day. all my love, darlings. l ♡
