꩜ summary ━━ you tell clark “i got it.” so many times and he is sick of it.
꩜ content ━━ 2.3k words | fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, reader almost has a full blown a panic attack, clark is super duper sweet, reader has… issues but she’s just human <3
꩜ a/n ━━ i wrote this with a plus size in mind but it’s very appearance friendly! and clark being absolutely obsessed with her. might be a smidge little self indulgent im sorry </3 might also have grammatical errors! this is so personal to me i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i liked writing it 🫶
as always comments are very deeply appreciated ♡
masterlist | navi | buy me kofi <3
Clark knows you can take care of yourself.
It's one of the things he admires about you. You and your stubbornness, you and your inability to let people help. You, oh you, who is too scared to let Clark all the way in. So unconsciously, you don’t let him do anything for you, including something small as opening the car door.
Clark finds this out on your first date together.
And boy, you never thought you would be on a date with Clark Kent.
You did imagine it (more than you would like to admit) I mean how could you not? This hulking, tall, 6 '4 broad man that looks like he can throw you around turned out to be the most gentle person you have ever met.
It’s hard not to form a crush.
“I had fun tonight.”
Clark now walks beside you to his car, his height looming and begging for attention. He sounds bashful, and when you turn your head to look at him, you could see how the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink with him staring down at you.
You softly smile, nervously meeting his eyes, “Me too.”
The walk wasn’t long, and before you could reach for the door handle of his car, his large palm had situated itself there.
You chuckle, “I got it. Thanks, Clark.” placing your hand on top of his to open the door.
Clark’s eyes widened with surprise, his cheeks dusting a light hue at the contact. He was also quite baffled at the fact that you didn’t want him to open the door for you.
He was raised to be a gentleman, opening doors isn’t anything new. Especially on dates. It’s mandatory for him.
He couldn’t even form complete thoughts as the car door opened, your fingers tightening on top of his. You slide in the passenger seat, throwing a cheeky grin at him. You didn’t even let him close the door for you, as you shut it by yourself.
Clark stood outside in the cold night air, staring at you from the window. He cannot believe that just happened.
For once in his life, he didn’t open the door for his date.
The same thing happened when he dropped you off at your apartment. You didn’t even think twice before opening the car door yourself as Clark scrambled out of his seat, racing to open it before you did.
He failed.
But it’s okay, cause you’re pretty and you smell nice, and you’re wearing this giddy smile, eyes a little tired but still sparkling. He stared down at you, with a matching grin and twinkling eyes.
A moment passed, “See you tomorrow?” Clark dumbly asks.
You nod and bite your lip, tummy flipping with excitement and nerves, “See you tomorrow, Clark.”
.
.
.
The past few weeks of seeing Clark has been…nice. He’s sweet, thoughtful and very nice to look at. So when accidentally you snapped at him, you were sure he didn’t want to see you ever again.
The summer heat is nipping at your skin, you had been stressing out about the printer since morning, the ancient machine that the Daily Planet has kept in store for ‘memories’ will be the death of you.
“Fuck— fucking stupid machine, shit—“
“You need some help there?”
You jump at the sudden voice, butterflies appearing in your stomach as you realise who it belonged to.
“This thing is pissing me off.” you grumble, not even looking at Clark, too busy glaring at the printer in front of you.
The man chuckles, leaning against the wall with hands tucked in his pants pockets as his eyes shamelessly trails over your figure.
“You look pretty.” he absentmindedly said.
The sudden compliment made you freeze your banging on the machine. Finally turning to meet his eyes, with a few strands of hair covering your vision. You tucked them behind your ear.
Because of your frustration at the machine, the small printing room has gotten more hot, which made you more agitated. So, you had put your hair up in a very messy bun, hair coming out in all sorts of directions, two buttons on your top were undone, giving Clark a nice view of your collarbone and a tiny glimpse of your cleavage. He swallowed hard as you fully turned to him.
"I'm a mess." you chuckle, hand resting on your full hips, head tilting to the side.
You look hot and bothered, your cheeks a little pink, your smile is teasing, and your hips are tantalising him. It's making his brain short circuit.
You, successfully making Superman weak in the knees.
He shrugs, hand scratching the back of his neck and awkwardly coughs, "My statement still stands."
Huffing, you face the machine again, "Go back to work Clark, or did you come here just to bother me?"
Clark moves inside the tiny room, his huge figure taking in half of the capacity. You could feel his body heat as he comfortably stood behind you, looking over your shoulder. Stomach flipping when you feel his slow and steady breathing.
"Do you know what's wrong with it?"
"If I did, I wouldn't be here, would I?" you accidentally snapped, eyes widening in horror. Oh no, he's going to hate you. "Sorry. I'm just annoyed and it's so hot in here and—“
His deep laugh stops you from continuing, "It's alright," he shakes his head, "I shouldn't have stressed you out more."
You sigh, guilt eating up your senses. You liked having here with you. He brings a sense of comfort, safety, calmness. He doesn't deserve your little outburst.
Clark sensed the air getting thicker with tension, so he clears his throat, backing up from your personal space, "I can call Jimmy to help you out-"
"It's okay, I got it." you rushed out. Hand clutching tightly at the edge of the printer. You cannot fail this. Don't embarrass yourself.
Clark nodded awkwardly, lingering on the door for a second too long, gazing at you with a certain look before hesitantly leaving you in your little room.
As you hear his footsteps retract, your shoulders slumped in relief, the guilt never once leaving your system.
"Stupid fucking machine."
.
.
.
Turns out Clark doesn’t hate you.
You have been going steady and now have created a little routine. The grocery runs has been fun, a routine that you two have made after 1 month of dating. Restocking in your respective place every first Saturday of the month, has been consistent.
“Aw, you two lovebirds are too cute.” the cashier complimented, “You match each other very well.”
Your cheeks turn warm, hands occupied by putting the groceries in the bags. Glancing at Clark to see his reaction, your stomach flutters when you see his adorable dimples. A shy smile stretching over his face.
He clears his throat, “Thank you, ma’am.” eyes shifting to yours. Fond, warm, and very much in a daze.
You quietly giggled, sending the cashier a quick smile before leaving the store.
Clark falls in step beside you, nudging your shoulder, “She said we look like we’re made for each other.” he shyly muttered.
You raised your eyebrows, glancing at him from the side, “She didn’t say all of that.” you smirk.
He shrugs, “I filled in the blanks.” his voice soft.
Your heart stutters.
Two heavy recycle bags settle in your arms as you try to balance them using your hips. Clark immediately took note of your fidgeting, and quickly moved his hand to grab the bottom of the bags, helping you stabilise yourself.
“Clark, I got it.” you grumble.
The tall man sighed, almost ripping the bags out of your hands. If anyone looked for too long it was like he was trying to steal them.
“I know you do, sweetheart,” he deeply sighed, fingers pressing against his eyebrows, “but I can do it. Do you see these guns?” he jokes, flexing his biceps close to your face. You laughed. He’s so silly.
Clark was also carrying his 2 bags of groceries, which is why you do not want him to carry yours. It’s yours. Why would you inconvenience him?
But Clark was adamant, Clark’s other fingers securely tucked in near your wrist where the bag handle is.
You playfully roll your eyes, “Back off, Kent.”
He gasps— loud, dramatic and offended, “I can’t believe you just called me Kent.”
You affectionately rolled your eyes and pushed past him, almost sprinting to the car so that he couldn’t keep up.
Oh, but Clark definitely could.
He chuckled to himself, shaking his head fondly at how stubborn you are. But you’re already opening the back trunk, organising your bags in. He underestimated your dedication, sighing softly with a giddy smile on his face, definitely his girl.
.
.
.
This particular day has been awful.
You’re suffering from writer's block and can’t find to type out any good comments and sentences. Everything you created sounded bleak, bland, boring and Perry has been waiting for a piece from you for days.
When he came to your desk, you gave him a thousand apologies, and Perry looked at you sadly… disappointed, if you would add.
“Should I give this to Cat to cover?”
“No!” you stood up abruptly, chair squeaking and making a few heads turn to you. You could feel a pair of specifically worried eyes on your back, “I got it. I promise. I will have this ready by tomorrow.”
Perry sighed, head nodding slowly, “Alright kid, I trust your abilities but tomorrow is final.” he stated, walking away.
You gripped the edge of your table, fingers twitching and heart suddenly pounding in your chest, “Fuck.” your breathing starts to pick up.
No, no, no. Please, not now.
Your feet moved before you could think and Clark was up on his feet the second he could hear your uneven breathing. Going to the only place he knows you would go.
The air on the roof is cold, the sky is so blue it reminds you of someone. But your chest starts to tighten, your vision starts to blur and sweat is forming behind your neck and hairline.
“Please, please–” sobs start to wreck your body, and your feet are now all wobbly.
Clark could hear everything from the elevator and it made his stomach drop and eyebrows furrow, as he fidgeted in the small metal box, “Why is it moving so slow—” he angrily muttered to himself, fingers aggressively pressing the button level repeatedly. Not caring the weird stares people are giving him.
The rooftop door violently swung open, so hard it almost flew off its hinges and you knew immediately who was on the other side.
“Clark, leave me alone.” you turn, not letting him see you. Your voice sounded so small, it tore his heart in two and he’s supposed to be indestructible.
He takes small steps closer to you, “I’m sorry, pretty, but there is no way I’m leaving you up here alone.”
"I got it, it's okay." your voice trembles, lips quivering.
Clark huffed, standing straighter, "No." he clenched his jaw, he sounded... angry.
You glance at him through your teary eyes, "What–?"
"Stop saying that line."
You scoff, "What line?"
Clark stares at you with wide eyes, like the audacity of you to even question that insane, "Your 'I got it' line."
Your stomach drops as your sniffling continues.
He deeply breathes out, moving to stand directly behind you, hands placed on your hips to turn you to face him fully. His thumbs softly caressing your shirt covered waist.
He leaned down, eyes trying to meet yours, "Look at me." he softly mutters.
Your eyes were fixated on the floor for a couple more seconds before they met his ones. Him and his soft, apologetic, blue eyes. Your breathing slows down.
He stares at you for a moment, searching, evaluating, you don’t even know.
But you would never guess what he was going to say.
"I. Got. You." he states, a pause in between every word. It wasn’t an opinion, it wasn't a joke, it's a statement. A fact. Like the nature of it is embedded in him, "Okay?"
Your lips wobbled, nose twitching and a new fresh of tears making their appearance on your eye line. Panicked eyes staring into his ones, trying to come into terms in what he just uttered out of his mouth.
"I will be here, with you." Clark continues, his hand now moving up to brush your falling tears away, "You can try to push me away but you need to call some reinforcements because I am not budging. You understand me?"
Slowly your arms moves to wrap around him, head tucking in his warm chest. "You got me?" your voice hoarse, his heart sinks seeing you tightly shut your eyes and hearing the hesitance in your tone.
His big arms wrapped tightly around your frame, hands softly caressing your back, "Of course, sweetheart. Always."
“Thank you.”
“My baby.” he sighs, emotional and heavy. His head tucking in your neck as he holds you tighter, “No need to thank me.”
“You make me feel so safe.” your trembling voice continues, a new wave of tears making you choke up.
Clark’s stomach flutters and drops at the same time.
For the strongest man alive, he sure feels pretty useless right now.
Because what has happened before that made you need to say that outloud? He thought it was given? He’s your boyfriend?
He doesn’t dwell on it for long, “I can help you with your paper.” he suggests, pulling your face out of his chest, his large hand on your jaw, thumb softly brushing your skin.
“Clark—“
“I swear to God if you say—“
You giggled. Clark’s eyes widens at your beautiful voice, goosebumps appearing on his skin.
“I was gonna say, ‘Yes, I would love your help’.” your voice turned down to a whisper, “Save me, Clark Kent.”
Clark grins, the tears are still in your eyes, some running down your cheeks but your eyes are a little bit brighter, your voice a little lighter, your breathing evening out and you’re still hugging him.
It makes him melt.
“I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”
Now Clark is making it his sole mission to take care of you.
someone in the middle of an unrelenting fit starting to stifle in the middle of it in an attempt to get themselves in check (then it not working at all, probably just making them need to sneeze more)
My brain: What if Steve is really horny for Tony and he thinks it makes him angry but ACTUALLY it makes him sad?
Hose Him Down (13,000+ words) by scaramouche
Chapters: 5/5
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Additional Tags: Pining, Sexual Fantasies, Getting Together, First Time, Humor, Mild Angst
Summary: “What are you thinking about?” Tony asks.
Steve knows that Tony expects him to say something mundane or boring. Propelled by the perpetual urge to throw Tony off-balance, Steve tells him the truth: “I’m thinking about sex.”
NAHHHH SO AM I 😭😭😭 Cauz why does he get to have allat???
I've got a weak spot for domestic Bez doing daily life things and Marc just being there, like, almost naturally. There's something beautiful about it. Marc knows he's lucky too; he shows it in his little kisses and stupid jokes trying to make bez smile every time (it always works. Bez got shit humour he's the perfect audience).
