christmas cookies & tension
ship: clark kent x f! reader (secrect established relationship)
cw:(mature audience nsfw 18+) pre-sexual content, smut, nsfw, hickeys, public office-adjacent situations, food play (flour/frosting), consensual pre-sexual activity
wc: 3.8k
an: happy belated day seven of kinkmas, sorry this ran a bit late bit i hope oyu enjoy this too as well, we will get back to regualr scheduled posts as of tomorrow!
all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey
you brush past jimmy in the bullpen, papers in one hand, coffee in the other, and he raises an eyebrow. "late night christmas cookie plans, kent?"you tease, giving clark a side glance. clark glances up from his desk, glasses slipping down his nose, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "i might be." he murmurs, voice low, almost confidential, and your pulse skips. lois chimes in from across the office, "don’t forget to bring some for the newsroom, or i swear—" she cuts herself off when she sees the look clark gives you, that quiet intensity reserved just for you. you grin, leaning slightly toward him, "sounds like a secret mission." and he leans back, smirking, "something like that." fingers brushing yours just under the desk.
you gather your things, watching him pack his bag, the way his shoulders move under his flannel, the neat, careful way he arranges his things. "you’re impossible." you whisper, just to him, and he laughs softly, "and you love it." eyes meeting yours across the office chaos. the elevators ding, and you step in together, snow already beginning to fall outside, tiny flakes against the glass. his hand finds yours automatically, warm, steady, familiar. "welcome to my slice of metropolis." he murmurs once you step into his apartment, the snow crunching under your boots, and the warmth — not just from radiators or christmas lights — hits immediately.
the countertops are already dusted with flour, mixing bowls and cookie sheets waiting, a tray of chocolate chips in one corner like a secret plan he’s been nurturing all week. he steps closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, thumb grazing your jaw. “i’ve been looking forward to this,” he says, and you feel that quiet heat in his chest that you know will follow you through every messy, sweet, chocolate-streaked second. the countertops are already dusted with flour, mixing bowls and cookie sheets waiting, a tray of chocolate chips in one corner like a secret plan he’s been nurturing all week. he steps closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, thumb grazing your jaw.
he produces an apron, oversized but soft, holding it out to you like a knight offering a sword. "let me?" he murmurs, sliding it around your waist and tying the strings at the back, hands brushing your sides, lingering over the curve of your hips. your crop sweater lifts slightly as he bends, just enough to make your stomach tickle and your pulse spike. "there, princess." he whispers, brushing your hair behind your ear, eyes dark with something you’ve never dared name out loud. "ready to bake?" you nod, heart hammering, and he presses a quick kiss to your temple before picking up a mixing bowl. flour dusts your fingers instantly, and he watches, mesmerized. "you’re a mess already?" he teases, voice low, "and i love it."
clark measures the ingrediants, the sugar, butter, chocolate chips, his fingers brushing yours, frosting smudging slightly on your hand. he freezes, eyes wide, then softens, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckle. "that’s… not allowed." he murmurs, voice catching in a way that makes your heart flutter. "what’s not allowed?"you tease, holding up the tip of your finger, smeared with chocolate frosting.
"that." he says firmly, lips quirking, "is mine." he brushes his thumb across your palm like he’s claiming it, eyes darkening as the flour smears across your cheeks. chaos erupts as you laugh, frosting landing on noses and cheeks, flour flying, both of you forgetting the cookies entirely. he leans in, lips grazing your jaw, brushing chocolate from your lip with his tongue, whispering, "you’re impossible." you fire back immediately. "and you love it." you reply, trying to steady your laughter. "and you love it too, don’t pretend." he murmurs, low and husky, hunger and tenderness coiling together.
hands sticky, frosting smeared, flour dusting your hair and cheeks, the kitchen becomes a playground. clark presses you against the counter, thigh brushing yours, crop sweater riding up slightly, showing him what your office clothes hide. lips meet yours repeatedly, soft, urgent, hungry, teeth grazing your lower lip, signature clark kent-coded nibble, like he’s memorizing you. "you’re driving me crazy..." he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. "i think that’s the point." you tease, curling your fingers into his flannel, feeling the solid strength beneath.
eventually, he spins you gently toward the couch, laughter and kisses mingling, flour and chocolate streaks decorating both of you. his hands cup your thighs possessively, thumb tracing lazy circles, lips trailing along jaw and neck, occasionally biting at corners of your mouth. "i love keeping you warm." he murmurs, pressing you closer. "clark." you breathe, melting against him, "i’m already warm." he shakes his head, pressing one last deep kiss to your lips, whispering, "no, you’re mine, and i’ll make sure you stay this warm."
the snow continues to fall outside, quiet rhythm against the windows, apartment glowing with amber light from oven timer and string lights. clark curls against you, chest and arms pressed against yours, fingers still kneading circles along your inner thighs, brushing hair back, pressing kisses to temple, lips, jaw. "you’re perfect." he murmurs, one hand resting possessively over your hip, the other holding yours close. "i could stay like this forever." you whisper, breathless, hands resting on shoulders, heart hammering. he shakes his head gently, lips brushing corner of your mouth, "forever is too short, i want more."
you shift slightly, forehead against his, lips brushing, hand sliding along slope of his bicep, and he groans, hands tightening on thighs possessively. "clark…" you breathe, and he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep, heavy make-out, tongue tracing, teeth grazing your lower lip, murmuring your name like a prayer. frosting, flour, cookies none of it matters. it’s just you and him, pressed together, every soft groan, whispered name, brush of lips and hands against skin making the world disappear.
cookies finish baking in the background, scent of chocolate filling the air, but clark doesn’t move. he tucks you closer, one arm around shoulders, the other resting possessively on your thigh, lips finding yours again and again. "i can’t get enough of you." he murmurs, low, rough, desperate. "good." you breathe, curling fingers into his hair, letting him hold, kiss, claim you in the safest, hottest, most intimate way. snow swirls outside, unnoticed, as you melt into him, soft and steady and entirely yours.
clark hesitates at the oven, brushing a stray curl from his forehead, jaw tight as he pulls the tray of chocolate chip cookies onto the counter. "cookies first." he mutters, sliding them carefully onto the cooling rack, the warm scent filling the apartment. but he can’t keep his eyes off you, the way your leggings hug every curve, the way your crop sweater teases just enough to make him forget about everything else in the room. he turns slowly, gaze softening, then moves toward you with that quiet, irresistible determination, and you can’t help the little laugh that escapes you. "what are you doing?" you murmur, breath a little caught.
"you." he says simply, voice low, husky, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, steadying you as he gently guides you onto all fours on the couch. "now… where were we?" he murmurs, eyes dark with warmth and something a little more dangerous, a teasing edge that makes your stomach flutter. you tilt your head back, laughing softly, giving him the silent okay, letting him take the lead.
he hums, a slow, vibrating sound, tilting his head side to side, studying your expression like he’s memorizing every line, every curve. "oh yes… right here." he murmurs, leaning down, lips ghosting over yours before pressing firmly, claiming your mouth in a kiss that’s long, heavy, and impossible to ignore. his hands slide over your hips, thumbs pressing along the waistband of your leggings, feeling the warmth and softness of you through the fabric. your fingers dig into his flannel, pulling him closer, tasting him, the faint smell of flour and sugar mixing with the musk of him.
his mouth moves from yours to your jaw, lips brushing and teeth gently catching yours in a playful nip, and you can feel him humming against your skin, low and vibrating, the sound crawling right into your chest. "you’re killing me." he whispers against your temple, lips brushing the sensitive skin there. your laugh is shaky, breathless, "i’m… sorry?" you tease, tilting your head so he can have better access. he growls softly, not at you, but at the restraint he’s forcing himself to keep, and presses another kiss to your lips, hands roaming lower along your thighs, brushing the curve just under your hips, teasing the sensitive spots that make you shiver.
"clark..." you murmur, voice a little husky, "you—" his lips cut you off again, teeth grazing your lower lip as he captures it, holding it between his teeth for a heartbeat before releasing it with a gentle suck, making you gasp and grab at his shoulders. his hands slide up your sides, along your waist, tracing lazy, possessive circles over your stomach and hips, memorizing you, making you melt into his touch. he shifts slightly, pressing his chest against your back, letting you feel the solid warmth of him, and you arch into him unconsciously, a soft moan escaping your lips.
the room is filled with the scent of cookies and the warmth of the fire, and clark’s hands are everywhere your mind can handle: the small of your back, over your thighs, teasing the hem of your sweater. every time you move slightly, he adjusts, tilting his head to capture your lips again, teeth nipping teasingly, mouth softening into kisses that linger long enough to make your heart thud. he hums softly against your lips, the vibration rolling over you, his hands holding, guiding, and claiming you in a way that’s just firm enough to let you know he’s completely obsessed.
you tilt your head back, brushing fingers through his messy hair, tugging gently, and he hums against your mouth, lips sliding to your jaw, shoulder, collarbone, lips tracing over every inch of exposed skin, teasing, kissing, humming. "you’re… irresistible." he murmurs, voice low, deep, filled with desire and affection, lips brushing the side of your neck, teeth ghosting over your skin just enough to make you shiver. you laugh breathlessly, "well… you’re not so bad yourself." and he growls softly, pressing himself closer, hands gripping your hips possessively, the heat radiating from him seeping into your skin.
he flips you slightly, keeping you still, hands exploring, brushing over your thighs, waist, sides, tracing the curves of your leggings with a hunger that’s maddening and sweet all at once. his mouth finds yours again, heavy, lingering, teeth gently grazing your lips as his hands roam, thumbs tracing circles along your body, brushing under your sweater to tickle over skin, making you gasp and writhe against him. every kiss is deliberate, long, teasing, making you weak with need and desire, but never crossing the line, letting the tension build as he hums against you, tilts his head, bites, nips, and kisses.
you pull back just enough to whisper, breathless, "i… i think the cookies are getting jealous." and he chuckles, voice low and husky, brushing his nose against yours. "let them be jealous. right now, you’re all mine." he murmurs, tilting his head and capturing your lips again in a slow, deep, possessive kiss, hands roaming, gripping gently, teasing, claiming, and worshipping every curve of your body that the leggings and crop sweater show off better than your professional daily planet attire ever could.
time slows in the apartment. cookies forgotten on the counter, snow falling softly outside, string lights glowing, and clark keeps you pressed close, hands roaming, lips claiming, teeth nipping, humming softly, heat radiating from every inch of him. you melt into him completely, giving yourself over to the warmth, the soft dominance, the obsession, and the love in every touch. every kiss leaves you breathless, every hum vibrating through you, every gentle grip on your hips or thighs sending shivers down your spine. the world outside fades, leaving just you, him, and the sweet chaos of chocolate, flour, and winter magic.
the morning light is soft but insistent, brushing over clark’s couch. you wake tangled in his arms, chest rising and falling beneath you, familiar and warm. the faint scent of chocolate still lingers. you shift, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and he hums low and quiet, pulling you closer. "good morning." he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. you stretch against him, tracing lazy patterns along his arm. "good morning." you whisper, heart hammering, remembering flour in your hair, frosting on your lips, and kisses that froze time.
eventually, you peel yourself from the warmth, eyes catching the tupperware container of cookies clark already set aside for the newsroom. "clark…" amusement and disbelief curl in your chest. He grins, arm draped casually across the back of the couch, hair messy, sleeves rolled. "i got them for jimmy and lois." he says, voice teasing. "don’t tell me we’re late."groaning, you gather your things to head home, quickly pulling on levi jeans and clark’s oversized dress shirt, tucking it neatly, rolling the sleeves to your wrists, messy bun perched on top, tortoiseshell blue-light glasses, mauve lips catching the sunlight. the shirt hangs just right, accentuating your curves in a way no daily planet attire ever could.
by the time you arrive, clark is already at the office, tie crooked, collar loose, faint purple-and-yellow hickey under his ear. his eyes lift, widening, and that puppy-dog look—so soft, so completely yours—melts your stomach. fingers brush yours subtly under the desk, and lois notices immediately. her sharp eyes narrow, catching the way clark’s attention lingers on you, completely absorbed.
she leans a little closer, and suddenly she sees it: clark reaching gently, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, brushing his thumb along your jaw, adoringly. and then she hears it—his low kansas drawl, soft and intimate, meant only for you: "is that my shirt? looks good on you, honey."
lois freezes, pen hovering above her notebook, as the pieces click together in her mind. six months. six months of stolen glances, quiet coffees, hidden lunches, late-night walks, inside jokes no one else heard. you and clark have been careful, patient, perfect at keeping the world out. but this morning—cookies already delivered, hickey on his neck, puppy eyes, borrowed shirt, and those small touches—finally spills the secret. she leans back, triumphant, eyes gleaming. "so it’s true… they’ve been serious all this time,” she whispers, biting back a smile.
clark nudges the tupperware toward lois and jimmy, casual yet deliberate. "cookies." he says, hickey catching the light. lois grabs it, eyes wide, smirk spreading. "ohhh… now i get it!" she breathes. he tilts his head, brushing your fingers subtly, teasing. "what exactly do you get?"
her grin widens, triumphant. "the way you look at each other… that hickey… the borrowed shirt… months of secret dating… and now proof." she swivels toward jimmy, eyes sparkling with mischief. "and you had no idea, did you?" he groans, but she’s already jotting notes, reveling in the newsroom drama she’s uncovered.
you press a hand against clark’s arm, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. he brushes a strand of hair from your face, voice low and steady, "we’ll survive. and with that, the newsroom has its secret. but it’s just you and him: chocolate cookies in hand, flour lingering on the counters, the snow outside forgotten, and finally, completely, undeniably yours.
