big blue softy ✧ clark kent
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pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
summary: you have a minor surgery and clark is more than happy to take care of you.
word count: 2,080
warnings?: inspired by my diagnostic laparoscopy that im currently recovering from lmao, major fluff, mention of blood, established relationship, established marriage, nonsexual nudity, nonsexual showering, no use of y/n, pet name (darling), not proofread
You weren’t sure how many people were saying your name, but they were too damn loud. “Mrs. Kent—” a woman’s voice said “—you need to wake up. Mrs. Kent—” And, God, you really wished you didn’t because the lights were so bright. Did they turn them onto the highest setting? You weren’t sure you had ever seen lights so bright. You squint your eyes, then try blinking slowly to chase away the sleepiness.
“Would you like some water, Mrs. Kent?” she asked. You think you said yes, because suddenly there was a styrofoam cup in your hand and you had drank half of its contents. You hear a thank you, which you guess is from you, but you aren’t very aware of your mouth moving.
“Are you okay, sweetie? Does anything hurt?” the woman asked. “Why are you crying?”
Oh—you are crying. The same thing happened a few years ago when you had your wisdom teeth taken out. Maybe you were just destined to sob like a baby when you come to. You wipe at the corner of your eyes. The skin is already drying out. How hard were you crying? Your lip wobbles as you manage to wail, “I don’t know! My belly button hurts!”
The woman giggled and told you, “That’s normal, sweetie, and so is the crying. You wouldn’t believe the amount of big, burly men who come out of anesthesia crying. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Your lip is still wobbling when you let out a weak “okay.”
“Can I check your incisions?” she asks. You managed a nod, so she lifted the sheet. You guess they looked fine, because she let out a satisfied hum and turned toward the monitor.
You want your Clark. He’s your anchor. You really want to hold his hand. You grip the cup a little tighter.
“We need to check your vitals and then we’ll take you to your husband. He’s already in the room waiting for you,” the woman said. Did you say that out loud? “Your BP is a little high, but that’s because you’re anxious coming out of the surgery. We’ll check a few more times before we move you. It’ll probably be about ten minutes, okay?”
You can see well enough now to know she stepped away to a counter where another nurse is standing. Another sob escaped you as you fail to take another drink. The straw makes that sucking sound when there’s nothing left to give. Where’s Clark? Why did the nurse say you couldn’t see him?
The blood pressure cuff squeezed your arm. “Your BP is looking better,” the nurse said. When did she come back over? You blinked slowly at the ceiling and wish for Clark again. “Just one more time and you can see your husband, is that alright?”
There’s another thank you and a sniffle. You’re still not sure it’s coming from you, but the woman to your right is chatting about her work and the man to your left is answering questions from his nurse, so you guess it has to be you.
Suddenly, the nurse is removing the blood pressure cuff and wheeling you down the hall. “There’s a bit of a bump here,” she warns you as she starts to turn the corner. Despite the heads up, it jars you enough to whine. “Alright, I’m backing you into your room.”
It’s a tight squeeze, barely enough to turn the bed into the proper position. Finally, you see your Clark, worry etched onto his face. He can hear your heartbeat, how it’s still a little high, and see a tear streaking down your face. He’s quick to your side, thumb wiping it away.
“Are you alright, darling?”
You’re too busy pressing your cheek into his palm, so the nurse told him, “She was a little anxious when she woke up. But that’s completely normal, I think she was just ready to see you and go home.”
Clark’s shoulders relaxed. “Good, good.”
“Whenever you’re ready, Mrs. Kent, you can get dressed and then another nurse will come out with your discharge papers,” she said. “There may be a little blood, but it’s nothing to worry about. As long as it’s not anymore than a typical period, you’re okay.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Clark said, shaking the nurse’s hand. She leaves and Clark slips away from your side. When he returns, he has your water bottle and a couple pills. “Are you okay to take the GasX now?”
You nod and press the pills to your tongue. Clark helps you lift the bottle to your lips and only pulls away when you stop drinking.
“Are you ready for gum now?” Right—gum. The nurse practitioner told you during pre-op that it helps to chew gum as soon after surgery as you can manage. Something about it tricking your organs into “waking up” sooner so the gas the doctor used to inflate your belly can be expelled faster.
You chew on the gum Clark handed you. “How much was there?”
“He found it on top of your vagina and under your right ovary. They got it all out,” Clark informed you. “He said it was around Stage 1 or 2, and that there was a lot of inflammation.”
“Good, good. Glad I’m not in pain for nothing.” You lifted yourself up. “Help me get dressed?”
You didn’t need to ask, because Clark was already offering you support. You leaned against him as you swayed on your feet. He stepped away briefly to get your clothes, so you prop yourself against the wall as a wave of dizziness hits you.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom first?”
You nodded and slowly shuffled toward the toilet. Clark held his arms out to catch you in case you stumbled or fell. As you try to go, he handed you your panties and a pad.
“You’re perfect,” you mumbled.
“I just love you, darling.”
He helped you up again as you got up and shuffled back to the bed. You manage to pull your shorts on, on your own, but ask for Clark’s assistance in hooking your bra. While he’s there, he pulls off the stickers from the heart monitor as gently as he can, pausing each time you hiss. You slipped on your shirt, then sit on the bed to exchange your grippy socks for regular socks.
Knock! Knock!
“Mrs. Kent?” The nurse poked her head in. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She comes in and presents you with your discharge papers. While you glance them over, she turns to Clark. “How far are you parked?”
“I’m at the garage, ma’am.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a few minutes head start to pull the car around. But before you go, I have just a few things to go over with you both.” She ran through the same things they told you in pre-op, but paused when she got near the end. You barely noticed the pointed look she gave your Clark. “—and no sex for at least two weeks.”
Clark looked affronted that she would even imply that he’d do anything to harm your recovery. “Not until she’s fully healed and comfortable,” he said, returning his own pointed look. “She’s the most important person in this room.”
While the nurse appeared satisfied at that, you added, “He’s a sweetie.”
She smiled at you. “I’m sure he is.”
“He is!” and you would not let it go until she unequivocally agreed.
One thing you didn’t quite realize was that Clark was quite the hoverer. Despite his superhuman abilities, that of being able to see your internal organs and hear every little abnormality, he truly was a worry wart. Any other time, you might have been teasing him, but today you appreciated it. As the afternoon became evening, you grew tired of sitting in your hospital filth and asked for Clark to help you shower.
He immediately began to look over your discharge papers. “Is that a good idea? It says here to not shower for twenty-four hours.”
“The nurse said that’s just because I might fall because of the anesthesia. Everything down there is waterproof.” You batted your eyelashes at him the best you could manage. “I need my big, blue softy to help me.”
A smile quirked at Clark’s lips. “You tell me the second it feels too much.”
“I always do.”
Clark stood and walked around in front of your recliner. He helped you press the leg rest down, then provided his arms for you to lean your weight on as you pulled yourself up. You were able to walk on your own, though Clark was a half step behind you just in case. You shuffled slowly into the bathroom, wincing at the brighter light.
You began to pull your shirt over your head while Clark turned on the shower, making sure the water temperature wasn’t too hot. Your bra is next, you hissing as you peel it away. The doctors went a little wild with the iodine around your breasts, so the material stuck to your skin. Clark was by your side in an instant, blue eyes piercing through you as he weighed whether you needed help or if he should be a silent observer. However, when it did come to your shorts and panties, he did have to help as you still couldn’t quite bend over.
He helped you over to the shower, reminding you to watch your step. You let the water wash over you and do your best to avoid getting your belly button wet. After dampening the wash cloth, you turned the water off and pulled back the curtain. Clark soaped up the cloth then began to gently scrub at your skin. You help as best you can manage, lifting one of your breasts so he can get all of the iodine.
The soap makes it difficult to keep a good grip, so it keeps slipping from your fingers. “You’re a terrible patient,” he teased.
“It’s slippery!”
Clark helped you hold up your breast up and continued to scrub. Once he was satisfied that the iodine was gone, he moved down to your belly. “Tell me if it hurts.”
“You’re good—” but you winced as he neared your belly button. “Sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.” He put his hand on your hip and urged you to turn out. Clark scrubbed down your back and down your legs, then wrung out the wash cloth. “Alright, you’re good to rinse.”
You nodded as he turned the shower back on. You kept your back to the shower head and leaned around to let the water wash over your front, cupping your hands and splashing the harder-to-reach areas. Once you were satisfied that you washed away all the soap, you turned the shower off. Clark pulled back the curtain and handed you a towel.
“Pat, don’t rub,” he said.
“I need help with my legs,” you said once you finished drying the top half of your body.
Clark knelt in front of you, caressing your legs as he pat you dry. A part of you felt bitter that you couldn’t have sex with him when he looked so devoted to your health and care. But the idea of being touched made a shiver run down your spine, and not the good kind at that. When you’re better, you decided, you would worship your Clark as much as he is worshipping you.
The process of getting dressed passed you by. One of Clark’s old t-shirts from his Smallville days was slipped on and a pair of panties. Pretty simple, considering you hated the idea of more clothes touching you than necessary at the moment. And so you began the trek back to the living room.
“Careful, careful!” Clark said as you shuffled over to the recliner. He held his hands out as you sank down and only moved away once you had shifted comfortably into position. Clark was gone and back in a blink, your water bottle placed on the table beside you and your prescribed medication in hand.
“I’m not that fragile,” you grumbled, but your whine as you adjusted your weight said otherwise.
“To me, you’re always fragile.” Clark smiled softly at you. He lifted your knuckles to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss. “I love you. I want to take care of you. I made vows, remember?”
“You remind me frequently,” you giggled, “as if I’d ever forget.”
