cw: 18+, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of oral sex, light smut
to say you have an obsession with clark’s curls would be a bit of an understatement. they’re all you think about, besides the rest of him. when he walked into the daily planet on his first day, they were the first thing you noticed about him. soft, bouncy curls on a muscular, cute journalist. when you started dating, you tried to act all nonchalant when you got the chance to play with his hair. but on the inside, you were truly fan-girling over the softness and silk feel to them. you almost fully disliked when he had to slick it back to transform into superman. eventually, it became difficult for you to hide your infatuation from him. and clark caught on pretty easily. he was proud of how such a simple attribute of his made you happy.
plus, it gave him motivation to take better care of them, keeping them shiny and moisturized just for you. he began to put hard work into his curl routine, the way your eyes lit up when you felt the softness was a reward in itself. the pretty sigh that falls from your lips every time they’d brush your face when you were cuddling. the content you’d feel whenever you had the chance to run your fingers through them. it all made him feel…accomplished. it was almost as if he was obsessed with your obsession. and when he went down on you? if your hands weren’t tugging or just holding his curls, he’d assume something was wrong.
your eyes screwed shut, arms wailing around not knowing what to grab. you thought clark would think your obsession with his curls was weird, so you tried to suppress it. he looked up at you, tongue still at work. his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth leaving you briefly but not without your whimpers in protest. “hmph! why’d you stop?” you pouted. he sighed, sitting up on his knees. “jus’ wanted to make sure you’re alright..” he muttered. you snickered lightly. “uh- yeah? i’m okay…you’re confusing me.” he fiddled with his hands as if he was nervous to say his next sentence. “what’s wrong, clark?” you asked concernedly. “…it’s just that you haven’t touched my hair in like 2 days. you usually hold em while i’m—ya know. a-and i know you love my curls! i just wanted to make sure nothing was bothering you..m’sorry, it doesn’t make sense.” he breathed out a deep sigh, like that confession was stopping his lungs from working.
“oh..clark, i didn’t think you cared or noticed. i didn’t want you to think i was a weirdo or somethin’ for loving your curls s’much.” he shook his head as you finished your statement. “no! not at all! i-i like that you like ‘em so much, makes me put effort into maintaining them just so they’re soft like you like ‘em.” you grinned a huge grin, taking his face into your hands, “aw honey, thank you.” he nodded rapidly, getting back down to continue pleasuring you. “jus’ please grab em.” he mutters before starting back up. moaning, your hands fly to his curls, lightly tugging. he smiles against your middle, relieved by the familiar sensation of the pull at his roots.
it was pretty safe to say that you were both content whenever clark’s curls were the main focus. a pretty boy who cared about your interests, even if they include bothering him 24/7, was something you didn’t know you needed until now.
Superman can't waltz into Gotham whenever he pleases, there are strict guidelines and codes. But what can he do when you call out his name like a lover's last kiss.
Or in which you're under influence of the fear toxin and can only think of Clark.
Pairing: Clark Kent x reader
Genre: exes to potential lovers! Angst, fluff
word count: 2k+
Warnings: gen description of gotham violence
Note: [me after reading fics set in gotham] how can i make this about clark? Anyway welcome to the halloween special hope you enjoy! (this was meant to be uploaded 2 days ago but I caught a nasty stomach bug :( )
Masterlist
The streets of East Street are shining with slippery gravel and chaos roars to life. It’s not an unusual day in the city, villain out in the open terrorising the civilians who cling onto each other or trample one another as they scurry away from the source of danger.
A loud muffled siren alerts of the police, and the bat signal is soaring high in the glossy, smog filled sky. It’s a normal day in Gotham, a kind of day that you never missed once you moved to it’s safer, cleaner sister city, Metropolis. But the routine is so familiar that the blood never forgets the ground it bled on.
Cranes goon’s surround the area, laughing like maniacs under their breathing masks, they wait for their next orders as they gaze upon the screams of those affected by the toxin that steadily spreads in the air.
Must be a new batch, you think. The sicko wanted to see his toxic take effect in real time. You can’t make up freaks and psychopaths like these, they exist in the shadows, concealed until they can’t control their desires anymore. Gotham is used to them, and you were too.
But as you carefully, and swiftly venture away from the crowd, cornering into the street where-hopefully- no danger lies, the thrum of anxiety rattles your bones. Clearly, you’ve forgotten your past with how Superman’s city embraced and blinded you from a contrasting reality.
Superman…he’d arrive faster than Batman and boy wonder, you think in spite, and tug the make shift mask around your face tighter. It’s a simple woollen scarf, but it seems to do the trick as you’re still able to manvouer through the late night streets with ease. A few more minutes then you’re finally home.
The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Home? Your brain scoffs at you, what kind of home doesn’t have Cla-
A rough cough tremors through your lungs and throws the nasty thought out.
The door slams shut behind you and you rush into the bathroom, rapidly splashing cool water into the skin. It slithers down your arms, drips form your neck to the collar of your shirt but you couldn’t care less. The sensation brings a fleeting moment of release, grounding you back into reality. Your reflection in the glossy mirror stares at you, eyes coloured red and swollen, pupils dilated. Alone, and aching, you stare back.
Home, wherever is it, whoever it has, you’re finally home and far far away from the hell that’s brewing outside. That’s East street’s problem, and also Batman’s.
There’s an ache settling deep in your bones, not because of the events of the day or from work, but it’s a hollowness that’s been digging in your skin ever since the move. The break up. the fight. You need to move on.
“Shut up!”, you say.
The small apartment is silent, only humming with electricity and a squeak from the water pipes. The lights are still off, only the bathroom light drapes you under it’s protection.
“I should change”, you say to no one in particular. Though, the action requires more energy than you have, there is no choice. Whatever Crane was testing, it spread through the air and must have clung onto your clothes, and skin-
Hot water burst through the shower head, spraying you with steam and sharp flickering droplets. After lathering yourself with new and expensive body shower (in an act of treating yourself which you assumed would make you feel better) (it did not), you grab a random pair of sweat pants and an old college t-shirt. There’s an itch behind your back that makes the hair at your nape stand alert. It’s nothing. It’s just dry skin.
Flicking through tv channels provides no release of dopamine and fails as a distraction when it seems like every channel is airing the current chaos scene. Ariel shots, helicopters hovering under the rainy sky, they try to capture the scared crowd and the caped vigilante that tries to salvage them form their fears.
Vigilante? The word makes you laugh. He stands for the opposite of what Superman represents. It’s ironic. A literal god from a small farm meets you, born and bred under corrupt, city skies. A perfect misfit match, Lois would fondly say, but little did she know how your relationship with Clark would play out.
Neither of you did either. It was a genuine dream, a breath of fresh air and love under rainbow, something you never had, and it was everything he offered. There were bumps along the way, Clark could confront monsters and demons, but could never address problems in a fight, quick to weasel out of them with a lame excuse you, at first respecting his space, could easily see through.
Clark was never a good liar, and that’s what you loved about him. He wore his heart on his sleeve, clear blue eyes shone with love and honesty. Obviously, you missed him, his phone contact still had a heart in its username, but you promised yourself to never text or call him again. If he could flee from each fight, each tiny conflict and pretend the relationship was sailing well despite, then you could protect yourself from another heart break.
The lights shutter off.
Your heart jumps into your throat, fingers clutch the remote until your knuckles turn pale and the plastic squeaks. Everything has been swallowed by darkness, it takes your eyes a moment to adapt to the change. There’s no colourful haze reflecting off the tv and onto you, just you and nothing.
“It’s okay”, you mumble, unable to whisper in case someone heard you.
Logically, you were alone, and the tremor in your body was a result of the toxin but your brain didn’t care neither did your heart. It raced and thud around the rib cage until it thundered in your ears and all your sensations heightened tenfold.
From the corner of your eye, you spot movement. It’s tiny but not undecipherable. Quickly, you bring your knees close to your chest, and compress your spine into the rough cushion of your couch. Your breath comes out ragged, like it takes a toll on your chest to even exhale. The figure moves, crawls slowly and delicately across the hardwood floor.
The sight makes you wheeze uncomfortably.
It’s nothing. It’s nothing. It’s in my head.
A thick sheen of ice settles onto your shoulders, coiling itself around the shape of your body, grazing the skin until goosebumps arise.
It is something. It is something and it sets its beady eyes on you.
The world stops. You clamp a hand around your mouth to cage the whimpers, as if the creature hadn’t seen your evidently shaking frame. The view turns blurry for a moment and you blink away the tears, they cling onto your lashes and you’re afraid the entity will get closer and close each time your vision turns dark.
It stretches out a limb, far too long and scrawny to be considered human, it’s webbed at the ends where fingers should be. Thin purple veins branch outwards on it’s body glowing softly as they bulge out of it’s murky skin.
Unconsciously, your other hand slides across the couch, a phantom search for a warm, strong hand that no longer exists in your space.
“Oh my God”, you whisper, and it sounds nothing like you. it’s raw and tiny.
The creature pays no attention to the words, rather it tilts it’s head and the glimpse of light from your curtain covered window reveals it’s true appearance. Crocked horns adorn the creature’s head and they drip red, with dried crimson around the crevices. There’s not an fibre in you that has the fortitude to move, to run away, completely frozen in a defenceless state.
You are going to die. Alone, and afraid.
You’re going to die and all the pathetic moments of cowardice and regret will flash across your eyes when the entity finally claims you. In a futile attempt to salvage yourself, your body curls inwards, using itself as a shield and you squeeze your eyes shut.
Your ears pick up a small sound. The scrape of nails against hardwood floor, antagonising, slow and steady. It's coming to get you, it's coming to get you, it's going to-
With one final trembling exhale that manages to escape your coiled lungs, you slowly the bitter taste of bile enunciate it as clearly as you can with a watery mouth filled with cotton.
The words are whispered into the stillness of the room, a kiss sealed into the dead of the night.
“Kal-el”.
It’s a different kind of hymn.
Unlike the vibration of life, thrumming of a heart beat or the woosh of wind, whenever Clark manifests before you, there is no grand entrance. The energy in the room changes, a gust of breeze flutters through your hair, and despite your eyes shut tightly, face curved behind rigid fingers, your soul can sense him.
A hand reaches to cradle your head, and your body collapses onto the familiar hold. His arms extend over your frame and the sheer warmth of his body encompasses you whole. Immediately, you gasp out a choked sob and cling onto the man. He tips his head downwards to face you, lips grazing the edge of your hairline.
“I’m here, you’re safe”, he gently states near your ear as if it was a universal truth. And it is.
The tension snaps and your muscles spasm as your body spontaneously relaxes in his tender hold, chest vibrating as you bawl into the soft material of his night shirt. It’s shirt you gifted him as a gag gift, a small cartoon of Guy Gardener shouting “I’m Super, man!” in obnoxious font. The sight would have made you laugh if you weren’t anxious and scared out of your skin.
Your fingers dig deep enough to feel the beating of his heart, and the strong curves of his flesh, nails probably leaving ghosts of claw marks but Clark doesn’t mind. Slowly, his arms slide from your shoulders and curl around until his palm pressed against your rib cage, he begins to gently rock from side to side.
“It’s okay”, he shushes you, as the final tears escape. He must have connected the dots himself. Crane’s destroying the streets, and here you are shivering with hunched shoulders and red rimmed eyes. Doesn’t take a genius to understand and he’s got damn Superman.
Before any ounce humiliation of what you’ve done can paint you, there’s not a second to waste as the toxics aftereffects slowly wear off.
“I’m sorry,” you splutter out, but the words are lodged right in the arch of his nape, and Clark hears you clear as day, even if your voice is softer than your erratic heart. Clark’s grip tightens and you wheeze. He’s quick to soften the embrace.
It takes effort to move your body to look up at him, but he doesn’t let you. Clark hides his face into the crown of your head, placing soft kisses as he does so. Unsure of where he lies, he still threads the lines and boundaries you created after the break up, and ones, he well, used to respect.
This is an exception, he tells himself, definitely not an act self-indulgence.
“Let me-I’m talking”. You manage to rasp out, throat scratchy. You head shifts as you feel him nod.
“I’m sorry, sorry for…everything, I don’t know why- I shouldn’t have called,” then you rapidly spit out, “but I had to!”.
Clark nods again. You can’t see him, tucked deep into his chest, it’s somehow easier to be transparent when there aren’t crystal blues looking through you.
“I broke the rules”, you admit and pause to take a breath, voice cracking, “but it was horrifying, Kal”.
The nick name rolls off your tongue before you can stop it and almost curse. Clark doesn’t mind.
He places another kiss, full of finality and longing before grabbing your shoulders and pulling you back so he can gaze at you.
“No,” he swallows and with no hesitation he speaks, “I’m sorry I kept leaving, and made it seem like you couldn’t depend on me”.
You mouth parts to interrupt him but he casts a look which stops you immediately.
“It was a mutual decision but I brough us to this point. I’m sorry my actions kept igniting our conflicts, and that…I never changed…even though I cared- still care about you”, he trails off, no longer able to meet your gaze, ashamed eyes cast towards your legs that cover his lap.
You sigh, then rest your head on his shoulders. It takes him by surprise, but he recovers and tucks your head back under his chin. Despite the fragmented past, he’s here, and responding actively and positively under your touch. You reckon he missed you more than you even missed him. So caught up in saving yourself from heart break you never imagined how it must have hurt him to return to an empty apartment and two straightforward messages. Not your best moment, but still.
There’s undeniable sentiment in the hold, limbs tangled but held back by control and yearning for the relief of more contact. You press your face deeper into his chest, and let his perfume overpower your senses, remind you of a scent close to home.
“We’ll figure it out”, it’s a soft plea.
Clark’s words vibrate through your body as he promises, “Soon”.
His arms don’t shift from your touch, even when you graze your finger tips along his nape, tracing the soft hair, then his spine, confirming the reality of his presence, firm and vibrating with warmth under your fingertips.
Clark has returned to you, during a weak, desperate time where you would have gone insane in a city where no one would bat an eye.
The feeling of home returns with the dark-haired man, along with the relief of sanctuary and a bundle of tangled feelings and emotions you’re not going to unpack tonight.
Maybe later. It’s a problem for future-you, right now, all that matters is how a huff of warm air caresses your hair and how his heart thuds under your touch. Just like old times.
A/N: THANK YOU for reading! Hope you had fun, please leave a comment. my toxic trait is thinking the fear toxin won't be able to influence me ( <- dumbest person ever)
clark kent who lets you sit on his lap as he work on a new article in your shared apartment—he would place soft kisses on the top of your head while you traced little shapes on his chest with your fingertips.
it’s a comfortable silence. his warmth, and his familiar scent always making you feel safe. at home.
clark does feel the same with you. he loves the way you look at him with such adoration, as if he is the most important person in your life. the way you pepper him with kisses—along his jaw, his neck.
he loves the way you playfully nuzzle your noses together, leaving the two of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers.
he appreciates how you take your time cleaning his glasses when they get smudged, and how you place them back on him again. your fingers lightly brushing his face. so soft. so gentle.
he loves when you sit on his lap, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt as you hum your favorite song until you drift off to sleep.
and clark kent—your ever devoted and sweet lover, would never wish for anything more than to stay like this with you forever in his arms.
Summary: Where do babies come from? Well, when a Kryptonian and a Human love each other very much...
AKA
You find out Clark can get pregnant.
Wc: 6.1k
Tags: Implied mpreg, top!reader, bottom!Clark, alien anatomy, blowjobs, pegging, sex toys, synthetic cum, praise kink, marriage promises as dirty talk, established relationship, you're both dorks who haven't done this before so yippee, no use of y/n, reader is afab but nothing really descriptive sooo, no gendered pronouns used
A/n: When I said I wanna get this man pregnant I wasn't lying. Idk if this counts as a/b/o bc it's not rlly that, but I did barrow the slick aspect bc I care ab biological accuracy ☝️🤓 if you see any spelling/grammar mistakes no you didn't.
Clark was in a good mood. A fantastic mood even.
You had made extra cinnamon rolls the night before, so he had something sweet to eat with his morning coffee. He saw a cute baby on the metro, and she smiled when he waved at her, all gummy and wide. He was early to work for once, and was able to make it past Steve’s desk unscathed from semi-rude and woefully underthought insults.
Cat had called his tie “fashion forward” because of the little blue bows that dotted it, and he got to tell her gleefully that “my partner actually picked it out for me”. It was Perry White’s birthday, so lunch was catered for the staff, and it was from a good restaurant. One where the sandwiches actually had toppings you wanted, and were bursting from the wax paper they came delivered in.
The sun was warm on his face as he made his way home. He gave some money to his favorite busker who always played classical music on his violin, and one of the aunties at the local fruit stand gave him a bag of oranges for free, just because he had a “kind face”.
His cheeks practically hurt from all the smiling he had done by the time he got home. He could already hear you shuffling about inside, and he couldn’t wait to sit next to you on the couch and relax while watching a show together. The apartment was nice and warm when he got in, dropping his keys into the dish by the door with a clatter. Dress shoes abandoned, he worked to undo the buttons on his coat, calling your name softly.
“I’m home! You know, I was thinking we could try some of that tea you bought the other day,” His coat slung over the rack, he rounded the corner into the living room, rustling through the bag of oranges, “A nice lady gave these to me, and I really think they would pair well together.”
You looked up at him from across the room, situated on the couch with your legs pulled tight to your chest, chin resting on your knees. Your phone was brightly lit, and held way too close to your face. Speaking of…
The smile you had on was one of thinly veiled amusement. The apples of your cheeks are full, the lines of your brows soft. Borderline mischievous. Clark’s movements slowed- like you were a grizzly bear and he was trying to decide whether he should play dead or run.
“What.”
“What? I didn’t say anything,” You chirped, falling back onto the couch and pulling your phone close to your chest.
Clark crossed his arms.
Your grin grew impossibly wide, turning onto your side to a better look at him. “Just, you know, scrolling through twitter.”
“You know that stuff isn’t good for you!” Clark chided, moving into the kitchen so he could turn on the kettle. “It’s all so negative. Everyone’s so mean.”
He could hear you laugh again, throw blankets from the couch rustling as you got up to join him. You leaned against the pillar separating the rooms as Clark grabbed two mugs from the rack. A quick glance told him you still had your phone cradled close to your face. “Oh c’mon there’s some really interesting stuff on here…” He could practically feel the amusement dripping off of your words. Dumping the oranges into the sink, he turned on the tap to wash them, peeling away the stickers as he went. “...Like how, apparently, both sexes of Kryptonians can get pregnant.”
The orange slipped from his grasp with a splash of water, soaking the counter as well as the front of his dress shirt. You burst out laughter, hurrying to grab him a hand towel.
Clark's ears always flushed first, the tips a bright red by the time you handed the towel over. “I- How… I just-” He stumbled, taking off his glasses and shoving them onto the counter after thoroughly drying it off.
He was so cute when he was flustered, even if it was just off of some baseless internet rumour-
“I mean… How do they even know that? There are only two of us left-”
Hold up. Pause.
Your laugh was instantly wiped from your face, a look of sheer bewilderment replacing it as Clark stumbled through his words.
“-I mean, obviously I have archives of it, from what was sent over with me… in the pod and stuff. Not everything! Of course, just the basics, you know-”
“Clark Joseph Kent,” You said slowly, like this was all an elaborate prank being pulled on you by your beautiful boyfriend and the evils of twitter. But it couldn’t be, Clark could barely stand to open the damn app. “Is twitter right?”
He’s made a mistake. Clark recognizes that instantly. He tries to go back to washing the oranges and making you tea, but he knows it’s a moot point. You’re at his side now, phone entirely discarded on the countertop, looking at his profile as he really, really tries to ignore you.
“Can you get pregnant?”
“It just makes more evolutionary sense for both sexes-”
“Oh my god!” You’re getting fucking yolked right now. Whipping your head around the kitchen, you wait for the camera crews to start barreling in. “Really? Really?” You say incredulously, hands running down your face in pure disbelief.
Clark shakes his head, hands held out wide as if to say ‘Is this my life?’ “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal!”
“So why wouldn’t you tell me? Oh my god, I found out my boyfriend can get pregnant through fucking twitter-”
The oranges were finally discarded, because apparently this was how tonight was going. Clark watched, face flushed and hands shaking, as you zipped towards your phone. Luckily Clark was closer. “You are not posting about this-”
“That wasn’t what I was going to do!” You insisted, bent at the waist over the counter, laughter bubbling out of your lips, tears edging your lashline. “I was just gonna see if anything else they’re saying online is right!”
Luckily, one of the few things Clark knew how to do with a phone was turn it off. Cloistering you against the fridge, he shoves the phone on top of it, hidden just out of reach. You buried your face in Clark's chest, muffled laughs still wracking your frame. You smelled nice, and you were warm- so all wasn’t totally lost. You mumbled an apology into him, and he sighed.
“But for real,” You asked, laughter finally subsiding, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well for starters, you just laughed so hard you cried,” Clark said, thumb gently wiping away errant tears from your flushed cheeks, “And I guess it just… isn’t really important?”
You gasp, affronted, and pull away to rest your hands on Clark’s trim waist, turning him side to side, “Not important? I wanna know everything about you- like, where would the baby even go?”
Clark tried to ignore your wandering hands, trying to ignore the fact that he’s practically hardwired to your touch that was travelling dangerously low, “Well we weren’t like the main ones getting pregnant, it was just something we could do-” He gingerly grabs your wrist before you can start tugging his damp shirt from the waist band of his pants. You let out a noise of discontent as he lifts you up onto the counter, trying to distract you with a flurry of kisses across your face, “-Anyways, It’s not like you could really… get me pregnant.”
You pull away, and Clark has made his second mistake of the evening.
“We could test it out.” You say, running your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks gently. Clark lets out a low chuckle, letting you manhandle him, tilting his head like you would a particularly adorable puppy.
“It wouldn’t work-”
Your hands shifted to the back of his head, threading through the dark curls situated there, and pulled him in. Close enough for him to feel the amused huff you let out fan across his lips. “C’mon Clark,” A chaste kiss, “You won’t even let me try to get you pregnant?”
Clark smacked his lips, mouth suddenly dry, face hot and dazed. He tried so hard to be better than his instincts, but he could smell you- all bothered, wriggling beneath him- which made him kind of feel like a creep. Ironic, considering you were trying to convince him to… get pregnant.
Which totally wouldn’t work. And totally wasn’t confusing him at all because it was kind of getting him hot right now?
His voice pitched up in the way it always does when he’s semi-embarrassed about his response, a shaky “I guess…” earning him a proper kiss. One that’s messy and desperate in a way that makes him a little weak in the knees, pressing closer into you as your thighs clench around his waist. Your tongue barely creeps into his mouth, a teasing lick at the edge of his teeth before you retreat entirely, pulling away with a lewd sound. Clark tries to follow you, but a sharp tug reminds him your hands are still firmly wound in his curls.
And then you jumped off the counter, padding away back into the living room.
“Wait- Hold on, where are you going?” Clark protested, awkwardly readjusting himself in his slacks. You turned around, still walking backwards towards your shared bedroom.
“You wanna make a baby in our kitchen? Freak.”
You love being rough with Clark. He just makes the cutest noises whenever you pull his hair too hard, shove his head around as he goes down on you, sink your teeth into his skin and claw your nails down his arms. It’s even better because you know you can do all this without physically hurting him. Though, sometimes you wish the marks you left would stay just a little longer, long enough for him to have to stutter out some lame excuse to his coworkers.
Clark loved it too. You knew he did, because every time you shoved him around, into bathroom stalls in restaurants, the perpetually empty fax room because no one sends faxes anymore, and any wall that seemed even remotely sturdy enough, he got hard as a fucking rock, all wide eyed and flushed.
Your bed, the third one this year, creaked loudly as you shoved him onto it, straddling his hips in an instant. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as you grabbed his jaw, tilting it to the side to gain access to the soft spot beneath his ear- it was always deliciously sensitive, the easiest place on him to bruise. Teeth sinking into flesh, the hand not holding him in place slipped down his chest, working on the buttons to his shirt. Clark shuddered as your cold hand finally made contact with his skin, pushing his undershirt up once his button up fell open.
You were so overwhelming- when you both got going it was like all Clark could notice was you. Your breath, your heartbeat, the thrush of your blood in your veins. He could smell the sweat clinging to your body, sweet and familiar, because you both used the same shampoo. Could taste you on his tongue, overwhelming and addictive. His hands, soft yet strong, made their way under your sleep shirt, gripping the flesh of your hips as he tried to pull you closer- flush against his body in a way that was getting pathetically needy.
He groaned into the air of the room as your mouth abandoned the spot beneath his ear, trailing down his neck to his collarbone- he wanted more. Any longer, and he was sure he’d break the zipper on his slacks. “How are we- ngh- how do you wanna do it?” Clark pulled your head back, almost immediately missing the stickiness of your tongue on him.
Your pupils were blown wide, scanning him in his entirety before licking your lips. Considering something. “I… bought something. For us to try- you can say no if you want.”
“Show me?” Clark asked, kissing your cheek, skin hot beneath his lips.
Extricating yourself from him was almost impossible. But you found yourself rushing towards the closet in a way that you would call unsexy- if only you weren’t so dazed. A box was hidden in the back, disguised amongst your shoes. “I bought this like… kind of a while ago?” You said sheepishly, bringing it back to your bed. Clark had an inkling of what could be inside, if only because of the embossed sex toy logo on the very top. “I chickened out before I could suggest it though.”
“You can always tell me if you wanna try something.” Clark said, his sincerity only embellished by the giant tent he was pitching. You laughed softly, pulling the lid off the box and tilting it towards him. Clark considered the strap on for a moment. The silicon a midnight blue against the black velvet of the box. “It’s a little big, don’t you think?”
“I made sure it was smaller than you,” You rolled your eyes, taking it out of the box along with the harness, “You saying I’m better at taking it?”
Clark ran his hands down his face, smushing his palm against his mouth in a way that muffled his words. “I mean… definitely, you are.” It’s like an ache in his stomach, though, looking at your expectant eyes. Is this how you feel? All heavy down there? He wants to… “But yeah, let’s, uhm, we can do it this way.”
Your teeth mash against his in a sloppy kiss that you hope conveys how happy you are. Again, like in the kitchen, only a brief slip of tongue that leaves him wanting, chasing. “You wanna get undressed for me then, while I put this on?” Clark doesn’t really trust himself to speak, only nodding his head forcefully as he turns away and strips himself of his clothes. There’s a clinking noise, reminiscent of a belt, from behind him as you busy yourself. Then the slide of a drawer. Right, lube. Should he tell you that…
He’s not sure he can verbalize that either. Clark feels like he’s on fire, and wonders if it’s unreasonable to turn on the AC during winter, turning around to finally face you. You’re, fortunately, not looking at him quite yet, instead fussing over the straps and making sure everything is secure. You’re kneeling on the edge of the bed, and the sight feels like something he’s blessed to see. Because you’re stunning, and you’re all his, and… some more instinctual part of his brain seems to be clouding his judgment, something that’s screaming about the… the baby you’re gonna give him. His legs, independent of his rational mind, carry him to the edge of the bed and deposits himself at your feet.
That breaks you out of your worry, a smile beaming down at him as your hand comes up to ruffle his hair, “You ready, baby?”
It’s not really an answer, pulling apart your thighs and kissing them to the base of your strap, but it’s all Clark can manage. “I wanna…” You shudder beneath him, legs instinctively drawing in as he licks around the elephant in the room. “...like how you do it?”
“Oh,” You coo, grip tightening in his hair, “You wanna suck me off?” His big arms cage your hips against the bed, and your leg hinges against his waist, pulling him closer until his cock can rut against the bed sheets. “Want me to teach you?”
Clark nods, but he kind of has an idea of what to do. You’ve gone down on him enough times that he knows what feels good, even if you can’t technically feel it. He knows what makes you look pretty. You guide his head regardless, and he sticks his tongue out to gingerly lick the tip of you, eager but unsure if it’s right.
You can’t feel it- but you can feel it. Know what his tongue feels like, how warm and soft and wet it is. Thumb stroking against his cheek in encouragement, Clark suckles it into his mouth fully, eyes lidded in concentration. It tastes like plastic, but if he tries he can almost imagine the taste of your sweat, how sweet you are, how warm you are. He lets you push his head down further, just enough to sit on the back of his tongue. There’s more left to take, but you don’t rush it, just let your pretty boyfriend sit on his knees and suck you off in a way that feels right for him.
Clark gulps around it, saliva pooling on his tongue, slicking up the toy. He lets it sink in a bit further, enough to make the back of his throat tickle, before pulling all the way off, spit stringing him to the tip, before he goes back to kiss the side. Your voice is like honey, “Doin’ really well for me, Clark,” If he could get drunk, he imagines it would feel like this. Like you beneath his hands, making sure he feels loved. “I’m so lucky, you know that?” You let the toy press against his lips, before it slips against his cheek, a smear of saliva along its path.
He takes you again, bobbing his head in a way that seems tentative. He tries to look up at you, eyes round and glossy, unfairly thick lashes slightly damp. Clark’s curls, normally gelled, lay heavy against his forehead, your fingers pushing them away, leaving your hand on his head as an anchor. Slowly, like a request, you cant your hips upwards.
Clark hums around you, his own hips rutting against the duvet- in tandem with your gentle thrusts. He tries to memorize this. He’s seen almost every facet of you in your time together, every little piece that comes together to form what you even are, but this is a side of you that he’s never experienced. He’s pretty sure no one has. It makes him feel even warmer, energy buzzing like a current beneath his skin, makes him feel good. His tender tip catches against a fold in the duvet cover, pre smearing against the fabric, trying to keep up with the pace you’ve set. It’s almost maddening, the stimulation, and from this alone he can feel that tension winding up in his stomach.
He finds himself closing his eyes, letting you use him until his impending orgasm- but you have this sixth sense about you. You know when he’s about to fall over that ledge, and just like that, you pull yourself from his mouth, leaving his jaw slack and empty.
Before he can protest, voice horse, you grab his arms and pull him onto the bed, the frame squeaking beneath your weight. “I think we’re getting carried away,” You laugh, thumb tracing his bottom lip, swollen and wet. “You still wanna do this?”
Clark has always been honest to a fault. You think the only lie he’s ever really kept well was Superman. “Yes- want it, want it real bad.” His hands are all over you, pushing you down onto your back like he was the one in control. You remedy that quickly, pushing his hips and rolling the both of you over. You can practically see the cogs turning in his head as it hits the pillows.
You wipe the self-satisfied grin off your face, trying to give off the aura of someone who knew what they were doing. Because watching porn wasn’t really the greatest starting point. You shuffle down, knees rustling the sheets, hands warm on Clark's thighs as you spread them open for you. “I want you to tell me if anything hurts, ok? I’ll stop immediately.” Clark’s little laugh was immediately speared by a moan, your thumb brushing the base of his cock, right above his balls. You push a little, your ring finger joining to encircle him. A small, dry tug undoes him quickly. “Need you to be serious.”
“I am!” Clark insists, hips jolting at your touch. You let him buck up a few times before taking your hand away, caressing the inside of his thigh, all muscle and warmth and… wet?
Your gaze shoots down, every jolt and twitch of Clark’s hips show that he’s fucking wet. And if you think about it for like, more than two seconds, that kind of makes sense? Because other people who can get pregnant self-lubricate but, like…
Your finger nudges at his hole, and slides right across it, gathering the wetness onto your fingers. Holding them up to the dim light of your bedroom, and letting it string as you pull them apart. Brows furrowed, you looked at your boyfriend, and his sheepish “oops, you caught me” kind of look that just made the whole situation worse. He’s so lucky he’s kind of the most beautiful person on the planet, because you had unnecessarily spent thirty American Dollars on lube that you didn’t even need. You even got the strawberry flavored one! Because he liked strawberries!
Love had made you a fool.
There’s a lewd squelch as you bully one of your fingers into him, “When you’re a little more coherent, we’re going to have a loooooong talk about why you feel the need to hide things from me.”
Clark nods his head, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you prep him. Another finger joins the first quickly enough, curling every which way trying to find the best angle within. But that’s not good enough for you, crowding his legs over your own as your free hand grabs his jaw, “Use your words, Kent.”
“Yeah-” He pants out, “-Yes.”
Your fingers finally find that spot, the spot. The one that makes him buck up so wildly you almost lose your balance. Pre-cum oozes from the tip of his cock, smearing over the bottom of his tummy. “Right there-” He asks, hand coming up to muffle his moans. You could never stay mad at him long.
The room fills with sounds that you’d be embarrassed for your neighbors to hear, which unfortunately they probably do. Sorry to them. You can’t stop though, pulling each and every moan and whine and whimper from your boyfriend as you loosen him up for you. Without much effort, you can slip a third finger in, trying not to disrupt your rhythm. Clark always tries to last longer than he really can, and you can tell he’s getting close by the twitch in his brow, and the way he tries to rub the tears from his eyes. “You can cum if you want to baby,” You encouraged, holding your fingers in place against his prostate, just pure pressure.
Clark nods his head fervently, “No- I wanna save it.”
“It’s ok,” You say again, finally thrusting your fingers in again, faster, harder, “I’ll just make you cum again, you can do that for me, right?”
He clenches tight around your fingers, head hitting the bedboard with a sharp crack, one that would make you concerned if it were literally anyone else. But it’s Clark, your boyfriend who can hold a high rise above his head, your boyfriend who could fly around the Earth in the time it would take you to change into your pajamas, your boyfriend who could hold his breath for over an hour (well that one was impressive for entirely selfish reasons). Clark, your boyfriend who was cumming around your fingers, your boyfriend who was about to let you fuck him into the mattress because you were a pervert, your boyfriend who you were gonna give a baby to.
Ropes of cum coated Clark’s chest and stomach, the sticky fluid running down between his abs and pooling in his belly button. You let him catch his breath for a few seconds, watching pridefully as his chest heaved. A gentle kiss broke him out of his daze. Clark wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you in for another one the moment you disconnected from each other. Softly, so only he could hear, you asked, “What position do you wanna be in?”
“On my back, I need to look at you.” Like it wasn’t even a question. Your heart swelled, unable to handle just how cute and sincere he could be, ducking down into his neck to lave over the very first spot you made, still sensitive. “Can we… start slow?”
You lined yourself up to his entrance, hole still wet and ready, “Yeah,” you pushed yourself in, the tip popping just past the ring of muscle, “ ‘course baby, anything you need.”
Staying just like that, you let Clark decide when he was ready for more of you, instead taking in the view. Hands come up to squeeze his hips reassuringly. Clark, of course, was built, there was no doubt about that, but he was still soft, a cute layer of fat insulating every bit of muscle. Something to grab onto a little. Gently, Clark leans up, hand finding the back of your head to meet his kiss half way. He kisses you as softly as he wants while he gets comfortable, ignoring the itch in your own skin at your need to move.
You couldn’t feel anything, but it was like phantom pleasure. Just imagining how it felt, and being able to see how Clark was reacting to you was enough to get antsy, resisting the urge to thrust deeper into him. But he was always so gentle and abiding with you, so he deserved that in kind.
It was only when Clark broke your kiss, one tiny peck to the corner of your mouth, did he mumble “You can move a lil’ more now.” To which you gladly obliged. He flopped back down onto the mattress, wiping his sweaty curls from his eyes as they drank up the view of your conjoined bodies. Was this how you felt when he was inside you? Clark shifted his legs a little wider, muscles straining to allow you more room. He was so wet that it didn’t hurt- but there was an ache, right in his center. One that only grew as you slid further and further in. One that felt like only you could solve it.
His dick stayed hard through all of this, twitching against his abs as his back arched a little, getting comfortable with something inside of him. Clark was used to all types of extreme temperatures, the arctic cold of the fortress, the smoking heat of burning buildings, the wet humidity of Kansas summers. But the way you were looking at him, blurred and excited and lovingly, felt like he was about to melt from the inside out.
You had finally slid all the way home, your hips sitting flush with Clarks. It was intoxicating. Your soft hand moves to encase the bottom of Clark’s dick, giving it a quick tug in time with the roll of your hips- experimental, not exactly moving. The man below you full-body shuddered, something low and stuttered leaving his mouth as a moan. That was a good sign. “Can I move?”
“Please.”
You gathered Clark’s legs, one for each arm, and leaned in. The first thrust is slow, but hard, watching as blown-wide pupils hide behind lidded eyes, Clark struggles to keep his composure. He was always a bit sensitive. The second thrust is quick and shallow, and you revel in the way his eyes snap shut and his mouth falls open. You decide to alternate, not quite sure which reaction you like the most.
Clark can feel your sweat dripping down onto him, the room muggy as you panted softly out your mouth, brow furrowed in concentration as you found your rhythm. It was so different feeling something inside of him, and a part of his mind preened at the attention, like this was something that Clark had been neglecting all this time. It’s mind-numbingly good, and all Clark can think about is you, you, you. Arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders, he pulls your body down, chests flush together as he buries his face in your neck, tongue working against the area under your ear. A matching mark to his.
He can feel your laugh, breathy, against his skin, falling off into a moan.
“You feel good- makin’ me feel so good,” He mumbles, kisses placed between his words.
The encouragement drives you to go faster, trying once again to find that spot within him. “ ‘m glad,” You say, sincere, hands groping along his sides until they find his chest, fingers sinking into the plush of him.
You pull away ever so slightly, just to dip down again and let your foreheads connect, breath mingling, staccato and varied along with the effort. The ache in your hips means nothing as your lips connect again in a mash of teeth and tongue, pawing at one another like it was both the first and last time. “Thank you- means everything to get to do this with you-”
Clark’s arms and legs feel heavy, every effort that screams at him to just go limp and give in, instead he hooks them around you, legs pulling you closer in. His cock is trapped against the soft skin of your tummy, humped back and forth, smearing fresh pre and last rounds spend between your bodies in a way that only slicked his thrusts further. “I love you-”
“Love you too- love you sooooo much that I’m gonna give you a baby, alright?”
It’s involuntary, the way he spasms at those words, locking your hips even closer to his, responding to your grinding hips with his own. He shut his eyes tight- trying not to come so soon. “Yeah- want a baby, your baby-”
You kiss his temple, then his hairline, “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you. Make you a mama, right?”
“Please,” You thread your fingers with his, your nail crossing over his ring finger.
The slap of your skin, the squelch of your bodies, is lewd beyond comparison. The headboard of your bed, cracked from earlier, is only breaking further as it jolts against the wall. You squeeze Clark’s hand tighter, “Gotta get married too- make you an honest man Clark. Be my lil’ husband-”
“Oh gosh- gonna get married?”
“Yep, get us rings, and we’ll have a baby- one big family.” Clark isn’t really sure he can last much longer, and he’s sure you won’t either, the way your thrusts keep falling out of time, tired with exertion. You’re pushing his hair out of his face again, his stubborn curls slicked back, just looking at his face in a way that makes him feel like he’s the only one on Earth.
You give him one last kiss to the nose before pulling back, hands trailing down his sticky skin to grab firmly onto his hips, thumbs tracing the area just below his navel.
“Gonna put a baby right here, mkay mama?”
Clark nods furiously, the wave of his orgasm building up to a crescendo, ready to crash any moment.
“Words-”
“I want a baby, want you to fill me up- want you to get me pregnant-”
You can feel yourself getting close too- it’s almost romantic, loving someone so much that just seeing them this way can make you cum. Something to add to Clark’s never-ending list of skills. There’s a syringe on the other side of your harness, one of your hands reaching back to thumb over the button- the other envelopes the top of Clark's cock, pressing your thumb into his slit and angling him up. His tip’s practically oozing, coating your fingers in sticky pre, the same coating the bottom of your stomach, that helps your hand glide up and down in quick succession.
Clark’s moan is almost strangled, voice cracking in a way you’ve never heard before. So cute and private and yours. “I’m gonna- oh golly- I’m-”
“Me too-”
“Really?-”
He says it with stars in his eyes, and you groan, speeding up to a pace that you definitely can’t sustain for much longer, but it doesn’t matter because-
Clark shudders beneath you, eyes screwing shut with pleasure, mouth dropping open to the cutest little “O”. His hair falls back down onto his face, and he cums. More than he ever has before, mixing with the first round splattered across his chest, some even getting up onto his chin before it drips down into his clavicle. It’s downright obscene. And then Clark feels something different.
Something warm, and wet.
Something new inside him- flooding into him, so good that he cums again. It’s like synapses popping in his brain, like floating, and crashing, and rising back up again. Clark thinks he might be drooling a bit, but he can’t find it within himself to wipe it away- not when he feels so good.
You timed it just right. Your nails brushed against the now empty container hidden behind you, legs shaking as you grabbed Clark's hips for the last time, pushing all the way in and grinding there for a moment as your own orgasm washed over you like a wave. It’s followed by a pathetic little half-thrust, and you’re kind of in awe that Clark can last multiple rounds doing this. Being Superman might help a little, but still.
It actually takes you a few seconds to catch your breath, wiping the sweat from your face because holy shit this room has gotten hot. Given by the far-away look Clark’s got in his eyes, it might take him a few more seconds to come to. For the umpteenth time tonight, you swipe his hair from his face and press a kiss to his temple, which you can feel him smile for. Slow as you might, pulling out of him is still something that draws a hiss.
“Sensitive-”
“I know,” You placate, rubbing your thumbs over his hip bones in a way you hope is comforting, “Gonna get you cleaned up, mkay? Gonna take care of you.”
Clarks huffs in acknowledgement, head flopping to the side as you get up. He tries to stifle a laugh at your attempts to get out of the harness, and you only give him a half-baked glare. The ceiling fan isn’t on, mocking him and his sweatiness. He knows the remote is just on the nightstand- but he suddenly can’t bring himself to move. Was this how you felt after? Limp and heavy and sore and satiated? He could still feel the residual pleasure holding on in his limbs, a welcome reminder. The faucet in the bathroom creaked on, and you soon returned, somewhat damp from wiping down your face and neck, with a clean, wet hand towel.
The moment the cold water hit his face he preened, leaning into your touch as you gently wiped the sweat and cum from his face and neck. “Love you.” He said softly.
You smile, searching across the bed to lace your fingers with his and squeeze before letting go, moving the cloth lower to wipe at his stomach and legs, “I love you too.”
“I love you more-”
“-We are not doing this game right now,” You laugh. The moment you're satisfied, the cloth goes in the hamper. Like you can read his mind, you reach for the remote for the fan, clicking it onto the highest setting before crawling into bed next to him. Clark finds just enough strength to draw you into his chest, resting his cheek on top of your head, pulling the covers up. It could be a million degrees and he would still cuddle you to sleep. “...You liked that, right?”
Clark definitely felt like there was more to him then even he knew at this point. Because he never really expected to… like what had happened tonight as much as he did. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to biology, but it was mostly the act of doing it with you that made it all… pleasurable, exciting, something that he… “I think I’d like to do it again- that is, if you’re up for it?”
His skin was soft as you pressed a kiss to his collarbone before looking up at him, “I think I need to, like, train or something. I have no clue how you last that long.” Clark laughs, energized just enough to roll you both onto your back, laying his weight on you like a blanket. Your hand slaps playfully at his back before resting on his shoulder blade.
“It’s ‘cause I’m Superman,” Clark supplies unhelpfully, kissing at your cheeks, “And ‘cause I love you.” You push his face away to look into his eyes, dark blue and soulful and perfect. And you love this man, so much that you want to pour it into him, let him feel it. But you’re way too tired for that, and settle for a kiss instead.
A/N: So I had this idea of Clark with a girl who just has the mouth of a sailor…this is what I came up with lol I hope you enjoy <3 I'm also writing a fic or headcanon (Maybe both in one post like I did for Frank Castle) about Clark being with a girl who has anger problems so be on the look out for that soon!
Gosh, I Love You
Warnings: Reader is described as a female in some parts, also mentioned to be wearing a leather jacket. Lot of cursing coming from the reader but other than that it's pretty fluffy.
Clark Kent isn’t naive. Well... maybe just a little.
He knows the world’s a rough place. He’s seen the worst of it. Lived through it. He knows people yell and curse and punch holes in walls sometimes. But it still doesn’t prepare him for you—storming into the apartment on a Tuesday night, tossing your bag onto the couch with a fury and growling, “I swear to God, Clark, if one more incompetent dipshit emails me a corrupted file I will eat my computer.”
Clark freezes mid-sip of tea. “…Eat it?”
You kick off your shoes and stomp into the kitchen, still ranting. “In its entirety. Plastic, screen, charger, cords. I’ll fucking swallow the hard drive like a vitamin pill, babe, I’m not even joking right now.”
Clark sets his tea down carefully. “Well… please don’t. That seems… uh… dangerous?”
You whip open the fridge and glare into it like it personally offended you. “No cheese? Are you shitting me?”
“I—”
“I had a full day of assholes, one brain-dead team lead, a micro-managing project manager who probably still wets the bed, and now there’s no cheese?!”
Clark is bewildered. And deeply, utterly smitten.
“Would… Would you like me to fly out and get some?” he offers gently.
You blink. Then your shoulders slump. “I’m sorry,” you say, rubbing your face. “I didn’t mean to unload on you. You’re not the person I want to strangle.”
He smiles and walks over, pulling you gently into his arms. You melt into his chest, and he rests his chin on your head. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, warm and solid. “Unload all you want. You’re a storm, sweetheart. I don’t mind getting rained on.”
You look up at him and kiss his chin.
“You’re too soft for me, Smallville.”
“You curse enough for both of us.”
“I really do.”
So saying that...He has so much patience for your rants. Traffic pissed you off? Someone interrupted you at work? You tripped over the cat and nearly died? He’ll sit back, arms folded over his chest, letting you vent while sprinkling in the occasional, “Yeah?” or “They really said that?” just to encourage the chaos.
✦
You call him things like “goddamn angel,” “sweet-ass alien,” and “big fucking softie” on a regular basis. Clark pretends to sigh like he’s scandalized, but his ears always go pink.
✦
When you got out he finds it hilarious when people assume his girlfriend either needs his protection or is someone who matches his "image". You’ll be standing together--Clark in his glasses and cardigan, you in a leather jacket with your arms crossed--and someone tries to pick a fight.
“Back the fuck up.”
The guy looks at Clark like surely the six foot something guy will intervene. But Clark just says calmly, “That was her asking you nicely.”
And you know that look in his eyes means if the guy doesn’t leave, he’s going to be very politely launched into orbit.
✦
Clark’s friends notice. It’s impossible not to.
At dinner with Lois and Jimmy one night, you casually tell a story about your boss:
“—and then this fucker looks me dead in the eye and says ‘circle back,’ like that’s a real phrase and not just some sort of corporate brain rot.”
Clark almost chokes on his water.
Lois snorts wine out her nose. “Oh my God, I love her.”
Jimmy leans over to Clark. “Does she, uh… always talk like that?”
Clark, pink in the ears, just nods. “She sure does.”
He says it like a man proud of his sailor-mouthed firecracker of a girlfriend, even if he still flinches when you yell at inanimate objects.
✦
The first time he swears, you think the world is ending.
You’re arguing. It wasn't anything serious—just heat-of-the-moment frustration after a long day and missed dinner plans.
“I’m not mad you missed dinner,” you say. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. You just vanished. Again.”
Clark runs a hand through his hair, pacing the living room. “I didn't have time to tell you; I was halfway across the world dealing with—”
“I don’t care! I get what you do, Clark, I respect it. But I need some sort of communication!”
And that’s when he snaps—voice low, controlled, frayed:
“Fuck, I’m trying, okay?”
The room goes dead silent.
You blink. “Did you just…”
Clark looks horrified. “I—I didn’t mean to—I just—”
“Oh my God,” you whisper. “You cursed.”
He backpedals instantly. “I’m sorry. That was wrong. That’s not what I—”
You cross the room, grab his face, and kiss him so hard his head spins and he’s breathless when you pull back.
“…You’re not mad?”
“I’m turned on, Kent.”
Clark.exe has stopped functioning.
✦
Your swearing gets worse when you’re injured. One day, after a clumsy fall during a hike (that Clark told you was going to rain), you come limping in, drenched and bleeding.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Clark! My ankle is fucked, my socks are wet, and there was a slug in my damn boot!”
He’s at your side in less than a second. “Let me see—oh gosh, sweetheart—”
“Don’t ‘gosh’ me, you warned me, and I didn’t listen and now there’s slug juice in my sock and I want to die.”
“You’re not dying,” he says, gently cradling your foot. “But I am taking you to the couch, wrapping you in blankets, and making you soup.”
You grumble. He lifts you effortlessly.
“Swear all you want,” he murmurs, carrying you bridal-style. “It's still gonna happen regardless.”
✦
When he’s gone for a few days, saving the world, and you leave him voicemails like:
“Hope you’re okay, love you...really miss you, also the new neighbor parallel parks like a some dickless goat, just wanted to give a heads up babe.”
He listens to them all on repeat. Smiling like a fool, missing home with the knowledge that he is absolutely whipped.
✦
You never tone it down. And he never asks you to.
Because Clark Kent is sweet. Gentle. Kind. But he’s also steel. He doesn’t need softness around him—he needs realness. He needs the fire, the passion.
He needs you—even if half your vocabulary would be bleeped on national television.
Because you’ve got the dirtiest mouth he’s ever heard...But the kindest heart he’s ever known.
And when you curl up in his lap after a long day, muttering sleepily, “Today was a shitshow but you’re my favorite part,”—
Clark just smiles as his heart swells, kisses your temple, and says, “Golly. I love you too.”
✦
He does, however, gently edit your vocabulary in front of Ma and Pa Kent. It’s not that they’d be mad, but more that he can feel your panic when you let a “shit” slip at dinner. So, he covers for you smoothly. “She said ‘shoot,’ Ma. You just misheard her.”
"No, I did not” Martha mutters. She’s smiling though.
I hope you enjoyed <3 I'm wanting to start a Clark taglist so let me know if you'd like to be added! If you did enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging it means the world to me!
౨ৎ꣑ৎclark when you're on your period౨ৎ꣑ৎ
fem reader x clark kent
Breathing felt like a chore whenever this time of the month came around. You were taking in staggering breaths, sniffling and trying not to cry. This was normal. You should be able to deal with this like every other woman on the planet who bled but for some reason this was your body and mind’s breaking point.
You’d had to leave work early because the hurt in your back was untouchable by any amount of shifting or standing you did, and you couldn’t bring yourself to write, staring at the empty document in front of you, the little black cursor blinking at you and beating a hole into your chest. When you approached your superior tentatively, telling her you weren’t feeling well, she nodded in understanding, which had been something of a surprise. This was a woman who ran her branch like a ship, and yet she told you that you could just as easily do your work at home and you didn’t need to worry and, with a little smile, that drinking hot water worked wonders, at least for her.
Packing up your things, you’d stopped on Clark’s floor to let him know you were leaving early. His brow crinkled with worry, and he’d asked softly if you wanted him to come with you, to which you firmly shook your head. No need for the Daily Planet to be sans two reporters on your account. He’d insisted on walking you downstairs and calling you a cab, kissing your forehead when it showed up. “I’ll try to get off a little early, okay?” he’d whispered, thumbing your cheek. Cloudy with pain, you’d nodded, trying not to let him know how truly awful you felt. You knew his super-senses could detect quite a bit, but anything you could hold back was worth it. Had he known about the crippling pain wrapping a ring of fire around your midsection he would have insisted on getting in the car with you.
Writing had proved more bearable on the comfort of your couch, Fish curled up at your feet. You’d popped a few painkillers and felt more at ease waiting for them to kick in, even bringing yourself to eat a little something. At around two, you decided to take a shower.
Almost instantly you’d known it was a bad idea. The steam and hot water made you lightheaded, and you had to sit down to finish washing your hair. You skipped shaving, your knees weakening by the second. This was a new sensation- usually showers made you feel better, not worse.
Switching off the water, your body felt heavy, a strange hot and cold sensation running up your arms. When you got out, you wrapped a towel around yourself, taking in deep, laboring breaths. The pain was back, nagging at your lower torso with a vengeance. Whimpering, you set one foot forward, but your legs felt like cooked spaghetti. You dropped to the floor like a flower petal, towel still wrapped around yourself, legs bunched to your chest.
Everything was so foggy, and your urge to get up was suppressed by the cool tile against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you felt tears rising in your throat. All you wanted was to take care of yourself and you couldn’t even do that. Why couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow to shower, or even tonight? Before you’d gotten in you’d felt the twinges of pain beginning to nag your senses but ignored them, wondering how bad they could possibly be. The answer was somewhere beneath this floor, where you could feel your own heartbeat.
There was a faint ringing in your ears, and your shoulders were going stiff and sore. Your wet hair was sticking to your neck, and you were itching to move it away, unable to lift your hand. Maybe you’d never move again, since this pain was only going to keep going into hibernation, but never disappearing completely.
You’d nearly succumbed to it when a warm palm settled onto your side, fingers grazing up and down over the towel. When the familiar deep voice caressed your ears you nearly wept. “Oh, honey.”
With an embarrassing sniffle, you tried to move to look at him but he clicked his tongue. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Let me get you up.” When you opened your eyes you could see his black socks, and when he carefully moved you to sit up against the cabinets, his blue eyes were soft and concerned. “I’m gonna get you dressed, okay?” He waited until you nodded faintly to stand up, still in his dress pants and white button down, tie loosened. Clark left and returned in the blink of an eye, holding one of his t-shirts, your gingham sleep shorts, and a pair of your special period underwear. You flushed a little seeing them in one of his big hands but he barely batted an eye as he unwrapped your towel and worked them up your legs. He set aside the blood-stained towel and put his t-shirt over your head. “You want me to brush your hair?”
“Mhm.” He nodded and slowly leaned you into him, scooping you up into his arms and holding you close. You found the strength to wrap your arms around his neck, and he grabbed your brush before going into the bedroom, holding you as if you weighed no more than a stuffed animal. Clark sat you between his legs, kissing the crown of your head before beginning to work the brush through your tangled, damp hair. The movements were gentle, and whenever you tensed at a knot he lightened his efforts.
When he was done he leaned you back against him, resting his chin on your head and rocking you back and forth ever so slightly. “I have Oreos and smoothie stuff and I’m making coconut chicken for dinner. We’re gonna lay on the couch and eat cookies and watch whatever you want after you drink your smoothie and take more painkillers. Mkay?”
Your brain was so foggy and dazed that you nodded, his plan sounding like heaven. “How’d you know I needed help?”
“Had a feeling,” he muttered, kissing the top of your head. “Plus I could hear Fish meowing before I even made it up to the room.” When you started to ask, he smoothed your hair. “I gave him some tuna. He’s okay.”
You smiled softly when he reached for your favorite blanket, lifting you into him again and bringing you to lay on the couch. He clicked the TV remote and handed it to you while he went to make your smoothie. Putting on an old, long movie you loved, you smiled when he padded over to you, holding a glass filled to the brim with pink drink. “Drink this.” He set the pill bottle on the coffee table and dropped a straw in your glass. “I’ll be right back.”You’d barely begun to take a sip when he returned, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.
Clark eased himself under you, his warm body making you sigh. He was like a heating pad. He kissed your temple, setting a warm hand under your shirt over your lower back. With the other, he lifted an Oreo from the package on the table and held it out for you to bite.
Even though you were hurting you smiled, taking the cookie and humming when he rubbed your back. Come hell or high water he was always gonna make sure you felt better. Clark’s affinity for human beings and rescuing them was doubled when it came to you, and it warmed you inside and out that humanity’s hero had a special need to protect you.
Are there not fics of Kal-El during that one episode of My Adventures with Superman where he’s like stuck in the dark mercy? Like an alternate universe where he’s actually grew up on Krypton and like Lois for some reasons ends up there. Kryptonian Clark is just so cute 🥰.
