Jun 17
TYLER HOECHLIN Undrafted (2016) dir. Joseph Mazzello
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TYLER HOECHLIN Undrafted (2016) dir. Joseph Mazzello
Traditional ink, digital color
Who wants to resurge the teen wolf fandom with me??
He's turning into that?
TYLER HOECHLIN Teen Wolf 1.04 "Magic Bullet"
WEAKENING
SUMMARY: Derek, a tough, serious guy, impervious to any kind of emotions, turns out to have a weakness and it's not wolfsbane.
NOTE: My love for Teen Wolf has risen from the ashes. I love that show so much, I need them to make another movie or a spin-off with the same characters. I don't know what you think, but the only good thing about the movie was Eli. Also, reader name's Sage, I'm sorry it was more comfortable for me while writing if reader had a name xoxo
DAY OF ARRIVING LATE EVERYWHERE
mer day in Beacon Hills. You kicked off the sheets with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Throwing on your favorite denim miniskirt and a snug black tank top, you brushed your pitch-black hair quickly, letting it fall naturally over your shoulders. A quick check in the mirror — bright green eyes still sleepy but sharp — and you tugged on your chunky black boots. Comfortable and just rebellious enough for a Thursday.
The smell of coffee and toast hit you the second you stepped into the kitchen. Scott was already seated, fully dressed, motorcycle helmet resting securely on his arm like it was a part of his body. Melissa buzzed around the kitchen in her scrubs, clearly mid-rush.
“You know,” you said, grabbing a banana off the counter and tossing it in the air, “you don’t need to have your helmet on your arm while you eat breakfast.”
Scott didn’t look up, just took another bite of toast. “It’s cool.”
“Mmhm,” you replied, leaning back against the fridge. “If it’s so cool, maybe you could use your cool points to take me to school again.”
He raised a brow, chewing. “I take you every day. Why do you act like it’s some kind of favor?”
“Because one day, you’re gonna be too cool and leave me stranded.”
“Never gonna happen,” he said through a mouthful of eggs.
Melissa passed behind him and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder. “Be nice to him,” she said playfully. “He’s your chauffeur and your brother this week.”
“I’m always nice to him,” you called out as she grabbed her keys.
Melissa gave you both a tired smile, already halfway out the door. “Try not to let the school burn down today. Or yourselves.”
“No promises,” you and Scott said in unison.
The motorcycle ride was smooth, the wind whipping through your hair, tugging at your clothes as you held onto Scott’s sides. The morning sun burned low on the horizon, golden and slow, and the streets of Beacon Hills rolled past in a blur of green trees and brick buildings.
When Scott parked in front of the school, it was still early. Students wandered across the lot in small groups, laughing, talking, and clinging to iced coffees. You slipped off the bike, smoothing your skirt and shaking out your hair, already sticking to your neck from the heat.
“Ugh, how is it this hot before third period?” you muttered.
“You wore boots in June,” Scott pointed out.
“Fashion before function,” you replied, brushing past him.
The two of you pushed through the front doors into the cool hallways of Beacon Hills High, the air conditioning a relief against your skin. That’s when Scott slowed beside you.
You noticed his shoulders tense.
“What?” you asked.
He sniffed once, subtly, then again. “Do you smell that?”
“Um. Hormones? Teen spirit? Whatever’s in the cafeteria?”
“No. It’s—” His eyes narrowed. “Wolves.”
You blinked. “Like, new wolves?”
Scott nodded once. “Strong scent. Close. And—” He paused. “Identical.”
You frowned. “Identical? Like… twins?”
He didn’t answer. Just scanned the hall ahead.
And then you saw them.
Two tall figures walked side by side down the opposite hallway — both broad-shouldered, clean-cut, confident. Like they were born to take up space. One of them glanced your way as they passed, his eyes flicking over you with the casual ease of someone used to being looked at. You turned your head fast, cheeks warm.
“Okay,” you muttered, “you were right.”
Scott didn’t reply, but the way his jaw clenched said enough.
-
By third period, the whole school was buzzing. You, Scott, and Stiles sat at your usual table outside the science lab, sharing theories and leftover chips.
“I’m telling you,” Stiles said, eyes wide, “they’re not just new guys. They’re like... evil Abercrombie clones.”
“Clones?” you laughed.
“Have you seen them? No human has cheekbones that sharp naturally. It’s unholy.”
Scott still looked uneasy. “They’re wolves. I’m sure of it. The way they move… and that scent.”
Stiles leaned in. “Okay, but like… alphas? Betas? Omegas?”
You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just hope they’re normal for once.”
The bell rang, and you split up for class. It wasn’t until later — just before the last period — that things got interesting again.
-
You stood at your locker, swapping out books for calculus, when you felt someone behind you.
Not just someone walking past. Someone watching you. Standing too still.
You turned slowly.
“Sorry,” the boy said, voice smooth, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m new. I think I got lost — I have calculus next, and this place is a maze.”
He smiled.
It was one of the twins.
“I’m Aiden.”
You blinked, caught off guard, but forced yourself to smile politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sage.”
He reached out — not for a handshake, but to take your hand gently and kiss the back of it. His lips were soft. Bold move.
You tried not to react, tried not to laugh, or blush, or punch him. You settled on raising an eyebrow.
“Beautiful name,” he said, his eyes tracing your face. “Almost as pretty as your eyes.”
Okay. Blush.
“Are you from here?”
“Born and raised,” you said, pulling your hand back gently. “Never left.”
“That’s rare. I’ve moved around so much, I barely know where I belong anymore.”
“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” you said with a little shrug.
He tilted his head. “Not now that I’m here. I didn’t know small towns came with girls like you.”
You laughed — half flattered, half unsure how to respond. “Okay. Are you flirting with me, or trying to get to calculus?”
“Can’t it be both?”
You were about to fire back when movement behind him caught your eye. Two familiar idiots — Scott and Stiles — waving at you wildly from across the hall.
“Oh, crap,” you mumbled. “I gotta go. Your class is straight down this hallway, turn right, first door on the left. Bye!”
You hurried past Aiden, heart still thudding a little faster than you liked.
-
The loft was quiet when you arrived — but it wasn’t calm.
Isaac sat on the couch, shoulders shaking, wrapped in a blanket. His face was pale, eyes wide. Peter lounged nearby, picking at invisible lint on his shirt. Derek stood with his back to you, tense, arms folded, staring out the window.
“You’re late,” Derek said without turning.
“We got caught up,” Scott replied.
“Someone got caught up,” Stiles muttered, side-eyeing you.
You smacked his arm. “You couldn’t start the Jeep.”
You stepped past the boys and moved toward Derek, lowering your voice. “It wasn’t my fault.”
He looked at you then, over his shoulder. His eyes softened and then, for just a second, he smiled at you. “No, you just delayed us twenty minutes flirting with the new guy,” Scott said behind you.
You froze. Derek’s gaze shifted. Sharpened. Smile completely gone as if it was never there.
“Flirting?” he said, voice flat.
You turned fully to face him. “He asked where his class was.”
Scott lifted a hand in mock defense. “‘I didn’t know small towns had such pretty girls.’”
“Oh my god, please shut up,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands.
Peter smirked. “You’re at a disadvantage,” he muttered to Derek, watching the tension like it was a soap opera.
Derek didn’t take the bait. He just looked at you. Not angry. Just... unreadable.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled. “I didn’t know we were supposed to come right away.”
He blinked once, and the moment passed. “Let’s get back to the point.”
NOSY
The loft was warm with late sun pouring through the huge windows, casting golden shadows across the floor. You pushed open the door with your hip, holding a bottle of peach iced tea in one hand and your phone in the other. Derek had told you to stop by earlier in the day, said something vague about “going over some things.” You knew what that meant.
Training. Again.
You liked the loft. It was always a little too quiet, a little too dark, but it smelled like old books, pine, and leather. Derek’s jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Music played softly from an old stereo in the corner—something moody and instrumental. You walked in like you owned the place, because honestly, by now, you sort of did.
Peter was stretched across the couch like an annoying cat, one leg propped up on the armrest, flipping through some magazine you were almost certain didn’t belong to him.
“Oh, look who’s here,” Peter said without glancing up. “The sugar-powered prodigy herself.”
“Hi, Peter,” you said flatly, walking right past him.
“You’re late,” came Derek’s voice from the spiral staircase.
You looked up. He stood a few steps from the top, dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, gaze intense. Why was he always brooding like he was posing for a Calvin Klein ad?
“I wasn’t aware we had a schedule,” you said, pulling off your jacket and dropping it onto a nearby chair.
“You said ‘around five.’ It’s five-thirty.”
“You’ll survive,” you replied, flashing him a grin.
The next hour was spent doing what you liked least: arguing.
“I’m telling you, I don’t need to learn how to fight,” you huffed, arms crossed as you stood in the open space near the kitchen. “My powers are more than enough.”
Derek paced slowly around you like he was circling prey. “While I’d love to be there every second to protect you,” he said, tone pointed, “there might come a time when I’m not.”
You rolled your eyes. “I could literally fling you through the wall with a single thought, Hale.”
“That’s cute,” Peter chimed in, still from the couch.
Derek ignored him. “You’re just learning how to use your powers. You don’t really know what you’re capable of. And that makes you vulnerable.”
You stepped forward, chin tilted high. “You’re acting like I’m helpless. Like I’m someone who needs to be babysat.”
He didn’t back away. In fact, he stepped closer. “No. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to watch you get hurt because you were overconfident.”
You opened your mouth to fire back, but—
Bzzz bzzz.
Your phone lit up in your hand. Unknown number.
“One sec,” you muttered, walking a few paces away as Derek’s jaw flexed. He didn’t like being interrupted, and he definitely didn’t like you being interrupted.
You swiped to answer, turning your back to him.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Sage?”
Aiden. You straightened instinctively. “Oh. Hi, yeah.”
“I was wondering… would you want to maybe get coffee? Like, now?”
Your pulse skipped. “Now?” you repeated.
“If that’s okay.”
You hesitated. Glanced back toward Derek, who was very clearly not pretending not to listen.
“Sure,” you said, your voice a little too light. “You mean the place downtown?”
“Yeah. Ten minutes?”
“Perfect. See you there.”
You hung up slowly, face warming.
Behind you, the tension in the room had shifted dramatically. You didn’t even need supernatural senses to feel it.
“Sorry, Der,” you said, already moving toward your jacket. “I have to go.”
“Where exactly are you going?” he asked, arms folded tightly across his chest. “I thought you were staying.”
You hesitated by the door, forcing your expression into something innocent. “A friend called. Emergency. Girl stuff. But I can come back tomorrow. I promise I’ll stay the whole day.”
Derek stepped closer. Much closer. He wasn’t angry—not in the usual explosive way. But something about the way he moved made your throat dry up. He stopped just inches from you, so close you could feel the heat off his chest.
“Girls’ emergency,” he said, voice low.
“Yes,” you whispered, suddenly very aware of how small the space between you was. “Incredibly urgent.”
His eyes didn’t leave yours. He stared at you like he could see straight through the lie. Your heart thudded hard in your chest, and your fingers curled slightly around the hem of your jacket.
And then—without a word—he stepped away. He didn’t look at you again. Just turned and walked toward the stairs, every muscle in his back tight.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he was already halfway up to his room.
Peter, who had watched the entire exchange like it was a soap opera, let out a delighted sigh.
“Little liar,” he said, raising his glass of water like it was champagne. “I like you even more now.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks on fire, and slammed the loft door a little harder than necessary behind you.
YOU LIAR! YOU NOSY!
The café was dimly lit and mostly empty, save for a couple of college kids in the corner and the bored barista scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Warm fairy lights framed the front windows, their golden glow washing over the small table where you sat across from Aiden.
You stirred your iced coffee absently, watching him as he talked. He was charming in a way that felt rehearsed but effective—effortless smirks, confident eye contact, just enough mystery behind his words to make it feel intentional.
“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “you don’t look like you belong in a place like Beacon Hills.”
You quirked a brow. “And what does someone like me look like?”
“Like you belong somewhere bigger. Flashier. Maybe where the coffee doesn’t taste like regret.”
You laughed softly, sipping from your straw. “It’s not that bad.”
He leaned in even closer now. “Still. You’re definitely too pretty"
You blinked at the word. “So… you’re not pretending anymore?”
He just smirked. “I think we’re past pretending.”
Your heart fluttered in a weird, confused way. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline of being flirted with by an attractive (and admittedly bold)… or the strange pit of guilt forming in your stomach.
Just as Aiden’s hand brushed against yours on the table, his head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward your lips—about to kiss you—
The front door swung open so hard it slammed against the wall.
“Really?” came a sharp voice.
Your head snapped up.
Derek.
In full storm mode.
He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the café in seconds, stepped right between you and Aiden without so much as a glance at the table, and shoved Aiden backward with one hand against his chest.
You gasped. “Derek?!”
Aiden stumbled slightly but caught his footing, laughing as he lifted his hands. “Whoa. Easy.”
“Stay away from her,” Derek snapped, voice low and dangerous, and—
His eyes flashed red.
Aiden only smirked wider. “I wasn’t going to bite her…” he said smoothly, then added with a wink at you, “Not unless she asked to.”
You blinked. “Oh my god.”
Derek stepped forward, fists clenched, growl building in his throat.
“You can’t always protect her, Hale,” Aiden added, smug, knowing exactly what buttons he was pressing.
Derek lunged.
But before he could touch him again, you moved—instinctively, grabbing Derek’s arm from behind, pulling him back, your hands tight around his bicep.
“Derek, stop! What the hell is going on?!”
He was shaking with fury under your hands. His jaw locked, chest heaving. You’d seen him angry before—but this? This was different.
Aiden gave you a cocky little salute. “See you around, Sage.”
And with that, he sauntered out of the café, like he hadn’t just almost gotten mauled in front of the espresso machine.
You turned to Derek, still holding his arm. “What the hell was that?”
His jaw clicked. “He’s part of the alpha pack.”
You froze. “What?”
“He and his brother—they’re both part of it. They’re not just new kids. They’re dangerous. Manipulative. They’re hunting us.”
The information hit you hard—but it wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. Your hand dropped from his arm slowly.
“Oh,” you said after a beat, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Well… damn. He was cute.”
Derek tensed like you’d slapped him. He turned slowly, eyes narrowing.
“You lied to me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You told me it was a girl emergency.”
Your heart sank. “Okay—yes, I lied. I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t have let me go, and I needed to get out. It wasn’t that big of a deal—”
“Of course I wouldn’t have let you go,” he snapped. “You don’t know them. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I’m not some helpless child, Derek.”
“No,” he said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. “But you’re also not invincible. And this is exactly why you need to train. You’re not ready.”
You crossed your arms, stepping away from him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Why does it bother you so much that I missed one day of training? One day, Derek. I train every day with you. Every day. And I already said I was sorry.”
He didn’t answer, not right away.
So you pressed, squinting at him. “Wait… how did you even know where I was?”
He stiffened.
“Derek.”
Still nothing.
Your eyes widened. “You heard my call?!”
He looked vaguely toward the counter, anywhere but your face.
“You were eavesdropping! You’re a nosy wolf!”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, it is the point!”
“You lied to me.”
You groaned, running a hand down your face. “You know what? I did. I lied. And you know what else? You followed me. Stalked me. So maybe we’re even.”
Derek’s silence was thunderous. His hands flexed at his sides, and you realized he was trying very hard not to say something he’d regret.
You exhaled loudly, finally letting the tension fall out of your shoulders. You didn’t want to keep fighting him. You were still confused, still trying to sort out why he was so mad.
You stepped toward the door, assuming he was taking you back to Scott’s.
But he wasn’t following.
You turned around. “Aren’t we leaving?”
“We are.”
“…To Scott’s?”
“No.”
You frowned. “Then where?”
He finally looked at you again, voice dark. “The loft.”
You blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone. Not when he’s behind you like that. Not for a second.”
You stared at him, caught off guard by the fierce protectiveness in his voice. The heat behind it. It wasn’t just duty. It was personal.
You swallowed hard, nodded once, and followed him out.
And the whole way to the loft, you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d gotten. How tightly he’d clenched his fists. How red his eyes had glowed the second Aiden had looked at you like that.
And somewhere inside your chest, something fluttered and ached at the same time.
PLAY PRETEND
You were at your locker, halfway through switching your calculus book for your lit folder, when it hit you—the prickling weight of someone watching you.
That sensation along the back of your neck.
You glanced over your shoulder.
The hallway was full of movement—students rushing to beat the bell—but no one was looking directly at you.
Still, you felt it.
Then the bell rang.
The crowd thinned.
And before you could even close your locker—
“Hey, stranger,” came a voice.
Aiden.
You tensed immediately. Your hand froze mid-motion on your locker door. Slowly, you turned your head. He was standing right beside you, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his face like nothing had ever happened.
“What do you want?” you asked flatly, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped in your chest. Not because you were happy to see him. But because, despite everything, he was still painfully attractive—and dangerously persuasive.
“Oh, come on,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not really gonna let one little fight ruin the beautiful friendship we were building, are you?”
He leaned against the locker beside yours, his voice dropping. “We had something good, didn’t we? Maybe even more…”
Your back hit the metal behind you as he invaded your space. His presence was bold—too bold—and yet he moved like it was natural, like he already belonged there.
“Stop flirting with me,” you said, voice low and defensive. It sounded more like a plea than a demand.
But he didn’t flinch. “Don’t listen to Derek,” Aiden said, stepping even closer, his tone softening as if it would make his words easier to swallow. “Whatever he told you, whatever story he spun, it’s not the full truth. I’m not the enemy here.”
You narrowed your eyes, heart thudding a little faster. “Derek didn’t tell me anything. But your red glowing eyes and smug attitude kind of gave it away.”
He smiled. “So you know now.”
“I know enough.”
“Then you should know I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, lowering his voice and glancing down at your lips. “I’m here because I want to see you again. Go out with me. Just once. No lies. No Derek. Just you and me.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Why was he making it hard to say no?
You weren’t thinking about accepting—not even for a second. You knew what he was. You knew it was wrong. But still… no one had ever looked at you like this before. Like they wanted you. Like they were dying to be near you.
Your voice slipped out before you could stop it.
“Of course the first hot guy to ever ask me out turns out to be a murderous lunatic.”
His smirk faltered for just a second.
“Sorry,” you added quickly, grabbing your books. “I have to go.”
You turned and bolted down the hallway toward class, heart still pounding. You didn’t even look back.
Not even when you felt him still watching.
Your lit teacher was halfway through analyzing a paragraph from Wuthering Heights when the door slammed open.
BANG.
Every head turned.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Derek.
Standing in the doorway. Handsome. Wild. Intense.
His leather jacket shifted with the rise and fall of his chest. His jaw was locked, brows furrowed, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.
“Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, commanding.
Whispers exploded around you. Someone gasped.
“Is that Derek Hale?”
“Oh my god, why is he here?”
“Are they dating?”
“Holy shit, he’s hot.”
You sank lower into your chair, mortified. “Derek, what are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer. He was already striding toward you, ignoring your teacher’s confused protests.
“Mr. Hale—sir—this is a classroom—”
Derek didn’t even blink. He reached your desk, grabbed your hand, and pulled you out of your seat in one smooth, forceful motion.
“Derek, seriously—!” you yelped, stumbling after him.
The entire class fell silent.
He dragged you into the hallway, closing the door behind you.
“Have you completely lost your mind?!” you hissed, yanking your arm free. “You can’t just kidnap me in the middle of English!”
“Did you talk to Aiden again?” he demanded, ignoring everything.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I felt it,” he said, stepping closer. “Your heartbeat. It spiked.”
“It wasn’t even a full minute. And he came up to me. I didn’t say yes to anything.”
Derek’s jaw clenched. “But you didn’t say no.”
You stared. “Wait… were you spying on me again?!”
“I’m not spying on you, I’m watching out for you.”
You stepped back, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable—”
He cut you off with a kiss.
No warning. No hesitation.
Just fire.
His lips crashed into yours, his hands finding your waist as your back slammed lightly into the lockers. You gasped against his mouth, the noise swallowed by his kiss as your fingers shot up to his neck, tangling in his hair, holding him to you like your body had been waiting for this.
The kiss was everything—hot, possessive, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally snapped. His body pressed against yours, heat blooming between you. You kissed him back just as fiercely, your legs shaking as his fingers gripped your hips like he wasn’t planning to let go.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless.
“What the hell was that?” you whispered, lips swollen, heart pounding like thunder in your ears.
Derek’s eyes were hooded, dark. “Don’t even think about going on that date.”
You stared at him, lips parted, dazed. “You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
His mouth curved into a dark smile. “Nope.”
“You’re not going to stop stalking me?”
“Definitely not.”
You laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re insane.”
“You won’t even have the strength to get out of bed,” he growled in your ear.
Your face flushed a deep red.
You didn’t argue.
The second the door closed behind you, you were in his arms again.
Every step forward was another feverish kiss. He backed you up against the nearest wall, mouth on yours, hands lifting you effortlessly off the floor. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively.
You whimpered into his mouth. “You’ve been dying to do this, haven’t you?”
He growled low, biting softly at your lower lip. “You have no idea.”
Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it.
And just when he reached the bottom of the stairs—
“Oh, come on,” came Peter’s voice from the couch.
You froze.
Derek didn’t.
“Remember I live here too,” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes.
Derek didn’t even glance at him. “Get out.”
“I was here first.”
“Peter.”
You were trying to look anywhere but at Peter.
“Fine. I’ll go find something better to do than listen to you two claw each other to death.”
He vanished out the door.
Derek didn’t waste a second. His hands slid back under your thighs, lifting you again, carrying you straight up the stairs to his room like it was the only place in the world that mattered.
And in that moment… it was.
[Boyfriend!Clark Kent x Girlfriend!Reader]
⚠️WARNING: This fanfiction contains excessive Kryptonian stamina, repeated creampies, aggressive titty worship, and a Superman who takes the “you owe me a Mother’s Day gift” Facebook rule way too seriously. Side effects may include ruined panties, sudden outbursts of “Oh my God, Clark,” soaked bedsheets, spontaneous ovulation, and an uncontrollable urge to climb a certain reporter like a tree. Reader may experience heart palpitations, weak knees, and an irrational desire to bake him apple pie afterward. Do not read in public, while operating heavy machinery, or if you have a weak heart—Super strength and super tongue have been known to cause blackouts from sheer pleasure. If you become emotionally attached to fictional farm-boy abs or start calling your partner “Smallville” in bed, seek help immediately. Batteries not included. Keep away from kryptonite and people with no sense of humor.‼️
You were scrolling Facebook in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, when the post popped up. Clark was in the kitchen making breakfast—because of course he was—his broad back to you as he hummed something old and Midwestern under his breath. The morning light poured through the windows of your shared apartment, catching on the ridiculous “Kiss the Cook” apron you’d bought him as a joke last Christmas. It barely fit across his chest.
The status read: If you cum in/on me or sucked my titties, you owe me a Mother’s Day gift.
You cackled so hard you nearly dropped your phone.
“What’s so funny?” Clark called, voice warm with that Kansas sunshine smile you could hear even when you couldn’t see it.
“Nothing,” you lied, still giggling. “Just… Facebook.”
He appeared in the doorway a second later, two plates balanced in one hand like they weighed nothing. God, he was unfairly beautiful in the morning—dark hair tousled, glasses slightly crooked, the faint shadow of stubble he never quite needed to shave thanks to Kryptonian biology. His eyes flicked to your phone, then back to your face, curious.
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you’re scared of owing me presents.”
He raised an eyebrow, setting the plates on the nightstand before crawling onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he loomed over you, one hand braced beside your head. “Explain.”
You showed him the post. He read it, cheeks tinting pink, then let out that low, surprised laugh that always made your stomach flip.
“So… by that logic,” he said slowly, voice dropping into that dangerous register he used when he was teasing, “I’ve been racking up quite the debt.”
“Massive debt, Kent. Years of it.”
His gaze darkened, playful heat turning into something heavier. “Then I guess I’d better start making payments.”
Breakfast was forgotten.
Clark’s mouth found yours first—slow, deep, the kind of kiss that reminded you he could bench-press buildings but chose to touch you like you were the fragile one. His hand slid under your oversized sleep shirt (actually one of his old Daily Planet tees), palm warm and huge against your ribs. When his thumb brushed the underside of your breast, you arched into him with a soft sound.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Mother’s Day is tomorrow. Think I should get a head start?”
“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, but the sound melted into a moan when he ducked his head and latched onto your nipple through the thin fabric.
Clark sucked gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking in lazy circles while his hand kneaded the soft flesh. He’d always been obsessed with your breasts—something about the way they fit in his palms, the sounds you made when he played with them. Today he was thorough. He pushed the shirt up and off, baring you completely, then worshipped. Slow, wet pulls into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. He switched sides, humming in satisfaction when your fingers threaded into his hair and tugged.
“Clark—” you gasped.
He released your nipple with a wet pop, lips shiny. “Already? We’re just getting started, baby.”
He kissed down your stomach, pausing to nuzzle the waistband of your panties before peeling them down your legs. Then his mouth was on you—hot, eager, Superman on his knees for you. His tongue parted your folds and licked a long stripe up to your clit, sucking the sensitive bud between his lips while two thick fingers pressed inside you. He curled them perfectly, stroking that spot that made your thighs shake.
You came the first time with his name on your lips, hips bucking against his face. He didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, gentler now, until you were trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally rose up, his cock was straining against his sweatpants, the outline obscene. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist gently.
“Not yet. I still owe you.”
He stripped quickly—God, that body. Years of working the farm and then saving the world had carved him into something almost unreal. Broad shoulders, defined abs, that perfect V leading down to his thick, flushed cock. It curved slightly upward, already leaking at the tip. You licked your lips.
Clark noticed. He stroked himself once, slow, eyes locked on yours. “You want it?”
“Yes.”
He settled between your thighs, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your clit until you whined. Then he pushed in—slow, careful, even though you both knew you could take him. The stretch was delicious, filling you inch by inch until he bottomed out with a groan that vibrated through his chest.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. “Every time.”
He started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that hit every sensitive spot inside you. One hand braced beside your head, the other cupped your breast, thumb flicking your nipple while his mouth claimed the other again. He sucked hard, matching the rhythm of his hips, and the dual sensation had you clenching around him.
“Clark—oh god—”
He switched breasts, lavishing the same attention on the other while his pace quickened. The wet sounds of his mouth and the slap of skin filled the room. You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper.
He gave it to you. Super strength carefully reined in, but the power was still there—each thrust driving you up the bed until he had to hold your hips to keep you in place. When he hit that perfect angle, you came again, harder this time, walls fluttering around his cock.
Clark growled, the sound low and primal, but he didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, then flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. He pulled your hips up and slid back in from behind, one hand reaching around to rub your clit while the other braced on the headboard. The wood creaked dangerously under his grip.
“You’re gonna come again for me,” he murmured against your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Then I’m gonna fill you up. That count toward my debt?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
He pounded into you, relentless but never rough enough to hurt. His fingers circled your clit perfectly, and the third orgasm crashed over you, leaving you shaking and moaning into the pillow. Clark followed right after, burying himself deep as he came with a guttural groan. You felt every pulse, hot and thick, flooding you until it leaked out around his cock.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath. Then he carefully pulled out and rolled you onto your back, kissing you softly.
“Round two in the shower?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear.
You laughed breathlessly. “You’re really committed to this debt, huh?”
“Baby, I’m just getting started.”
The shower was slower. Steam filled the bathroom as Clark washed you with reverent hands, soapy palms sliding over your breasts, down your stomach, between your legs. He dropped to his knees again on the tile, water cascading over his shoulders, and ate you out until your legs gave out. Then he stood, lifted you effortlessly, and pinned you against the wall. Your back pressed to cool tile, legs wrapped around his waist as he slid back into you.
This time he fucked you with long, deep strokes, eyes locked on yours the whole time. “I love you,” he whispered between thrusts. “Love this. Love coming home to you.”
You came with his name, clenching around him. He followed, spilling deep again, hips stuttering.
Afterward, he carried you back to bed—wrapped in a towel, hair damp—and fed you the now-cold breakfast with his fingers, both of you laughing at how ridiculous and perfect it was.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of touches and teasing.
You tried to work on an article at your laptop. Clark “distracted” you by sucking marks into your inner thighs under the desk. You retaliated by dropping to your knees while he was on a video call with Perry—muted, of course—taking him down your throat until his knuckles went white on the edge of the table.
By evening you were both exhausted in the best way, tangled naked on the couch watching some old movie. Your head rested on his chest, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare hip.
“So,” you said, tracing the ridges of his abs, “still think you’ve paid your debt?”
Clark chuckled, the sound rumbling under your ear. “Not even close. I’ve got plans for tomorrow.”
“Plans?”
He tilted your chin up, kissing you slow and sweet. “You’ll see.”
Mother’s Day morning dawned bright and golden.
You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. Clark was already up, wearing nothing but boxers and an apron again. When you padded into the kitchen, he turned with a tray—pancakes shaped like hearts (slightly lopsided, because even Superman couldn’t make perfect circles every time), fresh fruit, and a single red rose in a vase.
But that wasn’t the gift.
After breakfast, he led you to the living room. On the coffee table sat a small, beautifully wrapped box.
“Open it.”
Inside was a delicate silver necklace with a tiny pendant: a stylized sun and a Kryptonian symbol intertwined. You knew what it meant—family. Home. The life you were building.
Your eyes stung. “Clark…”
“There’s more.” He looked almost shy. “I talked to my mom. She’s coming for dinner tonight, but she’s staying at a hotel so we have the apartment to ourselves after. And I… I booked us a weekend at that cabin up north. The one with the big fireplace. No phones. Just us.”
You kissed him fiercely, climbing into his lap right there on the couch. The towel you’d wrapped around yourself after your shower slipped open. Clark’s hands immediately found your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked.
“Still not done paying?” he teased, voice husky.
“Not even close, Kent.”
You pushed him back against the cushions and straddled him, guiding his already-hard cock inside you. You sank down slowly, savoring every inch until he was buried to the hilt. Then you rode him—slow at first, grinding your hips in circles, then faster, hands braced on his chest.
Clark’s head fell back, eyes half-lidded, watching where you were joined. “God, look at you. So beautiful taking me.”
His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, occasionally pulling you down harder. When he sat up to suck on your breasts again, you moaned loudly, fingers tangling in his hair. He lavished attention on them—licking, sucking, gently biting—while you bounced on his cock.
You came first, clenching around him, crying out. Clark flipped you onto your back on the couch and thrust deep, chasing his own release. He came with a groan, filling you again, hips jerking as he rode it out.
Later, when you were both catching your breath, he pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” he whispered, even though you weren’t a mom yet. The words felt like a promise.
You smiled, tracing the necklace now resting against your skin. “You know… according to Facebook, you still owe me.”
Clark laughed, bright and warm, and rolled you beneath him again.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep paying. All day. All night.” His lips brushed your ear. “Super stamina has to be good for something, right?”
You pulled him down for another kiss, already feeling him harden against your thigh.
Best. Debt. Ever.
