you could call me babe for the weekend
clark kent x situationship!reader
summary clark gets hurt. you're not dating but you show up at his apartment anyway
author's note this is my first fic EVER. please be gentle. the ending's a bit of a mess but i hope you guys enjoy. thank you x
It’s not the sound of his footsteps or the drop of his keys on the counter. It’s the hitch in your breath and the erratic beating of your heart that alert you of his presence. With the way your body just knows when he’s around, sometimes you think you’re the one with superpowers.
The view from the high-rise building is long forgotten as your body tenses on his couch in his apartment. The spare key he gave you now feels heavy in your pocket as you wait for him. You’re completely still, not because of fear or nerves but in anticipation.
You hear him now. A deep sigh followed by a groan in pain. More importantly, you hear the way he hesitates by the front door, likely noticing the shoes tossed to the side carelessly, casually. Your shoes. He stalls only for the briefest of seconds before he’s quickening his pace and turning the corner into the living room.
You don’t have time to compose your thoughts before his gaze lands on you. All of a sudden, Clark is looking at you, really looking at you in a way that not even Pulitzer-Prize Winner Lois Lane could put into words. You’re warm all over as you hold his stare. It doesn’t last long before the intensity of it has you looking away nervously. Instead, you choose to let your eyes wander over his body, noticing the way his shoulders are stiff and how he’s awkwardly leaning on one side.
He breaks the silence first.
“I didn’t know you would be coming over.”
His voice is quiet, just above a whisper. You almost smile at his attempt to preserve the peaceful atmosphere. However, your sudden anxiety stops you from doing so. Doubt and insecurities start seeping in at his choice of words.
You didn’t know you would be coming over either. Really, you didn’t. You were in your own apartment, freshly showered and in pajamas when you saw the news that Superman was fighting a new threat downtown. Except you didn’t see Superman getting attacked. You saw Clark, your Clark (if you could even call him yours) and he was hurt. In hindsight, you didn’t think any of it through. You threw on your coat and bolted out the door, letting panic drive your actions. You hailed a cab to his place and used a key to his apartment that you shouldn't have.
After all, he’s not even your boyfriend.
The thought leaves a bitter taste on your tongue and regret washes over you. Your journalistic instinct to act on impulse has invaded your love life. Now, here you are throwing all judgment out the window and rushing to check on a guy that you barely acknowledge at work despite spending more nights in his bed than your own.
Stupid, stupid Clark Kent with his stupid glasses and stupid smi-
“Nice sweatshirt,” he says, fingers pointing at the oversized material covering your upper body. His sweatshirt. The one you found in his closet, in his bedroom. A room you easily navigated to as if it was your own, as if you were meant to be there.
You meet his gaze again. He’s gotten closer now. He’s leaning against the back of the same couch, staring down at you with a smug grin he fails to contain.
Your eyes quickly snap to the coffee table before you. Your thoughts only get louder.
This was a mistake. You should not be here. There’s lines that should not be crossed and this is one of them. These were lines you drew when this whole thing with Clark started, and here you were stepping over every single one of them.
Stupid, corny, idiotic loser.
You should be at home right now. You have a stack of dirty dishes in the sink and the article you promised Cat you would proofread remains untouched. Not to mention, the pile of laundry on your bed that needs folding. Really, you should be anywhere but here.
Genuinely, you could not be more embarrass-
“Hey…” His voice interrupts your thoughts once again.
You look back at him and this time you can’t look away. His eyes bore into yours so intensely you find yourself wishing you could sink into the couch completely. You feel so exposed, so vulnerable as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.
You unwillingly let out a shaky breath and search his face. For what? You’re not sure. The conviction in his voice is unmistakable. Like he doesn’t want you to question it. Like he knows it’s what you need to hear and it is. The intrusive thoughts in your head die immediately.
“It’s a welcome surprise,” he says as he comes around the couch to sit beside you. So close but somehow still not close enough.
You absolutely despise how breathless you sound. You blame it on the delicate brush of your shoulders and the warmth of his thigh pressed firmly against yours.
“Took you long enough…” you tease gently, the glint in his eyes mirroring yours.
“You know me and my need to make an entrance every time,” he jokes.
You snicker softly in response. You can’t offer much else. Not when he’s begun to cradle your face in his giant palm. Not when he’s tenderly brushing his thumb along your jaw. His touch is feather-light as if you’re something fragile, as if holding you is a privilege and he was given the honor. You resist the urge to melt into him completely.
“I would have been home sooner but I had to return to the office to finish a draft Perry has been nagging me about.”
That explains why sitting before you is Clark Kent and not the other guy. His crisp suit and glasses replace the red and blue attire and suddenly, the reason you came over in the first place hits you like a truck.
The news. Superman. Downtown. Superman getting hurt. Clark getting hurt.
You turn your body to face him completely, startling him. He sees the panic swimming in your eyes and you open your mouth to voice your worries but he’s quicker.
“I’m fine,” he tries. You shake your head unconvinced.
“I was watching the news… You wer-...it was bad…” you trail off. Your voice comes out smaller than you intend but you can’t find it in you to care right now.
He grabs your jaw again, gentle as ever but firmer this time, and forces your eyes to meet.
“I’m okay. I promise,” he says it slowly as if to help it sink in. “Do you believe me?”
You don’t. He knows you don’t. Your eyes search his looking for anything that will give him away but he doesn’t let up. His eyes are calm, a cold contrast to how you feel right now.
In a surge of confidence, you swiftly swing your leg over his body and straddle him fully. Under other circumstances, you would have giggled at the noise of surprise Clark lets out. Not today. Today, you proceed cautiously. You place your hands on his shoulders, refusing to rest your full weight on him. You don’t want to hurt him. He tries to tug you down completely, desperate to close the distance between you two, but you resist. His hands settle on your waist instinctively but not before letting out a grunt in disapproval at your refusal to be closer.
“What’re you do—” “Shhh,” you cut him off sharply and he listens, like he always does.
You take a careful glance up at him and see he’s already watching you, mesmerized. You look away as your hands slowly start making their way down his body. From his shoulders, down his arms, to his chest. His breathing gets heavier, his blinking more rapid. You gauge his face for any discomfort. You continue down and your hands find their way to his stomach. He tenses, almost imperceptibly, but you notice. Your eyes snap to meet his and without breaking eye contact, you warily press your fingers into his side.
He winces, eyes fluttering shut. The reaction leaves as quick as it comes but it’s too late.
Clark tries to sit up from his slumped position on the couch but you're quick to place your hands on his chest and push him back down. He opts for rubbing your shoulder soothingly and mumbling reassurances you both know you’ll ignore.
“It’s nothing,” he tries.
Your own breathing gets heavier and your hands hastily reach for the buttons on his now wrinkled, white collared shirt. You’re shaking, unsteady, your fingers unable to undo the buttons.
“Clark…” your voice stern with warning.
“Just-just let me help.” The fight slowly drains from your body as he covers your hands with his own and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
The sight before you has your breath hitching and no matter how hard you try, you cannot fight the knot that starts building in your throat. His stomach is littered with deep blue, yellow bruises. The marks stretch all over his abdomen, embedded into his skin harshly. A testament to the brutality he just faced.
“I’ll heal,” Clark urges, trying to meet your eyes but you can’t look away. Horror is painted all over your face and he wants nothing more than to erase that expression. He would do anything to see even a sliver of a grin.
He would never say it out loud, already too aware of his every move to not scare you away, terrified to lose the small part of you you let him have. But he finds solace in your smile, and after the day he’s had, he could really use one.
“That’s not the point Clark,” a frustrated sigh leaving your lips.
When he pulls you to lie against his chest, you don’t fight it. You nestle your face into his neck and let the scent of his cologne wash over you. It grounds you.
He’s here. He’s okay. He’s safe.
“I hate this. Don’t make it a habit,” you mumble into his neck. It’s too vulnerable, almost pathetic, and it’s SO unlike you. You hate it but you also mean it. So you settle for pressing further into him to stop your brain from acknowledging how deep of an effect he has on you.
Clark stifles a laugh. You’re so adorable. His heart swells at your angry grumbles and the concern you don’t have the energy to hide behind your usual sarcasm.
“I’ll do my best,” his tone is impossibly soft, one reserved just for you. However, unlike you, he welcomes the realization that he likes you more than he should. More than you would allow. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and presses the softest of kisses to your hair.
You don’t know how long the two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. What you do know is that it’s Clark who pulls away first. Not fully. Not even an inch. Just enough to look at you.
Because he’s selfish, impatient, and he’s had a long day. Honestly, he’s surprised he’s been able to hold back this long. He just fought an alien a hundred times his size and won. He also managed to save a squirrel while he was at it. He deserves it, he thinks, he does.
You seem to think so too because when his lips finally brush yours, you sigh in relief, tangling your fingers into his hair to pull him impossibly closer. The kiss is unlike any you’ve ever shared before. It’s slow, tender, and overwhelming in the best way. Each press of his lips is a confession he’s not ready to say and you’re not ready to hear.
You’re both panting when you pull away but that doesn’t stop Clark from chasing your mouth. His mouth finds yours again and again and you can’t ignore the way your heart feels as if it’s about to lurch out of your chest. You respond just as eagerly, just as hungrily till your lungs beg for air and you begrudgingly push at his chest. At least, you think you’re trying to. You’re still clutching at the collar of his shirt, unwilling to separate.
“Cla—” Kiss. “We need to—” Kiss. “Breathe—”. Kiss.
You end up giggling into the kiss and that’s what slows him down.
He pulls away for the briefest seconds to observe the smile now gracing your face. His eyes are swirling with an emotion you’re scared to name but you don’t have time to dwell on it before his lips are on yours in a final kiss. It’s messy, teeth clash, and there’s no rhythm but that’s to be expected when neither of you can stop smiling.
Clark would not have it any other way.
Like clockwork, you and Clark end up in bed together. But for the first time since this began, there’s no sex. It’s safe, warm, and ridiculously intimate for two people who are not in a relationship. It’s easy to let your mind lull you into a false sense of security when Clark’s arm is wrapped securely around you.
You both pretend you won't start distancing yourself once morning comes, Clark more delusional than you.
