could you do like a step dad clark x innocent reader with a corruption kink🥹🫰?? like reader is horny but doesn't understand that and goes to clark who says he's the only one who can make her feel better and that it's too shameful for reader to tell her mom?? sorry if that doesn't make sense😭
the corruption kink burger with the innocence fries and the "don't tell anyone" drink OUUU THIS FOOD IS SO GOOD
this is an innocence kink blurb we clown in this mf so be warned
other than that though we got a dove that's a little bit dead ig, "dad" kink(NOT daddy), fingering, and uh the mom is kinda sorta a piece of shit !
out of all the things to happen when your mother's new husband moved in, you didn't expect any of this.
you had tried to ignore her dating him as long as that went on, the pattern of men she'd been with making you lose interest in meeting them and hope in her choosing a good one.
the best case scenario, in your eyes, was clark being painfully mediocre. you'd live in the same house until you could afford to move out, and hopefully never speak to him in between all of that. connecting with people was hard, you'd learned, because others rarely reciprocated your enthusiasm to be around them.
you'll never forget your own mother saying you were "too much" and that to make friends, you should "dial it down a little". as much as you hated her, and as much as you hated that being "too much" was considered a bad thing, she had to be right.
no one ever really appreciated how sweet you were, so you weren't expecting clark to be the first.
he'd spent all day and a little of tonight with you, watching your favorite movies and laughing at your jokes that, before, you didn't have enough confidence in. when the credits roll for the last time, you finally start believing you're funny again.
the credits finish and another film automatically plays. you yawn, rubbing your eyes and leaning to your left side where clark was sitting. you don't mean to lay on him at first, but it happens and both of you allow it.
"tired?" clark asks when he rubs your shoulder. the (unfortunately) short-lived touch is enough for a swarm of butterflies to rage in your stomach.
"uh, no, we can watch one more." you try and make that sound believable, but it's so obvious to clark that you're two seconds away from passing out on the couch.
so he does what any good father would do, because he doesn't want you hurting in the morning. he sits you up, thumb caressing your cheek in a way that makes you flinch from the warmth, and tells you, doesn't ask you, "go on, get some rest."
having survived years of people telling you what to do, this time it feels different. it doesn't make you want to cry, doesn't break you down. coming from clark, it's special, he... cares.
you sit there for a little while, trying to prolong your time with him, even if you don't notice it, but you're also kept in place by confusion. why does he care? what's different? what happened?
you suppose you shouldn't ruin a good thing, a very good thing, by questioning its existence, so instead, you go along with it. you follow his consideration like an order and stand up to head to your bedroom. sitting on the couch for seven hours does have an effect on your legs, though.
you stumble a little. practically nothing, but it's enough for clark to rush to your side and not even think before he literally swoops you off your feet and carries you the rest of the way.
you wonder how he managed to do all of it so quickly. his reflexes are something else, you think, almost suspiciously. but he is older, so you chalk it up to that, repeating that phrase to yourself about never questioning good things.
soon enough, you're in your bedroom and clark sits you down on your bed. you didn't want your time with him to end just yet, but you now know he'll be just fine doing the same exact thing you did today, tomorrow.
he'd been working less ever since he moved in, too. the complete opposite of your mom who, after their honeymoon, took every single opportunity to be away from the house she could, just like you thought. clark, seemingly always breaking free of your expectations, was adamant about staying home, even though your mother couldn't wrap her head around someone wanting to spend their valuable time alone with you. something began to click in your mind, though not entirely.
"goodnight, honey." clark rubs your shoulder again, a look in his eyes you haven't seen from anyone in quite a long time. "make sure to get lots of sleep tonight, okay?" he checks the time using the clock on your bedside drawer.
for once, you realize suddenly, someone isn't judging your frilly, pink taste. you think you even see him smile, but you don't want to get your hopes up too much.
then, clark confirms it. nods toward the clock with a, "cute."
however small, that gets you.
you giggle, covering your face with a hand. "you like it? i thrifted it, mom thinks it looks crazy."
clark smiles, but there's something behind it that's less kind, and not directed toward you. "well, maybe your mom just doesn't know what she's talking about sometimes."
you gasp. whenever your mom would move her boyfriends in, or they would stay over for prolonged periods of time, it was like criticizing her in any way was illegal. the slightest implication that they didn't like something she did could have them on the street in a second. now, clark was different, sure, so different in so many ways, but to say something like that out loud?
oh, clark was a man. a real man, you realize, and you don't think you've ever met one of those in real life before.
a long pause goes by. certain things are left unsaid, topics that would take up too much of your time, and you're exhausted, so clark lets them stay unsaid. for now.
there's one thing, though, that absolutely cannot go unsaid. clark can tell you need to hear it, in fact.
"love you." he lets the words sink in. not too long, just enough. then, as if this is normal, "goodnight, see you in the morning."
you're sure, then, that your heart actually does stop beating. you're sure everything stops, and the world has been turned on its head.
an "i love you" is meaningless, and you'd learned that the hard way. "love" never stopped people from fading away, from leaving you all alone, from hurting you. if that was what love was, you decided, you didn't need anybody's love. you resigned to your room and chose to love things and activities.
clark turned the world on its head, in that moment. got you to believe in words you'd given up reacting to a while ago.
you look up at him to make sure he's real, first, then respond, "i— i love you, too, um... see you tomorrow." your eyes skip focus between everything but him, stuttering through words that come out clunky. smooth, real smooth, you chastise yourself. at least you got the point across.
you seal the deal with a smile, then clark closes the door and heads back to his own room.
you flop down on the bed once you're positive he's gone and you can safely freak out in the privacy of your own room. your head is spinning as you try over and over, shallow attempts at forming a coherent thought.
he loves you. he'll stay. he'll stay because he loves you.
the realization almost has you mad at him, with how happy it makes you. after all, he's gone and rearranged everything you thought was possible. then again, you don't think you could ever be mad at him. he loves you, and you love him too. you don't think anything could ever be this perfect.
never question a good thing.
but how could you not? when things are so good they have to be fake, you can't help but overanalyze every little detail. playing back every moment between you two today, you go searching within your mind with no clear goal. you just need something, anything to make sense of why your feelings are so jumbled now.
you're used to overthinking. that's one of the things about you that's apparently "too much". but this can't be that. this goes on longer, it's like a fixation. when you fixate on things, especially this hard, doesn't it mean they're important?
so you keep on searching.
clark had been cooking for you ever since he moved in, granola bars and yogurt cups stocked up from years of living with only your mom were "not enough" to be eating all the time, according to him. your brain told you that was important, so you went deeper.
little ketchup hearts on your eggs with just enough cheese, perfectly blended smoothies with no pulp, dirty dishes that always disappeared before lunch. hm.
every single gift he'd ever given you in the short time of him living with you was extremely accurate, down to the littlest detail. you often found yourself still using things he'd given you months ago, getting use out of everything like he'd been watching you close enough to know a shocking amount of things about your life. hm.
for your part, the signs were there.
always greeting him on the few days in the week he went to work, sitting closer to him than anyone else at cookouts, sharing small inside jokes about music and shows nobody else would get...
the most clear-cut piece of evidence, though, was how you felt about clark when no one was watching. where you allowed your thoughts to run wild, your fantasies to develop.
late at night, on nights much like this, you'd imagine things. things you wanted to do with clark that typical daughters didn't want to do with their fathers.
holding hands in a romantic way, with fingers interlaced and sharing each other's warmth as one of your favorite love songs played softly in the background, the thought of dancing to them with the man your mother married equal parts exciting and nerve-wracking.
sometimes, you imagined your lips touching. a true boyfriend-girlfriend kiss. in those fantasies, your lips would touch for far too long and even rarer, there would be tongue. you'd imagined it perfectly, it would be just like in those films you were too nervous to watch until everyone had fallen asleep and your door was closed and locked. a real kiss. a real, nice, long, kiss.
the last puzzle piece finally clicked into place. you were blind to it for so long, having thought nothing of it, but knowing what you do now, you don't see why.
since before you can remember, you'd gravitated towards songs of love, wonderful stories about surrendering your heart to another and letting fate bring you to your person, but it was right under your nose this whole time and you never noticed!
your person was right there, you were in love with your stepdad.
you feel the weightless relief of finally getting to the bottom of something, and you audibly sigh. that was it. you could sleep peacefully knowing the truth, well, almost.
even having watched it countless times on tv, the lovestruck girl desperate to confess only causing herself more trouble, you couldn't help but succumb to the exact same situation. suddenly, you resonated with all those characters you once judged. now you got it. now you understood them.
it was that, and the fact that replaying all those memories and thoughts in your head brought you that feeling again, that dreaded feeling.
the tingling sensation you started to feel whenever you let your mind wander for far too long at night, when your imaginary kisses with your stepdad went farther then you knew what to do with, escaping the bounds of your imagination and floating away into the void of acts you weren't aware of.
it's often said, "you don't know what you don't know". you disagreed. or maybe, you didn't. you knew that there were things you weren't exactly knowledgeable about, acts that most people your age were doing that you couldn't get to. you just didn't know what they were called, or how to go about figuring any of it out, since it all felt like some massive in-club and you weren't cool enough to know. you sort of regretted ignoring it, now.
but what were you supposed to do? it's not like knowing would make the feeling go away. that was just what love did, you reasoned, your epiphany somewhat filling in the blanks and lessening your confusion. no one could help the weird, tingly, almost painful sensation go away, except, well... shouldn't it be clark, if anyone?
the idea made perfect sense. he was the subject of your love, he should know exactly what you should do with it. and, being more than twice your age, he'd probably been in love before, so he should be able to tell you everything you needed to know, in theory.
and good theories should be tested.
you knock, and after he tells you to come in, you attempt to act as casually as you can.
clark's good at telling when something is wrong, though. "what's happening, honey?" he asks, tapping the side of the bed right next to him.
"oh," you gasp, the fact that he's okay with you sitting where he sleeps setting in all at once. "alright, um, i..."
clark gives you a look and waves his hand, gently pushing you to go on.
out with it, you think. "i'm..." here goes nothing. "i think i'm in love with you, dad." now it's his turn to say something. say anything, anything, you silently beg, your hands nervously swiping back and forth over your knees.
"huh," your stepdad starts, wanting to treat this situation as delicately as possible. "why exactly do you think that?"
you scoff, rolling your eyes. "i thought you were a journalist, not a therapist, why're you talking like that all of a sudden?" and a small giggle falls from your lips. "um, it's... a bunch of reasons, i just think..." all of them would sound too pathetic to say out loud, is what you're really thinking. what you say instead is, "you're so nice, and it's actually genuine."
clark glances down at your face, then lower, then back up, analyzing you. "go on."
you blink, almost too shocked to remember why you're telling him this in the first place. oh, right. you really did need help with that... problem of yours. getting up and walking down to clark's room took your mind off of it, but you knew it wouldn't last. you were sick of temporary fixes anyway. drinking water, reading a book, doing a puzzle... you wanted to figure out how to lessen that odd feeling. preferably, though, to stop yourself from feeling like that at all. it was so bad, or was it good? that was what you needed to know.
"well, i don't know..." you sniffle, stalling without even thinking about it. "i mean, what exactly do you wanna know about it?"
clark takes a breath before answering. handling something this delicate for the first time seems impossible. "what does this..." he pauses, careful to not invalidate your emotions. so thoughtful. "love, feel like to you?"
you sigh, relieved. your faith is restored that clark can help you with this, even though you aren't the best at explaining it. "i just... when i think about you, how much i... um, love you, i get this... er, weird feeling down here, and it's—"
clark's eyes widen when you vaguely gesture down there. he can't say he's surprised, not really. of course you think the first man to treat you with kindness is the love of your life. combine that with what clark assumes is your first time getting horny, and yeah. he's not a jerk, he can sympathize with it.
at least now he knows. all of the times you'd squeeze his hand so tight it had to have meant something, this is what it meant. you were just going through that phase of having a crush on daddy that all daughters went through. except, of course you were given the shittiest birth father in the world so yours came about, what, fifteen years too late? in a twisted sort of way, he's glad you're able to see the silver lining in all of this.
it just isn't right, clark, surprisingly, has to remind himself and not you. this can't be love, he refuses to believe—
"hello?" you huff. "are you even listening to me at all, daddy?" what could possibly be distracting clark while you're in the middle of pouring your heart out?
he nods, and places what's supposed to be a comforting hand on the bare skin of your thigh. instead, it elicits a reaction so bold he blinks twice. that little moan couldn't have possibly came from you, the shy girl he knows so well and loves so much— but can't be in love with, because that isn't right, he reminds himself again.
"s— see? that's what i mean! something will just... happen, and then i feel... i dunno..." you idly rub your thighs together, humming softly at how different this feels compared to thinking about your stepdad.
oh. clark realizes. you don't have a single clue what you're doing, do you?
it makes sense. does it stop the whiplash he gets from having his daughter practically get off on what he deems an innocent touch? no, but it makes sense, and he hates that it does. he hates that, technically, this is his fault. he opened the metaphorical can of worms, so he's gotta be the one to close it. or at least try to.
"honey?" he tries, but finds it hard to string any coherent words together when your thighs are still moving, your body seeking pleasure it's never known and can't yet handle.
"yeah, dad?" you smile a real smile when you look up at him, now completely unburdened by your dilemma earlier, if you can even call it that. clark was the missing piece of the equation, everything was starting to make so much sense.
"can—" clark clears his throat. "can you show me where you feel the most... love, for me?" he feels so dirty talking to you like this, like you're a child, but isn't that exactly what you are? compared to him, at least? he settles on calling you a "young lady" most days, but nothing about this is ladylike in the slightest.
"you mean like, where it was kinda hurting?" your head tilts, and you're so cute.
"uh... yeah, just let me..." you look down, trying to work out how to do this best. regrettably, you have to pull clark's hand off of you to get your pajama shorts off, panties coming with them.
you and clark both turn to face each other, you sitting with your legs spread to explain this with no regard for privacy. "it was really feeling bad here, daddy," clark notices how the word comes out so easily, almost eager. your finger lightly grazes your clit for a second, but you take it away just as soon.
every part of this is horrifying for clark, if only in a slightly enjoyable way, like a starved man being presented a seven course meal for free. you must be sensitive, clark realizes, and if this is your first time being horny, you must have never even touched yourself.
"what's that called, honey?"
you know clark is talking down to you a little bit, but it's necessary, you understand, to teach you something as seemingly detailed as this. "um..." you start to squirm a little, embarrassment heating your cheeks. should you know this? you should know this. "i've never really called it anything. it's just my... um... i don't know..."
your stepdad nods, sympathy flooding in again. the angle is perfect for him to land another rub of his hand on your thigh, and he tries so hard to look away from where your pussy squeezes around nothing from it. he's been a physical touch person for as long as he can remember, is this what he's been doing to you this whole time? and you were just silently suffering, he guesses, not even masturbating.
"that's just fine." clark's tone is easy. it is just fine, and so your worries are soothed once more.
with a deep breath, he speaks again. "do you know why it's so wet?"
you shake your head. "nuh-uh."
"oh, gosh," clark murmurs to himself. he truly can't take any more of this. and explaining it is out of the question, how is he supposed to use such filthy words like "horny" and "pussy" with his sweet, innocent, daughter, who doesn't even understand those words in relation to herself?
"well, it's," it'd be best to use your own metaphors (that you don't realize are metaphors) with you, right? meet people where they are and all that. "it gets like that because—"
"it?" your head tilts again, and clark realizes that this'll be much more confusing if you don't have your own words for all these things, so he'd better get it over with.
"your," clark coughs. "special... place. it gets wet like that because of all the... love you have in you. you see, it doesn't have any place to go, does it?"
you nod, now listening intently. "no, it doesn't, 'cause i just now told you." you giggle.
he nods along with you. "exactly. you have to understand, honey, when you go so long... being in love, without— uh, having any way to express it, each time you think about it, it'll... have much more of an effect on you."
"ah," you tap your fingers on the bed in thought. "so... that's how we fix it?"
"hm?" clark leans in, the "we" nearly making him sigh, but he gets it. you are in this together now, by the nature of this situation. you can't help it any more than he can.
"the bad feeling. it's from not expressing my love for you, so to stop feeling bad, i should express it, right?" you lean in too, gradually bringing your faces close until clark stops.
he leans back a little bit, taking a moment to work through the most convoluted metaphor he thinks he's ever heard in his life, then taking another moment to process how literally you're approaching it. all of this results in a slightly unsure sounding, "... yep." because he has no idea what you consider "expressing your love" along with this metaphor.
"right, so..." you purposely pause, waving your hands vaguely.
"oh." clark realizes you want him to show you how to... masturbate? have sex? he really, really should have gone with a different metaphor. "yeah, just lay on the bed, sweetie, i'll show you."
clark sees the way your eyes light up from not only the nicknames, but from how he's talking to you in general.
when you lay there, next to him, he moves to sit in between your legs, thinking this is the position that'll be most efficient but not so dirty that it'll leave you with more questions because god, he cannot handle any more of your questions. (he knows he'll have to, though.)
"okay, so..." clark starts with his hands in front of him, above you. he knows that not touching you is wishful thinking at this point since he's already gone so far, but seeing as this whole situation is basically your wish fulfillment, even in ways you don't understand yet, he doesn't see why he can't hope. "just... your goal is to feel better, get this outta your system. you wanna start by... putting your finger right there. move slowly, though." he points down to the area right below your clit.
you drag an extra slow hand down and put your finger right where he told you. "what do i do now?" you ask.
you cannot be this helpless, clark thinks. but you are. every single instinct in you must be screaming for you to get on with it, but because you're so clueless, you don't know how. you aren't ignoring your body's wishes, you simply didn't learn how to grant them. clark somberly accepts the task.
"move it slowl— careful, honey." clark takes a sharp breath in when he sees you start touching yourself in a way that almost makes it seem like you know what you're doing. he motions for you to continue, and you do.
"oh— it feels really good, dad." you gasp, not daring to do anything different than what you've been instructed to do because it feels so good, works so well. you look down to be sure of your work and notice yourself getting wetter by the moment.
the words fly out before clark even knows what he's saying, honest.
"just like that, good girl." genuine, just like everything he says to you. still, he doesn't wanna give his daughter a complex, talking like that.
maybe, though, maybe it's too late. you swear you see stars in that moment, looking up at your stepdad with hundreds of them shining bright in your eyes. "dad," you moan.
clark should not be hearing you say that, he thinks, not in that tone when your cheeks are so rosy and your eyes are getting watery and your whole body shakes ever so slightly from the pleasure and you're pretty, you're so pretty for him right now. "yeah, sweetie?"
you respond in the form of more moans, your hips tilting up slightly each time your fingers almost sink into your wetness.
clark can't contain himself anymore. you're just so beautiful and you don't know what you're doing at all. you're almost there — in two ways — and you're learning for sure but right now? for some reason clark needs this.
"let me take over for you, honey, let me—" you're so quick to let clark take your own hand away from yourself and replace it with his larger, more skilled one.
fingers toy and tease the edge of your clit, your mouth getting dry from how much you gasp at it. "yes, dad, i feel so much better!" you whine.
"i can tell," clark wets his lips, collecting some of your slick on one finger.
"please, dad—" you whine again, blinking up at the ceiling you were staring at. "make it better."
clark feels himself throb in his pants, shifts to make it more comfortable. accidental dirty talk from your innocent mouth drives him wild. "okay, uh," his breaths come fast, much like yours. "breathe in deep for me, hm?"
"okay—" you take the deep breath, gasping out of it when you feel clark's thick finger prod at your opening.
"wow," you exclaim, legs twitching as you try to stay still.
"i know, i know, it's fine." clark's free hand stays on your knee, both to comfort you and force you to stay still.
his finger pushes in further just as his thumb comes up to rub the side of your clit, making sure to not press too hard onto the area that's most sensitive.
with a few more moments of that, that soft pressure clark is oh so good at applying, you're coming undone for him. the one small catch is that you don't know that you are.
"um, dad?" you huff, alarmed. you tap his shoulder frantically, eyes widening when he doesn't seem to share your worry. "i need to use the restroom, i have to get up."
clark just grunts in recognition like he was expecting this. "no, it's something else, just stay right here."
"uh, okay," you reluctantly agree, still quite sure you know what needing to pee feels like, and this is it.
well. you didn't think you'd be wrong about that.
but then you feel the release, and it's amazing. your legs tighten around clark's arm and he stays there for as long as you need which, as this is your first time, happens to be a while.
your whole body goes lax when you come down, and that's when clark lies next to you, eyes scanning your face and just waiting for you to ramble. you don't, though. everything about what just happened leaves you speechless and allows for clark to speak up instead.
"you know," he clears his throat. "we can't talk about that in front of anyone."
you snort. "well yeah, obviously. it's private."
clark nods and grabs your hand, wanting to really drive this point home. "yes, it is. but it's also..." how to put this? "not... good."
"you were just helping me," you retort. "we didn't do anything wrong."
"yeah, well, nobody's gonna see it that way." he sighs. "you don't even understand— i should be ashamed i even did this." only after admitting that does he look away, trying to rid himself of the mountain of guilt that's on top of him.
clark's gaze immediately flicks back to you. "what?"
"are you... ashamed?" you ask. "i'm not. it's nothing bad, i don't think."
clark sighs again, not wanting to talk about this any further. "just don't tell your mother."
he warns, "promise me," his larger pinky wrapping around yours.
"okay, okay!" you squeeze his hand with some faux annoyance. "jeez. i don't even talk to her that much anyway."
clark shakes his head. "doesn't matter. and it can only be me, you know that, right?"
"only i can touch you, because..." clark struggles to come up with a justification for this kind of possessiveness. he'd been right before, he should feel ashamed, he should have stopped even before that.
your mind supplies the rest. "oh! no, i understand, it's 'cause it wouldn't work!"
it's clark's turn to give you a confused look, now.
"you know... with how i love you. i know you feel the same way, i'm not stupid." you chuckle.
clark pinches his brows together, shakes his head with internal disappointment. "sure, i... yeah, you're right on the money."
with a final smile, you sit up and say, "i guess i should go to bed now for real, it's kinda late..."
clark nods too quick. anything to get you away from him so that he can entertain the possibility of going back to normal after this. "goodnight." he waves, faking a small yawn.
you hop up and give a less strained, bubbly, even, "goodnight!"
clark hopes you won't ask for this again, you hope you'll never stop needing it.
