#clark kent x reader

[honeyroots]

— workin' man, ft. CLARK KENT

SYNOPSIS: you just can't get enough of clark WARNINGS: NSFW (18+, MDNI) / fem!reader / established relationship / dry humping / dirty talking / sub!reader / free use (clark is the one free use)

Watching Clark Kent work on an article for the Daily Planet should not have gotten you as worked up as it did. The way his thumb slid over the clicker on the pen, and the way his tongue darted out over his lips, wetting them enough to glisten had you digging your nails into your thighs as if to relieve the pressure building. At first he didn't notice the restlessness in your movements, and he surely didn't clock the way you were slowly scooting closer to him until the warmth of your leg was flush with his. Sometimes when you were around Clark, you felt like your head was empty— completely void of thoughts other than what the feeling of his body pressed against yours is like.

"What's going on, sweet thing?" Clark mumbled, dragging his pen across the paper and barely flicking his eyes up to meet yours. It wasn't often that he brought his work home, but when he did, you couldn't help the arousal shooting through your belly and straight to your core at just the mere sight of him working. Your hand latched on his, halting the ease of his pen across paper. When he finally set the pen down, offering you his undivided attention for the first time in what felt like hours, you offered a sour smile tainted by a hint of shame for being so... needy.

"Need you," you mumbled against his shoulder, your cheeks feeling hot as you bashfully buried your face into his chest to avoid eye contact. You felt the vibrations of his chuckles before you heard the gentle laughter fall from his laps. Like you were weightless, Clark picked you up and positioned you on his lap. With your core pressed against his thigh, and your legs on either side of him, Clark laced his hand around your hip to steady you on him.

"Take what you need, baby," Clark instructed, the direction he offered was completely normal, the words almost engraved into his brain by how often this situation occurred. Shaking his head from side-to-side, Clark piped up, "Don't know why you get so embarrassed about it."

It's how you ended up riding Clark's thigh, the stimulation from him flexing his thigh enough to send you to your peak a few times. With your head tipping back and your eyes rolling, you tried to hide the moans and mewls spilling from your mouth by placing your hands over your lips. It wasn't like Clark was paying much attention to you anyway, his nose was buried in his work, only taking pauses to watch your face twist up in pleasure as you neared your third orgasm in the span of twenty minutes. Setting his paper down once more, Clark looked down at you and wrapped his hands around your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth. Unsatisfied by your stifled moans, Clark offered you a gentle smile as he watched your hips rock yourself back and forth on his thigh, "Such a good girl, huh? You just need a little enrichment, that's all."

[nemesyaaa]

i wish he consumes me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 control frreak

୨୧ breath for me ; clark kent

๑ synopsis ; red kryptonite clark controls your breathing during sex . . .

red clark thrives on power, on the way your body reacts to his control. his large hand placed around your throat, just enough to slow your breathing, causing you to gasp at the sudden cut off of oxygen.

“ah, no baby, don’t do that, you know better than to fight me.” his grip tightens the second you try to gasp, his smirk growing as he pounds into you. every thrust drawing a stifled moan from you, his free hand slides down your body, feeling your warm skin beneath his fingertips. you can feel the pressure building in your chest, the desperate need for air clawing at your insides while you chase your orgasm. he only speeds up his pace, telling you this is his moment, his moment to break you down, to have you crave something as simple as air—and right now? he’s the only one who can give it to you. or take it away.

“mmph…cl-ark…” you barely breathe out, swallowing hard, your body shaking, your pulse thudding in your ears. but clark was savoring every moment—his fingers dug into your skin, you could feel his body tense, could feel his dick twitch inside you as he pulled you deeper into him. “shut up. the more you try to take, the less i’ll give. so relax and be good for me, yeah?” he mumbles against your neck, his grip loosens just a little bit, enough for you sneak a smidgen of air before he resumes position. the only sounds bouncing off the walls in the room is your heavy breathing, the sounds of your soaking wet cunt around clark’s dick, and his deep groans rumbling against your skin.

he’s relentless, completely consumed by the sight of you under him. your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your face almost flush of any color, each desperate gasp for air sending a wave of panic through your body, but he doesn’t let up. the lack of air makes everything feel slower, as if time is stretching between every heartbeat. your lungs ache, your chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm but you can’t fill them. “look at me, don’t you dare close your eyes.” he warns, keeping you trapped in the haze of suffocation, “you won’t miss a single second of this. you’re mine to ruin, remember?”

⭒ rini’s note ; ehm—i froze up towards the end—brain is blanking cause this is just soo soo red k of him—ofc a part two is coming. stay tuned lovers…

[ashlovesfood]

Clark Kent! who can’t get enough of your tight ass in that pencil skirt. Hell watch your every single move as you bend over in-front of him while making dinner, back turned to his as you rummage through the cabinets, not knowing he has an instant boner. Bruce will purposely leave and go to his cave, watching as Clark takes you on the couch. Clark’s fingers rub you so damn good, you don’t even notice the cameras that Bruce has access to as he fucks his fist. Pose

Clark Kent! knows you’re Bruce’s wife but just couldn’t get enough of your boobs, the pretty sight of your blouse dipping just low enough for a view. Your cleavage makes him run a whole train of dirty thoughts, soon as he gets home he’ll fuck a pocket pussy while moaning your name. Position

Clark Kent! shares you with Bruce at the same time, deliciously taking your tight little hole while he pounds into you. They’ll both cum inside you, breeding your cunt as your womb fills with warm seed. Be lucky if there’s no marks or soreness from the duo, they’re not gentle at all. Link

[bajablastlover1]

[yoursuperman]

your back hits the barn wall, hard. his hands are already under your skirt, fingers rough, shaking, nose buried in your neck, mumbling, “fuck, i can smell you—”

you gasp when he grinds up between your thighs, cock thick and hot against your soaked panties. he doesn’t even pull them off—just yanks them aside and spits on your cunt, starved.

“clark—” you try, but then he’s pushing in, one slow inch at a time, and you forget how to speak. he’s huge, almost too much, and he’s trying so hard to stay gentle, jaw clenched, hands trembling on your waist.

“can’t—can’t help it,” he groans, fucking up into you with slow, brutal strokes. “you smell like sex. been driving me insane all day.”

your head thumps against the wood. he’s holding you up like you weigh nothing, slamming into you hard, ruined, as if he'll never gonna get another chance.

and when he cums, it’s with a shudder that shakes the whole damn bed—forehead pressed to yours, voice all fucked up and sweet, murmuring, “i’ll never get enough of you.”

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

OH YEAHHH, beautifully written!

Too much?

navigation | main masterlist | rules

Smallville Clark Kent x reader

synopsis: Clark was too busy saving Smallville, and Y/n just wanted a little attention. But when he told her to stop being clingy, She took it to heart— pulling away completely.

wordcount: 1,771

note: 16+ angst to fluff

divider from @enchanthings

"Am I okay?" Y/n echoed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped forward. "You seriously had the audacity to ask me that?"

Clark blinked, completely thrown off guard. "What—?"

"Our date, Clark. You stood me up. Again."

His stomach dropped. And Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Y/n wasn't finished.

"I waited for you for hours at the diner. I called. I texted. And nothing! No explanation, no anything. Just me looking like an idiot in front of everyone while my boyfriend completely blew me off."

Clark swallowed, "Y/n, I—"

"I'm so sick of this, Clark. This is the third time this has happened. And I know— God, I know you're busy. That people need you. But what about me? I'm your girlfriend."

Clark's jaw clenched. He had been through hell tonight, barely keeping Smallville safe, and how he was being berated for doing the right thing?

"Y/n, you know that's not fair." He shot back, voice sharper than intended. "I can't ignore people just because of a date."

Y/n scoffed. "Wow. That's just... great."

Clark exhaled sharply, patience wearing thin. "I'm not saying that, but you're acting—"

"Like what?" She challenged, tilting her head.

Clark hesitated, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Clingy. I just—" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I need space, Y/n."

Silence.

And then, something in her head shifted.

Y/n quickly wiped the tears off her face. The anger in her eyes didn't die out, but something colder settled in. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and took a small step back.

Clark immediately regretted it.

"Y/n, I—"

"Got it. I'm sorry." She said, voice almost detached.

Clark felt like the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Wait, I—"

But she didn't let him finish. She quickly turned to her heel and walked as fast away as she could.

And Clark did nothing but watch her disappear from his sight.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Clark actually got some rest. Deep, uninterrupted sleep. His body had needed it. His mind had been craving it. But the moment he opened his eyes, the argument last night was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Clark exhaled slowly, sitting up on the worn-out couch in the loft, running a frustrated hand on his hair. The barn was eerily quiet in the morning light, but his thoughts weren't.

He told himself over and over that it was probably for the best that Y/n was leaving him alone. That's what he wanted, right? He had been overwhelmed by Smallville's never-ending chaos, by his responsibilities, by the weight of everything he was trying to juggle. He just needed time to breathe, to think, to clear out his mind. And Y/n, for the first time, was giving it to him.

So why does it feel so wrong?

He shook the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had farm chores to do, and things he needed to take care of. He'd see Y/n later. He'd apologize after everything was settled down.

Except... he never got the chance. Because Y/n was nowhere.

She had stayed at Chloe's house for tonight. The next morning, she was out with her parents for the entire day. The day after that? She was doing something, somewhere, but Clark had no idea what. And the next day, and the next.

And suddenly, Clark had realized— he had no clue what she was doing at any moment.

For as long as he could remember, Y/n had always been there. She was in his messages before he could open his phone. She was calling him just to tell him something entirely random, or waiting for him at the Torch, or showing up at the loft with snacks. She was always present. But now? Nothing.

Clark had caught himself glancing at his phone every few minutes, waiting for a text that didn't come. His inbox was empty of her usual good morning and good night messages. No texts about her breakfast. No updates about her cat. No sudden burst of excitement at whatever TV show she was obsessing over.

Clark had shook it off, telling himself that it was fine. This is what he asked for and he should be grateful for it.

But the lack of her presence left a void in his heart. He missed her voice. He missed the way she would randomly call him in the middle of the day, just to tell him the most insignificant details of her afternoon. He missed her rants about school, her dramatic complaints about the people that pisses her off, and the way she would text him just because she thought about him.

Clark found himself staring at his phone, scrolling through their old messages, re-reading conversations he had taken for granted. He hovered over her contact, debating whether he should call first.

But he didn't.

Clark didn't remember running to Y/n's house. He didn't even realize that his feet had taken him there until he was standing beneath her bedroom window, hands shaking, heart pounding violently against his chest.

He had fought off yet another creature, saving Smallville again, but for once, Clark didn't feel like a hero.

For the past week, Clark had endured every kind of physical battle ever imagined— facing off against meteor freaks, barely dodging blows that could've shattered his bones, and throwing himself into danger with no hesitation. But none of those compared to losing Y/n. Nothing could've even come close to that.

His hands gripped the windowsills, knuckles turning white. He had climbed through this window a hundred times, sneaking into her room when he wanted to escape and when he wanted to see her. It had always felt so easy, so natural. But tonight, his knees felt weak.

Still, he climbed inside, landing on the floor, breath uneven as his eyes found her. She was curled up in her bed, her hair splayed over the pillows as she was reading one of the books Chloe had recommended. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated her features and Clark thought she was beautiful. Heavenly.

Y/n looked at him with a cold stare, sitting upright before setting the book down on her nightstand. She didn't say anything. She didn't rush into his arms. She didn't scold him for going through her windows like he always did.

"Why are you here?"

Clark took a step forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. "I wanted to talk."

Silence.

She just stared at him, head tilting to scan his face.

His heart clenched, his breath catching in his throat as his knees hit the edge of her bed. "Please," He begged, voice raw, and with pure desperation. "Please talk to me."

Y/n exhaled sharply, trying to toughen up as she could feel her resolve cracking. "What do you want me to say, Clark?"

"I— I miss you."

"You miss me?" She echoed, scoffing. "That's funny because a week ago, you called me clingy."

Clark's jaw clenched, regret tightening in his chest. "I was stupid. I thought— I thought I needed time to figure things out."

"For what, Clark? To decide if I was too much for you? That my love was overwhelming just because I wanted attention for my boyfriend who I haven't spent time much with for weeks?"

Clark opened his mouth, but the words died out his throat. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Y/n looked away, angrily blinking away her tears. "I gave you space," She continued, voice quieter now. "I pulled away. I stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped clinging to you like you hated so much. Did it make you feel good now?"

"No," Clark immediately answered. "I hated it. I thought space was all I wanted. I thought it would make things easier. But it didn't." He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out, fingers trembling. "I missed you. I missed your texts. I missed your calls. I missed hearing about your day, about your cat, about your gossip with Chloe. I missed you— all of you."

"I thought you wanted to break up," Y/n admitted. "And I was ready to give it to you if it would make you feel any better—"

"No, no, no," Clark interrupted, immediately dropping to his knees beside her bed. He reached for her hand, grasping it gently as if she would slip away at any second. "Don't say that, baby, please."

Y/n stiffened. "Clark..."

"No," He pleaded, shaking his head. "Don't say it. Don't—" His breath hitched, squeezing her hands tighter. "Don't say we should end this. Don't say we should part ways. I can't—" His voice cracked, and suddenly, his vision blurred with tears. "I can't lose you."

"You hurt me, Clark."

"I know, baby, I know. And I'll spend forever making it up to you if you'll let me."

"I don't know if I can go back to how things were."

Clark exhaled shakily, hands reaching up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with such tenderness that Y/n shuddered under his touch. "Then let's start over. Let me love you better."

Y/n let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. "You're such a sap, Kent."

Clark smiled through the tears, relief flooding his chest. "Only for you."

A long beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with emotions too big to be put into words. And then, Clark leaned in, his lips brushing against hers— gentle at first, testing, waiting.

Y/n melted into the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him close.

Clark let out a desperate sound, his body pressing closer as if trying to mold himself into her as if trying to make up for every second they had been apart.

The kiss deepened— slow, intoxicating, filled with longing. Clark’s hands trembled as they slid down her back, holding her so close it almost hurt.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, lips hovering over hers.

"You better.”

And then she pulled him down again, her lips claiming his, her body pressing into him, her hands gripping him like he was the one who had been missing her all along.

Clark let out a breathless laugh between kisses, his heart feeling whole again for the first time in days.

Maybe he had been strong enough to fight monsters, to save a town, to lift things heavier than any man could imagine.

But when it came to Y/N?

She was the only one who could bring him to his knees.

©kjhbsies

[sunsburns]

your alien boyfriend is just so alien in the sense that his anatomy is just slightly different and off putting but you kinda love it.

you’ve noticed his heartbeat doesn’t really sound like a heartbeat, and he’s so fascinated by the way yours beats so rhythmically.

or maybe his irises get slightly wider than a normal person’s would when he sees something he likes, making them seem darker than what they usually are.

he doesn’t drink, like at all, which is fine, but he tells you it’s because alcohol doesn’t effect him. you think he’s just realizing he’s a heavy weight but you’ve seen him take ten consecutive shots back to back and not even flinch once. but funnily enough he does act a little tipsy at the smell of your perfume.

he’s also weirdly light on his feet. like, you can barely make out his footsteps half of the time and he tends to scare you sometimes because of it. you can only tell when he’s approaching is if the door creaks, or he knocks something over or he trips on his own feet or something along those lines.

he can also hold his breath for an concerningly long period of time. whenever the two of you are at the beach or the pool and he dives in, he spends an uncomfortable amount of time underwater. and when you start to worry, even the lifeguard (if there is one) starts to blow their whistle, he resurfaces casually, barely breathless.

he also kisses you like he doesn’t really need oxygen to breathe, it’s almost as if he can breathe through you, quite literally taking the breath from your lungs. he’s always looking at you like a kicked puppy whenever you pull away, telling him you need a minute for air. he doesn’t really get that you don’t breathe the same way he does.

[hattersrabbit]

FAMILIARITY

absolute trinity x reader | sfw

CW! gn! reader, slight angst, character x reader romantically involved, multiverse shenanigans, drabbles, spoilers for absolute comics

Summary! Absolute Trinity meeting their s/o from the mainstream universe

BATMAN

"Bruce..."

His name was soft off your lips. The heat was hot on her skin as you looked up at the tank of a mine in front of you. The Batman from your home was less big, actually a lot.

"You know me...?" His voice felt hostile. Albeit it wasn't your Bruce it was him. He was big and still handsome. "You’re different from where I know you." You smiled at him.

He was still confused it seemed.

"You can take off your mask, Bruce." You asked hesitantly.

"How can I trust you?" His lips morphed into a scowl.

You faltered but you raised your head, “I’m not sure what’ll make you trust me, but I do know your parents would be very proud of you. I know that, and my version of you knows that. Even if he doubts it.”

Bruce stared at you blankly. His giant hand raised to bull down his cowl to reveal a very young man with still some wonder in those eyes. Short black hair and baggy eyes.

You stepped forward and cradling his face between you hands. Bruce didn’t know why but he allowed you himself to lean down for you.

“You’ve been working hard.” You smiled quite sadly, “Things never change do they.” You said it like it was a fact instead of question.

He titled his head with narrowing eyes. “The other you is rich, but also just as sad. He works so hard and is always blaming himself. Doing everything to make sure Gotham thrives. Things never change.”

He nodded. His blue eyes blanking as they stared at you. Only seeing love in those eyes of yours. No matter what he’s done, or perhaps violent, whether it was him or the other him you’d love him.

“He treats you good?”

“Always. He cares too much, so much it’ll kill him if he’d ever to lose me or anyone else he cares about.” You reassured.

Bruce found himself thinking that when he met his world’s you he’d protect you too. If this was you and your original then he’d protect you too.

Yeah, he couldn’t lose anyone else otherwise he’d lose it too.

WONDER WOMAN

“Woah you’re so tall and pretty!” You giggled when looking up at the woman with flowing dark hair, blue eyes, and red tattoos.

Diana, but not your Diana. Someone who belonged to the darkness, but good. She was intimidating but she was warm like the sun. Just like your Diana.

“Why thank you.” It was her, definitely. “You’re not from here. You came through with magic. May I ask how that happened?” She mused with a tiny laugh as you got a look at her prosthetic arm.

“A man named Savage made a device that sent people to different universes. It broke in the fight and I got sucked in.”

You played with the parts of your hero costume as you stared up at her tall stature. “My Diana, she tried to save me but couldn’t reach me.” You thought of your Wonder Women.

Just as beautiful and dressed in blue,yellow, red, and white. Flowing black hair and her blue eyes. She looked like a goddess and looked like light.

“My Diana? Another version of me, good [ ]?”

“Yes, my Diana is a lot less dressed in darkness and born in Paradise Island, a land full of women called Amazons.” You noted how she froze when she heard you speak.

You wavered over her expression. “You aren’t from Themyscira. From Hell maybe?”

“How did you figure it?” Diana’s brows were up to her forehead as you giggled. “You’re whole getup kinda screams hell. But you’re still my Diana. I can see that.”

Diana hadn’t met you in her reality. She hoped you existed here, and was just as kind as you.

A smile that made you shine like the sun. A sun that Diana only experienced when she arrived her on Earth.

“I see. Well I’m glad your perception is of me being evil.” She summed up. Her arms bulking as she crossed her arms. Your eyes glittered in excitement as she did so.

“Of course, because no matter how my Diana looks I’ll always love her.” The heat from your cheeks were loud. Diana couldn’t deny the flush of her cheeks.

Truly you were the birth of the Gods. A treasure she would protect; in every universe and any version of you.

SUPERMAN

Clark, or Kal-El floating in the air with blue eyes that were haunting. He didn’t give off that golden retriever aura like you were so used to.

He wasn’t all that huge, and this Superman was lean yet fit. Those eyes weren’t all that calming but haunting. Bright gold was shining off of his suit. Long hair and fair amount of stubble on his chin and jaw.

He was distant.

So unlike your Kal-El. In fact there was no Clark Kent. Simply the his Kyrptonian identity.

If was it was there then it was nonexistent.

Suddenly you felt a red cape surround you. Kal-El coming down and wrapping it around you. Your clothes were ripped. How you got here, but all you knew is that a machine by Gorilla Grodd broke and here you were.

That last memory being Clark being too late in saving you. Tears flowing from his eyes as you escaped into a blue light, and here you were.

“Kal-El…”. You shakily spoke.

“You know me?” He spoke. His voice still as he stared at you blankly. His mind twisting in gears. “Yes, but not mine. I can see that. I’m not from here.” You looked around to see the torn down buildings.

“You’re so much different from my Kal-El. My Superman is much more smiley, but I can see there’s goodness in you.” You looked hopeful into your eyes.

“This world is ugly. Some of these humans are ugly.”

His words made you still. Kal-El looked at you when he felt you falter. Shock in your eyes. That expression fatally fell to a sad smile.

“This world has been cruel to you.” Your hand drifted to his face. He didn’t know why but he allowed himself to melt into your touch. “But you still want to help. Humans are horrible but still fighting will make a difference.”

His expression seemed somewhere else. Like he was hearing someone else’s voice. Blue eyes flickering everywhere for anyone around you two. They came back to you and looking your eyes, locking eyeballs.

A hopeful look in them, “In your world, is it good?”

“Yes, and evil. But we do our best because even the tiniest effort can make the difference, Kal-El.” You gave him a smile. Cupping his face to which he melted.

A loud explosion was heard from elsewhere. Immediately you found yourself in his chest. His suit feeling different, and not made out of cloth like your Superman.

Kal-El made up his mind. Until you could return back to your universe he would protect you. Your world needed your goodness, and so did his other version.

After all it was true. Even if his suit said otherwise. Because maybe a world can be saved from themselves.

Just one step at a time.

[st4rfckerz]

clark kent is the kind of guy to plan out his entire future with you while he’s balls deep and absolutely pussy drunk. his body is pressed against yours with his head buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily while making scarcely comprehensible promises in your ear. the fantasies swirl in his mind, becoming more vivid as he gets closer and closer.

“ ‘m gonna marry you, a-and we can have a farm of our own, ah- and a big house with kids, fuck…jus’ want it all with you please.” and then in true clark fashion he gets a tad embarrassed about what he said after he’s done, but you both know he really means it.

[kirietown]

Star Burster | Part I

Pairing: clark kent x reader

Summary: it was simple really, you’d marry clark and one day he’d take over your daddy’s farm. but there’s a man in the sky, the papers’ say he’s the superman, and he’s telling you sometimes things aren’t so simple.

Content: 1800s ahistorical rural kansas AU, arranged marriage, height difference, cheating (on clark with superman), identity play, breeding kink, period typical sexism, smut, possessiveness

18+

[chapter one] — ongoing / cross posted to ao3

Word Count: 3.5K

Your mother slapped your knee under the table, discretely signalling you to look up from your plate. It appeared that Jonathan Kent had asked you a question. You often daydreamed during these weekly dinner parties, your mind occupied by the most random of things.

"Pardon?" You inquired. The fine lines around his eyes crinkled as he offered you a small smile. You were suddenly very thankful for the Kent family kindness, as you knew other Southern families would not have reacted as kindly to your obvious disinterest in this meal. However, it wasn't as though you were necessarily the guest of honour or something. In fact, up until that moment, no one had paid you any mind and instead your parents had been engaged in their usual banter with the Kents.

"I said I heard you'd gotten into knitting recently," he spoke with a look of expectance on his face. You'd barely even started knitting until a few nights ago, and nearly gave up yesterday during a visit to your grandmother due to her overbearing attitude regarding your daily lessons.

"Yes," you replied. "I thought it would be a nice hobby to have, especially as I can just make my own clothes instead of having to go out into town whenever I need to." You'd been picking up random hobbies as of late much to your mother's enthusiasm, though you expected she'd be less enthusiastic at the realisation that you just wanted any distraction from your approaching wedding with Clark. At the thought, you peeked over, noting his usual slouched shoulders and dull shy expression. You fought back a sigh at the thought that this man was who your parents were pushing you to be with. Clark was gentle and kind, but judging by the fact he could barely speak a full sentence in your presence, you weren't sure how he felt about you.

He was different from the other town boys, growing up most boys were pushy and rowdy. Many of which grew up to either work in the mines or take over their respective family businesses. Clark was different, he’d started a job recently at the local publishing house, manning the print and press. It was typically a two person job, but Clark was fast according to his boss, Perry. Jonathan hadn’t been entirely pleased by this, or so your mother’s gossip suggested, as like any father in Smallville, his father wanted him to take over the family farm. Then eventually he’d merge with your family’s farm, just like they all intended.

"Ya hear that, Clark?" Jonathan said. "Maybe she can make you something too for the Winter." His tone was teasing, as he spoke to his adult son as though he were a shy school aged boy.

Clark stuttered for a moment before he collected himself, "yeah, maybe." You offered a smile in response as the table laughed which only seemed to encourage the blush on his face. Again, Clark was kind, he was sweet, but that was where it ended despite the fact that within a few weeks time he would be your husband. It was strange to think about, as you'd hardly call your relationship a courtship as the man could hardly handle you in his personal space. But eventually, he would be sharing a bed with you and laying down with you, and doing what married folks do with you.

And you didn't know how you felt about that.

…

After your weekly dinners with the Kents, the grown folks liked to give you what they called your couple time where Clark and yourself strolled outside along the perimeter of the Kent family farm. Usually, these walks were filled with meaningless chatter from your end whilst Clark stuttered a response. Despite knowing you his entire life, he still couldn't get a full sentence across, just like how he couldn't stand straight or keep his hair out of his eyes.

Something needed to change. You weren’t sure what, but you felt as though you needed to unravel Clark, dig into his insides a little and see what was hiding under all that shyness. It was morbid, but something about his meekness brought out that edge in you.

You paused in your steps, feeling the hard gravel under the heels of your shoes. You faced the giant man, your head barely reaching his chest making you realise just how large he was despite the way he often shrank upon himself. Your actions seemed to have unnerved him as you noted the small tremor in his hands.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" You looked up to face him, his eyes obscured by his glasses and shaggy dark hair.

"Wha--?"

"This marriage," you said. You weren't sure why you were so bold, and perhaps it had to do with your own insecurities and anxieties finally creeping in on you. Nonetheless, you persisted. "Do you want to marry me, Clark?"

"O... Of course," he responded. "D-do I ... Do I make you feel otherwise?"

You sighed, your eyes suddenly downcast. “Do you desire me Clark?" You’d read a line like that in a book a while back, you figured it was relevant enough.

The man's brows knitted in confusion, "Well, I- I just said of course, I want to marry you."

"That's not what I just asked."

"I don't understand," he murmured. You breathed out another sigh out of frustration before you clenched your fists together.

"Do you find me desirable, Clark? What am I to you?” You finally breathed. Your eyes snapping to his, barely spotting traces of blue obscured by his curls.

“Well,” he paused for a moment. “You’re my betrothed, and I think you’re… Well, I think y-you’re… Nice.” Nice. Nice? You were engaged to a man who could barely speak to you, who could not answer if he found you desirable.

“If I asked you to, could you even kiss me now Clark? On our wedding night would you even be bold enough to slip my dress off, or would you simply roll over and act like I don’t exist?” You snapped your lips shut, suddenly embarrassed at your own forwardness. Clark, this was Clark. Kind Clark who was now being harassed over sex when he could barely even hold your hand without turning red.

What would he think of you now? A crazed harlot?

Before he could even stutter out another word, you muttered a small sorry before you ran off. Thankful that the dinner had occurred at the Kent house rather than your own home which was a few minutes away so that you wouldn't have to face your family.

…

You hadn't stopped running until you reached your bedroom, you paced around before opening your window and letting sobs escape into the evening air. You were an embarrassment, if Clark could barely look at you before, how could he look at you now, after hearing what you had asked him? The chilly fall air caused goosebumps to raise against your arms which you paid no mind to as you slumped over the windowsill, tears cascading down your dampened cheeks. You hardly noticed the man until he spoke.

"Hearing a lady as beautiful as you cry," he started, "well, it just breaks my heart to see." You yelped, fluttering away from the window in shock at the sudden words, only for your eyes to widen in shock at the sight of the vibrant blue and red of the man's suit.

"You," you gasped.

"Me," he replied.

"Y-You're that... Superman they got in the papers; who can fly, and shoot lasers outta his eyes," you said in astonishment from your spot on the floor as the Superman gracefully squeezed himself through your open window, his red boots thumping onto the floor. You watched as he reached forward and offered you a hand, his eyes shining mischievously.

"So you've heard of me?"

"I may be a farm girl, but I'd have to be living under a rock in an old boot to have not heard of you," you replied, taking his hand and yelping as he easily pulled you up, your eyes face to face with the decorative symbol on his chest. You noticed elaborate patterns woven into the fabric of his suit, realising the theories that he was some sort of alien must have been true due to the fact the material seemed out of this world entirely. The blue, red, and yellows shimmering as though it was alive.

He chuckled, "a rock in an old boot? You have a funny way with words." He smiled, and you noted that he had dimples.

"That I do," you said, taking a step back. "Now why exactly are you here? Last I seen in the papers, you tend to fight off bad business owners and bank robbers, and I ain't robbed no banks, Mr. Superman." You were anxious by his presence, it came across as odd that he'd be in your bedroom.

"Call me, Superman," he simply stated. "Mr. Superman is my father." You raised your brow at his awful sense of humour, it was at though he was socializing for the first time ever, and for all you knew, he could have been. "And fighting people isn't all I do, sometimes... Well, sometimes, when a civilian seems like they're in distress, I stop by and see if I can cheer 'em up. Now, do you wanna talk about your problems, I promise I'm a good listener-- and a good punching bag too."

"Well, Superman, I'm set to marry someone who I think doesn't wanna marry me. Our folks have set this up our whole lives, and well..." You trailed off, realising that you had said too much. You had meant to say something sarcastic, but instead ended up basically confessing your worries anyway.

"How can you be so sure he doesn't want you?"

"I just am," you snapped, causing him to wince. "Sorry, I just know..."

"Well," he replied before taking a seat on the couch below your windowsill, which funny enough still made him taller than eye level. "You seem like a swell girl; funny and pretty, what else could he need? Maybe he's... Shy... Or bad with words…"

You scoffed, "he's shy alright." You turned your head, hoping he couldn't see the embarrassment upon your face at being called pretty. You couldn't recall if a man had ever called you that before, and the thought caused more tears to escape down your face.

"Oh no," he whispered. He sat up in his spot, his arms reaching up as though he was nervous to touch you, before he settled on laying them clenched in his lap. "I was just trying to cheer you up, but it seems I just upset you more."

You could hear the pain in his voice, and for a second you wondered how selfless a person had to be to be a hero. You'd seen him in the local papers doing all sorts of things, fighting bad guys, monsters, aliens, with a smile for the press photographs, Yet here he was, pained by the thought of having hurt your already delicate feelings. He was simply too kind for his own good, you were used to kindness and southern hospitality, but this was different.

"Please don't be upset," you said. "It's... it's just that I don't think a man has ever called me pretty before, so hearing it for the first time like this... Well, I guess it's a lot."

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

"That fiancé of yours sure is a fool then," he said bitterly, and yet it felt as though malice was new to him. "Why... If you were mine, I think I'd remind you everyday just how beautiful you are. So... So, don't cry over clowns like him, okay?" Clark, a fool? He was many things, but you never saw him as an idiot. He was often mistaken for one with all his clumsy habits, but Clark was smart, your mother always said that boy had a good head on his shoulders. She said you were smart too, but you were always too impulsive.

You were about to show her just how impulsive you could be.

You weren't sure if it was your own lack of agency that pushed you to do this next move, or perhaps the thrill of getting close to a man who was supposedly made of steel. Perhaps, it was the fact that in that moment, you were a young woman, and he was a man, and he said something that lit up something deep in you that had never been lit up before. You walked hesitantly over to him, gingerly bringing your hand to his cheek, and planted a kiss on his lips. You felt his hesitation, and nearly pulled away before suddenly he grabbed you and pulled you close, lifting your body effortlessly as he stood up and kissed you hungrily.

It felt as though he had been waiting for this, though you weren't sure if this was your own delusion.

Every few moments you pulled away to gasp for air before returning to his lips, your fingers scaling all over his uniform, feeling the ridges curiously as you had never been so close to a man before in your life, let alone one as strong as this one. A sense of guilt filled your stomach at the thought of Clark, only to wash away as the hero's mouth moved to your neck. Your breathing growing heavier as he grew more bold. Hesitantly you grabbed the front of his suit and pulled until he understood and carried you over to your bed, dropping you gently on its edge. Your dress had ridden up, exposing your inner thighs as he adjusted himself between them. His fingers moved to unravel the front of your dress, allowing for your breasts to spill out and immediately be claimed by his lips. Eagerly, he sucked whilst his hand squeezed and rubbed your other breast.

The pace had jumped quickly, but you were eager to continue, bucking your hips up to meet his. A groan escaped his lips as your pelvis met the hard mass beneath his suit.

"How does this come off?" You asked him, breathlessly. He removed his lips from your breast, and stared at you in a haze for a moment before in a flash of red and blue he reappeared on top of you void of his suit. Gingerly, you reached your hand to feel his naked chest, noting the way his heart was beating eratically, though if he was nervous he didn't show it.

"Can you... Can you touch me?" You asked hesitantly.

He looked at you curiously before he realized what you meant. Carefully his hand moved, squeezing your inner thigh before making contact with your soaked cunt. You felt something twitch against your thigh as his fingers began to prob, gingerly swirling around your wetness before entering you with a soft moan. You gasped at the sensation, your hips bucking to meet his fingers eagerly as he slowly pumped you with curiosity. You watched his eyes, noting the way he looked past your garments in wonderment at the way his fingers delved deep inside you. A sudden curve in his finger led to a loud moan from you, and he paused in his movements, now staring at your expression before repeating the motion. His blue eyes locked onto your strained face as he continued to rock his fingers and curve them inside you, meeting that special squishy spot.

"Please..." you murmured.

"What do you need?" He asked, another finger moving inside you now, as he bent down closer to your face, brushing loose hair away from your forehead tenderly as though you were lovers. You could feel it, large and warm against your thigh, twitching occasionally with every moan you let out.

Was this what it felt like to be desired?

"Can you... Put it in me?" You felt your face grow hot at your own words, knowing there was no going back from this.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, as though it would be a secret, as though he wouldn't judge you for allowing him to defile you, to ruin you, to destroy any chance of your wedding if anyone were to find out.

"Yes," you gasped as his fingers hooked into you one last time before leaving your body. You hardly had any time to miss them until you felt the brush of something solid push against your walls. You reached your arms around his neck, in awe at the way his hair still remained gelled back except for the one perfect curl in front of his face.

He cooed softly at you as you tensed, his cock delving deeper into you, splitting you apart, and for a brief moment you wondered if love was a form of murder. He paused, peppering kisses across your face before continuing until you felt his balls slapping against your folds. You laid there for a moment, before you felt him slowly rock back and forth on top of you, creating a steady rhythm. More moans escaped your lips as you curled your legs around his waist, the white of your dress pooling around your stomach.

His pace grew faster as he watched your bare breasts bounce on your chest, his eyes transfixed on your body.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. You could feel the heat on your cheeks from his words.

"Y... You're just saying that," you replied.

"No," he said. His thrusts hadn't paused for even a moment as he stared, transfixed, "I think you're the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen."

"I bet you say that to all the girls whose windows you crawl into," you smirked, suddenly bold as you circled your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

He scoffed, "Just you," he murmured something else you couldn't quite catch, but you didn't worry on it as you felt something in the pit of your stomach, a tightening as though you were you being pushed off an edge.

"Please," was all you could say, pathetically as you let out another moan. As if understanding, he continuing his thrusting, his hand reaching down to touch and prod at you before they landed on a delicate little pearl and began to swirl. You let out a near scream at this, though he remained undeterred as he continued his work, his eyes still on you as you squeezed around his cock, cumming and producing more slick as his continued his thrusts.

He bit his lip before his hands moved to grab your hips, squeezing gently as he pumped into you rapidly, your sore legs bouncing, and your thighs jiggled at his thrusts until suddenly he sank impossibly deep into you and stilled his hips.

You peeked up in confusion, until you felt the sensation of warm liquid pooling into your cunt. A sensation of fullness until he pulled his cock out and you could feel the liquid dribble down your aching thighs. Now, as he stood tall, you had a moment to appreciate the muscles across his expansive chest, as well as the tuft of hair below his navel that led to his still erect member.

The sight caused you to clench, and ashamedly you felt his cum drip down your thighs again.

“I…” You were unsure of what to say as you sat up, and noted bits of blood in your bedsheets along with his semen. The sight caused a hitch in your breath as you finally processed what you had done.

As if in understanding, the Superman came close and cradled you in his arms as silent tears trailed down your face. “It’s okay,” he said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. What we did was special,” he concluded. His fingers moved to wipe away your tears, and you marvelled at their softness realizing despite his heavy labour as a hero, the softness of his skin would never change.

“Special?” You scoffed. “I’ve doomed myself… My wedding night… He’ll know, mama always said men will know and I have to stay pure…”

“Trust me when I say it won’t matter,” he said. At the unsure look in your eyes, he continued. “Please,” he begged. Despite your mother’s words, despite your teachings, you felt as though you could trust him in that moment. After all, he was a hero, wasn’t he?

Before you could respond however, you heard the opening of your house’s door downstairs and your mother’s faint voice asking if you were home. Before you could even panic, you felt a bright flash and a sudden lurching of your figure.

You now stood fully dressed, facing your bed which had fresh sheets you recognized from your closet.

The Superman was nowhere to found, but the soreness and slickness between your thighs was ever present.

[lunarsworld]

pleasure doing business with you

pairing: business man!clark kent x reader warnings: smut under the cut, unprotected p in v, cursing, exhibitionism (slight), office nasty a/n: lowkey buns but trust i’ll be back full force soon

you rocked back and forth on your feet as the elevator went up, up, up. you swiftly shook all your nerves out of your body as you went upstairs to join some meeting your assistant scheduled. only issue was? you fucked your boss, aka clark kent, last week and haven’t seen him since. or well… about to see him now.

you step off the elevator against the cold marble, earning loud clacks underneath as you approach the large door. its presence somewhat loomed on you, taunting you. you sigh before stepping foot in the room, avoiding all eye contact as you walk to your assigned chair. however, somebody is sitting there already with a look of disdain on their face. you look up towards the head of the table to find an open seat next to clark. you huff as you rush over to your seat, feeling how clarks eyes never drop from any part of you. as you sit down, he leans a bit closer, “feeling alright?” you roll your eyes and begin to open your folders. “i’m feeling just fine mr.kent, thank you though.” you say with a smile, brushing him to the side.

clark smirks at you, recognizing your demeanor flipping as he turns through his pages. the meeting starts normal, talking about the next big steps with random things that you tuned out. you stare at the wall across from you before you feel a creeping hand on your thigh. it startles you, making you jump, until you realize it’s clark. you look at him with panicked eyes, unsure of what to do. his fingertips slowly inch closer to your inner thigh, gripping and playing with your warm flesh. you buck your hips up accidentally and immediately fix your posture again, trying to avoid any sight of the interactions from underneath the table. clark slowly dips his fingers underneath your skirt and into your panties, running rough fingers quickly onto your core. you try your best not to make any noises, but its even harder for clark. all he wants to do is praise you, remind you how absolutely soaked he gets you, remind you who you belong with.

the attention swiftly gets thrown back to him though as he pulls his fingers out of your aching cunt. he closes up the meeting for everyone, dismissing them back to their desks. “not you” he says, calling you out like something he owned. once the door slams for the last time, he sighs. you step closer, “yes sir?” and just like that you broke clark kent.

he swiftly spun you around and tugged up your skirt. he stops for almost a second to admire you in your red lace thong, pressing light kisses on your neck while he pressed his raging hard-on against your ass. you sigh at his lips on your skin before a loud ripping noise is present. you look to the floor and your brand new thong is there, in half. you whine at him with a pout, “but sir those were new!” he quickly aligns himself to your dripping hole, the feeling of not being inside you becoming too much to bear. “ill buy you a million,” he groans as he slides into your warm pussy. the way he rams into you, well it’s almost as though he’s going inhumanely. your moans are stuttered and loud as he brings his fingers to your front, rubbing your clit, while his other hand played with your tits. “fuck! mr. kent!” you moan, tears welling up in your eyes at his sheer size stretching your hole. “so fucking tight for me, holy shit. pussy was made for me.” he groans. you throw your ass back on him, chasing your high as you continued to clench around him.

your orgasm hits you like a truck, moaning loud profanities and gasps. clark feels himself grow closer and rushes to pull out when you sink yourself back down on him. “please mr. kent fill me up. wanna be full of you.” you moan as the pleasure becomes too much, his pace still rapid on your clit. and just like you dont need to tell him twice he lets out whimpers. “such a fucking good girl for me, honey. gna make you mine.” he groans, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. after he comes, he stays buried in your pussy, thrusting every once in a while making sure you were full to the brim. “i should probably go, i have an appointment soon.” you say shyly, pulling back down your skirt and grabbing your things. clark doesn’t try to stop you though. although he wants to, wants to keep you there forever, he knows it’ll happen again next week. and again. and again. it also helps him feel better to know you’re walking around crooked with his cum in you. you turn back towards him with a wink before leaving, “thank you, mr. kent.”

and he’s rock hard again.

[pommeauromarin]

Enemies to lovers, but only one of them thinks they're enemies. The other has been entirely obsessed since the beginning.

Only acceptable way for me to read this trope

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Also in the light of this dumbass conversation being brought up again, I have a few things to clarify.

I don't hate skinny people just for existing. Whenever I say that, it's just a joke. What I do hate is skinny people who are fatphobic and refuse to fucking acknowledge it.

What truly pisses me off, and what sparked this whole conversation in the first place is not skinny people existing - is skinny people who write fanfiction for themselves and only for themselves but refuse to admit that's what they are doing.

I get truly pissed off when a fanfiction is labeled as "x Reader" - which implies that the fic is supposed to be inclusive of anybody reading it - and then that fic has mentions of the reader character being lifted up very easily, having a small waist, sharing clothes with other character's who are thin. It's especially annoying and frustrating when the stupid trope of "you borrowed his tee shirt and it was so big and oversized on you" comes up, because I know you are picturing a fucking stick thin girl when you write that.

I am not telling you to stop writing these things. I am not telling you to stop posting these fics. I am just saying that when you do, label the fic as "Skinny Reader" or put a fucking warning label on the fic somewhere saying that you are picturing the reader character as thin or that you have mentioned/described body traits somewhere in the fic. Let me know so that I don't start reading the fic and then get smacked in the face with "your small waist" or "your petite frame" halfway through and close the fic feeling shamed and gross about my body when I was excited about reading about my favourite character.

(But most skinny bitch writers don't do this. Because they refuse to acknowledge that they are fatphobic and that they are constantly acknowledging that skinny is the default for a love interest in a fic.)

Also, this goes for fanfic covers and moodboards where you put pictures of a thin love interest at the top of the fic as people's first impression of things before they read your fic. Ew.

I am not mad about skinny people existing - I am mad about you muscling into the one safe space I had to feel loved and continuing to brainwash people into thinking that even fictional characters can't love fat people.

Literally - fuck off

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

so in love with your writing!

Baked With Love

navigation | main masterlist | rules

Smallville Clark Kent x popular reader

synopsis: Y/N was the popular girl who wore her heart on her sleeve—for him. But Clark, caught between fear and pride, kept pushing her away… until her absence finally made him realize what he had lost.

wordcount: 3,505

note: 16+ angst to fluff

For most of his college life, Clark Kent had genuinely no idea why you liked him so much. It all began on a very unfortunate afternoon when Lex Luthor introduced you two. Lex had said...

"Clark, this is Y/n. She's a family friend from the city. Be nice."

You were effortlessly intimidating— born in a silverspoon, a wardrobe that looked like it walked straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and a confidence that Clark couldn't even fathom. You were loud, bold, smart-mouthed, and just happened to be jaw-droppingly pretty. Clark tried not to think about it, but he failed miserably.

Clark didn't feel uneasy with you, per se. But you weren't exactly his to pick for "people I'd like to be trapped in a room with." Not because you were mean. No, you were actually weirdly nice. You just had this energy. An unshakable presence that made Clark, the most powerful being on Earth, feel like an awkward schoolboy with sweaty palms.

One day, you popped in the barn, saying something about "needing fresh country air." Then the next week, you were lounging in his loft like you owned it, flipping through one of his books like you weren't just sitting in the sacred space of solitude he thought only he and Lana would occupy. Then there was the time you baked cookies and just showed up at the Kent kitchen, and Clark genuinely thought Martha had invited you. She didn't.

It was like you were on a personal mission to infiltrate every square inch of his life— and you were doing it so casually that no one really questioned it. Not even Clark.

Until Pete started teasing.

"Hey, look. Your girlfriend's here."

Clark would turn with a flush in his ears. "She's not my—"

But Pete was already laughing.

Even Chloe had chimed in. "You know, Y/n's got her sights on you, right? Like a missle. Might as well surrender."

Clark had no response to that. Mainly because he had just run into you in the hallway and accidentally inhaled whatever perfume you were wearing, which now lived permanently in his brain.

You'd greet him like it was the most natural thing in the world— "Hey, Clarkie." With that little smug grin like you knew you made him nervous. And maybe you did. Okay. Fine. You definitely did.

But to be honest, Clark didn't find any of it funny anymore.

Sure, despite being one of the popular girls on campus, you never acted like it. You were popular, yeah, but not in the usual sense— people gravitated towards you because you had personality. You were brilliant in class, always raising your hand with the kind of answers that made instructors nod like proud parents. You were involved in different university organizations, and somehow, you still made the President's List every semester like it was no big deal.

Basically, you were the kind of girl that many people admire. And yet, somehow, you had decided to direct that same energy to Clark. And it wasn't subtle, either.

You brought him snacks. You had saved him a seat in the library. You texted him stupid memes at night. You even helped him with his Physics project once— and looked good doing it, too, in that annoyingly cute shirt and eyeglasses.

But Clark had brushed it all off. It's not like he didn't find you attractive. He did. Painfully so.

You were a lightning in a bottle— vibrant, driven, and bold. And he was just... Clark. The farm boy with secrets a size of a planet, who spent most of his nights chasing off meteoric weirdos and hiding his abilities from half the people in this town.

You deserved someone normal. Someone who wasn't still half-tangled in the heartbreak that was Lana Lang.

You arrived at the Kent farm with a basket in hand, your smile as sweet as the scent of the freshly baked pastries you brought.

"Oh, Y/n. You always bring something so delightful." Martha beamed, ushering you in.

Clark, leaning against the barn wall, tried not to stare. You were just... too much. Too pretty, too kind, too good to be real. His mom always looked at you with sparkling eyes, and Jonathan always seemed to feel the same way.

When the two of you were finally alone, you turned to him, hopeful.

"So... you free this Saturday?" You asked casually, hopping to sit on a slab of wood. "It's my birthday. Lex is hosting something in his house. Nothing too crazy, just a small thing. A few people, food, music. Chloe and Pete are also invited. I was hoping you could come?"

Clark looked up from the hay he was pretending to be interested in. Your eyes were soft, curious, and earnest. He hated it.

"I... uh, I might be busy. Football stuff. The season's picking up, and my parents are going to be out of town this weekend. I'll probably be covering some chores."

You blinked once and then smiled faintly.

"Oh..." You said, trying to hide your disappointment. "Well, it's open if you change your mind."

You left him a cupcake on the table. Vanilla with pink frosting and sprinkles. He didn't eat it.

And Saturday came fast.

You woke up with butterflies in your stomach. Your room was filled with balloons Lex insisted having delivered, despite your protests. "It's your birthday, Y/n. Let people celebrate you for once." He argued.

You liked Clark. A lot. It wasn't some game. Not some challenge your friends had dared you to do. You weren't being ironic. Your feelings were real— surprisingly real— and Lex had raised an eyebrow once, muttering something like, "Well, that was unexpected."

But he didn't understand. Clark was real in ways no one else around you ever was. He didn't care about money or popularity or image. He was awkward and shy, yet grounded. And you loved that about him.

So you got ready. You wore your favorite dress. You styled your hair. You told yourself he'd show up. He had to.

By 8:00 PM, the living room was warm and full of laughter. Music played softly in the background. Your friends chattered around the dinner table, passing drinks and stories.

"Clark's coming?" Lex asked you as he handed you a drink.

You shrugged, smiling tightly. "I hope so."

Chloe had shown up with a gift and a knowing smile. "Clark and Pete didn't say anything to me. But maybe they're just late."

You nodded. But the hours passed.

9.00. No Clark.

10:00. Still nothing.

By 10:30, your phone screen was painfully blank, and your stomach had started twisting into knots.

By 11:00, the guests started filtering out. Some hugged you and wished "happy birthday" with laughter and light hearts. But all you could feel was this hollow building up in your chest. He wasn't coming; he never was.

"Come on," Lex said gently, wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders. "Let's go back inside. Stop waiting for someone who won't show."

Unbeknowst to you, Clark was not at home. Wasn't working on some chores. He was at a party across the town. A big one— loud music, red solo cups, beer pongs, too many football jerseys, and girls hanging around. Pete and Clark had been invited there, and both of them reluctantly showed up.

Clark drank a lot. Way more than he should've. But not enough to get drunk (he couldn't, anyway), but just enough to blur the guilt.

The sun hadn't even reached its peak yet when you arrived at the Kent farm, your hands cradling a tray of leftover cake—chocolate hazelnut with buttercream, the one you baked yourself because it reminded you the first time Clark ever complimented something you made. You told yourself it wasn't a big deal. Just a small peace offering. Just a way to see him.

Maybe, you thought, he regretted not showing up. Maybe you could laugh it off, hand him a slice, tell him he owed you one, and pretend like the silence between you hadn't cut through your chest the night before.

But as you reached a gravel path leading to their porch, your steps faltered. An unfamiliar girl emerged from the front door. Probably your age. Wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts, barely buttoned. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smudged, like she had just woken up.

You took a step backwards, hiding from their line of sight.

And then came Clark. Topless. Barefoot. Looking like a tragic painting of betrayal in broad daylight, sunlight washing over his body like it was trying to make him look holy. But there was nothing sacred about the red kiss marks littering his neck or the one at the corner of his mouth.

The girl turned, smiling up at him before heading to her car. And before she got in, she tiptoed and planted a soft, small kiss on his cheek.

He smiled back. Not awkwardly. Not nervously. Like it was easy.

You quickly backed away, ducking behind the side of the barn as Clark went back inside his house. The pain burned inside of you. It was sickening and humiliating.

God, you thought, I wore my favorite dress last night just for him.

Without a second thought, you immediately found the nearest trash bin and shoved the cake in with trembling fingers. You walked away without looking back.

"Why didn't you show up at Y/n's birthday party?" Chloe asked sharply, catching Clark mid-page of the local meteor-rock incident report. Pete, just beside him, visibly flinched and gave him a look.

Clark blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Chloe leaned across the table, arms crossed. "She was excited to see you, you know? Lex threw the thing in his house. It wasn't exactly as small as one would expect. So where were you?"

Pete tried to focus on his apple juice.

"I... we were busy. Football thing. Plus, I didn't think it was a big deal. I mean, she was always around, right? I figure she'd understand."

"Always around?"

Clark sighed. "She's just... always there, alright? Popping out of corners. Bringing pastries at 7 AM. Sitting in my loft like she owns it It's annoying. She's always tailing me, and I never asked her to."

Silence.

Even Pete stopped sipping on his juice.

And behind the bookshelves, hidden just out of sight, Y/n froze.

You had only come in to return Chloe's notes in your shared Philosophy class. You weren't even going to say hi. You were keeping your distance— just like you promised yourself.

"She's not so bad like you made it seem, Clark." You heard Chloe.

"I just want some peace," Clark muttered, clearly annoyed.

"You can't run away from her forever."

"I'd be glad to try."

But Clark didn't have to because that same week, you became an enigma after that. He didn't even have to dodge around the barn. Didn't have to wake up seeing your face first in the morning. You weren't popping in with muffins or sticking heart-shaped post-it notes around his loft window. You weren't waving at him in the hallways. You were just gone.

His brows furrowed every time he walked past your locker and found it unopened. He found himself always glancing at the entrance of their barn more than once, hoping you'd finally show up one morning. At the farmer's market, he wandered longer than necessary at the baking aisle booth, wondering if you'd suddenly walk by.

You didn't.

Jonathan asked him to take out the trash. And Clark, half annoyed, half distracted, grabbed the bin from the porch and stomped towards the compost. But when he opened the lid, he saw a cake box. Pink polka dots, cute bow— the one you always used.

His stomach dropped.

What's it doing in here?

Clark's grip on the edge of the box tightened. Guilt rolling in immediately.

You weren't annoying. You were just kind. Consistent. Loud in a good way. You liked him, and he treated it like a problem. And now, he realized what kind of an asshole he was.

He had to apologize. But he didn't know where to start. Finding you was not an easy task, either. He wandered through the halls, eyes scanning every classroom, but you weren't there. He went to the farmer's market three mornings in a row— hoping— praying— you'd be there. But you weren't.

He had gone two full weeks without a glimpse of you. He hated to admit how often he found himself pausing during the day, waiting. Hoping.

So when Lex rolled into their farm one day in one of his new ridiculously expensive cars, Clark barely noticed. He was too busy dragging the hay until he heard Lex's voice.

"Clark," Lex said, grinning. "Hope I'm not interrupting you."

And then Clark saw you.

You stepped out of the passenger seat, wearing jeans and a simple cropped tee, hair styled neatly. No designer boots. No bold lipstick. But Clark swore his lungs forgot to work.

You offered him a polite nod. "Hey, Clark."

And that was it.

Lex greeted the Kents, asking for a quick word inside. And then, it was just the two of you, sitting in silence, like strangers.

You took a seat on one of the old wooden benches, thumbing through your phone. Clark awkwardly stood by the wooden door for a few seconds, pretending to dust his hands, eyes flicking towards you every five seconds.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Lex got a new car."

You didn't look up. "Yeah, Lamborghini. He won't stop talking about it."

Clark scratched the back of his neck. "It's... nice."

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"Look, I— I'm sorry about your birthday. Me and Pete... we couldn't come."

You finally glanced up. "It's okay; you were busy."

Clark nodded, unable to say something else, especially now that you seemed uninterested in what he was going to say.

Earlier that week, he had stormed inside the Torch like a man possessed. Chloe looked up from her computer with an annoyed glare.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" She snapped, clicking through the keyboard.

Clark ran a frustrated hand along his hair. "I need a bit of advice. About Y/n."

Chloe didn't even look up. "Wow. That only took, what, half the semester? You realize she's been MIA, right? Like, completely ghosted. And now you want to talk?"

Clark sighed. "Chloe, please."

She glanced up, her eyebrows shooting up when she heard how desperate and wrecked he was.

"She won't even look at me now. She used to be everywhere, and now it's like she never existed. And— I— I don't know."

"You miss her."

"I do," He admitted. "I didn't think I would, but I do. It's like— I keep looking for her. Like she's supposed to be there, and when she's not—God, Chloe. It was driving me nuts."

And then she'd told him to just talk to you. Simple. Direct. No weird detours.

So when Lex called about the delivery that Thursday, Clark had thought maybe this is it. Maybe this was the moment the universe was finally giving him another shot. He had practiced a dozen versions of the same line in his head.

But when you descended the stairs in that usual, effortless way, bored eyes locked into the screen of your phone, he realized immediately— something had changed.

"Lex isn't here." You said, eyes darting at the box he was carrying. "You can leave it in the kitchen."

"I know," He replied, a little breathless. "I was hoping you'd be home."

You paused. "Really?"

Clark nodded, setting down the box of fruits and vegetables. "Been doing alright?"

You shrugged. "Same old. You?"

"Maybe." He shifted nervously. "I— I'm free this Saturday. If you wanted to— I dunno, go by the lake with us. Just hanging out."

You looked at him. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

Clark blinked. "Pretend? I— I wasn't—"

"It's fine, Clark. If you don't like me, you could just say it to my face. I'm a smart girl, Clark. I'll understand whatever reason you have."

"But I don't—" He tried to move forward, to explain, but you were already walking away from him.

Down Main Street, past the closed café and the silent bookstore, hands in his jacket pockets, brows furrowed so deeply, Clark found himself walking in the streets of Smallville. His boots scuffed against the pavement with every distracted step, and his mind was loud— too loud.

He was driving himself mad.

So when Lex pulled up next to him in his Lamborghini, rolling down the window and watching Clark with one raised brow, it was hard to look anywhere but embarrassed.

“Late night for a stroll,” Lex said casually, but his eyes were sharp. Observing. “Don’t tell me the world’s strongest farm boy is out here moping.”

Clark gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

Lex tilted his head. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” Clark muttered.

Lex leaned his elbow on the edge of his window. “This about Y/N?”

Clark stopped walking.

Lex gave a small, knowing smile. “Figured.” There was silence for a beat, and then Lex said, almost thoughtfully, “You know… You really got the wrong idea about her.”

"Clark looked down. "Oh, yeah?"

Lex looked away briefly before adding, “Did you know that she waited by the door longer than she’d ever admit on her birthday? Kept peeking at the window, fixing her dress— her favorite one. And then, when you didn't show up, I know that broke her heart.”

Clark swallowed hard. "I..." He shook his head, trying so hard to convey coherent words but failing to do so.

“Don’t screw this up, Kent,” Lex said more gently now. “You think you’re the only one scared? That girl was brave enough to love you in front of everyone. Maybe it’s your turn.”

Clark didn’t speak. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his truck keys, and offered them to Lex.

Lex raised a brow. “What’s this?”

“I need your car,” Clark said, almost urgently.

Lex blinked. “You’re not going to wreck it, are you?”

“No promises,” Clark replied, already moving.

Lex rolled his eyes, but tossed him the keys anyway. “She’s at my house. Kitchen. Baking. Don’t ask what time it is.”

Clark was already gone before the sentence ended, a streak of blur and hope trailing behind him.

You were baking again.

It was your comfort. Your reset button. The world could fall apart but give you flour, eggs, and your favorite playlist and you could pretend everything was fine for a few hours.

You didn’t expect to hear tires screech in Lex’s driveway. Didn’t expect heavy, rushed footsteps across the porch. Didn’t expect the door to swing open like something out of a dramatic rom-com.

Clark Kent stood there, breathless.

Hair wind-swept. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wild with emotion. He looked like he’d run across all of Smallville just to get here. He had.

“Y/N..."

You blinked at him, surprised, a spoon still in your hand. “Clark?”

“I— I need to talk to you,” he said, stepping inside before you could shut him out. “Please. Just hear me out. I won’t screw it up this time.”

“Clark, I’m kind of—busy—”

“Please.”

You froze.

“I was stupid, okay?” He said. “I was scared. You’re… everything. You’re so vibrant and loud and brilliant, and I thought I wasn’t enough for that. I thought I couldn’t keep up with someone like you. But I was wrong. You make me better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Clark beat you to it again.

“I like you,” He breathed. “I really like you. And I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t. I don’t want to keep lying to myself that losing you is somehow better than facing how much I care.”

You stared at him, heart thudding. “Clark…”

He looked desperate. “Please say something.”

“I liked you first. But that doesn’t mean I want to be someone you settle for. I don’t want to be some spontaneous decision because you’re lonely.”

Clark shook his head, stepping closer. “You’re not. You’re not a decision. You’re the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

There was still doubt in your eyes. Still guardedness.

So Clark did the only thing he could think of to prove he meant every word.

He kissed you.

Gently at first— carefully, like you were made of glass. But then you responded, melting into it with a small sigh, hands finding his chest, and it deepened— slow and sweet and real.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless and a little dazed, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re it for me,” He whispered. “I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

You smiled, just a little. “You’re gonna owe me, Clarkie.”

“I’ll bake,” He offered.

You laughed. “You can’t even toast a bread.”

He grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Then I’ll learn.”

©kjhbsies

[luv-lock]

Their tits can cure my daddy issues.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Please, send me your wishes or spark some ideas my way! Time is slipping through my fingers like whispers of a fading dream... Boredom has curled up beside me like an old friend, and my inbox is as barren as a winter’s branch. It’s so quiet, even the shadows hold their breath. A single word, a fleeting sentence, or even a soft “What’s up?” could stir this stillness. Come on, let’s ignite a spark—share a thought, toss out an idea, and let’s dive into a little chat that dances with possibilities!