#tom welling fluff

[deansbeer]

★ in his arms, the world fades // clark kent.

synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.

warning(s). fluff | comfort | f!reader | s1!clark | reader feels unwell stomach aches | nausea | difficulty eating | mild angst | distressing moments | academic stress | brief mentions of exams | studying | cuddling | kisses | superman references.

kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33

it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.

still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.

"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."

you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."

it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.

he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."

you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.

when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.

you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.

"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"

you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"

he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."

"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.

half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.

"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"

you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.

then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.

you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.

your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."

his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.

"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."

and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.

"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."

you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."

"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."

you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"

"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."

you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."

"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"

you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.

"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."

"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."

he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"

"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."

"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"

you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.

"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.

he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.

you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.

and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @st4rfckerz @jasvtsc . . . ୨୧

[artyandink]

where CLARK becomes obsessed with eating CINNAMON.ᐟGIRL’S pussy in a week.

DAY ONE.ᐟ

It wasn’t even a thought at first, with his track record with girls he wanted to take it slow so he knew it was a safe bet to fall head over heels for your pretty ass. Most he thought about was kissing your permanently balmed lips, kissing your cheeks, admiring your smile, playing with the folds of your clothing and how you always smelled like cinnamon.

An innocent thought.

And now, the end of the school day. When Clark could just come home, say hi to his mom and dad, then head up to the barn where he knew his girl would be waiting. And sure enough, as he jogged up the stairs to the top of the barn, there you were, readily waiting, dressed in your usual little baggy-looking top with the poofy sleeves that he didn’t know the name of — wait, it was a bustier top, as you’ve reminded him — with a little white skirt, a bow in your hair, bows on your gorgeous stockings with your lace-ups abandoned by the side of the bed.

Gorgeous.

But you were also working on the bio homework you’d got that day, so he raised an eyebrow, chucked his bag onto the bed and instantly got on to hug you to him and nuzzle your neck. “Clark!” You giggled, squealing and swatting his shoulder before your lips were caught up in his, hand resting gently on your cheek.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you started without me.” He pouted, pulling back to look at you with puppy eyes, but a peck from you earned his winning smile again. “C’mon, what are we lookin’ at?” He shifted you so you were on his lap, chest against his back, inhaling that natural scent of spice and sugar syrup from cinnamon buns.

You tapped the page with your pen, relaxing into it and beginning to explain the task, but something else caught his eye. It was a small thing, but he saw a flash of something, it was— it was white, and lacy, and he could see it from under your skirt—

Oh, God, your panties.

He had to drag his eyes away from the magnetic pull they had to that small glimpse of lace, casually sliding his hand up your outer thigh to push your skirt over that little sliver of white lace, that… tantalising view, there— God forbid your dignity be jeopardised if someone came up here.

Whew. Crisis averted.

DAY TWO.ᐟ

Crisis #2 was due soon — because obviously, no one could give him a damn break — when he was helping you tie up this pretty lil’ pair of heels you’d bought that were tied up by a ribbon. His fingers glided across your smooth skin as he wrapped the soft fabric around your ankle delicately, and it wasn’t until he gave you a gentle smile from below did he see up your skirt, and he nearly felt his heat vision activate from the sight.

Your choice of clothing was always so sexy, the pink lace that looked like a scrap on your skin, your supple thighs that he just wanted to— ay, woah, stop there. His thoughts screeched to a halt, and he sufficed that train of thought with a delicate press of his lips to your ankle when he’d made the bow to tie the last shoe and the whole ensemble together.

Why did his head feel kind of fuzzy?

There y’are.” He grinned, taking your hand and brushing his lips over your knuckle— your own Prince Charming, it gave you butterflies. Honestly? His head felt kinda heavy as he stood up and planted a gentle kiss to your lips— see, totally innocent. Totally, no alternate story or subconscious thought here.

DAY THREE.ᐟ

This felt wrong, but he couldn’t help it.

Something as simple as sitting and chatting with Lana and Chloe— you were sitting with your legs spread, skirt hiked up enough, your amiable look between him and the other three doing absolutely nothing to stop him feeling drunk on the position you were in.

Maybe if the others weren’t here, he could kiss up your legs, starting from your ankle. Why was he thinking all this— to combat it, he just gently tapped your foot with his, and you happily climbed onto his lap, legs around his waist and arms around his neck like you were a koala with a giggle.

He let put a sigh of relief, taking one for the team as he stroked your hair, inhaled your natural scent and took one for the team by taking the brunt force of all the good-natured ribbing from Lana and Chloe. All while his brain pumped oxygen back into it and made him stop feeling so goddamn light and airy just by seeing how you were seated, it felt so strange.

“Lovebirds.”

“I hear wedding bells!”

“Shut up, guys.” Clark’s jab wasn’t only to himself, it was to the rest of him which thought that being permanently brain dead around you was a good idea. God, this was not normal at all.

DAY FOUR.ᐟ

Clark found himself to be thirstier than usual. Literally, and figuratively.

He’d be hanging out with you, watching a movie, and when you did something like bite your lip or your skirt would hike up a little, he would mutter an excuse to go get water— not really an excuse, his mouth felt like it was two Saharas in one mouth. Glass after glass, and you’d seen him return after his fifth, which came with the mental reminder to lecture himself to not pop a boner. He had more control over his… anatomy!

Even with all the tall and endless glasses of water, something felt missing.

He went with you to the Talon to get lunch, and as he was sharing an apple pie with you, he couldn’t help but think his sweet taste buds weren’t satiated, and even as he looked up, his eyes got stuck on your pretty legs, where your skirt ended at your mid-thigh, and all you’d do was tilt his chin up and kiss him softly with a giggle, oblivious.

Oh, dear Lord, what was happening to him?

He was licking his lips more often, and his brain was more adept and conjuring thoughts of having you straddling something that was not his hips, or having you laid down on the couch and hearing pretty sounds come from you that he’d only heard when his mom and dad got too loud or when his mom and dad were watching an adult movie.

Guess Martha and Jonathan might be the common denominator.

Even so, he forced himself to avert his eyes when you bent over the table to give Lana and Chloe their coffees, your skirt lifting up just that bit— oh, mama, just drink the water, drink the water.

“Hi.” You giggled, perching yourself on his lap, and things would’ve been totally fine had his hand not autocorrected to find your ass— nope, he instantly moved it up to the small of your back and kissed your cunt cheek. He meant cheek, he wasn’t thinking about anything else, who ever— nobody— his brain was gonna shut up now.

His jaw clenched briefly, and he swallowed, deciding to give the farm boy smile like nothing was raging inside of his brain and peck your pouty, cinnamon-stained lips, fingers brushing across your soft cheek. “Hey, there. One’a those for me?” He’d been getting into cinnamon lattes now that you’d introduced him to them, so you were holding two piping hot cinnamon lattes that he looked down to.

And as he looked down, he could see your perfect thighs, and contrary to his drying mouth, he now had too much saliva in them.

He swallowed. Shit.

DAY FIVE.ᐟ

“Oh, my God, shit—” Clark couldn’t think straight, his nerve endings on fire, cause it felt so damn good, it felt so, so— he had no words. All he knew was that his eyes were rolling back, his mouth was open, his cock was most definitely leaking, and if his parents came up here they’d be very concerned.

He panted, the veins in his neck popping as his jaw clenched and a strangled grunt broke past his sealed lips, along with a needy whine. “O—Oh, sweetheart, that’s— don’t you stop, ok? Don’t you stop.”

He was getting images as his free hand clenched in the sheets, images he’d never had before until this week, of peeling your panties off your soaked pussy like they were the bow to your sweet present, of rubbing his nose against your clit as he gripped your spread thighs (or they’d be over his shoulders, he was not fussed at all) and lapping at you, licking you and letting his tongue delve and taste every bit of you until you could no longer comprehend that the outside world exists.

Judging by how much cinnamon you had, your cunt would probably be sweeter than your mouth. Just his luck that he’s got a tooth for that.

He tightly clamped his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle any sounds, but that didn’t work, it slipped out due to a shuddering gasp that shook his very lungs, your mouth— no, his hand, you weren’t here right now, his hand moving up and down his cock, which felt extra sensitive today.

Well, of course it felt extra sensitive, he’d practically been accidentally edged all day by your gorgeous ass when you sat back to his chest and way too high up his lap during the study session at the Talon, and so he’d shimmied you down to stop a moan from leaving his mouth.

Even as he moaned, he licked his lips and swallowed, like he was tasting something above him— oh, god, your pussy. It was so pretty, he knew that from the times he’d gotten his fingers there to soothe you after a bad day or when your brain wasn’t working on hard homework and just needed a reset. But he’d never tasted it or anything, he’d just wiped them on a tissue, and now it was the one thing — oh, God, just stop, this was objectifying, and Clark was a strong believer in a woman’s privacy.

“Sh—Shit—” He wanted to lick his fingers from now on, not waste a single drop of you, and that thought was the thing which sent him into a white hot fucking orgasm, head falling back against the pillows as he quickly caught the come that came from his cock with a tissue, panting and revelling in the ignorance and pure bliss that came before the reality that he just objectified his girlfriend.

He knew better, and you were so darling to him, he couldn’t. He should stop.

Your pussy—

DAY SIX.ᐟ

Was Clark on top of you, no shirt, forearm braced beside your head and lips attached to your neck a hot sight?

Yes.

It was a sight that made your thighs rub together despite yourself, and you couldn’t really ignore the growing ache growing inside you, along with the slight throb in your clit at the repeated, open-mouthed presses to your neck, jaw and behind your ear. His hands were on your waist, your hips, over your tits and thighs, then moved to the buttons of your cardigan, pulling back to look at you.

Eye contact was big with him.

“Can I?” He murmured, and when you nodded, he slipped the buttons off and gently took off your camisole, coming face to face with no bra. A small grin flickered across his lips as he looked up to you, head dipping down to kiss over your tits and briefly suck then into his mouth, pressing small, worshipping pecks which had you moaning softly, fingers threading through his hair.

The quiet whimpers that came from your mouth could only be frowned out by one thing— his mind repeating the word pussy and his body rewriting like it was the one thing he couldn’t live without. “Need to try somethin’, pretty, but you can tell me t’ stop, at any time.” He murmured, kissing your stomach gently.

You ran the possibilities in your upstairs brain, but your downstairs brain had the reins right now. “Yeah,” you mumbled in response, stomach flexing under his lips — ugh, so hot — as they slowly travelled downward, his fingers skimming down your sides to gently undo your sweats and hook his finger in your sweats and panties’ waistband, pulling them down and off your legs.

The wait to it was excruciating, he’d checked to see if you were wet as a sign that yes, you were enjoying this (which you were, you were soaking), and if the butterfly kisses were doing anything, they were making you impatient rather than easing you into it. “Clark, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay! I’ve got you,” He chuckled, then started with it. He began in slow, languid strokes, tongue flat and gathering all the taste of you on his tongue that instantly hit his taste buds— oh, my.

Oh, Lord.

The taste was heavenly, it was ambrosia, it was salvation, so much that he was already moaning at the taste and pulling you closer by how his strong arms were wrapped around your plush thighs, biceps flexing to the delight of your eyes from further up the bed, grinding against the mattress. Not to mention how he’d turned from hesitant to slow, burning, devouring in half a second, drawing the pretty moans from you that’d plagued his head the whole week.

The whole thing was new to you— you were a virgin, and you’d certainly never had anyone go down on you before, so Clark’s tongue between your legs had first been something that your body wanted to jump away from on reflex. But when said tongue slid into your pussy?

You could’ve died and gone to hell right there.

Jonathan and Martha (our famous common denominators) would’ve been traumatised by the obscene noises coming from you both, the groans and murmurs of encouragement from Clark to “keep it comin’”, about how you were “doin’ so well” and how you “tasted s’good”, all things that made you moan, gasp and whimper — now in that order — add a sprinkling of whines when his nose bumped your clit.

All he could think of was pussy, pussy, pussy, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips and thighs slightly, aiming to bury himself down there and suffocate if need be with your thighs pressed around his ears— it’d be a good way to go, now that he thought about it. A great way to go, abandoning all homework, your softness the only thing he could feel, your sweet taste… on his tongue…

Ok, his rational brain would be right back, after a long break.

“Cl—Clark!” You whimpered, hand tightening in his hair, the other making a fist beside your head, back arching, brow furrowing in bliss. It was such a gorgeous gasp of his name, the only thing he could give back to you was a needy whine. That’s right, needy.

He’d become an expert between three licks, his superhearing picking up on the small cues, the little tremble, the difference in this gasp and that gasp, until he felt you come on his tongue with a cry of his name and a loud whine, quickly sucking all of what you offered him up like his mom’s cooking. But sweeter.

As for him? If you weren’t too delirious from the new feeling, you would’ve seen a telltale stain of how he came in his pants— he couldn’t help it! You’d felt too good, his brain had fuzzed over, he’d ground against the mattress, there was no way he wasn’t getting off to you getting off.

”You did so well, pretty,” He grinned, lips and chin covered in you, the word pussy still ringing in his brain as he collected it all with his thumb and sucked it off, closing his eyes at the taste and moaning before leaning up to kiss you gently.

Only then did you taste yourself on his tongue— and you kind of saw the hype, what with how sweet it was, and even though it felt kind of weird to taste yourself, it was Clark. You trusted Clark.

He pulled away, grinning a saliva-lipped, winning smile and rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb, kissing your nose. “You ok, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No.” You shook your head, voice quiet, still in a bit of a daze— oh, his pretty baby. That earned you a kiss to your forehead, and before you knew it, he was creeping off and coming back with a warm, damp rag.

“Let’s just get you comfy— attagirl,” He mumbled as he gently got you more comfortable on the pillows with his farm boy strength (or so you thought), shushing the whine of sensitivity when your thighs rubbed together. “Shh, baby, I know, I know, we’ll get y’cleaned up.”

Still keeping you pacified with a stroke of your hair or a peck to your lips, he managed to clean up between your legs with the damp rag without any pain, thank God, and chucked it in the washing basket before anyone noticed.

He also covered it with a bunch of clothes. Like, in the middle of the pile in there, before his mom saw it.

“C’mere.” He said softly, gathering you into a cuddle, tucking both of you in a blanket, whispering how good you were, how well you took what you got, how pretty you sounded.

Y’know, all words that made your pretty, empty head fuzzy enough to be lulled to sleep.

DAY SEVEN, TRANSFORMATION COMPLETE.ᐟ

A normal night of doing your English homework, steady essay writing that Clark wasn’t exactly equipped to help with, it was an essay on personal opinions about a set text. And it was going great, you were halfway there, your back would’ve been aching but no, some Lord above blessed you with an untouched back. Overall, things were going— your bedroom window opened.

Just as you were about to use your English essay as a weapon, you saw the familiar shoe of Clark, and you relaxed further into the bed, knowing you were safe. “Hey, babe— oh!” You gasped when he suddenly climbed onto the bed on top of you, nuzzling right between your legs as he kicked off his shoes with a low moan. “C—Clark, what’re you, what—”

“Shh, just please, baby, I just, I— shit.” He only responded by yanking your pretty sleep shorts with a bow on the top down, licking over your panties to taste you before yanking those down too— oh, you couldn’t hold back how you moaned and melted back into the throw pillows, panting as you let him do his thing.

You’d only had a break from him going down on you for a day, and even then you’d been asked by Chloe and Lana why you were so dazed lately. Now you had Clark mouthing and licking over your panties, until those were practically ripped off and his mouth replaced them. That was the reason why.

“Oh my, oh, gosh—” It spilled from your mouth in waves. Sucking, licking, at a much faster pace than a day ago, add a plethora of different pitched moans and whines, even more so when your hand buried in his hair. His fingers came up to toy with your clit, because he’d learnt that you dripped more when he did, and he was proud to say that he’d learnt everything there was to know about you, inside and out.

“Oh, Clark!” You gasped, hips arching off the bed, but then he suddenly pulled away, lips and chin covered in you, yanking off his jacket then lying down on the bed. He pulled you up, so you were straddling his face and your cunt was all he knew, yanking you down and holding you by your ass while he made you forget all sense of reality. It’s like he was obsessed with eating you out.

He kinda was.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding on his tongue, English essay clattering off the bed, breathlessly calling out to your parents that everything was ok so they didn’t come in and see… this. And even as he was devouring you like you were the tall glass of water he’d been looking for, you couldn’t resist reaching up, pressing your hand to your chest, playing with your tits over your thin camisole.

“That’s good, pretty, play with yourself.” Clark panted amid moans and licks and moans some more, “I’ve got you.”

Pussy. It was the only word that he could understand right now.

[beaucate]

part two / master list.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞ OBLIVIOUS!READER who always watched clark from a distance, a frown visible on the rosy plush of her lips as his eyes strayed away from her own. he never watched her, and how could he when lana lang was always beside her, capturing the farmer boy’s attention with ease.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t see the way clark’s drift towards the side of her face when she isn’t paying attention. his breathing rapid, and palms clenching his locker so it bent under the tips of his fingers.

OBLIVIOUS!READER not noticing the glances mr. and mrs. kent would share whenever she came over, watching as their son’s eyes widened and his words spluttered as she asked for his mother’s apple pie recipe.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t catch the way clark’s lips part ever so slightly when she laughs on the outside benches of school. the sound seeming to unravel him entirely, zoning out when the laces of her skirt lift slightly above her thighs. she assumes he’s just zoning out, daydreaming about the green eyed brunette who sat along her — but in truth, his thoughts are consumed by her, and the way the sun light dances in her eyes.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who brushes off the way clark insists on carrying her books, his hand brushing hers as he does, leaving her cheeks burning red and heart pounding louder than she’d like. she convinces herself it’s just because he’s a gentleman, a farm boy raised by the kindest of people in town; not realising how much it takes for him to steady his superhuman heartbeat every time her lashes flutter his way.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who never questions why clark’s excuses to spend time together are, if anything, endless — offering her rides to school, and staying late to help her study for exams.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realise she’s the reason clark’s nights are sleepless, watching her home from afar in the comfort of his barn, his mind replaying every rise of her chest and shudder from the cold. he swears her perfume lingers in the air longer than it should.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who catches clark watching her once —just once — and dismisses it, thinking he must be distracted by something behind her. meanwhile, clark’s heart is lodged in the base of his throat, and he’s trying not to panic at the idea of her realising his gaze was drawn to her pouty mouth.

OBLIVIOUS!READER who can’t explain why mrs. kent always smiles teasingly at her when she visits the farm, or why mr. kent’s chuckle feels a little too amused every time his son fumbles his words around her. she assumes they might be picking on her — though theyre too nice; but what could possibly be the reason?

OBLIVIOUS!READER who doesn’t realize clark’s awkward stammers and shy smiles aren’t just his usual charm — they’re reserved for her. and when his hand accidentally brushes hers and she pulls away, muttering an apology, clark wonders if she’ll ever see just how much his mind has memorised the lines etched on her palms.

❀˚ dividers by @/ fairytopea

[dulcescorderitas]

♥︎ ͜͡⠀ꮪ꧑ɑ𐑚𐑚𐐷𝘪𐑚𐑚ə ♡

sleep fun

parings: clark kent x reader

warnings: smut, somnophilia, CNC

it’s late, clark’s bedroom wrapped in the kind of quiet only smallville knows, every creak of the old wooden floors amplified in the night. moonlight filters in through the thin curtains, painting pale stripes across your bare legs. you’ve always slept heavy, a habit that clark finds both endearing and, at times like this, tempting.

you’d said it before—said it with a teasing laugh and a glint in your eye that let him know you meant every word. “you can touch me whenever you need to, clark. whatever you need.” you probably didn’t think much of it, brushing it off like a passing joke, but clark… clark took it to heart. not in a creepy, obsessive way—or so he’d tell himself—but in a way that lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet whisper on nights like this when sleep evaded him, and you were right there, soft and warm in his bed.

his large hand hovers for a moment, trembling just slightly, before he lets it settle against the curve of your hip. he’s careful, his touch feather-light, as if afraid you’ll stir. but you don’t. your breath stays even, deep, and the trust you’ve placed in him sends a shiver down his spine. he lets his hand wander, sliding over the cotton of your sleep shorts, the material thin enough that he can feel the heat of you beneath it.

your thighs are parted slightly, one knee drawn up, leaving the gentle slope between them exposed. clark’s mouth feels dry as he slips his hand between them, cupping you over the fabric. you’re warm, soft, and when he presses just a little harder, he can feel the faintest hint of dampness seeping through. his breath catches. did you… dream about something? or is this just you, always so responsive, even in sleep?

the thought makes his cock twitch, hardening in the confines of his boxers. he’s still so careful, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, testing the waters. the wetness grows, a faint slickness that clings to the pad of his finger as he trails it along the outline of your lips, separated only by the now-soaked fabric. you’re dripping, he realizes, and the sight of it, the way the cotton clings to your folds, makes his head spin.

he leans closer, his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck as he presses his hips into your thigh, seeking just a little relief from the ache building inside him. the bed shifts slightly, but you stay still, save for a soft sigh that escapes your lips, your body relaxing further into the mattress. it’s as if your subconscious knows it’s him, trusts him.

clark’s hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingertips brushing against bare skin. the heat of you is intoxicating, drawing him in deeper until he’s sliding a single, tentative finger along your folds. you’re soaked, the slick coating his finger as he parts you gently, his touch exploring the places he’s fantasized about for longer than he’d admit aloud.

his thumb finds your clit, swollen and slick with arousal, and he presses against it in slow, steady circles. your body shifts then, a soft moan spilling from your lips, and he freezes, his heart hammering against his ribs. but you don’t wake. instead, your hips roll ever so slightly, as if seeking more, and he takes it as permission to continue.

each movement is deliberate, reverent, as if he’s worshiping you in the only way he knows how. his fingers slip inside you, the tight, wet heat of you clenching around him, and he bites down on his lip to stifle a groan. you’re perfect, impossibly so, and the way you respond to him—even in the haze of sleep—drives him wild.

the room is filled with the soft, slick sounds of his fingers working inside you, your arousal soaking his hand, making every stroke easier, smoother. he watches, captivated, as a bead of wetness drips from where his fingers disappear into you, soaking into the sheets below. his other hand grips your hip, grounding himself as he fights the urge to wake you, to pin you down and take you properly.

instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “whatever i need, right?”

taglist: @legalmente-loca

[blackynsupremacy]

SICK DAYS WITH

CLARK KENT

HEADCANONS

pairing: older!smallville!clark kent x black!fem!reader

summary: clark nurses you back to health when you feel under the weather.

contains: fluff, established relationship, clark being a green flag, reader can imagine any clark ofc.

a/n: i missed writing for him sm. i’m going through this rn, so writing this made me feel a little less worse. please enjoy while i try to sleep this off!

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @thabiddie23 @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @paisholotus @supaprettyg @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @venic-bxtch @stargirl-mayaa @ellethespaceunicorn

• there’s nothing worse than waking up with a sore throat, fever, chills, and a stuffed nose.

• you groan in agony as you feel like absolute garbage.

• clark is stirred by your sound and turns to you with a gaze of concern.

• he takes one glance at your peaked face.

• it doesn’t take x-ray vision for him to know that you’ve come down with something.

• he feels your forehead and as soon as it feels hot as the sun, he immediately calls in the daily planet for both of you.

• those headlines and deadlines were gonna have to wait because to clark, your safety and your health were his top priority.

• he urges you to stay in bed because with him around, you won’t have to lift a finger.

• he makes sure that you have the necessities like tissues, water, cough drops, saltines, and ginger ale. (ifykyk)

• he waits on you hand and foot.

• whether you like it or not, he’s making you an appointment to the doctor later on. home remedies can only do so much.

• he cooks for you a soup that’s his mother’s special recipe.

• clark puts his heart, soul, and heat vision in that soup.

• when you finally get the appetite, clark makes sure that you get your fill.

• don’t bother trying to skip on that water, he will be on you about hydrating yourself.

• and taking any medication that the doctor prescribed.

• hypes you up when you have a big pill to swallow.

• you love that he doesn’t get sick as humans do, so you can kiss and hug him without any fret of spreading your illness to him.

• alien or not, you can’t resist showing your affection.

• clark is so, so, so, good to you.

• you guys aren’t married, but he takes in sickness and in health to a whole new level.

• he’ll sanitize the apartment for you.

• he we will give you the whole queen treatment.

• bubble baths, back massages, foot rubs, you name it!

• you tell him to relax and lay down with you.

• you put on shows like judge judy or general hospital.

• he reads to you or tells you stories about his life in smallville.

• not to be a creep, but it’s peaceful for him to watch you sleep.

• you deserve some good sleep for enduring this illness all day.

• clark holds you close and fixes your scarf/bonnet if it shifts.

• if you’re still feeling feverish, he has an ice pack ready to gently lay on your head.

• whether he sleeps or not, he wouldn’t dare to leave your side for a second.

[oneofstarkskids]

big baby

pairings: clark kent x reader

genre: fluffy sickfic because i'm a disease ridden rodent

summary: clark doesn't get sick, but when you do he knows just how to take care of you.

It was just one of those days. The kind where the orifices in your face wont stop leaking and you could probably curl up for a nap just about anywhere.

You groaned as you grabbed for yet another tissue. Clark, who heard your ailments from the other side of the house (without using his enhanced hearing), was by your side within seconds.

"You alright there, sweetheart?" He asked with a bit of a smirk.

The glare you shot him could've burned a hole in his face if you were born with his special talents, "Do I look alright to you?"

Clark did his best to suppress his chuckle. It didn't work.

Of course, he couldn't help but be a gentleman. "Is there anything I can get for you? You want some soup?"

You grimaced at the thought of liquid food.

"What I want is to be better already," you whined.

Clark raised his eyebrows. He'd never really been sick, so he could only sympathize with your predicament. Luckily, he had experience caring for his parents whenever they felt under the weather.

He wrapped your blanket around you a bit tighter as he pulled you into his lap, "You're like a big baby."

You frowned and tried to wriggle away from him, but he held you close.

"That's not how I meant it!" He defended.

You rolled your eyes and gave up, being no match for his Kryptonian strength.

"I'm not a baby!" You said in an ironically quite childlike way.

Clark kissed the side of your head before whispering, "What can I do to make it better?"

You closed your eyes and felt your body relax against his. "Just stay right here."

[internallysalad]

warnings: pure fluff, clark at peace, reader at peace, life is good :D

word count: 483

a/n: smallville the show you are!! currently on s3 and man is it LOVELY, clark kent ily and this drabble is exactly what my dreams are made of so enjoyyy <3 @lanadelreyscokewhor3 claire, i dedicate this to you bc your smallville rbs fuel me like red kryptonite does to clark hehe

to see clark kent at peace, cuddled close, holding you as he falls asleep - mouth a little open, no furrows in his brows, the slow rise and fall of his chest was something you cherished with all your heart. these days you saw him more asleep than awake, both your afternoons spent lazing around either on the barn couch or his bed or even on the wooden floor when the weather was warm and the air left a sheen of sweat on your skin. pillows scattered away from your vicinity, the hum of air through the windows, bird noises from the outside, the occasional vehicle passing by.

ever since you both started dating, clark kent realised how much joy physical touches can bring him - hugs, cuddles, hand holding, constantly having some part of yours in contact with him - it was bliss. touch starved since childhood, getting comfortable took time, communication, and boundary setting, but if you'd ask him to stop or move away, he would pull you even closer and not let go. you helped him calm down, de-stress, and days without you dragged on far longer than he wanted.

but when he discovered the magical abilities you possessed: the ability to give him the best, most well rested sleep of his life, his days literally turned into nights and his tensions eased into nothing as long as he had you close to him. after a stressful day full of saving people, running everywhere, crowded spaces, overstimulation and multiple nights of disturbed or no sleep, he would come home, plop onto the bed, slowly drag himself towards you with a knowing look in his eyes until you got the hint and let him lay his head on your chest.

he didn't need pillows, you were his pillow. "need you" he would say, wrapping his arms around your midsection, gently adjusting his head on your chest, taking a deep breath while you scrolled through your phone or told him about your day until his acknowledgements turned into hums and then into light snores. he would listen to your heartbeat fade away into his dreams until the world became silent and peace paused his thoughts.

and when you would hold him, it would feel like you're holding the world. so close to your heart, you could feel his breathing on your neck, the slow rise and fall of your chest matching and mismatching with his, the slight twitches his arms around you made- this boy was your world. and you were his. that is what made you smile and hold him all the more near.

there was a sense of vulnerability you would feel during these moments, feeling a sense of shyness creeping in when you admired him, tracing the curves of his brows, caressing your thumb over his cheekbones, kissing his forehead and nose- he was so stunning and all yours to adore.

[muffyxo]

valentine's day with clark (black!reader)

warnings:: none! just some cheesy lovey dovey stuff

notes:: I feel like this was so quick like rushed in a way (I'm so sorry if it is) I'm practicing prolonging and making sure my fics and stuff make sense!! constructive criticism is definitely welcome!!!

it was a sunny day, the most comfortable warmth engulfing you, the sun graciously beaming on your brown skin as you both step outside, your eyes closed with your hand in his, the sounds of birds chirping in the trees as the blades of grass rustle under your feet. "clark, where are you taking me?" you giggle "calm down, gorgeous, we're almost there"

prior to this he'd woken you up with breakfast in bed a beautiful set up of red velvet pancakes, various fruits cut up into hearts, some orange juice, and a little rose. it was the sweetest thing ever and when you were done he gave you some space to get ready for the day informing you that he has a surprise, not telling you anymore than that

once you'd gotten ready styling your hair to your liking, and picking out your cutest outfit to match the theme of the day, you were ready, impatiently waiting for clark to show you your surprise which lead you to where you are now, with you both coming up on your surprise

"we're here, beautiful, you can open your eyes now" he finally says

and as you open your eyes you're met with a plaid red picnic blanket filled with a multitude of your favorite food in the prettiest basket you've ever seen, drinks on ice, and to top it all off your handsome lover giving you the most loving smile

"are you serious Clark, all for me?" you could've sworn you were gonna tear up

"of course, sweetheart, no one else c'mon" hey replies as he stares lovingly at how your eyes access the set-up

clark gently and slowly took you over to the blanket, sitting you next to him rubbing your arm softly as he scoots over to place his hand on your hip going to steadily rub your side, he reaches over for the drinks popping them open and pouring them into glasses clinking them in a toast to your ongoing love

"y'know, you didn't have to do this" you whisper you lean your head on his shoulder

"course I did" he replies as he plants a kiss on your forehead contently sighing as you both look out in the open space of the field, the day couldn't have gone any better with lots of laughter and conversation never lacking the love he always showed you no matter what

finishing the night off cuddled on the couch, pajamas and bonnet on with a movie playing idly as you doze off and as you surrender to the tiredness from your eventful day, you feel nothing but love, content, and belonging, something you know you'll continue to feel as long as you're with him

[sabrinasopposite]

imperfect for you.

pt. 3 of drinks or coffee / college!charlie baker x photographer!reader

my boy, come take my hand throw your guitar and your clothes in the back seat my love, they don't understand but I'll hold your hurt in the box here beside me

summary: after months of dating, its time for y/n to meet the baker family. yet charlie is a bit scared that y/n will see the chaotic, dozen of people in one house. will she still love him even though he was living in a imperfect home? of course she will.

Winter wraps itself around New York, weaving frost over windows and tucking laughter into scarves. The city glows—streetlights pooling golden halos onto rain-slicked sidewalks, store windows dressed in garlands and ribbons, the hum of holiday music slipping through every doorway. Y/N stands at the threshold of something new, something unfamiliar yet warm, as Charlie laces his fingers through hers and says, “Come home with me for Christmas.”

She hesitates, but only for a breath. Home. The word tastes like cinnamon and wood smoke when he says it.

So, she goes.

Charlie’s family is chaos incarnate.

The front door barely swings open before he is ambushed—small bodies colliding into him, voices overlapping, warmth pressing in from every direction. The house is alive, a living, breathing thing pulsing with energy, tangled in fairy lights and the scent of home-cooked meals. 

Y/N watches, wide-eyed, as one of his younger siblings nearly topples a Christmas tree in an attempt to tackle Charlie, and another is running circles around the kitchen, holding a turkey baster like a sword. And within five minutes of stepping fully into the Baker household, she understands why.

“Charlie’s home!”

“And he brought a girl?”

“Everyone act normal—DON’T TACKLE HIM—”

But it’s too late. Three of his younger siblings have already thrown themselves at him, clinging to his legs, one of them scaling his back like a small, determined koala. A dog is barking somewhere. A toddler is crying. A rogue soccer ball goes flying past Y/N’s head.

Charlie groans. “Jesus Christ, guys.”

Charlie catches her glance, and his expression shifts—something between an apology and hesitation, as if he’s bracing for her to be overwhelmed, for her to see all of this and think too much, too loud, too wild. Y/N is still processing the sheer volume of the house, but she’s chuckling when someone yanks her forward and traps her in a surprisingly strong hug.

“You must be Y/N!” She blinks as she is pulled back at arm’s length, coming face-to-face with a girl who shares Charlie’s sharp jawline and mischievous eyes.

“I’m Lorraine, one of Charlie’s many sisters,” she says with a grin. “Come in, come in, don’t be shy—we don’t bite. Well, Kyle did once, but he’s been trained out of it.”

A ten-year-old across the room scowls. “That was one time!”

Charlie sighs heavily. “Y/N, this is my family. Family, this is Y/N. Now, let’s all behave like normal people for once in our lives.”

Dinner is a symphony of overlapping voices, dishes being passed in a rush, elbows knocking, laughter rising and spilling over like an overfilled glass. Charlie’s dad tries (and fails) to carve the turkey without making a mess, his mom keeps swatting away small hands that sneak rolls from the breadbasket, and someone is telling a story that no one is really listening to, but everyone is enjoying anyway.

“So, Y/N,” one of Charlie’s older sisters asks, grinning across the table. “How exactly did my brother, of all people, manage to date someone like you?”

Charlie groans, covering his face with one hand. “Oh my god. We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we are doing this,” another sibling chimes in. “Because, come on, Charlie. We’ve seen your past choices.” “Beth,” someone coughs not-so-subtly.

Charlie shoots a glare across the table. “We do not need to bring up my ex right now.”

Y/N hides a smile behind her glass, watching as Charlie sinks lower in his chair, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment.

“I don’t know,” she says, feigning deep thought. “I guess I just really like mechanics who secretly have a soft heart and buy their girlfriends cameras for no reason.”

There’s a collective aww from the table. Charlie turns bright red.

His mom sighs dramatically. “Finally, someone who actually likes him.”

Charlie throws his hands up. “Okay! That’s enough! This is my girlfriend, not my public humiliation tour.”

The table erupts in laughter. Y/N, watching the way his family teases him but loves him so effortlessly, just squeezes his hand beneath the table. He glances at her, and the frustration fades into something softer, something quieter. There’s a beat of silence. Then one of the younger kids asks, dead serious, “Charlie, what’s it like having a girlfriend? Like, what do you do?”

Y/N barely has time to stifle a laugh before Charlie groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh yeah, we need to talk about this,” another sibling chimes in, leaning against the kitchen counter. “How did this happen? Who asked who out? Did Charlie say something dumb?”

“Probably,” someone else mutters.

Charlie drags a hand down his face. “Can we not do this right now?”

Y/N grins, propping her chin on her hand. “No, no, I’m actually curious. Please, continue.”

Lorraine smirks. “Okay, so here’s my theory: Y/N fell for him first, because look at him.” Charlie scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re decent-looking, I guess,” she continues. “But let’s be real, it was probably one of those ‘brooding mechanic with grease on his arms, pushing his hair back while fixing a car’ moments, right?” “Oh my god, shut up,” Charlie says with a groan.

Y/N, still laughing, the siblings start to join the theories like:

“I believe that Charlie magically poisoned her because, as if a beauty like her could fall for him.”

“I think Y/N wouldn’t fall for his stinky mechanic look—unless they match their freaks.”

“Or Charlie fell for Y/N first! Look at her, I mean… Maybe we need to save Y/N from Charlie!”

The table explodes with laughter as Charlie turns a shade of red previously unknown to mankind. Y/N chuckles but then places her hand on his arm. “Well, I always liked Charlie in my own way, but I met him at this super lame party. Yet he made it more interesting than I thought it would be—also, he asked me if we could go after the party to a coffee shop.” She smiles softly.

Charlie chuckles and nods. “Yeah, ever since then we’ve gone regularly to this coffee shop; it’s our thing now. Oh, and now I can do photography because of Y/N!”

The whole family falls silent because they’re in awe of the two of them. They continue to talk about the little dates or funny memories that Charlie and Y/N have collected over the months.

Later, when the meal is winding down and the warmth of the evening settles, Y/N leans close and 

murmurs, “I think I like your family.”

Charlie huffs a small laugh, still looking sheepish. “They’re insane.”

“They’re you.” He opens his mouth, but before he can say something self-deprecating, she adds, “And at least I have plenty of brothers and sisters-in-law now.” He freezes. His ears go pink.

Y/N just smiles. She doesn’t press the moment, just lets it settle—a whispered promise in the space between their laughter. But later, when he’s cleaning the table and she passes by, he hooks a finger into her belt loop, tugging her close for half a second. No words, just the warmth of his touch, just his lips brushing her temple in the quiet acknowledgment that he heard her, that he felt the weight of what she meant.

That he wants it, too.

The stars are strung low in the sky when Charlie drives them out past the city limits, to where the snow lies untouched and the air smells like pine.

They park beneath an open stretch of sky, the windows fogging from the heat of their breath, and Charlie reaches for his guitar from the backseat.

“I didn’t know you played,” Y/N murmurs, tucking her chin onto her knees, watching him.

Charlie shrugs, hands skimming the strings. “I don’t… really. Not in front of people.” He strums a few chords, then glances at her with something hesitant, something vulnerable. “But I wanted to play for you.”

The first notes come tentative, like he’s testing the shape of the song against the silence. Then, as he finds the rhythm, he loses himself in it, fingers moving with a quiet confidence, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N watches, her heart catching somewhere between the melody and the way the soft light of the car dashboard paints him in gentle golds. She reaches for her camera, snapping a picture before she can think too much about it.

A moment caught. A memory pressed into permanence. When he finishes, the last notes fading into the hush of night, he sets the guitar aside and turns to her.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She already knows.

Still, when he cups her face in his hands, when his lips meet hers—slow and deep and full of things unspoken—she melts into it like she belongs there.

“I love you,” he breathes against her mouth.

And Y/N, with winter curled around them and the whole universe narrowed to this moment, smiles into the kiss.

“I love you too, my love.”

💌: @blackynsupremacy @alelo23 @angelsgalore @collywobblvs @tvdelrey @tinainaction @seulgi-burgundy @floralscented @artyandink

p1 pt 2

[patdkoala]

Just "Friends"

Clark and I are close and I mean really close. We aren't like him, Chloe, Lex, or even Lana or Pete. We were close like with no one else in the universe.

We talked about everything together, and it honestly made me feel so good to have someone like that in my life. Clark always knew what to say to make me feel better.

Today I was with Chloe and Lana. Because yes, Clark is like my other half but sometimes you just need to have a true heart-to-heart with the girls. Chloe has a crush on this new guy at our school and she wants to ask him to the school dance. She called me and Lana and had us come over to discuss how she should go about this whole asking-a-boy-out thing.

"I really wanna take this thing head on!" She exclaimed while Lana did her hair. Lana gave me a smirk as I rolled my eyes from Chloe's bed where I sat reading one of her many books that she had sitting in a pile next to her bed.

"And how exactly do you plan on taking this thing head-on exactly? Aren't you just going to go up to him in class and ask him to the dance?" Lana asked as she brushed through Chloe's short hair.

"I just want to make sure I make it obvious to him that I like him because the worst-case scenario is that we end up like Clark and (Y/N)," Chloe said as she and Lana looked over at me and set the book down after hearing my name.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I asked as Chloe and Lana smirked at each other as if they had now switched the conversation over to be directed towards me now.

"We see how Clark and you make eyes at each other," Lana said as I rolled my eyes. "Oh come on! You're one to talk. You and Clark are basically the two with the most chemistry in this whole freaking town," I said as I fully sat up and gave the two my full attention.

Lana seemed baffled by my accusation. "Don't look at me like that! I know Clark and you like each other. It's no big deal. Honestly. Clark and I are just friends." I don't know why but as I said those words I felt tears pooling in my eyes somehow.

I quickly wiped those away laid back down and picked back up the book. "I say tell him how you feel," Lana said as we heard Chloe's bedroom door open and in walked Clark. "Tell who how you feel?" He asked as I sat up and saw his perfect baby blues staring right back at me like he was Prince Charming himself.

Every time I would lock eyes with Clark I felt like I was looking into the eyes of a sweet little puppy that had just opened it's eyes for the first time. I know that that sounds crazy and sappy but honestly that is how Clark made me feel.

"Chloe should tell that guy in our lit class that she likes him and wants to go to the dance with him. That's all we were talking about. Nothing else," I said as Clark went over and sat down next to me on Chloe's bed.

"Well, Chloe if you like him then yeah go for it. Tell him how you feel as Lana said." "Yeah, like I said," Lana said as she looked over at me knowing that she was directing all of that towards me.

"Lana who are yuo going to the dance with?" I asked trying to change the subject. I quickly regretted that choice because I saw the way Clark's ears turned red at the mention of Lana going to a school dance potentially she would say she didn't have anyone she was going with and he would thinnk that that meant she needs him to go with.

That was the problem with Clark. He always thought Lana needed him not that she wanted him. I mean she might. I don't know entirely because all I knew was that I wanted him and could nevr have him because he doesn't want or need me in his life half as much as I'm already in it.

"Oh, I uh. I was going to go with Whitney," She said as I watched the color drain from his ears and he laid down as I had before. Lana was almost done with Chloe's hair and I was almost done with this book so I slumped back right there next to Clark on Chloe's bed.

Lana and Chloe were chit-chatting about some more nonsense from school and boys that they think would be a good match for Chloe if this one guy doesn't pan out.

Clark and I were lying back on Chloe's bed in complete silence. This was one of those moments where I found myself truly happy. The fact that Clark and I were able to lay in complete silence like that without it being the most awkward thing in the universe was amazing.

I looked at him and he was staring at the ceiling. He always looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It worried me that he could possibly be stressing about things that he doesn't tell me. I was certain that he told me everything so when he looked like this I assumed that there was something he was keeping from me to protect me because why else would he not tell me.

But this made me begin to worry that it was something having to do with his feelings towards Lana thta made him not talk to me about them.

Eventually, Chloe and Lana headed out to the Talon to find the guy so Chloe could have a chance at asking him out before class tomorrow and that left me and Clark to leave and go find something else to do since we were just background characters to Chloe's big day today.

"We can go back to the barn and watch a movie or something at my place if you want. My mom is making pasta for dinner,"Clark said as I smiled and then followed him to his truck outside.

I've always noticed the little thing s in movies and books where the guys would open doors and be extra polite to the female characters. Especially if they liked them in any way romantically.

Clark never treated me like that in anyway at all.

The entire drive home I was so quiet. I guess I was just overthinking my whole life which I tended to do when I was alone but never in the same rom as someone else. I felt Clark's eyes on me as he pulled into his driveway.

"What?" I asked as he parked and unbuckled himself. "Are you okay? You seemed a little quiet that whole ride. Is there something wrong? You know you can tell me, (Y/N). Always." He was always so sinsiere and kind to me.

"Yeah. I'm fine I guess I was just thinking about the dance." "Oh? Is there a special someone that asked you?" I shook my head no in my response to his silly question.

"Then what were you thinking about in regards to the dance?" I smiled and he smiled back. "Don't give me that bullshit smile because I know you are covering up something. What's wrong, (Y/N)?"

"Why won't you ask me to the dance?" I just blurted it out. I don't think I meant to but I just really wanted to know the answer.

"Woah. Where's this coming from?" He asked as he then opened his truck door and got out. I unbuckled myself and followed suit. He walked towards his house where the closer we got the more we could smell the pasta dinner his mom was making.

"I just wanted to know if you didn't ask me because you maybe see me as a sister or if you didn't ask me because you genuinly hate me."

"I Don't hate you, (Y/N)," He said as he stopped right in front of his house. We were so close to the door that I'm almost 100% sure that his parents could hear us if they even happened to be in the kitchen.

"If you don't hate me then it's the first option. You see me as a sister?" "What? No! I-" "Well then what the hell Clark why won't you just tell me how you feel instead of expecting me to do all the talking it's not like I'm exactly the most-"

He kissed me.

"Do you ever just shut up?" He said quietly into my mouth. His eyes were closed and his hand was around my head holding me close to him.

"Why have you never done something like this before?" I asked as I pushed him away because I had to remind myself that I was still mad at him.

"You always made me so comfortable around you and you're right you did always the majority of the talking that I didn't feel the need to be very affectionate myself. I've always liked you but-" "But you like Lana. I know." I looked down at the ground and avoided his eyes.

He used his finger to make me look up at him. Those beautiful baby blues were staring back at me all over again and I felt like I was melting.

"I liked Lana. Yes, that's true. But when I'm alone with her nothing compares to when I'm alone with you. Being with you- I feel like I'm floating on a cloud. It is the most comfortable I have ever been in the history of my life. I always feel like I'm trying to save everyone but you don't make me feel like that. You let me just be and I love it. I love you, (Y/N)."

"Just shut the hell up and kiss me again," I demanded as he pulled me in and kissed me again on his front porch. Then as if it never happened, we went inside and he opened the door for me which was very new to me.

His mom and dad were sitting at the table smiling ear-to-ear when we walked in.

"Glad to hear you kids made up," Johnathan said as I got red in my cheeks and I looked over at Clark who's ears were red again.

[collywobblvs]

moodboard for @sabrinasopposite “drinks or coffee” fic series because i can’t stop thinking about them

(links to the fics: part 1 , part 2 , part 3)

college!charlie baker x photographer!reader

[deansbeer]

☆ summer heat // clark kent.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

synopsis. a quiet drive-in date with clark turns into something far more intimate. with his soothing reassurances, you surrender to him in the confines of his dad's creaky blue pickup truck.

warning(s). smut | f!reader | pet names (baby, baby girl) | clark being a lil horndog | semi-public sex | explicit language | gentle dom behavior | truck sex (?) | domestic fluff.

kari yaps. inspired by nai @st4rfckerz to write some clark smut :) it's my first ever time writing something like this for baby so pls be nice about it <333

the drive-in had been clark's idea, a rare night off from his responsibilities and a chance to spend time together without the weight of the world on his shoulders. the summer air was warm, the windows of the small blue pickup truck cracked open just enough to let in the faint breeze. the smell of buttery popcorn wafted in from the concession stand, mixing with the soft hum of the projector and the distant murmurs of people in other cars.

he'd been quiet most of the evening, his arm draped around your shoulders as the two of you leaned back against the worn leather seats. the movie—a horror flick you couldn't quite focus on—played across the giant screen in front of you. clark had been holding you close, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm, but something felt… different.

at first, you thought he was just restless. his knee bounced lightly, his breathing a little heavier than usual. you leaned into him, hoping to soothe whatever was bothering him, but instead of relaxing, his arm tightened around you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"clark?" you ask softly, tilting your head up to look at him. his jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed on the screen, but there's a flicker of something in his expression that sends heat pooling low in your stomach.

"i'm fine," he murmurs, his voice a little strained, but the way his hand moves to your thigh tells a different story.

you swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the closeness of the cab, the way his fingers are sliding higher, inching beneath the hem of your sundress.

"clark," you whisper again, a warning this time, your eyes darting toward the cars parked around you.

"relax, baby," he says, his voice soft but commanding. "no one's paying attention. they're all too busy watching the movie—or rather on each other."

his lips brush against your temple, his breath warm against your skin as his hand presses higher, his fingers grazing the edge of your panties. your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation flooding your senses.

"but—" you start, your protest dying on your lips as he shifts, turning you slightly so you're facing away from him.

"trust me," he says, his voice low and full of promise.

before you can respond, his hands are on your hips, guiding you forward until you're on your stomach, your chest pressed against the cool leather of the seat. the position is awkward at first, your knees bent beneath you, but then you feel him, hard and insistent against the curve of your ass, and any thought of stopping him evaporates.

"baby," you whisper, your voice trembling as his hands slide beneath your dress, tugging your panties down your thighs.

"shh," he soothes, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. "no one will notice. i'll make sure of it."

you want to believe him, but the creak of the truck as he shifts behind you sends a fresh wave of nerves through you.

"what about the truck—"

"'s fine," he says, his voice firm as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "they're all too distracted."

his hands grip your hips, pulling you back against him as he frees himself, the heat of him almost too much as he slides against you. when he finally pushes into you, slow and calculated, a broken moan escapes your lips, muffled by the seat beneath you.

"that's it, baby girl," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "so perfect."

his thrusts are slow at first, his hands steadying you as he moves, but the angle—the way the cramped space of the cab forces you closer together—has you biting your lip to keep from crying out.

"fuck," you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat as he picks up his pace, each movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"you're doing so good,” he praises, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. "just let go. no one can see you. it's just us."

you try to focus on his words, on the way he feels inside you, but the faint creak of the truck and the knowledge that anyone could look over at any moment has you teetering on the edge of panic.

"they'll see," you manage, your voice muffled against the seat.

"they won't," he assures you, his hand sliding up your spine in a soothing gesture. "trust me, baby. they're all too busy with their own thing. and even if they did…" he trails off, his lips brushing against your ear. "i'd still ruin you right here."

his words send a wave of heat through you, your body clenching around him as he continues to move, his thrusts growing deeper, more deliberate.

the sounds of the movie—screams and dramatic music—fill the air, masking the soft creak of the truck and the muffled moans that escape you despite your best efforts.

clark's hands grip your hips tighter, his breathing ragged as he chases his release, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the tension in your body building with every movement.

"come for me," he whispers, his voice rough and desperate. "let me feel you, baby girl."

it's all you need. the wave crashes over you, your body trembling beneath him as you bury your face against the seat to muffle your cries.

he follows moments later, his movements slowing as he buries himself deep, a low groan escaping him as he collapses against your back.

for a moment, the two of you are silent, the sounds of the movie and the faint hum of the projector the only things breaking the quiet.

"see?" he says finally, his voice soft and teasing. "told you no one would notice."

you let out a breathless laugh, your body still tingling as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his hands gentle as he helps you straighten your dress.

"you're impossible," you murmur, but the smile on your lips betrays you.

"and you love it," he counters, pulling you into his arms as the two of you settle back against the seat.

as the movie continues to play, you rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. despite the flush in your cheeks and the lingering thrill of what just happened, you can't help but feel safe in his arms.

and maybe a little scandalized.

SPECIAL TAGS. @floralscented @titsout4jackles @deansbite @jasvtsc @aileenunfiltered @fallbhind @lacydollette @ultravi0lence14 . . . ୨୧

[artyandink]

UNCONSCIOUSLY SEXUAL.ᐟREADER, where you didn’t even know that most of the things you said, wore or did were kind of/very provocative. you were just… sweet, a total darling to the adults, which was why MARTHA and JONATHAN lent CLARK to help you when your house had been burgled and your parents were abroad, so they couldn’t help. Of course. your pretty little head didn’t know how a boy in your year who you’d been friends with since childhood, but you were happy to spend time with the all-american, thirsted over farm boy. He was just pretty (your brain knew better, he was hot as high hell. to the point where your panties got damp to the thought of his biceps).

CLARK was in a similar boat— he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last— he wasn’t sweating bullets because of the heat, he was sweating due to the face that your pretty lips — shit, he hadn’t even thought that way about you before — were wrapped around your thumb after a sweet glass of lemonade, in a low-necked tank, high-cut shorts, and he was so sure that he could’ve seen baby pink lace peeking out from the waistband.

Whatever it was, it was killing him fast.

Plus, he knew those panties matched a nice lil’ bra in your room that he’d unintentionally seen when up there dropping off notes— just another thing that made his mind run circles. Like, c’mon, he knew for sure that his mom and dad taught him better than to think that way about girls who didn’t even mean to do it, his brain wired itself to think that way. Now that he mentioned it, that sounded like a really bad excuse, he just felt guilty for objectifying you.

It wasn’t just the provocative actions like bending over or accidentally saying things that sounded like they alluded to sex.

it was your big eyes. your pouty lips. your perfect legs and the swing of your perfect hips when you walked. how you were so innocent and didn’t have the foggiest clue what some guys wanted to do to your gorgeous body. your ass in the pretty skirts and shorts you liked to wear. the bows on all your clothes. How you tilted your head when you didn’t know something. The bat of your eyelashes when pleading for someone to do something for you— it almost always forced a hand.

CLARK had to remind himself to stay calm. composed. a friend—

“Clark, mmh,” oh, fuck, the pretty moan that slipped from your parted lips as your soaking pussy glided up and down his cock was intoxicating, CLARK’S head tipping back against the sofa cushions at the sound, hand smoothing up your hip, to your waist and back down over your ass and thigh. his other hand trapped your little pink panties in a tight fist, his mind subconsciously making a decision to keep it so he could use it as a poor substitute for this tight cunt, dear Lord.

He was probably going to hell for using the Lord’s name in this context.

“That’s me,” He nodded, voice cracking right before a whimper, an honest to God whimper left his mouth upon feeling your pussy clench around him and seeing how your cheeks were flushed, pretty lips in a perfect ‘o’ and how your gorgeous tits moved up and down in that tank top. Up and down, up and down— he was going to get hypnotised.

CLARK didn’t even know how he got here— his foggy memory recalling something like getting you straddling his thighs, slipping his fingers between your legs to find your perfect panties already soaked— if that’s what he did to you, who knew what else you’d do for him?

His jaw clenched, feeling rooted to the spot as his fingers dug into your ass— but it wasn’t even him moving you, you were doing it all on your own, being such a big girl and bouncing on his cock yourself, with small little whimpers every time he filled you to the brim. You were moaning about how he was “s’big” and how you were “s’full”, eyes rolled back with your fingers digging into his back and along his hair.

His head lolled forward, only to have his eyes zero in on how your pussy sucked in his cock to pair with his super hearing overwhelming him with the wet sounds and your little moans and babbling murmurs hit his ears like a freight train. He didn’t help his case, he’d begun to jerk his hips up only slightly— but to you that felt like a rough thrust that had you crying out his name. Perks of having superhuman strength, huh?

And superhuman sensitivity, any longer and he’d be in the same state as you.

“S’tight, don’t— don’tcha stop—”

Oh, too late. Guess it’s not your fault that you’re UNCONSCIOUSLY SEXUAL.

special tags 4 my clark moots: @faiszt, @blackynsupremacy, @angelbabyyy99, @svnriseblvdd if there’s anyone I forgot I apologise profusely also @cherrygirlfriend I told u about this so here’s my vision

had to do a new line to include the lovely @sabrinasopposite

[beaucate]

˚₊‧🍓⭒🧺‧₊˚ INTRODUCING OBLIVIOUS READER

oblivious reader x clark kent one. / more works of this below.

OBLIVIOUS READER who doesn't realize that the vibrant green glow running within her blood stream, is all because of the farm boy whose smile is so gentle it leaves her brain all fuzzy.

OBLIVIOUS READER just does not see the way said 'farm boy' would set his eyes on her every chance he gets, always a little too aware to where she is in a room. it has to be on lois or lana; because why would his eyes soften, and cheeks flame as red as his flannel just because of her?

OBLIVIOUS READER thinks the shyness he displays is all part of farm boy charm. not noticing that he's memorized her coffee order (one pack of sweetener and two pumps of caramel). she ignores how the rough callouses of his knuckles constantly brush the sides of her arms when he's 'passing by' and slowing down his steps to match by the rhythm of her walking.

OBLIVIOUS READER never questions why clark is somehow always around. with every walk home in the middle of the night, every time she's been in dire need of help - before even muttering the word for it; clark is always just close enough to make sure her needs are more than met.

works

oblivious reader one. . . . greenhouse dust (upcoming)

i am so so excited to write more of her! any requests or thoughts are so welcome my mind is full of this atm! i also very clearly couldn't decide between tom or clark, so i'll try to make the writing as neutral as possible - if not specifically labelling it.

[dulcescorderitas]

it was late when you stumbled up the gravel driveway to the kent farmhouse, the cool night air doing nothing to sober the haze clouding your mind. the porch light was on, a soft yellow glow that made the house feel impossibly warm and inviting—just like clark. your clark. you could already picture him inside, probably reading or fixing something, being his usual annoyingly perfect self.

“claaaark,” you called, your voice dragging as you pushed the screen door open with more force than necessary. it banged against the frame, and you winced, giggling at your own clumsiness. “clark, where are you? i need youuuu.”

the sound of heavy, familiar footsteps thudded through the house, and a moment later, clark appeared in the doorway, his brows furrowed in confusion. “(y/n)? what are you… are you drunk?”

you flopped against the doorframe dramatically, looking up at him with what you were sure was the most pitiful expression you could muster. “maybe,” you said, dragging the word out. “but it’s not my fault, clark. it’s… it’s tequila’s fault. and also, you weren’t there, and i missed you.”

his frown softened immediately, replaced by something warmer, something that made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “you missed me?” he asked, stepping closer and gently taking your arm to steady you. his touch was so solid, so grounding, that you leaned into him instinctively.

“so much,” you whined, pressing your forehead against his chest. “you’re always off saving people or… lifting tractors or whatever it is you do, and i’m just… lonely.”

his arms came up around you, warm and secure, and he let out a soft chuckle. “first of all, i don’t just lift tractors,” he said, his voice full of that teasing affection that made your heart flutter. “and second, you could’ve called me. i’d have come running.”

you tilted your head back to look at him, pouting. “but i wanted to see you. and hug you. and…” your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his flannel shirt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “and maybe do a little more than just kiss you.”

his blush deepened, spreading up his neck, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist, steadying you. “(y/n), you…” he trailed off, his voice soft but cautious. “you’re not exactly in a clear headspace right now.”

“but i’m so frustrated,” you whined, leaning up to nuzzle into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. “you’re always running off, being all heroic and perfect, and i… i just want you, clark. right now. please? i want you to…” your voice dipped lower, a sultry edge creeping in despite the slur, “just take me upstairs and fuck me already.”

his breath hitched, and for a moment, you felt his hands tighten on your hips, his resolve wavering. the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, but then he pulled back slightly, cradling your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “hey,” he said gently, his voice steady and full of warmth. “you know i want you too. you have no idea how much. but not like this, not when you’re like this. you’ll thank me tomorrow, i promise.”

“i won’t,” you grumbled, but your words lacked any real conviction. “you’re too good, you know that? too damn good.”

“and you’re tipsy,” he replied with a small smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “but we’ve got forever, remember? there’s no rush.”

“i hate when you’re right,” you muttered, but you let him guide you toward the couch, where he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“get some rest,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “and tomorrow, we’ll talk. properly.”

even in your hazy, frustrated state, you couldn’t help but smile at him. “fine,” you said, sinking into the couch and letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence lull you into a drowsy calm. “but you’re not getting out of this forever thing, kent.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he said softly, watching over you as you drifted off, his love for you shining in his eyes.

taglist: @legalmente-loca @soangelbaby

[luciddaizey]

Cursed waters • Clark Kent

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Don't be Sorry

I stood in front of the floor length mirror in the corner of my new room, staring at the chip in the top right corner of the wooden border from when I accidentally hit it on the side of the moving truck last night. I could feel my jaw tighten as I looked myself up and down.

How am I supposed to do this?

"MARLEIGH, YOUR CAR IS HERE!"

Honestly that was the first good news I'd heard in a long time. I felt gross. Dull and lifeless. Like I wasn't even a person anymore, like I looked just as bad as I felt, and like everyone else could see it too. Honestly bless Uncle Mike for not making me start school until next week. Senior year, one last ride.

I grabbed my wallet from the top of a stack of boxes I hadn't unpacked yet, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing grounding me. Mike was already at the bottom of the staircase, dangling my keys in the air in what I'm assuming was an attempt to make me laugh. Feeling bad, I gave him one..trying to make it sound as believable as possible.

"Need any help with chores today?"

I watched his expression fall, out of pity I'm sure. I know he's trying, but I could just tell how badly he felt for me, and I hated it. "Not yet, I'll give you the lay of the land tomorrow. For now why don't you just go check on the horses." He avoided my eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "Sure." I gave him a tense smile, grabbing my keys from him and hooking them on my belt loop before heading out the front door.

It took approximately two seconds of being outside before I saw Clark coming towards me. "Hey, Marleigh!"

I feel bad, he's so sweet and I couldn't be bothered. Not that it has anything to do with him, I just can't keep on a single train of thought for more than twenty seconds at a time right now. It's like everything around me kept spinning and I was just stuck in place with nowhere to go and no way out. "I was just coming over to bring you this, my mom made it."

He handed me a small bracelet, a mix of pink and black beads. "She made this for me? Why?"

I felt a ping in my heart, and not the bad kind. For the first time since I found my mom that afternoon, I felt warm. How could someone be so kind to a random girl she didn't even know? It didn't even matter if it was out of pity or if it was genuine, i didn't care. Not this time.

"She's just like that, all mom mode...all the time." He gave me a soft, almost hesitant smile. Suddenly his eyes widened like they were about to burst out of his head. I raised a brow slightly, confused at the sudden switch. "I'm so sorry that was so insensitive, I didn't mea-" I cut him off as quickly as possible. "Don't apologize, it's okay. Your mom is sweet and i promise I wasn't even thinking about it like that."

He ran a hand down his face, his smile faint but unmistakably genuine. Before he could respond, I spoke up myself. "Actually..I should apologize to you."

Now he was the one looking confused. He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical as he internally questioned my intentions I'm sure. I noticed the way the corner of his mouth naturally turned slightly upward as he raised his brow, making a small smile line appear on the side of his face.

"I was rude yesterday, to you and your parents. I was just stressed...and tired. The drive from California was like twenty-nine hours and I hadn't eaten or slept and my head was killing me and I was-"

"Marleigh, please relax. You don't need to be sorry okay, you weren't rude at all. And even if you had been, we wouldn't blame you. Being in a new place like this is probably hard, I get it." He looked away as his sentence ended, unable to meet my gaze. A clear indication of his guilt. Great.

"I was. I was rude, and I'm sorry. I think..maybe you guys were just subconsciously cutting me some slack." I mustered up a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood a little. I watched as he met my eyes once more and the corners of his mouth turned into a small smile. "I just want you to know that I'm not always like that. So...timid. It's just strange. Moving to a new place to live with an uncle I hardly know, in a tiny town full of people I don't know...knowing they all know me. And why I'm here. It's just gonna take some time, you know?"

"For what it's worth..first days are always rough, I'd never judge you for that. And just so you know, you do have a friend here. And not just because I feel bad for you or something, I'm here." He spoke softly, tilting his head slightly towards me to show he meant what he was saying. "Actually, I was just about to go grab a coffee. Do you like coffee? I could use some company."

At that point, nothing sounded better than getting out of the house. As well-intended as Mike was, he saw my mom every time he looked at me. And I saw it in him. "Lead the way."

•

The Talon was cute, and the coffee wasn't bad. I could feel Clark staring at the side of my face, so I looked up and gave him a soft smile. "It's good, if that's what you're wondering."

As he opened his mouth to speak, a shorter girl with dark brown hair came over, shooting Clark an almost harsh glance before looking over at me with what seemed like a forced smile. Fabulous, just what I need right now. "Hey Clark, who's this?"

Clark smiled at her, before introducing me as Mikes niece who just moved in next door. "Oh, cool. Mike is really nice, he's worked with my aunt a few times! I'm Lana." She reached out to shake my hand, which I gladly accepted. "Marleigh. Very nice to meet you."

She cast a sideways glance at Clark, her lips pressed into a thin line. After telling us to let her know if we needed anything, she walked off. "So...girlfriend?"

Clark nearly spit out his coffee at that. "No. No no no no. Lana, is just a friend trust me." He fidgeted with the handle of his mug, his movements jerky and hesitant. "Very convincing."

He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his discomfort. A deep sigh let out from deep in his chest, one I wasn't expecting. He seemed genuinely upset that I didn't believe him. "Look, I've liked Lana for forever. But she's kind of been stringing me along for...awhile now. I'm a little tired of it. I mean I care about her, a ton. I'm just starting to think that's shifting into more as a friend than anything else, you know? It's complicated, but I'm really trying to move on. For real this time."

I gave a small single shouldered shrug as I let off a small smile. "Hey...I get it. At my old school I was so focused on my grades that I never really paid attention to anyone or anything. There was this guy that I really liked though, from afar. Long story short, he made me think he liked me...he didn't."

He tiled his head slightly, his expression saddened. "People suck sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I asked, small smile on my face as he let out a laugh. I don't think it was till then that I actually noticed how kind his smile was. He just seemed so...real. Genuine. Like he was the only person in this god forsaken town that wasn't only being nice to me because I was the sad girl who's mom died and who's dad didn't want her. It was nice, talking to Clark. He was nice.