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sunshinemunchkin · 8 days ago

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soft mornings

pairing. bob reynolds x reader

summary. you and bob enjoying each others company in bed in the morning

content warning. just so much fluff, established relationship, bob calling r honey, r being described as pretty and beautiful, cuddling, soft kisses everywhere (sfw), i love you’s, not proofread lol

word count. 1348

———

it wasn’t often bob was able to steal you away from the rest of the team.

there always seemed to be something waiting around every corner - a meeting that was being held, a mission to be sent off to, an argument that somehow found you - and frankly, he was sick of it. bob knew it was all important, he wasn’t dense. sometimes, though, he wishes everything would relax for a moment. breathe.

late nights are where you caught each other the most. conversations were better in the moonlight, your hushed whispers passing through the quiet air, faces inches apart as you lay together. sometimes you didn’t say a word, simply embracing each other underneath the warm sheets of your bed.

your bed is exactly where bob found himself this morning, soft and filled with your scent. he was overjoyed to say these least right now. there wasn’t a single thing that required your attendance. that meant bob had you all to himself the entire day.

it was about 8:00 in the morning, the sun peaking its way over the city skyline. the deep orange threaded through the half open blinds on your window just enough to illuminate the room in lines. one of those lines rested right across your cheek. you looked beautiful like this, truly, sound asleep in bobs arms, head resting right on his broad chest like a pillow.

on any normal occasion, his heart would be pounding against your smushed cheek. having someone like you next to him was nerve-racking enough - unwaveringly kind and attentive, always so pretty to look at - but bob worried when he held you like this. he overthought his place in your life, afraid you’d realize just how messed up he is and leave. even worse, he was afraid he’d take you somewhere horrible, to a memory you’ve tried to suppress.

right now, in this very moment, none of that mattered. bobs heart was steady as can be, thumping in tandem with your own. they must’ve synced together sometime in the night, he thought, the tips of his ears heating up the moment it grazed his mind. you were peaceful in his arms, safe. you trusted him enough to sleep so deep with him, to share such intimacy. you were even excited for it. the big, dopey smile that was plastered on your face when you could finally crawl into his arms last night was engraved into his head.

bob was so entranced that he hardly noticed as you began to stir in his arms, shifting your weight around slightly as you came out of your slumber. that shift of weight included half heartedly slinging your leg over his, wedging between them comfortably. it was your sleepy attempt of getting closer to him.

“hey, honey,” bob whispered, voice deep and smooth against the top of your head. you began to smile as he places a gentle kiss to your hair. the more you woke up, the more of him you could feel. his steady breathing, his large hand cupping your jaw, the finger soothingly tracing the length of your spine.

“hi, baby”, you whispered back softly, head moving just enough to plant a kiss straight to his palm. your eyes hadn’t opened just yet, and you were in no rush to do so. not when you were this comfortable.

there was no pressure to say anything to bob, to entertain him in any sort of way. the silence was enough for him, the same it was for you. there was no rush to get up, to do anything but lay together, limbs intertwined. your gentle touch found its way to his warm skin, fingers beginning to slowly trail his side.

you eventually decided to let your eyes flutter open, burying your head into your boyfriends chest just slightly as you began readjusting to the bright light coming from outside. it wasn’t long until you slowly blinked up at bob, chin moving to plant right where your cheek had been moments ago.

your gaze met bobs immediately. he’d already been staring, admiring. it was intense. his bright blue eyes shimmered down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. he wasn’t always this good at eye contact, which is why it made your heart rate quicken. it was deep and unwavering and filled with so much love.

“i love you so much,” you told him as soft as ever. it was bobs turn to become flustered. you caught the way his heart picked up faster than yours, and the way he nearly broke eye contact.

“i love you more,” bob mumbled out, trying desperately to fight the blush that was creeping up his neck. he still cradled your jaw with one of his hands, thumb slowly beginning to stroke against your cheekbone.

you loved having his hands on you. he was always so gentle with you. even when his grip was tight, bobs touch was soft, loving. you were convinced, despite the sentry serum running through his veins, that he didn’t have a single mean or aggressive bone in his body. he’s a kind man, and you make sure you tell him that any chance you get.

“i wish we could stay like this forever,” he spoke softly, eyes still locked with yours, hands soothingly caressing your skin. that and his voice was enough to send you back to sleep. he had his chin tucked down so that your face was only inches apart from his.

“me too,” you agreed, just as soft. “think you can settle just for today?”

bob contemplated for a few moment as if he didn’t already know his answer. “i think so, honey. just as long as you don’t have to pee.”

a giggle slipped from your lips at the man’s words, nudging his side with one of your fingers teasingly. the touch made him jump, and for a moment you thought you startled him. the laugh he huffed out calmed your nerves quickly. you pried your fingers away from his waist, slowly finding its place at bobs forehead. you wanted a better look at his pretty eyes, and the only way to get that is by moving away his hair. and maybe, just maybe, you wanted an excuse to feel the soft strands against your fingertips.

with the arm tucked beneath you, you gently shifted yourself up bobs body a little. his touch followed you, desperate to keep ahold of your body. you weren’t going far, only up enough for your face to hover over his. bobs hands still followed as if you were gonna slip away forever. he only realized what your intentions were when you broke eye contact, letting your eyes flutter shut. his shut the moment yours did, slowly guiding you towards him the rest of the way.

bobs lips met yours in a long, chaste kiss, one that left the both of you breathless. his hand found its way from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers sprawling out to cradle your head like they were meant to be there. the hand on your back never stopped moved, soothingly caressing underneath your shirt. your fingers threaded gently within bobs hair, nails gently scraping his scalp in a way you knew he loved.

you were the first to pull away from the kiss, reluctant and pouty as you opened your eyes again. it was only moments before his fluttered open, quick to stare up into your eyes through his lashes. bobs nose nudged yours affectionately as you gazed into each others eyes, a blush prominent on his skin. even still, you made him nervous.

bob scrunched up his nose the moment you kissed the tip of it, taken aback slightly by the affection. that small kiss was followed by more, littered slowly against the warm skin of his face. no place was left out, everywhere from between his eyebrows, his chin, and his jawline were blessed with the most gentle kisses you could manage.

there wasn’t a single other place in the world bob would rather be right now.

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sunshinemunchkin · 8 days ago

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whispered confessions

pairing. bob reynolds x gn!reader

summary. 3 times you wanted to tell bob you love him, and the one time he did instead

content warnings. fluff, established relationships, kissing, hugging, crying+comfort. not proofread

word count. 2524

a/n. yes i’m doing another 3+1 again with him shut up. i’m trying to wiggle myself back into writing

———

extra blankets

even in a building with the best heating systems in the city, you were cold. freezing, even, much like the snow day outside on the ground. you’d made the mistake of washing all of your softest blankets in the washer so late, and now you were dealing with the consequences. it was 11 pm and you’d just put them in the dryer.

the regret began to settle in as you padded your way back towards your bedroom, limbs shaking slightly out of spite. you thought that climbing under your thick comforter would be enough, though the closer you inched towards your room, you were beginning to think otherwise. you weren’t sure much of anything would help you now, not until you got your three thick, fluffy blankets fresh from the dryer.

“are you okay?”

those words startled you half to death as you whip around, relief washing over you the moment you laid eyes on bob, your boyfriend of two months now. concern was etched all over his features as he stared you down, watching as you shiver. you try and nod, to convince him that you were a-okay. even so early in the relationship, he could read you so easily. with just a raise of your eyebrow you gave him, shoulders slouching in defeat.

“i’m freezing and all of my nice blankets just got put in the dryer,” you pout, wrapping your arms around your body in a weak attempt to contain your heat.

with a small smile, bob walked over to you, grabbing your hand and tugging you along to his room. though he was just guiding you, you interlocked your fingers with his anyways, your own smile playing on your lips as he follows suit. he only lets go after you two get into his room, shuffling over towards his closet that wasn’t quite filled like he wished it was. it wasn’t hard to find the two soft blankets he was looking for, immediately tugging them it to give to you. bob tucked one under his arm as he unfolds the other, moving to wrap it loosely around your shoulders. you gratefully grabbed ahold of it, wrapping it tighter against your body.

“you’re the best, you know that?” you ask him rhetorically, smiling wide up at him. bob simply shrugged off your comment, eyes glancing down at his feet for just a moment as he thought. he looked almost bashful standing in front of you.

that’s when something washed over you, a feeling that was unmistakable. you were beginning to love bob, and you knew that for a fact. it came so easily to you, so casually when it most certainly was not. you stood a fool in front of him as you thought yourself, jaw slack for just a moment as the realization fully hits you. you closed your mouth in just enough time before he could see, inching closer to him until your gently wrapping him into a hug.

“thank you,” you mumble against his chest, his warmth radiating against you perfectly. the blanket he’d so graciously offered you was warm, but nothing beat the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, his warm lips pressing against your hairline in a careful kiss.

today might not be the day to confess, but you knew you’d find your way there eventually

———

alpine

you always knew bob had a soft spot for animals. you see it in the way he always asks to pet a dog on the street and the way you catch him smiling at cat videos he’s found online. he’s spoken before about wanting a pet of his own, maybe a retriever he could go on walks with. you always encouraged it, because you thought that would be good for him. he’d benefit from having the company and the responsibility.

bob, however, never made much of an effort to move forward with it. maybe he didn’t want to raise a pet in the tower, or maybe it was just wishful thinking of some far off future he wasn’t sure he’d ever get. either way, he never brought himself to getting one. it was clear, however, it was still something he wanted. especially now. he was sat in the common area, his book long forgotten on the counter as he lounges in a chair. in his lap was alpine, bucky’s cat he’d brought with him from DC. she’d just wandered over to him, curious as always as she sniffs at him.

if she was trying to figure if she could trust bob, it didn’t take long for her to make up her mind. she was up in his lap before he could process what was happening. still, he didn’t shoo her away or complain. he, instead, smiled down at alpine and set his book aside to give her his attention. that’s how you’d found him, gently petting her as she nuzzles into his hand. you couldn’t help but smile, admiring them from afar quietly. you didn’t make yourself known for nearly a minute. when you did, you made your footsteps heavy to signal you were walking towards them, trying your hardest not to startle anyone.

alpine jumped a little, before settling back down against bobs touch when she realized he wasn’t scared. he just smiles up at you, eyes shimmering happily into yours. you come up behind his chair, leaning down enough to kiss his cheek hello, hand smoothing back his hair to get a better look at him.

“looks like you found yourself a friend,” you whisper, peppering two more kids against his cheek before pulling away.

“yeah, but it’s kinda one sided,” bob shrugs, blushing slightly under your kisses. “she gets all the attention.”

you laugh softly at his words, watching as alpine meows impatiently when his petting falters for just a few short seconds. after threading your fingers through bobs soft hair, combing it back one last time, you move to the couch next to his chair. you put on your best fake pout when you sit down and look at him.

“she’s also taking my seat,” you whine, eyes wide with fake dread. “super unfair if you ask me. she barely knows you.”

bob shakes his head as he laughs along with your words, realizing a moment or two too late that you were only joking. he nearly jumped for forgiveness. instead, he plays into it, cupping alpines face and turning it enough for her to look at you.

“she’s so cute though,” bob pouts, smiling as she purrs under his touch. his eyes are round and pleading when he looks back at you. “think you can forgive her?”

“i dunno,” you trial off, reaching over to pet alpine, who is quick to take the attention. so quick, in fact, that she hops right off of bobs lap and right into yours. a fake, betrayed gasp escapes his lips, mouth agape as he stares at the scene in front of him.

“oh i can definitely forgive her now!” you exclaim.

you continue to pet her, watching as she pushes against your hands excitedly. instead of putting up a fight, bob accepts his defeat and picks his book back up, finding the spot he left off on quickly after that. he huffs out for just a moment before he begins to read, a content smile on his face. you catch him staring for only a moment, something that made your heart leap. that unmistakable feeling of love was back in your chest again, but this time, it was a little harder to shove down. luckily, you were able to distract yourself with alpine for now.

———

comfort

all you wanted to do was relax.

this was the first sunday you had off in weeks, and you had the whole day planned out for yourself. catch up on your laundry, tidy up your room, and lay down. watch some tv, maybe. read a book. anything that didn’t require tending to someone else’s needs and demands. you didn’t quite get that.

instead of doing your laundry inside of the tower, you found yourself marching two blocks down with a basket of dirty clothes in your arms to the nearest laundromat. somehow, the machines at the tower were broken. all three of them. you had just enough quarters on you to wash and dry your clothes, barely getting by for the day. you were lucky you didn’t have more that needed cleaned.

instead of just tidying up your room, you spent the first 20 minutes desperately wiping up the detergent you clumsily spilled on your bathroom tiles. just a little trialed off to the carpet of your bedroom, which was more of a pain to get out than it should’ve been.

instead of lying down afterwards, you marched towards the meeting room two floors down, per valentina’s orders. she droned on and on for nearly 2 hours about cutting down on spending, and possibly something about new missions being assigned tomorrow morning. you stopped listening after the first ten minutes. if it was important, you were sure you’d hear of it again when you were in a much better mood.

to make matters worse, when you finally found your way back up to your room, you realized at the most unfortunate time that the batteries in your remote controller were dead. with a loud groan, you pushed yourself out of the bed you so desperately wanted to stay in, storming out of your room in search of new batteries. for some reason, your first thought was to go to bob for help. he always knew what to do, and if he didn’t, he would help you think it through.

the knock you gave at his door startled you a little, hitting with too heavy of a hand. you cringed at the sound as bob shuffles to his feet, stumbling over to open the door for you. the large frown on your face sent his heart tumbling down his stomach. he let you in without hesitation, which cued your rambling. you told him about everything that’d happened to you today, how your plans had all been ruined, how your rest day turned into what you proclaimed was torment. you didn’t realize just how frustrated you’d become over it all until you were finished ranting, your eyes now welled up with warm tears.

you held back your tears the best you could, turning your face away to hide from bob. you were ashamed at how worked up you’d become, and even more ashamed to have been this pathetic looking in front of him. he didn’t ask for you to come in and rant, but you did anyways, and now you were on the verge of tears.

“i’m so sorry,” you told him weakly, lower lip trembling as you try and compose yourself. “i’ve just had such a long few weeks.”

right as you tried to hide your face away with your hands, to wipe away the two stray tears that slipped down your cheeks, you felt bobs strong hands find your arms. he was so gentle with the way he pulled you close to him, engulfing you in the biggest hug he could manage. you always love his hugs.

“don’t be sorry,” bob whispered into your ear.

your head hit his chest with a dull thunk, bottom lip jutting out as tears begin to slip from your eyes freely. quiet sniffles could be heard as you wrap your arms around his torso, hands gripping his shirt as you let him hug you. he didn’t have much to say to you now, though you didn’t mind. this was more than enough, much more than you thought you deserved after barging in like this.

after your crying had subdued, tear stains streaking down your cheeks, you pulled yourself away from his warm embrace. bob gently wiped your tears away with his thumbs, before grabbing ahold of the remote you’d brought in with you.

“let’s get you some new batteries,” bob told you quietly.

you watched in silence a he takes out the dead ones, sitting them on his nightstand just moments before he begins his search for new ones. there was a unopened pack buried inside of a moving box he never fully finished unpacking. he slid two new ones right into the back of the remote, offering you a small smile once he was done.

then is when you realized another ‘i love you’ was on the very tip of your tongue, threatening to slip out. you fought it again just like you’ve done several times before. this didn’t feel like the right time, not yet. you opted to simply hug him again, thanking him quietly for his braveness for taking on your emotions head on. you even gave him a sweet, watery kiss on the lips and invited him over to watch the movie with you.

you were beginning to think there wouldn’t ever be a good time to confess to bob.

———

late night

bobs bedroom was its usual quiet. your slow breathing was matching his, arms wrapped around your waist as you lay together. he was curled up under the blankets behind you, his chest right against your back firm and steady. every so often, his lips would connect with your shoulder in a quiet kiss. there wasn’t much that could make this better. you loved his company more than anything. you leaned into his touch and held him close.

there wasn’t much to say this late at night, not when you were both so tired. you’d just gotten back from a three day long mission, and bob was training more than ever this was exactly what you two needed. quiet time in his bed where you couldn’t be bothered. sleep taunted the both of you as your eyelids grew heavy, letting them rest closed eventually in the darkness of his room. it wasn’t hard to drift towards your exhaustion, letting it overcome you naturally.

what had drawn you away was bobs words murmured against your back. you didn’t quite hear them at first, eyebrows furrowing together as you try and make out what he’d told you. you decided to ask him, quiet and gentle and patient. you wanted to hear everything he had to say, even if it was nonsense he was whispering as he falls asleep. he’d said it a little louder, though still in a whisper, and this time you heard him.

“i love you.”

that was unmistakable. the words left his lips so naturally any other person listening in would’ve thought he’d said it a million times before. he hadn’t. this was the first time bob had uttered the words to you, the first time other of you had said them. your heart began to race in your chest, hammering on as you process what he’s said to you. you notice the way he perks up when you don’t respond, nervous and unsure and ready to backpedal.

“i love you too,” you whisper to him, quick to ease his worry. bobs head falls back to the pillow in an instant, letting out a deep breath of relief. “more than you know.”

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sunshinemunchkin · 8 days ago

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Kiss It Out !!

in which you’re trying to scold clark kent. really, you are. he scared you half to death again, and he deserves every word of the rant you’re throwing at him. but clark isn’t listening—he can’t. not when you’re pacing in front of him, lips moving, fire in your eyes, and all he can think about is kissing you.

pairing: clark kent x gn! reader

‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆

You’re pacing. Hands flailing, voice rising in pitch with the kind of frustration only he seems capable of drawing out of you. Clark sits on the edge of your couch, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on you with a softness that doesn’t quite match your tone in the slightest.

He’s not really listening.

Your voice is sharp, colored with that mix of exasperation and affection you always use on him, but his mind has wandered. He should be tracking every point you’re making—about how reckless he’d been, how close he’d come to getting hurt, how it terrified you when he brushed it off like it was nothing. Instead, all he can focus on is the way your lips move when you talk, the quick rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyes flash at him.

“You don’t get it, Clark. You can’t just— throw yourself into situations like that and expect me not to worry. I know you’re Superman and all but—Do you even realize how—“

He’s watching your mouth. The way your lips shape every word, how sharp your consonants get when you’re irritated, how your breath hitches when you’re trying to find the exact phrasing for how mad you are.

“—and then, you smile at me like it’s no big deal— like you didn’t almost—“

He swallows hard, nodding at the right moments, but it’s half-hearted at best. You don’t notice, too caught up in your rant, moving closer to him without realizing it. His gaze drops, unbidden, to your mouth again.

It’s unbearable.

“… and you just can’t do that, Clark, you can’t—“

And that’s when he kisses you. Sudden. Firm. You freeze, mid-sentence, your protest swallowed by the press of his lips. For a heartbeat, your brain shorts out.

When he pulls back, he’s blushing but smiling too, all sheepish charm. “Sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Your jaw drops. “You weren’t—Clark! I was—“

Another kiss. Quick this time, like punctuation.

You huff against his mouth and shove weakly at his chest. “I’m serious! You can’t just—“

But he’s already kissing you again, longer this time, coaxing your lips to move with his until your indignation finally slips, falls, and crumbles.

When he finally lets you breathe, your glare is ruined by the pink in your cheeks and the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. “You can’t kiss me every time you don’t want to hear me lecture you, Kent.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” he teases, quiet and gentle, as though he’s half-afraid you’ll push him away.

“Clark,” you breathe, half in disbelief, half in surrender. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him down before he can retreat. “You’re impossible.”

And then it’s you who kisses him, with a frustration that’s given up on words altogether.

‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆‎♪⊹₊⟡⋆

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sunshinemunchkin · 8 days ago

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clark kent x reader ♡ 633 words, fluff, idiots in love, pre established relationship, you fit into clark’s clothes, f!reader

in which clark sees you in his clothes for the first time.

Heavy rain pounded against the windows of Clark’s apartment. The two of you had just finished watching a movie (your tradition every Friday night) and you were wondering how on Earth you were supposed to get back home in this weather. Walking was out of the question, of course. And so was the train—who knew how flooded the subway was at this point. You were about to start panicking when the sound of Clark’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“You can stay over tonight. If—if you want,” he stuttered, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose—”

“No, no, you wouldn’t be imposing. Besides, I don’t like the idea of you being out so late by yourself. Plus the rain…”

“Okay. Thanks,” you gave him a small smile.

So that was settled. The thought of staying overnight at Clark’s made your stomach flip. You’ve been friends for a while now, and it didn’t take long for you to develop a massive crush on him. You just hoped you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself.

Clark was about to start the next movie when you remembered something. You didn’t have a bag packed with you for an overnight stay, along with all of the essentials or any pajamas to change into.

“Um—Clark?”

He grabbed the remote and pressed pause, turning to you. “You okay? Did you want more snacks? I can—”

“I’m fine. Thanks. I just… I only just realized that I don’t have anything with me,” you said, voice small.

His eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. Well, uh, you can borrow my pajamas if you want. Just choose any from the bottom drawer of my dresser in my room. They might be a little big, though.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. “Are—are you sure?”

Clark nodded, cheeks turning pink. “Definitely. And I have a spare toothbrush in my bathroom that you can use too.”

“Thanks,” you stuttered out. “Is it alright if I change now? Might as well get more comfortable if I’m staying here.”

“Yeah! I’ll keep the movie paused until you’re back.”

You gave him a smile before stumbling over your feet on the way to his bedroom. It felt like your heart was about to pound right out of your chest as you closed the door and flipped on the light switch. After taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, you made your way over to his dresser and opened his bottom draw. You picked a simple pair of shorts, and were about to grab a shirt when the sight of one of his sweatshirts on his bed out of the corner of your eye stopped you. You snagged it and pulled it over your head, relishing in the immediate warmth it provided and the smell that was so Clark that enveloped you.

After setting your own clothes into a neat pile, you walked back out into the living room. You played with a loose string of the sweatshirt as you went over to the couch, oblivious to the way Clark was staring at you. Finally, when you noticed the movie hadn’t been played yet, you glanced over at him.

“Is… Is something on my face?” you asked quietly, rubbing at your cheek.

Clark shook his head. “No, I just… You’re wearing my clothes.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, giving him a small smile.

“You look pretty. I mean—they look pretty on you,” he said, face turning as red as a tomato.

Your heart somersaulted. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you sat there for a few moments, unsure of what to do with yourselves.

“Um… Clark?” you asked quietly.

“Hm?”

“What about the movie?”

“Oh!” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Right.”

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

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✿ what matters most ✿

(clark kent x reader blurb)

summary: Clark is hard on himself, luckily he has you to remind him who he really is. content: fluffy fluff, lots of comfort, established relationship, 1.5k words

based on this request

⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹

Grocery bags nearly slipping from your grasp, you swung the apartment door closed with your foot, stumbling into the entryway.

“Clark?” You called out.

It was odd that Clark would let you do all this heavy lifting without offering to help. In fact, you can’t remember a time he ever let you bring the groceries up your building’s five flights of stairs on your own.

Nearly spilling the contents of the paper bags, you heaped them haphazardly onto the kitchen counter. Looking around, there was no sign of your boyfriend; a presence that was pretty hard to miss.

Then out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of one leather-loafered foot on the ground. You rounded the kitchen counter into the cramped living room to find Clark - all six feet and five inches of him - huddled on the ground with his knees up to his chest. Dropping your keys, you rushed to where he was sitting against the back of the couch with his head in his hands.

“Clark? Clark, baby, what happened?”

You quickly kneeled next to him, lifting his chin in your hand to get a look at his face. His brow was furrowed in distress, faint dampness on his cheeks where a few stray tears lingered.

“Oh my God, Clark, what happened? Did someone do something?”

Every day, you watched your boyfriend fly off to save the world from the window of this apartment. And every day, you waited for some terrible news, word that he wasn’t returning, that he was finally hurt so badly that even his otherworldly healing ability wouldn’t be able to put him back together. Your stomach dropped now, thinking this must be that day.

“Yes, someone did something,” he said quietly, hands running anxiously over his tweed work trousers. “I did.”

That answer was somehow worse than anything you were picturing. Surely Clark couldn’t have done anything that bad…right?

“Oh, Clark. I’m sure it’s okay. Whatever you- whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together, I promise. Just tell me what happened.”

Your heart was pounding behind your ribs, mind spiraling ahead to all the worst case scenarios. You even tried to remember where you’d last seen your suitcase in case you and Clark needed to flee the country.

“Do you know the new custodian at the Daily Planet office? Lynn?” He asked, voice shaking.

“Um, I think so, yeah.” You tried to visualize Lynn’s face, vaguely recalling the kind eyed, middle aged woman who had emptied your trash can this morning. “Why? What about her?”

“I did something awful.” Clark’s eyes finally met yours. There was pain behind his blue irises that made your stomach churn.

“Clark, you’re making me nervous. Just tell me, I promise I won’t judge you-”

“I would understand if you did,” he said. “I probably deserve it.”

“Sweetie, I’m trying to understand, but I need you to focus. Tell me, please, what did you do to Lynn?” You grabbed his hand for reassurance. You were really trying to be comforting but the suspense was slowly killing you.

“I was on the elevator after work, I had just finished a long phone interview with that city counselor, the one I told you about, and my brain was totally fried…” Clark took a breath to rein in his rambling. “Lynn was on the elevator too but her stop was first and when she got off she said ‘have a good night Mr. Kent’ and I…gosh, I can’t believe how awful I was…I said…’you too, Linda.”

Clark ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots until it was all tousled and messy with his distress. You waited with baited breath for the rest of his story, for him to finally tell you what he did that was so terrible.

When he didn’t continue, you asked, “and then…?”

“And then, I tried to correct myself, to say sorry for calling her the wrong name, but the elevator doors had already closed. Now, she’s out there thinking that after two weeks of her cleaning our office, I don’t even know her name!”

A wave of relief washed over you. You sat back on your heels, a slow smile spreading on your face as Clark squeezed his eyes tight like he could erase the shameful memory from his mind. When he heard the small laugh you couldn’t help but let slip, his eyes shot up, indignant.

“See I knew you’d judge me! You’re laughing at me!”

“No, baby, I…I’m sorry, I’m not,” you gathered yourself, trying to suppress the giggle that was fighting through your words. “I’m not laughing at you, Clark I promise. I’m just admiring you.”

“Why? You heard what I did, you should be mad at me,” he shook his head. “I can’t believe I was such a…such a bonehead.”

“Hey,” you grabbed Clark’s face between your hands, pulling his eyes towards yours. Your heart squeezed with such affection for this sweet man you couldn’t help but place a small kiss on his nose. Your touch seemed to soften him a bit, his head involuntarily nuzzling into your soft palm.

“Clark, I know it’s important to you that you're kind to people, but everyone makes mistakes sometimes. There are four hundred people that work in that building, you can’t be expected to remember all of their names.”

“Yes, I should,” he shook his head. “I have powers no one else has. I can lift buildings and run a thousand miles an hour, but I can’t remember a simple name? I’m pathetic.”

You lowered yourself back onto the floor so you could sit across from him, your eyes directly on his. His expression was downtrodden, hair messy around his face. You brushed a single curl off his forehead.

“Clark,” you began gently. “I love you, but that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

Clark pulled away from you in shock, not expecting such a blunt response.

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” He asked, feeling betrayed.

“No, I’m trying to make you see the truth here,” you said. “Clark, your greatest power has never been your strength, or your speed. Your greatest power is the way you make every person you encounter feel like they matter. You don’t save people because they’re perfect, you save people because you think everyone is worth saving - even when they make mistakes. And sometimes, you’re gonna make mistakes, too. But you have to give yourself the same grace you give everyone else, Clark. Because you matter, too.”

Clark let your words wash over him for a second, biting the inside of his cheek as he considered their meaning.

“So you’re saying I’m just like everyone else,” he surmised, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“No, you’re not,” you smiled softly. “Because most other people wouldn’t spend this much time thinking about one small interaction.”

“I just feel like such a jerk,” he confessed.

“I know you do, baby,” you nudged his leg with your toe. “I also know you’re going to find a great way to make it up to Lynn. But you can’t do that if you keep sitting here throwing yourself this little pity party.”

Clark gasped in indignation, “pity par…I am not throwing myself a pity party!”

Your eyebrows shot up, teasing. For the first time since you’d gotten home, Clark let himself smile a little, his dimples creasing.

“Okay fine, maybe a small pity party,” Clark conceded, leaning forward to bring his face closer to yours, your sweet, silly boyfriend finally returning to you. “Not even a party. More like a pity shindig. A pity soirée if you will.”

Rolling your eyes lovingly, you leaned forward to nearly close the gap between your lips and his. Clark moved to kiss you, but you pulled back slightly.

“Well then, surely you can take a break from your pity soirée long enough to help me put away the groceries,” you pecked his cheek before standing and padding to the kitchen, leaving him to watch you go with an adoring smile on his face.

⋆˚✿˖°

The next morning, when you arrived at work, you noticed a ginormous bouquet of flowers sitting on Lynn’s cleaning cart. In handwriting you’d recognize anywhere, the card read:

Thank you for all you do, Lynn. You’re our superhero!

Love, your co-workers.

Forcing down the tears that were beginning to well, you made your way to your desk. Not only did he go out of his way to make sure she knows how important she is, he didn’t even take the credit for it. Metropolis may have Superman, and this office has Lynn, but your superhero would forever be Clark Kent.

As you entered your password into your work computer, a large arm reached around you, placing a single rose across your keyboard - the same color as the roses in Lynn’s bouquet.

Clark leaned over your shoulder, close enough for only you to hear as he whispered, “just so you know, you matter to me most of all.”

⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹ ♡⋆˚✿˖°₊ ⊹

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent a request for this!! i hope you like it, i loved writing sweet sad boy Clark!! I'm always open to requests but just write whatever inspires me so if i don't get to some, i'm sorry!! I have some longer fics in the works for Clark/Superman still so sorry if i disappear for a few days while I finish them! mwah!

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

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SUPERMAN (2025) dir. James Gunn

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

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Lessons in Chemistry [Clark Kent]

SUMMARY: Desperate for your attention, Clark does the unthinkable—he turns to the ultimate girl magnet, Jimmy Olsen, for help.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, POV of clark being astronomically down bad, questionable advice, possible second-hand embarrassment WC: 5k - MASTERLIST

Clark has no idea what he’s doing.

Well—that’s a lie. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He just can’t believe he’s actually going through with it.

Because this? This is rock bottom.

He’s Superman, for crying out loud! He’s flown through electrical storms, wrestled alien warlords into the dirt, and stood eye-to-eye with beings who’ve reduced cities to rubble. But now? Now he’s navigating the bullpen of the Daily Planet like it’s mined territory. His shoulders drawn tight, head ducked low, and hands shoved too deep in the pockets of a button-down that suddenly feels too tight across the chest. This is not something he’s even remotely proud of, but desperation has a way of scraping the dignity clean off a man.

And so that’s how he ends up standing at the edge of Jimmy’s cluttered desk, where his friend is hunched over his phone, mid-scroll, and chewing on the end of a pencil. “Hey,” he hisses, barely above a whisper.

The redhead doesn’t look up. “Yo. What’s up?”

A glance over one shoulder. Then the other. His voice drops even lower. “Come here a second.”

That earns a look. “Did you break another stapler? I’m not covering for you again, man.”

The taller man exhales through his nose and scrubs a hand through his hair before jerking his chin toward the far end of the room. “I need your help.”

Jimmy follows his gaze, then grins immediately.

There you are. Leaning against someone’s desk, your laughter rises above the general buzz of newsroom chatter. Steve from Sports is gesturing animatedly about something, probably about the most recent trade, but it’s the shape of your smile that stands out. You’ve been here five months. That’s long enough to memorize everyone’s coffee orders, to have nicknames for the janitors, to be included in that horrendous Daily Planet group chat that really only consists of memes or roasts. Everyone likes you.

Everyone talks to you.

Everyone except him.

Because for five months, every time you walk into a room, he forgets how to be casual. He fumbles his greetings, he adjusts his glasses three times too many, he says things like 'yep' instead of 'yes' and then overthinks it for days afterward.

“She’s cool,” comes the easy, admiring reply beside him from the photojournalist, paired with a small nod. “Smart. Funny. A good taste in music and an even better sense of style. I like her.”

“Yeah.” The word leaves his mouth too fast, too high-pitched. “Same.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then Jimmy turns to him suspiciously. “Do you have a thing for her?”

Clark winces, and one hand lifts automatically to the back of his neck, rubbing at the skin. He realizes that this might not have been the smartest choice. “Maybe.”

The gasp that follows is dramatic enough to turn heads. He scrambles to shush the smaller guy immediately, but it’s too late; the gleam in those blue eyes is unmistakable. Gleeful. Deeply annoying.

“Oh my God,” the younger man breathes, drawing out every syllable. “It all makes sense now.”

“Please don’t—”

“No, no—shut up. I’m connecting dots. This is important.”

One finger goes up. “The time you dropped your phone down the elevator shaft. That was her, wasn’t it? When she was entering as we were heading out?”

The lack of a response is damning.

A second finger joins the count. “The coffee incident. The one where you somehow spilled a full latte onto your shoes. I remember she laughed at a joke you made.”

Clark is done for, he realizes, as he covers his face with one hand. This was a definitely a mistake.

“And that day,” Jimmy continues, holding up three fingers and visibly thrilled now, “when she wore the Star Wars shirt? You walked into a door. A door.”

“I thought we promised to never bring that up again.”

His laughter, loud and unrestrained, echoes off the vending machines. “You’ve been in shambles, man. You’re in love, and it’s wrecked your whole nervous system. How did I not pick up on this?”

"Jimmy—"

“Now that I think about it, you stare at her like she hung the moon. It’s actually kind of sweet. Like a Victorian gentleman who’s never seen a bare ankle.”

“I’m going to walk into traffic.”

A firm thump lands against his shoulder. “No, you’re not. You’re gonna walk over there, talk to her like a normal person, and ask her out.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Oh, buddy.” Jimmy claps his hands together. “Lucky for, I do.”

—

Jimmy advice #1: “Just be confident, bro. Show her who’s boss.”

Holy, Clark’s hands are sweating. Like absolutely dripping wet.

He wipes them down the sides of his pants as discreetly as possible while loitering by the elevators, pretending to read the framed fire safety poster for the third time. The newsroom is pretty empty now—most people have already left, and the cleaning crew is shuffling in.

Then he hears you.

Or, more specifically, hears the clang of your locker swinging open just down the hall, followed by the low shuffle of bags being rearranged and the muffled click of a zipper. You're humming under your breath. He straightens his collar and takes in a deep breath while trying to ignore the way his palms have already started sweating again. Just walk up to her. Lean in. Be cool.

As he rounds the corner, he spots you. You’re bent over your open locker, bag slung over one shoulder, brows furrowed in concentration as you try to fit a thermos into a space that clearly does not want to accommodate it.

And before he can think twice—before reason or logic or shame can stop him—he approaches and slaps a hand against the metal just beside your head, pinning you there underneath him. You yelp and jump about a foot in the air, whipping around so fast you nearly knock the thermos straight out of your own bag, totally startled, eyes humongous.

When you look up, you see him, standing inches from you, arm braced against the locker door, posture rigid in an attempt to look casual. And well, it's… not really working. Clark swallows once, then does his best approximation of a charming smile.

“Hey,” he tries, nonchalantly.

You blink. Then: “Oh! Uh—hey, Clark!”

A pause. Your eyes slowly travel to the side, glancing at his hand that is still planted beside your head, before looking back at his face, eyebrows slightly raised. Immediately, Clark moves his hand, hoping you did not hear the little squeak that came with the movement or see the wet handprint left behind on the metal.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh—scare you.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, giving him a friendly shrug and zipping your bag the rest of the way. “I thought you were someone else for a second.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Nope. Just me.”

Another silence creeps in.

“How—how are you?” he asks, a beat too late.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you repeat, nodding a little, like you’re reassuring yourself now. “End of the day, you know?”

He tries to laugh, but it comes out a little strangled, more comparable to a gurgle.

You're still smiling politely, but now you shift slightly, cautiously, and begin to slide sideways out from where he’s standing. Not too fast, but enough that your shoulder brushes the locker door as you edge around him, and enough for him to get the hint. He steps back to give you space, his arms suddenly feeling too long on his body. He wants to put his hands back in his pockets, but they’re too damp, so one of them curls and uncurls uselessly by his side.

“You, uh,” you start, adjusting your bag strap, “need something? Or were you just…?”

The sentence trails off. He opens his mouth, but no words arrive. Your gaze flits toward the exit, then back at him, clearly waiting for something that isn’t coming.

“Well, I gotta go,” you chirp, taking another small step back. “But, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Then you're off—practically jogging down the hallway with a little wave thrown over your shoulder. The thermos bounces awkwardly in your bag as he watches the door swing shut behind you in despair, before letting out a deep exhale and resting his forehead on the locker.

—

Jimmy advice #2: “You gotta smell good. Like a forbidden memory or something.”

After some quick, heavy-eyed Google searches at 3:32 a.m.—best men’s cologne 2025, top fragrances women love, what scent makes a woman fall in love instantly—Clark lands on Dior Sauvage. The name alone sounds promising, he thinks to himself.

And if the internet is to be trusted (which, in this moment of absolute despair, it is), this stuff is apparently irresistible. Confidence in a bottle. The olfactory equivalent of a smouldering glance and rolled-up shirt sleeves showcasing immaculate arm veins. So obviously, he doesn’t hesitate to go to the drug store as soon as he wakes up.

And when he returns home, in the soft, blue-tinged light of his apartment bathroom, he begins what he imagines will be the subtle, sophisticated application of a new signature scent. He sprays once on his chest, then once on his neck. Then again—just to be thorough. One for each wrist, and another spritz across his collarbone, for good luck, of course. A final, sweeping spritz over his entire torso. His eyes sting a little, but that’s normal, right? That just means it’s working. The more the better, after all.

Catching his reflection in the mirror, Clark gives himself a nod alongside a few finger guns, before getting ready and heading to work.

On the subway, a toddler two seats down starts crying.

He doesn’t notice.

He’s standing there in the packed car, swaying slightly with the motion, briefcase in one hand, daydreaming a quiet little reel of possibility: you, stopping by his desk. Laughing at something he says, getting a whiff of his scent and asking if he wants to grab coffee later.

Someone coughs nearby. It’s a wet, choked sound.

He doesn’t hear it.

An older woman sitting directly across from him pulls a scarf over her nose and gives him a look, a man on the other side discreetly scoots two inches closer to the door, holding his phone in front of his face, and somewhere behind him, someone mutters Jesus Christ under their breath.

He’s floating.

He can’t wait to see you.

Jimmy said girls love confidence. Jimmy said girls love cologne. And today, he’s got both in spades.

The elevator is quiet—thankfully. He’s alone, which gives him a minute to exhale and enjoy the lingering aura of his new and improved smell. Chrome walls reflect a slightly flushed version of his face, he runs his fingers through his hair a few times and adjusts his tie as the elevator slows, reaching one of the lower editorial floors. With a cheery ding, the doors slide open.

The man waiting takes a step forward in to the car, but then abruptly stops mid-step. It almost looks like he’s about to gag, but instead, he swallows, then without a word, he steps backward and just… lets the door close again. Confused, Clark watches as the doors shut and the floor counter ticks upward. Weird. He must’ve been intimidated.

By the time he arrives on his floor, he’s feeling good, excited for the possible newfound attention he could receive. Yet, he barely makes it three steps into the office before Perry intercepts him, clipboard in one hand, and a stack of papers in the other. “These are for you,” he states, holding out the documents.

“Thanks,” Clark says, reaching for the paper.

Perry sniffs, recoiling just half a step. “Whew. Bit heavy on the cologne, are we?”

“Yeah, uh—wanted to try something new.”

The editor eyes him down, hard, with a look of obvious suspicion. “Okay. Whatever you say, Kent.”

At his desk, Clark is in the process of setting everything up when he hears a loud cackle behind him. “My god, it smells like the first time I had car sex. Bad times,” Lois’ voice exhoes in his ears.

In response is a light chuckle. Well, a better description would be a devious cackle. From Cat. “Right? I’m pretty sure the first time I gave head, the guy had sprayed his dick with it. I can still taste it.” The two women burst into fresh laughter, the kind that comes from shared trauma. Still, he frowns faintly. Someone must be stinky.

It’s a little later when you stop by. He spots you approaching from the corner of his eye, and subconsciously, he sits straighter. His hands fly to the keyboard, typing nonsense to make it look like he’s hard at work when you come into full view with a soft smile, your Planet mug in one hand and your lanyard looped through the crook of your elbow, swaying gently. “Hey, Clark,” you say as you reach his desk. “How’s it going?”

“Hey.” He smiles back. “It’s good. You?”

“Same for m—oh my god.” A short, choked cough cuts you off. Your nose scrunches, your hand instinctively raising to hover in front of your face, fingers pressing lightly beneath your nose. “Do you smell that?”

Does he smell the insanely manly scent wafting off of him? Does he smell like a man you want to kiss? Does he—

“What do you mean?”

“It smells like…” Your face twists, searching for the right word. “Like… the boys’ locker room in high school—” you pause, squinting at the ceiling as if the scent will name itself. “—but worse? Like Axe Body Spray’s evil twin.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Oh,” you perk, recognition dawning. “Dior Sauvage. That’s what it is.”

His expression lights up. “Oh! Yeah! I heard it was good, so I bought some.”

Your lips part open, squinting your eyes as they visibly start to water. “Ah. Well. That explains it.”

You try for a smile, but it comes out pained. Nonetheless, Clark thinks you’re gorgeous.

“Wow. This is bringing up some repressed memories,” you jokingly laugh.

… What did you just say? A slow, creeping horror descends upon him. Jimmy’s voice slithers up from the depths of his psyche like a poltergeist. “You gotta smell good, bro. Like a forbidden memory or something.”

Forbidden memory.

But you just said—

His jaw slackens, his stomach drops and he suddenly feels very hot and very cold at the same time. It’s like his nostrils have only now opened and the surge of the pungent stench fills his nose. Has he really been smelling like that all day? “Oh gosh,” he whispers, barely audible.

“What?” you ask, brows knitting in confusion. “Are you okay?”

Out of nowhere, the Kryptonian shoots up out of his seat so fast it makes you stagger back a few steps in shock. “I–uh–I… I gotta go… uh, to the washroom.”

“You sure you’re good?”

“Yep. Totally. Fine.” He just wants to get out of here. Throw his clothes into the laundry. Scrub everything off him in the shower. “I just… nature calls.”

Faster than you can respond, Clark makes a run for it. Not to the washroom, but down the emergency stairs and right out of the building.

—

Jimmy advice #3: “Neg her a bit, show her who’s boss.”

Fricking finally. It’s the end of the week, and that only means one thing: drinks with the Daily Planet crew. Every Friday, without fail, the team migrates to their usual spot—an old, slightly grimy bar with good fries and terrible lighting. Clark usually loves it, but tonight, all he can think about is you, how horrible his week has been, and how this is finally going to be the moment where he asks you out and you say yes.

He’s spent the last hour trying to find a moment alone with you, but you’ve been moving in and out of conversations, laughing with Lois, or getting pulled away every time he so much as drifts in your direction. However, now, you’re standing at the bar alone, fidgeting with your straw, the light above catching in your hair. You look tired but happy, he thinks, and now might be his only chance.

He takes a breath and walks up beside you. “Hey,” he begins, grabbing your attention as he leans lightly against the counter.

You turn toward him, a smile blooming across your face. “Hey, Clark.”

“Didn’t think I’d get a word in with you tonight,”

“Sorry.” Your eyes roll in fake exasperation, gesturing around you. “It’s like whack-a-mole in here. Every time I stop moving, someone shows up to tell me how I can get even more clicks on the online articles.”

“Have you tried writing about alien dating habits?”

A laugh escapes you as you choke on your drink. “God, I wish. I’d kill for a little interstellar romance. You know how many articles I’ve written about city council zoning laws?”

The Kryptonian laughs. “I’m sure you can find a way to combine the two.”

You make a show of nodding seriously. “Maybe next time I’ll be able to add in a forbidden love subplot between a bureaucrat and a tentacled rebel who just wants to build affordable housing.”

“I’d read it.”

“I bet it’d get me a Pulitzer.”

Clark laughs again—too hard, honestly, and it draws a look from someone down the bar. He clears his throat, feeling flushed, but still smiling nonetheless. Your head tilts slightly as you watch him and he might pass out just from the prolonged eye contact alone. In an attempt to steer the attention from himself, he finds his mouth moving: “I was actually gonna congratulate you on getting the front cover yesterday.”

“You earned it,” he adds, and for a second, the compliment lands. Your mouth quirks into a soft, almost-surprised grin as you stir the ice in your drink again. But then— “I mean,” he goes on, oblivious to the fact that he is beginning to dig his own grave. “I got my first front page after, what, two months? But hey, five isn’t bad.”

You go still. There’s a full second of silence. Then two.

The grin on your face freezes and slowly morphs into a tight line.

“Ah,” you say, and take a long sip from your drink. “So I was slow. Got it.”

Uh oh. Alarm bells ring inside of Clark’s head. Isn’t this what Jimmy told him to do?! “No—no, that’s not what I—” He’s flailing internally. “I was just joking. Well, uh, sort of. But didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. I guess I still have a lot of catching up to do.”

This is bad. This is really, really bad. He feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. “That’s not— You don’t.”

“Mm.” The look you give him makes his heart drop. Then, you glance back toward the table where Lois and a few others are still seated, waving their drinks around mid-story. “Think it’s time for a refill or something.”

“Wait—”

But you don’t. You’ve already turned around, heading back to your friends.

“Jimmy what the f–hey man!” Clark swings the bathroom door open so fast it slams against the wall, the sudden echo bouncing off the tiles.

The redhead currently occupying a urinal jumps. “Dude! I’m literally peeing.”

“I’ve been trying to follow your advice all week,” the taller man hisses, ignoring the fact that they are, in fact, very much in a public men’s room, “and it seems like everything I do has made it worse!”

Jimmy zips up, spins, and holds up his hands in surrender as if the reporter has a gun instead of just—well, bad energy. “Whoa, okay, what happened?”

“You told me to neg her,” All Clark can do is stab an accusing finger through the air. “Neg her! I told her five months wasn’t bad for a front page story—do you realize how that sounded?!” His voice cracks at the end, and he presses both palms into his eyes. “In the News world, I called her illiterate.”

“Okay, it’s not that bad. She probably just thinks you’re cocky.”

“I’m not cocky!” Clark snaps. Then, quieter, “I’m…I’m the opposite of cocky. I’m anti-cocky. I'm practically allergic to confidence.”

“You say that,” his friend points out, “and yet here you are, screaming in a public bathroom, because you sounded cocky.”

“Agh,” he groans, spinning in a tight, anxious circle. “What do I do? I bet she hates me now.”

A shrug. “Just ask her out, man.”

“What.”

“Ask her out,” he repeats like it’s obvious. “Coffee. This weekend. Boom. Done.”

What follows is a brief moment of nothingness as the brunette blinks slowly, trying to compute that suggestion through a haze of spiralling horror. “You have to be joking. She’s not gonna say yes to me after what I just pulled. I don’t think we’re even there yet.”

“You literally can’t get more ‘there’ than cornering her at a bar and insulting her journalism career.”

The Kryptonian flinches. “Dude. Fresh wound.”

“Look, you don’t have to make it weird. Just tell her you were gonna hang out with some friends this weekend, but they bailed.”

Clark rubs his temples. “So… lie to her?”

“It’s not a lie. It’s more like narrative reshaping.” Not true, but it doesn’t seem like he has a choice.

“I feel pathetic.”

“You got this,” Jimmy claps him on the back before turning to the exit. “All you gotta do is not what you did before.”

“You mean what you told me to do,” he mutters.

“Stay strong, brotha!”

Now alone, he groans in defeat, looking at himself in the washroom mirror. His hair is tousled, his face is beet red, and there may or may not be a few beads of sweat rolling down his back. As someone wise once sang, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. He needs to do this.

It’s almost as if he has tunnel vision in the way his gaze is focused solely on you. He’s a man on a mission, but when he finds you, of course, you’re with a giant group of people. He hovers a moment, fingers twitching at his sides, until finally you turn just enough for his window to open.

He cuts through the crowd, stepping beside you before he can talk himself out of it. “Hey,” he breathes out.

Your face contorts into a mix between confusion and shock. “Can we—” he pauses, peering at the others around you, who are now definitely listening. “—can we talk?” he finishes, gently placing a hand against your arm. He notices your eyes flicker briefly toward the contact.

“Uh, sure?”

Shifting awkwardly, he gestures vaguely toward the door. “Outside?”

You nod, passing your drink off to someone nearby and follow him out of the bar. The doors swing shut behind you both with a muffled thud, and suddenly it’s too quiet. You hug your arms lightly for warmth, though the night is mild. “I—” he begins, then rubs the back of his neck, struggling for words. “I wanted to say sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to sound rude or dismissive or… I don’t know. It came out all wrong.”

“What did you mean, then?” You squint.

“I was just—nervous,” he hates how raw the admission sounds coming from his lips. “You got the front page, and I wanted to say something smart and funny, and it ended up just sounding—well. You heard it.”

You huff a small laugh. “Yeah. It wasn’t your best.”

“Ugh, I know.” He groans, dragging a hand over his face. “But I swear I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I was trying to be... charming.”

“Negging is your version of charming?” It isn’t judgmental in the way you say it, more amused if anything.

“Apparently,” he mutters. “Look, I’ve been trying to—gah, this is going to sound dumb—but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab coffee with me tomorrow?”

Your expression softens.

“I mean, I was planning to go with some friends,” he adds quickly, taking the literal one second of silence as rejection, “but everyone else bailed, so I figured, hey, maybe you’d be up for it—”

Immediately, the excitement in your eyes fizzles out. “I was your last choice, then.”

“What? No—no! That’s not what I meant.” He steps closer, alarmed. Jesus, he can’t manage to get a single thing right around you, can he? “You weren’t—God, you were the first person I thought of. I just didn’t think you’d say yes if I asked you directly, and then I messed up earlier, and then Jimmy—” He stops, breathing hard. “I’ve been following Jimmy’s advice.”

It takes a minute, but when you register his words, your mouth falls open. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “But why—”

“Why Jimmy’s advice?” he interrupts gently.

“I—well—yeah. He’s not the most… uh, charismatic. Certainly wouldn’t be my first choice.”

The taller man exhales, tucking his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. His gaze flickers to the ground, then back up to meet yours. “Because I’ve liked you since pretty much your first day.”

“I remember you dropped your ID badge three times between the elevator and your desk,” he says, a little smile playing at his lips. “You had coffee but no actual mug, just one of those little espresso cups someone gave you at the front. And then Perry introduced you, and you shook hands with the wrong person.”

A choked laugh. “You remember that? I was a disaster.”

“No,” he cuts in quickly. “You were—you are perfect.”

Your eyes dart away shyly, but he keeps going. It’s like the floodgates have opened and nothing can stop him, not even the immense beating of his heart.

“I didn’t know how to talk to you. I figured if I played it cool, or at least like I was cool, I’d… get your attention.” His brows draw. “But then I panicked and asked Jimmy for help, which, in retrospect, was my first mistake. My second, was actually listening to him.”

“So… The random anime locker slam?

He shudders. “Yup.”

“The Dior Sauvage?”

He closes his eyes, clearly in pain. “Yeah. That too.”

You burst out laughing, head tilted back, the sound bright and unfiltered in the quiet outside the bar. He watches you helplessly, in awe. Your shoulders shake with it as you step in a little closer, your hands sliding up to rest gently on his forearms.

His brain short-circuits.

“Clark.”

“Yeah?” And of course, his voice cracks. Great timing.

Your thumbs graze softly along his sleeves. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

That sends a jolt straight through him—his posture tightens, eyes wide, lips parting like he wants to say something and physically can’t.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” you admit. “You were being so… weird this week.”

“I was being weird.” He nods eagerly, finding his voice. “I was—I am—nervous. You’re very…” He looks down to where you’re still touching him. “Distracting.”

“It’s stupid now—”

“Nothing you say is stupid—” You lift a finger and smush it against his lips.

“Ah ah ah, I wasn’t done.” At first, he’s startled, but then he obediently goes quiet, though it is obvious he’s dying to respond. And he can’t miss the sight of you trying not to smile at the way his mouth puckers beneath the gentle pressure.

“I thought maybe you knew I liked you,” you whisper. “And you didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so you were trying to scare me off instead. You know. So you wouldn’t have to reject me.”

His eyes go even wider, and he makes a noise behind your finger—something indignant and confused and a little horrified.

You lower your hand.

“Are you kidding?” The words tumble out of him. “I would never do that. Never. I—I’ve been trying so hard to do this right.” He takes another step toward you, and without breaking eye contact, your hands rise, sliding up to press against his chest.

“I would never want to scare you away,” he reiterates, “not in a million years.”

You’re close enough now that he can feel your breath brushing against his cheek. He wants so badly to wrap his arms around you, but still, he’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to move unless you do first.

“Well,” you murmur, “good.”

Then you tip your chin up and kiss him.

It’s gentle at first—so soft it almost doesn’t feel real. Finally, he finds the courage to grip your waist, and he draws you in, close enough that your chest presses against his. He doesn’t realize how badly he’s wanted this, but now that he has it, he knows he won’t be able let go. You curl into him, your fingers clasping the fabric of his shirt as your nose nudges his, and his own rubbing the slightest circle on your skin.

Clark thinks his brain has shut down and rebooted in the span of thirty seconds.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your lips parting in the ghost of a smile, and before the space between you can settle, he leans in again, chasing your mouth like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. You giggle against his lips, warm and breathy, and your hands slide up from his shoulders to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing the high curve of his cheekbones, giving him a gentle push.

He has a dazed sort of smile, eyes half-lidded and gooey with affection.

“Maybe… we should give Jimmy some credit.”

“Absolutely not.”�� And he can’t help it—he dips down to kiss you again.

---

A/N: the dior sauvage anecdotes are, in fact, based on a true story 😭 i had so much fun writing this though!

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

Note

hii you are my fav clark kent writer! do u think u could write a fic where reader accidentally locks the bedroom door, and they wake in the middle of the night wondering why clark hasn’t come to bed, and he’s just passed out on the couch? something funny and a little sad because you didn’t mean to do it, no pressure of course!

Are you mad at me? 🥺

Summary: You accidentally locked the bedroom door. Clark thought you were mad at him. You try to make up for it by making breakfast, but he insists that he knows what you and Leia need more.

Dad!Clark Kent x Female!Reader

more kent family adventures here!

It starts in the middle of the night.

You roll over in bed, your hand instinctively reaching for Clark’s side of the mattress—and find it empty. Cold. You blink blearily at the faint moonlight sneaking through the curtains, listening for any sound of him moving around the house. Nothing.

“Clark?” you mumble into the dark, your voice scratchy from sleep. No answer. You wait another minute, but the exhaustion pulls you back under, and you fall asleep again, convinced he’ll climb in beside you any second.

Except… he doesn’t.

When the morning light finally wakes you, you stretch, groggy, and turn toward his side of the bed. Still empty. You sit up quickly, heart thudding. Where the hell could he—?

And then you hear it. A low, rumbling snore, muffled, but close. Really close. You slide off the bed and shuffle toward the door, rubbing your eyes, only to nearly trip over a giant lump of Kryptonian sprawled across the floor just outside your room.

Clark.

Fast asleep. Flat on his back. One arm tucked under his head like a pillow, the other loosely draped over his chest, his glasses askew in his shirt pocket. You blink down at him in shock, your brain struggling to compute why your superhuman husband would voluntarily sleep on hardwood like a college student after finals.

And then you see it—the lock turned on the inside of the bedroom door.

“Oh no,” you whisper, horrified. You slap a hand over your face. You locked him out. Accidentally.

Your stomach sinks when you realize what he must’ve thought. Clark Kent, who could rip the door off its hinges with two fingers, had apparently decided not to disturb you. He must’ve assumed you were upset. Mad enough to lock him out. And instead of asking, instead of barging in—he gave you space. On the hallway floor.

“Oh, sweetheart…” you murmur, guilt flooding your chest.

As if on cue, Leia starts fussing from her crib. You scoop her up, bouncing her gently as you kneel beside Clark. His snore rattles to a stop, and his eyes blink open, slow and confused.

“Morning,” he croaks, voice deep with sleep. He sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you… want space last night? I didn’t want to push if you were upset.”

Your heart cracks right in two. “Clark! No—I wasn’t mad at you. I—I locked the door by accident!”

His brows furrow, then lift in surprise. “Oh. You mean I slept on the floor all night for nothing?”

You groan, burying your face in your free hand. “Yes! And now I feel awful.”

But Clark just chuckles, stretching like it’s no big deal. “Could’ve been worse. I’ve had tougher floors.”

“Clark Kent, you ridiculous man.” You tug his arm insistently, hauling him to his feet. “Come on. You’re coming to bed right now.”

Leia babbles loudly in agreement, reaching for him. He takes her from your arms with a soft smile, kissing her chubby cheek. “At least my girl missed me,” he teases.

You swat his chest, half-laughing, half-snarling at yourself for the whole debacle. Once you get him back into bed, you crawl in beside him and shove Leia gently into his arms.

“Consider this your punishment,” you declare, crawling onto his chest and kissing his jaw. “You’re not allowed to leave until you’ve been smothered with love.”

Leia squeals, patting his face with tiny hands while you cover him with kisses—his nose, his cheeks, his mouth—everywhere you can reach. Clark bursts out laughing, trying to dodge Leia’s surprisingly strong baby-slaps and your relentless affection.

“Okay, okay, I surrender!” he laughs, wrapping both of you tight in his arms. “If this is my apology, I should get locked out more often.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” you mutter against his chest, kissing him again.

And in the warmth of your little pile—Clark, Leia, and you all tangled together—you silently promise to never, ever lock that door again.

You’re still laughing when you pull back from Clark’s chest, breathless from smothering him with kisses. Leia is sitting happily between you two, gumming one of his fingers like it’s her personal teething toy.

“Okay,” you say, poking his broad chest for emphasis. “To make up for accidentally locking you out and letting you sleep on the floor like some—some tragic, noble idiot, I’m making you breakfast.”

Clark raises a brow, one arm draped lazily around your waist as the other supports Leia. “You’re making me breakfast?” His lips twitch with a smirk. “Sweetheart, the last time you cooked, the smoke alarm learned new curse words.”

You gasp dramatically and smack his arm. “That was one time. And it was experimental pancakes!”

“Experimental,” he echoes, amused, pressing a kiss to Leia’s tiny hand. “Sure.” He sets her back in her little bouncer and leans down so his lips hover near your ear, his voice dropping in that teasing way that sends your stomach flipping. “How about we make breakfast together? Supervision might save the kitchen.”

You narrow your eyes, pretending to be offended, but when he grins like that—God, you can’t help but melt. “Fine. But only because I want to see your smug face when my eggs turn out perfect.”

Except when you get to the kitchen, you realize Clark’s definition of helping is basically running a five-star brunch service out of your house.

In five minutes flat, he’s got the skillet heating, fresh fruit sliced into perfect shapes, and something fragrant simmering on the stove that smells way better than any breakfast you’ve ever attempted. He moves so easily, so confidently, flipping and stirring like he’s been doing this his whole life instead of, you know, saving the planet.

“Clark…” you trail off, standing there in stunned silence as he plates something so pretty it belongs in a magazine. “When—when did you learn all this?”

He flashes you that boyish grin over his shoulder. “I’ve been practicing.”

“For what? An intergalactic cooking competition?”

“Nope.” He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead before returning to his masterpiece. “For my two favorite girls.”

You feel your heart practically combust as he gestures toward the counter where two plates sit—one for you, one for Leia. And they’re not just plates of food—they’re works of art. Your plate has a perfectly arranged omelet, golden and fluffy, topped with herbs and fresh veggies on the side. There’s fruit cut into little hearts, and even your toast is buttered into neat triangles.

Leia’s plate is even more ridiculous. He’s somehow made her baby oatmeal look fancy, decorating it with mashed berries in a swirl pattern and tiny soft fruit stars. There’s even a little smiley face drawn in purée.

You blink, floored. “You… you made her oatmeal Instagram-worthy.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, though the proud smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “She deserves the best.”

Leia, oblivious to her Michelin-star breakfast, just slaps the tray of her high chair with both hands and squeals happily as Clark sets her plate down. He crouches to kiss her chubby cheek, and your chest squeezes so tight you can barely breathe.

When he finally brings your plate over, you shake your head in awe. “Clark Kent, what can’t you do?”

“Hmm,” he says, setting the plate in front of you with a flourish before leaning down to kiss your temple again. “Apparently, I can’t stop loving you two.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks burning, but when he sits beside you and starts feeding Leia little spoonfuls, laughing every time she tries to grab the spoon with her tiny hands, you realize something.

You’ll never outdo him—because when Clark Kent decides to love, he does it completely. Whether it’s sleeping on the floor just to give you space or turning breakfast into an art show, he gives everything.

And as you bite into the most perfect omelet you’ve ever tasted, watching him kiss berry purée off Leia’s nose, you decide that’s one contest you’re more than happy to lose.

The sun has dipped low, painting the kitchen in warm amber light as you sway into the doorway, one arm balancing Leia against your hip. You’d planned to start dinner early, but the second you catch sight of the table, your jaw nearly hits the floor.

Clark has done it again.

It’s not just dinner—it’s a masterpiece. The table looks like something out of a glossy magazine spread: candles flickering in mason jars, soft music humming in the background, and two plates so beautifully arranged you hesitate to even breathe near them.

Your plate is first: a perfectly seared salmon fillet, glistening with a honey-lemon glaze. Around it are roasted vegetables cut into delicate shapes—tiny hearts, little stars—because apparently Clark can’t resist being extra. Even the mashed potatoes look like something piped from a pastry bag, swirled high and dusted with fresh herbs.

And then you see Leia’s plate, and your heart actually flips.

It’s a tiny porcelain dish set in front of her high chair, featuring the cutest arrangement of baby-safe foods you’ve ever seen. Mashed sweet potato shaped into a smiling sun, with puréed peas for eyes and a thin ring of mashed avocado like rays of sunshine. Beside it are soft carrot sticks lined neatly like little soldiers, and cubes of steamed apple so tiny and perfect they look like jewelry.

You gape, still clutching Leia, who is clapping like she knows this show is for her. “Clark… what is this?”

He steps out from behind the stove, wearing an apron that says Kiss the Cook like he didn’t just cater a gourmet dining experience. His hair is slightly mussed, and he’s holding a ladle like a scepter.

“This,” he says with mock solemnity, “is dinner for my girls. One hundred percent Kryptonian-approved. Well,” his grin turns crooked, “Kryptonian-executed, Earth-inspired.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as you set Leia in her chair. “Clark, this is insane. This is… this is something out of a five-star restaurant. How do you even know how to do this?”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple before crouching to tuck Leia’s bib under her chin. “Let’s just say I’ve been decoding a few things.”

You blink. “Decoding?”

“Recipes,” he clarifies with a grin. “Ratios. Flavor chemistry. It’s like another language—just like Kryptonian, only tastier.” He winks, standing up and guiding you to your seat. “Turns out, when you’ve got super-speed and a little obsession with making your family happy, you can master just about anything.”

Leia squeals, smacking her tray, clearly impatient for her sunshine-themed dinner. Clark laughs, scooping a tiny spoonful of mashed sweet potato and making a ridiculous airplane sound as he guides it toward her mouth. She opens wide, gobbling it up, then flails her hands like a queen demanding more.

“See?” he says, grinning as he wipes a dab of orange purée off her nose. “Five-star approval rating already.”

You pick up your fork, staring at your plate like you’re afraid to ruin the art, then take a bite. The flavors hit your tongue like a revelation—perfectly balanced, tender, buttery salmon with just the right kiss of citrus. You let out a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a moan.

Clark’s smile softens, warm enough to melt the candles. “Good?”

“Good?” You set your fork down dramatically. “Clark Kent, if you weren’t already my husband, I’d marry you right now.”

He chuckles, leaning down to steal a quick kiss before returning to Leia, who is now gleefully smearing avocado on her tray like it’s finger paint.

You watch him—this godlike man who could rule planets if he wanted to—wearing an apron, wiping mashed peas off his daughter’s face, grinning like this is the greatest victory of his life. And you think, not for the first time, that this right here—this table, this laughter, this love—is better than any heaven you’ve ever imagined.

“Clark?” you say softly, as he hands Leia another carrot stick.

“Hmm?”

“Tomorrow… you’re decoding dessert.”

He grins, eyes glinting as he kisses your forehead. “Already ahead of you.”

And with Leia babbling happily between you, you decide this isn’t just dinner. This is a love language—and Clark Kent speaks it fluently.

taglist

@vql3rie @celestialend @diannelucille @minienix @evermoresivy @nixandtonic @bl00dstained @tqd4455 @vestafir @sweettbepbo @skzvibes-blog @sweetheartdiariess @blackwidownat2814 @zandra-42 @ysuftmikey @soupiemeowmeow @bookishbabyyyy @DreamingofTomorrow @1-800-peakyblinders @kissesofstars @qtmoonies @Casiopea2 @buckystwilight_ @buckystwilight @princess76179 @kaiparkerwife @vinecstasy @averyhotchner @angelicp0etry @multifandom-loser @ladamari68 @httpstoyosi @jakesphere @alina02 @kaorisakamotofan @randomfangirlof @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @animegamerfox @thychuvaluswife @clarkclit @tayhobart @obsessedwthdilfs @kneelarhmstrung @helalokithor @loveelylani @kissmxcheek @toplinehyunjin @jvanilly

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

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a tiktok trend...?

“oh, sweetheart, i don’t know…”

“clark, baby, c’mon! it'll be fun. and i’ll be fine, i promise,” you retorted for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“i know, honey, but what if i hurt you? like, what if i squish you too tight and make you bruise?” your sweet clark, always the worrywart in the relationship.

you playfully roll your eyes, and crawl over to his lap, your thighs barely caged one of his. “baby, you won’t hurt me, okay? i know you won’t. you never have, and you never will. i just wanna show off my big, strong boyfriend. is that a crime?”

clark opened his mouth to argue, but when you looked down at him with those pleading eyes, and hands roaming all over his chest? he was a goner. if there was one thing that you learned quickly about clark kent, it was that he had two weaknesses: krypotonite, and you, his beautiful girlfriend.

he sighed dejectedly, dropping his head. “alright, sweetheart. but you'll tell me if i squeeze too hard, right?”

you nod almost immediately. “i promise, baby. you're the best.” you lean forward and press a kiss on his cheek, making him blush. leaning across the couch you grab your phone, already having the tiktok sound pulled up. you shift around to have your back pressed against his chest, so only the bottom half of his face is shown.

“i’ll give you the signal on when to go, okay?” you said, looking over to him. clark nodded, watching you begin to lipsync.

the sound of breaking dishes by rihanna fills your shared living room and you tap clark on his thigh, signalling him to lift his arm. he does it perfectly, wrapping his arm around your face and squeezing it with his bicep.

you can’t help but smile up at him, only to see him already smiling down at you. the video then ends, as you practically fly up to meet him in a kiss.

“i love you so much, honey, you know that?” he whispered against your lips.

you giggle. “i know you do. i love you too.”

“i didn't squeeze too hard, did i?” he questioned.

“no, baby. you were perfect.”

the comments:

“dude the way you can see him already smiling at her”

“this is so cute… ᵃⁿⁿᵃᵇᵉˡˡᵉ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ”

“girl. i need to know the exact words you prayed RIGHT NOW”

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

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someone on twt pointed out the tear in this scene and oh my god my heart…poor baby was even sadder and more tormented about it than he let on.

gif credit: @glindauplland

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sunshinemunchkin · 9 days ago

Text

ON RECORD

Clark & you make a sex-tape together.

cw: 18+, pwp, sex tape, p-in-v, established relationship, clark is a big ol meanie in this, he uses his x-ray vision to see how deep he is in you, switch!clark (1.4k wc)

"Hey…what are you…doing?"

You're bent over Clark's lap, fiddling around at your bedside drawer. He's looking at you with confusedly. Palms steadied around your hip as you thrash around over him. He focuses on the antique oak for a second. And then relaxes.

"There's nothing but a couple of books, pills, and a camcorder in there —" he continues, and you peer at him over your shoulder.

"Camcorder. Where?"

Clark sighs. Looking back at the side table. Eyes twitched for a second. "On your left."

You dive right back in and perk right up with the silver device in your hands. Hair mussed from your jerky movements. Clark's brushing the locks away from your face, tucking then behind your ears. "So you interrupted us mid kissing for a camcorder?"

Clark hums into your lips when you kiss him once, and then deeper, "I wanna…—mmh—try somethin' new.." You're cupping around his jaw, kissing and nibbling until he's grabbing you, pulling you away. Blue eyes meeting yours.

"Elaborate…maybe?"

You huff, holding up the camcorder, the device whirring to life after you click the black button. "Just. You could…record me, while we..."

"You want me to record you while we're being intimate?"

A prolonged groan leaves you, and you're nudging it in his hands. "If you wanna put it so innocently. Yes. I want you to film me while giving me back shots —"

Clark's holding you by your jaw. Thumbs squishing your cheeks to shush you before easing his grip. "Geez louise, alright. Alright. I got that. But…wouldn't that sort of…I don't know…get really dirty?"

"Really? You think so?"

He's looking at the way your eyes glint at that, biting your lower lips and taking your gaze over him predatorily.

"You're not going to give this up now are you?"

Clark's shoulder slumps back as you scoot backwards. Seated on your thighs all coy and sweet. Fixing your blouse as well as you could.

He adjusts the camera up, holding your face in frame, the RECORD button going active.

"How do I look?"

Clark smiles behind the camera, looking at you through the screen and then tilting his head askew to look at you in real time. "Gorgeous as always."

You roll your eyes. "Can you try being less farm-boy nice and more, amateur porno-video taker?"

"….Fine. Take your blouse off."

You let out an amused giggle, popping the buttons off one by one. "See? You've got some spunk on you."

"Well I'm hoping to be getting some spunk in you."

"Yeah okay no, don't try to do the dirty talk."

Clark's lips pressed into a taut smile, shaking his head in embarrassment. "Maybe I'm at my depth here." He begins, but you grip around his wrist. Tutting.

"Relax. It's all in good fun. Follow my lead?"

You're tugging at his sweats, his half-hard cock bobbing up at his abdomen. Clark grunts at the obnoxious whistle you give at the sight. You grin, looking up into the camera lens as you take your first lick up the prominent vein running up his cock.

"W—…woah.." He lets out a breath all at once. Transfixed on the viewfinder. "You…look…"

He doesn't get to the end of his sentence. Biting back another gasp the way your lips stretch around the girth of his cock. You pull away, a string of saliva following.

"Good?" You mumble, mouthing at his cock.

"Yeah." Clark huffs out. His hand coming in view of the frame, thumbing your jaw with reverence. "You look amazing." It comes out embarrassingly shaky.

The camcorder somehow remains stead with his other hand. You take him in deeper, bobbing your head up and down, "g-gosh—…" Clark's head tilts back, the weight of his palm rested firm on the back of your head.

You pull off from him entirely. The pink of your tongue catching the dribbles of pre-cum on your lips. Clark looks to you hazily when you stop. When you get his attention again, you smile sweetly up at him. Kissing upward, where the coarse hairs let up to his belly button.

"Look….straight out of a dirty magazine…" He mumbles, holding the camera away. Clark leans down to kiss you, tugging you back up with a firm hold around your chin.

"Mmn..this won't work if you keep—mmh…turning the camcorder away." Clark smiles against your lips, turning you over with one fluid movement. Resting you on your belly.

"I had something different in mind."

Clark places the device down facing the two of you, twisting the view finder flap so you could see your yourselves.

You tilt your head back at Clark who was positioning himself behind you, squealing when he hiked your hips up to slot a pillow beneath your belly.

"Comfy?"

Your content mhm has Clark leaning down to kiss at the back of your neck and collarbone, making you giggle at the ticklish feeling it incites.

Clark's hand cradles your jaw to lift your head up just enough to draw your attention back at the camcorder.

"See that? I prefer that sight much.." He kisses your cheek. "Much.." Another kiss up your ears. "Better." You bite down on your cheeks. Legs kicking back and forth playfully. He grabs around your shorts, tugging them down at one go.

"There's nothing sexy about just seeing my face, Clark." Your voice comes out shaky, hips lifting just enough for him to drag his cock over your folds. You don't notice how he's eyeing the view finger. And he smirks.

"Are you aware of the 'face' you're making?"

"What?"

Clark nudges himself into you. Inch by inch, and your eyes flutter, the whites visible. "Ughh—!" He leans down, hips snapping once, letting you feel the sting from the stretch of him.

"Hey," he reminds. His bicep curling around your jaw, your cheeks rested up between the muscles in a headlock. "Eyes on the camera, remember?"

You grunt at him reminding you on your own words. Clark moves his hips in slow, deep strokes, drawing stuttered, groans out of you. "Sh—Shit! Cl…ark…s'deep…so…dh—eep!"

He's relentless with the pace he sets. His other palm snaking down to rub at your clit. "Clark!" You're whining into his biceps. Biting and drooling all over him. Clark leans down, an airy laughter ghosting the shell of your ear.

"Oh sweet thing, gettin' too much for you?"

"H-Hardly.." You're barely able to keep your eyes from rolling back again, but it's impossible with how deep his cock was pressing in your pussy. The build up comes out of nowhere, you're tensing around his cock, in spasms, and then your body goes limp.

Clark presses a kiss at the side of your cheek before he's housing your body, boneless still, to straddle him instead. Sitting you down on his cock with a scary strength. "Nngh!"

You're clawing at his chest in a stabilising effort. Panting, still feeling overcome with your earlier release. "C'mon. Give me a show." He mutters boyishly through a lustful gaze, holding the camcorder up, but just enough to capture what was below your neck.

"Mean. You're mean." You grumble under your breath. Grinding your hips down onto him with a stuttered breath. "Cl—aaark."

"Wh—aat?" He repeats your whine with a teasing smile. Thumbing your clit, watching you jolt beneath. Clark's palm kneads at your breast gently, a low huff leaving his lips as his thumb grazes down your midriff.

You seem to catch him staring absentmindedly at your belly, swiping over where his cock poke at your stomach. "Wh…what are you looking at?"

He hums gently, smiling lopsided. "If you could see what I'm seeing…how deep I am in you." You don't catch what he mutters, only how he's turning you beneath him.

The device left beneath him. "Should I be nicer?" Clark leans in, kissing at your jaw. Rocking his hips into you a gentler pace. You're whining into his neck, tears pricking the corner of your eyes at how easily he was filling you.

"Be nicer to my pretty…pretty girl?" Your thighs clench tightly around his hips, nodding into his shoulder desperately, without saying a word.

"S'what I thought." He smiles against your neck, glancing over at the abandoned camcorder beside, turning it over just enough to capture them in missionary.

Clark turns his attention back to you, whispering into your skin enough to send shivers down your spine, "give me one more sweet girl.." Your eyes flutter shut, letting Clark's relentless thrusts tip you over the edge once more. "G—god. Damn" He pants into your cheeks, hips stuttering. The sensation of his cum spurting deep in you has you coming at the same time, pussy pulsing around his cock, milking him for its' worth.

You're giggling, all fucked out, cheeks nuzzled into the messy sheets next to your face. Clark leans down to assualt you with a barrage of kisses, "shall we?"

Lazily, you turn to look at him, squinting. "Shall we what?"

"Do what you wanted."

Clark turns you over, thumbing where his cum leaks from your spent folds. Your own words come back to haunt you as a reminder. He reaches out for the cam corder, looping the thread in his palms.

'Yes. I want you to film me while giving me back shots'.

Oh boy.

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