౨ৎ

he’s the definition sunshine and shyness wrapped in flannel.

clark’s the kind of boyfriend who never lets your hand go when you cross the street, even if there’s not a single car in sight. the kind who always texts back with correct punctuation and “sweetheart” at the end, like:

“did you eat yet, sweetheart?” “i left dinner in the fridge, sweetheart.” “i miss you already. be safe, sweetheart.”

he kisses your forehead more than your lips. he gets flustered every time you compliment him. he holds the small of your back in crowds without even thinking about it, not to show you off, but just to keep you close.

he still blushes when you call him your boyfriend.

he reads books with the corner of his mouth tucked up like he’s delighted by the words. sometimes you catch him mouthing them under his breath—little whispery murmurs—and it makes your chest ache in the gentlest way.

you asked him once, “what are you reading, baby?” and he blinked up at you with that soft boyish smile and said,

“just a love story. made me think of you.”

you made him reread it out loud that night, and he did—page by page, all the way through—while you curled into his chest and let his voice lull you to sleep.

౨ৎ

he’s obsessed with loving you.

you’re not used to someone remembering the little things. not like this.you told clark you liked strawberry milk one time and the next morning there were four different kinds in the fridge.

you mentioned sunflowers and now they’re a staple—grocery store bouquets, sidewalk stems, one plucked fresh and tucked behind your ear just because.

you told him you hate thunderstorms and now he always comes home early when it rains. he wraps you up in his arms and lets you hide under his sweater while the thunder rumbles outside, whispering things like “i’ve got you, honey. i’m right here.”

he doesn’t laugh when you say dumb things. doesn’t correct you. just hums, smiles, kisses your temple.

“you’re so smart, clark.” "mhm, and you’re so pretty. guess we’re a good match.”

you like get dressed up for him— lip gloss, lashes, a skirt just short enough to be barely okay, and he looks at you like he’s seeing a sunrise for the first time. always a little stunned, like his brain needs a second to catch up.

“you like it?” “i love it,” he breathes. “i love you.”

౨ৎ

he’s quiet, but dangerous.

people think he’s a softie. sweet, shy, golden boy. and he is—he is. but god, he’s so much more than that.

he holds you like you’re fragile, like your bones are spun glass, like one wrong move could ruin you. and then he fucks you like he’s trying to leave fingerprints on your soul.

clark’s a big boy. broad shoulders, thick arms, hands that make your waist look dainty. and he knows he’s big—especially when you’re under him, legs trembling, nails digging into his back while you babble about how full you feel.

“you’re gonna break me,” you giggle, dazed. “don’t say that,” he pants against your throat, “you know i’ll stop.” “no you won’t.”“...no,” he agrees immediately , voice low. “i won’t.”

he lifts you constantly—during sex, during arguments, during lazy mornings when you won’t get out of bed. one arm under your thighs, one behind your back, and suddenly you’re off the ground, wrapped around him like a doll.

when you’re cockdrunk and teary-eyed, slurring his name with your lip gloss all smudged, clark just kisses the corners of your mouth and whispers things like “you’re so good for me, sweetheart. you’re takin’ it so well. look at you.”

he tries to keep quiet—he does—but you love pushing him just far enough that his voice slips into something rough and ruined.you tell him you want to make him come. you say it sweetly, too sweet, too soft for what it means. and suddenly he’s flipping you onto your stomach and telling you to hold on. your neighbors (unfortunately) know his name by now.

౨ৎ

he's your home.

it’s not just the way he touches you. it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re his entire world. like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, with you, watching old movies and eating boxed mac and cheese, bare legs in his lap while he rubs circles into your skin.

he’s steady. safe. warm.

you ask him once, “why me?”

and he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world,

“because i know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. and then i met you.”

you curl into his chest and let the silence stretch long, like honey between your ribs.

you didn’t mean to fall in love with a superhero.but now you can’t imagine a world where you don’t get to love him.

and lucky for you—he feels the same way.

“mm—clark, slow down,” you whimpered, voice breathy as you held onto his shoulders. “feels too good—can’t, nnghh."

his mouth curved into the sweetest little smile as he kissed your cheek. “you don’t have to do anything, baby. just let me take care of you.”

you were already soaked from how long he’d teased you—soft kisses, hands sliding under your shirt while you straddled his lap on the couch, his voice low and warm when he told you how pretty you were, how he missed you all day, how much he needed you.

by the time he carried you to the bedroom, your legs were trembling around his waist and your panties were practically ruined from your slick.

and god, he was so big. thick and heavy between your thighs, stretching you open slow as he pushed in, murmuring praises into your neck the whole time. “you can take it, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. “you always take it so well for me. just breathe f'me.”

you gasped as he bottomed out repeatedly, eyes fluttering with tears of pleasure, mouth falling open. your voice came out in a broken little whines, “oh my god, clark you're so deep, i-it’s too much, i can feel you in my stomach—”

he groaned at your words, hips slightly stuttering. “shit, baby… don’t say things like that. you’ll make me nut too fast.”

you giggled, high and airy, arms wrapping around his neck. “you like it when i say that? when i tell you how big you are daddy?”

he gave you a warning look— gentle, but dark. “watch it.”

but you just kept babbling, pouty and fucked out, too cockdrunk to stop. “i love your cock, daddy. s-so big, fills me up so good, don’t think ’m ever gonna walk again—”

he silenced you with a kiss, deep and messy, before rolling his hips harder, dragging himself out to the tip, then slamming back in with a force that made the headboard hit the wall with a sharp thud!

you moaned, near pornographic.

“shh,” he whispered against your mouth. “you gotta be quiet, honey.”

“but i can’t baby, i can'ttt ” you whined, tears falling from your eyes just from how good it felt. “you’re fucking me so deep, baby, can't— fuhhck!”

“i know, sweetheart.” he pressed a hand flat to your lower stomach, pressing down. “right here, huh? that’s me?”

you nodded quickly, dumb and breathless, jaw going slack as he started fucking you in slow, deep strokes that pressed against all the right spots. the bed creaked with every movement, the wall thudded in rhythm. your moans were shameless, echoing loud in the room every time he kissed the tip of your cervix.

“baby,” you slurred, clinging to him. “it’s gonna be so messy, i can feel it clark, ’m gonna, g'nna make a mess—”

he leaned in close, glasses crooked on his face. “go ahead,” he rasped. "wet my dick ꒰♡꒱, make a mess all over it.”

and when you finally came, body shaking beneath him as wet, clear streams leaked from your pussy, he followed seconds later— thrusting into you deep and slow as he spilled inside you, white sticky cum painting your womb as he moaned out your name.

you laid there tangled in the sheets, legs trembling and chest heaving, still babbling sweet little nothings as he kissed you through your orgasm. “you okay?” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your cheek.

you nodded sleepily. “mhm, s'good… but, baby?”

"hm?"

"we were so loud."

he just chuckles, kissing the tip of your nose, and pulls you flush to his bare chest. “worth it.”

౨ৎ

the next morning, you tugged on a hoodie over your tiny sleep shorts, still a little sore and floaty between your thighs. your legs brushed when you walked, and you bit your lip, smiling to yourself as you slipped out the front door to get the mail.

the hallway was quiet as you padded down in your house shoes to the little row of mailboxes, humming to yourself while flipping through a stack of envelopes. but before you could make it back to your apartment, someone cleared their throat behind you.

you turned, and immediately wished you hadn’t.

one of the neighbors from down the hall stood there in a pressed blouse and pencil skirt, lips pursed in a tight, judgmental little line. “hi there,” she said. “welcome to the building.”

you smiled nervously. “oh, thank you! me and my boyfriend just moved in yesterday.”

“yes, i had figured,” she replied coolly. “everyone had figured, actually.”

your stomach dropped. “...huh?”

“i’m just saying,” she continued, folding her arms, “it’d be really great if you two could keep things down next time. the walls here are thin, you know.”

your whole face went hot. “oh my god! i, i-i’m so sorry!” you stammered, clutching the mail to your chest. “i um, i didn’t realize, i swear, w-we weren’t trying to— ”

“just be mindful,” she quips, turning on her heel and walking off.

you stood there frozen for a beats, mouth hanging open in pure mortification before rushing back to the apartment, nearly dropping the mail as you slammed the door behind you.

“clark,” you gasped, stomping back into the kitchen where he was sipping coffee in nothing but his sweatpants, “baby. i think the neighbors heard us.”

he looked up from his mug, blinking innocently. “what?”

“last night! when we, you know!” you make a circle with one hand and pushing your pointer finger through it repeatedly. "that!" you groan, covering your face with your hands. “this lady with the most lucious hair i've ever seen literally stopped me in the hall to say the walls are thin. she said everyone heard!"

clark set his mug down, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying so hard not to smile.

“oh no,” he said, all faux concern as he walked over and wrapped an arm around your waist. “that’s awful.”

“stop it! don’t act like you’re not proud of yourself,” you huffed, smacking his chest lightly. “you were literally breaking the bed, clark! i swear i heard the headboard crack at least five times!”

“i wasn’t trying to,” he murmured into your hair, biting back a laugh as he kissed your temple. “guess you just bring it out of me.”

you buried your face in his chest, whining, “i can never show my face out there again.”

“you’ll be fine,” he chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to your cheek. “we’ll just keep it down tonight.”

he paused.

"...or not."

"clark kent!"

he was already laughing as you shoved at him with both hands, but he pulled you right back in, kissing the pout off your lips until you melted in his arms all over again.

and later that night? the neighbors definitely heard you again.

laying across the bed in that short little silk nightdress, back to him. the light from the hallway glowing soft against the curve of your hips and that subtle dip in your spine.

he swallows.

“you tryna kill me?” his voice comes low, hoarse. tired, but touched with something darker now. something pulled taut.

you smile slow, not even looking over your shoulder. “got any more energy for me, or should i go to bed by myself tonight?”

he’s on you in seconds.

you gasp as his weight presses into the bed, and then onto your back. his body covers yours with that lazy strength he always has— like he’s not trying but still manages to take you apart.

“baby…” he murmurs, voice deep in your ear. “you sayin’ that while you look like this? you’re lucky i didn’t fuck you right there in the hallway.”

you wriggle your ass back against him and feel him already getting hard. slow and heavy between your thighs.

“then why don’t you?” you whisper. “you always say you wanna keep me full, right?”

his groan catches in his chest. you feel it rumble against your back. his hand presses into the dip of your spine, holding you in place like you’re fragile. like he’s about to break you.

“stay just like this,” he mutters, flipping up the hem of your dress, baring your soft, plump ass to the cool air. his fingers stroke over your thighs, up between them to your hole, brushing slick.

“fuck, honey,” he says, almost like it hurts. “you’re already soaked. all this for me?”

“always for you, daddy” you whimper.

he doesn’t make you wait. he pulls his leaking cock out of his sweats, giving himself a few slow strokes before pushing in slow— one deep stroke that stretches you wide as your breath hitches and you mush your cheek deeper into the pillow.

"so fuckin' warm," he groan. "golly, this pussy. she missed me, huh?"

his hips roll, deep and slow at first. your breath stutters with every thrust, your legs spreading wider subconsciously. he pushes one hand under your belly, lifts your hips just slightly, and the angle has you sobbing.

“that’s it, baby,” he rasps. “take it. take all of it for me.”

you moan out, drool leaking from the corner of your lips. "mmmmm i'm takin it daddy, 'm takin itt."

his cock drags against your walls so perfectly, the friction turning your brain to mush. he presses his palm between your shoulder blades, anchoring you, keeping you folded down under him as he rocks his hips harder— deeper.

his other hand snakes around your waist, fingers slipping between your legs, rubbing your clit slow and steady. he knows your body all too well by now.

“look at you,” he breathes. “this little dress, that pretty ass — fuck, i come back from tuckin’ the kids in and you’re laid out beggin’ for it.”

you whine into the pillow, thoughts crumbling. "i wasn't begging."

“you are now,” he smirks, dragging his cock all the way out before slamming it back in.

you cry out. your legs shake, as you twist the sheets in your fists.

he leans over you again, chest to your back, mouth pressed to your ear. “c’mon, sweetheart. lemme hear it. tell me how good it feels.”

“feels so good, clark,” you choke out. “so deep, i— i mmm, can’t think daddyy.”

“don’t need to think, baby,” he whispers. “just gotta cum for me, cream all over me sweetheart.”

his thrusts become erratic, the repeated plap-plap-plap! of his hips slapping against your ass echoing around the room, your soaked cunt squeezing him and squelching with every thrust.

“gonna fill you up so good,” he groans. “fuck this pussy full of my cum, just like you wanted. that what you needed, right baby? wanna be full with my babies again, hm?”

“yesyesyesyes, clark, please!” you sob, your voice breaking. "fill up my pussy, i wan' it s'bad!"

he lets out a small moan against the skin of your neck, his cock beginning to twitch inside you. “i got you,” he pants. “cum with me. wanna feel you let go around me when i cum, baby. please.”

you come apart in his hands, legs trembling and back arched. your cunt is milking him in desperate, pulsing waves. he presses his mouth to your shoulder as he cums with a low, broken moan— spilling hot white inside you, grinding it deep with soft thrusts as you both fall apart.

he slumps his weight over you, but not too much. one arm circles your waist as the other readjusts your satin bonnet on your damp forehead.

you sigh, dazed and fucked out.

“still tired?” you mumble.

he laughs, breathless and kisses your shoulder.

“not even a little.”