clark's girl

request rules

i will write most things— but here are my ground rules:

i write x readers— not into character x character, as much as i’d like to get lois lane right

most things are good to go- smut, fluff, angst wise. i like exploring all kinds of ideas even if they’re odd/pervy/corny, what have you… we’re all freaks, you will not find judgement from here lmao!

triggering topics can be difficult— we will call them maybes. i will often tap into personal struggles/dispositions, and research what i can if i am writing about an unfamiliar state, but for the sake of being genuine and doing justice to people’s experiences, i tend to steer clear of anything very violent or personally traumatizing (ie. bodily/mental disorders, types of assault, etc.). if you request something like this, it’s possible i may not write it. apologies!

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my works -- (my ao3)

oneshots (fem reader)

fluff

just the right fit (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

people pleaser (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

lost in the woods (clark kent x fem!reader)

we accept the love we think we deserve (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

every way (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

‘cuz i’m a punkrocker (yes i am) (clark kent x fem!chubby!emo/alt!reader)

little libraries (clark kent x fem!neurodivergent!reader)

what it’s like to be a luthor (clark kent x fem!luthor!reader) *angst

untouchable (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

fallen angel (clark kent x fem!kryptonian!(chubby!)reader)

the perfect girlfriend (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

my constant (clark kent x fem!nerdy!chubby!reader)

makes you more (clark kent x ftm!chubby!reader)

old habits die hard (clark kent x fem!(chubby!)reader) *angst

special interest (clark kent x fem!filmbuff!reader)

the in-between (clark kent x fem!reader)

alien teeth (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

undeniable chemistry (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

through your eyes (clark kent x fem!reader)

a good nurse (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

smut

pain relief (clark kent x fem!reader)

loving her [or, pain relief part two] (clark kent x fem!(chubby!)reader)

the odd couple (fratboy!clark kent x fem!chubby!reader) *mostly fluff

“and i guess it's just the woman in you / that brings out the man in me…” (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

puppy needs sleep (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

wish granted (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

big spoon, little spoon (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

study break (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

playing the game (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

v-cards (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

four times you teased clark… (fem!chubby!reader)

topping clark was easy… (clark kent x chubby!femdom!reader)

beach safety (clark kent x fem!chubby!reader)

stupid idea, stupid girl (clark luthor x fem!chubby!(psycho!)reader)

drabbles

when clark kent crawls into bed, (fem!chubby!reader)

you & clark’s playlist (fem!reader)

being clark’s exchange student… (fem!exchange student!reader)

long form fics

in the works…

“Oh my god!”

His heavy body folded on itself, slumping against the wood. The hero’s breath was labored in a way that sent chills down your spine. This was wrong, Clark was never winded. In fact, everything about this was wrong. The love of your life was clutching his stomach, and his arms and face were slashed, bubbling with thick, ruby red blood. His suit was shredded around the chest and shoulders. The crimson of his cape was barely a scarf now. Superman was demolished, and he was groaning in agony in your high-rise window. 

You rushed to his side, helping him swing his legs through the opening. “Clark! Fuck, Clark– what,” you panted, frantically checking him over, “what happened?!”

A weak, crooked smile tugged at his cheek. Clark mustered a wink, gazing down at you through his tipped-back head, under sticky lids. “Kryptonite grenade.”

The weight in your gut dropped and sour bile rose. “Are you serious?”

He hissed as you pried his palm back from the area around his waist. There was a gory gash just beneath the right side of his ribcage, and in the low moonlight, you caught the shimmering remnants of green crystals stuck in the flesh. Your fingers trembled as you inspected it, careful not to poke. 

“Very,” he huffed, lolling his head. Clark squeezed his eyes shut and gently nudged your hand back. “Help me get to the bathroom, honey, please.”

There was a plea in his voice that made you want to burst into tears. Wanting to waste no time, you looped your arm around his back and nearly crumpled under the immense weight of his torso. You held fast and hoisted him up, and he leaned on you while you stumbled down the hallway as a pair. After kicking the bathroom door open hurriedly, you gently rested him against the edge of the tub and turned to flick on the lights. 

Panic raced through you as you spun in circles, trying to gather what made sense for tending to a wound. You never had to before because Clark was bulletproof. Most of the time. “Um– okay, peroxide, and, uh– um–”

Clark pressed the crown of his head to the cold tile wall and murmured softly, “The lamp, honey.”

“Lamp?”

He peeked up with an amused eye and said, “The sunlight lamp. By my bed. ‘Member?”

You blinked, trying to recall, and then winced in memory. “Oh. Right. I– yes, okay, just– just stay, don’t move, hold on!”

You scurried into the next room, snatching the lamp off his nightstand and nearly falling over when it yanked you backwards. The plug was still in the socket. You yelped, tugged it free, and hurried right back, breathing hard and trying to keep your head on straight. Clark watched as you nervously shoved the plug into the outlet near the bathroom sink, and he smiled. 

“Baby.”

“What?” You whipped around, eyes bright and unfocused. 

“Breathe,” he hushed, mossy irises glowing against the strained red of their whites. “You’re freaking out.”

A humiliating prickling sensation began pestering your eyes, and you turned back to the cabinet, rooting for supplies. The warm supplemental light from the lamp helped soothe Clark just a touch, but it wouldn’t help him heal until the shards in his cuts were gone, if it helped at all. Stupid Ollie couldn’t get the illumination compound right. 

A few deep breaths pushed through your lungs as you collected the peroxide and gauze and a pair of tweezers. Under the sink was where you kept the cleaning gloves, and you grabbed those, too– Clark was adamant on you never touching green kryptonite. You sank to your knees before the edge of the porcelain tub, setting everything on the floor, and blinked tears back as you pulled his hand away from the gash again. 

Clark’s heart swooped like he was rolling down a halfpipe at the image of you. You could be an emotional girl, sure, but he’s never seen you so shaken. Not over him, at least. There was no denying this was a jarring moment– it was for him, too. But you were trembling so harshly that you nearly dropped the tweezers twice simply trying to put them on the tub’s edge. He reached a sore hand out and coaxed it down the curve of your skull, tangling the fingers in your hair. When you looked up again, he brushed a tear back from your eye as it rolled free. 

“Peroxide first,” he said, because he didn’t want you to have to figure this out yourself. It was bad enough he needed you to patch him up. 

You nodded softly, swallowing the lump in your throat. The brown bottle was familiar in your hands. You used it often to clean your piercings and razor nicks. You squeezed a stream of the antiseptic over the cut and chewed your cheek when the sizzling burn made Clark growl. His chest rose and fell quickly as the sting subsided, but he still stroked your cheek, gentle as could be. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be. S’working,” he grunted. “Think you can pick those bits out for me?”

“My hands are shaky,” you croaked, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Clark smiled at you, but it looked like it hurt. There was still blood crusting around his eyes. You wanted to wipe it off, but you couldn’t leave the rock shards for later. They were poisoning him already, you could see the black blood shifting in his veins. He cupped the back of your head and tugged. “Come up here.”

You pushed up on your knees until you were close enough to count his eyelashes. Clark leaned in and planted a soft kiss against your bitten lips. You could smell the iron and dirt on his skin, but it wasn’t unwelcome. When he felt you settle, he whispered, “You won’t do it wrong, sweetheart. I trust you. But it hurts pretty bad, so I need your help.”

Part of you envied how well his reassurance assuaged your fears. It wasn’t fair, how good he was at fixing everything. Sitting back on your heels again after another deep breath, you wriggled your fingers into the latex gloves and grabbed the tweezers. 

Clark sat still, pressed against the wall as you spread a palm around the laceration. The cold, sharp prick of the metal tips made him flinch, and he dropped both hands from you so he wouldn’t hold on too tight. Your eyes were dead focused as you tugged the jagged pieces of green rock out, one by one, and dropped them down the drain of the tub. Even the tiniest shards left behind a stabbing pain. 

In the quiet, with just the air conditioning buzzing through the bathroom vent, you began to stew with reality. Whatever Clark was doing, whoever he was fighting, knew Kryptonite could mortally wound him, and they were insane enough to do it in a way that would be the most gruesome. Very few people had that same knowledge. Images swirled inside your head of the hero curled in the street, clawing his way from the blast, screaming in pain as the rocks dug deeper. He must have felt so weak. He must have been afraid. You didn’t know you were crying, but the thought of Clark alone and suffering out there was enough to kill you.

Clark frowned as he breathed through the rippling ache, seeing the expression twisting on your face. Your soft eyes were simply spilling over. He reached to grab a tissue off the back of the toilet, even while you told him to stay still, and he pressed it to your cheeks. “Don’t cry, honey, I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” you sputtered, wiping your face on your shoulder and dislodging a particularly large chunk from his side. “You’re in pain.”

Clark’s eyes fluttered shut from the urge to whine. It did hurt, it hurt so badly, but he’s had worse. “It’s not that bad. You’re doing good.”

“You have to be more careful.” A little bit of blood pooled around the crevice you just opened, and you packed it with some sterile gauze. “I– I’ve never seen you cut up this bad. You could have died.”

“I was being careful,” he quipped, “like always.”

“This isn’t funny, Clark!” You snapped, sniffling and turning the water on, washing the remnants of kryptonite down the drain. The gash was clear, so you packed it with gauze and pressed on it to soak up the blood. “You need fucking stitches! I can’t do stitches, Clark, I–" Clark winced at the pressure and you immediately let up. “Fuck, sorry! I’m sorry.”

A strangled laugh wriggled out of his sore throat, and Clark patted your head. “Shh, it’s fine. Stop. I’m okay. I don’t blame you for being angry with me."

“I’m not… I’m not really.” You perched on the tub’s edge between his legs and began brushing some peroxide-soaked gauze over the cuts on his face. “Are there any more you can feel?”

Clark shook his head. The pain was still there, but green kryptonite had a distinct kind of effect on him, a sort of swelling debilitation, and there was no throbbing left. Just the reminder. “No, no, think you got it all.”

You wiped some of the dried blood away from his eye, trying to rein yourself in. The words that wanted to come out were reprimanding and harsh. You wanted to tell him that he needed to try harder when it came to protecting his secrets, because anybody could use kryptonite against him if he showed them how badly it hurt. You wanted to make him promise to redesign the suit again, even though it was a fairly new model, thanks to Oliver’s new polymer technology. You were just seconds away from embarking on some tirade about how you couldn’t lose him, and how terrifying it was to see him walk about the door every day knowing someone might attack him, try to kill him, and you had no power to predict or stop it. But because you didn’t want to berate him when he was clearly suffering, you bit your tongue. 

Clark knew you well enough to tell himself those things already. Not a day went by that he didn’t hate part of himself for telling you the truth. Living with the fact that he would always be a target, and subsequently making you one, too, was a load of guilt he bore like a brand. He never forgot it, and he was always trying to make up for it; but sometimes the truth couldn’t be avoided, like tonight. Sometimes you would both have to sit and face it together. It was times like this, even when you were angry, that Clark knew he couldn’t trust anyone else more, even if it was a burden in the end. He loved you too much to keep you in the dark. 

Your fingers were so careful. Such soft skin against his, dabbing at the cuts in his eyebrows and littering his cheeks where the explosion punctured him. Your focus darted all over, almost as if you were trying to memorize the sight of him so torn up. He let you tilt his chin back, and as you lorded over him like the universe’s most beautiful nurse, he flushed just the tiniest bit. His wandering hands found your hips and tugged you closer into his lap, despite your protests. 

“Clark, stop moving.”

“Just come here, please.”

You grumbled softly as he positioned you, thighs bracketing his hips as he balanced you both on the tub. “This can’t be comfortable for you.”

“It’s perfectly comfy,” he smiled, ignoring the tugging discomfort from the cut over his brow. “Better reach for you, isn’t it?”

As your hands rose to keep cleaning, you nodded softly. “Mhm.”

Clark gazed up at you softly, watching the concentrated tip of your tongue poke from between your teeth. He wished he could devote an entire column in the Planet to how sweet you looked when you were worried. The soft plane of skin between your eyebrows bunched up like silk, and your cheeks flushed this ruddy shade to match your gnawed mouth. Little locks of hair fell over your full cheeks as you tilted to swipe peroxide over a spot near his jaw, and he could feel the torn skin healing slowly, all on its own, just because of your attention. 

He tried his luck with a joke. “So, doc, y’think I’m gonna live?”

You paused and stared into his eyes, jaw working. His eyes glinted like twinkling water, and you felt your heart beating. He could surely hear it. You blushed through the annoyance and fought off a smile. “Probably.”

Clark rubbed circles into the pudge of your hips and shifted against the wall. His body was incredibly sore and probably would be until morning at this rate. The lamp only mimicked the sun– it wouldn’t heal him rapidly. He had to check on Ollie’s new blueprints at some point. “Come on. Don’t be mad.”

“Look at you, Clark. You’re all…”

“Am I that ugly?”

“Shut up, that’s not what I was saying,” you chuckled softly, tossing the bloody gauze into the bottom of the bathtub. You pressed around his stomach wound and sighed. “I’m gonna have to wrap this until tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” he murmured, drawing you in closer. 

You gave in, letting his arms slither around your back. You were careful not to press up against him, but you came close enough to cup his cheeks. The bleeding was no longer active. Everything was just fresh. Tracing your finger along his brow, you said, “I don’t like seeing you hurt. This is scary for me, knowing you can get hurt so bad.”

“I know. But I’m alive, baby, I’m okay. I feel really good actually, you’re a great nurse.”

You grinned against your will. “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?” He hummed, pressing his palm to the small of your back.

“Make me forget why I was upset.”

“You’re doing that all on your own,” he smirked. 

“Careful. I could stick my finger in your gut.”

“You wouldn’t,” he squinted accusingly. 

Your smile spread wider as you leaned your forehead against his. His skin was searing– probably the effects of his body trying to ward off the poison. “What do I do now? It’s hours until the sun’s gonna come up, and you’re still weak, you could be sick all night–”

“If you get me to bed, I’ll be fine. The rocks are far enough now, I can’t feel them anymore. The poison won’t last.”

You didn’t move for a minute. You just traced the side of his face, seeing how the cuts seemed to be slowly sinking into the skin, and sighed softly. He was so frustratingly handsome even when he made you afraid. You finally settled into teasing, “Your suit is ruined.”

“Mm,” he huffed. “It’s okay. I’ve got the backup.”

“It’s dirty.”

“Then I should probably get it off.”

At the sight of his mischievous smile, the last bits of apprehension melted away. You pressed a slow kiss to his cheek, right over his stupid dimple, and nudged his cheek with your nose. “Please don't ever do that again.”

“I liked having you clean me up, though,” he whispered, chasing after your mouth. “Maybe I should get hurt more often.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Your laughter washed over him like medicine. “But I love you.”

You let him land one on you, and even knowing he was beat up and probably going to regret it, you sunk into his arms and let it happen. Against his lips, you offered, “I guess that’s enough.”

“Y’know, I think I might need a sponge bath, come to think of it.”

The field was littered with living dots of red, white, and blue. Towels and blankets were spread wide, flags hoisted high, coolers full of beer, sparklers setting off every other minute. Mindless cans were crushed beneath shoes. Children skittered about, covered in glitter and face paint. Mothers, fathers, siblings all over in the country’s colors. Water guns, boomboxes, rumbling trucks. It was hard to think straight in a place like this, some grassy expanse in the heart of Smallville where you sat on a blanket with Clark and watched the entire population hoot and holler as the fireworks rig was getting ready to explode across the lake. 

Clark had convinced you to come, even though there was a great view of the show from his farmhouse, because everyone would be there. We can talk, have dinner, spend some time, he entreated, everyone would love to see you, baby. You don’t have to do any of the work. Just come for my sake. 

The town-wide Fourth of July celebration was one of the biggest all year. The Parks department scrounged up enough funding for a big display, and everyone drove out to the fields surrounding the lake beach and tailgated from sun up to sun down, getting progressively drunker and more noisy. Huge events have never been your thing and he knew it, but his friends and family always spent the day at their corner of the lake; to say no would have been to cause the famous pout on his handsome face, and you didn’t have it in you to wreak such havoc. So, you agreed to come. Against your better judgement. 

You sat down a little while ago after managing a very long time of chatting and drinking. Your body was drained, but the job had been sufficiently done. It was safe to crawl into a Clark-shaped hole now, surely– everyone was busy with each other, anyway. Jonathan and Martha had been telling stories about Clark’s childhood for nearly two hours, and Lois and Oliver were beside themselves with laughter. Chloe and Jimmy were half-involved, more concerned with eating chunks of watermelon in the grass and tittering about something between them. Pete was skipping rocks across the water with Lana while Lex and Tess passed a beer back and forth. So long as you weren’t needed, you could enjoy the blanket with your boyfriend at last.

As for said boyfriend, Clark looked happier than there were words for. Everyone he loved was here, and so were you. It was a small heaven. 

Sometimes you felt like the stress was worth it just to see him in his element. Nothing was more special to Clark than his family. As he leaned into your side, his face was aglow with love. His mossy eyes glinted as he watched the parts of his life begin to sum, caring for each other, bonding under the thick heat of the summer sunset. His canines poked his bottom lip as he smiled, and you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest. Slow breaths. No fear, no worry. He was light for tonight, and he was beautiful. You would do anything for him to be that way all the time. The man was too stressed too often.

A sudden test firework shot off in the distance, and the rumbling sent shock through your body, snapping you out of admiration. 

Clark startled and laughed softly, head whipping towards you. You were so pretty, you always were– a red ribbon tangled in your hair, marking just how celebratory you felt. You were a still of soft cheeks, with big eyes flickering about and hands a bit shaky. So pretty, and in the perfect shape for his sympathy as you regained yourself. 

He knew this night was a lot. You did your best at work and parties now and again, but Clark knew well that social events were your biggest struggle. You only had so much juice in your battery, but you were sacrificing it for him. He was grateful for that selflessness now, because even with the slight fear in your tense shoulders, you were here. All because he asked. What else could he want?

“Easy, honey, it was a tester,” he grinned, reaching out to tug you back in. Clark looped an arm around your back and hauled you into his lap. “Got you, huh?”

“I hate those things sometimes,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. Chloe stood up to rush to the waterfront, yearning to light sprinklers with Lana, and Jimmy followed suit with sticky fingers. “Having fun?”

“Lots. I’m glad you came.”

“Couldn’t turn you down,” you smiled softly, nudging his nose with your own. When a far-off whistle sounded, you squeezed your eyes shut and braced for the smack against the sky. 

Clark watched you with an intensity only he could get away with as often as he did. A soft fingertip rose to trace the wrinkles on your scrunched nose. He murmured, “Are you doing okay?”

You nodded as soon as the crack rippled over the water, sighing softly. “Yeah. I’d probably do better with the fireworks if I wasn’t so on edge, but… y’know. No helping that.”

“I can tell,” he soothed, brushing some hair back behind your ear. “The fireworks are gonna start soon. It’s getting dark. Not much longer now.”

You mustered a smile and shrugged, lost for words. There wasn’t much to assure him of anymore; it’s been a long time of loving him, and even longer of knowing that he never asked more of you than you could give. Being a socially averse person was not a dealbreaker. Clark just wanted you to feel comfortable.

“You did good earlier,” he offered, “with Lois and Ollie and stuff. You talked to everyone. You didn’t even make a single face at Lex. I was so proud.”

A little chuckle left you at that, accompanied by an eye roll. “Well, I tried. You know how he is.”

“I do. But still– you hung around, you talked with everyone. I timed it– three hours and forty-two minutes of absolutely crushing it before you came crawling to me,” Clark teased, pressing a flurry of kisses across your cheek. “That’s my girl, pushing limits.”

You flushed a rosy shade and hid in his shoulder. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“I’m not! I mean it. It’s been such a good day with this weather, and the breeze, and everybody here… the barge looks huge out there, you know the show is gonna be amazing. I’m so happy, y’know? So happy. And you’re so beautiful,” he gushed, craning his neck to see you. “Today would have sucked without you. I mean it. You make everything right.”

The heavy rabbit-beat of your heart rammed against your ribs. Clark was always an affectionate guy, but it never lost its luster to hear him say things like that. He melted around you, holding tight and pecking your eyebrows, and some part of you was lost in the goo, drowning in him, drinking it willingly. Every ounce of anxiety washed away when he loved you. 

You curled your fingers in the dark locks behind his neck, breathing him in. “I love you,” was all you could choke out in the moment. 

Clark hummed sweetly and squeezed your torso tight, feeling the smushed bliss. “I love you too, honey.”

A barreling whistle shot into the sky, making you jolt, and Clark barked out a laugh against your ear. You shifted quickly in his lap to press your back to his front, and he made a cubby for you between his legs as the barge on the lake began to fire off the starting explosives. 

“Cover my ears, please,” you squeaked, drawing your knees up. 

Clark’s chest clenched at your soft request, and he complied. The warmth of his roughened palms flattened over your ears, muffling the world to a dull buzz. Up in the dark sky, a spattering of fireworks began to light up, scattering light through the stars in magnificent arcs of red, yellow, and blue. 

With the world quiet, you could feel the heavy thump of his heart between your shoulderblades. Your eyes drifted down to the water’s edge, where his parents and friends stood excitedly, jumping and cheering, clapping and waving their arms in a show of joy. Sparkling shapes sliced through the sky before their eyes, reflecting like bright gems in the lake. You could still feel the bass of each explosion under the blanket, shaking the world, but they weren’t nearly as loud as his body behind you, encasing you, softening the edges of everything. 

Clark kissed the crown of your head and rested his chin there, gazing up as the fireworks rained down on the water. All around, the town called out praises. The lightning bugs seemed to hang in the thick, watching too. Your hands encircled his wrists, holding on as he sheltered your eardrums from the shattering booms, and he willingly absorbed them, feeling dizzy with that good-day sort of feeling. 

He cupped one palm to whisper in your ear, “Thank you.”

You tipped your head backward and his dutiful hands followed, keeping you safe from shock as you smiled. Clark leaned down to press a slow kiss to your lips, transferring the traces of past-sweet melon over. Your warm breath tickled his nose, and he laughed against your lips.

“You’re welcome,” you whispered.