#firefighter!clark

It even followed you into adulthood. Your friends would ramble about their fantasies involving “hot firefighters.” You’d bite down on your tongue and let them indulge, not wanting to be an asshole.

You just never got it. It felt like you were missing some inside joke nobody bothered to explain.

That was until your girlfriend decided to become one.

You only meant to drop by for a second.

Clark had forgotten her lunch in the fridge, and even though she could go without food for months, it was the perfect excuse to visit her.

Once you walked inside the building, you were met with noise, heat, and motion. Men with what could only be described as porn-staches and fresh buzz cuts eyed you as they sized you up.

Most of them were lounging around the bay, laughing or clapping each other on the shoulders while you stood there with a tight-lipped smile, looking for Clark.

Eventually, one guy leaning against a counter noticed you and flashed a grin.

He pushed off the counter. “You’re Kent’s girl. I remember you from the pictures…”

You immediately covered your face with your hand, mortified.

Pictures?

Of course she did.

He jerked a thumb toward the back. “Yeah… she talks about you all the time. We all tease her about it. Want me to go get her?”

You were still flustered. “Uh, yeah. She forgot her lunch today. Is she in the back?”

The man nodded. “Yup, training bay. She’ll be right out.”

Moments later, Clark ran out from somewhere, glowing. A few other guys followed behind her, curious to see you in person.

She didn’t hesitate before folding you against her chest and lifting you off the ground.

“Hi, sweetie!”

Somebody behind her whistled.

“Ooo, Kent’s got company.”

Clark ignored them, murmuring into your ear as she set you down.

“Thought I heard your heartbeat outside.”

You chuckled as she pulled away. When she did, you finally got a good look at her.

She was wearing a tight black shirt stretched over her shoulders. It was damp in places that made you wonder if she had just come off a drill. Her bunker pants sat heavy on her hips while the utility straps hung loose at her sides. Aviator glasses rested on her face despite being indoors.

Your mind blanked.

You forgot what you were supposed to be doing—why you came here.

You almost forgot how to stand.

And the mullet—

Fucking hell.

It lay messily at the nape of her neck, curls falling forward just enough to make it unfair.

You didn’t remember having this sort of reaction when you saw her in the super-suit.

Clark’s eyes trailed down to the lunch bag.

“Is that my lunch?”

Despite her question, your attention was snagged on the way her arm muscles flexed as she pointed, and the traces of soot smudged across her forearms. It made your heartbeat spike.

She turned her head, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.

“You okay?”

You regained focus, stuttering, “Y-yeah… Um, you forgot it… in the fridge… this morning.”

She leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “Thank you, darling.”

The next week was utter madness.

Your girlfriend in a firefighter uniform had completely rewired every inch of your mind and body. Now you were hoping to undo it through logic.

You tried subtle things first.

“Hey, do you think you could come home early? I made your favorite. Breakfast for dinner!”

“The oven’s acting up again.”

“Think there’s a spider in the shower. Come quickly!!!”

Unfortunately, she responded to all of it with the same infuriating calm.

“Sorry, honey. I can’t tonight. Rain check?”

“Maybe get our neighbor to do it. He’s pretty handy. Good luck.”

“Can’t right now, babe. In the middle of training. Just use a piece of paper and a cup and put it outside. Don’t need to kill the poor thing.”

You even tried sending pictures of yourself in bed, hair fanned across the pillow, giving her a glimpse of your bare shoulder as your bralette strap slipped down your arm.

Missed you this morning. The bed’s so cold without you.

Clark only responded with:

Miss you too, pretty girl. Try stealing my pillow. Love you.

You frowned at your phone as it dawned on you that she just might be immune to the spell you’d been tirelessly casting on her.

The night it did happen, you weren’t actually trying. Well, maybe a little bit.

You were in the kitchen, hunched over your phone on the counter, debating whether you followed the recipe correctly. It was supposed to be something simple and comforting.

Just a little roasted dinner.

But once the burnt smell filled your small kitchen, you began to think you’d be the first person to give Superwoman food poisoning. You were already dashing toward the oven when the smoke came.

As you snatched a nearby dish towel and began flapping it around, the beeping from the smoke alarm echoed throughout the apartment.

“Shit—no, no, no—”

You yanked open the oven door and pulled out what was supposed to be your dinner, setting it on the stove. You glared at the pan, your chest tightening with disappointment.

“This was supposed to be nice,” you muttered as tears threatened to spill.

Here you were standing in the middle of your kitchen wearing a sundress in Clark’s favorite color, having cooked the food to the point where you couldn’t even eat it yourself.

Right as you were about to completely lose it, the living room window slid open and Clark flew in. When she found you, you were pacing.

“Baby?”

You stopped in your tracks, your head snapping toward her voice. The mere sight of her in that damn firefighter uniform made something inside you unclench.

You let out a weak hello when she gently reached for you. Clark hooked an arm around your shoulders to comfort you.

“I heard the alarm first… then your heartbeat.” Her voice eased against your temple. “I was so scared.”

You whimpered, leaning into her as you waved toward the stove.

“I’m sorry… I tried to make dinner, and I thought I had it, but I didn’t, and then it started smoking, and I think I messed up the timing, or the temperature, or maybe I just—I don’t know, I thought… it was finally your night off… and I’d do something nice for you.”

Clark listened, her expression softening as you rambled.

“And I wore your favorite dress, which sounds ridiculous now that I’m saying it out loud, because—”

She cut you off with a kiss.

It wasn’t rough or unrestrained, just tender. She didn’t do it to unravel you, but to bring you back. She anchored you there with her, the grip firm on your waist. It wasn’t possessive. It was only Clark hoping to dull the noise for you.

The charred scent of smoke and the screeching wail of the alarm became barely noticeable.

Clark breathed steadily against your ear.

“It’s okay, darlin’… I’ve got you here with me.”

That landed heavier than everything she had said all week, making your breath shake. Her thumb moved gently at your waist.

“Come on, breathe for me… It’s okay.”

The grounding tone of her voice compelled you to indulge in a familiar sense of nirvana.

Your vision steadied, then dropped to her body. Your fingers curled lightly into the front of her shirt as the ache in your chest worsened after tracing a soot mark across her cheek with your gaze.

She murmured while peppering kisses against your neck.

“There she is… there’s my girl.”

You groaned, cranking your neck sideways to give her more access. If it were even possible, her arm tightened around you. Clark’s lips dragged back to the shell of your ear as her hands roamed your backside.

“I’ll get the smoke alarm, and you go on to bed. I’ll be in soon… Alright, sweet girl?”

You nodded, half-adrift, obeying her like a loyal Dalmatian.

You were lying in bed, clutching the bedsheets to your bare chest, listening to Clark’s heavy footsteps outside your bedroom as she disabled the smoke alarm, your dress folded somewhere at the foot of the bed.

In the silence that followed, she slipped back through the crack of the door. Her eyes found yours immediately, her mouth curving into a smile.

She remained silent as she glided through the room to your shared dresser. Anticipation coiled through you as the drawers opened and fabric rustled faintly.

Your back straightened when she turned toward you with one of her ties in hand. Though you had always known this was where it was headed, your breath still caught.

Clark walked over to your side of the bed and stopped beside you. She held the tie loosely between her fingers, bringing it to your wrists.

She wraps the wide blade of the fabric twice around your skin. Without pinching you, she crossed it to secure it in place and guided your hands to the headboard. Clark looped the tie around the iron railing twice before tugging it into a firm knot.

Then she leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Good girl.”

She unbuckled her bunker pants, letting them fall to her ankles. Clark stepped out of them as she pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in just her sports bra and boxers.

She peeled the bedsheets off you, eyeing how your body was only half covered with your lacy underwear.

Clark couldn’t hold back from kissing along your neck as she straddled you. “Impatient, darling?”

A trembling whimper escaped you, “F-fuck you.”

She places a featherlight kiss on the swell of your breast, amusement coloring her voice, “I’m trying.”

Her mouth finally latched onto your breast, enveloping it wholly, circling your nipple with her tongue, earning a groan from her.

Clark moved to your other tit, mirroring the same attention she had given the first one, while one of her hands slowly moved to your underwear.

You whined as she cupped your clothed cunt, the wetness of it already coating her fingers. She squeezes it when she feels you rub against her hand.

Clark cooed at you while kissing down your midriff, saying, “Oh, I know, sweetheart… already feels good, huh?”

You nod, letting out another soft, high-pitched gasp, “Y-yes… just stop teasing me.”

She snickered, pulling the gusset of your panties to one side. “As you wish, my love.”

Your head snapped back into the pillow, straining within the tie’s hold while she licked a stripe up your center. Her tongue, flat and broad, parting you like the Red Sea.

“Easy, easy, baby,” Clark crooned, her hands sliding beneath your thighs as she guided your legs over her shoulders. “Seems I’ve neglected you for too long.”

She moans into your cunt, sending vibrations throughout your aching body. She eats you out like her whole purpose on this earth was to do this.

And with how the bed began to shake—not from you, but from her rolling her hips against the mattress—you squeeze your thighs around her head.

Her mouth closes in around your sensitive nub while she slips one finger into your hole. You cried out, “Shit, C-Clark…”

She curls her finger as she begins pumping it in and out of you, hitting that one spot that turns you into a giant puddle underneath you.

Your orgasm is near; you can feel it in the way your thighs clench, your back arches, and your jaw falls slack as incoherent praises spill from your mouth.

Like always, she can sense it.

You know she does by the way her free hand holds your hip, keeping you grounded. Clark adds a second finger, doubling down on her efforts.

She whispers against your clit, “Come on, sweetheart… soak my face. Wanna taste it so bad.”

Anchoring yourself in the rapture, it engulfs you, leaving you gasping and trembling as though you’re drowning in it. It’s unlike what your hands have been trying to replicate for the past week.

Still chasing her own release, Clark continued to lap at you even as you shook uncontrollably. You have to physically push her off, bringing your foot up to her shoulder and nudging her.

Reluctantly, she presses a kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up your body. When she looms over you, leaning closer—her mouth isn’t the only thing that’s damp.

There’s a wet patch in the crotch of her boxers, and her glassy eyes are filled with desperation. You were just about to tease her when she beat you to it, silencing you with a firm kiss.

You hummed into the kiss as you tasted yourself on Clark’s lips. Her hands scrambled to undo the tie around your wrists. She needed your hands on her. Your fingers in her hair. Your nails down her back.

Without hesitation, you cupped her face, matching her intensity. She gave a broken, needy little sound, involuntarily bucking into you. The slight friction sends you both reeling.

Usually, she’d lean over toward the nightstand and pull out the strap, and fuck you until you were left hollow and sobbing for more. But she was craving something more visceral.

You help Clark pull her boxers off and throw them across the room. She pushes your knees up to your chest, dragging her slick folds against yours as she nestles into the side of your neck.

Her clit catches yours, already tender. Clark’s voice is muffled, but you understand her perfectly.

“Please, baby… I’m so close… Can you do it again… for me?”

You try to nod, your voice fracturing as she speeds up. With how fresh your last orgasm was, you were still coming undone.

“Yes, Clark… Oh, God…”

She speeds up her pace, grinding her pussy into yours vigorously—refusing to cum without you.

Your eyes flicker down momentarily, widening at the sticky string of arousal that’s clinging between you two.

Soon, Clark’s thrusts become sloppy, erratic, and ragged. You attempt to muster the strength to get each other there, but you can’t. You’re too limp even to move.

She doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, staying close to you. The knot wound tight within her is on the verge of snapping, occupying every corner of her mind.

You’re right behind her, breathlessly showering her with praise. “D-doing so good, Clarkie… right there… Fuck.”

Once you both reach your peak, you swear you see stars. But this time it’s far more intense. It’s almost otherworldly, similar to your girlfriend who’s shuddering above you.

Barely riding out the aftershocks, Clark collapses onto you, still overwhelmed by how good your smile feels. Something she knows she’ll never get over.

She scatters kisses along your face and jaw, playing with your hair as she rolls onto her side of the bed beside you—the spot that’s felt unbearably empty without her.

You watch her with a dazed grin, giggling when her touch tickles you. “I can’t believe you..”

Clark raises a brow, smirking, “Me? What about you? You’re not exactly subtle, y’know?”

You shrug, cuddling into her, “Was never trying to be.”

Clark’s eyes grudgingly opened, hearing something vibrate in the bedroom. It wasn’t loud or sharp, just annoyingly persistent. She reached for the source of the noise.

In the shadows of city lights spilling through the windows, she saw you still asleep, curled against her chest. The buzzing started again.

By the third time, she realized it was most likely her phone. Clark sighed dramatically as she adjusted her grip on you, leaning over you toward her bunker pants to grab it without waking you.

You stirred instantly at the feeling of your sleepy firefighter girlfriend shifting slightly on you.

She immediately felt guilty, pressing a kiss to your shoulder while gently coaxing you back to sleep. “It’s okay, honey… don’t worry.”

You nodded drowsily, a soft noise slipping into her warm skin as the phone buzzed once more.

Clark grabbed her pants, leaning over you, digging through the front pockets to find her phone.

As soon as she found it, she glanced at the bright screen and frowned.

It was one of the guys she worked with, Kyle.

She settled back onto the bed, sliding her thumb across the screen, answering the call, tightening her hold on you.

Still careful not to wake you, she whispered, “Hey, man. What’s up? It’s late.”

For a second, she didn’t hear anything. Until…

“Where the hell did you go, Kent? The whole crew has been looking for you.”

Clark closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Even across the city, Kyle’s voice managed to stay grating. Still, she did feel bad—at the thought of everyone worrying over her.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I had something to take care of at home. I thought we were done.”

Kyle snorted, not buying it. “Yeah, sure, clearly we weren’t. Let’s hope the boss doesn’t tear you a new one when you get back.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she picked up from you, and ran a hand through her curls. “How bad is it?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. You know how stoic he usually is. You’ll have to find out on your own.”

Clark stiffened as you mumbled something unintelligible into her, hoping Kyle didn’t hear it—knowing that was the last thing she needed to be teased about.

“Right.”

He hummed dryly, “Yeah… you’re in for it.”

She groaned, “I know, I know, I know.”

Kyle chuckled before hanging up. “Oh… and Kent?”

“Yes?”

“Say hi to your girlfriend for me.”

Clark choked, staring down at her phone as silence flooded the apartment for three seconds before you shifted against her, whimpering into her chest.

“Baby, I’m cold…”

Clark softened, embarrassment and annoyance melting away as she pulled the sheets up around you.

“Oh, sweetheart… I got you. Go back to sleep.”

But when she lifted her head, she realized both of you were mid-air. Several feet above the bed.

Now, Clark would never admit to reckless use of his x-ray vision, but you and your ankle seemed perfectly fine to him. But with the imminent danger gone, and his colleagues already tending to other civilians, he had time to spend. He just got lucky that this one was real pretty.

"What’s the matter, miss?"

And your heart's already fluttering, rushing in your ears when he looks through you with those big, glassy eyes.

"My ankle. Twisted it on a crack," you say, gesturing behind you at the uneven pavement.

"Damn useless infrastructure," he hums with a voice smooth as silk with just a sprinkle of playfulness, "Here, let's get you to a bench."

And he flashes this glimmering, pageant-worthy smile that makes you think he ought to be doing anything but fighting fires and serving the community. This guy must have a serious heart of gold to ignore the call of a full-time modeling career.

"Can you put any weight on it?" the large and conveniently handsome fireman cradles your elbow carefully, helping you onto your 'good' leg.

"You are really beautiful," you huff.

He’s startled by the compliment, flushing pink while guiding you to the closest park bench.

"Why thank you, miss." There’s a subtle southern drawl there that you'd miss if you weren't prematurely infatuated with him. You’re starting to think you might have to become a serial arsonist just to see him more often. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

He’s suddenly knelt at your feet, holding your calf and slowly rotating your foot to pinpoint the pain. Or at least, he hopes that’s what it seems like he's doing. He’s really just entertaining whatever motive you must have for faking an injury. He’d never admit it, but he'd take any excuse to receive compliments from a pretty girl like you.

"D’you have a first name, mister Kent of Metropolis Fire Department?"

He chuckles at the formality in your tone, ducking his head trying to mask the heat rising to his cheeks. He’s never felt more like a giddy schoolgirl.

"Clark. Clark Kent of Metropolis Fire Department," he says.

"It’s a pleasure, Clark Kent," you coo, "Come here often?”

“Believe it or not, I do. There’s always some rogue bicycle incident or explosive extraterrestrial that requires our presence. City center seems to be a popular breeding ground for emergencies.”

“Maybe I’m the one who should come here more often,” you tease, cocking a brow when he glances up at you through his dark lashes.

He grins, and you’re blinded. He’s the kind of beautiful that makes your heart race no matter how used to it you think you might be. The dimples in his cheeks only stand to mock you. Clearly, the universe is playing favorites.

“I’ll get you an ice pack. Don’t go anywhere.” Your firefighter stands, blocking the sun until it halos around his dark curls, painting him an adonis.

“Wait!” you plead, “I have to tell you something.”

He turns to you, hands planted squarely on his hips as a sly smirk graces his expression.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

And oh, how the butterflies stir in your stomach. Suddenly, you’re nervous to tell him, but you feel like you’ve wasted enough of his time flirting and damsel-in-distressing.

“I didn’t really twist my ankle,” you admit with a disappointed sigh. He looks confused with a raised eyebrow, scrutinizing your guilty face with a quirked smile.

“Oh, really?” he teases.

“Yeah,” you huff, “but it was a pretty good excuse to spend time with a handsome firefighter.”

He holds out his hand with subtle and half-hearted exasperation. His smile gives him away, and it’s even better from up close when you let him pull you to your feet, catching a gentle waft of his woodsy yet sweet cologne.

“How about I give you my number and you can spend time with me whenever you want. Off the clock.”

It leaves you stunned for a second. You can’t do much more than gaze into his deep blue eyes thinking it’s not a bad view from here. Your heart races when you check back into reality.

“Clark Kent, that was incredibly smooth. You use that on all the ladies you rescue?”

“No, just the ones who don’t need rescuing at all. Or give me small, individually wrapped candies from their purse.”

“Well, good thing this worked out because I forgot my candy purse at home today.”

“And what a disaster it would’ve been if you had remembered! I’d probably just have to marry you all over again.”

You giggle when he slips his hand around your waist and across your lower back. It truly never gets easier to be away from your civil servant sweetheart, so you came up with this ruse one day just to see him more often (and promptly made him promise to play along). So long as it wouldn’t get in the way of those in need, you reasoned. But timing was always on your side when it came to Clark.

“In the middle of the city center?”

“Right here, right now, sweetheart. I was just on one knee, we’re already half-way there.”

“We’re making great time, maybe we should take a little detour,” you whisper, slipping your arms up over his shoulders. He hums softly under his breath. You take an indulgent tug of his curls, and he gets this subtly stern look on his face that makes your stomach flip just enough. “A little something for the road.”

“I think we’ve got time for that,” he says. He dips his head, tilting to fit himself against your soft mouth. You smile into his kiss and feel yourself press closer to his warm chest. Metropolis melts away at the beat of your hearts together. You think you ought to convince him to run away with you. But you know these musings are only a symptom of Clark kissing you silly. And they all vanish into thin air when he presses his tongue to the seam of your lips.

“Kent! You’re on call, no time for kissing strangers!” his chief hollers.

“She’s my wife! Gimme two goddamn seconds!”

He turns back to you with that sweet excitement that’s typically reserved for overzealous puppies and babies in candy stores. He takes your face in his big hands and gives you a handful of wet, farewell kisses until you’re a giggling mess in his grasp.

And he can’t stop himself from pulling away just to look at you. Hands dropping to your jaw and waist, giving him a perfect view of your well-kissed lips and softened expression.

“See you tonight, hotshot,” you tease. And with that, he gives your ass a pat goodbye before jogging back towards the engine. He smiles to himself all the way back to the station.