#kryptonian warmth

ship: clark kent x f! reader (established relationship)

cw: mild intimacy, snowed-in isolation, mentions of warmth-body heat, soft domestic fluff

wc: 2.9k

an: hello loves, i am sooo sooo sorry about the day 6 delay, i started to feel really under the weather with a terrible sore throat and i feel better today so i will be posting day six and day seven today! we do not skip days! happy kinkmas day six!

now playing: the christmas song (chestnuts roasting on an open fire) by nat king cole

the snow starts hours before you and clark even leave the city, fat slow flakes tumbling down like someone shook the sky awake before it was ready to shine. metropolis is already dusted white by the time he helps you into the passenger seat, big warm hands lingering at your hips the way they always do. a gentle touch that says he loves you, that he’s here, that he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the universe. his breath fogs the cold air, but his skin… never chills.

the moment he settles into the driver’s seat, his palm finds your thigh like it’s second nature. warm. steady. comforting. exactly the way you’ve always loved him. you glance over at him, watching the way his lashes catch flakes when he blinks. he looks so human and also not at the same time — all soft flannel and messy curls, but with that underlying steadiness that only someone carved from something stronger than steel could carry. he squeezes your thigh gently, thumb stroking slow circles that make your pulse skip.

"don’t worry, honey." he murmurs, voice low and warm. "i’ll get us there safe." the farther you drive into the mountains, the worse the storm becomes. the flakes aren’t flakes anymore. they’re curtains of white, swallowing the world whole. the road narrows into a tunnel of snow-covered trees, and still, clark’s hand never leaves your thigh. he keeps you grounded with each slow, comforting stroke. he’s focused, gaze sharp even behind his glasses, but soft around the edges because you’re here.

you turn your head and catch him staring, cheeks flushed a faint pink. "don’t give me that look." he mutters, trying to sound stern but failing miserably. "what look?" you tease. "the one that says you want me to kiss you right now..." he says, breath hitching. "i swear, sweetheart, i’ll pull over and kiss you senseless."

you smile, leaning back against the cold window just a little. "maybe i want that."his hand tightens on your thigh. "don’t tempt me." he whispers. and for a second, you genuinely think he will stop the car just to kiss you breathless in the middle of a blizzard.

when the cabin finally appears through the storm, it looks half-swallowed by snow — roof blanketed, porch buried, icicles hanging like teeth. you barely get your seatbelt off before clark is out of the truck, moving with that effortless grace he never seems to notice.

he opens your door, hands warm on your waist as he lifts you out like you’re weightless. you squeak in surprise and cling to his shoulders. "clark—!" you squealed, loudly. "the snow is up to your knees, honey." he says gently. "no way i’m letting you wade through that." you pretend to protest, but truthfully? you love it. you always have.

he carries you through the freezing wind, shielding you with his body, his face tucked close to yours. "you’re freezing." he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. "let’s get you warm." inside the cabin, the air is cold but the space feels instantly cozier with clark behind you.

he lights the fireplace with effortless movement — splitting logs like they’re nothing and arranging them neatly before the flames catch. you curl onto the couch with a blanket while he crouches beside the fire, the glow painting him gold. there’s something about him like this, quiet, strong, soft that makes your heart squeeze.

he turns toward you, smile softening his features. "come here, honey." he says, patting his thigh, you go without hesitation. the instant you settle on his lap, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close until your body melts into his. the warmth from him is unreal, intense but not uncomfortable like sinking into a living hearth.

his lips brush your cheek once, then again, then a soft lingering third kiss that makes your breath catch. you fall asleep like that, wrapped in his heat, his arms, his scent.

you wake to silence. no humming heater, no lights, no fire. only the wind outside and the soft rhythm of clark’s breathing beneath you. his hand is on your back, warm and steady. "power’s out, sweetheart." he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. "but i’ve got you." you shiver, more from the sudden cold than fear. clark notices instantly, lifting the blanket and pulling it around both of you before tugging you closer into his chest.

"c’mere." he murmurs, voice deep and comforting. "let me warm you." his arms tighten around you, heat radiating through your clothes. every part of him hums with warmth, chest, arms, even his fingers tracing lazy shapes on your spine. you lean up, brushing your nose against his cheek. "you’re so warm…" he smiles. "you say that like it’s a bad thing."

you laugh softly. "it’s my favorite thing about you." he feigns offense. "just your favorite?" his voice dips teasingly low. "one of many..." you whisper. he kisses you then. slow. warm. deep enough that you feel it all the way to your toes.

the wind slams against the cabin, shaking the walls. clark tucks you closer instantly, palms smoothing up and down your arms, your sides, your thighs, gentle, comforting strokes meant to ease the tension building inside you. you tip your head up again, and he kisses you once. then twice. then again, softer, slower, like he can’t stop.

he cups your cheek, thumb grazing your lower lip. your breath hitches, and his eyes darken slightly, warmth blooming through you like the fire that used to burn in the hearth. "i love you." he whispers, voice barely audible over the storm. you press a kiss to his jaw. "i love you too."

he rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in like he needs you to survive. his hands roam your thighs again, slow and reverent, like he’s cataloging every inch of you by touch alone. "you’re warm." you whisper. "i’m trying to be." he murmurs. "i want you to be cozy."

"you always keep me warm." you say softly and he smiles into your hair. “i always will.”

the storm worsens, snow piling against the windows so high it nearly blocks the view entirely. you curl tighter against him, head tucked beneath his chin, his arms around you like an unbreakable cocoon. he shifts you into his lap again, holding you sideways so he can wrap both arms around your waist and pull you impossibly close.

his lips find your jaw first, then your cheek, then your lips. slow. sweet. lingering. you giggle softly when his nose brushes your ear. "that tickles…" your eyes squinted as you smile. "good." he murmurs, grinning into your hair. his hand drifts to your thigh again. always your thigh, squeezing gently, thumb tracing circles that make your skin feel hot under his touch.

"i could stay like this forever." he whispers against your neck. "me too." you breathe and you mean it.

you wake to soft, pale light filtering through frost-covered windows. you’re sprawled across clark’s chest, his arms around you like someone might try to take you away in the night. he stirs slowly, eyes blinking open, and the first thing he does is press a kiss to your nose. "morning, honey." he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and you melt instantly. "hi…"

his hand finds your thigh again, like it’s instinct. kneading gently, thumb tracing slow lines that send warmth through you. you snuggle closer, tracing lazy shapes on his chest. "still snowing?" he hums, "mmhm." he hums. "we’re stuck here until it lets up." but he says it like it’s the best thing that could ever happen.

he brews coffee over the fire, shirtless, because he insists you take the blanket 'keep warm, honey, please.' and you can’t tear your eyes away from him. his muscles flex easily with every movement, but his face is soft, sleepy, beautiful.

he carries both mugs to the table and pulls your chair close enough that his knee brushes yours. then, predictably, his hand slides onto your thigh again, rubbing slow, affectionate circles.

"clark!" you laugh, teasing, "you’re obsessed." grinning as you take your mug. "yeah..."vhe shrugs shyly. "i really am." he kisses your forehead, cheeks warm with embarrassment and love.

the whole morning is slow, gentle, the kind of peaceful intimacy that makes your chest ache. you curl beneath blankets together on the couch, legs tangled, his fingers drawing patterns on your skin. he hums softly, some old kansas lullaby. the vibration rumbling through his chest where your cheek rests.

"you’re cozy." you whisper. he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "that’s my job." you doze again in his arms, the storm still raging outside but feeling like nothing compared to his warmth.

when you wake, he’s already watching you, eyes soft, fingertips brushing your cheek like he’s memorizing you all over again. "you always do that." you tease gently. he leans into your palm when you cup his jaw. "i can’t help it. you’re my favorite thing to look at."

your heart stutters, warmth blooming everywhere. you kiss him again-slow, deep, full of everything you feel and he kisses back like morning might never come again. you stay like that for hours, simply wrapped in warmth, wrapped in love. wrapped in clark.

warmer than any fire and safer than any shelter. a home made of arms and kisses and snowstorm quiet. and he holds you like he never wants to let go.

the storm outside has quieted into a gentle, constant fall. the kind that blankets the whole world in white and makes everything feel farther away, softer, easier. the cabin’s lights are still out, but the fire clark restarted glows warmly behind you both. you’re wrapped in one of his sweaters, sleeves covering your hands, legs tucked across his lap as he sits back against the couch cushions.

he’s been tracing slow circles on your thigh for the past ten minutes, absentminded and tender, but every time his fingertips slide higher, your breath hitches just a little. he hears it every time, of course he does and every time, he smiles against your temple. "you warm enough?" he murmurs, voice low, gentle, like he’s afraid the snow might hear him.

you nod, leaning into him, but he still shifts closer, big arms wrapping around your waist like you’re something he needs to keep safely tucked against him. his palm spreads over your thigh again. bigger, firmer, warmer than it has any right to be and your breath stutters in the way he loves. you whisper, "you’re doing it on purpose."

he laughs softly, brushing his nose against your cheek, lips ghosting the corner of your mouth. " i don’t do anything on purpose." he lies, sweet and unconvincing, "except love you." you melt fully, helplessly-and he feels it, because his hold tightens as if he’s catching you.

there’s a quiet moment where it’s just his breath against your skin and your heartbeat trying to keep up with his impossible warmth. then he tilts your chin up with two fingers, eyes soft even in the dim glow of the fire. "come here." he whispers, like he hasn’t spent the entire day with his mouth on you already.

the first kiss is slow, sweet, patient. the kind of kiss that feels like a promise he’s been holding onto since the moment the snow started falling. he kisses you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding up your thigh, the other cupping the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you close enough to melt completely.

your fingers curl into his sweater. his tongue brushes yours, soft and warm, and he swallows the little sound you make against his lips. he pulls back only for a breath, foreheads touching, his hand still gripping your thigh like it’s instinct. "you have no idea how much i love keeping you warm." he whispers, voice roughened by how hard he’s trying to stay soft for you. "snowstorm or not, you’re always mine to hold."

your lips part, but he kisses you again before you can answer—slow, hungry, but still gentle in that clark kent way, like he’s never once taken you for granted. when he finally pulls back, you’re in his lap, straddling him, sweater slipping off one shoulder. he tucks it back into place with a tenderness that shouldn’t make your heart race as much as his mouth does.

"the storm’s not letting up." you say, breathless. "good." he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw. "means i get more time with you." you smile, resting your forehead against his. "so what do we do now?" he squeezes your thigh—slow, deliberate, possessive in the softest way. "we do what we’ve been doing all day." he whispers against your lips.

"i keep you warm. i kiss you until you forget how cold it is outside. and you stay right here with me."