𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙮𝙣☆

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆| 20 | MULTIFANDOM ENJOYER | she/her | 。 °⛧

[valyriandreamerr]

yall don’t understand i need to climb him like a fucking tree while he calls me his whore like i need that dick biblically,i actually have never felt this way about a man like that’s my daddy

[evelynstanmarvel]

I get it homelander, i would try to impress him too if he was my daddy

[davids-dimples]

Whole meaning behind my username that I luv dearly

[evelynstanmarvel]

I could get lost in those dimples man he is SO clark kent coded i love him

[metropolistoday]

Clark with a lactation kink pleaseee :))))

I feel like he would be a bit hesitant at first and then super into it

(Absolutely love your work by the way 🥰🥰)

tysm <3 clark x fem!reader. 18+. word count approx: 1.1k

content: lactation kink. cockwarming. creampie.

you knew that look. you could practically hear the gears grinding in clark’s head as he tried to pretend to read an article on his ipad in the kitchen, quietly sipping at a warm steaming coffee. smiling to yourself, you stood up from the couch and purposefully took slow steps towards him. he definitely saw you, you could tell by the way his shoulders tensed with every inch you came closer. he was so terrified of his own thoughts he wouldn’t even look at you as you stepped into his space, the sweet scent of your milk filling the small gap between you two. what if you thought he was a creep? what if you thought he was weird? he thinks he’d probably die from embarrassment if you kink shame him.

“clark,” you murmured, leaning against the counter. “if you stare at the floor any harder you’re gonna burn a hole right through to our poor neighbours downstairs.”

he let out a breathless, flustered huff, blue eyes finally peeking up at you behind his glasses, a soft adorable frown pulled at his soft lips. embarrassed with shame and desire. “i…im sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick and low, “i-i..i didn’t mean to…i can just..hear how heavy you are and i..i shouldn’t be thinking about it.”

at his frown you immediately shake your head gently, you didn’t give him the chance to spiral into his guilt. instead you reached up, catching his glasses and prying them off his face, setting on the counter beside you. it was even clearer how much he was shamefully turned on, his pupils wide and blown out, completely trained on you.

“who said you shouldn’t be thinking about, hm?” you asked softly. you didn’t wait for him to stammer out another apology, instead you took his large trembling hand into yours, his fingers twitching nervously against your palm.

slowly, you guided his hand upward, pressing his palm right against the heavy aching curve of your breast.

clark’s breathe hitched, his whole body trembling at the sudden contact. but his palm didn’t move once, terrified to even apply an ounce of pressure.

“see?” you whisper teasingly, leaning in and kissing up his sharp jaw, “m’so full clark, it almost hurts yknow. i know you wanna help me. so stop apologising and take care of me.” you demanded lowly, smiling when you catch the bob of his adam’s apple when he gulps nervously.

a soft needy helpless whine escapes from his throat. the final thread of his sweet farm boy hesitation snapped. he leaned down, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, stepping closer, pressing himself against you as he gave your tit a firm but gentle squeeze. “please…” he gasped out, already wrecked, “please let me.”

clark’s soft lips peppered kisses all over your cute face, each one wet and desperate. the weight of his hips forced your thighs open, his heavy cock sitting snugly in your tight pussy, squeezing and fluttering around him. he trails down to your tits, groping them lewdly with a fascination, licking his lips to stop himself from drooling when each squeeze rewards him with a soft spurt of milk, “golly…” he whispers. he leans down to press a kiss to your leaking nipple, sweeping his tongue over to catch a taste. “been thinking about this all day…thank you s’much honey,” he murmured gently before leaning down and taking your bud into his mouth. focusing on one and coaxing more milk out of the other, switching between the two.

the room was fairly quiet, only if you block out clark’s whiny moans, hips jerking occasionally, wet cunt cockwarming him as he sucked eagerly at your tits. you can catch onto the faint rhythmic swallowing, along with the soft appreciative groan or satisfied hum he makes when the milk lets down. he is so adamant to not let any go to waste, “you taste so good sweetheart…so good,” he mindlessly mumbles when a stray drop slides down your skin, his tongue quickly catching it, kissing his way back up to your nipple.

you could feel his cock twitch desperately, “clark honey..cmon, move a little,” you encourage shakily. he nodded with no hesitation, “o-okay, anything for you sweetheart- ngh, o-oh, feels so good,” he whimpered, fucking up into you, using one hand to pull your hips closer.

his massive frame pinned you beneath him, every thrust felt like it touched your soul, he was so deep in, stretching your walls so good, clit twitching as his happy trail brushed against you. usually, clark is a talker, always praising you, telling you how good you make him feel, but today? he was completely focussed on sucking the milk out of your tits. “please- mmn- pleasepleaseplease,” he whines, drinking from you like it was his life’s work.

he pulled away whilst pounding into you, “o-oh! oh sweetheart! mngh ah, so good- y-you’re so good to me- i’m so close!” huge biceps wrapping around you to hug you tight and breed his cum into you, offering deep shallow thrusts, his rhythm messy now that he was approaching his orgasm. “ah! ohh- m’gonna cum! ungh- please! please!!”

you moan, eyes rolling back as you clamp down, “fuck! oh! clark- ah, yes yesyes! cmon baby, m’so close!” tugging at his soft messy curls when he leans back down for one last harsh suck, moaning around your nipple when he slams into your wet pussy with one last thrust, stilling as his cum gushes out in thick heavy spurts, coating your fleshy insides with a gooey white. the vibrations of his sweet groan against your tit tipped you over the edge. gripping his leaky dick as the warm orgasm in your tummy releases.

your trembling hands cup his cheeks whilst you catch your breathe. clark’s careful not to crush you as he kisses up your warm face. “so good for me, you did so well, mmwah, love you so much,” you smile with a tired huff, “love you too clark.”

the thick haze of sex slowly cleared. all that was left was the soft ruffling of the sheets and clark’s steady breathing. he quickly headed to the bathroom and returned with a warm towel, the soft pink dusting his cheeks still lingering as he shyly looked up to your through his messy hair.

“are you okay?” he whispered, placing the towel down before laying next to you, pulling up the blankets to tuck you in. “i..i didn’t hurt you did i?”

you smiled, pulling him down to lay his head against your heart, “you were perfect clark,” he looked up sheepishly, smiling back “thank you for letting me help.”

[iridescentprose]

Luca [The Bear] Headcannons

author's note: random headcannons for luca from the bear

warnings; none, just fluff.

*header images are from pinterest and do not belong to me*

When it comes to Luca and food, dessert always comes first. He's the type of guy who would order dessert first when he took you out to dinner. He definitely serves you dessert in bed for breakfast. He always wants your opinion on a new dish he's working on, so expect to be woken up in the middle of the night to try and spoonful of something sweet.

It won't go unnoticed that you're Luca's girl. He's not super big on public displays of affection, but he will often stand close to you, arm brushing up against you in someway. When sitting next to him, he'll place his arm on the back of your chair to let other people know you're with him—be it as a friend or something more.

Acts of service and quality time are his preferred love languages. Obviously, he can prepare a dish, but he'd much rather just spend time with you in any capacity. Be it going on a walk, staying up late to watch a movie, or talking on the phone—he just wants to be present with you.

It's a given he'll be a little particular when you're in the kitchen. If you're cooking a meal, he can't help but look over your shoulder as something sizzles on the stove. He often makes suggestions, of which you take politely, though remind him (while playfully shooing him off until you're finish) that you're not the professional chef in the relationship. He'll eat anything you cook though, appreciating taking a back seat every once in a while when it comes to being in the kitchen.

If there's one thing he obviously loves doing with you, it's definitely making desserts. While you're stirring the batter, he'll reach over your head in the cabinents for other ingredients (given his taller stature) before poking your side, making you jump and shriek. The only way to get him to stop is to threaten to flick flour in his direction—he instantly surrenders, not wanting good mixing ingredients to go to waste.

Luca calls you 'love', 'babe', and 'sweetheart'.

He's a night owl but an early riser. If you happen to be staying up late watching movies or hanging out, you're always the first one to fall asleep. Luca doesn't mind though. It's second nature for him to carry you to bed. The next morning he's already awake, a bowl full of a banana split in hand, ready for you to enjoy.

[an-isorropia]

:)

[cottencandycliche]

I actually love him so much I'd sell my soul just to kiss him

[kaylasficrecs]

luca recs

no. of fics = 22 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ last updated = 14.07.26

burn your life down | series | @nolita-fairytale

an exploratory kiss | imagine, fluff | @wtfsteveharrington

pistachio kisses | imagine, fluff, comfort | @springtyme

my hero | imagine, fluff | @miraclesabound

worlds best sous | imagine, fluff | @veryberryjelly

sfogliatella | imagine, fluff | @bullet-prooflove

moving you around | drabble, fluff | @murdrdocs

sunday | imagine, smut, fluff | @thecapricunt1616

noodles | imagine, fluff | @unmistakablyunknown

a slice of life | imagine, fluff | @springtyme

praise | drabble, smut, fluff | @fastboatsmojito

wine and losses | imagine, fluff | @badwritinghabit

cigarette daydreams | imagine, fluff | @claraswritings

secrets | imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @unmistakablyunknown

hello and goodbye⟢pt 2 | two shot, fluff, smut | @badwritinghabit

luca headcanons | headcanon, fluff | @claraswritings

quiet proof | imagine, flangst, comfort | @rainandsentences

call the restaurant | imagine, fluff (some angst) | @rainandsentences

refire⟢pt 2 | two shot, flangst | @tw1sters

soft kneads | imagine, fluff | @springtyme

let me take care of it | drabble, fluff | @merry-ange

christmas market | imagine, fluff | @hargreeves-duncan

[evelynstanmarvel]

YES SIR

[hellocirce]

chef luca headcanons (x reader)

warnings: 18+, nsfw, spoiler warning bc one minor mention of plot point in s5

word count: 400~ i can do more parts if wanted

He smells very fresh.

He’s always tidy.

He comes home and showers immediately and he washes himself of the day, no matter how tired.

He’s extremely patient with you sometimes to a fault (you want more of a fight).

He’d explain that you haven’t seen antagonization until you’ve worked at The Bear.

He is silently attentive.

You’d throw your keys on the coffee table.

He’d swiftly place them in the dish by the door.

He’d warm up your car for you on a cold morning and ensure the tank is full.

When you’re too tired, he’d fold your clean laundry before it wrinkles.

Even after a double shift, he makes sure you’ve eaten a substantial enough dinner.

“Was just cereal for me tonight,” you’d answer absentmindedly upon being asked.

“Absolutely not,” he’d respond with a swift turn to the kitchen.

He’d throw something together in 20 minutes that would have taken you 2 hours not including prep time.

“That’s better,” he’d nod with a smile as he’d proudly watch you eat.

For all the delicate pastry in his work and carefully timed technique, Luca fucked rough.

He was so precise in everything he did, but especially when he was pistoning you into the mattress.

People underestimate how strong pastry chefs have to be.

It was more visibly apparent on him. Toned arms littered with tattoos.

You’d claw at them.

He knew how to pin you when you’d squirm and writhe away from his ravishing of you.

His firm grip on your waist, your thighs, came in contrast to his gentle affirmations.

“You’re doing so well,” he’d say with his ever deep voice. His accent.

“That’s okay, darling,” he’d wipe the tears of pleasure from your eyes.

He moves you like a doll.

He prefers you in any position where he can see your pretty face.

That’s easily on your back.

But don’t be surprised when he expects you to look at him while you take it from behind.

His consent checks are layered with teasing.

“Is it okay if I-”

“Yes!”

“I need to hear you. Use your words.”

His tone was soothing, but his actions were merciless.

You’d reach for your clit to help get yourself off and he’d seat it away and replace it his.

To your regret he wouldn’t stop once you’ve already cum.

“I can feel you pulsing.”

Red and swollen he’d fuck you until he’s content and had his fix.

He’s at his most vulnerable during sex when he’s cumming.

He’d rut into you past his own limit.

You could tell how spent he was when he’d collapse on top of you. As big as he is.

You’d bask in the weight of him.

[xreader1989]

Copenhagen

Chef Luca x fem!Berzatto!reader (established relationship)

Word count: 2.1k Masterlist

Summary: Luca asks you to move with him, will you blow up your relationship in typical Berzatto fashion? Or let yourself live the life you’ve always dreamed of?

AN: nobody asked for this but I’m a slut for Will Poulter and had this idea while watching season five. SEASON FIVE SPOILERS!

You couldn’t have heard him right. That couldn’t possibly be what he just asked you.

“Wha-what did you say?” Your words were shaky, you shook your head in disbelief.

“I asked you to marry me and move to Copenhagen… with me,” his accent was so overwhelming, even after years of dating, it made everything sound like silk, “I know it’s a bit of an ask, darling. If you marry me, you wouldn’t have to worry about a visa. I can’t pass this up, and I’m asking you to come with me, because I want that future we’ve been talking about.”

You could tell he was nervous, his tone was soft and a little tentative, like he knew exactly what he was asking.

“Is that supposed to be a proposal?” It’s the only thing you could think to say.

His face softened, “not the official one, I just mean it’ll make it easier. I thought we talked about it. Do you not want to marry me?”

“No, I do, Luca. This is just, I don’t know,” you gestured vaguely, “a lot.”

Your family was here, your sister, your niece, your brother, your oldest brother’s grave. You have known nothing in life but Chicago. But part of you always dreamt of more, could this be what that is? Or was this a grave mistake you were bound to fuck up?

“We have to get to the restaurant,” you moved on autopilot, not knowing what else to do. You slipped your rain jacket on.

As you walked by him, he grabbed your wrist lightly, keeping you in place.

“Look at me please,” he said barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath before turning to face him.

“I leave in a month.” He searched your face for a reaction, but your poker face remained in tact as you reverted back to your old ways of pushing your emotions all the way down.

“I want you to come with me, if that’s what you want. I’ll be able to support us both for a while, it could be our next chapter. But you don’t have to tell me right now,” his hands moved to cup your cheeks tenderly, and you let yourself melt just a little bit from his touch, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Lu,” you said softly, trying to blink back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill.

He moved his hands away from your face and you turned to leave, Marcus was waiting outside for you both.

The entire car ride you sat in the back as they chatted and bickered like brothers. You looked out the window at the rain absolutely pounding. The anxiety was sitting in your chest like a weight, making every breath feel like a chore.

He was so patient with you. So patient with your grief and your anxiety and your Berzatto way of handling emotions and big conversations.

By the time you got to the restaurant, you made your problems everyone else’s.

You hated that you did this, the snapping, the tone. Sydney was begging you and Carmy to stop. It wasn’t loud, there wasn’t cursing, but there were little digs. When you finally turned to Sugar and gave her similar treatment, she had decided the last hour had been enough.

She took your forearm firmly and all but dragged you into the small office. When she closed the door you immediately crossed your arms in defense.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Your sister’s blue eyes bore into you as she placed her hands on her hips, “you’re snapping at everyone, I hate when you get like this, it’s not like you.”

“Nothing,” you said, rolling your neck.

“Well, what’s bothering you then?” Nat asked, throwing her hands up in frustration.

“Nothing,” you said through gritted teeth this time. You moved to leave, but Nat stepped in front of the door.

“Sug—”

“No.” She cut you off, “you’re not leaving until you tell me.” Her hands were firm, her stance strong.

“Sug, don’t make me move you. I’m taller than you and you always forget that,” you threatened.

She scoffed, “try me.”

You sighed, seriously considering a physical altercation with your older sister, but your shoulders sagged.

Her face changed, twisting into something of concern.

Your hands came up and covered your face.

“Is it Luca? You guys have barely talked,” she pried, “he keeps looking at you like a dog that’s been kicked.”

You removed your hands, “god, you always know.”

She smirked at you.

You took a deep breath, “he’s moving to Copenhagen.”

Her jaw nearly dropped, “what?”

You took an even deeper breath, you felt like caving in on yourself, “and he asked me to… marry him and go with him.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut. Now she audibly gasped. “What?”

She moved from the door and stood in front of you, “I mean, you said yes right?”

You whipped your head up, “what? I didn’t say anything. I totally panicked.”

She sighed, placing both of her hands on your shoulders, “you have wanted to escape here your whole life. And you love him so much, so much I’m almost jealous. This is so exciting.”

You smiled a little, which made her smile.

“What am I supposed to do? Just marry him and fuck off to Europe indefinitely?”

“I mean, does that really sound so bad?” She said softly.

“Ugh, no.” You said with a groan, “so why am I being so stupid?”

“Because you’re a Berzatto, it’s in our blood to ruin good things,” she answered, only partly joking.

You laughed again, “you’re right.”

She pulled you into a tight hug, “I think you need to talk to him.”

You embraced her, enjoying the moment of quiet that you rarely got with your sister.

“Yeah I do.” You agreed with her.

She took a shaky breath against you, you knew that meant she was trying not to cry, “I’m really proud of you, and so happy for you.”

“I love you,” you said softly.

She kissed your cheek and pulled away, placing both her hands back on your shoulders, “go get em tiger.”

You emerged from the office with a new found lightness. Your first stop was Carmen. He was at his station solemnly, being uncharacteristically quiet today for the sake of Syd.

You bumped your hip against his, “hey bear.”

He didn’t look up from the pan in front of him, “hey.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take that all out on you,” you said embarrassed.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it,” he turned and gave you a small smile.

You rubbed your fist over your chest, and he mimicked the gesture, a silent agreement that you were okay, water under the bridge.

You moved swiftly to the pastry station. Marcus was tense besides Luca, and you were sure a conversation about Copenhagen was had.

“Lu,” he looked up at your voice and met your eyes, “can you come outside for a sec?”

He nodded, “yes, chef.”

The formality made you wince.

He followed you out the back door, where you both jogged to the tent that was the makeshift smoking spot.

Before you could think too hard you spoke, “I want to come with you,” you said softly.

His eyes widened and a grin took over the lower half of his beautiful face.

Even in the rain his blue eyes were sparkling.

“You’re coming… to Copenhagen,” he asked, like he needed to hear you say it.

You nodded, “yes.”

“And you want to marry me?”

You nodded again, slightly more eager, “yes.”

You smiled up at him, and before you could say something else his hands came up and pulled your face into a warm kiss.

When he pulled away you were both smiling.

“I guess I have to get packing… and also tell everyone I know,” you said softly.

“Lu,” you said sweetly.

“Yes,” he said, still holding your face in his hands.

“Take me to Paris, I’ve always wanted to go,” you said, placing your hands on his chest.

He laughed, “I will take you, literally anywhere you want to go.”

His hands stayed on your face, he slowly moved his thumbs across your cheek bones, “I thought I was going to lose you. My stomach has been in knots all morning.”

Your hands came up to hold his wrists, “you couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

“Don’t tell anyone I’m coming with you yet, okay? I need to do it,” you said calmly.

“Absolutely,” he kissed you on the cheek, “we should get back in there.”

“And babe?” You asked.

He hummed, still looking at you.

“Go easy on Marcus, he gets mean when he’s stressed, and even more so when he’s upset. He feels like you’re abandoning him,” you held his gaze.

“Okay, love,” he pecked your lips again.

Both of you stood there touching, not wanting the moment to end, listening to the sounds of the heavy rain and enjoying the warmth emanating from one another.

He leaned down and kissed you again, a little slower this time. You moved your hands to the base of his head, playing with the soft hair that sat there. He moaned softly into your mouth at the feeling. Just as you were about to slip your tongue into his mouth, the door swung open, “WOAH! Cousin!”

Richie’s scratchy voice rang out. You jumped out of Luca’s hold like he had burned you.

“I don’t wanna see all that, I’m tryna have a smoke!” He made his way under the tent, already trying to light his cigarette.

“We were just about to head inside,” you said, moving past Richie with Luca in tow.

“Yeah, sure that’s what it looked like,” he yelled after you.

You took Lucas hand and pulled him inside, both of you blushing out of embarrassment.

Inside, the kitchen swallowed you both immediately.

The hiss of burners, the clatter of pans, Sydney calling times from the pass. The tension of service was starting to creep in whether your world had just changed or not.

Luca squeezed your hand once before letting go.

“After service?” he asked quietly.

“After service,” you promised.

You headed toward your station and could feel his eyes following you for a second before he turned back to pastry.

Marcus looked between the two of you with narrowed eyes, “you guys okay?”

Luca reached for a tray of choux and, for the first time all day, looked completely relaxed.

“Yeah,” he said, “more than.”

Across the kitchen, Carmen caught your expression immediately. As a brother does.

He was plating fish when he glanced up, froze, then slowly raised an eyebrow. You tried to keep your face neutral, but you failed spectacularly.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Sydney asked, noticing.

“Nothing,” Carmy said, still watching you. “Absolutely nothing.”

You rolled your eyes and focused on your prep, but your hands felt lighter than they had all morning. Every few minutes you caught yourself smiling at nothing. At the shallots. At the ticket machine. At the fact that Copenhagen was real.

Then, inevitably, your gaze drifted across the kitchen.

Luca was piping cream into pastries, and he was smiling too.

Not his usual small, amused smile. A full one. The kind that reached his eyes and made him look younger.

Marcus noticed it first.

“Why are you smiling like that?” he asked suspiciously.

“Am I?” Luca replied, failing to hide it.

“Yeah. It’s weird. Stop,” Marcus said seriously.

Luca laughed under his breath and went back to work, but the smile never really disappeared.

Service pushed on.

You moved automatically, years of muscle memory carrying you through the rush. Yet every so often you’d catch Luca looking up from pastry, and each time he did, that same impossible grin returned to his face.

And every time it did, you felt your own answer it.

By the middle of service, Richie finally noticed.

“Why do you two look so goddamn happy?” he demanded, pointing between you with a pair of tongs.

“We’re working, cousin,” you said innocently.

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” he said, gesturing around dramatically.

Luca ducked his head to hide another smile.

Richie looked at Carmy. “You seeing this?”

Carmy smirked without looking up from his station, but didn’t respond.

“You know something?” Richie asked, turning towards him.

“I think I’ve put some pieces together, yeah,” he said simply.

“I hate this family,” Richie said shaking his head

“No you don’t,” you and Nat said in tandem.

The tickets kept printing. The rain kept hammering the roof. The restaurant buzzed around you.

But underneath all of it was something new.

A month from now, you would be leaving Chicago. You would be standing beside Luca in Copenhagen.

You looked up from your cutting board just as Luca looked over from pastry. Across the noise and steam and chaos of the kitchen, your eyes met.

Neither of you said a word. You simply went back to your station, unable to stop smiling. And neither could he.

Sorry this a random one guys! Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989 @destinyg237

[marvel-hiddles-stark]

The Godforsaken Oxford.

summary: clark looks sinfully good in his work attire, and you're far too feral for your own well-being.

tags & cw: 18+ MINORS SEE YA, fem afab reader, established relationship (married), the sloppiest of sloppy toppy, deepthroating, slight power exchange, clark whimpering because....well yes, grinding, m and f orgasm

wc: 5.6k of PURE CLARK WORSHIP (you're welcome)

a/n: CLARK UPDATE IS HERE!! it should go without saying that I am a SLUT for men with tucked in shirts, especially when they look like clark fucking kent. y'all seriously can't grasp how fucking feral that look makes me...well, actually, this one shot was born from that horniness so maybe you can, but I digress. anyway, I hope you guys, uh, get as much out of reading this as I did writing it! ☺️

want some more clark content? Check out my clark masterlist!

The evening had started innocently enough. 

Clark had gotten off early from the Planet, beating you home and surprising you with a clean apartment and dinner on the stove by the time you walked through the door. He greeted you as he always did, a kiss pressed to your lips, soft smile warm and welcoming as it moved against your mouth. Your eyes were glued to him instantly, like a moth to flame, as he helped you out of your jacket and pressed another sweet kiss to your temple. 

While Clark was oblivious to the way your stare followed him around the kitchen, you could think of nothing but the size of his shirt—2XL, fuck—as it stretched across his chest. 

Because he was still wearing it. The shirt. The godforsaken Oxford. 

Surely there was some sort of scientific, biochemical explanation as to why your nervous system went haywire whenever Clark was in this getup (which he commonly was, it was his work attire for god’s sake)—white Oxford, black slacks with matching cap toes. Cuffs undone, rolled to reveal tantalizing wrists and forearms. Shirt tucked in, because for some unknown reason it was inexplicably more attractive than the unkempt, casual veneer that the untucked look gave off. 

His behavior certainly didn’t help, either.   

Seeing your husband in his element—his domestic element, that was—did irreparable damage to your insides. You were content to watch him putz in the kitchen, head resting in your chin as he talked to you about his day. Tonight it was something about Jimmy’s failed date last weekend…you think. You aren’t really paying attention. The sinful way his Oxford looks tucked into his work slacks has your undivided attention. 

God, those thighs. They’re so massive it’s practically a sin—you want to suffocate between them. His broad shoulders and chest need their own zipcode. And something about his hair after a long shift at work…he didn’t have Superman duties tonight, but his curls are wind-mussed from his stroll home. You adore his glasses, but without them he just looks so…sophisticated. Mature. Good enough to eat. 

The thought has you absently gnawing on your lower lip like some kind of sex-crazed fiend. 

“—and I told him that’s a bit of a stretch, but what do you think?” 

I can think of something else you can stretch. 

“Honey?” 

You blinked. “Huh?” 

He’s turned over his shoulder to look at you, stirring the pot of soup on the stove. Totally oblivious to the way you were blatantly ogling his ass. 

“Jimmy’s date, Stephanie? That she’s probably an ‘astrology’ witch, not an actual, like, ‘casting spells’ witch?” 

“Oh, uh,” you struggled to recall what he’d been talking about. “Yeah, no. I agree. That’s a bit of a…stretch.” 

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t hear a thing I said, did you?” 

You were quick to deny it. “No, no. I was listening.” 

His mildly amused expression said he didn’t believe you. You watched as his eyes dropped to the poorly concealed grin on your face; you were still chewing on your lip, and there was no mistaking your intent as your gaze moved painstakingly slowly down his body.

Clark took a deep breath. 

And turned back to the stove. 

Hm. So he was playing coy tonight, then. 

“So…your day was good?” 

God, his back was truly glorious. You wanted to drag your nails down his shoulder blades as he fucked you into the mattress. Listen to the headboard shake. Grip the downy curls at the nape of his neck as he sucked bruises into your skin. 

“I mean…I’ll, uh, I’ll take the silence as a yes?” 

How sweet—his voice trembled a bit as he stirred the pot on the stove. Were you making him nervous? Yes, yes you were, you realized with a triumphant grin. You kept quiet, but the silence was deafening. 

“You know, Lois was telling me about this cool new art exhibit that’s opening downtown—” the chair scraped across the hardwood as you stood up, “—and she thought you’d like it, since the paintings focus more on realism as it was portrayed in the Renaissance—” 

Standing behind him, your forehead could rest just between his shoulder blades—Clark was massive. You looped your arms around his waist, hands finding the two front pockets of his dress pants and sliding into them casually. He didn’t turn to look at you, but you felt his acknowledgment of your presence in the way his spine straightened. 

“—so I was thinking we could stop by, maybe next weekend? I know my folks wanted to come visit soon—”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“—but it would be a great little outing! Maybe Ma and Pa would want to go with us?”

You kissed the back of his neck. “Clark.” 

“You think they would like it, right? I mean, maybe not Pa, you know how he gets with pretentious people. Not that all artists are pretentious! Just some of the more modern—” 

“Clark.” 

“Yeah?” 

You stood on your tiptoes to nip playfully at his earlobe. “Turn around.” 

He obeyed immediately, looking down at you with wide eyes that were anything but innocent. Oh, he absolutely knew what your intentions were. It was unfair—how perfect your Clark was. So beautiful, so big, so tempting that you couldn’t and didn’t want to hold back any longer. 

So you didn’t. 

The kiss was filthy. Apparently, way filthier than Clark had been expecting, as he let out an adorable squeak of surprise when your tongue immediately sought out his own. His large hands braced on your hips, squeezing tightly as yours slid up his chest before settling on the collar of his shirt. You allowed a moment of silent mourning for the absence of his tie—you loved to drag him around by it, yank him down to your mouth. 

But god, the feel of his strong hands—hands you knew could effortlessly lift you onto the counter—made you voracious with need. 

You broke away from his lips, leaving him breathless (despite knowing that, realistically, he didn’t need the air, which somehow turned you on even more). Your lips and teeth painted a path across his strong jaw, down the sides of his neck, up behind his ear. Clark melted under your touch, shifting you two slightly over so he could lean back against the countertop rather than the stove. His breath caught when you bit down particularly hard beneath his jaw, desperate to leave a mark that would only last for mere minutes. 

“Jesus, sweetheart…” he breathed, hands still gripping your hips as you damn-near attempted to mount him against the kitchen counter. 

You pulled back, hands cradling his jaw as you met his eyes, pleased to find them equally as feral as you knew yours looked. “Kiss me,” you said desperately, not giving him time to answer as you smashed your mouths together again. 

“I’m…trying…to…hmph!” 

He hadn’t been expecting your wandering hands, one of which was presently cupping him through the cotton of his slacks. 

“I want to suck you off,” you stated, breathy and bold.

Clark, as you expected he might, made a desperate, whimper-like sound that rumbled from the back of his throat. It almost sounded pained, but you knew him better than that. 

“Oh, gosh. You do?” were the half-surprised words that eventually stumbled out. 

You almost laughed, barely concealing it behind a grin that you were certain he felt against his lips. You slid your hand lower, squeezing around his balls as you licked back into his mouth. This time he broke the kiss, head thunking against the cabinets as a tremor ran through his body, hips jerking against his will. 

“Yes, Clark. I want it so bad.” You let your voice drop into a whisper against his neck as you squeezed him again, “I can feel how badly you need em’ emptied.” 

“I—Geez Louise, okay.” 

That one made you laugh, a teasing chuckle that you cut off by drawing him back down to your lips. Seeing him this caught off guard was giving you a strange power-trip; your husband was no blushing virgin, but he definitely wasn’t used to you being so vulgar with dirty talk. Usually, surprisingly, it was the other way around—Clark could get you flustered so easily, especially when that deep voice of his was in your ear whispering praises and showering you with affection. And if he used his Superman voice? You were a goner. 

It seemed that tonight, however, you had turned the tables. 

“Let me help you, baby,” you murmur, rubbing all over the hard length of him. “I can feel how much you need it. It’s making me so wet just thinking about it.” 

His protest is weak at best. “Th-the soup…it’s…gonna burn…” 

“Put it on simmer.” 

You gave him no more time to argue, knees hitting the floor hard enough to bruise. You could tell as much based on Clark’s soft, rushed “baby, careful,” but you were too busy salivating thinking about getting his cock in your mouth to care. 

His dress shirt was ripped from his pants, and the sight of his lower belly heaving under your attention was almost enough to make you actually start drooling. 

Fuck, you could lick along his happy trail. No, wait, you could, so you did; messily licking and kissing and practically making out with that gorgeous Adonis belt of his, descending lower till you reached the line of his slacks. 

Not expecting the heat of your tongue, Clark gasped above you. He was beautifully flushed, eyes saucer-wide and lust-blown. His hands hovered innocently above your shoulders, adorably unsure of where you wanted them as he let you take the lead. 

“Golly, honey, what’s gotten into you?” 

“This damn shirt, that’s what,” you panted, raking your eyes up his body before locking on his face. It was an effort to force yourself to slow down, wanting to take your time with him despite your ravenous desire to touch touch touch. 

Clark looked somewhat mesmerized. “I w-wear these all the time—”

“Exactly.”

He had already tented his slacks, something that your eager cunt was quick to notice as it fluttered between your legs; you forced yourself to stay focused, sliding the black leather of his belt through his pantloops torturously slow. 

“Hmm. This the Armani one I got you for Christmas?” you grinned slyly at him. 

Clark nodded dumbly. Your eyes dropped to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat. “Mm…mhm.”

The belt thwipped free and instantly your mouth re-attached to his waistline. 

“Open your shirt for me, baby,” you requested breathily. He immediately did as you asked, breath already coming in pants as you watched his fingers tremble to undo the buttons. 

Holy shit. He looked too good, Oxford hanging open, glasses tucked into the breast pocket, hair a mess, eyes glazed over. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked tipsy at the sight of you.

You continued nipping along his scalding skin as your fingers hooked beneath the waistband of his slacks. You pulled them down so slow that they caught on the ridge of his cock, making his breath hitch before you tugged them just low enough to give you access.

He was desperate and swollen beneath his black boxer briefs, and honestly if you weren’t so turned on the sight might even be a little comical. But alas, you were fairly certain you were soaking through your own underwear, head empty save for thoughts of your husband and his perfect body and his sweet voice and the reverential look in his eyes. 

Clark’s hands finally leapt to cradle your head when you leaned forward to nuzzle his clothed erection like you were in heat, mouthing along the fabric and feeling him twitch between the thin barrier of his boxers. Your hands moved to cup his heavy balls again, squeezing gently and earning you the first groan of the evening. 

He shifted his weight, hips twitching with thinly-veiled restraint, and it sounded like his brain was short-circuiting. “I– you– hon, you…you don’t have to—” 

You pulled back far enough to send him a quirked brow. “You want me to stop?” 

Bless his soul, Clark hesitated for a millisecond, piercing blue eyes glued to your face, breathing hard; as if he was really considering it. Then, slowly, he shook his head. 

No. 

Your grin was wicked. “Didn’t think so.” 

“But only if you really wan—” 

“Clark Joseph Kent,” you cut him off. “I don’t want anything coming from those pretty lips except my name and the sounds of you feeling good. Got it?”  

His head knocked against the cabinets again, eyelids fluttering. “Golly…yes ma’am.” 

That shot between your legs faster than a lightning bolt. You sighed in satisfaction as you resumed your exploratory touches, fondling him over his boxers as he fought and failed to keep his breathing level. 

You eventually pulled the elastic of his boxers halfway down his stupidly hard cock, exposing little more than the flushed-red tip. Mischief on your mind, you placed chaste little kisses along his sensitive frenulum, relishing in the way his breathing stuttered. 

“H-honey,” he rasped. 

You looked up at him with eyes of pure sin. “Hm?” 

His voice broke around a whine, “please don’t tease.” 

Arousal burned between your thighs, in your blood, in your ears. 

It was tremendously rare that Clark let you go down on him—he was a giver at heart, both inside the bedroom and out of it. You’d lost count of how many times he’d come, totally untouched, humping the bed like a dog as he made you come over and over on his tongue or fingers. 

It was all incredibly flattering, but what truly did it for you was knowing that he liked getting head; loved it in fact, but was entirely willing to shove aside his own pleasure for the sake of yours. 

But, much like your adoring husband, sometimes the lines of your respective pleasure intersected; sometimes sucking him off was what you craved, and it was more than enough to satisfy you. No matter how many times he argued that “no, honey; it’s different—it’s easier for me to get there than you,” you aggressively denied it in a vehement desperation to make him feel even half as good as he made you feel. 

Which was why you cherished every opportunity to get your mouth on him, and also the reason you didn’t tease him half as long as you probably should’ve as punishment for making you wait to do this again. 

His fingers twitched atop your head when you finally dragged his boxers down, freeing his massive cock that flinched against his abdomen. You wrapped a fist around him, offering a few firm strokes as you sought out his eyes. 

“You have such a beautiful cock, Clark.” He trembled. “It’s so pretty, and so, so hard for me.” 

“Gosh, sweetheart. S’all yours,” he said, voice breathy and uneven. “Please, just—” 

“Just what?” 

“Just…touch me.” 

You tightened your fist on the next upstroke. “I am touching you.” 

Oh, how you loved to watch him squirm. “You…you know what I mean—” 

“I’m not sure that I do.” 

You watched the look on his face when he realized you were going to make him beg for exactly what he wanted. 

Clark wasn’t one for profanities, but he sure made your name sound like a curse as he shifted above you, frantic and needy. “Please, I- just…don’t keep teasing me like that—” 

You only hummed, letting spit dribble from your mouth onto his leaking slit to loosen the glide of your hand over his dick, which was actively throbbing in your hand. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” 

His eyes rolled when you suckled gently on his tip. “B-baby…don’t make me beg you to—”

“Say it, Clark. Just tell me.” Your free hand returning to fondle his balls is what finally did it. 

“Your mouth!” he blurted at last. “Pleasepleaseplease. Just put your mouth on me. N-need it so bad—” 

“Okay. Was that so hard?” 

You were true to your word, swallowing as much of him as was humanly possible in one go, a move Clark clearly had not anticipated given the groan that bellowed from his chest and the way his fingers curled in your hair. When you looked up at him, he was slack-jawed and breathing like he’d run a marathon, chest heaving beneath his open shirt. 

Much like the rest of him, Clark’s cock was huge—not, like, disproportionately huge, but enough that it was a struggle to take him even on your best days. Clark knew this—hell, he’d spent years married to you and had long since learned how to prepare you for him—but it was a struggle no less to take him as far down your throat as you wanted to.

But given the heavy manner in which he was already breathing, you were determined to deepthroat him tonight, even if only for a few seconds.

You inhaled, forcing yourself to suppress the gag in your throat as you did your best to take him as far as your body would allow. 

“Baby,” Clark was whining sharply, “oh gosh, baby. That…thatfeelssogood b-but please be careful—”

As if on cue, your throat unwillingly constricted around him as you gagged, effectively cutting Clark off with his own groan. You could sense the concern in him without even needing to see it on his face; in an attempt to distract him you suctioned your mouth, dragging his cock out halfway to lave your tongue along its sensitive underside, tracing the pulsing vein that wrapped around his shaft. 

It worked like a treat as his hips jerked, lower pelvic muscles twitching directly in your line of sight as he shuddered. 

He was so fucking perfect you could hardly believe he was real, that he was your husband who loved you and came home to you every night and cooked you dinner and helped with the laundry and wanted to take you to art museums because he knew you loved them.  

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed down at you, incapable of not praising you when you were treating him like this. The praise washed over you, and if your underwear wasn’t soaked before it sure as hell was now. “Gosh, honey. D-don’t know what I did to deserve this, but…” 

You pulled off of him to catch your breath, but kept your hand pumping him lazily. “Just being you,” you breathed. “It’s just you, Clark.”

For some reason this seemed to affect him more than you thought it would, his eyes swelling with a sudden surge of affection that one might not normally expect when giving a blowjob. 

But your Clark was a teddy bear at heart, his innermost parts soft and gooey and sweet like melted chocolate. Even in the midst of lust he didn’t know how to turn that part of himself off, and you never wanted him to. 

You let your saliva drip down onto the wet length of him, holding his gaze and watching it re-glaze with unbidden desire. His eyes fluttered when you squeezed just beneath the tip, letting your tongue do the rest of the work as it circled his frenulum. 

“Yesss sweetheart,” he hissed, breath stuttering. “That’s…oh, honey. That’s so good. Gosh, you’re so perfect.” 

His praise forced a low whine from the back of your throat, the sound vibrating over his length and making him shudder. He relaxed his hold on your hair, running his fingers through it in a gesture so frighteningly tender that you momentarily forgot you were actively sucking him off. 

“Mmm…I know you like it when I talk to you like that. It’s all true, you know. You’re so perfect for me.” 

Feeling encouraged and oddly heartwarmed, you slowly built the tempo back up, taking him down halfway and jerking off whatever didn’t fit with your fist. You got unapologetically messy with it, knowing the vulgarity of your actions would spark something feral in Clark because, yes, he is still a man, and the sight of his wife slobbering all over his dick with absolutely zero shame was definitely emptying his brain. 

If you were honest, it was surprising both of you how obscene you were being; but if the wetness between your thighs and the state of his cock were anything to go by, there were certainly no objections. 

One hand continued to grope his balls, swollen with need and begging for attention that made Clark whine deliciously when you massaged them. Your other hand finally moved to grip the wrist of the fist that was still ensnared in your hair, tugging on it so as to encourage him to guide your movements. 

Clark took your wordless command in stride, leaving you to wonder when exactly the power dynamic had shifted, and also why you were completely content to let it happen. 

Actually, you knew the answer to that. 

Clark’s dominance had always been gentle; far sweeter than what you might’ve expected from the Man of Steel. He was so good to you that you were almost always willing—perhaps even subconsciously—to hand over the reins during sex. Even though this encounter had started with you in charge, it became obvious as his hand fisted gently in your hair, guiding your movements over his throbbing dick, that things had changed, even if he was content to let you believe otherwise. 

Thankfully though, he didn’t stop whimpering for you, which you were eternally grateful for. 

“S-so pretty. You’re so beautiful. Mmm. Takin’ me like this, makin’ me feel so good.”

On the next forward motion, you slid as deep as you could, attempting to deepthroat him yet again and this time succeeding. Your nails on his thigh were enough to reassure him of your comfort, so Clark held you there, his grip firm as he panted down at you. 

“Gosh, honey. Look at you.” 

You retracted for air, messily tonguing around his sensitive tip. “Use me,” you demanded, voice just this side of raw from the intrusion of his cock. “Please, Clark, please.” 

“Honey,” there was worry in his tone, but also underlying need. His cock throbbed in your hands. “Are you…are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t, I promise,” you soothed, peppering kisses up and down those massive thighs of his. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before.” 

“I know, but…” he trailed off, brows furrowed, hesitation tight across his face. 

“Clark,” you said sternly. “I’m asking you to. Please?”

His breathless nod was all the answer you received before his fingers tightened in your hair. That alone was enough to have you moaning in preemptive bliss, letting your jaw go slack, tongue lolling out of your mouth. Clark teased your lips with his head, tapping it gently against your tongue as you shifted your weight around on your knees. Your poor pussy was desperate for attention, your entire body wrought with energy like a live wire. 

When he finally pushed his cock into your mouth, it was with a low groan that sent what you would equate to an electrical current between your legs. Staying true to his word and your demand, Clark readily took control, moving your head back and forth, back and forth, nice and slow at first. But his need eventually won out, as it so often did with you, and soon thereafter he was panting as he guided your hot mouth over his cock, hips building a rhythm that matched the bobbing of your head. 

“O-oh, honey. That’s- mm. So fu–” he broke off on a low moan when you hollowed your cheeks on the next stroke. “Yes baby, suck it like that. Gosh, y-you’re so pretty and perfect like this f’me…” 

Your hands stroked up and down his powerful thighs, squeezing every so often just as a way to stimulate other parts of his body. Clark regarded you with an admiration only he was capable of, even with his cock shoved halfway down your throat. 

“My beautiful wife. You love worshipping this cock, don’t you sweetheart?” 

The unexpected filth of his words draws a moan from your chest. Clark hums, obviously satisfied at the sensation it provided around his dick. And then he fucking grins, something just shy of smug as he listens to your little mewls. 

“Mhm. Yeah, I know you do, hon. Got yourself all worked up for me, desperate to use that pretty mouth.” 

Clark’s pace began to pick up, his hips getting sharper in their movement as you made a conscious effort to keep your throat loose. Saliva was dripping down your chin, escaping from the sides of your mouth; the sounds his cock was making between your lips was lewd, succeeding in winding you up even more as Clark started to chase his pleasure. 

You sucked around him a few more times, nails biting into his slacks as you silently urged him along. The noise that came out of him then was strangled. “Oh…sweetheart, I’m close,” he stammered, tugging on your hair in warning as his hips kept pumping. “I- honey, m’gonna come– gosh, can I– where do you wan’ me to—”

The simple fact that you ignored his warning was sufficient enough of an answer. 

This realization is what seemed to push Clark over the edge, a beautiful shudder wracking his wide frame as he came with a whimper so sharp and so whiny that you almost orgasmed too, your pussy so swollen and aching with neglect that you involuntarily clenched your thighs. Clark’s grip on your hair tightened just a fraction, guiding your mouth over his pulsing dick. His eyes were blazing down at you, the frantic expansion of his lungs making his chest rise and fall beneath his open shirt. His signature Superman curl had fallen in front of his eye. 

You swallowed everything he had eagerly—and there was a lot to be had—making pleased little noises as his come slid down your throat. 

“Ohhh, gosh, yes,” Clark moaned in relief. “Mm. Mm, that’s so good. Oh, gosh. You’re too good to me baby.” His fist finally went lax in your hair, fingers soothing through it in reassuring caresses as his hips moved in tiny thrusts, seeking that last bit of sensation. “Oh, sweetheart.” 

Then he was guiding you to stand, hands gentle yet insistent on your shoulders. You stood, unable to help the satisfied little grin on your face as you tucked him back into his boxers and readjusted his pants. You bit your lip as the zzzip of his pants being done up filled the space between you. You gave his crotch one last little tap, a smug grin of your own forming on your face. 

Clark was still a little spaced out, lips parted as he watched you with hooded eyes. You gave him a peck on the nose, and it seemed to break whatever trance he was in. He fell forward, hands cradling your face, and kissed you deeply. 

Knowing he could probably taste himself on your tongue reminded you of your own insistent arousal, and you moaned into the kiss, struggling to keep up. 

“Thank you,” he said when he finally allowed you oxygen. He pressed his forehead into yours, “you’re incredible, sweetheart. If I had known my dress shirts affected you this much—” 

“Oh, don’t act all innocent,” you said. “You absolutely know what they do to me.” 

His mischievous little grin confirmed your suspicion. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I have somewhat of an idea.” 

Clark kissed you again, his hands travelling down your sides to rest at the hem of your own work slacks. You couldn’t help the way your body arched against his; his question was clear. 

“Let me…?” 

“If you want to.” It was a stupid thing to say, really. 

“Of course I want to, baby.” 

You yelped in surprise when he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, backing you up until you were seated on the island counter. Now at eye level, you could more thoroughly enjoy his handsome dimples as he smiled softly before leaning in for a slow kiss. 

“Least I could do is return the favor after that.” His voice dipped low in a way that made your gut tighten with need. He was dangerously close to using that voice. “Besides, you think I didn’t notice how tightly you were clenching your thighs, sweetheart? And even if I didn’t, you forget that I can smell how much you need me.” 

“Fuck, Clark…” you whined when his fingers ghosted between your legs, rubbing along the seam of your slacks. 

“Mmm, that’s it. Bet you could come just from this, huh?” He pulled back just enough to watch your expressions, blue eyes alight with desperation and something far deeper. You could feel his breath across your cheek. “Just some pressure, baby? Yeah? Does that feel good? You’re so worked up for me, honey.” 

You couldn’t form a coherent thought. It was like a switch had gone on off in Clark in some lust-addled, post-orgasmic glow. Honestly, screw him for being this irresistable; for making you so goddamn easy for him. Didn’t this start with you seducing him? You were such an easy lay when it came to Clark that it would’ve been humiliating if you hadn’t been married for several years. 

He added his whole palm now, giant hand pressing up and down the length of your searing center, palming the entire area of your sensitive clit. It was simple pressure—something firm and real to grind your pussy against, and it was making your head fuzzy with the pleasure of it. You were certain he could feel some of your wetness beginning to seep through the fabric, which was only slightly mortifying—your panties were definitely a lost cause if that were the case. 

Perhaps more unbelievable was that yes, you were indeed about to come from simply grinding on his hand between two layers of clothing. Your fingers flew to the bicep of the arm that wasn’t currently flexing between your legs, nails digging into the white sleeve of his Oxford, making you remember just exactly what had gotten you into this predicament in the first place. 

Your greedy eyes honed in on your husband, in such close proximity to you; his broad shoulders and strong chest, the soft suggestion of farm-built muscle peeking between that godforsaken shirt. Embarrassingly, seeing his uncuffed sleeves is what pushes you over. Something about the delicious blend of professional and unkempt; the implication of propriety that came with his pristine office attire contrasted against his unruly curls, perspirated face, and borderline slutty forearms. 

“G-god, Clark, m’gonna co– I–” You try to warn him, but it’s pointless. 

Clark leaned down, free hand caging you into his body as it rested on the countertop beside you. He nuzzled his face into your neck so that his words were a breath right against your ear. “Come for me, Mrs. Kent. Just like that, baby. Let it happen.” 

You shook against him, a broken cry falling from your lips as your body finally found its peak. Clark worked you through it, lips pressing kisses against your neck between words. 

So good, baby. There we go. You’re so perfect. I love you so much. That’s it, honey…breathe through it, let yourself feel good. 

He continued to hold you, hand finally stilling when the twitch of your hips signaled the dip into oversensitivity. You withdrew him from your neck when your pulse had somewhat settled, cradling the back of his skull. Now, it was your turn to smile at him, sated and lazy, fingers scratching soothingly at his nape. Your kiss was finally slow, almost chaste, nothing more than a tired exchange of gratitude. 

“The soup,” you halfheartedly mention when you part. 

“It’s simmering, it should be fine.” Clark had already preoccupied himself with hugging you as close as physically possible. Almost subconsciously, your legs wrapped around his waist, inviting him closer as he sank into your embrace against the countertop. Your body bowed backwards slightly as he leaned into you, making you giggle at how cuddly he always got post-coitus. 

One of his hands rose to your neck, absently stroking the front of your throat in a tender caress. Worry colored his next words. “I didn’t hurt you, right?” 

“No, baby,” you reassured him, hands running the length of his back. Your heart swelled with warmth at the concern in his voice. Clark, your gentle giant—capable of crushing planets and he was worried about a little deepthroating. “I would have told you. You know I would’ve.” 

He hummed, and though you could tell he wasn’t totally satisfied with your answer he also trusted your word. 

“I love you.” He rubbed his face against your neck affectionately and you squirmed at the feel of his five o’clock shadow. 

“You better,” you teased, running your fingers through his inky hair. “Though, to be fair, you could probably get me to do just about anything as long as you’re wearing this shirt. Tucked in, of course. Cuffs undone, hair a mess. God, Clark. How are you so perfect?” 

He smothered your neck and cheek with kisses, drawing another giggle from you. “Well. I don’t know, but I feel the same way about you, if it’s any comfort.” Clark inhaled sharply, “especially when you wear that one dress. The one with—” 

“The open back?”

“Mm. Yes.” 

You laugh, ruffling his curls before pecking him on the lips. “I love you so ridiculously much, Clark Kent.” 

“That’s good,” he kissed your nose. “Because I was lying. The white bean and sausage soup is definitely burning.” 

“Clark!”

masterlist

[rayghosts]

imagine youve had superpowers since you were a kid which make you nearly indestructible so that only giant alien monsters or special rocks could cause you pain until you meet this fucking dog with the same powers as you and hes cute but hes rowdy and he loves to jump on you and push you and drag you around and it hurts so bad but you cant get rid of him because he belongs to your cousin who grew up on a planet with a red sun so shes used to feeling pain and loves it when the dog gets rowdy with her so you have to put up with this fucking dog who keeps jumping at you and ow ow ow krypto stop ow krypto please ow krypto

[honeybunnyale]

Eye for an Eye l C.K & L.L. 

w.c.: 12.2k

t.w.: Dark fic, Dub/non-con, cnc, Smut, handjobs, fingering (f!receiving), Oral (f! receiving), PinV, Anal play, Use of sex toys, idk what these kinks are tbh, fear kink?, Dom/Sub themes, Strength kink, Mentions of very serious topics such as: Rape, Online discourse, Domestic Violence, etc, Established Lex x Reader, Clark gives stalker/obsessive vibes

a/n: Please read all warnings before interacting with any of my works. 18+ Only!!! Thank you for your asks and I hope you all are satisfied with what I came up with lols. Again, do not read if you do not like! 

Summary: Clark is tired of holding back. Lex Luthor pushes Superman's limits and his fiancée gets tangled in the conflict.

Based on these asks...

Lex hides himself in his lab, his computer screen illuminating his face as he codes through simulation after simulation. His eyes were bloodshot, hooded over as if they would permanently close if he were to blink a second too long. 

You worry but he worries more than you. More than the world, in his opinion. He turns to see you in your pajamas, a thick blanket wrapped around you as you tread your way to his desk chair. You were sleepy, eyes threatening to close like his. 

Your chin rests against his shoulder and he turns to nudge his nose against your cheek. The sound of your necklace shifting calms him. He leans back and closes his eyes at your warm embrace. 

You wear your golden chain around your neck proudly. He had gotten the gem from the black market. It cost a fortune. But it glowed a bright green. The thought of at least you being protected made him sigh out in bliss. 

It was kryptonite. Just as rare as you. The only one able to calm his nerves, his turmoil. He swears just your touch was able to pacify his inner thoughts. You drag him to bed, pulling on his arm softly as he pretended to be dragged away. 

He watches you sleep. His fingers tracing over your shoulders. He lifts the stone and curls his thumb against it, almost as if in prayer. The hard edges of the kryptonite were rounded and cut, wrapped tightly in gold. 

You thought it was an emerald. You were never really that interested in gems to notice the almost alien glow of it. 

You never take it off, he told you never to. It was gold, it didn’t lose its shine or stain your skin like other metals would. He had to be there when you cleaned it gently with a cloth. You weren’t allowed to place it down for more than a couple seconds. 

You rarely took it off as is, it was precious, the gem valuable. You’re scared you’d lose it if you ever let it out of your sight. 

…

It was all over the news. A building had collapsed, near LuthorCorp’s own headquarters in Metropolis. It was scary, you had been there to have lunch with him hours before the attack. It frazzled Lex, to the point where he evacuated every employee from the building, relocating them to a smaller town near the outskirts of the city. 

You watch as Lex speaks in a televised press conference. He spoke with conviction, his eyes shone brightly in irritation, then frustration and finally anger. Superman had fought a villain, he wasn’t quick enough to stop the building from losing its foundation, his punches caused quakes in the ground that lasted more than a minute. 

Lex reads off the names of the ‘casualties’ and the missing, along with the people who had lost their property and homes due to carelessness. You watch with your breath held still, waiting for him to finish. It took him maybe two minutes, he read off their names, their ages. You could hear the reporters sitting nearby gasp at the names of the deceased, some were just barely months old.  

Lex comes home late, his emergency squadron still working through the rubble. It was a quiet dinner, a quiet shower, his face buried where your shoulder and neck meet. He doesn’t sleep and neither do you. 

Clark Kent sits in the bullpen, feeling his chest seize with each victim. He watches the news with the rest of the Daily Planet reporters, some staring into the screen in horror, others shaking their heads and going back to their own tasks to block the day away. 

It was an accident.  Clark goes home early. 

It was an accident. 

He refuses to turn on the TV. He wishes he couldn’t hear the cries and prayers. He wishes people trusted him to help look for survivors. He lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was new at this. Protecting a small town was much easier than protecting a city. 

There were more people, more buildings to consider. Lois calls him, her words stuck in his head as he turns to his side and pulls the sheets over his body. 

‘It’s not your fault, Clark.’ 

He had gotten quiet at her words of comfort. He felt as if some warmth had finally crept back into his chest knowing that he had at least one person in Metropolis not cursing his name. And from the most pessimistic woman in Metropolis at that. 

…

You read over the final report. The impacts were made by the assaultant, now named a domestic terrorist and contained in a highly secured and monitored cell. Superman was liberated of blame. It was self defense, he had no choice but to fight back just as hard. 

You place the folder on the kitchen island, your lip quirks in half a grimace as Lex paces in front of you. 

He didn’t like that at all; he saw the conflict differently. Supervillains go to cities where superheroes reside. They want destruction and they want to be challenged. The most powerful man on earth is stationed in Metropolis. Therefore Metropolis now attracts danger. 

The latest incident should have been the final straw. The city should have woken up, so Lex claims. 

He’s on the phone now, ignoring the soft call of his name, purposely finding grifters with gullible audiences to have him talk on their show, their podcast, for interviews and discussion to gain a sense of following. 

He hated feeling so small. So ignored. His need to be the loudest and right in the room was kept well-hidden. For the most part, he was always acknowledged, his presence appreciated and even praised. 

Now everyone was looking to Superman to save them, when it used to be him. His egotistical tendencies were rearing closer to the forefront of his psyche each time he was contradicted.

The way he viewed you as his partner started to change as well. 

You rip the phone out of his grip, hanging up and placing it face down on the counter. His jaw tightens and he looks down at you with narrowed eyes. 

Your arms were crossed. You were never shy to call him out, or disagree with him. It was cute. He found it endearing. He sighs out the tension in his shoulders and your eyes soften. His lips quirk upwards as you gently smile at him. 

You were so easy to please.

He downplays your concern. He grants you this one, for today. Maybe he never saw your opinions as any of his concern anyway, despite your own accolades. 

You were smart, no doubt. But as intelligent as he was? He debated this frequently, always coming to the conclusion that no, you weren’t. He cups your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. You melt into it. 

He fights back a chuckle, as if he were watching a puppy bark at its own tail and fall over in defeat. 

He doesn’t blame you. He’s not sure anyone could match his prowess. He would never tell you this, it would unnecessarily upset you. 

He was getting in his head, digging deeper each time Superman came on the news or saved the day. It was almost like he wanted Superman to slip up again. He wanted people to get hurt so that he could prove his point. 

Your hands glide over his arms and grip his shoulders, as if to reorient him. 

“Just think about the people.” 

Ego trumped compassion at times. He had to be right, he had to get people on his side. He nods complacently as you pull his head down, his forehead resting against yours. The one thing about Lex Luthor was that he was sporadic. He didn’t keep his promises very well. 

…

Clark hears everything. He acknowledges his faults, he internalizes them to be better. But the way they spat out ‘alien’, as if it disgusted them, made his calm falter. He understands very well what the implications meant. 

You did too. Despite your face of shocked disapproval whenever Lex had an interview and spewed out harsh anti-metahuman rhetoric, he kept going. You felt stuck between Lex and the general public. He was your fiancée, you had to support him in all of his actions. Right?

Everyone loved Superman. He learned from his mistakes and improved. One of Lex’s scientists had studied all of Superman’s incidents and discovered a 94% reduction rate of damage and casualties. All in the span of three months.  

Lex couldn’t handle those numbers. He hated them. He was cooped up in his lab more often, the doors locked and not allowing you in until he cleaned up and left. 

“Must have forgotten to give you access. You know they update the security systems every six months, sweetheart.” 

He never fixed it, despite saying he would. You didn’t bother asking about it anymore. 

The relationship was straining. You spent less time with Lex since he was too busy campaigning for the arrest or intervention of Superman. 

Your own events, conventions, dinners, and humanitarian fundraisers were deleted off of his schedule by his assistant. COP27 in Egypt was characteristically missing a certain charismatic and financial incentivizing stakeholder. His lack of attendance was noted. 

Lex speaking in COP26, in support of the Paris Agreement was his birthday gift to you, so he had joked, or you hoped he had. He had economic and social pull you didn’t. Unfortunately, you were starting to feel it whenever anyone asked where he was instead of what you were doing yourself. 

Sometimes you didn’t wait for him at his penthouse anymore, instead opting to sleep in your own apartment at night. 

You’re sure he didn’t even notice. 

…

The hall was packed full of researchers, the conference was relatively popular amongst the geneticist community. You stay by Lex’s side as he flutters around the room, meeting new people, reconnecting with old faces. 

He’s been taking a unique interest in genes and genetic copying. It was amusing to watch him head down in a textbook at night as if he were a grad student again. 

Lex departs from you, kissing your head lightly as he shoos you away to a conference hall on the other end of the building. He wanted you to take notes on the speaker and the presented research. The panel was less important to him, he didn’t like discussions, he could figure things out himself. So he claimed. 

He always thinks your notes were incoherent. He would rewatch the conference recording anyway. You sigh as you make your way towards the hall, taking out a notepad and pen from your bag. 

Your mind wanders as a panel of scientists are shoved into the small stage. Their voices are too low and they lack confidence in their speech. They stutter too much, almost endearingly but not enough to make you excuse their lack of preparation. Communicating science effectively was key, something Lex Luthor excelled in and you appreciated.

Something prickles the back of your neck, making your skin pebble up with goose skin, the hairs on your arm rising. Your shoulders tense. Someone keeps on glancing at you. You ignore it. You get that a lot. Lex Luthor was popular among researchers. 

Lex had funds. He took on crazy ideas. If you were here, that must mean he was nearby. You were well known for your kind disposition. A direct contrast to his direct and blunt words. 

You were used to being asked to put a good word in for people. 

You ignore the glancing man as everyone stands. You make your way out of your row in the hall and towards the other side of the conference to find Lex and give him the notes that were surely going to collect dust on his desk. Someone stops you before you could escape into the lobby. 

“Mrs. Luthor.”

You grit your teeth. You turn slowly and present yourself with a smile, the hand with your engagement band hidden in the pocket of your slacks. He lifts his badge up, highlighted with PRESS.

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”

You take him in. He was not how you expected him to be like. Tall, head full of dark curls and even bulky. 

You didn’t bother to search up how he looked. His name had become popular. The only man to interview Superman. The first reporter to do it. You somehow imagined him being an old man. The way he writes was proper, borderline corny. 

His puff pieces were a hard read for you. You think it might be because he was always sucking Superman’s dick in his articles. He could see your smile falter. Your eyes sharpen, ready for a question that he was surely going to twist for his narrative.

“Didn’t know you were a man of science,” you say slyly. 

A diss. He knew he didn’t really write much with “substance”. Not yet. Most of the themes on his columns were about kittens stuck on tall trees. He wanted to change that. He had connections that helped him find people. He wanted to write something controversial. 

At least that was what Lois encouraged him to do. A page describing his encounter with Lex Luther would be great for publicity. Especially since he writes all about Superman and his heroic endeavors. 

Why not get to know other perspectives?

“I’m not afraid to try new things every once in a while, ma’am.” 

You grimace at the honorific. Your thumb twists your engagement ring in your pocket. He steps forward but his back stiffens as if a hot rod had impaled his spine. He swears he feels his stomach turn nauseously as his body stiffens and threatens to keel over. 

You push your notebook into your shoulder bag and grab a hold of the man in front of you, you attempt to steady him. He looks like he just got off of a roller coaster, his center of balance off. 

“Hey, hey, you alright?” he hears you murmur in concern. You weren’t heartless, good to know at least.

The proximity makes his head spin. He notices a hint of green peeking above your shirt collar, your sweater vest and loose button down slightly open to reveal a charm and- he swallows thickly. Of course Luthor would have this. 

The green ore almost hums, he could feel the heat of it, as if he could see the radiation it emits clearly. He takes a step back and straightens himself. Your hand slides off his shoulders and your look of genuine concern makes him blush.

You try to take a step closer but he backs away. He was embarrassed. He shakes his head. 

“I’m fine.” 

You open your mouth to retort. He shoots back bluntly. 

“Really. I’m fine.”

You glance up at him as if he were crazy. You take a step back. Clark watches as you cross your arms over your chest, you eye him as if he were a freak. The pursing of your lip, the crease of your brows that signaled both concern and exasperation. He thinks that might have gotten under his skin more than he’d liked to. 

He feels a burn in his chest. A sort of unbridled rage at the awkwardness you were making him feel. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says sharply. He watches your eyes widen, your shoulders tense. It was a one-sided aggression that he had to hone in. The kryptonite was making him lose his inhibitions, it was making him woozy, sick, his blood burning the longer he stayed near you. 

Despite this, he’s confident you think the same way Lex does about Superman. His animosity must be deserved, right?

Firm hands cup your shoulders, pulling you back to a solid chest. Clark’s eyes flicker to Lex’s as he manhandles you to the side and slightly behind him. Their gaze holds firm, as if they were both actively trying to shoot laser beams into the other’s eye sockets. 

“If you have questions to discuss, you address them to me.” 

Clark watches your face contort in a flicker of annoyance at your fiancé's words. He can see your hands clench, your jaw tense. The hint of frustration is clear underneath your veil of passivity. You don’t like being pushed down to the side. Noted. 

He watches you both leave, Lex holding a firm hand over your shoulder as he leads you out of the conference room. 

…

Cracks were beginning to show in your relationship. Clark revels in it, he looks for the signs. Paps capturing images of you both in a heated discussion in a restaurant you used to frequent. Your engagement ring is missing in public events. 

There are less and less pictures of the two of you together, now more of you leaving his penthouse with hands covering your face from the flashes of cameras. 

He thinks he should feel like a creep, his google notifications set on any news or publication with your name on it. Lex has become more aggressive with his tactics, he was leading a supersoldier program, turning military vets into superhumans. 

He can only imagine what homelife was like. Lex’s constant paranoia, his pessimistic predictions. The tendency he had to start tantrums now became more physical and violent. There were rumors, blind items as they called it on tik tok, speaking of how he threw a fit in a gala recently, pulling you to a room in the venue. Guests heard glass shatter inside, your muted yelp. Pieces of ceramic found near the wall once the event concluded.

Your sobs and Lex’s sudden quiet were also rumored to have occurred in that same room. He imagined Luthor held onto you like a vice after his explosive action, arms snaking around you and refusing to let you go as he mumbled sweet slickened apologies. 

Shortly after, the public had seen you sporting a new car. It must have been an apology gift from him.

He shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at Lex’s broken relationship with the woman he used to say in interviews as being ‘the love of his life’. 

Clark’s face breaks into a small smile at two in the morning as a new paparazzi picture is published on TMZ. His thumb presses on the notification at the top of his phone, the device held up above his face as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had been scrolling for the past hour, watching your tik toks and reposts, for research, of course. 

You were at the club with a friend, sporting a v-cut top, exposing much of your cleavage and leaving your collarbones completely bare. 

That “emerald” necklace even the public recognized as never being taken off, gone.  

…

Lois peers over his shoulder, he can smell her perfume, fresh and sweet. He swallows thickly as she balances a completely full mug of coffee over his shoulder, threatening to spill over the printed draft of his article resting on his desk.

A faint blush rushes over his cheeks as she notices his almost hypnotized stare up at her face. Her lips fight back a smirk. She knew about his “crush”, she’s sure he knew about hers. They've been dancing around each other for weeks. His usual shy demeanor replaces itself with his witty and sharp confidence the moment she retorts back at him. 

It was sweet, it was pure. They felt like equals. It scared the shit out of her. But his persistence was chipping away at it. He wanted this, he was working for it while respecting her boundaries. It was clear he wanted the relationship to evolve at a faster pace, but he reigned himself in.

It was reassuring. 

She sips her coffee as she steps back. He turns his chair to face her. His mouth was open, a wry smile forming as he started his morning flirt.

“You know you should really tone down the sugar on that coffee-”

A sharp ping could be heard from his computer monitor. His eyes flicker to the side. She glances behind him and she purses her lips. Lois was extremely perceptive. One of the reasons she was the first to know about his secret identity and now his sudden plethora of knowledge on Lex Luthor’s fiancée as if he were a TMZ reporter designated to her and her only. 

Given, he also keeps track of Lex Luthor, but his relationships, especially the one he has with his fiancée, or soon to be ex-fiancée from what she’s heard, were Clark’s main points of interest.

She was set to present at a seminar at a college, or so Clark's computer screen says, the popup hard to miss as it covers half his monitor. 

It reminded her of a virus. Popup after popup appearing every other second. Loud, blaring, eye-catching. He imagines Clark as the color wheel of doom, endlessly spinning around the screen. 

“Planning on asking her to be your source?” 

His brows scrunch, glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose before he quickly adjusted them. She snorts. It was as if he never realized he could go further. He never wanted to push discomfort on others.

It must be innate due to his superhuman (alien more like) abilities, Lois thinks. She relates to that, although less so physically and more emotionally. 

He was currently writing an article on Lex Luthor. It’s evolved to include a timeline on his campaign, ideologies, funds, programs, research. Luthor used to be considered an entrepreneur, someone who managed breakthrough over breakthrough. Now he was just an internet meme, a troll and oddly enough part of the red pill online community. 

He turns to his screen, the pop up notification having a thumbnail of her face, clearly a professional photo for the upcoming talk. He swallows thickly. 

“You think she’d agree?” 

She was leading a seminar on urban conservation. His eyes narrow, he shakes his head. That was definitely so unlike Lex. At least the Lex of today. Lois shrugs and sips from her mug.

“I think so. Might be bitter. She must have some nasty stuff on him.” 

He hums. She eyes him, swallowing thickly as she traces back the path of his eyes. He was staring into her picture, tracing the lines of her face, her soft smile and jawline. 

Lois bites her cheek, something twisting her belly at the soft and almost admiring look in his eyes. She swipes the printed draft on his desk, his eyes widening at her action and refocusing back to her. 

“Could make or break it..” she trails off, sucking in her teeth in exaggeration as she reads over what he has, as if it was missing something. She glances at him with a look. He takes back his stapled draft and purses his lips as he reads it over again.

He hated (loved) when she was right.  

With an overdramatic sigh, he nods. She smiles. 

“Great. I know someone that knows someone that could get you in contact with her.” 

…

A meeting never came. It was never scheduled. 

Who would have known that you’d be under rubble on a Tuesday afternoon. You had just wanted to get some lunch. You were halfway down the block before your ears rang from explosions. 

Your head was pounding, eyes blurry, the world spinning so much you think you were going to puke. You didn’t know if the concrete slabs were on the verge of collapse, the air in the concrete pocket you were lucky enough to be in after the explosion was thin. 

You could hear the concrete above shift, pieces of rock and dust blasting into your face and forcing you to close your eyes and sputter. Your eyes were met with a figure eclipsing the sun, beams of light spread around a broad chest and bulging arms as he raised the slab away from you and to the side.

His hair was perfect, smile soft and apologetic. For a second, Clark thought he would have had to quickly move away, the pain from your last encounter still in his mind, the sharp pain unforgettable. 

You didn’t wear your necklace anymore, he feels it. Your hand reaches out automatically, not really caring who it was that was helping you. The delirious look on your face told him you may not have noticed he was in front of you. 

His hand extends to you, your fingertips brush against each other and then he’s flung away. A blunt impact to his ribs makes him fly several blocks away from you. 

Metallo’s punch, pumped full of straining energy of kryptonite, was enough to weaken him down a few levels. He stands weakly, the villain thankfully ignoring you and charging for him again. 

You watch as Superman tackles and holds the cyborg tightly, clearly in pain from the crystal embedded on the villain's chest. They both struggle but Superman starts to fly up and up until they leave earth’s atmosphere. The edges of your vision darken as you attempt to stand, your voice coming out in painful wheezes as you call for help. You hear quick footsteps and a mumbled call. You feel yourself weaken, either your mind knowing help was nearby or your body finally failing

You watch as the two figures form a plume cloud as they reach outer space above you before you close your eyes. You don’t have the strength to open them back up again.

You wake up in a hospital, Lex nowhere to be seen. He sent his half woman, half nano-bot friend or lackey, whatever she was, to watch over you. The flowers he had left on the bedside table made you cringe. You had asked her to take them away and with an almost human-like look of pity, she did. 

…

Lex always liked the saying “eye for an eye”. The week before, a new reporter had made her name known as the second person to ever interview Superman. Lois Lane. He’s been keeping tags on Lois, sending someone to watch her during the day. They had noted how she always catches Superman after battle, how they look at each other with warmth and something else they couldn’t quite show in public. 

It was clear. At least very clear to Lex that this was someone special to him. He had watched your heart stop and then start over and over again. You had fractures all over your body. Punctured lungs. A concussion plus lacerations that required stitches. 

They didn’t let him bring his own doctors at the hospital, they needed to work to keep you alive quickly, you’d most likely have scars for the rest of your life. It was common for most citizens to think they’d be the next victim of an attack on Metropolis. Most people were heavily insured because of the frequency. 

This was never supposed to happen to you. He tried his best to protect you. You just kept on pushing away from him for the past few months. All because of Superman. Once you were stable he had you transferred to a hospital he owned and funded. 

He left the engineer with you, guarding, as he turned to make a call. As he hung up, glancing inside your room once more, he felt an inkling of satisfaction, knowing that in weeks, he would get his retribution. 

…

Clark had dropped everything when he was called as Lois’ emergency contact, notifying him that she had been brought into the emergency room for a stabbing. He watches as she lays in bed, drowsy and still just a little in pain. She defended herself as best as she could. 

She slept the whole day from the medications. He could see the tears in her body as his eyes visualized her organs. There were so many stitches over her abdomen. She was lucky someone had found her quickly after the incident. 

All Lois could remember was a masked man. The name George called out from his partner in warning before they fled the scene. 

He was the strongest man alive and yet he couldn’t even protect her. One person. A person he cared about deeply. 

It took some time but he had managed to track down every George in the city. Flying every which way when anyone so much as mentioned the name. He felt like a ping pong ball, flung from one corner to the next, until he had seen through thick metal walls near the ports, a transaction being made. Lois’ name being mentioned. 

George parted ways from a Luthorcorp minivan after having gotten a bagful of cash. 

For once in his life, he felt blinded by rage and started to let himself succumb to his negative emotions. 

… 

As he stands in his apartment, pacing, almost pulling the strands of his hair out, he thinks of Lex, he thinks of Lois and he thinks of you. He knew you were at the scene of the attack weeks ago, he was so close to taking you to safety. 

He knew you were in the hospital, it was all over the news, his computer pinging non-stop for almost an hour. It was Lex’s new talking point. His fiancée was in the hospital because of Superman. So many people were in the hospital because of him. Superman this, Superman that. 

He’s never wanted to hurt someone as much as he does now. Lex was a coward. Lex couldn’t find a way to hurt him so he went for someone close to him. 

He looks up from where his head was between his knees, held up by the palms of his hands on his eyelids. The sharp ping from his laptop, a notification on you. 

Lex was holding you close to him as you were guided out of a restaurant. You had been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now, your healing was better. Clark could see by the missing bandage on your cheek, a thin scar in its place. Your smile was facetious, strained. Lex was gleaming. Genuine. The touch on your waist was borderline possessive, too tight, restraining. 

You refused to speak about him in any capacity. Questions on Luthor were dodged, you didn’t even speak his name in public. Not like you used to with pride. 

Clark scoffs. Luthor loved you so much he sent someone to hurt Lois. He glares at the screen. It was clear you didn’t even feel the same anymore. All of this violence to keep you by his side, just for you to be unwilling to love him as much. 

What was so good about you? His mind snaps. He quickly shakes his head at the question. 

He knew. He felt it encompass him more and more as he watched your every move. It was easy to lose oneself to you. Kindness, beauty, the sharp witted responses. You had a balance, a mission, a clear path of passion. 

You were magnetizing. And so was Lois… His hands clench tightly as he contemplates. This was obviously Superman’s punishment for your indirect injury. As if he wasn’t beating himself up over it too. 

Superman can hurt back. He wanted to so badly. 

What was the thing that would hurt Lex the most? Deep down Clark knew It wasn’t losing money, or praise, or fame. It was losing you. 

…

You press your arms over your chest as you stare at your window. The red and blue was sharp against the darkness of the sky. You felt exposed. No makeup, no heels, no bra. Just lounging in your cozy apartment with nothing but a large tee and some sweatpants. Oh, and fuzzy socks.

Your eyes were softer without the dark rim of your eyeliner. Your skin was fresher, plumpened by whatever skincare routine you had completed minutes before he knocked on the glass of your floor to ceiling windowpane. 

“Hello,” he says softly as you push the pane open, your hand pulling back quickly as if he were a wild animal. His eyes narrow, smile bitter as he steps inside your room. Your heart was quick, you were shaking slightly. 

“I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

His voice was close to booming, overly confident, so unlike him. You were too nervous to notice. 

It was also obvious by the crease of your brow and your frown that you did not understand him at all. The tilt of your head irritated him. He steps closer, his eyes darken, shoulders squared and hands fisted. 

He could hear your heart pick up. 

“Where is he?” 

A hint of clarity in your irises. Your shoulders straighten and you take a cautious step back. Your eyes flutter around the room as if looking for an escape. His head follows where your eyes flicker, he is suddenly so much closer, head tilting, following with yours as he forces you to look up at him. 

Superman looked upset, no– angry. You’ve never seen him like this. Not in any pictures or news footage at least. 

“He doesn’t live here,” you respond with a thick swallow. Lex doesn’t. He rarely made his way to your place. He knew it was his cue to leave you alone when you went back to your apartment ‘for the night’. 

Maybe Lex was right. Superman is dangerous. He looks it. You feel it radiating off of his body as he steps closer, his hand suddenly reaching out and making you react like a skittish animal. You step back, only to catch your foot against your fuzzy heart shaped rug. 

Damn Lex for buying you cute decor and damn you for choosing the aesthetic. You fall on your side, your hip flaring in pain and shooting down your leg. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you attempt to scoot away.

You didn’t realize he had gotten down to your level, crouched down to watch you squirm, His hand shoots out and grabs at you. You freeze, elbows supporting your torso up. His hand was large, hot, and almost scalding against your skin. 

For a moment you watch each other, his eyes flash with empathy, a question of if you were ok about to shoot out of his mouth before he stopped himself. His grip trails softly up your calf as he decides what to do. His eyes sharpen again before receding and gripping your ankle whole. 

His quick moment of tenderness makes your breath hitch. His body casts a shadow over you. He makes you feel small, weak. Vulnerable. It looks as if he was holding himself back, or letting himself finally let go. You attempted to pull away but it felt like you were pulling your foot out of its socket. He doesn’t tighten his grip, it’s powerful enough to detain you, and he’s not even trying. Heat builds in the bottom of your belly and a faint whimper erupts from your lips. 

You feel your body start to heat up, nipples tightening underneath your shirt. You really shouldn’t keep the AC so low. You tremble, a mix of fear, of the cold and the warmth of his proximity. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been in this position. Someone above you, you below and at their mercy.

He holds your ankle firmly. Your chest rises and falls quickly. Your elbows are knocked out of balance and your back hits the floor as he pulls you forward, your body sliding underneath him from where he’s kneeled. For a moment all he feels is guilt. 

His fingers flex, aching to release you, to be gentle like he’s been taught since his powers were first realized. Then he thinks of Lois; of what your fiancé did to her. 

His eyes were intense, brows casting a shadow over them. You briefly wonder what Lex did. Why was Superman looking for him? Your breathing was fast, making your chest pump up and down quickly like a hummingbird. He could see the tears glimmer down the sides of your face, collecting in your earlobe. 

You were so afraid. But you could feel something else develop near your lower stomach, your clit starting to throb as the thick black curl on his forehead falls further, making him look even more disheveled, as if he were on the verge of completely ruining you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked. 

He could hear your heartbeat, your body was aroused in heat, skin hot to the touch. It reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. The only woman he’d been with completely, Lana from Smallville, specifically comes to mind. Lana who he had to be incredibly gentle with at all times, who he was afraid to scare, hurt, break with his superhuman needs. 

His stamina was otherworldly, dick so big it took some time to actually sheath himself completely, let alone build up to moving, which he always had to be mindful of. 

You had that half dazed look, bodily functions dialed to 100. You didn’t make a move to escape his hold, he inhaled deeply and he swore there was a hint of your musk there. His pupils dilate, he swallows thickly. He could do whatever he wanted, he realized. 

His hands squeeze at your plump flesh, first at your heel, then your calf. One reaches your hip, the other hand wanders up your waist, up your stomach, pressing, prodding all the way up to your breasts.

“What is it about you, hm?”

You felt like a mouse. Stuck in utter fear. Not scared enough to actually make a run for it. Not yet. He was a damn lion. He straddles you, his hand encompasses over your ribs, thumbs pressing your breasts up, watching them shift under your shirt. 

“I- I don’t know,” you breathe out shakily. 

He’s sure if he presses hard enough, he could fracture a rib. Effortlessly. The thought makes him cringe. He doesn’t want to do that. But maybe he was planning on it. Rough you up, give a warning to Lex to never mess with people close to him again. 

Instead the roughness of his hand presses up your neck and to your jaw. His thumb and pointer squeeze your cheeks enough to make your lips pout and open. His eyes were stern, genuinely inquisitive. He wants to discover the answer to his question. Slowly, deeply. He wants to be buried in you, to feel you squirm, have those eyes roll back beneath fluttering lashes as he makes you cum. 

He wants to see you at your most vulnerable state. To see what all this trouble was really worth. 

His face lurks closer, his weight presses you down further, you could feel his breath flutter over your face, your lips, the side of your neck as he dips down. His mouth parts as he inhales your scent. You smelled sweet, like fruit. Musky from the sweat that drips from fear. Salty from your tears.

You don’t shake anymore, you breathe deeply, steady, waiting for him to make his next move. 

His nose nudges the underside of your jaw and your eyes start to flutter closed, he feels you slacken further, boneless, eyes hooding over as his lips make contact with the thin skin of your throat, pressing, puckering ever so slightly but not enough to feel like a real kiss. 

When he tilts your head back you finally snap out of your haze, the sudden headspace that blurred your thoughts into mush dissipating. Lex was your fiancé, Lex was his arch nemesis. Superman had you underneath him, trapped in your own damn apartment. 

“Don’t-” you attempt to say through his grip. Stuttered, panicked and completely shocked. 

His heart drops at the tone of your voice. He pulls back suddenly, his own mind clearing just as yours did. The realization of what he was doing finally caught up to him. 

His body was slower to respond. 

His hand jolts away from your face, shaking you before you could speak further. His mouth waters as your eyes refill with tears, his hold on you impossible to escape from.

His hips push further onto you, you could feel his bulge-

Your breath hitches the second the moan comes out of your mouth. He could feel the heat of you underneath him, steadily increasing. His own pressing against you too. 

It shocked his body away from yours. A blink and he had already stood up, leaving a heaving, tearful mess of you on your fuzzy carpet. He’s gone as you sit up and scooch away on your butt quickly after, head also clarifying from the mist of whatever fog he had placed you both in. 

…

Your hand shifts over his cock languidly, twisting ever so slightly as you reach his tip. The wet smack of your fist against his base makes you shift your hips needily as you kneel, completely bare, at his mercy on your couch. His arm was extended past you, his hand against the back of the couch curls further, making the wooden frame underneath fluff and expensive velvet creak and crackle behind you. 

It makes you whimper. A spike of fear shooting up your spine at his show of power. The sound makes him throb. 

One hand was cupping the back of your neck, always present, pressing, a warning. 

You didn’t have to come back to your apartment. You could have gone back to Lex. You could have told him about last week’s encounter. The way you trembled and tears fell from your eyes as he left that night made him believe you would. 

He found you waiting, sitting on your couch, glancing every so often out of the window. He told himself he wasn’t going to come back. The last time he was here was enough. To do what…? He wasn’t quite sure. He thinks he would have liked to scare you. He wanted you to feel his power. Go running back to Luthor and retell the story. 

It was only a warning. He would never really hurt you. 

But what if you liked the feeling? The thought had crossed his mind throughout the week. 

Notifications on his computer echoed in his head. Each one a new event you were inhibited as a guest speaker. A donation you had made. A snarky, almost bitchy retort at some paps. You were such a strongheaded woman, almost stubborn in your dominance. 

But the way you whimpered, slackened in his hold so easily was anything but. You were not like Lois at all he had found out. 

Is that what Lex saw in you? Is that why he liked to have you around? To dominate a dominant woman?

He didn’t feel bad about exerting his strength with you. You found pleasure in it. It was an exhilarating, freeing feeling. His hand slides down your collarbone to your breast, the flesh indenting, bulging between his fingers as he squeezes. 

You wince, he loosens his grip after another harsh squeeze. He would never hurt you. Not badly enough to make you feel it for more than a couple of days at least. His palm smooths over your cheek, his thumb so soft despite the ever tightening grip he had on the back of your couch. The fabric tears and the wood chips away. 

His pre-cum was staining your neck as it shoots from his cock, sliding all the way between your breasts to cover your soft tummy. Each flick of your wrist, the thrust of his hips in reaction makes him paint your skin with more. 

The final eruption was like a faucet. It makes you gasp, your face hit with sporadic globs of his thick white cum. Your couch finally breaks apart under his grip, he pulls himself away from your hand and pumps himself over your body.

Your body glistens with him. His spend accumulating on your belly button as it slid down your skin. You shiver, he could smell your arousal as you kept your eyes on him and stayed still. His fingers were gentle as he massages his cum into your skin like a salve. He kneels, hands pressing lower past your sternum, then belly, then hips to lift you by the thighs to have you fall back against the cushions. 

He splays you out on your couch. His hands were rough, as if he were doing a full body deep massage. You’re sure he would leave bruises as he spreads your legs and you whimper. He made the apartment colder, having your body prick with goosebumps, nipples hard the second he stripped you of your underwear. 

Your folds glistened and it was as if, for a moment, you realized what you were doing. A week since he first came in through your living room window, Superman was staring at your pussy, his cum covering your body. Your couch was ruined, fluff scattered, fabric torn and pieces of wood scattered over the back of the couch and floor. Your thighs close instinctively but his head doesn’t allow you to hide. 

His hand presses against your belly, pushing you down on the soft cushion of your couch.

His tongue licks open your seam, pushing apart your folds to press into your hole. He holds you still against the couch cushions, his tongue as firm as possible as he flicks it in and out. The thick muscle was teasing you, his face burying between your legs as if he were licking clean out those single serving jelly packets from diners. 

Your jaw hinges, hands tremble as you attempt to pull away from the sudden intense stimulation on your cunt, his nose pressing against your sensitive and hard clit harshly.

“Fuck- please-“ you gasp. His fingers press into you, not caring to make you feel pleasure. More so to explore. He feels you squeeze against one, so tight, hot, wet. He feels the ridges of your canal, the soft spongy area that makes your hips fidget against his forearm now pressing you down. 

You’d have to get used to taking him, he realizes. You could barely handle one of his thick fingers. Lex must be small. He doesn’t stretch your cunt open enough. Of course he doesn’t. 

Your pussy drools into the cushions as he nuzzles his face onto your mound, slick sliding down to your other hole. You were probably going to stain the fabric. His fingers trail down, his hand turns to palm your ass, squeezing at the flesh, his fingers parting your cheeks to glide down your crack.

You couldn’t move away to make him stop. His finger presses against your tight rim, pulsing and tracing there for a moment. He mouths at your clit as if to distract you as it starts to press in. 

“Wait-”

He moans into your cunt as he presses the tip of his finger in, your hole wrapping tightly around the intrusion, pulsing, twitching. Your body warms, shivers and tenses. Goosebumps ride over your skin in waves. 

Your hand tugs at his hair, his arm, anywhere you could, all while your eyes hood over. Who were you kidding? You prepped yourself for this tonight, douching. You rocked against his hand and mouth, absolutely stuffed, both fingers sliding in tandem inside of you. You had set a hard boundary with Lex on that. With anyone you had been with before.

His pointer and middle fingers thrust into you, each in a different hole, slickened and throbbing as he harshly sucked at your clit in patterned suckles. You feel your body throb with the need to release. You knew you were going to cum the hardest you’ve ever done in your life, your head falls back, mouth parting, hips moving towards him instead of away. 

But his hands had pulled away too quickly. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands and licks his fingers as he sits up. You whimper as he tugs up his suit. Without a word, he leaves you through the window, your pussy throbbing with a built up release he didn’t grant you.  

…

His laptop pings. 

Trouble in Paradise: Mrs. Luthor spotted with bruises. 

There was a picture of you circulating all over the internet. You had bruises on your hips, stomach, one on your shoulder. You were clearly drunk, girls night. Your top was sliding off your shoulders. 

He gets hard. Oh goodness he can’t help but get so hard he feels the zipper of his pants threaten to rip open. They were his marks, His fingerprints on you. The bloom of an undertone of purple underneath your skin makes his head spin. 

Comments were unsure on the claims. It might be the lighting, a smudge of makeup, spilled drinks. He knew the truth and he may be the only one to know it. He feels his pre-cum spread over the head of his cock, collecting in the fabric of his boxers. He leaks as his hips adjust on his desk chair. He bites his lip and scrolls through more comments, each theory making him throb harder.

They had no idea. 

The night before, he had you face down on your bed. His pelvis smacked heavily against your ass, a harsh plap louder than your half whiny, half panting moans. You took him so well, like you prepped for him. 

Actually, he knew you did. You had practiced, opening yourself up as he watched with a dildo you hadn’t used before because of the size. It was an online purchase. Who knew nine inches looked like that…? You didn’t. Still, it didn't match his girth. 

He considered it a warm up. 

He had spread your ass that night, after catching a faint shine hidden beneath your flesh, showcasing a gemstone plug as you positioned yourself, ass up, face down, over your bed. Soft tugging made you tighten around him. His handprint was on your asscheeks as he slapped them to watch the pink gem’s reflection glimmer with the overhead light. 

As he plunged into you, he pushed your face deeper into the mattress. Your back arched as for the first time, he finally plunged into the hilt. Your belly bulged, trembling with each harsh thrust. His cock pressed in deep, straining inside you, the ring of your hole so tight around him that he almost felt as if he couldn’t move. 

Almost.

His movements were rough, fingers digging into your hip and lower back to make you arch into him. He didn’t let you move, doing all of the work as the loud squelch of your pussy took him over and over in rapid succession. Soft uh uhs escaped you, face skidding further against your pillow with each thrust. 

A sharp slap to your ass made you yelp and the press of his chest against your back, his teeth nipping at the skin of your neck made you squeal. 

He had left you boneless, pussy dripping with his cum, gaping and twitching as he spread your legs open to watch it drip down to your sheets. 

He didn't think you would have gone out after that. But as he jerks his cock off in a bathroom stall, biting into his hand to keep quiet as he spewed creamy white heavily into the toilet bowl, watching clips of you walking drunkenly with your friends, exposed skin showing bruises fresh and blooming, he’s not upset you did. 

…

He wants to see you. Sooner than usual. He felt an ache embed itself when he was speaking with Lois throughout the day. It started when he first came out of Perry’s office. Lois and Jimmy had been waiting by his desk, pretending to have a conversation about nothing in particular, their eyes wandering to the gold letters highlighting Chief Perry, the door Clark had been called into twenty minutes ago. 

Jimmy had clapped his shoulder and put his fists up in glee. Clark’s piece was approved for the front page. The one he had been working on for little over a month. The one that would expose Lex Luthor. Lois knew Perry would want it published as soon as possible. Her confidence in Clark never wavered. 

She had pulled him into a hug. His arms pulled her in by the waist, lifting her slightly as he chuckled in relief. He gripped her tight. So tight her face twisted with a gasp and she pulled away sharply. 

He saw the twitch in her lip, the frown as he immediately let go and apologized. His eyes were wide, he took a step back. He hated the slight annoyance in her eyes, the hurt in the way her body instinctively pulled away and tensed. She was fragile. He couldn’t hold her as tightly as he wanted.

She pulled away from him and he had to stand there with an apologetic look, sorry for holding her. You wouldn’t have pulled away.

Now, the sun setting behind him, he watches you get ready from your balcony, your hands fiddling with your necklace. You adjust it over your chest, the green gemstone delicate between your breasts. Your hands smooth over the sides of your dress, simple, black, mid-length. You sigh out, motions slow and heavy as you fiddle with your clutch. 

It was clear you were going somewhere and not with someone you particularly enjoyed being around at the moment. Lex. He rolls his eyes and steps forward to open your french doors. 

You gasp the moment you hear the swish of your balcony opening, the city beneath loud with sirens and traffic and honking. His form blocks the entire frame. His eyes narrow at your necklace, heat radiating off of it. He feels the nausea start, his veins ache from the proximity.

His lips tick before he comes at you like a bullet. His fingers were quick, efficient as they tore the gold chain off and threw it out of your window. It hurt, the kryptonite lightly grazing over his wrist as he flung it away, his body on the verge of collapse before the pain receded, the last rays of sun for the day helping him stand taller, his grip tightening as you gazed up at him in complete shock. 

His body embraces over yours as he catches your lips and presses his erection against your stomach. The stutters of your complaints and the loss of your invaluable jewelry are muffled against his lips, your tongue sucked into his mouth to stop you from speaking.

Your hands fist over his chest as he sucks harshly, teeth lightly tugging at your bottom lip. For once, you push him away, eyes wide. His eyes wander over your body as he takes a step back. Did he hurt you? He hates that sinking feeling, an apology at the tip of his tongue. 

“Lex is coming. You need to leave.” 

This was the first time you’ve ever mentioned him. He steps forward, his hands slide onto your elbows and he tightens his hold on you. He mouths at your neck when he cranes his head down. You shiver, eyes closing briefly at the sensation. Your fingers turn to grip his forearms. Thick corded muscle flexing underneath your touch. He pulls you flush against him. 

He wasn’t scared of Luthor. 

“I’ll be quick,” he mumbles against your jaw. Quiet yet firm. His eyes didn’t hold any mirth, they never did. His eyes were hooded over, a hint of relief at the fact that you didn’t pull away because you were hurt or didn't want him anymore. You were just worried about your fiancé seeing you beneath him. 

He hears a soft electrical thrum in the room. His head turns slightly. His eyes find it immediately. The heat and hum from it in the corner of your room, one hidden in your vanity, another on your bed hidden in the headboard. This was new. Lex must have gotten some suspicion recently. It must have been the pictures all over the internet. He stares directly at one, eyes open, hooded over, words chosen carefully. 

“Just the tip. He won’t even know I was here.” 

You shake your head, his hand stills it, fingers digging into your jaw. He leaves a soft peck over your already kiss swollen lips. It pacifies you. He knew what you liked and what made you throb for him. He leads you to your bed, hand at the back of your neck, the other lifting a thigh up his waist to flip your skirt over your hips. 

You nod as he drapes you over the mattress, as he pushes your legs up to spread your legs and pull your panties to the side. Quick. Just the tip. You bite your lip as he kneels, his mouth hot as his tongue parts your already sticky folds, his hand gripping at your breast harshly through the front of your dress. 

His extremely cool breath makes you jerk away, he keeps you still, hands going to your hips and pulling you closer. Your body shivers, trembles as a wave of goosebumps so sharply glides through your body like a rush of adrenaline. 

You’ve seen him use his powers in the news. An icy cold breath. He licks your folds as if he were savoring an ice cream cone. He sucks on your clit like a cherry. He groans. 

“He can’t be smaller than my finger,” he says smugly, as if the thought of anyone's dick being smaller than his massive forefinger was funny to him. The thing is, you’re sure he knew that there were dicks smaller than his finger. His thumb circles over your clit as his fingers push into your hole. He watches as your hips shift, his other hand holds you still roughly, threatening to tear your dress apart if you didn’t stop squirming. 

“Won’t even feel the way I stretched you tonight.”

The sudden loss of his fingers shocks you. He positions himself above you, his weight crushing you down. All you see is his chest, the curve of his neck. Your hands were pressed at the small of your back, held by his grip there. 

You didn’t even realize he had pushed his suit down his hips, his cock springing free and smoothing over the apex of your thighs as its heavy weight presses between you. He presses his cockhead against your clit, watching as pre coats your folds and sensitive throbbing nub. It makes you clench, hole twitching. 

He presses in gently, slowly. Too slow, enough to make you whimper against his suit. His grip on your wrists behind your back tighten as you instinctively try to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He groans into the pillow beside your head.

His tip notches in your hole, stretching it wide, making your breath stutter. He reaches for your hand, his tongue laving over your palm, his saliva coating it, dripping in excess. 

It makes your chest tighten, eyes flutter at the sensation of the soft muscle against the sensitive skin. He presses your palm against his cock. A heady moan escaping his lips as you struggle beneath him, body in his complete control as he manually tightens your grip on his member. 

He set a pace, back and forth against the velvety skin, slickened hand moving smoothly from where his tip pulses within your hole to the base. 

He pulses, his tip burrowing further inside you as you hiss through your teeth. Your cunt lubes itself, adjusting to the size, attempting to help him slide in deeper. 

“Just a little more–” he groans.

Your eyes widen, you feel his hips adjust, his abdomen flex as he pulls out just an inch.

“C’mon,” he says under his breath, pushing through your slickened walls. 

“Wait—” 

He presses completely forward, every inch pulsing inside of you. Your walls contract at the sudden intrusion, hips cramping as you attempt to spread your legs as far as possible to accommodate his size. 

Your hand grips his side, pushing, weakening as his heavy breath glides up the column of your neck to softly suckle and lick. 

“You said—“ 

“You can handle it. Take it for me. He won’t touch you tonight. He doesn’t reach the places I can.” 

His thrusts shake the bed, rutting up into you wildly, unbothered by the tremors that passed through you as his cock pounds into your cervix. 

You squeal as his hips increase pace, your soft body bouncing as his hips slammed into yours. The thick pubic hair at his pelvis rubbed against your clit. 

He looks to the side, towards your vanity. He’s sure Lex could see him, or will see him soon. His hands wound around your back, his body completely over yours. 

“You like taking this big cock?” 

You gasp, he bullies into your cunt, keeping still against your cervix, pressing there enough to make you feel the weight of his length. His hand rises up your throat, flexing, wanting an answer. You stir as his warm breath tickles your ear.

“Tell me whose cock you love more?” 

Your lip trembles, a broken gasp escapes you as his hips press deeper. You felt as if your uterus was about to burst. Your head falls back. 

“Yours-” you groan out, repeating it over and over again as his hand pulses in strength against the sides of your throat. 

He rewards you, pulling back slightly, only to thrust into you again once you took a shaky breath in. You moan out. A shot of pain and pleasure rolls up your spine.

“You’d prefer me over his puny dick. I know you do. He can’t make you feel as good as I can.” 

He’s on his knees now, spreading them so that your thighs part further with them. His thumb rubs over your opening, tracing over where it strains against the girth of him. He chuckles at the sight. Your skin stretched thin, clit throbbing, pulsing red, almost purple.

“My pretty girl likes a big stretch.” 

“Gonna make her cum all over this cock.” 

“Look at you making a mess for me.” 

Your makeup was ruined, your sweat dripping down your forehead and between your breasts. Lex will know. Anyone could see how ravaged you were. His hips start again, rapidly pounding into you, his teeth grit, eyes focused on yours as they roll back under fluttering lashes. 

He doesn’t cum in you, he gives you that. He doesn’t let you cum either. He watches you try to slow your breathing, body tense in heat, a tiny frown as he wipes his forehead and buckles up his pants at the edge of the bed only to leave with an erection he would deal with at home. 

He took one last glance at the headboard, knowing deep in his chest that Lex was watching him leave his fiancée’s bedroom. Your eyes were glazed over as you sat up, fixing the shoulder strap of your dress. He feels the bitterness in his chest soften as he turns and flies away. 

But this was your punishment for attempting to push him away at first. For wearing that damn necklace. 

…

A video was released. 

It had brought the whole world to a stop. Superman’s feral groans, the force of each thrust into you. The way he held you down and straddled you, to the public eye, against your will. 

Clark had felt Lois’ stare on him the second he walked into the bullpen that morning. They wouldn’t show the ‘film’ on the news. It was graphic, there was no way to sensor the way he had fucked you into your mattress. 

Lois was an avid fan of Twitter, the commentary, the toxicity, the controversy. It was all in fun, it provided her a chance to let out her frustrations. Clark Kent didn’t have social media. He was Superman. He was critiqued endlessly every day for little things. 

The color of his super suit, the way he did his hair that day. His sometimes awkward tone of voice when speaking to a crowd. 

This was different. Lois glances at him. Her eyes were full of contempt. Full of anger and disgust. Questions swirl around her mind. She had never questioned his intentions before. She trusted him to be good. 

But if what everyone was saying was true, that he had entered Lex Luthor’s fiancée's bedroom by force and violated her? She would never trust her intuition again. 

Clark was confused by her avoidance, so he takes a step towards her desk. Jimmy practically runs over to him, as if he had the best gossip in town. He was holding back a grin. Lois caught it, it made her blood boil. She stood from her desk and bumped shoulders with them as she made her way to get coffee. 

Jimmy barely acknowledges her discomfort. He was already scrolling through his phone, attempting to find the video that was being taken down but quickly reuploaded by creeps on the internet. 

“Have you seen it?”

Jimmy arches a brow. He starts to lift his phone to Clark’s face, lowering the volume. 

“Seen… what?”

Clark had just gotten out of bed, it seemed. He didn’t turn on the TV before he had to get dressed and rush to the Daily Planet. He hears a wet squelch, a deep groan, his deep groan, before his heart drops to his stomach. 

…

You remember your phone blowing up. So many allegations, not against you, but against Superman. You had several missed calls. Friends, family and even coworkers, all worried, all concerned for your well being. None from Lex.

You don’t know how long it took for you to get out of bed. Your eyes were swollen, your body feeling heavy. You had watched the clip. It looks bad. So bad. Luckily your body was mostly concealed, your dress wasn’t taken off that night. 

It was clipped, edited. To make it seem as if you didn’t enjoy it. Your emotions were already complicated about seeing Superman every other night. His presence did give you a sense of helplessness, of fear. 

But you liked it. It makes your heart beat in your throat. Guilt, shame and embarrassment flood through your system, calcifying your bones and turning you into a fetal ball in the middle of your bed. 

Save a man who has never once had an actual conversation with you but means so much to so many all over the world. Or side with your fiancé who records you without your permission, and releases footage as some sort of revenge porn. 

He wasn’t trying to save you. He wanted to punish you. You lose in either situation. He knew that. All of your events have been cancelled. Event facilitators wishing you well and to take some time off to heal, most said in pity. Some have broken off ties because they didn’t want that image correlated with their institutions.

You have been contacted to comment. To clarify. It made you nauseous. You felt an obligation to clear up the allegations towards Superman. It was to reveal the truth. It was the only thing you felt was at least benefitting someone. 

The world gets to keep a hero. A sexually active one at that. 

This was the game you had consented to, you'd say. You puke into the toilet bowl the second you stand and make a decision. What could you even say to make this smooth over? To not ruin your reputation and his? 

This would only amplify Lex. Make him seem like the victim of a cheating ‘wife’. Superman would then be the victim too, of seduction. Of your lies and deceit. 

…

You watch him float into your new apartment. Social media, talk show hosts and many more the past week have reacted to your PR approved instagram apology, statement, clarification or whatever bullshit it was that you had posted. You keep yourself in your room, huddled in your comforter and refusing to get out of bed. 

Your gaze trails over him as he softly closes your window. It was the first time Superman seemed normal. At least what he portrayed himself to be to the general public. 

Only you knew the simmering heat beneath. The way his jaw tightened every night he came to you to let out his frustrations, his barely placated control. His hair was perfectly pushed back now, a curl loose at the front. His chest wasn’t heaving with pent up emotion. 

He exuded calm and composure. Bitterness festers in your chest. 

Lex’s and Superman’s petty feud had left you with nothing. You had deleted your social media apps after your last post. It wasn’t worth seeing all of those comments, the think pieces on your sexual behaviors as if everyone had to learn something from it. 

Superman sits beside you. His hand shaky as they lay on his lap. He watches whatever tv show was on your laptop screen, the way the light splayed across your face, highlighting the swollen dark circles underneath your eyes.

He didn’t know what to say. Thank you? Sorry? I shouldn’t have done this to you? I should have never started this?

You looked so vulnerable now. As if your layers of strength and dignity have been stripped away from you. He’s seen your vulnerable self before, you’ve wanted him to bring you to that state then.

He bunches his cape, laying it over your lap and his. He inhales the sweat on your scalp, a mix of sweetness from your shampoo and musk from laying in bed all day. 

“I didn’t think he’d do this.” 

You turn and watch as his fingers twitch against each other. Like a scolded child. He’d ruined your career. At least stalled it gravely. His actions had turned into memes, appraisals from men and women alike. 

“Superman fucks!”

“SuperDom!” 

“I wish that were me…”

Superfans had pieced together the bruises from weeks prior. Some even make edits of him, the starting image before the beat drops to a hyperpop song being your pap pictures that blew up that one night out with friends. Bruises visible and speculated on. 

Those had been depressing nights. Getting drunk, feeling like crap after being used by both fiancée and secret lover. Superman never noticed, you may have not either at the time. 

You could only look at him with a mix of exasperation and fatigue. His words were irrelevant. His lie didn’t convince you. He knew, deep down. Lex always retaliated, especially when it came to him.

You focus back on your screen, bringing your blanket over your shoulders and up to your chin. You feel his arm come around you, pulling you close to his side.

Superman wanted someone to break. To squeeze and push until it was on the precipice of shattering. It felt like you were sand escaping through his fingers now. He didn’t know how to fix this. 

“Have you spoken to him?”

You sigh, inevitably falling into his side fully. Whatever reality tv was at a dull plot point anyway. Lex had offered to ‘forgive you’. He wanted to start over, give you back your ring, another necklace with a green pendant on it. 

He was so sure of himself, his hand holding yours and pressing it to his lips. It made you want to scream. You threw your ice water in his face after that ‘talk’.

“I told him to kill himself,” you respond softly. 

He closes his eyes and sighs with a short nod.

“Yeah.”

His hand rises up your neck, thumb massaging into the meat of your shoulder. You melt into him, eyes closing in flutters at the feel of his hands holding you steady. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like you like this. Soft, drained mentally and physically enough to fall into him so easily. 

He feels the guilt build in thrums, but it dissipates the more you lean into his warmth. He was the only person you had left. Your family was appalled, if they had a conversation with you, it always diverged to the video, to how disappointed they were.

Your friends thought you had changed. They didn’t like ‘liars’ and ‘cheaters’. 

Superman lightly closes your laptop, the only lights coming from the open windows. 

In a way Lex got what he wanted. Lois barely speaks with him, let alone looks in his direction. He lost her. Clark got what he wanted, he thinks as he slowly tilts your head up towards him. Someone malleable, who brings him comfort and was able to handle him at his most needy.

He took you from Lex. 

You couldn’t say you weren’t addicted to the feeling as well you straddled him, or, really, he lifted you to sit over his lap. He nips your lips, his hand at your throat squeezing lightly enough to make you lightheaded, weak.

You don’t stop him as he lifts your shirt up, or when he pulls your sleep shorts down enough to push into you. You hold on tightly to his shoulders as his teeth dig into your shoulders, hips thrusting up into you as if you were a fleshlight. 

Lex’s  contact flickers on your phone on your bedside table.

You let your mind go blank. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough he could put you back together and take you apart all over again. 

--------------------

I don't know about this one... but it was fun to write. I need to get my sexual frustrations out somehow.

-Alejandra 💋 🐇

[sporkteeth]

i see this as an absolute win

[boyd-stevens]

[vulcanthatis]

God bless the hands that prepared this post

[fawnindawn]

till i lose it

clark kent x reader (3.4k)

summary: Clark finds himself feeling jealous for the first time when you get assigned on a case with Jimmy Olsen, and start spending more time with the photojournalist instead of him.

content: when i say jealous, i mean jealous, clark goes crazy over your absence and does everything he can to get your attention, jimmy is a smart mastermind, makeout in the broom closet, loser sweetheart clark, he's an absolute genius at coming up with excuses to get your attention, but is a complete idiot with his own feelings, coworker romance

Clark does not get jealous. At least, he doesn't think so. So, what was this irritating, gnawing feeling that keeps tripling in size as he watches the clock, waiting for you to come back from your assignment with Jimmy?

He hasn't seen or heard from you since you had rushed into the office this morning, giving him a rushed greeting before brushing past him to head to Jimmy, excitedly rambling about a spotting that would benefit the assignment. You had gone out nearly six hours ago, he would know- he's been checking the clock every minute. With that bright orange notepad of yours filled with all your ingenious ideas, you barely gave him a glance before you had run out of the office, Jimmy tagging along after you, leaving behind a trail of dust for Clark.

He maneuvers his chair absentmindedly, not even bothering with his own article anymore. If he had known you would be out so much, he would have asked Perry to pair up with you instead.

He snaps out of his thoughts, feeling guilt wash over him. How could he think that way? It makes sense for Jimmy to be picked. Jimmy's always been a better photographer than he was, and from what he's heard- this assignment was directly hands-on. With your quick wit and Jimmy's skills, it was the rational pairing.

That thought bubbles like venom, rational pairing. It's just that, isn't it? You were only avoiding him these past few days because you've been overly excited about the assignment, not to hang out one-on-one with Jimmy, right?

To test his theory, he spends the entire night baking muffins. You've always been a sweet tooth, he remembers fondly still when you were gushing over his description of the baked goods his Ma made. He's a little nervous as he tops the muffins with chocolate. They weren't perfect like his Ma's, but he tried his best.

He's not doing this because he's upset. He's been meaning to bake the muffins for you anyways. His own Ma had sent the recipe over two weeks ago, after he updated about your excitement regarding her baking, demanding him to make some for you. He's doing this because he wants to, and it has nothing to do with you and Jimmy. By the time he's stored the muffins into a container, his heart is little more well-rested and reassured that he's just being a good colleague and friend who is not jealous whatsoever.

He shows up the next day, muffins in a container as he waits anxiously at his desk, watching the door for your arrival. He hears you before you even enter, and he jumps up from his chair as you pass through the doors.. with Jimmy.

He tries to stand taller to hide the deflation in his confidence. Now you're arriving at the same time? It couldn't be that you were now walking together to work, were you?

You're too caught up in your conversation to notice Clark watching you from afar, container in hand.

"Hey, Clark!" Jimmy greets as he plops his bag down at his desk. "Did you see the news this morning about- Woah, hang on a second. Are those muffins?"

Clark winces at not being able to say it for himself, but he holds out the container to you. "Yeah, remember my Ma's recipe I told you about last week? You said you wanted to try it so I baked it for you."

"Clark!" He tries to not enjoy the delighted surprise evident in your voice too much. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." Maybe he's being too obvious, but that light in your eyes directed at him feels like the sun on his skin after winter.

"No way you're saving this all for yourself!" Jimmy cuts in, hitting you on the arm with his elbow. "They look delicious, dude. Can I have at least a bite?"

"Hey! He said he made them for me, keep your hands to yourself." You interject, taking the container from Clark. Your hand brushes his, and he tries not to smile at your protective instincts over the muffins.

"Come on-" Jimmy calls you by a nickname he's never heard, and his smile freezes. Nicknames? He has a nickname for you now? A panic room is being built in his head as the conversation continues, words exchanged about 'assignment' and 'leaving'.

"Clark?" You wave a hand in front of him, and he blinks, focusing back on your voice. "Thanks for the muffins, I really appreciate it."

"Yeah." He mutters weakly, his heart throbbing over the sudden closeness you had with Jimmy. Jimmy was also his friend, but seeing you drift further away from him made it hard to see the situation in a positive light.

"We gotta go." Jimmy points out, checking his watch before going to grab his camera.

"Right, nice seeing you, Clark." You say with a warm smile, unaware of the inner turmoil going on in his head. "We'll catch up some other time, yeah? And thanks again for the muffins, I can't wait to try them!"

He watches you leave, and tries his best not to storm after the both of you to join in on the assignment. It's silly, childish. He's not the jealous type and you're all working professionals in this office. He drops down into his seat, and he knows that heavy weight in his chest won't go so easily. He's not upset, there's nothing wrong.

You smiled at him and thanked him at least three times. You're clearly still happy to see him, the same as always. He rubs at his chest, where he feels his heart thudding like a traitor. Maybe he's thinking about it too much. You and Jimmy are just attached to the hip because you're both workaholics who love a good story.

'Attached to the hip..' He groans, and he could only hope that things will return to normal soon. He might go crazy if you walk through the doors with Jimmy again tomorrow.

The next day, he's admittingly a little too prepared for your arrival. He has his article open in one window, and a perfect excuse to get your attention today.

He's practiced it at least ten times in the mirror. 'I've really been struggling on this article for awhile and I would love for your insight on it.' It's not completely detached from the truth, he really was struggling- but it was for a reason different to writer's block.

He hears you before you enter again, and this time, he's relieved to hear it's only you. He turns around, clearing his throat and preparing himself.

"Hey, Clark!" You greet him, smiling wide as you place your bag down at your chair. Big smile, that's a good sign.

"Hey." He waits a few seconds, pretending to look at his computer with a purse of his lips. "I was wondering if you could help me out on something?"

"Oh?" There's that glimmer in your eyes from the possibility to brainstorm with someone. "What is it?"

"I've really been struggling on this article for awhile and I would love for your insight on it." He moves his monitor to your direction, and you lean in, narrowing your eyes as you read through the text.

"Oh! The Gotham fugitive!" You take a spare chair, moving it beside his, armrests bumping into each other as you take a seat. "Okay, I've heard some stuff about this that I could help you with- but honestly, Jimmy might be your best bet if you want accurate info."

There's only so much a man can take, he thinks as his smile drops. Is the universe playing with him? Is this 'mention Jimmy Olsen' week, and he wasn't aware? It's okay, he can still redirect this.

"I mean, I would love to help out." You continue on. "I could ask Jimmy to pass you his Gotham contact if you need it though. It might be better than third party information from me."

"No, I would love to hear your thoughts." He interjects so quickly, you could only blink. "I mean-" Play it cool. Play it cool. "I already have the evidence, I just want to hear about it from your perspective, to help think of a point of view to write it from."

"My perspective?" You smile at him so warmly, he almost forgets what he was upset over in the first place. "I think you're the only person who wants to hear it sometimes. Thanks, Smallvile. It means a lot."

He may have hit the jackpot today. He's earned a nickname.

"It's- no problem." He stammers, averting your gaze to look back at the monitor. "So, I was thinking- there's already been some articles with explanations on how the fugitive escaped to Metropolis. I was thinking of focusing more on why."

"I knew you'd say that." You said with a knowing look.

He looks back at you, almost surprised. "How?"

"You always look for the good in people, Clark." You affirm. "When everyone's so focused on the hard facts and evidence, you're the only one who sees past it for what matters. That's why you're a good journalist. You write what matters."

You've been gone nearly a week for your assignment, but here with him, he realises why he's been so upset over your absence. You're looking right at him, when others have only ever seen past him. He's a nobody as Clark Kent. He's untouchable as Superman. Yet, under your gaze, he's just Clark, and that's all he needs to be.

"I have some ideas for the why." You continue on, as if you hadn't shaken his whole world. "If we bring it back to Gotham's current political situation, as well as the increase in unemployment.."

Staring at you wordlessly, he comes to a realisation that should've been obvious to him the moment you stepped into the Daily Planet, with your orange notebook and fiery determination to make a mark in this world. He's in love with you.

Your assignment with Jimmy ends today. Clark feels guilty for the way his steps have a little skip to them as he heads to work. After you submit your assignment to Perry, he's going to ask you to dinner.

There's that lump in his throat as he thinks about it- but after being apart from you for an entire week, he needs to be brave. Not having your silly expressions across his desk to wake him up when he's feeling tired during the 4 pm drought, the stealing of his peanut butter stack to lather on your toast during break, the debates about his alter ego that has him breathless with laughter when you comment on Superman's trunks- not being near you. It nearly drove him insane.

He's scared, but he's done things scared before. He can do it again, especially if it's you.

He arrives at the office, peering at Perry's office where both you and Jimmy were receiving feedback. There's the muffled sounds of 'good work' and 'looking forward to it', though his super-hearing doesn't give much else before the door opens and the both of you walk out with giddy smiles.

He's about to ask you both on how the assignment went when Jimmy exclaims loudly- "Can't believe we get to work on another assignment together!"

Clark drops his briefcase against the floor, causing a loud thud to echo across the hall. He doesn't hear much else other than that, he doesn't need to. He's already walking over to you, briefcase all but forgotten.

"I need to talk to you." He breathes out.

You shift your head to look at him, eyes widened in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Oh? Sure, what do you want to talk about-"

He's grabbing your hand, leading you away to somewhere more private. He doesn't notice Jimmy's smirk directed at you.

There's not many places that aren't exposed to the open in the office, and he's not thinking clearly either when he opens a random door, and leads you in. A cleaning closet- he's led you to a cleaning closet.

He’s practically a barrier, leaving little space for you in the tiny, dusty closet, causing you to stumble over a few brooms left unused on the creaky floor. He grabs you by the waist, holding you steady and unintentionally closer to him so you don’t fall.

“I just don’t understand.” He blurts out.

"Understand?" You furrow your brow.

"Why you're working with him again."

“We make a good team.” You say with a shrug. With the close proximity, you have to crank your chin to the highest point just to meet his eyes. “I think this is the highest praise Perry's ever given for an article."

"Well-" He can't take this anymore. "Does it have to be Jimmy?"

"Why not him? He's the best photographer we've got, you know that."

“Well, I don’t know- you seem to know him better than me now.”

You stare at him incredulously. “So, is this you being upset that I’m stealing Jimmy away from you?”

“What? No!” His voice reverberates through the small confinement, and you hit him softly at his chest as a sign to quiet down. If anyone were to hear his voice and come in, the situation would look- safe to say, you didn’t want to be the gossip feed for an office full of journalists.

“So? I don’t get why you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.” He mumbles more to convince himself than you. He meets your unimpressed gaze and sighs. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little.”

“About what?” You push.

“I-” He averts his gaze, growing frustration visible through the grit of his teeth. “I just feel like I haven’t seen you at all the entire week.”

“Clark.” Realisation dawns you and a shit-eating grin appears on your face. “Are you jealous?”

“Not really.” Yet, his gaze is behind you, trained on the dusty, dark walls. “I’m just wondering what you and Jimmy could possibly be up to that you won’t come back to the office till six.”

“You keep track?” There’s nothing that can stop the tilt of your voice, obviously having caught on to his dilemma.

He rolls his eyes but he can’t help but smile down at you, and you bet if you trace his face, you could feel the deep indent of his dimple that you loved so much. “Your absence is very distracting.”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t focus on my work when you’re not around.” He huffs. “I’m just used to you coming to my desk and distracting me by stealing my peanut butter.”

“Hey, your mum makes amazing homemade peanut butter.”

“I missed you talking to me to solve your brain fogs when you can’t figure something out.” His voice is growing softer, his gaze focused on you as if he could see you in the dark. “And my stupid brain keeps wondering if you do that with Jimmy instead of me because you’re out all day, and I’m stuck in here waiting.”

“For me?”

“Yeah.” He responds weakly, but he’s never been the type of back down from his words. "I've been waiting to see you the entire week." Despite his supposed demeanour, you knew to never underestimate how direct he could be.

“Well, I’ll have you know that I talk to him about you all the time whenever we’re not doing our assignment.” You admit. “He’s probably relieved you dragged me in here so that I wouldn’t keep talking his ear off about you.”

His voice hitches, his eyes blinking in confusion behind his glasses. “What did you talk about?”

“Just how I missed annoying you, and that you’re probably super bored in the office without me.” You smirk, knowing he can’t deny it either after his own confession. “That I can’t wait to come back and see you- only for Mr. Jealous here to give me the cold shoulder.”

Sweet Clark of course frowns, looking dejected over his own behaviour.

Before he could apologise, you stop him by placing a finger to his lips. “And most importantly, being away from you the entire week made me realise that I don’t want to do that ever again. And that I should probably ask you out before Jimmy wrings my neck out of annoyance.”

You feel his lips part against your finger, clearly not expecting any of your words. A few seconds pass, then his frown morphs into the largest grin you’ve ever seen. “You beat me to it.”

“As always.” You shrug. “I mean, this is why I got the assignment from Perry in the first place before you-”

He grabs your finger, gently and kisses the side of it. Whatever you wanted to boast about leaves your mind as quickly as it came, and this time, you’re the one left speechless.

His gaze is trained on you, hungry and desperate. “I really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

You barely manage a nod before he’s on you, lips meeting yours with a push. He’s clumsy, with his glasses bumping against your nose, and it almost makes you want to laugh- but it transitions into something heated when one of his hands lifts from your waist to caress your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. The long endurance of your playful banters and glances feel like they’re being rewarded in this very moment, where he’s holding you as if you’re the only thing that exists.

He's good, and not only because he's really making it feel good, but because you can feel just how earnest he is- that he really wants this. He's handling you so gently, as if he's savouring you and doesn't want it to end. You don't think you've ever met someone who could translate their feelings through a simple kiss, but it's almost like he's conveying everything he's kept hidden to you right now. You don’t know how much time passes before you have to pull away for air. He follows after you, but you have to raise your hand to clamp his face before he kisses you again.

"You know this was all Jimmy's plan?" You slip out.

Clark blinks, still reeling from the kiss. "What?"

"He said we were going round in circles for too long, so he dragged me out all the time to see how'd you react."

He groans, head lowering and bumping softly against yours. "Of course he did."

"He'll be estastic." You laugh. "I owe him 50 bucks."

"What were the odds?"

"That you'd give in before the week ends." You admitted. "I thought he was being delusional."

"Why?"

"Cause I thought you didn't like me as much as I liked you." You look at him with that same adoring gaze you gave him when you complimented his writing. "If I saw you running around with someone else for an assignment, I would've gone crazy in less than two days."

He chuckles. "Oh, trust me. You had me insane on the first."

"That's the best thing I heard all day."

"Oh, really? Me telling you that I missed you didn't do the trick?"

"No, but it comes close." You tease. "Also, we should probably get out of here before anyone thinks we're doing more than hooking up."

You can't see clearly in the dark, but you could bet his cheeks were on fire. As he opens the door, letting you exit first, you meet Jimmy’s eyes across the room- who’s grinning like a cheshire cat at your tangled hair and reddened cheeks.

“Finally!” He words silently to you, as to not attract the others who were typing away at their desks.

You roll your eyes, feeling the heat of Clark near your back and knowing Jimmy must have put two and two together faster than he swipes through his DMs. Clark leans down, whispering to you. “So, do you want to come by my place after work? I could cook us dinner.”

“Hm, I don’t know.” You tease. “I’ll have to check with Jimmy to see if he needs me for our article.”

He gives your waist a soft squeeze, a little warning. “Don’t worry, I can negotiate with him. So how about 6?”

“What's on the menu?"

"A special." He grins. "Breakfast for dinner."

"Pancakes?"

"Anything you want."

"That's a dangerous proposition." You pretend to consider. "I have a notorious sweet tooth."

"I think I can handle that." He murmurs. "So say yes, please."

Intertwining your hand with the one he held on your waist, you lean back against his chest. "Only since you asked so nicely."

You really do owe Jimmy that 50 bucks.

[fawnindawn]

he's all that.

clark kent x reader. (3.2k)

summary: as a reporter of the daily planet, you haven’t been shy of your dislike for superman. clark is desperate to prove to you how superman, and by extension, him, is not as bad as you think.

content: flufff, clark kent being an adorable loser, still a loser as superman, interview banter, superman as the wingman for clark (cheeky ik), silly coworkers having a crush on each other but having no idea its reciprocated, office romance

author’s note: seeing clark’s frustration in the interview and article scene in superman 2025 got my head spinning 😏

“Okay, but why do you dislike him?”

Clark is on his interrogation case again. You don’t blink an eye as he settles across your desk, squeezing into the office chair with one elbow leaning on the armrest as he waits expectantly, almost desperately for your answer.

Every time you publish a new article with your detailed opinions on Superman’s recent actions, to provide an alternate perspective against the other rose-coloured articles of Metropolis’s favourite metahuman, Clark is always the first in line to question you.

“I don’t particularly dislike him.” Typing away at your computer to polish up one of your drafts, you rehearse the same line you tell everyone. “How could I dislike someone I’ve never met?”

“Then why the title?” He huffs. “I mean, come on. 'Superman’s Ulterior Motives In Recent Metropolis Fire Controversy'? You make him sound like a criminal."

“Come on, Clark.” You give him a pointed look. “You know how article headlines work. If I wrote something like “a critical approach to Superman’s latest actions regarding the fuel explosion”, who would read that?”

“I would.” His response is immediate, and it forces you to crane your neck, away from your latest article that’s been giving you writer’s block, to cast your attention to him.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but one reader wouldn’t exactly meet my paycheck’s expectations.”

“Well, I’m sure there are others who would appreciate a less cash-grabby title.” He retorts.

He realises the error in his words the moment he's on the receiving end of your icy glare.

“I have work to do, Clark.” Placing a metal sign that states "DO NOT DISTURB" on your desk, he doesn't need a hint to get that you're telling him to leave. "Even if you don’t appreciate my efforts, you could at least go distract someone else with your critiques.”

Clark knows he’s made a huge mistake. He doesn’t actually think your work is cash-grabby, he just wished you could see him- well, his alter identity in a more positive light. He loves your work, even if it makes him cringe when you point out his flaws with your cutting tongue, getting under his skin better than anyone else could.

You’re brilliant, and he’s just.. him. As Clark Kent, he doesn’t hold a candle to you. You’re fierce, bold and you leave a mark with your words and your presence. He can’t even begin to describe how much he admires you, but you barely even glance his way.

Maybe that’s why he’s in the office, eight on the dot every morning with a coffee in hand for you, asking you about your articles, your thought process, anything to get a few minutes with you.

Now, he’s officially screwed it up. Whatever tolerance you held for him previously, it’s all gone now thanks to his stupidity.

He sighs, shutting down his computer. He can’t even focus, and his eyes were starting to strain over staring at the blank document. Glancing over at you, you’re still typing away, with that same furrow in your brow that he’s memorised in his mind. How could he make it up to you? How could he change your mind?

Shifting his weight, his chair squeaks as he ponders.

“What are you looking at?” Clark jumps, suddenly registering Jimmy’s voice. Its rare for him to not hear footsteps nearing him, and it's only more proof of how much of a distraction you were. “Oh, her. Your office crush.”

“I do not have a crush.” Clark interjects, feeling oddly defensive. Having a crush on you, it makes his neck hot from the mere thought of it. “I just made her angry, and I’m thinking of how to make amends.”

Jimmy laughs. “Unless you somehow snag an interview with Superman for her, I think you’re going to have to wait awhile for her to cool down.”

“What did you just say?”

“That you’ll have to wait awhile?”

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, an interview?” Jimmy scratches at his head. “I overheard her talking to Lois about how she’s stuck on her most recent article, and that she wished she could have a one-on-one with Superman to hear his perspective.”

That’s it. He may have screwed it up with you as Clark Kent, but Superman may be able to salvage this. Clark practically leaps off his chair, giving Jimmy a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, man. Seriously, I owe you.”

“Woah, dude. You’re heavy.” Jimmy huffs. “You’re welcome? But how are you going to get Superman to agree? It’s not like you have his contact or anything, do you?”

Clark doesn’t bother to reply, determination coursing through his blood as he walks out the office. Nearly out of ear-shot, he still hears Jimmy’s ‘Wait, Clark! Do you?’ repeating as an echo through the walls.

By the time you've managed to break a paragraph into your latest article, you feel that incoming headache and back-pain on its way to torment you for your incompetence. There's this block in your mind that refuses to be drained, and your tension with Clark earlier this morning certainly didn't aid you in your focus. You look up, noticing that the office is practically empty, and that most of the lights are off except for a few desk lamps from other co-workers who haven't left either.

You eye Clark's desk discretely, only to feel a pang of disappointment that he's already left. You rarely fought with him, as much as he was an insistent Big Blue fan. He was the sweetheart of the office, and on some days, you'd like to think he extended his sweetness a little more to you than everyone else. After today's conversation, you probably soured his impression on you after bashing his favourite metahuman in your headlines.

There's some part of you that worries you won't see him at your desk tomorrow with your coffee and another debate ready on his lips. He had left so early, which is incredibly unlike him. He couldn't possibly still be upset that you told him to bugger off, did he? He didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge, but maybe today was a step too far?

You shook your head, trying to shake off all your thoughts about your strange co-worker with his oddly charming demeanour and a size too large for his clumsy antics. Maybe you should pack up and go for a walk to clear your head. Sitting around here wasn't doing you much good other than increasing the hours of your back and eye strain.

Metropolis was nice at night. The city, which was always packed with crowds and honking cars, had quiet down at this hour. You watched as the lights went out in the tall buildings around you, signaling people leaving their work stations or going to sleep for the day.

If only you could get your hands on an interview opportunity with Superman. Funnily enough, despite having lived in Metropolis your whole life, you've never seen the hero who was so beloved in people's hearts. Other than social media spottings and the morning news, you have never seen the actual man who captivated Metropolis.

Kicking a crushed soda can on the sidewalk, you wonder if your bad luck in sighting him has to do with your articles being the singular negative perspective in the Daily Planet.

"Should I consider that as littering?"

Your head snaps up, and you.. can't believe it.

"Superman." You gasp, and realise this is probably the first time you've addressed him to his face rather than through an article.

He smiles, and you're surprised by how human it is. He bends down, picking up the soda can you kicked and tossed it into the nearest trash can- which was nearly ten feet away.

"You shouldn't be out alone this late." He comments. "The city's crime rate is higher at night."

"Isn't that what you're here for?" You ask. "To keep the city safe?"

His dimple deepens, and he lowers his head in a nod. "I do my best, but I can't be around every area no matter how fast I try to fly."

"Right." Through your daze, only one thought comes through with sharp clarity. You can't lose this opportunity to interview him. "Um, actually. I'm a news reporter from the Daily Planet. I was wondering if we could have a-"

"An interview?" His voice is filled with mirth. "Of course."

That was easy. Easier than expected. The daunting task and envy of Clark being able to secure interviews with Superman so easily seems less intimidating now, but you find yourself at a loss of what to ask as you prepared your recorder.

"What is your line of thought regarding the recent Metropolis fire?" You decided to start there, the topic most fresh in your mind from having just published the article this morning.

"I saw people that needed saving, so I did just that." He answers.

"However, when you saved the culprits who intentionally started the fire and insisted they be brought to the hospital and taken care for, you received a lot of criticism for not considering the victims who had to watch you care for the culprits."

"In life or death situations, I don't place people in boxes based on their roles. I do think the culprits need to face the consequences of their actions, but they were also injured. A life is still a life."

"You have very strong morals." You responded. "However, people are concerned on whether your judgement can be misplaced one day, and that you'll let the wrong people walk off free because you only cater to your own morals. What do you have to say to that?"

"If I had to consider what everyone wanted before I made a decision, I would have lost a lot of lives. In my situation, I will always be prone to making mistakes, so I try to make the ones I'll least regret."

"That is true." You answered, not expecting him to be so honest and open to your intrusive questions. "You are one of the only few metahumans in Metropolis. Have you ever felt out-casted by living on Earth?"

"Not really." He shrugs. "I always saw myself as human. I was raised by human parents with a normal human life. I am a Metropolitan as much as everyone else here."

"Just with ridiculous strength and the ability to fly." You point out.

He laughs. "And that too."

He walks alongside you as you add on more questions, your excitement palpable over the chance to finally have a real debate with the man himself. He's charming- irritatingly so, and sometimes, you have to force yourself to focus on what he's saying and not the way his eyes glimmer under the street lights, or how his height makes you crane your neck to look at him in the eye.

“So do you swoon all reporters this way to keep your pristine reputation?” You tease.

“Nope.” That damn dimple of his. “You’re the first person I’ve ever done this with.”

“Interviews? You sure give plenty to Clark.”

“Clark?" His expression freezes for a moment before relaxing. "Ah, that Daily Planet reporter? He’s a nice guy who happens to be around whenever I.. save people.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” You huff. “He might be your biggest fan.”

He takes note of your tone, the near sigh at the end of it. “Do you not.. like him?”

“No, I never said that! It’s just that..” How could you tell Superman of all people that you had a disagreement with Clark just this morning about him? “I was a little harsh with him this morning.”

“How so?”

“Well, before I met you.” Evading your gaze, your force yourself to admit the truth. “My impression was different to his, and it was quite obvious from my articles. He commented that my works were cash-grabby.”

“That’s a rude thing to say.” He responds.

“Really?” You implore. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly kind when twisting my words to fit the narrative of what sells. I didn’t consider how you also have feelings, and that you’ll probably feel horrible if you read what I wrote. Maybe I felt defensive about what he said because I was scared he’d be right.”

“Well, he isn’t right.” His gaze is determined, so sure his words are the truth. “Your articles are amazing, and he’s a fool to comment on them so carelessly.”

You blink. “You read my articles?”

He realises his accidental confession, his lips stuttering to come up with a response. “Occasionally.” He coughs, being the one to avert his gaze this time. “I am a Metropolitan, and you make good headlines for the news covers. Even I can be curious about what the Daily Planet writes about me.”

”My, if Superman is keeping an eye on my writing, I’ll have to be careful on what I say.”

“No, I like your honesty.” There he goes again with that smile. You understand what people mean when they say it blinds you. “It’s refreshing. And it’s good journalism.”

You snort at his words. “If Clark heard you say that, he’ll never dare critique my articles again.”

“You sure do mention Clark a lot.” He murmurs. “Is he a close colleague or..”

“Oh, not really.”

For some reason, his expression dampens at your words.

“He’s, how do I put it?” You mutter. “He’s like this ball of sunshine. He’s always got something nice to say to everyone, and a real big heart. He'll help out when the photocopier is down, when someone could use an extra coffee, when someone needs a proofreader. He’s the complete opposite of me. It's like he came into this world to help others.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks.

“No, actually I-” You bite your lip, wondering if you should tell him. I mean, it’s not like him and Clark are tied to the hip or anything, it’s practically the same as telling a stranger. “I kind of do- like him.”

Superman is silent. Deathly silent. It’s like he’s going through cardiac arrest, and you hurry to speak to clear the air. “You can’t tell him. I swear, not even my closest friends know about this.”

He seems to be recovering from your words, with a small grin raising the left corner of his lips. “I can keep a secret.”

“No, seriously. No one except you and my cat knows about this.” You sigh, feeling the flurry of emotions overwhelm you. “He drives me crazy.”

He looks like he’s trying to contain his laugh, making you feel even more silly. “How so?”

“He never gives me a break to recover from well, him. It's like he's always ready as soon as I reach the office with my favourite coffee, having already read through my entire article even if I published it minutes before. He’s always hogging my desk and asking me questions during my break too, and I do my best to not feel special because he treats everyone nicely.”

“From the way you put it, I think he likes you too.”

“Seriously?” You ask, trying hard not to be swayed by his confidence. He's looking at you so earnestly as he says it, it's almost like he knows he's right.

“Why don’t we do a little test?” He offers. “Does he wait to give coffee to other people in the morning?”

“No..”

“Does he ask other people about their articles?”

“Not that I know of?”

“Does he spend time with others during break or is it always just with you?”

You’re silent, feeling the racing of your heart. Superman smiles again, as if he already knows the answer you refuse to accept.

“I think you should have a talk with him.”

The moments you had with Clark flash through your mind. All the times he was so considerate with you, so passionate, and.. how you ended things today with him during your conversation. You didn't want to lose him, not when you had a chance to turn things around. “You know, Superman? Maybe you're right.”

The next day, after Superman graciously dropped you off at your apartment per your directions, you feel your anxiety clogged up in your throat as you wait for the office elevator. Your foot taps anxiously, wondering if you should truly take the advice given to you and confess to Clark.

Worse case scenario, you get rejected and have to face a lack of free morning coffees and interrogations for the rest of your career. That realisation does pummel your spirits down a little. You do like his interrogations, even if you had to be held at gunpoint to admit it.

You reach your floor, and step out with a chaotic choir shrieking in your chest, instinctively looking to your desk where Clark would usually be waiting with your coffee. Your heart seizes when you find no one there. Right, maybe this is a sign that your plan is bogus and you should come back to Earth, instead of listening to some metahuman’s love advice-

A call of your name interrupts your train wreck of thoughts. You turn around, and Clark is standing there with your coffee.. and a bouquet in hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be late.” He stammers. “Your favourite coffee spot was crowded today, and the florist was on the opposite side of town, and I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked.”

“Also, I’m really truly sorry about the other day.” It’s like he’s on a marathon but with words, spilling sentences out like he’s rehearsed them beforehand. “I didn’t mean to call your articles ‘cash-grabby’. You’re an amazing writer, probably the best I’ve ever met, and I don’t want you to feel insulted by my stupid comments-”

You step closer, ignoring his rant and place a kiss on his cheek, stopping him in his tracks. His lips are still parted midway through his sentence, only now, there’s no sound coming out from him.

“Thank you, Clark.” You replied, ignoring the shakiness of your hands. “And lilies are my favourite, so good guess.”

He swallows dryly, blinking like a morse code pattern as he tries to find something, anything to respond to you. “Well- Right. That’s good. Flowers are good.”

You laugh, taking the coffee from his hand to take a sip, mostly to ease your nerves from your impulsive action. The faint scent of coffee and peanut butter was still lingering in your mind from having been so close to him. “I have a new article on Superman." You brought up, trying to seem casual as you toy with the back of your chair. "I thought you would like to have a read.”

That seems to kick him back into his senses, his response arriving as soon as you stopped yours. “I would love to.”

You move the monitor to make the article visible to him. “I’ve come up with a few pointers, but I need help with the title. Do you want to.. work over it while getting lunch together?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, a grin so wide on his face it nearly splits it in two. “I mean, yeah." He shrugs, a light red coating his ears. "I would be glad to help out.”

You can’t help the grin that slips out when you see his, which is as infectious or even more so than Superman’s. Maybe Clark was right about Superman being more than the words you wrote about him in the past. Yet, it was the man in front of you now.. that held your heart.

a/n: I love him so much. The movie was so good, I was geeking the entire time. I have so many more fics I want to write for Clark, I can’t wait!

[k1tk4ttt]

Me searching x reader fics after gaining a new fictional crush after watching a movie/serie