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collide | boss!clark kent x fem!reader

chapter six - collide (w.c. 4608)

now playing: "baby it’s all yours if you want me… put it down if you want me, let’s collide” - collide by justine skye, tyga

previous chapter | masterpost | ao3

A week later, as you walk through the extravagant office space, you find yourself feeling like you’re starting to settle in at Kent Industries.

Sending emails is now second nature. Meeting plans are practically ingrained into your brain. Your day-to-day thoughts are filled with forms and spreadsheets. And, most importantly, your morning routine with your boss is down to a T.

Like clockwork now, you set Clark’s coffee mug onto his desk, wait for him to take his first sip, give you praise for your good work, and leave to prepare for his first meeting.

But today, he hesitates before drinking, simply holding the cup in his fingers. “Miss Y/L/N, you always bring me a coffee, but you never get yourself one. Why is that?”

You should be used to Clark’s wandering questions by now, yet they manage to catch you off guard every time.

You blink. “I’m- I’m not a massive coffee drinker, Mr. Kent.”

“A secretary that’s not a big coffee drinker? Practically unheard of,” Clark states. “Why do you not drink it?”

“I haven’t really tried it much.”

“Then how do you know that what you’re bringing me is good?”

“The smell,” you reply, “It always smells really nice, so I figure that it’s pretty good.”

Then Clark does something unexpected. He holds the cup out towards you, still completely full. “Why don’t you take the first sip for me today, Miss. Y/L/N? So you know exactly what you’re bringing me each morning.”

Clark wants you to drink his drink? You know he hasn’t drunk from it yet, but it still seems incredibly intimate.

“I don’t want to take your drink away from you, Mr. Kent.”

A little smile plays on his lips. “I own this office, meaning I also own the coffee machine, which offers unlimited coffee. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Your cheeks flush. “Of course. Sorry, that was stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Clark’s voice is low, husky. “Never stupid.”

You hold each other’s eyes like you seem to always do. You could stare into their blueness for hours but, unfortunately, you have work to do.

You take the cup from your boss and bring it to your lips slowly, taking a deep breath as the ceramic chills your skin. The warmth of the coffee washes over your tongue, down your throat.

It’s sharp and sour, yet unbelievably smooth. If it didn’t belong to your boss, you might finish the entire thing.

You lick your lips as you place the cup back into Clark’s awaiting hand.

He’s watching you intensely. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s really nice,” you say, “I can see why you like it.”

Clark doesn’t reply with words. Instead, he brings the cup to his own lips, in exactly the same spot you drank from, and downs the rest of the drink.

Holy shit. Did he actually just do that? Your breath is completely lodged in your throat.

Clark holds the cup out in your direction.

“Bring yourself your own cup from now on, Miss. Y/L/N,” he states, his voice unflinching. “There’s no benefit of keeping yourself from something you enjoy, is there?”

The space between your legs pulses as something passes over his eyes.

This man…

“No, Mr. Kent,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I will do that from now on.”

Of course you say yes to him.

You always do.

Falling asleep is much harder now you know Clark.

Tossing and turning, he always seems to find his way into your mind in the shadows. Brooding, burrowing, refusing to budge. Wholly overpowering, just as he is in real life.

This time you’re in his office, coffee cup at the ready. Only, as you hand the drink over, the scene shifts and he’s holding you instead. You’re perched on his lap, his hand splayed across your lower back, and he’s bringing you nearer, nearer…

Your eyes fly open, breath rushing back in your lungs. You don’t want him this close, you can’t want him this close - so why does he only seem to be coming closer?

The next morning, you balance two espresso mugs in your hands as you walk to Clark’s office, your Macbook wedged under your armpit. You know his day is absolutely slammed so you’ve arrived extra early to accommodate.

He’s wearing all black today, no tie so the top buttons of his shirt are open, displaying the stretch of skin at the bottom of his neck. After your dream last night, that’s the last thing you need to see.

You keep your eyes low as you place the cup on his desk.

“Good morning, Miss. Y/L/N,” Clark says. “You listened to me.” He tips his head slightly at your own coffee cup.

“I did,” you reply, readjusting your computer so you’re holding it at your chest.

He drinks his coffee slowly.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Clark sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I seem to have forgotten my own diary today. I was wondering if you might be able to give me a run down of my schedule.”

You contemplate his face but it gives nothing away. He has his computer, he could check himself. Is he testing you? You can never be sure of Clark’s true nature for things.

“I can do that for you.” You gesture at a chair. “May I sit?”

He gives you a small smile. “Be my guest.”

As you sink into the plush leather, you flip open your Mac and pull up his schedule. You run your eyes over it. You also try to ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest.

“Okay,” you begin, a little breathless. “So, you have an executive briefing at eight-thirty, followed by a board call at nine-thirty. You have a meeting with some investors in the board room downstairs at eleven, you’re out for lunch with a client at twelve-thirty, and then you have some financial department reviews from two until five.”

You flick your eyes up. Clark is watching you closely.

His eyes are dark. “Busy day.”

“Indeed,” you say.

Clark leans forward in his chair, uncrossing his arms. He splays a hand on the dark wood. “I actually just had a call about a client event. It’s a gallery thing, lots of mingling. I was wondering if you might accompany me.”

He might as well have asked you to fight a mountain lion the way your heart speeds up. “Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight,” Clark arches an eyebrow. “Am I taking you away from any plans, Miss. Y/L/N?”

“N-no, I just… I don’t know if I’m particularly dressed for an event.”

You’re wearing a new outfit today. A black floaty skirt paired with a white cardigan. It’s nice enough, but you know what you feel like amongst Clark’s colleagues. Maybe if you’d had more time to prepare, you could have worn something… better.

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?” Clark asks.

Your neck runs hot. Fuck, you didn’t think he’d ask you to explain. “Uhm, well, it’s not really very dressy. If it’s an event, I feel like I should be wearing something nicer.”

Clark falls silent, regarding you with narrowed eyes. You resist shivering. You should be used to this by now - the staring, like he’s trying to capture an image of you in his mind - but your body fires up each time.

Come on, how could you ever get used to someone who looks like that looking at you in such a way?

Clark brings his hand to his jaw, rubbing it slowly. He licks his lips before he speaks again. “I don’t think you could wear something better. You look delicious. Utterly delicious.”

Your eyes widen. A chill runs through your body. Under your bra, your nipples pebble and harden, brushing against the fabric.

Suddenly the room feels smaller, your breaths short and shallow. “T-thank you, Mr. Kent.”

You watch his gaze drift lazily down your body and back up again. “Can you promise me one thing tonight?”

You nod slowly. “Of course.”

“Stay at my side for the whole evening. Don’t leave me, not even for a moment. There will be some people there who may push you to reveal things about my company. Or me. Or even yourself. Don’t say a word. Do you understand?”

It’s such a Clark request, how can you even be surprised. “You have my word, Mr. Kent.”

“Very well,” Clark’s eyes are dark. “Be ready to leave here at five-pm. You will ride with me.”

Oh God, a car ride with Clark? You can imagine it. Sitting right next to one another, your knees brushing, the enclosed space feeling smaller and smaller…

How are you supposed to focus for the rest of the day now?

“I’ll be ready,” you say.

“Thank you,” he replies. “I will see you then.”

You say your goodbye, and then move to leave Clark’s office. But just before you do, you look back over your shoulder, and find him watching you.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you close the door and resist the urge to collapse to the floor.

Luckily, the rest of the day passes in a flurry of emails, phone calls, and important people clad in expensive suits. Every time you permit another person into Clark’s office, or see him come and go, you sneak a glance at him. A whisper of time that’s just yours to take in the man that’s taking up the entirety of you.

You can’t deny how attracted to him you are. How much you want to touch him. How much you want to feel his lips on yours.

But you have to fight the feeling. There’s no way that would ever happen.

By the time the end of the work day comes around, you must have given yourself about a thousand pep talks, and visited the restroom about a million times.

It’s just a work event. What’s the worst that could happen?

Clark walks out of his office just before five-pm, looking like a whole damn banquet, even after a full day’s work.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Absolutely,” you reply, keeping your voice strong to hide the fact you’re absolutely dying inside.

You move through the building in silence - largely because you’re trying really hard to keep your breathing normal. When your elevator arrives at the ground floor, the numbers keep ticking.

You furrow your brows. “Where are we going?”

“The garage,” Clark says.

“Why are we going to the garage? Are we not getting picked up at the front?”

“No. I haven’t chosen what car I want to take yet.”

“You keep multiple cars down there?”

You hear Clark let out a chuckle. “That’s what a garage is for, Miss Y/L/N.”

That shuts you up. Of course he’s got multiple cars down there, he owns the whole fucking company.

And when the elevator doors finally open, he’s not lying.

The garage is sprawling, a cold and luxurious playground for any car lover. A few regular-looking vehicles litter the space - clearly belonging to other members of staff - but that’s not what you’re looking at.

You’re looking at the cars in the OWNER spaces.

It’s enough to mobilise a small, extremely luxurious army. Porsches, Rolls Royces, even a sleek blue Lamborghini sits waiting.

Your mind fills with the image of Clark in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thighs, between your legs, searching, playing…

You have to get a grip!

Clearing your mind, you hurry to keep up with your boss.

As the two of you approach the spaces, a man dressed in a suit comes towards you.

You eye him cautiously. Are you expected to fight people off for Clark? That wasn’t in the job description.

“Good evening, Sir,” he says in a well-spoken voice. “Good day in the office?”

They know each other. Phew.

“Business as always,” Clark answers. He gestures a large hand in your direction. “Gary, this is my new secretary, Miss. Y/L/N. She will be riding with me this evening.”

Gary holds out a hand in your direction. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss. Y/L/N.”

“You too,” you say, shaking his hand.

He releases you. “Is this the young lady you were discussing the other evening?”

Your eyes flick to Clark. His jaw is tight.

“Yes, it was,” he says simply, as if he were just talking business. He points at a black Bentley. “We’ll take this one, thank you.”

Clark starts walking to one side of the car so you head to the other. It’s like you’re dreaming.

Clark has been discussing you? Why? And who with?!

Your mind spinning, you climb into the back of the Bentley more carelessly than you typically would. The tip of your heel catches on the door lip and you lose control of your balance, falling into the car.

You throw your hands out to steady yourself.

And they land directly onto Clark’s thighs.

You sit in shock, your hands gripping his muscular legs. They feel like tree trunks, your hands barely covering half of their diameter. They feel strong. They feel very, very capable.

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your cheeks. You turn to look at Clark. His face is mere inches from yours: his eyes, his hair, his lips. He looks even more beautiful up close, as if it was even possible.

You swallow.

Clark stares at you with an intensity that threatens to tear you in two. The side of his lips lifts.

“I’m glad I could be of help, Miss. Y/L/N, but Gary can’t pull away until you’re in your seat.”

Your eyes flick to the rear view mirror. You catch Gary’s gaze.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you exclaim and slide into your seat, securing your belt.

The car starts moving almost immediately.

You mentally facepalm.

As the streets of Metropolis start to whip past the car’s tinted windows, it suddenly dawns on you that you know nothing about tonight except it’s a gallery event for one of Clark’s clients.

Maybe some casual small talk will help break the awkwardness of what just happened.

Here goes nothing…

“So, which of your clients is tonight’s event for?” You ask Clark. He’s staring out the window. “Have they come to the office before?”

“His name is Maxwell Lord,” Clark says without missing a beat. He turns to face you. The streetlights look good as they dance over his face. “Sound familiar?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s in tech, like me. Very successful. Very arrogant. He usually prefers me to come to him which might be why you don’t recognise his name.”

“Ah,” you say. “I didn’t realise he could do that.”

Clark’s eyebrows knit slightly. “Do what?”

“Get you to come to him,” you reply. “I thought you were the most powerful tech bro in all of Metropolis. Surely they should all be coming to you.”

You realise you’re blabbing because you’re nervous. But you’re in too deep now because Clark chuckles.

“What is a ‘tech bro’?”

“It’s a term on social media for when a guy works in tech. Which, evidently, you very much do…”

You want to sew your own mouth shut. What on earth are you talking about?! It’s not like Clark’s one of your friends.

Clark gives you an amused smirk. “Good to know. I’ll make sure to use that at my next college talk. I always worry I’m out of touch with the younger generations.”

He’s making fun of you, he has to be. And has he lowkey just called you a kid?

You. Want. To. Die.

A moment of silence passes.

“I go to Maxwell Lord because he’s easier to work with when things are on his terms. Makes him less of an asshole. Sometimes it’s easier to give in to your associate's demands if it means you’re going to get the best results in the end.”

“I see.”

“You’re quite lucky with me, Miss. Y/L/N,” Clark’s voice is silky smooth, “I don’t bite as hard as some of the other ‘tech bros’ in this city.”

“But you still bite?” You ask. You remember Lois’ words about Clark’s temper.

He studies your face for a moment. “I can do. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

Oh my God, what on earth was that supposed to mean? You don’t have a chance to conjure up some sort of coherent response as the car rolls to a stop.

The gallery looks edgy and glamorous, large posters hanging outside to advertise tonight’s event. Bodies linger around the front. Everyone looks very well dressed.

You swallow.

“Are you nervous, Miss. Y/L/N?” Clark asks, just like your job interview.

“A little,” you breathe.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassures you. “Just watch your step as you get out of the car.”

If it was Cat that had made that kind of comment, you would have sent back a biting reply. But you can’t do that with Clark. So you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and step outside. You wait for your boss to join you, and then you both walk into the gallery.

Beautiful pieces of artwork hang on each wall, soft jazz providing an accompanying ambience. There are people everywhere. You scan the space, looking for any familiar faces but you come up trumps.

Not that you’d know what to talk to them about anyway.

“Clark Kent!” A deep voice exclaims from behind the two of you.

You turn. It belongs to a tall man with white hair, a pointed beard, and a nice suit. A purple scarf wraps around his neck. Two beautiful women stand on either side of him.

You figure this guy is Maxwell Lord.

He immediately grabs Clark's hand. “What an honour it is to have the Clark Kent here tonight.” Then he turns to you. There’s a mischievous look on his face. “And who’s this then?”

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, my secretary,” Clark states.

Your heart pangs a little. A reminder that’s all you’ll ever have - a work relationship.

To stop your stomach sinking, you focus on Maxwell Lord and hold out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you. It’s so gorgeous in here.”

Maxwell takes it and presses a kiss to your skin. “Well, I am appreciative of beautiful things.”

Your cheeks flush.

“We’re going to go and have a look around,” Clark says. His arm moves around to the back of you. He doesn’t touch you, but you know he’s there.

It feels protective, possessive.

You can’t deny that you quite like it.

Maxwell lets go of you. “We have some of the greatest artists in the city on display tonight,” He gestures to the area around him. “I hope your wallet’s feeling generous!”

You know he’s talking more to Clark than to you but you nod anyway, just to be polite. Maxwell gives you a wink before wandering into the milling crowds.

You wait until he’s out of earshot. “Well, he was…”

“An asshole?” Clark prompts.

You think about it for a moment. “I was going to say nicer than I expected. With what you said in the car, I thought he would try and bite me.”

You and Clark start walking side-by-side towards an area of paintings. You notice the corner of his mouth lift. “I’m sure he’ll leave the biting until the second time he meets you.”

You nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence settles over the two of you. For the first time since you met your boss, it feels nice, comfortable. Clark seems a lot more relaxed outside of the office.

Maybe you won’t mind the after-work requirements after all.

As you approach a bright, abstract image, a group of well-dressed people grab Clark's attention. You stand beside him as they talk about things way above your paygrade.

And that’s how the rest of the evening goes. On Clark’s allowance, you drain a couple of champagne flutes as you go, but that’s the most exciting thing that happens. Tiredness starts to creep over you. As well as a full bladder.

Clark’s in the middle of talking to yet another man in a suit. You tap him lightly on the arm, trying not to freak out as you do it. “I’m just going to find a restroom. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t wait for his response.

True to your word, you’re quick, but you do take a moment just to bring yourself back to the present. You don’t know how long Clark usually stays at these events. Hopefully it’s not much longer.

When you’re done, you step outside, scanning the space for your boss. Then something catches your eye.

A canvas in an area you and Clark haven’t visited yet. It’s multicoloured, an array of shades splashed across the blank space, and a display of butterflies decorates the centre. They look as though they’re forming a flower, blooming to create something beautiful.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Immediately, you’re taken back to before. The apartment, tears staining your cheeks, pain blossoming through your body. But you would always sit by the window and watch the butterflies landing on your flower box. A symbol of freedom, a symbol of hope.

You feel like you were meant to see this tonight. You feel like it’s a sign that you chose the right path.

“I’ve come back to this particular one quite a few times myself tonight,” a voice says to your left. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Something wet marks your cheek. A tear. You get rid of it with the pad of your index finger.

“Yes. Yes, it’s gorgeous,” you reply.

“Did you know, the artist studied butterflies for months before he even attempted to paint them. The canvas sat in his studio for months.”

You study the piece closer. “Well, they look so real. I’m not surprised he did.”

“Shows that good things come to those who wait.”

You turn to face the voice, the man who interrupted your solitude. He’s wearing a well-fitted suit, a glass of champagne in his hand, and a sharp, focused face. He has no hair - a trait you wouldn’t usually go for - but it compliments him.

He’s looking at you now like a piece of prey.

You give him a soft smile. “Are you going to buy it?”

He stares at the piece for a moment before coming back to you. “I fear I may have to fight you for it.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t afford it,” you say honestly.

“Perhaps someone else might buy it for you,” the man proffers.

Your mind immediately fills with Clark but you push your thoughts away. “That would be way too generous.”

Your companion’s eyes glimmer. “Who knows what the people in this room are capable of.”

You meet his gaze and your stomach hollows out. Not as intensely as it does with Clark but there’s still something there. In his eyes. In your body.

Who is this man?

“Miss. Y/L/N,” someone snaps from behind. Clark. You spin like you’ve been stung. “I told you to stay close to me.”

Your heart rate spikes. Clark looks pissed, more pissed than you’ve ever seen him before. His jaw looks almost wired shut. He’s standing right behind you and your companion.

“Mr. Kent. I’m sorry,” you reply, flustered. “I was just look-”

“This is my fault,” your companion says. “We were bonding over our shared love for this piece right here.”

“Great,” Clark all but growls. His eyes are locked on you. “We’re leaving.”

“Mr. Kent-” you start, but then Clark starts to walk.

You don’t have a choice but to hurry after him. There’s no time to say goodbye to your companion. You’re having to half-run to keep up with Clark’s long strides.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask.

“Yes,” Clark’s voice is unforgiving.

“What did I do?”

He clenches his fist, releasing it again. “I told you to stick with me. I told you not to leave my side.”

Clark throws open the gallery doors. A few people turn to look at you but he seems unfazed.

Gary is already waiting, the car door open. Clark flies into the back and you join him.

The car pulls away. Clark stares out the window. His nostrils are flared and his hand is gripping his chin.

“I went to the restroom,” you proffer as you fix your belt. “Whoever that was, he started talking to me.”

“I knew he would try and talk to you,” Clark seethes, his voice full of flames. “I knew he would take a liking to you.”

Clark knows the guy you were talking to? “Why does that matter? I don’t know him.”

Your boss closes his eyes. He flexes his free hand. He looks like he’s holding something back. He looks like wants to say something - but isn’t.

Fire starts to flicker in the pit of your stomach.

If Clark’s angry, why can’t you be?

“Clark,” you surprise yourself as his first name flies out of your mouth. His gaze flicks to you. It’s wild. “Why. Does. It. Matter?”

“Because you don’t know what you do to me,” Clark explodes. “Because you’re mine!” He throws his head back. “Oh, fuck it.”

Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Clark flies across the backseat, completely closing the gap between the two of you, and roughly cups your cheek. He searches your face, fire raging in his eyes, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss isn’t rough exactly but it’s certainly possessive, his full lips taking complete control of yours. You’ve never been kissed so thoroughly, so desperately before. You can’t stop the moan that escapes your throat. It allows his tongue into your mouth. He explores yours expertly.

You hear a soft click and then Clark’s other hand is on your waist. He pulls you across the seat. You don’t even try to fight him as he yanks you onto his lap, his lips never leaving yours.

He pushes your skirt back, your bare thighs enveloping his. Your crotches are flush. You can feel him beneath you, hard and big - so big.

Clark Kent wants you, right here, in the back of his car. How is this even real?

He pulls away, only for a moment.

“This is what you do to me,” Clark growls against your lips before he captures them again.

You keep kissing for what feels like an eternity until the car comes to a stop.

Clark pulls away again and, this time, it feels different. He turns his head, back to looking out the window, his jaw clenched once more. The only remnant of your kiss is your fast-rising chest and his erection between your legs.

“We are at your apartment,” Clark states, his voice cold. “You may get out now.”

Your lips part as you search his face. All of the emotion in him is gone.

You want to argue, to ask what the fuck just happened, but tears start to prick the backs of your eyelids. You don’t want to cry in front of Clark. You don’t want him to know he affects you this much.

So you climb off his lap, grab your bag, and leave the car wordlessly. The tears start falling immediately.

They don’t stop until you fall asleep in your bed, still fully clothed, the taste of your boss on your lips.

a/n: im backkkk, thank u for letting me take a break! im ready to get back into boss!clark - and we're in to the fun stuff now, so exciting ;) if ive added you to the taglist, please could you interact with each chapter so i know you're still reading <3

taglist: @s-v-e-l-t-e, @officialparentofadrien, @numberonerwitch, @vigilantexreader, @evermoresivy, @clinicallyinsanelovergirl, @midnight-cherry5, @acollectionofcells1, @pestoluvr8, @hes-vangogh, @phoenix-eclipses, @n4stygyal, @agentorange9595, @lettertovera, @miss-miwmew, @cari87, @messageforthesmallestman, @10ava01, @love-4-rafey-lando, @mybelovedsweetheart, @nina357, @venhuza, @archerxnn

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