Hotel - You and Clark were in Gotham City on business, but a little scare in a hotel room had you running to him. While sharing a bed with your co-worker and close friend you feel the sexual tension building between you.
Train-riding - The train ride home from work was crowded so Clark offered you a seat on his lap.
Reckless? - Your assignment was to get to the bottom of his identity behind the suit. The closer you get to finding out the more entranced you feel with this extraterrestrial being.
Super Security - You're the daughter of the mayor but your troubled public imagine has earned you a babysitter during a campaign gala. With Superman following you around all night you do everything in your power to piss him off.
Blurbs
Touch Me Baby - Clark gets a hard-on massaging reader.
Just a little blurb on Superman’s BIG FUCKIG BULGE AHHHHHHHH. And shoutout to David for having it.
You’re not one to be a stare bear, but to be completely fair it was looking at you first! It’s not your fault, you’re just a journalist curious for getting to the bottom of mystery and fact.
It was truly a magnificent sight, the sheer size of it, like damn that’s superhuman alright. The mystery, how does it fit in there? The fact, Superman had a huge dick.
The problem, you can’t stop looking at it, it cant stop looking at you. But on the other, hand you really shouldn’t blame it for the way it was born. It’s just a big cock, a really big cock, what’s the big deal? Also how long has it been?
“Miss? Do I have something on me?”
The other problem, you’re in the middle of an interview with the strongest most handsome man on earth. Fuck yes you had something on you. Something huge actually, and it’s gonna get me fired.
“Uhh nope! Thank you for the interview haveanicedaybye!”
Shit, Clark will probably be pissed about your half whit of a report that he so generously set you up with. You should have just let him have it.
Just look at the bright side of things. At least you got to see his ass when he stood up and turned around.
an: A bat flew into my fucking room tonight right before I finished this, so thankful I survived to post it oml.
Corenswet!Kent x Catwoman!reader
Synopsis: You steal a kryptonite ring from Gotham City Museum. Superman wants the stone out of public grasp, but you're not going to make it so easy for him.
The streets were illuminated by the dim glow of the moon and soft light from the few windows of those who never slept.
The gold band ring that wrapped your finger resembled what you thought was the green of emerald diamonds. But the vibrant crystalline was something much more powerful.
You just couldn’t resist the beauty of the jewel, alluring and tempting your every want and need. So when the clock strike 12, you cut through the glass display like dull paper with your raiser sharp nails.
It was the newest import to the Museum of Gotham City. Funny how they would keep anything of worth in this littered dystopia of constant crime.
After you snatched the ring effortlessly, sliding it down your gloved finger snug, you made what you thought was your perfect undetected escape. Even fiddling the cameras around your dirty work.
Turns out, you weren’t the only one who wanted the ring. The second you felt the sense of watching eyes you scurried quickly into the darkness of the night. Taking narrow paths few could maneuver.
Though the feeling still lingered no matter how quick and hidden you thought you were in the crevices of Gotham. You knew you couldn’t go home for the threat of being found, god forbid you’d have to handle some creep in your living room.
So you slipped into an abandoned factory floor, walking to the center of the room still acting oblivious to this mysterious stalker of yours.
You weren’t in the mood to be running around all night. Already exhausted from this pathetic stunt being pulled. “You gonna come out? Or continue to follow me till a five finger claw digs your pretty little face?” Your voice called darkly.
You linger waiting for the reveal, tapping your nails in an impatient rhythm against the rusted mental pipe you leaned on.
In the blink of an eye a gust of wind rippled across your sight nearly knocking you down in a staggering jolt. A blur of flight which was now again hidden in your arena of choice.
This was no normal typical fucked up Gotham freak, this was superhuman. You had a couple tricks up your sleeve, but never delt with a meta human threat.
In an attempt to hide your now alert fright from what you could possibly be facing, you stand cracking your whip against the cold pavement of the floor. Ripping out an echo of sharp aggression and defense.
Who was fucking with you?
The silence was now deafening, the only sound in the dim space was the deep breathing coming from your chest.
“I do not mean to frighten you” A deep steady voice calls from behind nearly making you jump like a cat thrown to bath water. But this was no threat like you initially thought. It was big blue.
It was “…Superman.”
The grip on your whip loosened at the sight of the colorful Metropolis hero. “Quite a long way from home now aren’t we now Boy Scout?” You quip genuinely curious of his whereabouts.
“I believe you have borrowed something that does not belong you” he said with crossed arms ignoring your previous question.
You smile holding up your hand with the ring, wiggling your fingers tauntingly. “I prefer the term stolen actually.” The green mineral glowed and you noticed the winced reaction of the hero.
“And I could say it’s pretty interesting that you were already lingering outside of the museum, in a different city, following a girl hard at work home.” You watch a hidden expression of pain in his eyes.
He try’s not to buffer, “You must take off the ring, set it on the floor, and I will let you go freely in return.”
You laugh at his orders. “Wow your ernest act is just as adorable in person.”
Clark is trying to stand his ground the best he can without showing his weakness of the kryptonite gem.
His plan to incinerate the jewel from a safe distance quickly crumbled when you crawled into the picture. The ring hadn’t even been on display for a full 24 hours.
He knew he couldn’t have any traces of the element in public access, but his laser vision would burn your little hand to a crisp. And just his luck you had to be difficult about it.
Any other junkie would have been scared, but you glared at him, annoyed with his gentle parenting style of crime fighting. Something tells you he really doesn’t like this ring, his alien nature dislikes it.
You take a step forward expecting him to challenge your assertion of dominance. But to your surprise he takes a defensive step back.
There’s a moment of stillness between you, your eyes narrow at him before taking another close look at the ring that sat so elegantly upon your hand.
It held a beauty that was other worldly, and he seemed…afraid?
You look back at him and he could see the question on your face, and it quickly turned to the realization of power.
With little hesitation you ran towards him sure of your theory. Clark panicked at the closing distance between you feeling his ankles cinch from the sudden wrapping of your whip.
The close proximity of the kryptonite gave you enough leverage to knock him off his feet, his large frame thudding heavily into a pile of wooden pallets.
Slowly you sway your hips walking to stand over his fallen frame, swinging your leg over lowering, closing the distance between you with a straddle on his lap.
Your ring finger brushes to trace the skin of his cheek bone. He fusses turning his head away hissing at the stinging reaction of the kryptonite. Mentally cursing himself for not stopping you sooner.
The excitement in your eyes sparkled through his pained blue ones. Slowly gaining red irritation around them, the infection of the stone beginning to vex his system.
“P-Please…take it away I, I can’t-“ he grunts squeezing his eyes shut fighting your hands on his cheeks forcing him to look at you.
Luckily, you were feeling generous today.
“Well, since you asked so nicely baby” you drag your hands down the traction of his suit before resting them his abdomen, giving Clark a bit more distance to breathe.
Your head tilts to the side admiring his slight distress. His picture perfect curls look just as good in person as they do on the 8 o’clock nightly news.
“Looks like the Kryptonian has a weakness after all, I have to say I’m surprised, you just seem so big and strong.”
The look on his face tells you he does not find your teasing quite as entertaining as you do, his frustration becoming more clear as he struggles beneath you.
Clark feels his dulled strength but doesn’t back down so easily on your threat. He grabs your wrists quickly curling his knee up from beneath you, his foot kicking your stomach sending you back flying off of him.
Your feet tried to catch the ground beneath you but your back hit the floor, a small groan leaving you. Alright, so he wanted to play, and you were more than ok with that.
Clark felt slightly guilty after watching the back of your head hit the ground so hard. But this mission was not to be tampered with.
You sat on the ground curled in an injured slouch, bringing your legs in closely to hug them, soft cried whimpers leaving your mouth. You were just a girl after all.
Clark walked over to your shriveled state, he didn’t mean to be such a jerk. He bent down lowering himself to be closer ready to help aid your pain.
Your sobs have now grown louder and more hiccupy. “Aww crap” he whispered, “Listen miss I really do not want to hurt you”
Your face stayed hidden buried your folded arms, Clark reached out softly to try and move them away “just surrender the ring and-“
He’s cut off mid sentence by the scratch of your razor sharp nails slicing across the symbol on his chest, your other fist packing a kryptonite punch crashing into his face.
The tender sobs that once left your mouth had shape shifted into menacing giggles, a sharp smile playing on your lips.
Clark wobbled to stand to his feet but could only sway in place from the disorientation. His vision blurred, the gash from the kryptonite ring prominent amongst the rest.
The kip up to stand you back on your feet was as light as a feather, you stalked near him, pissed that this sexy kind dweeb just probably cost you a cracked rib.
Your ringed hand raised to wrap around his throat, the warmth of his skin felt like sunlight through the latex of your glove.
He was suffocating beneath the stone, you kept your grip tight walking him backwards, stopping to push him into an empty chair. Your face lowered centimeters from his lips “cat got your tongue baby?”
Finally you freed your choke hold from his neck to cage him in to the hard metal chair he’d been stumbled to. You looked at him with the most innocent doe eyes, like you hadn’t just fiercely attack him.
Clark felt so weak, his bottom lip wobbled and deep blue eyes were now puffing with irritation. You take another comfortable seat on his lap, bringing the band between your teeth sliding it off of your finger.
He watched intently waiting for your choice of its next use, but your hand traveled to the zipper of your tight black suit. You let him watch you toy with the tab before pulling it down low enough to expose the black bra hidden beneath.
You slipped the ring into the left cup, wrapping your arms around his neck like you knew exactly what you were doing. Clark avoided looking at your exposed cleavage turning his head away.
Despite being the man of steel, he was still a farm raised Kansas boy at heart, And he couldn’t help the pink that the crept into his cheeks, wanting to punch himself in the face with embarrassment.
You played with the curls on the nape of his neck, tracing his skin softly with the tip of your claws. “It was so caring of you to make sure I was ok, what a shame you had to catch me in such a nasty mood.”
Clark was silent with self restraint. Not wanting to feed into the cat and mouse game you had laid out before him. But his body and mind were betraying his instincts, lusting over the pressure of your frame on his.
The excitement in your system started to skyrocket at the bulge growing beneath your ass positioned on top his lap.
Your pointer finger turned his chin to look at you, “You’re just sweet as pie aren’t you Superman” you lean in to brush his lips, his warm breath ghosting yours, “mind if I take a bite”
He didn’t fight as you pressed your plush lips against his own. The peck with light, simple, but fed him deliciously with desire. You gave him another, still brushing through his curls.
The slowness of the kisses quickly comforted Clark, his eyes fluttering shut as he now leaned in for the third kiss, but he was met with nothing. You smirked at how he leaned in for you…trusting you’d be there.
The taste of your mouth eased the burn that crept in his throat. Distracted him from the fog clouding his brain, and the kryptonite that was snug in your breast.
Opening his eyes after receiving nothing he nudged forward again, needy at the loss of contact. But you only leaned back farther provoking his vulnerable state and sparkling eyes.
You pulled his head back by his hair to display his neck. Kissing just beneath his jawline, tongue dipping out just enough to taste Superman’s sweet skin.
Clark’s hands had stayed glued to the arm rest of the cold chair, but his breathing picked up with every second you were touching him.
His eyeline was still directed at the ceiling, feeling you roam your mouth along his throat. He tried to remain composed in this completely unprofessional moment that was making him so painfully turned on. “gosh miss I- this, this is far too inappropriate and- and I think you should follow m-my orders…”
You pulled his head up getting up off of his frame, slowly sinking to the floor in-front of the chair. Your arms reached to the inside of his thighs pushing them apart manspreading his legs, rubbing your hands dangerous close to his dick, “and I think that you should stop being such a good boy, and show me how hard Superman can really fuck.”
You lean into the trunks of his suit, staring into his conflicted eyes, your tongue sticking out licking a slow, wet stripe over his bulge, tasting the rough red fabric. Gripping his thighs keeping them pried open.
Clark couldn’t help the whimper that left his mouth pathetically, his cock hardening more than he ever thought it could in his tight constraints. “Mmm Superman is a naughty boy after all” you teased with a smile.
You tugged down urgently at his belt pulling the bottom half of his suit down, Clark lifted his ass at the swift motion to help the removal, the pants pooling at his boots and around his ankles.
His cock sprung free but sunk with the weight of his size. With in a matter of seconds your mouth was on his length licking and sucking on the thick pink tip. He gripped the handles of the chair fighting the urge to fuck into your mouth.
The feeling of him filling your mouth was euphoric. Ruining any dick that might come near your lips in the future. It was soft, thick, long, clean, fuck you’d expect nothing less from Superman and his perfect fucking supercock.
The self control he had was wearing quite thin as your spit dribbled to his balls, his hips making small thrust. And his whimpers and moans oh god, were so deep and needy. The aching in your heat throbbed with a heartbeat of its own.
You pulled off of his cock with a wet pop, standing to unzip your tight suit down till the teeth parted beneath your pussy. Revealing the thin panties in coordination with your bra.
“You’re really beautiful” Clark blurted out subconsciously, the comment contrasting with the prolific scene unfolding, and your dark lipstick smudge from just sucking him deep.
“God, you really are soft” you huffed jabbing at his compliment. You mounted on top of lap sliding up and down on his length pressed flat against his stomach.
His face was no longer the soft meek expression, but a harder frustrated look. How could you be so cold and mean, taking advantage of him with his greatest weakness. He wasn’t gonna let himself stay frozen forever. He was Superman god dammit.
the rocking of your hips was halted by his hands ripping your bra down, the ring inside clinking to the floor feet away. Clark turned his head blowing it coldly far across the room.
Oh shit. You were fucked.
You watched the ring whist away, but turned back as he grabbed your cheeks squishing them sternly. As if you were about to get scolded by your mother. The mischievous glow left your face as the corners of your lips fell.
His other hand reached between your legs slowly, two fingers pressing gently over your clothed clit, making soft gentle circles. Clark didn’t like to acknowledge the alter ego of confidence that came with wearing his suit.
He leaned to your ear whispering firmly “You think acting like a little alley cat is gonna get you what you want, you got another thing coming sweetheart.”
You whimpered through the squeeze of his hands on your face, falling apart over the teasing motion his large fingers made upon your thin panties. The circles became drags over your heat, pressing and pulling back and forth again and again.
It was his turn to smile at your vulnerable state. But his smirk wasn’t a power trip, it was genuine pleasure of the wetness he had earned from you, wanting to show you just how good you can be for him.
Your hips were grinding pitifully eyes shutting heavy, his pillow soft lips enclosed on yours releasing the hold he had on your cheeks to move to cup the tight latex of your ass, his hand covering the surface entirely.
“Mhm f-fuck you S-Supershit” you mumbled out between moans. He only growled in response reaching to rip your flimsy panties right off your core only to stuff your mouth full of the material
“mmsorry just needed to use something to silence that filthy mouth of yours” Clark spit into his palm, bringing it to your bare pussy wetting the lips generously. His middle finger dipping just between the folds before leaving to stroke his own length, still painfully hard.
He gripped your waste lining his slit up with the entrance of your needy hole, making sure to sink you down slow enough to adjust to his size. The sting had been overpowered by the brush of his tip kissing your g spot.
You bottomed with ease, combined slick already glistening on his base. Your cunt clenched tightly. A guttural groan leaving Clark, who had never before been in such a prolific scenario of pure sex.
Now comfortable with his fullness, you grinded beginning a rhythmic roll of your pelvis. Your stuffed mouth only muffling the moans that seeped through, the grips on your ass comforting in the best way.
Superman was much louder than you thought he would be. Fuck was it turning you on, how much he was enjoying the movement of your cunt on is cock sucking him tight. His stone carved face glowing in the moonlight. Eyebrows knitted in concentration.
Clark was so greedy for more, grabbing your hips like handles, bouncing you onto his cock smacking your bodies together rougher.
Every time your clit slammed into his base you clenched around him ruthlessly. “Oh baby that’s, that’s so good.”
Your eyes were big and teary with admiration you would never confess to. Though He looked right into your irises like he knew exactly how good he was wrecking you and how much you fucking loved it.
Clark removed the panties from your mouth placing a hard kiss to your cherry painted lips. And you kissed back, his mouth like a temporary home for yours. Almost deadly with meaning.
Your thighs were shaking above his, close to your orgasmic fate as he pounded as controlled as he could deep between your warm walls. “S-Superman ugh i, imhm getting”
The moans of his name too much, He too was unraveling quickly beneath you, reaching to circle your soaked clit, leaving you throwing your head back in a scream of his name as the wave crashed over harder than ever before.
“Ughh fu- yes let me feel your pussy cum baby” his eyes glowed red mouth hanging open as his cum plunged into you, filling your hole completely. You shuddered at the warm seeping shocking your system entirely.
The come down from the high was comforting in his large arms, but you could never stay in one place for too long, lifting from his length to zip your suit back up. Trying to ignore the way his cum was starting to drip out of you.
Clark pulled his trunks back over his legs, still numb from the best sex he’d ever had. When he looked up, you had what he came for all along back into your hands. The same curious play in your stride that you wore an hour ago.
“You’re gonna have to catch this kitty next time Supershit” you giggled as he watched you leap fearlessly out the nearest window into the starry night, Kryptonite in hand.
Clark kicked the dust on the ground in a pout, “Gosh darn it.”
an: I was really inspired by the Tik Toks I was seeing about people sharing their horror stories on company work parties during the holidays and knew I had to make something.
Synopsis: You're determined to not fall victim to the Daily Planets Holiday Party. You look to Clark for help, but end up fucking him in a closet instead.
Warnings: Drinking, mentions of blacking out, unprotected sex.
Word Count: 2.6k
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It was the annual Daily Planet Holiday party. The staff would gather every year, renting out one of the nicest bars downtown. Provided with an open tab, snacks, and plenty of stories to gossip over the next day.
Last year was your first time attending, and you witnessed more than you ever thought was even legal. Watching in slight horror as a man from marketing did a body shot off of Bridgette from the Lifestyles column.
Perry ended up without a shirt somehow, and anyone who mentions it is immediately stuck on coffee duty for a week.
Jimmy was on coffee duty until February.
The only thing you truly feared tonight was the curse getting you. One bad decision. One embarrassing moment just waiting to yank you by the ankle and pull you into the depths of the Daily Planets holiday party history of hell.
Lois had warned you. It’s happened to almost everyone. Even she has bit the bullet of walking into the office on Monday with shame after one to many drinks.
Even Kat said she blacked out three years ago waking up in a coat that wasn’t hers lying in Jimmy’s bed. Neither of them acknowledge it to this day. Finding out when they left the function they let everyone know their plans for “experimentation.” Whatever they meant by that.
You sat quietly in a corner with your water waiting for the night to unfold before you. Lois studied your worried expression.
“You’re thinking about the curse aren’t you” she said with a glimmer of tease behind her eyes.
You glared at her in a unserious manner. “I refuse to fall victim to everyone else’s silly irresponsible behaviors that make them a public laughing stock in the office till the next party rolls around!”
Lois laughed at your determination, “like I said…it happens to EVERYONE. I think the only person that’s been able to walk away scot-free every time is Clark.”
From what you’ve learned about Clark this past year at the Planet is he’s a sweet, squeaky clean farm boy. Who occasionally tripped over his own shoe laces.
Sometimes he would wave you a hello if you crossed paths or ask you how your week was going if he caught you in the break room.
You’d stayed to yourself the majority of the time, mostly just clinging to Lois as your mentor and guiding savor. But it was clear she couldn’t save you from the fate of the holiday work party.
You could tell from the glint in her eye she stopped giving a fuck years ago.
Scanning across the room you spotted Clark, he was sitting on a stool by the bar sipping on a single beer. Back facing the already questionable behavior behind him.
This was your chance you thought. If you’re gonna survive the night, you have to stay with the only person who’s made it out alive.
You looked back over to Steve rubbing Perry’s head behind him. Hell no you can’t do this shit.
Quickly you shot up fast walking to the empty chair next to Clark as if it was the earths last water resource. Slamming your purse down harder than you intended causing him to jump, adjusting his glasses.
“Hi Clark, you look like you could use some company.”
“Oh hi y-yes I wouldn’t mind some company at all” he said warmly, eyes soft and blue.
He watched as you huffed into your seat, with arms folding tightly together on the bar and lips pursed in a pout deep in thought.
“Stressed about the company party?” He quipped with a tight lip smile showing off his dimples.
“Is it that obvious?” You question burying your face into your palms. You look up at Clark who seems slightly amused by your worry. “How do you do it? How do you not make a fool of yourself!?”
He laughed flashing his adoring smile “I just do what I normally do, which isn’t anything too crazy, or crazy at all.”
You stare at him, “ya I’m still convinced there’s an evil spirit that takes over the office and posses people to make stupid decisions making it impossible to ever show their face again.” You gulp in all seriousness, “and Lois told me you’re the only one who’s managed a clean record so can I just sit with you tonight…please.”
Clark had a smirk plastered across his face “Golly you really are worked up about this, could I get you anything to drink?”
“Hell no!” You responded laughing, “that’s the first no no I’ve observed from these people, who knows what rash decision I could make.”
He held his beer out to you kindly “A sip to take the edge off?”
You stared at him for a moment but decided one sip couldn’t hurt not wanting to turn Clark away by acting so uptight about this.
You took the beer from his hands taking an unexpected generous swig. Clark watched pretending not to acknowledge how your lips wrapped around the bottle.
He caught the bottle in his hands as you slid it back to him across the short distance between you at the bar.
“Thanks” you murmured and he nodded politely in response.
Clark had only known a bit about you. He knew you hung around Lois, you were three years out of college, very quiet, and only ate the glazed donuts out of the boxes in the break room.
He looked back to the rim of his bottle noticing a small shimmer of the lip gloss you always wore. Thinking about how pretty it looked on you.
You broke him out of his thought “maybe I am too worried about this, as long as I’m sure of my own boundaries nothing could possibly happen”
Abruptly music started blasting the sound of the Rattlin Bog causing you and Clark to turn around silently witnessing the beginning of half the staffs black out.
Someone called your name and your head whipped searching for the source until your eyes landed on some asshole from the sports column.
He approached you drunkenly. “Heyyy there she is it’s you….the bottle…the bottle landed on you!”
You peaked behind him to see a group of people snickering with an empty beer bottle sitting in the middle of their circle pointing at you across from the room.
It clicked in your mind quickly “oh no” you muttered eyebrows knitting with worry.
He continued to stumble between chairs and tables making his way over to you, arms reaching out like he was gonna grab your head and pull it in.
Clark watched as the man approached with distasteful intent, wishing he could do nothing more than to fly you out of harms way. Saving you from your predicted terrors.
All you could do was freeze with horror and uncertainty as he got closer and closer. This is it. The moment that embarrasses you and gets someone else fired. You squeezed your eyes shut and braced for the impact of discomfort and humiliation.
Until a warm, large hand, grabbed yours and pulled, forcing you to open your eyes before you could blindly eat shit on the bar floor.
It was Clark. He swiftly took your hand leading you out of the man’s reach. “Clark!” You yelped while he hastily dragged you to the nearest door and closing it behind him. Locking out the rest of the world.
He turned around meeting your adoring gaze beneath him “there, all safe.” He chirped with a smile, patting the shut door as if he was testing its sturdiness.
“Clark I froze like a helpless idiot, thank you so so much…oh my god.” You panted, out of breath from the sudden come down of adrenaline. “And thank you for pretending to ignore the way I’m completely standing on top of both your feet.”
The two of you were currently standing in a cleaning closet just wide enough to fit the width of Clark’s shoulders and tall enough so his head has a foot of wiggle room.
He looked down, golly you really were standing directly on his feet. Sometimes he forgets how strong he really is when he’s blending in with the rest of the crowd.
You wobbled off of Clark’s toes leaning against the shelf behind you, resting the weight of your head back. Giggling suddenly at the scene in-front of you.
“What?” Clark questioned mirroring your smile.
“I just…out of all the things that could have happened tonight I would have to say I certainly didn’t expect this. Locked in a closet with Mr. Clark Kent.”
“I didn’t expect that the quietest girl in the bullpen would be the one to break my streak of scenario free holiday staff parties.” The dim yellowed light of the closet captured the raise in his eyebrows and the pull of his smirk.
You patted his broad shoulder “Well you’ve earned your good citizens award for the year, you better watch out or Superman will be challenging you for best outstanding humanitarian.”
Clark huffed with amusement, his secret identity on your tongue in conversation thrilling him just a bit. Deciding to entertain it “He’s a great dude and all but he’ll have you fight me for it.”
You tap your heel on the ground challenging his silly remark “Ohhh really Clark, you think you could throw a punch at your very best newspaper pal? I have to say I’m surprised.”
A sudden bang on the door jumped you close to Clark like a frightened cat. A drunken hello caused your to panic suddenly “they’ve found us-“
Clark’s hand flew to cover your mouth before anyone else could realize you were in there. Your eyes were wide looking to him for reassurance, lowing his hand as the pestering halted.
He noticed the slight smear he caused with his hand to your lip gloss, he cupped your face while concentrating intently on fixing the smudge with his thumb, as if he were painting a portrait.
“I’m sorry” he whispered honestly and slightly embarrassed with a blush on his cheeks. Feeling your soft pouty lip to try and restore it to its glossy state.
“It’s okay” you manage to peep out barely above a whisper, his hands were softer than you would expect.
There was nothing more to clean up, but his fingers remained studying your lips. Almost has if he were trying to read them.
Clark’s pointer finger swiped your bottom lip before resting beneath your chin.
“There, good a new” his gaze lifted from your mouth to your eyes, but you were already staring, mouth agape with the loss of contact.
His frame hovering above yours, you lick your lips biting on the bottom with nothing but newfound desire.
Your lips are mere centimeters away from touching his, Clark can hear your heart about to hammer out of your chest.
The tip of his nose touching yours delicately, lips ghosting back and forth softly until Clark plants a needy first kiss.
His hands brushed to the small of your back pecking you over and over again as your fingers found his dark curls.
Your tongue pushed its way inside of his mouth needing more than the plush sweetness of his kisses.
Desperately you tugged at him clutching your fist in the material of his white dress shirt, standing on the tippy toes of your heels in your best attempt to make up for the height difference.
Clark stumbled you to the back wall of the closet now fighting for dominance against your tongue, his pearly whites clanking yours briefly.
His hands started to roam your body, dragging his palm from your ass down your leg to lift around his waist. Your skirt bunching around your waist.
Your exposed panties were now touching the fabric of his dress pants, grinding your hips for any ounce of friction to ease your aching pussy.
His dick was hard the second his fingers touched your mouth, the movement of your hips earning a small stain of pre cum on his slacks.
He drove his clothed hard length against your heat pressing back and forth, grinding into you kissing your jaw and sucking on the soft skin.
His large hand dipped beneath your skirt to rub delicate circles over your clit. Wetness collecting on the fabric of your panties.
You panted bringing your arms down to fuss with the buckle of his belt. Fuck you couldn’t wait any longer.
His pants dropped to his ankles while you stroked him over his boxers feeling just how fucking big he was.
As you pulled his dick free it reached his belly button in length. The tip pink and glistening with pearlescent pre cum.
Your mouth watered, collecting spit to drip down onto his cock. Watching as your saliva ran down the base to his balls.
You stroked him earning a few whimpers from his desperate little mouth. Thumbing rubbing circles over his tip. More precum flowing out of his hole.
Clark ripped your panties off without struggle hoisting you up around his waist lining up with your soaked hole.
His tip entered already stretching you beyond your experienced. A sharp whine leaving your mouth, hands grabbing to brace around his back.
He sunk you down slowly. Every inch causing your pussy to clench tighter, sucking him in so close and snug.
Finally he got you to the base of cock, gently rocking into you pressing you into the wall, casting your lips in a wet kiss, his glasses pressing into your face.
“Mmfm f-fuck Clark, you can- ugh- you can move harder.”
He grabbed your hips firmly starting to lift you up and down onto him with ease, as if you weighed nothing. His forehead pressed against yours.
Your ass started to slap against him with the force as his thrust had grown to. Fucking up into you senselessly. The sight of Clark could have made you cum alone.
His glasses slightly fogged, curls tussled, mouth hung open with pleaser and concentration. You felt like a whore the way you bounced with him pounding up inside of you.
“You’re such a good girl, always such a good- good girl, taking me so fkn well” Clark whimpered feeling your walls start to squeeze harder
“Oh fuck- mmfm fuck Clark yes keep fucking going.”
Clark suddenly lifted you from his length setting you on wobbled legs, before forcing you to turn towards the wall pressing you against it.
You felt his tip run along your slit entering you with the same speed as before. Your back arched against him. His hand pulling your neck back to kiss you while above.
Clark’s hand moved to rub your clit in fast circles, his cock fucking in and out of your sensitive pussy twitching.
“I’m- I’m!” you shook uncontrollably as your orgasm hit you with no mercy.
“Yes please cum on my- oh” you felt his warm seed start to spill within you filling your womb entirely. Clark holding your limp body tightly.
The only sound in the closet was the panting from your mouths. He stood there embracing you, carefully lifting you off of him to pull your skirt down and adjust your shirt.
Clark was buckling up his belt before he realized the commotion that had been rilling up on the other side of the door.
“There may or may not be a group of people waiting to see who was making so much noise in here” Clarke warned you worried.
“Wanna wait it out till they’re gone? Your cum is starting drip down my leg, and I’m not willing to reveal ourselves as more sore losers to the office party curse” you suggest wrapping your arms around his neck.
Note: This is the final part—hope you enjoyed it. I wrote it thinking about how everything ended up, and honestly… yeah, Ultraman definitely needs more development lol.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Clark Kent x female reader
Synopsis: You wake strapped to a gurney inside Lex Luthor’s hidden “transition” facility—rows of stolen lives turned into failed experiments. Above the glass, Luthor unveils the real reason you were taken: you are the variable both Superman and his clone, Ultraman, respond to with impossible intensity. Luthor calls it destiny. You call it madness.
Warnings: Captivity/abduction, medical experimentation themes, body horror (cybernetic/nanotech), violence and injury, strangulation/choking, blood, psychological manipulation, coercion/control programming, intense angst
WC: 8,000 words approx.
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Consciousness returned like a cold, crushing tide. A sharp ringing in your ears, the metallic taste of fear and something chemical on your tongue. Your eyelids fluttered open with difficulty, sticky and heavy. The light hit you all at once: white, harsh, unforgiving, pouring down from ceiling panels that did not flicker.
You were not in your office. You were not in any familiar LexCorp evaluation room.
You tried to sit up with a groan, a dull pain stabbing at the base of your neck where they had injected you. Your vision slowly cleared, revealing the horror.
You were in an enormous room, closer to a warehouse or a high-tech morgue than a laboratory. Rows of stainless-steel gurneys stretched out in perfect lines. On each one lay a person, connected to a tangle of tubes, cables, and monitors. This was not standard life-sign equipment. The screens displayed complex diagrams of molecular structures, streams of binary data, and activity graphs that had nothing to do with hearts or lungs, but with… synaptic integration, nano-mechanical signals, implant acceptance levels.
Nanotechnology. Like the Engineer’s, but in a raw, invasive, failed state.
Some of the bodies looked relatively intact, suspended in an induced sleep. Others showed visible deformities beneath the gray sheets: metallic protrusions breaking through skin, limbs with an unnatural sheen, faces partially fused with cybernetic interfaces. A sepulchral silence filled the space, broken only by the soft hum of machines and the rhythmic beeping of monitors.
A shiver worse than any cold ran through you. Your terrified gaze jumped from one gurney to another. And then, you began to recognize them. Faces you had seen in blurry photographs in the files you had stolen. The engineer who withdrew his lawsuit. The former accountant who exposed embezzlement. The freelance journalist who investigated disappearances. All of them—those who had dared to challenge Lex Luthor and had ended up not merely silenced, but turned into guinea pigs for his most aberrant projects. His “failed projects.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?” The voice—soft, polite, and filled with macabre satisfaction—echoed from somewhere above.
You jerked your head up. On an elevated observation platform, behind reinforced glass, stood Lex Luthor. He watched you the way an entomologist studies a rare insect under a magnifying lens.
“This is what you wanted to see, wasn’t it?” he asked, almost gently. “The truth behind the stolen files. I’m showing it to you firsthand.”
A primal instinct to flee seized you. You thrashed, trying to leap off the gurney, but a cold, metallic pull at your wrists stopped you short. You looked down, terror striking anew. You were lying flat, not sitting as you had thought. Your wrists and ankles were secured with reinforced alloy restraint cuffs, fastened to the sides of the gurney. You had been so disoriented you hadn’t even noticed.
“Easy, Doctor,” Luthor said, his voice amplified through the room’s speakers. “You wouldn’t want to end up like them prematurely, would you?”
From his privileged position, he made a broad gesture encompassing the room of horrors.
“Allow me to introduce… my ‘human transition projects.’ Or, as the files you so diligently photographed call them: the failures. I suppose you know them better now. You interviewed them, investigated their disappearances. Some even sued my successful company.”
He walked slowly along the glass, following your horrified gaze.
“Most of them are in what we might call ‘evaluation stasis.’ Because, you see, when they were introduced into the enhancement project, something invariably went wrong. The body rejected the nanites, the mind collapsed under the interface, the personality… disintegrated. They became, as you rightly noted, failures. Unlike Ultraman, of course. He was created from scratch, with a superior genetic base. A blank canvas, albeit with his… manufacturing defects.”
He stopped, looking directly at you through the glass. His expression was one of pure scientific curiosity.
“I suppose he is the primary failure, in the sense that he developed something unforeseen: affection for you. A most fascinating variable.”
Before you could respond, or before the terror could fully solidify, a distant alarm sounded, followed by a dull explosion that made the floor beneath your gurney tremble. Luthor didn’t even flinch; instead, his smile widened.
“Ah. And speaking of the original… Superman has arrived,” he announced with diabolical calm. “Can you believe it? Shouting your name, tearing through security levels as if they were paper. So predictable. So… human. That means, my dear Doctor, that Superman values you far too much to stay away. You made him vulnerable. It was so easy.”
Luthor paused—not to await a reply, but because something else gleamed in his eyes, an idea that thrilled him more than any chemical formula ever could.
“But there is more, Doctor. Something I dismissed for years as cheap romanticism, oracle nonsense, and weak-minded fantasy. Until now.” He leaned closer to the glass, as if sharing an intimate secret through the reinforced barrier. “Did you know that among the tons of esoteric texts and cosmic predictions I’ve collected about Krypton and its last son, there is a recurring, almost absurd line? It speaks of a ‘bond of destiny forged not by blood, but by essence.’ A prophecy claiming that Superman, the last of his kind, could find true love not in another Kryptonian, but in a human soul that resonated with his in a unique way. A love so specific that if that person died, he would never love the same way again. An absolute emotional blind spot.”
Your stare was pure, terrified disbelief. He smiled, savoring your confusion.
“Cheesy, right? I thought so too. Until you started working here. Until I saw Ultraman’s data. A clone, an empty copy, begins to develop an obsessive, protective, emotional fixation on you. And then…” he gestured dramatically toward the screen, “…he arrives.”
The screen lit up, showing footage from hours earlier: Superman, broken, begging for your life under Luthor’s threat.
“Look at his reaction,” Luthor urged, his voice charged with feverish discovery. “That is not a hero’s generic sense of duty. That is personal desperation. That is fear for you, specifically. Two beings of Kryptonian origin—one original, one cloned—and both develop an anomalous, powerful connection to the same woman. Coincidence? Or did that idiotic prophecy contain a core of scientific truth? What if that ‘bond of destiny’ is not metaphorical, but a resonance at the cellular level, an attraction impossible to avoid? Perhaps, just perhaps, you are that variable. The blind spot. Superman’s emotional Achilles’ heel… and by extension, Ultraman’s.”
Dr. Joshua Thorne stepped onto the platform, his smile that of a co-conspirator watching his most extravagant thesis confirmed.
“The data is consistent, Mr. Luthor,” he announced pompously. “Superman’s reaction exceeds all documented parameters of heroic conduct. And Ultraman’s bond with the Doctor is the first recorded case of significant affective deviation in a Kryptonian clone. It’s not just that both of them can feel something for her. According to this correlation, they seem destined to do so. You are the constant in the equation.”
You shook your head again and again as the absurd, terrifying words rained down on you.
“No,” you managed to rasp, your voice breaking. “That’s… madness. He never—” You were about to say he never looked at me, but you stopped, swallowing the bitter truth you knew all too well: Clark had never seen you as anything more than a colleague, with Lois always at the center of his universe. “I didn’t know any of this. I don’t believe it.”
“Ah, but the beauty is that it doesn’t matter what you believe!” Luthor exclaimed, spreading his hands. “What matters is what the data shows. And it shows that if you die, the impact on Superman could be catastrophic—paralyzing. Pain of such magnitude that it would leave him truly vulnerable for the first time. And Ultraman… well, without his emotional ‘anchor,’ his obedience programming would be total. Perfect. Your existence, Doctor, is the only crack in absolute control over both of them. You are the key.”
His smile sharpened into a blade.
“And now, we’re going to test the theory to its ultimate conclusion. We’ll see if ‘destiny’ is strong enough.” He raised his voice, filled with malicious delight. “Let the show begin!”
As the technicians released you from the restraints, you struggled—not just to escape, but against the monstrous idea Luthor had planted. Could there be even the slightest truth to it? Some cursed “prophecy” explaining why the clone had become obsessed with you, and why Clark—why Superman—had reacted with such terror at seeing you in danger? You denied it with every ounce of strength, clinging to the reality you knew: Clark in love with Lois, and yourself as a shadow in his life. But the seed of doubt, poisonous and grotesque, had already been planted in your stunned heart.
“Wait!” you screamed as they dragged you to your feet. “Where are they? What did you do to them?”
With a triumphant gesture, Luthor displayed a split screen. On the left, Superman, collapsed and agonizing beneath the green glow of kryptonite. On the right, Ultraman, reduced once more to the empty, obedient statue Luthor had always wanted.
“Superman is neutralized,” Luthor declared. “And Ultraman is ready for his final test. And you, Doctor, will have the best seat to see whether destiny… or my will… emerges victorious. Because if you die in the process, I will have gained absolute control over the two most powerful beings on the planet. An acceptable outcome either way.”
They dragged you toward the door, toward the “observation amphitheater.” Your mind, numbed by drugs and horror, clung to one truth: Luthor did not know that Clark and Superman were the same man. His mad theory was based on seeing two separate entities obsessed with you. But that did not make it any less dangerous. In fact, it made it more terrifying, because if he was willing to destroy you to control Superman and Ultraman… there was no limit to what he would do. And you, at the center of it all, were no longer just a spy or a scientist. In Lex Luthor’s twisted mind, you had become the epicenter of a prophecy, the prize of a cosmic battle you had never asked to fight.
The guards’ hands released you with a rough shove into the white, cylindrical room. The door sealed behind you with a final clunk. There was nowhere to hide. In the center, beneath a shaft of overhead light, stood Ultraman. Upright, motionless, eyes closed. He looked like a statue of flesh and power, waiting.
You stayed pressed against the door, your heart a wild drum against your ribs. You watched him, searching his expressionless face for any trace of the being who had tilted his head at your questions, who had touched your cheek with clumsy curiosity. There was nothing. Only the empty mask of a weapon.
Then the cold white lights flooding the room flickered and shifted to a sinister alarm red, bathing everything in the color of blood. At the same time, Ultraman’s eyes opened. Not with the clear blue you remembered, but with a glassy, unfeeling sheen.
A voice emerged—not from speakers in the wall, but from a small emitter embedded in Ultraman’s very chest. It was Lex Luthor’s voice, clear, calm, and completely in control.
“Now then, Ultraman. Approach her.”
Ultraman moved. Not with his exploratory clumsiness, but with the mechanical efficiency of a soldier. His steps were measured, perfect, without the slightest deviation. Each one echoed in the silence of the room, drawing closer to you. You backed up instinctively until your spine hit the cold, unmoving wall. There was nowhere to go.
He stopped directly in front of you, his shadow swallowing you whole. His breath, if he even breathed, was imperceptible. You closed your eyes, clinging to a thread of irrational hope.
“Don’t hurt me, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking with fear and a desperate plea.
“Incredible,” Luthor murmured through the emitter, a note of fascination in his tone.
Your eyelids fluttered open. Ultraman’s hand had risen. Not into a fist, nor in an aggressive gesture. It moved slowly, with almost robotic precision, until his rough fingers touched your cheek. Exactly the same place as the first time, in the resonance chamber. It was a cold, deliberate contact—but it was the contact. Your heart lurched in a confused mix of terror and a flicker of hope.
“Step away. Now,” Luthor ordered.
Ultraman hesitated. His fingers remained on your skin for three eternal seconds, as if a tiny, buried internal conflict were struggling to surface. Then, with a sharp motion that seemed to cost him, he withdrew his hand and took a step back, obeying.
“She is an enemy, Ultraman,” Luthor’s voice barked, hardening, testing the limits.
Ultraman did not react. He stood there, motionless, his empty gaze fixed on you.
Luthor’s laughter, distorted through the small speaker, filled the room.
“Doctor, are you ready to see whether he can resist harming you, or whether my intelligence will prevail? This is the final test.” He paused dramatically. “Ultraman, execute maneuver F11. Directed at her.”
Your gaze snapped to the wall in front of you, where you knew there was a one-way mirror. Behind it, Luthor and his scientists would be watching every twitch, every microexpression. Ultraman moved again, stepping closer once more. This time there was no hesitation in his stride.
Before you could react—before you could even try to dodge—his hand closed around your throat. Not with the full force that could have crushed you, but with a firm, inescapable pressure that cut off your air instantly. Your hands flew up instinctively, trying to pry his fingers loose, but they were like steel bars. Choked coughs tore from your throat. Your eyes, filled with panic and a traitorous pain, locked onto his. In their blue depths, you searched desperately for a sign of recognition, of the person you thought was awakening. Was there anything? A spark of anguish beneath the programming? You could not tell—only the void.
The pressure increased. Black spots began to dance at the edges of your vision. With a final effort, instead of continuing to struggle against his hand, one of yours rose, trembling, and touched his cheek. It was a soft, desperate contact, an echo of the gesture you had shared.
The effect was instant and violent. Ultraman recoiled from you as if he had been struck by an electric shock. His hand opened, releasing you. You collapsed to the floor, hitting the cold linoleum, coughing and gasping, your lungs fighting to draw in air. The sound of your own retching and the sarcastic applause, distorted through the speaker, filled your ears.
“And now, as the final maneuver!” Luthor announced, his voice charged with triumphant excitement. “Execute maneuver C15. Doctor, I’ll see you again in the underworld. You’ll find that the laser won’t hurt… much.”
Your blood ran cold. Maneuver C15. You had seen it in the advanced combat protocols. A maximum-power heat vision attack—a clean execution from a distance.
You looked up, still dazed and your throat burning. Ultraman had begun to float a few inches off the ground. His eyes were no longer blue. They had turned an intense, incandescent red, like glowing embers. Energy gathered within them with a rising hum, aimed directly at you. There was nowhere to hide. You were paralyzed, your back against the wall, watching death in the form of two scarlet beams prepare to erupt.
At the instant the thin, devastating heat rays shot out from Ultraman’s eyes toward you, a thunderous crash even louder than the deafening hum filled the room.
It was a sonic impact, a wave of pure force that made the air vibrate and slammed into your chest. It did not come from Ultraman.
From above, from the ceiling of the cell that had seemed solid, a blue-and-red figure crashed into the path of the heat vision like a meteor made of sheer will.
It was Superman.
He did not arrive with grace. He arrived catapulted, driven by desperation and the last remnants of his strength—broken by kryptonite but not extinguished. His body interposed itself between you and the lethal beam in the exact nanosecond.
CRACK!
The sound was like lightning being split in two. Ultraman’s rays struck Superman square in the chest. They did not pierce him, but the force of the collision—the clash of two Kryptonian energies—was monumental. An explosion of blinding red and golden light filled the room, making you squeeze your eyes shut and scream.
When the glare faded, what you saw was an image frozen between horror and grandeur:
Superman, still suspended in midair, had absorbed the blow. His cape billowed like flames in slow motion, his face contorted in a rictus of indescribable agony—the pain of kryptonite in his system amplified by the direct attack—but his arms were outstretched, holding firm like a living wall between you and danger.
And Ultraman… Ultraman was hurled away.
The recoil shock of the collision, combined with the raw force of Superman’s impact, threw him backward like a rag doll. His powerful body flew uncontrollably through the air and slammed back-first into the very wall of reinforced glass of the observation mirror.
CRASH!
The roar was deafening, a glass explosion of a thousand tons. The entire wall—the one-way mirror hiding Luthor and his scientists—shattered under the impact. It did not splinter into fine shards; it broke into huge, jagged pieces that shot like projectiles into the control room. Screams of terror and pain—among them, Lex Luthor’s unmistakable voice—rose from the other side before being drowned out by alarms and falling glass.
Superman dropped to his knees on the floor in front of you, gasping, his chest smoking where the rays had struck. His breathing was harsh and painful. But he was alive. And he had protected you.
On the other side of the cell, amid the smoking debris of glass and the twisted frame of the mirror, Ultraman moved. He rose slowly, shaking shards of glass from his shoulders and disheveled hair. His eyes—now blue again, but clouded with confusion and damage—settled first on Superman, struggling to stand, and then slowly on you.
The stage was set. The “weapon” was damaged but standing. The “original” was wounded and weakened. And you, at the center, with crystal dust glittering around you like frozen tears, held your breath as fate—or whatever Luthor had planted—hung on the next instant.
You crawled to where Clark was swaying, his breathing a painful whistle, cold sweat slicking his forehead. His eyes, stripped of their usual strength, searched yours with a heartbreaking intensity.
“We have to get out of here, Clark. Now,” you urged, trying to pull his arm over your shoulders.
He shook his head, a weak but stubborn motion. His weight was crushing.
“I can’t… let anything else happen to you,” he panted, every word an effort.
“You need the sun, Clark,” you whispered near his ear, your voice trembling with urgency. “Without it, we can’t do anything.”
He looked at you then, and in his pale blue eyes there was more than physical pain. There was a raw, desperate confession that stopped your heart for a moment.
“I need you more,” he murmured, and the declaration, falling from his pale lips, was as unexpected and powerful as the blow he had taken.
You shook your head, almost by instinct. No. It can’t be. He can’t… he can’t love me. And Lois? The ghost of his obsession with Lois Lane rose in your mind, a barrier against that impossible thought. It was the pain, the confusion, the adrenaline talking. Nothing more.
“Clark, listen to me,” you insisted, your tone turning practical, sharpened by fear. “If you don’t get into the sun, they’ll kill us both. I know an emergency exit—a route I studied. But I need you to move.”
Logic finally pierced his fog of pain. He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Together, you managed to get him on his feet, though his body leaned dangerously onto yours.
Your gaze flew to the other side of the devastated room. Ultraman was fully upright among the wreckage. He stood still, but his eyes… his eyes were no longer empty. They were on you—and on Clark leaning against you—with an intensity you could not decipher. Recognition? Conflict? Or simply the prelude to another command? You could no longer trust it. Luthor had restored him, reprogrammed him. He might remember fragments of you, yes—but he could forget them in the second it took for a new instruction to arrive.
“Come on,” you murmured, dragging Clark toward a side opening that led to a narrow maintenance corridor, away from the shattered main door.
Once inside, with Clark braced against the wall, your hand found an emergency control panel. You slammed a button. With a hiss, thick white smoke began to flood the corridor behind you and seep into the main room—an instant, suffocating curtain. It would take a few minutes to dissipate, but it was time you did not have.
“Get out of here,” Clark growled, trying to push you forward.
“It’s faster to go up than down to the lower floors,” you argued, ignoring his protest. “The roof. It’s only three floors up the emergency stairs.”
The ascent was agony. Clark, weakened by kryptonite and the blow, could barely carry his own weight. You, with a strength you did not know you had, pushed him, dragged him, step by step. At every landing, your hand slammed more emergency panels: sprinkler systems activated, drenching you and making the floor slick; fire doors slammed shut behind you, sealing corridors. Each obstacle was tiny—a fly to a healthy Kryptonian—but maybe, just maybe, it would slow whatever was coming.
“They’re controlling him, Clark,” you gasped as you forced open another door. “I don’t know how, but Luthor has power over him. Commands, frequencies… something in his brain.”
Just as you reached the final door leading to the roof, a metallic thunder echoed up the stairwell from below. It was not footsteps. It was the sound of metal bending, of barriers being torn away. Ultraman. And he was not climbing the stairs. He would float.
Without thinking, your fist struck the last emergency panel beside the rooftop door. A deafening klaxon blared, and a curtain of chemically dense red smoke, designed to smother electrical fires, poured from vents in the ceiling of the final stretch of stairs, filling it completely. You shoved the door open and dragged Clark out onto the roof, beneath the open, pale sky of dusk.
Clark collapsed onto the gravel rooftop, breathless. You, your hands bleeding and shaking, began to drag and pile whatever you could find: broken ventilation pipes, pieces of fallen antennas—anything to build a flimsy barrier in front of the door.
“It’s not enough,” Clark whispered, watching your desperate efforts with eyes that, for the first time, seemed to recognize the futility of it all.
Then his gaze lifted. Beyond the edge of the roof, the sun was setting behind a horizon of clouds—but there was still light. Sunlight. One last surge of strength for him.
With a groan that was pure determination, Clark pushed himself to his knees. His body began to vibrate faintly. Then, with a titanic effort that seemed to cost him his soul, he rose from the ground. It was not Superman’s majestic flight. It was a shaky, clumsy ascent, like a bird with broken wings. But he rose, lifting away from the roof straight toward the rays of the setting sun.
“I’ll be back… in a minute,” he managed to say, his voice already distant, before disappearing in a flash of blue and red into the golden clouds.
The relief was fleeting. A second later, the rooftop door did not open. It exploded. The hinges burst like bullets and the steel twisted, flying through the air. And there, in the smoking frame, Ultraman emerged. His suit was torn, small cuts marked his skin from the shattered glass, but his presence was unstoppable. His eyes found you instantly.
He crossed the rooftop in a heartbeat. His hand, the same one that had caressed your cheek and then strangled you, closed once more around your throat, lifting you off the ground. There was no clumsiness now. Only efficiency.
“You can’t escape, Doctor,” Luthor’s voice, thick with static and hatred, came from the small speaker embedded in Ultraman’s chest.
Your hands clawed at his wrist, but it was useless. You stared directly into Ultraman’s eyes, desperately searching for the being you thought you had known.
“You can escape him,” you managed to rasp, the pressure on your throat turning the words into little more than a whistle. “From Luthor. You can…”
“F10,” Luthor ordered, cold and precise.
Ultraman’s expression did not change. But his arm tensed. And then, with a brutal motion, he threw you.
The impact against the ledge of the lower rooftop was savage. A sharp pain exploded in your side, and your already injured hands tore open as you clung to the rough stone to keep from plunging over the edge. The air was knocked from your lungs. Above you, through the dust and falling debris, Ultraman’s figure descended toward you, floating, unbothered.
Lex’s voice, distorted but triumphant, burst from the speaker in his chest, amplifying through the chaos:
“All I need is to eliminate you, and Ultraman and Superman will be mine! The last sentimental obstacle will disappear!”
Ultraman landed in front of you, his boots cracking the stone. You staggered backward, right to the very edge of the abyss. The wind lashed your face, mixing sweat with the blood from the glass cuts on your cheeks.
“C15,” Luthor ordered, cold and final.
Ultraman’s eyes ignited red once more. There was no hesitation this time. He rose a few meters into the air, and heat vision burst from his eyes, sweeping across the ledge at your feet. You ran—or tried to—barely dodging the beams that pulverized concrete and steel around you. Each impact made the structure shudder. A nearby window exploded, showering you with shards; one sliced your eyebrow.
The building groaned. The section of the rooftop beneath you began to collapse with a thunderous roar. The ground tilted violently. You slid across the debris, grabbing at anything you could, until you found yourself hanging from the edge of the new fracture, staring straight down into a thirty-story void. A twisted ventilation pipe was your only anchor, biting into your already bleeding palm.
Above you, floating amid the smoke, Ultraman aimed at you. His red eyes shone like beacons of death. And in that moment of pure terror, an image crossed your mind—not Superman, but Clark. Clark in the alley, looking at you with those bare blue eyes, filled with a concern and recognition he had never shown you before. The man who, despite everything, had tried to save you even when you could no longer see him.
It was an act of pure desperation, not bravery. You looked at Ultraman, at those red eyes that had once been blue, and before the fatal beam could vaporize you, you let go.
You fell.
The scream died in your throat. The wind howled. And then, something blue and red dove down after you. It was not Superman.
It was Ultraman. He had launched himself after you, without an order, driven by an impulse that tore through the programming like lightning. His arms wrapped around your waist midair, halting your fall with impossible gentleness. The impact of the forced landing on a lower rooftop sent you both rolling.
You, trembling and breathless, clung to him, to his neck, burying your face against his cold chest. It couldn’t be real, but it was. He had caught you.
“Please,” you whispered against his skin, your tears mixing with dust and blood. “I need you to remember. Me.”
He looked at you. The red had faded from his eyes, leaving a pale blue, clouded by overwhelming confusion. His lips moved, as if trying to form a word that did not exist in his vocabulary of commands.
“LET HER GO!” Luthor’s voice roared from the speaker, charged with electronic fury.
Ultraman shuddered. A visible, physical struggle rippled through his body. The arms holding you tightened, then loosened. He met your gaze, and for a second, you thought you saw a flash of the anguish you felt yourself.
“I told you…” he whispered, his voice rough and filled with a pain that was not physical. “I can’t.”
And he let you go.
This time, there was no ledge. You fell freely into the void again, a torn scream ripping from the deepest part of your being.
A rush of wind, a blur of red and blue, and then you were in different arms. Strong. Warm. Familiar in an entirely new way. Clark. Or rather, Superman, but with Clark’s face, unmasked, hair whipping in the wind, eyes filled with a terror and relief that shattered your heart.
“God, Clark…” you gasped, burying your face in the collar of his suit, shaking uncontrollably, clinging to him like a lifeline in the middle of a storm.
“I know,” he murmured, his deep, trembling voice near your ear, his arm crushing you to his chest with a strength born purely of fear of losing you. “I know. I promise this will end soon.”
But it wasn’t over.
A roar reached them from above. Ultraman, freed from his moment of doubt, was coming at them like a missile, his eyes once again blazing with programmed fury.
Superman accelerated, flying in evasive zigzags through the skyscrapers of Metropolis, shielding you with his body from debris and the blind blasts of heat vision Ultraman fired. Finally, he was forced to land on what remained of a rooftop, on a building half-destroyed by the battle. He set you down gently among the rubble.
“He’s coming for you,” Clark said, his gaze fixed on the point in the sky where Ultraman was approaching. His voice was steeped in infinite bitterness. “You shouldn’t have… God, I shouldn’t have let you get involved in this.” He turned to you, and his gloved hand, impossibly gentle, brushed your injured cheek, wiping away a drop of blood with his thumb. “How could I have been so blind? How could I have been so close to you all these years and not… recognize you?”
You looked at him, not fully understanding his words, overwhelmed by pain, fear, and confusion. What was he talking about?
A thunderous crash interrupted them. Ultraman slammed onto the rooftop in front of you, throwing up a cloud of dust. He rose, ready to strike.
Superman immediately stepped between you and the clone.
“Enough!” Clark shouted, but not at Ultraman. It was as if he were screaming at the universe itself. Then, with a speed the eye could barely follow, he lunged at Ultraman. It was not a blow meant to destroy. It was a desperate charge that carried them both away from you, to the far end of the rooftop, and then hauled them into the air, away from the building, toward a deserted industrial zone on the outskirts of the city.
From your position, you could barely make out two blurs of color colliding in the twilight sky. But you could hear it. The crashes. The blows.
“You’re hurting her!” Superman roared, followed by the sound of a heavy impact.
“You’re hurting her just like I did!” Another blow, followed by a grunt of pain that was unmistakably Clark’s.
He was fighting, yes. But not only against Ultraman. He was fighting his own guilt, the reality that his past blindness and Luthor’s monstrous creation had converged to place the person he now seemed to see clearly in mortal danger.
Superman, partially restored by the sun but still weakened by his prior exposure to kryptonite, fought with desperate but restrained strength. He could not deliver lethal blows; this being, monstrous as he was, was as much a victim as a weapon.
Ultraman, by contrast, had no limits. He struck with the cold fury of a program executing its commands. Each impact of his fists against Clark’s body thundered through the air, sending shockwaves that rattled the abandoned buildings.
From the distant rooftop, a weak, faltering, but unmistakable sound reached Clark’s superhuman senses. Your heartbeat. It was slowing, erratic from pain and blood loss. A sound of agony that cut through the noise of battle.
Clark’s eyes widened—not with fear for himself, but with terror for you.
“No!” he screamed, and without thinking, he spun around and launched himself in a burst of speed toward you, abandoning the fight entirely.
Ultraman, confused by the sudden retreat, by the raw scream, hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then his primary orders reasserted control: Pursue. Neutralize. He followed Superman.
But Clark was no longer fighting. He was flying toward you with the desperation of someone watching his world collapse. And as he flew, he shouted back—not in anger, but in a plea heavy with truth:
“She’s the one who let you feel! The only one! Luthor only uses you as a weapon, but with her… you were something more!”
The words, charged with Clark’s own painful epiphany, seemed to vibrate through the air. Ultraman, just about to catch him, slowed imperceptibly. It was not outright disobedience, but a fracture—an echo of the confusion he had shown before.
They both struck the ruined rooftop like meteors, landing with a crash that shook the debris. The sight that greeted them froze Clark’s blood and tore a raw scream from the depths of his soul.
“No!”
You were kneeling at the center. Your posture was fragile, hunched. And protruding from your side, stained crimson, was a short, ancient dagger made of a dark metal that did not seem of this world. Blood soaked your clothes and dripped down, pooling at your feet. Your face was pale as wax, streaked with tears of pain and shock. And behind you, one hand brutally tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, stood Lex Luthor. In his other hand, he held a shard of kryptonite glowing with a sinister green light, weakening Clark the moment he set foot on the rooftop.
“It was so easy, Superman,” Luthor said, his voice a venomous, satisfied whisper. “All you had to do was walk away. Let her go. But no… you made her suffer more. You dragged her into this. And now…” he tightened his fist in your hair, making you gasp in pain as a fresh tear slid down your cheek, “now you will watch her die. And afterward, you will regret for the rest of your eternity that you were not smarter.”
Clark tried to take a step forward, but the kryptonite weighed on him like a slab of stone. His muscles failed, his vision blurred. “Let her go, Luthor…” he managed to growl, but it came out as a weak plea.
Luthor ignored his weakness. His gaze shifted to Ultraman, who had landed nearby, motionless, watching.
“Ultraman. Movement F33. Immediate execution.”
With superhuman effort, you lifted your gaze toward Ultraman. Your breathing was little more than a thread of sound, but your eyes, clouded with pain, locked onto his. You did not beg. You did not scream. With the last of your voice, you whispered:
“It’s okay… you… you can choose.”
They were the same words you had spoken to him in the laboratory. The key that had once opened a door in his mental prison.
Ultraman looked at you. He saw the dagger embedded in your side, the blood, your pallor. He saw Luthor’s hand tangled in your hair. He saw the cruel triumph in his creator’s eyes. And then he saw Clark—Superman—on his knees, defeated not by strength, but by the fear of losing you.
Something broke inside him. It was not an order. It was not a simple emotion. It was a cataclysm—will colliding with programming.
Luthor saw the change in his eyes and frowned. “F33! Now!” he ordered, his voice losing its composure.
Ultraman moved. But not toward you.
With a speed that rivaled Clark at his best, he veered like lightning. It was not an attack on Superman. It was a direct, brutal movement toward Lex Luthor.
His hand—the same one that had strangled you—clamped like a vise around Luthor’s throat, ripping him away from your side. The shard of kryptonite fell from Luthor’s hand, clattering across the rubble. A sound of shocked, strangled terror escaped Luthor’s throat before Ultraman, without a word, without even looking at him, rose from the rooftop with him.
It was not a normal flight. It was a launch straight upward, a violent shot toward the atmosphere, with such tremendous force that it left a trail of ionized air behind it. A hole torn through the clouds. He was heading somewhere Lex Luthor would never return from: deep space, the eternal void, carried by the silent, finally liberated fury of his own creation. And as his first and last act of love, Ultraman made sure Lex Luthor would never hurt you again.
The force of their departure was so great that you, no longer held by Luthor, collapsed forward like a broken doll.
“No!” Clark shouted, and with a final effort, using the last remnant of his frozen breath, he blew hard toward the piece of kryptonite, sending it rolling off the rooftop and into the void below.
The crushing weight on his chest vanished instantly. Strength—diminished, but surging—flooded back into him. In a heartbeat, he was at your side, dropping to his knees and gently gathering you into his arms.
“No… no, no, please, no,” he murmured, a litany of desperate denial as he pulled you against his chest. Your body was cold, far too light. The dagger still protruded, an obscene object in your side. “I’ll take you to a doctor, the best one. You’re going to be okay, I promise, don’t leave me, please…”
His own tears fell now, mixing with blood and dust on your face. He held you as if you were made of glass, his trembling hand stroking your hair.
Your eyelids, heavy as lead, fluttered open slightly. You managed to focus on his face, so close, filled with a pain that mirrored your own. A tiny smile—a ghost of your former strength—touched your pale lips.
“Clark…” you whispered, the name leaving you like a final breath.
He leaned closer, his ear near your lips.
“Now… I remember you better,” you murmured, your voice barely a thread of sound, yet filled with a strange clarity, as if the veil of pain and secrecy had finally been lifted.
Your eyes, filled with a quiet sadness and deep recognition, met his one last time. And then, as though that sentence were the final thread binding you to consciousness, your eyelids closed. Your body, once rigid with pain, relaxed completely in his arms.
A voice, ancient as the stars and soft as a breeze, echoed in the void of your consciousness, clearer than any thought of your own:
“Two souls bound across lives will pass, and in the end they will recognize each other. You will see him first, as you always have in other lives, and you will care for him. And at the end of the day, he will see you, truly look at you, and protect you, because the bond has always been there— invisible, pure, and intact.”
The prophecy intertwined with an overwhelming vision. You were not in the plaza, nor bleeding. You were suspended in a sea of possibilities, surrounded by white lights that did not blind but illuminated. Before you, your own hand was outstretched, and in it lay thousands of timelines—threads of golden and silver light branching endlessly into infinity.
And in every one of them, it was you with Clark.
Not the shy Clark from the Planet, nor only the heroic Superman. It was you, with different faces, different clothes, in different eras and worlds—but always you. And him, always him.
In one thread, you laughed together in a field of wheat beneath a red Kryptonian sun. In another, you danced in a chandelier-lit ballroom, his hand at your waist with intimate familiarity. In yet another, you flew wrapped in each other’s arms over the oceans of a blue planet, the wind playing with your hair and his cape. You kissed him atop a snow-covered mountain, held him after a battle, watched him sleep with a smile on your lips… it was an infinite catalogue of happiness, of union, of bond.
He was, is, and will be your future.
Understanding washed over you, sweet and devastating all at once. That strand of Clark’s hair, accidentally torn away in some forgotten struggle, had been the seed of Ultraman. An imperfect copy, yes, but created from the very essence of Clark himself. And your bond—that invisible thread the prophecy described—had not connected to the clone by accident or pity. It had connected because the essence was Clark’s. Because, on a deep level that transcended genetics and reason, everything that came from him belonged to you, and you to it. The clone had felt the echo of that bond and clung to it with the desperation of someone discovering air for the first time.
The vision faded, the white lights retreating like the tide.
A low hum. The scent of antiseptic. The feel of rough sheets. You opened your eyes.
The ceiling was white, low. The light was dim, coming from a bedside lamp. You were in a hospital room.
A movement to your right. You turned your head, a monumental effort that sent a dull ache through your bandaged side.
There, in a plastic chair, back hunched and head buried in his hands, sat Clark. He wore the same wrinkled clothes from days ago, his hair in an even greater state of disarray than usual. When he noticed your movement, he straightened abruptly.
His eyes were red, swollen. Dried tears streaked his cheeks, and fresh ones threatened to fall. He looked at you as if you were a ghost, an impossible miracle.
“Hi,” he whispered, his voice rough from disuse and emotion.
You could only look at him, your mouth dry, your mind still swimming between the threads of destiny and the stark reality of the room.
“It’s been a week,” he said, the words tumbling out unevenly. “A week without you responding. The doctors… the doctors thought there was no… that there was no solution. That the damage, the blood loss, the shock…” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “After leaving you here with the doctors, I went… I went to look for Ultraman. I had to find him. I did. But… it was too late.”
Your mind, still sluggish, processed his words. “What…?” you managed to whisper.
Clark nodded, a grimace of pain crossing his face.
“I found him floating in the stratosphere. Luthor… Luthor was gone. I don’t know if he let him go or if…” He paused; the end of that sentence was too dark to voice. “Ultraman was… empty. Like in the beginning. But worse. As if the effort of breaking his programming, of choosing, had… erased him. He didn’t react to anything. Not to me. Not… not even to your name.” He looked down at his own trembling hands. “The Justice League took him. Somewhere safe, to study him, to see if… if there’s anything left to save. But…”
He paused for a long moment, then lifted his gaze to you with a sadness so deep it ached in your soul.
“I know you love him,” he said, each word seeming to cost him a superhuman effort. “Ultraman. You don’t have to… you don’t have to tell me. I know. And I realized, so late, so stupidly late, that it was you… you whom my essence, my being, had been calling out for from the very first day I saw you in the newsroom, even though I was too blind to see it.” A tear slid down his cheek. “And I… I need you to be happy. I don’t want to lose you again. Not now that I finally… see you. I want to see you happy. Even if that means… that your happiness lies somewhere else.”
His confession was a painful and beautiful gift, born of his infinite kindness and his own broken heart. You extended a trembling hand, ignoring the pull in your bandaged side, and touched his damp cheek. His skin was warm beneath your fingers.
He closed his eyes at your touch, a sob slipping from his lips.
“Just let time pass, Clark,” you whispered, your voice still weak but clear. “We don’t know what destiny has woven for us. Or what we can weave over it ourselves. We’ll see… we’ll see what our path has to say.”
Clark opened his eyes—those blue eyes now filled with vulnerable wonder, with a hope that did not yet dare to grow. He nodded slowly, never breaking your gaze, sealing a new pact not with grand words, but with a silence heavy with newly discovered truths and a future that, for the first time in all the lives you had glimpsed, seemed to begin right here.
The years wove a new life over the chaos, strong as tempered steel. You, with truth as your shield and words as your sword, wrote the definitive chronicle of LexCorp. The pages of the Daily Planet (and later, international headlines) trembled with your meticulous exposé: the dehumanizing projects, the “failures,” the web of silence and coercion. You won the Pulitzer, yes—but more than that, you earned the respect you had always deserved and that was finally given to you without reservation.
In every article, in every interview, you did something more: you spoke of him. Not as “the clone” or “the weapon,” but as Ultraman. A man born in a laboratory, who longed to be free, who for a moment touched humanity, only to have it torn away from him. You mentioned him whenever you could, turning his story into a symbol of the dangers of playing God without ethics. It was your way of honoring him, of freeing him from Luthor’s narrative and, little by little, of freeing yourself from the knot of guilt and regret. Until one day, rereading one of your own editorials, you realized you could say his name without a sharp pain piercing your chest. You had let go of the weight.
Clark was by your side every step of the way. Not as a hero who fixed everything, but as a partner, an accomplice. The first months were marked by careful closeness, a mutual rediscovery. Jimmy, ever observant, would wink at you and murmur, “Look how the tables have turned. Now the idiot running circles around you is the one who didn’t even see you before.” And it was true.
With time, Clark stopped seeing anyone else. Not literally, of course—but his attention, his devotion, his love… had only one destination: you. You became his first place, his only choice, the center of gravity of his world. It was as if that “bond” the prophecy spoke of, once recognized, had tightened and grown stronger, healing years of invisibility and filling every crack with a golden certainty. His gaze no longer searched for Lois in a crowd; it searched for yours. His apologies were no longer for saving others and leaving you behind; they were for taking five extra minutes to bring you the coffee exactly the way you liked it.
The prophecy remained an echo in your mind, a mental scroll you sometimes unrolled in moments of quiet. Was there more? Other verses, other clauses in that cosmic contract? Together, you searched—combed through archives, consulted experts in Kryptonian mythology. But every trace seemed to have vanished with Luthor. Perhaps he destroyed them. Perhaps they never existed beyond that moment of illumination on the edge of death. In time, you learned to live with the mystery. The prophecy had fulfilled its purpose: it had guided you to each other, at last, in this life. The rest would be written by you.
And so, you lived. You loved. You investigated together, using your influence to push for laws that placed ethical limits on cloning and genetic engineering, turning the horror you had endured into a shield for others. You became the voice that made the invisible visible.
Now, on the balcony of your apartment overlooking Metropolis, the sun sank behind the skyscrapers, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. You stood there, one hand resting on the railing, the other lying gently—almost reverently—over the small three-month swell growing in your belly.
A serene smile curved your lips.
“It was seven,” you said aloud, almost to yourself.
Behind you, Clark—who was in the open kitchen, fully focused on the sacred task of preparing the midnight hot dog you had been craving (with the pickles set precisely to the side, just as you’d asked)—stopped spreading the mustard.
“Seven?” he asked, turning around.
You faced him, your smile turning into a soft laugh.
“It was seven times today that I craved different things. A record, I think.”
Clark laughed, a warm, carefree sound that filled the balcony. He nodded, setting the hot dog aside for a moment as he came closer to you.
“Good thing it finally settled on the hot dog. If the seventh had been authentic Fukuoka ramen, it would’ve taken me a bit more effort to get it at this hour,” he joked, his eyes shining with affection.
Your smile widened, remembering the lightning-fast trip—quite literally—he’d made last month to Japan just to bring you a specific bowl of noodles from a Tokyo alley, because the craving had been “urgent and existential.” That was who he was now. Your Clark. The man who moved mountains (and crossed continents in seconds) for a whim of his wife.
“Come on, beautiful,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you and gently guiding you inside, toward where dinner awaited. “It’s ready. Now make sure you eat whatever you want. I don’t want my wife and my baby going hungry.”
He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips—a kiss that tasted like home, like a shared future, like a love that had waited through lifetimes to fully bloom in this one.
And there you were. In the warmth of the apartment, with the taste of mustard and future in the air, Clark’s hand in yours and his life beating beneath your palm. That was the future you had glimpsed in that sea of timelines: shared laughter, complicity, family. And this—this perfect, ordinary moment—was only the prologue to the path still ahead, together, bound by a bond that neither time, nor space, nor even death itself had managed to break.
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This work is mine. Copying or translating this fic is strictly prohibited. Any issue must be notified directly to me. Thank you.
Remember, if you want to be part of my general tags, just comment on all of them, or if you want a specific topic, just mention it (+18, fluffy, angs).
“jeez- baby, yes oh- i thought- you aren’t trying to make me cum are you?” he whined above you, head thrown back - the rebellious curl of his dark hair upon his glistening forehead. you sat on the balls of your feet, your cunt rolling back into the air of your flat in search of some sort of friction or relief. “mmph!” you let out a suppressed moan as you gagged on your best friends cock, hot, wet saliva collecting at the base, you fingers messily fondling his heavy balls. his dick twitched in your mouth at your sign of struggle, a pitiful whimper leaving kiss swollen lips. “don’t- don’t think i can last much longer.. fuuu-”, he let out a sharp gasp as pulled your lips off his member with a ‘pop’, a mixture of spit and precum connecting you to him still, tears of pleasure running down your face and into your lips. “i’ve fit about..” you looked back to where your red lipstick left a mark on his twitch cock. “about six of your nine inches down my throat, i could probably do more i reckon?”clark’s eyes widened as you smirked, dainty hands pumping him, sticking your tongue out and smacking his glaring tip on it, a pitiful stream of precum spilling down the plump of your lips. you sucked it all willingly, slipping his dick back into your warm, ready throat, while clark groaned above you, wondering how the fuck flip he got himself in this position.
Note: I got some request to make a part 2 for touch me baby. I do think this can be read as a stand alone though if you so choose. I did also make this one a bit longer than the previous work. Hope you enjoy!
Clark Kent x Fem!Reader
Part 1: touch me baby
synopsis: After Clark gives you a massage leaving you moaning and him hard, you face him at work the next day. Later, walking you home, blurring the lines of co-workers and more further
Warnings: Drinking, dares, Clarks boner, steamy make out.
Word Count: 2k
The elevator doors were the only thing separating you from facing the disaster of embarrassment that had happened last night. Clark Kent and boner were not words that would typically go together.
And you weren't the girl who typically goes around getting back rubs from her co-workers, and then accidentally flicking them in the thingy as repayment.
The ding of the doors opening pulled you out of your 1000-yard life contemplating stare, finally blinking and taking a much-needed deep breath before entering the early morning commotion of the bullpen.
Quickly, you dart to your desk with eyes averted to the floor, plopping in your chair to hide behind the bulk of your computer. You used it as your personal shield for the next 15 minutes. Hand sitting on your mouse, blank staring at the desktop screen, making the cursor go in circles.
Clark Kent's desk sat directly across from yours, but your slouched, hidden posture had for the most part succeeded in laying low from his gaze when he walked in with the same skittish manner you did. Avoiding going over to bother Jimmy like any typical morning.
Curiosity started to itch at you, and you couldn't help but slightly peer around your computer to get a glimpse of him.
Oh Fuck.
he's already looking at you. Like a flash of lightning, you scurried back behind your computer screen shield. Cheeks going red from getting caught.
There you remained where it was safe, but the day dragged and your desperation for some caffeine gnawed at your low energy. Your back was starting to stiffen from the purposeful slouch in your posture.
The staff room was in your eyeline and empty, if you went fast enough, you grab a Diet Coke from the fridge and make it back without any form of socialization.
This time you scan to Clark's Desk quicker than before.
He's not at his desk.
Run.
Bravely, you peel from your desk, the wheels of your office chair propelling you to your feet to the floor with a hurried pace but slow enough to not draw attention to yourself.
Finally, you reach the empty staff room, taking a moment for yourself to close your eyes and take a sigh of relief.
"I made it" you whisper in victory under your breath.
"Made what?"
Oh God, he's right behind me isn't he.
Slowly, you turn around to see Clark Kent standing in the doorway, head nearly brushing the top frame with the volume of his fluffy dark curls.
"Ummm just...uh...getting a Coke" you walk to the fridge to quickly grab the cold silver can, but as soon as you turn around, he's now entered the room like he's preparing to say something.
"Listen I- I just wanted to apologize for last night" he speaks which stops you dead in your tracks. You frown at how ashamed he sounds, and hiding probably made him feel worse.
you can't run anymore. "Clark you don't have to apologize, I'm the one that hit your..um..your-uh" your arms were waving gesturing "I hit him-I mean you! I hit you and I'm sorry."
You both went red at your pronouned reference to his package and your face scrunched up in idiocy. God, you prayed that nobody was hearing this.
"Gee! you shouldn't be apologizing, I-I'm the one that wasn't acting like a gentleman, I could have scared you!"
"Oh Clark" you now giggle "You could never scare me, I mean it it's really ok, your still my best work buddy, second to Lois of course"
He senses your genuine words and starts to smile, "Well...okay...but just know that I really value you as a person and...and I'll always be here when you need help."
The two of you walked back out to the bullpen together much less awkward. Although Clark could never fully shed his farm boy bashfulness.
You can't believe that you not only survived that but resolved it. Now you can finally go home and rel-
"Its Fridayyy!" Jimmys voice cut you straight out of your bed rotting day dream, "You know what that means!" he ran up to Clark giving him an unwarranted chest bump.
Fuck, it is Friday, and every Friday the crew meets up at the local bar for drinks and immoral gossip. I guess a drink couldn't hurt, considering the fact that you and your work friend had awkwardly fondled each other last night like it was normal.
-----
The group gathered in your usual round booth at the back of the bar, a little more crammed than usual because Steve decided to invite himself, continuing his failed endeavor of hitting on Cat.
Clark sat right across from you sipping his water, you stirred your Dirty Shirley with your straw, examining his features under the dim hanging lamp. His hair almost highlighted a navy blue if it hit the light right. Tie always slightly crooked, lips full and soft, teeth pearly white when he flashed an unselfish smile. And those dimples wow, you really did wonder how he stayed a single man.
Sure, at first glance he's a little bit all over the place, but it's kinda sweet. Not to mention already knowing how good he is with his hands...shit you still can't believe that happen.
You don't realize your staring until Clarks eyes meet yours almost long enough for him to question you, but you try to play it of smoothly, directing your attention to Jimmys racket.
"Okay we're all gonna play a little game of dare or drink, if you don't do the dare, then you have to take a drink." he exclaimed liked he just invented Pythagorean theorem.
Lois rolled her eyes sarcastically, "What happened to truth?"
But Jimmy just sent her a stupid wink like it was an answer.
She whispered in your ear that Jimmy was scheming to get Steve to do stupid shit in front of Cat to try an impress her. Your interest was piqued and you couldn't deny participating for the entertainment.
Lois dared you to show her last Google search.
You dared Steeve to sing Love Me Like You Do (Cats favorite song) on the karaoke stage; he couldn't deny it once she exclaimed her excitement. You all had painful laughing cramps watching him fully belt in all seriousness just for a chance of Cat's praise.
Steve dared Cat to give him her phone number, to which she drank in response.
Cat dared Jimmy to dance on the table, at this point he was way to tipsy to say no, climbing over the table like an animal, shaking his ass horrifically enough for Lois to shove him back into his seat.
"Ouch Lois you really know how to handle a man!" Jimmy laughed but acted hurt like a kid who fell off his bike.
You're almost two drinks down, starting to feel a little buzz while sipping.
"Clark I dare you to give me a massage" Jimmy blurts.
And just like that, you quite literally sprayed and choked on your drink, immediately moving to cover your cough of utter shock. Trying to play it cool, Lois patted your back unaware of the true reason behind your reaction.
Clark glances at your state before suggesting that it was getting late, you'd stayed at the bar an hour longer than usual, everyone but Jimmy being in favor of leaving.
As you said your goodbyes, leaving one by one, you were just about to start your walk home when "Mind if I walk you?" sounded from behind.
Clark's long legs caught up to you fast, and you smiled with welcome. "Of course I wouldn't mind"
The two of you reminisced on the night rewinding to Steve's horrible vocals you recorded laughing uncontrollably again the 2nd time around.
His fingers ghosted yours a couple of times, and you found yourself waiting for it to happen again. There was a comfortable silence. He made you feel safe on these night streets.
Clark offered to walk you to your door just to make sure nobody would trouble you on the way up. He remembered how you told him of the cat lady that lived on your floor who you saw in your nightmare once.
When you got to your door, you didn't realize why you felt sad. But when you turned around to say goodnight and were met with deep blue eyes, you knew it was because Clark wasn't staying. It would be 2 days until you saw him again. Why does it matter, and what is coming over you?
It's just dorky Kent snap out of it.
"Thanks for walking me Clark, I-uh..I really appreciate it."
He smiled, but it wasn't his normal smile. It was different. This one was flushed, uncontrolled, with those sweet dimples, and a head shake insisting it's the least he could do.
Your bit your lip as your impulsive decisions must not have been ready to stop yet because you reached to his face, planting a light kiss on his cheek, "goodnight Clark"
You turned to unlock your door, but your hand never turned the handle as your shoulders were swiftly spun around, You were met again with those deep blue eyes, but this time they were asking you a question which was clear through his flickering gaze to your lips.
And your answer started by tugging his tie down, bringing him into a gentle, singular kiss. Clark towered over you, looking into your eyes with a yearning fire.
In an instant, he dove back down, taking your lips again with now light soft pecks, your hands resting behind his neck. Though tender, syrupy sweet kisses only made you hungrier.
You pushed your mouth against him to deepen the kiss, feeling a rush of feist crawl through you. Clark was eager to reciprocate closing the remaining window between you, pinning your back to your apartment door.
His tongue slowly started to melt with yours, and he tasted so very sweet and soft. His hands started to get antsy at your hips, fighting the urge to palm the fat of your ass and grind you into his growing length.
Your hands found his hair and he groaned, the softness urging your tugs as you both now fought for dominance. The once quiet kiss turning filthy between you.
Clark's hands roamed up and down your body, sending chills and a growing wetness to your panties. His tongue swiped fully inside your mouth, earning a desperate whimper from you.
Your teeth clanked against his as you took his bottom lip in your mouth, sucking before releasing it with a wet pop.
His arms had wrapped your waist tightly before your feet lifted from the ground. Clark captured you a solid rough kiss eyes squeezed shut
You both finally ripped with a damp snap to the bang of a door down the hallway.
The green blue fluorescent lights burned your eyes from having them dazed and shut.
You stared at the cat lady, who glared at you down the hall before going back into her apartment with another slam, causing you to jump, still being suspended in Clark's arms.
After the interruption, Clark set your feet back on the floor, smoothing out your hair with his palm. You admired the sight of his fogged, crooked glasses, and swollen lips. Swapped spit glistened on your faces.
"Your really beautiful" Clark said, breaking the silence.
Your cheeks were flushed hot, and you pretended not to notice his raging boner. "Thanks, you too. no I-I mean I think that your really handsome, thank you for walking me home again"
Clark reached behind you to twist your door open, urging you to get some sleep this weekend with a dumb smile on his face like he'd won the lottery.
Saying your respectful PG-friendly goodnights before shutting the door.
Last night he was your friend giving you a massage, and tonight you tongue fucked each other's mouth.
It was just a silly little massage, nothing a friend wouldn't do to ease up one another's stress. The Planet had been working their reporters to the bone after LuthorCorp got busted. More dirt rising to the surface after every dig.
Clark was of course kind enough to assist you on the article that had been up your ass. Him being already so knowledgeable on Superman certainly helped in this case.
Your entire body was about to combust, still feeling the stiffness of your work chair that had burned into your spine. That's how you ended up face down with your 6ft 4 work friend with his hands roaming your back on your living room couch.
Honestly, you were a little taken aback when he made the offer, eyes staring wide with a sarcastic laugh as you stretched your arms up, "Haha, very funny Clark."
"I'm serious, Ma would always appreciate it when I fixed her neck up after hours hunched over milking the cows."
You have to admit, you didn't realize how bad you were in need of some TLC until Clark got to work on you. And God damn did he know how to use his hands.
Fuck, Ma sure was a lucky girl!
As they worked from your shoulders to your back, you started to lose track of where you actually were, not remembering the last time you had even five hours of a night's rest.
You started to imagine how his hands looked on you, if they looked as divine as they did typing on his keyboard. Each finger working to write the perfect sentence.
Was he concentrating on you the same way he concentrated on his computer screen to catch any unseen errors, much like the knots that hid between your muscles.
Yet Clark knew exactly where to touch.
Your eyes fell heavier with a close as his hands behaved so well on your body. In your drowsy state, a whimper escaped your mouth, half asleep under his spell.
His large hands sat softly around your waist, thumbs making pressured circles, whining at his touch again "Mmmph- Clark..." consciousness started to find you after your verbal responses.
"Clark!" You shot up rapidly the second you opened your eyes, snapping back into reality. Somewhat out of breath from your embarrassment.
"Uhhh Clark, t-thank you for the uh-erm...massage," you nervously laughed out, "I won't keep you here all night!" you exude coming across way too excited and friendly trying to hide your mortification at your touch deprived behavior.
"I feel much better!,"
His face kept a warm smile, but the tips of his ears were red "well I'm glad I could be at your assistance."
As he went to stand up quickly you simultaneously reached out to pat his shoulder, instead fingers brushing against the crotch of his dress pants.
For a moment you paused wide eyed looking for your apology but instead staring at the half hard boner that sat in his pants.
Your panicked eyes met.
"Sorry!" you say in unison.
"It's ok!" at the same time again, with even more urgency and embarrassment.
He accidentally got a boner, and you accidentally caressed it. No biggy!
Clark's face was now entirely bright red, like a cherry tomato about to pop. You, on the other hand, probably looked as white as a ghost.
You broke the deafening, awkward silence. "Well, you better get going, it's starting to snow. See you at work tomorrow!?" It came out more as a nervous question.
Clark had made his way to the door gathering his things "uh yup, yeppers, IwillseeyoutheretomorrowBYE! " he quickly rambled out bumping into your shoe rack before closing your door with a thud.
Your mouth hung open, sitting on your couch in silence.
There was only one thing on your mind. You made innocent Clark Kent hard. You couldn't help the small smile that crept on your lips, and the embarrassment that awaited you when you walk through the elevator doors tomorrow.
synopsis: You've always lived down the street from the Kent Farm in a broken home. You were always the barefoot, soft-spoken, and easily forgotten little girl. Except now, Clark is running the family farm, and you're not so little anymore.
warnings: age gap, abused!poor!reader, injured reader, caregiver dynamics, emotional manipulation, dubcon, hurt/comfort, possessive!clark, morally gray clark, power imbalance, krypto being a menace
word count: 5k
The knock on the door was so faint that Clark was sure he was the only person on planet Earth who heard it. He lowered the mug of hot coffee that he’d almost taken a sip of. Krypto was already at the front door. He let out a single bark before he rested back on his hind legs. He thought of every visitor as a new toy for him to play with. Clark stepped in front of the unruly beast, protecting whoever was on the other side of the door, before cracking it open.
Clark’s brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of you. He didn’t expect how much he would have to lower his gaze to take all of you in. Your head tilted so far down he could barely make out your features. That was your intention, undoubtedly, as you held out a wicker basket in front of you, towards him.
Krypto tilted his head at the sight of you and whined.
Inside the basket were at least a dozen eggs, each wrapped in straw. “Pa said to bring these to you …he’s, uhm, sorry about what he said last night.”
It clicked then, who your father was, and then who you were. Last time he’d laid eyes on you, you were lining up with your older brothers at the bus stop just at the end of Maple Street. They always ran ahead of you, tackling each other to get on the school bus, not paying any mind to how your small legs could never keep up with them. Clark didn’t pay much attention either, always home visiting from college, with his intentions of spending all his free time with his parents, who’d gone months without seeing him. He remembered how fragile you always looked.
Even now that you were a young woman standing in front of him, that hadn’t changed. Clark didn’t take the basket from your hands for fear that you’d turn and run once you accomplished your mission. He let the door swing open, kneeling lower until your eyes had to meet his. He kept one arm around Krypto, holding him steady, as he continued to whine.
He wanted to play with you, clearly, but Clark feared he’d break you in half if he got too excited.
“Your Pa sent you?” Clark asked, and he watched you shiver at the sound of his voice.
You nodded, “He said to bring these to you. He’s sorry about, uhm, what he said last night,” You repeated the rehearsed line.
“So it was your Pa who wanted me to have these. Not you?”
“Uhm, I-I …I want you to have them, too. Please take them.”
Your father was a violent drunk, and your three older brothers were even rowdier. Last night, Clark was walking back to his pickup truck from inside the gas station when your father quite literally ran into him. Clark knew he had blacked out simply by the fact that he tried to pick a fight with a man three times his size. Some resentment had built between Clark and your Pa after Jonathan and Martha’s passing. Jonathan never charged your father a cent when your family needed to use the larger farm’s equipment. But after his parents were gone, Clark couldn’t afford to keep giving things away. The act wasn’t meant to be cruel. It had taken Clark a full two years for the Kent farm to turn a profit again after his parents passed away.
Your stomach growled, and Clark’s blue eyes locked on yours.
“Have you had breakfast, Y/N?” Clark asked, and your eyes drifted down to the basket of eggs you were holding. The basket of eggs was undoubtedly meant to be your family’s breakfast.
“I’m okay,” You said quickly, “My Pa wanted you to have these.”
You set the basket down, and Clark quickly reached towards you, his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. He kept you from flying away.
He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your lips were plump, your eyes big and sad, and the curls of your hair were barely restrained by the white ribbon you used to tie them from your face. Your grey sweater was not nearly warm enough for the cool, November air, and your feet were dirty and bare.
“Will you come inside and warm up?”
“I can’t–”
Clark had kind eyes. Even when he was being firm, his face was gentle. “I’ll accept the eggs and your father’s apology if you come inside and warm up.”
Your tune changed as you realized Clark wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I can’t stay long. I have chores.”
Clark could only imagine the reaction your father would have if he were to send you away and turn down his offer. You were painfully aware of what your father’s reaction would be. Maybe it was manipulative, but Clark had already decided that he needed to see you up close.
“I won’t keep you long,” Clark assured you, his deep voice rumbling. Things were easy after that. The way he stood, taking the basket in one hand and pulling you inside with his other hand. You stared at him like the giant he was.
Clark expected you might pull away from him, but you only stepped closer as you realized he was the only one protecting you from Krypto. For a girl who grew up on a farm, you appeared skittish around Clark’s dog.
Clark pulled you along, through the living room, and towards the kitchen, which overlooked the backyard. Surprisingly, Krypto remained cautious, keeping his distance. It was as if he recognized how fragile you were, too. “Sit,” Clark insisted, grabbing one of the wooden chairs tucked into the kitchen table. Your body no longer felt like it was yours to control. He guided it so easily that it felt like you were floating. He let you go as soon as you lowered your bottom down onto the seat, “Coffee?”
You watched him, muscles straining through his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, which made him look even more All-American.
Your lips parted to answer, although your brain was still trying to compute that you were in an unfamiliar kitchen with your neighbor, one you’d only admired from a distance. You didn’t have to answer. Clark was setting a hot cup in front of you and taking the seat adjacent to yours, “I’m assuming you like cream and sugar.” You nodded shyly, “Lots of cream and sugar?”
You nodded again, your eyes fixed on your hands as you fidgeted in your lap. The warmth creeping through you had little to do with the coffee and everything to do with Clark’s steady gaze.
Clark reached toward the center of the table, where the basket of eggs sat next to a blue-flowered cream and sugar set.
“Thank you, Mr. Kent,” You whispered as Clark poured cream and sugar into your drink.
Clark waited patiently as you stared at the cup of coffee in front of you. He leaned back in his chair, finally taking a sip of his own. He sensed how overwhelmed you were. Your nervous system had yet to let your body know that you weren’t in immediate danger.
Your dress was a faded pink paisley, the nicest one you owned. Undoubtedly, your father had chosen it for you. Your lack of shoes, though… maybe it had been a while since he’d bought you a new pair.
When you finally did reach out to take a sip, Clark let the silence stretch between the two of you. A reprieve from your loud and moody household. It felt necessary, not awkward.
He decided not to ask if you were hungry. He used two of the eggs you’d brought him and scrambled a plate of eggs for you. “Those eggs were for you.”
“These eggs are for you,” Clark insisted, “Not fair they made you give away your breakfast. C’mon, I won’t tell your Pa.”
Clark waited for you to work up the courage, and you eventually did.
“Are you in school?” Clark asked after you’d taken a few bites. The thought did cross his mind that he didn’t know exactly how old you were. If the lustful thoughts in his head were to continue, he should at least establish what rules he was breaking.
You shook your head, “No.”
“You graduated?” Clark pressed further.
“I couldn’t go anymore. Had lots to do at home. Still do.”
“Your Pa didn’t make sure that you graduated from high school?”
You gave him a look of confusion. “It’s not like I was gonna go to college.”
“Your Pa told you that?” Clark watched as you shrank into your sweater and realized he’d pushed too far. “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I really do have chores. Thank you for having me for breakfast, Mr. Kent.”
“Let me drive you home.”
“It’s just a mile down the road–”
“You’ve got no shoes on, Y/N.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“Of course you don’t.”
You didn’t fight him on the topic for long. Just as you didn’t fight back when it came to your brothers and father, you would shrink into yourself eventually. You reminded him of the petrified women he was used to saving from runaway trains and falling skyscrapers. Except you seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety.
Clark drives you in his Pa’s old pickup truck the short mile down the road. Much to your satisfaction, your brothers weren’t hanging around outside smoking and roughhousing like usual. “Thank you,” You whispered, and you moved so quickly out the passenger door that Clark and his superhuman speech almost missed your hand when he reached out to grab it, “Mr. Kent–”
“You come over anytime you want, you hear me?” Clark's eyes narrowed sharply at yours. Your chest rose and fell as you took in shallow breaths, “If you don’t feel safe or if you just want some quiet. You’re welcome at mine. You understand?”
“I’ll be okay.” You’d made it to this point, hadn’t you?
“But are you listening to me?”
You nodded quickly, “Yes, anytime I-I want.”
“Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Clark released his grip, although it took more strength than he anticipated. It felt wrong as he watched you skitter across the gravel road and head inside your family’s double-wide. It felt even worse knowing how much more he wanted to see… to feel.
The next time Clark heard from you was two weeks later. Friday. Payday. The roughest nights were when your Father had enough money to be drunk for the entire weekend. He’d come home from the bar a little before one in the morning. You could usually sleep through the chaos and stay hidden behind your locked door. This time, for some terrible reason, your father had gotten into it with your oldest brother. You tucked yourself into the corner of your bed and tried to ignore the crashing glass plates and the holes being punched into the walls.
Smell the flowers, you reminded yourself, blow the candles out. The panic only gets worse when you don’t breathe properly. The method works until your Father starts beating at your door. You can only make out your name as he slurs his words. It won’t be good if he breaks down the door. Not at all. You have to make a decision.
You could open the door now. He might be less angry if you do exactly what he wants and when he wants. If he beats down the door and you’re still inside, he’ll be pissed at you. But he already sounds pissed? What had you done? The house was spotless when he got home. There were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. You hadn’t asked for anything.
You chose the third option. You grabbed your robe hanging on your twin-sized bedpost and made your way over to your window. It’s a short jump down to the dirt patch in the backyard, but somehow you land funny. You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. Hard. The pounding continues. Your heart beats even louder in your ears.
It’s adrenaline that sends you limping into the woods. Although you move quickly, more air fills your lungs the further you get away from your house. Half an hour later, the Kent farm comes into your view, and for some strange reason, you feel relieved.
You can’t bring yourself to knock on the front door. It’s almost two in the morning. You limp through grassy fields, mosquitoes bite at your bare legs, and you head towards a tall, red barn. It sits a little apart from the Kent house. That will be warm enough for the night. And you won’t have to bother Clark. You just have to wait out your father’s tempers. In the morning, he’ll act like nothing happened.
It’s Krypto who notices first that the Kent farm has an intruder. His head snaps up, ears pricked, before his muscles go rigid. He awakens Clark roughly, practically stomping his paws against the Kryptonian’s chest.
“All right, all right.” There’s no chance he’ll fall asleep again anytime soon. He follows the unruly beast outside to investigate, but Krypto flies in the direction of the barn as soon as he steps outside.
“Krypto — hey!”
Clark shouts, but the super dog continues to disobey him. Clark sighs before he launches himself after him. He lands gently in front of the barn doors that Krypto has already broken through. He hears a woman shriek, and Clark's heart fully stops before he barrels inside the barn next.
Krypto is on top of you, his front paws on either side of your head, as he laps at your cheek. Your shrieks have turned into giggles, but Clark is still panicking. Luckily, the dog hadn’t put his entire weight on you; he’d known better, but if you continued to encourage him, Clark knew he’d lose control.
“Krypto, off!” Clark hurried forward, wrapping his arms around the dog’s torso before lifting him away from you. Clark has to hold his collar to keep him from tackling you again. “Bad boy! No!”
Clark looks you over. Although your face is delighted, Clark realizes you’re in a thin camisole and pajama shorts, cold skin only covered by a flimsy robe. He noticed your right ankle next, and the way it was starting to turn purple.
“He flew!” You shout, and it’s the most animated Clark has ever seen you, “I swear, he-he flew!”
“Krypto–look what you… Oh gosh. Stay!” Clark commands, and the dog whines but keeps his place, far from you. Your face falls.
“He’s okay,” You add as you realize Clark has noticed your ankle, “He didn’t hurt me, Mr. Kent!”
“Your ankle–” Clark starts as he hurried to kneel by your side. He’s already taken your leg in his hand, lifting it gently.
“I fell,” You add, trying to ignore the way his touch was making your body feel. His hands were firm, careful, and his touch felt far too intimate. “I fell, it wasn’t him.”
“You fell?” Clark’s eyes darkened, “Your Pa did this?”
You think for a moment about lying. What if he tried to get your Pa in trouble? You needed your Pa. Things got bad when he was home, but it was even worse when he was locked up. You find you don’t have any energy left to lie. “I jumped out of my window. My Pa…he was trying to get into my room. He was drunk. I was scared.”
He’s still angry, you can read that much, but he remains calm. He lifts you swiftly, careful to avoid putting any extra pressure on your ankle, and starts to carry you outside.
“You did the right thing,” Clark states, his voice deeper than before. He carries you towards the house, and Krypto follows obediently behind the two of you. He doesn’t specify exactly what the right thing is that you did — jumping out the window? Coming here? Telling the truth? You assume he means everything. It’s praise, but it feels so foreign that it’s hard for your mind to process.
He takes you to the main bedroom and lays you down on the bed. It smells like him. The sheets are soft and plaid. The comforter is a quilted pattern that looks handmade, and there are so many knick-knacks that decorate the shelves and family photos on the walls. It’s a happy and lived-in room.
Clark works methodically, propping your leg up on a pillow, applying an ice pack, and bandaging up your bruised skin.
“I think it’s sprained.” He says, concentrated, almost to himself.
“I’m okay, really,” You tried, but he’d only shush you and tell you to lie back down. “At least it’s not broken.”
Clark grits his teeth at that. You worry that you’ve upset him.
“You won’t tell on him, will you?” You ask quietly, and your eyes are hopeful.
Clark sighs and pauses for a long moment, “No, if that’s not what you want.” The words sound almost painful as they leave his lips. His curly hair falls gently against his forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed, elbows against his thighs.
You nodded, “Thank you.”
“But I don’t think you should go back.”
“What?”
“I think you should stay here.”
“I can’t–”
“Don’t decide now, okay? Either way, I’ll find a way to handle your Dad.”
“Handle him?” You ask cautiously.
Clark doesn’t answer, not directly, but his face says it all. He’s struggling with the thoughts in his mind.
“I’m sorry for all this.” Tears prick your eyes, your head tilts back against the pillows, and you cover your eyes, “It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.”
Your tears start to fall as the bed dips beside you. He’s heavy, and your body tilts in the direction that his body weight pulls you. His hands are impossibly warm when they touch yours. Gently, he moves your hands from your face.
“I’m sss-sorry, Mr. Kent.”
Maybe your vision is blurry from your tears, but you almost swear Clark licks his lips as he looks at you. It almost doesn’t register that you’re lying in his bed with him, your older neighbor. As soon as it does, you feel a lump in your throat. You swallow. Hard.
“Don’t be,” he says, his warm breath fans over your nose, your mouth. Your heart beats in a strange pattern. “I don’t like that you’re hurting, but I think you were meant to be right here. Right at this moment.”
You try to blink your tears away, “You … think so?”
“Mhm,” Is all he manages, and suddenly, you feel his hand on your waist. He feels the exposed flesh there, “Are you … are you hurting anywhere else?”
“Just my ankle…” He’s just concerned, you know that, but it also feels like … his fingers dance against the thin waistband of your pajama shorts. They’re covered in faded butterflies. “You’re not mad at me?”
You already know that deep down, anger is the last emotion he’s feeling as he moves his hands over your skin. It takes everything in you not to squirm. It feels strange. “I could never…have you … have you ever …”
Your brows furrow as you search his face. His expression is almost painful. “Have I ever what?”
He pulls his hands away suddenly, almost ashamed. Once again, you feel like you’ve mistepped. “Nothing,” He smiles sadly, “I’ll go get you something for the pain. And then I want you to sleep. It’s late.”
You nod solemnly. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Kent.”
“Call me Clark, please.”
“Thank you, Clark.”
You wake to a whining Krypto. He lies beside you, his tail wagging furiously, and as your eyes blink open, he licks your face. You groan and laugh at the same time, wiping your cheek. You reach out to pet behind his ears. You’d gotten the best sleep you had in a while, even given the sprained ankle. You pulled he comforter away from your body, attempting to move your foot, only to find it still sore. You could see your ankle swelling even from beneath the bandage.
Slowly, you pulled yourself up. You lifted your ankle from the pillow, grimacing, as you tried to move both your legs to the side of the bed. “Hey, hey, hey,” As if he’d sensed your movement, Clark appeared through the bedroom door, “You gotta let me help you.”
Shyly, you looked up at him. A kitchen towel was tossed over his shoulder, like he was in the midst of cooking. The smell of bacon and pancakes wafted through the open door, confirming your suspicion. He stood in front of you, blocking your exit, and you continued to wince as you gently placed your right foot on the ground.
“I’m okay…” You strained to say through the pain, “Please, Clark.”
“I’ll lift you. Grab onto my shoulders.”
You hesitate. “I … I have to pee. I swear I-I can make it on my own.”
Reaching down, tucking one of his arms beneath your knees, and the other around your back, he lifts you easily. He leaves no room for argument. You’re not one to argue, anyways. You should feel embarassed as he sets you down in front of the toilet. There’s an awkward moment where you’re afraid he’ll try to help you further but he say, “Shout when you’re done and I’ll help you to the sink.”
You nod quickly, silently.
Throughout the day, you get used to Clark being a little bit too close for comfort. He brings you to the breakfast table, to the couch, and that night he helps you to the shower. He figures out a solution that offers you the most privacy but it still involves him being on the other side of the shower curtain. You plan to undress and dress inside the confines of the shower. “Be careful, please,” Clark warns you and halfway through trying to bathe yourself, you realize you’ve overestimated your abilities. You’re basically forced to hop on one foot on the slippery shower floor and after almost falling twice, Clark decides he can’t risk you hurting yourself further.
You yip when he pulls the shower curtain back, “I won’t look, I promise,” He assures you as your eyes widen. It’s futile. You reach out to grab onto his arms. You use him for balance as you finish rinsing the soap from your body. You’re shaking and you wish he couldn’t feel how nervous you were. You don’t know if he takes a peek at you because you’re averting your eyes from him out of embarrassment. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” You say although you’re not sure what for. He clearly finds some satisfaction out of helping you.
You’re surprised when he lifts you easily from the tub, his arms tucked underneath your armpits, and you marvel for a moment at his strength. He continues to promise that he’s not looking as he helps you into one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers.
“Clark, you should really take me home tonight.”
“You know why that’s not happening.”
“My father will be expecting me–”
“He won’t.” Clark says. “I already talked to him.”
“What?”
“He’s not gonna get mad at you. He’s not going to do anything to you, do you understand that?” Clark steadies you, his hands tight against your waist as he stares down at you, “All of that is over.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing a lady needs to hear,” He insists, “I want you to stay. You’re not a burden to me. You look good here. In my clothes and with me.”
“Whatever he agreed to, he’ll go back on it, he won’t keep his word. He never has.” You respond, your anxiety growing, knowing how angry Clark must’ve made him. Clark lifts you again, this time settling himself on the bed, and then setting you next to him. Your legs crossed over his lap, his hand against the small of your back. Your hand finds his hard chest as you try not to squirm, to not show your discomfort, “I-I’m serious. He’ll show up her and he’ll do something stupid.”
“You don’t think I could handle him?”
“I don’t want you to handle him. This is my fault, not yours–”
“Oh, sweet girl,” Clark’s head dips as he tucks his head into the side of your neck. He squeezes you and pulls you closer. “I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your life.”
“What are you doing?” Your hand presses harder into his chest, “Clark, that feels… weird.”
“Weird, huh?”
He kisses you on the sensitive skin there, and now, you can’t help but squirm. You feel warm in places you didn’t know could feel warm. He moves your right leg carefully, spreading your legs, and you panic inside. His hand travels up your leg and then moves to your inner thigh. Jesus, this is wrong. So wrong.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” Clark asked, his voice husky and deep. The kind stranger who’d taken you in had taken another shape. “Tell me no one has.”
He massages the meaty flesh of your thighs, grabbing you like a stress toy, and there’s a groan in his throat that’s animalistic. “Wait, please–”
“You’ll like it, I promise,” When he reaches into the fabric of the short, something flutters in your core, and his strong fingers start to run over your sensitive folds. He makes long strokes, up and down your center. He wants to feel a part of you no else has ever seen.
And the sad thing is, you like it more than you thought you would. The attention. No one had ever paid you this much attention. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been held. You were undiscovered. Uncharted territory. And so painfully innocent.
You feel warm and wet now. Clark’s icy blue eyes meet with yours and your cheeks heat from embarrassment. He kisses you softly as he massages your center. He’s right. You like it. You’re moving your hips weakly against his fingers. Your lips part and he presses his lips against yours. He takes the lead and you try to move your lips in sync with his.
“You like it, don’t you?” He asks against your lips.
You nod although you hate that he can see you like this.
You’re so wet now. He easily slips the tip of his finger inside of you, “Clark–” You gasp, “More.”
“You can handle more, can’t you?” You nod as he pushes his finger deeper. You’re grinding against his finger in weak circles. “Good girl. Sweet girl. I’ve got more for you.”
His finger goes deeper, curling against a spot that has you shaking. It’s so slow. Torturous. “You gonna cum on my finger, Y/N?”
“I-I…” You moan, “I feel like I have to pee.”
Clark’s chest rumbles and you feel mortified knowing that he’s amused. “That’s okay. Don’t run from it.”
You turn your face into his chest, shyly, as you do your best not to run from the feeling. “Let me make you cum, baby,” It’s a slow building and then it happens all at once. You’re screaming into his the fabric of his shirt, hips shaking, but he keeps holding onto you even as his finger slips from inside you.
You feel empty without him.
He takes the opportunity while you’re dazed and mumbling incoherent to move you from his lap. He lays you down beneath him. Gently, he sets your right leg down on one of the bed’s pillows. He grabs onto your left leg as he settles between you. He lifts the fabric of your shirt, settling his face between your breasts, he takes each one into his mouth, licking the buds of your nipples.
You feel the sensation is what sends him over the edge. Its quick. How he tears the fabric over the boxers and presses his hard length at your entrance. He holds your leg, keeping you spread wide open, and presses further. It’s his turn. You see it in his eyes. The lack of control. He stares down at you, watching your face contort with pain as he takes you for the first time.
He’s more than appreciative, grunting your name, as he makes the first, shallow thrusts. He goes deeper as your body adjusts, squeezing tightly around him. He knows how lucky he is. You’re perfect and he never has to let you go. He could keep you tied to this bed and use you over and over again. You’re so polite that you’d thank him for it.
“You’ll stay with me,” Clark grunts, moving your hips into him, “I’ll look after you.”
“Clark, I can’t stay–” His eyes darken at that and he positions himself to go even deeper. His hand wraps around your throat and he turns your head roughly so he can growl into your ear.
“I wasn’t asking, sweet girl. I need you too bad. You see that, don’t you?” Clark asks although it’s rhetorical. He’s against your cervix now and you’re not sure he’s even registering how much you’re screaming, “I’m going to take you for hours.”
“Please,” You gasp, “Oh my —”
Another orgasm rushes through you, forceful and unyielding. He continues his pace and as you feel your body growing impossibly tired, you wonder how he can keep going. You don’t even feel him sweating.
You never really imagined for your first time but you thought you might be awake enough to remember most of it. It’s like a dream. You lose consciousness and awake to find him still inside of you. When he finally finishes inside of you, you’re stretched, and completely empty. When you awake again, you’re fully naked and tucked into the sheets. He lifts your head to feed you a glass of water. He pets your head and tucks your hair behind your ears. He runs his fingers all over you, down your back, over the curves of your hip and soothes you back to sleep.
And you sleep for days, safe and cared for.
reblog with your thoughts to be added to my clark taglist :)
There were supposed to be no secrets between you and Clark. He was your best friend, but you wished he were more than that. Your undying love for him wasn’t the only thing you kept behind your teeth, though. Just like him, you also had a double life. Not nearly as cool as his, but still, some people knew you as an average journalist, and others as an erotica writer, who was experiencing a horrible writer's block. Good thing Clark was always willing to help. [ 19.4k ]
Includes afab female reader; she’s a writer/author; she has a pen name but it’s only mentioned a four times; suicide jokes; self deprecating thoughts; so much pining and yearning; little angst; food as love language; jealousy; dry humping; p in v unprotected sex; insane amount of kisses like srsly; idiots in love; basically wholesome porn with a lot of plot <3; not beta read. happy reading! mwahhh 💋
PLAYLIST AND MOODBOARD
“You’re scaring me.” Clark entered your apartment like it were his home. It wasn’t that far from it, considering how much time he spent here. “Are you sick?”
He had that look, like he was genuinely fearing for your life.
“What? No! No, I’m not sick.” You waved your hands in the air as if trying to erase what he’d just said.
His chest heaved out with a sigh of relief. He plopped down on your couch.
“Then what is it?”
This was so stupid, but calling him truly was a cry for help, and he was the only person who could help you. The only person you trusted to help you with this.
You sat next to him, facing him fully. He looked at you wide-eyed.
“I’m… gonna tell you something about me,” you started. “Something nobody knows.”
“Okay?” He mirrored you, and your knees grazed together for a second. It sent instant heart-shaped tingles all over.
You moved it away.
“And I need you not to judge me because I really need you to help me,” you continued.
“I won’t.” Clark nodded. “And I will, respectively.”
You breathed in and closed your eyes briefly, and at a slow pace, you asked him first:
“Do you remember that book every woman at the office was talking about last summer?”
He tore his gaze away from you and looked up at the ceiling in deep thought.
“Over Those Hills,” he said after a moment and you nodded. You didn’t expect him to remember the title. “What about it?”
You gulped. ‘Over Those Hills’ was the second book you’d published, but the first one to hit the New York Times best seller. The one that started to pay your bills soon after it was picked up by an agent.
“I wrote it,” you finally confessed.
For five seconds, his face remained motionless, then his cute dimples appeared in all of their glory, and an under-his-breath laugh rolled from his chest. You adored those dimples. Sometimes, you wished you had the power to make yourself tiny just so you could tuck yourself in one of them and make it your home forever.
“Is that it?” he said through another small laugh.
“Clark…”
“That’s your secret?”
“Yes!” He laughed heartily then. You nudged his arm, but you couldn't help but laugh, too. That laugh gave you a reason to look at the bright side of things when everything seemed grey. “Don’t mock me!”
“I’m not!” he raised his palms in self-defense. “I’m not, I promise, I just… It was a really good book. Very explicit, but so good.”
He read it?!
“You read it?!”
“Everyone was talking about it! I had to!”
You rose from the couch and paced behind it so he wouldn’t look at you. This was such a bad idea. He knew about the filthy things you wrote about, and if he found it hilarious that you were the one who wrote that book, what you were about to ask him was probably going to make him hysterical.
“So you’re a ghost writer,” he added more calmly now.
“No? I just have a secret identity.”
“You are Sierra Oz?”
“Yes!”
He shifted to the other side to look at you. His long arm rested on the back of the couch, and that perfectly ironed dress shirt stretched over his biceps and chest. Those small buttons were about to burst open.
“I still don’t understand what you need help with.”
Your eyes met his gaze again. That smug look was still etched on his face.
“I don’t want your help anymore.”
“Oh, come on!”
He stood up, attempting to reach your side, but you brushed past him and crossed your living room into your kitchen. His steps were right behind you.
“You’re gonna keep bugging me,” you said over your shoulder.
“Of course I’m gonna bug you,” he said. “It’s what I do best, bug you to no end.” As you didn’t answer or look at him, he softened his voice. “Tell me.”
You turned around, leaned your butt on the kitchen counter, legs crossed, and folded your arms over your chest. You wanted to protect yourself as much as you could. Not because you feared he’d hurt you with his reaction—he’d never do anything to purposely harm you—but you were about to reveal an insecurity.
You glanced down at your feet.
“I’ve been on deadline for my third book for the last three weeks,” you began, “I… I’m writing from my male character’s point of view and… I have no idea what I’m doing.”
He didn’t answer, and you dared to look up at him. His brows raised with curiosity.
“I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific about what you need help with.”
This was so mortifying.
“I need your… opinion, I guess, or your experience, or something, anything, really, so I can write the sex scenes accurately from his point of view.”
His smile dropped, and an adorable shade of pink rushed to his cheeks.
“Oh, I see now.” His brows knitted together, and his eyes got lost somewhere with a faraway look.
“Yeah… and I understand if you don’t want to since we’ve never talked about sex before and all.”
Mostly because your lack of experience with men was very well known by people at the office. You weren’t a virgin, but you might as well be one, considering the last time you were touched by a man was over three years ago. By choice, though.
“The topic hasn’t come up,” he replied with a shrug and tone that spread warmth all over you, and you weren’t that nervous anymore. “What do you wanna know?”
You sighed and uncrossed your limbs. He had the ability to turn everything that caused you anxiety into balm.
“It’s not that I want to know something in particular. I just need help. I don’t even know how to start or where to start.”
After a moment, he suggested, “I could read what you have so far and we can go from there?”
It was around forty-five thousand words, and he was a fast reader, so while you handed him your laptop with your manuscript, a cup of hot cocoa, and made him settle on the couch to read it, you went back to the kitchen to bake something. Just so your mind would be occupied while in the other room, Clark would be reading a first draft, which was way more intimate than anything you two have ever done together.
He’d been your best friend for the past two and a half years, but he didn’t know about your hobby. You mentioned your writing all the time, and the obvious thing to assume was your work articles, and you never bothered to clarify that you were writing novel-length stories. It was something so sacred to you that not even Clark could know. You went there—magic pocket universes in your mind—when you needed it the most.
Like when he started dating Lois.
Before her, you were convinced your love for Clark was entirely platonic, despite him being the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid your eyes on. And it was because you admired him. He was Superman. You wanted to be him. So yeah, it was easy to convince yourself you didn’t love him like that.
But when she came around, and he didn’t have much time to spend with you, you realized, that deep admiration was closer to devotion. He was more than just a cool guy who one day decided to become your friend. He was your sun, but you weren’t his.
Lois was.
You decided to drift away from him out of respect for her, which made you crave him, and found a way to still have him by writing a character that was just like him. You reached a peak of creativity while they were together. Almost a year of endless writing.
Now, ever since he was single again, you’ve been experiencing writer’s block. You refused to relate it to him being single again, but who were you kidding? He was eating your brain. He occupied every thought, and now that he had more time to be your friend, you spent it all with him rather than writing, which was awful.
You loved writing, but you loved him more.
By the time the salted caramel brownies were in the oven, you started tidying up the mess you’d made, and like always, you hated your past self for not tidying up as you went. It was much easier, but no, you always stacked the mess until the very end.
“What’s that smell?” Clark’s warm voice entered the kitchen.
You turned around and found him leaning on the door frame with his arms folded over his chest. His broad shoulders strained against his dress shirt, and his smile wasn’t really on his lips but in his kind eyes.
“Your favorite.” You dusted your hands on your apron. “You read it already?”
He walked up to you while nodding. “You stopped just when the best was coming.”
You rolled your eyes at him and went back to putting everything in the sink. Did he just make a pun?
“I’m scared to even attempt to write that.”
One step closer and he was right next to you. He didn’t understand personal space with you, and you didn’t care. You wanted him this close for as long as he decided.
“Why did you choose to write from Wesley’s point of view to begin with?”
You sighed in deep thought.
“I first came up with the character, then his whole backstory unfolded. Wes is… he has so much to say. It’s his story. It has to be from his point of view.”
“He chose you,” he said, like he perfectly understood the feeling.
Some silence dropped light between you two. He never forced words out of you, and you never felt the need to fill in the quiet moments with him. You believed that words were easily manipulated; silence was genuine by nature.
So while you hand-washed your utensils, he dried them and put them back in their drawers and cabinets. He knew where everything was by heart.
“Are you really not impressed that I also have a secret identity?” You had to ask after a moment.
“You’re exactly the kind of girl who’d have this kind of interest,” he replied without hesitation.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He draped the kitchen cloth over his shoulder.
“You… You show yourself as shy and as someone who doesn’t have much to say in a room full of people, so it makes sense that your mind is full of universes.”
You took off your apron and dried your hands with it while sighing. It wasn’t good or bad, but the way he said it—with a knowing smile—made it sound like a compliment. Anything that came out of his mouth sounded like a compliment, really.
“Just figure out a way so I can help you, and I’ll do my best,” Clark said.
Suddenly, this—talking about sex with Clark—felt like the worst scenario you and he could be in. Your whole body gained temperature at once. You cleared your throat and made yourself busy by preparing the teapot with some tea leaves, facing away from him so he couldn’t see how flustered this whole situation made you.
“I guess you could answer some questions about your experiences.”
“Uh… Sure.” His voice grew slightly high-pitched. Your mind raced with every scenario that had kept you away from writing. All of them involved words that had never come out of your mouth in front of him. After a moment, he pressed, “Like?”
You winced and twisted on the inside, then, after the teapot was filled, said, “I don’t know, tell me what the vagina feels like or something.”
More heat spread all over. You sensed how he stiffened behind you.
“That’s… very specific.”
“Well, yeah. I’m a very explicit writer, remember?” You said with a hint of playful hostility. “It can help if you go back to your most recent experience, I guess.”
You caught his reflection on the window in front of you. He rubbed a palm over his chin.
“I don’t think I can talk about my experience with Lois.”
Because the wound was still too fresh, you thought. You filled a stovetop kettle with water and put it on high heat before facing him again.
“I don’t mind,” you shrugged, as if just the mere thought of it didn’t make you want to throw up. “It’s for research.”
He half-shook his head. “I-”
“Then, about some other experience with another person.”
“That was… ages ago,” he laughed a little. His first girlfriend, you easily assumed, the one he had after high school and the one who broke his heart a year later. “I don’t even remember.”
A lump formed on your throat and it turned into a cold ice cube as you swallowed it. A part of you wished he had more women in his life, that way the fact that Lois was his second girlfriend ever wouldn’t hurt this much.
“How else are you supposed to help me, then?” You played it cool.
Guilt pinched his brows together.
“I don’t know. I didn’t think you’d ask me about specific experiences.”
“You’re making me sound like a creep. I don’t want you to tell me about how you had sex. I just need to know what you felt. Physically.”
“I-” his mouth hung open and let a long heartbeat pass. “You could ask Jimmy?”
The kettle rattled behind you and gradually, it started to whistle.
“Yeah, I might ask him to have sex, too,” you said as a joke, and of course, he didn’t read it that way.
“What?!”
“Yeah, I could use a live narration,” you kept it going. “I could take notes in the moment. That’d be waaaay easier. I could even voice record it so it—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because… he’s my best buddy. I don’t want to see you two and know you… had sex.”
“Dude, if you’re not willing to help me-”
“I am!” He said loudly over the ever-growing high-pitched whistle.
Wheee!
“No, you’re not! You’re not willing to tell me about your experiences, which is totally understandable so-”
“Why couldn’t you ask me to have sex?!”
“I- what?”
“I—” Wheeeee! “Can you turn that thing off?!” He gestured with his hand, exasperated.
Heat rushed to your face and ears. You reached behind you and blindly turned the stove off.
Why would he even suggest that? He was Clark. He wasn’t someone who did things casually or without purpose and passion sprinkled here and there. He just confessed that Lois was one of the two people he’s slept with.
He tore his eyes away but moved his hands in the air as he passionately explained: “Y-you’re willing to have sex with Jimmy for research but not with me?”
“Because we’re friends!” You shot right back.
“Exactly!”
You opened the top cabinet to hide behind the door, and took two mugs, placing them over the counter rather roughly. You breathed out to release the exasperation. You and him always had discussions out of the smallest things. He looked like a mad little bunny when he was angry, so sometimes you pissed him off on purpose.
This time, though, nothing about how quickly this conversation escalated was on purpose.
“I’m making myself some tea,” you said, softening your voice.
“I can see that.”
“This is my way of asking you if you want some too.”
Though he didn’t reply, you poured tea into both cups and added a teaspoon of honey in his. He replied with a gentle thanks as you handed him his mug.
“Us, being friends, is exactly why we shouldn’t have sex,” you said.
He did that face—a suppressed smile, raised brows and a half-nod—like he understood your point but didn’t necessarily agree.
“I think the complete opposite.”
“Clearly.”
“I’d do anything to help you. It’d be research. Homework.”
You bit back a smile and looked at your feet once again. He was being too casual about his idea, and the fact that he thought sex with you was a good idea unlocked a brand new feeling. Something between rainbows and raging fear with a pinch of endearment.
“So, you, asking me to have sex with you, is you being a good superhero?”
“Sure.”
You stifled a sigh.
Sex with Clark was part of your dreams and daydreams, and you wondered. Not what it’d be like precisely (because you didn’t doubt for a second he was good at it), but you what it would do to your friendship. Every hypothetical ending of that daydream lead to the end of your most precious friendship.
And you couldn’t risk that.
“I’d rather jump off the Daily’s rooftop,” you said.
“I’d catch you halfway.”
“Oh, I know that!”
You brushed past him and stomped your way to your balcony, with him following you like your shadow.
You were suffocating in your own thoughts.
“Wow, so you’d rather jump off a building than have sex with me, but you’d do it with Jimmy without a hint of hesitation?”
Your balcony wasn’t as high as the Daily Planet’s rooftop, but still, the fall would save you from answering the truth.
It was very inconvenient having your desk right across from Clark’s.
He was distracting when he pretended to be a normal human being. He was clumsy, said too many sorrys, he slouched, and he was cocky when it came to his work as a journalist (rightfully so, by the way). And even when he wasn’t doing or saying anything, he had your attention.
Like right now.
A crease dipped between his eyebrows as his fingers persistently clacked over the keyboard. He was as immersed in his own work as you were in him.
You sensed a strong glare from somewhere and your eyes found it behind him, past his shoulder. There was Lois, looking at you. She gave you a knowing smile with a nod and settled back on her desk.
You knew she knew how you felt about Clark. Not because you’ve told her, but because you lived by the saying: a girl always knows. You bet a smart and observant woman like her could easily tell, despite your efforts not making it obvious.
You shook the thought away, dropping your gaze back to your computer screen, and changed to the incognito tab where a blank document haunted you. The text cursor flickered like it was mocking you. You knew better than to work on your book during working hours and on your work computer, but every second counted now, even if you weren’t doing any writing, looking at the empty page was at least something.
Right?
“Are you writing?” Clark whispered rather loudly from his seat.
“Yes, I’m writing,” you shout-whispered.
He pulled himself up with his chair next to you and leaned forward to your screen, scrunching up his nose to adjust his glasses.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Go away!” You said through laughter, pushing him by his shoulder.
He was much (much) stronger than you, so he didn’t move an inch, and you only managed to push yourself away on your chair. You bumped into someone.
“Whoa.” Jimmy stopped you from sliding even more. “Easy there.”
A light bulb lit up above your head then.
“Oh, hey!” You stood up and walked with him to the coffee station, giving Clark one glance over your shoulder.
Last night’s conversation didn’t lead to your confession, of course. Instead, you kept the idea of sleeping with Jimmy going and freed Clark from being your helper to your writer’s block. Seeing him evidently annoyed by the idea, prompted you to make it a personal challenge to give Jimmy more attention than ever before. Just to see what else Clark would do. You wanted to think he’d gotten jealous at your hypothetical proposal to Jimmy, but it was most likely his nature to want to keep you away from anything that could hurt you.
There wasn’t anything in particular about Jimmy that could possibly hurt you, though. You two didn’t click as friends, so even if you tried to make a move on him, you believed he would politely ignore you. He was a nice guy and had Clark in common, and that was it.
Still, as you reached his side, you asked him to pour you some coffee, and behaved like every other girl here who had a crush on him, knowing damn well Clark’s eyes were on you. He could melt your skull if he decided to use his heat vision.
You forgot all about personal space and got too close to Jimmy, giving him a toothy smile, and he gave you a quick once-over, as if he’d sensed how forced your nearness was. There was his polite way of rejecting you.
“O-kay, then.” You took half a step back and brought your mug up to your lips.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Clark’s familiar tall and broad figure approaching you in long strides. He squeezed himself between you and Jimmy with a timid excuse me and reached for the coffee pot.
As he lingered there, wordlessly, you asked him, “Can I help you with something?”
“Just… making myself some coffee.” He shrugged.
Jimmy sipped on his steaming coffee loudly. “Will you guys make it tomorrow night?”
You brushed past Clark and stood on Jimmy’s other side. “What’s tomorrow night?”
“It’s his birthday,” Clark said, sipping on his coffee. His glasses fogged up.
“I know it’s his birthday. I just didn’t know there was a party,” you told Jimmy.
“There wasn’t one until—” he glanced at his watch “—twenty minutes ago. So this is me—” he gestured at himself “—inviting you two.”
“Aw, thanks!” You leaned your hip on the counter and faced him fully, scanning his face like you wanted to count every freckle. “Why celebrate it on a weekday, though?”
Clark cleared his throat just because. You picked a non-existent lint from Jimmy’s collar.
“I’m hoping not everyone can make it.” Jimmy glanced down at your hand with apparent disgust.
“Then why invite people you don’t want there?”
He subtly backed away from you.
“I don’t want to offend anybody.”
“You can’t be everyone’s friend, Jimmy,” you said.
“Leave him be,” Clark countered. “I get what you mean, man.”
“I know you do.” Jimmy clapped a hand over Clark’s shoulder and said, already on his way back to his desk, “Let me know if you guys will make it. I need to know how much booze to buy.”
We will! You and Clark replied at the same time, even when neither of you was much of an alcohol lover.
You rolled your eyes at him and asked between clenched teeth:
“Dude, what is your problem?”
“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to ask him to have sex with you, is all,” he replied under his breath.
“I wasn’t,” you shot back, and crossed the bullpen to your desk. “If I did, I wouldn’t do it in front of everybody. I may ask him tomorrow night, at his birthday party. Maybe I could get there empty-handed, with just a red shiny bow on my butt and offer myself as a gift. It’d be a win-win.”
A rare frown pinched his brows ever so slightly and his lips set into a straight line.
“Stop it.”
Poking the bear was working.
“Why does it bother you so much?”
Clark paused and tore his gaze away for a moment. “It doesn’t bother me. You both are two of my favorite people, but you’re-”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m too pure for someone like him.”
”Well, now I’m not so sure about that, considering what you write about-”
“At— shhh!” You looked around to make sure no one heard that first part. Everyone was doing their own thing. “Keep it down, superm—”
He clasped a hand over your mouth and his eyes widened. He was gentle while doing so, and something between determination and surprise balanced between those eyes. As if he’d been taken aback by his reaction, yet he didn’t withdraw his hand. Somehow, he’d cornered you against the wall, attempting to hide you from the world, and suddenly the everyday office noise faded. Like he’d put you in a bubble where only you and him existed.
It melted you—his unexpected touch, his eyes from this up close, his sudden force—and he slowly uncovered your mouth, but his eyes behind his glasses were still telling you to stop talking. You’d called him Superman with distracted people around many times before, and he never acted this way.
As soon as your mouth was fully freed, you breathed in through your nose to cool yourself. You needed an ice bath to get rid of that heat, but you still managed to reply, so sure:
“What if I told you he’s exactly my type?”
His jaw clenched. “I’d say you are lying.”
“You don’t even know what my type is.”
“Yeah, I do,” he scoffed. “Dev from the mail room. Great guy.”
You scoffed even harder. ”What makes you think he’s my type?”
Dev wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he was definitely intriguing, and if Jimmy didn’t exist, girls here would surely stop by the mail room more often.
“He’s tall and generous and… has kind eyes.”
“If you believe that’s all it takes from someone to be my type, you’d also be my type, don’t you think?”
His face lit up. “You think I have kind eyes?”
You stifled an incoming sigh and burst the bubble by making your way to the vending machine. He was predictable at this point, so you replied over your shoulder:
“Clark, you are the epitome of kindness. Everything about you is kind.”
There was something romantic about the Daily’s rooftop at night.
The skyline lit up by the city lights was tempting to admire, just like a sunset, and you often found yourself here to take them in. To think. To escape the chaos of the office. To get inspired.
You walked closer to the edge and breathed in the evening breeze.
Until last year, this was yours and Clark’s spot. Before Lois. After her, it became the place you visited to escape them.
“You’re not jumping, are you?” Clark’s voice echoed around.
Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart almost leaped from you. He’d followed you there, like the old times.
“It’s no use now that you’re here, is it?” you shot right back teasingly.
His footsteps stopped somewhere behind you. His presence was so strong, even when you couldn’t see him, he felt as impotent as a skyscraper.
“I thought you’d left.” Clark reached your side and you looked up at him briefly. He’d taken off his glasses and tucked them in his shirt front pocket.
“I was about to.”
“You don’t wanna go home?”
Your tongue clicked. “If I do… I would beat myself up for not working on my book and I don’t want to do that to myself. Not tonight, at least.”
He hummed in agreement. After a moment, he said:
“I did some research on Sierra Oz. You could easily make a career out of your writing.”
You chuckled. Heat rushed to your face. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. You can free yourself from Perry for good.”
You’ve thought about it, many times but—
“I fear if I do, I’ll stop enjoying it.”
“Why?”
You sighed.
“Because it’ll become my full-time job, and I don’t want to ruin the magic of writing to escape. I need it to stay as a hobby. As something I come home to. To distract myself from my responsibilities as an adult. My responsible and mature job is being a journalist. With my other writing I allow myself to… dream beyond every wall of insecurity I’ve built while being a journalist.”
A loud and persistent honk filled the brief silence. Clark peeked down the street, surely to make sure everyone was alright.
It was just some impatient guy wanting to turn left.
Clark came back next to you and said, “I wish there was something I could do.”
You pressed your lips together. He truly had offered everything.
“I appreciate you suffering with me through this,” you laughed a little. “And for offering help, as ridiculous as it was.”
“The offer’s still up,” he said, and your stomach fluttered.
“And I still think it’s best if I do it with Jimmy.”
“Don’t do that to me.”
Your head snapped at him.
“I- It’ll make things messy between all of us,” he added.
“Should I download a dating app, then?”
“That’s worse. Meeting strangers can be dangerous, especially men, and… it’s best if you do it with someone you know.”
He was so distressed about it, it was borderline cute. You had to tell him, “Clark, I wasn’t being serious. I wouldn’t… have sex with anyone for research. I just have to be a big girl and push through this rough patch because it happens. I’ll just give myself some time. Step away from the story for a while.”
“Do you have the time to do so?”
“I have time, just not a lot. And if I fail at it,” you sighed, “then it was fun while it lasted.”
Locked out of heaven by Bruno Mars was playing at Jimmy’s house when you arrived.
It looked like a full-on party, which meant his plan of celebrating his birthday on a weekday didn’t work at all. Cat reached for your hand and led the way inside while you squeezed yourselves through the sea of people—grabbed a drink each—and made it to the backyard.
There were even more people here, but at least it was out in the open. Jimmy was sprawled on a lounge chair with four women surrounding him by the pool, touching him and laughing at everything he said. He looked like a king, and it wouldn’t surprise you if at some point in the night a crown popped over his head while one of his girls started feeding him grapes.
You still didn’t understand how he managed to get this many women when Clark was right there… with Lois. Sitting on a bench under fairy lights like they came out right out of a rom-com, where the couple who broke up not long ago were about to give each other a second chance.
Just the mere thought gnawed at your mind and twisted your insides.
You weren’t supposed to be here, watching them rekindle their romance. You were meant to be buried in your couch with your laptop trying to do some writing, even if that also would ruin your peace, it was better than this. You hated how whenever she was near, you had immediate access to all of your insecurities.
Before Lois could catch you staring, you brought your attention back to Cat and forced a smile.
With her, you had the chance to stay a listener. She carried the conversations most times, if not always, which was why she was your better half at parties. You hated talking. Hated small talk. And she didn’t, and always made you feel included even if you didn’t say a word.
So you just laughed and said yeah! and oh my gosh! and nodded while smiling with your eyes at whatever anyone who joined said. The conversations drifted in and out of your brain; your whole focus was on them.
Sometimes you wished you had Clark’s superpowers, just so you could eavesdrop on what they were talking about. Sometimes, you thought he could read your thoughts, too, even when he confessed to you all about being Superman, he told you all about his powers.
It felt like he could. At least with you, because every time, he caught you staring. It wasn’t weird that he did. It was Clark, and he only made some cute faces or smiled at you to acknowledge your presence and went back to his oh-so-interesting conversation with Lois.
At some point in the night, you moved close to the pool and ended up facing Clark and Lois again, and you and he kept locking eyes every once in a while. It became your own language when you decided to drift away from the friendship when he started dating her. You did it to protect yourself from getting more heartbroken, but you could never stop looking at him, and apparently, he couldn’t either.
Cat said your name, and the buzz of the party came back to you.
“Huh?” You looked at her.
“I said, do you think they’re getting back together?” she subtly asked you while looking in Clark and Lois’ direction. She was your better half, but she didn’t know how you felt for him.
You answered a dry I hope so, as if the mere thought made you want to throw up.
You sipped on your drink to force the words you didn’t truly mean down your throat.
“Like, look at him! He’s so smitten.” She sighed like she was the one in love.
Right as she said that, Clark’s gaze found yours again and held it for what felt like minutes. It singed your skin, and you would’ve caught on fire if a stranger’s arm hadn’t draped over your shoulder.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Some random guy had approached you. His alcohol breath was radioactive.
“Ew, ew.” You sneaked away from him. “Get him off of me!”
“Don’t even try it.” Cat placed a strong palm over this guy’s chest, but he didn’t back off. “She’s with me.”
“I don’t mind sharin’.” His face split with a creepy smile and almost ate her with his eyes.
“We said Back off.” You pushed him by his shoulder.
Clark’s head snapped in your direction then, and you made eye contact for the hundredth time during the night. His nostrils flared and his lips tensed when he noticed you were uncomfortable.
You were, yet you murmured, “I’m fine.”
There was no need to say it any louder. You knew that as soon as he heard your voice, he selected his focus and could even hear your rapid heartbeat.
Clark nodded once, and brought his attention back to Lois as soon as the guy left.
Your stomach tightened again.
What you felt about them together was beyond jealousy. It was a physical illness. A disease that attacked your chest and stomach and breathing all at once and even if you turned your back to them to avoid seeing them, you could still sense him, like he was part of your DNA.
And when you didn’t feel him close, you became a turmoil of feelings. They were both gone. Did they leave already? Together? Gosh, you needed to sit down. You excused yourself and went inside to grab another drink.
“You okay?”
Lois.
You turned around and forced a smile.
“Hi! Yeah, yeah, I came to get another drink but… they’re all gone.”
“Yeah, Clark noticed the ones you liked were gone, so he’s out there with Jimmy buying some more.”
You weren’t strangers with Lois, but just like with Jimmy, you weren’t friends either. Though you wished you were. She was one of those girls who you found incredibly cool and pretty and you died to be friends with.
Her feet faltered closer. She looked like she was about to say something, and even opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“You want a drink, too?” You asked just to fill in the silence.
“No, I- I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you and Clark are talking again.”
You stared at her with a puzzled face.
“Again? We’ve never stopped talking.”
“I know I meant… like before.” She swallowed thickly. “Before me.”
Oh.
You walked to the fridge to grab something and hide behind the door.
“When we were together,” she continued, “Clark said you’d been drifting away and that made him so sad.”
So she wanted to talk about Clark.
“Yeah,” you replied, lurking mindlessly through the beers. Not your favorite. “I just… people at the office talk, make up things, have made up things about me and Clark, and I didn’t want them to get between you two.”
You picked a random drink and closed the door. You dared to look at her.
“Yeah, I’ve heard some things, and I appreciate you… thinking of us. But it’s not necessary anymore.” What was her point? She traded her weight from one foot to the other and laughed a little when saying, “You guys are soulmates. You’re like his missing rib or something, and I… could never get between that.”
You swallowed thickly. Your drink could burst because of how strongly you were holding it. Lois Lane, the most gorgeous woman at the Daily Planet, the girl you thought (and still think) was the love of Clark’s life, calling you his missing rib was so not expected.
“I don’t understand.”
Lois laughed softly again and tore her eyes away.
“I didn’t think I’ll have to spell it out for you, so I will.” She sighed. “Clark, he… has feelings for you.”
A laugh lurched out of you. Right there on her face like she’d said the funniest joke, but she didn’t, though she kept smiling. A smile that didn’t reach her eyes. A smile that wiped yours away a second later.
“When his dad had the heart attack,” she continued, “he didn’t call me.”
He’d called you, at two am and with a shaky voice, asked you to come with him to his hometown because Pa was in the hospital, and he didn’t think he could be strong enough in front of Ma if something horrible happened.
“You were already broken up then,” you merely replied.
“I know, but if the same thing had happened to me, I would’ve called him, even when we were broken up. I would’ve called him, and… he didn’t call me.”
You pressed your lips together as guilt washed over you.
“I’m his best friend, and he’s mine. And… that was it. He just needed someone, and he couldn’t reach out to you because he was still hurt.”
“No.” She shook her head. “He didn’t just need someone. He needed you.”
You breathed in deep through your nose.
“I don’t see the point of this, Lois.”
“It’s… girl code. I’m doing this for the same reason you stepped away when we were together. We didn’t have to agree to it, but you knew it was the right thing.” She sighed. “This is me doing the right thing.”
You opened the beer can and slurped on it. It tasted like crap.
“Does he know about this?”
“Not exactly. But I had this same conversation with him. Just… from his perspective.”
“So you told him, if he ever wanted to have something with me, you were okay with it.”
“He asked me, if I would be okay if, at some point, you and he started to be more than friends.”
This was too much nonsense out of nowhere, but you couldn’t help but instantly daydream of that. Of a world where you and he were something more than just friends.
Had he started the conversation? When did he start to feel this way? Was this even true? And if it was, why would she tell you first and not him?
“Are you still in love with him?” You had to ask.
Another smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but she squared her shoulders like nothing could break her.
“I loved him,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I was in love with him. And I’m sure he felt the same way. He loved me, but he wasn’t in love with me.”
Laughter burst from the entrance and gradually got closer to the kitchen—Jimmy and Clark and some other guys yelling about who knew what. Lois went to the fridge and got her own drink and just like that, the conversation was over, and she fled before Clark showed up with a six pack of your favorite crispy drink.
You were still there, frozen by every word Lois said.
When you locked eyes with Clark, his dimples creased softly, and without a word, he approached you. He took the beer out of your hand to hand you your new drink with the other.
Your fingertips brushed together. Your eyes still lingered.
“Are you okay?” Clark asked.
No. What Lois said messed with your head and, worse, gave you hope. You were probably imagining that glimmer in his eyes.
“I’m…” you frowned confused. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
You sneaked out of there before he could ask more questions and squeezed yourself between the people up the stairs, crossing the hall into the bathroom. Clark called your name behind you, which normally made you turn on your heels without a doubt. Now, you only walked faster.
Never as fast as him.
He got inside with you and shut the door behind him
“You sure you’re okay?” He asked.
His scent enveloped you whole.
“This is a very tiny bathroom.” You backed up, frowning at him like a child. Your back hit the cold tiles. “I need to pee.”
He frowned back at you. Not mad, but asking you something.
“This one’s new.” He tugged at the sleeve of your blouse and grazed your palm with his knuckles.
“No?” You yanked your hand away. “I just don’t wear it that often.”
His face softened, and he flashed you an incredulous smile. “You’re acting so strange right now.”
You sighed. “I just… I want to leave, is all.”
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“You don’t have to leave just because I leave. We didn’t even arrive together.”
“And I wanna leave with you. We haven’t talked all night.”
“You’ve been… busy.” You looked away.
Busy talking with Lois and looking at her and laughing with her. Were they talking about you? About his feelings for you?
“I’m never busy when it comes to you,” he replied without hesitation.
“I don’t believe you,” you shot back.
You didn’t believe her.
“Whoa, hey, why are you being like this? What do you mean?”
“Nothing! I just… need to pee.”
“You’re drifting away from me again.” His tone turned as firm as a stone then.
“What are you talking about?”
“This is how you behave when you want to pull away from me.”
You folded your arms over your chest. “I never want to pull away from you.”
“But you have!”
“Because you were dating someone! I didn’t want to… intrude, and now you’re talking to her again so I-”
Clark almost pounced on you, both of his hands cradling each side of your face, so determined you thought he was about to kiss you, but all he did was press his forehead to yours. Your noses bumped together, and your heart started to bang against your chest, begging to leap out and kiss his own.
“I’m not talking to her again,” he murmured. “Not like that.”
Your breathing shook. Why couldn’t you believe him? He wouldn’t lie to you.
“Don’t pull away from me again. Please,” he whispered.
You would never pull away from him the way you once did. Even if it brought your writing spark back.
All you managed to reply to his heartfelt plea was a breathless ‘Okay’.
What else were you supposed to say?
He nuzzled his nose to your temple for a moment, then placed a barely-there kiss before leaving you there with your heart going wild.
You’d never been this confused because of something Clark did.
You were no stranger to his touch. Casual touch. A hand on your upper back when walking you out of a place; his arm brushing yours when standing close. His nearness was normal, but your noses have never touched. His hands have only cradled your face once before. When you had a panic attack, and he figured the only way to ground you was by holding your face so you’d look at nothing but him as he guided your breathing and steadied your heart.
It worked that time.
Tonight, that same touch was the reason your hands were shaking.
Don’t pull away from me again, please.
You splashed your face with cold water and let all your feelings go down the drain, clearing yourself of any emotion, and practiced your smile in the mirror a few times before returning to the party.
Cat was nowhere in sight, and the only person you knew—besides Jimmy, who was still surrounded by women—was Clark, who unfortunately was all alone now, in that same bench under fairy lights. So available, like he was waiting for you.
He lifted his head and his gaze found yours.
A strong pull dragged your feet towards him.
“I’m ready,” you shrugged.
Only because he wasn’t hanging out with Lois anymore. If that were the case, you would’ve left without a trace.
Clark seemed at your will, and didn’t bother to say goodbye to anybody. Just walked out the backyard with you—placed one hand between your shoulder blades—and opened his car door for you. You both were acting as though nothing had happened. It was something you had in common, which most times saved you from unnecessary conversations.
Right now, you were choking on what you wanted to say, but with a single glance, you agreed not to mention a thing. It was for the best, because if any of you decided to clear up the situation… no, there was nothing to clear up.
Everything was fine.
Except that you were both oddly quiet on the drive home. You weren’t always chatty, but at least your off-key singing of whatever song was playing on the radio and your hands as microphones filled those moments.
I get so breathless when you call my name
I’ve often wondered, do you feel the same?
There’s a chemistry, energy, a synchronicity when we’re all alone
So don’t tell me you can’t see what I’m thinking of
Well, you couldn’t sing that.
You looked out the window.
Clark’s phone rang.
Thank god.
A girl’s voice came through the speakers before he could even say hello.
“Where are you?”
Your eyes snapped to his phone.
Kara.
“Why?” He asked.
“I need you to look after Krypto for a few hours.”
You and Clark exchanged looks. He was panicking already.
“At one in the morning?”
“It’s okay if you’re not here. I’m already here.”
“You broke into my apartment?”
“I brought him his toys and his food and his treats and his bed…”
Krypto barked in the distance. It sounded like he was already tearing something.
“Do not leave him alone, you hear me, he’s gonna destroy everything!”
“He’s more mature now, you whiny bitch, we’re in therapy. He won’t do anything.”
“Kara, do not leave him alone.”
“I’ll pick him up first thing in the morning.”
Then she hung up.
Clark gripped the steering wheel and gave himself three seconds as he breathed in through his nose. Then, he quickly glanced at you before focusing his eyes back on the road.
“Do you mind if I pick up Krypto first? He’s… he’s gonna destroy everything if he’s unsupervised.”
This was the complete opposite of what you needed. He was supposed to drop you off and leave, see each other the next morning at work, and act like nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t pleaded you not to pull away ever again while being a kiss away.
But you’ve met Krypto, so you replied, “Sure,” because yeah, he would destroy everything, and he oddly liked you. Clark called you the Krypto-whisperer.
With a quiet thanks, he did a U-turn, and in no time, you were at his place.
It wasn’t that destroyed. Only a couch pillow was ripped open, and a few feathers were flying around. You caught Krypto just when he was about to chew on Clark’s bedroom door.
“Hey, little guy,” you greeted the dog with your silly voice, and as soon as he recognized you, he started whining and wagging his tail while sprinting toward you. “Hi, honey, long time no see,” you said through a laugh, crouching to give him those chin scratches he loved so much. “You missed me, huh?”
Krypto whined some more and barely acknowledged Clark.
You looked up at him.
He was smiling proudly. “What is it about you that turns him into an angel?”
You made an indifferent cocky face and continued petting Krypto’s chin. You had no idea. Some people had that effect with babies; you had it with dogs.
“Do you think she took him out for a walk?”
“Yeah, she might be a basket case, but she’s responsible when it comes to her dog.”
You stood upright and let out a sigh. “I guess… I’ll bring him home with me.”
“Please don’t.” Clark gave you those puppy-dog eyes. “Kara will freak out if she comes back and doesn’t find him.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?”
“Stay? You can take my bed. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
This was so tragic, you could never say no to him. You shut your eyes briefly just to escape him for a little while. You needed it to be a brand new day already and leave what had happened in that bathroom behind for your own sanity.
“You can use any shirt you want as pajamas and… No, you know what? What else do you need? I’ll make a quick run to your place.” Clark touched his pocket to make sure his car keys were there. “Make a list, and I’ll pick up everything just… please don’t leave with him or without him,” he begged.
You exhaled in defeat.
“It’s late, Clark, don’t worry.”
You paced to his couch and plopped down. The couch you’d chosen for him. It felt like a cloud.
“Are you sure?” He asked. Krypto followed you first, curling up against the side of your thigh, and Clark came after, sitting next to him. “It won’t take me long.”
“I’ll sleep here just fine.” You waved a dismissive hand. “I’m exhausted.”
“From work?”
“From everything.” You sighed and went to scratch Krypto’s back. Clark’s hand was already there, and your knuckles brushed together fleetingly. It was nothing. “This life I’m currently in isn’t helping with my creativity.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m working too much,” you merely said. “I think I’m gonna ask Perry for a few days of my annual leave. You know changing environments helps with writer’s block.”
“That sounds like a plan. Where’d you be going?”
“I don’t know? Somewhere far away from here.”
“You can go to Smallville, to my parents’. They’d love to see you again. You won’t have to worry about anything there. Ma will start cooking for you the moment you step inside. I’m sure Pa will put up a hammock for you outside for whenever you want to enjoy the fresh air.”
You smiled at him and stifled the incoming sigh. He got his kindness from his parents, so there was no doubt they’d do what Clark said and more for you.
“And I can use your bedroom?”
“Yeah.” He smiled sideways. “There’s also a small café a few blocks away with a nice view. Great wi-fi. You can sit there and write for hours.”
You licked your lips and looked away. He was always so generous, and now that you were all alone, after that moment you had with him in the bathroom, all you could think about was what Lois had said.
If it were true, you would kiss him right now just to thank him for existing.
You cleared your throat.
“I wish you’d given me the chance to pick up my laptop. Your view of the city inspires me.”
“You can use mine,” he said, already standing up, but you reached for his wrist. His hand fisted.
“It’s okay,” you said softly, and he sat back down. “I’d rather talk about it.”
His Adam’s apple jumped. “Talk about what?”
“Um, my book?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he tore his gaze away.
You admired his face then, pale skin with a brushstroke of the cold city lights that his large windows swallowed. It accentuated his side profile, as if it wasn’t already addicting to stare at. You had him sketched in a notebook somewhere in your room just like this: the soft angle of his upturned nose and defined tip, the subtle curl of his lashes, his gentle cupid’s bow. You swore his dimples were still there despite his lips—ever so tempting—set into a line.
His eyes darted down to his clasped hands. Dainty veins branched out from what was exposed of his wrists down to his knuckles. He wrung them together. You wanted to reach for them, lace your fingers together just because.
He looked at you. “Have you written anything new?”
You shook your head. “I've written everything I need, except for the sex scenes.”
“Are they really necessary?” There was genuine intrigue in his tone and in the way he wrinkled his brows at you, but he still felt the need to justify his question, “Not that having them is bad. I’m sure the scenes you have planned move the story forward as well as give your readers what they want.”
“Sex is very important for my characters, so yeah. I just… I hate that I chose his point of view.”
“Is it too late to start over?”
“I’m 45 thousand words in, so kind of. Besides, you know it has to be from his point of view. It would become a whole different story if told from Fatima’s perspective. She’s so bright and optimistic. She sees the world through rose-colored glasses. Wes doesn’t, except when he’s with her. Sex with her makes him hopeful.”
His sigh and half-nod hinted that he understood where you came from.
“Have you really not tried writing them?”
You breathed out a small laugh through your nose and admitted guiltily:
“Like a million times.”
“Why didn’t you show me?”
Because you’d tried writing the feeling of an erection provoked by a kiss, and it sounded like an injury. Were they painful? The thought of Clark reading it and probably laughing at the inaccuracy was a nightmare.
“I deleted them.” You scratched your brow.
“All of them?”
Of course not. They could be useful at some point, so you buried them in a document called ‘TRASH’.
“Yes.”
“You’re not supposed to delete things? You know they can be useful later. That’s like a main rule for a writer.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed a little and made himself comfortable, throwing himself back. He rested his head on the back of the couch, and that curl that perfectly fell over his forehead almost lured you to brush it. If it wasn’t because Krypto was between you two, you would’ve, so you limited yourself to a half-turn to face him.
“Try writing one again.” He looked up at you.
“Right now? On your laptop?” You asked, and he shrugged. “I’m not… gonna write sex scenes in front of you, or anyone. I need to be in the right headspace. Alone.”
He tore his eyes away briefly, and his faint smile remained on his lips.
“What is it about them that stops you from writing them?”
“I have a very vivid imagination, and I like to think I can describe things well despite not experiencing them before. But this is different. I don’t have a penis, so I have no idea how to describe sex from a guy's point of view. Like…” You closed your eyes and failed at picturing the feeling. “I can’t imagine it. It’s one of those things you have to experience to describe well, so I need someone else’s insight. You already refused to help me, so I-”
“I didn’t refuse to help you,” he cut you off in full honesty, “I just gave you another solution.”
Your mouth hung open, and he gave you no chance to reply as he stood up and walked to his kitchen, like he wanted to give you a moment to think about it. But there were no coherent thoughts. He just dropped the bomb and left to put the kettle on.
You bit back a smile and pinched the bridge of your nose to ground yourself. If he was offering his carnal help again, what Lois said couldn’t be so far from the truth, right?
Oh, this was bad. So, so bad.
Three minutes later, Clark reached your side again and handed you your orange Eevee mug. You’d told him once that the color of the mugs changed how you tasted some drinks, and how you preferred warm colors when having warm drinks.
Most people who knew this about you thought it was nonsense. Clark, he kept different colored mugs just for you.
“I guess… You can bring me your laptop,” you gave in. “But you have to walk me through it.”
Clark smiled, satisfied, set his mug on the coffee table, and came back with his laptop, gesturing at it as if to say it was all yours. You logged your email with a knot in your stomach and opened one of the many documents—the one with your manuscript. It was last edited a week ago, but at least there was a half-written scene that you could cling to and start from there.
You read the paragraph and tapped your fingers over the keyboard, mimicking the typing while you thought. Your head was empty.
“What does even an erection even feel like?”
Clark cleared his throat and sipped on his mug loudly. You could hear the gears in his mind working. He was carefully crafting his words.
“Um, depends a lot on the context, I guess,” he answered.
You looked at him. He had that tone when he was about to start talking and oversharing.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s… the one a man wakes up with sometimes, then there’s the one that happens because… of arousal.”
You brought your attention back to your laptop and typed the word arousal, ready to write any other thing he was willing to give you.
“Go on.”
He paused for a moment, then clicked his tongue, setting his mug back. “I can’t, I can’t!”
“Oh, don’t be a wuss.” You rolled your eyes at him.
“Wow.”
“See, a part of me thinks this is more about you being a prude than you refusing to talk about your experience with—”
“I am not a prude.”
“Eh…”
“I offered you… Myself, that’s not something a prude would do?”
“A part of me also thinks you offered that kind of help because you wanted to use me to forget about Lois,” you then blurted out.
He was not supposed to hear that, but attempting to write sex scenes in front of him was like getting undressed. You were exposing a piece of yourself that no one has had the chance to see, and under it was a bit of insecurity.
“That is… shockingly offensive.”
“I know. I’m–”
“You really think I’d—”
“No! It was… the voices.” You wiped the sweat above your lips. Was it hot in here? “The evil voices. You know how they get sometimes.”
“I do wanna help you, but it feels wrong telling you about my experience with another person.”
Right then, Lois’ voice echoed in your head. Not like it often did; her saying his name in a loving tone or her laughter around him that stabbed you right through your heart.
Now—
Clark, he has feelings for you.
You guys are soulmates.
You’re like his missing rib or something.
You swallowed thickly.
Maybe it was true. You agreed that he was your soulmate, but you also believed that a person could have multiple soulmates. And about the rest… the voices now were telling you to just shoot for the moon to find out.
“Fine.” You shut down his laptop loudly. Clark jumped a little. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“Do… research. With each other’s body.”
God, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word.
He licked his lips. His mouth hung open. “Um, are you sure?”
“Oh, for god’s sake—”
That was it. There was no moon to shoot for, and now you wanted to die from the embarrassment of even thinking about it.
You rose from the couch with the intention to leave and take Krypto with you. The little guy did the same, ready to follow you wherever you decided to go.
“Okay! Okay!” Clark’s voice grew slightly high-pitched as he mirrored you. He laid a gentle hand on your upper arm to stop you and get you to look at him.
That mere touch turned you into a million tiny hearts.
“Is just…” His hand lingered. Squeezed lightly. “I’m not prepared.”
Your face wrinkled in question. Was he not prepared emotionally? Did he need to give himself a pep talk to have sex with you or something?
“I don’t have any condoms,” he said, and your cheeks grew hot.
If hearing him say a simple word flustered you this much, you had no idea how else your body could react by having actual sex with him.
“Oh, right.” You looked away and held the thought for a moment. Apparently, you had to give yourself a pep talk. To remind yourself that if it happened, it was research, nothing else. “Does it feel too different with and without?”
“I don’t know. I’ve… never done it without.” His voice turned small. Gosh, he was so responsible. “Do your characters do it with or without?”
“Very irresponsibly without.”
“Yeah, it’s… irresponsible.” He gulped, “But I mean if it can help you to be more accurate, we could—”
He was willing to have unprotected sex with you for your accurate research? How sweet and unfortunate of him to make you want to eat his face like that.
“There could be… catastrophic consequences.”
He raised a finger. “Babies aren’t catastrophic in any shape or form–”
“Clark—”
“I mean, yeah, of course.” He frowned. ”Maybe, another time?”
“Yeah! Let’s… plan it.”
While Krypto settled on his little bed by the window with a long sigh, you and Clark sat back down on the couch like you were about to agree on a meeting. He pulled out his phone, which was tiny in his hand, and with his thumb gestured at some dates in his calendar. You were staring at it one moment, he said something, but you weren’t registering anything at all.
You got lost in his lips moving, and the only thing you could think of was—
“Whoa.” Clark’s phone hit the rug with a fwump, all because the voices told you to drag yourself to his lap.
He was so close now. The closest he’s ever been. Not only his face but his body. You adjusted on top of him better and supported yourself with both hands on his hips while doing so. He was wide, and your skirt wasn’t too stretchy. It hiked up to your upper thighs.
You would’ve thought he was scared of you if it wasn’t for how his dimples slowly bloomed at each side of his cheeks. They always betrayed him.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes darted from your eyes down to your lips and up again.
Exactly. What the hell were you doing?
“It’s… gonna be too awkward if we plan it.”
He swallowed thickly, and you felt his muscles relax under you. His thighs spread open, which gave you more confidence to drop more of your weight on him. Who would’ve thought his lap was such a comfortable seat?
“Okay.” His hands remained on his sides and nowhere near you. “So you want to do it now.”
You withdrew some of your weight. His apparent inhibition was turning you into a ball of nerves.
You braced yourself. “You’re making me sound like I’m begging you to have sex.”
“You’re not!” he reassured you, and settled his hands on your hips, feather-light, yet they started a fire in the pit of your stomach.
“No, I’m not, this is research,” you agreed in a firm tone, even when on the inside you felt like you were about to burst out of your skin. “It’s… homework. Love for art.”
His hands skated higher up and heavier, and when you tore your face away out of unbearable embarrassment at his lack of words, he made it disappear by cradling the side of your face so you’d look at him again. You did, and his eyes were glued to your mouth.
Oh, he was so amused by this.
He dragged his thumb over your chin and outlined the edge of your lower lip, and the fire began to spread. He leaned closer, and your breathing hitched, and your mouth went dry.
“We should kiss, right?” His breathing fanned your lips. “For research?”
You pulled back. What if he kissed you and you vanished into thin air? Or worse, what if you didn’t vanish and were left there with his lips on yours with no idea what to do?
“I know what a kiss feels like.”
“Yeah, but—” he shrugged “—we might as well kiss, too. Sex without kisses is something only soulless people would do. Like… eating without chewing.”
You didn’t reply, though you smiled. He pulled you in, and your head started spinning.
It was a gentle peck, which spiked your heart rate. You didn’t think that muscle behind your rib cage could beat any quicker, but it did, and for a moment, you thought you might have a heart attack. But as his lips lingered, and you weren’t losing consciousness, you attempted to respond to his kiss.
Attempted to, and failed. Instead, you laughed. It was more of a harsh exhale at first, but then it vibrated against his lips, and he ended up kissing your teeth as your real laugh bubbled out.
“I’m sorry I-” You laughed some more right there against his mouth.
His lips curled into a mile-wide smile.
“Don’t laugh.”
“This is so awkward.” You pulled back.
He sounded mad, but seemed graciously content. “It’s only awkward because you’re making it awkward by saying it’s awkward.”
“I can’t help it.”
Then he went for a proper kiss, and your whole body melted. Now you laughed again as a coping mechanism. You felt like you might actually pass out if you didn’t.
“What is your problem?” he asked through a small laugh. “You’re all giggly and jumpy.”
“Can you blame me? This is so awk-”
A determined yet tender kiss shut you up. His lips, full and soft, pressed against yours, and the hand cradling your face dragged to the base of your skull.
You didn’t need anything else to surrender.
These kisses only existed in your daydreams, and they were overwhelming then. Experiencing them in real life was the other side of the coin, though. It brought you an odd sense of comfort, because the feeling you’ve been chasing for what seemed like a lifetime was right here flush against your skin. The feeling of belonging to someone, from your deepest insecurity to the brightest side of you. Your lips and his own made sense together, and it didn’t feel nearly as awkward as you said it was.
Clark parted his mouth a little, inviting you in, but you stayed where you were, safe with soft, long-lasting pecks. The rest of your body was a level above, and you dared to lay one hand over his broad shoulder while the other found the nape of his neck.
“Will you stop talking now?” He asked between kisses.
All you could do was nod while gulping, and so he continued. Calm kisses that had you grazing the sky already, so high. He angled his face to one side, and the tip of his tongue teased the seam of your lips. You almost made a sound. You wanted his tongue everywhere on you, but you had to admit this was overwhelming.
“You’re tense,” he murmured, rubbing a palm up and down your lower back soothingly.
“It’ll pass soon.”
A kiss.
“Yeah?”
Another kiss.
“Yeah,” you exhaled, and now you’re the one to kiss him.
Open-mouthed, that forced said tension right out of you, and your tongue found his own for the first time. It was barely anything, but it was enough to pull a sound from his throat right away. An exquisite dark grunt that activated a throb between your legs.
That was embarrassingly quick.
“I think—” you pulled away from him to ground yourself. Were you really about to have sex with him just like that? “—um, when we start, I think I should voice record it since it will be like an interview and-”
He cut you off by kissing you again, just like before—tongue sweeping yours, but four times more confident—and your cunt pulsed some more. It wasn’t just the feel of his tongue now. It was how breathy the kiss gradually turned, and how handsy he was getting. His hands traveled down to your thighs, right below your skirt, and dragged them down to the back of your knees, tugging you closer.
Clark let go of your lips with a wet sound and moved his mouth to your neck, giving you a quick nip.
“Okay.”
It tickled you. You pulled back a bit.
“Sorry,” he said, and kissed your cheek. “Okay, yeah, you can voice record it.”
Then continued his path of kisses down to your collarbones. He undid the first button of your blouse.
“Whoa, whoa, easy there, now, buddy.”
“Jesus.” He threw his head back. Now you stole a kiss on his neck. God, he smelled like heaven. It was sweet and masculine, but it wasn’t perfume. Aftershave, perhaps. “I’m gonna be… inside you at some point. You need to get used to me.”
“I am used to you,” you talked back, kissing right below his ear.
“No, mmm—” his hips jerked once “—Not to my kisses.”
He had a point, but you weren’t about to agree with him. You sat upright and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Why don’t we, uh, ask each other questions first, to break the ice?” You suggested.
He went back to dotting more feather-light kisses on your neck, and said in a low voice that sent tingles all over you:
“The ice has been melting since we talked in that bathroom, don’t you think?”
He’d never used that tone. Dark in its meaning yet full of sun behind it. You wanted to squeal.
“What position do you like the most?” You asked him anyway.
Clark placed more kisses down your neck, throat, and up to your jaw and chin like he was following an already predetermined path. Your hips rocked by instinct once, and he gripped your sides, encouraging you to keep going and hiking your skirt higher in the process, which allowed you to spread your legs more open.
You didn’t move again, because you felt him. Not fully hard, but not soft at all either. So not shockingly big. Your mind hit you with images of how he might look just by feeling him like this—thick, heavy, and your cunt ached as it grew hot and soaked. You rocked your hips again, and you swore your clothed folds wrapped over the head of his cock.
“Missionary.” He nipped your skin, and you snort-laughed again.
“It’s so weird hearing you sa—“
He kissed that laugh right off your mouth. “Stop saying it’s weird!”
You sighed, licking your lips and bumping your noses together before yet another kiss. It was a casual kiss. Was this casual for him? You were dying to know what this meant because on your end, you already knew this was going to ruin you forever.
“So, missionary.” You dodged him when he leaned for another kiss. He smiled. “What do you like about it?”
“The intimacy.”
He leaned again, and you pulled back again, turning your face to the side. His kiss landed on the corner of your mouth.
“As if sex itself isn’t intimate.”
“Yeah, but there’s something about looking into each other’s eyes. Breathing each other’s air and kissing the whole time.”
You gulped, and burning jealousy flashed before your eyes. He liked that position because he’d experienced it like that with someone else. Not you.
Not yet, anyway.
“What is yours?” He then asked, wiping those images away.
You hummed in deep thought, teasingly pressing your hips down. You felt him again, and now you handled the waves of emotions it gave you way better. You liked sex as much as anyone who has experienced good sex, and it’s not that you’ve explored a lot of positions. You were… simple.
You had no choice but to answer honestly:
“Missionary.”
The corner of his mouth flickered. “What about it?”
Slowly, he reached for each zip of your boots, dragged them down in sync, and let them fall off your feet. You wished you hadn’t put on tights.
“I like being smothered.”
He laughed into another quick kiss and murmured, “You taste like cocoa,” then went back to kiss you again.
“You gave it to me.”
“I wasn’t complaining.”
The kiss deepened then, like it was already second nature, and your mind turned hazy. You enjoyed the same sex position and you were already getting lost in the idea of having him smothering you, kissing you, breathing each other’s air…
You were so done talking.
While your lips molded together through a slow-paced kiss, you began to rock your hips instinctively again. This time, you didn’t restrain yourself. You moved, and he liked it. He groaned into your mouth when you pressed down hard and guided your hips with his large hands so you’d rub even more against him. He was growing this hard for you, and his desire for you was coming out of his pores.
You reached for the first button of his shirt and began to undo it. You felt him smile against your lips in approval, so you continued your way down. You expected to feel the warmth of his skin right away, even though you knew he was loyal to the white tank under it. You broke away from his lips for a moment to glance down at him. His tank was tight and didn’t leave much to your imagination. The swell of his pecks stretched the fabric, and the low neck cut allowed you to peek at a few chest hairs.
Your whole body stuttered.
He finished taking his dress shirt off and tossed it aside. His arms were thick, firm. Your hands caressed them with a mind of their own from his broad shoulders down to his biceps, all while he kissed your neck again. You needed to see him fully.
You tugged the hem of his tank and lifted it a bit, then he did you the favor, pulling it up his head and—
Holy—
Your cunt fluttered, and that first warm hint of arousal leaked to your panties.
“Oh—” you gulped.
Your eyes skimmed over his body. He wasn’t gym ripped, but it absolutely looked like he was capable of lifting buildings. Just like his arms, his pecks were thick with muscle, and even though there were no visible abs, he was toned. Absolutely perfect. You wanted to lick every bit of him, but instead, you traced shy lines over his chest and tummy with your fingertips and down that subtle trail of hair that went from his navel and disappeared right below his belt.
Clark lifted your face by your chin and leaned for a kiss. His lips felt warmer and more pillowy, and as the kiss grew hotter, his hands reached for your blouse buttons.
“Can I?” He whispered. You replied by continuing the kiss.
One by one, he undid them, and by the end, he let it fall loose at each side of you. He took a moment to admire you. You swore his breathing hitched at the sight. You didn’t think it would be this easy to be this exposed in front of him. You didn’t feel the need to brace yourself or slouch. You wanted to be fully naked for him already. You reached behind you and unclasped your bra.
His mouth parted, like he was about to say something, and his cheeks turned scarlet.
If he looked at you like this with just your bra off, he might make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world while wearing nothing but your skin. You wanted to tell him he could do whatever he wanted with your tits; he looked starved.
But he, ever the gentleman, only placed a single loving kiss between them and brought you close into a tight, tight hug. The soft flesh of your tits squished against his chest, and you resumed the kiss. With your whole body. Every exposed part of you was touching him, and now your hips moved on their own, rocking over him in slow back and forth motions.
Each stroke hardened him even more as if it were possible, and the feeling was addicting. You wanted to see how far it could take him. How much of this he could handle until he carried you to his room because this wasn’t enough for him anymore.
Or not?
“Wait.” Clark put your hips to a harsh stop.
“What?” You pulled back.
Clark breathed out through his nose and perched you more on his upper thigh, then you noticed. His erection was straining against his pants like it was begging to be freed.
You’d made him like this.
You pressed your lips together to hide a sheepish smile.
“It’s okay, I just, em—” his voice turned tight. “Krypto— he’s… over there.” He gestured with his brows behind you. “If he’s here, I can’t do… everything I want to do.”
Right, Krypto. You’d forgotten he was here. You glanced at him over your shoulder. He was peacefully sleeping, but yeah, now that you were reminded that he was here, too, it blocked every sinful thought you’ve been having for the past twenty minutes.
“We have two options,” you murmured with a soft voice. “We can stay here while I tell Krypto to go to your room, or we can go to your room, very quietly, so he doesn’t wake up, and continue there.”
With a smiley kiss, he made the decision and effortlessly picked you up. You clung to him like a koala while he crossed the room into his bedroom.
“Wait!” You shout-whispered. “My voice recorder!”
“I didn’t know you were being serious about it.” Clark stopped halfway.
“Of course I was being serious. I’ll be a little busy to be taking notes. This is much easier. I can go back to your answers whenever I want and—”
He cut you off with a kiss and walked back to the couch to pick up your purse while still carrying you.
“O-kay,” he whispered, nibbling your bottom lip.
You had no idea he could be like this. Taking charge while still being so damn gentle.
So Clark.
He gave Krypto one last glance to make sure he was still asleep, then continued the kiss and the path to his room, kicking the door shut behind him.
From there, the plot was lost, as if knowing you were completely alone between the walls of his bedroom turned this situation into something secret and sacred. A hungry groan traveled from his throat into your mouth the moment he plopped you both onto his bed and his hands didn’t hesitate to grope you everywhere within his reach. You wanted to think that the way he was acting was no longer about his inborn duty to help but his true desire to make you his own. Because the way he was kissing you, like he might die if he didn’t, didn’t feel like a kiss out of compromise.
It was… raw, and real, and so damn hot your panties were more than ruined and heavy with your arousal. You needed them off, but you were so lost in this hazy universe you and he were creating with each kiss that the sensory discomfort your panties gave you soon disappeared.
Yanking you closer by your hips, Clark rubbed his clothed erection against your cunt with persistent rocking motions—over and over. You hoped he could feel how wet you were, and you wanted to tell him how good a job he was doing at relieving the ache he himself had provoked.
At this point, though, there was no connection between your brain and mouth, and all you managed to give him was a moan, and he groaned back in response and continued rubbing himself against you. You were in heaven here, with him between your legs, and even then, a part of you also wished you could see this as it happened. You wanted to see how his back muscles flexed with every new movement he made over you. Watch him from every perspective, and get to see how his hips moved back and forth while still being somewhat dressed. You wished you could see your legs wrapped around his wide hips and how you met his thrusts just as desperately.
Clark brought you back to this moment by murmuring something you couldn’t quite register against your lips, but you nodded anyway and let him do whatever he had asked you permission to do. He stopped the kiss for a moment, and you finally had the time to breathe.
Now you heard it all, and saw it all.
In the heat of desperation, Clark must’ve taken off his pants. He might as well have taken off his underwear, too, because they clung to him like they were vacuum-sealed. Your cunt fluttered at the sight of his cock, straining slightly curved to one side, and the thick outline of it was so clear you started salivating.
“Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured into the everlasting kiss.
Your tongues swirled together, and you nodded again.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable doing it without a condom?” He asked agitatedly, dragging your tights down your thighs.
You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. “It’s a little late to be asking that, Clark, I’m already so wet.”
Jesus, he murmured, reaching between your bodies. He rubbed you over your panties, and a moist sound came from them. His brows pinched together, then he replaced his hand with his still clothed cock, rubbing himself there again. He was burning, and if your cunt ached on the inside, you could imagine the pain he was in when carrying something like that.
You bucked your hips, searching for some friction, all while you urged down the hem of his boxers. He didn’t hesitate to grant your wish and finished dragging it down all the way.
A musk scent reached your senses when he freed himself. A scent that made your mouth water and your cunt throb; a scent that, despite being new to you, was so distinctively him. Then you finally looked down, and your breathing got caught in your throat. It was just how you’d pictured. Thick and proportional to his body. It hung heavy over your stomach, and the dark hairs of his groin halted the flow of his smooth and pale skin.
Your breathing shook with anticipation, and you reached for it and stroked him by instinct, pulling the skin back and forth with each movement. He was firm, and your fingers barely met when you wrapped your hand around it. Clark almost crumbled on top of you when you touched him like that and gave you no chance to keep going. Did he not like it?
“Can I see you too?” he murmured. “All of you?”
The only barrier between you and he were your panties. You nodded, and instead of dragging them down, he tore them by the waistband on each side. You gasped at the first unexpected snap and bit your lip at the second one.
“I’ll get you some new ones,” he said into a kiss, and towered over you, allowing his cock to slip between your slippery folds.
Smooth, and so achingly slow, at the rhythm of his tongue swirling yours. Pleasure started to bloom instantly; you almost came just like that.
“Please.” You bucked your hips once, searching for more friction.
“I—” His breathing shook. “I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to help you while I’m… inside you.”
“It’s okay.” You stroked his cheek and he leaned on it while blinking like it really soothed him. “Just try your best. If it doesn’t work–” You kissed him reassuringly. “–I’m sure you can help me once we’re done. You’ll remember what it felt like, right?”
Yeah, he exhaled, and didn’t hesitate to part your wet folds with the cockhead. He dragged it up and down between them, and the blissful feeling built and spread through your nerves. He kissed you back and stroked himself hurriedly at your entrance, smearing your arousal with the tip.
It sounded wet, and his breathing shook.
“Of course I’ll remember.” Another kiss, then he lined himself and grunted when you sucked the head right in. “I can be your ghost writer if you need me to.”
Meeting that subtle thrust, you reached for your voice recorder, and the beep blared around as you pressed play.
You got filled with butterflies as you gasped in sync and locked eyes. He was in, and everything around you turned blurry. You wanted to kiss him much as you wanted to look into his eyes and he gave you both. Kissed you once, worked you open with a subtle thrust then looked into your eyes again.
You would’ve moaned if you weren’t so aware that this was being recorded. It initially was a good idea, but now that you were overworking your breathing by containing your sounds, you were reconsidering it. He felt too exquisite, stretching you and calming the ever-growing ache with his girth. You knew you could take him fully so you urged another bit of his cock inside you by wiggling your hips toward him, despite feeling so stuffed already.
As you took more of him, his whole body froze. Only his breathing shook, and his hips froze when your own shifted to allow another inch inside. His head landed on your shoulder, and he hissed between clenched teeth against your neck, rubbing his face there.
He turned awfully quiet.
“Clark?” You rubbed his back. He replied with a quick nip to your collarbone but didn’t lift his head. He didn’t move his hips either.
You lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at him. His lips were parted, his eyes only had a thin ring of blue around his big pupils and drops of sweat gathered above his brows. You brushed your thumbs over them.
He seemed weak, like you were made out of kryptonite all of a sudden.
“Are you okay?”
He exhaled a shaky breath, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile before he rewarded you with a tender kiss.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
You needed to know what was going through his mind.
“Tell me,” you said. “Tell me exactly how it feels.”
His eyes darted to the voice recording by your head.
“I— give me a second.” He winced with his lips closed tight and shifted on top of you. You brushed his hair back. “It feels.” He rocked his hips once and stretched you some more. You bit your lip. “Um, I- it feels— you feel warm, almost… burning.” A crease formed between his brows. “So firm a-nd wet. You’re wrapped around my cock perfectly. There’s nothing… untouched.”
Hearing him talk like that… You needed him to keep going. His voice stimulated your brain and each word traveled directly to every nerve in your cunt.
He kissed you like he was already done talking, and you whined into his mouth in protest.
“Clark-” you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth. “Focus.”
“I can’t.” He pressed his forehead against yours.
“Yes, you can. You wanna help me, right?”
Clark nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can do it.”
He thrusted steadily again—deliberate rocking motions—and you tightened around him.
“Oh, please, honey, don’t do that.”
Honey.
“Tell me.” You smiled.
“That’s… that’s all I got. It’s… um, comforting.”
You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Comforting?”
“So good,” he said through a shaky exhale. “I don’t have many words in my brain right now.”
“S’okay.”
You nibbled his lip, and he was sweet about it. Didn’t fight back. Just let you take his lip between your teeth and drag it into your mouth. You rocked your hips under him, withdrawing half of his cock from you and thrusting forward to squeeze it all right back and then some more until his balls squeezed against your ass.
He slammed into you hard once in response, and you gasped.
“Do you think you’ll remember the way it feels?” you asked
“This isn’t something I’ll ever forget.”
He shoved your hips together again, harsher, and a delightful clash of skin against skin echoed around for the first time.
“So you can tell me later, yeah?”
“I promise you.”
You reached for the recorder to turn it off and finally let yourself go, but he pinned your hand down.
“No, keep it going. I wanna go back to this.” He kissed you, and threaded your fingers together. “To these pretty moans.”
Your whole body relaxed and melted then. Completely gave in to him and this, and as soon as he picked up a rhythm, you couldn’t care less about this being recorded. You turned into a shameless, shuddering, moaning mess under him, meeting his thrusts desperately, and raking your nails across his shoulders and back. You wished you could tell him how much you loved this, but your mouth stayed busy responding to every kiss he initiated.
It made so much sense that Clark was a kisser, and during sex, his passion for them multiplied ten times like there was a second meaning behind them. Each kiss was paired with a grunt or a moan and you clenched around him as a way of responding to them even when you were full of sounds, too.
He let go of your mouth with a wet sound for a moment, brushing his lips across your cheek and gritting his teeth together, in pain, almost.
“Sorry,” you had to say.
“Don’t–” he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Don’t be. You’ll know soon exactly what I’m feeling. But just know, it’s good. So good, it just… I won’t last if you do it often. I’m fighting myself here.”
Oh.
“You can come.” You fluttered around him, and his brows knitted together.
“No, it’s not fair.” His arms flexed when he pushed himself up, keeping his perfect rocking motions, like waves that were about to push you to the brim already.
“This is homework,” you shot back.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.”
You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and the way he smirked at your reaction embarrassed you. He knew you were enjoying this. You tilted your head to the side to avoid looking at him.
“Hey.” He kissed your chin. “Why won’t you look at me?”
“It’s awkward.”
Clark laughed softly.
“This stopped being awkward a while ago.” He kissed your shoulder. “Not awkward.”
Propping himself on one elbow by your head, he reached between your legs and massaged soft circles over your clit. At the perfect pace and pressure. It took him eight seconds to build your orgasm, just how you did whenever you were all alone in your room, but he didn’t fully take you there. Just when you were close, he withdrew his hand.
Why would he–
“Oh,” you moaned.
He slammed into you hard.
You just needed a little boost; his cock did the rest.
Slipping in and out, over and over, Clark dragged out your orgasm and somehow kept it there, a ticklish sensation that pulsed and expanded and shrank but never disappeared. Harsh slams of his hips that tapped and tapped and tapped your sensitive nub with his wiry hairs and continued building the orgasm until it trespassed the teasing.
Until there was no going back from it.
“Oh, Clark.” Your vision turned blurry.
Throwing your head back, you let yourself go and lifted your ass off the mattress to meet his slams.
“There we go.” He leaned to your ear and nibbled your earlobe. “Is that good?”
“I—”
This felt beyond surreal. You wiped a warm stream running down the corner of your eye—sweat or blissful tears, you didn’t know—and looked down to admire your bodies clashing together. And only after a few seconds of chasing your orgasm, it struck you completely.
“Oh, g-gosh—”
You came, so hard, you couldn’t hold back any sound. You turned into a whiny mess as your cunt spasmed repeatedly until it turned overly sensitive.
There it is, Clark caressed your cheek with the tip of his nose and a curl flopped down, tickling your forehead. He was everywhere on you, as much as you loved having him inside you, you urged his hips back so he’d pull out for at least a moment.
His cock slipped out with a squelch, and it hung over your lower stomach, wet, flushed, and glistening with your creamy arousal. He tapped your clit with the head of his cock a few times then entered you again. And kissed you again.
“Is it okay if it takes me a while?”
Thrust.
“Weren’t you just complaining about you coming too soon?”
Thrust.
“It’s under control now,” he smirked, and slammed so much harder. Your tits bounced under him.
“You can control it?”
“I’ll tell you every detail about it.”
Then he shut you up. Not with a kiss like he had already made you used to, but with persistent, ruthless pounding. He turned rough, but never merciless. His thrusts were deliberate, crafted for you at the pace you needed and the force you craved. He never stopped making sure you were okay with this—by scanning your face at all times, kissing your lips and chin and forehead and whispering in your ear how good you felt.
Even during sex, he was dangerously caring.
You almost tell him how much you loved this. How much you loved him.
“Can we change positions?” You panted.
“I thought this was your favorite,” he teased.
“It is, mmm, but no guy ever lasted this long. My legs are tired from being open.”
“Can I still see your face?” You nodded. “Where do you want me?”
You licked your lips.
“There’s a scene in my book, where she rides him and he thinks she’s the most perfect creature. I need to know what that position feels like.”
“You wanna ride me?”
You gulped. “For research.”
“Sure, okay.”
Without pulling out, Clark flipped yourselves so you’d be on top of him. You were supposed to ride him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to peel yourself from his solid torso.
“You okay?” Clark touched your face with both hands and brushed the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks.
“Maybe if… You rest your back on the headboard, it’ll be more accurate.”
He didn’t protest and dragged himself higher with you still on top. He even built a wall of pillows for more comfort.
“There?” He shifted back, smiling.
Now he was more sitting than lying, which made it more comfortable for you to move.
“Perfect.” You ran your hands over his chest. You rocked your hips once, and his smile dropped.
“Oh-” his lips parted.
His hands rested on the globes of your ass, tender, and his eyes skimmed down to your breasts. Clark gulped like he was thirsty.
“You can touch them.” You brought one of his hands up to your tit. His cock twitched inside you. You had to admit, this position swelled your chest with confidence. More so when Clark was like this, so starved for you. “Or lick them.”
“Yeah?”
“As long as you tell me how it feels.”
You moved your hips again, this time in a wide circular motion that dragged your clit across his lower stomach and bent his cock a little. Your walls clammed around his cock.
“I will, I will, but… later.”
“No live reaction here either?” You rocked your hips again.
He grunted. “I can’t, but I swear, I’ll tell you every little thing I’m feeling.”
You held onto the headboard, propped yourself on your knees and bounced your ass up and down. “Okay.”
You picked up a tempo, one that made him groan each time, and now he didn’t hesitate to take one of your tits into his mouth. He hummed around it, swirling his tongue over your stiffened nipple.
“You’re right.” Clark let go of your tit and looked up at you. “He absolutely thinks she’s the most perfect creature.”
Your heart and cunt fluttered equally in love.
You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from saying something you shouldn’t and grabbed his jaw, capturing his mouth into a wet kiss.
And it was like this for a while. His hands explored your body the whole time, and he could’ve tattooed your name on your lips by how many times he’d said it.
You rocked your hips back and forth while kissing him. And if you weren’t kissing him on the mouth, you were kissing his forehead, brows, cheeks, all while he kept himself busy sucking on your breasts. He liked them. So much, you felt him smile around him more than once. He even bit them, the two times you came just like this.
When you were closer to a third one, Clark held your hips still.
“I can’t finish inside you,” he panted and planted a kiss on your shoulder.
“Yeah, just… pull out.”
He maneuvered you so you’d be tucked against the pillows and propped himself on one hand. He slipped out with a grunt, almost in pain—you missed him already—and you looked down just at the right time. He stroked his cock hurriedly—thicker and heavier than how you’d first seen it—until warm ropes of cum shot and covered your skin. You could almost cry out of pure joy.
Clark Kent, coming all over you.
What a sight.
“Oh my god,” he grunted through clenched teeth, staring down at the mess he’d made. “I’m sorry, this is—”
You brought him down into a kiss by the nape of his neck, and the soft press of his stomach smudged his cum all over. His hips shifted slightly, and his cock nestled between your folds.
“This is perfect,” you finished his sentence.
This lasted too damn long, but you needed him inside you all over again.
You didn’t think of this. Of the aftermath.
Clark was quiet next to you, awake, with his nose nuzzled in your hairline. Your heart was much steadier now, but it was still aware of how near Clark still was. You were scared to move, to breathe, to say the wrong thing.
“Was I helpful?” He asked right there on your skin after a moment.
You lay a hand on his hip and tapped once. “You might’ve cured my writer's block.”
He laughed softly. Pecked your temple. “Why do you keep it a secret?”
“Reputation, guess. I like my job. I like being a journalist and if people knew I write about people having sex, they wouldn’t take me seriously. People at the Daily talk.”
“It's not just sex.” He pulled back to look at you. Your heart leaped from you. “Y-your writing, your stories are more than just sex. They’re complex characters and the sex is something that makes them more human.”
Right.
“I know but… I don't know. I guess I also like having a secret identity, don’t you?” You glanced up at him.
“I guess so.”
He cinched your waist and pulled you into a tight hug. You bit back a sigh. You were dying to know what this meant to him.
Would he have done it if he knew how much it would ruin you?
By the time you woke up, the first rays of sunshine were already eating away some stars.
You weren’t supposed to stay the night, but he said he could answer all the questions you had and even ended up writing scenes together.
Which wasn’t a good idea.
Seeing him write sex scenes and help you craft them to make them sound accurate from a male’s point of view sparked that heat inside you. And inside him.
He was the one to start the kiss, tentative at first, and as you responded to it with a moan, there was no need to say anything else. It was a silent agreement, because you both knew that kissing again was out of script.
You ended up having sex two more times. Both times without a single word shared because, god, there was no need for words. His eyes and body said it all. The second time was much less giggly. It was breathy, full of sighs and wet kisses and gentle love bites across your skin.
The third time was lazy and sleepy, and the only thing Clark said was ‘stay like this’ in a murmur, instructing you to stay lying on your side so he’d fuck you from behind. Spooning you, and kissing you all over your neck, jaw, shoulders, and side of your breasts. His rocking motions were slow, and his large hands mapped across your body just as slow as if he wanted to make love to you twice at the same time.
He finished just like that, over your hip, with a low and exquisite grunt deep in your ear, and reaching between your legs to massage your clit so you’d come, too. You did, and soon, you fell asleep in that exact same position, with your orgasm still rushing through you, his lips somewhere on your neck, and his hands cinching you close to him by your waist.
Now, as your eyes fluttered open, his arm was still draped over your waist. If you moved, there was the chance he might wake up. If you didn’t, he’d wake up anyway at the sound of his alarm and you’d still be here in his arms.
Either option led you to the same outcome: address what happened, and you weren’t ready to talk about it yet.
What would you even say?
Thank you for your help, Clark.
I am so in love with you, by the way.
I’m glad we did it!
We’re the bestest of friends now.
Super good friends.
You went for the first option. You held your breath and shifted forward, away from him, and froze to make sure he didn’t wake up. Then did the same thing a few times until you managed to slip away from his arms. Your limbs felt heavy, as though you’d just gotten out of a pool. Even your skin was still sticky from the dried sweat, and as much as you loved being covered in his body fluids, you needed a shower.
Not here, though.
On your tippy-toes, you stood by the end of the bed, and once you made sure his chest kept heaving in and out at the same peaceful rhythm, you picked up one of his shirts and threw it on because most of your clothes were supposed to be on his living room, but before you walked out of his room to get them, you found your skirt, blouse and tights lying on top of his dresser, folded. He must’ve brought them here when he went to get his laptop to do some writing with you.
How thoughtful.
As you finished getting dressed, some puppy-whining came from the other side of the door. Krypto must’ve heard you. You opened the door and sneaked out of the bedroom to meet him.
“Hi, honey,” you whispered. “You hungry?”
Krypto did a spin as a yes, so you poured him some of his food, and as he ate, you wrote a note on a napkin for Clark, because even though you didn’t want to talk yet, you couldn’t just leave like that.
I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE YOU. YOU LOOKED SO PEACEFUL. THANK YOU AGAIN. I SENT WHAT WE WROTE LAST NIGHT TO MY EMAIL AND DELETED IT FROM YOUR LAPTOP SO THERE’S NO TRACE OF IT. SEE YOU AT WORK.
You ran through the busy streets, greeted Nino at the entrance, and reached the elevator just as the doors were closing.
“Hold it, please!” You yelled.
A hand stopped the doors from closing. The same hand had been between your legs last night.
Oh, crap. Clark was also late.
The doors opened up and as soon as you made eye contact, your arms acted like they were made out of rubber. Your stack of files fell to the floor, and Clark rushed to pick them up at the same time as you. Your fingers brushed together. His soft scent reached you and flashbacks from last night struck you.
His lips, his body covering you, his mouth on your tits—
“Hey,” he said, giving you your files back.
“Hi,” you replied.
Your legs wobbled. Just like last night.
You cleared your throat and held onto your files tight, the same way he was holding the strap of his briefcase, so tightly his knuckles turned white.
You stood at the back of the elevator, glued to the wall, as far from him as you could. You had an insane urge to kiss him.
“I’m sorry I left without telling you,” you said. “I left a note on your fridge. I hope you—”
He craned his head to one side but didn’t quite look at you.
“Yep. I read it. Thanks.”
God, he was mad. Was he mad?
“Good, good, that’s… good.” You gulped. “Did um, Krypto do anything after I left?”
“Yeah.” Clark exhaled. “He found my running shoes and chewed one of them. But he’s with Kara now so—”
You were praying for someone to stop the elevator midway just so this never-ending ride wouldn’t be so mortifying. He’d seen you naked last night. He’d kissed every inch of you. He’d made you come three times, and now both of you were acting like nothing had happened.
Were you supposed to acknowledge what you did? To congratulate him for the amazing job he did? You opened your mouth to say something, anything, then the elevator doors dinged open.
A horde of suited-up chatty men entered, and Clark backed up next to you. Your arms brushed together, and you reached so your knuckles would accidentally touch, too.
You looked up at him, and he was already looking at you.
“Can we talk?” He asked quietly. His brows were knitted together.
“Yeah,” you replied. “At lunch?”
“Sure.”
He half-nodded and tore his eyes away.
The elevator reached the twenty-eighth floor, and you both walked out in the same direction. It was oddly empty here.
Just as Clark asked, “Where’s everybody?” Perry stormed out of his office.
Morning, he said with his cigar between his lips.
“These—” he tossed two stacks of files on your desk and Clark’s “—need to be rewritten. Everyone stupidly decided to call in sick today, so you two are the chosen ones.”
Stupid, he said again under his breath and locked himself in his office.
You and Clark exchanged looks.
If you wanted to leave on time today, you’d have to skip lunch break.
You sighed and got to work.
A few injured soldiers from Jimmy’s party showed up with shades in one hand and electrolyte water in the other during the first two hours, so the office wasn’t just the two of you.
With him right across from you, all you did was have flashbacks of last night. You didn’t regret it one bit, but not being able to talk about it was eating you alive.
You would’ve thought he was mad at you because he didn’t even spare you a single glance. But he was Clark, and even if he wasn’t looking at you, he still checked on you. Sending you messages through the computer chat each time Perry came to check your and Clark’s progress, but nothing else. He filled your cup of coffee in silence every time you ran out.
Then he disappeared for two hours to do who knows what (Superman duty, of course).
By lunch time, he hadn’t made it back, and you weren’t feeling hungry, but went to get a pretzel at the cafeteria anyway and went up to the rooftop to feed the pigeons and wait for him. He had one hour until you had to get back to work.
You paced from one side to the other under the shadow the big golden globe cast, rehearsing how this conversation with Clark would go. Every single outcome made you wish the globe would just roll off and crush you.
Your lunchtime hour went by, the globe didn’t roll over you, and Clark didn’t show up.
His stack of editing he should’ve worked on was still untouched, and when you were done with yours, you couldn’t help but grab some of his, too.
At 5 p.m. o’clock, Perry came out of his office, ready to leave.
“Where’s Kent?” He stopped by your desk.
“Bathroom,” you replied without looking up. “I think.”
“Tell him he has until tomorrow. You, are done for today. Go home.”
You were dreaming of him when a hand brushing the crown of your head woke you up.
“Hi,” Clark said in a whisper.
You blinked your eyes open. He was crouched next to you with a soft look on his face. He paused, smiled with his eyes, and caressed your cheek with the back of his curled fingers.
“You didn’t have to finish my work.”
“I know.” You sat upright and glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand. It was about to be midnight. “I thought since—”
“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out, and your breathing caught in your chest. He sat by your side and reached for your hand. Brushed his thumb over your knuckles. This must still be a dream. “I’ve been in love with you for a while and I- should’ve told you the moment I started to feel this way, but I couldn’t then. And I don’t want you to think I offered you my help, just an excuse to make love to you. That’s not who I am, I hope you know that, but I- I was scared if I said something, you might’ve pulled away from me forever. But then last night… gosh, it changed me. I realized how much love I have for you stored in my chest, it almost feels like a brand new feeling I wasn’t ready to expose yet but I am so sure now. It’s still unknown, but it’s beautiful and so bright. I can give it all to you if you let me. If not, I will live with it.”
Every single word he said wrapped around you like a warm blanket.
You threw yourself onto his chest and swung your arms around his neck as tears welled up in your eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He picked you up off the bed and you climbed onto him until your legs were wrapped around him, too. “If it’s not too late I—”
“Not too late,” you whispered.
Then, you laughed softly, just enough for him to notice.
“Ah, yep, there she is.” He rubbed your upper back and enveloped you even tighter.
You wanted to look at him, drown in his dimples, and kiss him, but you didn’t want him to see your tears. It’d break him, even if they were happy tears, so you held onto him and he swayed with you from side to side for a long while. Like a slow dance, though there was no song. The only sound between you and him was your heart thumping hard in your chest begging you to let it all out.
“I… finished my first draft,” you said. “Would you read it?”
Clark squeezed you playfully.
“Of course I’ll read it.”
You pulled back and finally dared to look at him and kiss him. Every feeling you’d been bottling up were finally being set free.
You pressed your foreheads together. “Would you stay the night?”
“Yeah.” He kissed you back and sighed. “I’ll stay the night.”
“… it’s so hot…”
“… I never thought something could be to sad and filthy at the same time…”
“… I just hope they can get their happy ending in the next book…”
You bit back a smile and tried to focus on the article you’d been working on since this morning.
The girls behind you were talking about your book, that was released two weeks ago and had recently hit the New York Times best sellers.
You were proud of it, and right after you handed the finished draft to your agent, you started working on a sequel, because your characters weren’t done loving each other, and deserved a happily ever after.
A copy of your book was placed next to your keyboard, and over it, Clark’s so familiar hand. A hand you’ve been holding at walks in the park for a few months now.
A Post-it note was glued to the cover:
SIGN ME?
You slapped your palm over it before anyone could see it and looked up at him.
“You already have a signed copy,” you whispered.
“It’s not for me. It’s for Ma.”
Your eyes widened. “Your mother?!”
You stood up and with your eyes, signaled him to follow you. You reached the small storage room by the emergency exit. The room you and he have claimed for yourselves whenever you wanted to kiss.
Some people at the Daily suspected you two, but you didn’t want to make it official just yet. No one had to know.
“You are not giving your mother this book,” you said as soon as he shut the door behind him. “She can’t read this, Clark, it’s porn!”
“Imagine how I felt when she told me she’d read a book about some Sierra Oz and how she heard she had released another not long ago.”
“Oh my god.” You covered your face with your palms and you peeked at him between your fingers. “She did not.”
“She’s a huge fan,” he laughed.
“I’m so sorry.” You looked up at him.
“I’d be mortified knowing my mother and her friends read these kinds of books, but knowing it’s yours… I think it makes me proud. She had good taste.”
“Stop it.”
Clark leaned and kissed you, and it soon turned heated. He cornered you against the wall and parted your legs with his knee.
“Come with me,” he said against your lips.
“Where?” You pulled back and scanned his face. He was planning something.
“To Smallville.” He kissed your cheek. “I want my parents to meet my girlfriend.”
“They already know me.”
“As my friend.”
You smiled. “They don’t know I’m your girlfriend now?”
“They know I have a girlfriend, but who she is is not something I want to tell them through a phone call.” He kissed you again. “I want to surprise them. They’re gonna be thrilled seeing you walk through their door.”
To think he wanted to bring you as a present to his parents made your heart soar. You adored the Kents, and you couldn’t wait to be part of the family someday.
“You think so?”
“Know so.” He kissed you once more. “They adore you. So? What do you say?”
“Okay, yeah. But Ma can’t know I’m… Sierra.”
“Of course not.” He bumped your noses together. “I’ll… have to pretend I have no idea who the book dedication is about.”
HELLO! If you reached the end, look at the book dedication! TEEHEEEE isn’t it so cute? I truly hope you enjoyed it! I loved writing it, and I loved writing Clark. This is my first story for him and very out of my comfort zone exploring new characters but here I am following the muse. I had so many alternative scenes for how I wanted them to fuck <33 but ultimately the one that made it here was my favorite. I didn’t want to extend the wait or else it would’ve turned tooooo angsty and I didn’t want them to suffer lols so I hope how it all unfolded is good!
Anywayyyy
This is a stand alone sorry BUT let me know if you’d like to see some blurbs about some things mentioned throughout the story like the time Clark called reader when Pa had a heart attack or the time they discovered she was a Krypto-whisperer or anything else you’d like to see from them!
I’d love to read your thoughts on it. Through comments or reblogs or asks. They’re are much appreciated.
thank you so much for reading 🫰💋
HERE’S THE PLAYLIST AND MOODBOARD IN CASE YOU MISSED IT IN THE BEGINNING OKAY BYE
Synopsis: You're the daughter of the mayor but your troubled public imagine has earned you a babysitter during a campaign gala. With Superman following you around all night you do everything in your power to piss him off.
Warnings: brat!reader, dom!Clark, alcohol, male!receiving oral, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex, fem!begging, Clark has a huge dick duh, p in v cream!pie, taunting language.
Word Count: 2.4K
Your father was the mayor of Metropolis, and it was no secret every government official, philanthropist, and businessman in the city would try and win over his approval.
Your father quite liked Superman. Every so often he would make an appearance at your father's campaigns endorsing for his reelection. Approving of his attempts to keep the city as safe as possible.
Your experience with the hero had been nothing but short. He would throw you a polite smile when interacting at events you had be forced to attend. Being the only women in your father's life made you a mandatory piece of decoration at every other socialization.
In the tabloids you were often written as a slutty, wild, brat college girl who got whatever she wanted, and they were absolutely fucking right. The only thing saving you was the devastating charm that would play a sly smile across your face.
So, daddy had been very clear about your behavior with the high stakes of the reelection. You needed to be on your very best behavior for tomorrow's charity gala, one last impression to sway public opinion.
When he sat you down in his office to tell you about the underpants wearing alien that would be following you around all night you were more than irate.
to which you replied.
"Thanks bitch...ahh yes...just what I need a giant fucking babysitter to overcompensate on my adult ass!"
Your fathers voice cracked back like a whip
"Enough! if you can't learn to control yourself I will goddamn, do it for you!"
The only reaction you could muster up was walking away mid-sentence, flipping the bird while doing so preparing to make tomorrow night a work of absolute hell for daddy and Superman.
___
OfCourse Clark was more than happy to accept this simple favor of the mayor, always eager to show his upstanding citizenship. Just a simple good doing. You were simple right?
Clark didn't know a lot about you, other than you were younger, a college student from this university he once graduated from a few years ago.
Sure, maybe the media said you were wild, but how bad could it be? He fought supergalatic monsters for a living. All he has to do is make sure you don't down too many flutes of champagne.
___
Clad in his tight heroic costume Clark approached your figure as the guest began to flow through the double doors of the intricate museum.
As he walked closer your glare grew absolutely killer; he thought you just might shoot the same red laser beams out of your eyes that he too possesses.
When he opened his mouth to speak you were quick to cut him off with a swift finger held to his lips.
"I don't need an introduction, and I definitely don't need to pretend like I give a single fuck your here right now."
Your immediate boldness and colorful language widened his eyes; following you as you paced to the bar demanding a cocktail from the bartender
He chimed in trying to regain his confidence "Your father specifically told me to make sure you stay sober tonight...now I'm going to give you the choice to set the drink down before I forcefully take it."
"Gross what are you 40, im of age and you can eat a bag of dicks baby boomer"
wow you really were a piece of work, Clarks ears grew red at the insult watching you intake the drink more by the second. Chugging it in front of his face with a glint of tease in your eyes.
Without breaking eye contact he wrapped his hand around yours forcing the drink to lower from your mouth. You smirked at him with misbehavior hinting that the night just begun.
___
Every five seconds Clark was doing damage control on your reckless behavior. While simultaneously greeting hi's and hellos as the hero of the city. Masking the fact that he was roleplaying as world's best babysitter.
10 minutes ago, he stopped you from lighting a joint next to half the journalist in the city. Ripping it out of your hand to flick it out the window before anyone saw.
Then you tried escaping through the back entrance after somehow sneaking away while Clark was pulled aside for a photograph. He just nearly caught you grabbing your hips to set you back inside.
"What is your problem!? You can just touch people you know!"
It had been getting progressively easier to enforce his Superman side, "You know im just helping your father so there's no trouble in the paper before his reelection, it would be much easier if you just sat tight till the end of the night."
You batted your eyelashes looking up into his deep blue stare, "Oh, I'll sit tight alright" shoulder chucking him as you walked back to the party.
And you stayed true to your word, making your way over to one of the younger officials working for your father. It was no secret that you were a beautiful woman, any man would fall into your trap easy.
Clark watched as you bantered with the official, laughing at his unfunny jokes, biting your lip, and tossing your hair behind your exposed collarbone.
The longer he watched you the more he noticed the way your tits sat perfectly in your dress, the soft glow of your skin, the slit in the fabric exposing all the way up to your upper thigh.
He was caught off guard when he realized you were staring at him from across the room.
the man who accompanied you started to dip his hand closer to the slit of your gown. You gripped onto his tie pulling him to a near kiss. Never breaking eye contact with Clark.
His breath was caught in his chest; you flashed the same cocky smirk liked you wanted to get caught. Caught being the naughty girl you knew you were.
Urgently Clark walked over, the last thing he needed was someone else touching you like that, and also of course someone catching on to your inappropriate behavior.
"Come on you know this is not the place" Clark demanded firmly. If he couldn't keep you out of trouble, what would the mayor say about him. He had one job.
You continued to cozy up the man, his more than tipsy state giving him the liquid courage to kiss your neck, ignoring Clark's presence entirely.
"you're not my father supershit" snickering up at him
That was all it took for Clark to yank you out of your seat carrying you away from the gala before anyone noticed he'd thrown you over his shoulder.
You punched his steel back ruthlessly until you came to a halt in the small library upstairs, only then did Clark set your feet back on the ground.
"You are unbelievable! I didn't ask to be followed around all night captain underpants" you screamed storming to the other side of the room.
"Well maybe I wouldn't have to if you weren't such a brat, you were all over that guy what would they say about you, I have one job, and it is to keep you out of trouble" Clark huffed
Slowly you sauntered back over to stand under his large frame. A scowl curling your glossed lips
"I'd rather be a brat than an obedient little fuck like you"
"Good golly, t-that mouth of yours, has anyone every taught you any manners" It was unlike Clark to lose him temper but your attitude drove him over the edge.
Pleasure erupts in you at the sight of his frustration, the way his cheeks flushed, and his large hands balled into fist.
He rambles on "I'd like to-"
"What" you cut him off
"Youd like shut me up?" Your hand lightly traces down the blue leather on his arm grabbing his hand.
"Want to teach me how to be a good girl" you say bringing his hand to your mouth sucking on his middle and pointer finger deep, staring up at him with sparkling doe eyes.
the most innocent you've looked all night is with his fingers deep in inside your warm mouth.
He groaned at the sight, subconsciously shoving his fingers in deeper, as your moans vibrated around the digits.
"Youve been such a bad girl" he whispered, but you only giggled in response. You knew exactly what you were doing. Clark pulled his fingers out of your mouth, making you whine.
Grabbing your arms he tossed you down on a plush sofa that sat in the middle of the dimly lit library. Your back ricocheted from the landing force.
You watched as he ridded of his suit in the blink of an eye, you'd never seen superman shirtless, and holy fuck did he not disappoint. His briefs sat tight against his skin outlining his hardening member.
"Come here" he demanded
You slipped of the sofa crawling over to him on all fours like a cat in heat, sitting on your knees under him. He took you face in his large palm, thumb toying at the entrance of your mouth.
You whined, needy for any sensation other than the emptiness your core felt.
"Shut up" Clark scolded in a manner you'd never seen before.
"Make me..."
He squished your cheeks with his hand ripping his boxers down, his large cock despite being hard was so big it struggled to stand. Without warming his pink tip slapped against your tongue demanding entrance.
Your lips obediently wrapped around the muscle taking in as much as you could but tears quickly pricking at your eyes.
"ugh..y-you're doing so...so good, if this was all it took to make you behave. I mmm...would've done it a long time ago"
"Such a naughty girl being so good" The unfamiliar praise made you clench your thighs with pleasure, gripping his for support as he fucked into your throat.
Mascara ran down the corners of your eyes as you tearfully stared at the hero's blissful state. Clark's mouth hung open as he felt your hot spit dripping around the base of his cock.
His hands rand through your hair finding the back of your head to hold you there in place. He watched as you struggled to breathe through your nose, taking a little over half of him.
Clark knew this was unlike any way he'd acted before. Mumbling sorry's under his breath but his eyes saying different.
Finally, he let you go to gasp for air, doing his best to smooth out the tangles he made and wiping up the spit around your mouth.
Without much time to recover you were lifted to your feet, holding on to his arms for support. Now he was the one wearing the smirk, Clark's hand dipped its way under your dress.
Tracing his hand over your lace panties, starting to softly rub back and forth against the growing wetness and heat. Standing there you rocked your hips to the sensation.
He moved your panties to the side easing his fingers into your eager pussy. Your head flew back eyes pressed shut from the pleasure.
"F-fuck Superman" the identity rolling of the tongue like candy, your head fell against his chest as your legs fought to stay upright. your belly arching into his still hard cock.
Clark lifted your chin to look up at him "See...when you behave you get rewarded" taunting you.
You couldn't help the loud moan that left your throat when the pace of his fingers sped suddenly jolting you. Your legs gave from the pleasure. his hold on your frame tight while fucking his fingers deep.
"I need you...oh m-my god...in me n-now"
"What do you say?"
"Please...Please f-fuck me Superman"
"Good Girl"
Clark was quick to lay your back down on the display desk in the library, standing between your legs scrunching your gown around your waist.
He lined himself up with your entrance pushing slowly. Your heat wrapped around him like a silk glove clenching around his large size. The circles on your hips he made with his thumbs soothed the pain.
He could have came at the sight alone, your tits spilling out of your dress while his dick was stuffed fully into your tight pussy. A look of neediness on your face.
You needed him. Superman. To keep you out of trouble and fuck the attitude right out of you, to make you behave.
Slowly he started rocking his hips back and forth letting you adjust to the feeling of his superhuman length. Your back arched on the wooden surface feeling a mix of pain and pleasure.
"Do you think you could fuck me any slower" you whine
Clark growled lifting your leg above his shoulder practically punching your cervix with the tip of his cock.
You began to see stars as the one and only Superman started pounding into you hard, Clark could barely contain himself.
"What was that? Did you have something to say, or am I fucking you dumb? You need to have the attitude fucked right out of you"
At this point Clark was panting, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead from the exertion of the sex. His fingers worked their way over to your clit.
Your cunt clenched around his cock from the combined sensation of his digits working in fast calculated circles and the brush of your g spot with every thrust.
You watched as the hero's dark curls fell deliciously. His good boy persona nowhere to be found as the sight of him watching his cock disappear inside of your tight hole again and again.
he was putting you in your place and fuck did you love every second of it. The wetness shared between you grew louder and the thrust sloppy and uncontrolled.
"S-Superman oh, your gonna make me, I'm gonna fucking cum"
Tightly your pussy squeezed his member, so hard Clark felt his balls emptying simultaneously, filling you up with warm ropes of his cum watching your face as you came undone around him.
His heavy body then laid rested on top of yours, slightly crushing your breast. He kissed up your navel to your mouth. His lips were warm, soft and you wrapped your tongue around them. Finding your hands in his soft hair.
You broke the kiss starring into his hazed blue eyes.
"You know the election is next week, and I might need some help behaving"
Synopsis: You and Clark were in Gotham City on business, but a little scare in a hotel room had you running to him. While sharing a bed with your co-worker and close friend you feel the sexual tension building between you.
warnings: 18+, mentions of crime, kissing, dry humping/grinding, fingering, breast play, Clark has a huge dick, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie.
Word Count: 2.8k
——————————————————————————
You and Clark had just got done interviewing with the mayor of Gotham City, recording his opinions on masked vigilantes and crime flooding the streets day and night.
Clark had landed an article opportunity with the mayor of Gotham after doing so well on his work with Superman for the Dailey Planet. Perry offered to let him take another reporter of his choice and without hesitation he said your name.
He knew that you were still waiting for your big breakthrough as a journalist and this piece would get your name out there enough to get your feet of the ground.
Even though you were practically best friends at work you were still pleasantly surprised he asked you. Having to conceal the light blush of excitement that covered your cheeks.
The car ride to Gotham City practically took all day. Clark was a painfully patient driver. Driving right on the speed limit the entire highway. It was worse once we reached downtown, he stopped to let every pedestrian pass despite who honked behind him.
You giggled under your breath at his over precaution, and he would whine a defensive "heyyyy" every time someone waved him the bird.
the interview picked up right as you got set up in the City Hall. Recording the mayors' opinions on masked vigilantes and crime flooding the streets day and night.
You poked for his thoughts on Batman working with government officials. Trying to find a controversial quote that would really launch the story and your name.
Clark and you had finished up after about an hour or so leaving to find the sky had gone dark and the lights from the skyscrapers reflected from the damp concrete.
There was a shared silence that reflected exhaustion exchanged between the two of you. Surprisingly no one had hotwired Clark's vehicle and sped off yet.
The second you both plopped into the leather interior you signed. You knew that the drive home would be risky considering the tired haze that covered your brains.
You look over at Clark to see him sitting peacefully slumped in the driver seat with his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape from his slipping consciousness.
He is one of your best friends, you don't mean to stare but the sight is so sweet you feel your heartbeat pick a little faster. In the silence your eyes wander to the pink softness of his lips.
Before you can analyze his tranquil state any longer Clark opens his eye to meet your own. For a moment you hold the gaze only to look down feeling a sense of shyness.
Clark notices but he doesn't point it out. He often takes attention to your nervous habits, when you look down during stressful staff meetings. Or fidgeting with your pen when Lois and Jimmy tease you for doing whatever Perry says.
He feels a sense of protectiveness for you. You're the only girl he's ever been close friends with. Wanting to curl up your softness and help you with absolutely anything you needed.
Breaking the silence "It's pretty late, I don't think it would be responsible for me to drive you while I doze off behind the wheel" Clark says adding "You know that's equal to if I were drunk"
You perk up a little smiling at his stupid fun fact of safety "Kent, I don't think you would even be going a speed fast enough hit a fly and kill it."
Playfully rolling his eyes he suggests "What if we get a hotel"
You don't know why but the suggestion left you with butterflies. The thought of sleeping in a room so close to his.
"Um sure, ya, that's okay" you reply slightly high-pitched.
You knew this was a possibility Clark had told you to bring an emergency overnight bag, you knew the drive was long, you knew you secretly wanted this.
Your body knew you secretly wanted him.
-----------
Clark pulled up to what was now the third hotel you'd stopped at. The other two nice ones were all booked up. This option was looking a little more like a haunted factory rather than Bruce Waynes penthouse.
The aesthetic of crime in Gotham making the tall dimly lit building fit right in. Your anxiety started to spike with all the fake scenarios of getting jumped filled your head while being left all alone.
Quickly Clark had booked two room keys one for each of you. He shied away from asking if you wanted to stay with him in fear of it being impolite.
He didn't want to put you by yourself, but otherwise it could mean something different, a feeling he didn't know if you felt.
"Third times the charm" he exclaimed waving the keys in his hand, eagerly pulling into a parking spot we could only hope the car would be in tomorrow.
-----------
It wasn't so bad, you were on the same floor at least, just one really big hallway apart. Clark kept asking "are you sure you're going to be alright alone"
"Of course I will Clark...I'm not that big of a baby" to which you lied right through your teeth unconfidently before saying goodnight and shutting the door.
You were totally a huge fucking baby, and the dank room was a sight scary enough to make you wanna piss your pants. Your tank top and sleep short pajamas didnt kept you warm enough to relax.
The tiredness you once felt had been replaced by fear as you curled in a ball at the top of the hard bed.
Little did you know Clark felt as nervous as you. He didn't trust this city. or these people. In his mind you were a beautiful delicate flower someone was going to try and pick.
He fought the urge to go and check on you every ten minutes. But ultimate he convinced himself you were sleeping adorable and peaceful after your long day.
in fact, the exact opposite was happening. You were driving yourself completely insane. Your ears were picking up on every police siren, the sinister voices that lingered in the streets below, the thumping of feet in passing by in the hallway.
Your back was pressed against the bedframe as you held the thin cotton sheet up to your chin, as if the pathetic paper-thin fabric would protect you from anything in this city.
Your eyes darted to the window as a shadow crossed behind the sheer curtain, swearing you could hear the sound of nails dragging against the glass. Your body began to tremble.
Flashes of lightening started to strike in the sky as thunder rumbled angrily making you jump. The pitter patter of rain picked up heavily against the window in a threatening manner.
Male voices drew your attention from the window to the hallway outside of your door. It was low laughter; they must know that I'm in here you tell yourself. They come to get me is all the rings in your ears.
Knocking abruptly banged on the door. In seconds you ripped off the bedsheet dashing to the bathroom locking it instantly. Then you heard another knock follow this time louder.
The feeling of a lump started forming in your throat as your nose began to wiggle, your eyes turning glassy from fear.
Another knock this time pounded hard and demanding at the wood door causing your body to jump, an involuntary whimper leaving your mouth.
This is how you would die. Killed by some psycho in a scary hotel room. You would never get to tell Clark how he made your heart pound.
How you loved him.
Tears began to run down your cheeks into your mouth. Your hand hesitantly reached to unlock the bathroom door, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Slowly you left the bathroom tip toeing to look through the peephole of the door. Your flooded eye struggling to focus on the outside as it inched closer to the hole.
nobody was there.
Your mind raced and without hesitation you ripped the door open darting as fast as you could down the hallway to Clarks room. You didn't look back afraid the last thing you would see is the hands of a grabber.
As you reached his door your palms slammed against the frame slapping it frantically the only thing you could choke was "Help!" in a sore cry.
The door gave not even a second later and blindly you crashed into his hard chest instantly clutching into his shirt.
Clark looked frazzled and panicked at your current state instinctively picking you up to hold you closer, you felt your feet lift off the ground effortlessly as you breathed in the clean sent of his skin.
He shut the door behind you not seeing any dangers following. lifting his hand to pet your hair gently, he soothed your cries quieter hearing your sniffles subside after a few minutes.
He stood there embracing you until you fully calmed. Slowly he walked over to the bed sitting down and situating you comfortably in his lap his thumb tracing circles on your soft exposed leg.
"What happened sweetheart" Clark whispered in a soft tone holding you closer than he ever dreamed.
The nickname makes your cheeks go red as you look up into his deep blue eyes, his face filled with worry and concern.
"I- I was so scared it was cold then there was li-lighting and the sirens but the b-b-banding on the door started and I ran to come find you" You rambled unsteadily.
A wave of guilt washed over him cursing himself for making the careless mistake of leaving you, he is supposed to protect you.
"Do you wanna stay here with me?"
You quickly nod in response to his offer still curled up into his lap. The comforting warmth of his body contrasting with the crisp air of the A.C. unit.
Clark watched as you crawled under the blankets, trying to hide his smile. He lifts the duvet to let himself under hesitant to get too close despite how content you seemed in his lap.
The butterflies in your stomach are beating you up from the inside. Seeing Clark with his messy curls in his cotton shirt and flannel pajama pants.
you felt vulnerable and touch starved.
It was hard to get comfortable when the growing feeling of warmth started to spread in your core. You yearned for his closeness, to be held.
You inched to his side of the bed swiftly acting as of you adjusted for comfort, which wasn't a lie. Clark was directly behind you, just inches from spooning your frame.
He knew, he knew you were needy, you needed him. He wasn't going to pussy out this time and leave you cold, so he firmly brought his hand around you to fill the space that lingered between you.
Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, Clark's frame cupped closely around yours. One large hand lingered on your hip while the other snaked under to wrap around your stomach.
Clark felt the scanty tank top you had on had ridden up slightly, his fingers brushing against your soft skin every now and then. Your little sleep shorts were the only thin barrier separating him from your panties.
The thought of his clothed cock pressed so snug against you, his good friend, his coworker, he was biting his lip to keep from grinding into you.
You wiggled slightly Infront of him, eyes snapping open at the growing poke that sat firm behind you. Was he hard...
A sense of naughty curiosity took over you, the voice in your head telling you to rub against him, to dig into his hard length. He's probably sleeping you told yourself.
lust filled your senses winning the internal battle and without warning you rolled your hips into his with enough pressure to feel the big tent that had formed in his pants.
The feeling it gave your clothed pussy had you begging for more, you repeated the action again this time pressing slower and harder. Dragging against every inch of his cock.
Clark froze the first time you rocked against him. Unsure if you were just sleeping, but he knew the second time it was no mistake. He blushed with embarrassment at his exposed state.
Eagerly his grip on your hips tightened now guiding your ass against him in a pornographic manner. Both of you too lost in the feeling to say anything.
The dim light coming from the window allowed Clark to look down and see the movement, your back was arching against his chest heading digging into the pillow.
the sight was enough to make pre-cum slip from his tip, a moan escaping his mouth.
The grinding grew too intense for you to stay quiet the first whimper leaving your lips sounded out "Clark" in a pleading whisper.
"Mmm sweetheart" he replied breathy and low.
You were flushed but desperate, "Please...I-I need you to touch me"
Clark groaned is response to the request not hesitating to bring his fingers to the hem or your sleep shorts. Dipping into the thin fabric to feel your panties.
He rubbed a teasing finger over your heat tracing up and down slowly as your panties dampened under his touch. His fingers rubbed small light circles over your clothed clit.
"Mmm More please" you begged pathetically bucking your hips.
The tips of his fingers moved down under the last piece of fabric allowing him to finally feel the softness of your folds, wet from his stimulation.
With two digits he pressed on your clit rubbing harder earning a whine from you, Clark trailed wet sloppy kisses down your neck and shoulder.
He was close but you wanted to be closer, hastily you moved from the spoon position to straddle over top of him, he took your face in his hands planting a direct kiss to your lips.
Your tongues moved aggressively against each other as you started to rip one another's clothes off. Thinking you heard your top tear in the process.
Clark was awe as your tits were on full display nipples hard from the cold air, bringing up his hands to knead the soft flesh.
"you're so beautiful" he mumbled right before taking your breast in his mouth, your hands ran through his dark curls as he took turns taking each tit between his lips.
"Ohhh fuck Clark mmm I-I need you inside of me"
Gently he flipped you to let your back rest against the mattress. Clark crawled over your body pushing your hair away from your face to press a kiss to your cheek.
The only thing he remained in were his tight boxers to which he pulled down revealing his aching hard member. You watched it smack against his stomach; he was larger than anything you'd seen before.
You lifted his hand to your mouth letting spit dribble into his palm. Clark praised "always such a sweet girl" rubbing his cock with your provided lubrication.
He teased your entrance with his tip, trying to go slowly not to make it any more painful than it was. You winced at his size feeling your walls clench harder at every inch he entered.
"You're doing so good baby, were almost there" Clark hushed in your ear holding you tight to comfort the pain.
Once he bottomed, he didn't move, feeling your tight contractions against his foreign size. He knew you were ready when your started to spread your legs wider for invitation.
Slow thrust quickly turned into deep concentrated hard ones. Clark was addicted to the feeling of bring his tip to your entrance only to plunge all the way back in.
Your nails scratched harshly down his back at the overwhelming sense of pleasure you had never felt before. Arching your back off the mattress into his hard chest.
Clark brought his fingers to your clit rubbing circles so precise your head dug into the pillow, eyes rolling back into your head as fuzz filled your vision.
"F-Fuck I'm not going to last much longer the way your wrapped around me so good baby"
Clarks unheard vulgar language and state were the cherry on top to rising knot that formed in your belly. Wet noises of your fucking filled the room.
"I'm so close Clark, ugh I-"
His pace quickened with the sounded of your whimpers and with one last hard thrust he buried deep inside of you. Your orgasm shook your body as Clark filled you with his warmth.
Once your high had washed over Clark rolled you into top of him still buried deep inside of you. Contently you relaxed against his bare skin finally closing your eyes to get the sleep you needed.
He stroked your hair as his eyes shut heavily, the last thought on his mind being the long car ride alone he got with your tomorrow.
Summary: The train ride home from work was crowded so Clark offered you a seat on his lap.
Warnings: +18, DomClark, Public sex, grinding, fingering, breast play, dick riding, p in v sex, cream pie.
Word Count: 1.6K (Oneshot)
The long day of writing, editing, and publishing was over, and you could not wait to take the bra off that had been crushing your tits. You were waiting for the train to arrive with your coworker Clark Kent.
Ever since he started working at the Daily Planet you guys really clicked. You helped him get an apartment in your building. You laughed over Perry's frustration while Jimmy flirts with the interns or talking about niche historical phenomena. You would even pick coffee up for one another.
Despite all of the friendly gestures and talk, you couldn't help but look at Clark with lust filled eyes. You practically drooled when you look over seeing he took off his blazer. Showing how well his arms filled out his shirt. The sleeves were rolled exposing the veins in his forearm. You practically had to bite your lip to stifle the moans you threaten to breathe.
"Hey, you alright? Is there something on my shirt?" Clark's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn't realize you were staring at his body until now.
"Oh no, no I'm sorry, I- I just am tired from the long day, I guess." Your cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as you mumbled. guilty feeling like you'd been caught.
The train pulled in quickly giving you a distraction for your awkwardness. The passenger car was more packed than usual, forcing you and Clark to stand.
Clark towered over you, practically inches away from the ceiling. You were tucked close beside him due to the compacity of the car. From his view he couldn't help but catch a glimpse down your tits in your tight dress shirt.
He couldn't look away no matter how intrusive and dirty it felt. Analyzing how perky they sat in your bra, how soft they would feel, or taste. The small black lace peeking out from your shirt was enough for him to forcefully suppress his arousal.
Suddenly the crowd swayed from the curve of the track. You felt your ass slightly press into him from the proximity; Clark gently wrapping his large hand on your hip to steady you. His politeness wetting your panties even more so.
The train came to a brief stop letting out the majority of the passengers leaving one extra seat open. Clark insisted you take the seat, but you refused saying you sat down all day and wanted to stretch your legs.
He moved to sit down, his strong size overtook the chair, his legs man spreading out to your own feet. You held a breath at his appearance. Your eyes wandering to the zipper of his grey slacks.
You soon regretted not taking the seat as your heels began to irritate the comfort of your feet. Clark watched as you uncomfortable shifted from one foot to the other. Smirking at how sweet you looked.
"Come here," Clark spoke softly compared to the other voices in the car. You looked at him confused.
"I know your feet hurt, come here"
"It's ok Clark, you can Have the seat I'm fine really." You lied to conceal the pain not wanting to be a needy girl.
"I didn't say anything about getting up" he replied with steady eye contact, hand patting his muscular thigh implying for you to sit on it.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Clark watched your flustered expression with pleasure.
Slowly you moved towards him standing, between his legs. He was eye level with you even when sitting down, you looked deep into his blue eyes.
Nervously you sat side saddle on his leg. your short tight skirt riding up on your legs till it barely covered your panties. he wrapped his arm around your waste to keep you steady.
Your eyes were trained to the floor shy. You felt so small under his large gaze. You don't think you've ever been more turned on. The fear of him possibly feeling how wet you've gotten on his leg consuming your mind.
The train stopped again.
Clark and you were the only ones left in the once busy car. Your seat had shifted from his leg to now practically the center of his lap. His dick an inch away from feeling the firm press of your ass.
You remained on his lap having an internal battle to whether you should move to an open seat. But his grip on your waste remained.
Now your gaze had lifted to his face. His concentrated on last week's paper he had finally gotten to read. You were hot, the feeling of Clarks body causing your breath to pick up.
Your mind wasn't thinking clearly. you moved yourself over top of his lap fully, stationed between his legs. His chest resting against your back. This got his attention, and he set the paper down. Bringing his other hand up to your waste.
"You feeling okay sweetheart?" Clark asked, the nickname making your heart race in your chest.
"Mmm ya, I- I'm just feeling a little hot." His grip tightened in your hips, then starting to slide them up and down your body playfully. Your nipples hardening at the act.
You don't know what had taken over you. The urge was too strong to fight as you grounded your ass into his cock beneath you. Clark let out a low groan in response.
His hands slid up to your tits squeezing them softly earning a needy whimper from your pouty lips.
"Maybe this will cool you down" he whispered as he unbuttons your blouse delicately one by one. Even though he knows he could rip it in half with the strength of one pinkie.
Now your hips have picked up a steady motion, feeling his cock growing large under you. Throwing your head back on his shoulder while gripping the tie around his neck at the newfound ecstasy.
Clark kept one hand needing your breast as the other snaked down to your skirt that's ridden up to your hips exposing your panties.
His hand reached to your core palming the heat. "Your so wet sweetheart, all this for me?"
His fingers started rubbing over your clit causing you to buck your hips, he moaned at your satisfaction. Causing him to rub harder and faster concentrated circles.
He didn't care if you both got caught, the risk made the tip of his dick throb even more. All Clark wanted right now was to make a mess of you.
He ripped your panties completely off instantly sinking a finger into you while attacking down your neck with open mouth kisses. your eyes were closed shut from the pleasure. The scent of his clean, soft hair filling your desires.
You gasped as he inserted another finger to pound into you, your pussy leaking wetness all over the front of his nice pants.
"Oh f-fuck, yes you're touching me so fucking good" you cry as the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you fill the room.
"I need more Clark, please, please I need you inside of me"
He stood up lifting you off his lap with one arm. Your feet dangling from the ground as your pressed against his side, as if you're weightless. His other hand undoes his belt and zipper.
Since when was Clark Kent so strong and quick.
His large cock sprang out of his pants, pink and veiny. He sat back down easing you on top of him. lifting your weight entirely as you sank down letting him stretch you till he bottomed.
He whimpered at the tightness of your walls and how perfectly good you took him. "Such a good girl" he praised.
The size of him took you a moment to process, but the pleasure set in quickly as he gently rubbed your clit from behind. You started moving on top of him, your wetness allowing him to slide in effortlessly as your pace picked up.
He pulled your bra down exposing your tits as they bounced with your movement on his cock. Arching your back against him as he grabbed your body with needful yearning.
The sound of your bodies colliding filled the empty scene the blur of the city passing by the windows.
Clark was working his fingers even faster on your pussy causing your walls to squeeze around his length. He turned your chin to him crashing his lips into yours passionately. The wetness of your tongues fighting for dominance covered your faces.
As your legs went numb from the pleasure Clark had taken over fucking up into you deep and desperately.
"Oh my god, I- I"
"Fuck sweetheart I'm close, mm mm, y- your so fucking tight"
Your eyes rolled back as your vison when white feeling a shattering orgasm take over you.
Your body shook violently as Clark bottomed deep, releasing into you filling you up with his warm ropes of cum. Holding your body tightly as if he would never let you go.
The voice of the conductor rang through the speaker of the train signaling you were at your stop. You shivered as you pulled yourself of his still hard cock.
Quickly you dressed yourselves to get off before anyone saw you. Your clothes, hair and makeup were disheveled. Clarks pants were covered in wet marks from your pussy.
You both walked into the fresh air smiling to yourselves. As Clark followed beside you in silence he reached for your small hand lacing it with his.
it looked like and innocent couple walking down the sidewalk, but you both knew you would be in his bed the minute you stepped through the apartment doors.
Clark Kent x f!villain reader (enemies to lovers/fuckers)
Summary: You work for LutherCorp contributing to Lex's future plan to destroy the one and only Superman. Your assignment was to get to the bottom of his identity behind the suit. The closer you get to finding out the more entranced you feel with this extraterrestrial being. Turns out this job wasn't going to be as easy as you thought.
Warnings: minor violence, choking, m&f oral receiving, p in v sex (unprotected),
Another meeting at LuthorCopr has just adjourned leaving everyone back to their task. though you didn't even know where to start. Somehow Lex had the confidence you would be able to uncover the identity of the red, white and blue hero that terrorized the city night and day.
As more hero's littered the earth you were taught to hate. Your father used to be a government official, convinced that the hero's would twist their agenda to then take over our legal systems. He set you up with a job at LuthorCorp hoping you would help bring an end to this madness society feeds into.
It was also your fathers attempt to hide a secret of your own. You had been a project of government experiments. Then adopted by your father to challenge the power of superheroes. Intensifying your strength, intelligence, and instincts.
Lex was convinced that Superman had an undercover persona he resided as. Uncovering that would surely destroy the sheer curtain of privacy he still somehow hid.
It really was just a waiting game for you, all there was to do was wait for the next unnatural disaster. After about a whole 15 minutes later a giant alien stormed through the city making his way for the park. A typal occurrence for Metropolis these days.
Running outside you catch a blue blur souring towards the monster hitting it in the jaw with a direct punch, Low and behold in was Superman.
The monster was quickly defeated by the people's hero. He landed by the crowd gathered watching asking if everyone was ok. But all you saw was the crumbled city that was left behind. Roads Destroyed, buildings burned, and windows shattered. You glared at the man.
You truly despised his self-righteous smirk has he greeted the needy fans. Rolling your eyes at the women who bit their lips and giggled as he walked by in his ridiculous suit.
--------
In the following weeks you spent hours studying all of whom Superman was. You calculated where he appeared from and where he left too. You studied his face. As much as you hate him you couldn't deny how used you got to looking him. Or his body. God.
He was caught visiting local markets and stores while in character that you tracked down. You studied interviews upon articles. One reporter in particular seemed to know superman very well. Clark Kent.
If you could get a little closer to this reporter maybe you would get the key to your impossible mission. How hard could it be to get your hands on him.
--------
You watched Clark Kent through the windows of bullpen. He was sloppy in his organization, clumsy with his feet, and had absolutely no control over his height even smacking his head off a door frame when walking into a hallway wrong.
After stalking the Daily Planet all day Clark finally decided to leave at 7:30 the sun just starting to set. You followed him all the way home until you reached a quaint apartment complex. Standing in your designed suit made from engineers at LuthorCorp. It was sleek black with pieces of protection that lined your body. A mask of course was necessary if you were going to go interrogate an innocent civilian.
Following Kent was pathetically easy, his large frame made astonishing noise walking up the echoey stairwell. You were close behind enough to hear him trip over his own feet while humming some stupid tune.
For a moment you heard him hesitate, almost like he knew there was someone following him, but his keys started to jingle, the door shutting behind him.
Carefully you pick the lock silently until in clicks open. The sound of running water spills from the bathroom, you peak in and the showers running covering the glass in fog. but there's no one in it.
All it takes is one small breath behind you before Instantly you turn around landing a solid punch to Clarks Face. Instead of fainting at your superhuman blow, he stands up straight staring back at you. His glasses slightly crooked now. How is he fine?
He gasps "What the actual heck are you doing in my house"
The exchanged silence of shock only lasts a second before you charge at him jumping onto his torso as he screams "why are you here!"
Your attempt to knock him down only backfired as he threw you across the living room. Clark Kent can fight superhumans?
"Huh?" It clicked after you recovered looking at him in his work suit but no glasses. He pushed his hair out of his face and in that moment, you knew you had found who you were looking for.
Now you were terrified because you hadn't just broken into the home of Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent, but Superman himself. You were totally fucked.
This time he takes the first move quickly leaping across the room to capture you in his grasp. Both of you wrestle on the floor competing for dominance. It doesn't take long for the Kryptonian to win, you may be strong but still no compared match for Superman.
His large frame straddles you pinning your hands above your head, keeping his legs on top of yours so your unable to move. He rips off your mask and you make contact with his deep blue eyes.
"Who are you" he demands.
"Well, I came looking for Clark Kent, but I think I found something even greater" you say out of breath from the recent combat.
he picks you up pinning you against a wall the plaster crumbling behind you from the force.
"You can't tell anyone about this" he scolds "or I will..."
"You'll what Superman, because I know you're not gonna kill me" you look up at his height through your eyelashes. Smirking at his unlikely threat to hurt you.
The longer you study his face the more your distracted from the sole purpose you're even standing here right now. His strong arms pressing against your frame made you feel weak.
He brings his hand to your throat testing his own morals, never breaking eye contact. As he fingers slowly wrap around you notice the rough delicacy of his hands, and how big they are.
He squeezes slightly and earns a unvoluntary moan from you. Your cheeks are red with embarrassment as he looks down at you. Clark holds his breath as he tongue licks his lip in amusement.
In this moment you love the way you hate him, and he can sense the effect he's beginning to have on you.
Clark keeps one hand clutched around your throat has the other lifts your legs to wrap around him, he doesn't know what is overtaking him, he shouldn't be doing this it's dangerous.
A part of him loves the feeling for being reckless just once, the feeling overtakes his body as you squeeze your legs tighter around him.
Without thinking Clark carries you over to the bedroom throwing you down, you're back hitting the mattress firmly. He's quick to craw over you his hands roaming your suit.
the small symbol on the suit catches his eye "LuthorCorp put you up to this, probably didn't think you would get caught so easily huh sweetheart."
His lips crash down on to yours as your bodies press together in a heated kiss filled with lust and adrenaline. The kiss gets sloppy quickly, his swollen lips traveling down your neck.
bringing his hands up to the top of you ripping the high-tech fabric off like it was made of paper. His dress pants showcased a tent reflecting the heat he was feeling.
Now that he could see your body there was no going back " you're so beautiful" he panted while diving back into your lips not lasting one more second apart.
You unexpectedly flip him over discarding of his tie and ripping his white dress shirt off revealing his muscled body. Eagerly you made your way to his belt and zipper.
As soon has you pulled his pants down his large cock sprung out eagerly "mmmm Clark" you moaned at the sight.
"Oh, sweetheart this might be the only way to keep your little secret quiet" he said before sliding his whole length between your lips filling your entire mouth.
Clark kept a steady rhythm, both hands guiding your movements as he gripped and patted your hair. He praised you with "good girls" as you looked at him in awe spit dribbling down your chin.
Without warning he rearranged you underneath him holding your thighs apart to lick a wet stripe on your heat earning a deep moan from you as he started to suck. You knew you wouldn't last long.
"Clark, I need you in me"
He groaned entering you as your tightness squeezed every inch of him. He bottomed letting you adjust to his large size, while sinking into your lips for a deep kiss.
he didn't know such a bad idea could feel so good. He slowly started moving but was almost unable to control how quickly he needed more. Grabbing and kneading your breast eagerly.
You were practically limp as Clark picked up the pace ramming into you with such neediness. He was a whimpering mess with all loss of control the pleasure forcing you to grip his dark curls, to scratch down his back.
He reached his hand down between you two moving it in calculated circles, your eyes nearly loosing vision "fuck Clark I'm so fucking close please."
He wiped the tears of pleasure off your face; his brows knit together in ecstasy "cum for me sweetheart" he moaned as you both came undone. His sensitive cock twitched as his warm load releases inside of you.
Laying there striped of all energy you both catch your breath.
"So..." he hesitates "are you gonna tell anyone"
you smirk biting your lip "well... are you gonna let me come back"
He laughs "I think I can make some arrangements."
"Then it will stay our little secret" you say before rolling back over to kiss his soft lips. You were totally in trouble and definitely in love.
Summary: Nicholas, the college boy next door, cannot give you any peace and quiet, so you give him a piece of your mind.
Contains: Smut, m/f head, choking, doggy style, ass slapping, sex, breast play.
As you lay in your warmly lit dorm trying to decompress from the stress of the week, you can't get past the sounds of moaning noises seeping through your dorm room walls.
Every night since you've arrived on campus there has been obnoxious noise coming from the room next door, of course, you got put in the co-ed building.
Nicholas Chavez was the most infamous boy on campus. He was good at everything whether it was football, theater, flirting, sex, or being a total dick head. Most of all he was best at annoying you.
It seemed like you were the only person in the world who didn't fall under the charm of his pearly white smile and big dick.
You rolled your eyes as the moans next door got more obnoxiously loud now being followed with the clapping of skin. It was common for Nicholous to be whoring out frequently as every girl was willing to get on their hands and knees for him.
Sometimes you like to have a little fun and bang on the wall to let him know how much of a lovely floormate he his and his consideration for other's ears and imagination.
As your fist pounded against the thin wall the man whore next door only thrusted faster, the girl letting it known she just came. It was always the women who cried out "OH NICK JUST LIKE THAT."
He on the other hand only made sounds with his body.
Minutes after they finished you heard the girl leaving, they laughed in the hallway as Nicholas sent her on her merry way, because never would thee Nicholas Chavez formally date a woman.
When her footsteps faded past your door, more arrived followed by a knock.
When you opened it, lo and behold, was the dick head himself propped up leaning in your doorway like a douche.
he looked down at your semi revealing tank top and bed shorts before making eye contact with you again.
"What." you said as unimpressed and annoyed as possible.
he smirked, "You know Y/N, I would really appreciate if you could keep the banging noise on the wall down, it's kind of distracting, I'm flattered but I think masturbating to sounds next door is a serious illness to have."
"WHAT!" Your jaw dropped at the accusation, "That is not ...I wou- I would never do that" your face instantly flushing.
He snickered at your embarrassed reaction entertained by the redness in your cheeks.
"Calm down Y/N it was just a joke, I know a quiet girl like you wouldn't do something as naughty as that."
He was doing it, the sexy charm thing, with the smile, and the eyes, and the teeth, and UGHHHHH.
You defended yourself trying to ignore his last comment " For the record, I was trying to get some peace and quiet, which I have not had all semester thanks to your various noises! You think you can do whatever you want!"
Nicholas seemed annoyed by your commentary on his living habits, rolling his eyes in response, "I think your just jealous someone is getting a little action around here, if you wore more outfits like this, I think you'd be quite the catch Y/N" he said looking down at your chest.
You weren't wearing a bra and the chill from the hallway started to sink in causing Nicholas' gaze to sneakily avert to your breast, his tongue slightly sweeping his bottom lip.
You noticed and quickly grew conscious, covering your chest by crossing your arms.
"Why don't you worry a little less about what I'm wearing and a little more about not catching STDs from all the girls you fuck."
Tension started to grow as each of you sneered at each other. "Fuck off," said Nicholas.
"You're the one at my door harassing me!" you replied intensely.
He smirked though his annoyance, " just thought I would say hello" he said before disappearing into his room shutting his door.
It was no surprise that Nicholas didn't give a single fuck about keeping his noises down, as the semester ended finals were sucking the energy out of you.
music blared through the walls disturbing your peace of mind. You felt anger bubbling up inside of you wishing to get one single night of peace and quiet.
Almost everyone had left for break already but of course the one person still lingering had to be the one to push your buttons.
It was 1 am for fucks sake you thought rolling around in your bed trying to block out the bass vibrations with a pillow.
You had been pushed to your limit with Nicholas, you stormed out of bed throwing your robe over your lack of clothes consisting of a crop and panties.
This time you weren't banging on the wall; you were at his door.
After about five pounds on the door, it whipped open revealing a very tan, and very shirtless Nicholas.
"Why hello Y/N, what a pleasant surprise." he said with that charming smile the music still at full volume.
You sneered at his cockiness, "Cut the bullshit dickhead" you pushed past him to the speaker turning it off.
He shut the door behind him entertained by your anger, "You know Y/N if you wanted to get me alone you could have just asked."
"I don't want you, what I want is some peace and quiet" you replied.
He slowly walked over to you, towering over your frame, a slight smile on his lips. Your eyes locked with his dark brown ones.
"Is that really what you want?" he questioned with mockery on his tongue. "Because maybe im sick of you, maybe you're the one that needs to shut up, just maybe, im gonna be the one that has to do it. "
His eyes only grew darker as he looked down, you felt small under his words, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
"Not so outspoken now huh?" he taunted "You just couldn't stay away, I think apart of you likes to yell at me, to get close." You were still silent under his gaze.
He started backing you up against the wall keeping you from escaping. "I couldn't complain though, I like seeing you in your little night outfits."
Your back was pressed against the wall, you hated Nicholas and hated how bad you like being under him right now. You felt the sensation between your legs grow the longer you held eye contact.
In the silence he started to play with the tie of your robe, his other hand reaching around your back pulling you closer. You were completely under his spell.
The tension became unbearable for you lifting your heels from the ground to brush your soft lips against his. Before you could properly kiss, his hand gently wrapped around your neck stopping you, earning a breathy whine from your lips.
His mouth twitched before completely melting them into yours fully. He was so annoying, and rude, and fucking sexy picking you up to wrap your legs around his torso.
Nicholas carried you over to the bed laying you down, pulling the satin tie on your robe revealing your body. "Oh Y/N" he whispered under his breath as he eyed up your skimpy panties and exposed torso, your braless breast barley covered by the college crop top.
His big soft hands traveled up your skin removing your panties and top. "Fuck your even more beautiful than what I've imagined." his hands grabbed at your exposed breast causing you to moan out.
"Oh, fuck Nick" the nick name rolling off of your tongue as he kissed and bit your nipples, leaving you with hips rolling desperate for friction.
Your lips met again, both of your hands in a frenzy to grab anything and everything, Nick's hand was buried in your hair the other fondling your breast.
Your palm wondered down to the bulge in his grey sweats, he groaned at the sensitive touch, his sound pushing you to take control and straddle his lap flipping the two of you.
On top of him you rolled your bare heat against his clothed bulge, you grew more bold crawling to rip his pants and Calvin Klein boxers off, his huge cock springing free. His red tip aching for touch.
Without hesitation you took his length deep in your mouth, Nick letting his head fall back against the wall with his large hands framing your head in place guiding your movements.
You sucked hard and deep causing Nick to fall apart. "Mmmm you're so good at this uhhh ff- fuck Y/n." This is the first time you've ever heard his pleasure, and you liked it.
"It's my turn now" he breathed taking dominance and pinning you under him. Quickly he made his way down to your pussy, gently giving it a peck, those dark eyes making contact with yours before boldly licking a long stripe.
You writhed on the bed, with every lick and tongue swirl your back arched further off the mattress. His lips wrapped around your clit sucking hard causing you to shake "oh my fucking god Nick im getting so close."
His lips curled into a smile as he stopped giving attention to your desperate cunt earning a groan from you.
you squealed as he flipped you over on your stomach sticking your ass up in the air. He gave it a smack "so funny to think a brat like you would be bent over like this for me, doesn't seem like you hate me after all."
"Fuck you" you said with your face buried in the mattress.
"No, but ill fuck you" Nick said before sliding his thick member into your pussy, sinking himself deep doggystyle. The sensation burned due to his size, letting you adjust to his length rubbing circles on your thigh.
Slow thrust turned into quick ones, the sound of moans and skin slapping filling the room. Nick pulling on your hips as he snapped his.
Nick reached his hand pulling your back to his chest, his fingers snuck down to circle your clit as his cock pounded you dumb, "I ugh Nick mmmm I cant-"
"What baby you gonna cum on this cock, make it yours" Nick responded before giving you three deep and hard thrust, he pulled your head back against his shoulder while you shook from the high.
He pulled out of you as you turned to catch his cum on your chest, jerking off his high with a deep groan of your name.
Nick wiped you up before crawling into the small bed with you, you thought of how sweet he was actually being."
"Still think im insufferable" he laughed while pulling you closer.
"Definitely" you responded humorously accepting his warmth, drifting off to sleep.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------Authors Note: Hi, I hope you enjoyed! I've never written smut so let me know what you think and if you have any writing suggestions!
