Clark Kent (Superman) x Journalist!Fem!Reader pt. 1/2
Like, reblogs and comments are so so appreciated
boarders by @cursed-carmine ⭐️🗞️🇺🇸
Clark Kent and you used to be friends. You used to build each other up, used to edit each other’s articles, rooting for them to make the front page. Actually, you used to have a serious crush on the man. But that was a lifetime ago, now, you’d each woken up. You were the floors main reporters for The Daily Planet. Everything between you two that was friendly, had turned sour with tension. Your LexCorp scandals and his luck-of-the-draw interviews with Superman fought for the front page every-time. The teasing, the flirting, the arguments, it was making each of you simmer.
Enter a bad date into the mix. Ensuing jealous Clark. Leading to the big fight. It leaves you both sure of your hatred for each other. So what happens when you finally make contact with Superman?
Clark can’t bring himself to kill, unless it’s for you.
Warnings: SMUT (minors dni), Unprotected P in V Sex, Fem receiving Oral, Lying, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Reader doesn’t know Clark is Superman, Workplace Drama, Soft dom Clark Kent, Fingering, Praise Kink, Tender Sex, Gentle Fucking, Clark Kent is a Munch, Size Kink bc Obviously, Newspaper Article Drama, Rivalry, Mention of Sexual Assault, Jealousy, Protective Clark, The Fine Line Between Love and Hate, Superman to the Rescue, Reader still likes Clark, It's mutual, Clueless Clark Kent, You are Clark's Kryptonite
Word Count: (7.1k) geez girl
It was never supposed to get this deep. The rivalry, the teasing remarks. The fight for every front-page story. You were starting to get into it. Or better yet, Clark Kent was beginning to get under your skin again.
The man was relentless; his interviews with Superman, who fought your LexCorp scandals for the front page of The Daily Planet, had become a personal vendetta. The two of you, who used to get each other coffee in the morning, used to ask each other for tips, ways to get your boss, Perry White, to hear your voices, were now workplace enemies.
Every day you stepped foot into the building, Lois met you with another annoying thing Clark had done to weasel an interview out of the Krypton, people's heads turned. They knew not to get in your way, and they avoided any further questions. You and Clark were the primary reporters, your desks adjacent to each other, caddy-cornered with Lois and Jimmy.
Today wasn’t any different; you’d locked up your apartment and headed to the subway, vanilla frappe in hand. The ride had been approximately 12 minutes, as always, you’d stood near the front, impatiently awaiting your turn to step off the filthy transport.
Forgetting the events of last night, you pulled out a notepad and wrote down several notes to remember for editing. You’d strutted in, adorning your blood red Prada heels, a clutch rather than a briefcase.
Lois met you by the printers, a pen balanced between her straight teeth. She’d hissed another shitty excuse that Clark had bragged to Jimmy about his friendship with Superman. She hugged you in comfort, asking you if you were sure that you were okay after last night.
Last night, the night you’d finally gone out with Dean Marcus, the man you’d been flirting with since you’d met him in a bar. He was cute, tall, and lean; he reminded you of Clark. That was what you liked about him. The date sucked. Dean slid the check your way, ‘since you’re the big time reporter after all.’
He’d gripped your ass, shocking you, and making you silently confirm the promise to knee him in the balls once you got back to your place. He’d walked you home, taken you by surprise, and slammed you against your door, “I know you like it rough.” You’d quickly kicked him off, kneeing him as promised, and sent him away.
Slamming your door, you leaned against it, heart beating wildly. You pulled out your phone, thumb hovering over Clark’s contact. You considered the damage of calling him, and chose not to.
You snap out of your thoughts when Lois calls, “Y/n?”
“Don’t worry, Lo, he’ll be toast this morning. Once he sees my review on LexCorp’s new technology for global warming, displayed on the front page. It’ll shut his sorry ass up. Those dimples will disappear into sad little lines.” Lois laughed sharply at that, smacking your shoulder, “You’re so bad, Y/n, the poor guy can’t take it. I think he’s seriously gonna combust if you flirt with him anymore.”
You feign offense, “Me? Flirting with Clark Kent? Please.” Your best friend, Lois, and Jimmy (Clark’s best friend), who you were sure were hooking up behind your backs, had their own bets on you and Clark.
You had to admit, you couldn’t blame them; the rivalry always had a tint of want between the lines. But it was all fun and games to you. Clark got on your nerves far too much for you to want him. His slutty little glasses didn’t help, though.
Lois pulled you towards your desk, earning a groan from your glossed lips. The sight of Clark leaning over the desk, far too small for his huge frame, made your head pound with predictable intensity. He made no effort to greet you, no sly comments as you announced your presence with the click-click-click of the heels he hated so desperately.
They supposedly ‘altered his focus’ when he wrote, regardless of the fact that his pieces were embarrassingly vague, the man had a source with Superman, of all people. He wrote with a tone that felt cautious, like he was afraid to give too much information. It had always caught your attention, whereas everyone else on the floor was madly impressed with his relationship to the super.
Just another thing about Clark Kent that had irked you.
His unfair advantage. Men, am I right?
You sigh dramatically at the lack of attention, causing Jimmy to laugh, “What, Y/n, is lover boy not giving you enough attention this morning?” You glare at him, “Can it, Jimmy, I just want to see the look on Kent’s face when he reads the front page this morning.” You smile at the back of Clark’s head, and he pays you no mind, scribbling away at a notepad. His breathing, however, pauses, and he takes a sharp inhale of disgust at you tapping your heel against the marble floor.
“Something wrong, super-boy?” You grin, and his head whips around in panic. “What did you just say, Cherry?” You laugh at his flustered remark. He frowns with disdain, his eyes still and searching yours, the nickname he gave you for your signature color rolls off his tongue with a snicker.
“What? I figure by now you’re Superman’s little apprentice in training…” You gasp, “Maybe he’ll give you an outfit to match him and the mutt he keeps around!” Clark tightens his jaw, physically holding back another snide comment, he shakes his head and laughs sarcastically, “Alright, Cherry, for someone who talks about LexCorp so much, you’d think he was your ex or something. Not getting enough dick? At least my articles remain relevant; everyone knows Lex is a snake. He’s just a neutral evil.”
Clark tasted the words as they left his mouth. Ma would slap him silly if she'd heard him. Why had he said that? God. You brought the worst out of him.
You narrow your eyes, “It’s Y/n asshole, and god forbid I write about someone who needs taking down. I couldn’t even catch an interview with Superman, lord knows he’d turn me down with some sorry excuse about his gay lover at The Planet!” Clark straightens his glasses on his nose and fumes at you. Before he can fire back, Jimmy tries to diffuse the situation: “Hey, Clark, dude, want to catch a beer after work?” Poor, poor Jimmy. He’d just been caught in the crossfire.
Clark turns his face to his friend, smiling with his innocent pearly whites, the trenches of his dimples shining from the light of the golden sun, “Sure, Jimmy, why don’t we bring Lois along too, maybe she’ll tell us why Y/n woke up on the wrong side of the bed again.” Jimmy’s eyes widen, and he nervously watches you burn holes into the muscles of Clark’s back.
“Sorry boys, girl code, can’t tell you two any of Y/n’s business without her consent. Consider it all off the record.” Lois commented from her desk, not bothering to join in on the discussion. It doesn’t stop Clark from speaking, “Alright, I guess we can just fantasize about Cherry’s date last night that went South when the guy realized she was too busy looking at herself in the little mirror she keeps in her clutch to listen to him.” Jimmy laughs, but quickly quiets when Lois shoots him a betrayed glance.
You, however, turn to Kent and curse, “Fine, Clark, my date went South, but we have work to do. I need to get back to my job; not all of us get to have play dates with supers. Some of us actually work.”
You gesture to yourself, Lois, and Jimmy. Clark smiles, satisfied with his effect on you, and winks, “Fine, Y/n, let me know if you need any more tips to get on the front page.” You frown and poke several holes into the foam of the coffee cup, now empty from your thirst. Clark heaves and turns back to his work, letting his eyes be the last to fall from yours.
Something about Clark calling your name like that burned a fire deep within your stomach. You used to recognize it as pure hatred and put it off, but it had become a blurry picture of lust and fury over time. Wrapped up in a bow of past feeling. Yes, you could admit, there was a time when you saw something with him, back in the days of friendship. The days when he’d greet you with a hug that held too long, and the smile that used to cause a flutter in your chest.
That Clark was everything you wanted, but as soon as you fought over the front page, instead of your feelings for each other, the friendship had soured. You both were far too stubborn to admit that all you wanted from the start was the appreciation of each other’s praise.
You return to your article, adding the finishing touches and sending it off to the boss. You sigh and collapse back into your chair. The ding of the sent notification rings between the editors' desks. Clark tilts his head your way, frowning. “What’re you playing at, Cherry?” You grin to yourself, taking a sip from the new coffee Jimmy fetched you in apology for laughing at Clark’s joke.
“Nothing you shouldn’t already be used to, Kent.”
His lips draw into a tight line, and he shifts uncomfortably in his rolling chair. He watches as Lois’s face lights up at the notification on her screen. “Y/n! Perry sent it right through to us, you know what that means!” She giggles and pulls out her wallet, tossing you a 20. “You deserve it, girl.” You smile at your best friend affectionately and turn to Clark. He’s been watching you with fire beneath his clear blue irises.
“What? Are you afraid to open your email? Face it, Clark, Superman is old news. He’s the same old innocent hero, shaking hands and patting children’s heads. He doesn’t deserve the front page just because he’s different. LexCorp needs to be brought into the light. I’m doing some good work, it just took Perry some time to see it.” You ramble excitedly, and Clark sits and watches you passionately defend your work before he can comment. Your eyes are wild, and your hands flair with the familiar intent of offending him.
“Relax, Y/n, it’s a good article. Front page? We’ll see.” He snickers, and he tosses you a recorder, “Here, listen to what I got from Superman the other day.” You catch it without a second thought, your grip tight and calculated. “Y’know, I could just break this… Right?” He glares at you, leaning in and crossing the wooden barrier between your desks, “You wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.”
Lois and Jimmy shoot each other looks as they watch Clark get in your face. Jimmy slips her a note, and she leans down, slapping a hand over her mouth in shock and amusement. It read:
If she makes front page he owes me 50 bucks and I can text her anything off his phone, I was gonna let you do it, because I figure you’d make him sound just as love sick as he really is
Lois grins and squeezes her boyfriend’s arm, watching as you hover the recorder over your cup of coffee. Clark snaps out and catches your wrist, his hand gripping it tightly. He slowly pulls it to his own hand, giving you a ‘drop it’ look. You do so, eyes wide at his dominant stance, the feeling of his fingers on your skin burning deep inside. He sustains eye contact, lips pulling into a sweet grin, as he takes the recorder back into his grip.
He leans to your ear, his breath teasing the shell of it, “Good girl, finally listening to me for once.” You gasp silently, a stunned expression on your face. You pull your wrist from his grip and stand.
“Go to hell, Clark Kent,” you stammer and rush to your boss's office to talk to him about the article. He watches you leave, concern shining on his face. Did he do something wrong?
Lois shoots him an angered glance, “Don’t put your hands on her, asshole. Don’t you know what happened?” Clark straightens up, “What are you talking about, Lois?” Jimmy shifts in discomfort as Lois shoots him a look. “You were supposed to tell him to not be an ass today, Jimmy.”
“What happened?” Clark barks, his voice breaking with stress. Lois raises a hand to her forehead, rubbing the space between her brows with concentrated fury. “Her date went bad, not because of her, Clark. The guy was a total dick, he made her pay, he grabbed her ass in public, and he walked her home just to threaten date rape.” She grunts, looking at Jimmy as he rubs her arm in comfort. Clark’s eyes widen. “What the fuck?!”
“Nobody riles her up like you, Clark, but today? I wouldn’t.” Jimmy offers cautiously.
Clark’s fists tighten. “Who? Who did this?” He stares down at his desk, willing his eyes to not sear through the wood. Lois shrugs, “Some guy she met at a bar. A real gentleman.” She sneered. Clark growls, slamming a hand down on the desk. He stands, following where you went. Whoever touched you would pay for it. Why hadn’t you told him? He’d find out.
Clark set off to find you, beelining for Perry’s office, but he didn’t see you anywhere. He knocked on the door to encounter a very busy Perry White, who covered the microphone on his cell and mouthed, ‘What do you want, Kent?’
“Where’s Y/n?” Clark asks, rubbing at his temple as his foot anxiously taps against the floor. Perry directs him towards the filing room with a waved hand, ushering Clark out of his office and slamming the door hurriedly. He sees you, cowering behind a filing cabinet, several papers in hand. So unlike you. You always held yourself with a stubborn pride, leaving any trace of insecurity beneath layers of fake confidence.
When Clark walks up, you turn away quickly, but he steps forward regardless, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. It molds familiarly around your collarbone. You shiver. “Y/n, they told me what happened. I’m so sorry, Cherry.” Clark softens, aching to see your face as he reaches for your jaw. You pull from his grip, shaking, “It’s fine, Clark, I’m fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. That guy deserves to go to jail.” Clark mutters, “He deserves more than that. Please, Y/n... look at me.” You whip around, angrily, “Why do you care, Clark? It wouldn’t surprise me if you high-fived the guy.” You stung him with your words, all the sweet honey of your feelings towards him disappearing.
Clark’s mouth drops in pain, and his eyebrows draw together. A beat passes, and everything unsaid between the two of you hangs in the air. “Y/n.” He finally speaks, quietly, “That’s not true.” He reaches out for you, and you flinch away, giving him a wounded look.
“Oh, it isn’t? So every time you leave me in the dust and spit in my face, you’re just playing around?” You argue, pointing a finger at his chest boldly. “It’s all about who makes the front page nowadays. What happened to us? To the nights at the bar? Why do you hate me now?”
Clark scoffs, furiously twisting his head, “No, you don’t get to turn that on me. We both got cocky, Y/n. That’s not just my fault. You’re just as stubborn as I am. That’s why we never would’ve worked.” He shouts, fists drawn tight to his sides in frustration.
You pause, searching his eyes to clarify that he really meant that, and you sigh, defeated. Your shoulders droop like they do when you need to hide away and cry. Clark notices.
“I can’t do this, not with you, Clark. After everything, don’t pretend to be the hero now. If we didn’t work, why do you care?”
And with that, you rush off, leaving Clark to try and decipher what to say. He stands still, helpless and flustered. His heart beats quick and hard. He didn’t mean that. Why had he said that? He still loved you. You just didn’t know, and now you were hurt, both by him and some dickhead who never deserved you. Whoever had done this to you would pay.
After a workday full of avoiding Clark, you head to the corner store by your apartment. All that’s on your mind is a glass of wine and a face mask. You strut inside, mindlessly weaving through each aisle and picking out your favorite junk food. The events of the day race through your mind tirelessly, and you groan to yourself in frustration. Why can’t you just get Clark out of your head? Why didn’t you tell him? He would’ve been there.
You knew he would’ve put every single argument aside and been by your side in lightning speed. You were just afraid. Afraid to let someone in, to let him in. If you opened that door, you would never be able to close it, not to Clark. He meant so much to you, more than he knew.
The day you first started at The Planet, desk empty and waiting to be filled with ideas and inspiration, you’d met him. He was wide-eyed, beautiful, with goofy glasses drooping over gorgeous ocean eyes. His black, messy hair flopped on his forehead, indicating that he didn’t brush it that morning. Clark was shy, fidgeting with his pen and keyboard as he introduced himself quickly. You’d smiled sweetly and told him your name.
You didn’t know just how pretty he thought you were. It debilitated him, causing him to spill his coffee on his shirt. A moment you endlessly teased him about for being clumsy. You’d learned his habits, his favorite coffee: a caramel macchiato. You’d brought him one after a week of being desk mates, and you swore his eyes burned red when he’d found it on his desk with a sticky note attached.
After weeks of getting to know each other, you went to the bar with Lois, your new friend, and his best friend Jimmy. The night was full of joy, drunken karaoke, and truth or dare. Clark let loose for once, showing you his wild side. You were officially smitten. Watching him loosen his collar and unbutton the top of his shirt, dancing around with a beer in hand, was enough to make you sweat.
You’d gone home that night with your fingers twitching for release, the thoughts of Clark undoing you, fueling your movements as you came in your bed. You know he’d talk you through it, sweet and slow. God, you wanted him.
So you told Lois, who squealed enthusiastically. She immediately turned work into an intervention, pushing you and Clark together just as much as possible, not that you minded, of course. But it was quite obvious after she purposely made Jimmy cancel last minute with her on your weekly outings as a group.
It left you and Clark to talk, and boy, did you. Every night was filled with endless stories of his childhood with Ma and Pa Kent in Kansas, followed by your rough upbringing in Gotham. How you’d made a life for yourself that was worth living. His hand was always on your collarbone, lightly pressing, grounding you. It inched between your neck and chest, stinging deep into the tips of his fingers.
Clark promised to bring you with him on a trip back home, stating that Ma would be tickled to pieces. He didn’t know how much it made your heart flutter to imagine the possibility of being the first girl he brought home, lover or not.
The problem was always what you each left unsaid. He was constantly your first call after a bad day, arriving at your apartment with your ice cream and a new juicy magazine. In between every head you laid on his chest, him stroking your hair, was need. The kind that went without saying. Every comforting word, every “That’s it, let it out, sweetheart,” as you’d puke from the alcohol. There was something there, but you two were just too afraid to ruin it.
So you each lingered, a little longer than before. You buried yourself in articles, work, anything to get your mind off of his dimples, off of the sweat on his brow when he’d show up at dinner, god knows what he’d been up to. And Clark had taken it out on his opponents, giving them the frustrations that he felt when it came to the need to kiss you.
He wanted to so badly, it just had to be the right time.
So, the press gala for The Planet was his attempt at said right timing. You’d walked in, a cherry red gown hugging every curve of your body deliciously. Clark shouldn’t have waited. Because you’d been called up, clapped on the back for your debut on the front page.
Where did he really mess up, though?
Clark hadn’t congratulated you. He took one look at the editor on your arm, hugging you around the waist and kissing your cheek in congratulatory fashion, and he’d let himself out. He hesitated, and it came across as jealousy. You were hurt, really hurt.
All you wanted was his approval.
So you’d cut him off, no more coffee, no more tips. You’d become cold to him, afraid to be cut by his sharp jawline and quick tongue. You’d hardened over and become a real reporter.
He regretted it every day. And you did too. You missed him. He missed you. But not now. Now you were both sure of your feelings. Whatever was there, it was gone.
You walk to the register, handing the man your groceries, and you begin to pay. A large blast of fire hits the window, and it knocks you to the ground. Fuck.
Just another day in Metropolis.
You duck underneath a halfway burned counter and shake from the intensity of the blast. A strong hand hoists the wooden piece up, and you cower, just ready to beg for your life.
Instead, you are met with the beckoning gaze of Superman, in all his Red and Blue glory. He anxiously looks you up and down, faltering in some twisted recognition, and clears his throat. "Um, ma'am, are you alright? Here." You cough from the flames and nod breathlessly as he grabs your waist and seamlessly lifts you from the trashed floor, gently carrying you to the pavement outside. He was absolutely stunning, and he watched you with hooded, worried blue eyes. They reminded you of Clark.
He set you down carefully, with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. "Please stay out of trouble," He whispered to you, glancing up at the 'Justice Gang,' who seemed to have taken over whatever that thing was in the sky.
"We can't have all the pretty reporters in Metropolis getting burnt alive." Superman continued, making you blush an embarrassing crimson. He smiled, glancing down at your lips and swallowing hard.
Wait, how did he know you were a reporter? Before you could ask, Superman had already flown off to help the others. Wait.
Clark. Duh, what a jerk. At least this gorgeous super thought you were pretty.
You watched him effortlessly beat the creature, slowing its path to the ground and steering it out of trouble. Whipping out a recorder and cheering to yourself, you approach Superman, head searching for Clark in the gathering crowd. This is my chance.
He recognizes you immediately and quickly rushes over to your aid, doing a once-over and sighing in relief when he sees that you are unharmed. "Are you alright, miss? Do you need me to walk you home?" Superman offers, disregarding all the flashing of cameras and microphones being shoved into his face. You each stand for a moment, taking each other in. Clark sighs in his mind at the irony when he sees the recorder in your hand. You gulp at the pure hunk in front of you.
"Superman, could I bother you for an interview? Oh! Of course, yes, please do!" You stutter, remembering his offer. He nods, amused, and begins to follow you.
You just fought with Clark Kent about this man, and now he was walking you home. What a day.
You take the long route, avoiding the subway for any weird interactions. Although several people still give you looks. You don't pay them any mind as you rattle off questions for Superman, who answers clearly, as if he has been prepared for them all his life. He pats kids' heads as they pass, their mouths to the floor at the sight of him.
You laugh, holding your stomach, "God, it is true, you really do pat their heads." Superman mocks offense, bringing a hand to his chest, "Alright, little lady, just because the kids love me." He smiles cheekily, flirty. You blush.
When you reach your building, you wrap up the endless interrogation, thanking him for all his comments. You ensure him that your writing will be true to his statements, to which he comments, "I know, I've read your articles on LexCorp, they're really good."
You slap his arm, "Stop, you haven't. I'm nothing special. Barely make the front page these days because of you." Clark watches you undermine your own skill, and it kills him inside not to say something. So he does, cautiously.
"Y'know, that guy, Kent? He talks about you." Superman offers with a shrug on his shoulders. You scoff, "I'm sure, how much shit has he talked about my writing?" Superman interjects, "No shit. Seriously! He always gets the most he can out of me. I'm pretty sure he's just trying to impress you, ma'am." He states plainly, laughing at your skepticism.
"Well, I guess that's sweet." You reply, unlocking your door with the twist of the key. "Keep an eye on him for me, Superman. The guy is too stubborn and selfish to let some of us care for him. Y'know, he's going to kill me for this." You laugh, a strained breath, and sigh. Clark notes the pain beneath your breath.
"He won't. I'll make sure of it, sweetheart."
Your eyes narrow at the familiarity of his tone of voice, and Superman fidgets with his hand nervously. That was weird.
"Um... well, this has been real, Superman, thank you for saving the day again," You awkwardly remark, and tap your fingers against your crossed forearms. He takes the hint, "Erm- anytime, ma'am." With that, he rushes off, leaving you confused and thinking.
You shake off the weird timbre of his voice that reminded you so much of Clark, and you grin. Oh, this was gonna be good.
You strut into The Planet, passing the coffee bar on your way to your desk. You don't bother to make yourself a cup, for you are far too jazzed about your interview with Superman.
When you launch yourself into your seat, abandoning your clutch to the floor, Clark whips around to see you. He notices the bruise forming on your wrist, probably from where you tried to catch yourself yesterday. You wince as you twist it to write. He fakes his ignorance, "Your wrist okay, Cherry?" You answer him, "Just fine, Clark." Your voice is sweet and sharp with a cheery demeanor he isn't used to.
He nods, hair flopping with his movement, "Whatcha writing?"
Your fingers pause on the keys, and you smile up at him sweetly, "Met your buddy yesterday. He saved me and was nice enough to give me an interview."
Clark's jaw drops in the satisfying way you'd imagined it late last night. Next to him, Jimmy stammers, "You met Superman?!" You nod, earning you an excited squeal from Lois and a high-five from Olsen.
"He was very sweet, and oh god, not to mention, total verified hottie." You laugh and point towards Clark, "He even gives your slutty little glasses look a run for its money." Clark gulps long and hard. You thought he was hot. His cock jumps in his dress pants. Fuck.
"Oh yeah, Y/n?" Lois asks from beside you, wiggling her eyebrows and making you nod quickly, "Oh, one hundred percent would let him hit." Clark groans, slapping a hand to his face in sexual frustration. The three of you whip around to see him panic, "W-what?! That's my friend you're talking about."
"Sure, super-boy, hey, do you have his number?" You ask, leaning across the wood of your desk to beg Clark with your little puppy dog eyes. Your shirt droops just enough for him to glance a look at the top of your breasts and heave. "God! Y/n! He's not a piece of meat!" Clark cracks, wiping a hand across his forehead in despair. You giggle and lean back, "Sorry, Kent, I just know how to spot big dick energy, if you know what I mean." You wink and begin to type again.
Clark lets out a wearying breath and sits back into his seat. You were going to be the death of him.
You go about the rest of the work day, typing away at your computer, being sweet to Clark. He wonders if you’re just in a daze, or if you hit your head too hard. He doesn’t care, at least you were attracted to him the whole time, even if you didn’t know it.
When he overhears you gossip to Lois about all the things you’d let Superman do to you, he sighs, pinching his leg and willing himself to breath. The things he would do to you if you’d let him.
The group celebrates your front page article for the first time in a while together, and Clark hugs you, drawing a slow and tense breath from your lungs as you hold him back. You each shudder.
Clark silently promises to make the night of the gala up to you, and he conjures a plan up. He needed to fix this, he needed to tell you how he felt, and for the first time since childhood. He was going to tell someone his identity. God, he was whipped.
When you leave for the day, winking at Clark and telling him to say hi to Superman for you, Clark smiles like an idiot, he nods, “Get home safe, Cherry.” His heart continues to beat wildly in his chest as he watches you saunter away, happy.
You lie on your couch, sipping a celebratory bottle of wine, and giggle to yourself. Clark had hugged you; he had been proud of you. You were getting everything you wanted. You still cared about him, you knew it. Your emotions had run high the day before, causing you to speak some harmful words.
It made you cringe at what you'd said. But Clark didn't seem upset today. You needed to tell him how you felt. Putting the glass of wine on your table, you pull out your phone and click on your messages. You didn't know if it was the alcohol that gave you the courage, but you stood, pacing.
Maybe going to his place would be better? Yeah.
You quickly slip on some shoes, hardly noticing the fact that you hadn't taken off your face mask, and that you were only in a robe. Yep, definitely the alcohol.
You reach for the handle of your door, but a knock rings out, making you gasp in fright and clutch your chest. "Y/n? It's Clark!" His voice muffled through the door, you stood for a moment, frozen in the doorway, before you reached a hand down and opened the door.
There, Clark Joseph Kent stood in all his glory, a gift bag in hand, and a ridiculous look on his face at the sight of you. He immediately burst into laughter, and you fumed, "What?!" He struggled to speak between his fits of giggles and weakly pointed to your face. You reach a hand up to brush some crumbs off, when you feel the gooey substance of your face mask, and your jaw drops wide.
You quickly rip the sheet mask off your face and exclaim, "Eat shit, Kent!" You begin to laugh along with him. You let him in as he calms himself, a nervous and timid posture taking over the giddy one as his huge body makes its way to your couch. He sits in his favorite corner of it, glancing at the wine and making an 'ah-ha' look.
You take in the sight of him back on your couch, and your heart skips a beat. "What's the cause of your visit, Clark?" You ask, wiping the remainder of your mask off with a kitchen towel. He sighs, "Um... I just wanted to talk to you, and y'know, it's on the way."
"Yeah?" You ask, watching his eyes as they search yours. You sit on the coffee table across from him, meeting his gaze with your own, "Well, here I am."
"Here you are,'" Clark repeats, breathless and quiet, before clearing his throat and picking up the gift bag by his feet.
"I-I-uh, well. I got this for you. Hey wait! Before you open it..." He says, reaching for the bag and getting it out of your range as you go for it. You loved presents, he knew.
"...I'm sorry, Y/n, for being a dick, a total, utter dick to you. I should've, well, there are a lot of things I should've done." He starts, lowering his head in an ashamed posture. You watch, and reach a hand to his cheek, raising his jaw to meet your gaze.
"There are a lot of things I regret, too, Clark." You admit, eyebrows drawn together in worry, "It's not all your fault, it's mine too." He sighs, "We're idiots, and we should've talked it out from the start."
You smile, nodding, and he brings a hand to rest over the one on his cheek, thumb mindlessly rubbing at your skin. You breathe in quickly. Clark glances at your lips, "I should've told you how damn proud I was of you at that gala, sweetheart. I saw that guy, and I panicked. I was jealous." He whispered, giving you his best 'kicked puppy' look.
You gasp, "You were jealous? Clark, be serious. You had no competition." He smiles, matching the grin on your lips. "I'm not sure about that now, I hear Superman has a little crush on you," Clark sighs, leaning in defeat. Little do you know, he's going to milk this so well.
"Clark, be serious, in what world would a super fall in love with a journalist like me? And besides, I lied, slutty glasses are much more preferred." You giggle cheekily and boop his nose, knocking his glasses to the ground. "Oh, shit, sorry."
Clark smiles as he watches your small frame duck and retrieve his glasses from the floor, 'That's alright, ma'am." You gasp at the recognition of his deeper voice. You shoot up, glasses in hand. You take in the sight of Clark without his glasses, and you begin to understand. If he had his hair combed, maybe tighter clothes... oh god.
"Oh... my god." You stammer, eyes wide and taking in the sight. Clark Kent, your friend, your rival, wasn't Superman's best friend.
He takes a deep breath and reaches out, cupping your jaw and closing your mouth, which had hung open, "I know, sweetheart. I know."
You immediately burst into questions, to which he states, "Later, no, you can't tell anyone, yes, yes, no, hey! Calm down, Y/n." He tightens his grip on your jaw enough to make you pause. "I was terrified when I saw you on the floor of that corner store, sweetheart. I knew right then and there I had to fix things, that I had to tell you."
You nod, "Of course! It all makes sense now." He laughs and brushes a piece of your wild hair behind your ear. "I want you to open your gift now, honey. Can you do that for me?"
You agree after seeing his look, and pull the paper from the bag, grabbing the frame inside. Your eyes tear up at the gift. It's a framed copy of your first front-page article. You smile and hug it to your chest, looking up at Clark with glassy eyes. "Clark... I don't know what to say," He shushes you, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "This is what you deserved that night, Y/n. Not my jealousy. That night was about you, and I was selfish."
"I didn't make it any easier on you, Clark, I thought... thought that if I hid away from you, maybe you couldn't hurt me again, I'm sorry." You sniffle as you meet his eyes. He smiles softly, curling his finger under your chin and pulling it towards him.
"You can't hide from me, baby." He whispers, lips inches from yours. "Now, can I please give you the congratulatory kiss you so deserve?"
You nod, a tear streaking down your cheek as you finally kiss him softly and slowly. His lips meet yours like waves on the sand, natural, comforting, right. He smiles, teeth raking as he deepens it, pulling the frame from your hands and placing it down on the table with ease. His hands took their place on your chest.
One hand wraps around your back, crushing your frame against his own as he lifts you up and into his lap with zero effort. The other sneaks its way to your neck, gripping it with a soft intensity that makes you gasp into his mouth.
He uses it to touch his tongue to yours, finally tasting you. He groans, and his hand on your neck curls around the back, tangling into the strands of hair there. Clark pulls away to stare into your lust-blown eyes, "I love you." He whispers, heart racing, as he rests his forehead against your own.
You smile in disbelief, "I love you too, super-boy." Clark growls and smashes his mouth to yours. Your hands search his chest for the buttons, and you fidget, popping one open.
He breaks away again, looking down at your hands making quick work of his shirt and he pants. "I need you, Clark." You whisper, and his head whips up to look at you. "Course you do, baby. I'm here, I'm not leaving."
You moan at his confidence and kiss him again. Clark stands, you in his arms as he backs you into the hallway. He crashes you against the wall as a hand finds your breast. He squeezes it softly, groaning at the feel of it beneath his palm. "Bed..." You whimper, and he nods, throwing open the door and throwing you onto the mattress.
He kisses down your neck, his breath hot and heavy, and he leaves plenty of marks. 'Mine..." Clark whispers to himself, licking the vein on your right side, and continuing south. He helps you sit up, tearing the robe from your chest and unclipping your bra with zero hesitation.
When Clark's lips wrap around your nipple, you whimper, legs crashing around his middle and squeezing him closer. He chuckles, raising his head to peck your lips, "I know... I know, sweet girl. Feels good, yeah?" You whimper his name and groan, helpless as he attacks your chest with kisses.
"Gonna... make you... mine." He growls into your skin as he nips his way down your tummy, giving it quick attention, but not stopping. His breath fans over your panties, and he tongues the cotton. "Got one more way of celebrating, you baby, you gonna let me taste you?" He asks, looking up at you, as he drags his tongue over the fabric, barely rubbing your swollen clit. His eyes scream sin and sweetness.
You howl out an agreement, and he drags down your panties without another word, attacking your pussy with his mouth. His tongue feels like fire as it licks from the bottom to the top, and he moans into your pussy.
"You taste real good, Cherry." He growls as he licks around your folds, making an obscene mess of the area. His saliva drips down his chin, and he watches you twitch beneath his tongue. You squirm, legs tightening around his face, causing him to bring a hand to one thigh, pressing it towards your stomach, "Keep your legs up for me, baby, c'mon now. Let me enjoy my pussy." You moan and nod breathlessly, bringing one hand to hold your legs up for him, the other buried in his messy jet black hair.
He holds you down to the bed with his hands on your ass, squeezing as he devours you whole. His tongue licks up, making tedious circles on your clit, sucking and spitting. The sounds drive you wild, moans spilling out of your lips, "Clark! Oh- fuck. Oh god, Clark!" It only spurs him on, making him bring a finger to your hole, teasing around it, and finally burying it to the hilt.
You cry out, and he shushes you, arousal dripping from his chin, "I know, baby, it's big, but we've got to start somewhere. God, look at you, pretty thing. You're so good for me." He coos, letting his thumb make lazy strokes on your clit, and he comes up to kiss you.
You cry out for him, "Mmm... Clark! I lo-love you." He smiles, kissing you deeply and fucking you nice and slow with his middle finger, curling it until you see stars. "That's it, baby, you're mine." You babble, nodding and panting, "Yours, Clark... Y-yours."
He growls, "good girl," and picks up the pace on his hand as he fucks your pussy harder. Clark returns to your clit with his tongue, sloppily sucking and licking it like a madman.
"Want you to cum for me, Cherry girl, all over my mouth and hand. Can you do that f'me?" He muffles against your folds and adds his index finger, hoisting your waist up and hitting a new angle.
You see white and cum almost immediately, gushing into his mouth as he groans, sucking it all up. He fucks you through it, holding down your spasming legs and licking from bottom to top, adding one last peck on your clit. He lifts you into his arms, sucking off his fingers, and brushes your hair off your face. "So, so good for me, baby." You smile, fucked out, and tuck your head into his neck.
Clark sighs, "I love you, Cherry girl."
THANK YOU FOR READINGGGGGG! I've been so horny for this man y'all... Okay, anyways. Bye now!!
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