summary: you were clark kent’s childhood best friend. you two lost contact after your high school graduation. she was busy with saving the world and her new life in the big city, while you visited europe. she was surprised to see you again seven years later, mid-air fighting ultrawoman, on a billboard promoting your world tour.
word count: 6.1k (i lost count, sorry)
content warnings: 18+ only!! the beginning is kinda sad, i’m sorry 😭 clark is a tad of an idiot in this. she also kinda gets parasocial and desperate. talks about celebrity life and paparazzi. there’s allusions to the reader’s family being religious and homophobic. oral sex (r!reader) and scissoring. some nipple play. love confessions because i’m addicted to writing those now!!! not proofread at all!!
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, @wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli, @cerezzzita & @gingerfemme22 wanna be added?
a/n: I FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS FIC. this has been sitting in my drafts since late april. pretty sure it finished me before i even got close to finishing it. this fic truly broke my brain, so if there’s any glaring errors—let me know!! happy pride month everyone!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3
listen to the song for the full experience!
“I’ll miss you.”
That was the last time Clark heard your sweet, saccharine voice—the kind that belonged to a preacher’s daughter.
You were leaning against your dark-green pickup truck, ready to head to the airport. Even in a baggy Mighty Crabjoys top and black ripped shorts, you were still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
You were trying to fight the tears that were daring to fall. Your hand was resting on her right cheek as she sobbed, leaning into your warmth. There’s a slight crack in your voice.
“It’s not like I’m not saying goodbye forever.”
She hiccups, “Then why does it feel like it?”
You bite down on your lip, leaning your head against her shoulder. A part of you already doesn’t want to leave. And her soft cries are not helping you.
Despite school not officially starting until mid-October, you wanted to get there a few months early and have a comfortable life before the chaos started.
And you wanted to enjoy parts of the city—maybe take a day trip to London or Swindon, just in case your upcoming schooling experience tried to ruin England for you completely.
You had offered to take Clark with you, secretly taking on an extra shift at your job to make more money for an extra ticket, which is ironic considering that she could fly there in under forty minutes.
When you eventually told her, you didn’t get the overly excited reaction you had dreamed of for months. Instead, your gleeful expression was met with hesitation—an almost crestfallen, forced smile.
You lifted your head off her shoulder and wiped away a tear from her cheek. You huffed a smile that didn’t really reach your eyes. “You can always come visit me, y’know. It’ll only take you a few minutes to get there.”
She stays quiet for only a second, but it feels like a lifetime. Her gaze is directed toward the ground. You want her to look at you, but you understand why she doesn’t.
Clark mumbles, “That doesn’t make it easier.”
You went still. Your failed attempt to lighten the situation quickly faded into something more solemn.
You have a theory that if you say anything more, you’ll only push the double-edged sword further into both of your hearts. Plus, there isn’t much else to say.
You’ve already said your goodbyes, and you’ve been saying your I love yous all night long. You even gave her your new phone number.
You slip a finger underneath Clark’s chin to finally get her to look at you before cupping her face. You let her gaze into your eyes. You stand on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to her forehead, then each of her cheeks, and finally her lips.
This wasn’t something new to either of you. You’ve been doing this since you were seven years old, after you saw your parents do it on a rough morning.
Later, when you asked your mother why she did that with your father, she told you, “Because that’s how people who love each other say it without words.”
So when you repeated your mother’s words to Clark, and she let you show it to her, it became a childhood tradition that bled into your teenage years.
You could have sworn that when you pressed your lips to hers, a muffled, whimpering sob escaped her. And as you pulled away, you felt her chase after your lips.
Reluctantly, your hands slowly dropped from her face, and you turned away. Clark watched you turn to your truck and never let you go again.
She watched you get into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and start the car after fastening your seatbelt.
Against her will, she watched you drive away, waving to her as you did, until your figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
After a few minutes of staring out in the distance, Clark walked back into her house, where Ma Kent was standing in the living room, watching you two from the window. She moved closer, holding out her arms to her heartbroken daughter.
Clark immediately fell into her, wrapping herself around her mother, sobbing into her shoulder.
Ma cradled the back of her head, gently rocking her in place while shushing her. “I know, my sweet girl… I know.”
Shy of a decade later, you continued to haunt Clark. She remembers all of it, every moment with you, but she can only clearly see your dejected expression before you left.
She regretted not going with you to England as soon as your parents called Ma and Pa Kent to inform them that you had finally landed, particularly when she overheard your mother saying that you were already asking how she was doing.
At first, staying in touch had been easy.
Every Friday afternoon, or late evening for you, you’d call her from your cottage. Other times, while walking through the crowded Oxford streets, Clark could barely picture herself on your way to a pub with friends from your new life.
She listened to you excitedly babble about your professors, laughing at how they pronounced certain words. You told her about all the novels you read and the way England’s rain somehow felt different—much more magical compared to the rain in Kansas. Possibly you were just romanticizing it.
And Clark would hide her melancholy behind a mask of pride for you. She was happy for you, there was no doubt about that. But God, she ached for you to someday return home.
When you marveled at how gigantic your new city felt, she’d relate—telling you she was still adjusting to Metropolis herself and worried about the world’s reaction to Superwoman. She’d send updates on Ma and Pa Kent, including pictures of the suit Martha was making for her.
For a while, it was working for both of you. Maybe Clark’s fear of losing you was just overthinking.
But life started to move too quickly.
Once your coursework intensified and you got a job at a little bookstore, you’d come home too drained of energy to shower, let alone call Clark.
And her life turned hectic as well, too fast even for the soon-to-be Superwoman to keep up with. Between studying for her journalism degree and her internship at the Daily Planet, she was battling the same exhaustion you had.
Sometimes when she’d miss your calls by mere minutes and reach your voicemail, she’d picture you fast asleep in your bed. Weeks started slipping by, but you both still tried. Voicemails soon turned into rushed one-sentence text messages.
“Miss you.”
“Sorry, busy week.”
“Call you soon.”
Even those became too difficult to keep up with regularly. After nearly half a year apart, your messages slowly stopped coming.
Clark convinced herself it made sense—that you two had just gotten so busy, become adults with too many responsibilities. But it didn’t hurt her any less.
She checked her voicemail box almost daily, because maybe your name would reappear, along with your eager and warm voice that always sounded so happy to talk with her.
Yet nothing ever came.
She learned to live without you, vowing to never let the memories of you slip through her fingers. But in the midst of becoming a journalist—something she would have enjoyed celebrating with you, even from an ocean away—and her duties as Superwoman, she discovered it was too easy to.
When she miraculously found the time, she tried to date, which, unfortunately for her, was the only time she thought of you.
The women she went out with were lovely, of course. They were kind. Patient. Understanding.
As she allowed herself to kiss them, and hold them while she spent the night, she wished against all hope that something inside her would finally settle into place.
But nothing ever made her feel as alive as those innocent and chaste kisses from your childhood.
During nights like that when you haunted her the most, she wondered whether somewhere in your busy life in Oxford, you still thought about her. Or if you had managed to do what she never could.
Move on.
Early one afternoon, a quick lunch break spiraled into a full-blown rampage against Metropolis.
Sirens and fleeing civilians wailed beneath her as she spun against the wind, trying to avoid Ultrawoman’s violent heat vision.
Floating chaos pressed in from all sides as Hawkgirl screeched past, mace raised, ready to pounce on the creatures Luthor had brought along.
Green Lantern hovered nearby, forming a construct of an emerald hammer before slamming it into the side of the chimera’s skull, sending it crashing through several cars and food trucks along the sidewalk.
Clark slowed in her flight as Terrific’s T-Spheres zipped past her head.
“Hey! Take it easy on the—”
Ultrawoman grabbed her cape and hurled herself across the sky. The city melted into streaks of steel and neon, glinting off billboards and windows.
Right as Clark neared an enormous digital billboard, she planted her boots forward. The force rattled through her bones. As she stabilized herself, she instinctively glanced up at the billboard she was about to crash into.
At ten stories tall, divinely illuminated against the bustling city below, was you.
It was you standing in the center of a runway stage. Soft pink spotlights reflected off your theatrical corseted bodysuit, with what could only be your face across the front. Around your waist was a halo of ivory ruffles, shaped like flower petals.
Black fishnets blended perfectly with your lace-up boots with turquoise ribbons. To accentuate the look, you paired it with a light, luminous, full-coverage base and glittering blue eyeshadow.
Beneath the stage, women sat in matching suits, cigars hanging from their mouths, watching you in pure disbelief and awe—almost like she was.
Massive white letters flashed above your head:
“SHE’LL GET YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO COME…”
Next to your feet in smaller letters: “to her show in Metropolis!”
She blinked again. There was no way this was you.
The last time she had seen you, you were leaving her behind in your pickup truck.
Now you looked like—
As the city noise dissolved into static around her, people below had already begun noticing. Reporters, cameramen, and civilians alike tilted their phones upward, filming Superwoman gazing at your billboard like she’d witnessed God herself descend onto Earth.
Just like all those countless times throughout her childhood, Clark couldn’t help but become transfixed by you, completely forgetting where she was.
Another explosion erupted somewhere downtown.
“Superwoman, we need you over here!”
Green Lantern was hovering a fraction below her, head craned up, screaming at her.
Clark’s face burned red as she struggled to pull herself back into the fight.
By the time she returned to the Daily Planet, your billboard still hadn’t left her mind.
Not when she landed and greeted the children waiting for her, or when she went back to the Justice Gang’s headquarters to debrief.
Not even while she was changing back into her clothes, fumbling with her tie.
Clark wasn’t sure what surprised her more—your coming to Metropolis like she had wanted all those years ago, or the fact that you were now apparently a famous singer.
When she stepped off the elevator, the newsroom was crowded as usual. The newscaster’s voice from the television cut through the chatter as she headed for her desk.
“The Justice Gang handled most of today’s attack, especially after Superwoman was briefly distracted by a billboard featuring the pop sensation—”
Clark nearly tripped over her chair, eyes snapping to the television. There, it displayed her gawking at your billboard like an idiot.
The headline read:
“Woman of Steel Caught Starstruck.”
Jimmy laughed near the coffee machine while Lois shook her head, smiling. Clark ignored them and opened her computer.
Her fingers hovered before she began typing. The search results cascaded onto the screen seconds later.
Underneath your name were endless pictures of you sprawled across the stage, dressed in grandiose outfits, holding hairbrush-style microphones.
Fashion magazine covers showed you smoking in a trashy wedding dress, posed in a staged handcuffed moment with an older woman, the feature declaring you the future of pop as your album “Naked in Metropolis” broke streaming records.
Exclusive interviews detailed your growing up queer in a religious household, along with announcements of your upcoming world tour dates.
She clicked on your official website, and your album appeared for purchase on CD.
The cover alone made her short-circuit.
You were poised atop the roof of a yellow taxi in the middle of a busy intersection, wearing a sheer nude dress. Your childhood Miss Smallville pageant crown sat crookedly on your head as you held a sequined bouquet while neon advertisements glowed behind you.
“Kent?”
Lois’ voice barely registered.
Her eyes remained on the screen.
“Earth to Smallville.”
“Hm?” Clark replied on autopilot.
Lois leaned against her desk, eyeing her monitor suspiciously.
“Thinking about buying something?”
She swallowed hard. “Maybe.”
A week had passed when your album came into the mail.
Clark had bought the collector’s edition, with a glossy Polaroid for each song and a lyric scribbled by you.
The first photo in the stack showed you in a grassy field wearing her old Smallville High Crows football shirt, paired with a white ruffle skirt. She always wondered where that went.
Her taste leaned toward punk rock, but she had a soft spot for pop music—or maybe just for you.
She refused to tell anyone she knew you—actually, that she’d grown up with you. Not Lois. Not Jimmy.
She had an inkling that even with the most convincing explanation, they’d think she’d gone a little crazy.
How was she supposed to explain that she used to climb through a celebrity’s bedroom window whenever a thunderstorm got too loud without sounding stalker-ish?
Clark found herself watching your performances and rereading interviews for reasons she didn’t want to psychoanalyze.
Eventually, she hit her breaking point and called home.
Pa sounded amused. “Don’t ya remember the voice on that girl?”
Meanwhile, Ma was pleased, telling Clark she’d seen the now-viral clip of her floating in front of your billboard but hadn’t realized it was you.
She suggested Clark message you on one of those “computer pages,” like you didn’t have a social media manager who’d probably ignore her like just another fan.
Clark didn’t correct her. Just said, “Sure, Ma. I’ll try that.”
In the days that followed, she arrived at work late—hair windswept, shirt askew.
She felt nervous anticipation riding up the elevator, when Lois texted:
“Hey, Smallville. Perry wants you in his office whenever you get here. Good luck.”
Standing in Perry’s office was awkward—especially when you’re six feet four in a room with low ceilings.
“Close the door,” he ordered politely, gesturing with his cigar. “I’ve got something for you.”
Clark obeyed, sinking into the chair across from him.
“Cat called out sick today—something about a cold. She’s fine, just mostly disappointed she’s gonna miss her big interview this afternoon.”
He set the cigar back between his lips.
“Which brings me to you, Kent.”
Clark’s stomach dropped. “It does?”
“I know your focus is Superwoman and city politics, but everybody else is booked… and you wrapped your piece early.”
“I can take notes, sir—”
“No. You’re doing it.”
“Excuse me?”
Perry slid a folder across the desk. “Got nobody else, kid. Good chance to push your comfort zone.”
She opened it carefully. “Who will I be interviewing?”
Perry said your name like it meant nothing. “You know that pop star Superwoman was staring at last week.”
Clark froze, staring at your photo between Cat’s handwriting and press notes.
“The interview’s at a hotel suite—name’s in there somewhere. Press is set. Stick to Cat’s—”
She was going to interview you.
By the time it was over, Jimmy noticed her leaving—clutching the file like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
“Hey, Kent. You okay?”
Clark didn’t answer.
About an hour before the interview, she called Ma and Pa from the bus, hoping they would calm her nerves. Ma was overly excited, as if fate was telling her the two of you were meant to find your way back.
As Clark reached to hang up, Pa encouraged her to buy you flowers.
“Kinda like you did on her first day of kindergarten—you picked a daisy from the school garden for her?”
Clark stopped at a shop on the way.
Now she stood outside the suite door, the bouquet held a little too tightly.
Your publicist greeted her and guided her through a side room.
“Just wait here,” she said, reaching for the flowers.
But Clark held onto them. “I’d rather give them to her myself, if that’s okay.”
She nodded with a faint smirk. “Of course, ma’am.”
The door closed.
The white, minimalist aesthetic of the room, which smelled of sterile air and citrus, made her hyper-aware of everything—her breathing, her hands, how her lanky frame was too big for the chair, and the utter silence she was swallowed by.
She rehearsed nothing. Thought of nothing. It was completely unprofessional of her. That was worse.
When the door finally opened and you stepped in wearing a dark pink suit with a mini sequin skirt, Clark stood up and forgot how to breathe. Again.
You hadn’t looked at her yet, thanking your publicist as she closed the door behind you, sealing the room back into that uncomfortable silence.
Then you faced her, your hands clasped in front of you. You were already smiling. Your eyes stayed on hers as you lowered yourself onto the couch across from her.
Your tone curved into something knowing. “Are those for me?”
“Yes—yes, I—” she mumbled, offering them, watching your reaction so intensely she almost forgot to sit down.
Your eyes lit up, and you lifted them to your face. “Daisies, my favorite.”
She bobbed her head, fidgeting with her hands, not knowing where to put them.
You glanced up at her. “You remembered.”
Clark shrugged, finding herself smiling too. “How could I not?”
A beat passed before you cleared your throat.
“My publicist told me somebody was replacing Cat for this interview earlier today,” you explained, setting the flowers beside you.
Clark blinked. “You were?”
“Yeah… she gave me your name and said you were mostly known for your coverage of Superwoman.”
She winced.
“To be fair, even with those glasses, you wouldn’t be able to fool me.”
Clark straightened, opening her notebook to Cat’s questions, copied into neat bullet points. She had never felt so unsteady for an interview.
“Okay,” Clark coughed lightly, clicking her pen. “First question.”
You nodded. “Go ahead.”
“What made you decide to come to Metropolis for your world tour?”
You exhaled. “Well, it seemed fitting since my album is named after it…”
“It’s broken many streaming records globally.” Her eyes flicked up. “How do you feel about that? Are you… happy?”
“Uh, yeah, of course. But shocked is probably a better word. I never thought my album would get this big. It was a small project made with a friend after a night of karaoke.”
Clark glanced up. “Really?”
You replied. “Yes… I attended Oxford University. I originally wanted to become a literature professor…you know that.”
“Is that why your performances are so theatrical? Because of your education and love of literature?”
You beamed. “Yes, actually. I enjoy putting those references into my work. It’s a homage to my favorite novels…”
“I know you’ve mentioned this in other interviews—”
You tilted your head. “I have? Reading up on me now?”
She fumbled. “I read a bit this morning… wanted to do some research on you.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“B-but your song Kryptonite Lover is number one on the charts. What was the inspiration behind it?”
You didn’t answer immediately.
“It’s about someone from my childhood who made me feel completely off balance. Every time I was around her, my body would go haywire. Like she had some sort of power over me.”
“But the title came from a segment I saw about Superwoman on the news. I thought it fit.”
It was a lie. Both of you knew that.
“Speaking of Superwoman… What was your response to her reaction to your billboard?”
A sense of amusement flickered over your face.
“You’re not the first person to ask me that. I guess kryptonite isn’t her only weakness.”
Clark’s grip tightened on her pen.
“I hope the sexual innuendo didn’t distract her too much. Especially with how she stared at it…”
“Last question,” she murmured. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Still performing. Still writing. Hopefully still surprising people.”
“And not being something a person watches from far away.”
Clark nodded.
She closed the notebook and stood too fast.
“I should go,” she declared.
You stood as well. “You don’t have to rush, Clark.”
“I, uh, have to go. Perry… My boss is strict on time.”
You pouted. “Oh, okay.”
Clark had nearly made it to the door when you asked her something.
“Actually… would you want to do something sometime? Outside of an interview?”
Clark blinked. “Oh.”
You were glowing.
“Oh,” she repeated, before adding, “Yes. I mean—yes. Yeah. Definitely.”
“How about tonight?”
“Tonight?”
Clark regretted opening her mouth. “Yes—no—I mean it doesn’t have to be tonight.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just busy for the next week or so. I’ve got interviews, appearances, rehearsals… My publicist has me scheduled down to the minute. But I’m staying in Metropolis for a while. What about… two Saturdays from now?”
“Sure.”
Then Clark remembered: Jimmy’s birthday party.
Her joy ebbed. “Well…”
“I have a birthday party to attend…”
“People still do those?”
“Yeah, apparently.”
You snorted. “I can do a birthday party.”
She choked.
“Are you sure?”
“I want to meet your friends.”
“My friends?”
“Is that not what they are?”
She closed her eyes.
“Right,” she said weakly.
Clark looked at you, the flowers, the door, and back. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay… do you want my number? A more updated one?”
“Oh uh, yes please.”
“So she’s bringing a girl?” Steve asked as he stirred the sauce in the pot on the stove, glancing over his shoulder at Lois.
She shrugged, leaning against his kitchen island, sipping from her wine glass. “Miracles do happen.”
Steve scoffed. “To the woman who always drops everything? Does the date even have a name?”
Lois looked at him, though she was suspicious too. “No, she wouldn’t say… but be nice.”
He pointed the wooden spoon at her. “I’m sorry, Lo, but I bet you a hundred bucks that this mysterious girl isn’t real.”
Lois rolled her eyes. “Fine, but I bet you that whatever you’re making is burning.”
Steve swore, yanking the oven door open. “For fuck’s sake, what is going on in there?”
As if the night couldn’t get worse for him, his doorbell rang. He headed for the door, still cussing under his breath.
He opened the door without properly looking at you or Clark.
“Come on in. Vague food crisis.”
And he was gone.
The past week with you had been constant. Despite your frenetic schedule, you had both been sending text messages at all hours.
You’d send her pictures of cafés you stopped at, studio theaters before interviews, snapshots from hotel rooms, outfits your stylist picked out—but you wanted another opinion on. Even sneak in photos of yourself in a skimpy sundress or bikini, things your stylist didn’t pick.
And sometimes at night, you’d call her as you lay in bed, exhausted. She’d tell you to sleep.
You’d protest with a yawn. “But I miss you… I wanted to hear your voice.”
Clark never quite knew what to do with that.
Somewhere between rehearsals and fieldwork, you’d ask what Jimmy’s interests were, framing it as what he’d want for his birthday.
After joking that his main interest was women, Clark told you he was into video games and photography. Now you were standing next to her holding a gift bag with a vintage camera and a multiplayer video game.
You glanced at Clark, silently questioning her choice in friends from behind your sunglasses and blonde wig.
She snorted.
“Still think this is necessary?” she asked.
“Don’t think so… nobody seemed to recognize me… but I’ll keep the wig on.”
“Why?”
You shrugged, taking off the sunglasses and placing them in your purse. “Because I spent too much money on it.”
Clark followed you inside, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
You followed the sound of Steve’s panicked cooking into the living room, Clark right behind you.
When you entered the kitchen, Lois looked up and set her wine glass down.
“Hey… sorry. Steve’s dinner is proving more complicated than expected.”
Clark glanced toward the kitchen. “He’s cooking?”
“Don’t ask.”
Lois turned her attention to you as Clark settled beside you, resting a hand on the small of your back. She held out her hand, furrowing her brow.
“Sorry… has anyone ever told you you’re the spitting image of—”
“Lois,” Clark interrupted.
“This is…”
Lois cleared her throat.
“Right.”
Steve emerged momentarily, a dish towel over his shoulder.
“Okay. Crisis over.”
Clark guided you forward.
“Steve.”
The man grinned, finally getting a good look at you.
“Hello—”
Realizing who was in front of him, his brain short-circuited.
“Have some wine.”
You quirked a lip. “Thank you.”
The doorbell rang again, and Steve excused himself.
You turned to Clark, unsure what to do.
She looked smug, setting your gift bags down. “Need me to pour you a glass?”
Jimmy’s voice echoed as he entered. “I hope that’s not the food you’re planning to feed us, Steve.”
He stepped in, not with a date, but with Cat instead. Steve was right behind them.
Jimmy noticed you first and waved.
“Hi there!”
“Now where’s my promised Tiki drink?”
You cracked up, burying your face into Clark’s shoulder. Cat recognized you immediately, extending her hand.
“Wasn’t I supposed to interview you?”
You answered. “Yeah, you were… Clark told me you had a cold. Are you feeling better?”
Cat remarked, “Yeah, I am. Thanks… I guess Clark did a better job than I.”
Dinner, in some way, happened.
Steve’s steak au poivre was overcooked and terrible, but no one seemed to care.
You sat next to Clark, mostly quiet, watching her with her coworkers.
At one point, you took off your wig, feeling more comfortable. Clark studied you, adoring how easily you fit back into her life.
Seeing how smitten she was, Cat and Lois asked how she’d “charmed” you, unaware of your history.
You and Clark exchanged a look before you started telling stories about little Clark.
Everyone was floored.
Jimmy hit her shoulder. “Dude! You grew up with a celebrity and didn’t tell us?”
Clark scoffed, face red. “I thought you’d think I was crazy.”
Lois added, “Yeah… but you still should’ve told us!”
After dinner, you tried to help with the dishes, but Steve stopped you.
“No, you go sit. I can do this.”
“I want to help… please, Stevie…”
He didn’t budge. “I gave you a shitty dinner and you want to help me?”
You huffed, grinning.
Steve shook his head. “Y’know, Clark does the same thing. What is it with you two?”
“We’re from the Midwest.”
When it was time to open the gifts, Jimmy hugged you tightly after opening yours.
“I hope you like them.”
“Like them? I love them!”
Clark watched from a few feet away, something soft in her expression.
You shrugged. “Happy birthday.”
Jimmy lit up. “Clark, your date’s awesome!”
She wore a self-satisfied look, making eye contact with you. “Yeah. She is.”
After you two left and stood in front of the nearby elevator, a collective scream erupted from inside. You both paused before you nudged her.
“They always do that when you leave?”
Clark rolled her eyes playfully.
“I forgot how mean you were.”
“No, you didn’t.”
The cool Metropolis breeze felt as comforting as having your arm loosely around Clark’s while you walked aimlessly through the streets.
She kept a steady pace, enjoying the silence between you two, until she suddenly slowed down.
Curious, you looked up and saw a park on the corner under dim lighting. You smiled to yourself.
“You like this place, don’t you?”
Clark nodded, resembling her five-year-old self.
“Yeah… it was one of my favorite places when I moved. I even made friends with an old man who played chess.”
You chuckled, moving to the locked gate and shaking it lightly. “Of course you did.”
She hesitated, already worrying about what you were about to do. “What are you doing?”
You placed your right foot on the gate and pulled yourself up. Clark’s eyes widened as she figured it out, rushing after you and whisper-yelling like she was scolding a child.
“Hey, no! Get back here! This is illegal!”
You were already halfway up the fence. “Why? I wanna see this favorite park of yours.”
She groaned, “How about tomorrow? First thing in the morning… I’ll take you back here.”
You leaned with a shit-eating grin. “Why? I’m already here… inside.”
Clark stared at you through the iron fencing, before climbing. You laughed as you stepped into the hidden park.
“Come on, Superwoman.”
She huffed, not-so-gracefully landing on the grass.
She stood, glaring at the fence—realized you were gone and panic set in. Clark called your name, looking around.
Moments later, she found you on a bench under a tree. The same maroon bench she used to sit on when she first came to Metropolis. The same bench where she used to eat ice cream with the old man and watch mothers play with their children.
Now you were sitting there, head tilted up at the night sky.
She walked up to you. “I spent one night with you and turned into a criminal… again.”
You were watching the stars as she sat beside you, feeling proud of yourself.
“Nobody forced you to follow me here.”
Clark huffed. “Last time you said that, you stole a pumpkin from your church’s garden.”
You looked at her, scoffing. “Please, that was not a pumpkin. Don’t you remember how tiny it was? I was doing them a favor.”
“And you didn’t do anything besides watch me. I’m the one who took it home. At best, you were an accessory to theft.”
She smirked. “Mhm, yeah… what did you name it again?”
You grinned. “Bartholomew.”
After a few seconds of silence, you blurted, “Do you remember that kissing thing we used to do?”
A faint blush rose to her neck.
“Yeah.”
Your eyes lingered on the way her shoulders hunched slightly—something she always did when she was embarrassed. You bit your bottom lip, hesitating for half a second before giving in.
You leaned in. Your lips landed on her forehead, her right cheek, then the other—and before she could process it, you kissed her.
Clark didn’t move. But when she did, years of restraint unraveled all at once. It was seeing you at your pageants and on senior prom night and losing you for seven years.
She cupped your face urgently, fingertips pressing into your cheeks. For all her usual gentleness, the kiss was anything but—urgent, all breath and teeth.
You gasped, trying to keep up, overwhelmed by how desperate she was for you.
Clark’s grip didn’t loosen. Each second pulled the kiss deeper, harder—like neither of you wanted to stop.
When you finally broke away for air, she followed slightly before stopping, resting her forehead against yours, hand still at your neck, thumb moving slowly.
You blinked, breathless, a little dizzy.
“I’ve wanted to do that since we were kids,” she admitted softly.
Your breath was uneven. “That’s a long time to build up poor decision-making choices.”
Clark, without hesitation, gave you a quick peck.
“You’re impossible.”
Your assistant would’ve killed you if she knew you were standing in the middle of Clark’s apartment as she flicked the light on.
You were supposed to have your driver drop you off four or six blocks away to potentially avoid any lingering paparazzi outside your hotel building before texting her that you made it there safely.
But how could you when the woman you’ve been pining after for years just kissed you as the world might end? You hoped she’d understand.
As you took off your sunglasses, your gaze drifted around Clark’s living room and kitchen area, still carrying the aftertaste of the white wine she barely had, and the minty gum she chewed to fix the poor aftermath of Steve’s dinner.
The space was a modern minimalist setup with only one lounge chair and a television set, very different from her childhood bedroom, which you remember.
Even though you had your oversized blazer on, you were still cold. The lack of clutter makes you want to step in and decorate it with all of your fanciful furnishings—maybe even paint those awful blue kitchen cabinets and make it somewhere she would like to stay longer.
What catches you first is the view of the Metropolis skyline from the massive windows. Your heels click against the slightly worn hardwood floors, the sound swallowed by the quiet.
Standing in front of it, you glance down to the street instinctively for any sign of cameras. One thing you’ve learned in your rapid rise to fame is that you are never quite invisible enough.
Clark comes up behind you, looking out the window as well.
“Don’t worry, nobody followed us,” she reassures you.
You shake your head, breaking yourself out of it. “Sorry, force of habit…”
Clark speaks without any bite—just warmth, like she’s not shocked by anything you do anymore. “Yeah. I know.”
You glance around again, this time letting yourself actually take it in.
“It’s very barren here, by the way. I’m kind of surprised…”
“It’s practical,” she defends herself.
“It’s lackluster.”
She lets out a dry chuckle.
A pause before you speak, your tone softening into genuine observation.
“You could bring someone… to brighten it up. Get you an actual couch instead of whatever that thing is.”
You gesture to the couch, earning a look.
“You wouldn’t want to move in here,” she states after a beat, a little more serious now. “I’m barely here.”
You laugh, shrugging as you continue. “Yeah, ‘cause it looks like this.”
Clark exhales through her nose, barely masking her snort.
“Don’t you have a house… or three somewhere? What about that Oxford cottage?”
You force a laugh, exhaling as you look back out the window.
“I don’t… In between the concerts, and filming, and everything else… I’ve been living out of hotels.”
A pause.
“My parents sold the cottage anyway. After they found out about Naked in Metropolis.”
That gets a flustered reaction out of Clark, her expression shifting. It wasn’t that surprising to her, considering how little Ma and Pa had to tell her about you after talking to your parents.
You add, “It’d be nice to actually have somewhere that feels like it’s mine again. Once everything dies down… adopt a pet or something…”
She leans in closer, nodding along, her breath near your neck, focused on you.
“That’d be nice.”
You nod, almost shy. “Yeah…”
Neither of you says anything for a moment, letting the space between you gradually shrink. Clark’s eyes drop to your mouth again before she leans in.
This kiss isn’t like the one in the park. It’s slower and deeper, like you’ve been doing it for decades—in a way you have.
She turns you around and presses you against the window, mouth tracing the contours of yours. As your hands cup her face, hers slip around your waist, pulling you in.
You break away just to gasp, tilting your head to get a better angle. Clark follows you, acting like you might disappear again, earning a small whimper from you.
To ensure you won’t, she slips one arm under your thighs, the other steady at your back, lifting you with an ease that feels almost unfair.
You squeal softly, arms looping around her shoulders.
“Clark—”
“Bedroom,” she says simply, already moving with you, like it was the most natural decision in the world.
Clark laid you on her bed, stripping you from your clothes while covering your neck with kisses. Your blazer and heels were flung somewhere across her room. Her calloused hands trailed down your bare spine as your blouse followed suit.
You exhaled shakily when her thumb ring pressed against your flesh.
“F-fuck, Clark..”
She inclined her head, teeth nipping at the skin above your lacy bra. “You taste better than I imagined.”
Her ragged confession shouldn’t startle you, considering what she’s done and said in the past few hours, but the thought of Clark—the woman you once grew up with—having dreamed of something like this is incredibly intoxicating.
A sharp breath escaped you as she began mouthing at your nipple through the fabric. When you tried to buck your hips, her palms roughly pinning them down.
“You fantasize about that?”
She mumbled, “Ever since I saw you in that yellow sundress in senior year.”
Your face felt hot, almost burning, yet you still let out a teasing comment. “Seriously? God…you’re such a little freak..”
Clark bit your nipple fleetingly while she moved her left hand to your thigh before slapping lightly.
“Says the woman who sent me pictures of herself in scanty clothes while I was working.”
Your lower body jolted, grazing her clothed crotch—making her whimper. You shuddered, glaring in jest.
“Shut up, you liked it.”
She whimpered, her mind betraying her as she thought about the pictures. In between kisses along your midriff, her low voice reverberates across your skin.
“Almost came in my boxers on the spot..”
You longed to act arrogant, maybe taunt her, but the way her long fingers traveled to the buttons of your colorful trousers, effortlessly undoing them, left you winded. Clark peeled them down slowly, continuing to kiss any exposed skin she could find.
Once they were off and settled in between her thighs, the scent of your heady scent overwhelmed her greatly. It filled her nostrils. She’s been breathing it in since dinner, when she noticed your heartbeat spiking after she put her hand on your back.
Her hands tightened on your flesh as she spread you wider, placing your legs over her shoulders. You started gulping air when she pressed a kiss to the inner part of your thigh.
Clark inched closer to your soaked panties, proceeding to kiss your skin. Before you could register it, her teeth grazed them, then pulled them down. You were stunned into silence, totally spellbound.
You were wrong. She wasn’t a freak, she was an enigma.
As if your body had a mind of its own, your hips lifted. This time, she let you. The cascade down your legs was painful in the most pleasant way possible.
When she slid back up to the apex of your thighs, she moaned out loudly. The panoramic view of your folds already glistening with desire was ethereal to her.
You almost smirked with superiority, “Like what you see baby?”
Clark released a hushed groan, replying with a long lick to your cunt. She dragged her tongue over your slick entrance to your throbbing clit. Even if she wasn’t trying to, she was using it to etch her name into you.
Her moans dissolved into you, as if you were rich crème brûlée and were the one actually being pleasured. Your back bowed off her bed, grinding your clit against her nose.
She picked up on the movement, shifting her focus before circling it with her tongue. A deep, guttural sound broke from you, delving your hand into her curls.
“Shit, Clark…. So good..”
She mumbled against your cunt, sending vibrations through your body. “I know, baby… how do you think I feel? She tastes so sweet..”
You cried out when she commenced sucking on your clit like it was rock candy. She even coaxed two of her fingers into your tight hole, thrusting them in and out.
You threw your head as your vision was starting to go white. Your physique was seizing, but she didn't stop. Her mouth kept sucking on your clit as her fingers remained pumping.
“Oh, God… I’m gonna.. Baby, I’m gonna—”
Your orgasm was torn from you violently. Your hips jerked, your thighs clamping around his head like a vise. Incoherent whispers of begs and curses muffled into her pillow.
After a few minutes of slowing down, drinking up the last drops of your cum, Clark eventually pulled away. She wiped her mouth, licking her fingers, smirking at you.
But as she leaned back on her knees, you couldn’t help but notice a certain damp patch on her jeans. Upon realizing what it was, you giggled.
Her smarminess faltered as she glanced down at it.
“Did you come while eating me out?”
She nodded bashfully, unable to defend herself.
You cooed at her, “Aw, poor baby. Come here…”
Clark leaned in as you cupped her face, kissing you softly. You sighed into her mouth at the residual flavor of your cum. You eased her out of all her clothes, letting you straddle her frame.
She swallows her soft groans, transfixed at how your cunt feels against hers. Clark fails to think straight. All she can focus on is you on top of her, wearing nothing but that lacy bra.
You move your hips in small circles, running your hands down her muscled chest. She shivers, gasping out. You hum gently while squeezing her breasts.
“Oh, my strong girl… You can take it… I know you can.”
Her clit hooks onto yours, making her whimper under her breath. “Good golly…”
You chuckle softly, being right there with her.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
She nods as you quicken the pace, needing to see what she looks like when she comes undone properly. Her hands spasmed against your waist, breathing heavily.
Similar to how she dragged her tongue against your cunt, you rubbed your folds together—creating the perfect friction. Soon, both of your orgasms crash over you like a tidal wave.
Clark never knew sex could feel so heavenly. She looks up at the ceiling, calling out in delight as if receiving divine absolution.
You eventually collapsed next to her, cum dripping down your inner thighs. You groggily turned your head toward her and booped her nose, feeling far too drunk off her. She scoffs, catching your finger in her hand before kissing it.
Further into the night, while Clark was helping you put on an old shirt of hers and taking care of you, you were just staring up at her with a toothy grin.
summary: your colleague slash fuck buddy swoops in to save you after a man hits on you, posing as your wife.
word count: 2.3k words
tag list: @punksnotdeadbutiam, @unabashedlyinlovewithyou, @whotfisthatsblog, @wildernessmuse, @starwarsbian, @lilacsandlavenderhaze, @florayli & @gingerfemme22 wanna be added?
content warnings: 18+ only!!! hr department would have a field day with this. a creep hits on the reader and CLARK GETS POSSESSIVE!!! oral sex (r!receiving) based on this anon ask. reader calls clark “sir” a few times. LOVE CONFESSIONS <333. breeding kink my beloved. use of a double sided dildo based on this ask. not proofread, i’m sorry! my brain is fried right now.
a/n: HI GUYS, I FINALLY POSTED!! finals are over and i have my free time back. i hope you guys like this one. if there’s any glaring issues or anything, let me know. i was inspired by @kryptidfiles’s “give it to me” fic. go check it out, jae’s so talented! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
LISTEN TO THE SONG FOR THE FULL EXPERIENCE
There was a dull ache lingering in the back of your head, mainly from the crystal chandelier glaring overhead.
You were standing at the bar while you mourned your Saturday night routine of watching a comfort movie before sending a ‘you up?’ text to your colleague-turned-bad-habit.
Before dragging your feet over there, you kept your gaze fixed on her, hoping to catch her attention. But every time her head turned slightly in your direction, a waiter would block your sight with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
She had cleaned up unfairly well in her stupid navy suit that stretched over the broad shoulders you often dug your fingernails into. The sharply tailored slacks made her look taller, if that was even possible.
Her chunky black frames shone beneath the lights as she smiled broadly at politicians and socialites, shaking their hands and listening as they boasted about their latest investments and charity work.
Her large hands with those silver rings pressed against your skin in a way you could still feel whenever she gripped your jaw to kiss you.
And her laugh, the one that made the corners of her eyes crinkle and your stomach tighten when you remembered how she sounded when you had her pinned beneath you—
“Can I buy you another?”
You blinked hard, your head jerking slightly as you pulled yourself out of those thoughts, curious where that meek, annoyingly confident voice had come from.
Beside you was a man of average height and striking blue eyes that fell short compared to hers. His smile didn’t immediately give you that sense of caution, but instead tried to convince you that you’d say yes even before he asked.
Your brain, which had just been filled with gentle reveries, was now completely blank. You were never good at dealing with this sort of thing.
“Oh—no, thank you. I’m good. Got a long drive home.”
A lie. A rather obvious one at that.
Yet the man pressed on while leaning against the bar. “Sure about that? Couldn’t you just have someone take you home?”
His smug tone made you want to hurl onto his shoes. Instead, you gave him another forced smile that hurt.
“I brought my own car and… I’m not particularly good with strangers.”
Another lie. Or not really a lie at all. You did bring your car, if you counted your fuck buddy insisting on driving you home. You weren’t the best person to talk to strangers, especially ones whose unwanted interest in you made your skin crawl.
He grinned, no longer bothering to hide it. “Oh, yeah? Well, my name is Richard… Not strangers anymore, eh? Can I get you that drink now?”
You huffed humorlessly, subtly mocking his cockiness as you slowly stepped away and put your hands behind your back.
Since Richard—or “Dick,” apparently—was going to stay a little longer than expected, you quickly slipped off the ring on your middle finger. A small piece you had once bought at a thrift store, it had always resembled a wedding band to you, despite its faint pink tinge.
You brought your left arm back out so he would see it. But he didn’t seem to have the same type of social awareness that most of the journalists surrounding you had.
You raised your hand marginally, shakily splaying your fingers to indicate the oblivious, clueless creature.
“Look, I’m really flattered that you….”
For Christ’s sake, you can’t even finish the sentence.
“But I’m marri—”
Familiar hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into the body behind them.
“Hey, there’s my girl,” Clark murmured against your cheek before kissing it softly.
Your breath faltered similarly to how Richard’s expression short-circuited.
Clark hadn’t even looked at him yet, too occupied with tightly securing her arms around your hips. To the untrained observer like Richard, she seemed like she belonged there.
You became overwhelmed by the warmth of your so-called bedmate’s chest. You swore you could feel her bare skin against your spine.
She kissed your cheek again before glancing over at the man. She had the same friendly smile from earlier, but now it had an undertone of terrifying confidence.
She held out her hand to him. “Hi, I’m Clark Kent… her wife.”
Richard stared at her for a moment too long, marveling at the muscular woman towering over him. He then shook it cautiously.
Your supposed wife nodded as she returned to peppering kisses against your jaw, not really listening to him. You instinctively leaned back into Clark, just letting your neck tilt to the side—mostly out of habit.
Clark noticed. She brought her strong hands up to rest against your stomach, gently rubbing it in slow circles as her lips grazed against your earlobe, making sure you were the only one who heard her:
“Not now, baby.”
Richard apologized once more, stumbling over his words.
“I—I thought she was alone…”
Clark shook her head, falsely reassuring him. “And went for it… yeah, I get it.”
She angled her head, taking in your heavy breathing and racing heartbeat. The intense eye contact made you desperately want to strip out of your dress.
She smirked, speaking in a hymnal tone. “I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve her.”
Despite losing the nerve to speak a minute before and your breathless state, you managed to whisper, unable to look away.
“Don’t be such a sap.”
Clark let out her first genuine laugh of the night, briefly peering at Richard, who was walking away defeated.
Her grip didn’t loosen.
She pretended to think about it. “Hm… I don’t know. I think I could make an argument for it.”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Yeah, a bad one.”
She lifted her head just enough to look at you like she’d already won the mock argument. “Does that mean you wanna leave early?”
“And tell Perry what? That we got sick from the food we haven’t had yet?”
Her mouth twitched. “Possibly… I mean, in a way, I do need to take care of my tired, aching wife…”
You scoffed, forcing yourself to deflect. “That was just for show, Clark.”
She hummed against your flesh, nipping at it. “Must have fooled me.”
Once you returned to your apartment, you found yourself struggling to slip your key into the keyhole, since Clark stood behind you, her hand teasingly resting on your lower back.
It had been like that on the way home too. Clark is driving with that same hand on your thigh. Every time she turned a corner, you’d feel a light squeeze while the only sound in the car was the static from the radio.
When you got inside and discarded your heels in your living room, she followed you into the kitchen as you searched for your wine.
Before you could find something, Clark grew impatient and grabbed your neck, turning you around, pulling you into a needy kiss.
Despite her urgency at first, her mouth was soft—of course it was. It was Clark.
She tilted her head.
She smirked into the kiss as you melted back into it—harder. A muffled hum escaped her.
Not breaking the kiss, her hands traveled down your waist to your thighs as she effortlessly picked you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around her waist as your arms slid around her neck.
Clark carried you to your bedroom, nudging the door open with her foot while holding you against her. Her lips wandered to your neck, nipping at it as she did at the gala. She began muttering.
“My darling girl… always so pretty, huh?”
A sickening heat surged through you as you were placed on your bed. She hovered over you, foolishly smiling at your dazed look. Her kisses continued down your upper arm, pushing the strap of your dress down.
“No wonder somebody else wanted you.”
You gasped, indulging in how her territorial words caused goose flesh to break out, and your legs to go limp. She caught it, glancing at you with half-lidded eyes, still dragging her lips down your skin.
“But you’re mine, aren’t you?”
You nodded violently, whimpering out before you could stop it, “Yes, sir.”
Clark paused for half a second before chuckling against your skin. “Sir?”
She moved away, only to lean back over you again.
You arched your back, squirming under her. “I—Clark…”
She shook her head, kissing you sweetly. “No, it’s cute… I like it.”
Clark looked pleased, enjoying your flusteredness. She dotted light pecks on both of your cheeks.
“Guess I have to start being more of a gentleman for my new wife now, huh?”
You cough out, continuing to act defiant. “Fuck, Clark… I was lying to save my ass.”
She nodded. “True… but I bet you were definitely thinking about me.”
“I was no—”
She cut off your defense by crashing her lips against yours.
“Stop fighting it.”
So you obeyed. You let her take off your dress and underwear antagonizingly. You watched her lie down beside you, shifting into place.
You took the hand she was offering to you, seeing how she was smirking at your pubic hair having the same shape as her alter ego’s chest plate. Clark guided you gently onto her face, your dripping cunt hovering over her mouth.
After lowering yourself, your body jolted as she lightly kissed your clit. Her face was utterly buried into you, dragging her tongue across your slit. You slip your fingers into her black curls while she inhales your musky scent.
She explores your core as if she doesn’t already know it like the back of her hand, making your nerves feel overstimulated. You whimper, thrashing your head back.
Clark moans, sending vibrations through you. Her grip on your thighs tightened, trying to get you to grind against her face. She moves her tongue inside of you while watching you with those damn ocean eyes.
She’s turning you into a sobbing mess. You ride her face shamelessly, chasing your orgasm. Her nose rests perfectly against your clit, the friction making you tremble.
The coil that’s brewing deep in your stomach tightens before it eventually snaps. Your hips jerk forward as she continues to devour you. Every lick, every slow curl of her tongue draws out more of your cum, spilling down her chin.
“S-shit, Clark… I can’t—”
She retracts her tongue from inside your aching hole, circling it instead. Your juices continued flowing into her mouth. Clark mumbles against your slick folds.
“Can’t help myself, baby…my wife’s pussy just tastes so good.”
Your thighs involuntarily clamped around her face. She makes out with your clit for a moment longer until it gets too much for you.
Clark helps you move off her drenched face. You’re still catching your breath when she sits up, smirking as she leans in to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself.
She leans against your forehead after she pulls away, absently grabbing a pillow from behind.
“Is it in the same place?”
Warmth crept up your face as you lifted your hips so she could put it under your waist. “Yeah, it is.”
Clark reaches over to your nightstand and opens the last drawer. She pulls out the double-sided dildo. You watched intensely, drooling already onto your bedsheets.
With the straps of the harness adjusted securely, she held out her hand under your chin, raising her eyebrows.
Knowing what she needed, you complied and spat into her palm. She then wrapped her hand around both shafts, coating them completely.
When they both sank into your soaked cunts, Clark shuddered as her head fell into your neck. She always forgot how worked up she got while pleasing you.
Your back arched up into her while her hands came down to your hips to hold you still.
“Sweetheart… don’t do that unless you want me to—”
Despite her firm grip, you bucked your hips to tease her. “Sorry, sir..”
She exhales a laugh against your neck. “You really don’t make this easy, do you?”
You shake your head, feeling the silicone slowly inching into you. You breathe deeply, “No.”
Clark attempts to ignore how her cunt throbs around it, mentally promising to make you cum first again.
As she thrust in and out, she swallowed your sounds with her mouth and silenced hers.
She loses her words for a second against your lips, “G-Golly, she’s sucking me in.”
A small whine was pulled from you, matching her energy. Your fingernails dragged down her back, marks that would heal in the morning sun.
“Oh, Clark…That’s it, right there..”
You tilt your pelvis upward to push the toy deeper into her, seeking out her release as well. Dazed by lust, you babble out praises to her.
“God, it feels so good… You fuck me so well… I love you so much.”
As both of you realize what you just blurted out, your body stills. Dread floods through your veins, expecting a gentle, awkward rejection.
But instead, Clark quickens the pace. She shifts again, her composure faltering as she does. "Yeah? You love me?"
You acknowledge her with a choked moan, “Y-yes, I do. Always did...”
She whimpered, kissing you again—this time more passionately, as if she were finally releasing something she’d been holding onto forever.
“Gosh, I’ve been waiting to hear you say that… I love you too, honey.”
Shock stole your breath as the familiar sense of tightening within your gut became unmistakable. You could tell Clark was getting close too by the way she was rambling.
“Wish I could come into you… make you mine and get you pregnant.. so close...”
That was new.
But it fed the fire that was about to erupt.
And when it did, the coil snapped so beautifully that it felt all-consuming. Clark followed suit, collapsing onto you. Too overwhelmed herself to even ride it out.
In time, she rolled off you and fell back onto the bed. The room grew silent, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing every few moments.
Then she turned her head toward you and spoke softly.
“Looks like I need to go get an actual ring for you, huh?”
I love when a girl is eating me out and I’m running my hand through her hair. My favorite thing though is when she’s eating me out and one of her hands is holding my hand and her other hand is grabbing one of my tits. My FAVORITE FAVORITE thing though is when she looks up with those eyes that she makes me she’s eating me out. Omg. Omfg. Her eyes flutter and kinda have that tired look and look up at me and we make eye contact ♡
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