pairing: clark kent x f!reader
summary: clark kent and you have been best friends since childhood. friendships shift and grow overtime and love sneaks in.
based on these prompts
words: 6.5k
content: fluff. clark kent loves yearning! suggestive-ish scenes (kissing). mentions of alcohol. reader knows clark’s secret(s). childhood friends to mysterious third thing to lovers. mentions of a break-up. blood mention. no use of y/n.
notes: this is kind of a mish mash of smallville kent and superman 2025. u can probably tell what actor im imagining in each scene lol
It started in Kansas. As everything with Clark Kent did.
i. a taunt with an eyebrow raised
“You’re taking Chloe to prom?” Your eyebrows were raised, pencil stalling against the homework in your binder. “As friends or as…” You trailed off. A smile tugged on your lips, eyebrows raising in question. They might have wiggled up and down. “I mean, I love you and all Clark, but–”
Clark inhales a breath, shaking his head. “I already know what you’re gonna say.” And because his mom had instilled a level of manners within him, “And I love you too.”
“Okay, good. Because you know I hate repeating myself.”
A roll of his eyes. His pencil is still scratching away at his own Chemistry worksheet. “Listen, my mom has already given me the same talk you give me,” His eyes glance up to yours, “you know, the one you give me every day. But my mom at least says it nicer.” He watches your features twist into a laugh. “That door is closed with Lana. And how will I know with Chloe if I don’t try?”
It had always been this way. Clark and you. Life began when you met Clark and not in some corny way either. Your first real memories were on the Smallville farm. Scraped knees, popsicles, and mud pies then the throes of puberty and teenage angst. Sure, there were times when you had found a new friend group or didn’t hang around Clark as much as you should have, but it didn’t matter because you were a permanent fixture in his life. You were invited to Thanksgivings, birthday parties, and vow renewals. Your picture hung on at least three walls in that farm house. One you knew for sure, a picture from Halloween where Clark and you had dressed up as two peas in a pod for the 5th grade costume contest. Martha had made the costumes. You were as close to family as it got. His mom had taught you how to make pie crust. His father had shown you how to drive a tractor. And Clark had told you everything there was to know and he never second guessed it.
And so it was normal to tell your best friend that you loved them. It was a text message, it was a goodbye, it was said in laughter and in strife. It was never a question. Clark isn’t sure when it began to mean something else. Because falling in love with you was easy.
For Clark, it was trying to pinpoint exactly when it happened. Falling in love with your best friend wasn’t always an obvious thing. Falling in love was coming back to a stream ten years later to see how much it had changed or the tree you carved your names into as teenagers somehow sprouting new branches years later. It was like the changing of seasons and you never quite saw the first signs of Spring until it was in full bloom. These things would sneak up on a person or maybe they were there all along and Clark had never been privy to it before.
ii. on a sunny tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair
Clark remembers the first time he noticed how beautiful you were. That you weren’t just some snotty nosed kid anymore. Or an awkward tween who was growing into her skin, unsure of the new weight gain and haircut, unsure of if you applied lipstick the right way.
It was outside the barn, a Tuesday afternoon. The sun was setting behind the trees and you were sitting on the tractor with tears in your eyes. The Kansas sun caught in your hair just right and the red around your eyes did nothing to distract him from the fact that you were beautiful. And Clark said something to make you laugh, that wide smile on your face. He had wished he had a camera to capture the moment, breath getting caught in his chest. And maybe it was all for selfish reasons but he also wanted you to see exactly how he saw you. Beautiful and worth more than whatever guy had broken your heart in the tenth grade. A name you couldn’t recall years down the line.
“He said he just doesn’t like me anymore.” You hiccuped, the laughter that Clark had pulled out of you fading away.
Clark’s concern was always genuine. His eyebrows knitted together, a frown to accompany it. He’d rip his chest open just so you could see how his heart broke along with yours. “Well, that’s stupid.” And it was so Clark, so sincere and matter of fact that it put another smile on your face. “And I love you and I’ve put up with you this long and that’s never gonna change.” His hand hovers over your knee. Touch was different as teenagers, fewer and farther between than it used to be. But it didn’t stop, it just didn’t look the same as it used to. His thumb rubs circles into your knee, that supportive look on his face.
“Well, thanks.” You roll your eyes, shoving his hand away as your face grows a degree hotter. From the tears? “Come on. Fly me somewhere, that’ll really cheer me up.” You grin, trying to see if he’d finally break. You had been begging him for ages.
“Nice try.”
iii. as a hello
Clark wasn’t typically full of himself. When he started growing into his body as a teenager, people would tell him all the time that he was handsome, that he had good looks. It wasn’t something that he had really given all that much thought to. But preparing for prom was shaking loose a weird insecurity he didn’t even know he had. Did he fill out the suit nicely? Was it too big? Too small? Should he have gotten a haircut before tomorrow? Were the sleeves the right length? And when one insecurity sprouted, several more followed in their wake. He was standing in front of the mirror, poking and prodding at his face. The suit was still clad on his body.
“I love you, but what the hell are you doing?” Your voice suddenly comes from behind him.
Clark jumps, turning around to pierce you with a stare. A clear annoyance filling his eyes. He was not startled by much. And really, he should’ve been used to you popping up behind him or appearing behind the screen door of the kitchen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Martha and Jonathan had made you a spare key. Showing up to the farm unannounced might as well have been your love language. “I don’t have to answer that.” He frowns, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket.
“Nervous?” It was only mildly infuriating when you could read his mind. You're plopping down on his bed as you stare up at him. His bed was made meticulously, plaid comforter tucked into the sides. A bowl of chips in your lap as you wrinkled the blanket, did you help yourself to that or did his mom send you up here with a snack?
Clark shrugs, his body taking up the spot beside you. Your thighs press against each other on the twin bed as he’s reaching across to steal a handful of chips. Usually, you tease him, move it out of his grasp, but this time you’re offering it up to him. “I guess.”
“I hate to say it, Clark, but they might be right.” You swallow down a mouthful of chips, eyes sliding down his body. It’s almost a physical thing, your stare. He feels it on his skin. Typically he shies away from the attention, not this time. “You look… handsome.” You grimace, the words foreign coming out of your mouth. “But don’t tell anyone I told you so.”
Clark laughs and your presence alone has his nerves soothing, your words doing the rest of the job. There was no one more honest in the world to him. His parents could occasionally sugar coat things or wore rose colored glasses when it came to him. But you knew every part of Clark Kent, even the ones he didn’t want anyone to see.
iv. with a hoarse voice, under the blankets
It was all phases of life, too. It was always Clark Kent by your side in one way or another. Senior year of Metropolis University. A shared two bedroom apartment. It only lasted one lease period– you realized too late that a roommate with super-hearing wasn’t your cup of tea when you wanted to finally explore the dating scene in the big city. Well that and it brought a new phase of your friendship with Clark. One that neither of you could really understand or stand too long in. It was no longer the safety of Smallville. It was as close to real life as the two of you had tasted.
“Get up. Please.” Clark is fighting a losing battle. He can see your form underneath the blankets on your bed, shifting around in annoyance. Your entire body is covered by the comforter. No limbs peak out. He moves closer to the edge of your bed. You were hungover and Clark wasn’t going to let you live it down. He never let you live anything down. “Come on. I made you pancakes. They even have the worst smiley face ever in the middle and you can make fun of it and–”
Your arm reaches out from underneath your blankets to grab his arm, tugging him. This is the man who cannot be moved. And you knew this. “Come on, let me have this.” A typical phrase. He hears it when you want to win a play fight, when you want him to pretend a shove from you actually does anything. Clark will always cradle his arm in mock hurt, wincing till a knowing smile is shared between the both of you. He always relents. You pull him into the bed with you, the covers coming up to wrap around the both of you. “Clark Kent,” Your hands come up to your face, rubbing at your temples, “You’re giving me a headache.”
“Oh, me? I’m giving you a headache?” A small amount of sunlight filters through the blanket. Your hair is unruly. You’re in one of his t-shirts, threadbare and stretched out, but it’s ridden up your thighs, twisted around your belly. He does not stare. He does not ogle and especially not at his best friend. Clark Kent has always prided himself on that even as his eyes make their way up the rest of your body. “It has nothing to do with last night? Oh and by the way, you’re welcome for picking you up last night. You always get so touchy when you’re drunk and–”
You shove him. “One last warning, Clark. I’m serious.” You grumble, feet moving to push at his body too as if that will do anything your arms couldn’t. “Get out of my fortress.” His fingers dance at your ankles. “And bring me my pancakes.”
“As you wish, ma'am." He’s sliding out of your bed, his fingers tickling their way down your ankles, your toes, a giggle eliciting from underneath the blanket.
If he didn’t have super hearing maybe he wouldn’t have picked up on it so well. “Love you.” You grumble begrudgingly, twisting the blanket back around your body.
Clark smiles and his heart flips in his chest. But it’s the one that happens sometimes with you. When he’s so grateful to have you in his life and of course hearing your best friend say they love you would do that to anyone.
v. when we kissed for the first time
It all started to warp around this time, deep in his belly and twist up into something he couldn’t quite name.
And it wasn’t a weird request. It wasn’t, you had reassured yourself. Maybe you had too much to drink during game night, but Clark was always the person you could go to. Nothing was awkward with him. I mean he had probably glimpsed you naked before and overheard you after a date and you shared a bathroom and a space and you grew up together and it wasn’t weird. It wasn’t. And now you two sit alone in your apartment, the moonlight leaking through the curtains.
“Please?” Your pupils are blown. You swallow some of the spit that had gathered in your mouth. You’re starting to regret asking, but his fingers are still sliding over your calves, soothing. Your legs in his lap as you sit across from him on the small couch. He’s got that look on his face, deep in thought. Clark Kent has to weigh every outcome. He’s had to do it ever since he started realizing the magnitude of his abilities, what came with them. He found people's emotions to be the same way, that they weren’t something to take lightly.
“You’re drunk. I love you and you’re drunk.” He decides, hands going still on your legs. He watches your face for a reaction. God, how he wishes one of his abilities was to understand what was going on in your brain. All this time and he still didn’t have it down to a science.
Your lip is drawn between your teeth as you move to sit on your knees, fingers coming out to rest lightly on his chest, his shirt underneath your fingertips. “Clark.” Your eyes shine with emotion. He’s not sure if it’s him that hurt you or if it’s the reason you’re asking for such an absurd thing. “Two guys have told me that I kiss weird. Two. Not just one. And you’ve always been honest with me. I mean remember when I tried to switch up my style and no one told me for weeks that I looked–” You sigh, eyes falling to stare at your hands on his chest. “That’s besides the point, but I mean, what if it’s true? And what if I never fix it and you, Clark Kent, had the chance to tell me? Or should I go through my life never knowing?” The dramatics were not lost on you. Had you been sober, it would have been a funny conversation. One that Clark could easily talk you out of. He would have reassured you that guys your age were simply trying to get under your skin, trying to create a sense of self-doubt. But that wasn’t the point. Not now. The point was his best friend is on her knees across from him, begging for something as simple as a kiss.
Clark hates seeing you so upset. “Listen–”
You drop back against the couch, whining, fingers rising to hide your face. Clark only used that tone of voice to soothe your anxieties, when he knew you were embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have asked. M’sorry.”
Your words fall on deaf ears as Clark is leaning over the space between you. His large hands gather up your face before he has his common sense come back to him. Your eyes meet for the briefest moment. Your breath hitches as he finally closes the gap, lips moving against your own. It’s the sort of thing you probably should have prepared for. Maybe set some ground rules, but there’s no rule book and wow, you’ve never kissed your best friend's plush lips before. There's suddenly no space between you as he’s crowding you against the arm of the couch. Lips move against each other, drowning in the new feeling. It’s open-mouthed and desperate. He’s pulling you closer, tongue swiping across your bottom lip, wanting to know exactly how you react to that. Your chest pushes closer to his own, craving to close the last bit of space between your bodies. A whine from you then a groan from him, both swallowed by the kiss.
Realization only dawns when you’re struggling to breathe. You pull away to catch your breath. Clark’s lips chase yours. “Well. You don’t kiss weird.” You decide before the real thoughts and emotions try to catch up with you. Clark didn’t need to breathe, he probably could’ve done that forever and been happy.
“I don’t think that was the test.” Clark is clearing his throat, red splotches appearing underneath his collar, rising to his face. “You, uh, you don’t kiss weird. Either.” He has to get out of here immediately. Preferably off planet, but he’d settle for his room.
He doesn’t have to make that decision though because you’re standing up, smoothing down your clothes like it was something clinical and it was just what you expected to happen and not earth shattering. He almost feels sad, nervous, ansty. He didn’t think that was something to just move on from. And it’s all catching up to him now. No preparation before the world ends would do that to a person.
You’re trying to save face. “I’m tired, Clarkie. I’m gonna head to bed.”
You’re almost to your room when he speaks up. “They were just trying to get under your skin, you know?”
You smile, “I know, Clark.”
vi. on a post-it note & in a way i can’t return
love u. wont be home tonight get dinner without me xx
The post-it was stuck to his bedroom door when he got home from class. He snatches it off his door as he pushes it open, grumbling as he does. Clark Kent wouldn’t describe himself as a grumpy person, but it seemed to be more of a common occurrence lately than any other emotion.
It was towards the end of your lease together that you started seeing someone consistently. It didn’t bother Clark, of course not. I mean sure, it was your weekly dinner night together and college had been so busy that he felt like he hadn’t been seeing you as much. You spent less and less time at the apartment and more at your boyfriends, but that’s all it was. That sinking feeling in his chest. It was normal. It was normal to get jealous that your friend blew you off for a date.
Life had resumed rather normally after you kissed for the first time. Because what else was there? (Denial was a pretty powerful emotion). You had been best friends since forever and a single kiss wasn’t going to change that. It was a blip in the grand scheme of everything else you guys had lived. But feelings simmered below the surface and this feeling, whatever it was, was a way to shake them loose.
He had typed out a long message and then subsequently erased it about a thousand times. He decided it was better to just talk to you when you finally got home. Except he doesn’t hear the front door open until the following night.
“You’re home.” Clark’s voice has an air of relief in it, but his annoyance tinged it. “Finally.”
Your eyebrows raise as you reach inside the fridge to grab a drink before you’re turning around to look at him from the kitchen. “What, are you my mother now?” You have no idea what you’re in trouble for, but your tone conveys the sentiment: how dare he police you?
“Oh, come on.” He rolls his eyes, standing up from his place on the couch. “You totally blew me off yesterday!” Clark doesn’t mean to raise his voice right now. It’s not in his nature, but neither is the jealousy low in his belly. He’s itching for a fight with you. Because there’s no one easier to pick a fight with than someone you know like the back of your hand. “You totally blew me off and then left me this little sticky note like it makes up for it.” The pink post-it is clutched in his fist, his eyebrows down turned. A near pout on his lips.
You scoff. “You can’t be serious.” You take a few steps from the kitchen to close the distance, staring him down. “You used to do this shit all the time.”
Clark’s mouth flaps like a fish before he shuts it completely. Thinking, rolling his reply around his head. “Not like this.”
“You don’t get to take the moral high ground here. You used to stand me up all the time to gawk at Lana!”
“That was high school. This is different.” The man of steel who refuses to break. Who refuses to acknowledge that it really isn’t all that different because his feelings are hurt and you don’t just get to get away with that.
“Please, Clark.” You scoff. “That was only a few years ago. I’m not doing this with you.” You’re retreating to your bedroom because the only thing that worked with Clark Kent was to let him simmer off, let the anger or whatever he was feeling evaporate till he would knock on your door later, puppy dogs eyes and all to beg for forgiveness.
He can’t help himself as he watches you leave, “I love you.” And there’s nothing else accompanying it. Plain as day, his feelings. They hang in the air around him. The words sound different coming out of his mouth. Maybe because he feels different, has nothing changed for you? He doesn’t want you to go to your room and wallow and he doesn’t want to do the same. Clark doesn’t want to go to bed mad and work through it by himself. But his voice sounds pleading and his heart is on his sleeve and he doesn’t want to ruin this, ruin you or your happiness. How do the words he’s said a thousand times feel different coming out? He tries again. “You drive me crazy and I love you.” Was that better? Was that normal?
“Living together is turning us into a married couple, Clark.” You joke, sparing a single glance back to him before you’re closing your bedroom door on him.
vii. before you fall asleep
“Can you come walk me home?” You sniffle on the other side of the phone.
Clark had picked up immediately. It didn’t matter that it was 2AM and his final project presentation was tomorrow. When you rang, he answered. Clark was nothing if not a man of principle. Sturdy and consistent.
Clark is appearing in front of you before you even had the chance to start crying again. You had calmed yourself down, but the feeling of getting broken up with sort of just ebbed and flowed. One minute it’s a blessing in disguise and then next you’re not sure how to go on, how life resumes after your heart is broken. “Hi.” A smile sneaks its way onto your face, a sort of self-pitying one as your best friend looks down at you. You're thankful he’s the type to refrain from saying ‘I told you so.’ “Well. It’s over.”
Clark is nodding, arms immediately moving to wrap around your frame. “That’s alright. You’ll be alright.” His hands are smoothing down your hair. His cheek is pressed against the crown of your head then his lips. A reassuring kiss for his own selfish needs. He doesn’t move to pull away, not even when your breathing evens out and your body is slacking against his own. He knows you’d pull away when you’re ready.
Grateful for his sturdy body as your weight leans against his, you pull your head back to look up at him. Your arms are wrapped around him, no space between you. You seek comfort in his eyes. “Am I an idiot?” Your lips flatten. “Don’t answer that.”
His hand is against your cheek now. Your broken heart can only remember your lover doing that. Clark is only reminded of the last time he cupped your face in his hands. How it changed the way he looked at the world. At you. “Come on, let’s get you home.” His thumb is gathering the little bit of wetness underneath your eyes, wiping it away. And he can’t help but think you look just as beautiful as the first time he noticed. The streetlights glinting in your eyes. A slight breeze makes your hair dance. Your lips always seemed fuller after you cried. You lick your lips, wanting to say something and all it does is make his resolve break. He has to tear his eyes away. Because it isn’t the time.
Clark pulls away, hand instead finding your own as he moves to begin walking you down the street.
It’s easier to let everything out when Clark is by your side and the streets of Metropolis are under your feet. The relationship was probably doomed to fail, you told Clark. The ex-boyfriend was constantly jealous of your close relationship with Clark, but in the end had been projecting his own secrets onto you.
All Clark could do was listen and refrain from commenting because he only got angry thinking about how you deserved to be treated better. That no one really deserved you. And really, it wasn’t hard to be good to you. You made it easy. You were kind and funny. Sometimes you’d even do the dishes and cook instead of him doing both every time. You gave thoughtful gifts and always listened with an open heart. Sure, you had trouble backing down from a fight, probably cussed too much, and could get caught up in the small details. You could be on edge when you felt insecure. But Clark had always softened you. Your sharp edges have eroded over time and how dare someone try and take advantage of that?
There’s comfortable silence on the walk home after you get the rest of your feelings in the open air.
“Do you ever get annoyed having to walk? You know at a human pace?” He can tell you’re feeling better, but it’s a genuine question too.
Clark shakes his head, grip tightening on your hand. “No. Especially not with you.” A pause to pass you one of his smiles. He takes care with the question. Clark had struggled with identity for so long growing up and even now. What it meant to be human, how much of him even was? “I mean, I’ve always had to practice ‘normal.’ And my parents never pressured me to hide at home, but I sort of like doing things… normally. Walking, having to hold back my strength. Practicing being gentle even though my powers are the exact opposite.” His eyes flit over to your own. “This wasn’t just another attempt at getting me to fly you home, was it?”
“Now that you mention it…”
“Still not happening.”
When you’re finally home, Clark is bringing the covers up over your frame, fingers gently prodding the blanket into your sides. You let him dote on you because Clark is nothing if he doesn’t feel needed. He’s always needed to take care of others. Plus, you knew his mom had taught him how to perfectly tuck a person into bed and there was nothing better than Martha’s advice to cure a break up. You’re sure he’s already called her while you were getting ready for bed. Tomorrow would be movies and ice cream with a signature Kent recipe sent to Clark’s email.
“Okay?” Clark’s hands smooth down the blanket, concerned eyes rarely leaving you.
You want to laugh only because he’s so serious about the process. “Yes, Clark.”
“You don’t need anything else?” He doesn’t want to leave your bedroom. He probably should’ve suggested that he tuck you into his bed instead. It was bigger, he had the softer blankets, and he could easily grab you whatever you needed throughout the night. Because it was that serious to him. It wasn’t because he couldn’t remember the last time you shared a bed or that he would give anything to ease the ache in your chest. Or that he wanted you to curl into his side, hands holding onto him to ground yourself through the feelings. But that was selfish. And he wasn’t. Not this time.
Your eyes catch his before he can make it away from your bed. “Do I say it enough?”
“Say what enough?”
“That I love you. That I appreciate you. That I couldn’t do any of this without you.” And it’s probably a silly image, your head poking out of the covers, the blankets wrapped tightly around you as you pour your heart out to your best friend. Because it was so easy to be open with him. Because he would always do it right back.
“Took the words right out of my mouth, honey.” A kiss pressed to your forehead and a goodnight. He doesn’t linger.
viii. as we huddle together, a storm raging
Even after your lease ends, Clark and you see each other weekly. Daily when you finally secure a position alongside him at the Daily Planet.
Work is over and it’s pouring rain outside the building's doors as you’re about to step out onto the street.
“Oh, come on! The one morning I didn't check the weather app.” You grumble, tugging Clark’s arm back inside as he tries to brave the storm anyway, but it doesn’t stop him. “Clark! I am not walking home in this.” But he’s not listening as he moves out into the rain. You watch his glasses become foggy, his hair sticking to his forehead seconds after walking out.
“I have an idea. Come with me.” A hand held out to you. Unfortunately, your best friend never needs to convince you much.
You're standing in the alley by the Daily Planet. Clark’s arms wrapped around you as he shields you from the rain with his body. “What sort of idea is this?” You grumble, afraid you’d grow cold from the rain, but Clark luckily has always had enough body heat for the both of you.
“I love you. Don’t be mad.”
“Why would I be –” But you can’t get the rest of your thought out because Clark is launching you into the air at what feels like break neck speeds (to you, an inexperienced flyer, to Clark, it’s nothing). His hand is holding the back of your head, his other pressed to your lower back. “Clark- Clark.” You’re gasping for breath, fingers clutching onto his clothes, afraid to look around you. Your face is half buried into his chest. How many times had you begged him for this exact thing and now he finally relented? During a rain storm? But by some miracle, the rain clouds are subsiding and the sun begins to peak out the same time you do.
“What do you think?” Clark’s got a stupid grin on his face. You would hit him if you weren’t so afraid to let go.
“Ever since you became Superman, you’ve been kind of an ass.” His confidence had shot up ever since he started proving himself to the world. (We aren’t in Kansas anymore, he had said to you one day) (You totally stole that, you had responded). You want to stick your tongue out at him, but it’s hard to even fake mad when you can see the city from this angle.
Your body weight is completely suspended by Clark, body pressed against his in a way he can’t recall ever happening. Maybe he should’ve done this before. The awe in your eyes is enough to convince him of that. Especially when you’re turning your face back towards his and he should kiss you. You aren’t living together anymore and you’re not teenagers and you’re not heartbroken, but he can’t bring himself to do it because how perfect are you like this?
ix. broken, as you beg me not to leave
It’s a quiet night in your apartment when a muffled bang comes from your fire escape. Then a gentle rap of knuckles against your window.
“Clark?” You’re already questioning as you pull the window open. On the fire escape stands Superman. “What happened, are you okay?” You’ve never seen him like this as you help him through the window. Part of his weight is leaning against your side as you lead him to the couch. It’s always been him supporting you. Bile wants to rise up in your throat at the thought of having to be the strong one. “Clark, talk to me.” You plead, kneeling between his legs. Hands and eyes search over his suit to find the problem. The area around his eyes is red like a rash, his shoulders slumped. There’s a large gash to his stomach and blood is staining the blue fabric.
“M’okay.” Is all he can manage.
“Clark, you do not look fucking okay.” Your heart rate is rising as you rustle for something to press to his wound. A forgotten t-shirt and your hands press into his stomach. Clark grunts from the pressure, hands coming to rest over your own. His hands, your hands, stained red. “Please, tell me what to do.” Your eyes are starting to fill with tears, not used to these feelings when it comes to Clark. Clark Kent was the structure in your life, the steadiness of your heart, your rock. “I love you. Please don’t die.” It might have sounded funny in any other scenario, but not when your supposed to be indestructible best friend is bleeding out on your couch.
“Just need a minute, sunshine.” His voice already sounds stronger, but his eyes are screwed shut from whatever pain he’s feeling. You can’t imagine what it took to get him this way and your stomach sinks. “Just–just don’t leave.” His hands are still holding onto your own, but one moves to intertwine with yours. Blood is already drying between your interlocking fingers.
“A minute?!” You had hoped your voice would come out level, but it betrays you. “You’re not going back out there, are you?”
“H-have to.” Clark manages to meet your eyes, wanting to crumble right back into your couch at the concern in your eyes.
“No. No, you do not ‘have to’.” Your hand pulls away from his own as you begin to pace in front of him. You stop, your stare piercing him to the couch. “Clark, you do not have to do any of this.”
He frowns, wanting to smooth out the crease between your eyebrows. Clark hates causing you strife. “You know I do.” Clark had come to terms with it a long time ago. That he did not just belong to himself. That his abilities did not just belong to himself.
Your voice breaks. “Please, don’t go back out there. I can’t- I can’t lose you.” Words fall on deaf ears as Clark struggles to bring himself up from the couch, body stumbling back to the window. “Clark, please. I love you. Don’t do this.” You don’t care if you’re begging. You don’t care about the tears falling from your eyes. You just want him to be safe. Your body moves in front of him, but you don’t stop him. You just move to support his weight as you help him onto the window sill. His body is still pointed in your apartment, but you can tell he’s finding the rest of his strength to return to the fight.
“I love you. I promise. I’m okay.” He moves his hand from the gash. His skin is already weaving back together. The dried blood is the only reminder.
Your hands press into his cheeks, tilting his head up to look at you from his seat on the window sill. Clark’s eyes shine, blue eyes pouring into your own everything that was unsaid. The skin held beneath your fingers tingled, when have you ever looked at him like this? “Clark.” The rest of the words you want to say are lodged in your throat. Because expressing what you really need to say to him was impossible so for once, you settle with a kiss. His face between your hands, your body between his legs as you lean down and press your lips to his. Clark’s hands slide against the back of your legs, holding the back of your thighs as he cranes his neck to meet your kiss.
The kiss is not desperate this time; it is a vow. It means everything the second time around. That everything will fall into place around it. The entirety of your lives seemed to tilt inward to this moment. You know it won’t make him stay. You don’t want him to stay. You knew Clark, knew where his heart lies and that a piece of it now belonged to you, how it always did.
x. with no space left between us
You’ve grown shy underneath his gaze. Your eyes landing anywhere but his face.
Clark had come by later in the night to find you still awake. A bedside lamp was left on to call him home. You had followed the rest of the night in front of your television. He had peeled off his bloody suit for a pair of his pajamas that you had kept in your drawer. The bruises on his body had turned from black to a light yellow in a matter of hours. And despite everything he had dealt with in the last few hours, the only thing that remained on his mind was the feeling of your lips.
“Come on.” Clark offers his hand, that black strand of hair tickling his forehead after his shower. Your room is covered in a soft glow as he pulls you towards the bed. “What changed?” He comments on your demeanor.
“I–” You start to say before closing your mouth. It’s impossible to articulate. It’s like waking up after a deep sleep or plunging into cold water, but with this familiarity you’ve known your whole life. It’s like finding out a secret that your intuition knew all along. “Nothing.” You decide. Or everything, you might add if his hands weren’t distracting you.
“Exactly.” Clark’s fingers dance against your bare thighs as your skin prickles in their wake. There is something between you that wants to break. A live wire that only Superman could touch with his bare hands. “I love you.” The same words you’ve heard a thousand times, but this time, they immediately bring a warmth to your face. You want to shy away, but you lean in instead, fingers sliding over Clark’s.
“I love you too.” You clear your throat, bringing his hand up to press against your chest. Over your heart. Clark can feel it underneath his hand. The steady beat of your heart against your ribs. He knows what you’re conveying: that he has a piece of you too and always did. You don’t have to say anything else as you’re closing the distance between the two of you for the second time that night. But you both had hours to sit with the feelings, about what it meant and where it went from here.
Your chests are pressed together, bodies clinging to each other, both whispering, ‘I love you’ between the kiss and letting it settle there. Right where it was always meant to be, with no space between you.
summary: clark doesn’t like his teeth, but you do.
word count: 2.6k
contains: fluff & suggestive themes. friends to lovers!!!!! clark and reader share insecurities (his teeth, her weight). reader knows clark is an alien. lots of banter/humor, some sassy and shy clark. unaddressed tension. first kiss, first confession tropes. biting kink if you squint. slipped an x files mention in there #iwanttobelieve. *no use of y/n
a/n: Holy fucking yes thank you anon.
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
“What are you doing?”
Clark peered down at you with a bemused and crinkled brow. He felt the unusual tingle of your pointer finger pressing on his canine.
With your head in his lap, your arm was extended all the way out to reach his mouth. It was not as if you were hiding your curiosity. You pressed on the tooth, feeling the smooth curve and the tiny point that undoubtedly slotted into the lower set below like a puzzle piece when he smiled. The tooth was strong, it did not budge– not that it should, but you were just observing. Cataloguing.
“I’m feeling your teeth.”
Clark snickered softly and swatted your hand away, making you pout. “I can see that. I’m asking why.”
“You asked what.”
“Don’t be a smartaleck.”
You grumbled softly and let him hoist you up by the hand, and you sat beside him on the couch in his loft, eyes shamelessly redirecting to his mouth again. “I like your teeth.”
Clark’s cheeks flooded with color as you stared him down. He knew very well your predilection for bluntness– being your best friend had helped him build an immunity. But every now and then, your straightforward mouth made him clam up. You didn’t seem to care when the things you said sounded almost… flirtatious. If he could even suggest such a thing. You? Flirt with him? Never. In his dreams, maybe.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you tilted your head, smiling softly. “What, is it so unbelievable someone could find your teeth cute?”
Clark felt a drip of saliva catch the back of his throat, and he coughed softly, flustered beyond his means. “I mean, a little. They’re not exactly straight– wait, cute?”
You shrugged, laughing softly. Your attention drew back to the television for a moment, where Fox Mulder was sticking his finger in some unknown substance on television while Dana Scully judged him from afar. A glimmer appeared in your eyes, and you recited in the best Mulder-voice you could muster: “I think it’s remotely plausible that someone might think your teeth are hot.”
Clark didn’t choke on spit this time. He just choked. “Huh?”
You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, pointing at the television. “Oh, come on! That’s his line!”
“You’ve seen this show way more than I have, how am I supposed to remember?”
“In the first season, remember? When they’re talking about how the Lone Gunmen liked Scully, and he says that same thing to her? It was a famous clip! Seriously?”
Clark shook his head, offering you the same expression he did each time you mentioned a random factoid from some show he never cared enough to watch– two raised eyebrows and a playful purse of the lips, suggesting either a statement of You lost me or Only you would know that. It was almost as infuriating as it was cute.
“Not only is this show awesome, but I watch it because you are a stupid alien, and it gives me great advice on how to deal with you!”
“They never actually see the aliens on this show, dummy, and I’m not green with big eyes.”
“I’m just saying, it might do you some good to pay attention to–”
“Good lord! All I’m saying is I don’t remember the part you’re talking about!”
“You’ve definitely seen it before.”
“I’m sure I have. Now, going back–”
“Clark, there’s nothing wrong with your teeth!”
The farmboy chuckled and gave a different look now (an Are you serious?) and crossed his arms. “I never had braces. They’re all crooked. Like, they all tilt inward– it’s weird! I’ve always hated them.”
A tiny twinge tugged at your heartstrings. How could Clark Kent hate a thing about himself? Surely he knows who he is and what he looks like. The man has been your closest relationship for too long. All you saw when you looked at him was gorgeous.
“That’s so sad,” you frowned.
Clark laughed awkwardly and scooped up the popcorn bowl from the table, placing it in your lap. He picked at a few kernels. “It’s not supposed to be.”
“Yeah, but it is,” you angled closer again, and Clark had to stabilize the bowl before you capsized the contents all over the couch.
“Woah! Easy.”
“Your teeth are one of my favorite things about you. How could you hate them?”
Clark crunched cluelessly. “What, I’m supposed to magically cure an insecurity just because you like it?”
“Yes!” you ordered, brushing a piece of hair from your eyes.
“It doesn’t work like that and you know it. How many times have I told you that you’re pretty exactly as you are, but you still insist that you’re fat?”
A mauve tide rushed your cheeks, and you looked away. “That’s different.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” you mumbled, putting the popcorn in his lap so you could tug your blanket higher.
A slow guilt began to bleed in Clark’s gut. He was just trying to make a point, but this was not the direction it was supposed to take. “Hey…”
“Your insecurity is like– it makes you special. Unique. Nobody else can smile like you can. It’s not like that for me. It doesn’t make me special, it makes me… unlikeable.”
Clark didn’t think twice about tossing the popcorn bowl back onto the table and inching closer, collecting your hands in his. The skin was rough from his farm chores. Lucky for your set of chubby fingers, he could still enclose his palms over them like a glove. “That’s not true, bunny. You’re not unlikable.”
“Well, I’ve never been asked out, so I think that makes me pretty unlikable.”
“You’ve never been asked out because I’m always looming behind you like a statue,” Clark chuckled, coaxing your gaze towards him again with a finger under your chin. “Guys aren’t really into potential girlfriends who come with a guard dog attached.”
Your cheeks burned as you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I never asked you to do that.”
“It’s not necessarily something I can help. I just… don’t like anybody for you. They’re all stupid. And mean.”
“Real mature,” your lips curled upwards a smidge.
“You know what I mean. Nobody deserves you,” he explained. “You knock every other girl out of the park. You know you do.”
Inside your chest, your heart was beating rapidly against your ribs. Sometimes you wondered if he knew how inescapable his clutches on you were. Not only was there no getting over him, but you had lost all will to. All you had ever known was what it felt like to be in love with Clark, and it didn’t help when he grew up to be the exact kind of guy you always dreamed he would. It was textbook torture, sitting here with his thoughtful hands stroking your wrist and his gleaming eyes boring into you like magical Kryptonian ice crystals. Stupid alien face– it was so fucking handsome.
You huffed softly, letting go of the reflexive breath that sucked your stomach in. It was an uncontrollable habit. You saw Clark smiling at you, and for all the embarrassment he made you feel, you chose to pick up the ball. Game on.
“I think your teeth are adorable,” you said. “Y’know, how sharp they are and the way they curve in like that. I love them.”
Clark blinked at you, trapped by the word love. Love, love, love, that was all his heart and ears and lungs and brain were hearing. Love, love, love, she loves my teeth, I love her.
His hands were still wrapped around your wrists, but you lifted one and smoothed a finger beneath his top row again. You mapped each ridge, collecting a bit of wetness as the pad grazed the thin edges. His breath was warm on your finger. It smelled like popcorn.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
“For what?”
“Saying those nice things about me.”
Clark nodded softly, smoothing his hand up your arm. He had no idea what he was doing. You could both be affectionate here and there, but not so decisively or slowly. Not so methodically. “They’re true things.”
“You really think I’m pretty?” You blurted. Well, not a blurt. A soft blurt. A low one. A bleat, maybe. Nervous as a sheep.
Clark did not think. He only nodded.
You brushed your finger over his chin, and with him so close, you could see the way a few of his lashes entwined with each other, clinging together in anticipation. You envied their job. You wish you could brush his eyes, keep them clean, shield them from the sun. They got to live on his face all day. What you wouldn’t give.
“You really like my teeth?” He asked.
You nodded, too, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I love your teeth. I love a lot of things about you.”
Clark could not help the compulsion. “Like what?”
You would’ve preferred to be more eloquent, but your mind was leaving you at the moment. Clark’s hand was now resting at your side, tucked between the soft rolls of your back and squeezing carefully, as if he was curious about the springiness of the flesh and had been wondering what it felt like for a while. So you rambled.
“Your hair. It sort of flips behind your ears, and I always found that cute. Your nose, too, when you get annoyed with me it flares. Sometimes when you smile really big your hairline moves up, that’s a good one– oh, and when I really piss you off, you kind of do this thing where you tilt your head like a dog hearing a whistle, and every time you do it I can't help but laugh because it’s just so funny! Like that one time we got burgers, and I swore I didn’t want a milkshake so you only got one, but then I begged for a sip and you wanted to kill me? You did it then, and I just wanted to kiss you, it was that cute.”
As you trailed off suddenly, hearing your words echoing back and flushing a medically concerning shade of red, Clark’s ears rang. He felt like he was stuffed full of cotton. I just wanted to kiss you, it was that cute. Love, love, love, love, love…
“Yeah?” was the best he could do. It was breathless and full of disbelief, but he at least said it aloud.
You winced a bit. “...Yes?”
Clark nodded slowly, and then a bit harshly, just trying to be sure he heard you right. He had just heard a few words that, in another universe, he would pay money to hear. No, in this universe. In any universe. He squeezed your side again, and when no response came to him, he just stared at you, brainless and lost.
You swallowed thickly and reached out again, figuring that if this was the final chance, you wanted to touch those teeth one last time. Your thumb tugged his bottom lip down and you poked your pointer on the tip of his lower canine. What was left of Clark’s dignity leaked out then, and he made the swift decision to kiss your knuckle. And then your wrist. And then your cheek, and your chin, until he was hovering over your mouth, breathing that popcorn breath against your tongue, which would have been disgusting were it not your very best friend Clark Kent who you had been having undisclosed dreams about since age eleven.
“I like a lot of things about you too, bunny.”
“Like what?” you whispered, not moving an inch.
“Like the way your nose twitches when you’re nervous. That's why I call you bunny, did I ever tell you that?”
Your eyebrow furrowed, and for a split second, you forgot what was actually happening in lieu of a new image. “It does?”
“Yeah. You just did it just now.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I saw you.”
“I think I would know if I–”
Clark’s hand slipped under the hem of your t-shirt to feel the burning skin beneath, and the welcome touch had you shutting up in surprise. Your surrendering face exhibited the sign of a tiny little twitch on the right side of your nose, which Clark kissed instantly, as if pinning it down. “Right there.”
“That… isn’t fair,” you wheezed, heart hammering.
“What isn’t fair is that you’re not kissing me,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m waiting, you know.”
Part of you wanted to smack him for teasing at a time like this, but the rest of you was bubbling over with the overwhelming, all-consuming sense of victory. You met him in the space of an inch, pressing your lips to his open mouth, feeling for the very first time what it was like to kiss the love of your life.
Clark’s teeth were sharp and warm under your tongue. He hauled you into his lap and laughed as your eager hands roamed his face and neck, and it seemed that you tilted your head left to right without any penchant for rhythm or pace, simply smushing yourself against him in a desperate attempt to swallow him whole. He used said teeth to nip at your mouth, making you shiver, and you performed with absolutely zero decorum, swiping your tongue over his canines, tangling it with his own, sneaking your fingers into his hair to tug him closer and threaten suffocation. Every time he squeezed your hips or pressed his palms to your tummy, it spurred you further. It was the best kiss he’d ever had.
He didn’t give up until the action exhausted you. Having kissed yourself stupid until all you could manage was leaning your forehead against his and panting softly, you began nosing him like a kitten, pressing closer and closer into the hard lines of his body in some pseudo-hug disguised as a selfish need to feel him against you. He laughed sweetly and tucked his fingers into your hair, feeling the strands and tugging, scratching the curve of your cranium.
“If I told you how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, you might kill me,” he teased.
“Bet it's not as long as I’ve been waiting for you to come around.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, come around? I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!” He pulled back, giving you an incredulous look.
You grinned mischievously and kissed his lips again, much less ambitious this time. You distracted him with, “Bunny, huh? All because of my nose?”
Clark tossed you down on the couch and crawled over you with a big, toothy grin. “Well, that and your body. Bunnies are chubby.”
You flushed profusely. “Clark!”
“What? I love it. I love you.”
As he laid on top of you and began to kiss you into the mattress, you fought against the desire to give right in, hands curling behind his ears. “I was being serious, I’m really insecure about that…” But as he hitched your knee over his hip and sealed your lips shut with a series of hungry smooches and a pair of wandering hands, your protests lost their necessity.
As he made his way down the curve of your neck, he mumbled, “You like my teeth enough to let me bite you, bunny girl? Won’t hurt you… just a little bite, maybe…”
“Jesus Christ,” you squeaked. The word no suddenly dissipated into thin air, as foreign as a new language, and as ridiculous an answer as anything. “Yes.” Then, you added for good measure, “It won’t turn me into an alien, will it?”
Clark peeked up at you, joy painted all over his face. “You should be so lucky.”
pairing: caleb mcdaniel x black! fem! reader, though ALL are encouraged to enjoy
listen to ! — kiss it better - rihanna ; snooze - sza ; are you even real - teddy swims & giveon
warnings ! — none besides a suggestive comment he makes somewhere in this. kissing but not in depth. obviously deviations from events of love island s8. possibly inaccurate descriptions of sunburns? i've never had one!
genre ! — fluff
synopsis ! — a fic in which you nurse his wounds after being hit with heat he wasn’t quite expecting!
wc ! — ≈900 words!
author's note ! — just needed to do something sweet because these last few episodes have been tearing me up & y'all couldn't pull fluff from my cold, dead hands ngl. love a cute little short fic to the moon and back, so one for caleb? duhhh!
also, episode 14... let's discuss, because so much shit in this show has made me want to turn off the whole TV, but this ep??? lordddd.
likes are always appreciated, but I’d love to hear what you think, what you’d like to see, and other comments! ❤️
It was uncharacteristic for Caleb to be this loud. When he’d first entered, the large man typically communicated solely in hums, minutely-noticeable nods, and sentences that stayed below 40 decibels—at least that’s how he was with you. But as he grips the sides of your thighs and his grunts and groans increase in volume, you can’t ever imagine this man being nonverbal.
Your thoughts stop when his large hand roughly pulls yours away, stopping your crusade of applying aloe to the sunburnt expanse of his chest. You told him consistently not wearing a damn thing under this sun was idiotic and could soon become detrimental, given that you’re filming in it for most of the day, but the hard-headed man insisted he’d “raw dog the rays.”
Which then led to his current state, in which 70% of his skin remained healthy, moisturized, and rippled with the defined muscle beneath, but the areas most exposed to the harsh UV had grown red, irritated, and slightly burned from the bright sun.
“I told you you’re not me and needed the sunscreen, but you didn’t listen, so sit still,” you grumbled from your spot on Caleb’s lap.
His short nails bit into your hips from his grip on them with each pass of your fingers.
“I know, mama, but it hurts,” he replied with a childish groan. Pretty face turned down in a light grimace with a scrunch of his reddened nose.
You were supposed to be taking this seriously, but the burn was almost cute? It naturally gave the center of his face a blush, tanned its surroundings, and darkened his freckles in one go, and blanketed the highest peaks of his body.
“And the more you flinch, the more it hurts. Hold still, I’m almost done.” Your hands then slid from the back of his neck to his cheeks, spreading the aloe over the tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks.
He winced one more time at your hands before you pressed a cute and quick kiss to his lips.
“There? See, I’m done. You’re free to continue complaining while protected.” You said with a smile.
His lips turned up again, this time with a small grin of his own, and he shook his head softly.
“Nah, darling, I think you missed a few spots.”
In reality, he looked like Vaseline’s latest ad pickup, but the man was nothing short of ridiculous, so you humored him.
“Mhm, and where’s that exactly?”
He raised a hand to gesture towards a few spots on his face and down his chest.
“Right here. Actually, here, here, and here too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, your job’s patchier than I thought.” You smacked him lightly at that with a soft huff, turned to pick up the forgotten bottle from the table behind you, but he’d stopped your movements before you even got that far.
“Not that, darling. I want somethin’ else.”
You moved to stand, feet coming to a spot between his legs, and turned again, but he stopped you then, too.
“I mean, I have actual sunscreen somewhere in my bags to cover it too, if that’s what you’re asking for? I’ve got calamine lotion, hydrocortisone-”
His head shook.
“Mm-mm baby, want you to kiss me better,” he responded, effectively cutting you off. And effectively making you laugh in his face.
He sat in front of you, oiled up essentially, with the same dazed and happy expression across his face that he wore almost consistently now. He wasn’t fazed by your chuckles after hearing it so often at his expense, and instead, he brought you back into his space further by a grip on your thigh, silencing your noise. His head tilted to view you from below.
“Pooor baby. Need my kisses so your skin doesn’t shrivel up for Twitter to see?” You asked, bringing your other hand back to his glossy cheek.
“I need your kisses so my skin doesn’t shrivel up for you to see, sugar. I’m supposed to be wooing you here. Can’t do that if it hurts to lift my arms above my chest.”
“I’m not seeing a correlation at all.”
“‘S simple. I have big dreams of having you on my shoulders in that hideaway someday soon. Skin irritation and timing are what’s holding me back. This sight’s only a trailer for me-”
“‘Kay, shut up and come here.”
Caleb closes his eyes, hums in satisfaction, and when you finally give in to his request and bring your face down to his. Leaning in close—but not close enough to mess up your aloe application—to press light kisses to each spot he’d pointed to.
One to his “blushed nose”. A few to the pretty freckles across his cheeks, topping off the sweet look he carried. A kiss to the side of his throat that always made him groan and shift when you two were wrapped up at night. And two or three to his chest, some freckles spread over the expanse of it. Over the muscles you’d called “man boobs,” to watch his face and ears redden as he rushed to correct you.
You stood up fully to see his dopey, satisfied smile.
“All requests fulfilled, I’m guessing?
His head shook for a final time before he rose to stand above you.
“Nope. Just one more~.”
“Oh my god, Caleb, get off of me! You feel like a lube bottle!”
“Aww, mama, don't run! I just want a hug!”
🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧
a/n: k bye now! 💋
send me a request if you wanna see more! don’t be shy 🙈
contains: fluff & smut. humor. daily planet clark & reader. clark is whipped, reader is not a good actress, lois evil laughing from a distance. cheesy flirting & teasing. clark gets a bit dom!, eventually things resolve in *annoyed and needy makeup sex… perfect match trope :) *no use of y/n
a/n: oh my god i’m gonna burst into flames give me that freak dork man NOW... barely proofed this so give me grace
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
In your defense, it wasn’t your idea to torture your boyfriend. It was Lois’.
The conversation went a little like this…
“Oh, come on. He’s a prude. There’s no way he could withstand actual overt flirting from you. He turns red when he overhears a couple on the street talking about joint filing for taxes!”
“It would be mean, Lois! Plus, I tease him enough.”
“What, by wearing normal clothes and doing nothing? Seriously, tell me you’re not the least bit curious to see what the guy would do if you tried!”
You chewed your lip, spinning in your desk chair. “Well… what would I even do?”
Lois’ machinating eyes glimmered as she leaned forward, pointing a pen in your face. “Wear something skimpy– well, however skimpy you’re capable of, Annie Hall– y’know, red lip, maybe ditch the glasses for the day… slink around, say some salacious things, eat some fruit really loudly. That sort of thing.”
You scoffed softly and turned back to your computer, clicking into an editorial proof. “That’s ridiculous. What, I’m gonna whore myself out in the bullpen just for kicks?”
“Nobody said anything about that! And hey, call it what you want, but to whore oneself is an honor. And to think you call yourself a feminist!”
You giggled in slight annoyance and chucked a pencil across the desk clump at Lois, who dodged it and winked, sipping her coffee. “I’m just saying, I think it would be fun to test his limits. He is just a man, after all.”
What she said got you thinking. Lois might be crazy, but she wasn’t wrong. Clark was a lot of things– Kryptonian, for one. Intelligent, generous, thoughtful, emotional. Handsome. Reserved. But even knowing him as well as you do, and loving him just the way he needs and wants… he really is just a man, isn’t he? His human side had immense power over him. And he was a weak little thing when it comes to flirtation. How hard would it be to tease him? How much could he take, really, if you tried? Your mind began reeling, thinking about what kind of stunts you could pull before he caught on or collapsed… and then the curiosity got too strong. So, you took on the challenge.
The next morning, you came to work in a dress. This was not unusual for you– you wore skirts and dresses all the time. And this dress wasn’t a showstopper, either. But you knew Clark like the back of your hand, and if you were going to do this thing, you would have to play the long game. It was supposed to be a test of his limits, right? So, you wore his favorite color on you. A true, deep red. It was a modest enough cut– above the knee but below the thigh, and the sweetheart neck dipped a bit low. You clasped the necklace the reporter gave you around your neck– a silver C– and you painted your lips to match. When you walked into the bullpen of the Planet in the morning, flashing your boyfriend a smile, you watched him audibly choke on his coffee.
Clark had been wondering why you refused a ride into work today, and now he knew why. You used the time to dress up. He felt a bit dirty for how difficult it was to peel his attention away, but he managed to stare at his mug and regain some composure.
“Hi, honey,” he rasped, clearing his throat.
You smiled and walked over to his desk, sitting on the edge with a flipping stomach. You were a terrible actor, and you grew incredibly awkward when you had to try; but if you didn’t commit now, it would all be a big, embarrassing disaster. So you went for it. Leaning close, you wrapped your nimble palm around his tie and gave it a gentle yank, drawing him close. You laughed as his deer-in-headlights eyes fluttered, and you pressed a suspiciously wet kiss to his lips without warning. That was the first attempt.
Pulling back and wiping the corners of your mouth for any lipstick residue, you hummed, “Morning, handsome.”
As you stood up and walked away (giving a little extra swing in the hip department) Clark swallowed thickly and shook himself out. Nobody was watching. The bullpen was operating like normal. You were following your usual routine, completing the whole “get coffee, sit down by Lois, log on” checklist. But you were doing it in one of the only sexy dresses he knew you owned, and you just kissed him like this was the start of a very not-safe-for-work film. For someone who was as reserved as him, this was insanely out of character. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling a mortifying throb between his legs. Perhaps you had a high-profile interview later (that would explain the clothes). Or he was dreaming. Anything but the obvious would work just fine.
The second test of his willpower came not an hour later. The morning was still young, the Planet bustling with conversation and caffeine. You needed to copy an article out for editing, and while on any regular day you would kick the machine and resolve the issue yourself, you knew that one of the things which worked Clark up most was being needed. You made the decision to slip past his desk, around the back of his chair, and lean over his shoulder. After placing a feather-light peck behind his ear, you grinned at his shivering shoulders and murmured, “Clarkie?”
The name within itself was a punch to the gut, but as he glanced over his shoulder at you, watching your hair fall around your face, your red lips pouting, a fire lit inside him. “Hm?”
“Copier isn’t working. Could you help me?”
Clark jolted out of his seat fast enough that it wobbled and nearly tipped over. His hand shot out to steady it, and he followed at your heels. He was kind to his invisible leash.
You breathed through a spark of nervousness as you tried to play up the sexy meter, bending down before the keyboard on the copier and pressing some buttons. It was a bit humiliating, pretending to act stupid, and a part of you knew that he’d see right through it. You weren’t dumb. You handled this copier better than Clark could most days. He was the last person to come to the rescue of a woman– usually they had things sorted before he got there. But he was under the spell of your jutting hips, staring at the soft rolls of your tummy as you rose again, and on that fact alone you knew Clark’s sound judgement was not present to assess the situation for its reality. You stepped close again and rubbed up and down his arm, squeezing his bicep.
“See? It just won’t scan!”
Clark fumbled over himself to smack the machine and jostle it around. You heard him mumbling to himself, and every few seconds he would look over at you, almost like he was making sure you were still there, watching, seeing how hard he could try for you. Trying to woo you with his heroic acts upon the damned scanner. You bit back a laugh as he gave the machine a rough kick. The screen lit up and the laser beam buzzed under the hood, and you sighed happily.
“There!” Clark beamed, turning to you with a dopey smile.
“Thank you, baby,” you cooed, snuggling up and tugging him by the tie again. It worked last time.
Clark stumbled into you and flushed, hands gripping your waist. His eyes flickered around before saying, “You’re acting strange.”
You fought to keep a blissful smile on your face. “What?”
Clark squeezed you and laughed nervously. “You’re all…”
As you watched him struggle to speak, you traced shapes in the hollow of his chest. It made the brain fog much worse. “What was that, honey?”
Clark stuttered like a fool, and it took a mountain of restraint not to laugh. God, he was so cute when he was flustered. You took advantage of the mental clog and poked his chin, stepping away with your copy.
“Hey–”
“Gotta go! Busy day!”
As you hurried off, Clark stood at the copier like you stranded him on a highway, alone and dejected. You were so warm under his hands. You never fled like that… She’s up to something, he thought. She has to be.
When it was time to make a third swing at his self-control, you had to up the ante. Flirtatious eyes and smiles wouldn’t be enough. Lois had caught a glimpse of your transparent copy machine trick and scolded you lightly for being, as she put it, “a terrific wuss”. Now, as it came time for your lunch break, she coached you into a newfound confidence. “Don’t just bat your eyes, you loser, do something you would never in your right mind do at work,” Lois urged. “You want to break him, don’t you? Give the doggy a bone!”
You stood near the elevator waiting for Clark. You two always walked to the coffee cart together. You were a safe, predictable couple, and usually that was all you ever needed. But not today. No, today you would prove to yourself that you had balls, and that he could fold like a house of cards whenever you pleased. You wanted to do it. You knew you could.
You could smell him before you saw him. In a soft cloud coming from behind, the smell of his cologne wafted over you. Did he put on more? you thought, spinning around to see him looking down at you with a suspicious level of calmness.
“Hi, Clarkie,” you sighed, pressing the elevator button. “Ready?”
“Mhm,” was all he gave in return.
As soon as the elevator doors parted, you stepped in with him following suit. You quickly hit the ‘close doors’ button, seeing his eyebrows furrow, and as they slid shut, you placed your palms firmly on his chest and pushed him back against the wall.
“Woah– hey,” he staggered, blinking through the confusion. “What’s gotten into you today?”
“Nothing!” you assured, before promptly trapping him in an eager kiss.
Clark’s hands flexed as the overwhelm hit him, and within seconds he was grabbing you and hoisting you around his hips, swapping places with you. His soft grunts of joy made your gut clench as he shoved you against the cold metal, hands squeezing your thighs. His blatant excitement was pressing against your leg and you nipped his bottom lip, breathing his air, getting lost in it for just a moment before remembering the game.
“Mm– Clarkie,” you panted.
“What?” he mumbled, kissing down your neck.
You smirked as the doors slid open to the ground floor of the Planet, and you shimmied free, finding the floor again. “Lunch!”
As you swaggered out of the elevator, Clark stood burning hot and dumbfounded. You didn’t even warn him. He followed you quickly, the subject of many judgemental glares, out to the street.
“What was that for?”
“What do you mean?” you asked, feigning innocence.
“That– the– the kissing! And the– you– the–”
“Clarkie, you sure seem nervous today. Did you sleep alright?”
“Don’t you– oh, you little–”
You whipped around with a cup of coffee and quirked a playful eyebrow, flashing him a sweet and unapologetic smile. “What were you saying, baby?”
Clark looked down at your open face. You were doing this on purpose. You were trying to bait him, get some kind of reaction. He wasn’t sure why, but that much was clear… and it was working. He was so worked up that he felt angry. He wanted to punch a wall almost as much as he wanted to rip that dress off your body. He raised a finger at you, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing, my love,” you tilted your head, dipping a finger in the whipped cream atop your cup and licking it off deliberately. “Don’t you want coffee?”
“Look at you! You’re– you’re– tempting me!”
Christ, was it hard not to bust out laughing then and there. Instead, you opted for a light and infuriating chuckle. “I hardly think I’m tempting you!”
“Oh, yes you are! With– with your little dress a-and your looks and the pet names!”
Clark’s cheeks were a fiery red, and his breath came short as you rocked on your feet and acted like he was crazy. Never in the time you’ve been together have you done anything to make him so irrevocably irritated. You kept to yourself and let things out at home, that was the girl you were, but today you were so outspoken, so physical, you almost reminded him of–
Oh, he blinked. A piece clicked into place, and the image of a certain rowdy reporter flashed before his eyes. Oh.
You saw his expression shift and felt an internal urge to squirm. Clark didn’t say another word. He handed over the cash for your coffee and his, and then he hooked an arm around your back, ushering you into the building again.
“Clark? What is it?” you swallowed, peering up at him in confusion.
“Nothing, my love,” he quipped, guiding you into the elevator once more.
As the two of you made the ride back up to the bullpen, you could feel the energy radiating off him. Something warm and strong. Something knowing. Fuck, you panicked, he knows.
Up until the end of the work day, you managed to give him a little space and air out what happened at lunch. Something inside you was a bit thrilled at the idea of him knowing you were teasing him; his back straightened, and he seemed for a moment that he would set free the dominant side, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Clark went back to the bumbling boy he was in conversation with Jimmy and Perry. But on your last ditch effort to make your boyfriend lose his filter, you found you were not the sole possessor of tricks.
This time it wasn't anything wild. You had retreated back into awkwardness– getting the whole minx act right was a lot of work. All you did was perch yourself on his desk and pick up one of his pens, twirling it around in your hair while he finished up some article on the desktop.
Clark didn’t even spare you a glance. “What do you want?”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, stilling the twirling. “Just waiting for you to be done, that’s all.”
“Yeah?” He mocked softly, closing out a tab and turning the monitor off. Clark swiveled in his chair, leaning back, and he cocked his head. “Well, I’m all yours.”
You flushed a bit. Shit. Bad look. “Good! I was thinking maybe we could get some Italian–”
Clark suddenly stood, corralling his messenger bag and your arm in one swoop. “Actually, I think I’m gonna take you home.”
You yipped in a startled moment of surprise and stumbled over your feet as Clark manhandled you down the stairs. “Hey– Clark!”
“Oh, I’m just Clark now?”
“What are you–”
The second he was able to wrestle you onto the street and down the alley beside the Planet, Clark scooped you up in his arms and shot off. You yelped as the world rushed by you in a fit of cold wind, and a slight swell of nausea rose in your chest. Before you had time to yell at him for using his speed in broad daylight, your feet hit the floor in his farmhouse.
“What the hell?”
“No, you what the hell!” Clark grumbled, shrugging off his bag and seizing your hips, walking you backwards into the living room. His eyes were dark and starving, despite the embarrassed flush of his skin. “What was your angle today, huh? Teasing me? Did Lois put you up to it?”
You tripped over the edge of the carpet, and the two of you flopped on the couch in a tangle of limbs. You grunted softly under his weight and tried to backtrack. “It was a joke, we were just curious about how you would react–”
“You got me all worked up in front of our coworkers,” Clark complained, cupping your face. “That was cruel. You know how bad it hurts when I can’t get off?”
A trapped heat buzzed under your skin. The mix of guilt and desire made an intoxicating cocktail inside you. “I was only playing around.”
“Yeah? Just playing? Well, it’s only fair I play with you now, isn’t it, honey?”
As you gazed up at the man you loved, a healthy dose of fear rippled through you– an exhilarating, hungry, entertained fear. The game worked, alright. Clark was pissed and horny and you had gotten a result you did not expect. There was no stuttering now, no sheepishness. Only need.
Clark unceremoniously shoved your dress over your hips, and you twisted under his grasp. “Clarkie–”
“Don’t deny me this, baby, because I’m a fucking mess, and it’s all your fault,” he whined as he made quick work of unbuttoning his slacks.
Your eyes fluttered as you surrendered happily, the sound of your farm boy swearing melting any last strain of resistance as you braced for the delicious punishment. As if he couldn’t get any hotter, he was begging through gritted teeth to take the treat you’d dangled before him all day.
Clark usually took a great deal of time to be sure you were safe and ready when it came to sex, but he was not stupid. If you had the wherewithal to poke the bear, you were looking for the response, and he was aching to give it to you. He groaned as two fingers tugged your panties to the side, and he crawled over you to sink inside your cunt with a helpless moan.
Your body arched at the contact, and for a second you feared the wind had been knocked out of you. It all happened so incredibly fast. First he spread his palms wide over your inner thighs to press you open, and then he was rutting like a dog in heat, coiling around you, groaning and whimpering with the long-awaited relief of being buried in your walls. All day long, while you sauntered in that dress and tried your very best to be a seductive temptress, he had wanted to bend you over the closest surface and show you just how well it worked, how you could wear a garbage bag and he’d still drool at the sight. He dreamed of making you say you’re sorry for being so cruel while his cock nudged your insides apart. Now he had that chance, because you were reduced to the girl you’ve always been beneath him– blushing, clinging tight, playing with his hair, taking every inch in a flurry of sweet, delicate greed.
“Apologize, honey,” he prompted, kneading the flesh of your ass as he thrusted deeper, nestling his cock in the spongy refuge between your hips.
“M’sorry, m’so sorry,” you slurred. The pleasure was so blinding, so heavy, that your eyes were starting to roll back. “Sorry, baby… was just– mmf– playing!”
“You tell me when you– nngh– wanna play games,” Clark hissed, rocking into you hard enough that the legs of the couch squeaked an inch over. “I’ll play them with you– God, you feel good.”
“O-okay– ah, Clarkie!”
Clark made quick work of it, because there was no fooling either of you. You had made a half-baked attempt at a Lois-induced power trip, and he was struggling to punish you for it. Neither of you had incredibly strong control over yourselves in that way. When Clark was with you, he was wholly himself, and vice versa. No amount of teasing or roleplay would ever change that. The deeper he was, the more he remembered just how much he loved you, and suddenly the two of you were right back to normal, writhing on the couch, lip-locked and whimpering into each other’s skin, begging for release.
“So good, honey, don’t ever do that again,” he begged.
“Won’t, I swear– please!”
“I’ve got you, it’s okay, come on, let go–”
“Clarkie, please, I’ll take it, I– ah!”
A white-hot wave crashed on your heads, and Clark pinned you beneath his heavy weight on the couch as he spilled into you. Your legs twitched around his hips as you shook and jerked, pleasure numbing your nerves. Air was precious now as you collapsed in a heap. Clark buried his face in your neck, holding on for dear life.
Drawing a deep and shaky breath, he mumbled, “Never listen to Lois again… can’t take it.”
You burst out into weak laughter and nodded softly, basking in the aftermath of your reward. “Deal.”
summary: clark takes a liking to his film buff girlfriend.
word count: 1.2k
contains: fluff. movie fan reader, mentions of actors and movies, a lot of nerd speak. clark is a sucker. kissing. blurb-ish. *no use of y/n
a/n: just a short lil something– enjoy anon :) this one was really fun for me i fucking love film
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
Clark never really cared for movies. They demanded too much attention and things always went over his head. It took meeting you to realize that all he needed in order to enjoy them was a beautiful girl who caught all the clues and who never, ever shut her mouth.
You were a friend of Chloe’s from Metropolis, and one day you stopped into the Planet to say hello. It was there that you saw Clark. He was leaning back in a desk chair, the dusk sunlight spilling over his reposed head like honey, somehow glowing with that soft effect only an aged vaseline lens could achieve. With heat in your cheeks, you asked…
“Has anyone ever told you that at a certain angle, you look a lot like Marlon Brando?”
Clark narrowed his intrigued eyes at you, only to reply, “What, like The Godfather?”
And you shook your head, rocking on your feet: “No… more like… Streetcar Named Desire.”
Clark smiled.
It was kismet from there.
Your first date was to the movies, and it was your doing (of course). Clark figured you were taking him to see something new, but you in fact had a special membership at the Metropolis Monoplex and were taking him to see an anniversary showing of Casablanca. He had never seen it, and you were intent on changing his life.
“What do you know about World War Two?”
“Enough,” Clark chuckled, nestling into the seat beside you. The theater was packed.
“What about romance films?”
“Maybe less.”
“Everyone says this is a romance, and I wouldn’t say they’re wrong, y’know, because there’s absolutely romance and the structure is driven by it, but personally I feel the morality question is what makes this movie so poignant– to decide between selfishness and righteousness, between duty and desire, those are hard choices to make, especially in a political hotbed. It’s the impossibility of getting everything you want, and the poetic justice of making the most reconcilable choice, you know? Do you see what I’m saying?”
Clark stared at you as your fingers poked the popcorn and you chewed your way through thoughts he had never entertained about anything before. As those words poured out of your mouth, he watched you glimmer. Like light catching a knife, or sun dancing on water. You sounded pretentious, sure, but he didn’t care. Not at all. At that moment, he had never seen anyone more beautiful.
“I don’t know what you mean at all,” he said. “How about you explain it to me?”
You had never loved seven words more. And they came up again and again.
Clark would let you sit and blab for hours, from anything between the sociological destigmatization of learning disabilities by Finding Nemo to the reasons why Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind was a necessary film as the decades-long fallout from Roswell and increasing questions of conspiracy drove a wedge between the American public and its leaders. In the theatre, in his barn loft, in your city apartment, and even in the bed of his truck in the way-out drive-in theatre (the last of its kind in the state of Kansas), it didn’t matter where– Clark prompted you to open that pretty mouth and speak. Speak about what you thought and saw, what you believed. What angered and inspired you, what made your heart skip. It really meant something when he was more in love with your talking than the standing opportunity to shut you up with a kiss. He had never felt so passionate about a single thing in his life.
Clark was constantly thinking about film when you were gone– what to watch next, what you hadn't yet shown him. He looked up old theatres to visit and movie stores to hit. He researched traditional techniques just to be able to identify a word you used, or show you he knew one when he commented on a shot or trope. Clark would read your books on filmography and quiz you, just to hear you giggle and spit out an answer like it was easier than breathing.
“Wait, so you’re telling me the guy actually died?”
“Yeah! Brandon Lee,” you laughed incredulously. “You haven’t heard about this? They were shooting his character’s death scene in The Crow when a blank hit him in the gut. He died in a prop malfunction. There was a whole ordeal where the weapons master got fired and a bunch of people who had no idea what they were doing fucked up the gun prep. Sparked a huge issue in the prop side of Hollywood.”
“Weapons master?”
“Yes, dummy, the prop manager who knows how to ensure firearms are safe and nobody dies!” You rolled onto your tummy on his bed, peeking up at him while he studied your book.
“I can’t believe you know all this stuff,” he grinned.
“Someone has to impress you.”
“You do impress me,” Clark quirked a brow. He tossed the book down and grabbed you, hoisting you into his lap.
“Mm, well, thank God for that.”
“Yeah,” Clark smiled, and he tugged you down to taste the sugary gloss on your lips.
Ever since meeting you, Clark took on a new life. New vocabulary, new sight, new outlook. He noticed clues everywhere, all of these allusions to famous films he never would have known in drinks and on shirts and within people. His culture grew so wide that he could talk to anybody and get by, making jokes and connections without feeling like he was missing out on something. He saw the nods in new films to old ones. He recognized voices in animated pieces. He never aced your quizzes, but he got a lot right on his best days. Clark read a lot of books and lived a lot of life, but there was a certain magic that film brought to living, and he could only attribute the spark to you. His depth of understanding, and his love and care for stories, where things that you made burrow within him. You helped something fresh take root. Without you, he’d still have no idea who Jimmy Stewart or Baz Luhrmann or Stan Lee were. Without you, he’d be floundering the same way he had been all his life, feeling disconnected and untethered.
“You know,” you started, snuggled against his chest in the warmth of your city apartment. Tom Hanks was busy writing an email to Meg Ryan on the television as you fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “I thought when I first met you that I would be a bit much. You get so quiet sometimes when I talk, originally I thought I was overwhelming you.”
Clark ran his fingers over your scalp, feeling the strands of hair. “You could never overwhelm me.”
“I’m glad,” you grinned, resting your chin on his chest. “But I am curious about something.”
Clark tilted his head, gazing down at your big eyes. His heart fluttered. “Yeah? What?”
You hummed softly, cheeks pinking. “What’s the one thing you could talk forever about? Like, I have my movies. You do pretty well with that. But you have to have something, right? Like, before you met me?”
Clark could only smile wider. His fingers brushed over your nose. “Before you I didn’t. But after you I picked something up.”
“Really?”
Clark cupped your cheeks and lifted you up, pressing a warm, welcome kiss to your lips. Against them, he muttered, “I could talk forever about you. You’re my special interest.”
summary: the girls learn about your situationship with clark after snooping through your phone, and a domestic morning forces you to face the truth.
warnings: fluff, situationship final boss, mentions of sex, big dick clark, mentions of vomit, general drunkenness, reader is commitment-phobic bc of past relationships
a/n: again not proof read but c'est la vie <3
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
“Who’s #Superdick?” Lois drunkenly guffawed as her and Cat scrolled through what you thought was your dating app messages, but clearly they had veered onto your actual text messages.
"Your dad, that's who," You blew a raspberry, reaching for your phone across the table, "Give it back."
Lois and Cat were supposed to be making you feel better about the pathetic guys you matched with, but instead they were snooping. Drunk you was far too trusting with your unlocked phone.
Sitting back in her chair, Lois pulled your phone out of your grasp and continued to snoop with a wide grin and bleary-eyed stare. Journalistic nature undeterred by copious amounts of alcohol. It was the annual Christmas party so drunken warfare was inevitable.
"Give it back," You whined with a pout. The two women ignored you, as Cat hooked her chin over Lois' shoulder and eyed your phone intently, "Is that Clark?!"
Your heart fell into your ass.
"Where?" You weakly asked, looking behind you as if to distract from what you knew they had found. Lois and Cat fell into a fit of giggles, both staring at your phone and pinching the screen to zoom in and out. "Farm boy is yolked," Cat gawped at the screen as Lois whistled lowly.
Almost jumping onto the break room table, you reached over and snatched the device out of Lois' hands, knocking over a paper cup with golden snowflakes etched onto the sides. Whatever was inside spilled across the table and dripped onto the floor of the break room.
Looking at your phone, an image stared back at you; with his phone positioned in front of his face, Clark stood in front of the mirrored wall at the gym. Not that he needed to go but with such a physical upbringing, he said it felt wrong to no longer work his body. A Metropolis Sharks sweater hung around his neck to show a fitted t-shirt underneath and baggy sweatpants, biceps bulging against the dry-fit material. Hidden behind his phone, his raven curls stuck to his forehead and his glasses balanced crookedly on the bridge of his nose.
Jesus, this was from months ago. The motherfuckers took liberties with your slow, drunken reflexes.
It took months to get him to send you any pictures back. He relished in your incessant teasing, dozens of pictures of you in your text thread, but hesitated at the quid-pro-quo nature of the gesture.
It started with more innocent responses; you would send a picture in the fitting rooms of your favourite Metropolis lingerie boutique and he would send one of his large hand around a coffee cup; you would send a picture lying in bed and he would send one of him lounging on the sofa.
His face was never in them, but fuck if you didn't like looking at him in all of his glory. The gym ones eased him into the less innocent ones, usually waiting until the place was practically dead before snapping a quick photo of his flexing muscles for you.
Shit, they might have seen his lying-in-bed ones.
"It hurts, god my stomach hurts," Lois clutched her stomach as she almost literally died of laughter, and Cat swatted her hands against whatever was in reaching distance, losing a battle against her unrelenting giggles.
Scrolling through your shared media, you realised how much they had seen. Months of pictures. Gym pictures, getting in the shower pictures, getting out of the shower pictures, in the bathroom at work pictures... Most of them were fairly tame but the ones that were a little more... out there; all unbuttoned shirts, messy hair and flushed skin. Much to your chagrin, he drew the line at full nakedness but given what just happened, he was right to keep that for in-person.
There was one particular photo that was the worst (or best, in your eyes) that he ever sent, when your schedules didn't align for weeks, and he found himself at a journalism conference across the state. A mirror picture, his face was covered like usual but his body was visible in the low light of the hotel room. Just his tight boxers covered him, a hand firm against his bulge, and his stacked physique on full display.
Oh shit.
Sweet, innocent, shy Clark is gonna go fucking nuclear if he finds out that Lois and Cat know about your little tryst. Little feels a redundant after a year of casually hooking up.
Initially it was to scratch an itch. Last year's Christmas party was a total bust, and it was four days after your ex dropped an atomic bomb on your relationship and moved in with another woman, so inevitably you were feeling very sorry for yourself. And Clark, he received a wedding invitation that morning. His high-school sweetheart was getting married and the news sent him into a spiral of his past mistakes and present loneliness.
Sitting in the corner of the bar, you were both hopelessly trying to avoid backsliding out of sheer loneliness and holiday-fuelled desire, couples of all ages enjoying their festive high spirits. It was enough to make you hurl with jealousy. One thing lead to another and you woke up in Clark's bed, all manner of bodily fluids dried on your skin and the taste of him in your mouth.
It was hard to brush off the incident as a mistake when it felt so unbelievably good, the pleasure coated your emotional wounds like orgasmic bandages. A year later and sex with Clark only got better.
You knew about the Superman shit - the rainbow of kryptonites included - and saving his contact information as #Superdick was a successful attempt to make him stutter and blush.
Thank god Lois and Cat didn't have the sober sense to question the nickname.
"Will you two shut up?" You hissed, trying to quieten them like a teacher chaperoning a school trip, "You sound like hyenas."
Lois and Cat couldn't fight their huge grins as they zipped their lips and shared soft giggles.
"Seriously, you and Clark..?" Cat began with amusement crinkling at the corners of her eyes as she shoved a finger between her loose fist repeatedly, "Is he good?"
Playfully, you pressed your fingers into your ears and loudly sang an impromptu made-up song, the lyrics inappropriate and making fun of your two invasive friends.
"Now that we've establish who Superdick is," Lois giggled, pulling your fingers from your ears, her cheeks rosy as they pulled into a taut grin, her hands pressed together, "Just say when."
Widening the gap between her hands, her and Cat stared between you and the growing gap. "That's insane," Cat jaw dropped, and the gap grew bigger as you stared at them, trying to keep a neutral expression, "No, this- this is not even like humanly possible."
Kryptonionly possible, you thought with a smirk.
"Start again, start again," Cat swatted Lois' hands and took over, using her own small, pampered hands instead, "Just say when."
Grabbing her hands, you stopped her and a smile broke from you, drunken amusement be damned, "I'm not telling you how big he is."
"So it is big!" Cat pointed her sleek acrylics at you, a journalistic ah-a in her eyes. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the bottle of wine you were supposed to be sharing and took a large mouthful, "What, Superdick didn't tip you off?”
"But how thick?" Cat slurred, circling her hands in different sizes and a laugh erupted from you, spraying your mouthful of wine across the table. "Jesus, Cat!" Lois jumped back, the three of you cackling like witches in the corner of the party.
The bullpen was still lively with holiday spirit, karaoke blasting from the other side of the room. Clark stood with Jimmy, polishing off their beers with loud laughter.
Your high-pitched cackles caught their attention. Jimmy grinned as he made his way over to you, Clark at his heels, “Ladies, what’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Cat giggled, unable to meet their eyes. Clark lingered behind Jimmy, timidly catching your gaze and assessing your drunken state.
“I think it’s time to go home,” Jimmy laughed, helping Cat and Lois onto their feet. Holding out a hand to Clark, he wordlessly helped you up and stabilised you against his solid frame.
The alcohol in your system eased your inhibitions as you carelessly put your hands on him in ways that were not platonic or appropriate for the workplace, albeit work ended hours ago. Thankfully the others were too drunk to notice the way you slid your hands under his suit jacket and groped at his muscles.
Clark let you indulge for a few moments before guiding your hands away. He loved how obsessed with his body you were.
Leaning into him, you waited for the elevator to arrive. Your eyes drooped and you slowly blinked as Cat and Lois made crude gestures at you; Cat's tongue prodded against the inside of her cheek as she flicked her wrist, hand fisted loosely.
The next morning you woke up in your bed with no memory of anything after the giggly elevator ride to The Daily Planet lobby. The first thing you noticed was the soft banging about in the kitchen - if you were getting robbed the last thing you wanted to do was get up - and the second thing you noticed was that you were completely naked.
"Clark!" You shouted weakly, your face smushed into the pillow as you waited impatiently to no avail, "Clark!" A heavy sigh rushed from your chest, your head was pounding and the sunlight creeping through the curtains was like a laser beam to the brain.
"Morning," Clark waltzed into your room, steadying the door with his foot and carrying an array of hangover helpers in his hands. He was a sight for sore eyes if you ever saw one; bed head, no glasses and flannel boxer shorts. Domestic Clark, your favourite.
He grinned at the state of you; your hair was a mess against the pillow, your naked body sprawled across the bed diagonally and your face was buried in your arms.
Clark placed a large jug of water and some Advil on your nightstand, lifting your upper body and slotting his body underneath you. Draped across his lap, you hummed contently and relaxed against him, plush muscles and warm skin like a heated mattress beneath you.
The pads of his fingers smoothed along your skin, massaging your back and shoulders, even carding through your hair. It was heavenly. A soft moan escaped you and Clark's body shook as he chuckled, "Feels good?"
You nodded silently, pressing yourself closer to him. Soft touches to your temples eased your pounding headache, whether it was one of his Superman abilities or a placebo you didn’t care.
"What happened last night? After we left The Planet," You asked with a croaky voice, grumbling and sleep-soaked. Clark drove his fingers into the flesh of your back, softly kneading your hips and palming your ass.
"You spent ten minutes saying goodbye to Jimmy, Cat and Lois, most of it on the ground," Clark smiled at the memory, "I was trying to take you back to mine but you threw up in the cab so I carried you here. I wanted to fly you but I didn’t want to be covered in more vomit.”
Groaning at the embarrassing memory-not-memory, you nuzzled further into his lap, pressing your face into the thick muscles of his stomach, "Oh god."
"Then you stripped in the hallway and threw your underwear off the balcony,” He pointed to the bra that was hanging from the telephone pole outside of your bedroom balcony window, “Then you started crying when I refused to have sex with you.” Clark ran his fingers through your hair, the sensation soothed you despite the loud snort you let out.
"I cried?!" Out of everything he just told you, that felt the most mortifying.
Clark giggled - your favourite sound, rare but worth the wait - and lifted you against him, your naked chest against his, your face in the crook of his neck, "Yes, like a little baby."
"Thanks for looking after me," You sighed, sinking into his arms.
"Anytime, honey," Clark kissed your forehead and stroked your hair, "It is our anniversary."
The word jolted you from your droopy-eyed relaxation, now wide-eyed and alert as you pulled back to meet his eyes. A small smile twitched at his lips, "A year ago today, we woke up in my bed for the first time. Look at us now.”
Your eyes roamed his features, unsure of where this was going, "Well then, happy anniversary Superdick." Clark groaned, a deep red flush crawled up his neck, "Happy anniversary, princess."
Eyes met and you stared at each other for a few moments, maybe a moment too long, and smiled before Clark manhandled you to sit against the pillows, “Right, open up.”
Opening your mouth, Clark popped some pills onto your tongue and tipped the glass of water against your lips, watching you swallow the painkillers with a satisfied nod.
“Breakfast will be ready soon,” He kissed your cheek before retreating from the bed. The pep in his step rubbed at your nerves.
“You’ve never had a hangover,” You pouted, watching the muscles of his back ripple as he headed to your bedroom door, “It sucks.”
“I’m sure it does, baby,” Clark turned to you, leaning against the doorframe, “I can see the alcohol in your bloodstream.”
“Don’t look at my bloodstream, pervert!” You dragged the comforter over your body and hid from him as he chuckled. You knew that he could see through solid objects but you just wanted to hear his laughter again.
Watching him disappear from your bedroom, you felt a smile tug at your cheeks. He’s perfect. But reality came crashing down and you needed to tell him about Cat and Lois’ discovery.
Grabbing his brown and navy plaid robe, you hauled yourself to your feet and wrapped yourself in the soft, oversized material, tying it at the waist. Clark ran hot and the winter weather outside spread a chill through his apartment, the floor cold underneath your feet. Stepping into his slippers, you made your way into the kitchen to see Clark bent over the stove, making pancakes.
Chopped fruit and syrup lined the counter and rashers of bacon sizzled in a separate frying pan. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek to the planes of his back.
“You okay back there?” Clark asked, looking over his shoulder. You nodded silently and Clark smiled to himself, “Just want cuddles?”
You nodded again and squeezed him tighter, daring to speak after a few moments of content silence, “I think you should know that Cat and Lois know about us.”
Clark halted in his tracks, putting the spatula on the counter and turning off the hob. He slowly turned to you and lifted you onto the counter top, caging you there and standing between your legs.
And everything came flooding out as he laid his eyes on you, “I’m really sorry, baby. I was drunk and they were going through my phone. I didn’t think until it was too late.”
Your head pounded as you rambled on, pinned in place by his gaze. Clark stole a kiss that shut you up, soft but deep, leaving you wanting more when he pulled away to take the frying pan off the still-hot stove.
“Are you mad at me?” You whispered, eyes downcast. Clark smoothed his palms over your thighs, “Never. It was going to happen eventually. What exactly do they know?"
"That we fuck like alley cats," You hooked your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer to you, a soft blush blooming across his cheeks, "And that you're built like tank."
"So all the important stuff," Clark bit back a smile, running his hands across your hips. A crease formed between your brows, "What else is there to say?"
"I don't know," He shrugged but there was a hesitation with his words, "Do they know it's been a year? That we've both been single the entire time? That we flirt under their noses at work?"
"No, no and no," You answered, shifting on the counter, "They know I'm on the dating scene but that I'm still single."
"Your heart's racing," Clark nodded his head to your chest, rising and falling with every breath. Pushing your hands against his chest, he let you knock him back a step. "Don't use your powers on me."
"I can't help it. Your heart is very loud..." He slowly stepped towards you, pressing between your thighs again, "Sweetheart, it's been a year of this. I fight intergalactic threats, catch crashing planes, run into burning buildings... You're the only thing that keeps me sane, the only thing that I can't be brave for."
"Clark, what are you- Where is this coming from?"
"I want more. What we have is not... I love it but I need more. I don't want to pick you up from another terrible date because you're sad and riled up, or meet you in the bathroom at work because Perry talked smack about your article and you need to blow off steam. I want to cook dinner together and watch movies on the couch, I want to hang out with your friends and meet your family... One year of having half of you, just one side.. I want the other stuff," Clark's brow knitted as if he was in pain, as if his confession was tumbling out against his better judgement.
"I love you, sweetheart. More than I ever wanted you to know, and if you don't feel the same, well then I'll get over it, but I need you to know, now that people know about us," Clark nodded firmly, finalising his confession. His chest heaved with adrenaline as he assessed your bewildered expression, your wide eyes staring at him.
"Clark..." You breathed his name like a wince, the hole in your chest from your ex now a sinkhole, "I- I can't talk about this." Fruitlessly, you tried to distance yourself from him but Clark kept you in his arms and eye-level on the counter top.
"Then listen," His warm palms soothed your skin with every rhythmic caress, "I know you want me too. When you call me drunk to take care of you because you trust me. When you bring me lunch at work because I'm too busy. Your heart skips in the innocent moments too."
"Clark-"
"I know you got hurt. I know how bad it was," Clark cupped your jaw, silencing your protests as a trail of tears slipped past your lash line, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted, "But I would never hurt you. Just let me take you to dinner."
"What?" Choking on your tears, his question stumped you. After a year of having him so close, it was the simplicity of his question that shocked you. Clark knew all the ugly sides of you; the drunk and inappropriate, the stupid and forgetful, the loud and disruptive, the angry and defiant.
Scrubbing your cheeks, you flushed at the state that Clark must be seeing right now. You hated crying, but a year later and the betrayal of your ex-boyfriend still stung deeply. Trust felt like a long-forgotten mirage. Opening your heart felt a lot more vulnerable than opening your legs.
"I'll wear a nice shirt and you can wear that new dress you bought. We'll go to dinner and talk about how garishly overpriced it is, and I'll pick up the cheque then walk you home," Clark tilted your chin to meet his eyes, warmth swimming in the icy blue, "Nothing we haven't done before."
A deep breath racked your chest and his loving gaze cracked something inside you, a tear carving its way down the contours of your cheek.
Clark would never hurt you. Even before your relationship formed, he was the sweetest guy and always treated you with respect, never undermining you or turning himself inside-out to get his own way.
Maybe you loved him too.
"Okay."
Clark raised his brows at you and you nodded at his silent question, "I- I want to go."
A wide, elated smile tugged at Clark's cheeks, his dimples popping, "It's a date." Softly, he pressed a kiss to your lips and wiped away your tears with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
Despite the tears, you laughed against his lips, "You should know, I won't put out until the third date." Clark's grin was unwavering.
"I can't wait to tell Ma," Clark lifted you off the counter, wrapping your legs around his waist and bear-hugging you like he couldn't contain himself, "She knew you'd say yes."
Of course his mom knew about you... Your mom kind of knew about him too.
synopsis: you and Clark are something. Not just coworkers, but not dating either. A murky in between where clothes get lost and things accidentally slip out. (It’s a long one)
genre: clark kent x reader, journalist! reader, friends-with-benefits! relationship
warnings: smut, reader doesn’t know that Clark is superman, big dick Clark, biceps, mentions of a shitty ex, said ex who is lowkey racist, reader vehemently hating her ex because it’s cathartic, cunnilingus
more from my blog
You knew you were in trouble the moment you stepped into the Daily Planet’s bullpen.
Mid-to-late twenties, you had gone from part-time university jobs to a career in set design to another career shift in costume design, and now: journalism. Blogs that you had started with wide-eyes and even bigger ideas had evolved with you, morphing into your well written articles on current events or whatever happened to be bouncing around your mind. The thoughts clinging onto neurons and forming a cobweb of information that spilled onto your screen. Your blog had even gained enough recognition to allow to you pursue writing professionally. Finally, you had found something that would excite you for years to come. Something that made all those years of keeping your head down and working all the more rewarding. You dulled down your birthdays, said no to late night plans with friends, and even sacrificed summers just to keep up with yourself.
And you weren’t going to be swayed by a pair of baby blues or biceps that strain against an oversized suit jacket.
At least, not that easily.
But, like clockwork, Clark Kent would hover by your desk and torture your poor heart and even weaker determination. Your morning routine of turning on your computer and getting your desk ready now included your unfairly handsome coworker. With a sweet but awkward smile on his face, he’d cautiously place a warm cup of hot chocolate onto your desk. Careful to avoid a stack of papers or the edge of the wood, making sure it doesn’t get in your way. Then, his hands would tug on the cuffs of his jacket and hide back into his pockets. The gentle giant would mutter a quiet ‘no problem’ as you thank him, his cheeks rosier than they were a second ago. And then finally, with hunched shoulders and a ducked head, he would head off to the next desks for their coffee delivery.
Your days would start with Clark, and if you were unlucky enough, they’d end with him too.
The bullpen is uncanny after five pm. The usual clicking of keyboards, ringing of phones, and background chatter has gone extinct that this hour. Moonlight shines through the large windows of the Daily Planet’s skyscraper, casting the usual orange and brown mid century office into shades of dulled blue and grey. All of your favourite coworkers had left over an hour ago. Lois had some concert she had to get to. Something about needing to be in the nosebleeds. Jimmy was pretending to dread another date with whichever model-slash-actress-slash-stunning woman he somehow always attracted. Steve had left as soon as the numbers on the bottom right of his computer screen changed. Cat had already been out of the office, chasing some scandal across the city. But Clark was here.
Probably making up for his long lunch breaks.
The surprisingly tall man was sporting an uncomfortable looking hunch as he typed away, his dark brows furrowed and pinched in a sharp gaze as he rereads his writing. You notice that those big, totally unattractive, hands hover over the keys of his keyboard. Trimmed nails and long digits. And maybe the way they covered most of his mouse was a little distracting. But it’s Clark, you tell yourself. Dorky, a little awkward, and the kind of guy who says ‘golly’ after Lois critiques his articles to filth. That doesn’t make him any less attractive. Honestly, it’s worse.
You sigh, forcing your eyes back to your article. Just two more sentences. Then you can take the subway home and cuddle up with that clingy cat of yours. Until then, a sore back and tired eyes it is. With a repetitive purse and chewing of your lip, you finish up your work, completely oblivious to Clark’s attention on you.
He’d been at it for ten minutes now. Painfully watching the minutes pass by on the clock, waiting for you to finish your article. Just a little longer, maybe taking time to reread his work on LuthorCorp funding free computers and tablets to most of Metropolis’ middle schools; putting their attention span and cognitive skills in danger and encouraging AI to ‘help’ them with their schoolwork. But after the fourth read, he was just trying to kill time. So, maybe his eyes flicked over your tired form. And maybe he felt selfishly giddy that he was sharing this time with you. Albeit quiet and with a few desks apart, but some body-doubling bonding all the same.
As soon as you had started packing your things, Clark was too. You tucked your notebook and phone into your handbag, and Clark was already slinging his satchel over one shoulder. You slipped your coat on, and Clark put his on too, not wanting to look strange without one in the midst of winter. You button it up securely and glance around the bullpen, giving Clark a polite but soft smile as the two of you lock eyes.
The perk of working overtime with Clark is that he not only accompanies you down to the subway, but all the way back to your place at your building’s front door. So, you don’t hesitate to approach him as he nearly snaps his chair trying to push under his desk.
“You done?” You ask, the question acting as placeholder greeting.
“Yep. Just finished.” He nods. “Do you want me to walk you back home?”
“Yeah. That’d be great, Clark. Thank you.”
★彡
Your reoccurring evening walks had eventually turned into this. A sweaty afterglow, your head on Clark’s surprisingly toned chest, and sex that only seems plausible in porn or romance novels.
This was something you could deal with. A naked hot nerd. Good sex. A safe walk home. Amazing aftercare. What more could you ask for?
Sure, the lines were blurry, but at least you didn’t have to deal with a relationship. The last one you had was more than enough pain and embarrassment. Your ex, some guy who you had barely dated for four months in college, but somehow had enough time to frustrate you even years later. Your ex, who had been your first and worst kiss. Sloppy, too much saliva, and aggressive enough that it felt like he’s was trying to swallow your mouth whole. Your ex, who insisted that he had abs under that layer of normal body fat. Your ex, who stood up on his toes when you wore heels around him for the first time. Your ex, who had bad breath and cut his own hair with random scissors, an almost proud look despite the fact that you noticed how choppy his hair was. Your ex, who somehow thought it was okay to make jokes about your ethnicity’s features. Your ex, who even after you had shown him images of flowers and clearly stated your preferences, never got you any. Apparently he had been waiting for ‘the right moment’. Your ex, who always finished first and thought that a moan from you meant that you were there too. Your ex, who was somehow almost always late to dates and never once offered to pick you up or drop you off at your place. Your ex, who invited himself over to sleepover at yours without extending an invite for you in return. Your ex, who had zero ambition and even less of a proactive attitude. Your ex, who constantly needed your confirmation for plans. Your ex, who said ‘I love you’ barely two weeks in. Your ex, who was already projecting a future together and asking you about marriage. Your ex, who gave you the ick when he tried to gargle water and ended up spitting it everywhere. Your ex, who told you that he was shocked that you exercised. You ex, who-
“Honey?” Clark asks, his voice no longer behind you, his chest usually rumbling under your head, but in front of you with a worried downward tug of his lips. He’s wiping your legs with a damp towel, his other hand covering your forehead as he anxiously checks your temperature.
“Hm?” You tilt your head up at him, snapping back into the present.
“You okay?” He asks, his voice impossibly gentle and soft for someone who just wrecked your world less than ten minutes ago. Broad shoulders and strong biceps curl inwardly as he crouches down, cleaning you up and massaging your thighs. “Do you need some water? A snack? Did I go too hard?”
“No, no,” you place your hand on his forearm, rubbing twice before pulling away. “Sorry. I just got distracted. I’m all good.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,” Clark finishes up cleaning you up before tossing the towel into his hamper and picking you up. His strong arms carry you easily to the bathroom, setting you down onto the toilet. “Do you want a shower? Or a bath?”
You shake your head, fighting a yawn.
“Okay, I’ll go change the sheets.” He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. And chin. And cheeks. Just because Clark can’t help himself. Then, with one last parting kiss to your forehead, he shuts the door behind him.
Clark’s bathroom has slowly turned into your spa over the last few weeks of hooking up. A bathrobe you had claimed after your first night together, realising that you didn’t have any clothes to wear. A spare toothbrush beside his. Duplicates of your skincare in his cabinet, untouched by Clark unless he asked first. A fluffy towel always on the radiator. A blow dryer magically appearing under the sink after you had complained about how long it took for your hair to dry. And your shower supplies stocked alongside his against the tile.
You finish up your usual routine of: pee, wash hands, take out your contacts, brush teeth, retainer, moisturiser, and making sure your hair is out of the way while you sleep. With one last look in the mirror, telling yourself that you don’t care if Clark sees you like this. He’s not your boyfriend. There’s no need to be embarrassed when he’s literally just some guy you’ve been fooling around with after work. So, you muster up your courage and head back into the bedroom.
Your feet pause, staying in the open doorway.
Taking a second to admire the scene, you smile softly at Clark fluffing up the pillows on your side of the bed. One that he insisted was yours even when you tried shrugging it off because ‘that’s for relationships’. But he didn’t seem to care. Relationship or not, you were the only one who had ever been on that side so it was yours. It didn’t matter how often you told yourself that you weren’t ready for another relationship. Another excuse for a man to use you to boost his image or make himself more interesting. Or just some experience waiting to crash and burn as the next man will naturally make you feel like the centre of his life and like the stupidest person on earth all at once. You didn’t do relationships because no man, not even Clark, could stay that good once they realised that they would have full access to all parts of you.
★彡
“Fuck,” your face scrunches up in pleasure, your mind reeling to catch up with the coil forming between your legs.
Clark’s been working his way down your list with one set goal in mind: to have you sit on his face. You breezed through ‘phone sex’ and even ‘roleplaying as coworkers sex’, but this one had been Clark’s most repeated idea. Underlined thrice and surrounded by stars and hearts. His own doodles. His Roman Empire. Having your thighs bracket his face, nose pressed against your clit as his tongue licks your folds and teases your hole. His big hands would cup your ass, like right now, moving your hips down onto his jaw to make you see stars. His glasses are askew and too damp to even see out of, but he just doesn’t care.
Your sweet pussy is sitting right on him and he’s glad that he doesn’t even need air.
“Ah-Clark,” you gasp, your hand gripping his messy black hair. “I-oh, fuck! Clark!”
He changes the angle, his mouth latching onto your clit. He licks around the bud a few times, firmer and more constant than the tip of his nose, just a little more pressure than before. Your inner thighs are starting to get sore and that heat between your legs is making your head spin. Clark’s tongue presses down harder, making you gasp and writhe.
“Clark-oh god,” you screw your eyes shut, your mouth dropping open. “Ooh!”
The building pressure between your legs is overwhelming, your senses zeroing in onto Clark sucking your bundle of nerves. A force that makes your hips buck and your nails dig into his shoulder. It’s wet, loud, and lewd. You’re riding his face, moans leaving your lips with no struggle. Somehow at a loss of power despite being sat on top of your 6’4” 240 pound coworker who’s just about ready to bust in his pants. Clark’s grip on your ass is firm, kneading and making sure he can make out with your pussy just right. You’re dripping down his chin, words breaking and muscles tensing as you get close.
“Ah! Ah!” You can’t even speak, eyes rolled back and drool on your lips as you’re fucked dumb. Clark sucks harder, the coil finally snapping as you let out a moan that is definitely heard by his neighbours. Your mind goes blank with pleasure, riding out that high until you’re whining and slowly bucking your hips. You catch your breath, pliant as Clark’s hands manoeuvre you down onto the mattress.
“Oh, god,” you groan, your cheek muffled against the sheets.
“Ditto.” He wipes his face, damp and harbouring a huge smile.
“Ditto,” you parrot. “Dork.”
You sit up, ignoring how your arms would much rather be curled up against your chest and lying sideways. You rake your eyes over Clark. His cheeks are flushed and his work shirt is wet around the collar. Your hands travel down, playfully tugging on a button as you finally reach his belt. It’s hard to ignore the large bulge beneath it, aching and probably ready for three more rounds.
“A dork with a huge dick.” You chuckle and move onto your hands and knees. Crawling down to be face to face with his crotch, you get to work on his belt. You unbuckle the strap of leather and quickly brush past his fly, ready to get him out of his boxers and inside of you when you’re met with some red boxers.
You slip your hands under the waistband, frowning in confusion when you feel a second belt.
“What?” You grip the edge of his pants, ready to pull them down when his hands lock around your wrists. Wide eyed and panicked, Clark sits up, pushing your hands back against you. You rock back a bit, trying to regain your balance after being thrust back.
“You know what, sweetheart? I’m fine. I’m not really in the mood to focus on myself.” He apologises with a kiss to your forehead and a gentle rub across your cheek. “Do you want to take a bath? Or maybe a second dessert?”
“Uh,” you frown. “Why do you have a belt underneath your pants?”
“Practicality?” Clark slowly gets the word out, obviously not even believing it himself.
“Your dick isn’t that heavy, Kent.”
“Wha-no! No! More like practical for work, you know? Yeah.” He nods, the story being built in front of both his and your eyes.
“Like a garter belt? You got thigh highs too?” You deadpan, rolling your eyes.
“Yes?”
“Clark.”
He sighs, heavy. His shoulders drop and so do his eyes. A hand comes up to pinch and rub the bridge of his nose, before dragging down his face and rubbing the back of his neck. He starts to break, a slow realisation setting in while you just wait. Confused and annoyed.
“Fine.” He stands up, tugging his pants down.
You blink. Then a loud and a little insulting laugh leaves your lips. Bright red underwear and some blue leggings. You only laugh some more as you get a second look.
“What the fuck, Clark?”
“Glad to see that you’re enjoying this.”
“Is this some sort of childhood blanket situation? Something you wear to feel better?”
“No?” Clark pushes his glasses up his nose and his arms drop when he realises that you don’t get it yet. With a surprisingly sassy eye roll, Clark unbuttons and throws his shirt to the side. Finally, a big ‘S’ stretches across his chest. Unmistakably familiar shades of blue, red, and yellow popping under the bedroom light.
“So it’s a Superman costume. Cool. Yeah. Okay. The dorky but hot coworker I’m hooking up with cosplays as Superman.” Your eyes widen and you nod, mostly talking to yourself. “You just ate me out. And now you’re in a Superman costume.”
You swear you see Clark’s eye twitch.
Too late to tell because he’s pulling off his glasses.
Suddenly, Clark isn’t just some pathetic hidden everyday cosplay man. Superman is standing in front of you, a half hard dick and annoyed glare reading ‘now what are you going to say?’.
“Holy shit.”
Clark—Superman—sits down, his hand reaching for yours and studying your reaction.
“Superman’s holding my hand.” You narrate, stunned and eyes travelling all over his face like you’ll be able to convince yourself that you don’t simultaneously see Clark and Superman all at once.
“Superman also got you to sit on his face.”
“Oh my god.”
Clark chuckles, his hand cupping your jaw. His thumb rubs your cheek. He can definitely hear your heartbeat hammer at a concerning speed.
“You-what? Since when? Well, since the last three or four years. But, oh my god, since when?”
“Since birth?”
“I’ve been having sex with Superman. Holy shit. No wonder you keep on kissing Superman’s ass in articles!”
“I wouldn’t say ‘kissing his ass’.”
“Uh, yes. You literally talk about how he’s the saviour of planet Earth and the best thing to happen since sliced bread. Oh my god. That’s like super not okay. Isn’t that against some journalist rule? Does Lois know? She’ll beat the shit out of you when she finds out.”
“She already does.”
“Good.”
Clark rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your temple, tugging you with an arm around your shoulder. You lean in, dropping your head onto where his cape should be and curling your legs up. Your eyes droop and the smell of Clark—now knowing it’s actually Superman too—brings a heavy comfort that pushes all hormones and shock to the background.
“We’ll have to revisit our list.”
★彡
Author’s Note: send your prayers for me in the reblogs and comments because unfortunately all of those ex experiences were real and they happened to me. I know, I know. How did I stay for four months? It was my first relationship and the first time I realized that I could date after growing up ‘unattractive’, so to say I was attention starved was an understatement. But now? Throw tomatoes and publicly shame him in the town square 🍅 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅
I think of him when I listen to manchild and I giggle
Aside from that, I’m not quite sure how I feel about this. I feel like my writing isn’t as captivating or emotional as my first two one-shots (Same Old Love and Sleepyhead). I’m just writing to write and have fun, and unfortunately it’s a skill I have to work on and can’t just be naturally gifted and talented…
It’s also a bit embarrassing writing smut so let’s just hope that it’s okay. Let me know if anything seems off. Phrasing, choice of words, action following/continuity. Even if you feel like you might be nitpicking, I’d love to hear it as long as it’s worded nicely!
✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦
✦pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader✦
✦summary: There are very few people in the world that Clark truly, deeply, does not like. And you get on his nerves more than anyone else. But hate and love are very close emotions, aren't they?✦
✦warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, shenanigans, hella smut, lots of porn in this plot (emotional sex, dumbification, dirty talk, inexperinced/sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, overstimulation, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, squirting, big dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦
✦wc: 13.7k✦
✦author's note: rewatched Bridgerton season 2 and had to enemies to lovers about it. Enjoy! Request from bestie @lilithxlm✦
Clark doesn’t judge people. Not really.
He was raised better than that. He knows better than that. There are all kinds of things that can affect why someone is grumpy, angry, or acting poorly.
And maybe he judges actions sometimes, but good people do bad things, and annoying things, and dumb things. Kara does dumb things all, and Clark still loves her. She’s still a good person. Even Luthor has something in him, that Clark finds redeemable. He’s very proud of being bald, and he has a passion for his work. That’s two, whole things.
Clark’s never met someone he couldn’t find anything good in. Sometimes it is… Work. To find the thing. But it’s always there, and that just means the work was worth it.
Then he met you.
You must have something. Everyone has something. But it is impossible to find that something, when you’re always launching LuthorCorp missiles at him and threatening him with lab grown kryptonite. Clark didn’t even know that stuff could be grown in a lab, until he landed down in your labs for some run-of-the-mill standoff, and found himself face to face with your pretty eyes, and a gun, loaded with kryptonite bullets.
Not that you’re pretty. You’ve got objectively nice features, and Clark is far from blind, but beauty does not speak to character.
Not that you’re beautiful, either. And even if you are, it’s rotted away by whatever is on the inside. Whatever runs so deep, he can’t find that tiny blossom of good, no matter how hard he tries.
“You don’t want to do this.” He’d told you, that day in the lab.
When you’d smiled, it had reminded Clark of the wolves that used to hunt Ma and Pa’s sheep. The ones that hadn’t been afraid of him, and had gnashed and snarled until he dropped them miles away from the farm.
“You don’t know anything,” you’d drawled. “About what I want to do.”
That had seemed fair. He really didn’t. “There would be a death on your conscious-“
“This wouldn’t kill you, you fucking pussy.” You’d rolled your eyes, and Clark had blinked.
“That language doesn’t seem necessary-“
“Oh, I’m sorry, boy scout.” You’d smirked. “It wouldn’t kill you, you flying, caped, monkey-squirrel, sweet baby of justice.”
“I-“ That had been strangely hurtful. “I’m just here to turn off Luthor’s reactor, okay-“
“It’s not Luthor’s reactor.” You’d snapped. “It’s mine.”
“I hate to break it to you, but it kind of says Luthor on the side-“
“I’m well aware of what it says.” Your lip had curled, and Clark had tilted his head.
“You know, this thing is probably going to blow and take out the whole city.”
You’d scoffed. “No, it won’t.”
“I have friends who are professionals in this kind of thing, they say it will.”
“Your friends are wrong.”
Clark had shrugged. “Maybe you’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong.” You’d raised your chin, and his lips had twitched slightly. He towered over you—he towered over everyone—but watching you trying to be taller was like some puffed up, feral cat. He’d pick you up with one hand and not even blink.
Not that he’d try to pick you up. You were a lady, and a human.
Although lady was by the loosest definition.
“Everyone is wrong sometimes,” he’d said gently, and you shrugged.
“I’m not everyone.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being like other people-“
“I know.” You’d smirked. “But I’m not.”
This had been deeply frustrating. “Okay, just- Look, I really need to turn off your reactor-“
“And I’m really going to shoot you if you do that.”
Clark had rubbed a hand over his face. “I mean- I’m really asking you not to-“
“That’s not how shooting someone works. This,” you’d waved your gun. “Isn’t a mutually consenting act.”
“It’s- You’re going to kill thousands of people! Let me-“
“No.” You’d hissed when he took a step forward. “It’s perfectly safe, and you’re not touching it.”
“If it was perfectly safe, would Lex Luthor have funded it?” Clark had challenged, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt. “Would he have really taken a chance on something that’s actually going to help people besides himself?”
Your eyes had narrowed, and for a brief second, Clark had thought he’d gotten through to you. It had been a glorious second. He’d decided that you really were pretty, and beautiful, and all the other adjectives to describe someone who had a face like the moon.
Then you’d shot him. Point blank in the chest.
Clark had been shot a lot before. He’d been exposed to kryptonite a lot before, as well.
That had maybe been the first time he’d thought he was dying. When he’d woken up, Gary told him he’d been groaning a woman’s name in his sleep.
Your name.
Clark had decided he didn’t like you. Maybe you weren’t a bad person—he was clinging to the idea that deep, deep, deep down you’d shot him because you were being blackmailed, or were deep undercover, or Lex had you under some kind of mind control—but Clark didn’t like you. It wasn’t even the shooting thing. It was something deeply you, that wiggled into him like a worm in an apple, and made his blood pressure rise at the sound of your name.
And you’d been right. The reactor hadn’t blown up. But that was luck from a very thin draw.
Next time, Clark would stop you. Then he’d tie you to a chair and have a very long, in-depth conversation where he figured out something to like about you, then everyone could move on.
Lois has a new informant. She won’t say who it is, no matter how much Clark causally pokes.
“Confidentiality, Kent, you know I can’t tell you.”
“Yeah, but- It’s me. You know me, Lois, I’m not going to tell anyone-“
“It doesn’t matter that it’s you.” Lois sighes, giving him a pointed look. “I promised her I’d keep it between us, and that doesn’t mean turning right around and telling anyone. I worked really hard to get her to trust me. I’m not blowing that for anyone.”
Clark raises his brows. “So it’s a woman?”
“I- Yes. But that,” she points a finger sternly, giving Clark a firm glare. “Is all you get.”
“Well, do you at least really trust her?” He braces his hands on his hips. “If she’s informing you on Lex Luthor, that means she’s close, and- You know I think anyone can change, but you should always be careful with Luthor’s people.”
You.
Clark is thinking, very specifically, of you.
Because nobody moved on, and Clark has not stopped you.
If anything, he’s found more and more reasons to dislike you. And Lois insists her new informant is reliable, but now Clark is also worried that you’re going to find this mystery woman, and do something to her. You’re everywhere like that. He thinks you might be more dangerous than Luthor.
And you were always hovering somewhere behind Lex now, pretty and sharp-tongued and annoying. Clark couldn’t fight Lex when you were always just there watching. It felt like you were judging him, which he didn’t care about, but he still didn’t like.
Every time he slipped up in a fight, he could see you in the corner of his eyes, tilting your head like you were about to dissect him. If he was trading remarks during a fight and you were there, it was always impossible to find something smoother and more confident than whatever slipped like music from your lips. When it was your invention he was on, he’d started bringing back up in case you tried to shoot him again, but instead—in a much more inconvenient fashion—you’d decided to find a new way to evade him, every single time.
“You’re five minutes late.” You’d drawled a few months ago, not looking up from your desk as Clark and Guy landed in your lab.
Usually, by now, Clark had put a villain through at least three lab rebuilds. He liked seeing what they did with the new place, how they’d improved on it from the old one that he’d either wrecked in a fight, or gotten them kicked out of for committing a multitude of crimes.
You’ve had the same lab, the whole time. He was getting sick of its soft colored walls and clean floors, of all the strange clutter you kept between parts on the desk. It was mocking him.
“I didn’t know we were on a timer,” he said your name, and you hummed.
“You don’t know a lot of things, Superman. And I doubt Guy Gardener is going to help you fill in the gaps.”
Next to him, Guy had scowled. “How the hell did you know-“
“I have security, you know.” You’d spun in your chair, giving them a flat look. “And you’re the only one he hasn’t tried to use yet.”
You’d smiled, and it had been all full-lipped and sweet. Your hair had fallen a little over your face. You never smiled at Clark like that.
He’d felt kind of sick. You smiling just seemed to have that effect on him.
“I think you know why I’m here-“
“Of course I know why you’re here.” You’d cut Clark off with an insulted glare. “And you know what I’m going to say, and we both know how this is going to end. We can catch up first, if you want. I’ve been getting really into baking, since we last caught up.” You’d spun in your chair, and now you were smiling at Clark, but it was colder. Mocking. “My friend is having a baby, so I’m making cookies.”
Guy had frowned. “For… A newborn baby?”
“For her, dumbass.”
He’d blinked. “Wow, you’re- Mean.” Guy had grinned, and Clark remembered why he’d decided to bring him last. “I like it. Question, what are your superpowers again, and do they come out in any weird sex ways.”
You’d snorted. “No.”
“No, no superpowers, or no sex stuff-“
“Yes.”
Guy had frowned, looking down at his outfit like that was why he might be getting rejected. Clark had cleared his throat, saying your name in the way he always forced himself to. Gentle. Like he was talking to a rabid animal.
“We’re going to take the code to the beacon, now-“
“Supes.” You’d sighed, kicking your feet lazily. “You don’t need to do the whole thing anymore. It’s just me.” You’d smiled. “Come fight, and lose.”
Clark’s jaw had ticked. You said it so goddamn confidently, and once again, you were right.
He and Guy had given it their all, but you’d been ready. You were always ready, and always smiling, and always right, and it made Clark want to beat his own head against a wall.
“Bye!” You’d waved cheerfully when he’d retreated, beaming all bright and pretty. “You’ll get me next time, big guy!”
There had been a fever like feeling in his body, when he’d flown away. You hadn’t even shot him this time.
“What’s that girl’s deal.” Guy had grumbled while they patched up, scowling at the air. He’d gotten the worst of it.
“I don’t know. She just… Showed up one day.”
And like a weed, he hasn’t been able to get rid of you since.
It was driving him out of his mind.
Clark was running out of people to back him up. He was getting more and more distracted by your presence, and he was starting to recognize your smell. There was this cinnamon-apple candle you lit to stem off the chemical lab smell, and you used a similar kind of perfume, and every time he smelled it that fever returned. It got to the point that he’d smell the air for you like a dog, the second he touched down in a fight.
He’s worried it’s turning into an obsession. He even asked Luthor about you. About where you came from, why he hired you, anything to help him understand exactly what made you so… you.
“Why, Superman?” Luthor had smirked. “You like something you’re seeing? Because let me tell you, she’s more than worth the purchase, if you’ve got the money. Or you could just pick her up and carry her off, like the ogre brute that you are-“
Clark had knocked him out. He wasn’t going to entertain that.
But he still started watching closer, the way you and Luthor interacted. It was more than boss and employee. You smiled at him. He’d defend you in a fight, which was never a good sign.
Clark didn’t think he’d ever felt sicker, than when he pictured you and Luthor.
Together.
You smiling at him. Quipping at him without any venom or mockery in your voice. Tossing your air and batting your eyelashes, and-
He actually had no idea how you’d flirt. Clark pictured it something similar to a predator corning prey, but there was no bigger apex in this ecosystem than Luthor himself.
That was what Jimmy called a power couple.
Clark didn’t like it.
He didn’t like that, like that weed, no matter how he tried to pick away his thoughts of you they always grew back. You were stuck to him like a plaque, like a moss, like a parasite. You took his attention, his energy, a lot of his pride, every time you knocked him down without lifting one finger, your hair never even getting messed up in the fight.
Clark doesn’t like you.
He thinks he might hate you. He’s never really hated someone before, and he doesn’t like that either.
But he’s trying, so hard, to find something for you. And there’s nothing.
And he hates you even more, for that. For shaking him, and everything he knows. For getting such an iron hold on him without trying, digging your fingers in and leaving marks so deep, they don’t even fade when he doesn’t see you for months.
He hates that he still looks for you in those months. That it’s not relief when you’re gone, but something cool and light in his chest when you’re back. He tries to ignore it, just like he tries to ignore the fever. They’re not useful feelings, in dealing with the everything about you. He thinks they’re just byproducts of the hate, because he never feels them with anyone else.
Clark’s a grown man. He thought he’d felt most things.
And now you’re here.
And he’s really never hated anyone more.
“Kent.” Lois taps his desk, her voice a hushed whisper. “I need a favor.”
Clark looks up from his desk with a frown. Lois doesn’t ask for favors a lot. Lois doesn’t ask for anything a lot. ”What’s wrong?”
“Remember that informant I’ve been working with? The one who helped me break the piece about LuthorCorp and the animal experimentation?”
Clark nods. He remembers that clearly. Just as clearly as he remembers your lab, and all the super-powered bears that attacked him in your defense.
“Well, she told me she thinks Luthor is onto her. And I know he’s onto me.” Lois sighs, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve had someone following me all week. My phone isn’t bugged, but I never let it leave my pocket, and- I checked my laptop. Someone installed a malware, it’s been downloading my emails to an off-bank server.”
Clark’s hands curl on his keyboard. “You think they’ve gotten to your woman-“
“No. She’s smart.” Lois frowns. “She’s been using some kind of extra-burner email? I don’t know. She explained it, I didn’t really follow. You’ll see.”
“Okay, that’s good.” Clark pauses. “I’ll see?”
“Yeah. That’s the favor.” Lois pats his shoulder. “You’re taking over for me.”
“Lois, I-“
“Look, she’s got a lot of information. I can’t tell you anything specific, but this is the best source I’ve gotten, maybe ever. I’m not losing her.”
“Well, you and I- We’re different.” Clark leans back in his chair with a pleading expression. It’s not that he doesn’t want to help. He’s just worked with Lois’ informants before, and they’re all very disappointed he’s not Lois. “Did you ask her, if she’d be fine with me taking over-“
“Oh, I told her everything. And don’t worry.” Lois smiles. “She’ll go easy on you.”
“Easy?” Clark laughs nervously, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, It’s just a meeting, right?”
“Sure, buddy. Just a meeting.”
Lois is good at a lot of things. She isn’t good at being reassuring.
But Clark can’t say no. Not to her. Not when it’s something that’s going to help people.
He’ll meet the informant. Maybe she’ll be able to help him take down Luthor for good.
And, a tiny, bitter little voice crows from the back of his head, maybe she’ll be able to help him take you down.
Clark needs to stop predicting things. He’s bad at it.
He walks into the library at noon on a Wednesday, just like Lois told him to. He sits in the romance section, his posture straight, his expression perfectly approachable as he scans politely over the titles on the shelf. His One Desire. Her Sin. The Roses In Lace. Lost at Sea. Found at Sea. Lost in Him. Found in Him. There seems to be a pattern, and he wonders about the overlap between stories. The informant is running late. Maybe she decided she didn’t want to work with him. Clark’s never loved these romances, but there must be some appeal to them if they’re so popular. Reading is always good for you, and—as he takes one of the books off the shelf—he decides there isn’t really a better way to kill the time.
It’s a bit of a drudge. The prose is lacking, and the two characters seem to have less chemistry than the cows back home. Clark re-reads a few sentences over and over—the word cock is used quite a lot, and it’s starting to sound fake in his head—and the positions they’re getting into can’t be physically sound. Maybe he’s imagining them wrong.
“You’re amazing.” She whispers, her lips tinkering over the soft, meaty flesh of his ear.
This man must have big ears. And Clark pauses, because there’s a faint smell of vanilla and apple, and it makes him look up with a frown.
He must be imagining things. Or maybe his brain just associates you with meaty ears. Brains are strange like that. And you are haunting every facet of his life.
“I want you.” He growled. “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking seen. My whore.”
Clark’s frown deepens. He doesn’t think this book is for him.
“That one is bad.”
Clark looks up from the book, and his jaw drops.
You’re standing across the table from him, your head tilted slightly, eyes locked onto his.
“The sequel is better.” You hum, pulling out a chair. Sitting down. “I think the author really took the criticism of this one into consideration. She stopped using the word meaty so much.”
Clark blinks like an idiot. He doesn’t think he’s ever actually been this close to you before. You’re wearing normal-people clothing, instead of a lab coat with the LuthorCorp brand logo. You’ve got sunglasses on the top of your head, and your face is open and relaxed, but that might just be your inherent smugness.
Whatever perfume you use is suffocating him. Clogging his thoughts, smoking out everything but the ringing song of your name.
“Are you the bird?” You ask him, still tilting your head, and it’s kind of like how you look at him during fights.
You know. A loud alarm blares in his head. You know he’s Superman.
Clark laughs weakly, adjusting his glass. “I- Uh- I’m a human man.”
Why the fuck would he say it like that. He never says it like that. He’s been lying about his identity his whole life, and he’s never been such a fool to call himself a ‘human man’-
“Congratulations?” You look like you’re trying not to laugh, and Clark feels his face heat.
There’s the fever again. Your attention is searing, and it’s winding his muscles so tight his hand has to curl into a fist on his knee. Maybe it’s your perfume. Maybe it’s some kind of secret pheromone.
“Are you, um-“ He looks around the empty shelves. “Are you looking for something?”
You tilt your head again. Clark swallows.
“I, uh- I can help you find it.”
“No.” You lean forward, and Clark is frozen in his seat. “I think I found it myself.”
Oh.
No.
The bird. Lois told him her informant would ask for the bird, and he’d have to say he was still growing wings. He remembers the conversation clearly. He even told Lois he thought that was a little convoluted, and she’d laughed.
But now you’re in front of him. And you always make his—incredibly controlled—thoughts all scrambled and messy.
He adjusts his glasses again, clearing his throat. “I’m not a bird.” He says slowly. “I’m still growing wings?”
You smile.
And that’s not the smile he’s seen on you in the lab, or the saccharine, almost siren-like one you gave Guy.
It’s real. It’s a real smile, that makes your eyes shine like stars. The light pours out over you, and you look even more beautiful than before, and Clark didn’t think that was possible.
He didn’t think he’d find himself leaning forward, instead of away. His body drawing itself forward like a boulder being dragged out to sea. He’s not a movable man. He’s trained himself to think and restrain his every movement, every craven or hungry desire, for the safety of everyone around him.
But you smile.
And he can’t do anything but move.
“I’m Clark Kent.” He sticks out a hand, and you glance down with an unreadable glint in your eyes.
“Clark Kent.” You echo, and he nods.
“Sorry I’m not Lois.”
You smile again, at that. It sends a rush through Clark like a drug.
“I’m not.”
You take Clark’s hand. He’d always thought your skin would be cold and scaly, like a crocodile.
It’s warm. Soft and warm, your fingers brushing over his wrist. His head spins, and he swallows on his own, bubbling, confusing thoughts. They’re more bursts of emotion. Sparks you’re making fly through his body, and a sticky feeling over his heart that oozes like honey.
You say your name, and Clark bites down an I know.
I know you. You’re the bane of my existence, and I think you might’ve put Lois under a spell. You’re putting me under one now. Let me go, because I know what you are.
He’s so sure, that he knows what you are.
But you settle into the seat, and smile again, and Clark doesn’t think he knows anything at all.
The first interview goes well, if not a little awkward. Clark stumbles over his words, and finds himself staring at you a little longer than normal. Worse, you don’t seem fazed by it, just smiling right back and batting your eyelashes like some kind of doe he knows is made of teeth.
That’s the truly confusing part. Clark knows you. He thinks he knows you. He was pretty sure, that he knew you.
And the woman sitting across from him at the table is not you.
“How’d you meet Lois?” He asks casually, as you’re wrapping up. It’s a reasonable question. Naturally curious for anyone, not just Clark, who might have a pit growing in his stomach, that can only be fed by knowing more about you. “I mean- I’ve seen you on the news. You’re close with Luthor. She said she had an informant-“
“Didn’t think it would be me?” You smile again, and he coughs.
“Didn’t think it would be anyone close to him.”
“Well.” You shrug, sliding your sunglass back over your brow. “Close is a very strong word.”
You don’t offer him more than that. He doesn’t get a chance to ask.
When you leave, he stands in the romance section for about three minutes, trying to figure out what just happened. Trying to make sense of a world that’s flipped, and constant in his life being changed.
He hates you. It’s been about a year and a half since you showed up, and Clark has become very certain in the fact that he doesn’t hate anyone, expect for you. Lois would call that an exception that proves the rule.
And suddenly, you’re splitting the rule clean down the middle, with a single smile.
When he gets back to the Daily Planet, he relays almost everything that happened to Lois. He leaves out how he’d stared, and how pretty your eyelashes were, and how when you laugh for real it’s a musical sound. Like a bird, ringing through the air and calling everything else in response. Clark swore he felt a dizzying cloud form in his chest, when he heard your real laugh.
But that’s not something Lois needs to know, so he doesn’t tell her. He doesn’t tell anyone.
He just thinks about it. Over, and over, and over again. He put your next meeting on the calendar. He stares at the date, and finds that pit in his stomach trying to gnaw at time. To get you closer again.
When the day comes, he goes early with an extra coffee in hand. He decides he’s trying to test how much you really trust him. Most villains never accept food or drink from anyone. They’re too paranoid.
The first part of his plan goes wrong when you’re there first. Waiting at the same table as before, reading one of the romance books off the shelf. You don’t look up, when Clark sits across from you.
His foot bumps yours, under the table. He forces himself to ignore how the small touch shakes him like lightning.
“You’re early.” You say, and he smiles.
“We’re here at the same time.”
“I know.” You glare at him over your book. “And I’m early. But I’m always early.”
“You were late last time.”
“I was testing you last time.” You shrug. “I wanted to see if you’d give up, and leave.”
Clark blinks. He’d suspected that. It had been another part of his plan, to try and make you admit that everything you do is calculated and crude in some way.
He really hadn’t expected you to just… admit it.
“Did I pass the test?” He asks, a little stupidly. You finally set the book down, and smile.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Oh.” He swallows. “Can I ask what my grade is right now? If I’m still being tested?”
Your smile widens. It’s an enchanting sigh. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. You are.”
Clark wishes he knew what that meant.
He wishes his own plan was better, too. He offers you the coffee, and you take it, but maybe you just like free coffee. He did get it from the fairly expensive place down the street.
Your fingers brush, when you take the cup from his hands. It’s worse than the foot. He’s almost stunned for a second, his eyes locked onto you like you’re a magnet.
He learns nothing. You’re just as restrained and open as the first time, when he finally remembers he’s supposed to be interviewing you. He asks about Luthor’s plans down at the harbor, and you tell him about the deep-sea mining and threat to the environment. He asks if Luthor knows about the risks. You laugh, and it’s a little dry, but still one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard.
“You think he cares?”
Clark knows he doesn’t. He’s just surprised you know, too.
“Well,” he clicks the recorder off, and you raise your brows. “You do work for him. You know him better than I do.”
“Hm.” You take a long sip of your coffee. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“It has to be, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe. But I don’t think it is.”
It’s good to know that, even when you’re being nice, you’re still infuriating. “You’re the closest member of his inner circle.” Clark argues. “You have to at least know a little about him. I only interview him.”
“You interview me. And Superman. Do you not know us?”
Clark swallows. “I know Superman. But- We work closer on things.”
“Things?”
“Yeah. I can’t say anything else.” He sits up a little. “Superhero business.”
You just give him another strange look. “Does he ever talk about me?”
Clark blinks. He thought you just forgot he existed, every time he flew away. “Uh- No?” He’s worried if he talks about you once, he’s never going to shut up. “Why? Do you- What do you think of him?”
“Of Superman?”
Clark nods, and he has to drag himself back from leaning over the table. He doesn’t know why he’d let himself ask that. But it’s too late to take it back.
“I work for Lex Luthor.” You shrug, turning your coffee in your hands. “Opinion is a luxury I’m not afforded.”
He frowns. “Everyone gets an opinion. You can have it privately, but you still must have one.” You must think of me too.
“Maybe I do.”
“So you do.”
“Maybe.”
“You can tell me, if you agree with Luthor that he’s a- a plague sent to destroy humanity-“
“I don’t think that.” Your voice is suddenly harsh, and Clark blinks.
“Then what do you think?”
You tilt your head at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Clark snaps a pencil between his fingers.
Your gaze drops down to the fractured pieces, and you smile again. Clark realizes his breathing is shallow, because—for reasons he’d rather not thing about—this matters. You matter.
“I think he’s good man.” You say slowly. “And I think he’s a hopeful fool, and- Dangerous. To me.”
Clark swallows. He can’t think of anything to say, so he just nods, and goes back to his pre-planned questions.
He thinks about your answer, for the rest of the week. It plays over and over in his mind, and he writes it on scraps of paper at his desk. It should make more sense. He should be able to let it go.
But it’s a part of you. And Clark’s never been good at letting you go at all.
Clark’s dependent on the pheromone theory now. Because if you’re just like this—if you just consume his thoughts and follow him into his dreams, all on your own—he thinks he might be screwed.
He’s screwed.
Clark counts down the days until you meet, and tries to talk to you as much as he possibly can when you’re there. He wants to understand, how you can be the impossibly enchanting woman across from him at the table, and the crude shell of a person who hovers behind Luthor at every press event and meeting.
The woman you are here is good. Amazing. Still made of some barbed wire, but Clark’s getting better at weaving through it. And it’s not even that he’s uncovering that rot he’d always thought you to be made of. You’re just… Not made of it. Not here.
Here, you’re made of flowers and honey and soft, summer fire. Here, Clark can picture you laughing with wind in your hair, teasing him without any venom all the time. He likes everything he learns about you here.
He doesn’t understand how you’re the same person.
“Do you like these books?” He asks, nodding to the shelves of romance, and you shrug.
“So what if I do?”
“Nothing. Everyone- They can like whatever they want. I just… Didn’t peg you to enjoy The Summer of Sin.”
Your face relaxes slightly. “Why not? Do I not look like a romantic?”
Clark swallows. He thinks you look like everything. He barely knows better than to say it. “I’ve imagined you’re more of a nonfiction enjoyer.” He settles on smoothly.
There’s a glint in your eyes. He knows immediately he’s made a mistake.
“You’ve imagined me?”
All the time. Most of his thoughts circle around you, and it’s even worse than before. Clark’s found himself memorizing every detail about you he can scrape, weaving them together like a gorgeous, puzzled tapestry of a woman he knows he’s obsessed with. There’s no use fighting it anymore, when he wakes up and wonders what you’re doing. When he wanders through the day seeing you in every ray of sunlight through the windows and longer shadow on the floor.
He’s hoped, at some point, that he’d find the string of you that unravels the whole thing. That tells him he was right the first time, and you’re no work of art. Just so shiny he’d been blinded, and everything he’d thought the first time had been right.
But that string isn’t coming. And the more Clark learns about you, the more every color he’d painted you with become inverted.
You’re not shiny up close. You’re just… Glorious. Like water catching on the ocean, exposing the glittering rocks and life below.
“I- I don’t- Not in- I think about you, yes, but-“
“What do you think about me?”
Clark’s face must be burning red. He really wishes you’d stop looking at him. “A lot of things.”
That unreadable look flashes over your features. “Are they good?”
There’s something oddly heavy, in your voice. Clark can almost feel it in his hands, fluttering and delicate.
“Mostly. Yes.” He tries to offer you a smile. “But you are strange.”
You scowl. “I am not strange-“
“You like romance books-“
“Which is very normal.” You raise your chin, and Clark grins. It gets cuter every time. “They’re fun, Clark. Sometimes, you just need fun.”
“What’s fun about them?” He really wants to know. He wants to understand you.
“I- I don’t know.” You glare down at your hands. “It’s escapism. You get to imagine that you’re a princess or something, instead of- Just another fucking person.”
Clark frowns. “I don’t think you’re just another person.”
You snort. “Yeah. I know.”
“I’m serious, you- You’re a genius-“
“I’m tired.” You say firmly, and Clark realizes that you are.
There are bags under your eyes, almost perfectly covered by concealer. Your lips aren’t chapped, but there’s a little puff on the lower one from chewing, and your shoulders slumps. He doesn’t know how he never noticed before.
Maybe you just never showed him. Never let him see.
“I know,” you speak slowly, not looking him fully in the eyes. “That these books are stupid. But I like them. They- They help.”
“Help? With-“
“Everything.”
“Oh.” He swallows. “I could help. If you ever- Needed it. With anything.”
And he means it. He really would.
You smile at him, and he wants to ask if you think about him too. Not Superman—a hopeful fool, dangerous to me—but just Clark.
Instead, he just smiles back, and reveals in the way he sees your gaze relax.
He likes you like this. You’re really not that different, when he thinks about it, and he doesn’t understand how he was ever so wrong.
Clark is beginning to give up on understanding.
He just wants to know you.
He’s back in your lab, for the first time since he took over for Lois. It’s about the docks, and the deep-sea mining, and the pump that you told him—told Clark, at least—was going to be put in the water. Jimmy found out that the pump was going to be filling the bay with a toxic chemical that’s been compared to a truth serum.
Clark can’t understand why you’d tell him, if it was your design.
And he doesn’t understand why you’re just lying on the floor of your lab, scrolling on your phone when he arrives.
He clears his throat, and you sigh, craning your neck to frown at him.
“You’re here.”
“You and Luthor are going to pump the water with chemicals that will alter the free will of the people in Metropolis.” He’d been rehearsing, on the flight over. He’s trying to sound more heroic, and not dwelling on why. “Hand over the pump, and we can do this the easy way.”
Your lips twitch. “You mean the way where I kick your ass, and then walk away untouched.”
“I don’t know if you kick my-“
“Yes, I would.”
Yes, you would. “Just- Tell me where the pump is, please.”
“Oh, there’s no pump.”
Clark blinks. “What.”
“I don’t have a pump. I made that up.”
“Wha- Why would you do that-“
“I was testing something.” You shrug, patting the floor next to you. “Sit down.”
Clark squints at the floor next to you. There’s nothing under it. When he looks at the ceiling, there’s nothing there either. You’re just… Asking him to sit down.
He pulls his cape behind him, and sits with his legs crossed at your side. You flop back down, your knees pulling up and your arms around your stomach. Clark doesn’t expect the silence to last so long. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, especially as they start to itch. Something about you is magnetic. There’s a wrinkle in your brow he wants to soothe with his thumb, but that might end with him getting shot again-
Your eyes suddenly lock onto his, and Clark swallows. In the low light, they glow like gemstones. He thinks he could get lost in them, if he was allowed to. Even if he wasn’t really sure what he’d been diving into, he’s come to find that you don’t exactly fall into predictably.
He likes trying.
Clark thinks he might want to learn everything about you, until he’s the only person in the world who understands.
“Hi.” You whisper, your eyes still locked onto his.
Your voice is softer than he’s ever heard it before. It’s unsettling, like silence before a storm.
“Are you alright?” He asks kindly, and your eyes narrow.
“Should I not be?”
“I don’t know. That’s kind of why I’m asking.”
He tries to smile at you, welcoming and warm. Your lips twitch. That’s better than nothing.
Even if you sigh, and look back up to the ceiling. Leaving Clark leaning a little forward, wondering if it’s wrong to lean closer, and try to drag your attention back.
“Is there something you need help with?” He offers, and you let out a soft, huffing laugh.
“No. Not that you can help with.”
He frowns. “I don’t know. I- I’m actually pretty good.” He clears his throat. “At helping with things. It’s my job, in case you didn’t know.”
You laugh, and this time it’s a little louder. “You know what, I think I’ve heard.”
“You think?”
“I watch the news.”
“Ah.” Clark tries to read further into your expression. He doesn’t think he’s very good at it. “And what do you think, when you’re watching the news?”
“Of you?” You’re looking at him again. He sits up. He doesn’t want you to look away.
Clark nods. “I, um- I know they do a lot of pieces on me.” He clears his throat. “I read the Daily Planet.”
“Oh, you read it?”
“I’m not a big TV person.” He shrugs lamely, and you laugh again.
“Sure.”
The silence lingers, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just… Odd. Clark doesn’t think he’d ever been in your lab this long without suffering an injury. It’s kind of nice. When he looks up at the ceiling, he realizes there are stars painted all over the tiles. That must be new. He would’ve seen it before, if it wasn’t-
“I had a bit of an… episode.” You murmur, and he thinks you might be reading his mind. “Last night. I started doing that, and couldn’t stop, and now…”
You trail off, and Clark takes a deep breath through his nose. He can only smell you, and that intoxicating perfume. “You air out the paint already?”
“I used a spray.”
“That you… invented?”
You smile. “That I bought from Costco.”
“Oh.” He’s making himself an idiot again. “I didn’t know you could paint.”
“I don’t anymore.” You’re silent for another moment, and Clark tracks your every breath. “You know, you’re from there.”
You point at the ceiling, and Clark cranes his neck to see the sky. You’re pointing to a cluster of stars a few tiles over, and it takes him a second to understand what you mean. You didn’t just paint the sky.
You mapped it. The constellations, accurate to the clear nights in Kansas he remembers so well.
And it feels like you mapped a part of him.
Clark looks down at you, and finds you watching him silently. He lays down slowly, just so your shoulders are brushing. When he offers you another smile, you return it.
He looks back to the sky, and lets himself exhale.
You’re not going to attack him, and he’s not going to ask why.
He’s just going to lie here, and watch the unmoving stars.
“I wanted to be an alien when I was a kid.”
Your words are sudden. As far as Clark had known, you’d been talking about LuthorCorp coverups. “Huh?”
“When I was like, five.” You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. “I wanted to be an alien.”
“Oh.” Clark blinks. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to be something.”
“You are something.”
“Well, I wanted to be more.”
“What, an evil scientist?”
You go silent, and Clark wants to kick himself. That was rude, he’s never rude like that, you just- You do something to him. You make his brain fuzzy and his manners fade, clinging with sunken claws for control of his tongue and hands. He’s been thinking about touching you a lot. About grazing his hand over the small of your back when you walked by, or hugging you before you leave, to see how you’d fit in his arms.
He thinks you’d fit well. That whatever is making you tired and sad, he’d be able to wrap over you and fend it away. He’d keep you afloat like a lifejacket.
If you dragged him down with you, he might let you do that too.
He doesn’t think you would. Right now, you’re staring at your hand, lips pressed in a tight line, and Clark feels like a jerk.
“I- I didn’t mean-“
“It’s okay.”
“No, I’m sorry-“
“It’s fine.” You snap, and Clark swallows. “I’m fine.”
“You, um- You kind of don’t sound fine.”
“Well, I am.”
Clark doesn’t know how to push against you. He has all the strength in the world, but you’re the most immovable things he’s ever seen. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
You’re silent again, and Clark adjusts his glasses. Lois is going to kill him, if he just ruined this. And he won’t even fight back. He’d deserve it, for making you look so sad.
“I’m not evil.” You mutter, and Clark sits up.
“I know-“
“But I’m not-“ You shake your head, still looking at your hands. “I’m not you.”
Clark frowns. He doesn’t understand what that means. “I mean… Yeah. You’re not Lois either. Or Luthor.”
You laugh, but it’s not full. It’s that hollow laugh you use, when Clark doesn’t understand something. “No. I mean- Yes, but that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” He asks quickly.
You stare at him. For a long, long moment, you’re looking right at Clark, and he’d swear the world stopped spinning if he didn’t feel the ground slipping from under his feet as his body tries to crash, face-first, into yours.
“I don’t know.” You say softly. “But- I wanted to be an alien.”
The words are supposed to mean something to him. He can hear it, ringing in your tone.
But either he’s not smart enough to understand, or you’re too smart, and you’ve dumbed it down for him so much it means nothing anymore.
“I didn’t want to be an alien.” He says carefully, trying to test the waters. “But- I wanted to be a farmer. Like my parents.”
You tilt your head at him, and Clark clears his throat.
“I think you’d be a good farmer. You’d like the sky. The quiet. You- You’d like it.”
He doesn’t think you’d like the bugs or the mud, but he doesn’t say that. That’s not important.
All that matters is your small smile, and the way you relax again.
And Clark thinks this really might be something big. Bigger than just an obsession.
He feels his whole world ease, when you smile. And he thinks it might be love.
He goes to your lab, for no good reason. There’s nothing for him to fight you about, no false plans to investigate. He just wants to see you, and he thinks he might be welcome.
He still hovers outside the window for five minutes, just to talk himself into it. Last time might have been a fluke, and he’s about to get shot again.
Clark decides that it’s worth the risk.
“Why were you outside for so long?” You’re lying on the floor again, and Clark sighs.
“Cameras?”
“Mhm.”
He smiles to himself, sitting at your side. “I was trying to figure out if you’d try to kill me again, if I came inside.”
You scoff. “I have never tried to kill you.”
“I have injuries that say different-“
“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” You look right at Clark as you say it, and he balls his hand into a fist.
He wants to trace the line of your teasing smile. He wants to memorize it.
It’s one of the last things he has to memorize about you. The most forbidden thing.
And he wants it more than anything.
“I believe that.” He says, and your smile widens.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Clark lies down, and you turn your head to hold his gaze.
Your breath is warm, fanning over his face. Your hands are crossed over your stomach, and there are tiny little divets in your face that Clark is only able to really notice this close. Your eyes are a little uneven, and your teeth a little crooked, and it’s all perfect.
“Can I ask you something?” You breathe, and he nods without thinking.
“Anything.”
You hum, fidgeting with your fingers as you look back up to the ceiling. “What do you think of me?”
It’s not what Clark expects, but you have such a habit of stunning him, he’s learned to recover fast. Clark clears his throat, watching your profile like if he stares enough, he’ll close his eyes and see you clearer than he does in his dreams.
“You don’t have to answer-“
“I think you’re a good person.” Clark murmurs, and you look back to him with wide eyes. “And I think you’re angry, and you should be, but- I think you’re a threat.”
“A threat?” Your brow furrows, and Clark shakes his head.
“To you.”
“You think I’m a threat to myself-“
“And to me.”
“I- But not anyone else?”
Clark shakes his head. “No. Not to anyone else.”
You laugh that hollow sound, and look back to the ceiling. “Someone once told me I was evil.”
Clark cringes. “He was an idiot-“
“He was right.”
You look to him, and there’s something so sad and heavy in your eyes, Clark is sure the only way to get rid of it is to burn it away.
But all he can do is shake his head. “No. He wasn’t.”
“I’m a threat to you.”
“I know.”
“You’re Superman.”
“I’m aware.”
That gets a tiny smile. “Historically, threats to Superman are evil.”
Clark pretends to consider your words for a second, even though he already knows his answer.
“There are different ways to be a threat. There’s offensive, and defensive, and- Distractions.”
“Is that what I am? A distraction?”
Clark lets himself smile at that. You have no idea.
“I’m here, aren’t I.”
You laugh softly, your eyes still not leaving his.
“I read a romance book last week,” he adds, trying to get you to understand without spooking you away.
“Did you like it.”
“It was enlightening.”
“What,” you snort. “About sex?”
“No.” He snorts. “I’m- I know about that.”
“You’re a boy scout, Supes, it’s not insane-“
“I have everything humans do.” He gives you an amused look, and suddenly, you’re silent, your eyes shining in the dark.
“Yeah?” Your voice is barely a breath, and Clark shrugs.
“Yep. There were just some things in that book I don’t think anyone can do. Or- I guess, but it would take a lot of work. And most human men don’t have that stamina.”
He’s expecting a little, smart remark of and what, you do? But you’re just silent. Gaping at him, your face softly flushed. Clark isn’t sure what he did.
But he likes how relaxed you look. If it’s because of his conversation, he’s more than happy to offer more.
“I might read another, if you have any recommendations.”
“Really?”
He nods. “I didn’t like it a whole lot, it was very… explicit. But I’d read another.”
He doesn’t say for you.
But with the way your eyes widen slightly, he thinks you understand just fine.
“I’ll bring you some on Wednesday.” You whisper, and Clark grins. Gifts. That’s progress.
It’s only hours later, when he’s alone in his apartment, that he realizes what he said.
How, just like always, you scrambled him. You blurred lines.
Superman doesn’t know about the romance books. Clark does. But he just slipped into you like always.
Clark doesn’t swear, expect under two circumstances.
Sex, and when he’s really fucked up.
And when he realizes he’s all but told you he’s superman, there’s only one thing he can think.
Shit.
You’re not there, the next day.
Clark goes to the usual section, and you’re not there waiting for him. He waits until the librarians start to look at him weird, then he sends you a short, worried email, and leaves.
You don’t respond. He’s checking every five minutes, and the hours creep slowly as he refreshes, over and over and over, hoping this time he’ll just get a sign that you’re alive.
He doesn’t think you’d turn him over to Luthor. You’ve been working against Luthor for a while, with Lois, and even if you wanted to—which you wouldn’t—you’d have to admit that you’d been meeting him as Clark, and letting him into your lab.
Or you could just lie. You’re quite a good liar.
No.
You wouldn’t tell Luthor.
Clark still feels like his skin his trying to crawl off his body, the longer he waits. He considers asking Lois if you ever stood her up, but he already knows the answer.
You know. You know.
And now, you’re gone.
Clark drags his feet home. He’d flown to your lab after leaving the Daily Planet, and you weren’t in your lab, or any of the LuthorCorp building. Some part of him should be glad, if you just picked up and ran. Maybe you can find a farm, far away from Luthor, and live a nice, quiet life.
But most of him just misses you. And is worried, and wants you to come back. It would be creepy, to scour the whole planet to try and find you. And it would probably take a few days, if he’s really looking. But he could do it.
He’s trying to remember how much PTO he has banked, when he climbs the stairs to his apartment. You can’t have gone that far, unless you used a portal. Then you could be anywhere. If you’re on another planet, that’s going to take weeks, and if you’re in another galaxy that might be months-
You’re on the couch.
Clark opens his door, and finds you on his couch.
You smile at him, like you didn’t just break into his apartment. “Hi.”
“I- What are you-“
“I didn’t want to show up at the Daily Planet. Would have been asking for open fire.”
“Asking for- What the heck are you talking about-“
You pull up your oddly dirty shirt, and Clark feels his bones get heavy and cold. There’s a pattern of deep, purpling bruises all over your stomach.
You’re hurt. He’d been so stupefied by your presence, he somehow hadn’t noticed you were hurt.
His bag slips from his hand, as he rushes to your side. You wince, hissing through your teeth when his fingers graze one of the marks, and Clark swallows down his blurred anger and panic.
“You- Who-“
“Luthor.” You mutter. “Turns out he also has cameras.”
Clark’s gaze shoots up, and he finds you already watching him. “And he did this.”
“He got angry I wouldn’t tell him who Superman is.” You say flatly. “When we were clearly so cozy.”
His hands fist. If he went now, he’d be back within ten minutes, and Luthor would be chained to the top of the Eiffel tower, his bald head freezing off.
But you’re in front of him now. And that’s what needs to matter.
“Okay. We- We need to get you in a bath. I have a bath.”
“Wow, aren’t we fancy.”
He gives you a flat look. “Don’t sass me. I can leave you on the couch, you know.”
You tilt your head at him, and smile. “No, you won’t.”
Clark stands up, braces his hands on his hips, and glares at you. You glare right back, and he doesn’t know why he thought he’d ever possibly win this.
He groans, ducks down, and picks you up. You smile at him, and he sighs.
“I know. Don’t- You don’t have to say it.”
Your smile just widens, and Clark thinks he can lose a lot of fights, if they make you smile.
While you take the bath, he waits in his kitchen. You’re going to need to ice that, but he doesn’t actually have ice packs. He’s never needed them.
He flies up a little north to get them. You’ll be fine on your own for five minutes, and he doesn’t want to accidentally get you ice that melts too fast, or isn’t cold enough, or anything less acceptable than you deserve.
It’s a welcome distraction, too. From thoughts of you, in his bathtub. Naked and breathing slowly, your thighs pressed together underwater, or spread wide, baring you up to be seen-
Clark sticks his face in the snow. This is the last bit of control he’s managed to keep, the last leash he’s still on. He won’t let it slip now.
You’re wrapped in a towel on the couch, when he gets back. Clark frowns, and opens his mouth.
“I’m not made of glass.” You snap before he can speak, and he sighs.
“I know, but you are injured. It’s not good to put extra strain, when your body is already trying to recover-“
“Are you a doctor now, too?”
Clark stares at your scowl, and it slides off in a second. You look back to your hands, your voice turning into that smaller one he doesn’t think you use with anyone else.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, you’ve had a long day-“
“No. I- I was- I’m sorry.” You glare at him again, like you’re challenging him to try and refuse the apology again.
He wouldn’t dare.
“Okay.” He approaches you slowly, holding up his makeshift ice. “I- I got this for you.”
You frown at him. “A wet hand?”
Clark follows your gaze, and groans. He’d spent too long staring at you, and forgotten to wrap it in cloth. The ice melted.
“Alright, I’ll just go get more-“
“Don’t you have frost breath.”
Oh. He does.
But he wishes he protested more about that being a bad idea. It means he has to kneel down in front of you, very carefully open up your towel, and pretend he can’t see the underside of your breast as he blows on your stomach. Your whole body twitches under his hands, pinning you gently to the couch.
He’s still in control.
“How’d you know where I live?” He asks between breaths, and you grunt.
“I looked it up the day after we met.”
Clark looks up at you in surprise. “What? Did you do that with Lois-“
“No. Lois isn’t Superman.”
His fingers curl on your sides, and you blink at him with an oddly soft shine in your eyes.
The day you met. The day.
“You’ve-“
“Yeah.”
“But- I was wearing the glasses-“
“I know.” You smirk. “How ever did I figure it out.”
Clark rubs a hand over his face. “No, you don’t understand, they have this- It’s like a magic trick, that’s literally supposed to be impossible.”
“Shit.” You laugh weakly, your body curving from the pain. “I think you should ask for a refund.”
Clark chuckles, pinning you a little tight to the couch. He doesn’t want you to be able to move too much. You might get more hurt.
“Was it something I said?” He asks, and you shake your head.
“I- I just knew, okay? That’s it. It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”
Clark thinks it does have to be a big thing. It should be a huge thing, that you’ve known the whole time, and just… said nothing.
But you’re still injured. And Luthor might be looking for you.
So he just sighs again and blows on your stomach. Your back arches into him, this time. If he couldn’t see the flutter of your eyes and ripple of your body under his hands—clearly trying to react as little as possible—he’d think you were torturing him on purpose.
“You should stay here.” He mutters. “Until it’s safe.”
You scoff. “No. I’m not doing that.”
Clark frowns. “Luthor isn’t going to let up until he finds you-“
“I can disappear-“
“Not right now. Not like this.” He grazes his thumb over your bare skin, and a noise awfully close to a moan escapes your lips.
“Clark, fuck-“ Your head tips back, your hand shooting into his hair, and that was a really bad idea.
Your moan might be the most addictive sound he’s ever heard. That’s a selfish thing for his focus to be, right now.
“You’re staying here.” He says firmly, then pauses. “Or- Lois can take you. If that would be more comfortable.”
He doesn’t want it to be. He wants you here, where he can keep you safe himself, and talk to you all the time. But it’s not about him.
“No.” You snap. “I’ll go in the morning-“
“I’m not letting you do that.”
“Oh, you’re not letting me-“
“I’m not just- Just going to sit here and let you walk out, only to find out that Luthor grabbed you and now I have to go save you!” Clark’s voice is rising, but you don’t balk. You just roll your eyes, and lean your head back on the sofa.
“Please. You- You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what? Stop you from getting yourself hurt?! You work with Luthor, you know what he’s capable of-“
“You know what I’m capable of.” You hiss, and Clark shakes his head.
“And I know you’re a better person than he is, you won’t go to the same- The same insane extremes-“
“Won’t I? You said it, you said I’m an evil scientist-“
“You know I didn’t mean that-“
“Don’t I?”
“Yes, you do-“
“Do I-“
“Stop doing that!” Clark shouts, and your mouth snaps shut.
He doesn’t know when, but he’d risen up on his knees. Your faces are only inches apart, your eyes wide and lips parted, and for once Clark’s got you completely quiet. He grabs your knee lightly. He doesn’t want you to go away.
“You are infuriating.” He mutters, holding your gaze. “And confusing, and I- I don’t understand howsomeone so… So-“ He shakes his head. “So you ended up with someone like Luthor. But I know that you’re not evil. And I know that Lex- He doesn’t forgive grievances. He won’t just let you go, and I’m not letting you get hurt.”
You stare at him for another handful of minutes. When you speak again, your voice is small. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Why would you care.” You whisper. “I- I know what I’ve done-“
“It was never really you-“
“Then what I helped do, and I- I was just young, and stupid, and I didn’t have a lot of choices and he listened but- I still-“ You reach up, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Like he’s the last thing you have to hold onto in the world. “You stopped. You stopped asking me to stop, and you- I thought you gave up.”
Clark’s lips twitch despite himself. In way, he had given up.
He’d stop trying to convince himself there was anything about you that needed to be fixed.
“You’re not exactly a moveable person,” he mutters your name, leaning a little closer. “And I- I guess I just decided I didn’t care.”
“You didn’t care-“
“What you were doing. Or- Why. I trusted you.” Clark swallows. Your noses are bumping, and your skin is warm under his hands. “And I want to help. Let me help.”
You stare at him, and for a second, he thinks you’re going to try and pull away. So he says the only thing he’s been able to think of you, letting it fall from his lips with ease.
“I love you.” Clark strokes his thumb over that furrow in your brow, and your breath hitches. “Please. Let me help.”
Silence lingers again. It’s the loudest he’s ever heard.
And this time, you don’t break it.
You just nod.
Your eyes fall to Clark’s lips, then dart back up. Your breathing is coming shallow, and your skin is getting warmer. Clark’s drowning in you, in being this close, and then he smells it.
Need.
You need him, and he wants to give. To show you that something can be soft, that you’re worthy of every bit of care he has to offer. He leans in, just enough to brush his lips over yours.
You open for him in a second, a moan falling from your lips.
And Clark lets everything in him snap.
He surges up. Grabs your jaw to keep you steady, and kisses you with everything he’s let wind up inside him for months. His lips move against yours in a smooth rhythm, his tongue tracing over the line of your teeth before pressing down your throat. He can’t find himself to have enough of you, doesn’t think there can be enough. You taste a little salty, and your moans are soft and loud, and it’s just as addictive as the rest of you.
Clark presses over you, careful that his weight doesn’t crush you. You tip your head even further back, until your eyes are fluttering whenever he pulls away to catch the shortest breath. The kisses are sloppy, like neither of you can bear to pull apart for a second. His hand on your thigh wanders up, tracing over soft, hidden skin under your towel, and you shiver. For a second he’s ready to pull back, check that he’s not hurting you more, but you’re kissing him with the same desperate fervor as before. You let out a sweet little gasp when Clark squeezes your thigh, and his lips twitch.
You like.
You like this plenty.
Clark tips your head a little to the side, dragging his lips down your throat, letting his hand knead against your skin. You’re reactive, every light touch making your whole body shake. Clark has to bite down a groan, as the smell of your arousal starts to flood his senses. He nips under your neck, and a breathy whine leaves your lips, one hand shooting into his hair.
“Clark- Oh- Oh my god-“
“I know.” He mutters, sucking on the small hurt. “You got no idea, how long I wanted this. Thought I was going crazy, sweetheart, you have no idea-“
You make a mumbled sound, pulling on his hair, and Clark glances up to find you staring at him with shining, doe-like eyes. It knocks the air out of him, and that’s not supposed to be possible.
But you defy a lot of things, for him. What’s just one more?
“You,” he drops his brow against yours, and your hands press flat on his chest. “You are beautiful.”
Your lower lip wobbles, and Clark kisses you slowly. Lazily. He’s got you, pliable and wanting below him. If he’s taking anything he’s offered, he’s doing it for you, not to you.
And it pays off immediately, when you start to work yourself up. Your kisses turn frenzied, your hips rolling up into his hand, and Clark’s fingers brush against wetness, dribbling down your thighs. He groans against your lips, and is rewarded with another high, breathless plea.
“Want you.” He mutters, keeping his hand firmly planted down, closer to your knee. “I’ll be gentle, swear it, just- Want you-“
You nod, your mouth slack, and Clark pulls up with a small frown.
His hand on your head drags down to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing over your swollen lips. They hang open, and he has a feeling if he pressed his thumb forwards, you’d take it with shiny eyes and a moan.
But you’re just staring at him. All your bravado is gone, and you’re just blinking at Clark with a glazed, lustful expression.
“Can you say you want this?” He rasps, pressing his brow lightly over yours. “Tell me, baby. I can give you anything, but- You gotta tell me.”
You nod again, and Clark gently taps your lips.
“Words.”
“Yes.” You whisper, your fingers digging against his skin. “Clark, please, yes. I- I want you, want you so bad, please-“
Clark kisses you again, a little worried if he lets you keep going, you’re not going to be able to stop. You moan happily against his lips, and whine when he pulls away again.
He presses his brow back against yours, and lets his gaze drag slowly down your body. The towel has fully fallen away, exposing you to the room, and he thinks he’d be drooling, if he had a little less self-control.
“Holy…” He drags one hand slowly down your bare side, feeling the blood rush into his cock. “Fuck, baby, you’re- You’re amazing.”
Clark expects a teasing response, about the swearing. Instead he only gets silence, and when he glances back up, you’re staring at him with the widest, most flustered expression he’s ever seen. He squeezes your waist, and your hand flies up to cup his cheek. Clark smiles, and kisses the inside of your wrist, watching your breath catch from such a small touch.
Just to test, he moves his hand from your thigh to just under your breast, cupping your ribs and letting his thumb graze over your nipple. The reaction is immediate. You shudder, eyes batting and a long, musical whine filling the room.
Clark raises his brows, and your flush deepens, your eyes darting away. He can’t have that.
He mutters your name gently, and you shake your head, still avoiding his gaze.
“I- I’m fine-“
“You don’t look it.” He says, rising fully up so no matter where you try to look, you’re going to see him. “Sweetheart, I need you all into this-“
“I am all- You know-“
“I don’t. And you’re not looking at me.”
You sigh, dragging your face back, but keeping your eyes squeezed shut. Clark frowns, worried that your injuries are worse than he thought, and you’re trying to push through it for his sake when he should be taking care of you and letting you rest-
“I’m not…” You take a heavy breath, your nose scrunched in the most adorable way he’s ever seen.
Clark says your name, and you shake your head, your arms wrapping around your stomach.
“I don’t do this.” You blurt, body curling into the cushion. “I don’t- I- Sex isn’t- I have a job.”
He blinks at you. “I… Also have a job-“
“You have a life.” You cut him off with a mumble. “I- I work. And I go home. And I look at the internet, then I work again, and I- I don’t- This.” You gesture between your bodies. “I don’t do this.”
Clark stares at you for a second. Your flustered, embarrassed expression, your heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Do you… Want to-“
“Yes.” Your eyes shoot open, pleading on his. “But- I just-“
You shake your head, looking back to some random spot on his shoulder.
“I’m not- I’m not good at it.” Your voice is small. “And you’re- You’re-“
Just to test something, Clark squeezes under your ribs again. A loud moan falls from your lips, your eyes wide on his as your whole body grinds up in response to the touch.
“Clark…” You whine, and he grins, ducking down to kiss you, slow and soft.
You melt right into him, another pretty sound escaping when he moves his full hand to palm at your breast.
“Oh- Oh my-“
“I’ve got you.” He kisses away your flustered pleas. “I can take care of it, baby, you don’t need to do anything.”
Your nose scrunches again, and Clark thinks you’d protest if you weren’t already so dazed from light touches.
He needs to work you up as much as he’s allowed. Needs to see what you’re like when you’re nothing but putty in his hands, because he loves your smart mouth, but he also loves the softness that only he gets to see.
This part of you, molten and writhing as the kisses grow more intense, is all Clark’s.
He drops one hand, keeping the other firmly planted on your breast, and starts to tease over your soaked folds. You arch into him, and he presses back down gently, giving you a stern look.
“I’ve got it.”
“Clark-“
He kisses your neck and you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.
“Let me, baby.” He mutters against your skin, his thumb dragging over your clit. “Please.”
You nod, your body already going limp under his hands, and he grins.
Clark starts to kiss down your body, letting his hand against your core slowly work you up.
“You’re soaked.” He open-mouth kisses your neglected breast, petting your pussy with two fingers, letting them dip into your fluttering entrance with every touch. “You like me this much, sweetheart. ‘Cause I know how much I like you.”
He slaps your cunt lightly, and grins at the loud whine of delight that tears from your lips.
“There you go.” He slides two fingers slowly inside you, biting back a groan at how easy they go in, your walls fluttering around him. “That’s it.” He licks your nipple, scissoring his fingers slowly, stretching you open. “That’s a good girl, takin’ it so good for me.”
Oh, you like that. Your clench tight around him, dripping down his fingers, and Clark groans against your skin. Just the smell of your need is intoxicating, he needs to taste you or he thinks he might go mad.
“Lookin’ so pretty for me, sweet girl.” He kisses down your stomach, careful of your injuries. “Shit, your pussy is tight, bet it’s gonna feel so good ‘round my cock-“
You moan loudly, and Clark grins, tongue tracing over your hip bone as his fingers drag over your walls, looking for that gummy spot that’s going to give him what he wants. He finds it fast, and marvels in the way your whole body trembles, your fingers pulling weakly at his hair like you’re not sure what to do with the pleasure he’s giving you.
He watching your mouth hang open, as he crooks his fingers and starts to rub inside of you. Another lewd sound falls from your lips, and it’s the best thing Clark’s ever heard. He kisses the inside of your thigh, then the opposite thigh, then right over your clit. He keeps himself feather light and teasing, watching your body quiver with anticipation. He presses hard inside you, hovering his lips right over the little button, and grins.
“Relax for me, baby.” He orders, and you whine, but try. Clark can see how much you’re trying, but he’s already wound you up too much.
“I need- Clark-“
“I know. I’ve got you.” He uses his free hand to pull your pussy lips over from your clit, exposing the swollen nerves fully.
He blows on it once, starting to rub his fingers furiously inside you, and that’s all it takes.
The sight of you coming might be the best thing he’s ever seen. You’re gorgeous, shaking and writhing above him, the sound leaving you sounding like a siren call, his name the only word possible to make out between your moans. He needs more. He needs all of it.
Clark starts to lick your clit, light and fast, and your orgasm drags on. You won’t stop spasming around his fingers, still working you open, and your eyes get impossibly wide as you realize what he’s doing.
“Clark- Fuck- Oh-“ Your head throws back, your thighs wrapping tight around his head. “Oh- Oh- Oh my god-“
He doesn’t need to come up for air. He doesn’t need air anymore, not when he has this. He shoves his face fully into your pussy, starting to pump his fingers in time with the work of his tongue, and in no time your thighs are trembling, your body limp from the second orgasm he drags out. You’re gushing all over his face, your pussy so oversensitive that when he pulls out and just traces his fingers over your hole, your body arches like he’s fucking you into the couch.
You’re more than ready for him, but he still takes his time. He was right. You taste better than you smell, and he thinks he could get drunk on it. Clark drags his tongue down to your entrance, letting himself lap up your release with a loud moan. He’s so hard it hurts, and you’re so perfect, he might be about to blow it in his pants.
It’s an effort, but he pushes himself back up over you. You’re blinking at him all doe-eyed again, and he smiles. When he leans down to kiss you, you’re somehow more desperate than before.
“That good?” He asks softly, and you nod.
“So good.” You moan. “So- Oh my god-“
Clark’s fumbling with his belt buckle as you scratch at his chest, and you whimper against his lips as he drags the head of his cock against your puffy pussy. He marvels at the way you’re already trying to relax, your hips angling up to invite him in.
“You that desperate for some cock, baby?” He teases gently, and you nod like a bobblehead. “You want me to fill this pussy up, fuck you ‘till you can’t walk?”
“Fuck,” you breathe out, your head tipping back like you don’t even have the strength to keep it up. “Clark- I- I-“
He kisses you deeply, muttering against your lips. “Say it. Say you want me, sweetheart, beg for me-“
“Clark-“
“You can do it,” he taps the head of him against your clit, and you squeak. “You’re so smart, you know how to say please-“
“Please.” You breathe, your eyes glossy, voice barely a breath.. “Please, please, fuck- please, I love you, I need you so bad-“
Clark slams over you, his head getting clouded as it absorbs your words. You love him. You love him.
He’d give you the world.
“Good girl.” He grunts, just to see you get all pretty and flustered about it, even as his dick grinds against your drenched cunt. “That’s my good girl, love you so much- You- Fuck- You have no idea-“
And he feels a swell of pride, at how well you’re reacting just to his words. You’re restless below him, not taking anything but just silently begging, and he’s going to give you it all.
“Lie down,” he kisses you lightly, guiding you onto your back in the cushions, hiking one leg up over his shoulder and pressing the other back into your chest. You pussy is on full display, letting his rub it gently as you settle into the folded position. He looks up to find you gaping at his cock, and he grins.
“You- You’re-“
“I know.” He clears his throat. He tries not to think about it. It’s far from the most important thing about him. “I’m gonna be gentle-“
“I- I don’t know- I don’t think I can take it-“
“Yeah, you can.” He leans down, kissing you sweetly. “You will.”
You whine doubtfully, but Clark knows what he’s doing. He keeps his lips working against yours, his thumb rubbing your clit slowly as he starts to slowly push himself inside. Your mouth falls into a pretty little O, and he chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth.
“I know.” He coos, rubbing a little firmer. “You’re doin’ so good for me, sweet girl, taking me-“ He bites back a groan as you wrap around him, warm and gummy and perfect. “You’re takin’ me so well, you’ve got it, almost there.”
You moan beneath him, and the sound vibrates around Clark’s dick. He has to bite his tongue, to stop himself from coming right there. He’s really not sure how long he’s going to last, but nobody can blame him.
Not with you, cockdrunk and gaping under him. He lets you adjust, when he bottoms out, and your breathing is shallow and breathy in his ear. He coos the best praise he can, while also trying to drag himself back under control.
When he rises up, dragging his hips slowly back, your arms wrap around his neck, and he groans.
“You feel so good.” He groans. “So fuckin’ good, I- Jesus.”
He pushes forward again, and you look up at him like he’s more than a god. More than the hero.
You look at him like he’s the sun itself, and he’s shining just for you.
He thinks he is.
So again, he lets himself snap.
Clark starts his pace slow and lazy, making sure he’s angled to drag over your g-spot with every thrust. He keeps his voice low, kissing all over your face, helping you through it.
“That’s it.” He mutters. “That’s a good girl, all pretty and dumb for me, you’re letting it feel good, aren’t you sweetheart?” He taps your cheek, pressing forward a little harder, and grins at your whimper. “Come on, you’re so good at telling me what you’re thinking-“
“More.” You breathe out, and Clark swallows. “More, Clark, more-“
“Yes, ma’am.” He grunts, slamming his lips over yours, and maybe another time he’ll be able to find it in him to tease you.
Today, he just needs to give.
He picks up pace without any further warning, and finds his own words slipping away fast. You squeeze around him, every time he bullies that soft spot inside of you, and the sound of your breathless gasps mixed with his cock slamming in and out of your cunt is almost too much for him to bear. He busies himself with kissing you everywhere he can reach, letting his hands wander to memorize every spot that makes you arch further into him, making the angle deeper, until he’s pressing against your cervix.
“Shit,” he groans, pressing his face deep into your neck. “Gonna cum, baby, need- Where do you-“
You don’t answer with words. You lock your arms around him tighter, rolling your hips up and keeping him thrusting, shallow and rough, against you. He’d laugh if his head wasn’t fogged with your touch, your body moving so well against his.
Clark pushes his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit back and forth as fast as he can. You shriek, overwhelmed by the sensation, and try to crawl away, but Clark pulls you tight into his chest.
“Can’t- Can’t take another-“
“Yes, you can.” He grunts, kissing your open mouth. “You can do it, baby, do it for me, come on-“
You cum with a scream of his name, and Clark feels something hot and wet flooding over his dick, as you contract tight around him. You’re squirting, gushing over his cock, and it drives him right over the edge. He feels himself snap, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks into your through his release, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.
When he’s done, you’re trembling beneath him, your lips brushing over his jaw like you’re trying to kiss him, but don’t have enough strength. Clark takes over for you, turning his lips to capture yours in a lazy, loving kiss.
He grabs his shirt off the floor, along with a blanket tossed onto the coffee table, and uses them to cover you while he gets a cloth to clean you up with. You’re limp on the couch, staring at the ceiling with a dazed smile, and Clark feels that pride blooming back in his chest, knowing he made you feel so good. You don’t fight it, when he dabs away your mixed releases, then pulls you into his arms. Brings you to the bathroom, waiting patiently while you pee before carrying you to bed.
If you need, he’ll sleep on the couch. But you’re getting the bed.
You sit in his lap, face pressed into his neck, and he drags his hand up and down your spine. You’re so soft, and his.
Like this, you get to just be his.
“You really love me?” You breathe against his ear, and he nods.
“Yeah. A whole lot, actually.” He pauses, then mutters, “And you-“
“Really.” You tilt your head, giving him a tiny smile. “So much.”
He chuckles, kissing you gently again. He’s never going to get tired of it. Never going to get tired of you.
“Stay here.” He mutters against your lips. “With me. If- If you want to, of course-“
“I do.” You breathe. “I want to.”
Clark leans back, cradling your face in his hand. “Really.”
You nod nervously, and he grins.
You smile back, tentative but real, and Clark presses back down into a kiss.
He doesn’t think there’s anything that’s quite as good as this.
As good as you, content and happy in his arms.
✦End note: i'm a little obsessed with them now. thank you for reading!✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
✦Buy me a coffee! (and get early access!)☕️✦
✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦
contains: angst with a happy ending. later seasons gang– ollie, jimmy, lois, chloe, pete, lexana mention. chloe is jealous, clark is protective and clingy, reader is sensitive. mentions of bars/alcohol. arguing, pet names, unresolved issues. *no use of y/n
a/n: this broke me to write bc i love my chloe i would never yell at her but it was actually a lot of fun to write at the same time… i hope this is to your liking, anon :) also i barely proofread this one so just be nice
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
It was customary for Clark to have his hands on you at all times, especially in situations where there were the most eyes to see. You had made peace with it oh so (un)begrudgingly, and your friends had, too, even when it was a bit excessive. Well, most of them had.
It was no one’s fault. Clark was just an extraordinarily affectionate guy. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was unstoppable; a hand on your back, his mouth on your temple, his nose nudging your jaw, his arms looping you in like a net. He stuck to you like you were made of honey. There wasn’t much to be complained about there, because it felt good to be loved. Even the part of you that felt embarrassed when he was over the top sort of loved the attention… to have a guy as handsome as Clark hanging off you, incapable of leaving you be, following your trail like you had bacon in your pocket? Who wouldn’t want people to see that? Who wouldn’t want to be the object of that kind of affection?
It was coming up on a year of being loved and loving. You practically had to swat Clark off of a proposal, insisting that you move in first, that it shouldn’t be rushed, but it was hard to resist the pull. He frequently joked that you had the opposite of the Medusa effect, he said, meaning that to look away from you even for a second would kill him. He settled to keep the ring he bought away for a while longer, but in exchange, you went everywhere with him and you lived life conjoined at the hip. It was a happy compromise, but not everyone saw it that way.
Your friends were Clark’s friends, and for the most part, they found you two sweet. Pete was always easy when it came to being happy for his buddy, and Lois could roll her eyes however much she wished, but she admired his passion for you. Oliver offered nothing but brotherly claps on the back that made you scoff, and Jimmy was humorously jealous that Clark had managed to get his smartest friend to love him while Jimmy couldn’t even get a date. Lana and Lex cooed over you frequently, having the hindsight of their own love to keep them objective. But Chloe struggled to stomach it sometimes, and it was harder to hide the longer you two stayed together.
Chloe had always been sweet, but you knew about her past feelings for Smallville’s golden boy. She had known Clark long before you– you were only as old as his life at the Daily Planet. Her claim was staked when they were middle schoolers, and the fire of her love was stoked over and over again for years. Both she and Clark led each other on in the past, and even while growing up and dating other guys, Chloe harbored a tiny bit of uncontrollable passion for her best friend. She couldn’t seem to shake it, no matter how much she pushed it down, and seeing him drool over you in the way she wished he would for her for so long was starting to eat at her. It wasn’t healthy or fair, and she knew that, but she couldn’t stop the jealousy. It was her fatal flaw.
Take tonight, for example. It was happy hour at the bar across the street from the Planet, and Oliver was buying with the bonus he wrangled out of a merger deal earlier in the day. Around a high top, you stood with Clark curled around your back like a clam, chin tucked over your shoulder, in a circle with Oliver, Lois, Jimmy, Chloe, and Pete. As you nursed a beer, you kibitzed with Pete over some story from his recent roadie adventures. You felt Clark’s fingers fiddling with the buttons on your cardigan, tracing shapes against the soft pudge of your tummy through your top. Your stomach fluttered, but you learned to listen to people even with his hands on you. He was even distracted in conversation with Lois, and you could feel the rumble of his soft, deep laugh between your shoulder blades. Two intertwined vines, just like always. But you could feel eyes on you– a familiar feeling, a nerve-wracking one. You glanced beside Pete to see Chloe sipping her beer and staring at Clark’s hands around your body, and you flushed a bit. You finished off your last swing and patted his arm.
“I’m gonna go grab another. Who wants more? Should I get a round?”
Clark hummed softly and kissed your cheek, and then seemingly got dragged in, giving you three in a row– and then one of your lips. “I’ll go for you, bunny, you want the same thing?”
You wiped your mouth with a sheepish hand and nodded. “Seriously, I can–”
“It’s fine, baby, I’ll get you a fresh one. I could use another. Guys?”
You watched him poll the table, and he didn’t step away until he kissed you one more time. Your hands stayed intertwined until he was too far to hold on, and he gave you one of those quiet winks that promised he’d hurry back before turning to look at where he was going. You shifted back to the table and smiled loopily, grabbing up a few empty bottles. “I’ll toss these. Be right back.”
The trash was only a few feet away, which would have been convenient if all was in order. But as you stepped off to throw away the empties, you heard something over the thumping of the bar music and drunken voices bouncing off the walls.
Back at the table, a familiar feminine voice complained: “This doesn’t bother you guys? Seriously? He’s all over her.”
“They’re in love, Chlo, it’s sweet. You know how much Clark adores her,” a male voice interjected. Low, smooth. Oliver.
“I mean, come on, though. Her? He acts like he’s possessed or something. She must be a witch, honestly. I don’t see how he could be so enamored with her like he is. She’s not all that.”
“Come on, Chloe, don’t be an asshole.” Snippy. Lois.
“I’m not! I’m just being honest. It beats me…”
When you stepped back to the table, it was clear on your face that they hadn’t been quiet enough. You were pale under the skin and your eyes didn’t lift to look at them. Not even when Clark came back holding a fresh round. He passed you a new beer and rubbed your hip, tugging you into his side and kissing your head. “Here, bunny girl. Just how you like. I had them put the lime in for you.”
Your stomach churned and you took the bottle, and you stared into the condensation running down the amber glass. You saw the reflection of your face in the glimmer, and in the back of your head you heard her again: She must be a witch, honestly. I don’t see how he could be so enamored with her like he is. She’s not all that.
Chloe’s eyes were wide, darting around the table with guilt. The guys immediately shut their mouths with beer, but Lois stood there with her arms crossed, giving Chloe a harsh glare. Leave it to the cousin to reprimand her.
“Baby? You okay?”
You blinked and looked up at Clark, and in a split moment of impulse, you gently pulled yourself free from his grasp. His face fell, and as he moved to drag you back, you muttered, “Just… cool it, Clark, please.”
Clark stared down at you like you had just shot him in the chest. Cool it? Don't touch? Since when? He frowned deep, the little lines of his forehead wrinkling to match, and your heart sank.
“What’s the matter?” he inquired, brushing some hair back from your face. “Do you feel sick or something?”
“I’m fine. I just… the… the PDA is a little much for me tonight,” you whispered, chewing on your nail. You looked back down at your beer, and Clark felt the air shift in the bar.
“What do you mean? You don’t like it? I thought you liked it.”
“I– it– it’s not that, Clark, I just…”
Around the table, his friends stood and gawked at him as if they knew something he didn’t. They must have, because nobody was talking, and this was notoriously a group of people who never shut the fuck up. He furrowed his brow and crossed his arms, scanning over Oliver’s avoidant eyes and Lois’ overt glances at her cousin. After a moment of silence, he cut through the music with a sharp, “What happened?”
Jimmy shook his head and shrugged. “What? Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything is great. This beer is great. Thanks, man.”
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You had thought about this a million times– about the possibility of talking to Chloe, or at least bringing it to Clark’s attention how she made you feel. You didn’t want to step on toes or hurt anyone’s feelings. You knew what it was like to be passed over for another girl, and now that you were the other girl, you had a lot more sympathy than she probably knew; but you also loved Clark, and you didn’t want to offend him. It wasn’t your place to make a conflict out of a friendship that came before you. But it was these moments, these little passing comments about how it seemed wrong or unbelievable Clark could love you this much that made everything harder. You already had the voice in your head trying to convince you that it was true. You spent more time reminding yourself that he adored you for real than anyone could possibly imagine, and now you knew that other people were thinking it and saying it behind your back. Your friends.
You cleared your throat and patted his arm. “I just feel a little sick, um… I’m gonna get some fresh air, okay? I’ll be right back, Clarkie.”
Clark didn’t stop you. In fact, he stood right in his place and watched you go with a shocked, slacked jaw. He tracked your soft frame as it slipped out the front door of the bar, and when it shut behind you, his heart twinged with discomfort. You being far felt like losing a limb.
Chloe scratched her head, because everyone was staring at her now. She saw frustration and embarrassment like a wall before her. She swallowed thickly and traced a wet ring on the table.
Clark followed the visual trail and said, “Chloe?”
“Hm?”
“What happened?”
Chloe glanced up to see her best friend watching her with suspicion. It made her lungs squeeze. His big, blue eyes seemed so disappointed, and she hated that look. It was never the one she wanted. But she couldn’t help but admire him for it. She hated how much she looked up to him sometimes, because it made her quick to justify his feelings, even if they were directed at her. Any attention was good attention if it came from Clark, in her book.
“Nothing happened.”
“Somebody upset her,” Clark crossed his arms, his gaze darkening. “And one of you is going to tell me what happened.”
“Clark–”
“Tell me,” he ordered, and just about every spine around the tabletop stiffened.
Chloe flushed and mumbled, “It wasn’t anything bad, seriously, she just… I made a joke about you two and I think she heard it. It was stupid.”
Clark cocked his head, expressionless in a way that nobody liked, not one bit. “What did you say?”
“I… it… it was just, like, a joke about you. How you’re so obsessed with her. I said something about her being a witch or something, because how else would you be so into her, or whatever. Like I said, it was stupid–”
“You said that? That came out of your mouth? Are you serious, Chloe?”
“I didn’t mean for her to hear me, Clark, it was just a–”
“And you guys let her say something like that?” Clark surveyed his friends, and watched each of them shrug and look down, avoiding his judgement. “Why would you even let that happen? Why would you say that?”
“I mean, you’ve gotta admit that you are all over her. Like, all the time. It gets obnoxious after a while,” Chloe blurted, clenching her beer bottle in apprehension.
Clark paused and clenched his palms. Something hot and sick rushed over him, and the struggle to keep his calm was one of the worst he’d ever fought. Worse than kryptonite. Worse than anything. He thought of you standing outside on the sidewalk, cold and alone, mortified at having overheard something so ridiculous, something that suggested for even a second that his love for you was anything less than real. He thought of how many nights he kissed you quietly, shushed your worries about his intentions, his emotions. He thought of how beautiful you looked when you let go of the insecurity and believed him. He thought of how you loved him and all his overbearing touches, and he raised an accusatory eyebrow at the blonde across the way, who looked as though she already knew where this was going.
“She’s my girlfriend. I think I’m well within my rights to touch her when I want.”
“I’m not telling you to stop, I was just joking about how it’s a little excessive sometimes, Clark.”
“And you get to make that judgement? I’m happy, Chloe. She makes me happy. Does everybody have a problem with how I act around my own girlfriend?”
As Clark glanced around the table, he was met with a variety of expressions– shrugs, shaking heads, sorry eyes– and his jaw clenched harder.
“Nobody has a problem with it, Clark,” Lois added, trying to soften the blow, “and Chloe said it was a stupid joke. No need to get angry.”
“It’s a little late for that, Lois,” Clark scoffed, running a hand down his face. “You know what? I can’t believe you. All of you, actually, that you would let her get away with saying something so insensitive. All she has ever done is be kind to you. Come out to your bar nights, your parties, run your articles, bake for you, bring you coffees. That girl bends over backwards to be a good friend, and more than that, to be a part of our lives. She loves you guys! She looks up to us and the work we do. She loves me. She’s the most precious thing I have, and this is how you treat her? You alienate her the second I’m not around to hear it, like a bunch of cowards, is that how you act without me?”
Chloe paled. “I think you’re taking this a little far!”
“Oh, I’m taking it too far? Christ, Chloe, that’s rich coming from you! You called her a witch!”
“Yeah, well, at least I didn’t call her a bitch!”
It was common for Chloe to lose her temper, but the second the words fell from her lips, everybody seemed to stop breathing. Chloe winced at her own mistake, and Clark seethed.
You were outside in the cold, and all he wanted was you. Even more than he wanted to throw this sticky tabletop into the wall. So, he took a deep breath, and then grabbed his coat, your coat, and your purse off the stool before him.
“Are you seriously leaving?”
“You know, Chloe, it’s the weirdest thing. I feel this crazy urge to go out and kiss my girlfriend. Maybe she put a spell on me,” he deadpanned.
“Clark,” Chloe groaned.
“No, Chlo. You crossed a line.” Clark walked around the table, and then he paused to point at her. His voice was so soft that it made her shiver. “Don’t you ever do this again. Don’t joke, tease, talk about her again. If I find out you did, or that any of the rest of you allowed it or do it yourselves, you’ll be lucky if I leave you with functioning tongues.” After seeing her remorseful eyes flicker over his face, Clark added, “She is the love of my life. She deserves more respect from you, and so do I. I expect you to apologize and mean it, but not tonight. I think you’ve done enough damage for one day. Got it?”
Chloe just kept her mouth shut and nodded, feeling her chest tighten. The regret coursing through her veins was enough to make anybody feel nauseous, and it only grew more potent as Clark walked out of the bar, leaving the group to their own devices.
Lois sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “One of these days you’re going to have to deal with your shit, Chloe.”
“Oh, so this is all my fault now?”
Pete huffed and grabbed his jacket. “No. It’s our fault for letting you keep it up.”
Chloe’s cheeks deepened to a mortified rose as her best friends gathered their things and threw down cash to cover the tab. “You’re seriously mad at me? He’s the one who blew up on us!”
“Goodnight, Chlo,” Oliver urged, and the rest followed him as the first to leave. Chloe stood at the table, tracing the rim of her beer bottle with a shaky finger and wishing she never said a word.
Outside on the sidewalk, Clark tugged your jacket over you and cradled your face. His hands were so warm. He was always hot as a heater. You leaned into the touch, and he pressed sweet little kisses all across the plane of your forehead.
“How about I take you out somewhere, just you and me, huh? Get you a better drink? Something sweet?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, closing your eyes. “Please. Just you.”
“Just me, baby,” he promised, and he coaxed his fingers through your hair. Clark studied the cherubic curve of your cheeks and the pout in your lips, and every inch of him seemed to buzz with love. “I’m so sorry they hurt your feelings. If it helps, I yelled. And I never yell.”
You left out a soft chuckle and gazed up into his eyes, reached out to brush a stray lock from his lashes. “You yelled? My mild-mannered reporter yelled?”
Clark flashed a sharp smile and kissed your nose. “Mhm. Like a real adult.”
“I wish I had been there.”
“No you don’t. You hate confrontation.”
You giggled a bit, blushing. “I do. You know me too well.”
“I know you because I love you,” he murmured.
You bumped your nose against his, and he leaned over you like a blanket, pressing you against the side of the building. The cold night chill had nothing on him. He smooched your cheek, and then your eyes, and then your mouth, one, two, three times. Your hands curled in his button down and you smiled, all echoes of earlier escaping into the night. Nothing mattered– not words, not opinions– when Clark touched you. You loved the PDA and you loved him. Nothing felt better, safer, more right than him.
“Mm,” you hummed against his lips, “if I was a witch, I would be a good one, if I got you to want me this much.”
Clark grinned and nipped your bottom lip. “If you were a witch, you wouldn’t even need a spell. I’d love you in every lifetime, no matter who you were.”
Your body melted like mush for him, and he scooped you up into a pressing hug, lifting you off the ground. You laughed and wrapped your legs around his hips, and Clark started off down the sidewalk holding you like a monkey. You peppered his cheeks with kisses. “Thank you for standing up for me.”
“Pssh,” he teased, scrunching his nose, “please. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“I love you so, so much, Clarkie,” you pledged. “I always will.”
Clark peered up at you– your shining eyes, all that hair, all that beauty contained inside one perfect person– and he squeezed your hip under his grasp. “I love you too, bunny girl. Now let me buy you a real drink.”
“Oh, god,” Clark groans, the words drawn out and coming straight from his chest.
He’s in a limbo. Between wanting to just thrust up into your warm, wet mouth; or just stopping this right so there’s not risk of him losing it and hurting you. No matter how good it feels. You feel. With your lips wrapped around the thick head of his cock.
You’re bent over the console beside him, creasing the leather seat under your weight. What was supposed to be a nice date night out to a drive in movie quickly turned south, literally, when the two of you realised just now boring the film was. Sharing snacks to handholding to cuddling to kissing to sucking your boyfriend’s heavy cock.
From the corner of your eye, you can see his hand hesitate. The one in your peripheral is gripping the console with white knuckles and leaving indents. You’re sure the other is probably doing similarly to his jeans. Deciding to help him along a little, you place his hand on the back of your head.
Gently, he uncurls it, like you’re soothing him despite being the reason he’s even like this. His fingers brush over your scalp softly before settling onto your nape.
“Fuck-“ he shifts his hips, pushing them into you before forcing himself back. “Gosh, honey.”
Clark’s pants and heavy breathing fill the quiet air of his car. With the rapid puffs, his chest rises and falls like he’s just orbited the Earth. You add to the sounds with the wet contact of your lips on him, taking as much as you can before you switch to licking the tip.
“So pretty.” His large hand travels to your ass, giving it a squeeze before patting it gently. “Didn’t-oh-didn’t wanna watch the movie?”
“Nope.” You grin up at him and if he wasn’t hard before, he definitely would be now. Your head is tilted to the side, pressing soft kisses against his hard dick while smiling up at him. All while you’re bent over the console with your ass in the air and your back arching just right. He almost decides to bend you over the passenger seat and thrust into you from behind under the open door. But it’s too risky. You’re already parked in the middle of a bunch of cars and his windows aren’t tinted. He’ll just have to save that for a road trip to Smallville.
“You’re so yummy, Clark.” You kiss him near the base, your forehead pressing against the unbuckled denim of his jeans. “Love this cock.”
“Yeah?” He says with an embarrassing hitch when your hand finds his balls.
“Yeahhh,” you draw out, moving back up his length again to hover just above the tip. Removing your hand from even lower, your nail teases his tip, barely touching him. “You don’t let me suck you off enough.”
Jeez.
He groans, his head hitting the headrest that rattles the seat. This is why he doesn’t. Because you get all cock-drunk and evil all while he worries about you feeling safe, okay, and loved. The one time he wishes he didn’t have human bone-crushing super strength.
“Why don’t you let me suck your cock more often, Clark?”
He nearly arches into you, your hand stroking him with a feather-light touch. And your voice. The vixen-like pouty tone that you use when you know he’s barely listening. He lets out a moan with furrowed brows.
“Because-“ he hisses through his teeth, trying to be coherent enough to answer you properly. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“I just want to make you feel good.” You don’t stop, doubling down with the kitten licks to his tip.
“Oh.”
“Doesn’t that feel good?”
“Yeah, gosh. So good, baby.” He fights off the tingling sensation traveling up his spine and loosens his grip on your head. He can’t hurt you.
“And you feel sooo good in my mouth. You’re so big.” Your warm breath fans over his length before taking as much of him as you can. As much as he can take before he feels his balls tighten. Until you pull away. “You always want to eat me out.”
Stop talking.
Keep talking, the rational part of him whispers.
“Always want to make me feel good. But I love this,” you emphasise your point by resting the side of your head against his thigh again and slap his leaking pink cock against your cheek. He stares, mesmerised by the precum and saliva sticking to your face. “Love it when your hand is in my hair. When you fuck my face.”
Never mind. Stop talking. Keep talking. Doesn’t matter.
“Love it when I get all messy after getting a taste of you.” Your tongue licks a stripe up the underside of his penis, following the curve. “But…if you don’t enjoy it…”
You start to pull away, sitting up with spit and precum on your face, looking like the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Your lips are shiny and wet. Your eyes are blown out and there’s that look of wild and lost in your eyes that he never gets to see enough of. You’re sitting on your knees and he thanks whatever God on this or any other planet that you went braless in a low-cut tank top.
It takes a second too long for his brain to catch up.
“What? No!” His hand links with yours, even now. “I love it. I love you.”
“I know you love me. But do you love it when I give you head?”
“Yes!”
“Then how come you’re always pulling me off before you come?” You don’t ask with frustration or anger, somehow you’ve even manage to make this question sound sexy. Maybe it’s because your hand is still rubbing his thigh.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“And I’d rather have you satisfied and fully enjoying sex with me.”
“I do.” Clark sighs, giving you a look that says ‘it’s a Kryptonian thing’. You give him one that says ‘don’t try me’. He gives in. “Okay, so maybe I always have to think about not hurting you. But I’d rather do that, gosh, even think about hurting you. Even accidentally.”
“Clark.”
“And it’s not to say that I’m not focused on you. It’s hard not to when you-“
“Clark.” You insist again, your voice softening again to that tone you use when you want something from him. “Just fuck my face.”
“I mean it.” You say again at his lack of reaction. Then, before he can even change the subject by suggesting the two of you drive back to his to do this properly, you’re bent over yet again and back to where you were. Sucking his cock with a suction grip.
Here goes nothing.
His hands settle again. This time, with one on your hair, gripping the roots, the other grabbing the flesh of your ass with a lot less apology than earlier. Clark lets himself relax, shifting his hips forward in the cramped seat and spreading his thighs even wider.
You bob up and down.
“That’s it,” he groans, even smiling a little through the feeling. “Always so good at this, baby. Taking this cock so well.”
You moan, the vibrations helping him get back to where he was before. Panting and building him up. He shuts his eyes and drops his head back, focusing on the feeling. The tightness and heat wrapping around whatever length you manage to take. Your free hand fondling his balls that shoots a tingle up his spine. The firm softness beneath his hand as he squeezes and plays with your ass.
“That’s-oh, jeez,” he adds more pressure, the hand on your head sinking you down even further. “Fuck. That’s it, take it honey.”
Your moan is muffled by his length, saliva dripping down to his balls as you deep throat him.
“Ha-“ Clark’s hips meet your mouth in deep thrusts, his body finally letting go. His instincts needing to just get himself deeper into you. To give into to the feeling of you. He moans, his breath hitching and his hips grinding as he gets close.
Closer and closer to the edge as you do your best to take him deep. Your muffled moans. The wet dribble down his length and onto the denim. His frantic breathing and desperate moans. Your warm skin beneath his hand. The pure need in every movement as he finally fucks your face properly. Every shove that has you focusing on your gag reflex and his thickness stretching your lips.
With a heavy groan and a loud broken moan, Clark spills into your mouth while you push yourself up to his tip. He keeps on whining, his hips rocking up as his cock twitches some more. Come spills from your lips and dribbles down your chin, his orgasm slowly ending.
Slowly, his eyes open.
There you are, resting on your elbows with a dazed look on your face. There’s a small smile as you swallow him up and he reaches a hand out to rub your cheek.
“Gosh, that was-“
“Hmm.” You hum and nod, leaning over to nuzzle his still-hard cock.
“More?” He huffs lightly, an incredulous laugh shining up his face. With a loving shake of his head, Clark just rubs his thumb over your lower lip, helping you clean yourself and him up.
“We should probably head home, though.” He sighs, gently pushing your head back with a grip on your chin. Between his index and thumb, you don’t even argue with him. He chuckles when he makes your head dip down into a nod. “Before another person reports us to the staff for inappropriate behaviour.”
Right. Super hearing. You forgot about that.
—
A/N: writing this at 2 am with 12% battery 😛 also kinda horny tmi
cw: jimmy olsen getting bullied (with love). reader knows clark is superman. reader’s race is not important to the story, so i used both white women and woc for the pictures. perry white being an online pda hater. CHERRYSTAINEDLIPS is your private account! only like 7 people follow it :)
yourusername
📍 Metropolis.
liked by clarkkent, lois_lane, and others
yourusername: 1 year anniversary since i joined this glorious team (?) and became a better photographer than jimmy loser olsen. also a free superman pic i took while roaming :)
view all 42 comments
lois_lane did you really have to post my vampire ass pale skin for everyone to see
➥ yourusername girl i have 200 followers wdym everyone
clarkkent The loveliest (And best, of course!) photographer ever.
➥ jmolsen @/clarkkent oh ok bc you could slap me in the face and it would hurt less
➥ yourusername @/jmolsen loser
supermanupdates Thank you for the free picture. Permission to post? Will give credits.
catgrants babygirl
➥ yourusername @/catgrant1 i will kiss you in the mouth
➥ clarkkent @/yourusername ?
yourmom 😏😏😏❤️❤️
➥ yourusername @/yourmom mom please we’ve talked about the meaning of that emoji
kendddra: girls who poop (jimmy olsen) BITCHES WHO SHIT (you)
➥ jmolsen @/kendddra ???? who even
➥ yourusername @kendddra YOU KNOW IT
clarkkent
liked by yourusername, guygardner43 and others
clarkkent To more years working with my best friend and love of my life. No one could do this as good as you do.
view all 38 comments
yourusername walk him like a dog
➥ yourusername i’m joking baby i love you
yourusername i’d sell my soul to be able to work with you forever
jmolsen i never got an anniversary post.
➥ lois_lane @/jmolsen will you ever let it go
perry.white No online PDA.
➥ yourusername @/perry.white wait block us…
marthakent352: Beautiful girl you’ve got yourself, honey! And congrats @/yourusername on this great work year! 🎉🥳
➥ yourusername @/marthakent352 thank you mrs kent <3
kara_z started following you!
you followed kara_z back!
yourusername. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 25 min ago.
➥ jmolsen replied to your story i believe her
➥ clarkkent replied to your story Will she be wearing that to the next gala?
➥ lois_lane replied to your story Delete.
➥ yourusername
supermanupdates
liked by username1, evetesch and others
supermanupdates Despite getting hit, the greatest superhero took the time to take pictures with fans. He has the sweetest soul ever. 🫠💙❤️
view all 1286 comments
luthor Such a loser. He’s an ALIEN.
➥ supermanfan2 🎋ILL YOURSELF
username4 he’s so bubbly i need to die 😿😿😿😿
gothamuser overrated
➥ supermanfan2 🦅ILL YOURSELF AND UR LOSER VIGILANTE
➥ gothamuser girl don’t even. your superhero wears his briefs on top of his leggings.
username3 My daughter approached him after the fight. He’s the gentlest man ever, had a five minute convo with her convincing her that vegetables are in fact necessary.
cherrystainedlips
liked by clarkkent, yourbestfriend and others
cherrystainedlips how it feels to post for 6 followers on a private account
view all 10 comments
jmolsen do you HAVE to be aesthetically pleasing even on a private account
➥ cherrystainedlips @/jmolsen that’s just how i am
lois_lane why do you have 2 accounts
➥ cherrystainedlips @/lois_lane i can’t post unglassed clark kent on my main
➥ clarkkent @/cherrystainedlips Because that is a priority of course
➥ cherrystainedlips @/clarkkent are you sassing me?
clarkkent Who’s that pretty girl in the first and eighth pic?
➥ cherrystainedlips @/clarkkent flattery will get you everywhere with me. continue.
jmolsen girl you are NOT a bunny.
➥ cherrystainedlips @/jmolsen bitches will look you in the eye and betray you…
yourbestfriend i miss you
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
hehehe i hope you guys liked it!
i didn’t want to make it that long but i could make another part if you guys want :) this is my first time making anything fic related and i thought a smau would be pretty cute & softish :)
toy flesh [explicit 18+] — [part 2] follow up to part 1 which is linked in my masterlist. this is lots of cute fluff, next part will get down to more filth. there are tons of nasty opportunities
. . .
She also thinks it somehow has to be a one off thing. A pricey, fancy one off toy that fakes a few cumshots after the first time she cleans and rides it, flooding this pool inside of her and all over her bedsheets. But there it goes again, and again, and again.
Topping her third round off by falling backwards near the headboard, new toy gripped tight into her palm while she slides it in and out to still feel full but finally give her hips a break. It was worth every penny, as ridiculous as the amount really was for a hole in the wall sex toy shop. A lot of the others looked sparkly and lengthy and quite pretty, but something about the girth and the hefty weight of the last (or the only?) one in stock on the shelf made her rush to grab it before anyone else could have.
After paying the man at the counter she keeps scoping out her surroundings for any prying eyes as she’s trying to sneak her giant new purchase, stuffing the box into her purse as best she can. It would be dishonest to say she didn’t rush to rip it out of the plastic, feel out the raw feel of the skin, the veins, the fat. It felt real. Unlike any other rubber playthings she’s bought in the past, this one was almost responsive to her touch somehow. Did it require batteries to act like that? To pulse when it feels her grip, or leak when she teased herself on the tip?
It would jump every time she spat on the head and rubbed the base up and down in a firm grip. Pre cumming right at the tip when she did her favorite forms of foreplay and fooled around with it like she’s playing pretend. It throbbed, it wiggled around, and most of all it fucking came. Like a man.
In warm, sudden bursts, she felt it oozing out while she was just getting started. As heaven sent as it felt in the moment, afterwards it made her furrow her brows and grab the toy again and even look down at her own pussy to ensure she wasn’t feeling things that weren’t really there. But lo and behold, it dripped down her inner thighs, slathering her blanket and oozing right out of the tip of the dildo.
It felt like magic. Like her new rubber cock was attached to a real living person — a needy, sensitive, girthy person hung like a horse that didn’t take a lot of teasing or effort to draw so much arousal out of. But the idea was silly, so much more nonsensical than the fact that it was probably nothing more than just an impressively built and nevertheless expensive toy with some kind of hidden wiring and technology that was capable of pulling off acting like a real living cock. Right?
She doesn’t bother questioning it after five or six rounds in one night over the Saturday of her last jobless weekend before the start of her new position the following Monday. It had done wonders for the stress in her body, the tense and worried state it was nearly permanently in. She’d gotten better at taking it all up to the hilt, stuffing it inside up to her stomach after taking an edible and throwing on whatever TV show could make decent background noise. She grins with her heavy lidded eyes falling closed while another load pumps inside her. The second one of the hour to be exact. That addicting feeling of her toy cock gradually just losing it, losing all control like her pussy did things that triggered this quick, heavy release.
She’ll hang around her home in nothing but her underwear and her robe, eating cookie dough ice cream straight out of the carton, higher than a dopey teenager stuck in her own element. It doesn’t take long for her to take her favorite toy and rut her clit against it until it got warm like some kind of horny genie lamp. And then like clockwork it fills up for her again like it’s getting hard, twitchy, and ready all just for her pleasure. In the very back of her head she thinks this thing is so real it could have the off chance of somehow getting her pregnant since the cum had the consistency and the warmth of a real breathing person.
When Monday inevitably arrives, she gives up making sure every single hair stays in place and just parts it all to one side, buttoning up her favorite coat as armor against the unpredictable weather. As she strolled along the streets to her new work building, petting the dogs passing by on their owners’ leashes and twirling the cord of her headphones, she imagines what kind of office would hire someone like her. Blunt, casual, some neurological differences that make it difficult to focus if the topic didn’t interest her. Virtually no prior experience in the field she’s been hired in. It didn’t feel real getting the call back to learn she’d been selected, but who the hell was she to call them stupid for picking her of all the candidates?
The hustle and bustle was apparent as soon as she entered the building, asking around with wide eyes where her section was, what floor was she supposed to go to. Everyone looked busy but remained patient and kind, directing her to her floor, telling her to find a tall, shaggy haired man by the name of Clark.
It wasn’t hard to seek him out of everybody else, large frame still evident even with his hunched over posture, diligently typing away on his computer. When he looks up she was struck to find that he was almost dangerously beautiful. Handsome, pretty, dorky, everything that had always baited her into making terrible decisions. Just by talking to him she could tell he had anxiety, stiff movements and facial expressions that had her wondering if he was nervous from the pressure of being in charge of a new hire, or if he was more specifically nervous about being around her in particular.
Clark is attentive and sweet, helpful and patient with her learning new things, getting used to the environment and what was to be the new routine. Picking up the mail, distributing the mail, transferring phone calls, helping Lois with office duties and finding supplies with low stock to re-order. Certain areas felt overwhelming but overall the job itself seemed mundane. The only thing sticking out to her was Clark and his antsy eyes and big arms, anxious ticks and shy smiles. How he bent over backwards to help her with just about every question thrown his way or another way, making himself of use to her in any way she may have needed.
On her smoke break she feels the rain start to pour within seconds of going outside, and although she’s walked through rain and shine plenty it was still a bit of a test to see how far Clark would actually go if she’d asked to take her home. And he was so eager, so easy. If she got to know him well enough and if they became comfortable enough, she could give him the nickname of being her own mister Yes Man. Yeah, of course I’ll take care of that for you. Yes, you don’t have to worry about that, I’ve got it. Yup, no worries. Yeah, I’ll get this going for you. He was so full of yes’s she almost wonders what the limit may be.
Throughout the day he reciprocates just about every glance, every minor, innocent brushing of arms and fingers and touches on each other’s shoulders, upper back, arms. He hands her a pen and she grazes his fingers entirely on purpose and doesn’t hide dragging the moment out. The more she does the more flustered he’s become.
When Jimmy meets her and shakes her hand, he pulls her aside to whisper in her ear that Clark is very, very single and she laughs so hard she snorts. And when Clark comes back from his lunch break wearing different trousers than he was before he left, she doesn’t attempt any subtlety at eyeing his new pants up and down and shrugging with a little knowing nod at what might’ve made him have to change. Clark makes up some half baked lie about spilling hot sauce on his other pair, and she nods enough to try convincing him she believes it.
After her training is done and the paperwork is filed and the day is finally, finally over she gets a nod from Clark across the room, tilting his head in the direction of the elevators with briefcase in hand. He nudged his glasses further up his face and sniffled, waving bye to staff and pressing the button to head down, holding the door open with an extended arm.
“Thanks so much again by the way,” she graciously squeezed the thick muscle of his upper arm as the elevator doors close. Clark’s turned bashfully red almost immediately, chin down at the ground pretending to look at his shoes.
“It’s nothing. I really wouldn’t want you um, getting all soaked out in the rain, that wouldn’t be right. I’m glad you felt safe enough to ask me.”
“Of course I did. You’ve been nothing but a big sweetheart. Seriously, if anyone’s intimidated by the height they could have one conversation with you and it’ll change their mind,” she laughs, meeting his wide eyes framed by his thick glasses. The elevators ding to alert they’ve arrived to their destined floor, Clark taking a second too long to process before shoving his arm back out to stop the doors from closing in on them again. His version of a curse word slips under his breath while he nearly drops his briefcase, clearly still tripping and stumbling his way out to the parking garage.
“Well I guess so. I’m not that tall. Maybe a little over average, but— I hope I’m not intimidating. Um, here, let’s go this way,” Clark awkwardly trails off, pointing to his little beat up blue vehicle parked way over in the corner. When he points it out she wonders how he even fits himself in there.
“Uh, usually I prop the drivers seat back for my legs. A little crammed but I’ve had her since I started driving. My Pa gifted me this, and she’s still been up and running good after all these years so I don’t really see a need for finding anything else.”
She nods her head and smiles, impressed. He doesn’t let her hand go even near the handle, ripping it open and holding it while she slides in and sets her bag down on the floor near her feet. “Wow. You know, that shows a ton of loyalty to keep one of these for years like you have. I like that.”
He sheepishly nods his head with curls moving on his forehead before gently closing the door and jogging over to the other side.
She takes in her surroundings, observing the little details. His hanging dog charm around the rearview mirror. Taking in all the neatness, the warm vanilla scented air fresheners. How the seat is propped back as far as it could possibly go to accommodate for his height. She notes how he kept himself a spare pair of glasses in one of the cupholders, another style than the ones he wore to the office. When he turns the car on, music began to boom through the speakers, jolting him with a twitch as he rushed to turn the volume all the way down, laughing through a string of apologies. She only giggles harder, clearly less upset than he was, more amused if anything.
Each mundane little thing about Clark piled more on to this growing irresistible urge to just make the plunge already, to crawl in his lap, to kiss him so hard his glasses get crooked and eventually fall right off his face. It became more tempting with each passing glance from the side, every accidental brush of her thigh with his hand while he shifted gears, a murmured apology with those signature pink cheeks. He always looked so embarrassed, and it somehow always served to really turn her on.
“Uh, so I’ll turn here right?”
“Yeah. Yeah just, just turn then you’ll go straight for a while. I’ll let you know when we’re approaching.”
Clark follows directions, going about five miles below the speed limit as he keeps his eyes on each house passing by, curiously wondering which one could be her home. Was it the well groomed, modern style with a picket fence, or an old school, overgrown lawn with an artsy mailbox?
He slows down more as the end of the street was coming, pulling off to the side as she pointed out her home. Clark forgets to hide how eager he is to scope it out, the little pink painted one story home with healthy plants branching out from their pots on the porch, the lady bug mat, the absence of any cars parked out front. Figures she must only get around anywhere on foot.
Rain still patters on the windshield as his windshield wipers barely keep up in time from the heavy drops, and puddles outside forming in the potholes of the road. Her plants looked to be the only happy ones to have some rain to quench them.
“This is me right here,” she reluctantly says, a sigh leaving her throat while she peers back over to the man in the driver’s seat. “I had fun, says a lot for a first day at a new job. Those are always pretty stressful but you’re such a great teacher that I know I’ll be in good hands,” she says, rubbing the lipgloss leftover on her lips together while eyeing him up and down, back and forth between his pretty face and his robust chest.
“I… I’m not that good, you just made it easy,” he disputes. “You asked all the right questions, you’re smart. I know you’ll get the hang of it real soon—“
“—You know, when I met Jimmy today he told me you were single,” she interjects before her mind could steer her away from the risky decision. “So was he… was he joking or was he—“
Clark groans loud, making a fist and then nearly slamming his forehead into it to hide his face, mortified that Jimmy set him up like this. To have this awkward interaction with his now co-worker.
“Gosh…. of course he did… that’s— no. I’m sorry he was acting inappropriate—“
“No as in you’re not single.”
Clark pulls his head back up, blinks, utterly confused.
“No, no I’m—“
“No as in yes?”
“N-No, no as in he’s right. I… I am, it’s just I didn’t want him disclosing stuff like that that to you, that information. Like as if you’d even care if a co-worker is single or not is ridiculous. If he makes you uncomfortable again I can talk to him, it doesn’t have to be a whole HR thing but if you want it to be I can absolutely help…”
She chews her bottom lip to prevent another shit eating grin from spreading onto her cheeks, placing a deliberate hand back on his upper arm to nab his attention, soothe any of his sudden woes.
“Listen, stop. Listen to me Clark. I was asking to clarify it with you because I was hoping that he was right,” she admits, a soft laugh not far behind the end of her small confession, trailing off with a rub of his shoulder, making him hold his breath and keen from the contact.
“You um. So you aren’t freaked out, you aren’t uncomfortable in any way? I just can’t imagine what it’s like, being a… a woman. A beautiful woman you know, like you, in a new workplace and having men be obnoxious on top of that—“
Clark stutters and takes a breather, shutting his car off and tilting his head up so his neck is exposed, blankly looking up at the ceiling.
“Clark.”
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t look back down or turn his head, Adam’s apple of his throat bobbing as he swallows more nerves down.
“I’m not uncomfortable. Not freaked out. And if you want me to just get my stuff and go, not mention any of this tomorrow, then I could,” she starts. Clark takes a deep breath in like he wants to interrupt, but she holds a finger up and he obeys, shutting his mouth closed. “Or,” she began. “I could kiss you for being so sweet, and we can act normal tomorrow, but you can give me another ride home if you aren’t busy again. And we can see where this goes.”
The drop of his jaw was nearly out of a cartoon, heartbeat throbbing so fast it might as well be audible in the quiet of the small space of his car. He can’t take his eyes off her, blinking ever so slightly when his eyes start to dry up. It looked like he wanted to pinch himself just to make sure everything was real.
“I… I really like the second option more. A lot.” he finally mutters. Licks his lips while staring down at hers like he had countless times today, this time with layers of restraint stripped away.
“I like the second option more too,” she chuckles at his dumbstruck face, soothing a palm over his thigh and rubbing his flexed muscles through his trousers. “I also noticed you changed your pants after lunch.”
Clark swallows while her face comes closer, nearly nose to nose, sharing and exchanging breath.
“Uh, yeah, yeah I….”
“That story about spilling some hot sauce was bullshit, right?”
Clark nods without a second thought, confirming everything she already knew.
“Did you have a little too much fun? Make too much a mess, had to end up changing before you got back to the office?”
“Yeah, yeah I did,” he bows his head down a bit, licking his lips again. Still close enough to smell her perfume, to stare at the glittery shine of her lipgloss, begging to know what it tastes like.
“I thought so.”
Clark doesn’t get another moment to think or conjure up a response before she’s leaning in and he’s dreamily shutting his eyes, humming into her mouth while she tilts her head to the side. Her nails splay out across his neck while he whimpers in her mouth, trying to keep up and savor the exquisite taste of her while he can. With plenty of hesitation trying to hold him back, he goes for it anyway and takes his own palm to the middle of her back, hugging her close to him while they kept making out like it wasn’t any different than coming home after years of being away.
“You’re really pretty, makes it really hard,” he pants. Pulls away but not too far, lips still brushing hers as he speaks.
She laughs right at him, tucking a curl behind his ear and adjusting his glasses so they’re straight again on his face. “Apt word choice there.”
“No! No I mean, that’s not what I meant….”
“As much as embarrassment looks cute on you, you don’t have to be,” she assures with another giddy laugh, kissing his cheek and leaving a subtle glossy mark on the skin. Then aims for each corner of his lips only to be pulled back in by him to get the heated momentum back up and running.
“You’re unbelievable,” he breathes. “I want to just… I wanna keep going forever.”
Shit, is he talking too much too soon?
“I mean you don’t have to, really, you can head home whenever you like… I only meant I like this a lot.”
She doesn’t let his overthinking become worse, just grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again. Adding tongue swirls into the mix.
“You taste like your Spearmint gum,” she observes. “Really nice.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Clark nods, his meek persona still in full swing even after having her tongue in his mouth. “You’d tell me if my breath was bad, right?”
“Of course I would.”
The pair still kept exploring each other’s kissing techniques, her hands stroking his arms and his chest while Clark’s stayed on the middle of her back in easy circles. It could’ve been ten, fifteen, even twenty minutes passing by while the rain hardly lightens up from pouring out from the gray clouds scattered in the sky. Clark offers to walk her up to the door so she could get home safe and dry, and she couldn’t pass up the offer, even if he kept reassuring her he didn’t mean to allude to any funny business. He takes off his own jacket to hover it over her head as they make the short trip, insisting he does it as to not get her hair wet.
“I like your plants, your place is cute. I can pick you up and take you home tomorrow if you’re up for that.”
She grins and gets up on her tippy toes to kiss him once again, an innocent little smooch he graciously accepts and reciprocates.
“And how about the day after that, and then the day after that, and the next week after that…”
Clark laughs at her and puts his jacket he’d been using to shield her from getting doused by the rain, squeezing her hip with another smile and going back in for yet another because it was too good to pass up.
“Absolutely. Rain or shine, I’ve got you.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bright and early. Do you have my number? Wait, hold on,” she unzips her purse and shuffles through it before finding her keys, unlocking the door and barging inside. Clark remains respectfully at the doormat, not willing to push any boundary this early, besides a car makeout here and there. He watches her in blissful astonishment as she scribbles on a piece of paper, folds it up then marches back to put it in his front pocket herself.
“For emergencies. And you know, anything else.”
Anything, she says. Anything else. “Right. Yeah. I’ll text you.”
“Please do. And text me when you’re home safe!”
“I will,” he chuckles, leaning his head back down to steal another goodbye kiss before he walks back to his car with a pep in his step that he hasn’t had in a long, long time.
“Bye!”
She waves from her porch before he chastises her to get back to her house so she doesn’t stay in the rain, but she just sticks her tongue out at him then goes back anyway.
It all felt intoxicating. He wondered if he could even drive in such a distracted, head in the clouds state like this.
His gut fluttered with butterflies and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much, back on autopilot as he starts up the car, blasts the volume back up and turns back to the main road. It felt overwhelmingly unreal that he can still taste her lip gloss and how much it’s rubbed off on him. How he can still feel the ghost of her hands touching and caressing parts of him that haven’t been touched and felt like that. He has stars floating above his head like he’d been knocked the fuck out, unconscious.
Just as he’s venturing back to the street towards his place, his dick starts to feel wet against his left thigh. Still trapped by his boxers and his trousers, that same familiar sensation creeping back up on him before he could press the gas after a red light turns green. He clenches his jaw and tries to stay concentrated with tight hands on the wheel. Gasping when his dick starts tingling as he’s teased and rutted on by that same mysterious force, gliding him in between their lips, teasing their opening with his tip.
Clark barely makes it home and sticks his face in the steering wheel, licking his lips, breathing with his mouth stuck open. He feels when it goes inside, how the thrusts are long and filling and slow at first, excruciatingly wonderful as it’s taking him in down to his balls. Drenching him down with wet arousal on every pull out. His full body shivers again, butts his head against the wheel five times before accidentally bumping the horn.
Mortified with horror, he ducks his head down as much as he could and peaked around to catch only a few witnesses of his neighbors taking out their trash bins out on the curb. He awkwardly waves and subtly grabs onto his bulge through his trousers, dampness seeping through the fabric. With a braced huff, he counts to ten to enjoy the warm embrace before he’s exiting his vehicle, slamming the door and not bothering to fix his floppy hair before snatching his briefcase from the backseat, covering his crotch from the world and jogging to his door, soft rain still falling from above.
When he makes it inside he throws his belongings to the ground, rushes his clothes off akin to how he did on his lunch break earlier. As naked as he was born with those glasses still on, he lies back on the couch and clenches his jaw, absently thrusting up into the unknown heat. Feels the heat react with more tight clenches, taking his breath away. He closes his eyes and hugs a pillow to his abdomen while he pictures his new co-worker on top of him again, bouncing just like this wet heat on top of him right now. Wants her lipgloss to stick to his skin, wants to be engulfed in her hair, her perfume, her smile. Her laugh when she’s making fun of him.
Without any warning but the pit in his stomach squeezing and dropping, he cums like a fountain and it ripples out of him so fast it punches him into a straighter posture, all the sudden sitting up. He sees his own cum lathering his dick and his pubes, and he can distinguish the very moment she’s cumming not long later too.
After Clark lays there and chugs an old but full glass of water lying on his coffee table, he caught up to his breath as he tries to get himself together to draft up a text when he finds the energy to get up and pull that crumbled piece of paper out of his pant pocket.
With multiple tired, anxious tries of attempting to find some neutral ground between sounding caring and interested versus sounding desperate or obsessive, he takes a deep breath and presses send before he could talk his mind out of it.
Hey this is Clark. I made it back home safe awhile ago and forgot to let you know. Just wanna say I had fun and I’ll pick you up around 8:30 if that’s cool. Good night :)
Clark thinks of throwing his phone across the room to ignore the insecurities bubbling out of him. What else should I say. Was what I said too much. Will she even want to kiss me again? She said she’d tell me if my breath tasted bad. What if tomorrow things are different—
A text tone buzzed his couch cushion, phone screen lighting up. Surprised but delighted, he rips it back up off the couch and shoves it in his face to read carefully.
I probably had even more fun than you. Glad you’re home safe and I’ll see you tomorrow :) 8:30 sounds perfect Mr. Yes Man. I’ll be waiting out front for you, get good rest! goodnight!
Gobsmacked, he’s left re-reading the same words over and over and over until his eyes grew heavy and he knew time for bed was gonna have to be a little early tonight. He brushes his teeth, wishing he could keep the remnants of her lips on his mouth but knows he just has to wait until tomorrow for more kisses. With a hiss he scrubs his dick of the sloppy mess left thick and slathered on his entire lower half with a warm washcloth.
While he’s in bed he idly wonders what her nights looked like. If she spends them alone like Clark does. If she was more outgoing than him, had people over, went out more. If her life had more color on the pages than his. Dirtier thoughts naturally start to seep in after that, threatening to really take over the narrative he’s built in his mind. Does she touch herself nearly as much as he does? Can she cum multiple times if she’s coaxed? Does she take more charge or does she want him to take over? Or maybe she wanted both. He could do both.
Endless wonders still can’t help flooding his thoughts, so much so that they infiltrate his dream as he slowly drifts off to sleep. Dreaming of her on top of him, of playing with his tie before yanking on it to pull him around as she pleased. She got down further and nuzzled her cheek against his bulge through his office pants and took him out to lick it down like a lollipop was between his legs, even squeezing on him so good it hurt a little bit.
The dream ended with her on top and riding him, backwards cowgirl style, tight hold of his tie still in her fist. When he’s pulled out of his dream and awoken it’s around two in the morning, and somehow his dick had gotten just as wet and used in the night again, this time while he wasn’t even conscious. Clark thought he’d aged out of having any more dirty, raw, cum-in-his-pants type of wet dreams like these. He guessed that now after the day that he had and the girl that he met that everything was about to turn upside down.
. . .
thank you thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged and liked my first part im so happy you guys are enjoying its so fun reading everyone’s reactions :) i like the alternating POVs too for this between her + him
****(only able to fit 50 tags per post, I’ll make another one linked to this post so I can tag the rest!)
(partial) tag list: @7angel7spit7 @imsonotweird @fuhinn77-blog @sunflowers-and-rainy-days @astraea-and-her-novels @brains-2-beauty @theplaid-wearingmoose @navybluelover @kirbyisking99 @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @idontexistrightnow @caffeineaddicty @tinythebunni @contaminatedcupcake @klarkcentral @tragicgirl23 @carlandoxlestappen @thecheeseman27 @darker0moon221b @bad-wolf1991 @just-aliyah @iceyyycapsicle @rrosesandtears *rest of tag list will be in separate post linked to this one cause of the tag limit!
summary: Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, neighbors to friends to lovers, whipped clark kent, he is a gentleman, clark and reader are horny for each other, oral (f receiving). clark has a BIG DICK, unprotected p in v sex, creampie.
wc: 3.4k words.
a/n: first of all... thank you so much to @tw1sters for managing and giving me the chance to take part in this SEXY event! i had so much fine writing it ahhh. second, hugeeeee thanks to @theworstwolvie and @clarknsun for being the first one to read and comment on this one, i am truly grateful. third, @sparklingsin!!!!!!!!! YOU AND YOUR TALENT HELLO i love the header sooo much thank you for making time to make it for me. i love all of you (and you readers too) very dearly <3
KENT masterlist | masterlist
You live in a humble apartment located in the heart of Metropolis. With a good amount of room for one person, every night, the sound of the traffic around you would hum like white noise, the high floor-to-ceiling window showing you the perfect view of the city’s nightlife—you mostly never closed the curtains in your living room—hell, you could even view Superman fighting one of his weekly villain fights through it.
Yet the thing that made you love it even more—to the point where you would rather be inside all day than go out with your friends, declining their offers—was not those.
It was your perfect neighbor: Clark Kent.
You pegged him as the ultimate neighbor since the first day you moved in. As the moment he saw you struggling with your boxes of too much stuff, he immediately offered to help.
Lifting up three heavy objects that were filled with your heavy kitchen appliances and bathroom necessities too easily, you can’t help but stare at those bulging biceps as he moved around. Quickly looking away every time you feel like he’d almost catch you.
And let’s just say your moving-in process was finished in just an hour, rather than the whole afternoon, with his help.
“I’m Clark, by the way,” mentioned the broad and tall man as he brushed his palm against his jeans, with his thick rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his deep dimples and boyish smile that you were sure would make you do a double take if you saw him on the streets.
“I live next door,” he pointed to the unit next to you.
So– you have a good view of the city AND a hot neighbor too? You really felt like you hit the jackpot with this one.
You smiled and offered him your name. “Nice to meet you, neighbor. I hope we could be good friends then.”
He nodded, lips curling up even more. “Just knock if you need anything. I’ll leave you to it?”
Humming, you then lead him out of your boxes-filled apartment, thanking him one last time.
You thought it would stop with him acting like a decent person—just helping a girl out with her things, but it didn’t. Later that night, you heard a knock on the door.
Looking up from your kitchen floor, you fixed up your shirt before padding down the hall. Checking the peephole to see the same new neighbor—Clark—carrying a plate filled with what you presume were freshly baked cookies.
Your eyes widened as you opened the door and saw exactly that. His soft smile, the scent of sweetness and the warmth emanating from the cookies almost made your heartbeat quicken.
“Sorry to bother you,” he fixes up his glasses with his free hand, then offers the plate out.
“Housewarming gift. Freshly made– though please do not mind if it’s not that good.”
You looked down at the plate, taking it, then up at him again. “Clark– wow, you didn’t have to…”
His smile softened immediately. “I wanted to. Hope you enjoy it.”
You breathed out a small thanks before he left you to continue your organizing.
The next day, you knocked on his door. His once-filled plate with cookies was now replaced with chocolate muffins you made all morning.
His surprise was evident, soft red hues creeping up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t make those cookies just so you could bake me something as well,” his brows knitted.
“Well, consider it as a thank you for helping me out yesterday.”
He sighed softly. “Thank you,” with his classic, shy smile.
Then it continued. Always using the “I cooked too much” as a reason.
You’d give him your signature pasta recipe, and he’d return it the next day with a pan of freshly baked pie. He’d give you some homemade chicken dish he told you he learned to make from his Ma, you’d return it with a pint full of ice cream you made (just for him).
Though it went on and didn’t stop with the both of you casually exchanging meals.
Your kitchen pipes weren’t working? He’d be there in seconds with a wrench in his hand after you asked for help. Your eyes zeroed the moment his shirt went damp, making it practically transparent. You gulped as you stared at how his back muscles shifted with every move.
You didn’t know he could hear the way your breath hitched, though. His own body reacting the same as he could feel that you were also being affected by the closeness of the moment.
“Just need it to be tightened up,” he hummed, looking up at you from his knees just before the under-sink cabinet.
“Oh–” you straightened up, his voice breaking the trance you were in. “All fixed then?”
“Yeah…” he murmured as he stood up, his tall figure towering over you.
You felt your neck straining. “Thank you, Clark.”
“No worries. I’m open to help you with whatever, okay?”
Whatever, huh?
You almost choked at your own spit with the thought of him helping you with whatever. Immediately pushing those… thoughts down.
“Okay,” you managed to rasp out.
He smiled again before he continued with his day.
“Fuck…” you muttered to yourself the moment you closed your door, your forehead thudded against the wood.
More happened.
You were cooking, realized you were out of some ingredients, and went to him.
“Hey, sorry to bother you… but I’m cooking something, and I just realized that I’m out of onions. Do you potentially have any spare ones?” you asked him sheepishly.
Clark cursed to himself because he didn’t have any. He wanted to keep being the one you go to with every struggle you have; he wanted to keep being your lifeline and salvation, so what did he do?
“I’m sorry I don’t… though I’m gonna go out,” a lie. “Soap’s running short,” another lie. Clark literally just bought a full bottle yesterday.
“Really? Would you help me get some onions then?” your eyes gleaming with anticipation, but not wanting to burden him.
“Of course,” he smiled. “I’ll go get some for you.”
He returned less than 30 minutes later with a bag of onions and some snacks you mentioned you liked weeks ago.
You flushed, thanked him, and he nodded before leaving.
Week after week, it kept happening. It was like the both of you were trying to make excuses to see each other even more.
Purposefully switching up your mails with each other. When he saw your balcony railing wobbled just below an inch, he’d offer to fix it immediately. He heard you struggling with your shopping bags after a day out? He would take it from your hands, letting you carry nothing in your hands.
The both of you started to get closer. Unprompted movie nights in his unit, baking and cooking together, even doing nothing but enjoying a warm cup of tea as you both sit on the lounge chairs on your balcony, sharing childhood stories and laughing together.
Oh, both of you were falling deep.
The gaze held longer, smile now softer—deeper in a way—nothing like you ever shared with other people. You told him about your day, your stressful work, your family—and he told you about his life.
It was sweet, really. Clark Kent was sweet.
At this point, he knew everything about you. How you take your coffee, how your nose scrunched before you let out his favorite free laugh every time he made one of his stupid jokes, how sweet you smell whenever his touch lingered just on your thighs whenever you whispered a secret to him, how your pulse thrummed so evidently the moment he tucked a stray hair behind your ear.
And you knew everything about him as well. How his eyes would crinkle with amusement when you rolled your eyes and acted all annoyed, how his hand would linger around you as you both worked around the kitchen, how his body would tense, how his breath would hitch every time you told him something about yourself. Every time you draped yourself on his lap while watching one of the romcoms you forced him to see.
You felt it. The palpable tension, so thick you could cut it with a dull knife, through the not-so-innocent touches, the whispered words—He felt it too. The problem was, Clark Kent is too much of a gentleman to break those boundaries first, and there’s no way you’re the one who’d tear the bandaid off.
So the both of you didn’t advance into anything more than his arm around your shoulder as you both relaxed, or your arms around him as you let out your stress through the feeling of his warmth and scent wrapped around you.
Until one day.
You told him you were buying a couch, and even made him help you pick the color and measure your space. So the moment it arrived, he was at his feet instantly. Going down to carry the box filled with the parts.
It should be normal now; he’s helping you make furniture and fixing around your place, though he usually didn’t use this thin, figure-hugging compression shirt that made all of his muscles look swollen.
He made you stay out of it completely, just like always, not wanting you to do the work at all—yet you can’t help but linger.
You can’t help but ogle him—practically sexualizing him inside of your head.
The way his bicep would flex with every twist of the screwdriver, his veins popping under his sleeves through his forearm, making you wonder if those blood vessels would also look this enticing around his cock.
Your thighs clench the moment he lay under the couch as he tightened the bolts there. His shirt was riding up to reveal a patch of his skin, covered with soft hairs leading down to his crotch.
And he knew. He could practically smell the heavy, sweet smell of your arousal. He could hear the soft breaths you didn’t even know you let out every time he shifted, and his shirt went up even more.
His own body starts to heat up, flushing even though all of his blood was going south. He was thankful that he opted to wear his baggy sweats rather than his tight jeans.
Nevertheless, you saw his bulge start to thicken under the grey fabric. Eyes widening, you immediately looked away.
Clearing your throat. “Do you want some water?”
He looked up, noting the way that you were more fidgety than usual. “Yeah. Sure, thanks.”
You gave him a tight-lipped smile before walking through the kitchen.
Clark couldn’t help but fixate his eyes on your form. Your soft curves swaying with every step, ass peeking out of those short shorts that—the fact that it was always shorter than the last made it obvious that you want him to see. But he can’t. He can’t lose his control–
Gods, you were bending over the freezer now.
He shut his eyes, sucking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. He felt it wavering—his self-control thinning with every quiet hum you let out of your lips.
His fingers tightened around the whatever tool he was holding instantly. His cock throbbing inside his boxers, wanting—needing to be freed from the confinement and the pressure.
You knelt beside him, handing him the cold water. “All good?”
He cleared his throat, hand brushing over the couch’s fresh cushion to distract himself. “All good.”
You then helped him, fingers brushing his palm, lingering on his forearms whenever he asked you for a tool, and you’d give it. You also made it more obvious now that you saw him get hard.
You would blatantly eye him up and down, bare thighs brushing against his hands– you were horny.
Clark Kent made you horny, and he was the only one who could fix it.
His fingers would tighten around the wooden foot, and you imagined it was you instead. He’d let out grunts, and you imagined that it was you pulling it out of him, how he would probably praise you instead of dirty talking just because he was so respectful—too respectful.
He gulped as he watched how your breath starts to quicken, mirroring it unconsciously.
Then– Click.
The last bolt—the last piece of the couch was put in place. Dragging you back into reality.
“You’re done?” you asked.
He nodded, and you immediately sank down onto the new couch. Shifting around to feel the soft padding underneath you.
He joins, and your thighs grazed immediately, making you almost jolt—the neediness heightening back up inside you.
“It feels solid…” he murmured.
You finally glance at him, eyes low and half-lidded with lust. “Wanna test it?”
He eyed you, the way your chest heaved, pupils blown out before rushing forward and kissing the life out of you.
You stumbled with your lips, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him flush on top of you as you sank against the armrest. Lips parting, swiping your tongue along his lower lip before nipping it, making him groan out your name.
His fingers brushed along the hem of your shirt, lips separating from yours so he could kiss down your jaw and neck.
“Ask me to stop and I will, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.
You shook your head profusely.
“I need words…” as he pulled away to study your face, the way your eyes glossed with want.
“Please– I need you, Clark, please…” You whined.
“Of course,” giving a soft kiss on your cheek. “Anything for you, sweet girl,” another on your lips. The nicknames and his gentleness burned you inside out, making you fall deeply towards him more and more.
He finally lifted your shirt off gently, kissing every inch of your skin revealed. Unclasping your bra, groaning at the sight of your breasts bare before him.
You squirmed underneath him the moment he wrapped his soft pink lips around your hardened nipple. Back arching as your hands found his shoulder and squeezed it.
“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured, kissing further down till his lips made contact with the waistband of your shorts. “Can I?”
“Yes– Clark, yes…” his hips lifting instantly as he hooked his fingers around it, pulling it and your panties with such softness and gentleness that no other man could give other than him.
He let out a shuddered breath as he spread your thighs open. The delicious scent of you hits all of his senses immediately.
He hummed as he saw how your folds glistened—borderline dripping. “Don’t wanna make a mess on the new couch, don’t we, sweetheart?” he whispered, before hooking your legs over your shoulder and diving right into it. Collecting all of your wetness—dragging his tongue on your hole up to your clit, making you let out a quiet cry.
“Clark–!” fingers snaking through his curls, tugging them as you held yourself back from grinding your hips against his mouth.
He looped his arms around your thighs, mouth expertly working you out—all the while his gaze stayed on you. Watching every bit of your reactions, the way you threw your head back against the armrest, eyes rolled, lower lip stuck between your teeth as you hold back your sounds.
It was a sight he could never forget now. He was sure to etch it into the deepest crook of his brain.
You whined out his name the moment he pulled back, though. “I know… I’m gonna give you something better, okay?”
You nodded reluctantly, too weak, too drunk with pleasure to deny and fight him over it. You kept your eyes as he stripped out of his clothes. Hole fluttering and tightening around nothing the moment he was bare before you.
His cock—full of girth and length, was straining and slapping against his stomach. His tip red, glistening with his pre. “You’re– huge, holy shit…”
He let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll make it fit. Don’t worry,” as his fingers brushed your hair back, grazing along your cheekbones.
You hummed softly, parting your legs even more to accommodate his broad figure.
Clark lets out a moan as he begins to slowly slide his tip against your folds. “So wet… you’ve been wanting this, hm?”
The silent nod in your response made his heart bloom, because he had wanted this too. He imagined this happening too many times before—whether when he was with you or alone in his bedroom whispering your name as he stroked himself to the thoughts of you—and really, the reality was so much better for him.
The moment he finally pushed himself inside you? He broke. Letting out a deep guttural sound to the feeling of your velvet walls wrapped so perfectly around him—it was as if you were made for him, no– he was made for you.
And you felt the burn, the stretch, splitting you open from your inside. Your hands find his arms immediately. Making imprints of your nails as you dug into his skin from the feeling of the pleasurable pain.
“Clark–”
“Shh… open up for me, sweetheart. I know you can.”
He stayed still the moment he was buried deep inside you, fingers softly brushing along your bare skin as you began to relax.
You nodded, eyes looking up at him with adoration the moment the burn dissipates.
“All ready?” he asked softly.
“Yeah…”
The both of you let out choruses of moans as he began moving, slowly at first. He pulled your arms so you could wrap them around his neck, his own snaking around your back just to keep you close to him.
His forehead pressed against yours. “You feel so good…” he whispered, pulling you into a deep kiss filled with passion. He kept his easy pace, but it was like he was holding back.
“More…” you moaned against his lips.
Who was he to deny you, his sweet, sweet girl, from pleasure?
He picked up his pace. Still deep, reaching to every inch of your walls, but it was more punishing now.
The couch starts to squeak underneath you—but you both didn’t care. Too captivated by the feeling of each other’s bodies to even notice the foot of the couch.
“Fuck–!” you moaned the moment he angled your hips. Your fingers now sprawled on the span of his back, raking it. Your walls began to clench around him tightly, making him fuck you deeper and faster.
“More!” you cried. And he served. His thrusts now punishing, both your chests panting. Your gasps and his moans echo around your apartment.
Clark swore that you were like an angel before him. With your body wrapped around a thin sheet of sweat that made it seem like you're glowing, hair messily draped everywhere yet still beautiful, your breasts bouncing like an invitation, and your face… gods, your face. He could die peacefully thinking about it alone.
So utterly beautiful and broken, and he was the one who did it.
His hips are working like an animal now, brutal, feral.
You finally realized that the couch underneath you was shaking, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was him, him, and him.
He noticed the way the couch was groaning in protest with the amount of pressure it was being given, but the way your cunt was tightening around him meant that he couldn’t stop. “Gonna break this–” before your walls gripped his cock even further.
“Gonna come–!” you cried.
“Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”
And you obeyed. Letting out a sharp cry of his name as your body jolts—convulsing as the waves after waves of orgasm hit your senses—burning your body with the amount of pleasure.
“Fuck–” he cursed, fucking you deeper as he chased his own climax. At last, with a final and intense thrust–
Craaack.
The foot snapped completely, making you yelp out and scrambling to hold onto him.
Clark didn’t even realize that he had already came and spilled inside you, too stunned, too focused on making sure you’re not hurt.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” his eyes widened, doing a one-overlook look at you to make sure no blood came out of you.
Your arms tightened, before you burst out laughing. “I am–” you wheezed. “The couch though…”
He blinked, then huffing out a small and relieved chuckle. “Guess it’s not strong enough, huh?”
Before pulling you onto his lap, shifting you on the floor carefully—still seethed deep inside you, and tugging you closer into a soft kiss. Fingers cuping your cheeks gently.
Rockstar Clark Kent x Rockstar reader - Headcannons
GET TO KNOW ROCKSTAR CLARK AND THE BAND
CONTENTS : Swearing , mentions of sex , drugs and alcohol, Clark and Reader hate each other, ASSHOLE CLARK, mentions of cheating , mentions of arguments, harassment. SLUTTY CLARK.
SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW THE CUT
MDNI
HELLO TWISTED HOPER
🎸Twisted Hope was formed after a drunken karaoke night. Turns out you guys sound fucking great together. It consists of four people, You? On lead vocals, Clark on lead guitar, Brax on drums and Alex on bass. CONGRATS! you're lead in a band full of men... good luck.
BANDS SIMILAR : BLINK 182 , NICKELBACK, THE ALL - AMERICAN REJECTS , SUM 41,
But let’s get onto the real subject
Let’s get to know Clark.
🎸Rockstar clark who has a nose ring , his lip pierced with a hoop, his eyebrow pierced and one of his nipples pierced. Covered in various tattoos. Not silly ones. Significant ones. Like the initials of his parents. Symbols of his life and stories.
🎸Rockstar Clark who has the sluttiest mindset ever. Acts like a complete slut. But in reality is the sweetest man to everyone ! Except for you. He doesn’t know why. Or how. But he fucking hates you. Sure he works with you. But you do something to him and it pisses him off.
🎸Rockstar Clark who bickers with you something CHRONIC. Alex and Brax are used to it. But technically the whole band is fucked without you so he knows when to pipe down, They just tell you both to fuck and get over it already. Even your manager agrees.
“I told you Clark! You can’t keep hogging the spotlight. It’s just practice calm down”
“I’m rehearsing being me! It’s a perfected act the ladies love it!”
🎸Rockstar Clark who’s wardrobe is split into two, he loves loves wearing his usual black jacket, glasses , black ripped jeans or cargos , chains galore, a band shirt , eyeliner , but at home he’s happy to just wear a jumpers , hemleys and jeans :)). He and the others insist on wearing at least one thing each to match with your outfit for the show.
🎸Rockstar Clark who’s a PRO at eyeliner. But sometimes he’ll force himself to come to you for help..ask to borrow yours and if he’s feeling like being nice to you? He might offer to help with yours.
“You’re gonna smudge it! Wait no go for it!”
🎸Rockstar Clark whose guitar is his baby. Don’t touch it. Please. he’s proud of it. He’s got a name for it , His sweet little Betty. SHES GORGEOUS. “Shes my baby I love her”
🎸Rockstar Clark who’s acts like a SLUT. on stage he’s all about hip thrusting , getting on his knees while deep into a guitar solo, head thrown back , he knows women go crazy for it. He can also play his guitar with his tongue. Shhh remember that. He knows he’s hot. He doesn’t even have to try when it comes to photoshoots or album covers.
🎸Rockstar Clark who once when the album cover meant you had to sit on his lap… fans started shipping you.. and then they could see it. How you both act on stage , the tension…. He still hates you. He wasn’t going to cave.
🎸Rockstar Clark who’s isn’t actually big on “groupies” or even calling them that it’s disrespectful, sure he had the occasional hook up, but he’s not big on hook up culture. He’s not big on anything to do with relationships, his ex cheated on him, that’s why he is how is. Adds to the rockstar persona. But flirting? HES ALL FOR IT.
🎸Rockstar Clark who’s up for the occasional joint. He doesn’t like it being a frequent thing. But hardcore drugs?? NO. never. Not happening. He’s cool with a cigarette or a beer. Doesn’t really like it when you smoke. Sure you’re a free woman and he hates you. But he cares about your health.
“You know those things are fuckin disgusting right and bad for you”
“You smoke them too you fucking hypocrite”
“I’m not the lead singer of our band sweetheart. Take care of your pretty lungs”
🎸Rockstar Clark who’s always sends a LARGE portion of his paycheck to his parents. He has a lot to thank them for:)) he’s really proud of his job!!
🎸Rockstar Clark who like I said DESPISES you. But he’s not going to allow anyone to disrespect you FUCK NO. If fans are getting too grabby or creepy paparazzi he’s faster than the security half the time pulling you closer to him spitting curses at whoever was being vulgar to you. He doesn’t like how they treat you sometimes.
“YOU DONT EVER. get to fucking touch her”
“Clark! Calm down man, you’re gonna get a rep again” Brax would be pulling him away and Alex just sighing.
🎸Rockstar Clark who fucks you one time after a show and claims it’s only going to happen one time. Soon it was tradition to hate fuck before a show. It’s good luck. Nobody knew about it , although Alex and Brax aren’t dumb.
🎸Rockstar Clark who is a slut in the sheets with you, his hands are EVERYWHERE, he’s a sucker for you in fishnets. They’re his favourite, you’re so fucking pretty.
🎸Rockstar Clark who insists on aftercare. Even if it’s subtle and you have two minutes before a show. He just fucked you he’s not gonna abandon you. But staying the night? No. Out of question don’t push it.
🎸Rockstar Clark who can and will rock your World. Figuratively and literally.
🎸Rockstar Clark who LOVES. collecting vinyls , so if he asks if you wanna tag along with him? Don’t say no. It’s offensive , this is a rare offer. He’s letting you in.
🎸Rockstar Clark gets really upset when he really misses his parents. Sure he’s doing great , he’s travelling. Seeing the world , singing in an extremely successful band… but they’re his family.
🎸Rockstar Clark who likes to comes to your bunk when he’s stressed out , listens to music on a playlist you both made, practices , or a good old fuck.
🎸Rockstar Clark who DEFINITELY. ABSOLUTELY. hates you. … right?
summary: Clark Kent is helplessly in love, catastrophically awkward about it, and somehow even more charming because of it.
Clark “Superman” Kent
word count: 3k
a/n: this is a little something i made this week while i was waiting for my next class (cause why is there always a 2 hr gap??) I hope you enjoy! (*cough cough* jake seresin next?) side note: have u ever had a teacher who’s been edging u w the perfect grade? cause that’s me in english rn like pls i was so good in hs what is happening now
warnings: dangerously awkward flirting, excessive yearning, Clark Kent being down horrendous, coffee casualties, physical affection, kissing, secondhand embarrassment, umbrella sharing, weaponized eye contact, mild language
Clark Kent looked like the kind of man who should know how to flirt.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Gentle eyes hidden behind glasses that absolutely did not disguise the fact that he was unfairly handsome.
And yet—
“I panicked,” he admitted as coffee spread across the bullpen floor.
You stared at him from beside your desk, blinking slowly while reporters twisted in their chairs to watch the disaster unfold.
“You spilled an entire latte because I touched your arm?”
Clark adjusted his glasses with the expression of a man facing public execution. “In my defense,” he said weakly, “you’re very pretty.”
Somewhere across the newsroom, somebody choked on a laugh.
You looked down at the coffee dripping off the edge of Clark’s desk. Then back up at him. Then at the completely soaked stack of papers in his hands.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“No, I mean—” You pointed at the papers. “Weren’t those your interview notes?”
Clark glanced down.
The color drained from his face. “Oh no.”
The bullpen erupted.
Jimmy Olsen burst into laughter so hard he physically folded over his desk. Someone else wolf-whistled. Perry White shouted something from his office about professionalism that nobody listened to.
Clark stood frozen in the middle of it all looking deeply, deeply miserable.
And weirdly adorable.
You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “You’re kind of a disaster, Kent.”
He looked at you over the rim of his glasses, visibly horrified. “You think I’m a disaster?”
“I think,” you said carefully, “that you just sacrificed your notes to avoid having a conversation with me.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He paused. “Mostly.”
Jimmy made a loud fake coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like he likes you.
Clark shot him a betrayed look.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
And that—that seemed to make Clark’s entire brain shut down.
Because he stared at you for half a second too long, looking startled by the sound, before smiling instinctively.
It hit you like a truck.
Not because he was handsome—you had unfortunately noticed that weeks ago when you’d first started at the Daily Planet—but because his smile changed his whole face.
Clark smiling felt warm. Soft. Like sunlight through open curtains.
Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard.
Clark seemed to realize he was still staring at you at the exact same moment you realized you were staring back.
He immediately looked away so quickly he knocked another coffee cup over with his elbow.
“Oh my God,” Jimmy wheezed.
-
Working at the Daily Planet meant existing in a constant state of chaos.
Phones rang nonstop. Reporters argued across desks. Perry barked deadlines like military orders while interns sprinted through the bullpen carrying stacks of papers and half-dead laptops.
You’d only been there three months, but somehow it already felt normal.
Mostly because of Clark.
Which was ridiculous.
You barely knew him. Technically.
But Clark Kent had this strange gravitational pull to him. The kind that made people naturally drift toward him without realizing it.
He remembered everyone’s coffee orders. Held doors open. Asked about your day and actually listened to the answer.
He was impossibly kind in a way that should’ve felt fake considering he looked like that, but somehow didn’t.
Honestly, the man looked like he’d been engineered in a lab specifically to make people stare.
Broad chest. Strong hands. Dark curls that always fell messily over his forehead no matter how many times he pushed them back.
And his eyes.
Jesus Christ.
You’d made the mistake of maintaining eye contact with him once during a meeting and forgotten your own name halfway through a sentence.
Which apparently wasn’t a problem exclusive to you.
Because Clark got nervous around you too. Painfully nervous.
At first you thought you imagined it.
Then you noticed patterns.
Clark dropping things whenever you walked too close to him. Clark forgetting what he was saying mid-conversation because you smiled at him. Clark volunteering for stories on the opposite side of Metropolis whenever you wore something nice.
It was honestly kind of endearing.
Today, however, was especially bad.
You walked into the break room around noon and stopped short.
Clark was standing at the counter holding a mug that literally bent in his hand.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Ceramic cracked beneath his fingers.
Clark stared down at it in horror.
You stared at him.
“…Did you just Hulk-smash a coffee mug?”
Clark nearly jumped out of his skin. “What? No.”
You pointed.
The handle fell off the mug and hit the floor.
Clark looked genuinely distressed. “I can explain.”
“I would love to hear this explanation actually.”
He glanced around the empty break room like he was searching for divine intervention.
“It was slippery.”
“The mug exploded.”
“It’s a very slippery mug.”
You laughed again.
Clark visibly melted.
Not metaphorically either. The man genuinely seemed to lose all motor function when you laughed near him.
It was becoming a problem.
“You know,” you said, leaning against the counter, “for a Pulitzer-winning reporter, you’re a terrible liar.”
Clark ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “That obvious?”
“Clark, you once told Perry your laptop stopped working because of solar flares.”
“They can interfere with technology.”
“Sure.”
“It’s science.”
“You sounded like a conspiracy podcast host.”
Clark huffed out a laugh.
God.
That was dangerous too.
Because Clark didn’t laugh quietly. He laughed fully. Warm and surprised and bright like he couldn’t help it.
You liked making him do it.
Probably more than you should.
“You’re staring,” Clark said softly.
You blinked.
Shit.
“I am not.”
One dark eyebrow lifted.
You folded your arms immediately. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Clark’s ears turned pink.
And for some reason, that made you bold.
“You get flustered really easily for someone who looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.”
Clark made a choking noise. “A magazine—”
“You know exactly what you look like, Kent.”
“I really don’t think I do.”
“That’s actually insane.”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I think you’re beautiful, so maybe we’re both insane.”
The room went completely silent.
Your heartbeat stuttered.
Clark seemed to realize what he’d said a full three seconds later.
“Oh my God,” he whispered to himself.
Then he physically walked into a cabinet.
You slapped a hand over your mouth.
Clark stood there with his eyes squeezed shut like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
“You okay?” you asked, voice shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Never better.”
“You hit that cabinet really hard.”
“I’m durable.”
You snorted.
Clark looked absolutely devastated by his own existence.
And somehow, impossibly, it made him even cuter.
-
Lois Lane cornered you two days later.
“You like him.”
You nearly inhaled your own coffee. “What?”
Lois sat casually on the edge of your desk like she wasn’t about to ruin your entire life.
“You and Smallville.”
“We are coworkers.”
“You look at him like he personally invented romance.”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Lois smirked.
“Oh my God,” you muttered.
“Yeah, that’s usually the reaction.”
You dropped your head onto your desk dramatically. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me? Absolutely.”
“This is humiliating.”
“Nah.” Lois nudged your shoulder. “It’s cute.”
Cute.
Right.
Except your crush on Clark Kent felt less cute and more actively life-threatening.
Because the problem with Clark wasn’t just that he was attractive.
It was that he was good.
Everywhere you looked, Clark was helping someone.
Carrying absurdly heavy boxes for interns. Staying late to help fact-check stories. Walking little old ladies across busy streets outside the Planet building.
Once, you’d watched him stop in the middle of a conversation because he noticed a little kid crying outside through the bullpen windows.
Clark had excused himself immediately and come back twenty minutes later with melted ice cream on his sleeve and a shy explanation about helping the kid find his dad.
Who does that?
Who is actually like that?
“You’re smiling,” Lois said knowingly.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, she was right.
Lois leaned closer. “So what’s the hold up?”
“What?”
“With Clark.”
You stared at her. “There is no ‘with Clark.’”
“Please. That man looks at you like you hung the moon.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Before you could respond, a familiar voice called your name from across the bullpen.
You looked up instinctively.
Big mistake.
Clark was walking toward you holding a file folder against his chest, glasses slipping down his nose slightly. His tie was crooked. His hair looked windswept like he’d just sprinted back from somewhere.
Which honestly was possible.
The man moved weirdly fast.
Clark smiled the second he saw you.
And there it was again.
That stupid, soft sunlight feeling.
Lois watched your entire expression change and looked unbearably smug about it.
“I’m going to kill you,” you muttered.
“Worth it.”
Clark reached your desk, slightly out of breath. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
For a second, both of you just stood there smiling at each other like idiots.
Lois made a fake gagging noise before hopping off the desk. “I’m leaving before this turns into a Hallmark movie.”
Clark looked alarmed. “What turns into a Hallmark movie?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly.
“Everything,” Lois corrected.
Then she disappeared into the crowd of desks before either of you could stop her.
Clark looked adorably confused.
You looked anywhere except directly at him.
“So,” Clark said after a moment. “I, uh… brought those files you asked for.”
He handed them over carefully.
Your fingers brushed his.
Clark froze.
You felt him freeze.
The entire atmosphere shifted instantly.
It was ridiculous.
A tiny touch shouldn’t feel electric.
And yet.
Clark swallowed hard. “You okay?”
“You’re asking me?”
A nervous laugh escaped him.
“You just—” He stopped himself abruptly.
“What?”
Clark stared at you for one long second like he was debating something internally. “Nothing.”
“Clark.”
“It’s not important.”
“Clark.”
His shoulders slumped in surrender. “You just make me nervous.”
The honesty in his voice hit you straight in the chest.
“You make me nervous too,” you admitted quietly.
Clark blinked.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“But you seem so calm around me.”
You stared at him. “Clark, last week you smiled at me and I walked directly into the women’s restroom instead of the elevator.”
For a beat of silence, Clark just looked at you.
Then he laughed.
Not a polite chuckle.
Not a soft huff.
An actual laugh.
Head tipped back slightly. Eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Warm and bright and helpless.
Your heart basically dissolved on the spot.
“You think I’m funny?” you asked weakly.
Clark looked at you like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.
“I think you’re incredible.”
Oh.
Oh, you were in serious trouble.
-
It started raining halfway through your walk home.
Not normal rain either.
The kind of dramatic Metropolis downpour that felt personally targeted.
You groaned as cold water soaked through your jacket within seconds. “Seriously?”
“You forgot your umbrella too?”
You turned.
Clark stood a few feet away under a massive black umbrella, glasses speckled with rain.
Of course he had an umbrella.
Clark looked like the kind of man who reminded other people to bring umbrellas.
“You stalking me, Kent?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Coincidence. I was getting groceries.”
He lifted a paper bag slightly.
You frowned. “How are those not soaked already?”
Clark glanced at the perfectly dry bag in confusion before quickly holding the umbrella lower. “Good umbrella?”
You narrowed your eyes.
Clark smiled innocently.
Suspicious.
Still, he stepped closer, angling the umbrella over both of you.
Warmth immediately surrounded you.
Clark smelled ridiculously good. Like clean laundry and coffee and something faintly earthy after the rain.
You tried not to notice.
Failed horribly.
“You can’t walk me home every time it rains, you know.”
Clark looked down at you. “I can try.”
Oh.
Oh, that was dangerous.
The city blurred around you as you walked side by side through the rain.
Cars hissed past on wet streets. Neon signs reflected off puddles. Somewhere nearby, someone played music loud enough to echo between buildings.
Clark kept subtly adjusting the umbrella to make sure you stayed covered.
Meanwhile his own shoulder was getting soaked.
“You’re terrible at sharing umbrellas,” you informed him.
Clark blinked. “I am?”
“You’re getting rained on.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, move over.”
You grabbed his sleeve and tugged him closer underneath the umbrella.
Clark immediately went completely still beside you.
Your arm brushed his.
Heat radiated through the contact even through layers of clothing.
Clark looked down at you slowly.
And there it was again.
That look.
Like you were something precious.
Something worth handling carefully.
It made your chest ache.
“You know,” you said softly, “for someone who panics every time I touch him, you really like standing close to me.”
Clark’s mouth twitched. “Maybe I enjoy the panic.”
“Is that what this is?”
“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not really.”
Rain hammered softly overhead.
Clark’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up.
Your breath caught.
He noticed.
You knew he noticed because his own breathing changed instantly.
And suddenly the space between you felt very small.
Very warm.
Very dangerous.
A car horn blared somewhere nearby.
Both of you jumped apart like guilty teenagers.
Clark cleared his throat violently. “Well.”
“Yep.”
“That was—”
“Definitely something.”
Clark laughed nervously.
You smiled despite yourself.
Then, before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand.
Clark went silent.
His fingers instinctively curled around yours.
Warm.
Careful.
Like he was afraid to hold on too tightly.
You looked up at him.
Clark looked completely undone.
“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like I personally invented happiness.”
Clark stared at you for one long second.
Then he smiled softly.
“I might argue you did.”
Your heart was never recovering from this man.
Ever.
-
By the time you reached your apartment building, neither of you had let go of the other’s hand.
Clark looked mildly stunned by that fact.
You were trying not to look equally affected.
Rainwater dripped from the edge of the umbrella while the city buzzed around you in blurry lights and distant traffic.
Neither of you moved.
“This is usually the part,” you said carefully, “where people say goodbye.”
Clark nodded immediately. “Right. Yeah. Goodbye.”
Neither of you let go.
A smile tugged at your mouth.
Clark noticed instantly.
“What?”
“You’re still holding my hand.”
Clark looked down like he’d genuinely forgotten.
“Oh.”
But he still didn’t let go.
Instead, his thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles.
The movement was absentminded.
Gentle.
Your heartbeat nearly climbed into your throat.
Clark looked like he realized what he was doing at the exact same moment.
His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses.
“You should probably kiss me now,” you blurted before your brain could stop you.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Clark stared at you.
You stared back in horror as your own words replayed in your head.
“Well,” you said weakly. “That was terrifying.”
Clark still looked frozen.
“Oh my God,” you whispered. “Forget I said that.”
“No.”
Your eyes snapped back to his.
Clark stepped closer slowly, like he was worried you’d disappear if he moved too fast.
“No,” he repeated softly. “I really don’t think I can.”
The rain suddenly felt very far away.
Clark lifted one hand carefully toward your face.
Even now—even with the way he looked at you, with your fingers tangled together, with every charged moment between you hanging in the air—he still hesitated like he wanted permission.
You leaned into his touch before he could ask.
Something in Clark’s expression melted instantly.
Then he kissed you.
And—
Oh.
That was not a first-kiss kind of kiss.
There was nothing uncertain about it.
Clark kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks and was only now allowing himself to do it.
Warm lips. Careful hands. The soft sound he made when you kissed him back harder.
Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket automatically.
Clark’s free hand settled against your waist like he physically couldn’t stop himself.
And somehow, impossibly, he still kissed like Clark.
Sweet.
Tender.
Like he was trying to memorize you.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were visibly breathless.
Clark looked completely wrecked.
His glasses were crooked.
His hair was damp from the rain.
And he was looking at you like you’d personally rewritten his entire universe.
“You kissed me,” he said softly, sounding genuinely awed by it.
You laughed quietly. “Pretty sure you kissed me too, Kent.”
“I know, I just—” He stopped to smile helplessly. “Wow.”
You smiled so hard your face hurt.
Clark looked at you for another long second before blurting suddenly, “I have wanted to do that since the first day you worked at the Planet.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “The first day?”
“You smiled at me in the elevator and I walked into a wall.”
You stared at him.
Then burst into laughter.
Clark groaned immediately. “Please don’t laugh.”
“You walked into a wall?”
“It was a glass wall,” he muttered.
“That is somehow worse.”
Clark covered his face with one hand while you laughed harder.
“I’m trying to be romantic.”
“You are romantic,” you promised, still grinning. “You’re just also deeply awkward.”
Clark peeked at you through his fingers. “You still like me though?”
The fact that he sounded genuinely unsure nearly killed you.
You reached up, adjusting his crooked glasses carefully. “Clark Kent, you spilled coffee on yourself because I touched your arm.”
His ears turned pink again.
“You carried one umbrella specifically big enough for two people.”
Clark looked away innocently.
“You looked at me like your entire life changed because I held your hand.”
A soft smile spread slowly across his face.
Then he leaned down and kissed you again.
Softer this time.
Slow enough that your chest physically ached from it.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.
“So,” you murmured, “does this mean you’ll stop destroying office supplies every time I flirt with you?”
Clark considered that seriously.
“…Probably not.”
You laughed.
And Clark smiled like it was still the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
summary: When Clark tries his football jersey on, your mind is ridden by a sudden need to show him just how much you like it.
Tags and warnings: 18+ MDNI dryhumping, p in v, face-fucking, blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, cunnilingus, sub!clark (for the most part then he takes over), multiple orgasms, raw sex, aftercare, established relationship, clark has a BIG dick.
wc: 2.6k
A/N: ahhhh i rlly hope you like this. First pic posted andddd first smut written😭 special thanks to @kryptidfiles aaaaand @unificsation for proofreading and giving me their honest—and veeeery useful advice! Such sweet individuals 🫧🪽💌 pardonn me rlly if there’s any typos or mistakes english is not my first language😞
Sports have never really been your thing—you don't hate them, but you've never actually sat down and watched a whole game.
You're more artsy than anything, writing has always been a passion of yours. It's not a surprise that now that you're in college you've chosen the journalism path.
But your boyfriend Clark is a different story, he's sweet, well-mannered. a journalist, too. But his body screams athlete. Tall, broad shoulders and chest. Farm-made strength that put him on top of the list for the quarterback recruiting.
To nobody's surprise he made the team as soon as he tried out.
Today he finally got that Jersey with his last name big on the back and a number 8 in bold yellow letters.
You've been waiting for him to get it, see him try it on in front of you.
"Does it look good?" He says, looking at himself on your mirror, you're laying in your bed in front of it. Forearms propping you up on the mattress.
The jersey sticks tightly onto his abdomen, making him look delicious, you agree with hum at his question "I think it's perfect" you lick your lips, gaze sharp and dark. An idea crossing your mind.
That look is familiar to him, it sends a shiver down his spine.
The mirror catches Clark's eyes drag along the silhouette of your body on the bed. Suddenly your pose is not as innocent as it was 3 seconds ago. His nose and ears catch fire rapidly, warm and rosy all over.
You sit up slowly, and crawl to the edge of the bed. you pat the spot next to you, signaling him to sit there. He obeys to your commands like a well-behaved puppy.
"What are you doing?" A nervous chuckle escapes his mouth. He knows the answer, but he wants you to say it out loud.
"Just wanna show you how much I like the jersey on you" You bat your lashes at him innocently.
Once he sits down you get on your knees on the floor and prop yourself in between his legs.
The floor-length mirror next to you catches your attention, you can see your position perfectly.
A smirk forms on your face as he breaths heavily, flustered.
Big tent meeting you on eye level.
"You're so pretty" You mumble against his leg, you leave a kiss over his pants. "Can you take this off for me, please?" He obeys almost immediately, leaving only his boxers and jersey on.
Man what a view.
Your mouth already salivating at the sight of him.
His cock hard against the cotton underwear, displayed lewdly for you to enjoy completely by yourself.
His length wasn't anything unfamiliar to you, your insides were already Clark-shaped.
You make your way through his unclothed thighs, stopping to leave kisses and licks on his skin.
Sucking and licking, biting just enough to mark him up. Above you, you can only hear heavy breathing, soft moans and unintelligible mumbling—most likely praises.
Your hands go underneath the jersey, landing on his happy trail. You toy with the elastic band of the boxers, earning a desperate whine from Clark.
Anticipation making your own underwear pool up with your heat. You pull down revealing his size. Pink head throbbing, glistening with pre-cum.
Soft hands wrap around his thick cock, thumb pressing on the tip gaining a loud moan from Clark.
"Just like that, baby" He mumbles with a low growling voice, arching his hips upwards. You start going up and down, pace slow at first giving special attention to the sensitive tip. "So, so good."
Clark's head rolls back. The sound of him moaning and groaning your name floods the room.
You don't stop moving your hands around his dick, and you add your mouth to the equation. Wrapping your lips on it, sucking softly. tongue slithering on the tip.
Your head bobs at the same rhythm that your hands move on his cock, you flatten out your tongue against him. Clark's hands grab your hair and gently pull, you moan on his dick, sucking inch by inch further down.
Searching for stability, you grab his thighs firmly. His hips jerk upwards, thick, long dick reaching your throat and making gag.
Tears prick down your cheeks, you can hear Clark slurring apologetic words. You look up at him and moan at the sight.
He's a goner. Face red, curls messy on his face, eyes going white, and you swear you can see him slightly drooling. "You're so–mmphg…– so good, baby" He moans out, "So pretty taking me on your mouth so well, look at yourself" His head points to the mirror.
Your eyes leave his gaze to watch the lewd image displayed, your pussy flutters at the sight.
Warm, rosy tongue swirls around his length, nose almost touching his pubes, you breathe through your nose—still watching it all happen in the mirror.
Your left hand starts to play with his balls while the right keeps grabbing his thigh for balance.
His tip swells, a loud, guttural whine escapes his mouth—He's about to cum.
"I'm close, baby, please" He pleads for mercy, he cups your head in his hands. You look at him, holding eye contact and you blink twice at him, giving him permission use you.
And that he does.
He grabs your face from each side firmly and starts thrusting hard—abusing your mouth, making you gag each thrust he takes.
Drool, tears, precum and snot all combined run down your cheeks.
Both yours and his moans are loud enough for your neighbors to complain later.
Clark's cock twitches inside your throat, his hips jerk forward, in and out, his mind fuzzy and blank. Desperately searching for release by any means necessary, a low groan brewing in his chest.
"I love you so– nghh– so much, sweetheart" his voice is whiny, hands still grabbing hard on each side of your face.
Eyes locked with yours, you blink three times—I love you, you moan on his dick loudly, the vibration of your moan sending him into overdrive making him reach his orgasm
Your throat is painted white quickly. Your cheeks puff out with his cum, some escaping and rolling down the corner of your lips, going down his dick onto his lap and the mattress.
You swallow the rest of cum that's in your mouth, his dick softening slowly.
Still licking and sucking softly on it, electricity travels all throughout Clark's body with overstimulation. He slurs unintelligible praises softly.
When he pulls his dick out of your mouth, you get on top of his lap, legs straddling him on each side.
You grab his face forcing him to make eye contact.
When you sit down, you feel his dick hardening again, kryptonian anatomy.
You attack his mouth. kissing and sucking on his lower lip. You moan his name when you feel his hands on your ass squeezing tightly, the fabric of your skirt flipping upwards.
It's your turn to get off, you rock your hips back and forth. The contact of your clothed pussy and his unclothed cock makes both of you moan on each other's mouths.
You pull away from the kiss and grab his face, making him watch you through the mirror. "Good boy…" You smile at him.
Looking down to watch yourself grind on him, you peep his dick already leaking precum again. He helps you move also rocking his hips enough for the friction to make your already wet pussy even wetter, he whimpers your name and you kiss his neck.
You keep a fast pace, until you feel the coil in your belly tightening. Sloppy thrusts suggesting you're about to reach your orgasm.
"I'm so close baby, you've been such a good boy" Your head rests on the crook of his neck, he takes over, grinding his cock against your pussy.
You see stars, and you swear you can touch them too. You reach your orgasm just by dry humping.
Tired and overstimulated, you rest for a few minutes laying on top of him. His strong hands wrapped around your waist.
Then, he lays you down on the bed, takes off your skirt and props your legs open in front of him.
His hands go down to take off his jersey and you stop him with your foot.
"Uh-uh. Do not take that off." Your voice is low, almost a whisper, but it's firm—still commanding him. He smiles and leaves the jersey on, then goes down between your legs.
"'S my turn to taste you" His breath is hot against your core.
Your wet panties stick to your skin, he pulls them to the side and slides his tongue over your slit, all the way from your entrance to your clit. He stays there swirling his tongue around it. You moan at the sensation, your already sensitive pussy throbs and clenches around nothing.
"Tastes so good" He kisses your pussy, you moan shakily.
"Keep going, baby" Your voice is trembling and your legs are shaking, feet resting on his shoulder blades.
His tongue works on your clit as one finger stretches your entrance deliciously, stinging just a little while your pussy gets used to the intrusion.
He moves his fingers inside you; up and down, side to side, preparing you for his next finger to enter.
Two fingers inside, and he arches them just right to touch that soft gummy spot that makes your mouth hang open and your eyes flutter. Your back arches and your fingers get tangled between his soft black curls.
Your second orgasm approaches rapidly, your hands no longer rest softly on his hair now they're full-on pulling. His mouth works wonders on you, and he moans on it like he's the one being eaten out.
You arch your body into his mouth, "Clark!– fuck!" Your muscles tense up, your pupils roll to the back of your head, your mind goes numb. He grabs you by your waist, keeping you in place, his mouth still attached to your clit.
Your body shakes with overstimulation, the numbing sensation of your second orgasm makes you whimper his name repeatedly with a string of 'fuck, fuck, fuck' you pull his hair to make him face you.
Half his face was covered in saliva and your slick. He licks his lips, savoring every bit of your fluids.
"Fuck me, Clark," breathing out, "I'm ready. Please" you beg him, you need to feel him inside you.
You let go of his hair and he gives one last lick to your cunt, tongue flat against your core, drinking everything that he gathers from the motion. "You always taste so good" He takes off your panties completely now, then gets up and slides on top of you.
He kisses your neck, and suckles softly. He positions his dick in between your legs, the head pushing softly in your entrance.
A gasp catches in your throat as he pushes his cock inside slowly.
The stretch burns you, your nails scratch on his chest underneath the jersey.
"You're so tight, baby" He licks his lips, "Always perfect for me"
"Fuck, Clark," you close your eyes feeling him enter slowly, "You fuck me s-so good"
"You have such a dirty mouth" His hand grabs your neck, squeezing softly on the sides; letting you breath but pressing just enough to make your pussy clench around his dick. Earning a deep groan from Clark "You like that? You like it when I choke you?"
"Mhm- yes baby" You manage to get out
His dick goes further inside you, inch by inch until it's fully deep inside you, "Is this okay, baby?" You nod and hum, he looks down as your cunt takes his cock, "your pussy feels like heaven, sweetheart"
He starts thrusting slowly and softly first, cock hitting all the sweet spots. Then his pace gets faster, still careful, but rougher.
He takes your shirt off in one smooth motion. He presses on your lower belly, feeling his dick thump against the skin under his hand each thrust he takes. You can only moan and whimper his name.
His other hand leaves your neck and grabs on your breast, kneading it and playing with your nipple.
The room is hot with sweat and the friction of both your bodies. He uses his X-ray vision to watch his dick moving in and out inside of you, "You take me so well" He coos, "I can feel every inch of you gripping me. So, so good"
You can't even manage to get words out, just slurred mumbles and moans.
You're dizzy, and his dick hits every single part of your insides making you even dizzier.
Each thrust is hard, fast and deliberate. Balls slapping against your ass.
The sound bounces around the walls of the room plap, plap, plap.
Clark keeps spitting praises at you, he groans about how pretty you are and how well you take him—but you can't listen to a thing he says, pleasure getting to your head.
"I love watching my dick disappear inside you" he grabs your face and makes you look down at where your bodies merge together. "Look how perfectly we fit together."
His thrusts turn sloppy, desperate. His release coming closer each thrust he takes.
Your breath hitches, catching in your throat as the familiar feeling in your belly builds up for the third time, winding tighter with every movement. "'M close, Clark" You mumble.
"I know baby, me too" he hisses, squeezing your nipple between his index finger and his thumb.
The tightness of your warmth sends Clark over the edge, finally reaching his climax. He buries himself to the hilt. Every muscle in his back ripples and seizes as he spills into you. You arch into the pressure and reach your climax at the feeling of thick, rhythmic waves of his release pulsing directly against your cervix. "Fuck, Clark you're perfect"
With a sharp, breathless cry. He stays inside, still pouring his cum inside you, spilling out your entrance, staining your sheets. You whine and moan at the sensation, exhaustion and pleasure take over your body.
Clark finally pulls out, and throws himself next to you. Heavy breathing, his arms wrap around you, pulling you in closer as you lay together.
You stay laid up for a few minutes, before he eventually gets up and heads to the bathroom.
Then, comes back with a warm cloth. He cleans the combination of both your climaxes that sits between your legs and the mattress. He leaves tender kisses on your thighs.
"I've got you, just rest," he kisses again, "you don't have to move a single muscle, baby"
You just lay there, tired and dazed. Your muscles aching.
"You did so well taking me like that," He sits next to you once he's finished cleaning you up and takes off his jersey. "I might have to wash this jersey now" He folds it neatly and puts it on the nightstand.
You chuckle under your breath. He lays his head on the pillow, pulling you in closer and hugs you from behind. Leaving kisses on your shoulder and neck.
"I love you" You finally find your voice, you tangle your legs with his. He covers you with the blanket and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer.
"I love you so much more" His face lays on your neck, his hot breathing hitting your skin and you sync yours with it.
The small intimate moment is not a rare occurrence for both of you, but it's always the part you cherish the most when you have sex with him.
Your hearts beat at the same rhythm, and you're comfortable enough to relax and sleep.
Your guess is, this will be the new routine every time he puts that jersey on.
Dividers by @thecutestgrotto 💌
follow me on Ao3! @coffinlolz leave some kudos on the ao3 version!!
Likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated. thank uuuuu for reading, my lovely🫧🎀💌
girl idk @mysticalmagicalbby - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
