in too deep // clark kent x reader
Inspired by superman 2025
| You and Clark Kent work for the Daily Planet and are, at most, cordial with each other. What happens when the both of you become more interested in each other and explore something more? |
DISCLAIMER: PART 4 / 5 - Part 5 uploaded. Read here.
✰ warnings and comments: intense kissing, p w/ plot, suggestive language, oral (f-receiving), unprotected sex (ykwtd-wrap it up!), slight-dom!clark, groping, arguing, some fluff, continued-series, coworkers to lovers, exes, mutual pining, clark is sometimes gloomy, it-tech!reader, slow-burn office romance, lots of feelings and introspection, miscommunication, both of them are very awkward at times.
✰ a/n: hey there! sorry for the late update, but thanks again for all the love on my previous posts. i am truly blown away by how much of you love this! this is the fourth part in my clark kent x reader slow burn office romance series. just one more part to go! hope you enjoy!
Ps// this is my first time writing smut go easy on me 😭😭
feel free to leave criticism or comments! comment to make taglist!
DO NOT COPY, REPRODUCE, USE, OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOURS ON ANY PLATFORM, SUCH AS BUT NOT LIMITED TO, ANY AI GENERATOR, TUMBLR, AO3, WATTPAD ETC.
NSFW! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
You were used to silence in your life.
You often sought it out, craved it, wrapped yourself in it like a comforter on nights when the city roared too loud.
But this silence was different.
It wasn’t the warm, peaceful kind. This was the kind that scraped at your ribs from the inside, the kind that made you hyper-aware of every breath, every glance, every unspoken thing hanging between you and the man across the Daily Planet publishing floor.
It was the type of quiet that lived in tension, the kind you’d felt standing in the back of a newsroom before breaking news shattered the air, or the type that hummed right before the sound barrier broke overhead. The kind that pressed into your spine when you knew something was about to happen and it wasn’t going to be good.
This turbulent silence lived inside you now, and it had everything to do with the fact that Clark Kent hadn’t looked you in the eyes for weeks.
Not since he’d left your apartment with your breath still caught between your ribs and the imprint of his mouth branded into your skin like it had been forged there.
He was still at work, technically. Still clocking in late in the day, slipping out early. Still floating through the bullpen like a ghost, notes brief, voice clipped, gaze darting everywhere except to you.
He hadn’t just pulled away, he’d disappeared into himself, and you were left staring at the closed door he’d slammed between you.
At first, you tried to be patient.
Told yourself he was busy, stressed, maybe even embarrassed. That was the reasonable thing to believe. But patience soured into unease. Unease calcified into ache. And ache, given enough time and sleepless nights, sharpened into anger.
Now every glance you caught from him—quick, guilty, almost startled—felt like a knife twist, because you remembered.
You remembered the warmth in his voice when he’d last spoken to you, the fire in that kiss, the way his hand had curled at the back of your neck like he was trying to anchor himself to you. You remembered the look in his eyes. A look that said he wasn’t supposed to want you, and yet he wanted you anyway.
For that one moment, he had chosen you.
And now, instead of the man who had pulled you into his orbit, you were left with this stranger in familiar skin.
You told yourself maybe things would change after his big story, the Superman exclusive.
It was all anyone could talk about in the newsroom. Clark Kent had somehow landed an interview with the elusive hero after months of silence from him.
This wasn’t new for Clark, as Superman often tipped him off on content and gave him sound-bites, but this time was different. This felt bigger.
The article went live, and the media lost its mind. It was everywhere. In the papers, on every news site, playing on the office televisions like a shrine to his accomplishment.
You thought maybe he’d use it as an excuse to come over to your desk, say something, anything. But instead, you found out it had gone live from a coworker in the break room. No text from Clark. No smile across the bullpen. Not even a ‘hey, it’s up’.
Yet, you still cared. You still noticed every time his gaze flicked to you and then snapped away like he’d been caught doing something shameful.
The week after the article went live, Clark’s desk became an island. No one bothered him unless they had to, and when they did, he was polite, too polite. His smile was paper-thin, his answers clipped short.
You’d pass his desk with an empty coffee mug in hand, pretending you weren’t measuring the inches between you. You’d caught the faint scent of his aftershave, that warm cedar-and-gourmand scent that lived in your memory from the night of the kiss. Then he’d look up, just once, just enough for you to see the flicker of something in his eyes, and look away so fast it made your jaw tighten.
You also started noticing his little absences. How he never lingered in the elevator with you anymore. How his chair scraped back at exactly the same time every evening, not a second later. How the low hum of his voice no longer drifted over the partition to your desk.
Five months ago, you’d been trading inside jokes over lukewarm coffee, his tie hanging loose around his neck while you fixed his crashed laptop for the third time that week. Now, you were strangers orbiting the same sun.
You caught yourself thinking about him constantly—not just the kiss, but the way he’d once been able to read you like he had a map of your thoughts. How he could tilt his head and know if you were having a bad day, if you needed coffee, if you needed silence.
It made you feel like you were carrying around a story that had no ending, no closure, just a single moment suspended in amber.
Another three weeks passed by. One moment you’re online looking at houses in a remote city up north, and the next, the sky split open.
You were in your apartment, scrolling through possible relocation options, when the sirens outside went from background noise to deafening. At first, you thought it was just another false alarm—the city had them often enough, but then your building shook like a heavy earthquake had settled beneath.
You stumbled to the window in time to see it—the grotesque extra-terrestrial bodies descending through the cloud cover like a blade aimed straight at the city’s heart. The air shimmered around them, distorting the light, bending the sky until it looked like something was peeling Metropolis open.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, emergency alerts piling in faster than you could read them. You didn’t need the news anchor’s frantic voice to know who would come.
You watched Superman hit the scene on every available channel, bleeding and blazing with light, tearing through the ship’s hull with a violence that made the cameras shudder. Usually, he was cautious, but tonight he was charged. Thunderous as he soared through the sky.
You couldn’t stop watching him.
Every punch, every burst of heat vision, every second he threw himself into the line of fire like his own body didn’t matter. It was like watching someone fight for air in a drowning city—desperate, relentless, unstoppable. Like this fight was more than what met the eye.
And then, just like that, it was over.
The vessel burned in the sky, the bodies thudding to the ground below. The streets turned into rivers of sirens and flashing lights. And Superman, hair matted, suit torn, eyes like the edge of a storm, stepped in front of the cameras for the press.
His voice was steady, but his eyes…
“I know many of you have doubts about me,” he began. “You have every right to. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve acted alone, and I’ve scared people. But I haven’t given up on this city. I haven’t given up on trying.”
You sat forward without meaning to, your hands tightening around your coffee mug.
“The world doesn’t need a perfect Superman,” he said. “It needs a willing one—”
He looked into the crowd, something quiet rising behind his words. “... and I am more than willing to be the change you all need. To have your back whenever you need it. But you, the people, have to be willing too. To accept change. To accept me…”
Pieces of porcelain shattered across your floor, coffee splashing over your bare feet.
Not just similar to, or inspired by.
The line you’d said to Clark months ago, sitting at the bar with him, telling him the world didn’t need people to be perfect, only willing.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, and the rest of the press conference blurred into white noise.
It didn’t matter what he said after that.
It was late when you got to his building.
The city was quiet in the aftermath, but your anger was a living, breathing thing that kept pace with every step you took.
You didn’t knock like someone trying to be polite. You pounded like someone trying to summon the truth.
When there was no answer, you tried the handle. It turned easily.
The lights were off, curtains drawn, the glow of the city bleeding through just enough to cast his apartment in shadows.
You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his glasses dangled from one hand like he’d just taken them off, caught between identities, between the lie and the truth.
The first thing you noticed was how still he was, like a statue waiting for an audience. No tie. No jacket. Just Clark, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed as if gravity was too much tonight.
“Don’t you dare sit there and pretend you don’t hear me,” you said, your voice already shaking from the adrenaline. “You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You didn’t give me a single goddamn word. And then you go and—”
You stopped yourself before the words turned into something sharp enough to cut skin.
He looked up slowly, his eyes catching the faint glow from the city lights behind you. There was no surprise in them, only exhaustion.
“I’ve been… busy,” he said.
“Busy?” You laughed, a short, humorless sound. “Saving the world?”
His jaw tightened. “What are you talking about?”
“You said my words.” You stepped forward, and he straightened like he felt the temperature change in the air. “On TV. Tonight, after the invasion. The thing you said about the world not needing a perfect Superman. You said that to millions of people. I said it to you, Clark.”
A flicker, there and gone, in his eyes, but you caught it.
You knew what it was. Recognition.
“You’re mistaken,” he responded dryly with a slow shrug.
The words landed like a slap.
“Don’t gaslight me, Clark.”
When he still didn’t respond, you rambled on.
“You know, I thought I was losing my mind,” you went on, your voice cracking. “I thought maybe I imagined the kiss. Maybe I’d made you into someone you weren’t. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
The silence made your ribs ache.
“Was it the kiss? Was that the problem? Or—” you swallowed, “—is it her?”
His head snapped up so fast you almost stepped back.
You said the name like it was a blade, and it cut him exactly where you aimed.
“Are you avoiding me because of her? Was I just a—” Your throat closed around the word mistake. “Was I just something to pass the time until you remembered who you really wanted?”
“That’s not fair.” His voice dropped low, rough. “And you know that’s not true. Lois has nothing to do with this. She’s never been part of this. How could you even—”
“How could I?” Your voice rose. “How could I not? You vanish. You avoid me like I’m poison. You don’t even tell me when your damn Superman interview drops, and I’m supposed to believe it’s because… what? You’re busy? You’re tired?”
“Yes!” His voice cracked against the walls. “Because I’m here. Because I’m trying to keep you—”
“Safe?” You spit the word like it tasted bad. “Is that it? Is that why you’ve pushed me away? You don’t get to lead me on like that and then disappear because you think you know what’s best for me.”
He stood, the full height of him almost consuming all of the oxygen in the room, as he gave you his back.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“You keep saying that. Whole time, I’m just asking for the truth.”
His fists clenched at his sides. “You think you want that, but—”
“I do want it,” you snapped. “I want to know why you ran. I want to know why Superman quoted something I said to Clark Kent—unless you were never Clark with me to begin with.”
The air between you went heavy.
You could hear his breathing.
You could hear your own pulse.
“You’re Superman,” you said with finality, voice sharp as a breaking bone.
“Say it. Deny it. Call me crazy, if you have to. But don’t just stand there and say nothing. I deserve something, Clark.”
You took a step forward, your body rigid with emotions. “You know, I think I figured it out weeks ago, but I buried it because I didn’t want to ruin this. But now…”
“Don’t do this.” The words were sharp. His eyes, when he finally turned and looked at you, were darker than you’d ever seen them.
His irises were so dark they were almost pitch black.
“You don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.”
“I’m not accusing you,” you said bitterly. “I’m trying to get you to stop lying.”
“I’m not trying to lie to you.”
You laughed in disbelief. “You’ve been lying since the day we met!”
“No, I haven’t.” He uttered, shaking his head, looking pained. “I’ve just… not told you everything.”
“That’s the same damn thing, Clark!”
His breathing hitched. His shoulders rose and fell faster now, like keeping his voice steady was costing him something.
“Why are you fighting me on this?!” you demanded. “Why are you acting like I wouldn’t have found out?”
“Because I didn’t want you to!” he snapped, his loud voice startling you to stillness.
It seemed everything went still—the apartment, the hum of the electronics, and even the soft breeze coming through his window.
Clark was many things, but temperamental? Never. This was the first time you’d ever seen him lose his cool.
He stared at you, brows clashing in agony, chest heaving.
“You weren’t supposed to...” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper now. He shook his head, stepping back as if being close to you would set him ablaze. “You think this is simple? You think I want to keep things from you?”
“Then why do it? If it’s that you don’t care about me, then—”
“That’s the problem,” he cut in, voice like steel. “I do care. Too much. Enough to know the second you put a name to what I am, everything changes. Us—we won’t ever be the same.”
Your nails dug into your palms. “So what?! What could be so bad about that? You think you’re doing me a favor?” you continued, your voice low, shaking now from fury. “You think shutting me out is protecting me? It’s not—it’s killing me.”
His jaw worked like he was chewing on the words he didn’t want to let out.
“Killing you?” His voice was sharp, frayed. Then came that dark, humourless laugh.
“Please,” he begged, throwing his palms up. “Let's just stop this.”
“Why?” You balked, stepping to him so he could look you in the eyes. “I deserve an explanation, you’ve kept me in the dark long enough.”
His hands were trembling.
You’d seen it before. Anytime Clark was overwhelmed with emotion, which wasn’t very often, his hands shook. Like he was doing his best to remain grounded. To feel, instead of reacting.
Only now, for the first time could you attribute it to really seeing the great, unshakable Superman trembling.
“An explanation? Sure. Because it’s so easy right?”He quipped sarcastically. “Have you ever had to compromise other people’s safety because you’re too much in your head? Had to walk into a burning building, pull a stranger out of the rubble, and the whole time all you can think about is—”
He stopped, his face scrunched with suppressed angst.
But you wouldn’t let him.
His hands curled into fists. “Someone you’re completely taken by. Like an unhealthy obsession that has no care or no rules—You—Every single time, it’s you. Every time the sky falls, every time I hear someone scream, every time there’s a chance I might not make it back… it’s your face I see. Your voice. No matter what I’m doing.”
The words hit you like a body blow. You couldn’t breathe, but he wasn’t done.
“And it terrifies me,” he went on, voice rough and rising. “Because I can take a hit from something that could flatten a building. I can fall from the stratosphere and get back up. But one day I’ll lose focus and everything might tip over. Or one day, I’m not going to get up. And if you’re in my life—if you’re this close when that happens?”
Your throat burned. “So, I’m a distraction? Your solution to your problems is to cut me out, then? Before you, what? Before you screw up? Before you die?”
He flinched like you’d stabbed him.
“Before I lose you,” he said quietly.
The quiet was worse than the shouting. It sank into your chest like ice.
“You already have,” you croaked, “the second you decided you knew what was best for me.”
“You don’t get it. You can’t get it. This world doesn’t let me get close to anyone. I’ve had to live with the consequences of letting people near. I’ve had to bury people I couldn’t save because they mattered too much. Because I—” His voice broke. “Because I was selfish.”
“You’re not keeping me safe,” you snapped. “You’re keeping yourself comfortable. You’re making the choice for me because you’re afraid I might choose the danger anyway. You didn’t spend time with me out of selfishness. You did it because you’re human. You did it because you wanted something for yourself for once.”
His breath caught, and he looked at you like you’d just stripped him bare without touching him.
“Exactly,” he growled bitterly. “And look what it did,” he motioned brokenly between your bodies.
You paused, watching him unravel—this man who held up buildings and hope like they weighed the same. This man who kissed you like you were his last breath and then left like he’d never need to breathe again.
“I didn’t ask to be pulled into your world,” you said quietly. “But I was, and I’m not scared of it. I’m scared of you never trusting me enough to be honest.”
He looked at you, really looked at you. You saw the war in his eyes, every beat of love clashing with every ounce of fear.
“You don’t know what it’s like carrying this. All of it. The weight and-and responsibility. Every second of every day, I’m calculating how much force I can use, how fast I can move—how to make sure someone doesn’t die because I misjudged by half a second. I’m always on edge because I know what happens if I let my guard down,” he said, his voice lower now. Almost reverent. “My weaknesses get used against me, or worse… I lose control.”
“You don’t know that,” he bit out. “You don’t know what I could do. I’ve held planes in the sky with my hands. I’ve crushed concrete with a step. I’ve had bullets ricochet off me and hit someone behind me because I didn’t angle my body right. And you—” His voice broke. “You trust me like I’m not a loaded weapon.”
“And I—I didn’t mean to,” he went on, breathless. “That night, I didn’t mean to kiss you. I just… forgot for a second that I was Superman, and all I could think about was how your lips tasted and how you fit against me so perfectly…”
“And what I said to the press?” His eyes were full of guilt. “I was tired. I was overwhelmed, and I… I missed you.”
“It was the only thing that felt real,” he said, almost ashamed. “Everything else felt like a performance, but your words—they grounded me. For one second, it felt like you were there.”
“You could have had me.” You said, fighting the tears that wanted to spill over onto your cheeks.
“Geez, you’re impossible,” he said, but his voice cracked halfway through.
“And you’re a coward,” you shot back.
The word landed like a match in gasoline.
He surged forward, crowding you back until your shoulder blades hit the wall. His hands planted on either side of you, caging you in without touching.
Both of your chests heaved with ragged breaths as you stared, turbulent emotions clashing between you. You pushed against his chest. He didn’t let up. He followed your gaze, and you looked away.
“God, just say it, Clark!” your voice cracked open with the words. “Deny everything, say you don’t want me, and I’ll leave. I’ll walk out that door and never look back again.”
“Damnit, I’m Superman,” he growled, his voice low and angry. “There. I’ve done everything I can to keep people safe, yet still they hate me. Still, they’re afraid. Still I’m never enough. I can survive anything—asteroids, bombs, politics—but you?” He shook his head.
“I don’t know if I can care for you safely,” he said. “That’s the truth. I don’t know if I can promise that I won’t slip. That I won’t scare you. That I won’t… hurt you someday. What if I lose control, huh? What if I forget for a moment that I’m not just a man?”
“I never asked you to be perfect.” You whispered, feeling the tears spill over onto your cheeks, and momentarily, you hated yourself for being so weak.
His eyes searched yours with a vulnerability he’d never let anyone see before. The weight of months pressed down between you, but in that moment, all the walls he’d built came crashing down.
Clark sighed deeply, as if conceding.
His hands found you, fingers entwining like a lifeline, as he leaned closer, forehead resting gently against yours, as if grounding himself in your presence, his body sagging with surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the rough edge of regret coloring every word. “I should have told you from the very beginning, but I was lost and worried. Partly fearing that if you knew everything too soon… if you saw me as the hero first, you’d never see me at all.”
His thumb traced slow, tender circles over your skin. “I wanted you to know Clark—not the alien, not the cape, but the man behind the glasses. The one who loves company, who worries, who just wants to be seen for who he really is. Not Superman with all his glamour.”
Another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, his lips brushing against your skin as he did, and suddenly your heart was breaking for him as well.
He should have told you, should have given you the chance to choose, but you were once so willing to put yourself in Superman’s shoes. What about Clark?
What about the man who carried so much, yet still made time to be present? What about the man who craved community in a place where there was no one else like him?
“If I could undo all the silence, all the distance, all the nights you spent wondering… I would. I’d give anything to erase the pain I caused you. It was hard. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but it was only because I thought of you first. Always, first. I didn’t care if my heart broke as long as you were safe.”
His breath mingled with yours, every inch of him bared and real.
“But the truth,” he said, voice trembling now, “is that I’m irrevocably, completely, and utterly in love with you. More than I ever thought possible. More than I deserve, and I never stopped wanting this. Wanting you...”
His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb lingering as he searched your eyes for forgiveness, and for the promise you hadn’t spoken yet, but he knew was there.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The space between his mouth and yours was a live wire—you could feel the heat of him, the sharp edge of his breathing.
“Please forgive me,” he pleaded, impossibly close, tilting your head so he could see your eyes.
Your knees felt weak beneath his gaze as you nodded slowly, wordlessly.
Clark’s breath left his body in a weak huff as he closed the gap between you two.
It was like gravity had finally given up pretending, like every second he’d held back was now a debt he had to pay with interest.
Your breath caught just before his mouth found yours—hard, deep, and nothing like the caution he’d had in his eyes all night.
This kiss was hungry, punishing, and almost angry.
Clark dragged you flush against him by your hip, until you could feel the solid, unyielding weight of his body.
You’d waited weeks—months—for this, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way his body pressed against yours now.
All that restraint he’d worn like armor finally cracked.
What stood in front of you wasn’t the composed reporter, or even the poised savior of the city—it was a man undone.
You made a sound—half a gasp, half a growl, and your fingers fisted in his shirt, yanking it out of his waistband.
He broke the kiss, staying close, panting, breaking.
You shook your head before the words even formed. “Don’t you dare, CK.”
He groaned low in his throat like your voice alone tortured him, pecking your lips sensually as he held you.
“Then tell me you want this.” He begged, his voice gravelly with restraint.
Even then, he wanted you to know you had a way out. He wanted you to let him know explicitly what you were choosing.
Your heart pushed against your ribcage in a way that made you nauseous.
“I’ve wanted this since the first time you looked at me like I wasn’t just… someone passing through your life,” you told him, reaching your own hand up into his soft, thick hair and tugging just a little bit.
He descended, his mouth more insistent on yours now, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you before the world ended.
His thumb stroked your jaw as if he could soothe away every harsh word you’d thrown at each other tonight, his own grip on your neck fierce with delicious pressure, keeping you pinned against him. Like he wanted you imprinted on his body, but it was never painful, never uncomfortable.
You tugged at his shirt until the buttons gave, scattering across the floor. Your palm greedily flattened over his chest, feeling the rapid, heavy beat of his heart.
He lifted you effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your breath catching as your hips met his.
He was hard already—aching, restrained—and the erotic heat between you flared like something primal. He carried you across the room in seconds, lips never leaving yours, until your back met the softness of his bed.
It made you dizzy, how quickly anger had bled into this, how fast the sharp edges had turned into something molten.
You pushed him back just enough to catch your breath, but he resisted, crowding you again until your back hit the bed a second time. His thigh slid between yours, pressing up, and your breath left you in a rush as the friction shot straight to your core.
“You’re going to drive me insane,” you said, your voice low but shaking, as you fumbled to take your shirt off.
“Good,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “Then we’re even.”
His shirt was next, sliding off his shoulders with ease. You watched as suddenly he became so much bigger—like this was your first time seeing him as a man worthy of a woman’s seductive gaze.
His usually milky skin was almost golden now, a light bronze like he’d had a day in the sun. His tightly corded muscles, bulged with every movement, and the slated abs on his stomach rippled just the same.
He wasn’t all rigid and bulky though, there was a softness to his body, where muscle gave way for fluid movement.
His body was free of hair, a clean slate, and immediately you could imagine the marks you’d leave and how easily they’d show on his blemish free skin.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, his unnaturally dark eyes scanning you as though he was wondering where to start if he chose to devour you.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’d let me do anything to you.” He said, levelling you with that stare.
You’d never seen that predatory gaze on Clark, and you knew right then that it was the most addicting thing you’d ever experienced.
“I trust you, why wouldn’t I?”
You didn’t even have to think about it.
Clark traced his hand over your thighs, to your calf and up your ankle. He drew closer with each inch he explored, until your leg was flush against his chest and he placed a kiss on your ankle.
“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and unsteady.
“Then finish it,” you breathed.
Your voice was a challenge, a plea, a dare all at once.
Your eyes fell closed, feeling his blazing trail of hot, wet kisses down your leg, your body buzzing with sensation, until you felt his coaxing hand on your jaw.
“Eyes up here,” he said, angling your face with soft command until you nodded slowly.
He made you watch his agonising ministrations. The way he lapped at certain places more than others, and even when he held your foot on his shoulder with one hand and undid his pants with the other.
You knew he could see how wet you were from where he knelt on the bed, but he only acknowledged it when his lips reached the inside of your thighs. When he was good and undressed, and his face was level with the most sensitive area on your body.
His eyes latched onto your center, molten and focused, and your hand slipped into his inky locs.
“Golly,” he breathed, “You’re so wet for me, baby.”
His hand traced the outline of your lower lips, one digit tracking your slick from your opening to your swollen pearl, rubbing in circles gently.
“So perfect,” he whispered, before he opened you enough for him to latch onto your sensitive nub.
Your body arched off the bed and Clark's broad hand splayed across your stomach, steadying you as he ate you out like it was the last thing he would ever do.
For all the writhing and moaning you did, he groaned in between lapping you up, telling you how good you tasted, how perfect you were. His lips everywhere, suckling, and licking.
By the time your second orgasm crashed through you, you felt like a live-wire. Like you might spontaneously combust while Clark ate you halfway to the after life.
“Clark,” you moaned, not knowing whether to pull him closer or push him away.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your core as he slowly added a finger. You felt him pause as the appendage entered you agonizingly slow.
Clark seemed mesmerised completely by the take and give of your core, his muscles straining as he watched himself drive you over the edge.
“You’re so t-tight,” he muttered, voice sounding pained. “I don’t deserve this.”
You moaned as he added another digit and a slight curve to his fingers.
“Yes you do.” You breathed. “This is only for you.”
Then he’s groaning, a sound that reverberated throughout your body, and he’s back up to your lips. His tongue thrusting in your mouth so you could taste yourself there, taste him, and needing more, his throbbing length in between your legs, already leaking and ready for you.
His mouth found your throat, seeking the rapid beat of your pulse. You tilted your head back, giving him room. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs grazing sensitive skin, and you arched into him with a soft gasp. His mouth followed, closing over one nipple, teasing with his tongue until you whimpered, fingers buried in his hair.
“I need you so bad right now,” He whimpered against your flesh, his body trembling against yours, skin so hot it almost stung to touch. But you couldn’t stop this. Not now.
Clark hovered over you, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavy, lips trembling.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“I’m not always in control.” He groaned. “I’m not right now.”
“Then trust me to help you keep it.”
Your eyes clashed again, breathing synchronised as you guided him between your legs.
The sheer size of him was frightening. You pumped his length a few times, stalling to settle your nerves, loving the way his hips bucked as your thumb spread his precum all over his tip.
Then you were folding your legs, pulling them up to your chest and guiding him there.
“O-oh…” he stuttered, as you ran his bulbous head along your slick slit, pleasure sparking and sending goosebumps all along your body.
“Look at me,” you demanded softly and his eyes fluttered open.
Then you were biting your lip, moving your hips slowly, manoeuvring your hands so they grasped his hips, encouraging him to move.
And boy did he move, albeit so slowly—eyes never leaving yours.
The stretch, the heat, the fullness of him stole your breath, but you welcomed it.
Your moan was loud, coming from your stomach as he rested there a moment, kissing your cheek with a shuddering breath.
“I-I’m sorry,” He rasped, sliding out of your tight heat. The movement made you twitch with ecstasy.
“For what?” You mumbled, barely able concentrate.
“How I’m about to use your body.” He groaned out, barely holding himself together as he moved again. “I know this is our first time. I-I should be gentle. God—I-I know—but I need you in a way that should be concerning. I just—I’ll take good care of you after, baby. Just, need this…”
He was sheathed to the hilt inside you now, one arm extended to brace himself on the wall behind the bed, and the other planted next to you, an anchor for his quaking body.
When he moved again, his hips met yours in a devastating thrust that jerked your whole frame. Your fingernails embedded themselves into his back as you called out his name.
“I know, I know…” he whimpered, grinding his dick deep inside of you, triggering a deep orgasm that made your stomach cramp, and made your walls clamp tight around him.
It was so intense, you shrieked, flinging yourself into his strokes, scratching at his broad shoulders and back. Black dots filling your vision from its intensity.
You could hear the exact moment his hand went through the wall. Feel his body buckle under pleasure, as he repositioned his hand to the bed-post and broke that too, but he never stopped.
“Oh, god,” you moaned, as he pushed your legs back against your chest, his hands settling in the crevice of your knees for support as he pounded into you.
Your eyes rolled back as pleasure soared through you, Clark’s growls and grunts anchoring you to a plane far away from Earth, and the sound of flesh meeting flesh cracking across the room.
You’d never experienced pleasure like this before.
A wave of orgasm ripped your body apart again when he pulled out, rubbing his tip against your clit, hand on your neck as you convulsed beneath him, your juices spilling everywhere.
“Yess, that’s it,” He hissed, drawing out your orgasm, lips all over you as he took you through it. “Take it from me. Take everything you want…”
You didn’t have time to come down from your orgasm before he flipped you onto your knees in front of him, one arm holding you up across your mid-section, fingers splayed low enough to reach your clit, and the next gripping your neck.
“Who’s is this, hm?” He gritted out behind you, lips close to your ear, his big cock reaching depths you didnt know were possible.
“Your’s...” You moaned loudly, just existing for his pleasure as he moved in and out of you.
The wet, sloshing sound of you did nothing to quell the fire between our bodies.
Another rough, deep stroke and he smacked your ass.
“Again,” His gruff voice demanded.
You could imagine that he was watching your supple flesh recoil as he slid back in, adding a little pressure with his thumb to your back entrance.
The more his strokes became intense, the more pressure he applied.
“Fuck—baby—CK, this pussy’s your’s. Only yours…“
“That dirty little mouth,” He whimpered, thrusting hard again, but placing a gentle kiss on your temple. “I’d move this planet just so you could keep talking like that.”
“Shiiitt...” He groaned into your ear, kissing your back, still stroking deep inside you.
The combination of his lips on your skin, and his thick dick wrecking you, slipping out every so often to add to the friction near his thumb, was so delicious you thought you would pass out.
It was fair to say Clark was screwing the hell out of you.
Somehwhere after your fourth orgasm, the squelching of your juices, wringing you dry, he switched positions again, pulling you on top of him.
You could tell when he was close.
His strokes were hard, frenzied. You could feel him in the depths of your stomach, stretching as his hand gripped the back of your neck while the other guided you by the ass so you could take him as brutally as he wanted.
Every slam of his hips stung the skin of your thighs, and made your eyes water.
“I love you so much…” He whimpered, his deep voice so much softer now, his eyes glazed over.
“I love you, I love you…” He whimpered and stuttered over and over again as his body heated up beyond what was humanly possible.
He whimpered again, holding you tighter. “Please, baby—I need—I-I—“
He couldn’t even speak. The intensity of his pleasure making his strokes sloppy, deeper, his hold relentless. It felt like he was trying to seal himself into your very dna.
His mouth staggered from your breast to your neck, to your lips. All a series of events that left you listless and entirely to his mercy.
You felt the bed lurch, creaking as it hit the wall and something split. Then Clark groaned as he spilled thick, hot ropes of cum into you, hitting your cervix.
His eyes rolled back into his head as you latched onto his neck, riding a little harder despite yourself, as his body twitched and wrung his release from his balls, so that he literally filled you up to the point of overspill.
“Mmm—fucking hell, Clark,” You moaned as it triggered another light orgasm for you, threatening to make you keel over in exhaustion.
Your orgasmic high lasted longer than expected, and you both finally came down, he kissed blindly all over your face, rubbing you lovingly with his hands, marking you with his scent, massaging areas of you which might end up being sore.
The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows and the slow, steady rhythm of Clark’s breathing. You laid curled against him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the heartbeat that had once felt unreachable.
Now it was yours—steady, strong, and impossibly human.
Neither of you spoke for a long time.
You lost track of how long you stayed like that—tangled together, the world reduced to heat and breath and the rhythm of hearts pounding in sync.
His fingers laced with yours, holding on like he didn’t know how to stop anymore. He traced lazy circles along your back, like he couldn’t stop touching you, like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.
“You’re hot,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep and emotion.
“Why thank you, ma’am.” He joked, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
You playfully nudged him with your shoulder, the only movement you could afford at the time, and he chuckled softly. Then, just like that, the temperature of his skin was dropping until he was cool to the touch.
He wiggled his eyebrows, lightly touching your nose with his. “Nifty party trick.”
You smiled, eyes fluttering up to find his again. His gaze was soft, reverent, like he was memorizing the way the morning light kissed your skin.
Most importantly, they were Clark-ocean-blue again. Not the scary, thrunderous depths that had taken over for so long. These were eyes you were familiar with.
Eyes you loved because they were only Clark’s.
You would ask about it one day, the weird change, but for now you were content with the way things were.
“Yes, beautiful?” His deep, sex-saturated voice sent goosebumps over your skin.
You blushed. “So does that mean you literally interview yourself?”
There was a pause for a moment before Clark set out in loud, unceremonious laughter that jostled your head on his chest.
“Alright, you caught me!” He said in between laugher, genuinely cracking himself up.
“Freakin’ weirdo.” You chuckled, finding his laugher and jovial mood contagious.
The lightness of the moment stretched. There was so much you wanted to know, but still, you chose him for now. Not curiosity, not understanding, but Clark in his most vulnerable state.
For another long beat there was just silence and the loving massages of Clark, until he broke it.
“Did I hurt you?” He muttered low, worried.
Your soft smile was immediate as you shook your head. “In your dreams, big guy.”
He looked at me like he didn’t believe me, his big hand caressing my body in gentle passes. You could see his eyes scan over you, trying to take stock of the damage but you grabbed his head in your hand to stop him, and shook your head.
When he tried to move again, you kissed his lips, pulling him closer. You moaned together, and he chuckled softly, brushing your hair out of your face, shaking his own head, pulling you a little closer.
“I’ll take this bribe just this once.” He murmured, pecking your lips between each word.
In truth, you knew you’d be sore and bruised in a few hours, if that long. Bruised cervix. Possible minor, first-degree burns. You could already feel the heaviness set in your core and muscles, but he didn’t need to know that yet.
“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” he continued quietly. “Like peace.”
You reached up, brushing light fingers over his eyebrows “You’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders. You deserve peace.”
He caught your hand, kissed your palm. “I didn’t think I deserved you.”
You shifted, propping yourself up a bit on one elbow. “Clark… I fell for you before I knew who you were. The real you. The man who brings me coffee just the way I like it. Who listens like every word I say matters. Who disappears sometimes, but always comes back with that look in his eyes like he’s afraid I won’t be here. I love you, CK. The cape is just a plus.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, for the first time in a long time, looking like the shy, bumbling Clark you got to know at first.
You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to worry about me. I love you. I’m here to stay.”
He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you like a shield. “I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve loved you since the first time you laughed at that dumb printer joke.”
You laughed softly, tears stinging your eyes.
“What did the printer say to the scanner at the party?” You repeated, mocking his voice.
He groaned, laugher puffing his chest. “Lookin’ sharp! Mind if I copy your style?”
You laughed, cheeks worn from the action. “You’re such a dork.” You sighed happily.
Then after a long moment, Clark stroked your cheek saying: “I’m yours, in every way that matters. Clark and Superman—they both belong to you. Always.”
Then he grinned his infamous dopey smile, pulling you into a kiss that was slow and sweet, and felt like home.
