pairing: clark kent x reader
synopsis: your ex-boyfriend clark kent finds himself at your apartment after reading the investigative piece your boyfriend is writing on superman, begging you to stop his search before his leads end up revealing superman’s real identity to the public
contains: smut (cunniligus + 👆), pathetically down bad clark, #putting warnings is so awkward - not cheating
a/n: i think this is an original idea and i love it so much clark is so gorgeous in this i hope u guys enjoy this too
this was the last thing you needed.
after a horrible week of consistent fights with your current boyfriend for being absent due to his obsession with work, toxic, and downright annoying, and finally finding the courage to tell him just today that you’re tired and done of being a punching bag for his daily frustrations due to his stupid investigation work— you find your ex-boyfriend at your doorstep.
the door is held open by your hand, your eyes slightly wide. a plethora of emotions flood you as you blink, taken aback and extremely confused at the appearance of the man you broke up with six months ago.
memories from the back of your mind rush into your head, clouding your thoughts. the way his large frame would engulf you in comforting hugs. the way his plush lips would press the softest kisses against your mouth. and then, the way the two of you fought. the day you had your biggest argument and he had told you he was standing you up all the time because he was superman. and then the day you couldn’t take it anymore, burdened with a lot more unspeakable things— the day you had broken up with him. you rapidly blink away foreign infiltrating thoughts.
out of all things, you certainly were not expecting the clark kent at your doorstep when you heard the doorbell. to add to your perplexity, he’s in his work clothes: button up loose white shirt straining at his biceps, black coat on top; his hair curly and fluffy, slightly messy (probably from work earlier in the day), with his glasses neatly pushed up his nose bridge. he’s still holding his briefcase, eyes wary when they meet yours.
his lips purse, cheeks dimpling.
you blink back in bafflement.
now what exactly your ex doing at your place?
“h-hey,” clark breathes out, stammering, heart racing in his chest. it definitely doesn’t help his nervousness to find you clothed simply in a long sweatshirt, down to your thighs. his lips are tightly sealed, contemplating his words. he looks more bewildered than you, honestly. “can i.. can i come in?”
you raise a suspicious eyebrow.
clark almost winces. “i— i want to talk to you about something,” his voice is sharp, low, and articulate, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. “please. it’s important.”
you take a deep breath, gulping all your thoughts down. you blink after a long moment of zoning out and nod slowly, opening the door wider for him to walk in.
clark lets out a deep sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding when you let him in, mumbling a small “thank you so much,” as he enters. his briefcase drops at the doorstep as you close it, and he tries to be polite but he can’t help his eyes when they quickly scan over your apartment, searching for any changes. any unfamiliarities.
he doesn’t find many, thankfully. he just detects some casual furniture changes, considering it’d only been six months since he’d last been here.
clark snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice. his eyebrows raise as he turns to you, seeing your arms crossed.
“are you going to tell me what’s so important?” you raise an eyebrow, trying to stop your eyes from wandering over the face and the frame you often found yourself thinking about late at night after your boyfriend, once again, failed to bring you to your desired destination.
“it’s your boyfriend,” he blurts out, feeling slightly awkward. he realises how stupid that sounds and immediately clarifies. “he’s.. he’s been writing about me. i mean— about superman. about superman’s real identity.”
the investigation your (ex from the argument earlier) boyfriend was doing. the same investigation, which was honestly more of an obsession, he was conducting on finding out superman’s identity that had caused the two of you to fight countless times.
clark tenses when he notices your expression.
“lots of people try to crack stuff like that. it usually doesn’t matter to me, it’s just— the clues he’s been giving in the paper. talking about how close he’s getting.. and it’s true. he is getting too close. his next lead might bring him straight to the daily planet.”
your eyes widen. had that guy seriously gotten that close? well, you had known, to your dismay, a lot about your boyfriend’s findings, but not that he had gotten that close. you thought it was mostly just conspiracy theories. he had been publishing his research in a local newspaper, and his articles were the sole reason sales had increased greatly for the paper, which made much more sense now.
people wanted to know superman’s secrets.
clark sucks in a deep breath. “i don’t want to drag you into my mess,” his voice drops to a whisper. “it’s my fault for slipping up. giving people a reason to think that superman might have a persona,” he takes a step closer towards you, eyebrows creasing.
and then he whispers your name, and it sounds downright cruel. “but he can’t find out. he can’t tell the world. they can’t find out.”
your heart aches. you look away, hands opening in a defeated manner. “clark, i can’t just stop him—”
“if the world knew,” clark takes a step closer to you, his eyebrows furrowed. “it wouldn’t just destroy me. it would destroy the places i care about. everyone i care about,” clark’s voice is low and vulnerable, and then silent for a long moment. “including you.”
your heart skips a beat. you shouldn’t be falling for it, but you are. you don’t want to defend clark. you don’t. you’re bitter, but deep inside you know he’s right. he always is. he always has been. “he wouldn’t listen to me,” you shake your head, voice low. “this whole thing is really important to him.”
clark gulps, loud and raw. “the second your boyfriend prints my name out to the world, every enemy superman’s ever made will know exactly where to aim,” his voice is downright begging.
you can’t help it when your eyes soften. when your heart skips a beat. you chew on your lower lip, contemplating. how would you even convince the man you fought with not more than hours ago, and had inadvertently said the two of you were done with each other?
clark misinterprets your silence as refusal. he steps even closer. “please,” his voice is hoarse, almost breaking. “i’m not asking for myself. or superman. i’m asking because..” his voice cracks. “because i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt because of me.”
clark looks pathetic when he looks at you. crinkled eyebrows pulled together in worry, eyes desperate and shiny, pink lips pursed, dimples torturously on display. his glasses have slid to the mid-slope of his nose, clark too distracted to push them back up.
you don’t realise how long you’ve been staring at him. clark realises— he’s been anxiously counting the seconds in his heart. when you don’t speak after a whole minute, he steps closer until he’s right in front of you. “please,” pleading, he breathes out your name like it hurts to say. “i’ll do anything.”
your eyes are locked on his blue ones, deliberating. you’re still nibbling on your lower lip. your heart rate is through the roof, arms crossed, finger at your lip. clark instinctively bends down slightly to come to your level, his face closer to yours. like he used to.
“i just want to protect you,” he whispers, voice lower and more intimate. “you and my ma and pa.”
your heart cracks. you had met his parents. you loved them. they had loved you.
you can’t stop yourself when your hands move up, grabbing the collar of clark’s blazer. you can’t help it when you hazily tug him down, your mouth centimetres from his.
clark’s eyes widen in surprise. his hands instantly, as if instinct, find your hips, effortlessly lifting you up and taking a step forward to gently plant you onto your kitchen counter. you waste not a second before forcing your mouth to his, and he’s taken aback, a little hesitant, his cheeks flushing pink.
his voice is muffled against your mouth. “your boyfriend—”
you kiss him harder instead of telling him. fuck your boyfriend. it should’ve always been clark.
but it’s not. and you should probably behave before you make a big mess. when you pull away, you’re breathing heavily, eyes dark and finding clark’s through fluttering eyelashes.
clark takes one look at your face and loses all self control and restraint. his hands move from your waist to your hips to your thighs, pushing them apart.
“he doesn’t treat you like he should, does he?” clark’s voice is low and soft, and it goes straight to your core. his blue eyes are intimately locked on yours, watching you as his hand slides up, under your oversized sweatshirt. his fingers find the waistband of your underwear, casually sliding it down.
you let him. of course you do. clark leans in, his lips grazing your jaw. his eyes close as he breathes you in, savouring the familiar smell of you.
he’s missed you so much he can barely keep it together. his hands part your thighs further, lifting your shirt up to your waist so his eyes can move down to stare at your pretty cunt.
it’s an achingly beautiful and familiar sight: pink, fleshy, and so sweet, clark can barely contain himself from busting right there.
when he looks at you, he steals your breath. “let me remind you how you should be treated.” his hands are already moving to take off his coat and glasses, delicately placing them beside you on the counter.
and then he drops to his knees. your eyes widen, finding his face which is now right in between your legs. his eyes are glossy and blown wide with dilated pupils hazily gazing up at you, eyebrows pulled together, cheeks painted crimson, lips parted and pink. it’s a sight you never want to forget.
you’re going to ruin this man.
clark’s large hands move to your plush thighs to hold them apart, his fingers digging into the fat of your skin. his eyes are glossy and dilated, focused on the sight in front of him: his mission. his tongue lazily darts out to lick a thick stripe up your unprepared pussy, and you clench around air at the feeling you haven’t felt in a long time.
your mouth falls open in a gasp, watching him push his head forward to bump his nose against your clit. shamelessly, he digs it further against your slick-coated nub, dousing the tip of his nose with your wetness. his mouth is open at the same time, breathing hot air onto you, and with the way you’re pulsing, right at your hole.
you can barely keep it together. stupid clark and his polite manners and his desperate urge to ensure his secret identity doesn’t get revealed. your hands move to tangle in his fluffy curls, unabashedly tugging him closer, and he allows himself to be pulled. he allows his face to be pushed further, deep into the hot humid oven of your pussy, tongue consistently flicking around your clit.
the moment his hands loosen around your thighs you squeeze around his head, and his ears are hot. clark is unbothered by your tight hold, drunk on the taste of you. his hand slides from your inner thigh to further in, huge hand cupping your cunt from the bottom, and easily pushing a finger into your dripping hole.
you gasp at the feeling of just one thick digit filling you up, humiliatingly clenching hard around it as if your gummy walls remember exactly how everything about him feels. clark curls his finger expertly as if he has you and your insides memorised, hitting just the perfect spot to make your eyes roll back in your head.
it’s torturous. it’s not fast or rough. it’s languid, like this is for your pleasure, and clark is taking his time to lazily, yet perfectly, abuse you.
his mouth closes around your clit. he insulates it in his mouth, letting his spit coat the swollen, teased nub, eventually sucking so hard your lights get knocked out.
his tongue swirls around it while his cheeks hollow, sucking and teasing and tugging so gently with his teeth you cry out in pleasure.
it’s embarrassing— clark had long forgotten about his finger inside you. it had just been there, resting inside your hole that’s leaking slick from the sides, coating your folds.
and despite that lack of movement— you cum. so early. you let out a long, shameful whine, feeling it build up in your core. clark, a little surprised but completely non-judgemental, pulls his thick finger out so he can thrust it back inside, helping you ride out your high whilst his lips continue to suck on your clit.
you shiver, trying to tug clark’s head away from his hair as breathy whimpers leave your mouth. as soon as his finger leisurely slides out of your hole, you’re gushing out thick white liquid. it drips down your folds before clark pulls away to watch it do so, the amount downright obscene.
clark is living currently proof of slow and steady wins the race, or something like that. his eyes are wide and pleased, pink wet lips parted and breathing hotly on your wetness. even his chin is shimmering with you. he’s breathing so heavily it looks like it hurts.
he moves in again, lapping up your release, careful to clean you up properly. his adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows simultaneously, drinking you up. he pauses to pull away, his eyes meeting your teary fucked out ones, to open his mouth and push his tongue out, showing you your white thick cum on his tongue.
you blush furiously. filthy.
he pulls his tongue back inside and swallows, moving in to finish up his work, cleaning you spotless. when he’s done he presses a soft, small kiss to your clit, and it makes your thighs twitch.
he finally pulls away to look up at you, finding your eyes with his own pathetic ones. you’re panting, lips parted. clark looks delirious and delicious, face flushed, eyes downright yearning, lips pink and coated with your juice.
“was that good?” he finally breathes out, his voice low and deep. it’s still soft in nature, slightly exasperated.
your hand moves down to cup his cheek. “so good,” you breathe, thumb caressing his jaw. “you’re so good.”
clark’s eyes light up. “wanted—” he licks his lips. “wanted to please you.”
god, you’re melting and aching at the same time.
you bite down hard on your lower lip as to not shower him with compliments. you’re supposed to be mad at him, or at least be testing him. you tug at his hair and he gets the hint, lifting himself off his knees and standing before you, his hands moving to your hips again. you fit perfectly in his large palms.
he sweetly bends down to your level, standing in between your legs, immediately pushing his cheek against yours as if he can’t live without the proximity. as if he hasn’t had you for months and now that he gets to be near you again he never wants to be far away again. desperate, clingy, and so ready to please.
“m,” he whines quietly, smushing his warm cheek harder against your skin. “can i kiss you?” he asks, deep voice articulate and intimate. his big doe-eyes search yours. he’s huge and still so gentle with you.
your cheeks feel hot. you can barely keep it together. you turn your face towards him slightly and he immediately pushes his mouth to yours. he still tastes like your own release, his lips enclosing around yours hard and possessively.
“does he make you cum like this?” he whispers, his mouth still on yours. he puckers his lips to press another firm kiss. “‘m sure he doesn’t kiss you like this.” clark’s mouth is glued to yours, his kisses wet and sloppy, possessively coating you in his saliva.
“‘m sure he doesn’t take care of you like i did. like i can.” his voice is low. he knows he’s treading dangerous. he just can’t help himself.
you gulp, throat dry. you place a hand on his shoulder, lips pursed.
“that’s enough, clark,” you breathe out, pained, and clark’s heart rips in his chest. he’s hesitant, but still he listens, tearing his cheek away from yours. his puppy eyes meet yours, lips curved downwards slightly, but you don’t budge, and so his hands at your hips follow in their removal.
you look away, squeezing your thighs shut. there are red spots where clark’s fingers were digging into them. clark can’t get his eyes off his markings. this wasn’t fair. you were meant to be his. he’s distracted from his thoughts when he hears you speak.
“i’ll tell him,” you mutter quietly, eyebrows creased in tension. “i think i can convince him to.. abandon the article. he was becoming increasingly unsure about it anyway.” you sigh. “i’ll figure it out. trust me.”
clark doesn’t miss a beat. “i trust you.”
your heart aches. you look away. “you should get going,” your throat feels dry. “bye, clark.”
clark’s heart sinks to the floor. he purses his lips, cheeks dimpling, unfairly gorgeous. he nods once and slowly, hesitating before stepping forward. he grabs his coat from beside you, caging you in one last time. when he leans further in it’s intentional, his face near your neck, breathing your scent in. his fingers clutch tighter onto his coat as he pulls away, ripping his gaze from you and turning on his heels to walk out of your apartment.
when the door closes behind him, you let out the longest, heftiest sigh, hands moving up to cup your face. god, you shouldn’t be tearing up.
despite the aching need for the sweetest, softest, gentlest, most perfect man in the world you broke up with because you couldn’t keep up with him putting most of his time into saving the world, you have work to do.
you have to find a way to stop your (other past) boyfriend from revealing superman’s identity to the world, because if you’re dead, there’s way less of a chance you get to fuck clark.
concluding a/n: omg this was too filthy lock me up also i was meant to post this hours ago i fell asleep editing this
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