words of betrayal
When Clark reads your journal, it leads to you ignoring him for a week. Then, Bizarro visits Metropolis and chooses you as the target, Superman is there to save you and maybe save your friendship with Clark too
tags: 18+, fem!reader, yearning, plot, Bizarro has a unspecified intentions w reader but I don't intend for it to be taken weirdly, light injury (nothing serious), pwp, eventual smut, Clark is so understanding, friends to lovers, Reader overthinks, female anatomy, reader has hair, implied age gap?, reader is pictured to be early to mid twenties, no argument but silent treatment, barely any angst, pet names, I lowkey lost the plot, first time writing after years, very rusty, probably badly written smut, also badly written aftercare / ending! but there is smut! P in V, unprotected, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, Clark has a big dick, cum eating, let me know if I missed anything!
wc: 12031! | AO3
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When you walked back into your living room after your shower, you had expected to see Clark Kent scrolling through your television. You did not expect to see Clark Kent sitting on the edge of your couch reading your journal.
Your best friend. Invading your privacy.
In fact, that was a sight you had never expected to see, given how he knew how sacred this belonging was to you. It was no secret that you could often be found writing in that journal; with your head down and engrossed in your own little world as you wrote anything and everything that came to your mind. Even at times when you were meant to be working, he would catch you at your desk hunched over the notebook.
To your appreciation, Clark never asked if he could see inside – ever the gentleman. He never made any efforts to peek at the pages when you weren’t looking – or at least, not that you knew of –, and was, for the most part, very respectful of your writing; this was opposed to the occasional wish for you to share an excerpt of whatever you had written down.
There were times where you were more than happy to share aloud what you had written, and there were others when you had politely declined his wish with the claim that it was something you felt needed to stay personal to yourself.
But here you were, your lips parted in shock as you watched him hold your journal open in his hands. You felt like your world had come crashing down. A chill ran through your body and settled deep within your bones at the mere thought of all of the things that you had written down in there, things that he was now reading.
“Clark?” you breathed out shakily. There was not enough air in the world that you could inhale into your lungs, there was no cure for the dizziness that spun your brain.
His head snapped up to look up at you, his eyes meeting yours equally as wide.
“Hi, Honey,” he said softly, slowly standing up as if he didn’t want to startle you as you looked as though you were about to run away and throw up at any second. He looked down at your journal, still tucked away in his hands before back up at you.
“This… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear,” he added quickly, his hands clutching your journal between the two of you.
The room tilted on an axis. Nothing seemed right as the walls began to close in on you. As you continued to gaze up at him, a heavy weight settled on your chest that left a lingering pain in the centre of it.
In an instant, all you could see was your room tinted in a hue of red as rage exploded through your veins and clouded your mind. You stormed up to him, your face contorted in hurt and anger as you looked up at him with fire in your eyes.
You were never one to get mad, to get upset; in fact, you were probably one of the most rational people that Clark had ever encountered. It was a perfect balance to his somewhat scattered tendencies when switching between Superman and civilian life.
But here he was on the receiving end of your anger, something that he had never experienced in all his years of knowing you.
“How could you?” you asked, your voice soft through the hurt and anger that was radiating off of you was tangible in the air, as you took the journal from his hands and held it up. Your face was a stone mask of nothing but he could see the emotions brewing in your eyes. Emotions that he had caused.
He was terrified; terrified because your tone was steady, though he could feel the tension floating off your body in crashing waves. Waves that struck him and left him feeling more guilt than he thought he would feel.
“No, wait, I didn’t-” “No! Clark, how could you?” you cut him off, your hand coming out to push him to sit back down on the couch. You had to be the one to look down at him otherwise you felt like you wouldn’t have the upper hand. Your hand gripped his shoulder as he sat on the bed looking up at you.
He went speechless as he let you handle him. Your touch was soft and gentle, just like you always were – the thing he loved most about you. Despite being used to the horrors he had faced in his life – the cold nights and harsh battles on alien planets – you were the one thing he knew would always be soft and warm.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he tried to get the words out they died in his throat once again. It was all too much, the scent of your perfume engulfing him and calming his nerves, your touch warming his shoulder and spreading throughout the rest of his body, and your beautiful face looking down at him – though, this time you were looking down at him as if he was the last person you wanted to see. He always had a tendency to become speechless in your presence and make a larger fool of himself than he normally would.
As he gazed up at you in this moment, he could no longer keep up that act. All he could do was savour these final moments of you; of your beauty; of the love he had for you that threatened to break through his walls at any given moment.
You continued to stare down at him for a couple of moments as you waited for him to give you an answer – to say anything. The tension in the air was palpable, a tension that you so desperately wanted to take in your hands and rip into shreds because this was Clark, your best friend. The man who saved a squirrel simply because it was a living being.
But as you stared down at him, all you could feel was pain. You shook your head, stepping back as you dropped the notebook down into his lap.
He looked down at the notebook and then up at you in confusion as the leather hit his thighs, his fingers reaching down to curl around the spine. “Keep it, since you wanted to read it so bad,” you shook your head again in disbelief as you stepped out of your way and gestured to the door, “I’d like to be alone now.”
He stood up immediately with a soft protest leaving his mouth but you cut him off again. “Go,” you said, looking down before looking back up at him with a quieter, “Please.”
You glanced up at him as he looked down at you with a pained expression, his lips parting again to speak. All you could do was shake your head and look away to fight the tears that were threatening to spill if you continued to see your journal within his grip.
The sounds of his footsteps with a slight silent hesitation near your door as he exited your room, kept your body tense until you heard the door shut softly behind him and the fading of his steps as he retreated.
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That was a week ago, and it was one of the hardest weeks of your life. You avoided Clark like the plague – leaving when he entered the room, not looking in his direction, and even going as far as to pretend he didn’t even exist. It wasn’t completely because he read your journal, it was the knowledge that he knew everything you had written in there, especially the entries regarding him.
Maybe it was your fault to write down your feelings for him in there, knowing that another set of eyes could have read them, but that notebook never left your side. Unless you were in the privacy of your own home and in a space in which you had trusted him to respect – which he had never given you a reason not to. You needed an outlet for the depth of your love for Clark. It was always so consuming, even debilitating. You could feel it in every crevice of your being, and the only way to expel it was to put it on paper.
Maybe you were being overdramatic. Maybe.
You walked into work that morning, a week after the incident, exhausted from a long and restless night. Metropolis had been a hub for extraterrestrial behaviour this past week, you had assumed, since Superman had been flying around more than normal. You could hear him outside your window. You could see him outside of your window. Flashes of blue and red as he zipped around and hovered.
This morning at the Daily Planet felt infinitely more hectic than usual. Papers were flying, bodies were blurs as they moved around the room in a hurry. You spared a quick glance at his desk. A turn of the eye through a blink, and nothing more. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment yet.
Clark was already gazing at you. His fingers wrapped tightly around his pen as his thumb clicked the end repeatedly. Unconsciously.
He had already sensed your presence the second you had turned onto Fifth and Concord. The comforting scent of your perfume slowly infiltrated his nostrils when you had stepped into the building. His mind calmed down the second you stepped out of the elevator and into the room. You calmed him down.
His body called for you. His skin longed to be pressed against yours in any capacity whenever he saw you. He saw you glance over, of course he did. He noticed everything when it came to you. He saw you pretending like you weren’t looking, and it made his heart skip a beat at the idea that you didn’t want him to know.
A loud snap flinched him out of his trance. The broken plastic of the pen scattered in his palm brought him back to reality as he gazed back up at you. He dropped the scattered pieces across his notepad as he quickly stood up and silently followed you to your desk.
You didn’t hear him following behind you, but you felt his proximity when you stopped just behind your chair and gazed at the wrapped package where your keyboard normally sat. For someone who took up as much space as Clark did, you never heard his footsteps thud under the heavy weight of his mass. The heat from his hand hovering over your shoulder seeped into your skin and had you tensing in your spot. You gazed down at the wrapped package as if it was toxic waste on your desk.
“It’s for you-” Clark’s gentle timber barely reached your ears as you gently grabbed the present and pressed it back into his hands. Quickly. Softly, but quickly. The package itself burned your hands in a branded reminder of the intent behind the present.
I’m sorry.
An apology gift. An apology gift for sorrow-filled feelings consequenced out of their own volition.
“No, Clark,” you murmured back softly as you slid into your seat and turned your monitor on. The silence behind you stretched on for a moment, and you didn’t dare to turn around. Your vertebrae grinded and cracked with the force of your rigidity.
Finally after a few short moments, Clark leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “I understand, I’m sorry. I miss you, Honey.”
He didn’t touch you beyond that. His large, always warm – almost too warm sometimes – hands remained respectfully by his side. Fuck Clark Kent. Fuck Clark Kent with this gentlemanly manners, his understanding, his patience, his farmboy charm, his kind eyes, his captivating–
No.
You shook those thoughts from your mind immediately as you quickly dove into the articles that needed editing for the day. By the time the work day ended, your exhaustion streamed through your bones and into your brain.
“Hey, Babes, what are you up to tonight?” Lois planted on the desk in front of you as she knocked her legs between yours. Her signature smirk, though a hint softer as she gazed at you, was plastered on her face as she leaned forward. “Drinks? Bar? Jimmy is in. Clark will go if you go-” You tensed at the mention of Clark before shaking your head slightly. “Sorry, Lois, I’m not feeling a night out this week,”
Her gaze narrowed as she analyzed your form. Her analytical eyes zeroed in on various points of your form.
“Spill it.”
“... Nothing to spill.” you attempted to feign nonchalance, but fidgeted under her gaze. “Stop doing that!”
“What are you hiding from me?” She stated again, her eyes boring into your features. “What happened with Clark?”
Your hand came up to quiet her, as if that was possible for a personality as loud as Lois’. “Shh, what if he hears you!” You whispered in embarrassment, looking around as you ducked your head down. Despite the fire coursing through your body, you knew Clark had left The Planet an hour and a half ago on reporter business, you know?
“He left so long ago, we’re fine” She waved you off, rolling her eyes as she gently kicked her feet, “tell me, tell me, tell me!”
“Yeah, and somehow, he always manages to know, you know? I think he has superhearing or something cause there’s no way-” you began to ramble, giving her a speculative glance as you leaned into her bubble as well.
“Okay, what did he do?” She pressed again as she interrupted your ramblings, this time quieter for your sake. Coaxing. Your quiet-natured heart always appreciated softer conversations, something Lois had actively attempted to start doing when she was with you. “He read my journal,” you mumbled through a soft breath, frowning at her. Your hand came up to cover your eyes at the frustration. “Am I overreacting? Am I being immature?”
Thoughts swirled through your brain and out your ears, so wild and loud that you were sure Lois could see them. Were you overreacting? Did Clark’s actions warrant silent treatment, or even a termination of friendship? Your immediate thought was no. Truthfully, you didn’t think you could be without Clark’s friendship. He was your best friend. You didn’t want to be without him, but you struggled to look him in the eye. And, sure, you were younger than most of the Daily Planet staff, but you had just graduated from your Masters program! Give a girl a break!
Your gaze focused back up at Lois’ face as a small pout formed across your lips. “You’re not overreacting, he shouldn’t have done that,” Lois sighed softly. Her hand rubbed your shoulder soothingly before gently nudging your chin as she gave you a small, reassuring smile. “But I do think you owe him a conversation. Let him explain.”
Her words were urging, and kind – the kind of tone she always took with you. Your pout lingered on your lips for a few moments longer before you let out a resigned sigh. Your bones were heavy and weighed your skin down into your chair. “I think I’m just embarrassed? You know? That he read it? That he saw everything?” You attempted to rationalize, nibbling on your bottom lip softly before sitting up again. Lois hummed in understanding as she stood up and grabbed her bag, “Movie night? Take out, Ice Cream and Snacks?” You nodded appreciatively as you gathered your own belongings. Despite not knowing her for long, she had quickly become one of your closest friends.
Lois smiled and squeezed your hand, “Perfect! Go home, get cozy. I’ll be over later with everything. Don’t worry about anything.”
Your journey home was uneventful. Your preparations for your movie night with Lois were sluggish, but left you feeling lighter than the past week. She kept you distracted with conversation and avoided anything related to The C-Word. Gratitude simmered deep in your chest and thawed your frozen heart. Moving to Metropolis had been scary for you for a number of reasons, but you worked so hard to persevere due to your love for your program at Metropolis University. Making friends was even harder. It had seemed like everyone kept to themselves or avoided getting too close due to the growing threat of extraterrestrial visits.
But then, you secured an internship at The Daily Planet, and your life changed for the better. Sure, everyone else had a few years on you, but it never felt that way. They accepted you. They made an effort to include you despite your shy demeanor and hesitations to get too close.
Lois was your mentor, your supervisor, and, eventually, your best friend. She molded you into the journalist you wanted to be – the journalist you strived to be. She also helped you realize that being on the front lines wasn’t your passion, it was a projected dream. You loved editing, you just didn’t know if you could make a career out of it. Lois showed you that you could. Perry recognized that as well, and offered you a job as a Daily Planet Editor.
After Perry hired you, you suddenly felt like you belonged somewhere, with a job that you were genuinely happy with. Clark was the root of that feeling. He made you feel seen. Over the course of your year working at the Planet, you had become the closest with Clark, and Lois. Weekends spent alone in your apartment turned into nights out with the Daily Planet team.
Then, things shifted and nights with the group turned into nights with Clark. Hushed words were shared in the quiet of various shared spaces with Clark: in your living room, at his kitchen table, under the dim lighting of your fairy lights that hung from your bedroom ceiling. It was real. Honest. Quiet. Safe.
You weren’t looking to fall in love with Clark, but it was really hard not to. You were sure that everyone in Clark’s life was in love with him. He was beautiful. His curls were always a little bit messy. His tie was never tied properly. You loved when his glasses began to slip down his nose and how quickly he pushed them back up. You loved his dimples and how you could always see the indent threatening to break his skin.
A small smile spread on your own face at the thought of Clark. You stood up and began to tidy up your apartment after Lois’ departure. You had let yourself go this week, which wasn’t something you were proud of. The mess that had accumulated was a reflection of your state of mind.
You began to unpack your work bag for the weekend, taking out your lunch containers to put into your dishwasher. You froze as you opened your bag, blinking down at the wrapped package that was nestled between your lunch container and your pouch of necessities. With careful hands, you pulled out the package.
That sneaky little bitch-, you thought as your eyes narrowed down at the gift. When did he? Oh. you knew exactly when he slipped the gift into your bag. Your shoulders slumped at the memory of his lips gently pressing into your head.
I understand, I’m sorry. I miss you, Honey.
Those words that he whispered earlier into your hair branded your scalp. Honey. That stupid nickname that only Clark called you that you loved so much. That made you feel gooey inside. You missed him too. You really missed him.
Your fingers slid under the edge of the paper and gently unwrapped it. Guilt settled over you like a blanket as you gazed at the gift laid out before you on the table. Your fingers gently traced over the letters burned into the front of the browned leather. C.K. The gold lettering branded into your finger tip.
You were in disbelief over what was in front of you. His journal? What was this – Some kind of journal swap? You didn’t even want to read his journal, you didn’t even know he had–
Well, that was a stupid thought. You had assumed he had one, you had just never seen it. The leather was soft and worn under your hands. Flimsy, like it had been broken in with consistent use. You could practically see his fingerprints etched into the cover, certain areas changed with the memory of his fingers. You thought that about yourself sometimes too. His fingers had also left imprints on your heart; In the skin just above your elbow where he liked to hold you in his attempts to be respectful; The little path his thumb would trace behind your ear and into your hair – you swore you had developed a cowlick there from Clark’s constant ministrations. The unnatural warmth of his hands melted down the barriers of your reservations just by tender touches alone.
Though, everything about you had changed since you let him into your life.
Through your thought process, you had made your way outside and onto your balcony. The cushion under you was grounding as you curled up in the chair. Possessing Clark’s journal was charting into a dangerous territory. You knew he gave it to you in order to even the score; he read yours, and now you could read his. That exchange didn’t sit right in your gut. It bubbled at the thought of opening these pages. You were almost scared to find out what he had written down in there, and why he was so willing to give it to you.
Almost.
“Breaking news, Supervillain ‘Bizarro’ is spotted in Metropolis. Live footage of him on Clinton Street, residents take safety measures-”
You lazily glanced at the news channel displayed on your TV as you continued to contemplate the journal in your hands. Wait. Clinton Street? You lived on Clinton Street. But there’s no commotion anywhere? The streets were quiet. You stood up and looked over the balcony to see any activity.
Your breath caught in your lungs as you became face to face with Bizarro himself. You blinked quickly at him as he floated up past your balcony and in front of you. The leather of Clark’s journal pressed into your chest as you stumbled back. God, you had hoped Clark was okay, he only lived a few buildings next to yours.
There wasn’t enough air to adequately fill your lungs. Bizarro floated closer with the dopey smile spread across his mouth. You weren’t fooled, however, you knew the strength he possessed. It was scary how similar Bizarro had been created to clone Superman. He moved with a heavy limpness, a contrast to the elegant grace that Superman seemed to float with. Closer, he floated, and you stumbled back further with the grace of a newborn baby gazelle.
The sky remained dark and empty, not a cloud was there to mock the position you found yourself in. You could only hope that Superman would be on his way soon, but the familiar flashes of red and blue that you had grown accustomed to this past week was nowhere in sight.
Still, Bizarro floated closer, a thick glob of drool stringing down the corner of his lip and hung down from his chin. His lips were moving as if he was speaking to you but only gargled noises reached your ears. His large hands, grey tinted and uncoordinated and nothing like the warmth of Clark’s hands, reached out for the strands of your hair.
A strangled shriek burned your throat as you tripped over your balcony chair, your head almost slamming onto the concrete if it wasn’t for the hands that cradled your body.
Hands, on your waist, and tangled in the back of your hair. They lifted you upright and steadied your shaking form. Blue; and red; and yellow. A cape. Superman? Your eyes focused on his face, blinking through the haze of panic. Yes, Superman. Definitely Superman. “You with me?” The rich gravel of his voice reached your ears as the vibrations squeezed through the panic flooding your system. A small nod was all you could muster. Superman’s thumb traced the patch of skin behind your ear and into your hairline, the same way Clark always did. You shook your head at the thought of Clark, swallowing thickly. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking of Clark, not when Superman and Bizarro were about to face off on your balcony. Even if you did wish it was Clark holding you at the moment instead. Even if you did wish that it was Clark’s thumb tracing that familiar spot. How did Superman know to do that?
“Good, I’m good,” you mumbled out thickly. Superman’s eyes glanced down at Clark’s journal in your hands before guiding you backwards. Bizarro’s figure floated up behind Superman’s shoulder. His unfocused gaze was transfixed on your head.
“Her… yes.. I want,” Bizarro’s words hung in the air, a tenseness settled over your heads. Superman turned around to face Bizarro. He floated up to meet Bizarro’s eye level.
“We talked about this last time,” Superman chided as if scolding a child. “Why are you out right now? You know you are not supposed to be.”
“... girl,” Bizarro frowned, looking around Superman’s shoulders and back down at you.
“No, Bizarro, no. What did I tell you? I let you stay at your compound, untouched, if you stay there. Away from Metropolis. Away from people. There is no girl,” Superman’s cadence turned stern, blocking you from Bizarro’s view.
Bizarro’s expression contorted into anger. His spit flying through his roars.
“Alright, you’re done here, buddy,” Superman gritted out, his hands slapping down on Bizarro’s shoulder. Bizarro snarled back, his hand coming up and connecting with Superman’s stomach with a solid thud. Superman’s solid form flew right by you, knocking you over with the force of the wind, and slammed into the concrete wall of your balcony. You hit the ground hard, sliding back until your body was stopped by the sliding door separating you from your living room.
Your world spun. You could hear the struggle between Superman and Bizarro, and the faint sound of a helicopter hovering somewhere above you. As your head stopped spinning, your eyes focused on Superman wrapping his arms around Bizarro and shooting into the air.
Your hazy gaze flicked back to your television that was showing a live broadcasting of the fight. There was your balcony. There was you – God, how embarrassing! And there was Superman and Bizarro having a sparring match in the air. A comically overly powered sparring match, more like. You pushed yourself up and crawled back inside. Your bones were heavy with exhaustion, screaming in protest at every little movement.
The news showed Superman apprehending Bizarro and shooting off into the sky once again. Gone. They were gone. What the fuck just happened? Superman and Bizarro just fought on your balcony. Your gaze flickered back outside and into the body shaped dent into your balcony wall. Concrete shards crumbled onto the floor, some pieces grinded to dust.
Your phone buzzed with an onslaught of missed messages and calls. Lois, Jimmy, Cat, and…. None from Clark. Oh. He's probably busy? Another call from Lois came through on your phone before you could deliberate any further. “...hi,” your voice was small and breathless.
“Oh my god, are you okay? I saw you on the news, C-.. Superman saved you?” Lois’ voice immediately rang out through your speakers.
“I’m fine… promise, um… I don’t…” you rested your face in your hands, attempting to breathe air into your lungs. Your world was tilted off its axis.
“Do you want me to come back? Do you need anything?” you would hear her voice but nothing registered.
“No, I’m good, Lois, promise. Just shaken up. Call you tomorrow, yeah?,” you responded back quietly, attempting to keep your tone light. You barely finished hanging up the phone before another flash of blue on your balcony caught your attention. Superman… was on your balcony?
You were paralyzed in your spot, blinking up at him standing on your balcony. He was… different than you had expected from up close. Larger. His hair was perfectly intact, except a singular strand that hung down his forehead. His blue eyes were striking, yet kind. He radiated an energy of safety that infiltrated your barriers and blanketed over your nerves.
You stood up and slowly walked over to the balcony door, sliding it open. Your arms ached at the exertion it took to open the door. “Hi?” you murmured out softly. Your sock covered toes pressed into the wall that held the sliding door in place. It was an attempt at grounding you to this reality – that the haze in your head was clearing and this wasn’t a part of your imagination.
“Hello, Ma’am. Are you okay?” Superman’s gaze locked onto your form, you felt as if he was looking inside of you. You gave him the faintest nod, your eyes wide and unblinking. You gripped the sliding door frame so tight that you swore it was bending under the pressure of your fingers.
His gaze settled at the top of your head before slowly making his way down your form. His eyes glowed as they lingered over certain areas more than others. “Minor bruising in some spots, no concussion. No brain damage or internal injuries. You’ll be fine in a few days.”
“How do you… what?” your confusion was evident on your face. You knew he had X-Ray vision, but experiencing it was a jarring experience.
“How do you know that?” You repeated your question. Your voice was meek, uncertain. No concussion? Sure felt like it.
“X-Ray vision. I know what injuries look serious enough for medical attention,” He stated professionally – sure of himself. His gaze remained intense, checking over you again.
His words were meant to assure you, balm over the past hour so you could move forward. It wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t wind down, not after the events of the week, and this night could have tipped you over the edge. Your body yearned for Clark’s comfort. Even just the simplicity of being in his presence would have been enough to quiet your brain. You knew your actions towards him this week bordered the line of disrespect. You couldn’t just run back to him now that you needed him. “Is he… what happened to him? Bizarro,” you snapped out of your thoughts. You didn’t recognize your own voice. You could feel the disconnect between your brain and your synapses. You felt delayed, like your mind might have been playing tricks on you. Superman’s voice washed over you in a calming wave, something that only happened to you when Clark spoke to you.
“He won’t bother you ever again, Ma’am, I promise,” Superman’s words did little to assure you, despite how trusting you were of him. Your body responded to his words in relief, though your mind remained on edge. He bent down and retrieved a notebook off the floor – Clark’s journal.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I… thank you,” you murmured out softly, reaching your hand out for the journal in Superman’s hands. Your fingers connected with his, trapping the leather between your grasps. His hand was warm, unnaturally warm, and instantly seeped up into your fingers and through your arms. A familiar warmth that was enough to replace the feeling Clark’s hands gave you – it would do, for now.
It was interesting seeing Superman up close. You could see the strength in his body. Otherworldly. Comforting where it should be terrifying. Your eyes flickered down to his hands where they brushed over yours, before back up to his eyes. Soft. Blue. Familiar. Your head tilted slightly to the side in contemplation. That shade of blue, so–
“C.K… your name?” his voice rumbled out, distracting you from your thought process. He could see your thoughts swirling in your brain, the look of contemplation in your eyes. You were smart, Clark was well aware of your intelligence. Looking too closely at him would reveal a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share yet. He gave you a kind smile as he pulled his hand away from yours.
You breathed your name out softly, failing to elaborate and let your name hang in the silent air for a second.
Stupid, stupid.
Superman had a small, almost fond, smile on his face as he regarded you. You felt like he was in on a joke that you weren’t. Your mind spun, and your nerves went into overdrive. As he moved to respond, you couldn’t stop your words from vomiting out.
“I mean, the lettering on the journal isn’t for my name, but this is mine? Well, not mine, it’s someone else’s-” you pressed your lips together to cut yourself off from speaking further.
“You have someone else’s… journal?” Superman mused, his hands clasping behind his back. His gaze was intense, his head cocked down as he regarded you.
“It’s complicated,” you responded softly, bringing the journal to your chest.
“You know, I can do more than just fly around and fight bad guys, I’ve been told I’m a great listener,” his tone remained gentle – a stark contrast to his physical appearance. He lowered himself into one of your balcony chairs, gesturing to the one beside him for you to join.
“Adding “therapist” to your job description?” you lowered yourself into the chair, bringing your legs up comfortably. “Do you always come back to check on the people you save, Superman?”
“Not always,” The chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back to settle in. He practically spilled over the edges of the seat, making the normal sized chair look miniature. His response was simple, but unmistakable. The unspoken words hung in the air, words that you weren’t sure you were imagining due to the dissipating haze that was slowly lingering in your mind. His comically large figure sat in your balcony chairs like he owned the place, like he had done this a thousand times before in your apartment.
“Lucky me,” you murmured back softly, a silence settling over you. You had already begun to pick at your nail polish, deciding to distract your fingers with tracing the lettering of Clark’s journal instead. All the words died in your throat. This was weird, right? Really weird? Superman was sitting on your balcony, offering to be your therapist.
His gaze settled on your fingers. He was well aware of your nervous stature, the silent anxiety you could harbour occasionally. He knew, but you were under the impression that you were talking to Superman, not Clark. You didn’t know they were the same person – that the very man who was the reason for your troubles was sitting right beside you.
“So what happened?” He urged softly. His smile was reassuring, his gaze flickering down to the journal in your lap.
You hesitated slightly, still struggling to find the words. “I… I feel like speaking to you is a conflict of interest,”
“Why would you think that?” His breath caught in his throat, but you didn’t notice. Clark’s mind went into overdrive. Did you know?
“Well, I mean. Everything is just… stupid, and petty of me, it’s all my fault. You’re a conflict of interest because you know Clark, he interviews you, and you guys are friends?” you finally gazed back up at Superman. “I don’t want to put you in the middle of whatever is going on between us.”
“Clark, right. Yes, Clark Kent. We are friends. Very close,” he cleared his throat, looking forward at the view off your balcony.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even-”
“No. Nothing to apologize for, I promise. I’m here to listen to you if you want,” He rumbled back gently. He didn’t push. He didn’t pry. He sat there, quietly coexisting beside you as if he had all the time in the world to sit right there; as if there was no other place he would rather be right now. “Besides, whatever horrible thing Clark did to you, I won’t tell him.”
“I could never say anything bad about Clark, ever. He has the biggest heart I have ever seen,” your voice was small, laced with guilt. “I guess, I just don’t know if I can face him,”
Superman remained quiet beside you, waiting for you to gather your thoughts. He didn’t look at you with judgement, only understanding. Your gaze was fixed on Clark’s journal on your lap.
You let out a huff of embarrassment, your hands covering your eyes. “I wouldn’t blame him if he never wanted to talk to me again. I’ve been a horrible friend to him this past week.”
“I can assure you that he wants you in his life, you don’t have to worry about that,”
“How do you know that? Did he say something to you?” You sat up slightly nervously, pulling your bottom lip into his mouth. “Cause if he said something, you have to tell me, I don’t want to make an even bigger fool-”
He gave you a hint of a smile, his expression soft as he regarded you. “Just talk to him, Honey. I can assure you that Clark would be happy to.”
You nodded, settling back in your seat with a quiet breath. Your mind raced with scenarios and possibilities. Honey? Superman called you-
“Okay, you’re right. I can talk to him. It’s only Clark, right? Nothing to be scared of.” You turned to face Superman again, your anxiety tangible in the air. You shook the previous thoughts out of your mind, it’s just a nickname. “Right?”
“Nothing to be scared of,” he assured with a nod. His eyes were light with amusement.
“But, I mean, everyone has reached out to me since the news broadcasted me getting thrown onto the floor like a ragdoll, but Clark hasn’t. So that must mean that he hates me,” You countered, your voice laced with panic.
Superman threw his head back, a smile still spread across his face. He couldn’t help but think about the love he had for you at that moment. You had no idea who he was, who you were talking to. How madly in love he was with you, the complete opposite to what you were rambling about.
“Let me ask you this,” he focused his gaze back on you. “You have Clark’s journal in your hands.”
You nodded in confirmation, waiting for him to continue.
“Have you read it? Before deciding that he hates you. You have all of his thoughts right there,” he grabbed the journal from your lap and held it up.
“Oh, no, I don’t think that I could,” you denied immediately. Your hands raised defensively as if that would stop the thoughts from penetrating your mind.
“You can. Read it, trust me,” he urged. This time, you could feel the pressure he applied with his words. His hands pressed the journal into yours and guided your hands to open the journal.
Your eyes hesitantly read over the words on the first page. Daily Planet thoughts. Mundane, but in Clark’s unmistakable cadence.
The next page – details about his visit back home to Smallville for the weekend. You remembered him telling you about that weekend months into your friendship. He had told you how excited he was to go home, finally get away. You smiled fondly at the memory.
You flipped a few pages ahead, landing on an entry dated around a year ago, the day you started your internship at the Daily Planet.
‘Today, I met an angel. That is the only way I can describe her. Angel. She is stunning. Beautiful. Ethereal. The new intern working at the Planet with us. She walked in all nervous, I could tell. I could smell it on her skin, hear her pulse racing. Perry is putting her under Lois – good choice. I don’t think I would be able to handle it if I had to mentor her. I forgot everything when I looked at her face. She told me her name, it’s beautiful just like she is. I’m a goner. Completely gone.–’
You read the top part of the entry quietly. You couldn’t keep reading this. You couldn’t.
“Keep going,” Superman commanded from beside you. Your mind was screaming with hesitation. His arms wrapped around your form settled in the chair, guiding your hands again. When did he move out of the chair? How is he so large?
His guided your fingers to flip ahead with an odd familiarity, like he knew his way around these entries intimately. He held open an entry dated 6 months ago. “Read it. Now.”
Your eyes flicked over the words hesitantly. “This isn’t right, I don’t want to invade Clark’s–”
“Read it.”
‘Everything about her reminds me of honey. The sound of her voice, her scent – it sticks to me and clings to my essence, the smooth glide of her touch. That’s why I call her ‘Honey’. I can never get enough. I shouldn’t have gotten as close as I did, as I am right now. I should have kept my distance. It’s not safe for her, for me. I could never forgive myself if something happened to her, but I love her. I am in love with her. Gosh, I am such a coward. I love her but I am lying to her. I can never tell her my real name, my real identity, where I’m really from. Every time I see her, the words are on the tip of my tongue; the words that reveal that it’s me wearing that cape–’
Your brows furrowed slightly. Cape?. Your synapses exploded with realization. The thoughts exploding through your mind and firing down to your fingertips. You could feel it in your toes, where they were pressed against Superman’s legs. This wasn’t just Superman, this was Clark. Your Clark.
Your eyes snapped up to meet his. You were speechless at the revelation, not having the strength to continue reading.
“Clark?” your voice was far away. Breathless. It barely reached your ears, you were sure he couldn’t hear your words either.
“Hi, Honey,” he whispered gently. Placatingly, lovingly. He shifted again, in that elegant way that he always seems to carry himself, and placed himself right in front of you. His large body was nestled between your knees, pressing against the edge of the chair. He had that soft smile on his lips that he only ever reserved for you, the crater in his cheek barely denting into his skin.
“Clark.” you repeated again, disbelief written over your features and in your eyes. You surged forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your body slid off the seat of the chair and settled into his lap. His arms – strong, sure, steady – anchored you to his body.
His laugh rumbled through his chest and rattled your bones. He smelled the same. Warm, familiar, distinctly Clark – Superman? No, just Clark.
“I’m sorry,” you breathed into his neck, your nose nuzzling into the skin. “I’m sorry for being upset with you, and ignoring you. I’ve been the biggest bitch, and the worst friend,”
“You have nothing to apologise for tonight,” his voice was barely above a breath into your ear. The smooth tip of his nose traced a path from the base of your neck up to just below your earlobe. He would never get enough of your scent up close. Sweet, fresh, no amount of the scent could satisfy his cravings. It was an insatiable desire that clouded his mind. It was times like these that he was thankful for his increased sense of smell. He never really got many opportunities to be this close to you, to have direct access to your skin. “Tomorrow, though, you have some groveling to do, Honey.”
His words, meant to be teasing, bounced right off the shield of panic that surrounded your thoughts. “Anything. You’re fucking-”
“Language,”
“Shut up.”
There was safety in Clark’s arms, in the ridges of his chest, in being engulfed by the man you loved. His hands, strong enough to rip the burning sun apart without a mark to show for it, held you like you were something worth keeping. Something precious. Maybe you were worth keeping.
“It wasn’t right of me to read your journal,” Clark’s voice began again softly against the skin of your neck. “And I don’t have a good enough excuse as to why I did it.”
“Why did you?” you whispered back. The night was cold in Metropolis, biting at your cheeks and freezing your joints. Though, you barely felt it in the warmth of Clark’s embrace.
“I thought you knew I was Superman,” his words were a puff of air against your skin. His forehead was pressed into your shoulder and the shame he was radiating practically seeped into your skin. He let the words hang for a few moments before he lifted his head to catch your eyes.
“It was eating me alive, not knowing. I wanted to ask you, but it felt dangerous. I thought I could take a quick look and be done with it,” he let out another huff, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he blinked at the Clark-shaped dent in your balcony. “X-Ray vision, you know, I can see the words without even opening the book. But then I saw what you wrote about me, your confession, and I had to see it for what it was – without the X-Ray.”
Your gaze averted. You knew exactly what you had written there – cheesy declarations of love and your insecurities about not wanting to ruin your friendship – and you knew he had seen it. Hearing him say it out loud only deepened the embarrassment that festered in your stomach.
“I was so happy to see that you returned my feelings, that the girl of my dreams loved me too. When you walked in and saw me with your journal, you looked like you hated me,”
“I don’t, no! I didn’t mean, I was just mad-”
He cut you off gently, his hand cradling your cheek. “No, Honey, let me finish.”
“I know you don’t hate me, My Darling, I can hear your heartbeat, I know how it beats to your emotions. That doesn’t make it better, though, does it? I know I hurt you, and I’m truly sorry,” his fingers curled around his discarded journal in your lap. He held it up between the two of you, “I know giving this to you doesn’t erase what I did, but I hope that it can be a start. It tells you everything that I’ve been too afraid to say outloud.”
“I love you, Clark,” you blurted out softly. Your fingers curled around the smooth material of his cape.
His lips quirked up slightly, his tongue poking out and covering his teeth. His eyes sparkled in the reflection of the moon. “I love you, Honey, even if you couldn’t wait two seconds for me to say it first.”
A small, apologetic smile spread across your face. Fire spread up your spine and into the tips of your ears. You were still feeling overwhelmed from the events of the past week. You thought seeing Clark would quell your anxieties, and soothe the claws scratching inside your throat, but it didn’t. He noticed instantly, of course he did. He could smell the distress mixed in with your natural scent.
Both his palms rested on your cheeks, holding your head in place. His forehead pressed against yours. Unmistakable, final. “I am going to say this once, okay? I’m not upset with you in any way, I love you.”
Your eyes fluttered in acknowledgment. You could feel the sincerity in his words finding home in the grooves of your sulcus. The space between your bodies had been charged with an electric current, magnetic force field that neither of you could resist.
“I’d also really like to kiss you now, if that is okay with you,” he whispered softly, his chin angling towards you with physical restraint. His nose brushed against yours and traced along your cheek. “Please.”
He could sense your answer before you told him. You released a slight hitch of a breath, so miniscule that your own body may not have been able to perceive it if you weren’t paying attention, and a barely perceptible nod of consent. Yes. Yes, you wanted that too.
“Say it,” he murmured softly, hovering his lips over yours. His gaze was zeroed on the part of your lips, every line that made up the shape of them burned into his mind.
“Yes-”
His lips meeting yours felt like getting tossed into the wall again. You had dreamed of this moment, the taste, the feel – it exceeded any fantasy you had curated. You leaned closer to him, your lips moving against his with gentle familiarity. The rhythm was natural, as if you two had done this a thousand times before. Your arms locked around his neck, leaning your weight into his chest from where you were settled on his thigh. The cold plastic of the balcony chair pressed a line into the bottom of your back, though the tender pain of the earlier bruising barely registered in your mind.
Clark licked into your mouth, his fingers slipping into the back of your hair and angling your head back. Your taste settled into his tongue, burrowing into a molecular level and binding to his own. He was addicted. Hooked.
You pulled away first, leaving millimeters of space between your mouths. He didn’t give you a moment to react before he was up and moving inside to your bedroom. His lips found yours again, pressing your back into the bed. His weight grounding on top of you, the only thing that could keep you breathing in this moment. You both moved against each other with a fervor, the sparks between you crackling into explosions. You whined breathlessly into his parted lips, the words you wanted to say died in your throat with a bite to his lower lip. His fingers intertwined with yours and pressed them above your head.
“I want you, and I want this. But I want to do it right. If you want me to stop right now, I will. Otherwise, I’d really like to keep going, Honey,” His tone was steady, not a breath out of place, unlike your own. His words were ragged like rocks corroded against a cliff. They cut sharply through the pleasure induced fog that he caused in your mind with a simple kiss.
You nodded frantically, angling your head back up to meet his lips again. Clark met you halfway, his kisses turning demanding and claiming. It was messy, wet – his spit dribbling down your lip and to your chin from the force of his kiss.
His lips trailed down your jaw and towards your neck, pressing soft and insistent kisses over the smooth expanse of skin. His hands let go of yours, sliding down your arms. One arm curled around your lower back, holding you up to him. His other hand slipped under your hoodie, his fingers settling in between the intercostal spaces of your ribs. You had always wondered what his hair would feel like between your fingers – what noises he would make, how they would feel when you tugged them.
You gripped onto the hairs on the base of his neck with a soft tug, and a rough groan erupted low in his throat. “You can’t do that,” his voice was torn with desire. Despite Clark’s usually lightly disheveled appearance, you had never seen it to this extent – his blue eyes, so crystalline, were blown out and unfocused; his lips were red and puffy with indentations where your teeth had bitten for a taste.
His hand slid up under your sweater to cup your breast, another groan ripping out from his throat. Your skin was a canvas, one he wanted to explore and mark. Every dip, every mark was catalogued in his mind – saved in a file that he made sure he would memorize forever. His head dropped against your collarbone as he bit down slightly on the skin. “You’re killing me, Honey.”
He sat up, his hands sliding your hoodie up and over your head. His eyes focused on your chest, burning with need and restraint. His mouth came down and sealed over your nipple, sucking and biting. His free hand came up and cupped your other breast, rolling the bud of your nipple between his fingers. Your back arched to meet his mouth with a soft whine. The sensation of Clark’s mouth was instant, relentless. Despite the voracity of his movements, the effort of restraint was visible in his muscles. The tension in his back coiled tight as he fought his biology to remain gentle.
His mouth pressed wet kisses between your breasts before biting down softly on the fat of your other breast. He was starving. His spit was shining across your skin like a claim, a mark without blemishing your skin.
“Beautiful, so beautiful, wow-” his words were mumbled into your skin and he explored your torso with his mouth. He marked his path down your stomach and to your hips. His fingers left a blazing trail as they hooked around the waistband of your pyjama bottoms.
Your hands instantly wrapped around his, halting him. “Wait-”
Clark froze, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. Specks of uncertainty broke through the rage of desire that clouded the blues of his eyes. “What is it, Baby?”
You sucked in a soft breath, your fingers curled again in the collar of his Superman suit. Your voice was soft, almost shy. “I don’t want to be the only one exposed… makes me feel uncomfortable,”
He sat up immediately, grabbing your fingers and pressing them into the notch on the smooth kevlar of his suit. Your fingers pressed onto the hidden notch, the soft click echoing in the space between your bodies. The material deflated off his body, slowly pooling down his arms and around his waist.
Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of his skin. He was akin to a marble statue. Strong, smooth, breathtaking. He remained still, using barely a fraction of his strength to hover above you – enough to remain close without suffocating you. Your hands gently rested on the front of his shoulders, feeling the hardened chord of muscles. Kryptonian muscles, Kryptonian biology. His power thrummed through your fingers, a measure that you were unable to comprehend.
You could see it now, how Clark Kent was Superman. How your Clark harboured a strength that he made look so gentle, but could be destructive – catastrophic. Yet, he never used his strength for what it was intended for. He never brought intentional destruction to Earth.
Your fingers met the fabric of the suit that pooled around his waist and slid it down with his assistance. The fabric hit the floor beside your bed with a soft thud – finalizing the moment that the two of you were about to share. He was bare, save for his boxers, in all his Kryptonian glory. He settled back between your thighs, pushing his hips into yours.
That was when you felt it – every ridge of hardness that was between his legs, the size that took your breath away, even with the layers of clothing still separating you two. You pulled him back down, pressing your chests together again as you smashed your lips back into his.
The kiss was desperate, full of apology and promise for what was to come. Clark’s fingers found your waistband again, ripping off your bottoms and your panties in one go without breaking the kiss. The shred of fabric went unnoticed in your ears. The taste of his tongue was dizzying, consuming. Your mind was black, a dark void of mass that was drowning in anxieties from the past week. Clark was the light that cut through that void, dissipating the smoke with each kiss and flick of his tongue against your skin.
His hands rested on the inside of your thighs, pushing your legs apart and settling his stomach against the bed. His hand trailed through your slick folds, gathering the wetness on the tips of his fingers. A low groan rumbling in this throat. Your legs jumped, a soft squeak exiting your own mouth at the same time.
“Clark!” you panted softly, your fingers digging into his biceps where they rested on your thighs.
“This all for me, Honey? I haven’t even touched you yet,” his voice was rough as he thumbed circles over your clit. His hand held your thigh to the side, keeping your leg from shaking under the pressure of his circling thumb.
“Oh, fuck, Clark, please,”
“What did I tell you earlier about your language,” he growled out softly, his finger slipping inside easily into your heat. He met your gaze, tearing his focus away from where his finger was plunging deep inside of you. His eyes were feral, gone was any trace of the soft Clark you knew.
Before you could respond, his finger began to move slowly, working you open. His finger alone, felt like too much, a steady pressure that you had never experienced with anyone else before. He added another one, your walls welcoming the intrusion with a wet schlup. He pumped his fingers steadily, curling his fingers until he found the spot he was looking for.
“Fu-”
He cut you off with his own mouth before you could finish, scissoring his fingers into that spot with viscous precision. Your legs shook under his hold as you whined into his mouth. It was consuming, your body was on fire. His thumb circled your clit again, the pace of his fingers never faltering. Heat curled up your stomach and through your spine.
“I’m, Clark, I think I’m-” you could barely mumble into his mouth. He was devouring you, sucking the words from your throat before you could get the chance to speak them. “Let go for me, give it to me,” he whispered into your panting mouth, his arm resting beside your head. His thumb swiped you one more time before your body tensed with your release. Your eyes rolled back and your muscles locked up, a soft cry ripping from your throat as your legs threatened to close. His fingers slowed down, helping you ride out your pleasure.
“That’s it, Darling, so good for me, yeah?” Clark murmured roughly, slowly sliding his fingers from you. His gaze darkened further at the slick coating his fingers. You propped yourself on your elbows and followed his gaze. He wiped his fingers over your folds before leaning back down and sealing his lips around your clit.
You let out a shriek, falling back as your hands gripped his hair. “Clark!” your hips shifted away from his mouth. His hands wrapped around your hips and held you to his mouth. He was ruthless, his tongue licking every trace of your release before dipping inside your entrance. You let out another cry at the sensitivity, another release ready to snap from you like a rubber band. He continued to lick at your walls, his nose bumping into your sensitive clit. Your hands pulled at his curls again, attempting to push his head away, though your hips ground closer to his mouth.
The pressure built up steadily once more, your movements faltering. It only encouraged Clark further. He licked up through your folds again before wrapping around your puffy clit. All it took was one suck before your body convulsed again with release. You grabbed the pillow and pressed it over your face, choking on your moans.
“Holy shit, Clark, so good, I can’t,” your voice cut off with another high moan. He didn’t stop. His lips remained suctioned around your nub, continuing to lick circled around it with his tongue. One of his arms settled across your stomach, pinning your hips down in place. His other fingers prodded against your entrance again as your muscles jumped.
“Too much, Clark-”
“One more, Baby, please, you can do it, yeah? I need it, please, you can give me one more,” he praised softly, pressed suctioning kisses over your clit and down your slit. His fingers found your spot inside of you again, vibrating with unparalleled strength. You clenched tightly around him as he groaned deeply, rumbling deep in his chest.
“She’s doing so good for me, so good, I can feel it, Honey, you’re almost there,” you could barely hear him over the loud squelching of your wet slick sliding with his fingers. He kissed back up your body until he met your lips again, his thumb meeting your wet clit once again. You let out a soft cry into his mouth, tensing around his fingers. The taste of your release entered your own mouth, Clark’s soft groan rumbling down your throat. Your face contorted slightly, struggling to keep up the pace of his mouth.
“I can’t, Clark, please, I can’t,” you choked out into his mouth, your hand wrapping around his wrist weakly. Your muscles were gelatin, your legs were tingling with the force of keeping them spread. His fingers slowed down and gave you some relief from his onslaught.
“It’s okay, did so good for me, so good, I’m sorry. You taste so good, feel even better,” Clark pressed apology kisses to your lips and over your face. He pulled his fingers from your heat and brought them up to his mouth, licking them clean. He leaned down and pressed another kiss to your lips, softer and full of love.
That was how you remained for a few moments as you caught your breath – holding onto him gently as your lips moved gently in sync. His lips, though unspeaking, pressed the depth of his love into your mouth. The words, hidden in the bubble of his spit, settled between your teeth and tattooed into your cheek. I love you.
Once your heart rate had calmed down, your fingers slid down to his boxers, moving to pull them down. Clark pulled back slightly, blinking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “Hey, we don’t have to go further. That was a lot,”
“I want to. I promise, I want to,” you pressed your lips back to his, hoping it would convey the desire behind your words. You wanted this, you knew you did. Your fingers curled around the band of his boxers again, slowly pulling them down.
He let out a soft breath, reaching down and ripping the fabric away from his body. You blinked down at the shreds of fabric beside you on the bed, before up at him again in shock.
You didn’t have a chance to respond before your eyes landed on the hardness between his legs.
“O-oh,” you gulped softly. It was huge. Every ridge, every vein protruded against the smooth skin of his cock. You could see the prominent vein running up the side, the feature distinguishing his appendage as Kryptonian biology and unattainable of regular men. Drool pooled in your mouth at the sight and practically spilled down the corners of your lips, you wanted to taste it. You wanted to dip your tongue into each crevice and feel the silky skin weighing on your tongue.
“Need you, Darling,” his rough words broke you out of your daze, his hand reaching down to gather some of your slick from your folds on his fingers before spreading it around his tip. He stroked himself twice before leaning down to meet your lips softly. “You can take it, right? Gonna be my good girl and take it?”
The head of his cock gently slid through your folds as he whispered the words into your mouth. They destroyed you, forcing themselves down your throat and settled into your heart. Yes. Yes, you would take it. You could take it.
“Please, Clark, want it, please,” you babbled softly, your nails digging into the back of his shoulders.
“Relax for me, need you to relax,” he whispered soothingly into your temple. His tip gently nudged at your entrance, preparing you for him to take him.
Clark pushed his tip in, immediately stilling when you tensed. A soft, strangled noise caught low in your throat at the sudden pressure. He let out a groan of his own, his eyes squeezing shut momentarily. His arm bracketed your head, while the other ran through your hair. “Shh, relax for me, baby, you’re doing so well,”
He gently kissed you again in an attempt to distract you. His other finger came down, gently rubbing over your clit to relax your muscles. “I love you, Honey, you feel perfect.”
Your ears were full of cotton, your head was underwater, you could barely breathe through the sensation of him inside you. He pushed in a little further, your breath choking again from the force of the pressure. Your teeth sunk into the skin of his shoulder – though barely due to his impenetrable skin.
“Is that all of it?” your voice was weak and breathless, pressing your eyes into his shoulder.
He chuckled into your temple, “Honey, I’m barely even halfway,”
“What the fuck, Clark?” you bit out through a soft whine. You adjusted your hips to make room for him. Clark got the hint and grabbed your previously discarded pillow, situating it under your bottom. The movement caused him to slide in deeper, your legs trembling at the sensation.
He began to move his hips softly, pulling out before sliding back in half way. Your head tipped back, your mouth dropping open. He took that opportunity to mouth at your neck, gently biting down on the spot at the base of your neck.
He continued to push his hips into yours, sliding in further inch by inch until he was flush against you. Your fingers gripped into the bedsheets beside your head, your knuckles white from the force.
“You’re… gosh, so tight,” his words were strangled against your skin. His muscles were coiled with restraint, more restraint than you had ever seen from Clark, or Superman. He looked as though he was a second away from unraveling, “relax for me, or else I won’t be able to last,”
You attempted to breathe, forcing your muscles to relax. Your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him into you. “Move, please, I want it hard,”
He didn’t respond, the force of his thrust was enough verbalization alone. The air was punched out of your lungs, he was so deep inside of you. His tip hit your cervix, rubbing against that spot that had your vision fading out. He was everywhere, inescapable, the pressure of him molding your walls.
Your walls sucked him in greedily, clamping down as if you needed him. Clark’s thrusts were calculated, brutal, methodical. “Look at her, sucking me in, she’s so tight,” he grunted.
His grip shifted on your hips, angling them further to slide deeper. The sound of his hips slapping against yours filled the air, along with the wet squelch of your juices mixing with his.
“Please, Clark, please, please, please,” you pleaded, though you did not know what you were begging for. Your eyes were unfocused, drunk off the feeling. Your lashes fluttered against your wet cheeks, your skin sliding against his from the thin layer of sweat coating your bodies. The pressure of his thrusts increased, the spongy head of his tip hitting your spot every time.
“Look at me, wanna see you when you come again. Come on, Honey, show me those pretty eyes,” he whispered softly, grabbing your chin with his free hand to hold your gaze. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the pleasure coursing your body was overwhelmingly debilitating.
His hips slowed down, pressing right to the hilt inside of you. “Open your eyes, pretty girl, ‘m not moving until you look at me,”
His voice was commanding, grinding softly into you instead. Your fingers dug into his back, attempting to hook your nails into the skin. Clark let out a rough chuckle, his free hand gathering your arms and pinning them above your head.
“Look at you, ruined for me. This all mine, Baby? Look so pretty like this,” he punctuated his words as he grinded his hips hard against yours, pushing himself as far as he could go.
You let out a strangled whine, forcing your eyes open. Your legs shook with the exertion it took to keep your legs open for him. You gazed into his eyes as best as you could.
He pulled his hips back again until his tip was the only thing inside of you, before slamming his hips forward again. He let out a deep groan. His hips found an unforgiving pace, his eyes boring into yours.
“Hmmmm, yeah,” his thrusts were unforgiving, spiraling out of control. His heartbeat, usually calm and steady, was erratic and pumping against your chest. Your hearts playing a steady dance, one beat after the other, a perfect steady rhythm shared between you two. He was breathless, panting, every sound that left his lips went straight into your core, building your own pleasure. The ache in your muscles was a distant pain from the haze you felt.
“Gosh, Honey, I can’t, I need to, you’re so good, I can't–” he slammed his lips back into yours as his finger came down to rub at your clit again. His thumb stroked tight, deliberate circles as he bit at your neck.
“One more for me, baby, you can do it. I’m gonna come too, same time,” he begged softly as he trailed kisses back up to your mouth. You had been teetering on the edge with every punch of his head to your spot. The pressure was a steady build up, crawling up your spine with every hit.
“Clark, FU-” you practically scream, your muscles tightening as your walls sucked him in tightly. He cut off your expletive with his own mouth, overpowering your breath with his own groan. You held him in you as far as he could go, feeling the warmth of his cum filling you. Clark continued to shake with release for several seconds, thick spurts of cum dripping between you.
“S-so much,” your words were barely above a breath, gasping softly as he grinded his hips into you to emphasize your words.
“I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, pressing one, two, three kisses to your swollen lips. Each kiss was accompanied by a soft grind of his hips. He slowly pulled out, the release of pressure an uncomfortable loss for you.
His fingers came down and trailed through his cum and spread it through your folds, “Beautiful,” he pressed a thick glob back inside, snickering softly at your whine of sensitivity. Your hand, weakened by exhaustion, came up to hit him.
With the speed only capable of Superman, he had you cleaned with precise gentleness. He dressed you back in your sleep shirt and a pair of underwear, careful not to disrupt the ache in your muscles. Clark settled back beside you, laying you down on his chest. His fingers trailed through your hair as he listened to your heartbeat slow to a relaxed pace. peaceful. Comfortable. Safe.
“I love you too, Clark,” you whispered into his chest, finally having the strength. He knew you weren’t sleeping from the sound of your breathing, but he had not expected you to respond. Clark’s arms pulled you closer, attempting to fuse your bodies together. “Go to sleep, I’m not going anywhere,”
The two of you remained there, hearts beating in sync, breaths twisting in harmony – the same rhythm you two had danced in for months now, but had been too scared to face. Maybe Clark reading your journal hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.
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an: hi! I'm very excited to enter this journey of finally being brave enough to post my writing. I'm still relearning and getting the hang of it. 🥹 thank you for everything!
