Superman's sex-tape was about to get leaked and...you're featured?
cw: 18+, mild smut, recorded interview, angry!clark, reporter!reader, little homage to Clark confronting Lex for Krypto, established relationship, exhibitionism, their indecency is caught on surveillance (1.9k wc)
Wood splinters explode into shrapnels as Clark's body barrels through it. The soft-spoken assistant barely manages to stifle a gasp when he shoulders past her at a speed that has papers and dust plumes following.
There's no stopping Clark as he stomps over to the man behind the desk, boots crunching on the shattered wood.
Luthor doesn't even flinch. Taking a casual sip from his mug with an infuriating calmness. "It's fine, Heather." He assures, "Superman, we finally meet. Would you like coffee..?"
Clark's response doesn't come with a word, not at first. A sharp inhale followed, "where's the tape," he growls low, voice rasped.
"The tape?" Luthor echoes, almost innocently. unfazed with a calmness that was just serving to rile Clark up more.
"The tape, Luthor," Clark snaps, "the tape you sent!"
Luthor flicks his gaze over to Eva, who was standing there all shaky, silently gesturing for her to get this on camera. Superman's crash-out was something the masses deserved to see.
Clark's teeming with barely restrained anger. And with one fell swoop, he whips the large oak table that separated him and Luthor to the other side of the room. The sheer sound of thundered, windows cracking where it careened into.
"Where's the tape?"
He repeats, it echoes around the room, reverberating through every crevice of the walls. Molecules in the air vibrating in the wake of his pure unadulterated anger.
Luthor rises slowly, "I have no clue…" He begins smoothly with Clark tracking his movements like a waiting predator. "…What you're talking about."
Clark's jaw tensed as his chest heaved. Looking away as though to compose himself with the sight of the wreckage he caused. He shakes his head slowly, voice a tad more controlled.
"She has nothing to do with this, Luthor. It's between you and me. Hand over the goddamn tape."
Luthor brings his coffee mug to his lips, voice muffled by the rim.
"I don't know what tape you're talking about," he pauses, letting his words hang, then continues, "Superman's Sex-Tape."
Clark's gaze snaps up, blue eyes twitching, "what did you say….?" It comes out low, through gritted teeth.
Suffice to say, his anger had gotten him nowhere.
No leverage, or even a shred of indication if Lex had actually planned to weaponize such an intimate tape of himself. His departure from LuthorCorp was riddled with smug denials and being escorted out of the building by Luthor's security detail.
He lands on his balcony with a dull thud. Glass doors rattling as he pushes them open with force. Aside from Bruce helping him with tracing the source, there were no other leads or ways he could get Luthor to stop.
The irony wasn't lost on him — a man as powerful as Superman being blackmailed. By a vengeful little man, at that.
He doesn't bother with turning the lights on. Except it already was. Clark freezes, he didn't recall leaving it on before he left.
"About time."
You speak up from where you were leaned up against his kitchen counters. Half-lit warmly by the sole sconce there. It was a crude reflection of his own uninvited presence at your place a few days back.
"I — …what are you doing here?" He begins, a little relieved and mortified to have to face you of all people now.
"You haven't been answering my texts," you shrugged, stepping out into the darkness where he remained frozen. "Unless it has something to do with the tape you were yelling at Lex Luthor for."
Clark gulps. Watching you circle him until he's forced to slump into his couch.
"Went pretty viral. Twelve million views and counting, titled Superman Goes Apeshit. #supernuts."
He groans. Thumbing at his temples at that stupid hashtag that'd been beginning to bug him. "I'm sorry!" Clark huffs defeated, looking up at you.
"I'll figure something out," he assures, holding over your hand like he was seconds away from proposing to you over this mishap. "I —"
"Oh Christ." You grumbled, tearing your hand away from him. His expression was giving him away. Heck, you hadn't even been dating him, yet, you were certain he was willing to pull this out of chivalry. Or responsibility.
You sit down next to him on the couch, ignoring all semblance of personal space as you reach to grab the remote. Clark looks at you confused as you cross your legs, getting all comfortable.
His attention is redirected to the television, where a grainy, security cam styled recording begins to play. It only takes Clark mere seconds to recognise the red cap & gigantic ‘S’ plastered on it.
“Y-You, why on earth are you showing me this? I-It’s —“
“Us,” you deadpan with a sigh. Flickers of Superman folding you into half, securing your legs around his hips. The Clark next to you hiccups, covering his face in horror.
But letting him peek through his fingers to see his own hips snap into you like some starved dog. “O-Oh my gosh. Gosh no. Have I always…looked like that?”
You snap your fingers in his face, “now’s not the time, Clark! And yes. You do.”
He snaps his head to you with that pouty look you’d grown to tolerate. You rewind the clip, and Clark involuntarily looks at his peripherals.
“W-Why…”
“Clark. I’ve replayed this about fifty times now. Mostly to critique, but look.”
“I don’t wanna,” he counters.
You grumble and grab his jaw, forcing him to study the offending sight. “I’ve scrubbed through this, and not once was my face even visible.”
The frame pauses, and you gesture at the screen where it’d just been Clark’s broad back propping you up against the alley walls.
“You’re blocking me entirely. From start to end.”
Clark drags his hand down his face before letting out an exasperated sigh. “That isn’t…the point.”
“Let me run the story.”
“What?” He croaks, turning to you, voice all high and boyish.
“Superman’s supposed sex tape. We came down from The Planet in this, so they’re going to assume it was a reporter he’s with. So let’s spin it. Before Luthor does.”
Clark stares at you, shaking his head, “t-that’s insane…”
“Maybe. But so was fucking out in the back alley of our workplace.”
“Y-You insisted!”
You press a finger into Clark’s lips to shush him.
“We both know he’s going to run a smear campaign.”
Clark nods slightly in agreement, but you can tell he’s still hesitant.
“I get this story out, we can get ownership rights over the clip, and an interview from you. It’ll work. Trust me.”
He pulls your hand away from his face, pulling you to seat yourself onto his lap. Clark’s holding both your hands to his chest.
“You’re a nightmare.”
That seems to make you grin.
“Congrats, Superman, you’re about to get your sex-tape leaked.” He lets out a whiny groan when you remind him, feeling you shift on his lap to grab a recorder you had hidden underneath the cushions.
“You…knew I’d agree to it?” He breathes out confused.
You shrug at his words with a cheeky grin, “I have a way of getting you to do stuff.” You throw a subtle glance towards the footage and back at him with a knowing look.
“Uhuh. Look where that got us.” He mumbles, relaxing into the headrest as the beep of the recorder catches his attention. Clark stiffens, jolting you in the process.
“Superman.”
He grunts. Repeating your name in that polite Miss-format he defaults to in interviews.
“There seems to be footage of a man in a Superman get-up, getting it on with someone in the alley of Metropolis’ most renowned paper."
“It seems so. I didn’t think that was a hot thing for kids these days.”
[Your snort is picked up on the audio, and you're mouthing a ‘good one’ to him.]
Clark offers an easy smile up at you, leaning in to peck your sternum.
[Shift of fabric is heard.]
“Focus!” You chide, and he leans back with his palm raised. Adjusting you higher on his lap.
“People are curious if that’s you in this footage. Can you attest to that?”
“I think….we’ve truly stooped low if we’re starting to advertise the personal lives of regular people. Even if it is Superman.”
“You aren’t answering the question. Are you saying this isn’t you?”
“All I’m saying...” He hums, hiking you closer to him with a rough tug. “Is that ridiculous a story is being run.”
“Do you realise it’s a crime to be having sex out in public?”
[Clark sighs loudly.]
“I’m not admitting to a single thing. Also. We aren’t even sure if they are. They could be hugging. Who’s to say.”
“Obviously you’re being evasive on purpose. So. Let me ask you this.”
Clark rolls his shoulders with a sigh. Looking up at you.
“Can you admit to the other person in this footage, being me, your girlfriend?”
[His breath stutters, and he blinks up at you, mouth agape.]
“…W…What?”
You bite down on your lips, sitting the recorder to the side as you put in on pause. Cupping Clark’s jaw as you lean in to kiss him. He’s quick to return it, groaning into your mouth. Pressing you chest to chest with him, guiding your arms to wrap around his neck.
“A-Are you sure?” He mutters softly into your lips, brushing your hair back with his knuckles.
“Yeah.” You kiss down his pulse, and he melts into you.
"I'm sure."
—
“W-Wait. I don’t think it’s a good idea to be…”
“Can it, Clark.” You gasp urgently into Clark’s lips, tugging him down to kiss him over and over, carding your fingers through the back of his curls.
This wasn’t like you either. Composed, level-headed would’ve what you’d called yourself, but you weren’t that person right now.
Not when you’d seen your boyfriend get caught in an explosion you were sure he would’ve gotten injured or been dead in. The first person he’d come to was you. It didn’t matter you still had an hour left, you needed him. Needed to feel that he was alive.
Clark hoists you up with ease to press you against the brick walls, his cape fluttering to have you as hidden as possible to any possible intruders.
“That worried f’me?” He coos, rubbing the back of your head, letting your lips drag down his jaw.
“Hurry. Please,” you whine, rubbing over the quickly hardening indent over his super-suit.
He nods quickly, shucking himself free just for his cock to slap against his abdomen. “O-Okay. Okay. You need to keep your voice down.” He pressed, ruching your skirt up as quickly as he could’ve.
“I need to — “
“Doesn’t matter!”
Clark grunts, head flushed to rest on your chest. “I-It’s gonna hurt, okay? I-I’m sorry.” He mutters, bullying his cock into your pussy, drinking in the pained whimpers. The sting of him was overwhelming. But it didn’t matter.
He was here.
—
“Geez. What on earth are you still watching that for?”
Clark catches you staring at the TV, replaying the footage from earlier when you reach for the remote underneath him. Peeling his sweaty body off you for a second, taking a few steps to fetch you some water from his kitchen. Walking over with his trousers hung low in his bare torso.
“Just…it’s kinda hot. Maybe we should.”
“You’re not seriously implying we make a tape.”
You shrug, taking the bottle from him. Eyeing him as you took a sip.
Either way, you’d always been good at getting Clark to agree with what you wanted.
Weird. That's not what other people are saying. Did you at least meet? If so, how?
"Other people just LOVE to talk! Do you believe everything you hear from other people? Let me guess, you go on the internet and assume no one can tell lies?" Umbral laughs. He jerks his head to make his bangs get out of his face. "I met him. He was an asshole! I think he just wanted me for my medication. Yeah, just bully the sick kid, right... pfft. Anyway, he's gone, so who cares!"
