I love that Jimmy Olsen is exactly the type of photographer Peter Parker pretends to be. Just bat-shit insane.
Whenever someone asks Peter how he took a picture he's like "Oh! I uh-, climmed a flagpole. Totally"
And very mortal, normal-human Jimmy is like "See, Clark, is not that weird"
I mean, look at this nutjob.
The world could be ending, lava on the streets and Jimmy would be out there photographing away. No powers, no sense of self preservation. Just khakis, a camera and a dream.
I like to imagine Peter meeting Jimmy and immediately being mortified about it.
Jimmy: –and so luckily I was able to take the picture before the building collapsed on me... Superman was super pissed at me but, photographer to photographer, it was totally worth it.
Peter: Right, no– See, this is actually my first time hearing how fucking insane that sounds. No wonder people at work look at me weird.
summary :: you'd had a major crush on your crazy hot neighbor since the day he you'd first laid your eyes on him 3 years ago, unfortunately you've never had the balls to actually ask him on a date. hang out? oh yeah all the time, but a real date? too big a risk on such a great relationship. until one faithful evening, your neighbor comes in through your window all bruised and sexy, only... he's wearing a superman costume?.... holy shit your crazy hot neighbor is superman!
tags:: MDNI ,fluff, smut with plot, no use of y/n, second hand embarrassment, awkward clark kent, just a lot of awkward actually, unprotected p in v, use of baby, dumbification a litttttlee degrading, friends to lovers, calls you princess (kind of in a mocking way),overstimulation-ish, mating press :)
cici's note:: like if you enjoy... and maybe even if you didnt enjoy it ;)
oh and no proof read as always... ignore the mistakes!! sorrrryyyyy.
Apartment 2b, straight across from apartment 3b.
For the better part of 3 years, you and Clark Kent have lived in these apartments. It took 3 months for you to first interact, 4 more to invite him over for coffee.
You couldn't have just said, " hey Clark, wanna come over for coffee?
Nuh uh, this is you that we were talking about, so obviously it had to have been in a ridiculously, word vomit-y way.
You were both returning from work at the same time, something that had happened every day this week, and every week before that. Turns out you have the same hours as the daily planet reporter across the hall.
You’d meant to ask him in for coffee last week, but overthought the concept too much.
Who wants coffee after work? hellloooo caffeine wakes you up and he is obviously trying to go to sleep after work, not get more energy? sigh, just forget it.
But that one evening, the one where returning to your dull, cramped apartment alone for what must've been the thousandth something time, was too tiring and depressing to endure again. There was also that little hope in your head that maybe he was tired of it too. So you decided to spew out whatever word vomit was pending in your mind, before you had time to think about it.
“Hey Clark wait up,”
A light buzz of excitement shook in the pit of your heels, when you realized that you were really doing this. Watching him turn around at your words, maybe just a little too quickly, like he was waiting for you?
“Y- yeah whats up?” he continued after clearing his throat, his initial attempt at a response coming out far too high pitched for a grown man.
“I uhm, did you…”
I want to come inside! Say it. Come on say uh, say did you want to come inside Clark, do you want coffee? For the love of god say something and stop staring at him.
He looked at you expectantly, but not like he just wanted you to hurry up and spit it out, more like he would wait another hour for you to speak without a complaint.
The first thing you noticed about him, he was always well mannered. Not even on purpose, it was more like a reflex.
“Do you want the, uhm apartment tour?”
…Seriously? I mean I know I said say anything but come on! It's a metropolis apartment, the layouts are basically the same in every one for the next 10 blocks you idiot!
“Or, not that because that doesn't make sense, we have the same apartment. I meant coffee, do you want boffee-"
A sigh of disappointment left your lips and your head dropped at your speech impediment that seems to have resurfaced from 1st grade, and set up shop right in between you and the man across from you.
To your surprise, when you lift your head back up, Clark hasn't gone into his apartment and shut the door, with a mental note to avoid his embarrassingly awkward neighbor for the rest of his life. He is instead, leaning against his locked door, with his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets, and an amused little smile on his face, one that shows the cutest dimples you've ever seen in your life.
“Do you wanna start over?” he draws, tone laced with just as much amusement as his face
A tang of shame and something else you can't quite put your finger on, causes the corners of your mouth to curve up in a small smile, as your eyes meet his.
“ Would you like to come inside for coffee, Clark?” you manage, finally.
“Yea, yea I would”
---------
After that, the two of you were classified as normal friends for a while, but became more the first time you drunk-puked all over his shiny black work shoes. Situations like that are really always the make or break point in any kind of relationship, lucky for you it worked out in your favor.
Well lucky isn't exactly the word you would've used to describe it at the moment. It would be something more along the lines of horrific or treacherous, but looking back now... no that was uh, still pretty bad.
But it turned out great! Because now, 2 years and a few months later, Clark Kent is pattering around in your kitchen –he's the only one that's ever really used it– making you lunch. The same way he had for… you can't even remember how long now.
You watch uselessly from the couch while he cooks a random meal that you'd sent him off Instagram reels, you offered to help, but even he isn't polite enough to pretend you'd know what you were doing.
He pretends to not want to make it, claiming that social media is causing your generation to lose the good quality meals passed down from your elders. But every time you send him a new video, with the message “ can u make this 4 me??”, he’s over by yours the next day.
Holding bags of groceries, because “the only groceries you ever buy are instant noodles and frozen fries”, ready to make whatever it is that you want.
He was like that in every way, with you at least, always there in a flash when you needed him.
Whether it was a crazy bad date that you needed to escape from. Like that one last week that was so bad you still couldn't even tell him. And he didn't need you to, he just stood outside the ridiculously expensive restaurant your date had insisted on, then just so happened to conveniently forget his wallet, only after ordering the both of you two of the most expensive entrees on the menu.
Carefully studying the tall building, shifting his body weight on either foot while waiting outside for you. All the while silently wondering if these are the only kind of guys you're into, the expensive restaurant, designer wearing, horrible credit kind.
Eventually you did come outside, moving too quickly for heels that were as high as yours, glancing back to the glass front wall of the restaurant, wondering if your dad had seen you take the turn to the exit, instead of the bathroom.
After hearing you say once that you didn’t wanna talk about it, he filled the silent walk with ramblings of the hookup stories Jimmy would run his ear off about when he was trying to work.
Shoulders –more like your shoulder and his upper arm, due to your height difference- just barely bumping together as you made the trek back to your place in the chilly, busy, Metropolis streets.
When he noticed your teeth slightly clatter and your shoulders shake a little from the breeze, he didn't say anything about how your date should've offered you his jacket the moment he saw you in that beautiful but slightly skimpy dress, like he wanted too.
Instead, he shrugged off his own, wordlessly draping in over your shoulders. He couldn't just tell you why he couldn't get cold, despite how much he wanted to.
So instead he continued the flow of the conversation so you did not have the option to reject the sentiment, in fear of him being cold.
Wrapping his jacket around yourself tighter, you wondered what it would be like to be more than friends with a guy like Clark. Even though you knew you didn't really want “ a guy like Clark”, you really just wanted him.
“What are you day dreaming about over there?” he remarked from across the kitchen/living room, quickly noticing the lack of keyboard clacking from where you were sitting.
“Just about how I'm ready to tell you about my nightmare of a date from last week” you stated in a sorta cocky tone, only because you know how much he hates not knowing things. Not looking up from your laptop, you quickly type in the last sentence of your paragraph.
You listened from your cozy position on the couch as the tried to feign nonchalance at your statement, accidentally knocking something over in the process.
He was always so predictably, himself, yet another thing you loved about Clark Kent.
“Yea?- Crap… Ill ah, ill clean that up dont worry”
“Didnt doubt it Kent” the words leaving your mouth in a vaguely mischievous tone, a plan forming in your mind. As you leisurely strolled over to the kitchen island, dropping yourself down on a creaky stool, and scooping a handful of shredded cheese in your mouth, taking advantage of his distraction. By the time he noticed, you already raised your hand up to your mouth.
“Hey dont! Ah you little…” he drew sarcastically from your kitchen floor, where he was looking up at you from his hands and knees, wiping up the spilled mixture before it could seep into your sketchy flooring, making a suspiciously attractive tsking noise.
You never noticed, but he always knew when you were going to take something, and what you were going to take. So he’d secretly grate more cheese, or cut a few more strawberries, in anticipation for your stolen handful. Pretending he didn't know, because he knew you liked it.
Clark was just the kind of guy that remembered all those little things about you.
Like how you “didn’t believe in umbrellas” because it was “just a little rain”. But you always found an umbrella in that little space between your wall and front door, where the paint is cracked along the seam.
Or how you never packed any food for yourself because you claimed you never got hungry at work.
You did, wouldn't admit it, but you did. Clark knew that about you, which is why you'd always find an apple, crackers, and a juice box in a little box at the bottom of your laptop bag. With a little note in Clarks scribbly hand writing that says “eat me, im good for you!”
You didn't verbally thank him because you knew he didn't want you to.
So instead you did little things for him too, brought new flowers for his apartment without mentioning it, always picking up two laundry detergents at the store because he never remembered it.
You weren't the kind of girl that remembered all the little things about people, you were barley able to remember your own shit, let alone somebody else's.
But for Clark? for him you did, every time.
Friends just do stuff like that, you told yourself. Don't be full of yourself, he doesn't like you, you're just close friends, your subconscious insists whenever your heart gets the notion that it could be for a different reason.
“Thought you had a story for me? Jeez, where are you today princess?”
His words dragging you back down to earth, you met his slightly concerned gaze. he was using the nickname he’d given you a while back, after you first asked him to make one of your “reels meals” as he so cleverly called them.
(It wasn't that clever but you didn't have the heart to tell him, because he looked so proud of himself.)
“Didn't realize you were so eager to know about my love life, kansas” you replied, with a nickname of your own, one you’ve also been calling him for a while.
“Yeah, yeah, you caught me, now spill”
You couldn't help but giggle at his inability to hide his flaming curiosity when it came to you.
“Okay well, it was going great until he showed up 40 minutes late with no text…”
You watch as his jaw dropped, before you swear you literally saw the thought shoot up to his head, his face morphed into that of someone who was trying to stifle a laugh.
“Wait, what do you mean it was going great until he was late? That was how he started the night!”
He replied after he was sure he wouldn't burst out laughing in your face, although you still weren't too sure of his ability to compose himself.
“Yeah it was great when I was at home!”
Now he did laugh in your face, and you couldn't help but join him. It didn't matter what he was laughing at, between his dimples, and the tone of his laugh, you were always laughing with him.
“Aw princess…”
He said, gazing at you with a remorseful look on his face. Not that remorseful, considering he still had that big dopey grin of his across his face, but still remorse nevertheless.
“Thats it Kent, you're not getting any more story time, you’ve lost your privileges!” you exclaim dramatically feigning sadness at his reaction.
“I just, you deserve better. You know that right?” he says, his laugh drying up, looking you straight in your eyes, completely serious when he says the last part of his sentence.
“Yeah, i uh i know that it's just…” you look down to where your fingers are fiddling with a bottle cap you hadn't even realised you’d picked up, while you try to figure out how to word what you want to say.
“I'm tired of not having someone, you know? For all that romantic jazz” you trail off, trying to make your feelings sound less serious than they are, because you don't like serious feelings.
Clark however, doesn't mind talking about your feelings at all.
“Is that why you went out with that…” he takes a second, choosing his words carefully as he tries to remember that he was raised as a well mannered farm boy who usually has no trouble refraining from profanity.
nother thing that was different with you, he felt so strongly about well, everything concerning you. Like it was all heightened or something.
“Jackass?, jerkoff? dickhe- ” you fill in after noticing his lack of words.
“I was trying to avoid profanity, but yeah.” he cuts you off, exaggerating the word “avoid” to remind you to not “be so crass”.
“I guess, these days it feels like, having someone is better than nothing, y’know?”
“Yeah i get it”
This is it, ask him on a date!! You're both lonely, Do it!
“Hey listen Clark, would you uhm want to… uh-”
Your ability to speak is short circuited by his direct gaze into your eyes.
You’ve studied Clark Kent’s face countless times, and every time, it steals away your ability to speak.
The subtle crinkle in between his perfectly shaped eyebrows, the one that tells you, you have his complete undivided attention.
The stubble that he rarely let grow, but when he did, it extended your ovulation by 4 days, each time. And his blue eyes that held so much emotion when he looked at you, like you were the only girl he’d ever seen.
A sudden ding, that you quickly recognized as your oven timer, cut through the tension and made you jump a little.
“And that would be our lunch, let's see how it turned out” Clark said, trying not to sound excited at his newest creation.
“Yeah lets see if I'm gonna keep you around” you joked
To which Clark snorted in response as he kneeled down to pull the tray out of your old cranky oven.
“Like you could find someone else to do crap like this” he says under his breath, knowing he'd hate if you went out and got yourself a boyfriend to do this stuff for you, he definitely knew you could.
“Mmm yeah i guess you're right…” you replied, letting him know you heard him anyway, extremely enticed by the smell wafting out the oven. If you could, you'd be floating out of your seat in the air to the smell of the food, like those cartoons you watched as a kid.
Clark got to work plating the food, placing in front of you, a plate, knife and fork. Before turning around to grab you a coke from your fridge.
Pouring it into a glass instead of just giving you the can like you insisted,
“Hey, the can is fine!” your groan, reaching for his arm across
“No, that's so… just no” you watched the 6 '4 man shudder at the idea of drinking soda straight out the can, quite the ridiculous sight.
“Fine but you're just giving me unnecessary dishes to wash.”
Scoffing in response “ like you ever wash dishes, please! Its dishwasher or dirty over here”
“And besides, I cooked, ill wash the dishes”
“Thats not how it works”
“Its how it works with me, now eat your food” he says while placing down the glass beside your plate.
Giving up on arguing with the incredibly stubborn giant in front of you, you instead dig your fork into your food and bring it up to your mouth.
“Clark, this is great! holy sh-” you grumble out loudly , bringing your hand up to cover your mouth, since your mouth is still full.
“Hey, you can thank me by refraining from your course language, missy” he cuts you off before you finish your sentence.
“Yeah alright, dad” you remark under your breath, quiet enough so that there was no way he'd be able to hear it.
“What was that? He says without missing a beat, spinning around with a plate and glass of his own before setting it down across from you.
“Wha- how’d you hear that?” you replied, shocked.
“You- y’said it so loud what do you mean?” he said too quickly, like he was covering something up. Averting your eyes while he spoke in a tone that was too high for him to be telling the truth.
Normally, he is great at lying, seeing he’s been doing it for more than 2 decades now. It's just that thing about it being you, that's causing his ability to dwindle.
“Oh” you spoke again, you knew you didn't say it audibly, you barely heard it yourself. Over the years, being friends with Clark Kent means you’d have to pretend you didn't notice something.
There weren't any huge slip ups from him that would lead you to question if he wasn’t human or anything. Just little things, here and there.
Like when he would take a pan out of the oven and use an oven mitt, only those oven mitts were way too thin for him to be holding the pan for longer than 5 seconds. You’d gotten them for 30 cents at a garage sale, you’re pretty sure they’re older than you.
So without even noticing you were doing it, you’d make up excuses for him along the way.
The oven mitts aren't that thin then, I must just have really sensitive hands or something.
Oh anybody could've accidentally snapped that door handle off, it was loose.
Little things prevent you from believing the impossible that everyone did, whether they noticed it or not. Which was probably a big part of the reason Clark had managed to keep it undercover for as long as he did.
“ Do y’have any more horrible dates planned for tonight, or are you staying in?” his voice cut through the momentary silence.
You scoffed before replying, “ill have you know that the date I have planned for tonight is rather promising” in a know-it-all tone.
“Mhm” Clark says skeptically.
“Whats his name?” he asks and you mentally kiss your teeth. You were hoping he didn't ask that.
“Its…” you take a second before continuing, brain scrambling to decide if you’d rather make up a fake name then tell him, as you move food around with your fork.
Sighing, you reluctantly continue, "It's Bartholemew… But he goes by Bart!” you're quick to add the latter when you see his lips beginning to curve in a cocky smirk.
“Well I hope it goes well.”
“So do I Clark... so do I” you said hopelessly.
It took a while for Clark to be comfortable enough with you to joke around with you a little. When you first became friends, he was all gentleman-y.
Don’t get me wrong he still is, he's just able to joke around with you now, he’s comfortable. That was what you weren't willing to risk by dating him. Him having someone comfortable to him was such a big factor in your lack of courage.
—-------
Turns out Clark was right, your date sucked. After getting all dolled up, makeup, hair, the perfect dress, your date wasn’t just late.
He was hours late, as in your date started at 6 and he showed up empty handed at 8.. He’d texted you “5 minutes babe” , at 7 o clock and even your standards weren't low enough to deal with that.
So here you are, alone in your bed at 9:30, face rid of makeup all snuggled up in your bed, rewatching glee. Instead of being wined, dined, and brought back to bed like how you intended this night to go.
You’d been wallowing in self pity for hours and decided to make it worse by ordering junk food around 30 minutes ago. Which is what you thought that the loud bang you heard was.
Woah, the driver must be in a hurry, you thought.
Only that noise didn’t come from the side of your wall that the door is on, no that came from across the apartment, from where your window is?
Dragging yourself out of bed, you go to investigate the noise, freezing suddenly when you hear your window latch open.
Holy shit okay, okay this is happening. Fuck my phones dead, that's, that's fine i can do this.
You talk yourself up, grabbing the closest thing you can find to defend yourself, the umbrella.
Quietly, you creep around the corner, steps silent as adrenaline and nervousness buzz through your entire body. Hands shaking so bad you're worried the intruder can hear the latches on the umbrella clicking together.
Taking one last deep breath, you veer your head around the coroner, only to find the last thing you would expect.
“Clark?” The words leave your mouth at the same time your death grip around the umbrella loosens, clashing to the floor as you rush over to kneel beside the bleeding, large, groaning man on your floor.
Your shock and adrenaline illuminates throughout your body even faster as you take in his appearance.
His hair disheveled in a way you've never seen it before, his soft curls aren't combed back, they now sit all over his head, tangled with between the strands. His face is littered with little cuts,
your eyes zoom in on a particular gash under his eye. Watching it a little further, it almost looks like its… healing itself?
You watch in amazement as the skin under his eye begins to pull itself together. Forcing yourself to look away, you trail your eyes down the rest of his body.
The familiar emblem is what you notice first, then your brain starts to register the deep blue covering his broad muscular shoulders, the dirtied red cape that surrounds his body.
Clark Kent is Superman.
The thought races in your head as your mind draws you back to all the things you excused or turned a blind eye to all of these years, how could you have not noticed this?
“M’sorry, t-thought you weren’t home” his deep, damaged voice cuts through the sound of your heart beating erratically in your eardrums.
“Clark you’re…” you say, unable to continue.
“Superman? Yeah i notic-” he fills in for you, trying to joke away the terribly concerned look in your eyes.
“Hurt” you cut him off “You’re really hurt” you say, eyes trained on the cuts littering his face, like you think it'll go away if you blink, like you think he will go away.
Shock drapes over his pained features, like he can't believe that you'd care about anything other than the stamp across his chest.
“Yeah I was, mmfph, yeah I'm hurt” he concludes after trying, and failing, to sit up and talk to you.
Your thoughts momentarily short circuit, trying to figure out what to do, before realizing that you couldn't possibly know how to help him because he is an alien.
Bringing your hand to either side of his face, forcing him to look at you when his eyes began to flutter closed and his head began to loll to the side.
“How do I help Clark?" you decide to just ask him, concern washing through your body at a rate that disables your critical thinking skills.
“I'm really sorry about– ahh jeez –this, I thought you wouldn't be here ill-” he drones on, literally apologizing for bleeding into your carpet.
Squeezing his face lightly, you interrupt him again, “Clark”
You watch him look at you, like he's trying to look straight through your eyes and into your mind to figure out what the hell you're thinking right now.
“Yeah?” tone softer than before.
“How do I help?” You say slowly, hoping that he'd stop feeling guilty and just tell you what to do.
“Can you uh, help me up? I'll be fine, I heal fast, I just need to sleep it off.
Immediately, you shift your body to help him up, a low deep groan leaving his lips when you begin to help him off the floor.
He begins to walk over to the front door of your apartment but you quickly drag him deeper into yours.
“I can go.. Ill be fine i promise” he begins
Holding your ground, “No, no way Clark im not leaving you like this come on” you say as you lead him towards your bed.
He drops heavy onto your mountain of blankets, eyes closed in pain. You find yourself worrying about who's been taking care of him while he takes care of everyone else.
You bring yourself to lay beside him, wrapping your hands around his head, wishing there was more you could do.
“Again i'm sorry about this, about all of it i-”
“Stop apologizing Kent, trust me if I didn't want you here you wouldn't be here” you joke, trying to make him feel less guilty.
You watch a small smile grace his face, wincing at the same time he does when the movement stretches a cut on his eyebrow.
“How long?” you ask
“How long what?” he replies, craning his head to see you
“How long does it take for you to heal?”
“Oh this? This isnt bad ill be all good and out of your hair in a few hours” he downplays.
“I guess I'll see what happens on the news tonight huh?
A low chuckle leaves him, filling the quiet room “Yeah I guess you will.”
—----
You both keep the conversation going, as an attempt to distract yourselves from how close you are to each other.
It doesn't work, every time your leg brushes against his thigh, or he shifts to get comfortable, you notice it. You both really notice it, and it's driving you crazy. At some point during your conversation,Clark was able to turn on his side to face you.
So now it wasn't just the moderate physical touch that was driving you mad, it was the way he looked at you too. He looked at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen, and somewhere under that all that adoration, there was something darker that mustered as well.
Soon, you realized you both hadn't said anything for a whale, you were just looking. Just for a second, something you could have easily missed, his gaze dropped down to your lips.
That second was all it looked for you to bring your face just that little bit closer, and finally close the gap between you two. Clark stilled for a moment, before beginning to move his lips on yours. He didn't kiss like you thought, in truth you’d never been kissed like this before.
He moved his lips on yours like he craved you for years, and maybe, he had?
His hands grazed the curve of your waist, seemingly asking for permission. You granted in by moving even closer to him, causing his back to lay flat on the mattress, you brought your thighs on either side of him.
Hovering your center over his, not because you didn't want them to connect– in this moment, you actually wanted nothing more, but because that would make it real.
Breaking the kiss would also make it real, it would mean you would have to look him in the eyes and give him the chance to take it back.
Eventually, did you have to pull away to breathe, and meet his gaze. When you did pull away, his lips were all pinked and swollen, pupils dilated and he studied you with the same intensity you studied him with. Searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, anything that told him you didn't want to cross this line.
Because you both knew that once you did, there wouldn't be any going back.
“Are you sure? I need you to be sure” his gruff voice cut through the blissful silence.
Deciding quickly in your head, you lowered yourself onto him, connecting your heat to his. The action earned you a deep growl that you were sure you would never forget.
Studying his expression again, you noticed the crinkle in between his eyebrows again, and felt a shock of worry course through you.
“Shit did I hurt you?” You ask, voice sharp and concerned
“Not the word I’d use to describe it princess” he replied, a subtle smile on his face.
“I need to hear you say it, please.” he spoke again, in a tone sounding like he was in pain.
You brought your face as close as you could without kissing him, and whispered the words he’d dreamt about hearing for far too long.
“I want this clark, I want you” you told him, rolling your hips into his so you could watch him writhe underneath you.
Hearing those words seemed to flick a switch in Clark's mind, gripping your waist, he flipped the both of you in one swift motion. The action surprised you, causing a yelp to leave your lips.
“Making noise for me already?” He speaks slowly against your neck, trailing sloppy kissing along your sweet spots, as he begins undressing you.
This new version of the sweet, thoughtful, gentle man you've known for years, has a pool of wetness collecting in your underwear.
All you can do is moan helplessly while he works his way around your body, seemingly knowing every one of your buttons to press. The sounds you make bounce off the thin walls of your apartment, drawing Clark's attention.
He murmurs from his position just below your waist , “Cant be too loud okay baby, walls are thin”
As he pulls your thin sleep shorts and underwear down your thighs.
“You- you’re… wow” he stutters out.
“Clark!” you whine, struggling to keep your composure since he is taking so long.
“Sorry, sorry baby” he says, dragging the suit from its low position on his hips, all the way down to his ankles, before kinking it off.
Leaving him in his boxers, you examine his length through them, sitting up on your elbows to watch him.
Dragging your eyes away from his underwear and back up to his gaze when he catches you staring. A lopsided smile sits on his face as he watches you. You’re in nothing but your red lacy bra now, you’d still had it on from your previous night plans. Desperately whining for him to bury his cock deep inside you.
You watch him peel his underwear off, as soon as his cock is released from its confines, all nine inches of him spring out against his stomach. Tip glistening in precum, you don't even notice your tongue come out to wet your lips.
A smug chuckle leaves Clark's lips as he brings himself back down on top of you, his arms on either side of your head.
“Condom?” your eyes watch as his mouth contours to form the word, wanting nothing more than for him to have his mouth on you.
Your gaze is still trained on his lips while the words leave your mouth,
“I-im on the pill” you stutter out. The realization that this is finally happening hitting you all at once.
“Okay, are you sure you wanna…?” Clark speaks again, still wanting to make sure everything was right for you.
“Yea, yes just, kiss me? Please” you say while bringing your hand up to either side of his head, dragging his lips down to yours. You feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip and the action has you opening your mouth even wider for his access.
Pulling apart from you, Clark lazily strokes himself in preparation. You look down at the motion to find yourself entranced by the sight.
“Gonna make my girl feel good” he mutters the words more to himself than to you.
You feel the tip of his cock graze your entrance and gasp, causing his head to look away from where you're both connecting, and back at you.
“Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” he says, light concern floating evident on his expression.
“Oh hold on” you say, contouring to try and remove your bra, before you feel a large hand on your stomach stop you.
“Wait can you uh, can you leave it on” he says, eyes gauging your reaction.
Swallowing, you nod and lay back down, gesturing for him to continue.
“You say the word and I stop okay? No hard feelings”
“Clark…”
“Yeah”
“Fuck me please” you dont even recognize your own voice, desperation so evident in your tone.
Your words are all it takes for Clark to move himself into you, a synchronized moan leaving the both of you. Your hands shoot to grip either side of his arms, to brace yourself.
“Hpmh- you feel, shit baby can I move?” he strangles out, using all his control to not thrust further up into you.
You nod eagerly, the feeling of him inside you with nothing in between the both of you unlike anything you’d ever felt before, you'd had raw sex before but it wasn't like this.
Clark drags himself out of you, before aggressively thrusting back into your throbbing pussy, that had been sucking him in with so much force, it took effort to move.
He continues his motions, causing moans so harsh to leave you, you weren't sure if you were moaning or screaming.
“Clar- Clark, feels so, i can’t…fuck” you sputter out, brain rendered useless when he was fucking you this well.
“What's that princess? Where's all your attitude now baby?”
His words cause you to squeeze him in even further, his cock throbbing with need inside you is all you can think about.
Clark brings his motions to a stop, causing a look of confusion to cover your features. He brings his hands to the backs of both your knees beside you, and your ankles over his shoulders.
In this new position, he somehow feels even deeper than before. He continues his pace, fucking you like youve been waiting for.
“G’na, fuuckk, Clark” you scream, feeling the tight coil in your stomach radiate through you, unable to control yourself.
You’ve never come so hard in your life, toes curling, vision blurry, all the while he is still pumping in and out of you, searching for his own release.
You feel a large palm clamp over your mouth muffling your loud cries as Clark buries his face on your shoulder, releasing his load, deep into you.
All you can do is lay there and listen to his moans of pleasure as you let him use you.
You both sit there for a minute, breathing heavily against each other, coming down from your highs.
After a moment, Clark drags himself out of you and drapes a blanket over your naked, sore and shaking body. Your eyes flutter shut as you hear the shower begin to turn on, and Clark returns, still naked, holding a towel.
“Come on let me get you cleaned up”
After watching you groan and roll deeper into the mattress, Clark lets out a sigh of amusement before lifting you in his arms and carrying you towards the bathroom.
Adding to the overflowing list of things you loved about Clark Kent.
thank you for reading! since this look forever please like and or reblog. also i love comments so feel free to let me know how you felt about it!
contains: fluff & smut. humor. daily planet clark & reader. clark is whipped, reader is not a good actress, lois evil laughing from a distance. cheesy flirting & teasing. clark gets a bit dom!, eventually things resolve in *annoyed and needy makeup sex… perfect match trope :) *no use of y/n
a/n: oh my god i’m gonna burst into flames give me that freak dork man NOW... barely proofed this so give me grace
—————————— ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊——————————
In your defense, it wasn’t your idea to torture your boyfriend. It was Lois’.
The conversation went a little like this…
“Oh, come on. He’s a prude. There’s no way he could withstand actual overt flirting from you. He turns red when he overhears a couple on the street talking about joint filing for taxes!”
“It would be mean, Lois! Plus, I tease him enough.”
“What, by wearing normal clothes and doing nothing? Seriously, tell me you’re not the least bit curious to see what the guy would do if you tried!”
You chewed your lip, spinning in your desk chair. “Well… what would I even do?”
Lois’ machinating eyes glimmered as she leaned forward, pointing a pen in your face. “Wear something skimpy– well, however skimpy you’re capable of, Annie Hall– y’know, red lip, maybe ditch the glasses for the day… slink around, say some salacious things, eat some fruit really loudly. That sort of thing.”
You scoffed softly and turned back to your computer, clicking into an editorial proof. “That’s ridiculous. What, I’m gonna whore myself out in the bullpen just for kicks?”
“Nobody said anything about that! And hey, call it what you want, but to whore oneself is an honor. And to think you call yourself a feminist!”
You giggled in slight annoyance and chucked a pencil across the desk clump at Lois, who dodged it and winked, sipping her coffee. “I’m just saying, I think it would be fun to test his limits. He is just a man, after all.”
What she said got you thinking. Lois might be crazy, but she wasn’t wrong. Clark was a lot of things– Kryptonian, for one. Intelligent, generous, thoughtful, emotional. Handsome. Reserved. But even knowing him as well as you do, and loving him just the way he needs and wants… he really is just a man, isn’t he? His human side had immense power over him. And he was a weak little thing when it comes to flirtation. How hard would it be to tease him? How much could he take, really, if you tried? Your mind began reeling, thinking about what kind of stunts you could pull before he caught on or collapsed… and then the curiosity got too strong. So, you took on the challenge.
The next morning, you came to work in a dress. This was not unusual for you– you wore skirts and dresses all the time. And this dress wasn’t a showstopper, either. But you knew Clark like the back of your hand, and if you were going to do this thing, you would have to play the long game. It was supposed to be a test of his limits, right? So, you wore his favorite color on you. A true, deep red. It was a modest enough cut– above the knee but below the thigh, and the sweetheart neck dipped a bit low. You clasped the necklace the reporter gave you around your neck– a silver C– and you painted your lips to match. When you walked into the bullpen of the Planet in the morning, flashing your boyfriend a smile, you watched him audibly choke on his coffee.
Clark had been wondering why you refused a ride into work today, and now he knew why. You used the time to dress up. He felt a bit dirty for how difficult it was to peel his attention away, but he managed to stare at his mug and regain some composure.
“Hi, honey,” he rasped, clearing his throat.
You smiled and walked over to his desk, sitting on the edge with a flipping stomach. You were a terrible actor, and you grew incredibly awkward when you had to try; but if you didn’t commit now, it would all be a big, embarrassing disaster. So you went for it. Leaning close, you wrapped your nimble palm around his tie and gave it a gentle yank, drawing him close. You laughed as his deer-in-headlights eyes fluttered, and you pressed a suspiciously wet kiss to his lips without warning. That was the first attempt.
Pulling back and wiping the corners of your mouth for any lipstick residue, you hummed, “Morning, handsome.”
As you stood up and walked away (giving a little extra swing in the hip department) Clark swallowed thickly and shook himself out. Nobody was watching. The bullpen was operating like normal. You were following your usual routine, completing the whole “get coffee, sit down by Lois, log on” checklist. But you were doing it in one of the only sexy dresses he knew you owned, and you just kissed him like this was the start of a very not-safe-for-work film. For someone who was as reserved as him, this was insanely out of character. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling a mortifying throb between his legs. Perhaps you had a high-profile interview later (that would explain the clothes). Or he was dreaming. Anything but the obvious would work just fine.
The second test of his willpower came not an hour later. The morning was still young, the Planet bustling with conversation and caffeine. You needed to copy an article out for editing, and while on any regular day you would kick the machine and resolve the issue yourself, you knew that one of the things which worked Clark up most was being needed. You made the decision to slip past his desk, around the back of his chair, and lean over his shoulder. After placing a feather-light peck behind his ear, you grinned at his shivering shoulders and murmured, “Clarkie?”
The name within itself was a punch to the gut, but as he glanced over his shoulder at you, watching your hair fall around your face, your red lips pouting, a fire lit inside him. “Hm?”
“Copier isn’t working. Could you help me?”
Clark jolted out of his seat fast enough that it wobbled and nearly tipped over. His hand shot out to steady it, and he followed at your heels. He was kind to his invisible leash.
You breathed through a spark of nervousness as you tried to play up the sexy meter, bending down before the keyboard on the copier and pressing some buttons. It was a bit humiliating, pretending to act stupid, and a part of you knew that he’d see right through it. You weren’t dumb. You handled this copier better than Clark could most days. He was the last person to come to the rescue of a woman– usually they had things sorted before he got there. But he was under the spell of your jutting hips, staring at the soft rolls of your tummy as you rose again, and on that fact alone you knew Clark’s sound judgement was not present to assess the situation for its reality. You stepped close again and rubbed up and down his arm, squeezing his bicep.
“See? It just won’t scan!”
Clark fumbled over himself to smack the machine and jostle it around. You heard him mumbling to himself, and every few seconds he would look over at you, almost like he was making sure you were still there, watching, seeing how hard he could try for you. Trying to woo you with his heroic acts upon the damned scanner. You bit back a laugh as he gave the machine a rough kick. The screen lit up and the laser beam buzzed under the hood, and you sighed happily.
“There!” Clark beamed, turning to you with a dopey smile.
“Thank you, baby,” you cooed, snuggling up and tugging him by the tie again. It worked last time.
Clark stumbled into you and flushed, hands gripping your waist. His eyes flickered around before saying, “You’re acting strange.”
You fought to keep a blissful smile on your face. “What?”
Clark squeezed you and laughed nervously. “You’re all…”
As you watched him struggle to speak, you traced shapes in the hollow of his chest. It made the brain fog much worse. “What was that, honey?”
Clark stuttered like a fool, and it took a mountain of restraint not to laugh. God, he was so cute when he was flustered. You took advantage of the mental clog and poked his chin, stepping away with your copy.
“Hey–”
“Gotta go! Busy day!”
As you hurried off, Clark stood at the copier like you stranded him on a highway, alone and dejected. You were so warm under his hands. You never fled like that… She’s up to something, he thought. She has to be.
When it was time to make a third swing at his self-control, you had to up the ante. Flirtatious eyes and smiles wouldn’t be enough. Lois had caught a glimpse of your transparent copy machine trick and scolded you lightly for being, as she put it, “a terrific wuss”. Now, as it came time for your lunch break, she coached you into a newfound confidence. “Don’t just bat your eyes, you loser, do something you would never in your right mind do at work,” Lois urged. “You want to break him, don’t you? Give the doggy a bone!”
You stood near the elevator waiting for Clark. You two always walked to the coffee cart together. You were a safe, predictable couple, and usually that was all you ever needed. But not today. No, today you would prove to yourself that you had balls, and that he could fold like a house of cards whenever you pleased. You wanted to do it. You knew you could.
You could smell him before you saw him. In a soft cloud coming from behind, the smell of his cologne wafted over you. Did he put on more? you thought, spinning around to see him looking down at you with a suspicious level of calmness.
“Hi, Clarkie,” you sighed, pressing the elevator button. “Ready?”
“Mhm,” was all he gave in return.
As soon as the elevator doors parted, you stepped in with him following suit. You quickly hit the ‘close doors’ button, seeing his eyebrows furrow, and as they slid shut, you placed your palms firmly on his chest and pushed him back against the wall.
“Woah– hey,” he staggered, blinking through the confusion. “What’s gotten into you today?”
“Nothing!” you assured, before promptly trapping him in an eager kiss.
Clark’s hands flexed as the overwhelm hit him, and within seconds he was grabbing you and hoisting you around his hips, swapping places with you. His soft grunts of joy made your gut clench as he shoved you against the cold metal, hands squeezing your thighs. His blatant excitement was pressing against your leg and you nipped his bottom lip, breathing his air, getting lost in it for just a moment before remembering the game.
“Mm– Clarkie,” you panted.
“What?” he mumbled, kissing down your neck.
You smirked as the doors slid open to the ground floor of the Planet, and you shimmied free, finding the floor again. “Lunch!”
As you swaggered out of the elevator, Clark stood burning hot and dumbfounded. You didn’t even warn him. He followed you quickly, the subject of many judgemental glares, out to the street.
“What was that for?”
“What do you mean?” you asked, feigning innocence.
“That– the– the kissing! And the– you– the–”
“Clarkie, you sure seem nervous today. Did you sleep alright?”
“Don’t you– oh, you little–”
You whipped around with a cup of coffee and quirked a playful eyebrow, flashing him a sweet and unapologetic smile. “What were you saying, baby?”
Clark looked down at your open face. You were doing this on purpose. You were trying to bait him, get some kind of reaction. He wasn’t sure why, but that much was clear… and it was working. He was so worked up that he felt angry. He wanted to punch a wall almost as much as he wanted to rip that dress off your body. He raised a finger at you, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing, my love,” you tilted your head, dipping a finger in the whipped cream atop your cup and licking it off deliberately. “Don’t you want coffee?”
“Look at you! You’re– you’re– tempting me!”
Christ, was it hard not to bust out laughing then and there. Instead, you opted for a light and infuriating chuckle. “I hardly think I’m tempting you!”
“Oh, yes you are! With– with your little dress a-and your looks and the pet names!”
Clark’s cheeks were a fiery red, and his breath came short as you rocked on your feet and acted like he was crazy. Never in the time you’ve been together have you done anything to make him so irrevocably irritated. You kept to yourself and let things out at home, that was the girl you were, but today you were so outspoken, so physical, you almost reminded him of–
Oh, he blinked. A piece clicked into place, and the image of a certain rowdy reporter flashed before his eyes. Oh.
You saw his expression shift and felt an internal urge to squirm. Clark didn’t say another word. He handed over the cash for your coffee and his, and then he hooked an arm around your back, ushering you into the building again.
“Clark? What is it?” you swallowed, peering up at him in confusion.
“Nothing, my love,” he quipped, guiding you into the elevator once more.
As the two of you made the ride back up to the bullpen, you could feel the energy radiating off him. Something warm and strong. Something knowing. Fuck, you panicked, he knows.
Up until the end of the work day, you managed to give him a little space and air out what happened at lunch. Something inside you was a bit thrilled at the idea of him knowing you were teasing him; his back straightened, and he seemed for a moment that he would set free the dominant side, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Clark went back to the bumbling boy he was in conversation with Jimmy and Perry. But on your last ditch effort to make your boyfriend lose his filter, you found you were not the sole possessor of tricks.
This time it wasn't anything wild. You had retreated back into awkwardness– getting the whole minx act right was a lot of work. All you did was perch yourself on his desk and pick up one of his pens, twirling it around in your hair while he finished up some article on the desktop.
Clark didn’t even spare you a glance. “What do you want?”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, stilling the twirling. “Just waiting for you to be done, that’s all.”
“Yeah?” He mocked softly, closing out a tab and turning the monitor off. Clark swiveled in his chair, leaning back, and he cocked his head. “Well, I’m all yours.”
You flushed a bit. Shit. Bad look. “Good! I was thinking maybe we could get some Italian–”
Clark suddenly stood, corralling his messenger bag and your arm in one swoop. “Actually, I think I’m gonna take you home.”
You yipped in a startled moment of surprise and stumbled over your feet as Clark manhandled you down the stairs. “Hey– Clark!”
“Oh, I’m just Clark now?”
“What are you–”
The second he was able to wrestle you onto the street and down the alley beside the Planet, Clark scooped you up in his arms and shot off. You yelped as the world rushed by you in a fit of cold wind, and a slight swell of nausea rose in your chest. Before you had time to yell at him for using his speed in broad daylight, your feet hit the floor in his farmhouse.
“What the hell?”
“No, you what the hell!” Clark grumbled, shrugging off his bag and seizing your hips, walking you backwards into the living room. His eyes were dark and starving, despite the embarrassed flush of his skin. “What was your angle today, huh? Teasing me? Did Lois put you up to it?”
You tripped over the edge of the carpet, and the two of you flopped on the couch in a tangle of limbs. You grunted softly under his weight and tried to backtrack. “It was a joke, we were just curious about how you would react–”
“You got me all worked up in front of our coworkers,” Clark complained, cupping your face. “That was cruel. You know how bad it hurts when I can’t get off?”
A trapped heat buzzed under your skin. The mix of guilt and desire made an intoxicating cocktail inside you. “I was only playing around.”
“Yeah? Just playing? Well, it’s only fair I play with you now, isn’t it, honey?”
As you gazed up at the man you loved, a healthy dose of fear rippled through you– an exhilarating, hungry, entertained fear. The game worked, alright. Clark was pissed and horny and you had gotten a result you did not expect. There was no stuttering now, no sheepishness. Only need.
Clark unceremoniously shoved your dress over your hips, and you twisted under his grasp. “Clarkie–”
“Don’t deny me this, baby, because I’m a fucking mess, and it’s all your fault,” he whined as he made quick work of unbuttoning his slacks.
Your eyes fluttered as you surrendered happily, the sound of your farm boy swearing melting any last strain of resistance as you braced for the delicious punishment. As if he couldn’t get any hotter, he was begging through gritted teeth to take the treat you’d dangled before him all day.
Clark usually took a great deal of time to be sure you were safe and ready when it came to sex, but he was not stupid. If you had the wherewithal to poke the bear, you were looking for the response, and he was aching to give it to you. He groaned as two fingers tugged your panties to the side, and he crawled over you to sink inside your cunt with a helpless moan.
Your body arched at the contact, and for a second you feared the wind had been knocked out of you. It all happened so incredibly fast. First he spread his palms wide over your inner thighs to press you open, and then he was rutting like a dog in heat, coiling around you, groaning and whimpering with the long-awaited relief of being buried in your walls. All day long, while you sauntered in that dress and tried your very best to be a seductive temptress, he had wanted to bend you over the closest surface and show you just how well it worked, how you could wear a garbage bag and he’d still drool at the sight. He dreamed of making you say you’re sorry for being so cruel while his cock nudged your insides apart. Now he had that chance, because you were reduced to the girl you’ve always been beneath him– blushing, clinging tight, playing with his hair, taking every inch in a flurry of sweet, delicate greed.
“Apologize, honey,” he prompted, kneading the flesh of your ass as he thrusted deeper, nestling his cock in the spongy refuge between your hips.
“M’sorry, m’so sorry,” you slurred. The pleasure was so blinding, so heavy, that your eyes were starting to roll back. “Sorry, baby… was just– mmf– playing!”
“You tell me when you– nngh– wanna play games,” Clark hissed, rocking into you hard enough that the legs of the couch squeaked an inch over. “I’ll play them with you– God, you feel good.”
“O-okay– ah, Clarkie!”
Clark made quick work of it, because there was no fooling either of you. You had made a half-baked attempt at a Lois-induced power trip, and he was struggling to punish you for it. Neither of you had incredibly strong control over yourselves in that way. When Clark was with you, he was wholly himself, and vice versa. No amount of teasing or roleplay would ever change that. The deeper he was, the more he remembered just how much he loved you, and suddenly the two of you were right back to normal, writhing on the couch, lip-locked and whimpering into each other’s skin, begging for release.
“So good, honey, don’t ever do that again,” he begged.
“Won’t, I swear– please!”
“I’ve got you, it’s okay, come on, let go–”
“Clarkie, please, I’ll take it, I– ah!”
A white-hot wave crashed on your heads, and Clark pinned you beneath his heavy weight on the couch as he spilled into you. Your legs twitched around his hips as you shook and jerked, pleasure numbing your nerves. Air was precious now as you collapsed in a heap. Clark buried his face in your neck, holding on for dear life.
Drawing a deep and shaky breath, he mumbled, “Never listen to Lois again… can’t take it.”
You burst out into weak laughter and nodded softly, basking in the aftermath of your reward. “Deal.”
summary: when your cat went missing, there was a man willing to search for your fur baby to the ends of the earth to make you happy.
part 2 coming soon!
word count: 5.5k
warnings/mood: fluff, slight angst —or too much if you lost a cat like me—, reader's cat is missing, but not dead!!! clark being adorable as always, it is mentioned that clark's blazer is too big for reader in case that is an issue for you. english is not my first language, and it's kind of crap, i'm sorry. google translate and i are besties but lmk if you see any grammatical errors pls.
a/n: hiii! it's been a while since i last wrote one shots here, hope this isn't shitty. i wrote this because my cat is missing —too— and i really miss him. idk, it was my way of comforting myself and right now i wish superman was real and brought my baby back:(((
my english has become terribly rusty, it took me ages to research each sentence and see if it made sense, so i hope it does. xoxo
Clark Kent was searching for the courage to ask you out.
He'd been interested in you ever since Perry White introduced you as the newest addition to the Daily Planet. He read everything you wrote, listened to everything you proposed, smiled every time you struggled with the printer, and thought of you whenever he should've been focusing on something else.
You were the most precious thought that had ever inhabited his mind.
Lois had been encouraging him for weeks, but he could've sworn that every time he got close, you'd put an invisible wall between you. He honestly didn't understand. You'd never been rude, but he could see how you placed a subtle boundary every time he tried to get to know you.
And he would have taken it as a clear rejection and walked away immediately if it weren't for the way your heart raced and your face flushed when he was close.
On Monday, as always, he arrived at work rehearsing in his head how he'd approach you. He wasn’t arrogant, but he wasn’t a complete fool either, not enough to screw it up just by asking the girl he liked out. But you made him nervous. Your smile made him nervous. And your unreadable attitude made him even more nervous.
But on Monday, you didn't show up.
Not five minutes later. Not fifteen. Not thirty. Not an hour or two later. Not even when he sadly glanced at the door, hoping you'd be the one walking in. And never—since you'd arrived months ago as the new reporter at the Daily Planet—had he regretted not asking for your number as much as he did then.
He knew he wasn't the only one who noticed your absence, or who worried when Perry explained you were sick and had taken the day off. But he truly felt like a lost and abandoned puppy.
Was this a sign from the universe that he shouldn't ask you out?
Still, his mind wandered elsewhere: how sick did you have to be to miss work? You hadn't missed a single day since you arrived. In that moment, he wished he'd approached you sooner, maybe then, he could've helped.
He was distracted all day, and no one missed it.
After all, it wasn't like it was a secret to anyone in that office that Clark Kent looked at you like you'd painted every sunset in the sky. Everyone knew it.
Except you, of course. Obviously.
ꫂ❁
On Wednesday, against all odds, you arrived at work 15 minutes late, with a scolding from your boss and a huge thermos that took Clark no more than 5 seconds to figure out had coffee in it, not water, as usual.
His happiness at finally seeing you was overshadowed by concern when you gave him a soft "Hi" an attempt at a smile that looked more like a grimace, and then walked straight to your desk.
Your hair was a little—maybe more than a little—disheveled, as if you'd rushed to get there, but also like you hadn't even tried to style it in the first place. You had dark circles under your eyes that your concealer did little to hide, your nose was still red, and you wore the dullest, saddest look he'd ever seen on you, or any human.
He hesitated, but after exactly seven minutes of staring at his desk, he sighed, stood slowly, and walked over with a thin cardboard box you'd recognize anywhere.
"Hey," his soft, low voice filled your ears, making you look away from your phone.
The familiar object in his large hands made you immediately raise your head to stare at him in disbelief. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest when you saw his tender smile and shy gaze.
"You always say the cookies from that coffee shop are your favorite," he explained, slowly bringing the box closer to you. "I thought you might feel better." He shrugged a little, as if he hadn't just forced you to blink multiple times to keep from crying.
"Clark..." you whispered, your surprised gaze still fixed on him as you took the box of cookies, almost flinching when his hand brushed against yours. "Clark, I don't know what to say. Thank you so much, I really, really appreciate it."
Normally, you wouldn't have been so sentimental about it, but your cat, whom you had rescued three years ago, was missing. You'd been searching high and low for him, without success. You still hadn't recovered from your cold. Your emotions were terribly unraveled. And the fact that the small gift came from the charming man you were silently pining for... Yes, you were justified.
"It's nothing, really. I knew you were sick, and it was the least I could do," he assured you, still with that smile but with a more serious expression.
Clark leaned forward a little, resting one hand lightly on your desk without invading your personal space, as if he were going to tell you a secret—which was partly true, but it was more so you wouldn't have to crane your head to look at him and end up with a sore neck.
"I know we're not very close," he began again, and you could almost hear the disappointment in his voice as he said those words, but you chalked it all up to your imagination. "But... Are you really okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned, staring at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his that nearly made you break down.
It took you a few seconds to answer.
"Yes..." your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm fine, Clark, thank you. I'm not that sick anymore." You tried to smile amused, but he didn't notice a hint of amusement in you.
"That's not what I meant..." he replied, not sounding insistent, just... kind, genuine.
You had to hold your breath and blink quickly again so you wouldn't cry right there. You really needed to vent to someone about the nightmare your last few days had been. Clark inspired confidence, and just as you were about to speak-
"Clark, don't you think she already has enough work to do for you to distract her with desserts and 'love serenades'?" Perry's voice, a few feet away, froze you both for a moment. You felt your face heat up, and the dark-haired man in front of you opened his eyes as if he'd been caught red-handed.
"I-I..." He shook his head, letting out a nervous chuckle and adjusting his glasses, but he didn't find the strength to deny with his own words what the older man had just said, so he avoided the mocking glances of his coworkers and looked back at you, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you troubles."
"It's okay, Clark, really." You looked at him with a smile that, while meant to be reassuring, didn't reach your eyes. "Thanks."
"I should go, but..." He straightened and gestured his thumb behind him. "If you need anything, anything. I'll be right there." He pointed at his desk, which was a few feet from yours and that you definitely saw every day.
Then he walked away, leaving you alone with your sadness, your thoughts, your cookies, and the memory of his smile.
And it was just that Clark Kent struck you as the most attractive man you'd seen in a long time.
And no, obviously it wasn't just his gorgeous face, his height, and his strong body. It was everything: from his passion for his work to his kindness and kind heart. His entire personality made you believe you'd met a damn unicorn.
But you did nothing for your little crush. You smiled at him and were as friendly as you could be with a man you didn't really want to get to know for fear of discovering he was more perfect than you thought, and that would turn your little crush into a real crush.
And how would you allow yourself that in your new job, where you weren't indispensable and still had to prove your worth?
You didn't try to get his number, a date, or a conversation beyond whether or not the coffee pot at the Planet should be replaced.
But now he was really making it difficult for you.
Clark spent the rest of the time wondering if he should approach you again. He couldn't help but notice how you dropped everything to check your phone—which you never let go of—every time it buzzed.
He wasn't trying to be weird, but since he couldn't see you because of that, he focused on listening to make sure you weren't crying or just still breathing because you hadn't spoken to anyone.
When he strained his ears, the only sounds he heard coming out of you were a quiet "Shit" every time you unlocked your phone and the way you sniffled occasionally because of your cold.
And although he was a little confused and curious, he was more concerned.
But he did not approach again.
No matter how much he wanted to comfort you about whatever was bothering you. You didn't seem to want company, and he would never push you.
ꫂ❁
It had just started raining when you left work.
The sky had been cloudy all day, like it had been all week, but the downpour with brutal force arrived in seconds just as you were getting ready to leave.
"No, no, no..." you muttered under your breath as you stepped out of the elevator and headed for the building's entrance.
You pressed your palm to your forehead, letting out a heavy sigh as the icy wind leaking through the door sent shivers down your spine. Your long-sleeved shirt wasn't thick enough to keep out the cold, or the stares once it got soaked and turned see-through.
And there was no way you were asking the receptionist for help, he was the same one who always acted like paying attention to you was a personal favor.
You didn't need this. You definitely didn't need it pouring. Not when your whole week had already been a mess.
You shook your head and hugged your arms around yourself. It was already getting dark, so you didn't think it was a big deal. You had just stepped away from the glass walls and were heading for the door when someone called your name.
You didn't even have to turn around to recognize the tall, cute guy behind you. It was Clark Kent. Clark with his messy black hair. Clark with an umbrella in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Clark without a smile, but still with that face full of kindness. You'd recognize him anywhere.
You'd both stayed late that day. You did because you were buried under a backlog of work. He... you weren't sure why. It didn't really make sense.
He approached you with a slight frown, clearly confused by what you were about to do.
"Are you going out like that?" he asked, not rude, just... concerned. And even a little shy.
"I have to get home somehow," you said with a shrug, your lips curling into a faint smile.
"But you're still sick. Don't you have a coat? A sweater? Something...?" He glanced over you, clearly noting you had none of those things, though he still seemed to hope you'd magically pull one out of your bag. You didn't even have an umbrella.
You looked down, a little embarrassed. "No... I forgot. I had to rush to get here."
But Clark didn't judge. He set his briefcase down and started taking off his blazer, then held it out to you.
"You don't have to-" you began, but he just shook his head and gave you that charming smile only he could pull off, nudging the blazer forward.
"Please."
You couldn't help a weak smile as you slipped your bag off your shoulder to take it. How could you resist? You didn't have the energy to argue. You were exhausted, stressed, and sad. And Clark saw it all.
His blazer was far too big on you; it swallowed your hands completely. But the moment you slipped it on, the scent of his cologne surrounded you, warm and comforting. Heavenly. He heard your heart race, just like his, but that didn't stop the worry in his eyes.
Then he said your name softly, making you look at him. He was close, but not invading your personal space, and when his blue eyes met yours, you had to remind yourself to breathe.
"What's wrong?" he asked, gentle, but full of concern, and your heart skipped a beat. He tilted his head slightly, like a puppy trying to understand commands. You secretly cursed him for making you feel so much.
You sighed, struggling to find the words. "I didn't... miss work because I was sick. I mean, I am a little sick, but... I was looking for my cat. Lucifer. He... went missing."
Clark felt his heart sink when he heard the sadness in your voice. Of course it was about Lucifer: your cat, your baby. Your little pet with oddly perfect fur and, in your words, a receding hairline so dramatic it made him look funny. And those huge, cartoonish eyes that always looked like they were judging everyone. You talked about him constantly. You even had him as your wallpaper on your work computer.
You looked away and rushed to explain, not wanting him to think you were careless with your cat.
"S-Sometimes I leave the window open 'cause he likes the air. Sometimes he goes out, but he always comes back. Always. He's been doing this for three years. He always comes back. He has a collar, and his tags have all my info in case this ever happens, but..."
You took a shaky breath. His free hand gently touched your shoulder as he leaned closer.
"Hey, hey. You don't owe me any explanations," he said calmly.
"I spent the whole weekend looking for him. Monday, Tuesday too. I put up signs everywhere, whistled for him every night, left some windows open in case he came back, and... he hasn't."
You finally let out a sob, and that was all Clark needed to pull you into his arms.
You covered your face with your hands and leaned against his chest as the tears came. The warmth of his body was like a shield made just for you.
You didn't know how long you cried wrapped in his arms, you only knew that you let out what you had kept inside for a whole week, and that you did it with the right person.
"I don't know what else to do. I've run out of ideas. And now it's raining, and he's probably out there, soaked and cold." You sobbed once more, trying to breathe. "I really miss him."
Normally you wouldn't allow yourself to be so vulnerable, even if you weren't surrounded by people. But there was something about Clark Kent that made you feel safe and trust him blindly, and for the first time in days, you felt a little calm, only in his arms.
It felt like your tears were burning his soul and breaking his heart as he felt you tremble. In that moment, he knew one thing for certain: he never wanted to see you sad again.
"I know. I will help you." His low and warm voice filled your heart with comfort. You tried to calm yourself, shaking your head as tears still ran down your cheeks.
You thought you looked like a mess. Clark thought you probably made the stars feel insecure.
"You already helped me today," you said with difficulty, pulling away while wiping your tears. Your breathing was uneven, and you sighed, trying to stop sobbing. His hands moved gently to your arms, not wanting to pull away or distract you. Before he could answer, you added, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or..."
"You didn't." He smiled softly despite the slight disappointment at losing your touch. You felt a little self-conscious under his tender gaze but forced yourself to wipe your tears once more.
"I know it must seem stupid to cry like this over a cat, but..." You sniffed, biting your cheek to keep from breaking down again, this time unable to hold back. But he was already shaking his head.
"No. It's not stupid." He lowered his head slightly, looking at you fully so you'd know he was genuine. When he saw your expression soften and your attempt at a smile, he glanced up at the sky, noticing the rain still hadn't stopped.
He slung his briefcase over his shoulder and picked up his umbrella from the floor. "You should take this." He held it out to you, looking shyly at you.
"No, Clark... You'll get wet, and you could be the one to get sick now." Even though you immediately felt cold where his hands had been, you found the strength to refuse.
He let out a barely audible nasal chuckle, not mockery, but tenderness—which showed in his flushed cheeks and lowered gaze—. He wouldn't get sick, he knew that, but you didn't, and he imagined what you were thinking.
So he seized another chance.
"Will you let me walk you back to your apartment, then?" His hopeful eyes met yours, glistening with both tears and surprise.
And who were you to deny Clark Kent anything when he looked at you as if you were the meaning of his existence?
The walk home felt peaceful—for you. He had to keep asking you questions, just to focus on your voice and not the racing heartbeat—which he wasn't sure was yours, his, or both—that thundered in his ears every time you leaned too close to stay under the umbrella or avoid bumping into strangers.
You told him how you'd rescued Lucifer a few years ago; how tiny he was, how unruly his fur used to be before turning into the exact opposite. How you'd fed him milk with a syringe, or the baby food you made just for him. Clark already understood why you missed your cat, but the more you talked, the more he understood you.
Even if it twisted his stomach to see you so heartbroken, talking about how much you missed your kitten, Clark had never been more certain of his feelings for you, that he truly liked you. After all, he once let himself be arrested just to save Krypto—and Krypto wasn't even his. Why wouldn't he help you find your cat?
Once you reached your building, still under the shelter of his umbrella, you looked at him with a weak but genuine smile and sighed.
"Thank you, Clark."
He smiled softly.
"You don't need to thank me... but, if you'll let me... Can I ask you something?"
His question caught you off guard, but you nodded, eyes curious.
"Don't go looking for Lucifer. At least... not tonight. It's late. Let me help you," he said soft, pleading, yet with a firmness that made your breath hitch.
"Clark... you're very sweet, but... I don't know. You probably have better things to do than help me find my cat." Your voice trembled, uncertain, because deep down, you wanted his help more than anything. But you'd already done everything you could think of. What else could he possibly do?
"I don't have any, and even if I did... I wouldn't want to. I wouldn't offer if I didn't think I could actually help," he assured, though he hesitated, knowing he couldn't explain how. So he spoke again, not with arrogance, just clumsily: "Besides... I've got some friends."
There was something tender in his attitude, but it was his quiet determination to be there for you that truly moved you.
Still, you couldn't help but joke, "What? Cop buddies or something?"
He chuckled and shook his head. And of course you thought about it; after all, Clark Kent had interviewed Superman more times than anyone else at the Daily Planet... —not that there were many— but you dismissed the thought just as quickly. There was no way he'd even think of asking Superman to find your cat.
"No... but sometimes he wears a red cape and flies, if that helps"
Okay. He thought about it.
"Superman?" you asked, incredulous, genuinely surprised. "You’re going to ask Superman to help you find my cat?"
He'd do anything for you.
"He will," Clark said, firm and confident in a way you’d never seen before. So confident, it almost felt suspicious. "He... he’d never say no to something like this. He saves squirrels, after all, doesn’t he?" he added with a nervous, amused smile.
Of course you were surprised. Superman surely had far more important things to do than help you find a lost cat. So did Clark. But the absolute certainty in his voice almost sounded like a promise.
Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him tight, careful not to knock yourself with the umbrella.
Now Clark was surprised too, and more than surprised, he was completely smitten. In that moment, he wasn’t a man who could bring down buildings with a flick of his wrist. He was just a man melting under your scent, knees weak from your body pressed to his, heart racing as your thanks vibrated through his chest and turned his cheeks a soft shade of pink.
But before he could react—before he could properly wrap his arms around you—you pulled away.
"Thank you, Clark. Really... thank you so much. If... if he agrees, I have thousands of pictures of my baby," you said, fumbling through your bag for your phone.
"I—I don’t really know how his powers work, but… maybe he could hear him? He’s really loud. Or maybe he has a super sense of smell. I could give him one of Lucifer’s sweaters..."
You unlocked your phone, and then froze, realizing what you had just said. "Not like he's a sniffer dog or anything, I mean..."
Clark's chuckle silenced you instantly. Your cheeks burned even more when you realized he wasn't laughing at you. He was touched. His smile, his gaze, were filled with something you hadn't seen before... something that made you forget how to breathe. And when he reached out again to place a hand on your arm, it was your heart that forgot how to beat.
You wondered if he had always looked at you like that or if you had just never noticed.
"Don't worry about that... He will. I'm sure he'll bring Lucifer back to you." He dared to stroke your arm with his thumb, and his reassuring smile widened when your lips curved upward and you let out a soft sigh.
You held yourself back from throwing your arms around him again; you didn't want to be reckless anymore.
But it was almost physically painful not to properly thank the man who looked at you as if he was waiting for you to tell him to fly around the world just to ask "When?"
And while, to you, it was simply his way of offering peace and hope, Clark was making a promise.
After all, Clark Kent was Superman. And he wouldn't let you suffer one more day.
ꫂ❁
After finally exchanging numbers with Clark you walked into your lonely apartment, for the first time in days, feeling hope.
Hope that this time, your cat would actually come back to you.
You also allowed yourself to believe a man, because he wasn't just any man. He was Clark Kent, and that's why you trusted him when he assured you that Lucifer would be found, and kindly asked you not to go out looking for him at night.
Clark wouldn't admit it to you at the time, but even for someone like him, it was incredibly difficult to find an animal as small and elusive as a cat in a city like Metropolis.
But he always knew that teamwork went a long way, and that there was a group of other superheroes perfect for helping him.
Back in your apartment, when the rain stopped, you set out your cat's food and left it by the window, just as you had been doing for the past few days.
The television was playing a crime series that didn't interest you, but you kept your eyes on it anyway, trying not to stare out the window.
You'd made dinner, but you'd devoured the pasta dish out of anxiety, not hunger, because you didn't have any.
The hours passed slowly and torturously. At that point, you couldn't remember a single moment when your leg wasn't bouncing up and down and your fingernail wasn't scratching the armrest of the sofa.
You wanted to go out, to find Lucifer on your own and try your luck, but Clark was right. Even though Metropolis wasn't nearly as dangerous as Gotham, it still had its own dangers.
So you channeled your nerves into cooking. You made cookies. You'd had enough cookies for the day, but you knew you didn't have to eat them, so you baked as many as your kitchen's ingredients allowed.
You were listening to pop songs, the kind where the singer never shuts up, to help you avoid overthinking and just sing along quietly.
Then, a noise from outside stopped you just as you were taking the cookies off the tray.
You practically threw it onto the counter next to the spatula and rushed into your living room.
You gasped when you saw the balcony of the emergency stairs, and two figures you knew like the back of your hand.
There he was: Superman, in red and blue, with a little dirt on his face and a small smile as he gently placed your cat on the window sill, right where his food bowl was.
And there was your kitten.
Superman's smile grew enough to crinkle his eyes when he noticed you, but even so, you could see the shyness in him. And it was so familiar it made your chest swell with affection.
But before you could even try to remember who else had made you feel that way, he simply raised his hand, waved goodbye, and flew away.
You were stunned for a few seconds before you heard Lucifer's chewing grow louder, and you didn't hesitate to run to him with a smile and watery eyes.
"My baby," you whispered with tenderness and a joy that you couldn't describe in words upon finally seeing your kitten. "I missed you so much." you picked him up and separated him from his food for the first time without any guilt.
You placed several kisses on his head while repeating "I love you" over and over again. The cat snuggled up to you as always, and you leaned closer to him, sniffing. "Don't ever do that to me again. That was stupid. What's wrong with you? You scared me so much." You pulled away slightly to look at him, already prepared to lecture him, until you saw a strange piece of paper stuck between his neck and his blue collar.
You held Lucifer steady with one hand as you took the paper and unfolded it.
"The Justice Gang (temporary name) also helped save Lucifer.
If it happens again, don't put yourself at risk. You can always ask me for help :)
- Superman."
You hugged your cat tighter as you put the paper back in your pants pocket with a smile. Lucifer finally had enough of all the affection, and you left him to eat again.
"I had to ask the same superheroes who saved the city from being cut in half to find you. You're grounded, Lucifer." You pointed your finger at him, speaking firmly, causing the cat to look at you for about two seconds before going back to eating.
You sighed, moving closer to the window and and stuck your head out a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hero flying by, but you saw nothing but a beautiful sky full of stars.
"Thank you, Superman..." you whispered, petting your Lucifer and smiling into space, unsure if anyone would hear you. You just needed to say it.
And he heard you, of course he did.
That night, you slept with your cat on your pillow again, and for the first time in a week, you truly rested.
ꫂ❁
The next day, Clark arrived fifteen minutes early. So did you.
You'd both been on each other's minds that day, much more than usual.
He had just finished giving directions to an intern downstairs when he saw you walk in, wearing a radiant smile that made his heart swell.
Your eyes landed on him, and your smile widened. He forced himself to say goodbye to the intern, though his voice was shaky and he was suddenly out of breath. You were glad to see him.
You ran—really ran—toward him, not just smiling, but laughing. You had his umbrella and blazer in your hands, your purse hanging from your shoulder, but none of it mattered when you grabbed his wrist and let out the most excited "Come!" he'd ever heard.
He was never happier to follow someone.
You quickly led him to a slightly more secluded spot on the ground floor: the hallway leading to the storage rooms and basements. Anyone paying attention might still see you, but at least you wouldn't be in plain view.
And before he could make a sound, you launched yourself at him with a force that should have knocked you both off your feet.
But Clark didn't flinch even a bit. This time, he immediately wrapped you in his strong arms as you threw yours around his neck.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Clark, thank you!" you exclaimed, your eyes closed as hard as your heart was beating, because thanking him through a message did not come close to showing your true feelings. The happiness in your voice lit up his soul and he couldn't help the silly smile that formed on his lips.
It almost hurt to pull away from him, but you needed to see him. So you leaned back just a little, your hands resting on his biceps, silently lamenting that you couldn't see them without those elegant shirts and blazers.
How was he so strong?
His hands rested above your waist, not wanting to overstep, but not letting go either, because you hadn't. And that alone made his brain short-circuit.
He was completely stunned when your eyes finally fell on his. You took in his cheeks, now tinged with red, his slightly parted lips, and the furrow in his brow, like he couldn't believe he had you in his arms like that.
You forced yourself to speak, before you gave in to the urge to throw your arms around his neck again and kiss him until you both lost your minds.
"You have no idea all the crazy things I've done. I put his litter box outside because someone said he'd come back if he could smell it. Left his food on the window sill. Looked through every trash can of the streets. I talked to every cat I came across and asked them to look for him because an old lady told me to and..." You took a deep breath, thinking of how much you'd missed your cat, then forced yourself to stop and look at him.
Big mistake. Your knees faltered for a second at the sight of his affectionate smile, the kind that made his eyes crinkle, while his grip on you waist tightened ever so slightly.
"I think they're the cutest things I've ever heard anyone do."
And it was as if the world around you slowly faded away, just to appreciate this one moment between the two of you.
After seconds of silence and staring at each other as if you'd designed summers at the beach and he'd designed winters in front of the fireplace, the only thing that came out of your mouth was your slightly high-pitched voice saying, "I brought you cookies."
His eyebrows lifted and his eyes lit up, as if you'd just offered him the whole world instead of just some homemade cookies.
Though he forced himself to find the willpower to let go of you, that his hands now hanging at his sides, felt strangely out of place, like once they'd been where they belonged they had no longer a purpose.
First, you handed him his blazer and umbrella, which he took with a soft "thank you" and that familiar kind smile of his.
Then you held out a small—well, small for him—red container with a clear lid that revealed the neatly stacked cookies inside.
He took them gently, his eyes flicking up to yours with a mix of surprise and tenderness.
"You didn't have to, really," he said with a shy smile, his voice low. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
You forced yourself not to be inhibited by his sweet attitude and continued. "I wanted to get something for Superman and the... Justice Gang too, but it was like leaving cookies and milk for Santa, so... If you ever see them, tell them that when I'm not at work, I can make decent desserts," you shrugged, and you both giggled.
"I'll see what I can do," he assured you, amused, still staring at the cookies in his hands as if they were the eighth wonder of the world.
"I'm no expert baker, but... I needed to thank you with more than a hug," you sighed. "And even then, cookies don't seem enough."
Clark shook his head, looking into your eyes with a reassuring smile. His gaze suddenly changed, scanning your face as if trying to read something in your expression, and you felt your cheeks warm.
He opened his mouth slightly, but before he said anything, he took a deep breath, looking for courage.
His smile faltered a little nervously, as he looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to you and finally spoke.
"So what about a date?" His voice came out barely above a whisper, filled with shyness and longing.
But your silence didn't help, and this time he kept talking. "Only if you want to... I mean, anything: dinner, breakfast, lunch, coffee, tea... Or nothing, obviously you don't have to..." he stammered, his face burning all the way to his ears.
And now you interrupted him. You had no idea, you couldn't imagine how long I'd waited for this.
"When?" you asked with a bright smile.
And Clark Kent had never been more grateful to an animal.
But don't tell Krypto.
if you liked it, you can also read this! and this!
𑣲 summary: everyone thinks you’re single. no one ever suspects the clumsy man with the kind eyes.
𑣲 cw: established relationship, secrecy, kissing and just fluff!!!
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
no one asks about you and Clark.
because the idea never occurs to them.
they always ask about you, of course — the star reporter. the byline everyone reads twice, the one who asks questions that are sharp enough to make politicians sweat and billionaires stutter.
you’re gorgeous in that effortless way.
but Clark? Clark Kent?
Clark is..Clark.
sweet. polite. clumsy at times.
he moves through the Daily Planet like a held breath. apologetic smiles. sleeves rolled up. bringing extra pens to meetings.
“so.” someone — an intern — says one afternoon in the bullpen, leaning against your desk. “still single?”
you hum thoughtfully, “depends on the day.”
everyone laughs. they always do. the idea floats away, unexamined. they miss the way Clark’s eyes find you anyway, steady as gravity, like the room rearranges itself so he can keep you in view.
you steal moments the way children steal sugar packets.
standing too close in elevator rides. constantly leaning over his desk to check things over. shared smiles that look accidental but aren’t. he watches you like he’s memorizing a constellation — not to own it, just to know it’s there.
everyone assumes you’re unattached. too busy. too ambitious. too luminous to be tied down. they speculate about dates with CEOs, one-night stands, the occasional mysterious source who must be more.
later, after hours, metropolis quiet and gold-lit, Clark waits for you by the elevators. jacket folded over his arm. tie loosened. sleeves rolled up just right.
the doors close and you kiss him immediately.
it’s unhurried, familiar, soft in the way only secrecy allows. Clark’s hands find your waist like they’ve been aching all day to do it. he smiles into the kiss — wide, boyish, utterly undone.
“you’ve been telling them you’re single again,” he murmurs against your lips.
“i’m laughing it into irrelevance, there’s a difference.”
he laughs softly, “hm. that’s why you’re star reporter, i suppose.”
no one ever guesses the man at the printer, glasses slipping down his nose, the one who’s late every other day. no one guesses Clark Kent as the man who gets you in his bed, every night.
authors note: this was originally supposed to end in smut but i’m scared to post smut cus what if it sucks 💔💔 also im so mad em dashes are associated with chatgpt ughhhhh i lowk wanna change my theme… or should i be loyal lmk. bye loves <3
Summary - Everyone has the hots for Superman, but you can't seem to get your mind off your co-worker, Clark Kent.
Warnings - Slightly Suggestive, Reader likes to stare a lil | WC: 710
AN - Some more Clark for you guys, maybe I'll do a more Superman one next! Thank you for all the love on my other fics, it's genuinely making me so happy!
╰────-·-ˋˏ-༻༺-ˎˊ·-────╯
While the whole world obsessed over Superman, pins and his logo were plastered everywhere. Some wore it on their chest, and others had stickers on their phone case. You saw the hype; of course, he was a man who could do anything with big muscles. But you had your eye on someone in particular.
A cubicle over was one of the best writers at the Daily Planet. Clark Kent. He wore thick glasses that he always pushed back up his nose, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbow, doing nothing to conceal his biceps. Of course, you appreciated muscles, but it was different for a little nerdy guy like Clark. They made you crazy. It wasn’t just his arms; his large 6’4” frame was packed with muscles despite being the softest guy you had ever met. You caught yourself admiring his pecs in his shirt that left little to the imagination from how fitted it was, along with his black dress pants that showed off his ass just right. You felt perverted, but you couldn’t help but take it in sometimes.
He was like a greek myth, or an angel sent from heaven, you couldn’t decide.
At the coffee makers, he would ramble to Lois about his new article on Superman, before accidentally spilling coffee down his front. “What the hay!” he complained, patting himself with napkins. You tried to hold back a small smile, and he gave you a goofy one while shaking his head. He was clumsy, but you still loved it.
When he was nervous at his desk, he would play with his tie. He was always well put together, never a wrinkle on his clothes, you wondered how he did it sometimes. Sometimes, whenever he rounded a corner too hard, hitting the wall, he’d make a small apology, despite it not even having feelings. Too sweet for his own good.
In the room of records, filled with sources, you bumped into him a lot. He always offered to grab stuff on the tall shelves for you, and you’d watch in awe as he stretched up, his shirt getting a little frumpy. “For you, m’lady…” he’d tease, looking down at you. His teasing always made your stomach jolt with the hot feelings of attraction. He made it very hard to ignore.
At Lois’s desk, you sat rambling, both of you talking about your love life. “So, what about you? Any movement with Clark?” she asks, her voice low. You shrugged. “He’s really cute, Lois. I can’t tell if he likes me, I mean, he’s nice to literally everyone…” You grumble, sipping from your mug. Lois gives a small shrug. “You’d be surprised, I think he likes you. He gives you big puppy eyes from his desk, hoping you’ll look at him!” she teases, grinning. You shook your head, leaving her desk. “Yeah, right.”
Little did you know—Clark had heard every word, making his heartbeat just a little quicker and his cheeks flush. Jimmy watched him haul off to the bathroom to collect himself, ‘Weird guy…” he mumbles. Normally, Clark would be a bit offended, but his mind was too preoccupied. Those small smiles you gave him made him feel like the only man in the world, and to think that you liked him back? It was earth-shattering.
When he returned, he accidentally bumped into you, your coffee spilling down your front this time, staining the white of your shirt. “Oof…” you mumbled, looking down at the mess. Clark should’ve known; he had heard the click of your heels down the hall. “I’m so sorry…” he apologized quickly. He left and hurried back with a fistful of napkins, instinctively pressing the bundle against the coffee stain on your chest. His hands quickly jerked away, like he’d touched a hot stove. He froze, starting to stutter; you had noticed it was worse when he was nervous. “Golly—I’m sorry!” he apologized again.
“Let me make it up to you,” he insists, the coffee-soaked napkins balled up in his hand. “Would you let me take you out to dinner… tomorrow? And bill me for your shirt, please.” Despite your shirt being ruined, you couldn’t help but agree. The flush of his cheeks had to be one of the sweetest things you had ever seen.
🍦 ✨ Clark Kent x f Reader
tw: smut, friends to lovers, more plot than smut, theres wine ig, hes sad for a sec, the only bad things are my horrible jokes
wc: ~2.4k
Plot/notes: You comfort Clark (your best friend since college) after the news of his secret harem gets out.
“So, I hear you have a harem…” You walked into the small apartment, seeing Clark on the couch, sighing with his head in his hands. His blue suit was still on, red cape draped over the couch.
“Don’t. Please, just don’t.” His voice waivered, a clear itch in his throat.
“It’s not that bad.” You shrug, not that he saw. You grabbed a wine bottle from his fridge and poured two glasses. It is that bad. #Supershit is trending once again, not like you’re going to tell him that with the state he’s in.
You hear him sniffle as you set the bottle down, grabing the glasses, and walking over to him on the sofa. It genuinely hurts you to see him like this, but part of you knows that this will be fixed. Even Superman can lose hope sometimes, but the people of Metropolis will still need him. Whether they want to need him or not.
And you grew up with the man; you knew everything he stood for. And this was not it.
You set the wine on the table in front of you before sitting next to him, with one leg on the sofa, facing your body toward his broad frame. “I’m so sorry.” Your hand soothes his back. It’s your turn to feel his breathing, something he always does with you, but of course, just with his insane hearing.
He once asked you if you were ok in the office, telling you he heard your heart stutter from across the room. Little did he know it was only because you saw him laugh at Jimmy’s joke.
“I don’t know how to fix this.” His voice is strangled.
Being his best friend, you knew all his secrets, you knew Clark better than he even knew himself. You anticipated his every need, understood what his tired slurs of words meant after a long day, and above all, you understood what he stood for.
He was the symbol of hope that people would see in the sky. He was practically the one thing blocking humankind from being completely wiped out by alien invasion, supervillains, and world-ending wars. He loved the human race more than anything; he hoped for you, he loved for you, and he was there for you.
“You will.” You spoke in a soft voice, barely above a whisper.
“No, not this time. I don’t- I can’t-” He sobs in between the broken sentences.
“Hey,” You soothe him with another hand, squeezing his thigh, feeling the undeniable strength that sat right below the blue material. “You’ll figure it out. Everyone loves Superman. They all need you.”
“Do they?” His voice breaks as his head lifts from his hands. You can see the indents of where his hands held his cheeks. You should have come over sooner. His eyes are pink, lids heavy with sleep, and eyebrows drawing in with the worry written across his forehead. “Do they need me?”
“I need you.” It was more of a whisper to yourself, an ode to your love for him. When you look up at his face, you find his worried eyes filled with sentiment.
His lips slightly quirk up at the corners, telling you he heard your secretive words.
You decide to own it. “A lot, actually.” The hand you have on his back comes down to rest on his bicep, feeling the muscle beneath your warm fingertips. “I’ve been missing you recently.” You bring up his extra Superman work, the international relations, the more common alien attacks, and how he’s needed to leave plans or cancel last minute for something you later see on the news.
You barely even see him at the office anymore; the only reason he hasn’t been fired is that you keep covering for him.
“I’m sorry-” Before he can finish his guilty sentence, you interject.
“Don’t apologize! Please, don't.” He’s turned towards you slightly at this point, letting you see the full extent of his face. His beautiful, strong features glimmer in the dim light.
“You mean so much to me.” He whispers. His fingers grazed the side of your jaw. You could feel the tenderness in his voice, and he heard the jump in your heartbeat along with the hitch in your breath. “Thank you for covering for me. I can always rely on you.”
Part of you needed to cut the tension in the air. The thick blanket of reality hung over both your heads. “You seriously don’t have a harem?” You raise your eyebrows, and you can’t help but smile. “You sure? You could.” Your head tilts in a futile attempt to make him laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His face is almost set in stone as a confused yet still irritated groan leaves him.
“Do you seriously not know how many fangirls you have?” You lean in, questioning him.
He smiles. “Yeah, I know.”
“I mean… just on Tumblr alone, there have to be thousands!”
“What’s Tumblr?” His eyebrows shift.
“Um, nothing.” You whisper.
“I don’t have a harem. You know that, right?” You nod, but he continues. “I just need you to know that's not me. It never was.”
“Of course. I know Clark.” The air between you gets warmer. The comfortable friendship you two have shared for so long glimmers with every reassuring word.
“So, you were joking, right?” He questions your earlier antics.
“Well, I was just wondering if it was like an application process or something else…” He’s already shaking his head with a small smile halfway through your ‘joke’.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He lets a long sigh, you watch as his broad chest deflates with the loss of air, and then inflates as he sits up taller. His 6’4” frame is all you see as you look up at him.
“You’re going to continue to be you.” You hold his head in your hands, your whole world cradled between your palms. “You will be the amazing Superman that brings hope to the skys of Metropolis. You will move buildings and stop attacks, and create warmth in the hearts of everyone who relies on you. You will prove them wrong.”
His cheek nuzzles softly into your hand as his eyes close. “Thank you.”
When there's been a soft silence between the two of you and Clark moves to lay his head against the wall, carding a hand through his hair, you pick up a glass, talking to the wine as you swirl it in circles. “I was just wondering if you were taking volunteers.”
“What?” He looks down at you from between the fingers he has settled across his face, eyes squinting, brows furrowing.
“You know.” You can’t help but smile. “For your harem.”
He groans, deep in his chest.
You’ve been giving him hints for years, although his dorky, oblivious, perfectly rounded ass could not be more unaware.
You down the wine in your hand, taking a deep breath before you look at him. His eyes are closed, hands rest on his thighs, which are spread wide on the couch. “Clark.”
He hums in acknowledgment of your curious tone, eyes still closed, head still leaned against the wall.
“I kind of… wasn’t joking.”
“What? About the harem?” He huffs a laugh as he picks his head up, fixing his hair before looking at you.
You give a short nod, barely noticeable.
He lets out a small chuckle, almost uncomfortable, before he realizes you’re telling the truth. “Oh,”
Your eyes find your hands that fidget in your lap as your chest deflates. And this is where you conclude your friendship. You always knew it would end with you confessing your feelings. You’ve known since you met in high school that your sly remarks, shy flirting, and loving eye contact weren’t overlooked; they were ignored.
A meta-human who can lift entire city buildings doesn’t want to be with the girl he calls his best friend. You knew he was friend-zoning you, but the need to tell him that when he hears your heart stutter when he grins, tells a horrible joke, or wraps an arm around you to ‘keep you safe’ wasn’t because you had heart issues ate away at you.
The many doctors' appointments he made for you only made your crush grow. It was torturous watching the most perfect man you’ve ever met lead a life without you by his side.
You were irrevocably and irrepribably in love with him. You loved the dorky way he talked about the stars, how he would tell you what Earth looked like from the moon, when he would nerd out over Star Wars, explaining the TIE fighters in detail.
You watched him grow from a young adult, trying to figure out college life, into the grown man sitting in front of you today.
“Really?” His voice was softer than usual, almost like he felt the shift in the air, the treacherously delicate ripple between the two of you.
You hummed a ‘yes’, barely able to speak, let alone look up at him. Although if you did look up at him, you not only would see your Clark, you would see his eyebrows rise with newfound promise, his pupils dilate with anticipation, and his grin grow wider with every second.
His hands come down to grab yours, pulling them away from picking at your nails. He’s going to tell you no, that you’re too good a friend to lose. You’ll have to go back to work with a weight on your shoulders, and the friendship you’ve had with the only person who has ever truly noticed you will be gone before you can blink.
“I love you.”
But…
“I’ve been waiting for you to say something.” His whispers are raspy with the tension in his throat.
Your eyes widen, looking up to see the beautiful grin you love so much. “Waiting for me to say something?”
“I couldn’t have made a move.” His face scrunches at the thought. “Pulling you into a life with me? That would be selfish.”
“Why?” You move closer to him on the couch, leaning into his warmth.
“You would have to be ok with me leaving dates halfway through, canceling plans, being like this.” He gestures to himself, his slightly beat-up knuckles, and the small scars he has on his face, which will heal by the time the morning sun casts over him.
“I love you like this.“
His eyes squint as he tries to figure out what you mean. “Like-”
“Like, you. You’re completely perfect. Even if you leave dates and cancel plans and I have to cover for you. Even if you’re annoying about interviewing yourself or you spill coffee on me because you hadn’t slept all night. I love it.”
“We would have to be secretive, always, never fully telling the truth and never living in the light.”
“I will live with you in the darkness if it means that I get to be with you.”
He lets out a soft breath, bathing your face in warm air. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” You sit up on your knees to bring your lips to his. Meaty paws are grabbing at you, pulling you into him as he sits back into the couch so you can crawl atop his lap.
Your head moves to face down, letting you tower over him as his neck stretches back. Your hands hold the back of his head, pressing your lips to his, with your fingers digging into his hair in a deep kiss.
He pulls away, watching you blink your eyes open. “I do take applications, although the process is lengthy.”
“Oh, is it?” You can’t help but smirk, whether at his joke or the prospect of what he’s referring.
He nods, curls bouncing with the movement.
Soon, he’s stripping from his suit, his body washing over yours as you arch under him. He hears your moans and mewls tenfold as you bite on his earlobe, letting him have his way with you, thighs wrapping around his hips for steady support.
He pushes you up the couch, drawing you back down onto him after every thrust with his weighty hands, fingers digging into your plush flesh. His lips whisper soft praises into your forehead, kissing your warm skin before and after every plaudit.
The two of you lie on the couch, his cape draped over your still naked body, and his lower half. Clark leans back against the wall with his feet up on the coffee table as you put an ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The warmth shared between the two of you isn’t only physical. You share a comfortable love, a love that you’ve had for over a decade.
Your eyes close, giving you more confidence to tell him, “I’ve wanted this for a really long time.” Your voice breaks with how quiet it is.
And although you hear it as just a breath, a slight whisper, he can hear every syllable, every small pause, and he hears the smile in your tone.
“To be part of my harem?”
You open your eyes to laugh, “Yeah, you should really screen people before, though.”
He huffs at your joke. “Com’ here.” Grabbing your jaw, he draws you closer, pulling you into him with an arm around your back.
You look up at him, his calloused fingers grazing the bottom of your chin as he slowly blinks. If you were cats, you would know he loves you. His soft movements apex into an affable smile. His dimples show, his eyes crease, his cheeks peak at his cheekbones, and tint pink as he looks down at his love.
“I’m glad you came over.”
You mirror his expression, using a similar mild tone. “So, can I be part of your harem?”
“You can be the only member.” His lips find your forehead again, planting a long kiss as his hand comes to the back of your neck, letting you rest your head against his pectoral again, listening to his breathing.
It’s calmer than when he was sitting worried on his couch, slower than when he was on top of you; it's comforting, you don’t notice yourself matching it, but you do, falling into a rhythm with him.
Authors Note!
౨ৎ‧₊ . I thought this was a really fun way to start this, I hope you guys liked it! . ₊‧౨ৎ
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