clicking keys & conversations
or... how do you tell the girl you like that you're superman? pairing: clark kent x f!reader summary: you give clark kent a chance despite your better judgement words: 7.2k warnings: MDNI, fluff, smut (fingering, dry humping), light angst! more smut (fingering, piv, creampie, one pussy pronoun... big dick clark), happy ending notes: i haven't written fanfiction in about 5 years so i would really appreciate feedback. i've never written clark but i was moved... i have some more ideas so lmk if u like this :P
Clark Kent is a pushover. Okay, no, well – maybe. Clark Kent is definitely a pushover. It isn’t always so glaringly obvious to other people. Late to a work meeting? He was coming with a couple trays of coffee to make up for it. And yes, it was everyone’s exact order. I mean, did he have a notes app entry of everyone's order? It seems the exact sort of thing Clark Kent would do. Along with it, your name was always squiggled on in his annoying, pushover handwriting with a smiley face to boot. You had to suppress the eye roll every time.
Was it just you thinking this? Or did it feel like he simply turned it on when you were around? Always holding the door open, offering to read over your articles, oh and the feedback was always so well thought out. It’s like he could pick up on the places you were subconsciously unsure of and simply offer up a solution out of nowhere. A solution you had no idea you even needed. He was a pushover. Or an opportunistic freak. I mean, a man always had an ulterior motive and the small-town Kansas gentleman thing was purely an act, it had to be –
“Y/N?” His voice cuts through the chatter of the room, heard by you over the clicking of keys and conversations. It is so easy for him to pull you out of your thoughts.
You have to wipe the look off your face. I mean, whose voice sounds like that? All kind and dripping with sweetness. You don’t trust Clark Kent as far as you could throw him and God knows you weren’t moving that well-toned body of his, how much did he work out and that bone structure, I mean– “What, Clark?” You know you sound snippy because he looks like a kicked puppy. Well, actually, he always looks like that around you.
Clark’s glasses sit on the edge of his nose, he pushes them up as he speaks, “Oh, um, sorry to bother you.” His desk chair scoots over from his desk over to yours. A common occurrence. Jimmy and Lois would share a glance over it, you’re sure. “I was just wondering if you’d read over my latest piece. The new one about Superman.” He’s got that look on his face. Is he trying to impress you or shove it in your face? Everyone would kill for an interview with Superman, but of course, Clark Kent is the only one to secure them.
You roll your eyes. You can’t help it. “Clark, I’m sure it’s great. I’m sure it’ll be on the front page like the last four articles you wrote about him.” You turn your attention back to your computer, not wanting to continue the conversation.
“Oh, really? You think so?” It typically takes a few more sassy replies from you to get him to retreat back to his desk, but not this time. This was Clark Kent who only ever takes your words at face value. Clark Kent who can’t seem to pick up on the fact you’re annoyed with him, always. Clark Kent who won’t stop till every person at the Daily Planet at least tolerates him.
“You bet, Clarkie.” Your voice is laced with faux sweetness, but Clark turns away with a smile on his face, his posture straighter than before, desk chair wheels sliding back the way he came from.
Clark would annoy you more if it wasn’t for the little way your heart flipped when he came through the door every morning. But that part of you was never your brain talking, hell, it probably wasn’t even your heart. You swore off the men of Metropolis a long time ago. Relationships were always too complicated and men more so. You have been hurt too many times. They all started off strong. Kind, gentlemen-like, and a little too good to be true. More likely than not, Clark Kent was the same. He wanted one thing and once he got it? No more doors opened before you had a chance to look up. No more take-out containers appearing during the nights when you had to make a deadline. Not to mention you worked together. You couldn’t handle ruining the one place you actually loved. And for what? Clark Kent? Even if it was real, he is too sweet. He probably helps old ladies cross the street and the only thing you ever knew was tumultuous relationships.
You would throw your hands against the desk if you didn’t want to draw so much attention to yourself. He always had a way of worming himself into your brain. He didn’t even have to try very hard. His smile lit up rooms. He was so tall and broad yet he tried to shrink so as not to take up so much space. You could kill him, you think.
It was clear to Lois and Jimmy that Clark has a crush on you. It was the most obvious thing on the planet. Clark was nice. The whole act you assumed was for the purpose of getting things out of others was simply how he was. He was a gentleman from Kansas, always taught to do the right thing from Ma and Pa. But it was different with you. He was even more nervous than usual. Clark went out of his way to make sure you were comfortable, that you were seen. If you rubbed at your temples too much, an Advil would appear on your desk. If you yawn a little more than usual, a cup of coffee prepared just the way you like. He never needed the credit for it either. Just did it because he knew it was the right thing to do for someone you admired.
You picked up on it. You weren’t blind. “I mean, he does that for everyone, doesn’t he?” You had asked Lois last week.
Her eyebrows raised. “I mean, no. If I ask, sure, Clark is happy to get me a cup of coffee from the break room. For you? He’ll go to that place down the street.” She had a knowing look on her face. More often than not, you had been going back to Clark as a topic of conversation. In the past, you brushed him off.
You sighed, picking at the skin around your fingers. “Well, if anything, he just wants to get in my pants.” You had seen it before. Hell, the last intern the Daily Planet hired had tried it too, but once he realized you weren’t interested, the pleasantries had stopped. That hasn’t happened with Clark, not yet anyway. “Right?” You looked at Lois again.
“Sure and settle down with you in Kansas somewhere and give you a handful of kids and wait on your hand and foot or whatever floats your boat.” She shrugged. She wasn’t going to waste more of her breath trying to convince you that Clark was one of the good ones. You had to figure that out on your own and your mind was surely set on staying away. And she sure as hell wasn’t gonna go out of her way to vet him for you, at least not for a little while longer. I mean, she had her $50 bucks put on the fact it would take longer than six months for you guys to go on a date. Jimmy on the other hand was convinced it would take less than six months. She was right on the cusp of winning, you just had to hold out a little while longer. Lois can't let Jimmy Olsen win a bet. “But, really, you’re probably right. I mean no man is that perfect.” She emphasized, glancing over at Clark.
That was a week ago. Now, your restraint seems to be thinning more and more every day that you catch a glimpse of him in that white button down, his glasses hanging close to the tip of his nose. You had managed to finish the day off still mildly annoyed at him, though. I mean, push up your glasses for God's sake.
Clark, on the other hand is making eye contact with Jimmy, shaking his head vehemently as Jimmy gestures over to you, mouthing, “Come on, man. Ask her out!” Clark is nervous. He didn’t want to ruin anything between you, but it was getting harder for him to ignore the ache in his chest. He glances over at your desk, noticing that you're packing your bag for the night. Oh gosh, is he about to do this?
Jimmy throws a fist up in the air signaling triumph as Clark scrambles out of his chair, stuttering over his words, “Oh, hey, wait, let me grab that for you.” He reaches your desk, scooping your bag over his shoulder as he smiles. “You know, we, uh, walk the same way.”
You shrug. “Okay.” It was a long day. He was strong and capable. He could carry your bag a few blocks. He’s quick to grab the door before you can, push the elevator button, and follow you to the street.
“How was your day?” He asks, genuinely curious. He’s only stalling a little on asking you on a date. I mean, would you say yes? Were you set on being friends? Friendly co-workers? He knew he wanted more than that and Ma always said it was better to just take a chance.
“Honestly? It kind of sucked. Perry was on my ass, sending me email after email when I sent in my draft for Sunday. I just– I worry I’m not always picking up the slack. Like, that I’m not good enough to be here.” You sigh, glancing up at Clark as you walk. Where the hell did that come from? But you knew. Clark was always easy to talk to. He had a way about him that sort of eased the ache in your chest.
The frown on his face is genuine. “Oh, come on, you know that’s not true.” His brows are furrowed, his grip tightening on your bag. “You’re one of the best writers I know.” He clears his throat, his admiration as clear as day. “Plus, Perry was just in one of his moods. It had nothing to do with you. In fact, it might’ve been my fault.” He’s sheepish when he says it.
Your mouth drops open. “What? Clark Kent, golden boy? Perry upset with you?” You bump into his side as you walk, teasing him. Conversation flows easy between Clark and you. As much as you hated to admit it at times.
Your building looms in the distance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get a taste of Clark Kent. It had been awhile since you had any romantic prospects. Maybe it didn’t have to be so life or death for you. Maybe it could just be fun. It could even be nice after the day you had.
Your footsteps slow down as you reach the front door of your building, your body turning to face Clark. His eyes stare down into your own. He swallows. Does he know what you’re about to ask?
“Do you want to come up?”
“Can I take you out on a date?”
You both stutter over your next sentences. “Oh– Well.”
“Yes.” You say at the same time, a matching grin on both of your faces.
—-
What were you doing? Maybe you didn’t quite think this through, you think as your front door clicks shut.
“Oh, you can just, uh,” You grab your bag from Clark’s shoulder, dumping it off on your coffee table as you take in the state of your apartment. It wasn’t that bad. After taking a quick inventory, you turn back to Clark, finding him with a goofy smile on his face. As much as you wish it wasn’t, it was contagious. “Stop smiling like that.” You can’t help the way a smile tugs at your own lips looking at him.
His fingers push the bridge of his glasses up his nose, a chuckle falling from his lips. He’s got a blush dusting his cheeks, has he always been this cute? “I just can’t believe you said yes to a date. I mean, and now I’m in your apartment and it’s just–”
You close the space you made, stopping his rambling as you stare up at his face. I mean you invited him up for a reason, right? You might as well take the chance while you have him here. You could do this despite your heart wanting to jump out of your chest and into his. You stand on your tip-toes, leaning into him. “Come on, Clark, kiss me.” Here you were, taking the chance. God, that stupid button up and your stupid feelings.
He really doesn’t have to be told twice. Clark’s hand comes up to cup the side of your face, leaning in and connecting your lips together. Oh, fuck. Your lips move in sync, your eyes closing as you melt into his touch. He is so big, so tall, and all consuming as he deepens the kiss. His nose nudges against your own as he tries to get as close as possible to you. A small groan escapes his lips as he pushes your bodies together, a hand on the small of your back. “I, uh, ‘msorry.” He mumbles against your lips before pulling back and resting his forehead against yours. Clark, ever the gentleman, worrying he’s taken it too far. “I’ve wanted to do that forever, didn’t know if you’d ever ask.”
A small laugh escapes your lips, already feeling drunk from the feeling of his lips against yours. “Not sure I was ever going to ask.” You peck his lips, sliding your hands across his chest. “But maybe I finally lost my senses.”
“Oh, yeah?” He can’t wipe the smile off his face as his hands glide over your shoulders to slide down to hold at your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” His hands give your hips a gentle squeeze before he sees your nod and dives back in and this time, it feels even more consuming than the last. Your hands can’t stop exploring the expanse of his chest, his back, the hardness of him, his biceps and the softness too, the way his biceps flex when his arms move to pull you closer. Your hand finds his as you continue to kiss. You pull away from his lips as you begin to tug him towards the couch.
Clark is quick to sit down and pull you onto him. He isn’t sure how he waited this long to kiss you, to touch you. The world before seems foreign to him now. Have you always been this soft? This beautiful? His hands are moving over your body, squeezing your plush hips in his hands as his lips work down your neck. “I still want to take you out, okay?” He reassures you. His fingers tease at the edge of your shirt, pushing it up an inch just to get a taste of your skin. His fingertips tickle at the bare skin of your tummy; it makes you shiver. You can barely think. “I, uh, I’ve wanted to ask you out for so long.” Every word is punctuated with a kiss as he moves all over your neck, your throat, back to your face: your lips, your cheeks, nuzzling you now that he’s allowed to. “Is this okay?” His fingers are skating at the edge of your shirt, the heat they leave in their wake is enough to make you shiver. You nod.
Clark shakes his head, fingers desperately gripping at your waist again. “No, I need to hear you say it.” His forehead is pressed against yours, wondering how the hell he ended up here. Maybe he’s dreaming. “Please.”
You nod again, “Yes, please. Touch me.” Your thighs are straddling his lap as your hips subconsciously grind down against him as you give him your answer. He’s hard underneath you. You swallow. Sure, you knew what you invited him up here for, but you didn’t expect the way heat pooled in your stomach, the way his lips felt against yours. It was electric. You didn’t think you had wanted someone so bad from a kiss before. Didn’t think you’d ever want Clark Kent like this. Clark Kent with his curls disheveled from your hands, his pupils blown out underneath his glasses, the few buttons of his shirt undone, the expanse of his chest peeking out from underneath. You could come from that sight alone.
Clark’s hands tease underneath your shirt, squeezing and touching over all the skin he can reach before he’s pushing a hand underneath your bra and taking your mouth with his again. He can’t help the groan that escapes as he grinds up against you, the feeling of your bare skin making him come undone. “Ah– I,” Clark’s head falls back against the couch as you press down against him, creating a pace against the hard-on in his pants. “I, I don’t do this, usually.” He wants to elaborate, wants to tell you he really does prefer a first date because he wants to earn this, earn you, but he can’t get much else out as he watches you on top of him.
“Uh-huh.” You're lost in the feeling of dry humping with him, throat tight. Your pussy aches every time his clothed cock rubs just right. You can only imagine how big, how girthy he is if he feels this way through his pants. Your hands are gripping at his shoulders as you rut against him, his hands still kneading your breasts.
His hands are pulling your top over your head, undoing your bra so he can get at more of your skin with his hands and his mouth. He takes extra care to make sure no piece of your skin goes untouched.
“Come on, Clarkie, please.” You beg, the usual teasing nickname slipping out without a thought, wanting to feel his hands where you really need them. It seems to work as his large hand slips underneath your pants, fingers swiping down to feel your heat through your underwear. He can feel the wetness seeping through your panties. His fingers tease, paying attention to your clit, giving it an experimental rub through the cloth to see your reaction. Your hips buck, losing whatever rhythm they might have had as you cry out. It’s been awhile and you’re so sensitive, you go to explain just as his fingers shove the cloth aside and touch with no barrier. “Ah, oh, fuck.” Your hips stutter again, his fingers slipping toward your entrance.
“Oh, wow, honey.” He breathes out, mouth kissing at your chest as his fingers tease at your slick entrance. His fingers swipe through your folds before sinking in a single finger. He barely has to push in before you sink down onto it fully without a second thought. You’re so wet, a second finger slides in as easily as the first, he can feel the way your pussy throbs at the intrusion. “Feel good?” He cuts through your foggy mind, his fingers sloppily moving in and out as his mouth returns to claim yours. You give a slight nod, lost in the feeling. “You still gonna let me take you out?” His thumb joins in, lightly rubbing at your clit.
“Yes, you can take me out on a stupid date.” You push your lips harder against his, moving your hips against his hand, the sound of his fingers fucking into your slick heat fills the room. The feeling in your stomach tightens, close to release. Of course you’ll go out with him especially if his fingers feel this good. Oh gosh, if his fingers feel like this, what will his cock feel like?
Clark’s fingers keep nudging at your clit, his fingers inside of you feeling over that spongy part, petting, coaxing. He is keeping a steady rhythm as he tunes into the sound of your breathing, the steady thump of your heart. Every time he senses a slight stutter, he keeps the steady rhythm going. His eyes rake over your body, his other hand holding your hips in place the more they want to rut against him. He can’t focus like that. His cock is throbbing in his pants, but he thinks he could cum just watching you like this. With his senses so in tune with yours. “You gonna come, baby?” A kiss presses to your neck, “You gonna come on my fingers?” You choke on your words, your pussy tightening with the feeling in your stomach. It’s about to snap every time he speaks. “Let me see it,” He begs, somehow his voice sounds nearly as wrecked as you feel, “Please.” Clark’s voice cracks, holding you to his chest just as the band in your stomach snaps. You fall forward, gripping at his clothed chest.
“Ah, ah, ah, fuck, Clark.” You gasp, his fingers slowing down their assault, but working you through your orgasm till your body twitches and your hand shoves at his wrist, “Ha, Clark, quit.” You breathe, hiding your face in his neck. His fingers slowly leave your panties, not too fast. He can tell how sensitive you’re feeling. He wants to laugh, but only from the sense of happiness building in his chest.
“Good?” His voice is hoarse, deeper than usual. One hand slides to your back, rubbing small circles.
You nod sleepily. “God. Great, Clark.” Your voice is breathless. Even after your orgasm, you aren’t unaware of his cock still pressing into your clothed core. You aren’t unaware of how big it feels. You aren’t unaware of the ache still in your pussy, needing him to really fill it. You’re still sensitive, but your body is still curious as your core makes another swipe over his lap, testing, teasing.
His hands are quick to grab at your waist, holding you still. “Ah, ah, I–.” He laughs, head dropping back to the couch as he stares up at your face, glasses crooked. A small, knowing grin adorns your face. God, did you get prettier? “I, uh–” He glances at the clock on your wall. He had plans. Superman duties. And he really does want to take you out first. His cock twitches. You can see the inner battle on his face. Was this Kansas boy serious? He really did want to take you out? “I have to go and I really do want to take you out first.” He’s sheepish as he says it, a light blush dusting his cheeks. As if it’s something to be embarrassed about. As if he didn’t make your heart squeeze and give you the best orgasm you’ve had in months.
“You mean it?” You tease, your lips press a small kiss to the side of his mouth.
Clark nods, those matching grins adorning your faces again. “I mean it.”
—
6:00 PM. Saturday.
The click of shoes against hard wood. Again. Again. Pacing. A glance at the clock. A glance at the calendar.
6:30 PM. Saturday.
A sigh, shoes dropping to the hard wood. You slump on the couch, glancing at the last texts you exchanged with Clark this morning.
pick you up at 6 pm on the dot :)
Clark was rarely late and when he was, he made up for it. You try to remember that.
7:00PM. Saturday.
You fight the urge to text him. Is he okay? Surely he wouldn’t stand you up. That would be silly.
7:30PM. Saturday.
Would it?
9:20PM. Saturday.
No, not silly. No text and a no show. You want to text Lois, ask if she wants to go out to the bar. I mean, you got ready and for what? But your heart actually breaks a little. A little told you so to yourself. I mean, he couldn’t even close the deal so what did he really get out of it? You grumble, sinking into the couch. Stupid feelings and stupid chances. How are you supposed to face him on Monday? Maybe that’s on him. Maybe he can deal with the death glares you stare into the back of his head now. Did he do this on purpose? Did he know you really did not want to fall for his stupid little act and somehow got you to anyway?
“Ugh.” You throw your phone onto the cushion beside you, heading falling back just as a knock startles you in the silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
You’re quick to rise from your spot on the couch, even quicker to rip the door open. You can’t even speak before Clark is apologizing. “I am so, so, so, sorry.” His eyes meet yours as soon as you open the door, the kicked puppy look is on full blast. “Please, don’t shut the door.” He begs, one hand extending to you, the other holding a bouquet of flowers.
“Are you serious, Clark?” You want to scream, but your voice is low. Lethal.
His eyes plead with you. “I got caught up in, in, — I mean, have you seen the news? I was on the other side of the city and there was an attack, I mean it was just like the one from a few months ago, you remember the one, right?” He’s rambling, he knows it. He means it. He wouldn’t have missed your date unless he had good reason. It’s not like he has to tell you his secret, not after one missed date. “There was this huge explosion and all the transit had to stop, and, you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He saves himself the embarrassment and stops talking as you pull out your phone and see the news.
Okay, so you spent 3 hours sulking around the house without checking the news. Is that on you or him? And God, Clark probably stuck around to help cats out of trees and old ladies under rubble. You’re almost sure of it. “Oh.” You say dumbly, looking back up at him before your eyes narrow. “No text? Not even one?”
He shrugs, that sheepish look on his face as he holds up his phone, the screen black. “No battery.”
You roll your eyes, tugging him into your apartment. “Okay, fine. You’re forgiven.” You point a finger at him, poking at his chest. “For now.”
—
So you reschedule for next weekend. This time, there’s even less pressure on it. You had planned a dinner and movie at your place. There were too many deadlines lately at work this week and you hadn’t wanted to go out. Clark agrees with the promise that he’ll take you out somewhere really nice once work isn’t as stressful. Not even a first date down and he’s already planning the other ones. Quite sure of himself, you think, as you finish getting ready.
You had already ordered the pizza and he was due to be at your apartment in about 15 minutes.
It’s starting to feel like a repeat of your first plans when 30 minutes go by and the pizza begins to grow cold on the table. You played it safe this time too and let the news play while you waited. Just in case.
You want to cry when another hour goes by. How did you let yourself get your hopes again? You sit on the couch and let it happen. There’s no use pretending that your heart wasn’t feeling the way it was. You liked Clark. Like really liked him. You liked the stupid way he wrote your name on the coffee cups with the stupid smiley faces and you liked the way his eyes searched for you in the morning at work, you liked the way he texted you his stupid thoughts and dumb fun facts. He was genuine and goofy. Like stupidly so. But he was also opinionated and never afraid to stand up for what was right. You liked the way his hands would linger on your back when he held the door open for you, you liked the way he started sneaking kisses on the elevator at work.
You hope he shows up at the door still. You hate yourself for it, too. There was a reason you didn’t want to get your hopes up about Clark Kent because you would be stupidly in love if you did.
You fall asleep on the couch crying yourself to sleep. No fist knocking against wood wakes you up.
The sun rises another day.
–
Can we talk?
You want to throw your phone across the room. Can we talk? Really? He wants to stand you up and thinks you can’t take the hint? Now he wants to break it off in person? I mean, what was there to even break off? You’ve only been seeing each other for a week, if you can even call it that. There was no date. Just secret kisses, secret touches in the elevator and the copy room and the stairwell and– you groan, unsure of what to even say. Did you owe it to yourself to see him again? To tell him off?
ok. u can come over in an hour
–
Maybe you’ve shot yourself in the foot. As Clark sits across from you on the couch, you lose all the fight you once had. You’re just sad. Because Clark Kent is perfect in nearly every way except he can’t show up to a date on time to save his life.
He’s nervous. You have no idea why he’s nervous considering he already did the hard part and stood you up twice. No better way to tell a girl that you’re not really interested. “I, um–” He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact.
How do you tell the girl you like that you're Superman? Clark wishes he could bring out his phone, bring up the notes app he had jotted ideas down on. The words came easier to him in writing. There was no easy way to get this out. Clark Kent had no excuse for missing his dates with you. Superman did. How does he separate the two? How did he ever believe he could? How selfish could he be? There was a reason he didn’t date. But it was different when it came to you. He felt like he could be himself, as much as himself as he could be without really telling you about Superman. Did this have to be so convoluted? He trusted you. He knew you had integrity. He knew this wouldn’t change a thing, but bring more understanding between the two of you. He knew if he told you, this could really happen. Everything might fall into place.
The real selfish thing was not allowing Clark Kent to love. He owed it to himself to let love in. What else was there? The most human thing of all.
“This isn’t easy for me.” He clears his throat finally looking up at you. He wants to reach across the couch, take your hand in his, pour his heart out. But he doesn’t deserve that. Not yet. “I, uh, don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
You roll your eyes. “Just spit it out, Clark.” There’s a venom in your voice that breaks his heart, “I expected this. I mean, really? I should’ve known it was all an act.”
Clark frowns. “That’s really what you think of me?” His emotions seem to be getting the best of him. He knows you don’t mean it. You’re hurt. He’s hurt you.
“I mean, really? How else do you explain this?” You move your hands around the air between the two of you. “You wanted a little secret, office romance or whatever. I don’t know!” You’re exasperated. “You don’t want the, like, real thing.” You frown. “It’s fine. Just stop dragging it out.” You can feel the tears sting at your eyes.
“That’s not at all what this means to me.” He looks at his hands, wrings them together. “You- I, –” He runs a hand over his face. “You remember when I missed the first date we had?” Clark makes eye contact with you again, watches you nod, watches the first tear drop. “I wasn’t just caught in the middle of all of that, I mean, I was. But not in the way you think.” He swallows, brings his hands up to his face. “I was– I am–” He rips the glasses off his face, watching recognition dawn on your face.
“Clark.” You are at a loss for words. “I mean, what?” Your hands reach forward to grip his face in yours, thumbs sliding across his cheeks. He’s your Clark, but he’s Superman. The man from work who had driven you up the wall from how perfect he had this act down. The man who was respectful to a fault. The man whose values were worn on his chest and his heart on his sleeve. The man you knew as Clark Kent makes so much sense now like two pieces of a puzzle finally creating the full picture.
Clark laughs, unsure of himself. Unsure of how to be these two things to you at once. “I’m sorry. I swear, I’m usually on time. Just two really ill timed alien monsters attacking and you know, it’s kinda–” You cut him off with a kiss.
“Thank you for telling me.” You shake your head still unsure of if you’re seeing things right. “I can’t imagine.” You're still holding his face in your hands, in awe, watching in real time as these two personalities come to meet in the middle, meet in the man before you. How do you blame a guy for missing a couple dates when he’s saving the world? Especially when he makes it up to you in so many other ways. “I can’t imagine what you have to carry on your own.” You frown, hands sliding from his face to his chest. You imagine the suit as your fingers run over his chest, the beacon of hope that those colors carry, the hope he has to carry for the world.
Clark can’t keep his hands from you anymore as he moves one to cup your cheek. “You’re not mad?” He smiles, “You can still be mad.” He reassures, pushing your hair to tuck behind your ear. “There is nothing in the world that can truly keep me from you, not anymore.” His lips are close to connecting with yours and those words alone have you closing the distance.
There is so much between you. The sadness you were feeling washes away into something entirely different. Deeper, stronger. Admiration, longing, a trust that settles in your bones. “Don’t make me wait again, Clark.” You tease, “Superman.” Your words are laced with the emotions you’re feeling, dripping with something you can’t quite name.
Clark eases you down onto the couch, his lips still capturing your own as his fingers explore your body. They run along your thighs, your legs, reveling in the fact that you’re still here, that you know him. That you still want him. “I mean it. I’m gonna do my best with you. I promise. As long as you’ll let me.” And his words have a different meaning. You share him with the world, but know him more intimately than the world ever could.
Your body arches into his touch, his fingers dancing along your skin. He tugs off your shirt, his own following as he gets to know your body, slowly, surely. “I’m not going anywhere, Clark.” Your voice is breathless as his fingers slip in between your bodies, under your pants, a familiar ache in your bones as his fingers gather up your slick and make circles around your clit. You can feel him pressing against your inner thigh. Your own hands explore down his chest till they’re running over the outline of his cock through his pants, your breath hitches as you feel how big he is. At the same time, he’s pushing two fingers into you, slowly easing them in and out, searching for that soft spot deep inside you, the spongy spot that has you cooing.
He’s quick to draw an orgasm from you once he gets your pants off, peppering kisses over your face, your torso as he works you through it. “I got you, come on, let me have it.” He’s kissing over your neck as you come down, “So pretty.” He praises, his other hand running up and down your side.
“Clark.” His head is tucked into your neck. “Clark.” You're laughing, his fingers tickling the skin of your thighs. He’s still hard, you can feel him pressing against your naked core, but he makes no effort to address it. “Are you gonna fuck me, Clark?” You whine, pushing back up into him.
His lips return to yours briefly before he’s looking down at you. “You’re sure?”
“I think there’s nothing that I want more right now.” You give him a push of your hips to make a point.
Clark groans into your mouth, nodding. “Okay, okay.” He sits up, slowly unbuckling his pants and pushing them down with his boxers. His cock springs free.
Oh.
Oh.
He’s bigger than you could’ve imagined. Longer than you felt. Thicker than you felt. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his cock. It’s almost embarrassing. Clark’s hand is rubbing the back of his head, looking at the way you’re ogling him. “I, uh–” You swallow, “Is that even gonna fit?” Your eyes flit up to his own before looking back down. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him working his way into you. “I mean, Clark–” Your laugh is breathless.
Clark is leaning back over you, his fingers finding your wetness again, pooling even more than before from your orgasm and the sight of his cock. “She’s wet enough to take it.” He mumbles, fingers gathering your wetness before he’s smearing it onto his cock and spreading the pre-cum that has gathered from his leaking, red tip. He pumps his cock a couple times in his fist, his other hand squeezing at your waist. “You trust me, don’t you?” Clark purrs with a few lingering kisses against your neck. You nod, at a loss for words as the tip of his cock pushes through your folds, nudging at your clit. The feeling makes you jolt. Clark’s eyes are locked on the sight of his cock glistening with your juices, rubbing along the length of your slit, teasing, testing, eyes glancing up at your face to gauge your reaction.
You whine, hips stuttering against his own, needing him to fill the ache between your legs with the length of him. “I told you not to make me wait again.” You hiccup, bottom lip jutting out.
Clark hisses as his tip nudges at your entrance, your hips seeking where you want him most. His tip catches at the soft ring of flesh, sinking in as your hips continue to tease him. It’s easier than you thought, a soft squelch filling the living room as he gives you the first inch. Your slick lets him in easily as your pussy begins clenching around him. “How’s that feel, sweetheart?” His cock stills in you, not pushing in until you adjust to the thickness of him. You’re nodding, unable to speak from how good it feels. “Use your words.” He urges, voice steady despite how wrecked he feels, his hand sliding down your body, thumb finding your clit.
“Yeah, yes, Clark.” You choke out.
“Good.” He answers, pushing in the rest of the way as your pussy gives way. It’s snug and your pussy clenches around his cock. He can feel your walls stretch, accommodating his size. When he reaches the hilt, he groans out, “I knew you had it in you.” His thumb is still toying with your clit as he begins to move in and out. He’s slow with it at first, letting you adjust to the feeling of his cock fully sheathed inside you. “You’re taking me so well.” It’s constant praise as he’s shoving his cock in and out, the lewd sounds filling the space; his balls hitting your ass he picks up the pace.
“Clark, I– Oh, fuck.” You’re drunk from the fullness of him. You live and breathe Clark Kent. If you thought his kisses were all consuming, there’s nothing compared to the feeling of his dick splitting you in half, his lips capturing yours in a kiss as his pace picks up. His thumb rubbing small circles at just the right pace, the right pressure. It’s better than you could’ve imagined. Your throat is tight, your entire body clenching from the pleasure of it, just waiting to snap.
“Come on, baby.” He’s urging you, cock pushing as far as he can, his body snug against your own as he ruts into your pussy, grinding his length deep within you. He’s losing his resolve. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold onto his semblance of sanity here. How long he can keep his strength in check as his fingers squeeze onto your waist. It stings, but only adds to the pleasure.
The only thing you can feel is Clark. His fingers on your waist, squeezing, his thumb toying with your clit, his cock shoving in, his mouth kissing along your throat. “Come with me.” He’s begging, voice cracking, but you can’t tell. Too lost in the feeling of him, your fingers clawing at his back, legs wrapped around his waist, clutching him as close as he can humanely get. You have no idea how badly he needs this, lives for this.
It snaps. “Oh, Clark.” Your thighs tighten around him, the tightness in your body evaporating as you come, body shivering as he works you through it. He’s following behind you, his cock coating the inside of your pussy with his spend. His hips grind into yours, working his cum deeper and deeper into you as you both cling onto each other, his cock kissing your cervix as he comes down. Both breathless, both completely spent. There was no way you were getting Clark Kent out of your bones, out of your head. You’re thinking it’ll only be easier to forgive him if every apology is like this.
His arms are on either side of your face as he peppers kisses across your skin. “Okay?” Clark is softening inside of you, the rest of him visibly melting at the sight of you, he’s not sure if he can handle seeing you like this, so pliant in his hands, so in love. “I’m gonna move, sweetheart.” A soft sound fills the room as his cock slides from inside you. His body is moving from a top of yours and your hands grip at his biceps, a pleading look in your eyes.
“Don’t go, Clarkie.” Your voice is small, almost sad. You’re not sure you can ever give him up.
Clark shakes his head, gathering up your body against his. It’s effortless on his part. “Don’t plan on it.” He promises. The rest of the day is for you. The rest of the night is for making up for the mistakes he’s already made. And oh, Clark Kent always makes up for his mistakes. He would make sure he earned every single piece of you, every day. That is the only way he knew how to do it. He only knew how to live by being all in and completely dedicated.
ok bye lmk if u like it... i hate writing an ending
