blissbitz

[blissbitz]

too fast

clark kent x reader

tags / tw - 18+, MDNI, pining, college fic, tutor!clark kent, fluff, protective clark kent, reader is a lil sensitive, clark is very reassuring, meet cute, slow burn (kind of), eventual smut, body worship, no piv (sorry), oral sex (f!receiving), car sex, plot w/porn,

brief mentions of misogyny and harassment

word count: 9.5k

Summary: In which you have a meltdown in the library, and mild-mannered Clark Kent notice and offers to give you an impromptu study session. Charmed, in a moment of bravery (or sleep deprivation), you ask him out. What starts as a lunch turns into a trip to the museum, and before either of you realize it, it’s a full-day affair. You get to know each other a little too fast, a little too well—and maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

notes - hii, in the honor of this incoming semester i been working on this college fic. i tried to proofread but i do apologize for any errors. also thank y’all for the love on my last post, like wow i wasn’t expecting that. hopefully ya’ll fw this one too, anyways enjoy <3

College made you realize what your strong points were. Writing a fifteen page essay with APA citation, easy. Conducting a presentation in front of a lecture hall, a piece of cake. Managing to not black out from several rounds of beer pong, daunting but doable.

However, the field of study that was calculus remained a fucking mystery to you.

You don't even know why the fuck you'd picked that class. Maybe because statistics, and algebra were already full and you were hellbent on completing your math requirement this semester. You took pre-calc in high school, so you thought the real thing couldn't be that bad.

Wrong.

You were now realizing that you would've been better off waiting until next enrollment period to meet that requirement, because calculus was giving you a run for your money.

Quite literally.

The score you earned on your recent calc exam had put fear in your heart. At the rate you were going, you’d inevitably have to kiss your full ride scholarship bye bye. That thought alone lit a fire in you, you weren't gonna allow that one course to tank your GPA, not without a fight at least.

You were determined to improve your grade. As a result, here you were in the library on a Friday evening with your head in a calculus book while everyone else on campus was out partying. Everyone else, beside you of course, and the one other dude in the library.

As you worked through the practice problems, your determination began to falter. You grew increasingly frustrated with each stroke of your mechanical pencil on the scratch sheet of paper. You got to the fourth equation before tears started to stream down your face. It had taken you nearly forty minutes and you weren’t even halfway through the practice quiz.

Utterly discouraged you held your head in your hands in attempt to stifle your sobs.

Things could be worse, at least the library was pretty much empty. At least no one is here to witness your meltdown, you thought to yourself.

Your thoughts were contradicted with reality seconds after they appeared.

"Hey uh, I don't mean to intrude or anything but… are you okay?” An seemingly well-intentioned deep voice called out to you in a hushed tone.

You brought your head out your hands and used your sleeves to wipe your face.

“I'm sorry, dude, I didn’t mean to interrupt your studying."

You were avoiding looking at the stranger wanting to shield yourself from any further embarrassment, " I was uh—getting ready to pack it up anyway.”

“Hey—I’m not really sure what’s got you so upset but if you need someone to talk to… or if it’s school related I can help or y’know at least try to. I'm a part-time tutor here on campus,” the stranger offered earnestly.

Your gaze lifted from your laptop to meet the stranger’s, and to your surprise you were met with kind eyes and an expression of genuine concern.

The stranger was tall, with black curls and a brawny stature. He’d wore a faded band tee, sweat pants, and a pair of black glasses, something about him disarmingly awkward.

He was cute, which kinda sucked even more in a moment like this.

You cleared your throat. “Are you familiar with calculus by any chance?” You inquired, defeated.

A smile graced his face, revealing his dimples.

“Yes, actually. I can help with calc, do you mind if I sit?” He inquired gesturing to the chair opposite of you.

“No. Please sit,” you urged.

"I’m Clark by the way," he introduced himself reaching out to shake your hand.

You met him half way taking his hand in yours, giving him a firm handshake, as you introduced yourself. You couldn't help but to make a mental note of the size difference.

For the next hour and thirty minutes, you and Clark got well acquainted as he gave you a much needed crash course in calculus. He walked you through the entirety of the practice quiz.

He didn't laugh at you when you got confused nor did he grow irritated, instead he was empathic and patient—enthusiastic even.

He was able to articulate the concepts in such a way that made it easy for you to grasp.

He was also firm, refusing to simply give you the answers but actually guiding your problem solving process. And thank god, he didn't because by the time the impromptu tutoring session came to an end you understood a hell of a lot more than before.

In your eyes the kid was a genius.

“You are a godsend,” you praised. Clark's face turned a light shade of pink.

“I wouldn’t go that far. You knew a good amount of the material already… you just needed a little extra clarification that’s all,” he asserted, giving you a small smile.

'A little clarification'— it was damn near two hours worth.

“That’s such a nice way of putting it,” you scoffed.

He rested his head on his hand, observing you. "You gotta give yourself more credit, you’re putting in the effort to improve. That’s half the battle,” he assured you.

That was nice of him to say.

“I really appreciate you, Clark. Thank you for taking time out of your day to help me. You really didn’t have to but… I'm glad you did,” you admitted.

“It’s not a problem, really," Clark spoke.

He bid you a farewell before getting out of his seat, "It was nice meeting you, good luck with your studies.”

As he began to walk away it dawned on you that you might never see him again—after all it was a huge campus.

Regret began to build as you watched him.

You were charmed, which was rare because a majority of the men on campus repulsed you.

But Clark was different— no ulterior motives, no suggestive comments—he spent nearly two hours of his time helping you out just because he wanted to.

He was pleasant to be around— easygoing and clever. Someone you could picture yourself hanging out with just because.

It would be a waste to just let him walk away.

So you called out to him, voice a little more urgent than intended, “Clark.”

He turned around mid-stride to face you.

Curiosity painted his handsome face. "Hey—everything okay?"

“Yeah," you quickly replied. You exhaled to calm your nerves. "I just… was wondering if you were free tomorrow?”

A smile tugged at his lips, “Another study session?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, hands brushing at your sides. “No, I think I got it for the most part, at least for now. I just um…" You hesitated, suddenly growing coy.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to hangout with me?” You asked, fighting against your nerves.

Clark blinked, surprised. "Hang out?"

“I mean—maybe I could treat you to some lunch… as a thank you,” you continued sweetening your offer.

Clark laughed softly, almost sheepish. "You're not obligated to repay me. Honestly, I was happy to help."

“I know," you said voice quieter.

"But I was offering not because I felt obligated but because I want to. You seem cool like… you'd be good company." You paused. "But if your busy or don't wan—"

"I'm not," Clark interrupted abruptly. He rubbed at the nape of his neck, which made his bicep flex. "I mean I want to. I have nothing else to do tomorrow. A lunch date with you… would be nice. You seem nice."

The knot in your chest loosened, and was replaced with a warm feeling.

You smiled at Clark. Then you pulled out your phone, unlocked it, and held it out, “Type in your number."

His eyes darted to the screen and then back at you. A dimple broke through as he took your phone, typing in his number. "Bossy," he smirked, playfully.

"Only when it counts," you refuted, feeling the tension between you two melting into something lighter.

The following day, Clark agreed to meet up with you at a quaint student-ran sandwich shop on campus.

You arrived in a flowy blouse, a midi skirt with a slit, and hair out, soft coils framing your face.

You wanted to make a good impression or at least a better one than yesterday.

A tinge of excitement fluttered in your chest, you wanted to see him again.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait long, because once you opened up the door to the café you spotted Clark seated in a booth by a window. His gaze met yours not even a millisecond later.

There he was sunlight pouring over him, as if nature had just decided to give him his own spotlight.

Golden rays caught the edges of his curls, his skin glistened, almost like he was beaming. He was just as handsome as you remembered— maybe even more.

You slide into the seat across from him. As his cerulean eyes scanned over you, you felt your nerves simmering to the surface. You smiled brightly, suppressing them.

“Hey, I'm glad you made it. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

Clark glanced at the menu then back at you. His lips lifted into that familiar easy-going smile. “Your on time I'm just annoyingly early,” he stated.

His eyes flickering over to you for a long second, “You look nice by the way, I like your outfit—and your hair.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, making the corner of your lips tug into a smile.

“Your too sweet, this is how I usually look when I'm not fighting for my life in the library,” you joked.

He scoffed, amused. “You say that like you looked bad last night”.

“‘Bad’ might be a stretch," you laughed, "but that definitely wasn’t one of my finest moments.”

Clark leaned back in the booth, eyes on you. “I’m glad you let me help you. You picked up pretty quick, honestly. But if you ever need a review— or just somebody to chat with— you got my number now."

His tone was casual, but something in his expression lingered—like was offering something more than study sessions.

“I will keep that in mind,” you smiled.

Clark hesitated for a moment, you could see the clogs turning in his brain before he decided to speak. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you nodded.

He took a beat before speaking. “When I approached you last night, I assumed that you were crying because of academic stuff. Not that it’s not a valid reason to be frustrated … but was that really it? Or was it something else?"

Your smile faltered upon hearing the question. A tinge of embarrassment coursed through you when recalling what had brought you to tears.

"You can tell me if I'm prying— we can talk about something else," Clark backtracked sensing your change in mood.

"It's alright Clark," you flashed him a brief smile.

Here goes nothing.

"I'm the first in my family to ever set foot on a university campus, the only reason why I can even attend here in the first place is because I got a full ride,” you began quietly.

You massaged your temples, soothing the slight ache there.

“But yesterday, I found out I totally bombed my calculus test which completely tanked my grade in the class putting my scholarship at risk. I went to the library to study and… well— I guess I just got overwhelmed, ” you paused.

You glanced up at Clark who had an unreadable expression on his face. You laughed nervously, “I'm dramatic, I know."

He leaned forward, with his hands clasped on the table. “I don't think your dramatic, not in the slightest. In fact, I think that's as of a good reason as any—besides it's not a crime to cry or be overwhelmed," Clark comforted.

A grin began to form on your face, "You're not just saying that?"

Clark didn't back down, his expression more serious this time. "I know it's much easier said than done, but try not to be so hard on yourself," he advised voice softening at the edges.

"You are more than capable of achieving whatever it is you're aiming for. I mean, you did make it this far, right? I'm sure you'll manage to keep your scholarship.” He said, offering a gentle smile.

Suddenly you didn’t feel so embarrassed anymore.

His words didn’t magically fix anything but they did make you feel better. You nodded slowly, eyes flickering to the table for a moment before meeting his again.

Clark made you feel better— that was a pattern you were starting to notice.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that,” you smiled softly.

“Your more than welcome,” he replied.

You silently stared at each other, both taking in the conversation you both just had.

You broke eye contact, deciding to look over the menu, “I think I know what I want. Are you ready to order yet?”

“Sure,” he said stepping out of the booth, walking over to you. He grabbed your hand assisting you with getting out the booth. You definitely didn't need any assistance but Clark helped anyway. That small gesture made you swoon a little.

The café had a relaxed buzz to it— students chatting, espresso machines humming, and music softly playing from the speakers.

You stepped up to the screen to order, scanning the menu on the display one last time before settling on your usual—a chai latte and a club sandwich. Clark glanced over the options, then just decided on getting your same exact order.

"Copy cat," you teased.

Clark laughed off your comment. "I never really eat—when I come here, so I don't really know what to get… but I trust your judgment," Clark spoke, correcting himself.

"In that case, I hope my order doesn't disappoint," you chimed, reaching into your purse.

You fished out your phone, just barely making it to your wallet app to pay before you heard the soft beep of the reader. You looked up to see Clark already withdrawing his hand, his card tucked away in his wallet like it had never even happened.

You gasped, eyes wide.

He looked at you, entirely unfazed, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What?”

“You were suppose to let me pay as a thank you,” you whined.

Clark wasn't moved in the slightest. “I told you last night I didn’t want you to repay me,” he shrugged casually.

What he did was such a small gesture, yet it carried a kind of quiet strength—effortless, precise, and just a little too fast to feel normal. You opened your mouth to protest again but stopped short.

Clark continued. “Besides I thought you wanted to get lunch solely because you enjoyed my company? What happened to that, huh?” he teased.

You hated not being right.

You sighed in defeat, with a pout on your face.

Nothing else to do but just meet his gaze. The way he looked at you was kind and steady, with something unspoken behind his eyes. It made it hard to argue.

He leaned in a little closer. “Your cute—even when annoyed,” he admitted.

You shook your head, biting back a smile, “You’re unbelievable”.

“Order for Clark,” one of the workers shouted placing the trays on the pickup counter.

He picked up the tray of food while you grabbed napkins. You walked back to the booth and immediately got to work on the food you ordered.

You and Clark had spent some of duration of lunch chatting about your upbringings, Bonding over your homesickness, exchanging details about the people, places and things you both missed from your hometowns.

You learned that he grew up on a farm in Kansas, and that he yearned to be back. Mainly because he missed his parents, which he referred to as 'ma' and 'pa.'

You found the way he talked about his parents incredibly endearing, most dudes you met thought they were just too cool to be vulnerable about stuff like that—not Clark, though. You could tell by the stories he shared that he held a lot of love and respect for his family.

The conversation took a natural shift from the past to the present and future. You'd discussed how college had been treating the both of you so far, how you both been adjusting to living in the dorms, and life in Metropolis in general.

You learned that he was a journalism major, which surprised the hell out of you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "For a journalism major, you sure know a lot about calculus?"

"Back in high school, I took advance calculus," he explained, nonchalantly sipping on his latte.

You let out a sound of disbelief. "Oh yeah, no big deal. Just a math whiz at the tender age of eighteen. Just, y'know, light work," you mocked lightheartedly, taking a sip of your latte.

He laughed, "Gosh, I hope I don't come off that arrogant," pushing his glasses up his nose bridge.

"Not at all. I'm just giving you a hard time, Clark," you chuckled giving his hand that rested on the table a squeeze.

It was a casual gesture you didn't even contemplate touching him, it just happened. But for some reason as soon as your hand touched his, it felt like more than a casual gesture. That little bit of contact, sent a spark through you.

Clark's eyes leered to where your hands touched, which made you snatch your hand away.

Nice, really smooth, you internally face palmed.

"Sorry," you blurted out.

Clark smoothly reached for your hand, the one you pulled away, and interlocked it in his.

"For what?" He asked, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes pretending like nothing ever happened.

Like holding each other's hand was the most normal thing in the world— like you both did it before hundreds of times.

You looked at your hand in his, and smiled. Then you looked back to him, at a loss for words.

Sensing you were speechless he changed the topic of discussion. "You seemed a little surprised when I mentioned I wanted to be a journalist."

“I am, actually,” you admitted, a little amused.

“Initially, I just didn't have pegged you as a journalist. You seem more like a um…. computer scientist.”

Clark scoffed, “Computer science, really?”

You nodded, “Absolutely, you give quiet genius vibe. I assumed you were in the library working on a app or something, before I disrupted you,” you deadpan jokingly.

He let out a warm chuckle.

You tilted your head thoughtfully, eyeing him like you were trying to piece something together.

“But by knowing you a little better, I actually think journalism suits you,” you asserted, your tone softening.

Clark raised a brow, “How so?”

You carefully gathered your words before saying them out loud.

“I mean the point of journalism is to be a watchdog, right? To question those in power, shed light on the truth, and amplify the voices of those who get overlooked …”

Clark nodded in agreement hanging on to every word.

“From what I gathered from knowing you in this very short amount of time is that you're selfless. You help people just for the hell of it, without expecting anything in return."

"You're also observant and a good listener. I would think those would be good traits for a journalist to have," you continued.

“I could be totally off base,” you added quickly, trying not to overstep. You shrug, “but that’s the impression I get.”

Clark’s smile was softer now, less amused and more sincere.

He leaned back a little, “You’re not off base,” he said after a beat. “Not at all," he spoke softly caressing his thumb over the back of your hand.

The hum of the café filling the brief silence between you. You knew that this lunch date was coming to a natural conclusion, both of you had finished your sandwiches and lattes—but you weren’t ready to part with him yet.

“I have a proposition for you,” you spoke breaking the silence.

“I'm listening.”

You leaned forward, delicately removing your hand from Clark's so that you could clasp your hands together on the table, showing you meant business.

Tone measured but casual you continued, “You are completely free to decline this offer, no pressure, seriously, but like hear me out.”

Clark nodded clearly amused.

You glanced out the window toward the sidewalk, sunlight filtering through the trees outside. “So, we’re currently within walking distance of the bus stop, like, five minutes tops. I know for a fact that route 45 comes pretty regularly, every five minutes or so. It heads straight to the museum district.”

Clark tilted his head, intrigued now.

“There’s an exhibit I’ve been meaning to check out,” you continued and today’s the last day it’s going to be there. It’s free before five, and it’s already”—you checked your phone—“almost three. So if we leave soon, we’ll catch it.”

You paused briefly, watching his expression. “I'm gonna go either way. But… if you’re not busy, and you want to go… I'd really like the company.”

You kept your tone light, almost playful not wanting to scare him off. You weren’t quite ready to say goodbye to him yet and you’d hope he feel the same.

His lips tugged into a thoughtful smile while pretending to think on it . “A free art exhibit with a beautiful tour guide and efficient public transportation. I don’t think I'd forgive myself if I said no,” he answered.

He could see you light up with excitement the moment he accepted your request. His heart fluttered knowing that he brought you some sort of joy.

It was in that moment he realized he’d do anything to keep you happy.

“Alright, let’s go see some art then,” you beamed.

The warmth of the afternoon sun greeted you both.

You were both hand in hand, but you led the way. You walked a little bit in front of him, which he didn't mind it at all.

He was just happy to be there— taking in the view of your silhouette from behind. You strutting around, your hair soaking up the sunlight, the effortless sway of your hips in that midi-skirt, he had no complaints.

The walk to the bus stop was brief, the two of you talked in quiet spurts, the kind of conversation that didn’t need to fill every silence.

By the time the bus arrived, the air had grown crisper, thick with the lazy hum of a autumn afternoon. You both boarded, sat near the back, and shared the row. You pointed out things you saw out the window— graffiti and murals that caught your eye, a bookstore you’d meant to check out, and a bakery you wanted to try.

Clark listened with interest, occasionally asking questions or making dry, clever remarks to make you laugh. The ride to the museum district was short: it lasted maybe ten, fifteen minutes.

When you arrived, the district was alive with the chaotic energy of a weekend crowd.

Couples strolled hand-in-hand, much like what you and Clark were doing now. Families clustered anywhere with shade. Somewhere nearby, someone strummed an acoustic played beneath a bus stop awning.

The museum itself stood tall, its white columns gleaming in the afternoon sun.

When you stepped inside you were met with the glorious feeling of AC. The exhibit was tucked on the second floor. The both of you received free entry and stepped through the threshold into a dimmer space.

It was almost silent, except for the occasional creak of shoes on the polished floor and the low murmur of other guests.

It was a mixed-media exhibit that utilized a variety of mediums— paintings, short film reels, suspended installations, etc. Each piece seemed to demand attention and required reflection.

You noticed that Clark took his precious time looking at each piece of art, he never skipped a plaque wanting to absorb everything that it had to offer. You were the same way.

It was sort of healing going to a place like this with someone who had no intention of rushing you out, but instead is just as enthusiastic.

At some points you’d caught him admiring you from afar as if you were a part of the exhibit and vice versa.

You both had a habit of drifting apart within the exhibit to do some solo exploration but without fail, you’d find your way back to one another—standing side by side, quietly asking, “what did you think of this one?”

Sometimes you’d agree, sometimes not, but the rhythm of separating and reuniting became its own quiet ritual.

It wasn’t long before you two had viewed and commented on every piece within the exhibit.

The rest of the spectators had thinned out, you guys being two of the only people left.

You both lingered for a moment on a bench, shoulder and thighs touching, a charged silence between you two.

“Thank you… for inviting me,” Clark said turning towards you his voice soft and certain.

You gave him a small smile. "I'm glad I did. I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“I don’t think I could say no to you,” he admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your heart skipped a beat and your face started to warm up.

Your eyes and hands honed in on the fabric of your skirt.

“I really like you, Clark,” you murmured, barely above a whisper, unsure if you could face him just yet.

Clark on the other hand couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

“You can't just say things like that and not look at me,” he said quietly leaning in.

“How else am I supposed to know you mean it?”

You briefly glance up at him hoping to see a teasing grin on his face but instead, his expression was vulnerable and wanting.

You could feel desire forming in the pit of your stomach.

Then, moving at a speed slower than molasses he reached out and tilted your chin up with two fingers so that your gaze was directed on him. The soft pressure of his touch made your breath hitch.

“Could you say it again?” He pleaded softly, voice low and raspy.

You swallowed, you were full of nerves.

“I really like you, Clark,” you said again, this time, clearer, steadier, locking eyes with him as the words left your lips.

His whole face softened, like he’d been holding his breath and finally let it go.

“I really like you too,” he said, smiling reverently.

A quiet beat passed. His fingers remained gently curled beneath your chin, and his eyes hadn’t moved from yours.

In that moment, with the late afternoon light spilling through the tall windows and the murmurs of the gallery fading around you, you were sure he’d lean in.

But he didn’t.

He just held you there in his gaze, like the moment itself was enough—for now. He removed his fingers from your chin and you both broke eye-contact.

You were all for a slow-burn and tension, but you so badly want him to just leaned in and kiss you.

Then you recall all of the whirlwind romances you've been in, the ones that moved too fast and ended too quickly.

You could be patient if it meant forging something long lasting, at least that’s what you told yourself to make you feel better.

“You ready to head out,” Clark inquired.

You nodded. “I think so,” you said still in a daze.

He stood up first, offering you his hand to help you get up. You two walked side by side through the corridors, passing the final stretch of exhibits with slower steps, like neither of you were quite ready to leave this bubble and return to the outside world.

As you stepped outside, the city buzzed around you—cars humming by, the faint sound of laughter down the street, and the sound of the acoustic guitar near the corner of the steps.

You two made it to the bus stop and stood there waiting for the next bus.

A breeze tugged at the hem of your skirt, and slightly moved your coils out of place.

Clark took the initiative to gently move a strand that was sticking up back to its original spot.

You mouthed a quiet “thank you,” before you heard buzzing in your purse.

You fished out your phone to see a call from your big sister back home.

“Gimme one sec, my sister's calling,” you said. You watched him nod before walking a few feet away and turning your back for some privacy.

You answered the phone a little panicked, “Hey is everything okay.”

“Yeah girl, everything is fine. I'm just bored to pieces right now,” she groaned.

This could've been a text.

“Okay well I'm busy,” you rolled your eyes.

You could hear her scoff, “You better be in them books or on a hot date blowing me off like this.”

You glanced back at Clark from where you were at, exchanging smiles, before turning back around.

“It’s kinda of the second option,” you admitted.

“Ugh you bitch, call me back when your done and share your location with me, encase he’s an axe-murderer or something.” she yapped.

You sighed.

“Okay whatever I'll do it, I gotta go bye,” you said quickly hanging up.

Not even a second after hanging up the phone you heard an unfamiliar voice called out, sharp and crude: “Damn, you look good as fuck.”

You barely reacted, no way that was directed at you. You focused on your phone continuing to share your location with your sister. There was no way in hell someone could be speaking to you like that—right?

Unfortunately, they were.

“I know you hear me talking to you, you don’t have to be a bitch and ignore me.”

Your head snapped up.

Standing a few feet in front of you was the saddest excuse of a man you ever laid eyes on. His leering grin twisted into a sneer when you didn’t respond.

Before you could so much as move your feet to walk away or form any type of response you felt Clark’s presence behind you.

He stepped in front of you and approached the man, calm but cold. You couldn’t even see his face but his body language was unmistakable.

He stood up straight, stiff as a board with his hands folded together in front of him trying his hardest to compose himself.

“Clark,” you said gently, brushing your hand against his back in an attempt to ground him.

“It’s okay, babe, let’s just go.” Your attempt was null and void he didn’t budge or even acknowledge you.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Clark snapped, the fury in his tone was palpable. “She’s not interested”.

You were gagged— to say the least, having never seen this side of Clark before.

Granted it's hasn’t been long since you guys met, still though, you never even heard him swear, let alone seen him angry.

Everyone nearby seemed to freeze. People paused mid-step, glancing over to see what was happening. some kept walking uninterested, while others slowed, curious or concerned.

Though a small, shameful part of you found this version of Clark—protective, assertive to be wildly attractive, all you really wanted was for it to be over.

You heard the rumble of the bus engine was growing louder in the background.

The man sucked his teeth and scoffed as he backed off.

“You lucky I'm not in the mood today,” he muttered barely loud enough to catch. Then, more to himself, “the broad isn't even all that.”

The man turned to walk away, but Clark didn’t. If anything, he leaned forward slightly, like a dog straining against a leash, ready to beat that man to a pulp.

You saw his jaw tense and just knew he was about to follow.

“No,” you said quickly, reaching up to grab his shoulder. “He’s not worth it, Clark. please. Let’s just go, we’re gonna miss the bus.”

Clark hesitated, shoulders still tight, breathing heavy through his nose. then, finally, he turned to face you. his anger was still visible, simmering just beneath the surface, but he nodded once.

Without saying a word, he reached for your hand and interlaced your fingers with his. together, you walked to the approaching bus.

The bus doors hissed open, and Clark stepped on first, guiding you ahead of him with a gentle tug of your joined hands. He scanned the seats and ushered you toward the back.

You slid into the window seat while he took one beside you. His knee bounced restlessly, jaw clenched as he stared straight ahead. You both left the confrontation behind but not its weight.

You glanced at him, his profile sharp in the fading daylight. “Hey,” you said softly looking at him.

No answer.

“Clark,” you tried once again placing you hand on his knee to still it.

He didn’t even look at you.

Your heart sank. “So your ignoring me now, cool,” you said turning your head to the window and removing your hand from his.

Not even five seconds later he folded.

He swallowed harshly, before turning to you, calling out your namey.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you… I was frustrated and I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing,” he explained.

You still wouldn’t meet his gaze but he was determined.

You shared such a great day with each other before this. He couldn't—wouldn't let this day end like this.

"It wasn't right for me to ignore you back at the station either. You're not the source of my anger. Please, forgive me if I made it seem that way.” he brought your hand up to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckle.

You wanted to stay mad but listening to him you knew he was genuine.

You turned to him, and were met with pleading eyes.

His eyes shift from you then off into space, ruminating on the whole ordeal.

He muttered, “I wish you’d let me handle him, though,” he quipped saying his thoughts out loud.

You rolled your eyes upon hearing that.

And to think he was doing so well before he said that, too.

“Thank you for 'defending my honor' or whatever," you said, using air quotes, half-sarcastic.

"But you should've just left with me when I asked you the first time. You can’t go around fighting every guy who says something dumb to me,” you snapped.

His brows furrowed, his expression torn between frustration and something softer. “Why can’t I though?"

His jaw started to tense again. "That guy was a tool. The way he spoke to you? It was disgusting. I can't just stand by and watch someone disrespect you like that… or anybody for that matter."

You crossed your arms together.

"I agree, Clark. That dude was fucking creep, but that whole confrontation gave me the worst anxiety. You had me so worried that you were going to do something reckless. " You expressed.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You're too smart to not consider the possibility he might've had a weapon. A gun? A knife? Then what, Clark?”

He leaned back in his seat, posture too relaxed for your liking. It was as if the danger wasn't registering in his head.

Your head tilted, eyes narrowing as you looked up at him incredulously. “Okay so you think you're invincible and nothing bad can happen to you.”

Clark let out a dry laugh, “I didn’t say that.”

You didn't back down. “Okay, let’s choose another scenario, I let you beat him to a pulp, he presses charges, you get a record and maybe even expelled. And for what? Me— a girl you just met less than a day ago?"

You shook your head slightly, "It's not worth it."

His eyes didn't waver from yours. "You're worth it," he asserted—voice low and sure.

Your heart skipped a beat, a charged silence emerged.

You turned to face the window with a scoff, in an attempt to shake off the rising heat in your chest.

"I can't with you—you're ridiculous," you muttered, shaking your head.

Clark's tone had softened. “You're right… I just hate that this even happened,” he continued.

“Me too,” you murmured.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "And now I feel like a total jerk—here I am sitting here sulking when you're the one who got disrespected."

You felt the tension melt a little bit as he reached over, resting a gentle hand on your knee. His voice was quieter more tentative, "How are you feeling about all this?”

“I’m okay,” you shrugged.

Clark was attentive. Watching your body language, he could tell you were holding back.

“You can be honest.”

You exhaled. "I am okay... I mean it doesn't feel good being ogled at or talked down to. Things like this happen way too often."

You glanced down at your skirt, "It’s not a problem that’s unique to me, it unfortunately comes with the territory of just existing as a woman in society. I'm just sort of numb to it now."

Clark looked at you with a pained expression, lips pressed into a hard line and eyes gloomy.

You reached up and idly toyed with a loose curl near his forehead, your touch anchoring him.

"I am glad you were there, though."

You rested your head on his shoulder before finishing your thought.

“This kind of thing usually occurs when I'm by myself, which is always terrifying. But today, I didn't feel scared — not with you there. I mean you had me nervous you were going to do something rash but for the most part I felt… protected. "

You could feel the tension in his shoulders melt away. "I'm glad you felt safe with me," he murmured.

"I'll take on that role anytime—protector, defender, whatever it is you need. And I will do a better job at listening to you."

You hummed contently.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

Rain began to fall— soft at first. The delicate pattering of the rain blended in with the hushed conversations taking place on the bus.

You closed your eyes, taking in the white noise. The sounds lulled you to sleep, exhaustion taking over.

Clark noticed the slow movement of your chest rising and falling, how your body relaxed as sleep took over. He didn't say a word—just watched over you as the scenery passed by through the windows.

He avoided waking you up until the last possible moment, by then the rain had began pouring more urgently. Neither of you were dressed for the rain.

With a quiet sigh, he shrugged off his button-up, left in his white undershirt. He folded it carefully, with the intention of giving it to you.

Gently he prodded at your shoulder, “Wake up sleepy girl, this is our stop."

You stirred, eyes fluttering open in confusion for a beat—until your surroundings came back into focus.

The rain. The bus. Clark.

He was standing now, shirt in one hand, the other extended toward you. You blinked at him, then at the shirt, puzzled.

Wordlessly, you took his hand and let him guide you down the aisle.

You both thanked the driver and stepped off the bus, huddling under the narrow awning at the stop across from the café—the very place where the day had started.

The rain poured steadily now, soaking the pavement. You wrapped your arms around yourself instinctively.

Clark held out the shirt. “It’s for you—to shield yourself from the rain. It’s not much, but... better than nothing.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you said, hesitating. “But are you sure? I don’t want you to get sick.”

He shook his head, brushing off your concern. “I’ll be fine.”

His eyes flicked downward, noting your sandals—cute, but not ideal for weather like this. His brows pinched.

“You can’t walk in those,” he said flatly. “Your feet are gonna get soaked—probably end up covered in mud.”

You looked down. He was right.

“I’ll carry you,” he added, already stepping closer.

“What?”

He didn’t repeat himself—just slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back. Before you could protest, you were lifted effortlessly off the ground.

You let out a breath of disbelief, clutching his broad shoulder for balance.

He draped his shirt over your head, shielding you from the rain, the fabric still warm from his body.

“Where did you park?” he asked, starting toward the lot.

You sighed, regretful. “I walked here, actually.”

He glanced down at you with a lopsided smile. “Guess I’m driving you to your dorm, then.”

You nodded, tucking your face closer to his chest, the rain thudding softly against his shirt as he carried you across the lot.

You heard the soft jingle of metal—Clark was fumbling in his pocket. A second later, the quiet chirp of an unlocking vehicle broke the silence, followed by the muted creak of a car door being opened.

Clark gently helped you into the passenger seat, cradling you as though you were something fragile.

You tugged his shirt off your head, the fabric soaked from the rain. As your vision cleared, you glanced around, taking in your surroundings. A pickup truck—of course. Sturdy, reliable, and unpretentious. Very Clark.

The interior was surprisingly spotless. No fast food wrappers crumpled in the on the floor, no empty coffee cups rolling under the seats. Not even a stray crumb on the dashboard. The faint scent of cedar and laundry detergent lingered in the air.

Only thing you spotted were a neat stack of textbooks and some worn paper-backs.

You couldn’t help but be impressed.

"It's tidy in here," you noted, your voice still a little groggy.

Clark chuckled softly as he closed your door with a quiet thunk and walked around to the driver’s side. As he slid into the seat beside you, you noticed the wet curls that stuck to his forehead, and his undershirt that was soaked—basically transparent.

Rainwater clung to his skin, but he seemed unfazed, showing no signs of discomfort.

"I try," he said, a shy smile playing on his lips. He brought the edge of his shirt to his glasses, wiping away some droplets from his frames, unintentionally revealing his chiseled stomach in the process.

You stared at him, just for a second too long. His shirt stuck to his chest, his muscles shifting slightly as he adjusted in his seat. He looked like a dream.

You had to force yourself to look somewhere else—anywhere else. So you choose the window, watching as the rain falls relentlessly.

"Geez, it's pouring out there," you muttered more to yourself than to him.

"Tell me about it," he mused, pushing a damp curl out of his face.

A shiver ran down your spine. You weren’t as drenched as Clark, but the chill still got to you. Your clothes were damp, your skin cool, your hands tucked under your arms.

“I have a blanket,” he offered, reaching into the back without hesitation.

He pulled forward a thick flannel throw. You accepted it with a quiet thanks, wrapping it around your shoulders. It smelled like him—woodsy and clean.

You looked over at him again. He was staring out the windshield, watching the rain slide down the glass. The only sound was the soft drumming of water on the roof, which acted as a backdrop to the growing tension in the car.

Then his eyes flicked to yours.

“What?” he asked, voice quiet but curious.

You shrugged, but your lips quirked. “You’re soaked.”

Clark raised a brow. “I’ve had worse.”

You laughed under your breath, pulling the blanket tighter. “I guess nothing gets to Clark Kent," you joked.

Clark’s smile faded—not in a bad way, he wore the same expression that he had earlier on that museum bench. Intense and wanting.

“Except you,” he said. “You get to me.”

The words hit you like a rush of warmth, melting through the chill. Your breath caught in your throat, in that moment, you couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

“Clark…”

He reached across the console, fingertips grazing your cheek, brushing a damp coil behind your ear. His touch lingered.

“I mean it,” he said, lower now. “You… undo me.”

His eyes dropped to your lips and then—back up to you. He leaned in and you followed suit, connecting your lips to his.

The kiss was inevitable. You both had been building up to it all day— the hand holding, the coy smiles, the mini confessions. It was only a matter of time.

The warmth of his lips sent a current through your body. Initially, the kiss was gentle and patient, merely testing the waters.

Then it deepened, fast. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as your mouths moved together with increasing urgency. Making you squirm in your seat.

The blanket slipped from your shoulders.

The console between you was frustrating, intrusive. Clark pulled back for just a second, breath heavy.

“Back seat?” he asked, already pushing his seatbelt off.

You didn’t answer—you were already climbing over, navigating between the front seats with a mix of restlessness and excitement.

He followed, quick, and suddenly you were in the back, half-collapsed against a pile of books and that same flannel blanket.

He pulled you into him, lips crashing into yours again.

One hand was tangled in his damp hair, while the other was gripping the edge of his shirt, pulling it up—off. He let it go without hesitation, tossing it somewhere out of sight.

He brought you on his lap effortlessly, his hand stroking the curls at the nape of your neck.

Both of you kissed like you were starved and desperate. Bodies moved together with the kind of hunger that only comes after too much waiting.

Rain drummed against the truck roof like a heartbeat.

He moved his lips off of yours, peppering kisses down your neck, making you tremble. His hands slid underneath your blouse, gripping your waist.

He removed his lips off of your neck to peer up at you. He wore a fond expression on his face, as he stroked the sides of your waist.

You grew shy under his gaze.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You inquired, running your hands over his biceps.

"Cause you're mesmerizing, and I enjoy looking at you," he confessed, a dopey grin spreading across his face.

He leaned in closer, lips slightly brushing against your ear. "Especially, when you're like this," he cooed softly. His voice sent a shiver down your spine, and caused an ache in between your thighs.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" You inquired, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

You knew damn well what he meant but you enjoyed the tension of it all.

Clark was a gentleman so he wouldn't out right say that he liked seeing you turned on.

He wouldn't taunt you with the details.

That he could see it in the way your nipples poked through your blouse. That he could feel your warmth pulsating against his thigh. Or that he could smell the arousal pooling from your core.

Instead he pulled you closer, so that you sat directly on his bulge. Big and firm underneath you. His hands caressing your thighs.

"What I mean is that you're worked up because of me. And I take great pride and pleasure in witnessing it," he husked. His tone was laced with smugness.

The cockiness of that statement simultaneously made you chuckle and turned you on even more, "I'm glad you cleared that up."

He chuckled slightly at your comment before his lips found their way to the other side of your neck, nibbling on the delicate flesh there.

The sensation made you writhe in his lap, grinding into him. Clark moaned, moving his hands to the swell of your butt, gently giving it a squeeze. Which in turn made you moan.

It wasn't long before Clark found himself rutting up into you, matching your rhythm, in a desperate attempt to try to create more friction.

As good as it felt you needed more. And Clark could sense it.

He ceased his movements, cupping your face with both hands, directing your gaze on him.

"I wanna taste you, angel. Will you let me?" Clark asked, making your breath hitch.

How the fuck could I say no to that?

Not when he asked you so nicely, looking up at you with those glistening blue eyes like you were the prettiest thing he ever laid eyes on.

Speechless, you nodded.

A wicked smile spread across his face as he kneaded the supple flesh of your thighs.

He leaned back in the seat, "I want you to say it, sweetheart."

"Yes, Clark," you huffed.

"Yes, what," he smirked cockily.

You playfully hit his chest, "Don't make me say it," you spoke sheepishly.

Clark laughed, adjusting his glasses.

"Why not, baby? It's just us here… if it makes you feel better, you can whisper it," he reasoned, saying the last part real low.

He was driving you crazy. You never thought you'd be into something like this— the subtle power dynamic of it all. Though your body was telling you otherwise.

You peered down at him and spoke—quiet but confident, "I want you to taste me, Clark."

He threw his head back in bliss, before shifting you off his lap. He swiftly, cleared off the seat, placing his stack of books on the floor to allow the both of you more space.

He covered the leather seats with the flannel blanket, before guiding you on your back.

He scanned over your body, making a mental note of it.

Clark thought you looked ethereal—soft coils splayed all over the blanket, the curves of your body, the longing in your gaze.

He reached down littering your clavicle with kisses. Traveling down to the swell of your breast. His hands traveled underneath your blouse, his big hands feeling you up. Fondling the soft tissue, running his fingers over your firm nipples, tracing circles.

Then his eyes flickered to your navel, specifically the shiny stud that sat on top of it.

Now how did I miss this? He thought to himself.

His digits slowly traced the skin around the jewelry, making you squirm.

He toyed with it slightly, making his cock twitch in his denim jeans.

Clark shook it off, trying his best to focus on the task at hand.

He trailed kisses, from your navel to where your skirt began. Then he stroked the exposed skin from the slit in your skirt, before pulling up your skirt, exposing your underwear.

He delved in-between your legs and pushed your panties to the side, marveling at your anatomy. Lips agonizingly close to your mound, he whispered, "Such a pretty pussy, you got.

You didn't even have time to react. By the time you could even register the vulgarity of his words, his tongue was inside of you.

Probing at your slit, lapping up your wetness. You were already reeling, panting as he undid you.

Your breaths only got more frantic as he started focusing on your clit. Using his wet muscle to draw circles and deliver sloppy licks to your nub.

You couldn't handle it, shock waves coursed through you.

Clark could sense your thighs getting ready to close. Being proactive he gripped your trembling limbs, keeping them apart, careful not to grip too tight.

He looked up at you, glasses foggy. "Not done yet, sweetheart. Tug on my hair if you have to," he spoke briefly before diving back in.

You whined at the low drawl of his voice. You took his advice and carded your fingers through his soft curls.

He kept repeating the same movements—consistent but with increased pressure, it made your toes curl. The sight and the sounds of him drinking from you is really what did it though.

His eyes leered towards you every so often, studying you. Half the time your eyes were closed shut reveling in the pleasure. The other half, your eyes met each other gaze, making him grin slightly.

He made the most lewd noises. Moaning into your cunt, the vibrations reverberating all through your body. Smacking— like he was eating his first meal in weeks.

"Clark, you feel so good… I'm gonna cum," you moaned.

That was music to his ears.

"Cum on my tongue, give it to me, baby," he coaxed.

He went right back to work.

He could feel you convulsing on his tongue. He didn't stop his movements nor did he switch them up. He continued what he was doing, repeating it until he was sure you were seeing stars.

Your eyes rolled back, hips bucked up, and your hands pushed Clark's head further into you, as you rode the final waves of your orgasm.

Clark gave you a few final licks to your swollen cunt, happily cleaning up the aftermath of your climax.

Carefully he pulled your panties back to their original spot, and readjusted your skirt and blouse.

The rain started to lighten up.

He licked his lips, still a bit drunk off you.

He helped you up, "How was it for you?"

You didn't answer, you just enveloped him in a hug, clutching on to him for dear life—like he'd evaporate if you didn't.

"I really enjoyed myself Clark," you spoke in the crook of his neck, voice cracking a little. Hot tears spilled down your face, before you could stop them. The weight of many emotions— some sweet, some sharp— sat heavy in your chest.

Clark drew back from the hug instinctively, sensing something was off. His heart clinched at the sight of you in cheers.

"Hey—" his voice wavered, laced with panic. "Tell me what I did wrong, please."

You shook your head quickly, wiping your tears away. "No, no, it's not you, you were amazing, really. I couldn't have asked for a better experience today or a better person to do this with."

Relief flickered across his face, but worry was still etched in his brow. His hand settled on your knee grounding you.

"Then what's the matter?"

You let out a dry laugh, wiping your tears.

"You must think I'm such a crybaby. This is like the second time you had to console me in the last twenty-four hours… I'm sorry."

"You know I don't think that. Never apologize for your emotions, not to me, or to anybody." You nodded, letting his advice seep in.

"Talk to me," he pleaded, voice gentle.

You paused wanting to find the right words.

"I like you a lot, Clark."

His lips quipped into the faintest smile. "I do too—I mean I really like you too," he corrected himself, and you could practically feel the little internal cringe behind his eyes.

A laugh bubbled up in you despite the tension, but it quickly faded. “It’s just that… I’ve noticed this pattern in my dating life. Whenever I move too fast with someone, it usually falls apart."

"‘Too fast’ as in… intimacy?” he asked carefully, testing the word like it was fragile glass.

You nodded, your throat tightening.

“And I don’t want to jinx anything,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I just—this is the fastest I’ve ever moved. We only met yesterday, and already it feels like we’ve been swept into something bigger than me, bigger than us. I-I'm scared".

He looked at you, gaze heavy. "Do you regret it, what we did just now? Anything about our entire day together?"

"No, not at all."

His shoulders loosened at your response, the tension in him softening.

He enveloped you in a hug, his chin resting on your bed of curls as you curled into his chest.

"I understand, we don't have to force anything—today felt natural. And I— I want to continue that… I want to be with you in whatever way you allow me. Whatever pace you wanna go at, I'll gladly follow your lead."

Your heart swelled at his words. You undid yourself from his embrace to look up at him, eyes searching his face for any signs of insincerity— you couldn't find any.

Your lips parted, thinking of a response, but he wasn't finished

He leaned forward slightly with a steady gaze, his voice filled with a quiet conviction.

"I don't do flings and I don't know who you dealt with in the past, or how they treated you—but I need you to know I have every intention of building on this. With you. I wouldn't be here with you right now if I didn't."

The weight of his words lingered in the space between you, warm and heavy, like a promise.

That reassurance meant more to you than he'd ever know.

thank you sm for reading, as always i would love to hear your thoughts. have a fabulous day/night. xoxo

[blissbitz]

AHH this is such a sweet comment, this actually made my day. thank you sm, im so glad you enjoyed it! <33

also a BIG thank you to everybody who reblogged my work. <333

i have more clark kent fics otw!!

sorry (demo)

clark kent x reader

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – 18+, MDNI, cheating (not really though), angst, hurt/comfort, breakup/makeup, plenty of fluff, clark is veryyyy apologetic, smut, piv, body worship, oral sex (f!recieving), fingering, porn w/plot, domestic bliss

word count: 11.6k

Summary: Your domestic bliss comes to a halt when you believe your fianceé to be unfaithful. To prove his innocence, he reveals his secret identity to you.

notes – hii, this is my first fic ever. i posted this on ao3 the other day and decided to upload it here too. it is implied that the reader is a black woman but ofc this fic is open to everybody who wants to read. this work is very lwk inspired by beyonce's lemonade (hence the title ikyk). i am still proofreading, which has been giving me hell so i apologize for any spelling errors in advance. anyways this is kinda long so let's get into it.

The past three months had been a dream.

Scratch that—dream didn’t even come close to doing it justice. Your brain had never been generous enough to conjure something this good, even in sleep. Dreams implied something fleeting. Temporary. The kind of bliss you eventually woke up from with a sigh and attempted to go back to sleep to experience again to no avail.

No, this wasn’t a dream. This was real—tangible, sustainable, and yours.

Three months ago, your college sweetheart dropped to one knee and asked you to spend forever with him. It was, without question, the easiest decision you’d ever made in your life.

Fuck yes.

You were convinced your boyfriend—well, fianceé now—was the living, breathing answer to prayers you didn’t even know you were saying. You’d never considered yourself religious. Churches were never really your thing. But life had a way of dragging you to your knees all the same. There had been enough botched romances, faded friendships, and quiet goodbyes to loved ones to leave you gutted—emotionally threadbare. And in that kind of silence, in that kind of ache, you’d found yourself pleading to something—anything—for help.

And then came Clark.

A six-foot-four geek with poor posture, thick glasses that always slid down his nose, black curls, and the kindest soul you’d ever known.

Your relationship began innocently enough—purely platonic. You’d text back and forth, building your own strange little universe of inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. You became each other’s go-to for spontaneous outings: lazy walks through the park, slow afternoons wandering museum halls, casual café lunches that somehow stretched into hours.

It was easy. Just two people who genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

You couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment you both caught feelings. When the laughter lingered a little longer, when a glance started to feel like something more. Looking back, though, you suspect the feelings were always there—quiet and patient. Latent. Simmering beneath the surface, tiny flickers of a spark just waiting for the right moment to catch fire.

What you do remember though was the moment your dynamic with Clark shifted.

It had been a faithful night during undergrad. Your flatmate had informed you she would be spending the night with her girlfriend.

Must be nice.

You took advantage of your roommate’s absence and invited Clark over for a movie night. Nothing unusual—just the two of you, like so many times before. But something about that night felt… different. The air between you buzzed with something unspoken, something warmer, heavier.

You started the film at opposite ends of the couch, the usual space between you filled with pillows and plausible deniability. But over time—slowly, naturally—you drifted closer, pulled together like magnets finding their charge. At some point, you rested your head on his shoulder, and without hesitation, Clark slipped his arm around you, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This is nice, you thought, settling into the quiet rhythm of his breathing. I could get used to this.

You glanced over at Clark, lounging next to you in gray sweatpants and a plain white undershirt, and—God—he looked good. Ridiculously handsome in the most effortless, unbothered kind of way. His brawny stature shrunk everything in his vicinity. Making you keen to the size difference that exist between the two of you.

And then, out of nowhere, the urge hit you.

Twisted and sudden and impossible to ignore. You wanted to hold his hand. You wanted to run your fingers through his curls, crawl into his lap, straddle him, kiss him until you forgot your own name.

The thought startled you. Not because it was unwelcome—but because it felt so real. So possible.

You stole a glance at his face, trying to read something—anything—in the curve of his smile, the casual way his hand rested beside yours.

Would he want that?

Did he see you that way?

Could he?

Or were you just a friend caught up in a dangerous daydream?

Only one way to find out.

“Clark.” He was engrossed in the film, but almost-immediately turned his head to give you his full attention.

He uttered your name in response, the vibrations of his voice resonated in your body made your stomach flutter. “What’s up” he spoke, not a clue in the world that you were plotting on him.

“I have an outlandish out of the box question.”

“Is it another one of those 'either or ' questions, where you ask me if I'd rather be reincarnated as a jaguar or flamingo?” He mused.

You kissed your teeth playfully, faking annoyance. “No it’s not one of those, this time around” you laughed nervously. You hoped he couldn’t sense your nerves but it was Clark and unfortunately he noticed everything.

Before you could get your question out, you felt Clark gently stroking your shoulder with his thumb—soothing you, almost like he was trying to coax it out of you.

You exhaled sharply. You never been bold enough to shoot your shot but you trusted Clark. If you missed, Clark seemed to be the let-her-down-gently type rather than laugh in your face and ghost you type.

If you put anymore thought into how he might respond, you might never say what you had to say.

Fuck it, here goes nothing

“Have you ever thought about us… in a-uh romantic capacity… Don't know like more than friends,” you questioned, voice unsure but somewhat steady.

The corners of his lips quirked up ever so slightly, holding back a grin. He looked at you, searching your face for any traces of sarcasm or insincerity.

Instead he noticed the awkward smile on your lips, and the earnestness that beamed in your eyes. On top of that he could hear the quickening of your pulse.

Everything about you in this moment read honest, so he figured he ought to follow suit.

He cleared his throat. “I think about it more than I should,” he began his confession, voice low and measured.

“We’re close—really close. You get me in ways most people don’t and never judge me for my…quirks. I could talk with you for hours and never get bored. Y'know, and it doesn’t help that you’re insanely beautiful.”

He offered you a sheepish smile, “So yeah… I think about you in that way. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

Your eyes were wide, your pulse was working double time.

You couldn’t help the crooked smile that spread across your face.

Your shot hadn’t missed, it didn’t just merely go in—what happened was the equivalent of a goddamn slam dunk.

You hadn't anticipated this response, not knowing what to do next. His eyes were piercing into your soul, and occasionally glancing down at your lips, like he was trying to hold himself back.

You inched your face closer to his, staring up at him through your lashes. Your voice barely above a whisper as you tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“I wanna kiss you right now.”

Clark took it upon himself to reach out and cup your face with the hand that wasn’t petting your shoulder. He traced your jaw with his pointer and thumb, with soft pressure before ghosting his thumb over you bottom lip.

Your breath hitched. The intimacy of it all was overwhelming.

Wanting to touch him, you slotted your hand in his soft curls, fingers resting on the nape of his neck. He brushed his lips across yours before slowly joining them together.

Desire was gnawing at you insides. A dull, almost uncomfortable ache, caused you to squeeze your thighs together. Your mouths moved slow and rhythmically. Until you decided to increase the pressure, kissing him more fiercely. Clark kissed you back with the same intensity. Your first kiss together, initially, demure and sweet had somehow morphed into a steamy full-blown make out session.

You don’t remember quite how it happened, if it was you who took it the initiative to climb on top of him—if he pulled you onto his lap himself— or if it was joint effort, but you ended up straddling him.

Clark’s big hands were at your waist, grounded you slowly, deliberately creating much-needed friction.

You broke the kiss to come up from air. Perched on his lap you looked down at Clark. His hair mussed, a tinge of pink colored his neck and his cheeks, not to mention the bulge you felt under you— a clear confirmation of his feelings for you.

You were certain you looked just as rocked.

You exhaled deeply, letting the moment settle. “I guess fuck the movie then,” you blurted out.

Clark let out a deep, delighted chuckle that vibrated through his chest, and the sound of it made a dopey grin spread across your face.

The rest of the night unraveled like a slow-burning dream. You talked for hours—really talked. Fingers laced, heads tilted toward one another, the occasional stolen kiss between confessions. You shared things you’d never said out loud: what you admired about each other, messy stories of past flings, fears, hopes, and what you both wanted in a relationship.

That night planted a seed. A measly kernel that would blossom into a bountiful harvest that would be your relationship.

Fast-forward to present day. You reside in a nifty one-bedroom, in the heart of metropolis, equipped with tall windows and creaky floorboards that you shared with Clark.

There were still a couple of unopened boxes and picture frames that were waiting to be hung up. However, even though unfinished, the apartment already felt like home. It hasn’t even been long since you two moved in together, but it everything felt so natural.

Those days in college playing house prepared you two for the domesticity that married life— well almost-married life brought you.

Without fail every morning, Clark woke up before you, despite you nagging him that he should get more sleep. He’d make his way to the kitchen and prepare for you what he deemed to be a nutritious breakfast.

Afterwards he’d not-so-secretly observed you eating, knowing you had a habit of skipping breakfast. You drowsily sat at the dining room table with your laptop that was still half open from the night before, sipping on the chai latte that Clark prepared for you, just how you liked it.

You’d helped each other get dressed for the day in the same quiet harmony. You ironed his slacks and dress shirts, skillfully pressing out creases. You packed him his lunch for work everyday, slipping in hand-written notes into his lunch box.

In exchange, he’d assisted you with your hair in the mornings, standing behind you unraveling your hair with gentle fingers.

Some days it was helping you perfect a bun. Other days it helping you take down your plaits for a braid out.

Clark took his time. Never did he rush. Complained, or messed up. You’d poked fun about his skill being suspiciously good, but he’d only grin and shrug, claiming he’d learned it “from observation…. and a few YouTube videos .”

What a man.

As much as you adored mornings with Clark— sharing slices of toast and sleepy kisses—the afternoons were your favorite.

Most days you worked remotely, completing tasks from the comfort of your living room with the sky view of the city in line of sight from the window.

On days when you had to commute to the office, even with the tortuous traffic, you still managed to make it home before Clark. Although you tried not to, oftentimes you found yourself waiting for him to come home, hovering around the living room listening for the turning of the doorknob.

When Clark did return home, he’d walk in as if he spent the day at war rather than in a newsroom. He’d drop his satchel, kick off his shoes and envelop you in a long embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Whispering the sweetest things in your ear—proclaiming about how much he missed you and how good it felt coming back home to you.

Evenings with Clark settled into a rhythm that felt like home. They were filled with miscellaneous chores made lighter by each other’s presence. You’d cook dinner while he washed the dishes, the two of you moving around the kitchen in a practiced, easy dance. You’d load the washer and dryer, and he’d take care of folding and putting everything away, always meticulous.

There were board games and crossword puzzles scattered across the coffee table, half-finished and waiting for your return. You’d curl up together on the couch, bingeing whatever show had become your latest shared obsession, limbs tangled and laughter frequent.

It wasn’t flashy or dramatic—but it was soft, consistent, genuine. The kind of quiet joy you’d once begged the universe for, back when you didn’t believe it could exist.

You loved Clark with your whole being, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

However, the past few weeks haven’t been the same. Something was off— your intuition was hammering at you.

Your ‘bountiful harvest,’ had a few weeds.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Clark.

No—wait that’s exactly what it was.

For starters, Clark always wanted to know the details about your day. Which of course isn’t a crime nor is it a red flag—but rather the a mark of a doting lover. Clark would listen intently, nodding, asking questions, or sometimes just humming a response.

The problem lies in, whenever you asked him the same question, he would smile softly and always reply, "it was average," before kissing your forehead and masterfully changing the subject. You stopped asking after a while—not because you didn’t care, you did, but you grew tired of getting the same exact answer.

Initially the “it was average” responses didn't faze you. Clark was reserved by nature; this was nothing new to you. Since you first met him, he'd always kept things close to his chest, careful, and methodical with his words.

But as of late, the vague responses became more frequent, as did the flimsy excuses. The missed calls, getting left on read for hours, and half-baked excuses for why he had to suddenly take an afternoon stroll or go in the middle of dinner.

One evening, Clark walked through the door looking disheveled—his tie missing, the top button of his dress shirt undone, another one completely gone.

You raised an eyebrow. “Rough day?”

He gave you a sheepish grin, already kicking off his shoes. “Took the tie off on the way home. Felt like it was strangling me.”

“And the button?”

He glanced down at his shirt and let out a low chuckle. “Popped off at work. Didn’t even notice until someone pointed it out. Guess I'll need a new dress shirt.”

Okay no big deal, it’s a logical explanation— odd but totally plausible.

You let him off the hook.

Another night, he came home later than usual, with his clothes emitting a smell of smoke. You inquired if there had been a fire nearby—he shrugged, claiming he hadn’t noticed.

Clark— the man with the sense of smell akin to a dog, who’ve you seen sniff out a hot-dog stand fifty meters away.

Who apparently couldn't seem to notice the loud ass odor permeating from his clothing. You just tilt your head and stared at the man in front you.

He always had an answer, or an excuse rather.

At first, you told yourself you were being paranoid—that you were letting your old lovers from your past, the ones who’d lied to your face without flinching, haunt the narrative.

Clark is different, you reminded yourself. He was devoted, gentle, attentive. The kind of man who held your hand in the grocery store and remembered how you liked your tea. He wouldn't betray you. He couldn’t.

But then again… you hadn’t expected betrayal from the others either. And look how that turned out.

Still, you wanted to believe. You didn’t want to sabotage a good thing. So, you clung to hope, convincing yourself you were simply bruised from the past.

Even so… you began paying closer attention.

His suits started looking more disheveled when he came home, like they’d been thrown on in a hurry. Wrinkled in places they shouldn't be. His tie crumbled up in his pocket.

And then there was that night.

You woke in a cold sweat, the sheets beside you cold and undisturbed. The room was eerily silent. You groggily called out for Clark once.

Nothing.

You tried again, voice heavier this time.

Still, silence.

Sleep pulled you back under before you could process it. When you woke again, Clark was beside you, limbs tangled with yours as if he’d never left. He was gently rocking you awake, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Later that morning, you brought it up—your half-formed memory or dream, whatever it was—hoping for some clarity.

Clark blinked, then smiled as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s odd I was next to you the entire night,” he said with a laugh, like it was nothing.

“You sure you didn’t leave? Not even for a second? Bathroom? A snack?”

He shook his head. “No. You said you called out for me, right?”

You nodded, eyes searching his.

“I would've answered, darling. At the very least, you know that. Must’ve been a dream, like you said.” His fingers brushed your cheek in that familiar, loving way.

But something inside you didn’t settle.

Not with the way he said it. Not with the way your body remembered the cold side of the bed.

And definitely not with the way he looked into your eyes and lied so gently, so perfectly, you almost believed him.

Almost.

And still, when he walked through the door at the end of the day, flashing you that disarming dimpled smile of his and pulling you into a hug, your doubts would be suppressed by the warmth of his embrace— at least momentarily.

You didn’t have any real proof—just minor moments, offbeat inconsistencies that could be, and often were, explained right away. A missing button. A late night. A tie stuffed in a pocket. innocent enough on their own.

But then there was your gut, there was a quiet and unwavering feeling biting at your insides.

You tried to move forward. Tried to pretend like you weren’t quietly losing trust in your fianceé—the man you once considered your lifeline.

You couldn’t help it though, your evenings grew quieter. The notes you tuck into his lunchbox got shorter, so did the kisses you shared, becoming more obligatory than affectionate. The warmth in your touches faded. You no longer wanted to make love—not because you didn’t love him, but because something in you recoiled at the intimacy.

You found yourself mourning something that hadn’t even ended yet.

Then there was today. Clark was late, like really fucking late.

One or two hours late was forgivable but this time he’d been six hours late.

The clock read 11:25 p.m., and he was nowhere to be found. His location had been turned off, and your calls went ignored. You paced around the living room trying to conjure up a logical excuse for his behavior.

Maybe Perry kept him late in hopes of meeting some insane deadline.

Maybe he's involved in some sort of accident on the way home.

Maybe…

Maybe he’s with someone else.

You stopped pacing and curled up on the couch, bringing your knees up to your chest. The thought alone made you feel like your heart was hemorrhaging.

It was the only excuse that made sense. The deflections, the absence, the secretiveness—didn’t feel so random anymore.

The key finally turned in the lock around midnight. A wave of dread hit you like a ton of bricks; you couldn’t even bear to look at him, how in the world were you going to get through the night?

The rational part of your brain was telling you to fake it, wait til he left for work in the morning to pack your bags, leave a note, and then leave. You wanted to leave this relationship with at least some of your dignity intact.

You listened to the soft creak of the floorboards and him shutting the door behind him. The shuffle of his shoes being kicked off, and the long exhale he let out when he was finally home.

“Hey, sorry I'm a bit later than usual," he greeted softly. His voice was hoarse. He took a seat next to you on the couch. He wrapped his arms around you in a hug, and planted a kiss on your forehead. You stiffened, not able to bring yourself to hug him back.

So much for faking it.

You slowly turned your head to meet his gaze.“I tried calling,” you said. “Didn’t hear back from you.”

His hair was tousled, his collar unbuttoned, clothes wrinkled, and of course, the tie he left the house wasn’t around his neck— which had become a staple of his.

Clark winced slightly. “Forgive me, it’s been a long day.”

You hummed, your eyes narrowed as felt yourself growing irritated.

“So long that you couldn't even find the time to send me a text letting me know you wouldn’t be back till midnight?” You let out a humorless chuckle.

Clark wore an apologetic look on his face. “I know, there’s no excuse. Work was more taxing than usual but I'll do better, I promise.”

You had many more questions you wanted to ask but you refrained, mind already made up. By this time tomorrow you’d be long gone.

Instead you got up from the couch, creating some distance between the two of you.

“It’s late. I should get some sleep,” you spoke forlorn.

The thought of lying down next to him made your skin crawl. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” you added.

The faster you went to sleep, the faster morning would come and the sooner you could go.

Clark leaned forward in his seat and responded immediately. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. If anything I'll take the couch.”

“That’s fine,” you uttered turning away to go to bedroom.

Clark’s words stopped you in your tracks. “I understand you’re upset with me right now, rightfully so,” he began. “These past few weeks I could sense you’ve been distant….a bit closed off.”

He stood up and took a step toward you, like he wanted to close the space that had grown between you.

“And I know I'm probably the reason for that. But, honey, don’t go to bed angry with me again. Not tonight. Let’s talk. I’ve missed you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. Your impassiveness had been thrown out the window.

He wanted to hash things out, you’d happily obliged him.

“Where were you?” You questioned, arms folder across your chest.

He hesitated, briefly. It was quick, but you peeped it—the slight pause before he recited from his word bank of excuses.

“Work,” he reinstated. “There was a breaking story. I didn’t think to check my phone.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “So you didn’t think about me? Not once? It didn’t cross your mind that I’ve might’ve been waiting up for you. Wondering where the fuck you were?”

Your voiced was sharpened and trembling.

“Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven o’ clock, Clark not one call. No text. Radio silence.

He stood there with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You sure are putting in a lot of overtime lately” you continued. “This is what? The sixth time this month you missed dinner? The late nights, the vague excuses, the sneaking out late at night when I'm asleep. ”

Clark’s breath got stuck in his throat.

You laughed bitterly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Did you think I was too stupid to connect the dots? Or were you just so arrogant you thought you could get away with it?”

Tears streamed down your face before you could stop them.

Concern was etched in his facial features. Seeing you in so much pain was agonizing and knowing he was the root of it, hurt worse than any blow.

He reached out to console you taking a step forward towards you reaching out.

You took a step back. Clark looked crestfallen—like a kicked puppy.

He wasn’t sure how to approach this. It was evident that you suspected him. Of what—though you had different ideas.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. “I… I don't know what to say. I would never hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. “You know that, right?”

Drained, you brushed a tear off your cheek.

“Hurt isn’t always a fist, Clark. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s being lied to. Sometimes it’s lying awake at night wondering who you really are when you think I'm not looking.”

Guilt and panic warring across his face.

How the fuck does she know?, he thought.

“If there’s someone else, just come out and say it,” you demanded. “I can’t keep pretending like I don't know.”

The room fell silent. Clark looked stunned, as if you physically struck him.

“God, no. That’s not—I’d never do that to you. There’s no one else.” His gaze was piercing, searching your face for any sign that you might believe him. You looked away, afraid that if your eyes met his blue ones you'd cave in.

“There never has been and never will be anyone else,” he proclaimed.

“It’s you, always. I'm all about you. You’re the only one I want to spend my life with.” Clark spoke with conviction and sincerity but you weren’t convinced.

“Then what are you hiding?” you whispered.

“Your lying, I'm not sure what about. At first I thought I was paranoid, but I can feel it.”

You met his gaze. His jaw tensed and something flickered behind his eyes.

Fear.

“I want to,” he spoke eventually, voice low. “I truly do, but it’s not that simple.”

A silence fell between the both of you.

You blinked. “Okay. Fine. I'll make things easier for you,” you snapped.

Swiftly you made your way to the bedroom you shared and pulled out a duffel bag from the closet.

He observed you from the door frame of the bedroom with a pained expression on his face.

“W-what are doing?” He stammered, arms crossed.

You stopped briefly to glare at him.“I’m leaving. That way you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“You refuse to tell me the truth anyway,” you muttered not sparing him a glance.

Calmly you worked your engagement ring off your ring finger and placed it on the dresser. The sound of the ring clinking softly against the wood made Clark’s heart drop.

You then began to open up the dresser’s compartments, mindlessly throwing clothes into the bag. Detached and mechanical.

Clark approached you carefully, “Sweetheart, you can’t leave.” His voice cracked towards the end.

“Okay, I promise you this is all a misunderstanding… it’s just complicated,” he pleaded.

You scoffed. “What could possibly be so complicated you didn’t want to tell me— your fiancee?”

He didn’t answer.

You stared at him for a long moment, heart breaking quietly in your chest. You resumed packing, heading to the restroom to get some toiletries. He stood still watching you walk past him.

“Where are you gonna go?” He asked softly pushing his glasses up the bride of his nose,

“My sister’s” you replied, voice flat.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of nose, “Darling, it’s one in morning and that’s an hour drive. It’s not safe, and I know you hate driving at night.”

He was right.

However you refused to give him the satisfaction.

You didn’t say a word.

Once your duffel bag was full. You walked into the kitchen to fetch your keys only to find an empty key rack. You blinked, staring at where the keys should’ve been.

You sighed turning to face Clark. “Where are my keys Clark?,” you asked, jaw tight.

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “But I'm not letting you drive tonight. I'll give them back in the morning.”

His voice was gentle, but the firmness underneath it made you clench your fist.

You scoffed, utterly disgusted, you let as your duffel bag hit the floor with a thud. You massaged your temples trying your hardest to self-soothe. You were exhausted physically and emotionally.

At this point you were considering taking the damn bus to your sister’s.

Or walking.

Anything to not be underneath the same roof as this man.

“Is it not enough to have a full-blown affair on me despite me opening up to you about my past relationships— the betrayal I had experienced,” you spoke lowly.

“But you continue to gaslight me and you refuse to give me my space after the fact… I never in a million years thought you could be this cruel,” your bottom lip quivered.

“Don’t say that. Please," he begged.

"I would never betray you, there isn’t anyone in this entire universe I feel as strongly for as you. Baby, you’re everything to me. You have to know that— you're everything. You’re the reason why I do what do.” Clark articulated with pleading eyes.

“And what is it exactly that you ‘do’?”

He froze again. The silence was suffocating. The answer was sitting on the tip of his tongue, you could see it in the tension in his shoulders and jaw.

He couldn't take it. He knew if he didn’t confess you’d walk out on him, there was no doubt in his mind. If not tonight, than tomorrow, or some other time in the near future.

There was still a chance that knowing the truth might not prevent you from leaving. That thought shook him to his core.

However, the more he thought about it, it wasn’t about him. Whatever consequences he might suffer were irrelevant.

It was about you— and you deserved the truth. You didn’t deserve to have your wounds reopened— to, again, be put through the pain of having a disloyal partner. To believe that the bond you shared wasn't real.

Clark, while deceptive in his own right, wasn’t cruel.

“If you take a seat I will explain everything to you. If you still want to leave in the morning, I won’t stand in your way,” he lamented.

Defeated, you sat in love seat opposite of him.

Clark looked absolutely terrified, which only frayed your nerves more.

What the fuck was he about to say to you?

He rolled up his sleeves and leaned forward before discarding his glasses on the coffee table.

You never seen him without his glasses, he only ever took them off in bed when the lights were off. It was the most minor action ever, and yet—it brought about a change in his whole presence. He seemed sharper, more certain. He looked different but somewhat familiar.

“I have never been unfaithful to you, the thought has never crossed my mind— not once,” he began, voice low and steady. “In the instances, where I left in the middle of dinner, or I was late, or came home… looking like hell— wasn’t because I was with someone else. It was because someone needed help.”

You frowned, “What kind of help?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line before standing up.

Before you could even ask what he was doing, there was a rapid blur— a powerful rush of wind.

Clark no longer standing in front of you anymore, but was he was… across the room, leaning against the wall like he had always been there.

You gasped loudly and your stomach dropped.

Then again, there he was sitting next to you on the love seat. No footsteps nor sound, almost as if he transported.

You stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief, “There’s no way.”

In another flash, Clark was gone—not gone but floating. Casually levitating in the middle of your living room. The sight made the hairs on your body stand up.

The truth hit you like a blast of cold air on a scorching hot summer day. The man who soared the skies dawning primary colors and a cape. Whose name had been the topic of almost every other news segment, article, or social media post. The almost mythical figure who fights crooks, battles intergalactic threats, and saves the world from ruin day in and day out, was your fianceé—your Clark.

“Your Superman, ” you exclaimed softly.

He landed lightly, stepping towards you, his eyes searching yours with an ache you haven’t seen before.

I could fucking faint right now.

“I wanted to tell you from the start but I refrained from telling you for a multitude of reasons”

“Which are…?”

“Fear mostly. I thought that by telling you, I'd be putting your safety in jeopardy. And if something were to happen to you because of me—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself” his voice broke.

He continued. “There’s also a pathetic part of me that thought if I was truthful, maybe you would decide that you wouldn't want to be with me. That you might want to settle down with some normal—less alien and more human.”

You felt dizzy, this was a lot to process.

You started to put the pieces together, “So earlier when I was confronting you about your ‘secret’, you thought I was referring to—”

“I thought you figured me out, which is why I asked if you thought I might hurt you. I was under the impression you were scared of me," he admitted.

Your facial expression softened. “Clark I'm less scared of you now than I was thirty minutes ago.”

“It doesn’t matter what abilities you have and I don’t care that your not human. I’ve known you for years, I know your heart. You’re a good person and knowing how you choose to wield your powers is even more of a testament to character," you articulated.

You took a deep breath, your fingers finding your temples. "I can’t fathom what it’s like to have to carry that sort of responsibility," you whispered.

There was no doubt in your mind—Clark was being honest. and yet, you still felt a pang in your chest.

“But you been lying to me for quite some time now and it hurts knowing that,” you sighed recalling the last four years of knowing Clark.

Tears stung your eyes, Clark kneeled in front of you, and ever so gently he wiped them away.

“I just wish you were honest. I understand that you wanted to protect me, that’s valid but… I feel so strongly about you, Clark. I don’t think, not for second, knowing your secret would’ve ever drove me away from you. I'd like to think it would’ve brought us closer.”

You buried your head in your hands. “I would’ve never have guessed that this was the actual explanation for what’s been going on. These last few weeks I’ve been losing my damn mind conjuring up the worse case scenarios.”

He carefully took your hand in his, “I’m not above admitting that I was undoubtedly wrong.”

“I was deceptive and I convinced myself I lied solely to protect you but the truth is my own self-interest played a big part into that decision. I thought that my lies would keep you close but they had the opposite affect of what I had hoped and I ended up hurting you in the process. My biggest regret is not telling you sooner and for that I sincerely apologize with the entirety of my being.”

Quiet tears streamed down your face—you couldn’t help it. You were feeling so many emotions all at once, some of which contradicted one another.

You didn’t have it in you to stay mad at Clark— you felt a lot things in this moment but anger, no.

He was put in a impossible situation. Did he make the best choice not telling you— no, but you could sympathize with his thought process.

You would like to think if the roles were reversed you would’ve told him a long time ago… but then again you weren’t entirely sure.

“I can’t honestly say that I'm completely fine with what you did. It’s going to take some time to get over it—but I love you, very much, and I think what we have is worth saving.”

“We can mend this but only under the condition you never lie to me again,” you looked at him with a pleading look.

Clark let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. Relief wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how he was feeling right now.

“Darling, that’s the least I can do. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make it right, I swear. I’ll spend everyday making it up to you.”

You looked at Clark, really looked at him, like it was your first time clearly seeing him. You reached out and stroked his face. This was the more like the Clark you fell in love with— sincere, honest, and devoted.

Clark was gone and back in a blink of an eye, still kneeling down in front of you. In his hand was your engagement ring you’d tossed on the dresser earlier. He looked at you silently, searching your face for your approval or disapproval, before he slipped the ring back on your finger.

You nodded gently to signal to him it was alright. He gingerly put the engagement ring on your finger, before taking a seat next to you and enveloping you into a hug.

“My sweet girl, your so good to me,” he murmured in the crook of your neck. Clark’s hand rubbed on the expanse of your back, the soothing sensation making you lean closer into him. His other hand was wrapped around your waist holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

You missed him, horribly.

You held on to him, arms wrapped around his neck. His baby blue eyes peered into yours. His face moved close to yours, hovering, waiting for a green light from you.

You smoothly slid onto his lap, giving him all the encouragement needed to put his lips on yours. You moaned into the kiss, forgetting what it was like to kiss him.

It’s been a minute.

He took control, setting the slow and intense tempo, which you matched with the same amount of fervor. Your tongues taking turns exploring each others mouth, and occasionally colliding. You pulled back slightly, softly tugging his bottom lip in between your teeth, before pulling back completely.

You were panting but Clark wasn’t done yet in the slightest—neither were you. He nuzzled his face in your neck pressing soft kisses on your pulse. A familiar heat began to spread from the pit of your stomach to in between your legs.

The sensation of his lips on the sensitive flesh of your neck riled you up like no other. And Clark knew this— by now he was an expert on your body, knowing exactly what buttons to push. It was only made worse when he moved the opening of your nightgown to the side so he could get better access, littering your collar bone with sweet kisses. In between kisses he’d whisper your praises, voice real low and deep.

Kiss.

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

Kiss.

“So fortunate that I have the privilege of seeing you like this.”

Kiss.

“God. I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

Kiss.

Quiet moans started slipping out of you, even though you tried to contain them. It’s been so long—too damn long since you and Clark had been intimate with each other.

Growing desperate for relief you steadily rode his thigh, the one where his thick cock laid against. You could feel Clark growing rock hard in his slacks. You weren’t any better, certain he could feel the dull throbbing your clit. He groaned into your neck trying to compose himself.

When he lifted his face out of the crook of your neck he was almost panting.

“I love seeing you like this.” He moved his hand that was placed on your waist, under your gown down your thigh. Gently he roamed the span of your thigh, alternating between feather light-touches and kneading the soft flesh. “You have no idea how sexy you look right now,” he continued.

You carded your hands through his hair and kissed him with the same intensity as before. Clark’s hands made their way to your panties, giving the sides of your hips a squeeze, causing you to whimper into the kiss. As a rebuttal you unwrapped your arms from his neck, using one of your free hand to stroke his hard-on through pants. He stopped kissing you and his head fell back slightly, lips parted.

You bite your bottom lip watching his reaction. “Clark, baby. I need you,” you whined, delivering to gentle pecks to his jawline.

“M’ right here. Not going anywhere, angel.” He reassured, both hands gripping your butt under your gown.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s been a minute since we’ve um— made love,” you spoke, whispering towards the end.

He smiled at you, almost teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“Not terribly nervous, but just a little bit,” you smiled running you hands down his clothed chest.

He kissed your forehead. “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous. We can stop at any point. I only ask you for one thing, and that is to communicate with me.” Clark asserted.

“I know I haven’t been the best in the trustworthiness department as of late… but there is nothing I want more right now than to make you feel good. In order for me to do that, I need you to have a little faith in me and trust that whatever you say or ask for I will deliver.”

He placed his hand on your chin, holding your gaze. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, transfixed on his assertiveness.

“Use your words please,” Clark instructed.

“I can do that for you, Clark. I promise.”

Clark melted at the way you said his name. That whole sentence was like a line ripped straight from his fantasies, but only better because it was real.

“Let’s move to the bedroom,” he uttered gripping your waist and wrapping your legs around his lower torso.

“Hold on to me,” was the last thing he said before he rocketed into your shared bedroom.

The fast movement had your heartbeat up again. Clark didn’t want to put you down—just yet. He instead, put your back against the wall while your limbs were still entangled in his.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck once more, while your face hovered over his. You teasingly brushed your tongue across his bottom lip. Before your tongue could retreat back into your mouth, Clark had shamelessly took the bait and latched his lips onto yours. You nightgown was hiked up to your hips, Clark took that as a sign to stroke your bare legs all the way to that back of your thighs. Everywhere Clark touched, left your skin ablaze.

“Clark, baby, take your shirt off,” you pleaded breathlessly.

Just like that he unbuttoned his shirt with a supernatural quickness. He allowed you the honors of sliding off his white button-up, revealing his burly physique. His abs, deep planes of muscle, flexed as you ran your hand over them. Your eyes peered over to his broad shoulders, then to his biceps.

The signs were there… you never saw him work out but someone how he was the picture of fitness. It all adds up now.

You ran your hands over his buff arms, while you brought your lips to his neck. Gently suckling on his skin. You brought your lips a little higher nibbling on the patch of skin behind his ear.

He groaned lightly, his hips surged up against yours seeking friction. You could feel him, seemingly harder and larger than before. You rocked your hips against his, chasing pleasure. He slotted his thigh into between your thigh, throwing you a bone.

“Use me, make yourself feel good, baby”, he groaned out. You didn’t waste anytime, rocking your hips back and forth. He tensed making the muscles in his thigh more prominent, which only intensified the sensation.

Clark’s eyes made their way to your chest. He didn’t need to use his x-ray vision to know you weren’t wearing a bra, you hardly ever did in the comfort of you home.

The way you gyrated on his thigh only made it more obvious, your movements caused the soft bounce of your tits. Through your silk nightdress, your nipples stood at attention, like two stiff peaks. You caught him staring, practically drooling.

You grabbed his hand and guided it underneath the smooth fabric until he reached the soft mound of flesh. He circled his thumb around your nipple, making you throw your head back, causing you to bump the back of your head on the wall.

The thud your head made with the wall made Clark uneasy, even though you laughed it off. “You okay, sweetheart?” He asked. Taking a step back from the wall and cradling the back your head with one of his hands.

“I think I'll live,” you teased.

He turned around with you still wrapped around him and placed you upright gently on the edge of the bed.

You stared at him in anticipation as he undid the belt around his waist. He unzipped his pants and slipped off his slacks, making your lips part. There he stood in nothing but his boxers which did very little conceal manhood.

“I’m going come up behind you,” he husked.

He was a man of his word. He climbed onto the bed snaking behind you, his presence was felt. He sat behind you, making it so you were in between his legs. He pulled you closer towards him so that your back was against his broad chest.

Both his hands found their way underneath you gown. He explored your body with the faintest touch of his fingertips. Skimming softly over your bare shoulders, back, and waist. Once he got to the slight pudge of your stomach he splayed his hand over it, causing your tummy to tense from the sensation. His other hand reunited with your breasts, alternating between them both. Each touch caused you to whine and writhe.

But it wasn’t enough, you were growing desperate for more.

You slowly threw your head back into his shoulder melting into his touch. He kissed your cheek then your shoulder.

“You enjoying yourself, angel?” Fingers toying with your nipples.

“Yes, Clark,” you moaned.

His hands suddenly move their way to you knees, pulling them apart, and hiking your dress up in the process revealing you panties. His hand caressed your inner thighs, while his eyes studied you. Observant. Watching your reactions. He gently glided his knuckles across your clothed folds. You yelped out in surprise.

He was amused by your response. You could sense the smile on his face. He palmed at your core, cupping your heat— feeling it throb in his hand.

“Just say the words, and I'll make you cum at least three different ways,” he rasped in your ear.

“Jesus, Clark. Fuck. Please," you moaned out, flustered.

“Please, what? What is it you want me to do, darling?” He asked, clearly teasing. The grip he had on your mound slightly tightening.

“Make me cum, three different ways,” you whispered in his ear, too proud to say it out loud.

Clark let out a satisfied sound. His hands reached the sides on your underwear, slowly shimming them down your hips. You lifted your hips up, sliding them the rest of the way down, throwing them somewhere across the room.

Clark fingers ran up and down the seam of your cunt. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. He gathered your arousal on his finger tips before using it to lubricate your clit.

He concentrated his attention on that spot. Using one hand to push back the hood while the other relentlessly circled around the sensitive nub. He could feel and see your body tense, your thighs and abdomen both flexing.

You were close. He knew you needed a little encouragement, after all these years he knew just what to say to get you there.

“You're so precious,” he breathed softly into the space between your head and shoulder.

“I just barely touched you and your already close to cumming. You were wet well before I ever even laid a finger on it,” he continued whispering lowly in your ear.

You moaned loudly, his words just added to the bliss.

“That’s all it takes, huh. Some dry humping, groping, and neck kisses.” He uttered nibbling at your neck.

You nodded shamelessly, stuck throes of pleasure.

“I’m gonna keep rubbing slow steady until you cum. I can do this all night— you know I could.”

Fuckkk, he could. You knew from experience he wasn't joking.

You let the most pathetic sound— a cross between a whine and a moan.

“I’m cumming, Clark” you alerted, your limbs shuddering.

He wrapped an arm across your chest to steady you, while remaining steadfast in his movements.

He didn’t stop until well after you were done, overstimulating your sensitive clit.

He turned your head towards him, kissing you passionately on the mouth.

“That’s my girl.” He proclaimed gently, tracing the outside of your thighs, helping you come down from your orgasm.

You fell limp into his strong hold but Clark was just getting started.

“I wanna taste you now, is that okay?” Clark inquired, checking in with you.

You nodded, the thought of his lips on your core induced a familiar pulsation between your legs.

With your approval, Clark moved off the bed and moved you closer to the edge, so that your legs were practically hanging off.

“As good as you look in it, I want you to take that nightgown off. I need to see you,” he spoke, something carnal in his tone.

You glided the over-sized piece of fabric over your head revealing your bare form. Clark’s lips parted taking you in. He guided your back to the mattress, positioning pillows underneath you for your comfort.

His lips were all over your body— the sides of your neck, the blades of your shoulders, your tits, waist, stomach, and all over the expanse of your thighs. He was thorough making sure to acknowledge every inch of you.

“You’re such a goddess.” He whispered in the crook of your neck before connecting his lips to yours.

When his lips left yours, he interlocked your hand with his before sinking down to his knees, in-between your legs.

“You know the drill.” He insisted stroking your thighs signaling you to part them.

You did, in fact, know the drill. You opened you legs for Clark, watching him descend his head in between your thighs in suspense.

“Hold on to me if you need to, angel.” He gently squeezed your hand.

His breath made contact with your mound before his lips did. He pressed soft kisses to your outer lips, before dragging his tongue in a firm straight line from your folds up to your nub. He reiterated that motion, several times, each time increasing the pressure.

He took it up a notch, flattening his tongue against you, swathing your pussy, delivering slow licks. You squeezed Clark’s hand, needing an outlet other then moaning.

Being the multi-tasker he was, he reached his free hand up to your chest, fondling you.

Your breath was heaving, the way he worked his tongue made your brain melt.

Clark wrapped his mouth around the entirety of your heat. Suctioning and nibbling greedily at your clit to no avail. It was too much. He didn’t stop or come up from air, he just kept going sometimes peering up at you, with his mouth full, to gauge your reactions.

He didn’t even need to look at to tell you were turned on. He could tell by the arousal seeping out of you, the way you clinched around his tongue, and the throbbing of your core. But watching you— your face all scrunched up, your breath rising and falling— that was just the cherry on top.

He took his hand off your breasts, to stroke himself through his boxers. Still working you with his mouth, Clark looked up at you to see you watching him back with heavy-lidded eyes.

He just knew you were close. He hoped you would cum soon or else he’d end up creaming briefs.

Like clockwork— your body arched suddenly, your hips began writhing against Clark while your legs simultaneously attempted to close. Keyword— attempted. Clark wasn’t having it, he pried open your thighs using one hand, while the other hand was clutched in yours. You released a guttural sound, one that spawned deep from your diaphragm.

Just like before he didn’t stop until well after you were done convulsing, ensuring you’d came. He happily lapped up your fluids, kissing your thighs once he finished.

He rose up to his feet, observing you. You looked wrecked— your face was tear stained, your deep skin tone was tinged with a hue of red from being flushed, and you remained limp gazing up at the ceiling.

He laid down beside you, and wrapped you in bear hug. “You okay, honey?” Clark inquired, a hint of worry in his voice.

“M’ okay. More than okay actually. That felt so fucking good, Clark.” You slurred running your hand up and down his back.

“I promised you at the very least three orgasms. You think you got one more in you?” Clark smirked buzzing at the praise you gave him.

“Yes, but I have a request,” you smiled.

“And what is that, angel?”.

“I need you inside me,” you asserted.

Clark groaned. To think his bulge was just sort of starting to go down, but your request had him rock hard in the matter of seconds.

He hadn't planned on doing that. He was fully prepared to let tonight be about you. In fact, he was more than okay with going to sleep with blue balls, he thought it would be well deserved after what he’d put you through the last few weeks.

He couldn’t deny you though, at least not on your behalf, not when asked so boldly, not when he already promised you he’d do whatever you asked of him.

So he asked you one more time, “Are you sure that’s what you really want? We don’t have to… especially not from my sake.”

You sat up on the bed and and so did Clark following your lead. “I am sure. And I can tell right now, it’s definitely not for your sake,” you chuckle slightly.

“I want you to make love to me because I enjoy it and I missed it… I miss us. I don’t wanna punish you or keep you at arms length any more. I’ve been doing that for the past month. It’s been exhausting. I missed you, Clark.” You poured your heart out, feeling vulnerable than ever.

Upon hearing that brought you close to his chest, needing to close the space between you both. The skin to skin contact made everything more intimate. He kissed you on your temples and stroked the nape of your neck with his thumb, softly grazing the few coils peeking out your bonnet.

“I love you so much,” he uttered. Looking down at you, before giving you fervent kiss on the lips. His hand made its way to your heat, still swollen and sensitive from before. He glided his middle and pointer finger across your folds. Making you part lips into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue in, while his fingers stimulate you.

He broke the kiss, “I need to warm you up first, before you take me.” His two fingers began circling your clit, a familiar feeling building in you gut. “Gonna start with with one finger. Then we’ll work our way up,” he instructed.

You nodded, “I understand.” You looked down staring at Clark’s fingers. They were nearly double the size of yours in length and width.

He slowly sunk his pointer finger into you, until he was knuckle deep. You could feel him curling his finger inside you, causing you to clinch around him.

“Baby, your so wet for me, I think you need another finger. What do you think?”

“Yes, but go slow, ” you requested.

He obliged, slowly moving his pointer and middle finger into your cunt. Your breath hitched, and his fingers were barely inside. “It’s okay sweetheart, you're doing so good,” he reassured delivering a kiss to your cheek. "You’re gripping me real tight, see if you can relax for me.”

Clark circled your clit with his thumb, in hopes of relaxing you more. It seemingly worked because soon after you were able to take his two fingers knuckle deep inside you. Your sweet moans filled the air once Clark began to move his digits in and out you slowly, curling his fingers upwards against your spongy walls.

Every time he curls his fingers inside, you swear you could see stars. He watched you closely, reveling in how your discomfort morphed into pleasure.

“Gonna add another,” he warned, earning a brief nod from you.

The third finger just barely made it in. He could see you wincing slightly from the insertion. He held his fingers still not moving an inch, wanting you to get use to the stretch. “That's it baby. It’s been awhile but you’re taking my fingers like champ,” he praised kissing you on your forehead.

After a minute or so, he slowly moved his fingers deeper inside you, earning a mewl out of you. “How does that feel, love?”

“Your fingers are huge,” you groaned.

"If it's too much, let me know," he pleaded.

"Don't stop, Clark. It's fine." You softly gripped his arm, a subtle action meant to persuade him to keep going.

He got the memo. You felt his arm flex as he curled all three fingers inside of you. He moved his fingers in and out you, making you squirm.

"I think I'm ready" you expressed, gazing upwards at Clark. You palmed him through his boxers and you swore you could feel his dick jump.

Clark took his fingers out of you and used them to massage your clit. Then licked them clean with a slight grin on his face. After a few moments he slid off his boxers. His large cock stood at attention, the tip almost reaching his navel.

As far as you were concerned, you would never get use to it. The same wave of shock ran through you every time you saw it.

Clark climbed on top of you, with bated breath. He cupped your face, hovering above you, with a longing stare. You reached down and slowly grabbed his manhood, stroking it from base to tip languidly in your hand. Clark exhaled sharply at your touch.

You repeatedly circled your thumb around his tip, making him cry out your name.

"You feel how hard you got me?" Clark groaned before attacking your neck with sensual pecks.

You moaned— growing insatiable.

You aligned the thick head of his cock with your entrance. You firmly rubbed his tip along your folds, periodically brushing it against your clit. The friction caused the both of you to spasm.

Clark tried his best to hold still and let you take the lead, but every once in a while he'd jut his hips up against you, losing himself in your heat.

All while you were slack-jawed and blissed out, mindlessly dragging Clark's tip along your aching cunt.

You were positive you both could cum from just this alone but you had other plans.

"I'm gonna put it inside, baby." You moaned, giving Clark a heads up.

He looked at you like you hung the stars. He caressed your cheek and bottom lip with his thumb. "Look at me when you put it in," he implored.

So you did—well, you made an honest effort to. Eyes honed in on Clark, as you guided his staunch tip through you entrance causing you to let out a hiss. Your eyes closed shut, the initial stretch causing you some discomfort. You open your eyes, after a moment and see Clark surveilling you.

"M'sorry," you whisper.

He planted a kiss on your top of your head "S'okay. You tried, it's all that matters."

"Deep breathes for me baby," he spoke in an attempt to get your breath to steady. After a minute or two of coaxing from Clark, you'd grown somewhat accustomed to what was inside of you.

He brought his hands to your chest, cupping your breast in his hands. "You’re so wet and tight around me," he huffed out, voice trembling slightly.

You whined at his lewd words. "I can take more," you stated growing impatient.

"I got'chu, just try your best to relax, sweetheart," he commanded softly. He took one hand off your breast, and snaked it down to your clit. Rubbing it a few times before grabbing his shaft and sinking a few inches deeper into you.

You gasped loudly at the sudden intrusion. Clark could feel your walls clinching down on him, getting adjusted to him.

You looked down at where your bodies connected. He wasn't even half way inside but just an a few inches past the tip. There was more of him to take and you already felt so full.

Clark slowly slipped out of you. You whined at the sudden emptiness, until he drove back inside you. A familiar sense of pleasure building up in your lower abdomen.

You gripped his biceps needed something to ground you. Clark started to build a tempo in which he glided in and out of you. Nice and slow.

You were rutting your hips to meet his thrust. Gritting your teeth, and scrunching your face. Clark watched as you unraveled underneath him, continuing to work into you, sliding deeper and deeper with every few strokes.

You grew self-conscious under his gaze, becoming hyper aware of the faces and the sounds you were making. You hid your face in your hands and muffled your mouth.

He let out a frustrated sighed. "Y'know I hate when you hide from me," he breathed, still keeping the tempo. "I need to see my, pretty girl," he murmured, one of his hands encircling your wrist.

You obeyed his request moving your hands to his sculpted chest.

"There she is," he beamed.

He moved in close, locking his lips with yours. The kiss caused him to slip in deeper, making your lips part. He moaned feeling you enclosed around him— almost all of him. He slid his tongue into your mouth, while your lips ravished his. Both of you were reeling, intoxicated by each other, writhing into each other.

You both pulled away, staring at each other, forehead to forehead.

"Give it to me, Clark. I want all of you,” you begged.

Clark could've came at the mere sentence you uttered— the way you said it, the way you looked when you said it, and how your cunt throbbed around him when you said it.

He couldn't say no to you.

You watched as he pulled out of you completely, his cock glistening from your slick. Your cunt clinched down on nothing, missing the penetration. He placed his red throbbing member on your abdomen. Aligning the base of his shaft with your pelvis, providing you a visual on just how deep inside you he'd be.

He gathered some of the slick from your entrance and circled your clit.

Then, he slowly impaled you with the entirety of his cock, making you convulse around him. He wrapped your legs around his waist, shifting the angle.

You could feel everything. The veins that wrapped around his cock. The rhythmic throbbing of his manhood against your walls. The thick tip of his cock hitting your cervix. Once he reached your hilt, he didn't move, letting you bask in the sensation of being filled.

He instead, whispered sweet nothings, "Darling, I love you more than anything."

His kissed up your neck.

"I'm nothing without you."

Clark resumed his tempo, slowing working in and out of you.

"Knowing that I have you to come back to everyday, it keeps me going" he groaned.

Your eyes were glossy. His words of affirmation, the kisses he planted on your body, and the continuous stroking— it pure ecstasy. The wave of pleasure that had been building up in your stomach began to spread.

"I'm gonna cum again, Clark,” you yelled out.

"It's okay. I'm close too, angel,” he comforted.

He reached down playing with your clit once more, knowing exactly what you need. "Come on my dick, baby,” he encouraged.

You matched his thrust greedily chasing your orgasm. You could feel Clark throbbing inside of you and the slight stammer of his stroke.

"Don't stop please," you pleaded.

He obliged working you with consistency. Your toes curled, legs trembled weakly around his waist, and your pussy twitched relentlessly around his member. You came first. Sounds of pleasure spilling from your throat. You clawed at Clark's back as he hammered into you. He sped up, fucking you through your orgasm.

Clark felt you milking his cock. He watched you with a glazed expression, feeling his own orgasm take over. Clark then had to do one of the hardest things he's ever had to do— pull out of you.

A part of him, had the sick and twisted urge to cum inside you. For him, it was deeper than lust. He wanted to breed you, create life within you, a perfect combination of the two of you, that he could nurture and care for.

As much as he yearned to plant his seed inside you, he knew it wasn't the night for that. Tonight was about reformation and forgiveness—a step towards repairing the damage he'd caused. He wanted to rebuild your faith in him, prove to you he was worthy of such an honor. Ensuring that the both of you were on the same page, so he'd control it.

Mid-stroke he reluctantly slid out of you milliseconds before his climax. He came at the mere sight of you— not needing to stimulate himself any further. Milky white streaks painting your thighs, tummy, and chest.

Though he was no longer inside of you, you could still feel him. The ghost of him etched in your walls. You watched him in awe as ropes of cum shoot from his swollen cock to your body.

You reached down and tenderly stroked his shaft, coaxing him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He was trying his hardest to compose himself but you saw him all too clearly. The way he fell apart from your touch, twitching and whimpering.

"My sweet boy," you cooed. Dazed and out of it, you reach out with your other hand to gently massage his scalp. Clark basked in the attention you were giving him.

"Let me clean you up, baby," Clark announced moving off of you.

You groaned, "Don't go."

Clark's heart broke slightly. He planted a kiss on your brow to stop you from frowning. "I'll be right back."

Before you could even register his absence or the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing he was back, with a damp washcloth.

You sighed in relief.

I forget he could do that.

He parted your thighs, gingerly wiping away the arousal that seeped from you.

Before meticulously cleansing your skin with the cloth, removing the white matter from your thighs, stomach, chest, and breast.

When satisfied with his work, he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with each slow breath. Then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. His burly frame curled protectively around you, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back. His face nestled into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin with every exhale.

“I’m so incredibly lucky to have you,” he murmured, voice thick with sincerity. “I’ve traveled the globe… even to other planets. But nothing—nothing—makes me feel the way you do. I always think about you—always. I wanna be the man that makes you proud… that's worthy of you.”

Your heartbeat swelled at his words. His heartbeat was steady, strong, and impossibly gentle for all the power he held— thudded softly against your back. You felt the way his arms tightened around you, as if to keep you anchored to the moment, to him.

“You already are,” you whispered, turning just enough to brush your lips against his. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just be honest with me from now on, that's all I ask going forward.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, one you could feel against your skin more than see. He let out a breath, the tension in his muscles slowly giving way to calm.

“You have my word,” he said. “I'll never lie to you again.”

Outside, the world continued on—distant sirens, rustling leaves, the low bustle of the city—but in his arms, it all faded. Here, wrapped up in Clark Kent, you were beyond content. The anguish you felt hours ago, felt like nothing more than a distant dream.

you made it to the end! thank you sm for reading, lmk what you thought and if i should post some more :3

[blissbitz]

sorry (demo)

clark kent x reader

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – 18+, MDNI, cheating (not really though), angst, hurt/comfort, breakup/makeup, plenty of fluff, clark is veryyyy apologetic, smut, piv, body worship, oral sex (f!recieving), fingering, porn w/plot, domestic bliss

word count: 11.6k

Summary: Your domestic bliss comes to a halt when you believe your fianceé to be unfaithful. To prove his innocence, he reveals his secret identity to you.

notes – hii, this is my first fic ever. i posted this on ao3 the other day and decided to upload it here too. it is implied that the reader is a black woman but ofc this fic is open to everybody who wants to read. this work is very lwk inspired by beyonce's lemonade (hence the title ikyk). i am still proofreading, which has been giving me hell so i apologize for any spelling errors in advance. anyways this is kinda long so let's get into it.

The past three months had been a dream.

Scratch that—dream didn’t even come close to doing it justice. Your brain had never been generous enough to conjure something this good, even in sleep. Dreams implied something fleeting. Temporary. The kind of bliss you eventually woke up from with a sigh and attempted to go back to sleep to experience again to no avail.

No, this wasn’t a dream. This was real—tangible, sustainable, and yours.

Three months ago, your college sweetheart dropped to one knee and asked you to spend forever with him. It was, without question, the easiest decision you’d ever made in your life.

Fuck yes.

You were convinced your boyfriend—well, fianceé now—was the living, breathing answer to prayers you didn’t even know you were saying. You’d never considered yourself religious. Churches were never really your thing. But life had a way of dragging you to your knees all the same. There had been enough botched romances, faded friendships, and quiet goodbyes to loved ones to leave you gutted—emotionally threadbare. And in that kind of silence, in that kind of ache, you’d found yourself pleading to something—anything—for help.

And then came Clark.

A six-foot-four geek with poor posture, thick glasses that always slid down his nose, black curls, and the kindest soul you’d ever known.

Your relationship began innocently enough—purely platonic. You’d text back and forth, building your own strange little universe of inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. You became each other’s go-to for spontaneous outings: lazy walks through the park, slow afternoons wandering museum halls, casual café lunches that somehow stretched into hours.

It was easy. Just two people who genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

You couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment you both caught feelings. When the laughter lingered a little longer, when a glance started to feel like something more. Looking back, though, you suspect the feelings were always there—quiet and patient. Latent. Simmering beneath the surface, tiny flickers of a spark just waiting for the right moment to catch fire.

What you do remember though was the moment your dynamic with Clark shifted.

It had been a faithful night during undergrad. Your flatmate had informed you she would be spending the night with her girlfriend.

Must be nice.

You took advantage of your roommate’s absence and invited Clark over for a movie night. Nothing unusual—just the two of you, like so many times before. But something about that night felt… different. The air between you buzzed with something unspoken, something warmer, heavier.

You started the film at opposite ends of the couch, the usual space between you filled with pillows and plausible deniability. But over time—slowly, naturally—you drifted closer, pulled together like magnets finding their charge. At some point, you rested your head on his shoulder, and without hesitation, Clark slipped his arm around you, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This is nice, you thought, settling into the quiet rhythm of his breathing. I could get used to this.

You glanced over at Clark, lounging next to you in gray sweatpants and a plain white undershirt, and—God—he looked good. Ridiculously handsome in the most effortless, unbothered kind of way. His brawny stature shrunk everything in his vicinity. Making you keen to the size difference that exist between the two of you.

And then, out of nowhere, the urge hit you.

Twisted and sudden and impossible to ignore. You wanted to hold his hand. You wanted to run your fingers through his curls, crawl into his lap, straddle him, kiss him until you forgot your own name.

The thought startled you. Not because it was unwelcome—but because it felt so real. So possible.

You stole a glance at his face, trying to read something—anything—in the curve of his smile, the casual way his hand rested beside yours.

Would he want that?

Did he see you that way?

Could he?

Or were you just a friend caught up in a dangerous daydream?

Only one way to find out.

“Clark.” He was engrossed in the film, but almost-immediately turned his head to give you his full attention.

He uttered your name in response, the vibrations of his voice resonated in your body made your stomach flutter. “What’s up” he spoke, not a clue in the world that you were plotting on him.

“I have an outlandish out of the box question.”

“Is it another one of those 'either or ' questions, where you ask me if I'd rather be reincarnated as a jaguar or flamingo?” He mused.

You kissed your teeth playfully, faking annoyance. “No it’s not one of those, this time around” you laughed nervously. You hoped he couldn’t sense your nerves but it was Clark and unfortunately he noticed everything.

Before you could get your question out, you felt Clark gently stroking your shoulder with his thumb—soothing you, almost like he was trying to coax it out of you.

You exhaled sharply. You never been bold enough to shoot your shot but you trusted Clark. If you missed, Clark seemed to be the let-her-down-gently type rather than laugh in your face and ghost you type.

If you put anymore thought into how he might respond, you might never say what you had to say.

Fuck it, here goes nothing

“Have you ever thought about us… in a-uh romantic capacity… Don't know like more than friends,” you questioned, voice unsure but somewhat steady.

The corners of his lips quirked up ever so slightly, holding back a grin. He looked at you, searching your face for any traces of sarcasm or insincerity.

Instead he noticed the awkward smile on your lips, and the earnestness that beamed in your eyes. On top of that he could hear the quickening of your pulse.

Everything about you in this moment read honest, so he figured he ought to follow suit.

He cleared his throat. “I think about it more than I should,” he began his confession, voice low and measured.

“We’re close—really close. You get me in ways most people don’t and never judge me for my…quirks. I could talk with you for hours and never get bored. Y'know, and it doesn’t help that you’re insanely beautiful.”

He offered you a sheepish smile, “So yeah… I think about you in that way. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

Your eyes were wide, your pulse was working double time.

You couldn’t help the crooked smile that spread across your face.

Your shot hadn’t missed, it didn’t just merely go in—what happened was the equivalent of a goddamn slam dunk.

You hadn't anticipated this response, not knowing what to do next. His eyes were piercing into your soul, and occasionally glancing down at your lips, like he was trying to hold himself back.

You inched your face closer to his, staring up at him through your lashes. Your voice barely above a whisper as you tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“I wanna kiss you right now.”

Clark took it upon himself to reach out and cup your face with the hand that wasn’t petting your shoulder. He traced your jaw with his pointer and thumb, with soft pressure before ghosting his thumb over you bottom lip.

Your breath hitched. The intimacy of it all was overwhelming.

Wanting to touch him, you slotted your hand in his soft curls, fingers resting on the nape of his neck. He brushed his lips across yours before slowly joining them together.

Desire was gnawing at you insides. A dull, almost uncomfortable ache, caused you to squeeze your thighs together. Your mouths moved slow and rhythmically. Until you decided to increase the pressure, kissing him more fiercely. Clark kissed you back with the same intensity. Your first kiss together, initially, demure and sweet had somehow morphed into a steamy full-blown make out session.

You don’t remember quite how it happened, if it was you who took it the initiative to climb on top of him—if he pulled you onto his lap himself— or if it was joint effort, but you ended up straddling him.

Clark’s big hands were at your waist, grounded you slowly, deliberately creating much-needed friction.

You broke the kiss to come up from air. Perched on his lap you looked down at Clark. His hair mussed, a tinge of pink colored his neck and his cheeks, not to mention the bulge you felt under you— a clear confirmation of his feelings for you.

You were certain you looked just as rocked.

You exhaled deeply, letting the moment settle. “I guess fuck the movie then,” you blurted out.

Clark let out a deep, delighted chuckle that vibrated through his chest, and the sound of it made a dopey grin spread across your face.

The rest of the night unraveled like a slow-burning dream. You talked for hours—really talked. Fingers laced, heads tilted toward one another, the occasional stolen kiss between confessions. You shared things you’d never said out loud: what you admired about each other, messy stories of past flings, fears, hopes, and what you both wanted in a relationship.

That night planted a seed. A measly kernel that would blossom into a bountiful harvest that would be your relationship.

Fast-forward to present day. You reside in a nifty one-bedroom, in the heart of metropolis, equipped with tall windows and creaky floorboards that you shared with Clark.

There were still a couple of unopened boxes and picture frames that were waiting to be hung up. However, even though unfinished, the apartment already felt like home. It hasn’t even been long since you two moved in together, but it everything felt so natural.

Those days in college playing house prepared you two for the domesticity that married life— well almost-married life brought you.

Without fail every morning, Clark woke up before you, despite you nagging him that he should get more sleep. He’d make his way to the kitchen and prepare for you what he deemed to be a nutritious breakfast.

Afterwards he’d not-so-secretly observed you eating, knowing you had a habit of skipping breakfast. You drowsily sat at the dining room table with your laptop that was still half open from the night before, sipping on the chai latte that Clark prepared for you, just how you liked it.

You’d helped each other get dressed for the day in the same quiet harmony. You ironed his slacks and dress shirts, skillfully pressing out creases. You packed him his lunch for work everyday, slipping in hand-written notes into his lunch box.

In exchange, he’d assisted you with your hair in the mornings, standing behind you unraveling your hair with gentle fingers.

Some days it was helping you perfect a bun. Other days it helping you take down your plaits for a braid out.

Clark took his time. Never did he rush. Complained, or messed up. You’d poked fun about his skill being suspiciously good, but he’d only grin and shrug, claiming he’d learned it “from observation…. and a few YouTube videos .”

What a man.

As much as you adored mornings with Clark— sharing slices of toast and sleepy kisses—the afternoons were your favorite.

Most days you worked remotely, completing tasks from the comfort of your living room with the sky view of the city in line of sight from the window.

On days when you had to commute to the office, even with the tortuous traffic, you still managed to make it home before Clark. Although you tried not to, oftentimes you found yourself waiting for him to come home, hovering around the living room listening for the turning of the doorknob.

When Clark did return home, he’d walk in as if he spent the day at war rather than in a newsroom. He’d drop his satchel, kick off his shoes and envelop you in a long embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Whispering the sweetest things in your ear—proclaiming about how much he missed you and how good it felt coming back home to you.

Evenings with Clark settled into a rhythm that felt like home. They were filled with miscellaneous chores made lighter by each other’s presence. You’d cook dinner while he washed the dishes, the two of you moving around the kitchen in a practiced, easy dance. You’d load the washer and dryer, and he’d take care of folding and putting everything away, always meticulous.

There were board games and crossword puzzles scattered across the coffee table, half-finished and waiting for your return. You’d curl up together on the couch, bingeing whatever show had become your latest shared obsession, limbs tangled and laughter frequent.

It wasn’t flashy or dramatic—but it was soft, consistent, genuine. The kind of quiet joy you’d once begged the universe for, back when you didn’t believe it could exist.

You loved Clark with your whole being, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

However, the past few weeks haven’t been the same. Something was off— your intuition was hammering at you.

Your ‘bountiful harvest,’ had a few weeds.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Clark.

No—wait that’s exactly what it was.

For starters, Clark always wanted to know the details about your day. Which of course isn’t a crime nor is it a red flag—but rather the a mark of a doting lover. Clark would listen intently, nodding, asking questions, or sometimes just humming a response.

The problem lies in, whenever you asked him the same question, he would smile softly and always reply, "it was average," before kissing your forehead and masterfully changing the subject. You stopped asking after a while—not because you didn’t care, you did, but you grew tired of getting the same exact answer.

Initially the “it was average” responses didn't faze you. Clark was reserved by nature; this was nothing new to you. Since you first met him, he'd always kept things close to his chest, careful, and methodical with his words.

But as of late, the vague responses became more frequent, as did the flimsy excuses. The missed calls, getting left on read for hours, and half-baked excuses for why he had to suddenly take an afternoon stroll or go in the middle of dinner.

One evening, Clark walked through the door looking disheveled—his tie missing, the top button of his dress shirt undone, another one completely gone.

You raised an eyebrow. “Rough day?”

He gave you a sheepish grin, already kicking off his shoes. “Took the tie off on the way home. Felt like it was strangling me.”

“And the button?”

He glanced down at his shirt and let out a low chuckle. “Popped off at work. Didn’t even notice until someone pointed it out. Guess I'll need a new dress shirt.”

Okay no big deal, it’s a logical explanation— odd but totally plausible.

You let him off the hook.

Another night, he came home later than usual, with his clothes emitting a smell of smoke. You inquired if there had been a fire nearby—he shrugged, claiming he hadn’t noticed.

Clark— the man with the sense of smell akin to a dog, who’ve you seen sniff out a hot-dog stand fifty meters away.

Who apparently couldn't seem to notice the loud ass odor permeating from his clothing. You just tilt your head and stared at the man in front you.

He always had an answer, or an excuse rather.

At first, you told yourself you were being paranoid—that you were letting your old lovers from your past, the ones who’d lied to your face without flinching, haunt the narrative.

Clark is different, you reminded yourself. He was devoted, gentle, attentive. The kind of man who held your hand in the grocery store and remembered how you liked your tea. He wouldn't betray you. He couldn’t.

But then again… you hadn’t expected betrayal from the others either. And look how that turned out.

Still, you wanted to believe. You didn’t want to sabotage a good thing. So, you clung to hope, convincing yourself you were simply bruised from the past.

Even so… you began paying closer attention.

His suits started looking more disheveled when he came home, like they’d been thrown on in a hurry. Wrinkled in places they shouldn't be. His tie crumbled up in his pocket.

And then there was that night.

You woke in a cold sweat, the sheets beside you cold and undisturbed. The room was eerily silent. You groggily called out for Clark once.

Nothing.

You tried again, voice heavier this time.

Still, silence.

Sleep pulled you back under before you could process it. When you woke again, Clark was beside you, limbs tangled with yours as if he’d never left. He was gently rocking you awake, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Later that morning, you brought it up—your half-formed memory or dream, whatever it was—hoping for some clarity.

Clark blinked, then smiled as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That’s odd I was next to you the entire night,” he said with a laugh, like it was nothing.

“You sure you didn’t leave? Not even for a second? Bathroom? A snack?”

He shook his head. “No. You said you called out for me, right?”

You nodded, eyes searching his.

“I would've answered, darling. At the very least, you know that. Must’ve been a dream, like you said.” His fingers brushed your cheek in that familiar, loving way.

But something inside you didn’t settle.

Not with the way he said it. Not with the way your body remembered the cold side of the bed.

And definitely not with the way he looked into your eyes and lied so gently, so perfectly, you almost believed him.

Almost.

And still, when he walked through the door at the end of the day, flashing you that disarming dimpled smile of his and pulling you into a hug, your doubts would be suppressed by the warmth of his embrace— at least momentarily.

You didn’t have any real proof—just minor moments, offbeat inconsistencies that could be, and often were, explained right away. A missing button. A late night. A tie stuffed in a pocket. innocent enough on their own.

But then there was your gut, there was a quiet and unwavering feeling biting at your insides.

You tried to move forward. Tried to pretend like you weren’t quietly losing trust in your fianceé—the man you once considered your lifeline.

You couldn’t help it though, your evenings grew quieter. The notes you tuck into his lunchbox got shorter, so did the kisses you shared, becoming more obligatory than affectionate. The warmth in your touches faded. You no longer wanted to make love—not because you didn’t love him, but because something in you recoiled at the intimacy.

You found yourself mourning something that hadn’t even ended yet.

Then there was today. Clark was late, like really fucking late.

One or two hours late was forgivable but this time he’d been six hours late.

The clock read 11:25 p.m., and he was nowhere to be found. His location had been turned off, and your calls went ignored. You paced around the living room trying to conjure up a logical excuse for his behavior.

Maybe Perry kept him late in hopes of meeting some insane deadline.

Maybe he's involved in some sort of accident on the way home.

Maybe…

Maybe he’s with someone else.

You stopped pacing and curled up on the couch, bringing your knees up to your chest. The thought alone made you feel like your heart was hemorrhaging.

It was the only excuse that made sense. The deflections, the absence, the secretiveness—didn’t feel so random anymore.

The key finally turned in the lock around midnight. A wave of dread hit you like a ton of bricks; you couldn’t even bear to look at him, how in the world were you going to get through the night?

The rational part of your brain was telling you to fake it, wait til he left for work in the morning to pack your bags, leave a note, and then leave. You wanted to leave this relationship with at least some of your dignity intact.

You listened to the soft creak of the floorboards and him shutting the door behind him. The shuffle of his shoes being kicked off, and the long exhale he let out when he was finally home.

“Hey, sorry I'm a bit later than usual," he greeted softly. His voice was hoarse. He took a seat next to you on the couch. He wrapped his arms around you in a hug, and planted a kiss on your forehead. You stiffened, not able to bring yourself to hug him back.

So much for faking it.

You slowly turned your head to meet his gaze.“I tried calling,” you said. “Didn’t hear back from you.”

His hair was tousled, his collar unbuttoned, clothes wrinkled, and of course, the tie he left the house wasn’t around his neck— which had become a staple of his.

Clark winced slightly. “Forgive me, it’s been a long day.”

You hummed, your eyes narrowed as felt yourself growing irritated.

“So long that you couldn't even find the time to send me a text letting me know you wouldn’t be back till midnight?” You let out a humorless chuckle.

Clark wore an apologetic look on his face. “I know, there’s no excuse. Work was more taxing than usual but I'll do better, I promise.”

You had many more questions you wanted to ask but you refrained, mind already made up. By this time tomorrow you’d be long gone.

Instead you got up from the couch, creating some distance between the two of you.

“It’s late. I should get some sleep,” you spoke forlorn.

The thought of lying down next to him made your skin crawl. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” you added.

The faster you went to sleep, the faster morning would come and the sooner you could go.

Clark leaned forward in his seat and responded immediately. “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. If anything I'll take the couch.”

“That’s fine,” you uttered turning away to go to bedroom.

Clark’s words stopped you in your tracks. “I understand you’re upset with me right now, rightfully so,” he began. “These past few weeks I could sense you’ve been distant….a bit closed off.”

He stood up and took a step toward you, like he wanted to close the space that had grown between you.

“And I know I'm probably the reason for that. But, honey, don’t go to bed angry with me again. Not tonight. Let’s talk. I’ve missed you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. Your impassiveness had been thrown out the window.

He wanted to hash things out, you’d happily obliged him.

“Where were you?” You questioned, arms folder across your chest.

He hesitated, briefly. It was quick, but you peeped it—the slight pause before he recited from his word bank of excuses.

“Work,” he reinstated. “There was a breaking story. I didn’t think to check my phone.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “So you didn’t think about me? Not once? It didn’t cross your mind that I’ve might’ve been waiting up for you. Wondering where the fuck you were?”

Your voiced was sharpened and trembling.

“Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven o’ clock, Clark not one call. No text. Radio silence.

He stood there with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You sure are putting in a lot of overtime lately” you continued. “This is what? The sixth time this month you missed dinner? The late nights, the vague excuses, the sneaking out late at night when I'm asleep. ”

Clark’s breath got stuck in his throat.

You laughed bitterly. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Did you think I was too stupid to connect the dots? Or were you just so arrogant you thought you could get away with it?”

Tears streamed down your face before you could stop them.

Concern was etched in his facial features. Seeing you in so much pain was agonizing and knowing he was the root of it, hurt worse than any blow.

He reached out to console you taking a step forward towards you reaching out.

You took a step back. Clark looked crestfallen—like a kicked puppy.

He wasn’t sure how to approach this. It was evident that you suspected him. Of what—though you had different ideas.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them. “I… I don't know what to say. I would never hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. “You know that, right?”

Drained, you brushed a tear off your cheek.

“Hurt isn’t always a fist, Clark. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s being lied to. Sometimes it’s lying awake at night wondering who you really are when you think I'm not looking.”

Guilt and panic warring across his face.

How the fuck does she know?, he thought.

“If there’s someone else, just come out and say it,” you demanded. “I can’t keep pretending like I don't know.”

The room fell silent. Clark looked stunned, as if you physically struck him.

“God, no. That’s not—I’d never do that to you. There’s no one else.” His gaze was piercing, searching your face for any sign that you might believe him. You looked away, afraid that if your eyes met his blue ones you'd cave in.

“There never has been and never will be anyone else,” he proclaimed.

“It’s you, always. I'm all about you. You’re the only one I want to spend my life with.” Clark spoke with conviction and sincerity but you weren’t convinced.

“Then what are you hiding?” you whispered.

“Your lying, I'm not sure what about. At first I thought I was paranoid, but I can feel it.”

You met his gaze. His jaw tensed and something flickered behind his eyes.

Fear.

“I want to,” he spoke eventually, voice low. “I truly do, but it’s not that simple.”

A silence fell between the both of you.

You blinked. “Okay. Fine. I'll make things easier for you,” you snapped.

Swiftly you made your way to the bedroom you shared and pulled out a duffel bag from the closet.

He observed you from the door frame of the bedroom with a pained expression on his face.

“W-what are doing?” He stammered, arms crossed.

You stopped briefly to glare at him.“I’m leaving. That way you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“You refuse to tell me the truth anyway,” you muttered not sparing him a glance.

Calmly you worked your engagement ring off your ring finger and placed it on the dresser. The sound of the ring clinking softly against the wood made Clark’s heart drop.

You then began to open up the dresser’s compartments, mindlessly throwing clothes into the bag. Detached and mechanical.

Clark approached you carefully, “Sweetheart, you can’t leave.” His voice cracked towards the end.

“Okay, I promise you this is all a misunderstanding… it’s just complicated,” he pleaded.

You scoffed. “What could possibly be so complicated you didn’t want to tell me— your fiancee?”

He didn’t answer.

You stared at him for a long moment, heart breaking quietly in your chest. You resumed packing, heading to the restroom to get some toiletries. He stood still watching you walk past him.

“Where are you gonna go?” He asked softly pushing his glasses up the bride of his nose,

“My sister’s” you replied, voice flat.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of nose, “Darling, it’s one in morning and that’s an hour drive. It’s not safe, and I know you hate driving at night.”

He was right.

However you refused to give him the satisfaction.

You didn’t say a word.

Once your duffel bag was full. You walked into the kitchen to fetch your keys only to find an empty key rack. You blinked, staring at where the keys should’ve been.

You sighed turning to face Clark. “Where are my keys Clark?,” you asked, jaw tight.

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “But I'm not letting you drive tonight. I'll give them back in the morning.”

His voice was gentle, but the firmness underneath it made you clench your fist.

You scoffed, utterly disgusted, you let as your duffel bag hit the floor with a thud. You massaged your temples trying your hardest to self-soothe. You were exhausted physically and emotionally.

At this point you were considering taking the damn bus to your sister’s.

Or walking.

Anything to not be underneath the same roof as this man.

“Is it not enough to have a full-blown affair on me despite me opening up to you about my past relationships— the betrayal I had experienced,” you spoke lowly.

“But you continue to gaslight me and you refuse to give me my space after the fact… I never in a million years thought you could be this cruel,” your bottom lip quivered.

“Don’t say that. Please," he begged.

"I would never betray you, there isn’t anyone in this entire universe I feel as strongly for as you. Baby, you’re everything to me. You have to know that— you're everything. You’re the reason why I do what do.” Clark articulated with pleading eyes.

“And what is it exactly that you ‘do’?”

He froze again. The silence was suffocating. The answer was sitting on the tip of his tongue, you could see it in the tension in his shoulders and jaw.

He couldn't take it. He knew if he didn’t confess you’d walk out on him, there was no doubt in his mind. If not tonight, than tomorrow, or some other time in the near future.

There was still a chance that knowing the truth might not prevent you from leaving. That thought shook him to his core.

However, the more he thought about it, it wasn’t about him. Whatever consequences he might suffer were irrelevant.

It was about you— and you deserved the truth. You didn’t deserve to have your wounds reopened— to, again, be put through the pain of having a disloyal partner. To believe that the bond you shared wasn't real.

Clark, while deceptive in his own right, wasn’t cruel.

“If you take a seat I will explain everything to you. If you still want to leave in the morning, I won’t stand in your way,” he lamented.

Defeated, you sat in love seat opposite of him.

Clark looked absolutely terrified, which only frayed your nerves more.

What the fuck was he about to say to you?

He rolled up his sleeves and leaned forward before discarding his glasses on the coffee table.

You never seen him without his glasses, he only ever took them off in bed when the lights were off. It was the most minor action ever, and yet—it brought about a change in his whole presence. He seemed sharper, more certain. He looked different but somewhat familiar.

“I have never been unfaithful to you, the thought has never crossed my mind— not once,” he began, voice low and steady. “In the instances, where I left in the middle of dinner, or I was late, or came home… looking like hell— wasn’t because I was with someone else. It was because someone needed help.”

You frowned, “What kind of help?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line before standing up.

Before you could even ask what he was doing, there was a rapid blur— a powerful rush of wind.

Clark no longer standing in front of you anymore, but was he was… across the room, leaning against the wall like he had always been there.

You gasped loudly and your stomach dropped.

Then again, there he was sitting next to you on the love seat. No footsteps nor sound, almost as if he transported.

You stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief, “There’s no way.”

In another flash, Clark was gone—not gone but floating. Casually levitating in the middle of your living room. The sight made the hairs on your body stand up.

The truth hit you like a blast of cold air on a scorching hot summer day. The man who soared the skies dawning primary colors and a cape. Whose name had been the topic of almost every other news segment, article, or social media post. The almost mythical figure who fights crooks, battles intergalactic threats, and saves the world from ruin day in and day out, was your fianceé—your Clark.

“Your Superman, ” you exclaimed softly.

He landed lightly, stepping towards you, his eyes searching yours with an ache you haven’t seen before.

I could fucking faint right now.

“I wanted to tell you from the start but I refrained from telling you for a multitude of reasons”

“Which are…?”

“Fear mostly. I thought that by telling you, I'd be putting your safety in jeopardy. And if something were to happen to you because of me—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself” his voice broke.

He continued. “There’s also a pathetic part of me that thought if I was truthful, maybe you would decide that you wouldn't want to be with me. That you might want to settle down with some normal—less alien and more human.”

You felt dizzy, this was a lot to process.

You started to put the pieces together, “So earlier when I was confronting you about your ‘secret’, you thought I was referring to—”

“I thought you figured me out, which is why I asked if you thought I might hurt you. I was under the impression you were scared of me," he admitted.

Your facial expression softened. “Clark I'm less scared of you now than I was thirty minutes ago.”

“It doesn’t matter what abilities you have and I don’t care that your not human. I’ve known you for years, I know your heart. You’re a good person and knowing how you choose to wield your powers is even more of a testament to character," you articulated.

You took a deep breath, your fingers finding your temples. "I can’t fathom what it’s like to have to carry that sort of responsibility," you whispered.

There was no doubt in your mind—Clark was being honest. and yet, you still felt a pang in your chest.

“But you been lying to me for quite some time now and it hurts knowing that,” you sighed recalling the last four years of knowing Clark.

Tears stung your eyes, Clark kneeled in front of you, and ever so gently he wiped them away.

“I just wish you were honest. I understand that you wanted to protect me, that’s valid but… I feel so strongly about you, Clark. I don’t think, not for second, knowing your secret would’ve ever drove me away from you. I'd like to think it would’ve brought us closer.”

You buried your head in your hands. “I would’ve never have guessed that this was the actual explanation for what’s been going on. These last few weeks I’ve been losing my damn mind conjuring up the worse case scenarios.”

He carefully took your hand in his, “I’m not above admitting that I was undoubtedly wrong.”

“I was deceptive and I convinced myself I lied solely to protect you but the truth is my own self-interest played a big part into that decision. I thought that my lies would keep you close but they had the opposite affect of what I had hoped and I ended up hurting you in the process. My biggest regret is not telling you sooner and for that I sincerely apologize with the entirety of my being.”

Quiet tears streamed down your face—you couldn’t help it. You were feeling so many emotions all at once, some of which contradicted one another.

You didn’t have it in you to stay mad at Clark— you felt a lot things in this moment but anger, no.

He was put in a impossible situation. Did he make the best choice not telling you— no, but you could sympathize with his thought process.

You would like to think if the roles were reversed you would’ve told him a long time ago… but then again you weren’t entirely sure.

“I can’t honestly say that I'm completely fine with what you did. It’s going to take some time to get over it—but I love you, very much, and I think what we have is worth saving.”

“We can mend this but only under the condition you never lie to me again,” you looked at him with a pleading look.

Clark let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. Relief wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how he was feeling right now.

“Darling, that’s the least I can do. I’m gonna do everything in my power to make it right, I swear. I’ll spend everyday making it up to you.”

You looked at Clark, really looked at him, like it was your first time clearly seeing him. You reached out and stroked his face. This was the more like the Clark you fell in love with— sincere, honest, and devoted.

Clark was gone and back in a blink of an eye, still kneeling down in front of you. In his hand was your engagement ring you’d tossed on the dresser earlier. He looked at you silently, searching your face for your approval or disapproval, before he slipped the ring back on your finger.

You nodded gently to signal to him it was alright. He gingerly put the engagement ring on your finger, before taking a seat next to you and enveloping you into a hug.

“My sweet girl, your so good to me,” he murmured in the crook of your neck. Clark’s hand rubbed on the expanse of your back, the soothing sensation making you lean closer into him. His other hand was wrapped around your waist holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

You missed him, horribly.

You held on to him, arms wrapped around his neck. His baby blue eyes peered into yours. His face moved close to yours, hovering, waiting for a green light from you.

You smoothly slid onto his lap, giving him all the encouragement needed to put his lips on yours. You moaned into the kiss, forgetting what it was like to kiss him.

It’s been a minute.

He took control, setting the slow and intense tempo, which you matched with the same amount of fervor. Your tongues taking turns exploring each others mouth, and occasionally colliding. You pulled back slightly, softly tugging his bottom lip in between your teeth, before pulling back completely.

You were panting but Clark wasn’t done yet in the slightest—neither were you. He nuzzled his face in your neck pressing soft kisses on your pulse. A familiar heat began to spread from the pit of your stomach to in between your legs.

The sensation of his lips on the sensitive flesh of your neck riled you up like no other. And Clark knew this— by now he was an expert on your body, knowing exactly what buttons to push. It was only made worse when he moved the opening of your nightgown to the side so he could get better access, littering your collar bone with sweet kisses. In between kisses he’d whisper your praises, voice real low and deep.

Kiss.

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

Kiss.

“So fortunate that I have the privilege of seeing you like this.”

Kiss.

“God. I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

Kiss.

Quiet moans started slipping out of you, even though you tried to contain them. It’s been so long—too damn long since you and Clark had been intimate with each other.

Growing desperate for relief you steadily rode his thigh, the one where his thick cock laid against. You could feel Clark growing rock hard in his slacks. You weren’t any better, certain he could feel the dull throbbing your clit. He groaned into your neck trying to compose himself.

When he lifted his face out of the crook of your neck he was almost panting.

“I love seeing you like this.” He moved his hand that was placed on your waist, under your gown down your thigh. Gently he roamed the span of your thigh, alternating between feather light-touches and kneading the soft flesh. “You have no idea how sexy you look right now,” he continued.

You carded your hands through his hair and kissed him with the same intensity as before. Clark’s hands made their way to your panties, giving the sides of your hips a squeeze, causing you to whimper into the kiss. As a rebuttal you unwrapped your arms from his neck, using one of your free hand to stroke his hard-on through pants. He stopped kissing you and his head fell back slightly, lips parted.

You bite your bottom lip watching his reaction. “Clark, baby. I need you,” you whined, delivering to gentle pecks to his jawline.

“M’ right here. Not going anywhere, angel.” He reassured, both hands gripping your butt under your gown.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s been a minute since we’ve um— made love,” you spoke, whispering towards the end.

He smiled at you, almost teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“Not terribly nervous, but just a little bit,” you smiled running you hands down his clothed chest.

He kissed your forehead. “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous. We can stop at any point. I only ask you for one thing, and that is to communicate with me.” Clark asserted.

“I know I haven’t been the best in the trustworthiness department as of late… but there is nothing I want more right now than to make you feel good. In order for me to do that, I need you to have a little faith in me and trust that whatever you say or ask for I will deliver.”

He placed his hand on your chin, holding your gaze. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, transfixed on his assertiveness.

“Use your words please,” Clark instructed.

“I can do that for you, Clark. I promise.”

Clark melted at the way you said his name. That whole sentence was like a line ripped straight from his fantasies, but only better because it was real.

“Let’s move to the bedroom,” he uttered gripping your waist and wrapping your legs around his lower torso.

“Hold on to me,” was the last thing he said before he rocketed into your shared bedroom.

The fast movement had your heartbeat up again. Clark didn’t want to put you down—just yet. He instead, put your back against the wall while your limbs were still entangled in his.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck once more, while your face hovered over his. You teasingly brushed your tongue across his bottom lip. Before your tongue could retreat back into your mouth, Clark had shamelessly took the bait and latched his lips onto yours. You nightgown was hiked up to your hips, Clark took that as a sign to stroke your bare legs all the way to that back of your thighs. Everywhere Clark touched, left your skin ablaze.

“Clark, baby, take your shirt off,” you pleaded breathlessly.

Just like that he unbuttoned his shirt with a supernatural quickness. He allowed you the honors of sliding off his white button-up, revealing his burly physique. His abs, deep planes of muscle, flexed as you ran your hand over them. Your eyes peered over to his broad shoulders, then to his biceps.

The signs were there�� you never saw him work out but someone how he was the picture of fitness. It all adds up now.

You ran your hands over his buff arms, while you brought your lips to his neck. Gently suckling on his skin. You brought your lips a little higher nibbling on the patch of skin behind his ear.

He groaned lightly, his hips surged up against yours seeking friction. You could feel him, seemingly harder and larger than before. You rocked your hips against his, chasing pleasure. He slotted his thigh into between your thigh, throwing you a bone.

“Use me, make yourself feel good, baby”, he groaned out. You didn’t waste anytime, rocking your hips back and forth. He tensed making the muscles in his thigh more prominent, which only intensified the sensation.

Clark’s eyes made their way to your chest. He didn’t need to use his x-ray vision to know you weren’t wearing a bra, you hardly ever did in the comfort of you home.

The way you gyrated on his thigh only made it more obvious, your movements caused the soft bounce of your tits. Through your silk nightdress, your nipples stood at attention, like two stiff peaks. You caught him staring, practically drooling.

You grabbed his hand and guided it underneath the smooth fabric until he reached the soft mound of flesh. He circled his thumb around your nipple, making you throw your head back, causing you to bump the back of your head on the wall.

The thud your head made with the wall made Clark uneasy, even though you laughed it off. “You okay, sweetheart?” He asked. Taking a step back from the wall and cradling the back your head with one of his hands.

“I think I'll live,” you teased.

He turned around with you still wrapped around him and placed you upright gently on the edge of the bed.

You stared at him in anticipation as he undid the belt around his waist. He unzipped his pants and slipped off his slacks, making your lips part. There he stood in nothing but his boxers which did very little conceal manhood.

“I’m going come up behind you,” he husked.

He was a man of his word. He climbed onto the bed snaking behind you, his presence was felt. He sat behind you, making it so you were in between his legs. He pulled you closer towards him so that your back was against his broad chest.

Both his hands found their way underneath you gown. He explored your body with the faintest touch of his fingertips. Skimming softly over your bare shoulders, back, and waist. Once he got to the slight pudge of your stomach he splayed his hand over it, causing your tummy to tense from the sensation. His other hand reunited with your breasts, alternating between them both. Each touch caused you to whine and writhe.

But it wasn’t enough, you were growing desperate for more.

You slowly threw your head back into his shoulder melting into his touch. He kissed your cheek then your shoulder.

“You enjoying yourself, angel?” Fingers toying with your nipples.

“Yes, Clark,” you moaned.

His hands suddenly move their way to you knees, pulling them apart, and hiking your dress up in the process revealing you panties. His hand caressed your inner thighs, while his eyes studied you. Observant. Watching your reactions. He gently glided his knuckles across your clothed folds. You yelped out in surprise.

He was amused by your response. You could sense the smile on his face. He palmed at your core, cupping your heat— feeling it throb in his hand.

“Just say the words, and I'll make you cum at least three different ways,” he rasped in your ear.

“Jesus, Clark. Fuck. Please," you moaned out, flustered.

“Please, what? What is it you want me to do, darling?” He asked, clearly teasing. The grip he had on your mound slightly tightening.

“Make me cum, three different ways,” you whispered in his ear, too proud to say it out loud.

Clark let out a satisfied sound. His hands reached the sides on your underwear, slowly shimming them down your hips. You lifted your hips up, sliding them the rest of the way down, throwing them somewhere across the room.

Clark fingers ran up and down the seam of your cunt. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. He gathered your arousal on his finger tips before using it to lubricate your clit.

He concentrated his attention on that spot. Using one hand to push back the hood while the other relentlessly circled around the sensitive nub. He could feel and see your body tense, your thighs and abdomen both flexing.

You were close. He knew you needed a little encouragement, after all these years he knew just what to say to get you there.

“You're so precious,” he breathed softly into the space between your head and shoulder.

“I just barely touched you and your already close to cumming. You were wet well before I ever even laid a finger on it,” he continued whispering lowly in your ear.

You moaned loudly, his words just added to the bliss.

“That’s all it takes, huh. Some dry humping, groping, and neck kisses.” He uttered nibbling at your neck.

You nodded shamelessly, stuck throes of pleasure.

“I’m gonna keep rubbing slow steady until you cum. I can do this all night— you know I could.”

Fuckkk, he could. You knew from experience he wasn't joking.

You let the most pathetic sound— a cross between a whine and a moan.

“I’m cumming, Clark” you alerted, your limbs shuddering.

He wrapped an arm across your chest to steady you, while remaining steadfast in his movements.

He didn’t stop until well after you were done, overstimulating your sensitive clit.

He turned your head towards him, kissing you passionately on the mouth.

“That’s my girl.” He proclaimed gently, tracing the outside of your thighs, helping you come down from your orgasm.

You fell limp into his strong hold but Clark was just getting started.

“I wanna taste you now, is that okay?” Clark inquired, checking in with you.

You nodded, the thought of his lips on your core induced a familiar pulsation between your legs.

With your approval, Clark moved off the bed and moved you closer to the edge, so that your legs were practically hanging off.

“As good as you look in it, I want you to take that nightgown off. I need to see you,” he spoke, something carnal in his tone.

You glided the over-sized piece of fabric over your head revealing your bare form. Clark’s lips parted taking you in. He guided your back to the mattress, positioning pillows underneath you for your comfort.

His lips were all over your body— the sides of your neck, the blades of your shoulders, your tits, waist, stomach, and all over the expanse of your thighs. He was thorough making sure to acknowledge every inch of you.

“You’re such a goddess.” He whispered in the crook of your neck before connecting his lips to yours.

When his lips left yours, he interlocked your hand with his before sinking down to his knees, in-between your legs.

“You know the drill.” He insisted stroking your thighs signaling you to part them.

You did, in fact, know the drill. You opened you legs for Clark, watching him descend his head in between your thighs in suspense.

“Hold on to me if you need to, angel.” He gently squeezed your hand.

His breath made contact with your mound before his lips did. He pressed soft kisses to your outer lips, before dragging his tongue in a firm straight line from your folds up to your nub. He reiterated that motion, several times, each time increasing the pressure.

He took it up a notch, flattening his tongue against you, swathing your pussy, delivering slow licks. You squeezed Clark’s hand, needing an outlet other then moaning.

Being the multi-tasker he was, he reached his free hand up to your chest, fondling you.

Your breath was heaving, the way he worked his tongue made your brain melt.

Clark wrapped his mouth around the entirety of your heat. Suctioning and nibbling greedily at your clit to no avail. It was too much. He didn’t stop or come up from air, he just kept going sometimes peering up at you, with his mouth full, to gauge your reactions.

He didn’t even need to look at to tell you were turned on. He could tell by the arousal seeping out of you, the way you clinched around his tongue, and the throbbing of your core. But watching you— your face all scrunched up, your breath rising and falling— that was just the cherry on top.

He took his hand off your breasts, to stroke himself through his boxers. Still working you with his mouth, Clark looked up at you to see you watching him back with heavy-lidded eyes.

He just knew you were close. He hoped you would cum soon or else he’d end up creaming briefs.

Like clockwork— your body arched suddenly, your hips began writhing against Clark while your legs simultaneously attempted to close. Keyword— attempted. Clark wasn’t having it, he pried open your thighs using one hand, while the other hand was clutched in yours. You released a guttural sound, one that spawned deep from your diaphragm.

Just like before he didn’t stop until well after you were done convulsing, ensuring you’d came. He happily lapped up your fluids, kissing your thighs once he finished.

He rose up to his feet, observing you. You looked wrecked— your face was tear stained, your deep skin tone was tinged with a hue of red from being flushed, and you remained limp gazing up at the ceiling.

He laid down beside you, and wrapped you in bear hug. “You okay, honey?” Clark inquired, a hint of worry in his voice.

“M’ okay. More than okay actually. That felt so fucking good, Clark.” You slurred running your hand up and down his back.

“I promised you at the very least three orgasms. You think you got one more in you?” Clark smirked buzzing at the praise you gave him.

“Yes, but I have a request,” you smiled.

“And what is that, angel?”.

“I need you inside me,” you asserted.

Clark groaned. To think his bulge was just sort of starting to go down, but your request had him rock hard in the matter of seconds.

He hadn't planned on doing that. He was fully prepared to let tonight be about you. In fact, he was more than okay with going to sleep with blue balls, he thought it would be well deserved after what he’d put you through the last few weeks.

He couldn’t deny you though, at least not on your behalf, not when asked so boldly, not when he already promised you he’d do whatever you asked of him.

So he asked you one more time, “Are you sure that’s what you really want? We don’t have to… especially not from my sake.”

You sat up on the bed and and so did Clark following your lead. “I am sure. And I can tell right now, it’s definitely not for your sake,” you chuckle slightly.

“I want you to make love to me because I enjoy it and I missed it… I miss us. I don’t wanna punish you or keep you at arms length any more. I’ve been doing that for the past month. It’s been exhausting. I missed you, Clark.” You poured your heart out, feeling vulnerable than ever.

Upon hearing that brought you close to his chest, needing to close the space between you both. The skin to skin contact made everything more intimate. He kissed you on your temples and stroked the nape of your neck with his thumb, softly grazing the few coils peeking out your bonnet.

“I love you so much,” he uttered. Looking down at you, before giving you fervent kiss on the lips. His hand made its way to your heat, still swollen and sensitive from before. He glided his middle and pointer finger across your folds. Making you part lips into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue in, while his fingers stimulate you.

He broke the kiss, “I need to warm you up first, before you take me.” His two fingers began circling your clit, a familiar feeling building in you gut. “Gonna start with with one finger. Then we’ll work our way up,” he instructed.

You nodded, “I understand.” You looked down staring at Clark’s fingers. They were nearly double the size of yours in length and width.

He slowly sunk his pointer finger into you, until he was knuckle deep. You could feel him curling his finger inside you, causing you to clinch around him.

“Baby, your so wet for me, I think you need another finger. What do you think?”

“Yes, but go slow, ” you requested.

He obliged, slowly moving his pointer and middle finger into your cunt. Your breath hitched, and his fingers were barely inside. “It’s okay sweetheart, you're doing so good,” he reassured delivering a kiss to your cheek. "You’re gripping me real tight, see if you can relax for me.”

Clark circled your clit with his thumb, in hopes of relaxing you more. It seemingly worked because soon after you were able to take his two fingers knuckle deep inside you. Your sweet moans filled the air once Clark began to move his digits in and out you slowly, curling his fingers upwards against your spongy walls.

Every time he curls his fingers inside, you swear you could see stars. He watched you closely, reveling in how your discomfort morphed into pleasure.

“Gonna add another,” he warned, earning a brief nod from you.

The third finger just barely made it in. He could see you wincing slightly from the insertion. He held his fingers still not moving an inch, wanting you to get use to the stretch. “That's it baby. It’s been awhile but you’re taking my fingers like champ,” he praised kissing you on your forehead.

After a minute or so, he slowly moved his fingers deeper inside you, earning a mewl out of you. “How does that feel, love?”

“Your fingers are huge,” you groaned.

"If it's too much, let me know," he pleaded.

"Don't stop, Clark. It's fine." You softly gripped his arm, a subtle action meant to persuade him to keep going.

He got the memo. You felt his arm flex as he curled all three fingers inside of you. He moved his fingers in and out you, making you squirm.

"I think I'm ready" you expressed, gazing upwards at Clark. You palmed him through his boxers and you swore you could feel his dick jump.

Clark took his fingers out of you and used them to massage your clit. Then licked them clean with a slight grin on his face. After a few moments he slid off his boxers. His large cock stood at attention, the tip almost reaching his navel.

As far as you were concerned, you would never get use to it. The same wave of shock ran through you every time you saw it.

Clark climbed on top of you, with bated breath. He cupped your face, hovering above you, with a longing stare. You reached down and slowly grabbed his manhood, stroking it from base to tip languidly in your hand. Clark exhaled sharply at your touch.

You repeatedly circled your thumb around his tip, making him cry out your name.

"You feel how hard you got me?" Clark groaned before attacking your neck with sensual pecks.

You moaned— growing insatiable.

You aligned the thick head of his cock with your entrance. You firmly rubbed his tip along your folds, periodically brushing it against your clit. The friction caused the both of you to spasm.

Clark tried his best to hold still and let you take the lead, but every once in a while he'd jut his hips up against you, losing himself in your heat.

All while you were slack-jawed and blissed out, mindlessly dragging Clark's tip along your aching cunt.

You were positive you both could cum from just this alone but you had other plans.

"I'm gonna put it inside, baby." You moaned, giving Clark a heads up.

He looked at you like you hung the stars. He caressed your cheek and bottom lip with his thumb. "Look at me when you put it in," he implored.

So you did—well, you made an honest effort to. Eyes honed in on Clark, as you guided his staunch tip through you entrance causing you to let out a hiss. Your eyes closed shut, the initial stretch causing you some discomfort. You open your eyes, after a moment and see Clark surveilling you.

"M'sorry," you whisper.

He planted a kiss on your top of your head "S'okay. You tried, it's all that matters."

"Deep breathes for me baby," he spoke in an attempt to get your breath to steady. After a minute or two of coaxing from Clark, you'd grown somewhat accustomed to what was inside of you.

He brought his hands to your chest, cupping your breast in his hands. "You’re so wet and tight around me," he huffed out, voice trembling slightly.

You whined at his lewd words. "I can take more," you stated growing impatient.

"I got'chu, just try your best to relax, sweetheart," he commanded softly. He took one hand off your breast, and snaked it down to your clit. Rubbing it a few times before grabbing his shaft and sinking a few inches deeper into you.

You gasped loudly at the sudden intrusion. Clark could feel your walls clinching down on him, getting adjusted to him.

You looked down at where your bodies connected. He wasn't even half way inside but just an a few inches past the tip. There was more of him to take and you already felt so full.

Clark slowly slipped out of you. You whined at the sudden emptiness, until he drove back inside you. A familiar sense of pleasure building up in your lower abdomen.

You gripped his biceps needed something to ground you. Clark started to build a tempo in which he glided in and out of you. Nice and slow.

You were rutting your hips to meet his thrust. Gritting your teeth, and scrunching your face. Clark watched as you unraveled underneath him, continuing to work into you, sliding deeper and deeper with every few strokes.

You grew self-conscious under his gaze, becoming hyper aware of the faces and the sounds you were making. You hid your face in your hands and muffled your mouth.

He let out a frustrated sighed. "Y'know I hate when you hide from me," he breathed, still keeping the tempo. "I need to see my, pretty girl," he murmured, one of his hands encircling your wrist.

You obeyed his request moving your hands to his sculpted chest.

"There she is," he beamed.

He moved in close, locking his lips with yours. The kiss caused him to slip in deeper, making your lips part. He moaned feeling you enclosed around him— almost all of him. He slid his tongue into your mouth, while your lips ravished his. Both of you were reeling, intoxicated by each other, writhing into each other.

You both pulled away, staring at each other, forehead to forehead.

"Give it to me, Clark. I want all of you,” you begged.

Clark could've came at the mere sentence you uttered— the way you said it, the way you looked when you said it, and how your cunt throbbed around him when you said it.

He couldn't say no to you.

You watched as he pulled out of you completely, his cock glistening from your slick. Your cunt clinched down on nothing, missing the penetration. He placed his red throbbing member on your abdomen. Aligning the base of his shaft with your pelvis, providing you a visual on just how deep inside you he'd be.

He gathered some of the slick from your entrance and circled your clit.

Then, he slowly impaled you with the entirety of his cock, making you convulse around him. He wrapped your legs around his waist, shifting the angle.

You could feel everything. The veins that wrapped around his cock. The rhythmic throbbing of his manhood against your walls. The thick tip of his cock hitting your cervix. Once he reached your hilt, he didn't move, letting you bask in the sensation of being filled.

He instead, whispered sweet nothings, "Darling, I love you more than anything."

His kissed up your neck.

"I'm nothing without you."

Clark resumed his tempo, slowing working in and out of you.

"Knowing that I have you to come back to everyday, it keeps me going" he groaned.

Your eyes were glossy. His words of affirmation, the kisses he planted on your body, and the continuous stroking— it pure ecstasy. The wave of pleasure that had been building up in your stomach began to spread.

"I'm gonna cum again, Clark,” you yelled out.

"It's okay. I'm close too, angel,” he comforted.

He reached down playing with your clit once more, knowing exactly what you need. "Come on my dick, baby,” he encouraged.

You matched his thrust greedily chasing your orgasm. You could feel Clark throbbing inside of you and the slight stammer of his stroke.

"Don't stop please," you pleaded.

He obliged working you with consistency. Your toes curled, legs trembled weakly around his waist, and your pussy twitched relentlessly around his member. You came first. Sounds of pleasure spilling from your throat. You clawed at Clark's back as he hammered into you. He sped up, fucking you through your orgasm.

Clark felt you milking his cock. He watched you with a glazed expression, feeling his own orgasm take over. Clark then had to do one of the hardest things he's ever had to do— pull out of you.

A part of him, had the sick and twisted urge to cum inside you. For him, it was deeper than lust. He wanted to breed you, create life within you, a perfect combination of the two of you, that he could nurture and care for.

As much as he yearned to plant his seed inside you, he knew it wasn't the night for that. Tonight was about reformation and forgiveness—a step towards repairing the damage he'd caused. He wanted to rebuild your faith in him, prove to you he was worthy of such an honor. Ensuring that the both of you were on the same page, so he'd control it.

Mid-stroke he reluctantly slid out of you milliseconds before his climax. He came at the mere sight of you— not needing to stimulate himself any further. Milky white streaks painting your thighs, tummy, and chest.

Though he was no longer inside of you, you could still feel him. The ghost of him etched in your walls. You watched him in awe as ropes of cum shoot from his swollen cock to your body.

You reached down and tenderly stroked his shaft, coaxing him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He was trying his hardest to compose himself but you saw him all too clearly. The way he fell apart from your touch, twitching and whimpering.

"My sweet boy," you cooed. Dazed and out of it, you reach out with your other hand to gently massage his scalp. Clark basked in the attention you were giving him.

"Let me clean you up, baby," Clark announced moving off of you.

You groaned, "Don't go."

Clark's heart broke slightly. He planted a kiss on your brow to stop you from frowning. "I'll be right back."

Before you could even register his absence or the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing he was back, with a damp washcloth.

You sighed in relief.

I forget he could do that.

He parted your thighs, gingerly wiping away the arousal that seeped from you.

Before meticulously cleansing your skin with the cloth, removing the white matter from your thighs, stomach, chest, and breast.

When satisfied with his work, he collapsed beside you, chest rising and falling with each slow breath. Then, without a word, he pulled you into his arms. His burly frame curled protectively around you, one arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your back. His face nestled into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin with every exhale.

“I’m so incredibly lucky to have you,” he murmured, voice thick with sincerity. “I’ve traveled the globe… even to other planets. But nothing—nothing—makes me feel the way you do. I always think about you—always. I wanna be the man that makes you proud… that's worthy of you.”

Your heartbeat swelled at his words. His heartbeat was steady, strong, and impossibly gentle for all the power he held— thudded softly against your back. You felt the way his arms tightened around you, as if to keep you anchored to the moment, to him.

“You already are,” you whispered, turning just enough to brush your lips against his. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just be honest with me from now on, that's all I ask going forward.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, one you could feel against your skin more than see. He let out a breath, the tension in his muscles slowly giving way to calm.

“You have my word,” he said. “I'll never lie to you again.”

Outside, the world continued on—distant sirens, rustling leaves, the low bustle of the city—but in his arms, it all faded. Here, wrapped up in Clark Kent, you were beyond content. The anguish you felt hours ago, felt like nothing more than a distant dream.

you made it to the end! thank you sm for reading, lmk what you thought and if i should post some more :3

[blissbitz]

◦˚~ ANIMATED MOON & STARS DIVIDERS ~˚◦

Requested by: @inkyprince Info: these were all drawn/made & animated by me. please reblog/like if use!

[blissbitz]

(ﾉᴗ͈˳ᴗ͈)ﾉ welcome 2 my blog ･✧ﾟ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ㅤㅤ ✧ * ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀． ･✧ﾟ ⠀⠀ﾟ･ ･ﾟﾟ･｡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❤︎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀. ⋆  . ⋆･. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀˳ . ⋆⠀⠀.

jaybae ❤︎ 9teen, aries sun, virgo moon, she/her, blk

hi guys i’m a long time fanfic enjoyer trying my hand at writing, so go easy on me. Ꮚ ܸ ◞ . ◟꒱

some of the things i enjoy include; angst, smut, joel miller/pedro pascal, iwtv, kendall roy, rick grimes, marvel, ryan cooglar films, anime, superman, batman, almost anything a24, reality television, beyoncé, sza, charli xcx, blood orange, zendaya, ayo edibiri and rory culkin.

i plan on only writing abt my fav fictional characters. my works will include smut, angst, and maybe the occasional fluff.

my profile is very much under construction so bare w/ me plz for now :/

MINORS DNI!!!

[blissbitz]

like or reblog if you use/save𖧧𖧧