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sai-int · 8 days ago

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SMILE LIKE YOU MEAN IT! │ clark kent

You and Clark have a fight. You leave his house and go to the Daily Planet after hours to work and calm down. Clark finds you there and helps ease your mind.

CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, oral sex (fem!receiving ofc,) vaginal fingering, hair pulling (rawrrr his curlsss,) arguing, playful banter, TEASING, & no use of y/n.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: been thinking about making this little fic since i watched the movie and i finally finished it! i need this midwestern goober so bad. it’s not even funny. on that note, i hope you enjoy this horny concoction!

"You're giving me a headache," you sigh, taking a deep sip of your water as you lean against Clark's kitchen sink, watching him hurriedly untie his tie. Your voice is tinged with frustration and exhaustion.

"Oh. Am I?" he replies, sarcastically tossing his tie onto the coffee table.

You set your glass of water down on the counter and massage your temples. "Clark, I know you care about me. You want to keep me safe, but I feel like you're suffocating me," you say earnestly.

He walks over, his voice firm and unwavering. "I'm trying to protect you. You don't understand the risks."

You shake your head with a humorless laugh. "For Christ's sake, Clark, you secretly arranged for someone to escort me home after brunch with Jimmy. You didn't even ask if that's what I wanted. That's not trust,” you insist, crossing your arms over your chest.

Clark mimics your stance, crossing his arms over his chest, a hint of frustration in his tone. “I trust you; you know that. I just don't trust most other people.”

“You’re interfering with my work,” you accuse.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he responds, tilting his head.

“No?” you answer, your tone sharp. “You’re still trying to convince me to drop my exposé on that crime ring in Gotham because it’s too ‘cliché.’ But I know you’re really just worried about me getting hurt,” you say, giving him a knowing look.

He bites his tongue before speaking again. “Do you honestly believe those criminals wouldn’t come after the pretty news reporter who put them on blast?”

You give him an unamused look, your anger simmering just beneath the surface. "What about the other night? When I was walking home from the library, and you swooped in out of nowhere, 'coincidentally' walking me home. You didn't trust me to take care of myself then, either, even though I'm perfectly capable," you assert, your displeasure evident.

"I'm not saying you're not capable," he replies, spreading his hands in a placating gesture.

You take a deep breath, eyeing him for a moment before uncrossing your arms and resting them at your sides. "It just… it feels like you're more concerned with protecting me than actually being with me."

"That's not fair," Clark’s voice rises, his jaw clenched with tension.

"Fair? You're the one who's being unfair. You try to keep me in a bubble and control every situation." You flail your arms to emphasize your point. Clark opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "And for the love of God, do not blame that on Superman. Just don't."

"In case you forgot, I am Superman. He's a part of me. You knew that going in," he declares confidently, lifting a finger to point at you.

You roll your eyes and push off the counter, your feet padding around him. "Whatever, Clark," you mutter, feeling fatigue take over.

"No, no. Don't 'whatever, Clark' me," he says, turning his head to fix his piercing blue eyes on you as you walk toward the couch to grab your jacket. "Just—at least look at me," he pleads, his voice tinged with desperation.

You spin on your heels to face him, scowling slightly. “Just tell me—are you my boyfriend or just Superman trying to protect a civilian?”

His lips press into a flat line, clearly showing his frustration. “Don’t do that,” he replies, his voice strained.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Do what, Clark?”

He twists his head and closes his eyes in a display of impatience. “You always bring that up when we argue,” he snaps.

As you adjust your jacket and stride toward the front door, you mutter under your breath, “It’s hard not to.” You look up to lock eyes with him; his gaze is already fixed on you. “I just... I need some space.”

“Okay,” he nods lightly, wiping the exhaustion from his face before lazily pointing to the couch. “I’ll take the couch. You can have my bed.” He turns on his heels toward the couch, swiping a pillow off the cushion.

“No, Clark,” you begin, your voice catching in your throat. “I just—I need to be away from you.”

He turns around, a pillow in hand, a stunned expression on his face. “You’re leaving me?”

You take a deep breath, trying to muster more courage. The way he looks at you, his bright blue eyes sunken and sorrowful, makes you want to run and jump into his arms, but you resist.

You need him to respect your bodily autonomy.

“I just need to be alone,” you say firmly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your jacket. “At least for the night.”

He stares at you for a moment before nodding. “Okay, fine,” he replies, glancing away as he tosses the pillow back onto the couch. “Whatever you want.”

“Alright then,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle. “Goodbye.”

“Will you—can you at least text me when you get home?” His voice is so soft that you almost miss it. “So I know you’re safe?”

You pause, caught in a moment of indecision, your silence lingering in the air.

The door swings open and then closes with a soft, definitive click.

You should have responded, but the fear of breaking down in his kitchen left you speechless.

Clark's gaze remains fixed on the front door until he catches a whiff of your perfume, making his vulnerability crack through.

At that moment, he realized he couldn’t hide behind the bright cape or the shiny name.

He could feel the full weight of his humanity, and it was crushing.

The Daily Planet, although it is your day job, has always served as a sanctuary during times of unrest after hours. However, being here now is giving you an even bigger migraine than you already have.

You feel the strain in your eyes as you stare intently at your computer screen for the third hour. Your fingers tap anxiously against the keyboard as you struggle to find the right words.

The cursor blinks ominously behind the few words already on the page, a silent mockery of your writer's block. Doubt and frustration seep in, clouding your thoughts and making it even harder to focus.

Your mind keeps drifting back to your fight with Clark.

The look on his face when you turned down his offer to stay over feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. His expression was filled with pain, as if he believed you would never return to him.

You stretch your fingers, trying to stave off the creeping carpal tunnel, before sinking back into your chair with a soft squeak.

"Thought I'd find you here," a deep voice booms from beside you, making you jump and whip your head around to see who spoke.

"Shit," you curse, holding a hand over your heart, and find Clark standing there, still dressed in his white long-sleeve shirt and black slacks. "You scared me," you admit. "What are you doing here?"

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his pants. "I came here for you."

You exhale a sigh and turn to look back at your computer screen. "I don't want to talk to you right now, Clark," you confess, squinting to read the few words on the page.

"You don't have to, sweetheart," he says, taking a few steps closer. "Just hear me out, okay?"

Your eyes remain fixed on the screen until you feel your chair being spun around, forcing you to face him. "Clar—" you start to say, but he interrupts you, his hand still on your chair.

"You're stressed. I get that," he begins, looking at you with intensity. "You work too hard and don't sleep enough."

"I also have a boyfriend who doesn't trust me to take care of myself," you interject, raising an eyebrow.

He pulls back his head in faux shock. "Hey, who's this other boyfriend? Do I need to fight him?"

A smile breaks through your lips as you playfully push against his chest. "Shut up, you dork," you tease, your tone light.

Clark smiles as he glances at your computer screen. "Let me see this," he says, already moving behind your chair to take a closer look.

You turn to him, aware of him hovering over your shoulder. "I'm just working on this exposé. It's nothing."

"Mhm. Nothing is right," he teases with a playful smile, his dimples showing. "There's hardly anything on here."

"Hey," you point to the very few words on the page. "Don't you see the top line?"

He leans in closer. "Oh, yeah," he replies with a sardonic tone. "I have to keep an eye on you. With just those three words, you'll have me out of a job in no time. Very hard-hitting stuff," he jokes.

You turn to look at him, perhaps to throw another playful jab, but instead, he seizes the moment to kiss you deeply. His lips are warm and soft, and the taste of his breath takes your own breath away.

"You didn't text me," he murmurs against your lips.

You almost don't register what he's saying. "I didn't say I was going to," you reply with a dry mouth. "I thought that implied I wasn't going to."

“Oh, is that what you thought?” He presses another kiss to your lips, pulling back slightly to speak. “I know you can take care of yourself. You’re my tough girl, right? But it puts me at ease to know that you’re safe.” He kisses you again.

“Mhm,” you hum against his lips, your lips brushing against his. “I just need you to respect my boundaries, okay? You can keep me safe without suffocating me,” you bring your hands up to touch his cheeks lightly.

He leans in closer, his voice low and husky. “Was that so hard?”

You pull him closer by his cheeks, whispering, “Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

As soon as the command slips from your lips, he leaps into action. He kisses you with an intense passion, a fervent need that consumes you both.

His hands gently cradle your cheeks, deepening the kiss with each passing moment. They then slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as you find yourself pressed against the desk, the kiss never breaking.

His fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, skimming across your bare skin and making you shiver. “Are we really about to have sex in the workplace, Mr. Kent?” you ask, breathless, as your fingers thread through his curls.

“I think we are, sweet girl,” he breathes, moving to pop open the buttons to your blouse.

He shoves the blouse off, pressing hot kisses against your collarbone. “I hate when we fight,” he murmurs into your skin, his hand gripping your ass through your pencil skirt.

“Certainly makes for an enticing night,” you say, tilting your head back so Clark can kiss up your neck.

He pulls back for a moment, fidgeting with his belt. You move your hand to stop him, locking eyes with him. “You want to take care of me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he replies without hesitation.

“Then, show me. Show me how well you can take care of me,” you say, biting your bottom lip as you slide onto the desk, opening your legs wide enough for him to see your red lace panties.

His eyes glance to look at your panties as he stands with his hands on his hips. “I thought you didn’t want me to do that anymore,” he darts his tongue across his lips, eyes still honing in on your cunt.

“Get on your knees, Clark,” you direct, voice low, letting your heels drop to the floor.

He smiles, his dimples appearing. “You’re demanding,” he accuses, with humor, as he sinks to his knees, big hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“And you’re not putting your mouth on me fast enough,” you whine, head tilting back as his grip tightens.

“Oh, you mean like this?” He leans in, pressing a deep kiss on your cunt, your panties rubbing against your clit gently.

“Fuck—yes,” your hand drifts to rest on the back of his head, putting him where you need. “Just like that,” you encourage, pulling him closer.

He brings a finger up, pulling your panties to the slide so he can feel your bare cunt on his lips, already twitching and wet under his lips. His tongue flicks against your clit, making you surge forward. “You’re sensitive,” he mutters into you.

“Well, your tongue is in my—ah, Clark,” you moan, back arching, feeling his tongue drag across your aching clit.

He pulls his head back slightly. “What was that, sweetheart?”

Your hand rests on the edge of the desk, knuckles white. “Goddamn it—you… you,” you say, voice strained and breathless.

“Took your breath away, did I?” His tongue slides across your puffy clit, eliciting a whimper from you.

His hand braces impossibly tighter on your thigh, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your skin as his skillful tongue prods against your needy bud.

You're practically grinding against his face, trying to chase your high. Your finger in his hair pulls him up to look at you with one of his curls. “Give me your fingers,” you order, the thought of release burning away at your senses.

He obliges; naturally, he’ll do anything to please you.

“Mhm. See,” he tuts. “Demanding,” he hums as he brings two fingers up to push in and out of your greedy cunt, not allowing you time to respond. Your head is tilted back as your loud moans fill the office.

“Ah, listen to that. Music to my ears,” he says, eyes hyper-focused on his fingers plunging in and out of you. “They’ll hear you all the way in Gotham.”

“So, let them—fuck—so… so close,” you manage to choke out, his fingers making you fall apart faster than you expected.

“Yeah?” he prompts through a breath.

You nod your head, your lower stomach tight and skin sizzling as you come undone, your thighs trembling on his fingers as you come.

You glance down at him, your eyes heavy with fatigue. “Shit,” you curse with a dry laugh.

He makes you laugh as he moves to stand, watching you before brushing the hair out of your face. “How’d I do?”

“There’s always room for improvement,” you toy, your chest still heaving.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah,” he replies, stepping closer to dip his head to kiss you, sweet this time.

Well, aside from the fact that you can taste yourself on his lips.

He pulls back, studying the glint in your eyes, a silent conversation passing between you. “Am I still your Superman?”

“No,” you begin, wrapping your arms around his neck, making him raise a confused eyebrow. “You’re my Clark.”

MINI AUTHOR'S NOTE: i clearly got carried away with the dialogue, but it's always my fav part lmao i hope you enjoyed! muah!

#NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT #angel's recs

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