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⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ eighteen, she/her, clark kent's wife & joel miller's sweetheart

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© kryptokisses 2026 - original works! do not repost, translate, or duplicate in any way. :)

hi! i miss you guys!! i'm coming back soon i promise!

probably with steve harrington fics too.... lmk what else you guys want to see :)

NOBODY LIKES A SECRET - CLARK KENT ౨ৎ

part 2 of bad idea!

in which... after telling clark you won't see him again until he's single, he shows up at your doorstep.

warnings: 18+! smut, porn with plot, fluff, cheating, hurt/comfort, slight somno, unprotected p in v, oral (f!receiving), use of pet names (baby, angel, etc.), NO use of y/n, not proofread, there's more but idk

word count: 4.2k

a/n: thank you guys for the love on part one! this is definitely more of a "filler" chapter (still important to the plot) but i have big plans for this affair, so i hope you enjoy :))

You’re really not this kind of person. A homewrecker, the other woman, Clark Kent’s secret affair. That’s what you told him two weeks ago, when you went back to Gotham with the promise that you wouldn’t see him again until he broke up with Lois. He told you he’ll end it ‘when the time is right.’ He’s sent flowers to your apartment five times by now, each bouquet attached with a short note guaranteeing your reunion soon. 

And yeah, it was sweet. But the waiting is killing you. You’re starting to doubt he’ll break up with her at all. Maybe he didn’t mean all those things he said, right before he kissed you in his kitchen. You didn’t take him for a coward, but quite frankly, he’s starting to act like one. 

You sit alone in your living room, reading a book you’re hardly paying attention to. Surrounded by plush pillows and blankets, you’re sprawled on the couch in a way that mirrors how Clark was laid out on his own just weeks ago. You haven’t been able to focus on anything since. All you can do is fixate on the way he touched you, the way he kissed you, how he promised he was yours. 

Lost in a trance, you don’t even notice the thud coming from your balcony. You do, however, catch a glimpse of a familiar red cape blowing in the wind. You whip your head towards the glass door to find a certain superhero slumped in one of your patio chairs, battered and bruised. You don’t hesitate to run towards the door, bare feet padding against the hardwood. He hardly registers your presence as you kneel in front of him, grabbing his face. 

“Clark? What happened?”

A soft grunt escapes him, eyes still closed.

“Oh my god, what do I do? How do I help you?”

He’s covered in injuries: bruises and scrapes adorning the visible skin, suit covered in dust and blood. Far too much blood for even Superman to be losing. Checking over him in a panic, you almost miss the gash across his abdomen, the source of most of the blood. 

You run back into your apartment to find a dishcloth, running it under warm water before hurrying to Clark again. You press the fabric against his most severe wound and he flinches, sitting up in pain and groaning, louder this time.

“Shh, it’s okay. Let me help you.” He opens his eyes now, glossy and bloodshot. You touch his shoulder with your free hand, easing him back down onto the chair. A faint smile flickers across his face.

“I’m- I’m already healing. ‘S just that one. ‘S bad.”

He’s right, the setting sun is already mitigating the minor abrasions, turning them into faint red marks. They’ll be gone in a few minutes. But so will the sunlight, and it won’t heal the rest of him in time. He needs as much exposure as possible before the star dips below the horizon.

“Take your suit off.”

He opens his eyes again, looking at you like he saw a ghost. “What? I– I thought you said? …Um.”

The look on your face is one of sheer offense. “Oh my god, Clark. Not like that. You need more sunlight.”

He laughs. He actually laughs in your face at the suggestion. The laughter shoots down to the gash, hurting him immediately, the sound turning into one of pain within seconds. 

“Yeah, that’s what you get.” You say, smiling sheepishly at him. You help him pull the top of his suit down, exposing his injured torso. He groans again as he sits down, trying to cover up the pain he’s feeling. He thinks it’ll scare you, as if the two of you haven’t been in this situation dozens of times before. You’re still knelt in front of him, and he lifts a tired arm so he can grab your hand.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this. I just couldn't go home.” He says, interlocking his hand with yours. You know what he’s insinuating: Lois is home, she doesn’t know about this. The look in his eye is one of deep remorse. The sun is lighting up his face, highlighting the growing peachfuzz and hardly visible dimples. You can only think of how beautiful he looks like this. You stroke your thumb over his, smiling gently at the sight before you.

“Never be sorry for this, Clark. I wanna take care of you,” You say, and you truly mean it. You would spend your entire life taking care of him if it meant he’d be yours. 

He looks behind you, towards the orange glow spanning across the Gotham skyline. You notice his wound healing, almost closed now, evident by his breath evening out and speech becoming more coherent. 

Taking him out of his daze, you speak up. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks back into your eyes, as attentive as ever. “Of course, angel.”

“If Lo-” You pause. “If she knew about this,” You gesture to the red and blue suit hanging off of his body, “would you have gone to her instead of me?” Clark inhales deeply in front of you. He squeezes your hand tighter, pausing before his next words. 

“No. Even if you hadn’t come to Metropolis the other week, I still would’ve come to you.”

You nod, cheeks flushing at his words. You notice as his gaze falls to your lips, the urge to kiss him bubbling below the surface. You made a promise to yourself, but with the way he’s looking at you now, that vow is crumbling. 

You stand up before he can say anything that would make your resolve fail even quicker than it already is. “Um, I’m gonna go fix the couch up for me. You can take the bed, but you’re not flying home like this.” His hand falls back into his own orbit, blue eyes flickering between you and the door. 

“Don’t go yet, baby. Please stay until the sun’s down.” 

You hesitate, desperate to get away before you do something you’ll regret. But he really looks desperate, brows furrowed and breathing shallow. He needs you right now.

“Okay,” you pause, sitting in the patio chair beside him and turning to face him, “But talk to me. Tell me what happened.” If you’re going to be this close to him, you need a distraction.

He sighs, looking up, trying to figure out how to tell you. “It was Luthor, obviously. Intel was leaked from Luthorcorp about a planned attack in Metropolis, and I tried to intercept it. It was a trap. He was planning to attack me, and knew just how to bait me. I don’t know how I let it happen..”

It goes on like this for half an hour, Clark explaining and you listening. The distraction works on both ends, clearing your head and getting his mind off of the wounds. By the time the sun sets, he’s mostly healed. Faint bruises and a scar are left on his abdomen, but you’re still not letting him leave. 

You help him up, his arm wrapping around your waist as you try to reach his shoulder and help him to your bedroom. You help him sit on the edge of the bed, and he starts to take the rest of his suit off. You quickly turn around to avert your eyes, and you’re not even sure why. 

Facing the door, you mumble, “I’ll get you some clothes.” You hear him laugh as you rush to your dresser, with a drawer full of stuff he left at your old place.

“You still have my stuff?” He asks from behind you.

“Yeah, I um, wear it sometimes.” Why are you so nervous? It’s just Clark. You grab two old t-shirts, plaid pajama pants, and a pair of socks. When you turn back to him, his suit is discarded on the hardwood, and he’s sitting on the mattress in nothing but his boxers. You can’t help but stare at him, the longing you’ve felt all evening now stronger than before.

“You gonna let me change or keep staring, baby?”

“Yeah, in your dreams, Kent.” 

You place the folded clothes on the comforter beside him, then turn to your closet to grab supplies for your couch bed tonight. You can hear him changing behind you, and you swear it’s taking him longer than it normally would. You wait until you hear him sit back down before you turn around, careful not to put yourself in a tougher position than you’re already in. 

“I’m gonna go set this up. Let me know if you need anything.” 

He nods, smirking at you. “Got it.” He says, climbing under the covers with practiced ease.

“Someone’s feeling better.” You smile back at him, shutting the door and walking out into the living room.

You start getting ready for bed, making sure you use the guest bathroom to avoid going back into your room. Changing into the second shirt, ditching pajama pants for the night. It’s what you would do if there wasn’t an insanely gorgeous alien laid up in your bed, anyways. He’s seen it before. 

Before long, the events of the night catch up to you. You can hear the hum of your TV from the bedroom, and you doubt Clark is even tired anymore. You, on the other hand, are exhausted. You lay on the couch, curling into a fetal position, expecting sleep to hit you like a train. 

Of course, it doesn’t. 

The thought of Clark in your bed without you keeps you up for hours. The couch feels lonely, and you don’t know when you’ll see him again. Would it be so bad to go in there with him? Nothing will happen, you won’t let it. Your body seems to decide for you, walking over to the bedroom door before your mind can even catch up. 

You knock twice, the sound barely audible. If he’s asleep, you’ll leave him alone. He needs rest.

“Hey? Come in!”

You crack the door open, face already turning red. “Hey Clark, how are you holding up?”

“Honey, I said come in. I’m okay, I promise.”

You walk into the room, and Clark scoots over to make room for you, pulling the comforter down beside him. You pad over to the bed, jumping in next to him. Immediately, he places an arm around your shoulder, and kisses the top of your head. Your blush deepens, the action not going unnoticed by the rest of your body. 

“Remember what I told you, Clark.”

You can’t see his face, but you can feel him roll his eyes. “I know, I know.” He reaches down to pull the blanket over the both of you, and you can already feel your eyelids getting heavy. This was a good idea, after all. The two of you can restrain yourselves for a night. 

Eventually, you drift off into sleep. Clark isn’t far behind you, other arm reaching around your waist to wrap you in a bear hug. You get the best sleep you’ve had in a year. 

𖤓𖤓𖤓

You’re awoken by rays of sunlight shining through your sheer curtains, illuminating the room around you. Clark is still wrapped around your back, lightly snoring as his body likely finishes healing. One of his hands is behind your head, resting on the pillow beside you, and one is dipping under your sleep shirt, an unconscious decision exposing your bare lower half. 

As you come to, you realize you left your phone in the living room, leaving you with nothing to do until Clark stirs. 

Well, not nothing. 

You wrap your hand around the larger one covering your stomach, testing the waters. He’s still snoring. So, feeling his crotch barely touching your ass, you arch into him. As if on instinct, his hips push forward to chase the feeling. Still asleep, you can feel him twitch behind you, growing harder with each movement. 

You continue this pattern, pushing your ass backwards, tightening your hand around his. After a few minutes of this, he’s completely hard and still sleeping. You pull his hand up higher, towards your chest, placing his palm around one of your tits. This seems to do something, as his snoring ceases. His hand twitches around you, and with one last push against him, you hear a small gasp from behind you, hand now fully enveloping you. 

His head rests against yours, mouth close to your ear. You can hear every breath, including the raspy version of your name that escapes him.

“Hm?” You ask, not stopping your movements.

You hear him gulp. “I thought you said, to– gosh baby– to wait?”

“Mm. Don’t wanna wait.” His hips jut forward, harder than before. A whimper escapes him as his cock drags against your barely clothed ass. 

His hand finds your nipple, squeezing gently as the two of you continue the rhythm you’ve found. You moan softly, closing your eyes. He moves his head down and kisses your neck, moving down to your collarbone as the soft sounds continue to escape the both of you. 

Before you know it, he’s using the hands around you to flip you over, pulling your chest flush with his. You can feel the press of him against you, more direct now. You reach your hand up to the side of his face, placing a firm kiss on his lips. You can feel him smile against yours, hips still moving in tandem against each other. You deepen the kiss, pushing your tongue past his lips to hear him groan. The hand on your chest tightens, before moving to your other breast. Kneading the flesh there, he moves down to kiss your jaw again. Leaving red marks that will fade in minutes, he moves down your body, pulling your shirt higher and over your head. 

“Shouldn’t’ve worn anything, honey.” He mumbles against your skin, moving to bring a nipple into his mouth. You moan at the contact, his words going straight to your core. Your hand finds his hair as his tongue moves against you. Your hips rut, almost unavoidably, searching for friction anywhere. 

“So impatient, baby. Wanna take my time with you.” 

You groan, wanting anything but to wait for him to touch you. “C’mon Clark. I need you.”

He smiles against you, “I know,” he says, and you roll your eyes. He kisses slower this time, moving down your body. Each kiss feels like a spark against your skin, a fire that’s somehow not igniting. He takes his time on your chest, your stomach, then each thigh as you grow restless beneath him. 

Soon, he kisses over the hem of your panties, tracing the edge of the fabric across your lower stomach first, then down the sides and in between your thighs. Your breathing grows erratic, chest heaving, as your hand searches for one of his. Your fingers interlace, and he finally kisses you over your clothed clit. 

You gasp sharply at the direct contact. Clark’s teasing already has you worked up, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Take ‘em off, baby.” You say, slightly lifting your hips toward him. 

He obeys, hooking his fingers in the cotton and pulling them down your legs and tossing them somewhere forgotten. Returning to you, he places a hand under each of your knees, pushing your thighs back and exposing your glistening center. 

“So pretty, hon,” he murmurs, before licking a blunt stripe up your folds.

“Fuck,” you whimper. He doesn’t stop there, constant licks against you sending soft moans tumbling out of the both of you. You feel the vibrations of his noise against you, furthering the pleasure that you thought couldn’t get any better. 

He dips lower, curling his tongue into you, moving between your entrance and your clit. He sucks on the sensitive bud, and listens to the increasingly loud sounds coming from you. He can’t help but smile into you, looking up at you with his shiny blue eyes. The vulnerability of the moment makes you flustered and you bashfully try to cover your face with your hands. 

He stops. “No, baby. I wanna see you. Don’t do that.”

You whine, and spread your legs farther as his hands move to the side of your thighs to hold you open for him. He smiles again when you uncover your face, moving back down to reattach to your pussy. His tongue probes into you now, his nose bumping your clit every few seconds. Your hips involuntarily grind against his face, hand finding his dark curls to pull him deeper into you. 

He’s letting you use him like this, still whimpering into you. Your hips are lifted, almost fully off the bed now, and you feel that familiar ache growing inside of you. You find a rhythm with your movements, nose rubbing your clit in a way that’s sending you closer to the edge. His face is becoming more slick with every passing moment, dripping down his chin, onto his neck and the sheets beneath you. 

The hand fisting his hair tightens in a way that would definitely hurt the average person. Your grip spurs him on further, however, and he holds your skin tighter. 

“Oh god, Clark. Feels so good, so close, don’t stop.”

The sound of your whines, the pace at which you’re grinding against him, it sends him into a daze, rutting into the bed in tune with you. He can feel how close you are, clenching around his tongue and moans becoming broken and rasped. 

With one final tug, you pull him even farther into your cunt, body tensing as you cum on his face. He nods his head, now locked between your thighs. He hums against you one final time, and the sudden overstimulation sends you jolting backwards. 

Your hand still on his head, you pull him up towards you. He can feel the dampness on the bed from you, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. He smiles as you pull him in to kiss you, tasting yourself on his face and his tongue. You feel him hard against you, almost unnoticeably rubbing himself against your leg. You reach down to palm him through the plaid pajama pants, and he groans into your mouth.

You take the opportunity to bite softly at his bottom lip, and he grinds harder into you. The action sends you clenching around nothing, already preparing for more of him. You moan against his mouth. 

“Yeah, baby?” He mutters. He reaches down to pull his pajamas and boxers down, finally exposing himself. You can feel him stroke himself, spreading the already present precum down his shaft. “Y’ready?” He asks.

You nod, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.

He shakes his head, “C’mon. Use your words.”

You snake your hand between the two of you, reaching down to touch him in impatience. “Please Clark, I’m ready,” You say, stroking his cock as he groans above you, head dipping down in pleasure.

All he can do is nod, replacing your hand with his as he lines himself up at your entrance. He rubs his tip between your folds, once, twice, before just barely pushing inside of you. He pauses, lips making contact with yours as you gasp into each other. Slowly, he pushes deeper, making sure not to hurt you in this position. Your legs hook around his hips and finally, he bottoms out, hips smacking against yours. Yet, he doesn’t move.

“Baby move, p- please.” Your hand curls around his bicep, feeling the stretch of him against your walls. 

“I’m sorry, honey. I- I can’t, not, not yet. Not gonna last like this.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heat rising in his face. The blush creeps down to his neck, and he kisses your collarbone. After a few seconds, he slowly draws his hips out, pushing back in agonizingly slow. 

“Gosh, you feel so good around me. So, so good” 

One of his hands comes up from your hips, grabbing one of your tits. He squeezes as he picks up the pace, hips rhythmically hitting yours. His brows furrow, using every ounce of self control not to cum yet. Your nails claw at his back, leaving red streaks up and down the huge muscles. 

“Doing, fuck, s- so good, Clark, c-c’mon,”

Clark sits farther back on his knees, moving his hands back to your thighs as he pounds into you faster. Your hands find the pillow behind your head, clawing as he hits your at the perfect angle, over and over again. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, borderline yelling at the way he’s fucking you.

“O- Oh my, oh… g-gosh,” He’s mumbling, feeling the way you’re squeezing him. He doesn’t slow his thrusts, despite the way you’re drawing him in relentlessly. He’s addicted to the way you feel, enamored with how you take him so well. 

You’re kneading your own breasts now, almost violently, watching how Clark’s eyes don’t leave your hands. “G- God,” you moan, loudly, at how his thrusts grow harder at the sight of you.

“Look, look at you angel. So desperate f’me, huh?” 

You nod, and you hadn’t even realized how close you were already. “Clark, Clark, ‘m gonna cum– p– please just like that,” 

He leans back down, face coming to rest beside yours. “Me too baby, me too. Such a good girl,” His thrusts becoming inconsistent, he reaches between you to circle your clit in the way he knows will bring you over the edge. 

Before you know it, your orgasm hits you, whining as he slams into you, filling you up as it hits him at the same time. With one last plunge into you, he slows. Your bodies fall limp and Clark kisses you with an outward affection.

“I love you, Clark.”

“I love you, angel. Never stopped once.” 

𖤓𖤓𖤓

Eventually, the two of you roll out of bed after spending the morning lazily wrapped in each other’s arms and muttering sappy anecdotes against each other’s lips. You decided to go out for brunch in Gotham, where you’ll be able to go out without risking someone seeing the two of you. He finds an outfit in your dresser, an old white button up and some slacks. Of course, he rolls up the sleeves, revealing a few inches of his forearms, because the cuffs around his wrists ‘just always bother him.’

You spend your time getting ready, unrushed as you do your hair and makeup with Clark watching behind you in the mirror. He’s holding onto your hips as you mindlessly sway to a song playing from a speaker somewhere in the apartment. The morning feels normal, domesticated, and you almost forget the context of your current relationship with him. 

You opt out of taking the subway, wanting to avoid the criminals who frequent the line closest to your place. You and Clark walk to the restaurant, taking your time to stop at whatever shops or flower stands catch your eye. The entire time, your hand is in his, feeling free to walk around the city with him. 

Soon, you arrive at brunch, a French place that you’ve loved since you moved here. The hostess sits the two of you outside. Clark sits in front of you as you face the street, long legs brushing yours under the table. For an hour, you enjoy your meal and catch up with him. You tell him about your new job, your friends, everything you’ve been doing without him. He’s fully engrossed with the conversation, responding thoughtfully to every story you tell him. Soon, it’s his turn. Trying to spare details of Lois, he tells you about the Planet, missions he’s been on, etc. 

As he speaks, lost in his own tale, you notice a figure standing in an alleyway across the street. It’s someone small, presumably a woman stopping in the middle of a walk. You try to focus again on Clark as the figure steps out of the alleyway, stepping into the middle of your view. Something about them robs you of your ability to concentrate on the man in front of you. You notice a camera first, held to the person’s eyes. Dark hair, definitely a woman. Clark takes your hand in his on top of the table, and you see a flash coming from the alley.

“You okay, honey?” He leans in. Another flash. 

You nod, swallowing thickly, “Yeah, keep going. I wanna hear this part.”

He nods, continuing his story as the woman takes the device away from her face, brows furrowed as she watches the two of you.

Lois Lane.

You can hear your heartbeat, chest heaving. She brings a finger to her lips, making a ‘hush’ motion before turning away from the restaurant, hurrying down the street and out of sight.

tags!:

masterlist ౨ৎ taglist

© kryptokisses 2025 - original works! do not repost, translate, or duplicate in any way. :)

im 1k words into pt. 2 of bad idea... probably posting tonight or tomorrow 😛

just realized i made this entire blog on desktop and half of my formatting is off on mobile NOOO

BAD IDEA! - CLARK KENT ౨ৎ

in which... you visit your ex-boyfriend, clark, in metropolis. come to find out, he's currently dating lois lane.

warnings: 18+! slight angst, fluff if you squint, smut (!!), porn w plot, previous breakup, cheating, unprotected p in v, oral (m!receiving), slighttt voyeurism, dry humping, pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, etc.) - NO use of y/n

a/n: okay yes this is so out of character BUT walk with me!! also i don't condone cheating or lois lane hate irl :) just for the love of the game

word count: 4.5k

read part two here!

It's been exactly one year since you broke up with Clark Kent. 

One year since the last time you told him you loved him. One year since the last time he lied to you; which is exactly why you ended it.

He refused to do anything but work; talk about work, think about work. Towards the end, even as he fucked you, you could tell he wasn’t thinking about you anymore. His gaze would wander to his notebooks adorning the nightstand, and his mouth would stay shut. The loving, talkative boyfriend you’d known for six months was completely gone.

“It’s just.. Superman stuff. Y’know I can't ignore that, baby.” 

And you did know that. You weren't trying to be selfish, really. But you knew he was lying. It wasn’t just Superman stuff. It was the planet, too. He started staying late, volunteering to write whatever Perry asked, ignoring your texts and calls, and taking on more projects with Lois. The thought of the two of them together every day, venting to each other about work, relationships, their personal lives, just how you and Clark used to– it infuriated you. 

You knew he wouldn’t cheat on you. But the lying was almost worse. At least if he’d cheated, there’d be an explanation for why he was acting and treating you like this. But there was nothing. He was completely detached.

So, you ended it. With nothing more than a letter on his kitchen counter. Because you knew, saying it to his face– that you couldn’t stand to look in his cold, distant eyes ever again– would kill the both of you. 

You quit your job in Metropolis, got a new one in Gotham City. You deleted Clark's number, made new friends, and distanced yourself from every aspect of your life that revolved around him. Obviously, you missed him. Your Gotham one-night stands and stupid romance novels didn’t compare to Clark in any way. It didn't surprise any of your friends when you drunk called him last night, the familiar phone number burned into your memory.

It really was a bad idea.

𖤓𖤓𖤓

The train ride from Gotham City to Metropolis was only an hour and a half, but the time dragged on the more you thought about seeing Clark. Would he look different? Would it be like how it used to, before he changed? You wondered if he'd been watching you like he once did. Flying over your street at the usual time you walked home. Maybe he was using Kara or Bruce to keep tabs on you. 

Eventually, the Gotham skyline disappeared over the horizon. You could almost feel the wind through the glass, your body pressed against the cold window. You fidgeted with your phone, still open to his newly re-added contact. The memory of the short call was still fresh in your mind.

The line clicked after one and a half rings. 

“Hello? What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“Hi, I'm sorry. I know it’s late.”

“Don't be sorry hon-” he cut himself off. “Don't be sorry. Where are you? D’ya need help?”

“No, no. Just drunk. Miss you.” The reality of the situation began to dawn on you, sobering you up far quicker than you’d anticipated. 

Clark paused on the other line. You heard an exasperated sigh, as if he was already regretting what he said next. You could picture him on the other side of the phone, the tips of his ears red and a large hand dragging down the side of his face. “Come to Metropolis. Tomorrow. Let me see you again. Please.”

Naturally, you agreed. 

The train station was far more crowded than you’d hoped. You told Clark not to meet you there. You’d join him at his apartment for dinner. So, having been scarred by a recent Gotham taxi, you walked. It gave you more time to clear your head, and think about what you’d say. The walk to Clark's place was far too familiar. Every crack you stepped over had once been a part of a daily routine. You passed the same empty alleyways that Clark once held you against, not caring who saw. Even the doorman of his building was shocked to see you. He let you in regardless of the confused look plastered on his face. You heard him clear his throat after you thanked him. 

The walk up felt like an eternity. Yet, you still stood outside his door for even longer. You knew he could see you, likely using his specialized vision to gauge your arrival. It made it that much more humiliating that he was letting you stand out there alone. 

You never wanted space from him. Not before, and certainly not now. So why were you so scared to just open the door? You close your eyes, sighing in defeat, but before you can even raise your hand in a sad attempt to knock, it opens. A flushed Clark Kent stands in its place, looking at you like you hung the moon. The blue eyes hiding behind the thick frames of his hypno-glasses are overtaken by dilated pupils, and his hair is messy from trying on one too many shirts. He eventually settled on an old ‘metropolis u’ tee, the one that was slightly too tight on his arms. You knew it was on purpose.

“Hi, Clark.” you say, unmoving. He stands there for a second, before a giant smile overtakes his features. The one he saves only for you. 

He lunges forward and wraps you in a hug, and your body responds as if this is routine. Your arms raise around his neck, face digging in his shoulder as he leans down to meet you. His arms are around your waist, and his thumbs stroke your back as the two of you stand like this for a while. 

“Missed you.” he says quietly, nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck. “I hope so.” you say in response.  

He pulls back then, and stares at you for a moment. You’re suddenly self conscious, wondering if your hair is awry from the train or if your outfit is suitable for the occasion. He smiles again, the corner of his mouth lifting at your sudden bashfulness. “Wanna eat?” he asks, and you nod as he grabs your hand and drags you inside. 

The apartment feels all too familiar, despite your yearlong absence. All of his furniture stayed the same, the throw pillows and paintings you picked out together still in their rightful positions in the living room. His fridge is still covered in the magnets, postcards, and photos from years past. The only thing missing is the dozen pictures of you. There's a candle burning on his kitchen counter. Mahogany, the same scent as always.

He always loved to cook, but this feels extravagant. You follow the scent towards the kitchen, finding a plethora of hot pans, pots, and dishes covering the stove and countertop. You look behind you to find Clark watching you intently, hands in the pockets of his sweats while he leans against the doorway leading to the kitchen. He's still smiling at you, his dimples extra prominent under the incandescent lighting of the room.

You find an empty space on his counter, jumping up to sit as you cross one leg over the other. Clark's eyes haven’t left you. You're challenging him, waiting to see who will break first. You won't be the one to speak up— he invited you, after all. 

Clark moves closer, now leaning against the counter across from the one you’ve claimed. He brushes a stray curl out of his face, pushing the dark locks back. The sight of him after so long is… weird. He looks tired, and you wonder if the breakup is still destroying him the way it is you.

Of course, he breaks first. “You’re staring.” 

“And you’re not?” you quip.

He pushes off the counter, stepping closer. "Why'd you call?”

A quiet laugh escapes you. “I already told you, Clark. Just missed you.” His smile grows. “So, that’s the first time you’ve missed me in the last year? That can’t be the only-“

“What is that?” You jump down, walking over to his fridge. Your eyes caught a specific photograph, capturing Clark and the one and only Lois Lane kissing his cheek. You grab the picture, turning towards him and holding it up. “How long has this been going on?”

He tries taking the picture from you, but you move it out of his reach. He sighs in defeat. “No, it’s- it’s nothing. Can you just put it back? Please?”

You scoff in his face. “It's nothing.” you mock. “Why did you invite me here, Clark? If you and Lois are together, just tell me. I'll leave.”

His hand grabs your wrist and the photo falls to the tile floor. “Please don’t. I want you here, it’s just… it’s complicated, honey.”

You wince at the nickname. “How long?”

He takes your other hand in his. “Two months.”

You tilt your chin up towards his face. He's towering over you, but you know you’re holding the power in this situation. His eyes are pleading. “Please don’t leave again.”

You bring a hand to his face, and one of his own moves to your waist. Your eyes search his for the distance he once showed. There's nothing but love there, now. “What happened, Clark?"

He knows exactly what you mean. “I was scared you’d get hurt because of me. I thought maybe if I kept myself busy, nobody would find you and try to hurt you. I don't know, it was so, so stupid. But– but then you left, and gosh baby, I couldn't bring myself to put you back in danger just for my sake.”

“So you let me move to Gotham?" You joke, unable to take him seriously. He’s smiling at you despite the heavy confession, heat blooming behind his cheeks. He looks away from you for what feels like the first time since you got there, "I had people checking on you…” He mutters. 

“Oh, I bet you did.” Using the hand already on his face, you pull his gaze back toward you, more serious now. “I never wanted to leave, Clark."

He nods. “I know you didn’t.”

“It was just too much.” Embarrassingly, tears prick at your eyes now. His face falls at the sight, and he brings a hand up to wipe the falling droplets. “No, please don’t cry, baby. I'm so sorry. So so sorry.” He pulls your head towards his chest, placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “I’ll make it up to you. It'll never happen again. ‘M so sorry.” Rambling now, he kisses your forehead, and you look up at him. He takes the opportunity to plant a few more on your cheeks, your nose, anywhere he can reach. The soft attack sends a chill down your spine, distracting you from the hurt that’s still fresh. 

“Clark…” You mutter. The tears are gone now, replaced by a heat you haven’t felt in months. You look at him and find a familiar glint in his eye, the one you’ve been dreaming about.

“I know, angel.” He kisses you now, the way he’s supposed to. His hand cups your face as he kisses you intently, clearly trying to savor the moment. You sigh into him, back arching towards his body, trying to get as close as possible. Clark’s trying to be respectful, really. But the way you’re tugging at his hair now, breathing heavily into his mouth, he can’t help but further the kiss. It’s feverish, as his hands fall to your waist, kneading the flesh there. A soft noise escapes you and Clark can’t take it anymore.

He hooks his hands under your thighs, picking you up. Your legs wrap around his torso, arms finding solace around his neck as he places you back onto the counter. He moves his hands to your hair, grabbing and tugging you impossibly closer. He’s breathing heavy now too, kissing harder and sloppier with each passing second. His glasses begin to bump your face, causing the two of you to laugh. You pull the frames off of him, placing them somewhere forgotten on the cluttered counter. 

He tries going back in, but you lean your head against the cabinet behind you and stare at him instead. This raw, unfiltered version of him was always your favorite. The one people see as their hero, when you know he’s all yours. You touch his face. “She know about this?”

He shakes his head, smile turning into something darker. “No, no. Only you.

You nod and pull him down by his shirt, and he grabs your hips harder than before. You arch into his touch, and his tongue grazes your lips. You comply, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss even further. His hands leave your now tangled hair, and reach under your shirt. He unclasps your bra with eased skill, now cupping both of your tits under both layers of fabric. His lips move from your mouth, to your jaw, now to your neck, nipping at the sensitive spot only he can reach. He still remembers exactly what to do to you. 

He eventually pulls your wrinkled shirt and bra off, leaving you half bare on his kitchen counter. “Wanna go to the couch, Clark.” You mutter against his mouth. “Go sit down.” Immediately, he obeys, helping you off the counter before walking to his living room and sitting in the middle of his sofa. 

You stand in front of him, watching his chest rise and fall as he unsubtly palms himself through his sweats. The setting sun through the window casting a warm glow across his soft features.

“C’mere, baby. Please.” He asks, a whimper falling from his chest. 

You stand still, smirking at the pathetic sight. “Mm-mm. Take your pants off, honey.” 

He rolls his eyes before agreeing, standing up to remove the sweatpants as his phone clatters to the floor, falling out of the pocket. “Leave it.” You command, and he sits back down in front of you. “Yes ma’am.”

You do the same, removing your own bottoms before satisfying his request, planting one knee on each side of his lap, straddling him. His hands fly to your ass, pushing you down onto himself. You can feel the hard press of him there. You instinctively begin to grind down, the anger you felt towards the man under you quickly dissipating. He uses the hands on your ass to guide you, moving you in the way he wants.

You press your forehead to his. He moans your name almost inaudibly. “So pretty, hon,” Your hands find his hair again, tangling in the dark curls as he moves you faster. Rutting onto his lap, the wet patch between the two of you growing darker. You’re moaning louder now, and you move your mouth to the shell of his ear. His grip tightens on you. And fuck, you’re already close.

“Clark— wait, wait.” His grip loosens as you peel yourself off of him, moving to kneel on the ground in front of him. He sits up off the cushions and stops your hand from reaching for his boxers. “Don’t do that, I don’t deserve it. Wanna make you feel good.”

“Then let me do this.” You say, moving his hand away with little protest. He leans back onto the cushions as you pull him out of his underwear, lifting his hips so you can hook your fingers in the waistband and pull them down. 

You softly stroke his thighs, hands running up and down the skin. Clark hips jut towards you in impatience. He groans. Bringing a hand to the side of your head, he strokes your bottom lip with his thumb. You lock eyes with him and bring the digit into your mouth, sucking on the pad of his finger as he watches you intently. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.” You close your eyes now, humming around his thumb at the compliment. You’re broken out of your trance by a soft “Please” coming from the man above you, opening your eyes to meet his cock resting against his stomach, already leaking in anticipation. He pulls his hand away from your face, a string of spit connecting you to his fingers. You wipe the drool off of your face, using the saliva to aid in your touch.

You pump him a few times, agonizingly slow, and he can’t help but squirm under you. “You’re killing me,” He says, though it sounds more like a whimper than a sentence. Biting your lip, you eventually bring him to your mouth. You swipe your tongue across his tip, tasting the bead of precum there.  He drags in a shaky breath, and his hand cups the back of your head. Not pushing, but present. You look up at him through hooded eyelashes as you wrap your lips around the head, pushing down as far as you can take him.

You feel the wetness pooling between your legs, and you can barely ignore it anymore. The sight of him coming undone in front of you, sweat clinging to his forehead, freehand grabbing on to the couch below him, it’s making you quite literally ravenous.

Your tongue flattens against his shaft as you bob your head up and down, using one hand to stroke the length that couldn’t possibly fit in your mouth. Your free hand rests on his thigh, squeezing every time he twitches or involuntarily thrusts into you. 

“Gosh, baby, missed this so much.” He mumbles. You hollow your cheeks, trying to take more, and his breath catches. “Feels so good, please. Please don’t stop.” 

You begin to take him faster, sloppier, throat tightening around him. He chokes out an especially loud groan. His hand grabs yours, interlocking fingers and squeezing your hand in assurance. You know he’s close, the bottom of his cock becoming slicker with both spit and precum. He’s babbling nonsense now, telling you how good you feel and how pretty you are like this.

His hips start to stutter and you squeeze his hand, and he knows you want him to come. The pleasure builds, and Clark drags a hand over his face, his breathing stops and—

His phone rings. God knows why his ringer’s on at this hour, but you pull off of him to pick up the device from the floor beside you. You flip the screen over to read the contact. 

You can’t help it, but you laugh. The two of you know this is wrong. Yet, it feels too good to worry about it now. The moment you called Clark, he knew he was in for it.

“You better answer it.” You face the screen towards him and he sits up. 

“Gosh, no, decline it. Oh no.”

Your hand is still on him.

“She’s gonna get worried. Answer it, Clark. Now.”

He sighs, face lighting up with an idea you already had. “Better be real quiet then, hm?” You nod, biting your lip as he picks up the phone. As soon as you hear her voice through the speaker, you begin to run your hand up and down his length again. 

“H- hey, Lois.”

He looks down at you, silently begging. You make a mock sad face at him, bringing his cock back into your mouth when the other woman speaks up.

He tries to control his breathing, feeling the way your tongue moves against him. Another whimper bubbles up, and he tries to disguise it as a cough. 

“Mm, Lois I don’t know. I think I’m gonna be sick tomorrow.. Well I am sick, so that’s why I will be sick tomorrow. So, gosh— So no breakfast.”

Coming up for air, you huff out a laugh. You plant a few kisses on his thighs, moving up his to his abs and chest.

You climb back onto his lap, straddling him again. You kiss his neck now, nibbling on his ear as he pulls the phone away from the sound of you on him.

“No! I mean, I’m fine, Lois. Don’t bring me anything. You’ll get sick. Go to breakfast with Jimmy tomorrow, he’ll um, he’ll have my drafts.”

You sit up, grabbing the phone out of his hands. He mouths something that looks like ‘Quiet’ and you roll your eyes. 

You look at him expectedly. He manages an “Oka-“ but you hang up the phone before he can finish. He looks at you stunned, but before he can reprimand your immaturity, you kiss him again. 

He can taste himself on you, spit now covering your chin. You slip your tongue between his lips, groaning at the way he’s palming at you now. Anywhere he can touch, his hands are there. Everywhere except for where you want him most.

You lift your hips, a whimper escaping as you pull back to look at him. “Touch me, Clark.” He immediately obliges, removing a hand from your chest and sliding it down to touch you over the drenched lace. 

The contact sends a shiver through you, sitting up on your knees and grabbing at his shoulders. He circles your clit, with featherlight touch, but it’s still sending sparks down your spine. 

You kiss him again, whimpering into his mouth.

“You sound so pretty sweetheart, bet y’want me inside, huh?” 

You nod, and he quickly shoves your panties to the side, slipping a finger inside as you draw him in deeper. He swears he can feel your heartbeat. “Shit,” You mutter, nails digging into his biceps now. He pumps his finger in and out, watching where his hand works against you. You meet his gaze there, watching the way he disappears with a dizzying pleasure.

“More, Clark. Please.” He captures your lips again, working a second, huge finger into you. You can barely kiss him back, crying out from the way he curls his fingers at the spot only he seems to reach. 

“Doing so good, baby. Feel so good around me. Just gotta get you ready.” You’re starting shake, legs getting tired around him as you near your peak. You bring a hand to your clit, rubbing tight circles in an attempt to come. He takes his free hand off your waist, never stopping the relentless attack of his fingers inside, and shoves your hand off of yourself. “Can’t have that. No, let me do it. ‘S my turn.” All you can reply with is a moan, feeling the way he’s thumbing at your clit while keeping up the pace at which he’s moving in and out of you. 

You lower your head into the crook of his neck, muffling the never ending sounds leaving your lips. “Fuck Clark, please.” He smiles at you, “You close, angel? Oh, I know. Come for me, come on my fingers, baby.”

He quickly brings you to your climax. Your thighs squeezing his hand as you shake around him, the pleasure clouding your vision. He brings a hand to the back of your head as you moan against his shoulder, not stopping his ministrations against you until you pull his arm up by the wrist. “That’s it, such a good girl f’me.”

Your eyes are teary when you sit up, and you watch as he brings his soaked hand up to his mouth. He slips the same fingers that were just inside of you into his own mouth, devouring your release. He’s not used to such an insatiable desire, the one he hasn’t felt in over a year. He can’t help it when he starts to stroke himself again, senses engulfed by the taste of you.

“Look at me.” You beg, heavy-lidded eyes meeting his own, pupils blown wide at you. You reach down between the two of you, your hand replacing his own grabbing his swollen cock. You line him up with your entrance, eyes never leaving his. He speaks up, “Yeah, y'ready, angel? Gonna take it?” You hum and sink down onto him, his tip alone stretching you out in that familiar way you never got used to. 

You sink down slower than either of you want. You’re stretching to accommodate him, and his eyes are searching for any discomfort. “Clark, I can take it.”

“I know you can.”

"Then act like it."

At that, he slams into you, hips thrusting up to meet you. The sound the both of you make is borderline pornographic. “Fuck,” You breathe out. “Bet she doesn’t feel this good, huh?”

He shakes his head furiously, thrusting into you now. The pace is brutal. “No, never baby, nobody else. Gosh, you feel so good, can’t stop-“ voice breaking, Clark bottoms out into you over and over again.

You lift your head off of him, and Clark is eye level with your tits. You bring his head closer, and he brings a nipple into his mouth. The added pleasure has you clawing at him, moaning as he relentlessly pounds into you. 

Neither one of you will last like this, but Clark is trying to drag it out. He removes himself from your breast, mouth dragging along your skin. He’s leaving angry, reddish purple marks as he goes, marking you in the places no one else will see. “Mine,” he murmurs against your skin. “Yeah, fuck, yours baby, only yours.”

Even this pace is too much for Clark Kent. He feels himself getting sloppy, thrusts becoming erratic and harsh. He’s hitting you at the perfect angle, already sending you over the edge for the second time that night. “‘M close, Clark, don’t stop-“ 

He groans, “Yeah, me too. Please can I just- Gosh, just let me- oh-“ You grab his jaw, dragging his gaze to you. “I want it inside, Clark, c’mon.” At that, his hands find your ass again, slamming you down onto him in the way that destroys the both of you. Your second orgasm blindsights you, coming on fast and intense. A string of praises and profanities leaves your lips, Clark catching them with his own. You’re shaking and Clark is holding on tight enough to leave bruises. Before long, he’s following suit, spilling inside of you. 

You sit there, slumped over him, with his hands around you, breathing into the crook of his neck. The realization of your actions hitting you. “I’m sorry, Clark.”

He lifts your chin towards him, confused. “No, this was all me, sweetheart." He says, kissing your forehead.

His phone buzzes, lost somewhere in the couch cushions.

a/n: this is my first published fic in foreverrr so if you have any advice or questions or requests leave them in my inbox! AND comment if you wanna be added to my taglist ok bye

masterlist ౨ৎ taglist ౨ৎ part two

© kryptokisses 2025 - original works! do not repost, translate, or duplicate in any way. :)

TAGLIST .ᐟ

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bad idea! series

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MASTERLIST .ᐟ

𖤓 clark kent

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this blog contains nsfw themes and content.

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MY CONTENT .ᐟ

i post fanfiction and random stuff pertaining to my interests. currently hyperfixated on... the dcu (specifically superman, duh), the last of us, hannibal, old movies, etc

most, if not all of my fics will contain mature content & themes and will be labeled as 18+. again, minors dni.

© kryptokisses 2026 - original works! do not repost, translate, or duplicate in any way. :)