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F!reader x Clark Kent (superman 2025)
wr: masturbation,fluff, kisses
After that incident, two men now occupy your thoughts, the sweet Daily Planet worker and the noble Superman.
No one bothered you at work, which was good, but that journalist from the Daily Planet never came to that cafe again. The more days passed, the faster you forgot about him, continuing to live your usual routine.
For the first time in months, you decided to relax on a Friday evening away from home. You decided to go to a cafe; you had no friends, so you went alone, bought popcorn and a Coke, and went to buy a ticket to the next showing of any movie. You didn't care, just to sit in one place for an hour or two and think about nothing but the story on the screen.
The next show was in 15 minutes - the film "Love, Rosie" you had seen it before, this film was not new, but lately the cinemas have been showing old films a lot, maybe it was even good, not that you were a fan of films about love, but why not?
No one was allowed into the movie theater yet, you sat at a table, waiting for the janitors to finish cleaning after the last show and you could take your place. There were few people in the lobby, everyone was buying tickets for action movies or thrillers, some came with their families, some with their partners. Maybe you'll be lucky and you'll be alone in the movie theater.
After a while, you handed your ticket to the inspector for checking and then went inside. You found your seat and sat down, placing the popcorn in the holder and opening a Coke in advance. Just in case, you checked to see if there were any tissues in your purse because you clearly remembered crying the last time you saw this movie, and, well, you know, it's better to be on the safe side.
The ad had already ended, and until then, no one else was there except you and a teen couple in the back row who couldn't keep their hands off each other, but they didn't bother you much.
The movie had been going on for three minutes when the door opened, shedding a strip of light into the dark room.
A man walked inside, and the door closed behind him. He stumbled slightly in the darkness and walked to his seat, just one seat to your left.
Why here? There's no one here, why doesn't he sit somewhere further away?
You turned to him, and the furious stream of angry thoughts died down when you saw the familiar side face with those ridiculous glasses in the light from the big screen.
You quickly turned back to the screen. Angry thoughts gave way to other, more confusing ones.
Why is he here, of all people, for this movie? Damn, I thought I'd never see him again⦠What if it was fate?
You had to ask his name and get his number, otherwise you'll never forgive yourself and will be kicking yourself for months, if not years. You reached for your open bottle of Coke but dropped it⦠and the sweet, dark liquid spilled right onto Clark's pants.
The man winced and resisted the urge to curse under his breath, but you cursed loud enough for him to hear and frantically pulled wet wipes out of your bag and handed them to Clark.
"Fuck... Sorry, sir, for God's sake, I did that by accidentβ¦" You blushed deeply.
The man chuckled quietly and took the napkins, blotting his wet jeans. βItβs okay, it happens to everyoneβ¦ Do I know you?β His blue eyes focused on your face before smiling a little wider. βOh, you work at the cafe next to the Daily Planet building. I was there once, it was very good.β
The two of you left the movie and went to the restroom. You stood behind the wall while Clark washed the sticky cola off his jeans. Luckily, the jeans were also black, so the stains were barely visible.
You sat on the floor, holding a half-finished caramel popcorn. You felt awkward, but at least you got to know him better.
Clark began regularly visiting your cafΓ© in the evenings, inviting you to the movies, and each time, teasingly and demonstratively, he'd take your Coke from your hand, placing it on his side of the seat. It became an almost constant ritual in your lives: movies every Wednesday and Friday, he'd pay for tickets and snacks, open doors for you, and walk you home afterwards.
Finally, a couple of months after you'd met, during a movie, his hand landed on your jaw, almost weightlessly. You turned your face toward him, and he leaned in slightly with his eyes closed. You thought about it when you saw your seats were in the last row at the tickets, but you decided you were just delusional, and Clark couldn't be so predictable... but predictability doesn't mean a lack of romance.
His lips hesitantly touched yours, brushing slightly. It wasn't a kiss, it was a question. He was waiting for your move.
Your eyelashes fluttered slightly before your eyes closed completely and your lips crashed into his, knocking the air out of his lungs. He had expected more uncertainty but he certainly appreciated your eagerness because it eased his hesitation.
His hand on your jaw now rested confidently on your thigh, caressing the fabric of your jeans with his thumb, and your arms were wrapped around his shoulders. After this moment, everything changed between you, now everything became clear
Clark was the one you dreamed about, the one you wanted to wake up with and you did it. You moved into his apartment, slept in the same bed, watching movies at the cinema now became a home affair in his living room, and instead of snacks, there was dinner that you both cooked.
Clark always fell asleep after you and woke up first. You never saw him without his glasses. He only wasn't wearing them occasionally at night during sex, but only if the room was dark. This was rare because he liked to see you underneath him, so he fucked you with his glasses on the other times. But you didn't think it was a big deal. After all, what if he was blind as a bat?
You woke up in the morning by kisses on your neck and along your shoulder, tender strokes on your bare side, then on your thigh, before a gentle hand unhesitatingly slid between your legs, gently caressing you, still sensitive from last night. You moaned into the pillow, squeezing his hand between your thighs.
Clark purred softly in your ear, his chest pressed against your back. You cracked your eyes open and turned your head over your shoulder to see Clarke, his glasses on and his hair tousled.
"Hey, handsome. Are you caressing me before I even wake up?" you said without a hint of anger; you loved waking up like this with Clark, especially after hot nights.
Clark's lips curved into a gentle smile and he nuzzled your nose. "I'll probably be late at work today. Don't wait up for me, have dinner and go to bed. I'll be sure to call you." He got out of bed and pulled clothes out of the closet, pulling them on.
Clark leaned toward you again, resting his knee on the mattress, and kissed your forehead. "Rest, baby, love you."
The day passed rather routinely. Clark had been late at the office before so it wasnt bothering you. You knew his friends, Jimmy, Lois, and the other guys, they were all friendly to you when you brought him lunch at work, and you trusted him completely. Moreover, this was the first corporate party at his place of work in a couple of months. You wanted him to relax and have a good time. You had dinner, took a shower, changed into your pajamas, and flopped into bed, waiting for the next day when you could spend time with your man.
The faucet water trickled icy cold into a glass in the middle of the night when you rubs your eyes sleepily, crossed the dark living room. And froze. On the sofa, in a sliver of moonlight, lay the silhouette of a man.
But not the Clark who had kissed the top of her head that morning, promising to stay for the "boring Daily Planet corporate party." This Clark was a broken mannequin, hastily stretched in someone else's skin. A white shirt, unbuttoned, hung over a blue leotard with a scarlet "S" on the chest, barely covered by fabric. The trousers from an office suit were worn over blue pants. And his glasses, the very ones that made his gaze soft and inconspicuous, had slid down to the tip of his nose, revealing the features that you never seen.
He was asleep. His breathing was heavy, his lips parted. A fresh bruise darkened his cheekbone, and Superman's suit gaped with smoky bald spots, as if it had been scraped with a hot iron. One arm hung limply from the sofa pillow, his fingers trembling slightly.
The world narrowed to this moonbeam and the silence, in which a voice in your head suddenly rang out:
"Metropolis was just saved from destruction, and you bring me soup when I'm sick."
"You always know the right thing to say. You appear the second I think of you."
"Your handsβ¦ God, your hands have supported the weight of a skyscraper, and today you so carefully adjusted the blanket around my shouldersβ¦"
You didn't exhale. you didn't drop your glass. Slowly, as if in a dream, you knelt before the sofa. Your shadow fell across his face. You reached outβnot to the hero, but to your tired, perpetually late boyfriendβand your fingertips barely touched the warm cheek beneath the bruise.
"Clark," you whispered into the silence, and the word now meant twice as much. His eyelids fluttered.
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