BAD IDEA! - CLARK KENT ౨ৎ
cheater!clark kent x morally gray f!reader
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.
Lois :) is calling…
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.
“Hey Clark! Just wanted to know if we were still on for breakfast in the morning. I miss you, and we need to run over these drafts before sending them in for edits.”
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.
“Clark, what? You were fine earlier. Do you need me to bring you something?”
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.
“Okay, I’ll text him. Let me know if I can bring you anything, okay?”
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.
Lois :) - 1 New Message Can we talk?
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. :)
