iamburdened

[iamburdened]

we need to make using chatgpt embarrassing bc sorry it really is. what do you mean you can’t write an email

[iamburdened]

only eyes for you

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x reader

Summary: When feelings run deeper than friendship, one confession changes everything between Clark and you.

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: fluff, jealousy

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The elevator dings open with its usual sluggish charm, a mechanical groan that signaled the start of yet another long day at the Daily Planet. Clark stepped out, surprisingly early, a rare but intentional move, as if beating the morning rush might somehow settle the nerves that had been fluttering in his chest since 5:47 a.m. He held a coffee in one hand—black, no sugar, lukewarm by now—and his other hand kept drifting to his collar, adjusting it with increasing frequency. Tug. Glance. Tug again. The shirt was new, pressed so neatly it still bore the faintest imprint of its packaging folds, but it hung awkwardly on his frame like it didn’t quite belong to him. It would have looked sharp—confident, even—if he hadn’t already tugged at the collar three times from just glancing toward your desk.

You weren’t there yet.

Your monitor blinked idly, in that faint, tired way of machines that knew the rhythm of their owners. It waited for you like it always did—patient, unbothered—until you’d arrive with your usual combination of sleep-blurred eyes and dry wit. Mornings with you were a ritual: a soft yawn, a stretch that always made your sweater ride just slightly off one shoulder, and a half-sincere “I’m quitting this job today” muttered in the general direction of Lois, who always smirked in reply without looking up from her keyboard. Then you'd sit down, scoot your chair in with that same little sigh you always made, and start your day with stubborn fire and the faintest smell of coconut shampoo trailing behind you like a secret.

Clark sighed. He adjusted his glasses, more for something to do than any real necessity, and tried not to look like he was waiting.

He totally was.

“You know,” came a voice beside him, casual and sharp like a knife dressed as a butter spreader, “most people just ask the person out instead of brooding around their desk every day like a sad Victorian widow.”

Clark startled, nearly spilling his coffee. Lois stood there, arms crossed, eyes glittering with the thrill of good gossip and the subtle satisfaction of knowing she was absolutely right.

“I don’t—brood,” he said, voice going tight, almost defensive. It might’ve carried more weight if his eyes hadn’t flicked once more toward your empty chair.

Lois raised an eyebrow, her smirk stretching wider. “You write award-winning exposés about criminal empires and government cover-ups, and yet you can’t even say ‘hi’ without turning into a tomato when she smiles at you. Face it, Smallville. You got it bad.”

Clark opened his mouth to protest, but the words stalled. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He didn’t know when it had happened, exactly. Maybe it was that first time you made a face during one of Perry’s rants and caught his eye across the room. Maybe it was the way you always talked to interns like their names mattered. Maybe it was the way you swore under your breath when your computer crashed and then apologized to it like it could hear you. Maybe it was all of it—small, ordinary things that slowly pieced themselves together into something extraordinary.

Whatever it was, you’d gotten under his skin. Into his mind. Into his everything.

You were in the quiet spaces—between assignments, in elevator silences, in the stretch of minutes between getting coffee and returning to his desk. You were there in his half-written headlines, in the songs he didn’t remember liking until you hummed them one afternoon. You were the warmth behind his ribs that made winter seem less cruel. You’d crept into his life like sunlight through dusty blinds—soft, steady, and entirely impossible to ignore.

He tried to tell himself it was just a crush. Something small and manageable. A passing thing.

But that was a lie. Clark Kent was many things, but when it came to you, he was no longer capable of half-measures. His feelings weren’t neat or polite or easily brushed away. They were sprawling. Messy. Alive.

He thought of the way you once laughed so hard at something he said that you snorted—just a little—and then looked horrified until he started laughing too. He thought of the day your eyes were red from crying after a phone call, and how you insisted you were fine even as you stayed late to finish your article, your jaw set like stone. He thought of all the moments he’d watched you without realizing, only to catch himself and quickly look away—flushed, guilty, and somehow lighter.

It was terrifying, how much space you already took up in his world.

And yet, the only thing scarier was the thought of never finding the courage to tell you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, far too quickly, and took a sip of his coffee like it might shield him from the truth—or from Lois, who was still watching him with the smug delight of someone who knew she’d won this round.

“Sure,” she said, drawing out the word like it tasted sweet. “Just do me a favor and try not to sigh so tragically when she walks in today, okay? You’re giving the copy interns ideas for fanfiction.”

Clark opened his mouth for a comeback that would probably make him cringe the moment he said it—something dry and sarcastic, a little too defensive to be funny—but shut it the second Perry White’s unmistakable voice boomed across the bullpen like thunder in a newsroom sky.

“All right, everyone—pause your aimless tweeting and come meet our new tech and security correspondent, Jason Walsh. Just hired him from Metropolis Tech Today. Let’s pretend we’re a welcoming environment for five damn minutes.”

A few heads popped up. Chairs squeaked. Lois leaned back in her chair with a raised eyebrow, already assessing the new hire like she was picking apart a résumé with X-ray vision. Clark barely registered the name. New hires came and went. Usually eager, ambitious, a little too quick with coffee orders. He didn’t pay them much mind unless he had to.

At least, not until you walked in.

You came in from the other side of the bullpen, arms full with a laptop and half-finished iced coffee, balancing both like you’d done it a hundred times. The usual: a soft breeze of coconut shampoo, a distracted little smile meant for no one in particular. Clark felt his spine relax instinctively at the sight of you—until you looked across the floor, toward the newcomer, and stopped mid-step.

Your mouth dropped open slightly. “Jason?”

Clark turned, slow and blinking, as if someone had hit pause on his world.

The guy—Jason, apparently—turned at the sound of your voice, and his eyes lit up with recognition. He grinned like he’d just spotted the sun after years of rain.

“No way. Y/N?!” he said, already moving.

You met in the middle of the bullpen, your things nearly tumbling from your arms as he scooped you into a hug. Not a polite, corporate hug. A real one. Long. Tight. Familiar in a way that made Clark’s stomach flip unpleasantly. It was the kind of hug that said history, that said closeness. That said something Clark didn’t know.

He blinked.

What. The. Hell.

You pulled back just enough to laugh, your face lit up like it had its own gravity. “Oh my god, it’s been—what—five years? Since that awful senior internship?”

Jason chuckled, and Clark hated the sound of it instantly. “Awful for you,” he teased. “Best summer of my life.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin that softened the sarcasm. “We used to pull all-nighters in the lab and prank the TA. Remember the Diet Coke incident?”

“How could I forget? That man still probably flinches when he sees Mentos.”

Clark’s jaw tensed.

Then Jason turned toward Perry again, still grinning. “This is wild. Y/N and I were inseparable back in college. Same program, same projects—”

“Same internship, same professors, same caffeine addiction,” you chimed in, laughing, and Jason joined in like it was an inside joke still fresh.

Clark’s stomach twisted. Hard. It sat in his gut like a bad lead story, the kind that wouldn’t quite come together no matter how many times you rewrote the headline.

“Cool,” he said flatly, standing just a few feet away.

You turned toward him, your eyes brightening when you saw him, oblivious to the tightness in his jaw. “Clark! This is Jason Walsh. We were friends in college. He’s—well, I guess we’ll be coworkers now.”

Clark nodded once and extended a hand. The handshake was meant to be quick, professional.

It wasn’t.

He didn’t mean to squeeze. Not really. But somehow, the pressure built anyway, like gravity collapsing inward. Jason blinked and gave a polite chuckle as he tried not to visibly wince.

“Wow,” he said, flexing his fingers as Clark finally let go. “You work out, huh?”

You laughed a little at that, clearly missing the tension—or ignoring it. “Clark’s just a big guy,” you said fondly, nudging him gently. “Don’t let the glasses fool you.”

Clark’s ears burned. He forced a smile. But his thoughts were anything but calm.

Who the hell is this guy? Why didn’t you ever mention him? Why do you look so happy to see him?

The bullpen settled again, the crowd dispersing like a tide rolling out, but something inside Clark stayed standing on that shore, caught in the undertow. He moved back to his desk, trying to focus, typing half a sentence and then deleting it, starting again, forgetting what he meant to write. It was all background noise now. Except you.

Always you.

He kept stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking—watching the way you leaned into Jason’s shoulder when he showed you something on his phone, your laughter lighting up the space between you like a flickering neon sign in a dim alley. The kind of laugh that cracked wide open, the kind you couldn’t fake.

Clark had heard you laugh before—sarcastic, warm, polite, sometimes sharp. But not like that. Not like something being remembered. Not like something returning after a long time away.

You never laughed like that with him.

Something sharp and unfamiliar settled beneath Clark’s ribs—hot and stupid and painful. Jealousy was supposed to be beneath him. Petty. Human. And yet here it was, thrumming through him like the static before a lightning strike.

He glanced again. Jason said something that made you snort through your coffee. You leaned closer.

Clark’s hands clenched under the desk.

He hated this. Hated how small he suddenly felt in his own skin, how large the newsroom seemed around him, like it had reshaped itself to make more room for Jason. He hated how your body language told him more than your words ever had—that there was history there, real history, the kind built in dorm rooms and library corners and late-night coding marathons. The kind Clark couldn’t compete with. The kind that terrified him.

And most of all, he hated that he didn’t know how to ask.

Because asking would mean admitting. Admitting he felt something. That he wanted something. That he wanted you.

And wanting you meant risking everything.

So instead, Clark just sat there.

Silently writing a story he could no longer concentrate on. Trying not to look your way. Failing.

Again and again.

Later on, Clark was typing an article. Or—more accurately—pretending to.

His fingers hovered above the keys, still, uncertain, as if frozen mid-thought. The document on his screen blinked expectantly, cursor pulsing beneath the mockingly unfinished title:

“Untitled Draft 2.”

It glowed in front of him like a neon accusation. The screen had been open for over an hour. Not a single line written. Not a single word formed. Just that blinking cursor, rhythmic and relentless, tapping out a beat that mirrored the low thrum of his growing frustration.

He wasn’t even trying anymore.

Not when you were twenty feet away. Not when you were standing there, leaning casually against the bullpen’s central table, posture loose and open, a coffee cup in one hand and that easy, off-duty kind of smile on your face—the one you only wore when no one important was watching, when the job was momentarily in the background and it was just you, relaxed and real.

And of course, he was there too.

Jason.

Clark didn’t even have to turn his head. He could see everything reflected in the glossy black border of his monitor. Jason was leaning in close, casually close, his body angled toward yours like gravity was pulling him in. He said something—Clark did not want to hear it—but whatever it was, it made you laugh.

Not the polite kind, not the practiced, social chuckle you sometimes used when a source said something awkward.

No, this was your real laugh. The one that crinkled the corners of your eyes and made you throw your head back just slightly. The one where your hand went to your stomach like the joy had surprised it out of you. The laugh Clark had heard only a handful of times and never stopped thinking about.

His fingers curled lightly into fists over the keyboard.

He closed his eyes.

Tried to will the jealousy away, tried to remind himself that he had no claim over you, no right to feel this sharp, bitter thing clawing behind his ribs.

So he did what he always did when his emotions threatened to outrun his composure.

He listened.

Not to the conversations around him—not to the tapping of keyboards, the ringing phones. None of that mattered. He tuned in deeper. Past the distractions. Past the noise.

To you.

Not your voice—he already knew that like a favorite song. No, it was something else. Quieter. More intimate.

Your heartbeat.

It was subtle, just beneath the surface of the world. He hadn’t meant to notice it, months ago, when it first began. But there it was—constant, gentle, and warm. A familiar rhythm in the chaos. He never listened for long. Never intruded. But sometimes, when the newsroom was too loud and his thoughts were louder, he’d find calm in the steady sound of your life.

And lately, he’d noticed something.

When you were near him—close enough to speak, close enough to brush shoulders or share a passing joke—there was a shift. A slight uptick in your heart rate. Barely there, but real. A flutter.

Like nerves. Like anticipation. Like… hope?

He didn’t let himself name it. Not fully. But he noticed it, and every time, he held onto it like a secret.

So now, he listened.

You were laughing. Smiling. You looked… happy.

And yet—

He focused harder. Just for a second. Blocking out everything else.

Your heartbeat.

It was steady.

Too steady.

Calm.

There was no flutter, no gentle race of blood behind your ribs. Nothing like the way your pulse quickened when your fingers brushed his during a shared notepad or when you caught his eye across the newsroom.

His jaw tensed before he could stop it. Something inside him tightened. Then—

He exhaled.

Relieved.

The guilt came next. Immediate and heavy. What kind of person felt relief over someone not being excited about someone else?

You were allowed to laugh. To feel at ease. You were allowed to have history with someone. You were allowed to reconnect, to smile like old memories were good ones.

But still.

God, he hated that guy.

“Hey, Kent.”

Clark jolted.

He’d been so focused on the rhythm of your heartbeat—so tangled in the sound and the silence—that he hadn’t heard Jimmy approach.

He turned, startled. “Yeah?”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed like a concerned older brother trying to read an alien language. “You good, man?”

Clark blinked once. Then again. He straightened his glasses unnecessarily. “Yeah—why wouldn’t I be?”

Jimmy cocked his head, lips twitching in that way that meant trouble. “You look like you’re either solving a murder… or trying to melt Jason with your brain.”

Clark scoffed quietly, turning back to his screen. “I wasn’t—what? I wasn’t even looking at them.”

Jimmy arched a very Lois-like eyebrow. “Kent, you’ve been staring at your reflection in the monitor for five minutes. Not typing. Not blinking. Honestly? Kinda serial killer.”

Clark turned quickly and tapped at his keyboard like he was definitely working, like he’d been working the whole time. The result was a chaotic string of letters.

fjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfj

Subtle.

Jimmy leaned over to glance. “Impressive prose. Pulitzer’s gonna love that one.”

Clark exhaled through his nose. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh. You sure? Because you’re doing the thing with your jaw again.”

Clark frowned. “What thing?”

“The flexy thing. Like you’re chewing invisible gum and trying not to say something dumb.”

Clark muttered, “I’m fine.”

Jimmy didn’t push. He just grinned, clapped him once on the back, and said, “Alright, man. But if you’re gonna brood, at least do it with snacks. I’m grabbing chips. Want anything?”

Clark shook his head, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” Jimmy disappeared toward the breakroom with the casual ease of someone who had no idea how hard Clark was trying not to super-punch a wall.

And once he was gone, Clark looked up.

One more glance.

You were listening to Jason again, head tilted slightly, hair falling over one shoulder. Your expression was interested, but not enamored. Not swept away. Your body was relaxed, but—Clark noticed—angled toward his desk. Not Jason’s.

It was subtle. Probably unconscious.

But it was real.

And then Jason said something else, something you smiled at politely—but the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your heart didn’t skip.

Not once.

But then you glanced up, almost instinctively, across the room—and your eyes found him.

And for the briefest second, your heart did something it hadn’t done all morning.

It skipped.

Just once.

Clark’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t let it show. He simply turned back to his screen, eyes softening.

And he smiled. Just a little.

Almost imperceptibly.

Not because he had proof. Not because anything was certain. But because in a room full of noise, he could still hear you.

And he knew.

She’s not in love with Jason.

Not even close.

Over the next few days, Clark told himself he wasn’t paying attention.

And then promptly proved himself a liar every time you stepped into the room.

At first, it was unconscious. Reflexive. His gaze would flick up from his computer the moment your voice echoed through the bullpen—light, casual, familiar. You laughed more around Jason now. Not in that infatuated way Clark had feared—at least, not always—but in a comfortable, well-worn rhythm that made Clark feel like he was standing on the outside of a joke he didn’t understand.

Jason had settled in fast. Too fast.

He walked around like he’d been born between cubicles, like the place belonged to him. Charming. Effortless. Clark watched from behind his glasses, jaw tightening imperceptibly each time he saw Jason drop by your desk like he owned time itself.

One afternoon, Clark glanced up to see Jason handing you a flash drive. You took it with a quiet grin and leaned in to read something on his laptop.

You were close. Shoulders nearly touching. Your faces tilted toward the same screen like you were orbiting the same sun.

Clark’s stomach sank. Again.

Later, he caught the two of you sharing a bag of chips during a late-night edit session—your chair dragged closer to Jason’s desk, knees nearly brushing. You laughed at something he said and mock-threw a pen at him. It bounced off his shoulder.

Clark didn't even pretend to work after that. He just stared at his screen and let the words blur again.

The worst part was that you never did anything wrong. You weren’t flirting. You weren’t leading anyone on. You were just you. Bright, kind, endlessly warm.

The problem was: Clark wanted to be on the receiving end of that warmth so badly it ached.

He hated how easily Jason seemed to slot into your life. Like a puzzle piece Clark hadn’t even realized was missing. Like someone who already knew your rhythms and quirks. Like someone who belonged.

Clark didn't know how to compete with history.

And yet—

He still noticed the things Jason didn’t.

Like how your leg bounced slightly when you were frustrated. Or the way you always twisted your ring when you were thinking too hard. Jason never seemed to catch those things. But Clark had memorized them like scripture.

He tried not to think about it too much. Tried not to hope.

Until thurday night.

The bullpen was nearly silent—just the low murmur of distant city traffic and the occasional noise of an overworked printer across the floor. Most of the lights had dimmed to their overnight setting that made the Daily Planet feel less like a place of urgency and more like a room catching its breath.

Clark stayed behind. It wasn’t unusual—he often worked late, the noise of the newsroom more comforting than the silence of his apartment—but tonight, he wasn’t exactly working.

He sat at his desk, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers resting on the keyboard like they were waiting for the right words to drop into his lap. They didn’t. The document on his screen stared back blankly, its blinking cursor at the top of Untitled Draft 2 like a dare. The story in front of him was routine—city council budget hearings, boring but necessary—but everything in his chest was anything but routine. His focus fractured every few seconds. Words blurred into fragments. Thoughts drifted.

Drifted to you.

As they had all week.

You’d been different lately. Or maybe you hadn’t changed at all. Maybe it was just that Jason’s presence threw everything into sharper focus. Maybe Clark had simply been watching more carefully—how could he not, with the way you glowed when you laughed, even when you tried not to?

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t his business. That whatever past you and Jason shared was yours to carry, not his to question.

And still, the jealousy sat in his chest like a storm cloud that refused to break.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes stinging from the monitor light.

Then he heard it.

Not the click of heels or the shuffle of papers. Just a voice.

Yours.

Low. Soft. Threaded with fatigue and something quieter beneath.

“Hey, handsome.”

He looked up.

You stood just outside his cubicle, leaning against the divider with your arms crossed loosely, your cardigan wrapped around you like it had been a long day. There were faint creases under your eyes, the kind that said it had been a long week, too. But there was something in your expression—wary, maybe, or hesitant. Like you’d been circling the idea of walking over for a while, trying to decide if you should.

And then you had.

“Hi sweetheart,” Clark said, clearing his throat. He straightened instinctively, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Still here?”

You nodded, glancing toward your empty desk behind you. “Lois bailed. Jason’s off charming the IT team.” You smiled faintly. “I figured I’d get a head start on tomorrow’s edit pass.”

He smiled back, small and tired. “Of course. Overachiever.”

You shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

The silence stretched for a second—longer than either of you usually let it.

“You okay?” you asked.

He blinked.

You weren’t asking out of politeness. You didn’t ask that way. You were studying him now, the same way you studied interview subjects when you were trying to get them to open up. Not forceful. Just... there. Present. Listening.

“I…” He faltered. “Yeah. Why?”

You gave him a half-smile. “You’ve been weird this week.”

He frowned slightly. “Weird how?”

“I mean—you’re always a little weird.” You teased gently, giving him a look. “But this week? You’ve been distracted. Like, staring-into-space, forget-your-coffee weird. Broody weird.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t carry far. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You didn’t laugh with him. Not fully. You just kept looking at him. There was something different in your gaze now—quieter, more searching. The soft edges of humor had faded.

He knew that look. It meant you were giving him the chance to say something, to be honest with you. And that if he wasn’t, you’d let it go. You never pushed. That was part of what made it worse.

Clark sat back slightly in his chair, hands falling still. “I guess I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” he said.

You tilted your head slightly. Your voice dropped, softer this time. “It’s not about Jason, is it?”

Clark stiffened.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just stared at the blinking cursor on his screen.

“…What makes you say that?”

“You tense up when he walks into the room,” you said plainly. “You stop talking when I mention him. And you glare at him when you think no one’s watching.”

He finally looked up.

“…Are you… are you guys together?” Clark’s voice broke like fragile glass, cracking with panic that barely masked something deeper—something raw, vulnerable, like a man on the edge, daring to hope but terrified to ask. His eyes flicked up, searching yours desperately, as if the answer would somehow rewrite the story he’d been telling himself. He couldn't believe that he asked you that question, that he was so straightforward. That he even had the nerve to go over the line that he created in his head.

You blinked, completely thrown by the sudden bluntness. The question hit you harder than you expected, slicing through the silence like a spotlight in a dark room. For a moment, you hesitated, your breath catching just a little. Then, a short laugh escaped you—half surprise, half disbelief—but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. There was something fragile in your smile, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

“No,” you said, voice steady but firm. You stepped forward, closing the space between you, uncrossing your arms like you were tearing down a barrier that had kept you both at arm’s length for too long. “Jason and I? God no. We’re not together. We never were. He’s not even my type. And, honestly?” You took a breath, letting the weight of the words settle between you. “It’s not him that I have feelings for.”

Clark’s throat tightened so much it was a struggle just to swallow. His heart started hammering against his ribs, a thunderous beat drowning out everything else in the room. “Then—” He stammered, words catching and tumbling over themselves like a child caught in a lie, fumbling for the truth. “Then who do you…? Who do you have feelings for?”

You smirked, the edges of your lips curling in amused disbelief at the pure, unfiltered panic spilling off him in waves. There was a flicker of warmth in your eyes, a soft light dancing with the humor of the moment—and something else, something tender. “It’s you, silly.”

For a second, the world seemed to stop. The air thickened and froze, as if every atom was holding its breath, waiting. That simple, unguarded sentence hit Clark like a thunderclap—shaking the ground beneath his feet, flipping his entire universe upside down.

His breath hitched, a shaky exhale slipping out, relief flooding through him like a sudden downpour—but it was fleeting, replaced instantly by a rising panic that roared louder and hotter, scrambling his thoughts. “Wait—wait. You mean—” His voice cracked again, climbing higher in disbelief and hope. “You have feelings for me? For me?” The last word barely a whisper, like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

Your eyes sparkled with laughter, that teasing, warm light mixed with something softer—something deeper and more profound. You leaned in just a little, lowering your voice until it was a breathy secret shared only between the two of you. “Yeah bubby,” you said slow and deliberate, savoring the moment like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I do.”

Clark’s heart exploded in his chest, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it—a frantic, desperate rhythm of hope and fear and everything he’d been too scared to say aloud until now. He swallowed hard, feeling a rush of courage like electricity surging through his veins, igniting every nerve ending until he was trembling with the truth he’d held inside for so long.

“Okay. Okay, listen,” Clark blurted, his voice trembling but fierce, like he was both terrified and determined all at once. “I—I like you. Like, a lot. More than I probably should admit without sounding ridiculous or—” He stopped, swallowing hard, then ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide and raw with desperate honesty. “I’ve been pretending for weeks that I’m fine just working next to you, that it’s all professional, but—no. It’s not. Not even close.”

His gaze locked onto yours, unflinching and intense. “I think about you all the time. When I’m supposed to be paying attention in meetings, when I’m writing my articles, when I’m just standing here waiting for the elevator. I—I want to know everything about you. Your stupid coffee order that you always change, your favorite song that you hum when you think no one hears, the way your laugh sounds—especially when you don’t think anyone’s watching.”

He took a shaky breath, voice lowering, almost breaking with the weight of it all. “I want to be the reason you stay late. I want to be the reason you smile on a bad day, the reason your eyes light up when someone walks into the room. I want to be the person you think about when you’re not here.”

You watched him, breath caught, feeling the walls you’d built around your heart slowly crumble, brick by brick, with every word. The busy noise of the newsroom faded away, like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. His raw vulnerability was breathtaking.

You took a step closer, closing the last bit of distance until the space between you was charged, electric. Your voice was soft but steady, a tremor beneath the certainty. “Clark,” you said, “it’s not weird. It’s not complicated. It’s real. And I like you. Probably more than I should, too.”

His grin was shy but full of relief and disbelief, cheeks flushed in a way that made him look impossibly endearing. “So… um, would you maybe want to go out sometime? On a date? I promise I’ll try to behave.”

You rolled your eyes with a teasing smile, warmth flooding your chest. “Try is definitely the key word there.”

He laughed—a light, hopeful sound that filled the space between you like a promise. “I can’t promise I won’t mess up,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping low, “but I can promise I’ll show up. Every single time.”

Your hand reached out almost without thinking, fingers brushing lightly against his arm. The touch was electric, sending a thrill sparking through both of you, raw and alive.

Clark’s breath hitched, and without another word, he leaned in. There was a brief pause—just a heartbeat—as if he was asking for permission without words, then his lips met yours.

The kiss was tentative at first—soft, exploring, uncertain. But it quickly deepened, growing more urgent, more desperate, fueled by months of secret feelings and quiet longing. His hands moved to cradle your face gently, thumbs tracing the curve of your cheeks as his lips pressed harder against yours.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, craving every inch of him. The world around you melted away until there was nothing but the heat of his mouth, the steady beat of his heart pressed against yours, the breathless electricity buzzing through your veins.

Clark’s hands slipped down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your bodies molded together perfectly, every nerve ending ignited with the thrill of finally being this close, finally letting the feelings you’d kept hidden burst into the open.

When he finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your cheek, he whispered, “I’m glad you like disaster… because you’ve just signed up for a lifetime of it.”

You laughed softly, heart pounding wildly. “You’re such a weirdo.”

His grin turned wicked, full of promise and relief, his eyes sparkling with everything you needed to hear. “And yet,” he said, voice low and full of warmth, “here I am.”

[iamburdened]

heartbeat

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x reader

Summary: you make Clark's heart beat faster < 3

Word count: 2.2+

Warnings: fluff, idiots being in love

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The first time Clark asked you out, it was in the most un-Clark-like way possible.

Not the usual quiet charm he was known for. Not a well-rehearsed plan or a charming line delivered with that soft, blue-eyed confidence.

No.

It was a panicked, typo-ridden text sent from behind a stack of grocery bags while he was halfway through rescuing a kitten from a rain gutter.

Literally.

He’d seen you earlier that day—just in passing, outside the café you liked. You were laughing at something your friend had said, clutching a half-melted iced coffee, hair catching the sunlight in a way that made Clark blink a little too long. And in that moment, his brain had just… short-circuited.

He’d liked you for weeks. Possibly longer. Possibly since the first time you’d smiled at him in the newsroom and said his name like it meant something. You had this way of leaning in when you listened, like every word mattered, and it made Clark—who was used to being heard, but not always seen—feel like he was standing in sunlight, even on cloudy days.

But he hadn’t said anything. Because how was he supposed to? How did someone like him ask someone like you out without sounding like a weirdo? Or worse, without scaring you off?

He told himself he’d wait for the right moment.

The right moment never came.

Instead, he found himself standing outside a bodega at 7:13 PM with two bags of groceries balanced in one hand, a struggling orange tabby under his other arm, and an absurd amount of adrenaline in his veins. The kitten had been stuck in a drain. Easy save. But while he was floating her down onto the sidewalk behind a dumpster—carefully making sure no one could see—the thought hit him again:

You. Your laugh. Your eyes. That look you gave him this morning.

And then, completely unprompted, his fingers opened his phone. He wasn’t even thinking. It was like his thumbs had mutinied.

The message he typed (and almost deleted six times) read:

hey! this is clark (kent, from work lol). ok this is random and probably weird BUT i’ve been meaning to ask you out and i kept chickening out so here it is. me. asking. you. out. coffee? not weird coffee. normal coffee. unless you like weird coffee then i can—what am i saying. anyway, let me know :)

He stared at it. Too long. Every part of his brain screamed to throw his phone in the gutter with the cat hair.

And then the kitten meowed, claws digging into his jacket, groceries slipping.

Clark hit send.

Immediately regretted it.

“Oh god,” he muttered, shifting the cat. “I just sent a gremlin message to the most beautiful person I’ve ever met while holding a box of Frosted Flakes and a stray animal.”

His face was on fire. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

What made it worse—infinitely worse—was that he could hear yours too. Not in that moment, of course. But on normal days, when you were around him. Your heart always sounded warm, like a steady hum beneath your voice. And now, all he could think about was how fast yours would beat when you read his message. Would it flutter? Or would it flatline in secondhand embarrassment?

He nearly turned around and flew to the moon.

And then his phone buzzed.

hi clark kent from work :) i was wondering when you were going to ask. coffee sounds great. weird coffee preferred.

Clark’s knees almost gave out right there on the sidewalk.

And now, twenty-five days later—not that Clark was counting or anything—here you were. Curled into the broad warmth of his chest, his flannel shirt bunched slightly under your cheek, a half-finished bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and Pretty Woman playing its DVD menu on loop for the third time.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. Just that it felt right—your hand resting lazily over his heartbeat, your legs tangled somewhere under the shared throw blanket, his thumb gently brushing circles into your back. Like your body decided this was the safest place on earth and clocked out early.

Clark stirred before you did.

He blinked up at the ceiling, the echo of animated music looping in the background, and immediately became aware of three things:

You were still asleep on his chest. His arm had gone numb. He didn’t want to move even a millimeter of you.

Because God—seeing you like this, sleeping so soundly, so close, so soft against him—it made something ache in the back of his throat. You weren’t just beautiful. You were luminous. Your lashes brushed your cheek. Your lips were parted just slightly. And even your breathing, rhythmic and slow, had a quiet elegance to it.

He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to witness it.

“Not fair,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “You make gravity feel like it’s pulling toward you.”

He paused, cringing slightly at his own corny line. But you didn’t stir. Just shifted slightly, pressing your nose into the crook of his neck with a sleepy sigh.

Clark swallowed hard.

And then—because Clark was Clark—his heart betrayed him.

Beep. Buzz.

“Elevated heart rate detected.”

The robotic voice of his smartwatch whispered like a megaphone in the stillness, shrill and traitorous.

Clark’s eyes widened in horror.

No. No no no.

He moved too quickly, instinct overriding logic—his upper body tensed, trying to sit up—a mistake. A massive mistake. Because you stirred instantly, murmuring something incoherent as you shifted sleepily against him. Your hand slid down his chest, your cheek nestled closer.

Clark froze, mid-motion, his entire being stiff with panic, like a deer caught in the world’s coziest headlights.

His hand scrambled down to his wrist, fingers fumbling over the tiny touchscreen like he was trying to defuse a bomb with mittens on.

Buzz.

“Elevated heart rate—”

“No,” he hissed under his breath, swiping and tapping with increasing desperation. “Shut up, shut up, shut up—”

And that’s when your eyes fluttered open.

Still soft with sleep, half-lidded and glazed with dream haze, you blinked up at him, voice low and gravelly with just-woken rasp.

“…Clark?”

He froze mid-button-press, wrist still hovering in the air, guilt radiating off him like heat from a fire.

“Hi,” he said sheepishly, his voice rising half an octave like he’d just been caught sneaking cookies before dinner. His smile was crooked, apologetic. Adorable.

You blinked again, then turned your face into his chest slightly, frowning in confusion as the last remnants of sleep cleared. “Was that your watch? Did it just... talk?”

Clark groaned softly and let his head fall back against the couch cushion. “Yes. Unfortunately. It’s one of those fancy health tracker things. Monitors my heartbeat, sends me passive-aggressive updates. You know. Very cutting-edge, very humiliating.”

Your eyebrows knit, amused. “Why is it yelling at you?”

Clark glanced down at the offending device and scowled at it like it had personally betrayed him, which, to be fair—it had. “Because apparently my heart’s decided to throw a rave without asking permission.”

You smiled, one side of your mouth curling upward in that lazy, fond way that made his stomach flip. “Were you… running in your dreams?”

He laughed once—awkward and breathy. Rubbed the back of his neck with the hand not currently being held hostage by your entire body. “No, I—” He paused, caught between pride and panic. “I woke up. And, um.” Another pause. A helpless little shrug.

“I looked at you.”

You blinked at him, still too sleepy to process.

“And I guess,” he added with a quiet, self-conscious laugh, “that was enough to freak out my very expensive piece of wearable tech.”

There was a pause.

You stared at him, processing.

And then, squinting slightly, you said, deadpan: “Are you saying I’m so pretty I gave Superman a heart condition?”

Clark groaned like he was begging the ceiling to smite him. “Please don’t make it worse.”

“No, wait—this is gold.” You pushed yourself up just slightly, bracing your elbows on his chest, your face alight with mischief. “You woke up, saw me drooling on your shirt, and your heart rate spiked?”

“There was no drooling,” he said immediately, like he’d been prepped for that specific accusation. “I would’ve noticed.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“I have enhanced vision. I’d know.”

That made you snort.

“And anyway,” he went on, quieter now, the humor still there but gentled at the edges, “you looked… incredible.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. The shift was subtle, but real.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Clark glanced away, a faint flush climbing up the curve of his neck. He was open now in that rare, completely unguarded way he only got when he forgot to be careful. When the mask slipped—not the glasses, not the press badge, but the quiet emotional armor he wore when he was afraid of wanting too much.

“I mean it,” he said. “You looked so peaceful. And beautiful. And… I just thought, wow. I get to be the one who gets moments like this with her.”

He laughed softly, half in disbelief, half in awe. “And I guess my heart took that a little literally.”

You stared at him, the air catching quietly in your chest.

Your voice was smaller when you said, “You’re serious?”

Clark turned to face you again, his expression warm and honest, his eyes holding something so tender it made your stomach flutter and twist all at once.

“Yeah,” he said, simply. “I’m serious.”

And maybe it was the 2AM silence, or the flannel warmth under your fingertips, or the stupid DVD menu still looping behind you like a lullaby—but you didn’t tease. You didn’t joke. You didn’t throw back some clever reply to deflect how vulnerable that made you feel.

You just looked at him. Eyes wide. A little glassy. Full of something you weren’t quite ready to name out loud, but felt all the way down to your fingertips.

“…You’re kind of a sap,” you whispered.

“I warned you on our second date,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I told you I get emotionally attached to coffee mugs. This was inevitable.”

You laughed under your breath, tucking your chin toward his chest again to hide the way your cheeks were burning. “You’re ridiculous.”

Clark dipped his head and kissed the top of yours—slow, quiet, reverent.

“You like ridiculous.”

“Unfortunately,” you mumbled into his shirt, “I really do.”

Then came the silence again. But not the empty kind. Not awkward. Not strained.

It was full.

Full of the things you were both starting to feel but hadn’t quite said yet. Full of trust being layered into the cracks of quiet moments like this. Full of his arm curling more securely around you, like your body belonged there, like he was holding onto something sacred.

And then—so softly, you almost didn’t hear yourself speak:

“Say it again.”

Clark blinked, looking down at you. “Say what?”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, voice hushed. “That you woke up… and looked at me. And thought I was beautiful.”

He stared at you for a moment. Just stared. And then something in his expression shifted, softened, like someone unfolding a secret with gentle hands.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

You bit your lip, exhaling slow.

“My heart rate’s up too, you know,” you said quietly, not even pretending to joke anymore.

He smiled—smaller this time, but impossibly fond. “I can tell.”

You blinked. “…How?”

He hesitated.

“Clark,” you said, suspicious now.

He scratched the back of his head, a sheepish little wince already forming. “Okay, so… slight confession.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What.”

“I can, uh. I can hear heartbeats.”

You stared.

“Like… generally. All the time. From across the city, sometimes. It’s a Kryptonian senses thing. I try not to listen in—it’s like tuning out background noise, but…”

He paused. Then looked at you, earnest.

“Yours is… loud. Not in a bad way! Just—distinct. Like it stands out. Like it’s in harmony with mine.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

“Wait—So you've listened to my heartbeat before?”

“Not on purpose!” he said quickly, panicking a little. “I swear! I don’t go around eavesdropping on people’s cardiovascular activity. It’s just—yours is different. It’s… I notice it. Even when I’m not trying to.”

You were silent for a long moment.

Then you cracked.

You let out a laugh that was so full and bright it made Clark smile just watching you.

“Clark Kent,” you said between laughs, “are you romancing me using super hearing?”

“…Is it working?” he asked, hopeful.

You groaned and dropped your head to his chest again, cheeks burning.

“Obviously.”

Clark beamed. He pulled the blanket back over you both, tucking it snug around your shoulders, letting the weight of it settle like punctuation over the moment.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. Not because there wasn’t more to say—but because silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of meaning. Full of breath and closeness and the kind of softness that made your whole body feel like it had exhaled.

His heart was still racing.

So was yours.

Beep. Buzz.

“Elevated—”

“I swear to God—” Clark growled, slamming the dismiss button.

You laughed into his chest, and this time, he didn’t mind the sound of his heart pounding at all.

[iamburdened]

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧

Summary: Mornings in the kitchen with Clark

Warnings: morning sickness, pregnant reader, Clark x fem!reader, not proofread

Word count: 1,041

Author's note: I have a lot of one-shot ideas. If you also have some, put them in my inbox or send the request !!

Usually in the mornings, you and Clark had a slow and soft routine before getting back to the hustle and bustle of the day. But recently, pregnancy has been kicking your ass. You had extra early mornings because of morning sickness, and today was no different. Throwing up into the toilet in the early hours, Clark was always by your side when that happened and there to comfort you when you lay back down. 

It was hard for you to sleep once being up for long periods, but today you were able to sleep in for once. It was 11 and you still were sleeping peacefully. The bed even felt bigger than usual. You put your hand out, trying to reach for Clark, but you were met with cold open space. You opened your eyes, and sure enough, in your sleep, Clark slipped out somewhere. 

The room was nice and cool, and the bed was soft, but it felt so wrong to not be there with him. Most every morning, you or Clark would stay put until the other woke up, but you knew he couldn't wait for you forever. With a sigh, you pushed up, feeling the pain in your back and the weight of your bump move as you stood. 

You felt the cool breeze of the air conditioner hit your legs as you abandoned the warmth of the comforter. You walked to the door, opening it with a soft click. As you pulled it open, your nose was met with the sweet smell of pancakes and the strong smell of coffee beans. You walked out quietly to see Clark Kent standing over the stove in his PJs as he danced around to the very, very soft music playing from the speaker next to him. 

“Now what is going on here?” is all you said with a smile, walking closer to the island, which was littered with fruits, pancake mix, and egg shells. “Dang it, did I wake you?” He turned around with a spatula in hand. 

“No, I woke up on my own, surprised I slept so long though.” 

“You needed it, I didnt wanna run the risk of waking you if I stuck around too long.” 

You picked up a strawberry from the counter, plopping it into your mouth. “You were very stealthy, didnt suspect a thing, honestly. Couldn't even hear the music.” You picked another strawberry up. 

“Well, I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but that didnt work out too well.” You ate a blueberry this time. “Stop, you're gonna spoil the breakfast I'm making for you.” You only managed a giggle before releasing what you had in your hand. 

“What’s on the menu today, chef?” 

He smiled, “Pancakes, eggs, some toast, bacon, berries, and orange juice.” 

“Do you have a village to feed?” you joked, the mess around the kitchen definitely seemed like he was trying to feed at least six people. 

“No, I have you, a baby, and then me to feed, though. Our little girl is going to be a hungry little one, trust me.” 

“Girl?” you smiled, honestly, you thought Clark might want a boy, but ever since you saw those two little lines he’s been raving about a little girl and the thought of it. 

“Well, it's just a feeling, but I'm sure, I'm right.” You knew he was a liar. Every chance he got, he used that X-ray vision of his to check and make sure the baby was okay. He had so much worry about the baby and how it would go along, being as he was a Kryptonian and you were human. You knew for a fact he knew the gender. 

“Mhmmmm,” you mumbled out, walking to him, looking up at him, and his bedhead he hasn't brushed out. “I can't wait to meet her,” you smiled. Clark turned a bit, turning up the volume of the music playing from his phone. 

Kiss me- sixpence none the richer 

“Were you really listening to this song?” He smiled, “I happen to like this song.” You laugh, and he leans down, planting a kiss right on your lips. 

“Of course you do.” The hum of the bird and the song filled the kitchen as you two very softly, per orders of Clark, danced around the kitchen. It was a nice morning being able to be with just yourself, with him like that. 

“Are you up for some food?” he asked with a kiss. 

“Food and coffee?” 

“Hmm, just food,” he said. Ever since you got pregnant, he refused to even let you have decaf. He read so many blogs, about what was bad, what was good, what you needed more of, what you needed less of; he took it to the next level. 

He prepared you a plate, setting it down on the coffee table as you sat on the couch, handing over a glass of orange juice for you and a cup of coffee for him. “Asshole,” you whispered, sipping the orange juice, which was, unfortunately, delicious. 

He shot you a look, picking up the plate and handing it to you. It was stacked full of pancakes and toast, pancakes, berries, and bacon. He was not wrong; he did have you and the baby to feed. Every time you had food in your face, you realized you could eat everything and more. 

“Hmm, Clark, this is really good. Like really good” 

“Thank you, sunshine.” he looked down, seeing just the time the baby kicked and the wince you made at what you’d assume was the stronger-than-normal baby, considering this was your first. “Baby likes it?” 

“A little too much.” His hand rubbed small circles over where the baby had just kicked. He leaned in, planting a small peck on your stomach. “Be nice to your mama, little sunshine,” that earned a smaller kick, “rude!” He said his eyes met yours. “Little one isn't even born and is already talking back…kicking back” 

“She’s gonna be a handful once she's born. A handful and spoiled,” you said with a hand on his head, playing with his hair as you mumbled into your stomach. 

“Yeah, she will be, but she’ll be our handful.” 

(🏷️ @theelementofsurprisee, @angelicp0etry, @animegamerfox)

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[iamburdened]

Iam hyperventilating this is too perfect i might die omg

vanilla cookies — Clark Kent

summary: you share cookies with your coworker. from that blossoms a cute love story word count: 9.7k words content warning: neurodivergent reader, fem reader, tooth-rotting fluff, slight hurt/comfort, baking as an act of love. clark kent is absolutely smitten. lois and reader friendship. reader is an intern at the daily planet. implied size difference and age gap (reader is in her twenties, clark is in his early thirties) notes: my first fanfiction in a long, long time. also my first clark kent fic. wrote it in 2 days with no beta reading (oops). also i know lois lane's birthday is in august but i took creative liberties with that for the story

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You continue tearing bits from your cookie because you like eating it in crumbs rather than bites and Clark Kent, your coworker, is watching again. The cute one with the thick-rimmed black glasses and the messy curls over his forehead, and the ill-fitted suits over his too big frame. You can’t stare at him for too long because he always notices, and then your face grows hot and uncomfortable. You prefer to steal glances at him like this. It’s safer. 

He doesn’t have the same qualms about looking at you. 

He’s always staring whenever you eat your lunch at your desk when Lois isn’t available and you wonder if it’s because he’s too shy to ask for a bite. He didn’t seem shy, but you were relatively new to the Daily Planet, and you haven’t found your footing around. People are nice, especially Lois Lane, but you still feel like you don’t belong here yet. Maybe he can feel it too, and he doesn’t really think of you as one of them yet. 

“Would you like some?” you ask him. You tear off a big part of your cookie and you hand him the biggest one, the part you hadn’t been tearing at.

He’s startled by your voice, which puzzles you, because he’s been watching you all this time, and he watched you as you tore your cookie in half. Color rises in the tip of his ears, and the sight is slightly endearing for a man his height and his stature.

“Thanks, um, thank you.” His voice isn’t very deep but it’s still deeply masculine, and it sounds like you would expect melted milk chocolate to sound like.

His hand is big and his arm is long as it stretches towards you, meeting your own hand halfway. He’s careful not to accidentally touch you, and you appreciate it. 

“It’s vanilla chocolate chip cookie,” you tell him. “But I may have had a heavy hand with the vanilla extract, because it’s all I can smell and taste, but I don’t mind. I love vanilla.”

Intellectually, rationally, you know you’re rambling, the same way you always do when you’re talking about your baking, and you know not everyone likes it when you do that, and you know you should stop and apologize but Clark’s watching you again, and listening patiently, half cookie still uneaten in his fingers, as if he’s focusing all of his attention on you, like what you say matters that much to him, and he has a gentle smile on his face that reminds you of your cinnamon roll dough. 

“It’s also very sweet, but not overly so,” you continue. “The chocolate is a little bitter though, so I find that it works well to balance the flavor, even if I personally don’t really like bitter chocolate, but that chocolate was the only one I could find in the store that was in my price range and wasn’t purely sugar masquerading as chocolate, so I got it. I also didn’t think it would be quite bitter, because fifty five percent cacao chocolate didn’t seem that dark to me. But maybe I just have a really bad sweet tooth.”

His eyes are smiling. You’d never understood when people said that eyes can smile but looking at him now, you suddenly get it. If you hid his mouth, his eyes still tell you that he’s smiling. 

“I could smell the vanilla from my desk,” he admitted. 

“Oh was it bothering you? I didn’t think it would be so potent.”

“No, no. It smelled really good, actually.” He finally takes a bite. “And it tastes just as good. You made them, then? They look store-bought. And uh, that’s a compliment. I don’t mean to say they look fake just… really nice.”

You nodded, pride blooming in my chest until it felt like there is no space left for my breathing. “Yes, I like to bake. I wanted to be a baker, but I like writing more.”

“Lucky for me,” he says, and you tilt your head to the side, trying to figure out what he meant by it. But you didn’t really care all that much, because you were more interested in the fact that you found someone who seemed receptive to your cookie rambling. 

“This is actually my sixth recipe. I’m trying to recreate the taste of bakery style cookies without using as much butter. Butter’s one of those ingredients that seem cheap enough until you have to buy it in bulk for your recipes, and then using two sticks of butter for one batch of cookies starts to feel like waste.”

“How much butter is in this cookie?”

“I used one stick of butter for the whole recipe, which yielded about ten cookies, so that’s one-hundred and thirteen grams of butter divided by ten, which is eleven point three grams per cookie, and half of a cookie is around five point… five grams?”

“Five point sixty-five,” he corrects, and you nod.

“Numbers have never been my strongest suite. Unfortunately, baking is a lot of numbers.”

“You’re doing great so far,” he says. “Better than great, I would say.”

“I can bring you cookies tomorrow. I didn’t think I would be sharing today so I only brought one with me, but I still have leftovers.”

And you do. It’s still early enough that the office hasn’t filled yet. It’s only him and you and a couple other reporters by the coffee machine. You bring him five cookies in a white box, the same you get in bakeries, and you tied a pink bow on top. you give him the cookies and he surprises you by handing you a tall cup of coffee in return. It doesn’t look like it’s from the breakroom. It’s an actual travel mug, the kind that costs a lot. 

“I don’t like coffee,” you tell him, not wanting to mislead him. It’s only a second later that you realize that you were probably being rude, because he’s obviously gone through a lot of trouble for you. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it. Really.”

“It’s not coffee,” he replies, like he was expecting you to say that, and he winks at you. “It’s hot chocolate, and not the bitter kind of chocolate, but not the sugar masquerading as chocolate either.”

You blink, a little taken aback at having your own words thrown at me. “You listened.”

“I did. I also added marshmallows, but that part was a gamble. I didn’t know if you liked them.”

“I’ve never had marshmallow in hot chocolate. I don’t usually drink hot chocolate, actually. I find it too bitter. I know, I have the palate of a kid but I like sweet things.”

“Take a sip,” he says. You do. You gingerly tip your head back, worried you’ll burn your tongue — you hate when it happens – but the drink is the perfect temperature. 

“It’s really good,” you say. You blink again. Like really good. It’s sweet and warm and it tastes like a soft hug from within. “Where did you get it? I’ve never bought a hot chocolate that tasted like this.”

He smiles sheepishly, and you’re struck by how it changes his face wonderfully, like his face was born in a sheepish smile, the kind that smooths out his edges and makes him look like a dream. “I made it. It’s my Ma’s recipe.”

“Thank you. This is the best drink I’ve ever had.”

“Really?”

You nod. “I don’t say things unless I really mean them.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

He picks up the box and with a wave, he thanks you for them again. You raise your mug in reply. His eyes crinkle. 

When you first started out your internship at the Daily Planet, you didn’t know anyone there. 

Then, Lois Lane took one look at you and she complimented your pink headphones – the noise-cancelling one that everyone assumes is just for listening to music during work. Lois Lane was one of those people you couldn’t help but admire. Not only was she smart and talented and a wickedly good journalist. Sometimes you openly stare at her, forgetting you didn’t like staringt too much at people, but you couldn’t help it. Her hair was long and soft and curled over her shoulders and fell all the way to her chest in a gentle swoop.

So you baked her a cake the next day as a thank you. You were eager and hopeful and you tripped over your own feet trying to give it to her because you really wanted her to like you and you wanted her to feel the same way she made you feel when she complimented your headphones.

She bought you lunch as a thank you. So you baked her cookies the next day as a thank you. So she bought you lunch again, and you baked her muffins the next day, thinking that maybe this is what you guys did. It became — routine. Lunch with her, and you bring sweets for dessert. 

“This has to stop,” she said one day. 

“You don’t like my baking?”

“I do, but you need to stop baking me things every time I try to thank you for baking me something. The cycle will never end otherwise.”

“Is that what it was? I thought you bought lunch and I brought dessert. Forgive me if I misunderstood. I’ll stop bringing treats.”

You guys didn’t do it long enough to feel like it was a routine set in your schedule, so why did it feel so painful? You liked your routine, and you liked her company. You thought she was your friend, but she was only buying you lunch because she felt obligated to. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she says. “I like this too, a lot, actually.”

So you kept having lunch together every Tuesday and Thursday, in that cute little bakery down the street.

You stay behind again. You didn’t mean to lose track of time like this. You didn’t see time fly by, the way you never do because you’d been in the zone, writing your first draft for your article about [topic]. You like writing because, aside from baking, it’s the only thing that can completely shut your mind off. And when you get in the zone like that, the rest of the world disappears. You disappear. Your desires, your hunger, your exhaustion, your feelings, they all disappear. Only words mattered. 

You don’t even notice when a bottle of water is put in front of you. You don’t even notice when Lois tells you good bye and wishes you good luck, but that’s also because you had your noise-cancelling headphones on. (You hope she doesn’t think you’re rude, because you really didn’t mean to ignore her.)

It’s only when your head starts pounding right behind your eyes that you finally come to. Your eyes had been burning and you didn’t notice until the ache turned into a migraine and suddenly you couldn’t look into the screen anymore. You saved your work and instantly shut it off, finally looking at something other than your screen when you look around. 

Clark Kent was still there, in the desk right in front of yours. Removing your headphones feels like waking up from a slumber — underwater. You realize now how painful they were starting to feel, like they were pressing against your skull. 

There are still some whispers around, other people staying behind, hunched over screens and talking about something or another. The whispers are soft and distant but they make your ears feel like they’re vibrating and it’s kind of painful. 

You pinch the space between your eyes with your index and your thumb, eyes closed.

“You okay?” 

Clark’s voice feels like a wave washing off the unwanted sounds in my head. You don’t feel like speaking though, so you just nod. Sometimes, when you lost yourself in something, you forgot basic things like taking breaks or drinking water or even going to the bathroom, and you always think you can handle it until suddenly you’re overstimulated and overwhelmed and everything hurts. 

“You should drink some water,” he offers gently, head nodding towards the water bottle you hadn’t noticed until now. 

He must have put it there. 

Ever since you guys had traded hot chocolate and cookies, there’d been a tentative beginning of friendship. You weren’t an expert in friendships and such, but you could probably wager that you and Clark were becoming friends. You wouldn’t bet your entire life on it, but probably ten bucks. That seemed realistic. 

“Thank you, Clark.”

He smiles the way he always does when you say his name. You were good at recognizing patterns, and you’d noticed that one the third time he smiled right after you said Clark. It brightens up his entire face.

“No problem. You ready to get out of here?”

It’s like he knew how eager you were to leave this place. You just want to go home with your favorite show on your laptop and ordering three large portions of fries, maybe five, with your homemade mayonnaise. You’re starting to feel the hunger after not eating anything for the entire day. 

“Yes.”

You always tell yourself you’re going to start forcing yourself to take breaks every hour or so, but you never do. Or if you do, and you never respect the rules. You always just turn off your alarm and go right back to work, grumpier because you hate being interrupted. 

You hate that you can’t wear your headphones right now, because Metropolis is always louder at night, but your head is still hurting, and you’re almost sure it’s because of the headphone. It’s super old and it feels like your head’s gotten bigger over the years and you’re not talking about the metaphorical kind of big heads, although some people would definitely agree that you have a big head.

Clark is quiet at your side. The elevator ride is uneventful. The moment you step foot outside, your shoulders are up to your ears. 

He asks to make a stop at the pharmacy and when he comes out, he has earplugs in his hand. You stare at him like he’d grown two heads when he hands them to you.

“It’s for you.”

“Me?” 

“I thought they might help.”

They do. You relax instantly the instant the second earplug is in your ear. 

“Thank you,” you say. Your voice is muffled to your ears. 

“Of course,” he replies, but you barely hear him. The earplugs are that good. Clark is that good. 

Next Monday, a marbled chocolate and vanilla cake is waiting for Clark at his desk.

Two months into your internship at the Daily Planet, you are invited to Lois’ birthday. It’s nothing big, nothing fancy. It feels like a birthday party when you were younger. 

You bring her a birthday cake, with three levels, complete with funfetti and whipped cream and frosting. You didn’t really know what to get her as a gift so you figured you couldn’t go wrong with a birthday cake. 

You only know Lois, Jimmy and Clark. You know the rest of the people only by sight, and some you don’t know at all. 

Lois’ apartment is nice. It’s old but quaint and well-lived in. You sit in the three seat couch on the left side, hands on your knees. Clark’s earplugs were in your pocket. You didn’t need to use them but you liked knowing where they were. You also had your headphones in your bag that Lois took from you once you came in. 

Lois had looked overjoyed when she saw you come in with a huge cake box. You had to buy a special one because you’d never had to deliver a cake this big. 

She takes it from your arms, safely putting in the kitchen before turning towards you again. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Okay,” you reply, because this is Lois Lane who was already part of your routine. Lois who smells really nice and is always smiling towards you even though you’re just an intern and she’s already a senior. 

She gives you the hug and it feels like her. Safe, happy, kind. 

“Happy birthday,” you tell her. “I hope you enjoy the cake. I’m not very used to making cakes this big, or decorating.”

“Definitely the best gift ever. Thank you so much, love.”

She stayed behind to greet others and talk to her friends and that’s how you found yourself on her couch. You saw Clark and Jimmy when you came in but you didn’t know whether you should go say hi. You weren’t used to social settings, let alone birthday parties. 

So you just wait. You don’t know necessarily what you’re waiting for, but you wait. 

There is no loud music but there’s an ambient music playing all across Lois’ apartment. And it smells nice, like her, but bigger. There are snacks and drinks on the table and it reminds you of birthday parties when you were a kid. You always thought grown-ups celebrated their birthday parties during the night in clubs, but you’re glad it wasn’t the case for Lois. 

“Hey.”

“Hi Jimmy,” you greet back. You like Jimmy Olsen. He has freckles and when he smiles his entire face lights up and his eyes disappear, and it’s adorable. He looks soft. 

“It’s nice you could join us.”

You nod. “I wasn’t expecting to be invited at all.”

“Why not?”

You look everywhere but his eyes. “I am not exactly the kind of person you want to invite anywhere. I am an excruciatingly picky eater, I don’t like bright lights or loud sounds. I don’t talk a lot and I don’t know how to do small talk. I hate small talk. See? You were trying to make small talk but I took it too seriously, and now you must think I’m a buzz killer.”

“Honest to a fault, yes, but not a buzz killer.”

“People don’t like too much honesty.”

“Lucky for you, we’re not like most people.”

“I am starting to see that,” you reply, trying for a smile. “It’s — nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.” His eyes flicker up to something behind you and then back to you. “Hey, what do you think of Clark Kent?” 

You frown. “Do you want the honest answer or the socially accepted answer?”

“Honest.”

“I think he’s kind. And he has nice blue eyes.” You grab your earplugs from your pocket and gather them in the palm of your hand before showing it to Jimmy. “He bought me earplugs one time, because my headphones hurt and the streets were too nosy. I don’t really wear them all the time, but I like them.”

“Sounds like something he would do.”

“He does that to everyone?”

“Well — yeah. That’s just how he is with everyone. But with you, it’s—” he interrupts himself, and doesn’t continue. 

“Oh.” For some reason you had hoped that it meant something – that you were special. “Yeah. I think he’s really kind and I’m glad to know him. You too, of course. And Lois Lane. And everyone at the office.”

Jimmy smiles at you again. 

He said he wanted honesty, so I tell him: “I really like your smile. You look really cute. Sometimes it makes me want to pinch your cheeks.”

His face goes bright red, and you can’t help but smile. “You look even cuter like this. No wonder all the girls like you.”

That was true. It’s one of the few things you had noticed, even if you were usually too in your head to notice anything happening. But you always saw girls at the office staring at him and whispering to each other how hot he was. 

He coughs and takes a long sip of whatever it is he’s drinking. It’s bubbly. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays red a long time. 

A little while later, Lois Lane says she’s feeling generous and decides to share the cake you made with everyone. “Is that okay with you?” She asked you before she did. 

“It’s your cake. I don’t care what you do with it,” you replied honestly. If sharing it made her happy, then so be it. 

Half the cake’s gone by the time everyone gets a slice. Lois lets you pick the spoon you want from her kitchen drawer, away from everyone else. 

“What did you do to Jimmy earlier?” She asks, leaning against her fridge while you rummage through her utensil drawers looking for the perfect spoon – or fork. You’re not very picky.  

“I didn’t do anything to him.” It’s true. You didn’t even touch him. You just spoke with him. “Lois, your drawer is painfully untidy. You should let me organize it for you one day.”

“Oh hush, my drawers are perfectly fine. Anyway, I saw the two of you and he left you looking like a tomato. Spill.” Her eyes are glinting with excitement and something else you can’t name. Her cheeks are rosy, and she looks lighter than ever. She is truly one of the prettiest people you’ve ever seen. You find a spoon that’s perfect. Small and symmetrical and shiny. You grab it and close the drawer. 

You tell her she’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, and she goes red in the face. 

“Is that what you said to Jimmy too?”

“No, I didn’t talk about you. I told him he was really cute.”

She chuckles. “If you keep this up, you’re going to end up with half the office in love with you. Have you complimented anyone else today?”

“No. Just you and Jimmy. And I guess I told Jimmy about Clark, but I didnt really compliment Clark, since I just said what I thought of him.”

“And what do you think of Clark?”

“That he has the kindest and prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

you’re sitting in the living room again, except you’re on the armchair this time because the couch was taken by a couple making out. You thought that kind of thing only happened in college parties, not that you’ve ever gone to one. 

“Your cake is as good as your cookies, but nothing can top them in my opinion.”

You look up to find Clark already smiling at you. His eyes are smiling behind his glasses. He has a plate in his hand but the cake is untouched. 

“You didn’t even taste it,” you tell him trying not to sound annoyed at the blatant lie. 

“This is my third slice actually,” he says with a huff, as if he’s saying, do you really think I can lie? “I just got it before Lois could catch me.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No problem. Can I sit on the arm rest?”

“Sure.” 

There were no longer free seats. Someone had braved the making out couple and sat next to them and looked like he was trying not to be dragged into it. 

Clark sits and the armchair creaks a little under his weight. 

For some reason, you feel better whenever he’s around you. You always look forward to your discussions even if you never really talk about anything serious or consequential. You talk about baking — well, you talk and he listens. 

“How’d you make the cake?” he asks, as if he could hear my thoughts. “It’s so… juicy.”

His adjective of choice makes you snort, but you explain to him exactly how you made it anyway. The secret’s all in the syrup, you say. And how much vanilla extract you put in. 

“Had a heavy hand with the vanilla again?”

“I had a reason this time. The recipe called for it, this time.”

Your head is buzzing pleasantly by the time you leave the birthday party. You feel mellowed out, like caramel that’s been left in the sun. Not melted completely, just… boneless, if that made sense. 

You take the train because Lois’ apartment is far away from yours and you’re feeling too lazy to walk there, even if you prefer to walk everywhere. Subways are dirty and loud and, quite frankly, a little scary. Especially after sunset. You checked on your phone and saw that Superman has been spotted in the vicinity, so you weren’t as scared as you would be. 

Before moving to Metropolis for college, you didn’t have any particular opinion about Superman. You weren’t into him nor against him. Tall, big and strong men weren’t high on your list of people you liked. Too much masculinity, too much testosterone – that never bode well for anyone, but you could appreciate the fact that he’d saved the world too many times to count.

Until you meet him. You don’t exactly meet him, but you see him, mid-fight, swooping to protect a kitten from being crushed by a falling tree, even the monster was charging at him. You were so stunned you forgot to rush to shelter, until he was suddenly in front of you, kitten in hand, gently guiding you towards safety. 

When you came back home that night, you searched for his name on the Internet. You found yourself on Twitter, clicking on his hashtag. You wanted to see if he’s done it before, if he was known for saving the little guy.

He was. There were countless of videos and pictures and testimonies, all showing how Superman saved their fish or their cat or dog or even their car, or a squirrel.

You wouldn’t exactly say that you were a fan now, but… close. There was something about a 6’4 man who could lift up buildings with one hand saving a tiny kitten that just did things to you. You were too used to heroes sacrificing the little lives for the bigger picture, and while you knew it was impossible to save every single person, it was nice to see that someone tried anyway, rather than just giving up. 

Somehow, even Superman had haters. You frowned as you read the seemingly endless hate tweets. 

You tweeted I saw #Superman save this tiny kitten mid-fight. NOT #Supershit. And you attached a picture of the kitten in your arms. (Kitten that you’d named Supercat and kept.)

It was the only way you found to show your gratitude, even if Superman was too busy to read fan tweets. He was probably busy saving kittens from trees and helping fish find their way back in the water. He probably didn’t even care for the hate, but still, seeing it was upsetting, especially when you knew for a fact he did nothing that warranted it. 

It was stupid, but you’d gone to bed that night with a purring Supercat on your chest and a heart that felt like it grew three sizes inside your chest.

“Hot chocolate coming right up for the lady.”

You look up just in time to see a smiling Clark Kent bending slightly to place a large mug on your desk. He’s not wearing a tie – or a jacket – and it’s unbuttoned at the couple first buttons. He looks – nice. You’re not used to thinking these things about men.

“Me?” you ask, dumbly. “But I didn’t bring you anything.”

“Can’t I be nice without expecting anything in return?”

You frown at that, like the idea had never even graced your mind. “Oh. What’s the occasion, then?”

Today was, as far as you knew, a normal day. You weren’t good at remembering birthdays or special days but you were ninety nine percent sure there was nothing going on today. 

“Nothing. Just wanted to be nice.”

You smiled gratefully, sheepishly, and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug. “Thank you.”

He must think you’re weird, for thinking that kindness had to be transactional, but that’s just how you learnt to see the world. People rarely were nice without a reason. You take a small tentative sip, and you find out the drink is the perfect temperature once again.

He smiles, happy that you’re pleased, and he finally goes to his desk. 

“Are you not cold?” you ask him. It’s the middle of the winter and it’s not the first time you see him come into work with just a shirt, while everyone else was wearing layers upon layers, including yourself. 

His smile turns sheepish. “I forgot to bring my jacket.”

“You must forget it a lot,” you hum. “It’s strange because you never seem to forget other things. Like my hot chocolate or Jimmy and Lois’ coffee.”

He laughs, but it sounds a little strained. “I guess I’m always thinking of others first.”

You hum again. “Maybe I should start bringing you something warm then. Someone has to think of you first too.” 

His smile is – heartbreaking.

You bring him a thick and warm comforter, and Clark seems to love it and he wears it like a cape.

The sight is a little silly and weirdly familiar. 

He keeps it in his desk all the time.

The break room falls silent when you come in. Lois, Jimmy and Clark look up, and only Clark’s looking like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, and weirdly apologetic. Lois and Jimmy look like cats who each got the canary.

You greet them with a wave of your hand and start filling up your water bottle. 

“We were just thinking, maybe we should go to the movies tonight,” Jimmy says, and it sounds like he’s been rehearsing. Lois is trying to hide a laughing fit and Clark looks absolutely distraught.

“Okay?” you say, a little confused but not wanting to be rude. “Have fun.”

“The four of us,” Jimmy clarifies.

“Oh.” That made sense now. “Sure,” you reply. “What movie?”

They each say a different movie. Maybe they hadn’t decided on that part yet. Honestly, you don’t mind any movie, as long as it’s with your friends. 

Goddamit, you’re actually excited about it. You don’t like feeling excited, you hate it, because it always ends up in disappointment and you know that and still, you can barely stay still on your chair while you’re doing research.

But you keep thinking about – well, Clark, and maybe sitting next to him, if you find a way to discreetly take the seat next to his, and just being with him for a few hours. Of course, you were happy Lois and Jimmy would be there but you weren’t as close to Clark the way you were close with them. 

And you certainly don’t have a crush on them the way you crush on Clark. 

“Ready to go?” Clark asks you when the clock strikes 5pm and everyone else is already starting to get ready to go home. There weren’t any looming deadlines so people felt free to go home on time. 

“Yes,” you reply, almost too excitedly. You’re looking at the space between his eyes and he looks almost excited too, and a little bit flushed. His eyes are fleeing yours, which is weird, because usually it’s only you who does that. “Should we wait for Lois and Jimmy?”

You peek behind him and notice Jimmy still at his desk, and Lois was nowhere to be found.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Clark says. “Jimmy, you ready?”

Then, like he’s been getting ready to say this, Jimmy turns around. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Lois and I have to stay behind, I’m sorry. It’s all last minute. We’re going to try to finish quick and try to catch up, but yeah, just go on without us.”

You blink, feeling a little disappointed. “Oh,” you say. “We can wait, right Clark? I mean we can stay and help them finish quicker.”

They share a look you don’t get. “Oh no, uh, it’s just that it’s something only Lois and I can work on, I’m sorry. But we’ll be quick, we promise.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, trying to smile but feeling a little hurt at the blatant rejection. They were the one who offered to go watch a movie anyway. “Should we just reschedule?”

“I already got us tickets,” Clark says. “I’m not sure they’re refundable.”

“We’ll be quick, I promise,” Jimmy says. 

Maybe it’s the fact that your plan has been thrown off that you’re feeling so upset. 

“Sorry about them,” Clark says as he lets you inside the elevator first, hand on the edge of it so it doesn’t try closing. “But you know how Perry gets with his deadlines…”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” you reply. “I just don’t understand why we have to go first if they’re going to catch up to us anyway.”

“Maybe they just don’t want us to be stuck at work.”

You’re not really convinced. “They said we would all go out to the movies. All of us.”

“Am I really that bad of a company?” Clark says, a self-deprecating smile on his face.

“What?” You ask with a frown. “No, that has nothing to do with that. It’s just that they said we would all go. I was expecting us to go together.”

“You like it when things go as planned,” he says with a soft murmur. 

Your fingers tighten around your bag straps. “Yes. But I feel bad for feeling this way because they obviously can’t help it if they’re held back at work. I’ll deal with it. They’re going to catch up with us soon anyway. And you’re not bad company, sorry for making you think that. I’m just– my brain is weird,” you say the last part lamely, not knowing how to explain it any better.”

He lets you get out of the elevator first again. You don’t notice anything but his warmth next to you and his voice.

“Your brain’s not weird. I think it works perfectly well. You like honesty, you like your routine, and you like things to go as planned. Doesn’t make you weird. Just… a good person to be around.”

You don’t reply, but your fingers are playing with your straps. You don’t dare look at him, because you know he’s looking for your eyes. But that’s too scary. 

“We can reschedule, if you want. I don’t mind, and I’m sure neither will they.”

“But your tickets.”

“They’re just tickets. We can always get more of them.”

“I would like to wait a bit first. How long until our movie starts?”

“About twenty-five minutes.”

“We’ve got time.” 

“Yeah?” 

He’s smiling. 

“Yeah. Maybe they’ll finish quickly and we can still go. The movie theater’s not that far.”

“You’re right. Let’s get something to eat,” he says, pocketing his phone after texting something in it. “My treat.” 

“Okay.” 

Clark Kent is really nice. In all senses of the word. He’s nice to look at, he’s nice to listen to, and he’s plain nice. Although you suppose he’s kinder than he is nice. His goodness seems intrinsic, woven into the lines of his very being. 

“You have a cat?” he asks. “Why is that not surprising?”

“Maybe because I am an introvert and all introverts are known to have cats?”

He chuckles softly, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his mouth. “Something like that. What’s his name?”

“You’re going to make fun of me,” you say, the tip of your ears red. 

“I would never.”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Try me. Can’t be as bad as me calling my childhood cat Cat when I was a kid.”

You snort. “That’s not embarrassing, that’s practical, and really cute. But what if you’d had more than one cat?” 

“I probably would have named them Cat 2 or something.”

“My cat’s name is Supercat,” you confess shyly, hiding your face behind your giant brookie. You don’t know why you feel so embarrassed about it. It’s just a cat name, and it’s not like Clark would suddenly know all about your Superman obsession.

Clark has a moment of pause before he reacts. “Because he’s a caped hero?”

You snort. “Oh no, actually. He’s afraid of mice and insects, and of his own shadow.”

“Why Supercat, then?”

“Because Superman gave him to me.”

“You know him?”

“Oh no, I just happened to be at the right time right place. Superman was fighting this huge alien creature and then he saved a kitten, even though he clearly had other bigger things to worry about, and then he saw me, and I was too dumbstruck to move so he guided me to safety and asked me to take care of the kitten while he took care of the monster.”

“You like him,” Clark says, and he sounds a little smug.

“What? No! What makes you say that?” 

You’re red. You know it because your face is burning and you’re trying to look at anything but Clark’s knowning smile. How’d he know?!

“Oh nothing, it’s just the way you completely light up while talking about him, and how I’ve never heard you talk as much in one go.”

“That’s so untrue. You’ve heard me talk longer about baking.”

“Which further proves my point. You only talk a lot when it’s about something – or someone – you really love.”

“Shut up,” you say. “I just… well, he saved my cat, even if I didn’t know he was my cat yet. So of course I like him.”

“Sounds to me like he saved you as well.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say, even though there’s no maybe about it. He did save you, but it’s him saving the cat that marked you the most. 

“I, uh, I actually know Superman. Kind of. I do interviews with him from time to time.” You knew that because you’ve read every interview there was on Superman, and you’d quickly noticed that it was the same journalist every time. Clark Kent. “I could talk to him about maybe meeting you? I’m sure he’ll want to know that the kitten he saved is safe. And that you’re safe too, of course.”

He looks earnest and shy, and a little awkward, and it’s painfully endearing. 

“I don’t know…” you say, even though your heart is beating faster at the idea of meeting Superman and properly talking to him. “Isn’t it a bad idea to meet your heroes? I’m worried I’ll mess up the memory I have of him.”

And honestly, you couldn’t really think of anyone else when Clark was talking to you, even if it was Superman. 

“No rush,” he says gently. “If you change your mind, the offer’s still standing.” 

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Come on, Lois and Jimmy said they’re already there. Seems like they managed to get away with work.”

You’re sitting next to Clark Kent. 

Lois and Jimmy were bickering and before they knew it the seats around you and Clark were taken, so they had to go to the front.

“This is all your fault, idiot,” you hear Lois tell Jimmy as they shamefully walk to the front of the room.

“Should we join them?” you whisper.

“You’re kidding? I don’t want to lose the best spots for them.”

You giggle. “Okay.” 

“Beside it’s their fault for not quickly deciding on who got to sit next to you.”

“That’s stupid, when there was literally a free seat next to you.”

You look at each other and dissolve into a fit of giggles. 

“Can I walk you home?”

“I live in the opposite direction of your place,” you remind him patiently, even though there are butterflies inside your stomach that are doing a lot of damage to your nerves. 

“I quite frankly don’t care about that. I just want to walk you home. Can I?”

“But why?” 

Why is he acting like romantic leads did in shows? Surely he doesn’t like you. He’s probably just being really kind and thoughtful. But he didn’t offer Lois to walk her home, even though he knew her longer. Maybe it’s because you’re younger and he thinks it’s his responsibility that you get home safe?

“Because… I am not ready to leave you just yet,” he confesses – because that’s what it sounds like. A confession. His voice is lower, softer, yet sure. He’d never sounded this sure. 

“Why?” you ask, dumbly. Or maybe you just wanted him to keep talking about you this way.

“Let me take you home and I’ll tell you,” he replies. “Maybe.” 

It’s only because you’re so curious that you say yes. No other reason. 

And maybe because his face lights up like you’d just given him the Pulitzer prize. 

The walk home is quiet, a little awkward, but it feels – nice, good, safe. Just like Clark Kent. 

He instinctively takes the road side of the street, and he gently guides you away from a puddle when you don’t look where you’re going. He’s patient when you check fourt times before crossing the streets. 

In the subway, he uses his entire body like a shield between you and the rest of the commute. He grasps the handle with one and he lets you use his bicep as your handle, since you’re too short to reach the bar. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, and it still baffles you how you don’t need to look at him anymore to know when he’s smiling.

You blush, realising he must be looking into your phone.

“Whenever I take the subway I check if Superman’s in the area. It, uh, makes me feel safe.”

His bicept flexes underneath your fingers. It’s easy to forget it, because he rarely reminds you of it, but Clark’s really strong and muscular. His biceps are so big you would need your two hands to wrap around the muscle. 

“What do you need Superman for when I’m right here?”

“Are you… jealous?”

He scoffs, like the idea itself is ludicrous. “Of course not. Why would I be jealous of him?”

“Because you’re right here with me and I’m still searching for him.”

You don’t know where that came from. You’re not usually this bold or even this teasing. You’re about to retract back what you said but then you see his reaction.

“You’re right, I would be jealous. If it wasn’t my arm you’re holding right now, if it wasn’t me you’re looking with that delicious blush.”

Then, he blushes too, as if just now realizing what he’d just said. You stare at each other, both blushing. At the same time, you both look away, but you don’t remove your hand, and he doesn’t stop protecting you from the people pushing in.

The rest of the subway ride is quieter. Nicer. 

He walks you right up to your front door. He obviously wants to see inside, so you invite him in. You tell yourself you’re just being polite.

“I want to see Supercat,” he says, like it explains why he really wants to come in. 

You open the door. 

“Please come in. Make yourself at home. I think I have some scones, if you want? I made them last weekend.”

Your apartment is humble, which is an euphemism for small. You’re still a student, and despite interning at the Daily Planet, you’re not rolling in dough. So your apartment is more of a glorified room that has a small kitchen area and a tiny oven you bought specifically for your baking (you rarely use it for your meals, since your safe meals usually only need pans). It’s a definite far cry from Lois’ really nice apartment, and what you guessed Clark’s to be. But, this was home, and has been for the past four years. You don’t feel as ashamed as you would usually be, because you know Clark isn’t the type of person to judge.

Supercat is, unsurprisingly, sleeping on top of your dirty laundry. He opens a lazy eye to see whether I brought him any treat, before closing it back, clearly uninterested in the new stranger.

“See? He’s no hero, if you were an intruder right now, he barely would have batted an eye,” you say, though you just sound fond, not annoyed at all. 

“Maybe he just instinctively knows I don’t want to cause you any harm.”

“I doubt it – not that I don’t believe you when you say you’re harmless. It’s just… well, I wouldn’t trust him with my life. Come on, come on in. Don’t just stand there. I know my place is small, but not so small it couldn’t fit you.”

He flushes sweetly. “Oh God, no, it’s not–”

You nudge him with your elbow. “I’m teasing you. You can sit on my bed, since I don’t have a couch.”

He obeys, and the sight of him, big limbs and large presence, trying to navigate my tiny apartment is endearing. He looks out of place, like a giant in a dollhouse, and still, completely at home. 

“It’s really – cute, here,” he says while you take out cookies (turns out you’d ran out of scones without realizing). 

“Thank you. I like it too. My only issue is that it gets too small for baking sometimes.”

“Ah yes, this is where the magic happens.” 

The way he says it makes it sound like you’re conducting scientific experiments and creating miracles. 

“It’s just cookies.”

“Not just any cookies. Only the best ones I’ve ever had.”

“You’re just saying that because –” Because what, because he likes you? You quickly look down to your hands, embarrassed at the thought. 

“Because?” he presses. When you look up, he’s right there, just in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed him moving. 

He moved like a big cat. Silent, agile, and deadly. 

“Because you’re you,” you say instead. “Because you’re kind. That’s what you do.”

“You think I’m only nice to you because I’m kind?”

“Yeah. Because I’m the new kid and the youngest, and you have strong protective instincts that makes you want to take care of everyone, like it’s your job to do so.” He doesn’t sound convinced and you get desperate trying to convince him, so you add: “Jimmy said you’re like this with everyone.”

“Did he? Did he say that I walk anyone home? That I spend thirty minutes every day making my Ma’s special hot chocolate drink for anyone? That I stay up late at work just to make sure they’re not overworking themselves again?”

“I…”

Clark smiles, and it’s like the sun peeking between two dark clouds. 

“You..?” 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Do you… like me?”

“Yes. I have ever since you tore your cookie in half just so I could taste it, and you spent twenty minutes talking to me about how butter content can either make or break the recipe, and how you go through vanilla extracts like people go through coffee.”

Your brain short-circuits. He wasn’t supposed to just… agree, like it was that easy.

“Why?” you ask.

“Do I really need a reason? It’s just you.”

“I guess… I’m just a little confused. No one’s ever liked me before. Or they do, until I start rambling about recipes and ingredients and how many times I have to make a recipe before I’m finally satisfied with it. Or until I go nonverbal because everything is too loud and everything hurts and I refuse to be touched. But you knew all this, and you still… like me?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I still like you.”

“Why?” you ask, and you realize you’d already asked why before.

“Because it’s you. Because baking is your love language and there’s not a single person in the office that you didn’t bake anything for, and because you’re adorable with your pink headphones everyone thinks you use to listen to music but you use it as a noise-cancelling device. And because you smile like an angel, and write like a devil, and you bake like nostalgia. And because from the first day I saw you, I knew I was a goner.”

You chuckle nervously, looking around, as if waiting for Jimmy or Lois or both to pop up from somewhere with a camera. 

“You like me,” you repeat, as if tasting it on your own tongue helped you understand it. 

“I do. And I should have told you before, but I was a coward, and Jimmy and Lois were tired of me whining about how much I liked you and not doing anything about it.”

“The movies,” you say, like an euraka moment. 

His eyes go soft. “Yes, the movies. They were trying to set us up. I told them I didn’t like the plan, it felt too deceptive, too manipulative, but…”

“I’m glad they did it,” you interrupt. “But you’re right. It was kind of manipulative, and I was really sad when I thought they weren’t coming. It’s just — I like it— no, I need people to do as they say. Otherwise it messes with my head and I don’t like it, but still, I guess they were just trying to help. You texted them, didn’t you? You told them to come.”

“Yes. As soon as I saw how much it upset you, I told them to come back.”

“And you still like me.” It isn’t a question. You just like to repeat facts, as if repeating them a hundred times would make them truer than if you’d only said them once. “Despite all of this.”

“I still like you. All of you. Your quirks and your habits and your preferences.”

“Thank you,” you reply. Are you supposed to kiss him now? You weren’t sure. No one ever told you how love confessions are supposed to go. 

He looks a little scared, a little vulnerable, and it’s not right. It doesn’t look right. 

Oh. You are supposed to reply to his confession. 

“I like Superman,” you say. Your brain’s not right. “But I like you better. I liked him because he saved animals and because he made the city safer, it’s why I follow blogs about him and search for his whereabouts. But ever since I met you, I didn’t do that as much anymore. So you really don’t need to be jealous of Superman.”

You’re not really sure where you’re going with this, but for some reason you thought mentioning Superman was a good idea. 

“You like me better than Superman,” he repeats. Maybe he needed to taste the words himself to believe them better too. The look of fear melts from his face. It leaves only pure, unadulterated, boyish joy behind. He looks — pure. Like the sun. 

“Yes. I feel safe around you the same way I feel safe when I know Superman’s near.”

“I’m glad. You deserve to feel safe all the time.”

“Thank you. So do you. Do you still want cookies? They must have thawed a bit since then, but I can still put them in the microwave for a bit.”

He chuckles. “Yes please, I would like some of your cookies.”

You turn around, your cheeks still burning hot. You just confessed to Clark Kent, after he confessed to you first. He likes you. He likes you and you like him. 

You both sit down on the edge of your bed, thighs close but not touching. He’s so big he could easily take up the whole space, but he’s making himself smaller so he doesn’t intrude on your personal space. 

“Listen, I, I’ve never done this before so excuse me if I’m making a fool of myself but…”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me? A proper one, this time, and not a subterfuge.”

He looks earnest and hopeful, and once again scared. 

“Okay. I would love to go on a date with you, Clark.”

────୨ৎ────

Clark didn’t know whether he should thank his friends or ignore them for the rest of his life after the little stunt they’d pulled around you. 

He knew that they were just trying to be helpful in that meddling yet endearing way of theirs, but he truly thought his heart was going to stop beating the second he saw you get upset at the unexpected change of plans. 

If he didn’t already have no chance with you before this, he definitely didn’t anymore. 

You were always physically impassible, eyes shining only when you’re talking about something you liked — baking, cats, Superman. He was used to having to dig deeper to truly understand how you felt, but at that moment in the elevator, he could see your emotions clear as day. 

And it broke him. 

He was only glad that the night ended the way it did, otherwise he probably would have flown him, Jimmy and Lois into the sun if they’d accidentally hurt you. 

A little after finishing your cookie, Superkitten, the cat Clark still remembered saving a couple of years ago, finally moved his spot and graced him with his attention. He sniffed him at first, looked at him suspiciously before continuing his thorough sniffing. 

“He is trying to figure out where you’ve been and what you smell like,” you explained to him. Clark felt his heart settle the way it always did when he heard your voice. 

“He’s a nosy little thing,” he replied. 

“It’s strange, because he’s usually not. There must be something about you that intrigues him enough to get him moving.”

Clark lifted an eyebrow at that, giving his attention back to the slightly obese orange cat who was sniffing his socks now. He was a slip of a thing, really, when he saved him. Too weak, too small to move, to even notice the piece of concrete that was about to kill him. And now, happy and fat and serene and lazy because he knew he had the best owner in the world. No, Clark was not jealous of a stupid cat. 

Maybe Superkitten remembered him too. It wouldn’t surprise him. After all, cats often saw things human couldn’t. 

“Maybe he just knows I’m special.”

You snorted. Even your snort was endearing, a work of art. “Don’t flatter yourself, Clark. He must smell food on you, that’s all.”

He bent down slightly, telegraphing his movements so that the cat had time to move if he didn’t want to be touched, and he started scratching him softly under his chin. Superkitten started purring almost instantly. 

He definitely remembered. 

When he looked back at you, you were watching them with a strange look on your face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” you replied. You were being honest, he could tell. “It’s just… I think I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this. I need time to process change. Everything feels a bit surreal. I always have a difficult time with reality, especially after dark. Everything feels like a dream.”

“A good dream, I hope.”

“Yes. But a dream nonetheless. Something that ends the moment you open your eyes.”

“I’ll still be here, tomorrow morning, when you wake up, when you open your eyes.”

“I hope so,” you replied. “I’m already getting used to the fact that you’re here. I would be upset if you disappeared.”

Clark Kent would rather die a thousand deaths than hurt you. 

He wanted to kiss you, hold you. Anything to ease the worry off your eyebrows, to show you that he was here, there and now and for as long as you wanted him. 

“Does this mean we’re boyfriend and girlfriend?” you ask, and the changement of subject is so jarring it leaves Clark a bit dazed, before he felt his entire body flush at your words. His entire being was attuned to you. 

“I, uh, yes, I mean, definitely yes, if you wanted. I was waiting to ask you officially once we’ve had our first date but… this definitely works too.”

You smiled. “Okay. I know labels aren’t for everyone but they help me.”

He nodded. “Anything you need.”

“Should we kiss now?”

God, yes, he wanted to say. “Do you want us to kiss?”

“Yes. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you.”

He was lucky he didn’t need his heart to live because it always skipped beats around you. You wondered what it would feel like to kiss him? He wanted to know when and where and why, and what he can do again to make you wonder that again. 

“You did?” he asked, voice hoarse. Tell me more, tell me everything. Tell me every single thought you’ve ever had about me.

“Yeah. Mostly when you eat something I’ve baked. I keep wondering how it would taste on your lips, if it would make it better, sweeter.”

He smiled. “I just had one of your cookies. Want a taste?”

“Can I?” you asked. 

Of course. Anything. You could do anything to me. 

He nodded. 

And then your lips were on his. Tentative at first, always soft. He can feel your hands on your bed, fingers grasping your bed sheets, your shoulders angling towards him, your head tipping slightly back so you could reach him. 

And Clark felt like he was reborn. You were the sun and he was the sunflower, chasing the sun rays on your lips and the warmth of your body. 

He didn’t know how; he certainly didn’t think it, but somehow you were closer, knees close to his thigh, and his hands were on yours and he’s lifting you gently until you’re straddling his thighs and through it all, the kiss hasn’t been broken once. 

He could keep going like this forever, but he knew you needed oxygen. 

You were focused like you did on an article when everything else in the world disappeared, and you forgot how to even blink or take a breath. 

He broke the kiss reluctantly. 

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

You took a huge breath. Your pupils were so wide and dark they ate up your irises. Your eyes looked like black holes Clark would willingly get swept into. 

“Wow,” you said. 

Clark felt the same way he did whenever he helped someone and they looked at him with gratitude. Pride bloomed in his chest. He did that. You liked his kiss so much you forgot how to breathe. 

“How was it?” he asked even if he already knew, because he was selfish and greedy and full of himself. 

“I got distracted,” you replied. “By your kiss. I forgot to taste my cookie and compare.”

Clark couldn’t keep the smugness out of his face even if he could. “Let’s kiss again,” he offered, like he was doing you a favor. “You can try again.” 

masterlist ᯓ★ requests ᯓ★ directory

[iamburdened]

Does He know?

You wake up expecting your dear boyfriend in the kitchen but to your surprise find Superman making breakfast.

content: pure unfiltered fluff, a bit of innocent kissing

work count: almost 2k yipe

note; hi lovers! first fic ever, hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing. kept thinking of that one scene in diary of a wimpy kid as i wrote this. does he know about the d-o-r-e? the what! the door (rolls eyes)

Sunlight pours through the curtains by the time your consciousness graces you. An act of instinct urges your palm to trace the fabric and curves of the blanket, arm extending over the expanse of the bed onto what should have been warmth. Steady, firm, and permanent.

Clark Kent.

Your fingers tip the end of his pillow, till they reach the end of his side. The softness of the bed lacked his warmth, no crevice of his shape that dips the mattress- nothing to remember the memory of his body next to yours. You sigh deeply, then crane your senses for a sign.

Ceramic clatters from somewhere far away. A buzzing sound followed by a loud ding then an even louder “Shush!”.

There were two options left. You pretend to be asleep until he’d softly stir your awake, dimpled smile gazing down at you, or you could attempt to unsuccessfully surprise him with a back hug. Curse his superhuman senses.

Your hand rips off your blanket before your mind can catch up. You slip on his oversized shirt and step out of the quiet, sombre comfort of your shared room and into the bright kitchen. Screw the surprise there’s nothing more you yearn for than the way Clark’s body melts into yours upon touch.

However, the sight near the kitchen has your brows meeting your hairline, eyes blown wide. You embody a living statue as your mind tries to take in what it supposes is a mirage. A mismatched puzzle piece, your thoughts connecting faster than your comprehension or realisation can.

With his broad back turned you to, he speaks. Words drenched with maple and adoration; you can picture the smile on his face. “I was just about to wake you, Sleepy-pants”, he stretches the affectionate nickname out, “Who wants pancakes?”

He scrapes the final piece of the pan to place on the heaping stack of pancakes, clicks the stove off, then turns to meet you halfway.

Though its your lack of enthusiasm and the strange expression that stops him in place. As quickly as he pauses, he rushes to gather your face in his warm, big hands. Clark brushes the messy strands of hair out of your face.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You feelin’ alright, hon?”, his voice is gentle, as if it would shatter you if he spoke in a normal tone.

Your eyes don’t stray away from the door, and the sight of red boots- incredibly, extremely familiar, without a doubt those same red boots that you see every single day and hour of your life. Although it’s through a pixelated screen, or just barely visible in the sky far far up from the ground where you and numerous civilians stand.

They ‘stand’ right there next to your over piled coat rack, steady and waiting as if they’ve always belonged. It’s a sight that brings comfort but dawns answers to questions you hadn’t even asked. But it all made concrete sense.

Carefully, he nudges your head to the opposite direction and all you can see is a pool of the clear blue sky, staring at you with worry. And love, so much adoration you could drown in it.

“Let’s sit down, hmm”, he places a tiny kiss on your forehead, and slowly moves you to the couch. His hands slide up and down your arm to soothe you but it’s mostly to calm his nerves. Once he’s sure you’re snug, he plops down next to you. Hands fit each other and fingers automatically intertwine.

Your eyes drop to inspect his hands. They’re not calloused but rough, and rigid from years of farm work and superhero duties. Memories of how much he preens like a cat when you massage his hands with lavender lotion flood your mind and you let out a soft giggle.

Clarks sighs in relief. “You must have gotten dizzy from standing on an empty stomach”. He misunderstands in the most adorable way.

So, you turn your body to his, knees bumping and your bare legs brushing his work pants. A reminder of how he needs to bring more of his clothes and you need to do laundry (because all you wear at home are his clothes) (“I love seeing you in every part of me”, he says. ‘Clark Kent, you big baby’ you could go on for hours).

A deep breath in, and a huge smile to muffle how you’re vibrating from excitement, anxiety, fear, admiration and courage. It needs to land perfectly, a firm but soft blow. So he knows you love him all the same, nothing has changed, no secret could change the bond. If anything, his constant excuses and date cancellations make more sense now.

“Thanks for saving me, Superman”.

It’s quiet for a minute, only the clock ticking and the occasional hum of the radiator. Clark’s gaze never wavers, nor do his expressions betray him. His lips stretch, dimples carved into his cheeks, he laughs loudly. So loud that his shoulder shake with him, and unsure of what to do, you awkwardly laugh along.

He shakes his head in disbelief then moves an inch closer to boop your nose, “Okay, I’ll admit that was good.” Your face scrunches and eyes squint in disbelief.

“No-no, I mean-”.

He interrupts you with another boop to the nose but this time you swat his hand away. The motion makes his glasses shift and he hastily pushes them back until his eyelashes clash against the glass.

“I’ll relay this to Superman the next time I interview him”, he resumes his chuckle and looks at you with so much adoration you want to kiss him silly. But you pull back when he leans close.

With your back against the cushion, and arm rest you glare at him. There’s no heat behind it but his nonchalance eggs you on. The dopey smile on his face doesn’t waver as he looks at you crossing your arms, his arms slowly trace the edge of the couch so he can trap you.

It’s Clark’s classic move. He’ll wrap you in his strong arms, hold you chest to chest for a tight hug to breathe in your scent. But now’s not the time for that.

“Clark, I know”.

“Know what, hon?”.

You huff in annoyance and try to get up but he doesn’t budge. His arms rest next to your waist as he hovers over you. “You don’t need to hide anything from me”, you chose a different approach, voice sweet and low. Coaxing him into confessing. A finger trails over his shoulder until it meets the collar of his crinkled white button down.

“It’s just to two of us”, the tip of your nail almost grazes his chin and his head bows to kiss it. “Clark Kent is Superman, right?”, you whisper.

Immediately he scrunches his eyes shut, whining your name as he leans backwards until he’s sat on his knees. His chest heaves with a heavy sigh, burdened enough to bury his secret.

“Angel, do you know how many times I’ve been called that before?”, he’s pleading now.

You huff once more and turn your nose to the side. “It’s not just how you act Clark. You’re not only kind and heroic like him. You look like him too!”

Clark sputters, eyes wide and unable to meet your own so they bounce of your features until he tries to form a defence. “I do not. And besides it’s a widely known fact that each person has seven doppelgangers-”.

You deadpan stare makes him bite his tongue.

He scratches his neck bashfully, “And one of mine happens to live here. Superman was probably living a normal life here before I moved from Smallville. If anything, I’m his doppelganger”.

Your stare doesn’t waver, lips pulled back taunt. You aren't backing down and despite his deflated shoulders, neither is he.

“Look at the door”.

“Hm? What was that?”.

“I know you heard me, Kent”.

You watch him closely when his eyes travel above your head and down the hallway where the door was next to the new addition in your house. His body undergoes a series of motions.

Broad shoulders hunch stiff when he eyes the shoes, fingers on his right-hand twitch, his tongue wets his lips and his pupils shake. Then, as quickly as it all happened, his body uncurls from the coil and he slouches, his head bows meeting his chest. It’s slow yet the pictures woosh in a fluid motion, like watching a glass fall; it’s slow motion yet the fastest action ever.

 He closes his eyes, out of what you hope is relief. Carrying that weight alone could be a burden-even for a metahuman.

Clark sighs. It’s like he exhales all the air ever present in his lungs. A beat passes before you lift yourself and wrap your arms around him. You try to cover as much of his body as possible, bury him under your tender touch and care.

His nose tickles the spot under your ear, his breath warm as it hits your neck.

“I knew I was forgetting something”, muffled but it reaches your ears clearly. It’s not regret he feels, but there is a part of him that feels he’s opened a new, uncharted world for you. One where he has to work twice as hard to keep you safe.

“Yes, I’m the world’s best detective I know but I love you, Clark. You, Superman, farm boy, journalist, every version of you, I love you”, you mumble into his hair.

His body slides on the couch to mould you onto him as he takes your waist into his arms, pulling you over his lap but not moving his head from the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply once more.

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here, it’s always been us”.

He shakes his head. “Not a burden…I was born for it”.

You rake a hand through his heavy curls and he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I’m talking about the secret”.

He places a chaste kiss on your neck, and you squirm from how much it tickles. The apple of his cheek curves upwards from how hard he smiles.

“Whenever you need me, I’ll always be here, Superman. Cheering you on, helping you or taking care of you. You save us, I save you, Clark”.

“I know”. Finally, his head pulls back to look at you. It’s intimate, staring into his blue eyes like he can see right through you. Speak right to your soul.

“I love you”. He says it like it’s a fact, it’s the law. And for Clark it might as well be. You shift your arms so your fingers rest on his cheeks, brushing the soft skin.

“Wanna have cold breakfast?”.

His soft eyes crinkle in glee, “You know it”.

Your thumb presses into the skin, squishing it and he closes his eyes. Now that you know he’s not just physically strong but meta-human-ly strong, you’re going to squish, pinch and hug him as hard as you can. Call it love, or cuteness aggression, Clark’s thrilled to be receiving it.

“My boyfriend makes me the best breakfast. You should meet him sometime”.

He laughs. You squish his cheeks once more; his left hand leaves your waist to place the warmth onto yours.

“Maybe later. Right now, I want to have the best cold pancakes with you”.

You place a quick kiss to his nose, and before you can jump off his lap, his grip on your waist returns and tightens , then he stands up so fast you almost suffer a whiplash.

“Clark!”, your hands scramble to hold onto his shoulders as he carries you all the way to the kitchen.

It’s not silent or tense now. The air is lighter with the sound of his laughter and the weight of his secret off his shoulders. There’s a bounce in his step and the purpose of his calling in his arms. Held tight, secure, and swimming in love.

A/N: thank you for reading! Hope you liked it. If you have any thoughts feel free to share. I hate editing and formating but This was so fun to write, i mostly did laugh at the joke it randomly came in my head. First fic here ah im so nervous but lets goo people! Have a great day :)

[iamburdened]

NO MORE GLASSES - CLARK KENT

summary: glasses certainly can change a person’s looks, you didn’t think that it would be that different when it came to clark. Now you’ve got a naked superman in your bed.

Warning: SMUT! MDNI! 18+ p in v, size kink, no protection(pls wrap before you tap), slight power play, praise kink, fingering, breeding kink, belly bulge, overstimulation

authors note: due to popular demand i decided to make a second part! Anyone who asked for the second part is automatically tagged so it’d be easier for you guys to find it ♥️enjoyyyy! click here to see the first part of glasses!

word count: 4.6k

Taglist: @buggub @katie-the-bookworm @booboobear-12 @soggywhore @moonstrucktravellerr @dollfacedalls @dyanasaur @kodzuminx @purelypersistenttribe @at0michips @spideyweirdo @thecursivej @helloimamistake @cybr-grrrlll @ahoessecrettxx @leann-black @its-just-meeeeeeee

To say that the mood is ruined is an understatement. It’s more than ruined. It’s awkward. Which is weird because you’ve never really had an awkward moment in the middle of sex with Clark.

Then again you never expected your hot, wonderful, darling coworker slash boyfriend to be The Superman. You’re sitting on the opposite side of the bed, the sheets bundled up to cover your naked form. Your back resting on the wooden headboard while Clark sits near the end of the bed. The silence is thick and almost suffocating.

Clark’s glasses are somewhere in the room. Neither of you know where it is and you kinda don’t want to. Partly because you’re still recovering from the fact that your boyfriend is fucking Superman. But also because you’re getting the chance to look at Clark without his glasses on. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t find him attractive without the glasses.

God, why did he have to look like a man that was shaped by the Greek gods themselves?

“How long were you planning to wait before telling me about… this?” You carefully asked, hugging the sheets closer to your chest. Clark is still naked as well, the other end of the sheets covering his nether regions. He shyly scratches the back of his neck, “I was gonna tell you in a few weeks.” His cheeks were a soft tint of pink. Embarrassed at his own statement.

It took a minute for your brain to process it all. You’ve been dating Clark for nearly a year now. If he planned to tell you in a few weeks…

“You were gonna tell me on our anniversary?” Clark sheepishly nodded his head, confirming your theory. He lifts his head to meet your eyes, a worried expression on his face. “Are you mad about that?” Your eyes widened. Did he think you were mad that he was hiding this from you? You quickly sat up from the headboard. “M-Mad? Wha– I’m not mad! I mean it’s a big secret thingy so I can’t really be mad that you hid this.”

You let a soft puff of air, burying your head in your hands. Out of all the times this had to happen, of course it’s when you’re about to get dicked down. Talk about cock blocking yourself.

Clark lets out a sigh of relief. At least you’re not mad at him. That’s all that matters to him. He’d rather deal with Luthor throwing whatever crap at him than you being upset. “That’s great news. At least this saves me the whole speech I’ve been planning out in my head.” Clark exclaims. His shoulders dropping down in ease. You raise your brows at him, “You’ve been planning out a speech to tell me that you’re Superman?” You snickered.

“I wanted it to be perfect. Our anniversary. The announcement. Everything.” Clark smiled softly, fiddling with his fingers nervously. That’s one box ticked off. It’s hard to pretend to be mad at Clark when he had such an adorable expression on his face. Curly hair falling over his face perfectly, pink tinted cheeks and a dorky smile.

You reached out to gently grasp Clark's hand. “Anything you would’ve done would be perfect to me. I love you and anything that you do for me.” You reassured, giving him a light squeeze. The tense air disappeared into nothing and left a sense of lightness. The guilt Clark had in his heart for not telling you about his secret identity is gone.

And then you started remembering all the things you’ve said about Superman both on and off work when Clark was around.

Oh hell no.

All those memories hit you like a random main character getting hit by a truck and end up being transported to another world. “I can’t believe this! I swear the world is playing a mean trick on me!” You groaned, pulling away from Clark and flopping onto the bed. The sheets pulled up to cover yourself out of sheer embarrassment.

“Why couldn’t you have told me sooner Clark! You heard all the stuff I said about Superman– about you!” You whined, wrapping the sheets tightly around you and wishing that you could disappear into the darkness. It’s like a bad memory that haunts you. Clark laughed at your reaction. “Aww, is somebody embarrassed cause they got caught bad-mouthing their boyfriend?”

You shot a weak glare at him, “I didn’t know it was you! Not my fault at all. I plead innocent.” You grumbled, burying your head deeper in the pillows. It’s not that you always talked bad about Superman. Sure, you’ve ranted to Clark from time to time how you wished Superman would avoid destroying another subway line (he tried and failed miserably) or how you wished he handled certain fights differently but it’s the things you’ve said to Lois and Cat that really haunt you.

How super is superman in bed?

What’s underneath those tights?

Would I spread my legs for that guy? Yes–

Every word you’ve spoken about Superman is replaying itself in your head. This is the worst moment in your life. You unknowingly voiced out the things you’d do to Superman AKA Clark in bed. And those two traitors – even if they didn’t know it – let you continue to talk about those things while Clark sat right next to you on his desk listening to everything.

This is what you get for being a blabber mouth. You should’ve known this was going to bite you in the ass someday.

It was only supposed to be a silly stupid crush. Those types of crushes you get on a celebrity. It's Superman after all. Almost everyone in the city adores that guy. Even Lex Luthor– no matter how much he denies it, the tension between them is too out there. “I want to erase my memory. Please kill me right now.” You whined.

Clark's low chuckle echoed throughout the room. He plucked his glasses that were off the ground, holding them in his hands. “No, please go on. It's quite flattering to hear all those things about me from you. Though, you've got quite the dirty mouth there miss.” Clark grinned, moving over so he was sitting next to you. You pouted at his teasing, snatching the glasses from him.

“Hmph, very funny.” You mumbled, unfortunately you couldn't hide the way your heart started racing when he came closer. “How did you even do it? You and Superman look like two entirely different people.” You held up the glasses above your head, staring into the lenses. Nothing seemed off visually, it just looked like a normal pair of glasses.

You held it up to Clark's face. Lifting it up and down to see what made him look so different.

“The glasses do half the work. They're called hypno glasses. When I wear these, it alters people's perception of me. They won't see Superman when I wear this, they see Clark Kent instead.” Clark muttered, watching with a soft gaze as you fiddled with the glasses curiously. “My attitude, clothes and hair finishes the job. So far no one's gotten suspicious of me. Not even Lois or Jimmy.” You hummed in acknowledgement at the new info.

A thought suddenly popped in your head. “I should sue you for catfishing me. You look like two different people with these glasses. You hypnotized me too, I don't think that's legal at all. You are a serial catfisher that deserves to be locked up for life.” You joked, earning a huff of laughter from Clark. “Oh yeah? My sweet little thing wants to sue me? Now don't be like that sweetheart. I'm still your same old Clarkie.” He mumbled with a relaxed smile, his fingers brushing aside the loose pieces of hair that covered your face.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” You shot back. Clark raised his eyebrows, he had a sneaking feeling that he knew what you wanted. “Prove it? I think I can do that.” You yelped as Clark easily pulled you onto his lap. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing to him. His arms loosely wrapped around your hips and he leaned closer to you.

His lips teasingly grazed your neck. “Why don't I show you the difference between Clark Kent and Superman then?” Clark's words sent shivers down your spine. His hand rested on your lower back, teasingly shifting a tad bit lower.

“It'll also answer one of your questions about me.”

“O-One of my questions?” You sputtered out.

You recognized that hungry look behind Clark's gaze. You've seen it plenty enough times to know that he planned to ruin you tonight. “You said you wanted to know how super Superman is in bed. I’m here to show it.” Before you can stop him, Clark easily maneuvers your body like you're nothing but a mere plaything. Your back is pressed flush on the mattress, his hand pinning both your hands above your head and your legs thrown over his shoulder. Allowing Clark to gain the upper hand completely and tower over you.

“Sit back and relax sweetheart. I'll give you everything ya’ need.” His hands trailed down to the sheets that covered your lower off. A simple harsh tug on it was enough for it to be taken off your body, exposing yourself to the cool night air. Goosebumps formed along your skin as Clark traced invisible shapes on your inner thigh. His fingers grazing your soaked core.

Your body instinctively tried to close your legs but it was hard to do so with it being on his shoulders. You couldn't hide your body from him at all. Clark chuckled at your reaction. “Ah ah ah, c’mon no hiding from me miss. Wanna see every inch of you.” You whined when the tips of his fingers teasing your entrance. You were still sensitive from him eating you out like a man starved earlier.

“N-Nh, Clark~ Put it in.” You bucked your hips upwards, trying to get to him but Clark held you down. His hand pressing down on your lower abdomen. “Settle down, baby. Jus’ need to stretch you out a little more.” Clark grinned at your eagerness. If he could he'd dive right on in.

He gathered your slickness on his fingers. The thin liquid dripping down his thick long fingers. A clear evidence of your need for him. “Gosh, you're soaked.” He chuckled, pinching your sensitive nub and causing you to jump in surprise. “So jumpy…” Clark spread open your wet folds, licking his lips at the sight in front of him.

You squealed when his fingers dipped inside the warmth of your body. The remnants of your previous orgasm spilling out of you. “Nh! Fuhh-” Even with his fingers, he was stretching you out like no man could. How many fingers was he using? Two? One? You couldn't tell. Not with how deep his fingers are reaching in.

Clark went slow and steady. Watching every single twitch of your body as he pumped his thick fingers into your cunt. He could imagine how it'd look with his cum buried deep inside you. He'd save that for later. “That's it, stretch out for me a little more baby.” You weren't sure if he was talking to you or your pussy. Your walls were fluttering around him.

Clark didn't stop there. He began experimentally spreading his fingers wider, scissoring you in smooth motions. Your cries resonated in the room. God you might just cum from this alone. “Hmm, lets see… what about here?” You nearly choked on your own breath from the way his fingers curled right into your sensitive spot. He was pressing right into it.

“O-Oh! Oh fuck– n-not there~” You weakly protested. Clark merely flashed a smug smile. And then he fucking did it again, earning another loud cry from you. Fucking tease that man. “What's wrong sweetheart? Does it feel too good there?” Unbeknownst to you, Clark had used his powers to find your sweetest point. Powers made to do good for the world now being used to fuck his girlfriends pussy.

You weren't given a chance to respond before Clark started off a quick and harsh pace. His fingers plunging deep inside you. Each finger hitting a sweet spot that had you spiralling. He hadn't even used that monster between his legs to show you the clear difference between him and Superman. This alone was clear enough.

Clark leaned closer to pull you into a hot and messy kiss. His fingers not stopping to rest for a second. Swallowing every single moan that slipped from your precious lips. His tongue won dominance over yours. It's a feisty battle. One that you know you'll lose but try to fight anyway. His grip on your wrists grew tighter, not letting you squirm away from his fingers.

“C’mon, let go f’me baby. I know you want it. Can tell from how tight you're clenching around me.” Clark breathed out, his kisses trailing down to your cheek and neck. Leaving love bites that would last for days to come. Thank God you stocked up on concealer. This man is a menace when it comes to leaving marks on you. It's always the quiet ones.

However you didn't need to hear him twice. Your back arched against the mattress. That string out string in your core growing tighter and tighter. “C-Clark, Clark!” You squealed, digging the heel of your foot into his back, gasping loudly when the string snapped. Eyes rolling back in delight as you felt pleasure rushing through your veins. A silent moan leaving your mouth in an ‘O’ shape.

Clark watched with glee as you made a mess all over his fingers. He was already getting excited just watching you cum like this. “Mmh, that's it. Such a mess little thing aren't you baby?” Clark cooed gently. The liquid dripping down and soaked into the ruined sheets. Your thighs trembling from the intensity of it all.

“Christ– How do you do it?” You whimpered, letting out shaky breaths to calm your erratic breathing. Clark sat back down on the bed, pulling his fingers out of your cunt and licking them clean. Your cheeks turning a bright shade of red when he didn't break eye contact. “You want me to demonstrate? We have a mirror right there.” Clark chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at Clark. “Oh shut it you dork.” You grumbled. Clark loosened his hold on you, freeing your wrist from his hold.

“So, does this prove that I'm your same old Clark?”

You hummed softly, fingers brushing along his cheek. “Mmh, I dunno. I still don't believe it.”

Clark huffed, shaking his head at you. You giggled as he easily lifted you up, sliding pillows under your back to angle your hips higher. “If you wanted another round all you had to do is say it.” Now that you're in this position, you're suddenly reminded of what was waiting for you. Your eyes shifting down to his thick length.

Girthy, long with visible veins. The tip slightly curved to the right. Pre-cum already starting to spill out from the top. And good ol’ Midwestern, farm boy, Clark Kent was the one packing all that. A cock that could literally ruin your life. You won't protest to that.

His hands moved down to your hips. Desire clouding his once clear vision. Clark didn't have any plans of stopping at all. “Relax for me, alright sweetheart? Don't wanna break you too much.” Clark pulled your hips closer, lining himself with your entrance. The tip grazed your wet folds, coating himself with it as his own personal lube.

No matter how many times you did it, Clark always managed to make it feel like the first time.

Your fingers clawed at the mattress as Clark nudged his hips forward. Slowly but surely pushing the tip of his cock inside. “F-Fuck! Clark– I can't–” You sputtered out mindlessly. Your hips tried to buck away and Clark easily pulled you back in, pushing his cock even deeper inside your silky walls. “Nuh uh, you can do it baby. You always do. Taking me so well like this.” He cooed, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

It felt like he was pushing the air out of your lungs. You could feel him reaching your throat. He did light thrusts, pulling out ever so slightly before making you take even more of his girthy length. The slow drag and pull of his cock was driving you insane. He's pressing into each and every one of your spots without trying. It's almost unfairly good.

Although Clark wanted to hold back, with the way your slick cunt was sucking him in it was hard to resist the urge to slam right into you. With one hand holding the top of the headboard, Clark slammed his full length into your pussy. His eyes watched the mesmerizing sight of you squirming around on the bed, trying your best to take his cock. “Oh gosh look at you baby. You're gorgeous.” Clark breathlessly praised, watching the way your body sung under him.

Clark had you in the perfect position. Legs draped over his shoulders and thighs pressed to your chest. He took full advantage of this. “Hold on to me, baby. m'gonna make you feel so good i promise.” He whimpered, his thrusts picking up the pace, matching his growing impatience. In and out. The smell of sex filled the room. Everything hot and sticky.

“Clarkkkk~ Ngh- Right there!” You cried out as he fucked you harder. It's absolutely filthy the way Clark is fucking you raw. Your nails ran down his back, leaving long red lines that would be gone by the time you cum. A low guttural groan left Clark at the feeling. His thrusts growing faster and rougher with every line. You're trying to leave your mark on him. It's a fruitless attempt and yet you keep trying.

“Christ- Thats it baby. You're doin’ so good f'me. You like when I act like this? Use you like my pretty little thing?” Clark grunted, the wooden headboard splintering under his tight grip. The wall was banging against the walls, the feet of the bed shifting with every shift of his hips.

His words alone were enough to throw you off the edge. You didn't even realize you were that close. It leaves your legs quivering. Your cum flowed out of you, dripping down your inner thighs as Clark pushed it out with every slam of his hips. The liquid dripping down the sheets and making a whole mess out of you. “Guh– C-Clark- nh-” You whimpered. The sheer intensity of your orgasm almost had you spiralling.

Clark didn't slow down or stop. No, he sped up. “Golly, you feel absolutely amazing. So wet. So warm. All for me.” Every drag of his veins along the tightness of your walls had Clark's eyes rolling back in pleasure. His hand shifted down to your stomach. Admiring the rise and fall of the small bump every time he pushed his cock into your dripping cunt.

Out of sheer curiosity, he gently pressed down on it, earning another cry of his name from you. Your hands instinctively reached down and wrapped around his wrists. “P-Please, m'sensitive down Clarkie.” You sniffled. Clark merely shushed your cries, peppering kisses all your tear stained cheeks. “Shh, shh relax baby. You're too wind up, jus’ tryna make you loosen up.” He muttered, a drunken grin plastered on his face at the feeling of his own cock pressed under his hand.

“Could break you so easily. So small…” Clark rambled softly, picking up the pace of his thrusts. God, he could feel it. He's so close to pumping you full with his cum. You'd look so pretty all stuffed like that. Thick cream dripping down your legs for him to push right back in. His grip on your hips grew tighter, “You'll let me do it, right? Let me cum in right here?” Clark pleaded in that whiney tone of his.

Your brain doesn’t even process his words. Your halfway up into cloud 9. Clark lightly smacks the side of your thigh. Not hard enough to hurt you but enough to snap you back to reality for a split second. “Baby, please- lemme cum inside.” Clark whimpered, rolling his hips deep inside your sopping pussy. You merely respond, “M-Mhm! nh- y-you can do it- please.”. Eyes rolling back as he hits the deepest part of you with the tip of his cock.

Clark buries his face deep in the crook of your neck. Taking in the hypnotic smell of sex on your skin. “I know you're close, baby. Come with me. You can do it. A lil’ push is all you need.” He breathes out, hand slipping in between your body to find your clit. His fingers expertly fiddle with your overstimulated clit. He knows your body too well. He knows what makes you tick or in this case cum.

Your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. Soft moans going straight into Clarks ears as you began to shift your hips to match his punching pace. The combination of both his fingers and cock easily push you over the edge. You've already lost track of the amount of times he's made you come all in one night. “Nnh, close- Ah- f-fuck!” You squealed, your cum gushing around his thick cock.

Clark squeezed the fat of your hips tightly, slamming his hips flush to yours so that you'd take every single drop of his cum. “That's it– take it for me baby. Hnn…” Clark gasped, his thrusts stuttering to a stop as the warm ropes of his cum filled your cunt. Clark felt like he was in heaven as his dick softened in your warm cunt. Especially with the way his cum filled you up to the brim.

He held you tight in his arms, not ready to pull away from your warm body. How could he deprive himself of such a luxury? “Perfect f'me, y'know that? Perfect.” Clark mumbled, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

You thought that it was over. That Clark was done and had finally worn himself out. That's what you believed. A foolish thought. Clark isn't easily satisfied with a few rounds.

You felt him manhandling your body so that you were laying flat on your stomach. His large hands pressing down on your lower back to force you to arch your back. “C-Clark? What are you–”

“One more. Please baby. I need it so bad.” Clark whined. The mushroom tip of his cock slotting back into your cunt. “I- I promise, this is the last one. Promise, baby.” Clark slurred. A frustrated Clark is dangerous enough but a pussy drunk Clark Kent slash Superman is devastating. At this point you might as well give your boss a heads up and tell him you're not heading to work. Why? Cause you got dicked down by your boyfriend too hard to the point where you can't walk straight.

You accepted your fate. Your body slumping on the pillows scattered across the bed. “Mmh… m'kay.” You softly uttered. Clark doesn't need to hear anything else before he's sinking his cock deeper into your sopping cunt. A moan is torn out from the back of his throat. His head tipped back in sheer pleasure from the feeling of your pussy around him.

“God– Sweetheart, feel so good around me like this. Love you so much. My pretty sunshine.” He whimpered. His soft curls clinging onto the sweat that thinly covered his skin. Clark towered over your frame with ease. Both hands firmly gripping your hips as he lazily thrusted inside you. There's no doubt you have hand shaped bruises on them.

You're helplessly clawing at the sheets beneath you. Your moans are muffled by the pillow you had your head buried in. His cock is hitting the deepest part of you without even trying. Clark is lazily rolling his hips into you, pulling you back to meet his deep thrusts. The slow drag of his cock allowing you to feel every single vein and inch of him.

Every single neuron in your brain is gone. All you can focus on is the way he's filling you up so good. He's driving his cum deeper into you, making sure that it actually stays where he wants it to be. “Bet you're gonna look so pretty once you're all full. Christ, I can't wait to see it.” Clark grunted, picking up the slow pace of his hips..

His lips move up your back. Peppering wet kisses to pour out each and every bit of his love for you. The sound of skin on skin is filthy. Your neighbors probably hate you by now. The neighborhood too. Its not like you can care when Clark is fucking you this good. His hand gently tips your chin up, angling your face to look up at his.

He leans down and presses a hot kiss to your lips. “Ah- you taste s'good.” You mindlessly babbled, earning a soft chuckle from him. You could feel him smiling against your lips. “That's you, sweetheart. I'm jus’ givin’ you a taste of what you taste like.” Clark mumbled, deepening the kiss as much as he could while keeping up with his intense thrusts.

A thin string of saliva connected you when Clark pulled away. His own cheeks flushed from the messy kisses. “God, you're gonna drive me insane.” He huffed, using the broken headboard to keep himself upright. His eyes glaze over your bent over form, using his x-ray vision to watch the way your walls contract around him. If he could, he'd watch this every single day.

“Look at you. Made you cum so many times and you still want more.” Clark lazily grinned. The two of you were a clear mess and yet neither of you wanted this stop. “Can't help it, you make me feel so good.” You whimpered as his hips snapped forward. He makes sure you feel every inch of his cock going in and out of your weeping cunt. It leaves you a bumbling mess underneath him.

Your orgasms begin to blend together. One turns into two and then two somehow reaches five. You don't remember when it starts or when it ends. Clarks fucked you hard enough to jumble your entire brain. His thick cock pumps you full of cum until you're unbelievably full of him. He doesn't let a single drop go to waste, pushing it back into you with a simple flick of his fingers.

When the sun finally peeks through the sheer curtains, Clark finally pulls out. Although very reluctantly. His body flops down next to yours, arm protectively wrapped around your waist as he keeps his face buried in the nape of your neck. Both of you are breathless, unable to form a single comprehensive thought. Neither of you dare to move from the comfortable position that you're in.

“So, did I answer all your Superman questions?”

“...”

Your silence is an obvious answer.

[iamburdened]

You’re Home Early -C.K 

Synopsis: You weren’t supposed to be home yet. But when your meeting ends early, you decide to surprise Clark with something sweet—takeout, kisses, maybe a little teasing. What you find instead is him—naked, fisting his cock in your shared bed, moaning your name.

cw: Masturbation (Clark touching himself). Partner voyeurism (Reader catches him in the act). Oral sex (f. receiving & m. receiving). Unprotected sex. Fingering. Dirty talk. Public teasing reference. Power play (light dominance & control). Begging, possession, and praise kink. Reader teasing/denying Clark. Mild roughness. 

You weren’t supposed to be home for another hour.

But your meeting ended early, and you thought—sweetly, innocently—that maybe you’d surprise Clark with takeout and kisses.

What you didn’t expect was to walk in and hear low, filthy groans echoing down the hall. The sound stops you in your tracks.

It’s coming from the bedroom.

Quietly, you drop your bag and creep closer, heart hammering. The door’s cracked open just enough to give you the perfect view—and what you see has your breath catching in your throat.

Clark is on the bed. Naked. Laid out like some kind of goddamn fever dream.

His thighs are spread, muscles flexing with each slow pump of his fist around his thick cock. He’s leaking—dripping—precome slicking over his knuckles, abs tense and glistening with sweat. His head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes shut, lips parted. And he’s saying your name.

"Fuck, baby… god—the way you ride me… the sounds you make—" You press your thighs together, already soaked. He doesn’t even notice you watching. Not at first. Not until he moans again, low and rough, hips bucking into his own hand, and your voice cuts through the haze: “Having fun without me?”

Clark jerks—eyes flying open, chest rising hard. He looks so caught—and it’s adorable. A little flush crawls up his throat, but his cock doesn’t so much as twitch away from his grip. If anything, he strokes harder.

“Thought you were still at work,” he pants, eyes dark, locked on you now.

You lean against the doorframe, slowly undoing the first few buttons of your blouse. “Clearly. Was this about earlier? Couldn’t wait for me to come home?”

He groans again, deeper this time. “You in that fucking skirt—of course it was about earlier.” You cross the room slowly, letting your skirt slide down your hips as you approach the bed.

Clark’s still touching himself—shameless now, moaning softly as he watches you strip. His free hand reaches for your wrist when you get close enough, tugging you down so you’re straddling his thigh.

"God, you’re such a fucking tease,” Clark groans, his voice wrecked and ragged. His fingers dig into your hip as you straddle his thigh—his skin searing hot, muscles coiled and trembling beneath you. “You know what you do to me.”

You grind against the thick cut of muscle under you, biting your lip as your soaked panties drag along his skin. “Yeah?”you murmur, cupping his jaw. “Then maybe you should’ve waited for me to come home, baby.”

His cock twitches at that—still hard, still dripping, his hand slow and tight around the shaft as he watches you roll your hips against his thigh like you’re putting on a show. Your blouse is open, your tits brushing his chest, and his eyes are starving.

“Couldn’t help it,” he gasps, bucking up into his own hand. “Fuck—you left me so worked up. Thought about you all day. That skirt—those fucking heels—”

You dip your mouth to his throat, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. “Poor baby. Touched yourself like a desperate little—

Clark growls—the sound vibrates against your mouth as he grabs your ass and yanks you harder against him. You feel the sticky drag of his cockhead nudge against your thigh, hot and slick. “I’m not the only one desperate,” he mutters darkly. “You’re soaked. You want me to fuck you stupid, don’t you?”

You kiss him hard, filthy and slow, before whispering, “No.”

His brows furrow. “No?”

You smirk. “Not yet.”

Then you slide down his body, replacing his hand with yours. He groans—loud, almost helpless—as you stroke him, your thumb teasing the head, gathering the slick and spreading it with slow, cruel precision.

“Y-You’re evil,” he chokes out, head tipping back, fists curling in the sheets.

You hum. “You’re the one who started without me. I should make you wait.”

His eyes snap to yours—glowing faintly, pleading. “Please.”

You laugh and duck between his legs, tongue flicking out to taste him. He shouts your name, hips jerking as you suck him into your mouth like you own him. And you do. God, you fucking do.

a/n: spank me or fuck me both will do

[iamburdened]

we aren’t doing enough arts and crafts in this world I’m telling you

[iamburdened]

just-right johnny — johnny storm x fem!reader Johnny sees you talking with Steve Rogers, the Captain America, and feels a certain way.

warnings: jealous!johnny maybe, also insecure!johnny. not really angst. fluff, comforting stuff. Steve Rogers cameo. The timeline/universes don’t add up. Established relationship. a/n: two of my johnny fics have dancing in it :D idk why masterlist

Tonight is the gala to honor the superheroes.

You fix the lapels of Johnny’s suit, him smiling down at you with adoration in his eyes. “You look good in white.” You say.

Johnny’s eyebrow raises. “That’s supposed to be my line one day.”

You smile shyly. “Oh, Johnny, always so smooth.”

He smirks and slides an arm around your waist, pulling you in until your hips brush. “Only for you.”

He kisses you deeply. “You look beautiful.”

A hum escapes you as your arms loop around his neck. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Don’t care.” He tilts his head, catching your mouth again. “Didn’t even wanna go to this thing.”

You laugh softly, but you turn away before you’re tempted to melt into him again. “As tempting as you are, baby, I spent a lot of time to look this good.”

Johnny groans, partly from the loss of your warmth, partly from the way your perfume lingers while you walk away. “You’re killing me.”

The ballroom is a glittering spread of champagne flutes, polished marble, and a string quartet in the corner. Every guest here is dressed to impress and you step in on Johnny’s arm, squeezing his suit for your own reassurance.

Photographers call out from one side, flashes popping. Johnny squeezes your hand before steering you toward the bar. “You okay?”

You smile, “Mm-hmm.”

Johnny knows you’re still not used to the cameras. You’re a civilian, not a superhero, just here as his plus one.

You’re by the bar getting a drink when Johnny’s being called to take a group photo for the Fantastic Four. Johnny glances at you for permission.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Go.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. “I’ll be right back.”

You smile and watch him leave, bringing the champagne glass to your lips. You don’t know anyone else here except the four people who’ve claimed you as part of their family. Most of the crowd are superheroes. Some from other cities, some from other universes, but you’ve never met them, and they’ve never met you.

And so the awkward observation begins—

“You new to this?”

You hear a voice beside you. Captain America. You blink a few times. “Um, y-yeah.”

He extends his hand, realizing the lack of introductions. “Sorry. Steve. Rogers.”

You smile and shake his hand, introducing yourself.

“I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Oh, I’m with Johnny. Storm.” You point towards where Johnny is, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Steve nods, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “He’s a nice kid.”

You chuckle, “You say that like you’re so old.”

He feigns a wounded look. “You do know I’m over a hundred years old, right?”

Your eyes go wide, “Oh my God, I forgot… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” Steve laughs, “I was just teasing. You just look like you’re uncomfortable here.”

You let out a small laugh because you got caught, “I wanted to come. But… honestly this is kind of freaking me out.”

He nods in understanding. “I get that. It can be overwhelming.”

You take a deep breath. “At least I know I’m safe. Literally the safest place in the world right now.”

Steve chuckles. “You’re right about that.”

“So where did you two meet?” Steve asks.

You glance at him, appreciating that he’s continuing the conversation instead of letting it quiet out. “Oh, he just saved my life one time. I was falling from the sky, you know, as we civilians do,” You try to make a joke and Steve laughs, “And he swoops in, carries me away to safety.”

He nods with an amused smile, “That’s a very romantic story.”

“I’m just one lucky girl, I guess—” You pause, feeling a warm hand snaking around your waist.

Johnny.

“Hey Cap,” He nods his head to the older guy before turning to you. “Sorry it took a while, babe.”

“Johnny.” Steve nods back, “Well I’ll leave you two lovebirds. Have a good night.”

“You too,” you reply, watching him go before turning to look at Johnny, his expression cold and stoic.

“Everything okay?”

He simply nods, grabbing a champagne flute and drinking most of it in one big gulp. You blink at him.

“Johnny—”

“Dance with me?” His hand extends, a gesture that feels more like he’s begging you to than an invitation.

You take it anyway, letting him guide you to the dance floor. You’ve never been much of a dancer, but with his hand resting firmly at your lower back and the other clasping yours, you let him lead.

You’ve been looking at Johnny the entire time you’re dancing to the soft music, but his eyes were anywhere else but at you. What’s gotten into him?

“What were you two talking about?” Johnny finally asks, trying to sound casual.

You squint at him. You’ve never seen Johnny’s jealous side before—mostly because there’s never been anyone for him to be jealous of. Back in your city, he’s the one people stare at in awe, and you’re the one quietly annoyed that every woman seems to be in love with him… though you can’t exactly blame them.

“Baby, are you…” You hesitate for a second, “jealous?”

Johnny’s lips press into a line, exhaling, and he finally looks at you. “A little.”

“Johnny—”

“—Not in the way you think,” He quickly says, “Probably.”

Your brows furrow, begging him to explain.

He shifts his weight, eyes darting away. “It’s not that I think you’d leave me for him. I know you wouldn’t. I just… sometimes I wonder if you’d prefer someone like him.”

Your questioning look urges him to keep going.

“You know... He’s big.” Johnny says. “Broad. Pure muscle. I’m… leaner. I don’t have those muscles… or his maturity. Or his height.”

You soften at his confession. Looping your arms around his neck, you give him a peck to distract his thoughts. “Okay, Johnny, let’s dissect this, okay?”

He nods against your forehead.

“First, I don’t care about how you look. You could be… purple with antennas or anything else and I’d still love you.” You stroke the hair at his nape.

“Oddly specific, but okay—”

“Second,” You press, “You’re leaner because you’re faster. Imagine if Cap had your powers with his build. He’d be much slower than you.”

Johnny huffs a laugh but you can tell he’s still listening.

“Third,” You say, “Cap’s mature because he’s over a hundred years old. He’s older than my grandpa.”

That gets a real laugh out of him.

“And finally… you’re the perfect height, Johnny. Any taller, and I wouldn’t be able to do this...” You rise on your toes and kiss him.

His hands instinctively tighten at your waist.

When you pull back, Johnny’s already smiling, looking at you with the same adoration in his eyes as earlier tonight. “Do you have any idea just how much I love you?”

You hum, shrugging, “I could use a reminder.”

Johnny grins, arms circling around your body like you were made for him, and kissing you once more.

[iamburdened]

.⋆｡Almost One Bed｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

On a work trip where so far everything has gone wrong, it all culminates in having to share a bed with your super hot coworker, except you could’ve sworn there were two beds in the room just a minute ago

Warnings: one bed trope, down bad!Clark, little bit of gaslighting but it’s ok cause he’s cute, smut, friends to lovers, protected sex, size kinky, dry humping (i cannot stop thinking about the kitchen scene), tiny hint of sub!Clark WC: 3.4k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

There was always something that inevitably would go wrong, you thought as you sagged into a chair in the hotel lobby. It was nearing three in the morning and yet you were still being denied a room, something about reservations and hotel policy that you really didn’t have the mental bandwidth to understand at this point. After travelling all day for an interview that was cancelled half-way during your flight, so now you were trapped in fucking Oregon with the one coworker you found unbearably hot even if he was the biggest dork you had ever met.

“I’m sorry, it seems like they’re holding firm on this one.” You hummed and looked up at the man who somehow, given his size, snuck up on you as you wallowed in your misery. You wanted to wave him off, he had gotten his own room without any problem though refused to leave you alone to deal with your own issue, but instead you just looked up at your work partner with hazy eyes.

“It’s alright Clark, it’s not like I haven’t slept in a hotel lobby before.” His frown deepened but he quickly caught himself and readjusted the thick frames that had slid down the bridge of his nose. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” He swallowed thickly and glanced over his shoulder, as if confirming that an empty room wasn’t about to magically appear in the lobby. And when it didn’t, he gave you a nervous grin, his cheeks blooming with a soft pink. “Why don’t- why don’t you stay in my room with me? I’ll sleep on the floor.” He rushed to add on, his blush growing darker as he shuffled.

Your stomach fluttered. “You don’t have to do that, you deserve a good night’s sleep more than I do. But if you are insisting-“ he cut in with a quick ‘I am’, “-then I’ll take the floor.” His lips pulled downwards, tugging your heart with them. 

He looked around one more time, blue eyes sparkling with an idea that he seemed almost too bashful to admit aloud. One dark curl bounced against his forehead as he looked down at the floor, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum. “We could share the bed?”

Heat rushed through your body, the thought of sharing a bed with the dorky mountain man of your dreams filling your head before you could stop it, sending your heart into overdrive. It was no secret to anyone you worked with that you had a crush on Clark, being his designated photographer you had unparalleled access to the man, seeing sides of him that no one else had the privilege to. And you were not passing up this chance.

“Ok, just for tonight. I’m sure they’ll have another room open by tomorrow.” You prayed that they didn’t. 

Clark smiled and before you could move, he scooped up your bag and slung it over his shoulder. “C’mon let’s get you to bed, we can deal with everything else in the morning.” 

The lady at the front desk gave you a tired smile as you passed, a genuine look of apology on her face but at this second, you really just wanted to hug her in gratitude. You didn’t even realise the elevator doors had opened, too lost in the thought of just how warm his body would be next to yours as you settled under the cheap hotel duvet until Clark laid a massive palm against the small of your back, guiding you inside.

You bit down hard on your lip, swallowing back the whimper that almost escaped you. The elevator moved up with a deep rumble, leaving a charged silence hanging between you. With each floor that passed, your stomach knotted tighter and tighter until you were struggling to breathe normally while beside you, Clark was the image of calm.

The hallway that opened up in front of you was virtually identical to every other you had seen yet it felt so different as he led you forwards, the duffle bags hanging from his broad shoulder bouncing against his back, one hand already holding his key card, the other still resting on the dip of your spine. You wondered vaguely if he would insist on putting pillows between you, then your mind slipped into what he wore to bed.

“Here we are.” His smile was nervous and a little keen, the same smile he had given you when you were told that the two of you were going on this trip. The lock beeped and the little light turned green. This was it, finally something was going to go right. You let yourself imagine just how noble he would be, turning his back while you slid into bed, wanting to give you as much privacy as he could in the small room before he would join you, that adorable pink blush covering his cheeks as your legs bumped together. Maybe he would wish you a goodnight in that soft voice of his while turning out the lights, maybe it would get cold during the night and he would unconsciously tug you to his chest, maybe, just maybe, he would kiss your forehead to soothe you back to sleep.

Darkness encompassed the room, leaving you blindly fumbling for the light switch while Clark shuffled in behind you, blocking out the light from the hall. Your finger tips brushed against the switch and you took a deep breath, willing the butterflies in your stomach to stop for just a second, and then you flicked the lights on. Both of you froze as you took in the room.

There were two beds, two queen sized beds.

“Huh.” The sound came out as more of a laugh but it seemed forced. You turned to Clark, his mouth still hanging open, his shoulders slumped. As soon as he caught your gaze, he righted himself though he seemed so disappointed. “Why don’t you take the shower first, I should call Perry and leave a message for him.”

Your mood plummeted and suddenly your exhaustion returned. Of course the universe wouldn’t give you this. Maybe next time you thought as you took your bag from Clark’s hands, planning to sulk in the shower for a while before you had to suck it up and be normal about this whole thing.

The hot water helped relax the throbbing behind your eyes and washed away the stickiness between your thighs. You had thought briefly of taking care of it but Clark was right on the other side of that wall and as much as that made your mind fuzzy with desire, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything about it. You cut off the water abruptly, resting your forehead on the tiles and letting the condensation cool you down. 

Just as your hormones levelled out, there was a loud scraping sound just outside the door.

“Clark?”  You called, stepping from the shower and wrapping a towel around your body. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Yep! Totally ok here, just stubbed my toe against the desk.” He stammered, voice slightly muffled by the wood between you. You couldn’t help but smile. What a dork.

The room was considerably colder as you left the bathroom, donned in your pyjamas. You stumbled over the threshold making you miss the guilty expression on your partner’s face before he dashed to the bed. You giggled. “I think I’m a lot tireder than I initially thought.” And then you looked up, and for the second time in half an hour, you were frozen to the spot.

Clark was now lounging on the bed, the only bed in the room.

“What happened to the other bed?” His dark brows furrowed.

“There’s only one?” He responded, looking down at the single queen before back up to you. “I think you’re right, you are way too tired, especially if you're seeing double.”

He sprang up from the mattress, his hands immediately landing on your wide hips, and herded you towards where he had been sitting. You could do nothing except obey, your mind spinning with confusion. 

“Are you sure there was always one?” He threw the sheets open for you before helping you under them with a sad if not slightly guilty expression on his face. 

“Just get some rest, I’ll be back in a minute.” You watched him run to the bathroom, snagging his bag on the way. The door slammed shut and you rolled onto your back, eying the now weirdly empty room. The bed seemed too small for the space but he was right, there was only one bed with no evidence of another anywhere. The only weird thing was that the big window at the far end of the room was slightly cracked open.

You sat up, the sheets pooling around your hips. The shower turned on again. You could check it out and be back in bed in less than a minute but then you looked at the empty side of the bed. Clark was a big man, he would take up most of it, forcing you both to cuddle if you wanted to stay fully on the bed.

You flopped back down and something in your chest eased. The sound of water and the occasional movement from Clark provided the perfect white noise for your exhausted mind, lulling you into a contented doze. By the time he finally emerged, steam following him out of the bathroom, you were almost asleep but awake enough to open your eyes to catch the view of a lifetime.

His bare chest was the first thing you saw— he was toned but not ripped, a healthy layer of fat covering his body as well as a thatch of dark hair on his pecs that led to a trail of it disappearing beneath the plaid sweats he was wearing. He had left his glasses behind, letting you see his face completely unobscured. He was tired, no doubt, but blindly beautiful and you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling at him as he approached.

“Feeling better?” You nodded into your pillow and he graced you with a relieved grin. You had never noticed how pronounced his canines were before. “Good.” The mattress dipped with his weight, making you roll over slightly to his side of the bed. His shoulder brushed your cheek as he settled, his skin was warm and unbelievably soft, like he was born from sunshine. 

His arm pressed against yours, your thighs touching in a way that made many parts of you flutter. “This ok?” 

“More than.” You murmured, eyes shutting again. He hummed contentedly before he leaned away from you and the light by his side of the bed flicked off and he returned to you.

The night settled over you, dragging you closer and closer to sleep but your mind still gnawed at one thought. “I really thought there were two beds for a minute there. Thank you for letting me crash here, I can’t even think what would’ve happened if I fell asleep in the lobby being this tired.” 

Clark pressed his nose to the top of your head, his fingers plucking softly at your wrist. “You don’t have to thank me for that… not when it wasn’t really selfless for me to insist.”

You were wide awake now. “What do you mean?” You lifted your heavy head from the pillow, looking at him in the low light of the moon streaming over you both.

Clark refused to look down at you. “What man doesn’t want to share a bed with a gorgeous woman?”A few moments passed and he took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling himself. “And I, well this sounds really awful, but I was kind of hoping that this would happen. Is that wrong?”

You could feel his anxiety in the way his muscles seized beneath your touch, his fingers ceasing the gentle caressing of your skin. For a moment, you let it sink in, some part of you feeling completely vindicated in your disappointment. “No. I really wanted it too, how could I not? Not when you’ve always been so important to me.”

Your whispered admiration stilled him before, finally, blissfully he spoke once more. “Thank god.” 

His lips were just as soft as you had fantasised, his touch just as gentle. His nose pressed into the swell of your cheek while your hands grabbed at his shoulders, encouraging him to deepen the kiss till all you could think of was him. “God, you drive me crazy. Just so beautiful and smart.” He groaned into your mouth, his touch now firm on your hips, pinning you to him.

“Clark.” Your moan seemed to set him alight. 

“Please keep saying my name like that.” He dove back into your lips and rolled over, covering your body completely with his. He settled happily between your soft thighs, pressing close to your warmth. “Please.” His hips rolled against yours and you gasped. Pleasure rocketed through you, his cock rubbing your clit like it was made exactly for you.

Your ankles locked behind his back, meeting each roll with one of your own. He chased your lips as he humped you, his pants growing tighter to the point of tugging on him uncomfortably. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Only if you take off mine too?” He shuddered above you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He whimpered but quickly went about shedding both of your clothes and then laid down over you again, sending a whole new sensation through your veins. His skin against yours, his (fucking massive) cock resting between your lips, his curls which you loved so much obscuring your vision as he tilted his head to drink in the sight of your nakedness. It felt so right, consuming your exhaustion and frustration, leaving you only wanting for him. 

He gave a restrained thrust and immediately pulled himself away, one large hand grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing tightly. “You feel too good and we haven’t even done anything yet.” 

“Then maybe we should do something, cause I also need you so badly Clark.” He nodded and kissed you before scrambling off the bed, reaching for his bag. You caught the flash of the metallic packet in the moonlight. He quickly rolled the condom onto himself and crawled back onto his side of the bed. As he leaned back against the headboard, you finally saw the sheer size of him. Long and thick and painfully hard.

“It might be easier for you if you’re on top.” He pulled you into his lap eagerly and it was all you could do to watch his cock twitch with excitement as you settled above him. 

“Full of yourself Kent?” You teased though your heart twisted and your pussy fluttered at just the thought of trying to take him.

“No, but you’re about to be.” You froze as he easily lifted you, guiding his tip to your entrance. He inched inside and already you burned with the stretch. The whimper that escaped your swollen lips had him pausing. “We can stop, if it’s too much. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You pulled the hand on your waist into your own, twisting your fingers together with his. “No, it’s ok. Just give me a few seconds.” Clark tilted his head upwards, kissing you softly as you lowered yourself down, taking more and more of him with each shared breath and moan. His cock carved itself through you like he had done to your heart so long ago. Everything within you chanted his name, calling desperately for his mind, his body, his soul, and he was finally giving it to you, with each and every inch. 

In no world would you last long, already teetering on the edge but you had to last, for this to last. Your hips met his and the breath was stolen from your lungs. He squeezed your fingers like he was trying to comfort you but the way his jaw ticked and his muscular thighs spasmed beneath you told you that you weren’t the only one struggling to hang on.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so scared I’m gonna open my eyes and this will all have been a dream again.” You slumped down, pressing your forehead against his own.

“You dream about me?” You lifted off of him, your wobbly legs keeping you up for only a few seconds before they gave out and you swallowed him to the hilt once more. He moaned and grabbed at your hip with his free hand.

“Every night.” You started to rock, gently at first, gauging just how much your body could take without breaking, then a little faster as Clark’s grip got tighter. “You feel so good, you can’t be real.” 

“I am. I’m real ‘nd I’m yours.” You pulled your joined hand upwards, letting his palm spread across your bouncing chest, right above where your heart was racing. “Feel me, ‘m real.”

His mouth chased your pebbled nipple, catching it between his teeth, making you gasp. “Yeah you are.” He snarled against your skin, now meeting each roll with a desperate punch of his hips, tying your nerves tighter to the point you found it hard to breathe. He sucked and licked, groaning loudly as you tugged on his hair with each motion.

“Clark I’m-“ You hadn’t realised how close you were until suddenly it was barreling right for you.

“Let go, it’s ok. I’ll catch you.” He held your hips, rocking them for you. The head of his cock brushed against that spot deep inside of you that had your fingers and toes go numb. 

“Want this to last.” The words forced themselves from your lungs and his pace stuttered just like his breath. You felt him twitch violently inside of you as he pulled you down all the way. 

“Don’t- don’t say that. I need you to finish first.” He planted his feet onto the mattress, now firmly in control, hitting that spot over and over again. “I’ll give you everything you want, need. You just have to ask.”

“You’ll sleep next to me again?” You were close, so close, just needed one little push. 

“Every night. Forever.” You shattered above him, your body seizing with pleasure you’d never felt before. Your moans echoed through the room, undoubtedly carrying out into the night but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you felt too full and warm and finally content after so long yearning for it.

Clark moaned with you, his chest rumbling with its force, keeping his pace until your pussy finally relaxed around him and you were eased back to reality. “Cum for me Clark.” You whispered.

“God please!” He cried, thrusting up into you, chasing his own end. You grabbed onto his hands and threw your head back. Your pussy burned with overstimulation but you never wanted him to stop. Your neck rolled to the side, your vision swimming, but it was just clear enough to make out the weird shape in the tree right outside the window. It kind of looked like a queen sized bed, sheets and all. Just when you squinted to try and get a better view, Clark bucked up, his thighs seizing beneath your ass as he gave a loud cry of your name.

Your head snapped back and watched as he fell apart, shattering beautifully between your legs. His thumb found your clit, driving you to one last orgasm as his tapered off. “Clark!” You squealed, trying to get off of him but he was relentless, expertly throwing you into ecstasy. You trembled above him, just barely keeping yourself upright before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

His heart hammered beneath your ear, bringing you back down to earth while he stroked your back. A hand on your ass helped guide your hips upwards and let his softening cock pull out of you. “Thank you.” He whispered into your temple, pressing kiss after kiss to your sweaty skin.

“I should be thanking you, you made me cum so hard I thought I saw a mattress in the tree outside.” You giggled, tracing the gentle lines of his body with your fingertips.

Clark’s eyes widened, not that you could see, and glanced towards the open window. He really thought he angled the throw perfectly so that the bed would miss the branches.

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[iamburdened]

༄ coworker!clark kent x f!reader

you look beautiful like this. you sound beautiful. so so beautiful.

you're feeling horribly embarrassed but it feels to good to stop.

your coworker holds you steady in his lap, you back flushed to his thick bare chest. the buttons of his shirt undone and tie thrown over his broad shoulder. he's got an arm wrapped around you, his hand splaying across your side — engulfing it, as his veined forearm presses into the soft of your belly. the other holding your hip, fingers dimpling your soft skin in the his firm grip. the rough callous feel too good on your sweaty skin.

clark rests his head on the crook of your shoulder, pressing little kisses there as he watches you. legs spread wide in his lap as your little fingers prod at your pussy. rubbing your clit, and slipping through your entrance. thrusting in and out. in and out.

it's hypnotic.

clark's never been with anyone intimately. technically, he isn't doing very much now either; only watching you. with his glasses foggy and breath bated — clark swears he almost feels it.

your little moans, the slight tremble in your legs and how the trembling is building. the way your blood rushes in your veins and your heart pounds and the way the sweet smell of your pleasure fills the air and god he feels dizzy.

pretty blue eyes gone wide. his damp curls tickles your neck alongside his breath.

"c'mon baby."

"god she's so pretty. so wet."

"are you close baby? you're close, keep going. just like that. mmmmhph feels good."

he's maybe moaning more than you, watching you with watery eyes, taking all of you in. greedily devoured you with his eyes as you come undone, unaware of the effect he has on you.

you writhe in his lap, trembling like a leaf. glowing and moaning — and all at once he notices how small you are in his arms. so delicate and frail by comparison it makes his heart squeeze. all at once your coming undone.

he sees it. clark sees it as it happens.

your muscles tightening and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. your essence drenching your thighs and his lap; making him feel parched, like he hasn't drank in years and has finally found the oasis that is you. slumping against his body as your hand slows to a stop.

trying to catch your breath, but clark doesn't waste a moment, the hand at your side moving to your puffy folds. two thick fingers running through them and circling your little clit, helping you ride out your high.

your reaction is immediate — practically melting in his hold as moans sounding like the most beautiful symphony leave your prated lips.

"just- oh my. feel good? yea? mmmhg- yea. yeayea." he's doesn't know what he's saying anymore. brows pinched in concentration as he touches you, feeling himself cum in his pants — it just feels so good. sweet clark damn near wants to cry.

"fuh-" he wants to curse, but catches himself. "there y'are. atta girl. atta girl." you call his name and his head spins, voice syrupy sweet and dripping in need. "again." and you do, clark rewards you with the prettiest sound you've ever heard from a man. "god- i. mmmn, god iloveyou." his head thrown back when he makes you come again.

feeling high off you high.

his hand stays there, cupping your pussy like it his, and holding you in his arms with his body hunched over yours. his face flushed red, glasses foggy and sotting funny on his face. he's trying to catch his breath when you say it, "you.... love me?"

three words somehow managing to deepen his flush, not even the three words. three words questioning the ones he just let slip through his bite-swollen lips. god, he's embarrassed. clark wants to hold you still to keep you from looking at him, but oh how he loves looking at you. even when flustered, even when embarrassed, he cant ever look away.

you turn around as best you can in his hold, he looks so beautiful when he's a mess like this — a mess for you, because of you. he sounds so beautiful. clark just is so so beautiful.

[iamburdened]

Imagine you're American or Australian, and you're Autistic with ADHD and Anxiety too. You have the opportunity to scream AAAAAAA :3

[iamburdened]

Rock Me, Sway Me

pairing: clark kent (superman 2025) x reader

summary: superman accidentally reveals his secret identity through a hug

word count: 2.9k

content: fem!reader, no use of y/n, established relationship, minor angst (if you squint) but mostly comfort, clark and reader are kinda sappy, use of pet names, kinda sorta follows a plot point in the movie

a/n: this is the first fanfic i've ever written! feedback is appreciated. i love clark so much, he's such a sweetie pie. not sure how consistently i'll write, if i do write more, but i hope you enjoy! dedicated to dina <3

Clark knows you like the back of his hand.

He thinks he's pretty good at reading most people's emotions in general, but with you it's like he's got this psychic sixth sense.

He can tell how you're feeling with a single glance. Nobody's sure how he does it. Clark isn't a prideful man by any means, has no intention of ever becoming one, but he allows himself this one thing. Sometimes he imagines that knowing and loving you manifested itself as part of his special abilities. It's simply something he was born to do.

For example, he knows when you're happy before you can even smile. Your posture is straighter, you've put extra effort into styling your hair, and you're wearing your favorite office outfit. You'd look beautiful sitting atop your desk, hands flying around as you enthusiastically explain ideas for your next project to Cat, who nods along as you speak. He'd stride over, politely clearing his throat before talking.

"Mornin'! Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt." He'll hand over your coffee, made just the way you like it. He'd memorized your order the day you told him. Once you grab the cup, he'd put a hand over yours and squeeze, eyes twinkling. Then he'd wave goodbye to you and Cat and walk over to Lois and Jimmy.

"How cute." Cat would comment, crinkling her nose as you stick your tongue out at her.

When you decide it's time to make your big announcement, he'd pretend to be as surprised as anyone else. He would've already known—super hearing and all—but he doesn't mind listening to you tell your small group of friends how, after months of hard work and sleepless nights, you'd finally landed front page. Lois nods in approval, Jimmy gives two thumbs up, and Cat squeals in delight. Clark reaches under his desk, where he's hidden a bouqet of flowers, and offers it to you. You take the flowers and he takes you.

"Well done, sweetheart." He'd say as you giggle in his arms.

He knows when you're irritated, too. It's as obvious from this side of the street as it would be if he was standing right in front of you. Your arms are crossed, your foot is rapidly tapping against the pavement, and you're trying to control your breathing but he can almost visualise the smoke coming out of your nostrils and ears. Plus, you're allowing yourself to be soaked by the merciless downpour of rain. Perhaps irritated is too light a description. You're pissed.

He'd brace himself before crossing, thinking whatever happened to him would be rightfully deserved, though getting hit by a car would be less painful than knowing he'd hurt you. He really hadn't meant to leave you hanging but he'd gotten caught up handling a hostage situation a continent away. He'd stick a hand while weaving through oncoming traffic, narrowly avoiding being run over by some stupid luck. He'll sweep his suit jacket off in one smooth gesture and unsuccessfully attempt to shield you from the rain.

"I'm so sor—"

"You stood me up." You'd snap, maneuvering away from the giant of a man towering over you and his ill fitting excuse for proper work attire.

"I can't apologize enough for being late but you know that I would never stand you up. Take some cover, you'll catch a cold." He'd insist, shooing you beneath the roof of a nearby bus stop.

"Oh please, like you care." You'd shoot back, turning away from him.

"Gosh, how can you say that? 'Course I do." His voice would crack as he'd step back into your line of sight, trying to plead his case. "No amount of apologies could ever express how sorry I truly am, but please allow me to spend every waking moment trying to make up for it."

Above all, he's most grateful to possess this gift when you're feeling down. He'd knock on your door, brows knitted in concern. Stare past the piece of metal at your hunched form, knees pressed to your chest, hugging yourself, and will you with all his might to get up and come over to him. You'd take so long he'd consider bursting through, hand grasping the doorknob so tight it should've broken. You'll open the door shortly after, eyes red and puffy, cheeks flushed. Your hair would be toussled and you'd be wearing an oversized t-shirt of his, for comfort, he'd assume. Upon seeing his face, your eyes would cloud over with tears.

"Oh, honey," he'll say as he folds you into his chest, blanketing you from the world with his broad form. An open palm splays against your back, rubbing in slow circles. The other hand reaches for your hair, petting in a steady tempo while he periodically presses kisses to the crown of your head. He'll rock you side to side, whisper sweet nothings into your ear, remind you that he's got you and you're safe in his arms.

When your tears begin to slow, he'll pull back just enough to see your face and flash you a gentle lopsided smile as he works at wiping the damp stains on your cheeks with his thumbs. After deciding that he's done a satisfactory job, Clark will place a chaste peck on your left cheek, then your right, then prompt you with, "do you wanna talk about it?"

He won't pry, of course, but he makes it a point to always ask. That's Clark for you, ever the gentleman.

Today, Clark is especially chipper. Even after being sternly reprimanded by Perry for his late arrival, he still manages to carry that dopey smile across the bullpen, all the way to the cluster of desks that belong to you, Lois, and Jimmy. He's brought a cupholder with four drinks inside, each cup of coffee tailored specifically to your respective tastes. He hands yours out last, letting your fingers touch for longer than necessary. When you turn it over you find a sticky note on the side, where he's written a small message with a heart at the end. Lois and Jimmy notice and exchange a knowing look.

"What's gotten you so giddy today, Smallville?" Lois inquires, taking a sip of her sugar loaded drink.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lois." He replies. You can really see his dimples when he smiles like that.

She narrows her eyes but waves him off, choosing to focus her energy on continuing the research for her latest article. It's not like you and Jimmy aren't curious too, but the three of you have surmised that it's easier to move a boulder than get him talking once he starts acting all mysterious. You figure he'll tell you later in private if you ask nicely. For now, you're content with watching him walk to his desk, adjusting his clothes before settling into his seat. You suppose you should get to work too.

At first the words come easy, flowing steadily as your nimble fingers fly across the keyboard, but then the creativity slows and eventually stops. You've hit a roadblock. You're questioning if your tone is right, if you've used the best quotes, if your voice is clear and assertive. Scanning over the entirety of this draft, you wonder if it's up to the standards of the Daily Planet or slop better suited for its lesser known competitors. You groan, trying to shake the doubt from your mind. You're good. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. You just need to focus.

Your gaze drifts over to Clark. His face is scrunched up and his lips are pursed, an adorable display he puts on when he's deep in thought. His curls are looser now, falling messily over his forehead. He must've been playing with his hair. You've found that he does that when he's nervous or unsure. He probably doesn't know what to write next. You and him both.

He twitches, just slightly, so inconspicuous you doubt anyone else would notice. You were only lucky to have caught it because you'd been studying his features, a habit you'd gotten into whenever you were feeling uninspired. Whatever's got his attention has halted his work entirely. He's stopped typing in favor of placing a hand under his chin to think, furiously clicking a ballpoint pen he's picked up from his stash.

Then he's leaping out of his chair so abruptly it makes you flinch. He glances at the window, then looks at you. Your eyes meet for a second before you're drawn away by the gasps and hushed chatter of your colleagues. The building trembles. You follow their gaze, landing on a creature of monstrous proportion breathing fire and barelling towards the Daily Planet, leaving mass destruction in its wake.

Chaos ensues. You watch as your coworkers shove files in their shoulder bags and briefcases, scrambling towards the nearest exits. By your side, Lois is wasting no time trying to preserve all the progress she's made this week. Jimmy, on the other hand, has grabbed the bare essentials. You can tell he's itching to join the others and get away, but he refuses to leave his friends behind. You whip your head around to check where Clark had just been standing, but it's like he'd vanished into thin air. It feels like you're stuck in a bad dream. You fight against the crowd, calling for your boyfriend, but there's no response.

The wall begins to collapse as the beast crashes into it, though it doesn't get very far thanks to Superman, who gives it a forceful push. You'd been knocked over from the impact, coughing as dust and debris scatter around your workplace, but you weren't willing to give up. You find your footing, ready to continue your search for Clark, but someone grabs a fistful of your blouse and starts dragging you backwards. You yelp in surprise, rearing your head to give the perpetrator a piece of your mind, but when you look back you find that it's Lois pulling you along. You spot Jimmy by her side, worry written all over his features.

"Are you out of your fucking mind? We need to go!"

"But Clark!"

She offers a regretful but resolute look. "You have to trust that he's okay. Maybe he got swept into that sea of people and was forced to leave with them. Maybe Superman got to him. Whatever the case, we couldn't find him but we found you, and I will not allow you to die here alone."

You can't accept that. You permit Lois and Jimmy to usher you down the staircase, but once you reach the last floor, you break free from Lois' hold. You shove your friends towards the exit while you sprint back up the steps you had just crossed. You can hear them shouting your name in protest but you don't dare to look back. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins. Your legs move on their own accord, propelling you at lightning speed up each flight. By some miracle, you aren't hit by the huge pieces of rubble that are starting to fall. You push back your worries about the building's structural integrity to the back of your mind.

You finally reach the right floor, lungs burning from a mix of overexertion and the inhalation of all the dust in the building. Your throat hurts but it doesn't stop you from shouting Clark's name over and over. The Planet continues to crumble, a chunk of the ceiling falling overhead. You try to run but you're getting tired and sluggish. You close your eyes and think of Clark, calling for him one last time.

You're shaking so much that Superman seems afraid to let you go. When you finally open your eyes, he's positioned in front of you, strong arms underneath your own, palms cupping your elbows. The iconic "S" symbol is at eye level, glistening in the sunlight. You lift your gaze. He's watching you with such an intensity that you can't help but squirm.

It's hard to talk, let alone breathe crying like this. Your shoulders heave with each sob, you're about to choke on your own spit and you're certain that snot is running down your nose. You look absolutely disheveled right now but you couldn't care less. You were going to find Clark Kent, even if it was the last thing you did.

"Deep, slow breaths, ma'am." Superman instructs, eyes never leaving your face. "You're gonna be fine."

"No!" You wail, shaking your head furiously.

He furrows his brow at this, confused. Immediately he's squinting his eyes, darting his head around, checking for injuries he must have missed. He only stops when you shove him backwards, forcing some distance between the two of you.

"My boyfriend. He's out there. Save him."

He can't help but wonder if this message is more for him or for you. He watches you take a few wobbly steps forward and push past him, looking at the wreckage of the Daily Planet as if you could fly over and save him yourself. It breaks his heart.

One step is enough for Superman to be in front of you again. He looks guilty, as if he is the reason your precious Clark is missing. He rests his hands on your shoulders, touch light as a feather, like he's afraid to hurt you. He opens his mouth to speak but as soon as your eyes meet his, something in you bursts. You break down, sobs drowining out any words he might've had to say. You can't bear to look at him for some reason, opting instead to examine the floor, hugging yourself for much needed comfort.

"Oh—" he breathes out, as if he just got punched in the gut.

He says nothing else as he pulls you into his chest. He's warm. Big. You're completely enveloped in his arms. He rubs your back in slow, soothing circles. Pets your hair just the way you like. You start to crumble in his embrace. He just holds you closer, swaying you back and forth in a way that is so sweet, so familiar. There's a puff of breath that tickles your ear, Superman reassuring you in hushed tones that he's got you and that Clark is safe.

You let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding. Your shoulders relax and your breathing evens out. Eventually, the tears stop flowing. Superman pulls back to study your face. He's got this silly lopsided smile, dimples peaking out, as he wipes away the dampness on your cheeks with his thumbs. He attempts to wipe the dirt and grime away too, dusting you off as best he can. When he's done he gives you a look, like you are everything. More than the sun, the moon, the stars, the universe. Then, suddenly, his face is inching closer to yours. Just as quickly, he reels back, blinking down at you with wide doe eyes like he's shocked himself with his actions.

You blink back, ghost of a smile on your face, like you've just been told a secret you weren't supposed to know.

He gives you a different look this time, one you can't quite place, then clears his throat. "Your boyfriend is fine, please don't worry."

"Right," you respond, nodding slowly. "I forgot. You two know each other quite well."

He huffs out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "Sure, I guess you could say that."

A booming roar scares you out of the moment. Seems like the Justice Gang is here, and they're giving that Kaiju hell. It's a mangled mess of bright green constructs, feathers, and T-Spheres mixed with a giant blob of teeth and horns. Superman springs into action, hooking an arm under your legs and carrying you bridal style as he floats from the roof of the skyscraper to the roads below. He drops you off near Lois and Jimmy, who are taking shelter with the rest of your coworkers, and offers one last smile before vanishing into the sky, nothing but a red blur.

You take your time walking over to them, still recovering from your near death experience and the weight of the discovery you've just made.

Once Lois and Jimmy catch sight of you, they rush over, obviously relieved to have you back.

"God, I'm glad you're okay." Lois says, clutching your shoulders. "That was some reckless stunt you pulled back there."

Jimmy nods in agreeance, patting your back. "Had us real worried."

"I'm sorry." You whisper. "I had to."

They don't nag any further. They understand, they've seen how you look at each other. Lois and Jimmy sit you down. They keep close, comforting you while keeping an eye on the battle that is unfolding. After a while, the Kaiju is rendered limp and lifeless, thanks to a finishing blow by Mister Terrific. You watch as it's carried off by the Justice Gang. Since you're no longer under threat, Lois and Jimmy stand off to the side, debating the next course of action.

"Maybe we should call him again. There's no way he's gone." Jimmy suggests, though he's already dialing Clark's number.

Ring, ring, ring.

"Goddammit, Clark. Pick up the phone."

It's like they've summoned him just by speaking of him. There he is, emerging from some alleyway, waving timidly at you and your friends. His curls are running wild, his glasses lay crooked on his face, his tie is missing, he's covered in dust, and he looks perfect. You run to him with no hesitation and he scoops you up in his big arms, where you belong. He rocks you gently, the way he always does. You hide yourself in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

"I know, darlin'. I know. We have a lot to talk about."

[iamburdened]

National Kiss Your Boyfriend Until He’s Late for Work Day /Clark kent x reader

In which you wake up thoroughly obsessed with your boyfriend

The plan had formed before you were even fully awake.

Okay, maybe “plan” was too generous — it was more of a compulsion. The moment your eyes opened and found Clark sprawled beside you, one arm draped over his middle like a sleeping Adonis in flannel pajama pants, your brain went very still and thought:

Must. Kiss. Now.

You tried to be reasonable. You really did. After all, mornings in your apartment were normally a precision operation: you got up, showered, got halfway into your hair-and-makeup routine before breakfast, and only then allowed yourself the luxury of looking at your very distracting boyfriend.

But when you padded into the kitchen twenty minutes later and saw him — bed hair tamed just enough to still look a little mussed, Henley sleeves pushed up over his forearms, glasses sliding down his nose as he buttered toast — you knew the routine was dead in the water.

You crept up behind him like a cat stalking prey.

“Morning,” you said, leaning in before he could turn.

“Morning,” he replied, and you kissed his cheek before he even finished the word.

He blinked, startled, but smiled. “Well, that’s a nice start.”

You made a sound of agreement and kissed his jaw.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Clark said, sliding the toast onto a plate, “but… what’s gotten into you?”

You moved to the corner of his mouth, deliberately smudging a faint pink sheen there. “Nothing. I just like you.”

“You usually like me after coffee,” he teased.

“I like you before coffee,” you corrected. “Coffee just makes me faster.”

That earned a laugh — a low, warm rumble that only encouraged you. You kissed his other cheek. His temple. The tip of his nose.

“You’re going to make me burn breakfast,” he said, but he didn’t step away.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you murmured.

Clark tried to put down the butter knife and step around you, but you shadowed his movement like it was a dance. He reached for his bag; you caught his face in both hands and kissed him square on the lips.

“Okay…” He was definitely laughing now. “This is… more than usual.”

“It’s a holiday,” you said.

“It is?”

“Yes,” you said solemnly. “National Kiss Your Boyfriend Until He’s Late for Work Day.”

He tilted his head. “Funny, I don’t see that on the calendar.”

“It’s an underground holiday. Very exclusive.” Another kiss. “Very important.” Another kiss. “Mandatory participation.”

“Sounds serious,” he murmured, voice deepening as he leaned just slightly into the next kiss.

You grinned, triumphant. “The penalties for non-compliance are brutal.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Fewer pancakes.”

“Now that is serious,” he said, and you laughed against his mouth.

By now, you’d counted at least a dozen glossy marks scattered across his skin — cheeks, jaw, forehead, even one you’d sneaked under his ear. He didn’t seem to realize it yet.

Clark glanced at the clock and groaned. “I’m late.”

“That’s the point,” you said cheerfully.

He gave you one last quick kiss and ducked toward the door.

“Wait!” you called, half-laughing. “Don’t you want to check a mirror?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said over his shoulder. “See you tonight!”

You covered your mouth to smother the grin that spread across your face. Oh, you poor, oblivious man.

The Daily Planet — Twenty Minutes Later

Jimmy Olsen nearly dropped his camera. “Uh… Clark?”

Clark stopped at his desk, setting down his bag. “Morning, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “You, uh… have something on your face.”

Clark frowned and rubbed at his jaw. “Better?”

“Nope,” Jimmy said, smothering a laugh.

Before Clark could ask what he meant, Lois Lane appeared, carrying a stack of papers and muttering about deadlines. She looked up, took one glance at Clark, and froze.

“Oh my God,” she said flatly.

Clark blinked. “What?”

She set the papers down, pointing at him like she’d just caught him stealing office supplies. “Kent, you look like you got mauled by the lipstick aisle at Macy’s.”

Jimmy snorted. “It’s… actually kind of artistic.”

Clark’s confusion deepened. “Lipstick?” He looked around for a reflective surface and caught his reflection in the dark glass of the elevator doors. His eyes went wide.

“Oh no…”

“Oh yes,” Lois said, grinning now. “Tell your girlfriend she’s a genius.”

Jimmy grinned. “That’s dedication. She got both cheeks evenly.”

Clark sighed, pulling out a handkerchief. “I can’t believe she—” He stopped mid-sentence, because the truth was… yes, he could believe it. Completely.

Lois smirked. “That smile says you’re not even mad.”

He tried to school his face into neutrality. Failed instantly.

Back at the Apartment

You were halfway through curling your hair for the morning broadcast when your phone buzzed.

You’re in trouble.

A second buzz.

Lois says hi.

You snickered, typing back: Tell her I said thanks.

His reply came a minute later: Jimmy took a picture. You’re never living this down.

You grinned at your reflection. Totally worth it.

---

@animegamerfox @sapphichotmess

[iamburdened]

Saw Superman recently and proceeded to rewatch Batman right after. They finally have two versions that complement each other well. Pls combine universes, it would be so fun :(

X

Bsky

[iamburdened]

the triangle method - clark kent x reader

wc: 1181 summary: bombshell!reader visits the daily planet for the first time me: hopefully ppl arent over clark kent just yet??

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

surprisingly, you’d never actually been to the daily planet. lois had worked there for years at this point, but you’d never had a proper reason to go up in the building. lois would always meet you by the entrance or wherever you were convening for the night.

she wasn’t answering her phone, though. you were supposed to meet at 5:15pm outside the tower that held the daily planet, but it was fifteen minutes after with no sign of your friend.

you approached the receptionist with a smile, clicking your nails on the front desk.

“hi,” you softened your voice to get what you wanted, “would you happen to know what floor the daily planet writers are on? my best friend is late for our plans and my heels are just killing me.” poor guy didn’t stand a chance as you directed his attention to your outstretched leg, shimmering under the stockings extended up to your pencil skirt.

fifty seven seconds and a flirty once-over later, you were standing in the elevator, watching the floors count up.

the elevator doors opened with a clunk, revealing your figure like in golden globe promo videos, breathing life into the office.

as if choreographed, every head in the office looked up, zeroing in on you. your heels clicked against the floor, keeping the room’s attention as you entered it.

“hey!” lois got up from her desk, rushing over to you with surprise in her voice, “what are you doing here?”

“you haven’t checked the time lately?” you raised a playful eyebrow, biting your lip as lois glanced down at her watch and cursed.

“i’ve been completely in the zone, just give me a few minutes to finish off and pack up.”

you waved her off, wandering around the office curiously. you probably should have been more reserved, standing in your best friend’s office space, but you made yourself right at home.

“i knew you loved me,” you grinned, picking up the framed photo she had sitting on her desk. lois didn’t say anything, rolling her eyes as she typed furiously at her desktop, rushing to get out of there. “who is that?” you pointed to the model of perfection sitting at the desk across from your friend.

“hm? oh that’s clark,” she replied distractedly, formatting her article. you didn’t need any further encouragement, approaching the giant hunched over a comparatively tiny computer.

“they let you look like that and have brains? talk about unfair.”

clark looked up at you with a start, the most gorgeous blush spreading over his cheeks.

“uh… me?” he asked, floundering under your dedicated gaze.

“who else, handsome?”

“golly, i, uh, thank you, ma’am.”

“ma’am? oh, you’re adorable.” you introduced yourself, and clark extended his hand with more vigour than you’d ever been offered before. you took it, more than aware of how small you felt in comparison to him.

“so, does the small-town charm get you many girls in the big, scary city?”

clark was sure you were teasing him. you had to be. unfortunately for him, he was raised as a southern gentleman, and ma kent had instilled sincerity as one of his core traits.

“that’s not really my, uh, focus.” he was panicking, unsure of how to handle you. you pouted, seemingly upset at his lack of game.

“that’s too bad,” you trailed your fingers along his desk, clark’s eyes following your every move, “there’s a thousand girls in metropolis who are looking for a man just like you.”

“o- oh.” clark gulped, unable to focus on anything but you. you were by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and your confidence was something he’d seldom come across. he admired the way you seemed so sure in your own body, of your own appeal. as clark, he wished he had the same assuredness.

“c’mon, don’t torture poor clark,” lois laughed, tapping you lightly on the lower back, a signal it was time to go.

“no, it’s okay, really okay,” clark rambled, shutting off his computer at the speed of light, pulling his bag off the back of his chair to catch up with you and lois as you departed for the elevator.

“god, how tall are you?” you bit your lip as you drank in his towering form, somehow miles tall while simultaneously taking up hardly any space. it was like he wanted to be invisible, despite being the hottest man you’d ever had the pleasure of encountering.

“i don’t know, um…”

“lois, this man cannot be real. what kind of man doesn’t take the opportunity to show off that he’s over six feet?”

lois was well used to your penchant for teasing, choosing to go along with it by now.

“clark is a very humble man,” she said, stepping into the elevator first.

“clearly,” you followed her in, attention still on clark, “so have you worked here long?”

time for your secret weapon. clark rambled out an answer about how he got hired, and you shifted your gaze: eye — lips — eye. clark’s brows shot to the roof, the words dying on his tongue as you raised your eyes back to his, shooting him your best seductive look from under thick lashes.

“so, um, yeah.” he finished quickly, knowing he’d only make a fool of himself as long as you were giving him those bedroom eyes.

“fascinating.” your voice was husky, enjoying the way it so clearly made clark nervous. he adjusted his collar, thinking he was being at all subtle as he loosened it from his neck.

“alright, well, we’ve got drinks plans, so i’ll see you next week, kent,” lois said quickly, practically pushing you out of the building.

“really nice to meet you, clark.” you put all your emphasis on his name, over-enunciating the consonants as you gave him a last once over.

“you too — really nice,” clark stumbled out, trying his best to smile confidently. it only half-worked.

you waved just your fingers as you turned to follow lois, making sure your hips had extra sway as clark struggled to start his own way home, stuck in his spot as he tried to process the last twenty minutes.

just as he’d gotten going, you took a calculated gamble, tossing your hair over your shoulder and looking back his way. sure enough, clark had risked one last look back at you, looking both humiliated and delighted as he caught your eye. you flashed him a brilliant smile before contributing to lois’ conversation effortlessly.

“please don’t break my coworker's heart,” she said with a sceptical look, “i don’t wanna have to listen to him cry about you at work.”

“i have no intention of breaking his heart,” you played innocent, “his bed, however…”

lois hit you on the arm with a disbelieving scoff, pulling you into the bar you’d both been wanting to try.