silent-swooner

[silent-swooner]

I’M CRYING—this is so incredibly sweet it should come with cavity warnings 🥹🩷✨ (oml Clark is really the perfect specimen. An amazing father and husband and a good man (if only he was real 😪))

i need dad!clark while his partner is pregnant comforting them as earnestly as possible while they are inconsolably upset about something so small like a sad song or a restaurant being out of what they ordered. and it is like world endingly sad because they are hormonal but clark takes it seriously 😭😭

What Clark Kent should expect when you’re expecting

Summary: Clark has to deal with your early pregnancy mood swings. And the four times he’s heard his daughter’s heartbeat.

Dad!Clark Kent x Female!Reader

more kent family adventures here!

a/n: i merged this with another request where clark hears leia’s heartbeat for the first time! i hope you all like it! 🫶

Mission Growing Baby Leia

Progress: 5 weeks

It was late at night, the two of you curled together in bed, the air heavy with the quiet hum of the city outside your window. You were only a few weeks along, your hand resting unconsciously over your stomach as though shielding the tiny secret that had just begun to grow inside of you.

Clark had been quiet for most of the evening. He wasn’t tense, not exactly, but thoughtful in a way you recognized instantly—his brow knit, glasses sliding a little down his nose as though the weight of his thoughts pressed them lower.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, brushing your thumb along the back of his hand.

He hesitated, eyes flickering to your stomach and then back up to your face, as if caught in something vulnerable. “Can I…?” His voice was quiet, hesitant in a way you so rarely heard from him.

“Of course,” you said, though you weren’t sure what he meant—until he shifted lower, resting his ear gently against your abdomen.

You stilled, your hand automatically going to his hair. “Clark,” you whispered, half curious, half emotional yourself.

He closed his eyes. And then it happened.

There, faint but steady, beneath the rhythm of your own body, was another sound. A rapid, fluttering beat that wasn’t yours. His breath hitched audibly, his body going completely still as the sound registered.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

You blinked. “What? What is it?”

His hand pressed to your side, his voice shaking. “I can hear it. I can hear the heartbeat.”

Your own heart stuttered at his words. You couldn’t hear it yet—the doctor had told you it was still too early for the equipment to pick it up at your last appointment—but he could. Of course he could. His hearing was sharper than any machine.

Tears filled his eyes before he could stop them, his shoulders trembling as he listened again, desperate not to lose the sound. “It’s so fast,” he breathed, almost laughing through the tears. “Like a tiny drum. So strong already.”

You felt your throat tighten, a mix of awe and envy swirling inside you. “You can really hear… our baby?”

Clark lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, and the look on his face undid you. Pure reverence, raw joy, and the kind of love that seemed to radiate out of him like sunlight. “Yes. Yes, I can. And it’s—” He broke off, voice breaking. He pressed his forehead to your stomach, his tears wetting your shirt. “I can’t believe it. They’re really there. Our baby’s really there.”

You stroked his hair, your own tears spilling now. “Tell me what it sounds like.”

He laughed softly, shakily. “Like… like the world’s smallest hummingbird, right here inside of you. So alive. So determined.” He closed his eyes again, drinking it in like he could memorize the rhythm. “I feel like… like I’m meeting them before anyone else does.”

It was intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t hear it yet, couldn’t feel much beyond exhaustion and small flutters that might have just been your imagination. But he could. He was already connecting to the little life you were both waiting for, already claiming every heartbeat as something precious.

“I wish you could hear it too,” he murmured, lifting his face to yours, voice husky with emotion. “But until you can, I’ll tell you everything. Every little beat, every little sign. You don’t know how incredible it is.”

You kissed him then, slow and tender, tasting the salt of his tears. “You’re already the best dad,” you whispered.

Clark’s arms slid around you, holding you close, but one hand stayed resting against your stomach, as though he couldn’t bear to let go of that fragile, miraculous connection. “No,” he whispered back, voice breaking again. “I’m just the luckiest man alive.”

And that night, he fell asleep with his head still pillowed on your stomach, listening to the tiny, frantic beat of your baby’s heart, protecting it as though by listening alone, he could keep it safe.

-

Mission Growing Baby Leia

Progress: 11 weeks

You were sitting on the couch, knees tucked up to your chest, hugging a pillow like it was the only thing keeping the world from collapsing. Your face was scrunched, lips trembling, and the hiccuping sobs that escaped were both ridiculous and completely unstoppable.

Clark, naturally, was immediately on high alert. He practically vaulted over the armrest and was kneeling beside you in an instant.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asked, voice filled with genuine concern, as if the universe had just imploded and you were the epicenter.

You sniffled, gripping your pillow tighter. “They… they didn’t have my order,” you choked out. “At the restaurant. My favorite sandwich. They… ran out. It’s… it’s gone forever!”

Clark froze for half a second, processing that the end of the world was apparently happening right now in the form of your favorite sandwich. Then he nodded solemnly. “Oh… oh no.”

You let out a tiny, miserable wail. “And it’s not fair! I wanted it! I had been looking forward to it all week!”

Clark immediately scooped you up in his arms like you were about to disappear into some black hole of sadness. “It’s okay, I’m here. I won’t let the sandwich get away from us,” he said seriously, rocking you gently.

You hiccupped, eyes wide and glistening. “Clark… it’s not the same. They just… didn’t understand. My sandwich…”

Clark’s jaw tightened as if he were about to personally negotiate with fate itself. “Y/N, I understand. I get it. A sandwich… especially your sandwich… that’s serious. I’m… I’m going to fix this. I’ll go right now. I’ll fly across town. We’ll find a replacement. Or… we’ll make one. We can make your sandwich here. We can—”

You hiccupped again, overwhelmed. “Clark… it’s… it’s hopeless…”

Clark shook his head with all the gravity of a man defusing a bomb. “Never hopeless. Never! You’re carrying baby—our little miracle—and no sandwich shortage is going to ruin this. I promise.”

You sniffled, letting out a weak sob. “I… I just… I wanted to feel normal…”

Clark leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And you are normal. Normal with very strong emotions right now. And I love that about you. And our baby’s going to love that too—their mom gets emotional over sandwiches and songs and literally anything beautiful.”

You tried to smile through the tears, sniffling into his chest. “Even… that sad song?”

Clark nodded earnestly. “Even the sad song. We’ll play it as many times as you need. We can cry together. We can eat ice cream while crying. Or… make your sandwich afterward. Anything.”

You hiccupped again, a giggle breaking through the tears. “Clark…”

“I know,” he said softly, brushing your hair back. “I know it seems like the end of the world right now. But I’m here. I’ll handle the world for you. And the sandwich. And the song. And anything else that tries to hurt you emotionally.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against him. “You’re ridiculous…”

Clark grinned, whispering into your hair. “I’m your ridiculous. And right now, that’s exactly what you need.”

Leia—or rather, the tiny wiggling life inside you—kicked in approval, and you let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe… maybe we can survive the sandwich shortage together.”

Clark tightened his hold, resting his forehead against yours. “Together. Always together. Even when the world ends over a sad song or a missing sandwich.”

And for a few blissful minutes, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped in blankets, hormones, and unconditional love, while Clark solemnly plotted how to make the world right again—one absurdly serious step at a time.

-

You had barely calmed down from the sandwich tragedy when Clark reached for a cookie from the jar on the counter. You didn’t think much of it at first—until you realized, mid-bite, that it was the very last cookie. The one you’d been saving.The cookie you’d been looking forward to like it was a rare treasure, hidden and cherished for days.

You froze, then your chest tightened. “Clark… no… nooooo!”

Clark looked up, cookie in hand, and blinked. “Oh—oh no. Wait… that was—”

You stumbled backward, grabbing the counter for support, your face crumpling. “That was my cookie! I’ve been saving it!”

And then the tears came. Full-on, inconsolable, catastrophic tears. They poured freely down your cheeks as you hiccupped and wailed, “I wanted to eat it! I was going to eat it! Now it’s gone forever!”

Clark immediately dropped to his knees beside you, eyes wide and panicked, placing the cookie—half-eaten though it was—on a plate as if it were a fragile artifact. “Oh no, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! I—I thought it was… I didn’t check!”

You sobbed harder, burying your face in your hands. “You ate it! That was mine! My cookie!”

Clark reached for your hands, gently holding them. “I know! I know, Bug. I am so sorry. I promise, I didn’t mean to. We’ll fix this. We’ll—uh… we’ll bake more cookies! We can make a cookie mountain! You’ll get ten cookies for every one I accidentally ate!”

You hiccupped, sniffling between sobs. “It’s… it’s not the same! It was the last one! My special cookie!”

Clark’s eyes glistened with worry and empathy. “I know… I completely understand. It’s a tragedy. A true, monumental, cookie-level tragedy.”

You both started laughing and crying at the same time—Clark’s attempt to console you clashing hilariously with your emotional meltdown. “We can… we can solve this,” he said, fumbling for a pen and notebook like he was strategizing a rescue mission. “Step one: identify cookie type. Step two: locate ingredients. Step three: bake replacement cookies immediately.”

You hiccupped again, wiping your tears with the edge of your sleeve. “Step one… it was chocolate chip…”

Clark nodded solemnly, pulling you into a tight hug. “Chocolate chip. Right. The sacred cookie. I understand completely. I will personally take charge of all cookie-related operations from now on.”

You sniffled, resting your head against his chest. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, stroking your hair. “And I’ll make it right. I swear. You’ll have your cookie. And maybe two more, just to be safe.”

You gave a shaky laugh through your tears, hugging him back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he whispered, nuzzling your forehead. “And right now, that’s exactly what you need.”

And so there you were—both of you teary-eyed, holding each other, while Clark solemnly swore to rebuild your cookie supply like it was a world-ending crisis. Somewhere, your baby was kicking happily in your belly, apparently approving of the dramatic cookie rescue operation.

-

Mission Growing Baby Leia

Progress: 20 weeks

The exam room was quiet, too quiet for how fast your own heart was pounding. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and Clark sat right beside you, his big hand enveloping yours while you lay back on the padded table. His thumb brushed soothing circles over your skin, though you could feel the tension in him too.

It wasn’t fear—not exactly. More like anticipation, something too big for his chest. He’d heard your baby’s heartbeat weeks ago, that secret moment between him and the tiny life growing inside you, but today would be the first time youcould hear it too. The first time you would both share the miracle together.

The technician smiled kindly, rolling the cart with the ultrasound machine closer. “Alright, let’s take a look at your little one.” She squeezed the cool gel onto your stomach, warm on your skin. Clark gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple.

Then came the wand, pressing gently against your skin. Static filled the room at first, a soft whooshing that made your stomach clench in nervousness. You searched the technician’s face for a hint, for anything, but she only adjusted her angle, watching the screen intently.

And then—

A fast, steady rhythm filled the room.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.

Your breath caught in your throat. That wasn’t your heartbeat. That was them. Your baby.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your eyes instantly stinging with tears. “That’s…?”

The technician’s smile softened. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat. Strong and steady.”

You turned your head toward Clark—and instantly lost it. His eyes were wide, shimmering, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. He looked utterly undone, like the sound had knocked the air out of him.

“That’s—” His voice cracked, and he laughed through it, overwhelmed. “That’s our baby.”

You reached up with your free hand to cup his face, brushing away the tears that had already slipped free. “Our baby,” you echoed, your own voice trembling with joy.

The technician politely looked away, busying herself with taking measurements, giving you both that small sliver of privacy. Clark bent down closer, his forehead pressing against yours, the sound of the heartbeat filling the space between you like music.

“I’ve been waiting for you to hear it,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I—I tried to describe it before, but it doesn’t compare, does it?”

You shook your head, tears streaming freely now. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

On the monitor, a tiny shape flickered, faint but undeniable, and you both stared in awe. Clark pressed a trembling kiss to your lips, then leaned down, whispering to your stomach like he had so many nights before.

“Hi, little one,” he said softly, reverently, as the rapid heartbeat filled the room. “Mommy hears you now too. We both hear you.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, heart swelling so much it almost hurt. You thought of the night he first heard that sound, when you had to take his word for it, when it was still just something you had to trust was real. But now it was real for you too.

The two of you stayed there, hands clasped tight, eyes locked on each other and the screen, while the heartbeat of your child played on like a promise—steady, strong, and alive.

Neither of you would ever forget that sound.

-

Mission Growing Baby Leia - COMPLETE

The delivery room was chaos—doctors moving briskly, nurses giving instructions, the beeping of monitors filling the air. But to Clark, none of that existed. All he saw was you, gripping his hand with every ounce of strength you had left, sweat plastering your hair to your forehead, determination blazing through the pain in your eyes. He had faced alien invasions, world-ending crises, and battles that shook cities to their foundations—nothing compared to this. Nothing terrified him, awed him, and humbled him more than watching you bring your child into the world.

And then, suddenly, she was there.

Leia’s first cry split the air, sharp and strong. Clark’s head snapped toward the sound, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. The nurse lifted the tiny, squirming bundle for just a second before settling her against your chest. Clark was frozen, tears already blurring his vision. His ears—so sensitive that they could pick up a heartbeat continents away—locked onto hers.

Not muffled through the barrier of your skin, not through the veil of fluid or machines. This was raw, direct, and real.

Her heartbeat.

Clear, strong, rapid, and alive.

It was one of the most beautiful sounds Clark had ever heard in his life. His knees buckled slightly, and he had to force himself to stay upright. He leaned close, pressing his large hand over Leia’s tiny back, feeling the flutter of her heart beneath his palm while hearing it echo in his ears. He broke then, his tears spilling freely down his face as his chest shook with uneven breaths.

“She’s here,” you whispered hoarsely, your voice weak but full of wonder. You reached for his hand, grounding him. “Clark… she’s really here.”

He nodded, unable to speak for a moment, his throat tight with emotion. He bent his head and kissed your damp hair, his lips trembling. “I hear her,” he finally choked out. His voice cracked, raw. “Her heartbeat. Gosh, it’s so clear now. I—” He laughed shakily, overwhelmed. “It’s perfect. It’s her.”

Leia gave another small cry, wiggling against you, her heartbeat speeding up with the effort. Clark’s tears fell harder, his hand brushing over her impossibly small arm, tracing every detail of her in disbelief. He couldn’t stop listening. Each beat was steady, determined, alive.

He lowered himself so he was eye level with her tiny face, his glasses slipping down as tears streaked the lenses. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice breaking as if the words themselves were too heavy to carry. “It’s Daddy. I’ve been waiting so long to hear you like this. Do you know that? I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

Leia quieted slightly at the sound of his voice, her breathing slowing, her heartbeat still fluttering fast but steady. Clark let out a sob, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, his hand covering both of you.

You smiled tiredly, your own tears sliding down your cheeks as you brushed a hand across his wet face. “She knows you,” you murmured. “She knows her daddy.”

Clark looked at both of you then, his entire world narrowed down to this single moment—your exhausted, glowing face, your daughter’s tiny body against your chest, and the music of her heartbeat still ringing in his ears.

It was fast and fragile, but to him, it was the strongest sound in the universe. A sound he would spend the rest of his life protecting.

He kissed you first, soft and reverent, then bent and pressed his lips gently to Leia’s downy head. “Your heartbeat,” he whispered to her, his voice thick with emotion. “That’s my favorite sound now. Forever.”

And in the quiet that followed—just the three of you in the middle of the storm—Clark Kent, Superman, the strongest man alive, finally let himself weep openly, utterly undone by the miracle of his little girl’s heart.

-

It started slowly, in moments Clark almost thought he imagined. Leia was only a few weeks old, still so small that she fit against his chest like she’d been made to live there. But one evening, as he cradled her while you dozed on the couch beside him, he heard something that made his breath hitch.

Her heartbeat—so tiny, so fluttering—sped up the instant he spoke to her. He froze, mid-sentence, his eyes softening as he tilted his head toward the little bundle against him. “Did you…?” he whispered, barely able to believe it.

He tried again. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Her heart fluttered faster.

Clark let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed. He pressed his lips to her forehead, tears prickling at his eyes. She knew him. Not just his face or his scent—she knew him by sound, by the rhythm of his voice, by the presence that seemed to wrap her up in safety.

From then on, he noticed it every time. The second he stepped through the door after a long day, Leia’s heartbeat leapt in recognition before she even laid eyes on him. When she woke in the middle of the night fussing and he scooped her into his arms, her frantic pulse would slow, then pick up again in a steady rhythm of comfort and excitement, like she was saying Daddy’s here. I know him. I’m safe.

One afternoon, when you were rocking Leia in your arms by the window, Clark came up behind you quietly, slipping an arm around your waist. The moment Leia heard his voice murmuring hello, her tiny heart skipped into that familiar quick rhythm again. Clark smiled so wide his cheeks ached, his eyes damp.

“You hear that?” he whispered into your hair.

You blinked up at him sleepily. “Hmm?”

His hand went to Leia’s back, covering nearly all of her tiny body, and he closed his eyes. “She knows me,” he whispered. His voice cracked with awe. “She hears me, and her heart… it changes. It’s not fear. It’s—Gosh, it’s excitement. Love. She knows me.”

You smiled, brushing a gentle hand through his dark hair. “Of course she knows you. You’re her daddy.”

Clark swallowed hard, pressing a trembling kiss to Leia’s soft head. “I can hear it,” he murmured against her skin. “Every time I walk into the room. Her heartbeat goes faster. She’s happy I’m here. Just like—” He paused, turning to you, his blue eyes impossibly tender. “Just like yours does.”

Clark leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes glassy, his voice low and reverent. “Your heartbeat and hers… they’re the only sounds I ever want to hear. When I’m out there—fighting, bleeding, wondering if I’ll make it back—it’s your heart that keeps me steady. When I’m healing at the Fortress, it’s the echo of your heart and hers that reminds me why I come home.” He kissed your hand, lingering. “Those are the only sounds I don’t ever want to stop hearing.”

Your chest tightened, tears filling your eyes at the rawness in his voice. “Clark…”

Leia cooed softly, her heartbeat still quick and eager beneath Clark’s touch, and he laughed through his tears. The sound was warm, almost boyish. He leaned his forehead against yours, brushing his nose against you with infinite tenderness.

“She’s already like you,” he whispered. “She loves me more than I deserve. And I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life earning it—from both of you.”

And as Leia snuggled between you, her heartbeat still racing joyfully at the presence of her father, Clark thought that maybe—just maybe—he finally understood what heaven felt like.

-

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[silent-swooner]

MY HEART 😫🩷. The angst, the fluff, chef’s kiss 😚🤌🏻

Protecting you

Pairings: Clark Kent x reader | Wc: 3.8k

Notes: In collaboration with @orobaxis, who helped with part of the story, thank you for helping me out a lot 🥺 I genuinely enjoyed writing this, and I really hope you guys like it! <3

Summary: You and Clark get stuck in the pocket universe. He figures out a way to get you guys out of here, tensions rise.

Warnings: Lots of blood, injuries in detail, angst, hard crying/hyperventilating from the reader

Quiet. Darkness. 

The eerie coldness that fills your space, the thousands of glass-like boxes that hold people as if they were prisoners.

Ending up in some pocket universe was not on your bingo card. 

All you remembered was wanting to find Clark, where LexCorp took him when he turned himself in, integrating LexCorp and his goons on where they took your husband. You were walking back to your apartment when it went black.

Tossed into the glass box, you jolted awake, finding your senses of where you were, looking up at Lex from where he tossed you.

“I’ll be back for some questions,” As he goes off into the distance.

With one palm to the ground, pushing yourself up, you see him in the corner staring at you, as he was finding words that he was not able to speak. But his eyes say so much.

You felt no hope. Anguish. All you could do at the moment is cradle Clark in your arms, rocking him back in forth, hoping for all of this to be over.

As much begging and convincing you had on Metamorpho, he didn't let up. Continuing the process of making kryptonite with his hands. Continuing to bring Clark so much pain.

You hated it. The heaving, shortness of breath, the swollen eyes, wrinkled skin. He was leaving you slowly. The thought of your husband leaving your arms, having Superman himself leave you in your arms, was something you prayed to never have it happen.

You were terrified.

“Baby, hey- it’s okay. We're okay,” as you murmured at the crown of his head, shaking over the fear you're losing Clark right in your arms.

You needed to be strong. You couldn't let Clark see you like this. You can't show the fear that was written across your face. Just hanging on. 

“So, you told me you can save my son, right?” Metamorpho mentioned quietly, glancing towards you.

“Y-yeah, he can. He can’t do this with the kryptonite around, but he will save your son, I promise you,” as you said, glancing over to Clark for approval that he’s able to, just to make sure, and he nods ever so slowly.

Hesitating, Metamorpho slowly shrinks the kryptonite from his body, until it vanishes like it was never there from his hand.

A choked gasp.

Clark clutches you as he finally can breathe, not used to getting so much air in one moment, the relief. The full relief.

“Hey- Hey, I got you,” massaging the back of his head, waiting patiently for him to get back to his senses again. Clark stumbles to get up, but you hover just in case he falls over again, and you realize it before he does.

The sun. He needs the sun.

“Why do you still look like- that?! Cmon now!” Metamorpho starts shouting now, urging him to get the hell up.

“I- I need the sun to heal. I need to heal faster,” as he’s on his knees, feeling like a slow defeat. You held his head up with a finger underneath his chin; you won't let Clark doubt like that. Ever.

“I have an idea. I- I can bind different materials to create an artificial sun, but I’m not sure if it’ll work. It might be bright –  maybe even harmful to y/n.”

Clark looks over to you. He doesn't hesitate as he knows what to do instinctively; Clark wraps you into his arms at the far side corner of the box, his back facing towards Metamorpho. He was shielding you. 

“Just do it. I got her,” shouting over to Metamorpho.

“Honey, can you close your eyes for me? It’ll be okay, I promise.”

He was able to feel in the moment that this was all his fault that you're here. That you're stuck in this situation with him, the pain in your eyes that gives worry.

That's when it all happened, all too fast. 

The bright beam of light turns your vision from behind your lids all white, hearing the grunts from Clark, the warmth from his arms, caging you in the corner from any harm from the harmful rays.

From that, all you remember is the journey to get back.

Clark is holding you in one arm, the other balancing Metamorpho’s son, all while being chased by guards.

All you remember is the weak grip Clark had on you, trying to get you home.

In the blink of an eye, you were yanked through the portal before it closed,  landing on the ground quite viciously, a large, sharp piece of glass piercing into your abdomen. The pain bit into your skin, angry and gnashing. But this is not the time.

Great.  I’ll go deal with that later, you thought to yourself.

From being yanked out, you were released from Clark's grip, but still had Metamorpho's son tucked into him. With blurry vision, trying to get up, all you saw was Metamorpho take his son and make a run for it. 

He was gone.

“C- Clark?” You attempted to push yourself off the ground after the harsh landing, making the glass shard push deeper into you than you wanted it to be.

The hissing, cry of pain, the tremble you held as you clutch your abdomen, glancing down on the wound.

You can’t be serious. Not now. Then you look up to land your eyes on Clark.

He was unconscious. 

Forgetting the pain in that moment, scurrying over to him from the ground, you bring him to your arms. The blueish, blackish veins scurrying all through his body, traveling to his neck and face. He’s out like a light.

The slow, shallow rising of his breaths.

From a distance, you see guards running towards you with guns in place, but you were both alone.

“No, no, no- hey, baby, wake up, please. You can’t do this to me, please,” as you lightly shook him, a state of panic as the guards finally circled you.

You don’t feel the tears finally running down, you're heaving to yourself, rocking him in your arms, calling his name like a mantra for him to wake up. This can’t happen. 

“Baby, please don't leave me alone, p-please, I can't do this without you, don’t leave me,” as you cupped his cheeks with trembling hands, feeling him turn cold by the second.

The guards start circling around you, guns pointed and ready to take out Clark first, like it was part of their duties.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM- YOU'RE NOT TAKING HIM PLEASE,” as a broken sob came out of you, short of breath, you were hyperventilating, one would say, but you weren't letting anybody near him. You're not gonna lose him. Over your dead body, you're not giving him up.

You didn’t want him to go. You had no escape. After all, you couldn't carry a 200-pound man to safety. 

All you could do was have him in your arms. You shielded around his figure, shelling around him, protecting him from the guards, blocking their view so they couldn't see him. 

You couldn't care. You'd rather take any shots before him. You would take any harm. They had to get rid of you first before they take him.

Just as you heard the barrel of the gun, ready to fire right at you, you braced for the impact, but the sound of Mr. Terrific came from a distance.

It all happened too quickly. You see guards dropping like flies. One by One.

You were frozen in your spot, your head bowed down at Clark's temple, until you heard silence. Gazing up slowly, you check around to see if it’s all over. Mr.Terrific comes to your view.

“Y/n, we gotta go here lemme-” 

“N-No!” as you tugged Clark the other way, cradling the back of his head as you shield his face at the cranny of your neck,  not wanting anybody to lay any hands on him, he's been through enough.

“Y/n-  you need to bring him somewhere safe. I need to stay back to check the portal won't open again; no way in hell you'll be able to bring him back to the ship. You need to let me.”

You hesitate. A state of frenzy over who is bad and who is good. You know Mr.Terrific won’t bring any harm to Clark. You're just scared all around. Hesitant. But you eventually cave in.

Mr. Terrific lends you a helping hand bringing Clark to the ship, as he tells you the directions on how to work the engine, all the way to the steering.

Once the adrenaline was slowly wearing off, your wound becomes almost unbearable. But you needed to push through for Clark. Good thing you were wearing a thick black sweater where the blood seeps through slowly.

Then off you go.

To SmallVille.

_________________

Once you finally landed, as best as you could, you took Clark's arm around your shoulder, carrying him out of the ship to his parents.

Finally settled, they lead you to Clark's room, where he can get some rest. 

You chuckle softly, seeing Clark taking over the small twin bed his parents kept since he was small. His room was untouched; posters to trophies, and awards.

“Will he be okay?” Martha asks worriedly.

“Y-Yes. Just some kryptonite poisoning. He’ll be okay.”

You felt uneasy. But you didn't want to put the worry on Clark's parents, but you knew he'd be okay by the next morning. Just hoping. 

Pain clawed across your abdomen, sharp and unrelenting. Each step sent another stab through your core, and you knew you couldn’t ignore it any longer. You had to take care of it, now. Forcing yourself to move, you slipped out of the room as quietly as possible. Your legs wobbled beneath you, every movement a struggle as dizziness wrapped around you like a vice.

The bathroom door clicked shut, and the dam you’d been holding back shattered. A wave of sobs tore through you, hot tears streaming as the pain spiked to an unbearable high. Lifting the hem of your black sweater, your breath hitched. Blood. Too much of it. Crimson streaks smeared your skin, pooling, dripping. You bit down hard on a scream—Ma and Pa couldn’t hear this. And Clark… especially Clark. If he heard, there’d be no hiding it.

Your gaze flicked to the glass shard buried deep in your abdomen. You had to get it out before it did more damage.

When your eyes caught the mirror, your stomach sank. Veins, dark and jagged, threaded across your arms, creeping toward your neck and face. Almost like Clark’s—but faint, ghostly lines you wouldn’t notice unless you looked close. You told yourself it didn’t matter. It had to be from the blood loss, the fatigue. The gash was the problem. That had to be it.

You tore through the cabinets with shaking hands until the first-aid kit hit the counter.

Rolling up a dish rag, you shoved it between your teeth and bit down hard, praying it would muffle the sounds you couldn’t hold in. The sting of alcohol lit your nerves on fire as you pressed it to the wound, and when you dug in with the tweezers—God—your body convulsed with agony. Groans ripped through your throat, muffled only by the cloth as you fought to keep them from escaping.

You weren’t a doctor. Not even close. And the gush of blood told you as much. It coated your hands, soaked through the towel beneath you, painting the tiles in deep red. The bathroom looked like a murder scene.

Piece by jagged piece, you pulled the glass out, your vision tunneling as pain tore through you in waves. You didn’t know how you stayed conscious. Every nerve screamed, every muscle burned, and still, you kept going, tears blurring everything.

Finally, it was out. Barely breathing, you fumbled for the gauze, clumsy fingers wrapping it around your waist after your shaky, makeshift stitches—if you could even call them that.

One wrap. Two. Three. Four. That would have to be enough.

You collapsed against the cold tile, forehead pressed to the floor, forcing air into your lungs. Somehow, you pushed yourself upright and caught sight of the mirror.

God, you looked like hell.

Smearing away the tears with the back of your hand, you inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. You cleaned the mess—what you could, anyway—and stumbled out, heading toward Clark’s room.

He was asleep when you slipped inside, his face calm, chest rising and falling steadily. Relief washed over you in a shaky exhale. At least he was okay. At least this day was almost done.

But the heat burning beneath your skin hadn’t left. From your neck to your face, it crawled, a wildfire you couldn’t smother. You told yourself you’d deal with it tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

You settled for the bean bag in the corner of his room. It'll work for now, just a waiting game till he wakes up.

Fluttering your eyes shut, you were out within 5 minutes.

__________

God, he’s felt like he's been hit by a truck. He didn't know how long he’d been out for, but he felt the strength seep back into him that he was missing earlier.

Hazily sitting up, he catches your frame across the room where the moonlight peeks through the curtains.

His face breaks into an immediate frown. Gosh, how long have you been sleeping there? You must have been so uncomfortable.

Clark gets up slowly and makes his way over to you, enjoying the sight of your peaceful slumber. Taking one arm under your knees and the other snaking around the lower part of your back, he carefully lifts you up, steadying you so you don't wake up.

He felt your body heating up; maybe he thought you were just getting a fever from how cold it was in the pocket universe. 

By dialing down on how your breathing was, Clark notices you were knocked out into a full slumber. Maybe you were just tired and getting sick. He didn't pay any mind; he plans to take care of you tomorrow and just let you rest right now from the events that happened.

Man, he feels so bad. The worries you left him, how it was his fault that you were kidnapped and dragged into this mess. He’ll make it up to you.

Tip-toeing quietly over to the bed, your shirt rises before he sets you down.

Gauze. How the hell?

He sets you down into the bed, flickering on the bedside lamp, lowering it to a dim level just enough for him to see and analyze.

He slowly looks, then sees the very faint blackish & bluish litter on your arms to your face. He instantly knew.

Oh my God, you were also affected.

From situations in the past, Clark learned that humans can experience Kryptonite poisoning canically but not as strongly, just very light symptoms like heat flashes and fever. No wonder you feel so hot. Why didn't he figure it out sooner?

He knew you'd be fine, with lots of rest, it would pass, but he couldn't help but feel the worry washing over him. He just wants to take the discomfort you've been feeling. To leave it on his shoulders.

Slowly, he grabs the hem of your shirt to raise it,  and sees the soaked gauze that lies on you underneath.

The guilt eats him alive. You've been in much more pain than he was.

He carefully sets you down on the ground right at the bedside, and through it all, you were still knocked out from your slumber. 

It must have been from the kryptonite; you have been heavily knocked out from exhaustion through the kryptonite and the injury.

He hastily removes your gauze, catching the bloody, raging, swollen gash that was poorly stitched.

Gosh, y/n, why didn't you wake me up?

Clark gets to work, leaving you for a second to grab a damp rag and the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinets.

Coming back, he sets you on his lap, dampening the cloth to your skin, cleaning away any of the blood that has been seeping out of the stitch and onto your stomach.

Carefully removing your stitches, he restitches them back up in a cleaner, smoother manner. Still feeling some pain even in a deep slumber, you stir just oh so lightly.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you. I’m so sorry.”

After wrapping you in the gauze, he hooks your legs with his arms underneath you, arms on your back, and gently places you back on the bed, tucking you in. Clark reaches over to cup his palm to your forehead, and gently makes his way to caress your hair, leaning in to kiss you on your forehead.

“Goodnight, my love.”

______________

You doze off until the morning comes.

Your eyes flutter, thick blankets wrap all over you, neatly tucked in. You glance up, seeing the beanbag in the corner, realizing you're in his bed.

He must have carried you to the bed during the night.

Raising the hem of your tee, you glanced at the new gauze. Huh. Did he clean you up last night? Had he noticed?

A light nausea hits you, and the migraine engulfs your features ever so aggressively. You couldn't point a finger at the reason.

The morning light shimmers its way into Clark's room, but as you get up, you don't see him. He must have been somewhere jotting in the house, you think to yourself. Making your way down the stairs, spotting Martha, she instantly notices that you were looking for his son.

“Morning, sweetheart, he’s out in the front,” Martha mentions as she directs her eyes to the front door.

You nod your head as a way of thanks, making your way outside.

You stood at the doorway, spotting Clark on the tiny porch bench, almost taking up all the space for his size.

“You moved me to the bed, didn't you?” 

Clark finally looks up. He sees the exhaustion in your eyes,  but you manage to offer him a smile. 

Guilt was eating at him.

“You were hurt; I had to. What husband would I be? Are you doing okay? Why didn't you tell me last night?” 

You make your way over to the bench, Clark scooting over to make room for you. You take a seat next to him. “Just a migraine, feeling under the weather, that's all, but doing okay.” 

Oh right. The second-hand Kryptonite poisoning you attained. The reminder was still there that this was his fault. Clark takes your hand into his and shifts his body towards you.

“Honey, you had slight effects from the kryptonite.” He looks into your eyes, scanning your features that your doing okay. “For very long periods — humans can get light symptoms, especially in close proximity.” 

“R-Really? You never knew. Who knew, really.

“Oh, I guess it is what it is then,” as you let a huffed giggle, a slight smile, to brighten up the mood. But deep down, you were so tired, still hurt deep within you.

Clark could tell you were hiding.

“Don’t forget about the stitches, too, you didn't tell me about.”

You looked back up at him, eyes glassy, and didn't know where to start. Scared out of your mind, guilty of not telling him.

 “ I-I was scared, Clark; you needed the rest, I couldn't wake you, I couldn't bother.”

Astonished, Clark rebuttals. You were never a bother, he thought. “Honey, I care about you. When I’m sick, asleep, halfway across the world, I worry. Please just tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

The pause of silence hits the air, deafening around the two of you.

“You look better,” whispering like it was something sacred, feeling as if you said it any louder, he would disappear, and you would be tugged back into yesterday's events.

“ I-I was so scared, Clark,” you stammered. “I was so scared of losing you — you were barely breathing and the veins— ”

At this point, you were sobbing all over again. Reliving the memories from yesterday.

By this time, Clark took you into his lap, each of your legs dangling from both his sides. He was quiet, eyes full of concern, listening attentively until you were finished.

“The guards were around us, they had their weapons drawn — I would die before they were gonna lay hands on you, Clark. I was so terrified of losing you.”

Clark's heart squeezes. The thought of you sacrificing yourself when hurt shook him to his core. Your heart is too pure, full of care towards him. It should be him who takes the hits first before you. Not you. He would rather take the pain first before you.

“Honey— ” he whispers, taking you to his arms as you sob into his neck.

It hurt you so much that it terrified you deeply when you witnessed him like that. Almost like you couldn't get the image out of your brain.

“Hey— I’m here, aren't I?” as he starts to wipe your tears with his thumbs, kissing all over your face, kissing all the tears away that he caused you

It felt heavy on him; all he wanted was to take all the pain away from your shoulders if he could.

“This is all my fault. I lead you there. You were kidnapped because of me, you're hurt because of me.”

Your sobs subsided so lightly, bringing your head back up to look at your husband. His fault? Could never be.

“Baby– no one would have expected this; no one knew kryptonite would be around. I inferred your disappearance, so I expected it. I wanted to find you to bring you home,” as you were huffing,  bringing your hands up to hold Clark's back hand where he was cupping your face. “You brought us home. You gave it your all. This isn't your fault; it is more so than mine. I kept the secret away from you, and I brought you so much worry, so I’m sorry.”

You were exhausted at this point from your breakdown, from the pain that lingered in your mind. But you're glad the worst has passed. You lower your head back down to Clark's shoulder just to know, just to feel that he’s still here with you.

“It's all over, baby. I’m so sorry you had to see me like that; I know it may not take all the memories of what happened last night, but I’m okay. If so, you were the one who helped us get out of there, alright? You brought me home. At the end, it's none of our faults; we were just unlucky that it crossed both our paths at the same moment, and I would fight for us just like you would too. We’re okay, alright?”

The tenderness of his hold, the truth behind his words.

We will be okay.

[silent-swooner]

Didn’t read it yet but I’m already IN LOVE!!!!! Why choose one when you can have both? 🤭💕 (we need more poly clois fics!!!!! 🌟)

Edit: read it and they’re SO FREAKIN’ CUTE (eeeek!!!!)

third // Clark Kent, Lois Lane, and you

summary: Lois Lane and Clark Kent have been together for years. They are a solid couple who share everything, even dreams. For Lois, one dream she can’t shake is the longing for a woman’s touch alongside the man she loves. After months of searching and disappointment, they finally meet you. What begins with shy smiles over drinks soon turns into late night dinners that eventually turn into a night none of you will ever forget.

content warnings: smut, poly relationship, established relationship between Lois and Clark, bisexual Lois Lane, bisexual reader, wlw, fingering of reader, some fluff, p.i.v sex, kissing, reader’s hair mentioned twice, first time poly relationship, minimal physical description of reader, some fluff, aftercare

word count: 2.9k+

pairing: clois x female!reader

***I am a slowburn loving and detailed writer through and through. If you just want to read the smut scroll down until you see these hearts: ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

It wasn’t like Lois Lane and Clark Kent needed anyone else in their relationship. They had been together for years, deeply in love and built a bond most people couldn’t even dream of.

Lois had always been honest with Clark about who she was, as he could be with her. The truth about her was a little more mild than being a world saving alien from another planet, she was just bisexual. She adored every part of Clark but something inside her ached for something softer and different. She was sure it could only be soothed by the touch of another woman.

At first, the idea of adding a third had been nothing but a late night conversation. Clark had been drawing lazy circles against her bare skin after sex. Between tangled sheets and tossed around pillows, she looked up to him and asked him without hesitation.

“What are your thoughts on adding a third?” She asked.

Clark, who was cautious in the same way in everything he did, was confused at first. He was slow to warm up to the thought. But over time he saw that Lois’ yearning was genuine and began to understand what she was getting at. She didn’t dream of replacing anything that they had, but instead only wanted to enhance it. Just add someone who could share the kind of love they built.

So their search began. The tips of Clark’s ears burned at the thought of being put on a dating app. It wasn’t like he needed any more attention on Clark Kent than absolutely necessary, especially with something like this. Being from a small town in the Midwest, he was still trying to get used to the thought of a nontraditional relationship like this.

Eventually, he agreed to it under the condition Lois didn’t show his face in their profile.

Months passed of Lois scrolling through their dating apps with no luck. She had even convinced Clark to go to these events around the city designed for couples to find their “unicorn”.

“They have those?” Clark asked, a look of bewilderment on his face. But of course he agreed due to the natural nature of wanting to make Lois happy.

The nights usually consisted of forced smiles and silent walks back to their apartment. Clark’s hand gently stroked her back, trying to find the words to comfort her as he could tell she was more disappointed than she led on.

Although Clark was skilled at holding a calm, comforting demeanor, deep down he felt disappointed too. He reassured Lois that someone who was meant for them was out here as he slowly began to crave that person a little more.

Lois had been curled up on the couch with Clark one night. A half empty glass of wine rested in one hand as she scrolled on her phone with the other. She told herself she wouldn’t spend too long on the app tonight and she wasn’t going to get her hopes up. She just wanted to scroll for a while, maybe distract herself before they went to bed.

And then she stumbled across your profile. Her thumb froze mid scroll, her breath catching in her throat. God, you were gorgeous. Genuine, striking, with a smile that made Lois’ heart stutter. You were younger than both of them. She scrolled down to read a little more of your profile. Attending a university downtown, from Massachusetts, open to getting to know people and seeing where it leads.

It seemed to be a standard dating app profile until her eyes landed on a word that made her heart stop. Bi.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice sharp enough to make Clark glance down at her where he was lazily flipping through the channels.

“What is it?” he asked, brow raised.

Lois smacked his arm, practically bouncing upright. “Look at her, Clark. She’s… she’s perfect. And she’s bi!” Her words came from her mouth in a rush, breathless and eager, her excitement filling the room.

Clark glances down at the phone screen. His heart skips at the picture of you, but he had to swallow. He wanted to say that doesn’t mean she’s looking to walk into an established relationship and become a throuple, but his heart doesn’t allow himself to say that to Lois.

He just nods, his eyes still on her screen. “Pretty,” he says simply.

“Pretty? Pretty, Clark, seriously? She’s fucking hot,” she grins. “Tell me the last time you saw someone like her around here.”

Clark glances at her choice of language but can’t hold back the small grin on his lips. He goes back to the tv as the sounds of Lois’ eager fingers tap out a reply quicker than he had ever seen her text. He wouldn’t allow himself to get his hopes up too high.

A couple days pass as Lois sulks around. No reply from you. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart would leap only to sink again when it wasn’t you.

One night, Clark was just about to take her phone from her hands to give her some attention before she shot up from the couch.

“She replied!” She squealed.

From that point on, it was easy. Conversation flowed like you’d known each other longer than a handful of messages. Flirty jokes and playful banter came from Lois as your replies were warm but slightly bashful. It honestly clicked so naturally that after about a week, you’d agreed to drinks with both her and Clark.

The first night you met in person, Lois had been bracing herself for disappointment. Most of the women they’d seen before drifted toward Clark first but how could she blame them? He was tall, impossibly handsome, with a soft, gentle smile that made people melt. Lois loved him for it but it always stung when she felt like an afterthought in what was supposed to be their search.

You were different. You noticed Clark of course (you’d have to be blind not to) but you seemed to naturally gravitate toward Lois. She saw it in the way yours eyes lingered on her, or the way you laughed at her jokes, or how you leaned in subtly closer when she spoke. Clark was kind and easygoing, and you clicked with him too, but with Lois? There was a spark neither of you could deny.

Drinks turned into dinners. Dinners turned into more nights out and more excuses to be near each other. Eventually, nights out turned into nights in, until one evening, you found yourself in their apartment, straddling Lois’s lap on the couch as her mouth claimed yours that left you dizzy.

The different between Clark and Lois was huge. It wasn’t just their personalities, but also the way they did everything. Lois’ kisses felt like she was clinging to you like you were the last person on earth. Her mouth was feverish and needy as she stole every sound from your throat. Her soft hands always roamed your body, squeezing, caressing, and pulling you closer.

Clark was different. He was gentle and more slow. His rougher hands held you like you were something fragile and precious. Making out with him was passionate and still breathtaking just the same.

Lois’ lips continued to attack yours as you gently pull away, your breath heavy. “I feel bad,” you say against her mouth as she presses her lips to yours again. “Shouldn’t we help him clean up?”

Lois ignores you at first as a smirk creeps onto her lips. She attaches her mouth to your neck, pressing kisses there now.

Clark heard you, of course, his enhanced hearing picked up every word. From the kitchen he glanced over, catching the sight of Lois’s hands tangled in your hair as her mouth was red and swollen from kissing you. Desire pooled in his chest, heat climbing as he tried to ground himself by glancing back down at the plate he had.

“No way” she says slowly against your skin, this time nipping at the spot under your ear. “He doesn’t mind. And needs some time to get used to this.”

After a few minutes of making out with Lois, Clark now joins the both of you in the living room as he sits down on the couch.

Lois tosses you into his lap as his arms circle around you gently. You aren’t sure if you’d ever be able to be passed around without a wave of desire washing over you.

Clark’s hands are more soothing than Lois. One rests on your hip as he presses a kiss to your hair. You are still out of breath.

Lois can’t seem to bare being without your touch for long. She crawls over to the two of you as her hands rest on your thighs.

“Stay the night?” She asks, her eyes hopeful. “It’s already late.”

You blink as you feel the heat flare inside of you. You had never spent the night before, and Clark seems to be just as taken back as he tenses slightly under you.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

That night you lay in their bed, sandwiched between their bodies. Clark’s arm is wrapped around your waist as Lois kisses at your shoulders and neck. She has forced herself to calm down, knowing it was a new experience for all of you.

“We’ve talked about this. A lot. Clark and I… we’ve both thought about what it would be like to be with you in that way. And Gosh, we’re excited. Like, ‘pinch me, is this real’ excited.” Her laugh was breathless, but then her voice softened. “But there’s no pressure. Not tonight. Not ever. You don’t owe us anything. We’re just so happy you’re here with us. That’s enough.”

You smile gently at her as Clark gently rubs his thumb against the skin of your hip. He leans in, bis breath warm on your neck as he nods slightly.

“We’ve been looking for you for so long,” his voice is deep as it sends a shiver down your spine. “But only if you want this and are comfortable. You don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

You turned slightly, caught between the way Lois’ eyes burned into yours and the safety of Clark’s embrace. Your lips parted before you could stop yourself. “I want this. I want both of you.”

Eventually, you found yourself pressed against the mattress as both of their hands explored your body. Your clothing was slowly stripped away piece by piece as you felt like you were on fire.

Your breathing caught after your legs were coaxed open by Lois. Her thumb gently parted your slits as she found your clit. You hummed softly as Clark watched in awe, holding onto you.

A delicate finger slipped inside of you as Lois’ breath caught at how slick and tight you felt around her. You bit your lip, letting a moan escape your lips before Clark’s warm mouth presses into yours.

Lois watched as she pumped her finger in and out of you. You lying there, bare skin, beautiful tits, completely open for her. The way her man hushed you by claiming your mouth with his own sent a shiver down her spine. She eventually added a finger which caused you to twitch around her.

Lois’ fingers were skilled, using your sounds and subtle movements to get you right where she wanted you. They curled gently inside of you.

Clark eventually pulled away, his blue eyes now dark with a desire you haven’t seen before as he kisses your neck.

“So perfect,” his voice is low and gravely.

“That’s it beautiful, go ahead and cum for me,” Lois says softly.

Lois watches as you orgasm for the first time with her. Your thighs twitch, back arching slightly as you let out a small cry. It was nothing like a porn scene, instead this beautiful display of love and pleasure as you creamed around her fingers.

Your chest heaved up and down quickly as you watched Lois bring her fingers to her mouth. Clark sits up slightly as he grabs her wrist and brings it to his mouth.

“Hey,” Lois says, laughing lightly as he wraps his lips around her two fingers. “That’s mine that I worked for.”

You feel like you could just die under them, your chest fuzzy with slight embarrassment as you can’t help but let out a small giggle.

Lois leans down to capture your lips in hers. She presses against you as your hands find her hair. Slowly, your hands begins to trail down her body as they try to undo her pants.

She shakes her head, removing her lips from yours as they press against your neck. “No. Tonight is about you.”

Clothes fall away easily as Lois and Clark take turns kissing you. You can barely catch your breath before a new set of lips is on yours.

Eventually, Lois moves so she is under you. Your bare back presses into her naked chest, her tits against your soft skin. Her hands find your hips as she adjusts you so your ass is pressed right into her.

Her lips find your shoulder, kissing your bare skin. But you can barely even notice the small kisses at the way Clark’s eyes burn into your naked body.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Lois whispers into your ear before placing a kiss there. “You have no idea how perfect you are to us.”

Your breath catches as Clark finally gets his boxers down, his hard, throbbing cock finally free. Your eyes widen at his size. He was huge.

“So pretty,” he mutters, his eyes glazed over as they run over your body. You pussy glistens as Lois has your thighs parted on top of her.

Lois senses your tenseness as she softly squeezes your hips. “It’s mind blowing, babygirl,” she smirks next to your head as she places another kiss.

Clark eventually finds himself hovering over both of you. Lois’ strokes are gently against your skin as she places soft kisses. The way she held you made this moment even more intimate.

Clark’s lips found yours as he kissed you passionately. Your lips were already swollen, heart already beating out of your chest as he pressed his torso teasingly between your heat.

“You’re precious,” he says against your lips. “We’ll take care of you.”

All you can do is look up at him as he slowly positions himself between your legs. He hisses quietly as the tip of his cock can already feel the dripping wetness of you. Lois’ hands hold open your thighs as her chest burns. She kisses your ear again.

Clark moves forward slowly as about an inch of him slips inside of your cunt. He pauses, almost ready to collapse and cum right there. This was always his favorite part, the point of slipping in and hearing the tiny gasp of a woman. Feeling the new sensation of an unfamiliar pussy made his head spin even more.

“That’s it baby, just feel him. Let us love you,” Lois whispers into your ear as she lovingly caresses your hip.

Clark continues as he inches further into you. Your walls grip around him tightly as he lets out a ragged breath.

Your soft sounds of pleasure fill the room as Clark slowly starts to find a rhythm. His size stretches you out as Lois continues to whisper sweet things to you.

Clark presses another kiss to your lips, drinking in every quiet sound you make as you squirm against Lois. You were perfect to them.

Lois could tell you were close by the way your hips moved. Clark was slowly pouring his hips into you as the sound of skin slapping skin filled her ears.

Her hand brushed down your stomach until one of her fingers found your clit once more. Your eyes widened as a choked cry slipped past your lips. You tightened around Clark as you began to pulse.

“Oh goodness,” he hissed, his large hands finding your lips to try to ground himself. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Let it happen”

“We’re right here. Just fall into us, pretty girl.”

Their words put you over the edge. Your back arches gently as you feel your thighs shake, cumming all over his cock. Your breathing is labored as Lois feels like she could never get used to your sounds.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” she smiles as Clark continues to thrust in and out of you. Your sensitive pussy throbs around him as your mind feels like it’s spinning.

Clark sucks in a breath as he pauses his strokes, letting his warm cum spill deep inside you. He kisses your neck several times as he feels himself twitch inside of you.

He slowly pulls out as your thighs still shake slightly. The best part about aftercare in a threesome is that even as Clark gets up to get a towel, there is still someone there to snuggle you.

Lois holds onto as she presses kisses to your temple. “You are so perfect for us. So beautiful.”

Clark comes back with a warm cloth. He gets back into bed as he gives you a soft smile. He wipes you down, his touch gentle as his eyes rake over your beauty.

“You are so beautiful,” he says, his gaze now on your flushed cheeks.

His lips press against your soft cheeks as he tosses the towel to the side.

You spend the rest of the night between the both of them. Their eyes never leave you as they gently stroke your body, looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing they had ever laid eyes on. They worshipped you.

Eventually, your eyelids feel heavy as you drift to sleep. Your breathing is softened as Clark glances up to Lois, who is gently stroking your jaw with her thumb.

“This is the best idea you have ever had, Ms. Lane.”

notes: GUYS. Can you imagine?!?!?!?!! I have no words, truly

[silent-swooner]

this is so precious 🥹💕

── 󠄀 . 󠄀 ֹ 󠄀 𓏲⠀ILLUSIONS

summary: Y/n wasn’t insecure—not really—but sometimes being loved by Clark Kent felt like standing in front of the sun, too bright and too steady to believe it was meant for her. He’s larger than life yet impossibly gentle, a farmboy sweetheart wrapped in superhuman strength, and he never stops reminding her that she’s everything to him.

genre: soft domestic fluff, sleepy cuddles, goofy intimacy, playful affection

pairing: clark kent x quirky!reader

tw: extreme fluff, soft praise, Clark being a golden retriever in love, clingy boyfriend energy, lots of kisses, playful weight-pinning, cozy domestic intimacy, slightly self-deprecating reader but instantly reassured, affectionate teasing, TV as background noise, gentle grounding touches, emotional intimacy wrapped in softness

Y/N was not shy, nor was she insecure. She prided herself on that—on being someone who moved through the world without crumbling under the weight of comparison, who didn’t wither when attention shifted elsewhere. Insecurity was a poison she told herself she was immune to. Except lately, with Clark Kent, the immunity had begun to falter. It wasn’t anything he had done; in fact, it was precisely because of how good he was that the cracks had formed. Clark was everything a girl’s first boyfriend ought to be and more—sweet in a way that felt uncomplicated, endlessly patient, affectionate with a kind of warmth that seeped into her bones when he wrapped his long arms around her. He was safe. He was home. And yet, it was the very perfection of it all that made her start to doubt herself, wondering if she was enough in comparison.

Tonight was proof of that. She had been locked in the bathroom for an hour, standing barefoot on the tiled floor, staring at her reflection in the slightly fogged mirror. The waxing kit lay discarded on the counter like the remnants of a small battle she wasn’t sure she had won, while the tag from her brand-new silk nightgown peeked out from the wastebasket, a red thread still caught under her thumbnail from where she had yanked it off. She had bought the nightgown with the idea that she needed to be—what was the word—desirable. Not just comfortable, not just herself with her threadbare Hello Kitty pajamas that smelled faintly of vanilla body spray and the secondhand bookstore she loved, but sexy, like the kind of woman Clark surely deserved. It was their first week of living together, her first stretch of nights in his apartment instead of her own room cluttered with charms and thrifted treasures, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to get it right.

A soft knock rattled her nerves. “Honey,” Clark’s voice came muffled through the door, gentle as always, “I need to brush my teeth. And pee. But—not rushing you.”

Her heart lurched with the absurdity of it. “Uh—uh, I’ll be out in a sec. Just… peeing,” she called, hoping her voice sounded casual.

“Oh.” He paused, genuinely considering. “Well, can I brush my teeth while you’re peeing?”

She let out a laugh, exasperated and fond all at once. “No! I’ll be out in a sec. Just wait!”

“Okay,” he relented easily. She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll be in bed. Love you. Don’t fall into the toilet.” His footsteps padded away down the hall, leaving her alone again with the mirror and her reflection that didn’t quite look like her.

She swallowed, cheeks warm with the ridiculousness of it all. The silk clung to her awkwardly; she felt like a child playing dress-up in someone else’s closet. She whispered a pep talk under her breath—something about how she wasn’t insecure, she wasn’t, she was just trying—and flushed the toilet for effect before unlocking the door and slipping out.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the muted flicker of the TV mounted on the wall. Clark was reclined against the headboard, the remote balanced in his hand, his long legs stretched out. He paused the movie as soon as he heard the door, turning with that instinctive attention that made her feel seen every single time. His eyebrows shot up, surprise cutting across his face, his gaze sweeping over her—not with lust, not even with anything overtly heated, but with open confusion laced with tenderness.

“What happened to the Hello Kitty pajamas?” he asked, glancing down at his own pants—the matching pair she had bought him after he admitted he thought hers were cute.

She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, her voice quieter than she intended. “I felt like something different tonight.” The bed dipped as she slid in beside him, the silk rustling as she adjusted against the sheets.

Clark frowned slightly, not in disapproval, but in that thoughtful way he did when he sensed something was off. He reached out, fingers brushing lightly over her wrist before letting his hand fall to the comforter. “Are you okay? Sick?” His mind leapt to the familiar—because with her, small anxieties sometimes spiraled into whole evenings. His brow creased further. “Did someone say something bad about Secretary again? I’m sorry, love. If it makes you feel better, I like the movie.” He gave her a sheepish smile, his mouth pulling into that line of quiet earnestness. “But then again, I like anything you like, so maybe that doesn’t count.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile despite herself, shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I’m good.”

But as she said it, her eyes betrayed her, darting down to where the silk fabric pooled against her knees, to the matching pajama pants on him, soft cotton patterned with Hello Kitty.

Clark nodded slowly, the crease between his brows lingering even though he tried to smooth it away. He didn’t push, didn’t press—he never did—but his eyes spoke a whole language of concern as he lifted his arm in invitation. She let out a tiny sigh, one of resignation and comfort all at once, before leaning into his side. Her head fit against his chest as though carved for it, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, a metronome of quiet devotion. Their legs tangled under the blanket, her bare shin brushing against his pajama pants, and his arm fell naturally around her, hand resting warm and heavy against her hip. His other hand drifted, almost absentmindedly, to her thigh.

But the moment he felt the smoothness of her skin under his palm, his brows furrowed again. Not suspicion, not judgment—just confusion that seemed to gnaw at him until he couldn’t help himself. He let his hand move in a slow, careful sweep up and down her thigh, as though trying to understand what he was feeling rather than simply touching her. His voice was low when he finally asked, almost hesitant.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tilted her head, looking up at him with wary eyes, and gave a small nod.

Clark’s gaze flicked down, his words careful, as though he was second-guessing them even as they left his mouth. “Did you… shave?”

Her throat tightened. “Well… yeah. I did. Is that a bad thing?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, defensive in spite of herself.

Clark shook his head immediately, mouth tugging into a half-frown, half-smile that was meant to reassure. “No. No, it’s not bad. If you wanted to, then that’s fine. It’s just—” he shrugged helplessly, eyes falling to her legs again as though they were a riddle, “—out of nowhere, I guess. Different. That’s all.”

“Do you… not like it?” she asked, her voice threading with doubt.

That snapped him upright. He turned his full attention on her, his expression stricken at the thought. “No—no, of course I like it. I like you. Shaved, not shaved, silk pajamas, cartoon pajamas, whatever. That’s not the point.” His voice was firm, steady, like he was laying down a truth that couldn’t be undone.

She nodded faintly, but her silence stretched between them. Clark exhaled softly through his nose, running a thumb absently over her hip before speaking again, hesitant but earnest. “What’s wrong? Did I do something? Say something? Was it… was it asking about shaving? Was that dumb? I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” His ramble tumbled out in that awkward, boyish rush of his. “You just felt—uh, slippery? Like someone oiled you up. So I noticed. And I thought… well, that’s what boyfriends do, right? They notice things. And ask. At least I think so. I don’t know. I’m sorry if it came out wrong.”

She blinked at him once. Twice. Then a laugh bubbled up despite herself, a startled sound that broke the tension. “What? Clark… no. It wasn’t offensive. Honestly, I’m kind of happy you noticed.” She hesitated, pressing her cheek back to his chest, voice muffled. “It’s just… nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to try something different. To be, I don’t know. Sexy. Is that such a crime?” Her words trailed into a sulky mumble as she crossed her arms and turned her gaze toward the television, refusing to meet his.

Clark stared at her for a moment, his heart aching with how hard she was on herself. He tilted his head, speaking with the plain certainty of someone who couldn’t fathom why it was even in question. “But you are sexy.”

Her eyes darted back to him, caught off guard by the simplicity of it.

“Shaved. Not shaved. Hello Kitty pajamas. A sack.” He smiled faintly, brushing his thumb over her arm now, gentling her back toward him. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever you put on—or don’t—you’re you. That’s it. That’s what makes it… well, everything.” His voice caught slightly on the last word, as though overwhelmed by how obvious the truth felt to him.

Her arms loosened, her defensiveness cracking under the weight of his sincerity. “You really mean that?”

Clark gave a small, incredulous laugh, pulling her closer, pressing his lips briefly into her hair. “Sweetheart, there’s not a single version of you I wouldn’t fall for. You could wear mismatched socks, toothpaste on your shirt, hair sticking up in five directions… I’d still look at you like this.”

And he did—eyes soft, impossibly warm, brimming with that Clark Kent kind of love that didn’t need performance or polish, that saw through everything straight to her.

“But I read online that guys like when their girlfriend—” she began, only for Clark to cut her off with a firmness that startled her.

“That’s nonsense,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “Half those guys don’t even have girlfriends. The other half have—well, let’s just say crippling porn addictions. Not exactly authorities on real relationships.” His eyes softened, his thumb brushing her arm like punctuation. “I like you for you. That’s the whole point. And please, for the love of God, get off the internet.”

Her lips tugged into a reluctant smile, and she ducked her face against his chest to hide it. His t-shirt was soft beneath her cheek, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat made her feel absurd for ever doubting. “So… does that mean I don’t have to wear these stupid pajamas?” she murmured, her voice muffled against him.

Clark huffed out a laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “You don’t even have to wear anything.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “Clark!”

“Okay, that came out wrong.” He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “But you get the point. I don’t need you dressed up, or shaved, or in some silk costume from the mall. I don’t even know why you’re like this all of a sudden. Where’s the confident, independent woman I fell for?” His smile was gentle, teasing, but there was a softness beneath it, a plea for her to see herself the way he saw her.

She shrugged, a little helpless, and her gaze dropped to where her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt. “I dunno. It’s stupid. You’re just… so great. And I’m just… me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice steady, unwavering. He reached down to tip her chin up so she’d meet his eyes. “You’re you. And that’s perfect. I love you. I want you. I like you. All of it. All the time.”

Her laugh came out breathless, embarrassed, and she hid again, pressing her face into the warm skin of his neck. “Okay, Clark, I get it.”

But he only smiled, wrapping those impossibly strong arms around her until she was sprawled fully across him, her body rising and falling with his breaths. “I like you on top,” he murmured, contentment in every syllable.

She groaned into his neck, mortified. “Word that differently.”

“I meant it in both ways,” Clark whispered conspiratorially, as though sharing classified intel.

That made her laugh, the sound vibrating against him, but there was a heat in her cheeks she couldn’t hide. “We haven’t even had… you know,” she said quietly, her smile lingering as she traced a line on his chest with her fingertip.

Clark stilled, just for a moment, before tilting his head down toward her, his expression so tender it almost undid her. “I know,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. We don’t have to until you’re ready. There’s no rush. I like every version of this, of us. Just you here, with me, is already more than I ever thought I’d get.”

He kissed her hair then, lingering, as though trying to press the sincerity of his words into her skin. And in the glow of the muted television, tangled up with him in their mix-matched pajamas and insecurities, she realized that maybe being herself was the sexiest thing she could ever be.

The next night, Clark was propped up against the headboard, remote in hand, idly flipping through channels in that restless way he always did when nothing caught his interest. The hum of the television filled the quiet of the apartment until he heard the soft click of the bathroom door. Instinctively, he turned, his attention leaving the screen the moment she stepped out.

This time, she wasn’t wrapped in silk or anything remotely dramatic. She padded into the room in her faded Hello Kitty pajamas, her hair slightly damp from her shower, her skin smelling faintly of vanilla and her favorite drugstore lotion. Clark’s lips broke into a smile before he even realized it, that warm, boyish grin he couldn’t hold back when it came to her.

She climbed into bed, tucking herself under the covers with a little wriggle, her voice already tumbling out in a rush. “Sorry I took forever. I, um, accidentally dropped the toothpaste into the toilet and then I had to build up the courage to fish it out—don’t worry, I threw it away, I’m not a monster—but then I got distracted trying to reorganize the sink drawer and—Clark!” Her rambling dissolved into breathless giggles as he suddenly rolled over, abandoning the remote entirely, and threw his whole weight onto her.

All two-hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle draped across her smaller frame like a human blanket. She squeaked, laughing helplessly as he began peppering kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, the bridge of her nose, anywhere he could reach. “Clark! You’re heavy,” she huffed, though her arms instinctively wrapped around his broad back, holding him to her as if she’d never dream of pushing him off.

“You look so pretty,” he murmured between kisses, his voice muffled as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, inhaling the comforting scent of her shampoo.

Her heart flipped, but she managed a shy smile, pressing a quick kiss to the sharp angle of his cheekbone. “Thank you,” she whispered, warmth flooding her chest at the sincerity in his tone.

Clark leaned back just enough to look at her, his hair falling into his forehead, his grin lopsided but genuine. “No, really. I mean it. You in silk, you in old pajamas, you in a potato sack—you’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He brushed his thumb along her jawline, gentle, reverent. “But this… this is my favorite. Just you. Comfortable. You don’t need to try for me.”

Her laughter softened into something more fragile, more real, and she tucked her face against his shoulder, hiding the blush that crept over her cheeks. Clark held her tighter, adjusting his massive frame so his weight pressed down on her just enough to remind her he was there—unmovable, unshakable, hers.

The TV droned on in the background, but Clark didn’t bother with it anymore. He was far too content with the girl in Hello Kitty pajamas beneath him, giggling into his neck, and the quiet certainty blooming in his chest that he’d never want to be anywhere else.

—󠄀 all rights reserved ©𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate nor repost on any other platform as yours. Do not feed my work to ai whatsoever.

[silent-swooner]

[silent-swooner]

This chapter broke me in the best way possible. I cry every time I read the scene where (spoiler 🚨!) Clark comes out to Ma and Pa. It hits really close to home for me as I try to make sense of my sexuality in a home that I know wouldn’t care but have made offhanded comments in the past that scare me to ever actually be myself. So beautifully written 🥹🩷 (I’ve thought about the coming out scene in particular everyday since I read it).

𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙩. 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙖𝙡.

AO3 LINK 🦇 18+ 🦸🏻‍♂️ NEW CHAPTER(S) EVERY DAY!

WC ~ 49k

Chapter 17

Summary:

Superman stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his presence a silent, overwhelming weight. He was the good cop by default. His disappointment was occasionally a more potent weapon than his fists.

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Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal, Top Clark Kent, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Knows Clark Kent is Superman, Clark Kent Doesn't Know Bruce Wayne is Batman, Clark Kent Hates Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Hates Himself, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, Touch-Starved, Making Out, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Idiots in Love, Gay Sex, Bisexual Bruce Wayne, Gay Clark Kent, Internalized Homophobia, Gay Panic, Everyone Is Gay, Coming Out, Clark Kent is actually good at his job in this, Batman Played by Robert Pattinson and Superman Played By David Corenswet, Batman Played by Robert Pattinson, Stalking, Surveillance, Slight Voyeurism, Service Top, Power Bottom, Bruce Wayne Has Mental Health Issues, Clark Kent Has a Large Penis, Clark Kent Has a Crush on Bruce Wayne, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Spoilers for Movie: Superman (2025), Racism, Homophobia, Misogyny, Antisemitism, Nazis, Neo-Nazis, Hate Speech

Rain fell in sheets. The East End became a slick, black mirror that reflected only neon decay and misery. From his perch overlooking Tricorner, Bruce watched the city. A new sound. A sawtooth vibration buzzing through his molars. The sound of the Sons of Gotham's new toys.

He dropped into the alley below, his boots landing without a splash. The agreement with Superman was a tactical necessity, he told himself. Nothing more. But the nights were longer now, the fights harder. The thugs he used to dispatch efficiently had been replaced. These men moved with a crude military discipline, laying down suppressing fire, creating kill-zones. They were armed with more than just hate. Military-grade hardware, the resonance guns that turned cover into a temporary illusion.

Movement. A delivery van, its side panels crudely painted over, pulled up to a condemned tenement. Four men emerged, the jagged tattoos of their allegiance stark against pale skin. They began unloading heavy, oblong crates.

Bruce flowed through the deeper shadows. He took out the two lookouts on the fire escape with silent precision, their bodies slumping without a sound. He dropped to the ground behind the van as the other two heaved a crate toward the building's entrance.

A third man stepped out of the driver's side. He wasn't carrying a rifle. He held one of the resonance guns, its twin prongs glowing with a faint, sick energy. Bruce had seen what they could do to concrete. He had no desire to find out what they did to bone and tissue.

He threw a smoke pellet. The alley filled with a thick, choking cloud. He moved through it, disorienting them, using their confusion as a weapon. A strike to the windpipe, a knee into the diaphragm. The first man went down. The second turned, firing his assault rifle blindly into the smoke. Bruce was already behind him, an elbow strike shattering the man's collarbone.

The driver stood his ground, aiming the resonance weapon where he'd last seen movement. A low hum escalated into a piercing whine. Bruce dove as a wave of pure sonic force tore through the space he'd just occupied. The brick wall of the opposite building buckled, dust and mortar exploding outward.

Another man appeared on a rooftop opposite, rifle raised. An armor-piercing round. Bruce registered the muzzle flash a fraction of a second before the impact. The bullet slammed into his shoulder, not penetrating the reinforced plating but hitting with the force of a sledgehammer. The blow threw him off balance, staggering him into the edge of the sonic blast's radius. The world blurred, his ears ringing.

The man on the roof lined up another shot.

A red-and-blue streak descended from the sky.

Superman landed between Bruce and the rifleman, the armor-piercing round flattening harmlessly against his chest. He didn't even flinch. A flicker of heat vision, and the rifle on the rooftop melted into a useless lump of metal. The Son of Gotham stared, then scrambled away into the darkness.

Down in the alley, Superman turned to the man with the resonance gun. The Son's face was a mask of terror and disbelief. He dropped the weapon and fell to his knees, hands raised in surrender.

Bruce straightened, ignoring the sharp, radiating pain in his shoulder. The efficiency of it was undeniable. Frustratingly so.

"You're late," Bruce growled, rougher than usual from the sonic blast.

"Got here as fast as I could," Clark said, softening with concern as he took in the deep score on Bruce's shoulder plate. "Heard your heart rate spike. You're hurt."

"A scratch." Bruce kicked the dropped resonance gun, then looked at the cowering man. "He's ours."

They dragged the Son of Gotham to the roof of a nearby warehouse, the city lights a distant, indifferent constellation below. The man, whose name was Kevin, was trembling, his bravado stripped away, leaving only a pathetic, twitching fear.

Superman stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his presence a silent, overwhelming weight. He was the good cop by default. His disappointment was occasionally a more potent weapon than his fists.

Bruce stepped into the shadows, letting them swallow him until he was just a voice and a terrifying silhouette. "The guns," he began. "Where are you getting them?"

Kevin shook his head, stammering. "I-I don't know nothing. I just drive the van."

"Wrong answer." Bruce stepped forward, his hand landing on Kevin's shoulder. He squeezed, his armored fingers finding the pressure point where the man's recently broken clavicle met his sternum. Kevin screamed, a high, thin sound that the wind snatched away.

"Kevin. Look at me," Clark said, his voice quiet but firm. He took a step closer and knelt in front of Kevin, his blue eyes radiating a sincerity. "We just want to know who's putting these weapons on the streets. They're going to get people killed. Maybe even you."

Kevin stared at Superman, his eyes wide with a desperate, pleading hope. He glanced back at the darkness where Batman lurked. "He'll kill me."

"I won't let him," Clark promised. "Just tell us the truth."

When Kevin still remained quiet, Bruce applied another fractional increase of pressure. Kevin shrieked again, tears and snot smearing his face. "Alright! Alright! Stop! Please!"

Bruce released him. Kevin collapsed, sobbing.

"An old warehouse," he gasped. "By the docks. In Central City. That's all I know, I swear!"

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

Back in the Batcave, the chill air did nothing to cool the simmering frustration in Bruce's gut. The pain in his shoulder from the bullet was a dull, persistent throb, a reminder of his own fragile humanity. Clark stood near the Batcomputer, watching the holographic displays with a quiet awe that Bruce found both irritating and… distracting.

"He wasn't lying," Clark said. "I could hear the truth in his heartbeat."

"People can learn to control their heart rate," Bruce countered, his fingers flying across the keyboard, pulling up satellite imagery and property records for Central City's industrial district. "The truth is in the data."

He cross-referenced the warehouse location with shipping manifests and corporate ownership files. A web of transactions appeared on the screen, a dizzying maze of holding companies and numbered corporations.

"Here." He pointed to a node on the screen. "The property was owned by a shipping logistics firm until three months ago. Then it was sold."

"To who?"

"A company called 'Prometheus Asset Management'." Bruce magnified the file. The details were sparse. A post office box in the Cayman Islands. A board of directors that didn't exist. A ghost. "It's a shell corporation."

He kept digging, his mind falling into the familiar rhythm of the hunt, tracing the invisible threads of money and power. He pulled up Prometheus's incorporation papers, running them through a forensic accounting program of his own design. The program stripped away layers of legal obfuscation, following the money trail through a dozen offshore banks.

Finally, a single name emerged from the tangle of code, blinking in stark, red letters on the screen: LUTHORCORP.

Clark stared at the name, mouth tight. "Lex. But… how? He's in Blackgate. He has no access to his accounts, his assets are frozen."

Bruce turned to face Clark, the exhaustion of the night settling deep in his bones. "You think a prison cell and a court order can stop a man like Lex Luthor? That's not how wealth works, Clark. Not real wealth."

He stood up, walking over to a larger, secondary display, pulling up a complex diagram of interconnected corporate entities. "This is how they do it. This is how the rich stay rich, and how they make themselves untouchable."

Clark followed, his confused gaze locked on the screen.

"Luthorcorp isn't just one company," Bruce explained. "It's a hydra. You cut off one head, and two more have already taken its place. He uses subsidiaries, shell corporations nested inside other shells like Russian dolls. The money never sits in one place. It's constantly moving through offshore accounts in countries with lax banking laws, laundered through legitimate-seeming investments, converted into untraceable assets like art or bearer bonds."

As he spoke, Clark moved closer, his focus absolute. He was leaning in, his eyes tracing the lines of data on the screen, his mind trying to grasp the sheer scale of the deception.

"It's a ghost system," Bruce continued, tracing a line with his finger. "Designed to be impossible to track. By the time the government gets a warrant for an account in Switzerland, the money is already in Panama. By the time they figure that out, it's been invested in a real estate development in Dubai through a proxy company that officially has no connection to Luthor. It's a full-time job for a hundred accountants just to keep it moving."

Clark was right beside him now, so close Bruce could feel the heat from his body. The scent of him: clean, like fresh air after a storm. Bruce was acutely aware of the man's breathing, the slight shift of his weight as he leaned forward, utterly captivated.

"So the government… they can't touch him?" Clark was incredulous.

"They can't even find him." Bruce's gaze flickered from the screen to Clark's face. He was staring at the diagram, but his proximity was an invasion, an unconscious breach of the space Bruce maintained around himself like a shield. The air between them condensed with the same suffocating static as that night in the bathroom.

Bruce took a deliberate step back, turning away to face the main console. The movement was sharp, breaking the spell. He put the computer, and a solid yard of numbing, empty air, between them.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

The flight from Gotham was a shedding of skins. He left the city's stink of rain-slicked asphalt and corruption behind, giving way to the clean air of the stratosphere. He shed the cape, the symbol, the impossible responsibility of being Superman. He tried to shed the memory of Batman's cold retreat in the cave, his purposeful withdrawal which somehow burned like a wound. And hardest of all, he tried to shed Bruce Wayne and the bitter taste of his kiss, the sting of his public humiliation, the confusing, gut-wrenching pull he felt toward a man who seemed to embody everything he despised.

By the time the familiar patchwork of Kansas farmland spread out below him, a deep, cellular exhaustion had settled into his bones. This kind of fatigue, a yellow sun could not burn away. This was a soul-deep weariness, a tangling of identities and desires so knotted he couldn't find a thread to pull.

He landed softly behind the barn, the scent of hay and rich earth a welcome balm. Inside the house, the warm glow of the kitchen beckoned. He could hear the low murmur of the television and his father's quiet chuckle. Home. The one place he didn't have to pretend. Or so he told himself.

The moment he stepped through the back door, his mother looked up from the sink, her hands still soapy. Her smile was instant, but her eyes, those eyes that had seen through every scraped knee and boyhood lie, squinted with concern.

"Clark? What a surprise!" Martha Kent wiped her hands on her apron and crossed the kitchen to hug him, her embrace as solid and comforting as it had been when he was eight. She held on tight, too long. "Everything all right, honey?"

Jonathan muted the TV, his gaze steady and searching over the rim of his reading glasses. "You look beat, son."

"Long week," Clark managed, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "Just needed a little… home."

"Well, you came to the right place," Martha said, full of a warmth that almost made him feel guilty. "I've got a fresh blueberry pie cooling. Your favorite."

Over slices of pie that tasted more like comfort than food, they talked about the farm, about a neighbor's new tractor, about the ridiculous price of feed. The conversation was a gentle current, pulling him away from the jagged shores of Gotham. But he knew they were just waiting. They could sense the storm clouds behind his eyes.

"So," Jonathan said, setting his fork down with a soft clink. "This long week. Anything to do with that Wayne fella you wrote about?"

Clark's stomach tightened. "Part of it. Work's been… complicated since I interviewed him."

Martha reached across the table, her hand covering his. Her skin was warm, her touch a familiar anchor. "Is it just work, Clark? You've got that look. The one you get when something's weighing on your heart." She paused. "Is there a girl?"

The question pierced the kitchen's silence like an icepick through stained glass. A girl. The words, so simple, so innocent, twisted the knot of shame and frustration in his gut until he could barely breathe. It was the question he'd been deflecting his entire life, the assumption that had followed him from Smallville High to the Daily Planet. In that single moment, decades of careful evasions, of half-truths and outright lies, crystallized into a guilt that was suddenly far too heavy to carry silently any longer.

He saw it all: the forced smiles at family reunions when aunts asked if he was seeing anyone special, the way he'd let Lois play along on the phone, a performance for their benefit, the solitary ache of watching other people build lives he felt were forbidden to him. He was living in two separate worlds. The life he performed for his parents, and the lonely, hollow one he lived for himself. He couldn't do it anymore. The hiding was more exhausting than the fear of rejection.

His hand trembled, the fork rattling against his plate. He put it down, his gaze dropping to the half-eaten pie.

"Clark?" Martha was gentle, laced with worry.

He took a breath that felt like swallowing sand. He couldn't look at them. Not yet.

"There's… there's not a girl, Ma." His own voice sounded foreign, thin, strained. He finally forced himself to lift his head, to meet their confused, loving eyes. "There's… a guy."

A fragile and terrifying beast of silence. He watched his parents' faces, bracing for the impact. He saw surprise first, wide and undisguised. He saw confusion. He searched for disappointment, for the subtle tightening around the mouth or the flicker of judgment in their eyes that he had always feared. But it wasn't there.

Jonathan was the first to break the silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze unwavering. "Okay," he said. Just that one word. Steady. Solid.

Martha's hand squeezed his. "Oh, honey." Her voice was thick with emotion. "Okay. Is he… is he nice?"

The simple, domestic question was so unexpected it almost broke him. A choked, wet laugh escaped him. "Not really. I… I don't know. It's complicated." He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling the dam wall he'd maintained for thirty years begin to crumble. "It didn't work out."

"We're so sorry, sweetheart," Martha said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looked at Jonathan, then back at Clark. "But… why didn't you ever tell us? How long have you known?"

Martha trembled around the words, the ache of decades' worth of birthdays and heartaches and silent pain Clark had suffered carrying this secret weighing down on every syllable. This was the part he dreaded almost as much. "A long time," he mumbled, looking at his hands. "Since I was a kid, I guess."

"A kid?" Jonathan asked, stunned.

"And you never said a word?" Martha quivered.

He couldn't lie. Not anymore. "I told Lois," he admitted, the words barely a whisper. "About four years ago."

He saw the hurt land then. There was no anger, only a deep sadness that washed over their faces, aging them in an instant. His mother's hand slipped from his. His father leaned back in his chair, the solid lines of his face seeming to soften and sag.

"Clark," Jonathan rasped. "We… we're your parents. Why would you feel you had to hide something like that from us? Did you think we wouldn't love you?"

And there it was. The raw, honest heart of it all.

"No!" Clark said, tearing from his throat. "No, I always knew you loved me. That was never it." He took a ragged breath, words finally coming, a torrent of confession held back for too long. "It was… things you'd say. Little things. You probably don't even remember."

He looked from his mother's stricken face to his father's pained one. "Watching the news, when there'd be a pride parade or something. You'd say things like, 'I've got no problem with those gays, but why do they have to flaunt it all the time?' Or that time Mrs. Gable's son came to visit with his… his partner, and after they left, you said you felt sorry for her, that it wasn't natural. You said it at the dinner table. Right here."

He gestured to the familiar wood, the stage for so many of his childhood fears. "You didn't mean it to be hateful. I know you didn't. But I was just a kid, and I heard that. And I thought… this part of me, this thing that I am… it's something to be sorry for. It's something to keep hidden. Something that would make you see me as… unnatural."

The kitchen was utterly silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator. Martha was openly crying now, her hand covering her mouth as if to hold back a sob.

Jonathan was dawning horror and deep, genuine remorse. He looked at his hands, then at his wife, and finally at his son. His eyes were red-rimmed.

"Oh, God," Jonathan whispered. He pushed his chair back and stood up, walking around the table to stand before Clark. He put his large, calloused hands on Clark's shoulders. "Clark, look at me."

Clark forced his tear-filled eyes up to meet his father's.

"I am so sorry," Jonathan said, thick with a shame so profound it was humbling. "I am so, so sorry, son. We were ignorant. Stupid—"

"No, Pa, don't say that—"

"We were. We were wrong. And we hurt you. We made you feel like you had to hide from your Ma and Pa in your own home. There is no excuse for that. None."

He pulled Clark to his feet, wrapping him in an embrace that felt like it could mend broken bones. It was the hug of a father admitting his failure, a hug begging for a forgiveness he didn't feel he deserved. Martha joined them, her arms circling both her husband and her son, her quiet sobs muffled against Clark's back.

They stood there for a long time, a tangle of arms and apologies and tears. In the circle of their embrace, Clark felt the burden dissolving into dust, molecule by molecule. For the first time in as long as he could remember, standing in the heart of his family, he was miraculously light.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

18

author's note: I love you all you have no clue how much your responses mean to me 🥹

[silent-swooner]

This is such a good series and the first superbat fanfic I ever read! 🥺🩷

Gotham is Burning. MASTERPOST

𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙩. 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙖𝙡.

AO3 LINK 🦇 18+ 🦸🏻‍♂️ COMPLETED!

WC ~ 113k

Summary:

"Were you aware that LuthorCorp was using Wayne technology in their illegal weapons programs?"

For the first time, Bruce looked genuinely surprised. "Those contracts were terminated."

"When? Before or after Luthor's crimes became public?"

Bruce was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. "I'd have to check with our legal department about the specific timeline."

"So you don't know?"

Bruce was silent.

Gotham's drowning, Batman's bleeding, and a nosy reporter won't stop asking why.

Three years after the flood, a rot festers, born from the stragglers of Riddler's movement.

The Sons of Gotham, neo-Nazis with mysteriously deep pockets, rise from the grime. Bruce bleeds for a city that keeps sinking.

Enter Clark Kent: infuriatingly earnest, maddeningly handsome, and asking questions Bruce can't answer.

When threats grow too big for one city, Batman reluctantly teams up with Superman. Saving Gotham wasn't hard.

Letting someone help? Letting someone in? Easier said than done.

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal, Top Clark Kent, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Knows Clark Kent is Superman, Clark Kent Doesn't Know Bruce Wayne is Batman, Clark Kent Hates Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Hates Himself, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, Touch-Starved, Making Out, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Idiots in Love, Gay Sex, Bisexual Bruce Wayne, Gay Clark Kent, Internalized Homophobia, Gay Panic, Everyone Is Gay, Coming Out, Clark Kent is actually good at his job in this, Batman Played by Robert Pattinson and Superman Played By David Corenswet, Batman Played by Robert Pattinson, Stalking, Surveillance, Slight Voyeurism, Service Top, Power Bottom, Bruce Wayne Has Mental Health Issues, Clark Kent Has a Large Penis, Clark Kent Has a Crush on Bruce Wayne, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Spoilers for Movie: Superman (2025), Racism, Homophobia, Misogyny, Antisemitism, Nazis, Neo-Nazis, Hate Speech

here's a playlist i made and listened to while writing this ❤️

Beautiful fanart made for this fic:

@olliethewise art

@he1chouarts art

@lovelettersto-mars art

chapters here 👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾

ACT ONE (1-14)

Chapter 1

Summary: The crowd surged, a wave of bodies crashing against the wall of shields, their chants for justice turning into desperate screams. Seconds from a riot.

Time to work.

Chapter 2

Summary: "You get into some kind of trouble?" Clark gestured to his worn knuckles.

Bruce cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "Boxing club. Been at it for a few years now. It's a good workout."

Chapter 3

Summary: The article was a masterpiece.

He hated it with every fiber of his being.

Chapter 4

Summary: @WayneLoyalist76: this clown frm metropolis comes here for 1 day n thinks he understands gotham? BW has done more for this city than any WINNY ASS FAKE NEWS REPORTER!! he creates JOBS!! rember tht when you cash ur paycheck. #StandWithWayne #FakeNews

Chapter 5

Summary: Bruce had never met the Kryptonian face-to-face.

Chapter 6

Summary: "But you have to admit, for a parasitic symbol of late-stage capitalism… he's kind of hot."

Clark blinked. "What?"

Chapter 7

Summary: Then the observer in him reasserted control, screaming that this was a weakness. A compromise. A fatal crack in his armor.

Chapter 8

Summary: The fear that had gripped him moments before burned away, consumed by a sudden, volcanic surge of anger.

Chapter 9

Summary: On the outside, in thick, black marker, were three words:

FOR THE BATMAN

Chapter 10

Summary: "The radiation," Bruce realized. "You absorbed it."

Superman's eyes fluttered, unfocused. "Had to... protect you..."

Chapter 11

Summary: "Clark."

He turned back, surprised to hear his name.

"Fly safe."

Chapter 12

Summary: She tilted her head. "You can lie to the papers, you can lie to the city, you can even lie to yourself. But you can't lie to me. I know you too well. I've seen you naked."

Chapter 13

Summary: Wasn't this a betrayal of his own principles? This secret, embarrassing indulgence?

Chapter 14

Summary: He was here because Alfred had insisted.

"A strategic appearance, Master Bruce. To show them the article did not wound you."

A lie. It had flayed him open.

ACT TWO (15-22)

Chapter 15

Summary: "Fortunately, our interests align perfectly. You want power. I want... let's call it justice."

Chapter 16

Summary: He looked at Clark's earnest face. To say no would be arrogant. Illogical. A lie.

And he was tired of lying.

He gave a nod. "Your assistance," he said, the words feeling foreign and stiff, "would be… efficient."

Chapter 17

Summary: Superman stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his presence a silent, overwhelming weight. He was the good cop by default. His disappointment was occasionally a more potent weapon than his fists.

Chapter 18

Summary: She wore her masks as easily as she wore her skin, and he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

She looked free.

Chapter 19

Summary: He could have disabled every man in the room in the time it took to blink, a whirlwind of blue and red. But that wasn't Batman's way. It was about instilling a specific, targeted fear. The hunt.

And God, it was intoxicating to watch.

Chapter 20

Summary: But he could also hear something else. Protesters, coordinating, forming ranks. They were linking arms, creating human chains to guide people to safety despite the danger.

Messy humanity. Beautiful, stubborn, impossible humanity.

Chapter 21

Summary: To understand a machine so completely that you could kill it with a whisper, a single, misplaced cog. That was power.

Chapter 22

Summary: It was the most terrifying touch of his life.

ACT THREE (23-34)

Chapter 23

Summary: The last time someone—who wasn't Alfred—had looked at him with that kind of desperate, thankful care, his parents were still breathing.

Chapter 24

Summary: "Clark."

Bruce was quiet. Clark turned back.

"Stay?"

Chapter 25

Summary: "That's an impressive suit," Clark said, once the last of the thugs were dealt with.

She ran a hand over the reinforced material on her arm. "Send your compliments to the chef. The Bat designed it."

Chapter 26

Summary: "Okay, so they're definitely fucking," he said, picking up right where they left off, ignoring Terrific's withering glare from across the table.

Chapter 27

Summary: "Is that what you want? A real relationship?" He asked it like Clark had just proposed they fly to the moon.

Chapter 28

Summary: "Kal-El. My Superman. I've watched you flying around this city, playing hero with your little bat-friend. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I wouldn't care?"

Chapter 29

Summary: "This works," Bruce said, the words feeling heavy, inadequate. He cleared his throat. "With you."

Clark's smile returned, even softer this time. "We make a good team."

Bruce returned the smile for once.

Chapter 30

Summary: "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. Pack something warm."

"I hate surprises."

"Come on, Bruce. Do I have to beg?"

Chapter 31

Summary: A city cleansed of the weak, the foreign, the different, the outcast, the transient. A city for true men of God. A city for them.

Chapter 32

Summary: "Don't you get it?! No one will ever understand what you are the way I do! What you could be. What we could be. If you stopped pretending to be less than what you are and accepted the magnitude of what I am."

Chapter 33

Summary: Bruce reached up, touching his own face as if to confirm its exposure. His fingers came away smudged with the black greasepaint. "I'm not sure I know how to do that," he admitted. "Be both at once."

"You're doing it right now," Clark said.

Chapter 34

Summary: He still wasn't used to this. Being a part of someone's happiness rather than fear. Being welcomed rather than tolerated. Loved rather than merely useful.

Chapter 35

Summary: "I can't..." Clark whispered, trapped between longing and terror.

"You can," Bruce countered, a rough caress. "I want you to." He pressed their foreheads together, breath hot against Clark's lips.

Chapter 36

Summary: "But," Bruce continued, fingers resuming their path through Clark's hair, "things are changing with Batman joining the League."

Clark's head shot up. "Wait, really? As an official member?"

"Yes."

Like, comment, share! Show ur girl some love!! 💞

[silent-swooner]

THE PARALLELS 🥺 (a match made in heaven fr)

Superman (2025) // The Batman (2022)

[silent-swooner]

stop that is so cute 🥺💗

i love this little group portrait they have

[silent-swooner]

this is actually really sweet 🤭🩷 (and hot oml 🥵)

about the suit... ft. CLARK KENT

NSFW 18+. MDNI. CW: thigh riding, fem!reader, established relationship, praise (f receiving), dom!clark, sub!reader, light teasing, clark likes to watch you get off.

"There you go," CLARK KENT breathes, pressing his forehead against yours. His fingers curled against your hips. Sweat bead on your forehead as you used a slow motion to rock your center against his spandex clad thigh. With a shy gaze, you looked down to where your center connected with his thigh, the pure intimacy of him watching you like this was enough to send you spiraling. When Clark walked in after saving Metropolis (yet again), you saw him slightly battered with dirt smeared across his face. Your first reaction should have been concern, but he was Superman after all. You hardly ever had to worry about his physical health. Instead of worry clouding your brain, arousal filled the pit of your stomach, and Clark could read your micro expressions like he was created to cater to your every whim.

"C'mere," the superhero spoke, a gentle domineering undertone laced in the words that sounded meshed together in your brain. It's how you ended up with each leg on either side of him, stripped down into nothing but your underwear as you found relief on Clark's muscular thigh.

Your nose scrunched as you rocked back and forth on his leg, and when he was sure you were experiencing pure bliss at the expense of just moving your core against his clothed thigh, Clark let out a teasing chuckle. There was something so addicting about getting you in this state— mind fuzzy, lips parted, eyes teary from the pleasure. Clark didn't even need to get himself off when watching you was a treat in itself. "Makin' a mess on my suit," he teased. Light teasing was fine, but he didn't want you getting too self conscious on him. Not when he thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world. No. The most beautiful thing in the universe. "Sorry," you mumbled, but the word came out slurred and nearly incoherent. If Clark didn't have super hearing, he probably wouldn't have been able to make out the jumbled syllables as an apology. "Don't apologize, sweetheart," Clark leaned in, kissing the corner of your mouth. With your heartbeat quickening at the sweet gesture, Clark stilled your rocking motion by tightening his thumb and forefinger around your hips. "Slow down, baby. I can hear your heart threatening to jump out of your chest." Whines slipped from you at the loss of friction between your thighs. The ache of your orgasm was approaching quickly, and Clark stopping your movements was less than satisfactory. Using all your force, you tried to undermine him by bucking your hips back and forth. Unfortunately, Clark had more strength in his thumb and forefinger than you did in your entire body. "Hey, hey," Clark used his other hand to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. He grabbed your pouty lips and gave you a pointed look. It wasn't often that he scolded you. On the contrary, he let you get away with too much. "When have I ever not let you finished?" "Never," you whined, feeling a tad silly for the neediness clear in your voice. "Let me take it from here," Clark commanded as he placed both his hands on either side of your hips, digging his fingers into the softness of your flesh with such a familiar ease. With a tight grip on you, he didn't let you rock against him. Instead, he controlled the motions, making sure you weren't overstimulating yourself too much on his thigh. "Good girl. I got ya." Honing in on the way Clark's muscles moved under his suit made your mouth water. His biceps stiffened under his suit with each of his movements only making the spandex suit tighten to highlight what was underneath. Your eyes glistened with pure pleasure, you covered your mouth as Clark flexed his thigh underneath you. The feel of his muscles against your clit made you tense, and before you could warn him, or even try to stave off your orgasm, your panties were drenched with your climax. "Let's get cleaned up," Clark pressed a kiss to your temple, then continued, "And then we can have some dinner."

[silent-swooner]

When I visited France at the end of last year I binged skam France on YouTube and it made the all experience so much more immersive for me 😭

i don’t wanna hear ANYONE complaining about their fandom being dead until they come and join me and the 4 other people still in the skam fandom

[silent-swooner]

i still can't get over the fact that isak and evan talk about parallel universes and how there are probably infinite versions of them and their relationship and then we get to see those parallel universes. and it was done before the remakes were a thing. like how crazy is that.

[silent-swooner]

okay i'm clearly on a journey through fandom memory lane but it really is wild to me that a random norwegian teen drama cracked the code on how to perfectly market and promote a show in the age of social media and NO ONE ELSE (besides the countries trying to create their own version of the same show ig) has emulated it?????????? like?????????? legitimate social media profiles for your characters????????? with posts and instagram stories from them that fit within the plot as well as offering a fun little extra insight into the characters/friendships/relationships?????? groundbreaking. i had instagram notifications turned on for FICITONAL CHARACTERS. one of your characters wants to be a director??? here's his real youtube channel with a video he made for his boyfriend's birthday full of never before seen clips that don't exist on the show?!?!?!?!?! unbelievable. you want your show to be immersive??? you want the audience to feel like they're living within the pov of your main character?? drop a clip/sneak peek in real time as it's supposed to happen in the episode so your audience is thinking about it 24/7. genius!!!!!! like can you imagine if circa 2018 everything didn't move to full season dumps and instead shows that aired on a weekly basis and incorporated even one of these things became the norm??????? we were robbed of what could've been

[silent-swooner]

no you guys don’t understand how insane the skam experience was. if you weren’t in norway, you were literally waiting for one of the many norwegian angels to take the clips that dropped in real time on the skam site on a daily basis, and translate and upload them to a google drive so everyone else could watch them. i literally watched that show via google drive and it was all thanks to the regular fans who took the time to translate the clips so others could enjoy the show. a whole community was built via google drive. and then a whole universe was built with about eight different remakes of the show coming out of one little show that started in norway and was only meant to stay in norway.

[silent-swooner]

THIS IS SO CUTE 💗 (they’re so soft 🥹)

slow mornings ⋆˙⟡

the sun's up early, peeking through the sheer curtains hung in your bedroom. your eyes open slowly, blinking away the night and welcoming a new day. clark's already awake, contently watching you and drawing lazy circles on your hip. your leg is slung across his, hand resting on his bare chest. a yawn from you erupts the comfortable silence, and he chuckles.

"g'morning sweetheart." he smiles when you turn your head to look at him. his ocean blue eyes sparkle in the early morning sunlight. he notices your heart rate picks up from that slow, steady rhythm it has while you rest. "mornin' handsome..." you peck his cheek and smile as blush curls around his ears. you sit up to check the clock like you always do, 6:47 am, and groan aloud. clark reads your mind and immediately opens his mouth to reassure you. "it's saturday, hun."

a sigh of relief leaves you as you slump back into his arms. you feel a laugh rumble in his chest, and you nuzzle your head further into the crook of his neck. he hums in satisfaction as you begin planting soft kisses along his jawline. "sleep good?" you ask, muffled behind his skin. you smile at his little 'mhm' and reach up to run your fingers through his curls. slowly, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to sit on top of him. you shuffle, positioning your legs at his sides to get comfortable.

"hi, beautiful." he says, looking up at you with pure admiration. even with sleep in your eyes and messy bed head, you were still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. you felt butterflies in your stomach flutter, proof that somehow, he still made you feel as you did the day you met. "hi.." you said with a light chuckle, leaning down to place a loving kiss to his soft lips. he smiled into the kiss, placing his hands on your waist. you pulled away slowly, letting your body fall onto his.

as you got comfortable in your new position, he stroked your hair soothingly. you hummed in satisfaction, a non-verbal request for him to keep going. soon after, he heard soft snores and breaths emitting from you. with a light chuckle, he lifted his head from the pillow to softly kiss yours. laying back down, he decided it wasn't such a bad idea to get a few more hours of sleep in. so, as the city of metropolis slowly rose to its feet; streets busy, cafes full, there was the two of you. resting peacefully in your own quiet world, full of love.

a/n: thought of this yesterday morning and thought it was adorable. just had to write it! :3 hope u love it!! 💝 xo, lex

[silent-swooner]

I love love love this concept 🥹🩷👑

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠... 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫-𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬'𝐝 [𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭!𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐮]

||۶ৎ 𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬

You are the second daughter to the king and queen, born in a life ruled by social expectations and a greed for higher power. Your hand has been promised to the son of a higher-up, the relationship creating an alliance with another kingdom and also keeping your own family relevant in status.

Darry Curtis is the kingdom's most trusted knight and had sworn an oath to protect you with his life. However, as duty forces you both into constant company, that protection turns into something more personal and far more dangerous.

You're set up to marry another, and yet your heart belongs to Darry. If you both get caught, your love is punishable by death. Yet that doesn't deter you.

In fact, it only fuels the already burning fire.

||۶ৎ darry masterlist

||۶ৎ tag list. @mrsdillonx , @goingdelux18 , @princesshailierawr , @r0seb100d , @groovydonutpost, @rizzraa , @sheepandlams , @marinefreaakk , @sugarrootwrites , @marilyn-girly , @itonlyhastobetruetoday , @dairyfairyy , @williamafton26 , @mystiqueonfleek007 , @atpeacee , @theoneandonly-vrg , @hge-cok , @warped-rabbithole , @muu-5uvii , @fatalloveanddevotion  , @jamesdeanbby , @alula394 , @goldennviolet , @i3beingcuntyyyy , @johnnycadesslut , @stygldd , @strippedversion161 , @itssophieyall , @itsyumi-darlin , @larallott , @johnnycadesmuse , @livelaugglovetheoutsiders

[silent-swooner]

absolutely ADORE 🤭🩷💐

how to: fall in love again

summary: lovergirl at heart, you've decided love isn't anything you're willing to risk pursuing again after your last boyfriend. and then comes clark kent who's a little too perfect at breaking down those walls. and isn't that terrifying?

word count: 10.8k...yeah <3

a/n: the word count getting longer when i edited oh i'm sure. this one was serious to me. like notes app outline, specific through-line playlist, pinterest board inspo serious. hope it's serious for you guys too hehe fem!reader, no spoilers, avoidant attachment tbh, bit angsty but happy ending! happy reading, let me know what you think <3

If there was anyone more cynical about love in Metropolis than you, you’d be delighted to know. 

It’s not like you’re against love by any means. In fact, you really, well, love it. You love your friends and you love seeing them in love. You enjoy romance books and love songs and romantic comedies. You take pleasure in finding the ways in which love is around you each day. 

You’ve just decided that romantically, it’s not for you. Not anymore, at least. 

It’s been three years since you swore off of it and honestly? You’re doing great! So what if sometimes a viscous yearning creeps through your apartment on a Sunday night? That hardly means anything!

Relationships are one thing and you’ve had your fair share. Once in high school, a couple in college. They never ended well, not like how you would’ve wanted rather. Sometimes they faded like a bruise and other times you were left alone and behind in the rearview. 

But none of that mattered to you anymore once you met Ben.

Six years ago, you fell in love. Ben was a dream and a half. The kind of guy you bring home to your parents and revel in the way they gush over him and the both of you together. The kind of guy someone writes songs about with a swooning guitar and lyrics that wax poetic. The kind of guy you marry. At the time, Ben was it for you. 

Then, three years ago, Ben broke your heart. You hadn’t seen it coming. It felt completely out of left field. You believed you were everything each other wanted until he was walking out the door. 

“I’m not..happy anymore. I don’t know how to make you happy.” He had said and you remember a nauseating confusion coursing through your veins. What did that mean? You were happy….weren’t you? And before he walked out the door, “I hope you find someone who does.”

He clearly had. Two months later he was engaged to another woman you’d had in your home at dinner parties and holidays and suddenly it all clicked. You’re only slightly embarrassed to admit how long you cried and the amount of sweets you ate to try and feel better. 

While the wound was still fresh, the ache cutting so deep in your bones, you decided you never wanted to risk feeling like that again. It took you a while before you felt like you were yourself again.

Two years ago, you got a job as a columnist for the Daily Planet. A basic “how-to” column that you’ve come to love, even if you’d rather be writing something more substantial. There, you met Clark Kent. 

He was everything Ben wasn’t from the second you were introduced. The second he’d fixed his striking blue eyes on yours and smiled at you, something inside you jolted. And you’ve been petrified ever since.

Because if there was anyone who could make you consider taking that risk again, it was Clark.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

It’s a busy day at the Daily Planet. Well, it’s always “busy” but it’s especially so today. The printers are working overtime and there’s people fluttering all about, checking edits and typing like there’s no tomorrow. An argument splits open near the coffee counter. 

Deadlines will do that to you.

You’d arrived earlier than usual, earlier than you needed to considering you were basically done with your newest “how-to” for the next print. Still, the only time you can pin Perry White down to talk to him about writing for something other than your column is on his way from the coffee machine and back to his office. 

“But Perry, I think I’ve really got something here! If you’d just look at it-” your footsteps are hurried as you keep pace with Perry. He stops suddenly and you nearly stumble over yourself, words getting cut off.

“Look kid, I appreciate your enthusiasm but right now I need you to stick to your how-to’s,” he fixes you a look and fits his cigar between his lips before resuming his trail to his office. You sigh, but you don’t want to give up that easily.

“But could you at least just-” you start to plead and then you’re cut off again. He holds up a finger this time and heaves a sigh.

“I’ve given you my answer, kid. We’ve got a deadline to meet.” The words form around the cigar in his mouth. You wither, footsteps faltering. 

“Yes, Chief,” you sigh, to which he just shakes his head. Your shoulders sag, the entirety of your body drooping like a wilted rose. When Perry’s out of earshot you toss your head back with a frustrated groan. 

This wasn’t exactly where you thought you’d be by now. Two years seemed like enough time to establish yourself at the Daily Planet. Your little column that’s shoved towards the back of the paper seemed like as good a stepping stone as any towards writing about something more. 

It’s not like you dislike your column, in fact, you really enjoy it. You just feel like you have more to offer after two years if Perry would just give you the chance one of these days.

You’re admittedly, a little visibly pouty on your way to your desk. It feels a little childish, like you might as well cross your arms and stomp your foot with a hmph! You don’t, of course. Though maybe it’d provide some kind of emotional release. That’s why toddlers do it, right?

As you near your desk you notice there’s a new coffee cup waiting for you by your keyboard. The culprit, you notice next, is standing next to your desk with his bag still on his shoulder like he just got in. Which, he probably did.

It’s hard for you to stay grumpy at the sight of Clark. His tie is slightly askew and he’s holding his own cup of coffee, hot where yours is iced. 

He’s far too nice to you, you think, but he’s a wonderful friend. And God knows you were in dire need of a good one after what happened. Sometimes though, when you start to feel a little lonely, you wonder if he’d be a wonderful boyfriend too, but you’re quick to shove that aside. 

It’s better for you to just be friends. Less scary that way. Less of a risk that you end up absolutely demolished again, too.

“Was just dropping this off. Just how you like it,” he says when you’re within earshot, motioning towards the coffee that wasn’t there when you’d gone after Perry this morning. You can see the ring of condensation it leaves against the lacquered top of your desk. You smile at him.

“Thank you. You know you don’t have to.” 

He matches your smile and shrugs. 

“Yeah but I want to,” he says. There’s a faint pink that blushes his cheeks but you think it might just be the lighting. Still, you revel in the fact that he wants to do a nice thing for you. You try to quell it. The familiar fear of getting too close to someone again prickling your skin.

On paper, Clark is the perfect guy to be with after Ben. He’s charming and patient and kind, overwhelmingly so, to everything and everyone he encounters. He never fails to make you smile. Doesn’t hurt that he’s devastatingly handsome, too. 

Truth is, Clark Kent scares you to death.

“How’d it go with Perry this morning?” he asks, breaking you from your thoughts. You deflate, frustrated all over again. A grimace pulls at his face at the look on yours and the huff that escapes you. “That bad?”

“He refused to read it! Appreciates my enthusiasm but wants me to,” you twist your voice into your best impression of your editor-in-chief, “stick to my how-tos.”

You relish in the chuckle your impression pulls out of Clark. He opens his mouth to say something and is cut off.

“Stop flirting and get to work, Kent. We’ve got a deadline,” Perry’s voice seems to boom as he strides past your bullpen on the floor. Clark flounders, cheeks warming into an embarrassed red. You’re all too aware of the amount of eyes on you and you feel yourself start to fold inwards.

The two of you look at each other and Clark flashes you a tight lipped, shy smile. He motions towards his desk across the way and you nod, wordlessly communicating with each other.

“Thanks again for the coffee,” you say before he can walk away. 

“Anytime, really,” he says as he passes. There’s a fleeting press of his hand against your back. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, heat radiating out from where his touch lingered. You steel yourself for a beat before sitting down at your desk. 

The ice in your coffee shifts as you log into your computer. You glance over to Clark though you can only see the back of his head from here. The side of your hand brushes against the cold drops of condensation on your coffee cup. Goosebumps skitter up your arm.

When you finally take the first sip, a pleased hum drifts out of you. It’s just how you like it, like he had said, but it’s also better somehow. Familiar, but different in the best way. 

Just like Clark, you think.

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Despite it being sarcasm, you can’t get Perry’s insinuation that Clark was flirting with you out of your head. It’s been weeks and no matter how hard you try, it stays at the back of your mind constantly. And it’s starting to do a number to your nervous system.

Sure, maybe your interactions can be read as flirtatious but Clark’s also your closest friend. It’s just friendly banter and actions to show you care. Hardly anything romantic. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself anyway.

It’s a Wednesday towards the end of summer when you start to notice something different. 

The second the workday ends, you’re logging out with a swiftness. You’re not alone. Nearly everyone at the surrounding desks does the same. 

There’s a shuffle of sound as everyone starts to pack up their things. The corner of your notebook bends as you shove it in your bag and you curse under your breath. You’re inspecting it, trying to bend it back into place but the crease is still there in the corner. Annoying.

“Heading out?” 

The sound of Clark’s voice behind you makes you jump in surprise, your bag falling from your hands and to the ground. You’re pressing your hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when you turn to face him.

Clark has a bad habit of sneaking up on you. You’re not sure how someone so…big can be so quiet. Or how he only seems to be able to sneak up on you, considering his occasional clumsiness tends to alert his presence. Too busy always trying to not occupy so much space that he almost seems to occupy even more. 

“Sorry! Sorry.” He’s dropped to the ground to retrieve your bag and bent notebook for you. His lips press together in a sympathetic grimace as he hands them over. Your hand falls from your chest to take them. 

“Jesus, you’re like a stealth agent or something, Clark. I’ll never understand it.” You shove the notebook into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. He shakes his head and is reaching to grab your water bottle for you before you even get a chance to turn around and get it yourself.

He holds it out to you and you smile your thanks. There’s a shock of something almost magnetic when your fingers brush his in the exchange. You try not to flinch away too noticeably. 

“Do you have plans? Like, now?” he asks, almost a little nervous. It makes you nervous and you hesitate in your movements. The corners of your eyes crease as you narrow them quizzically at him. “Sorry, that was..really forward.”

“No…why?” You start to walk away, full trust that he’ll follow you. He does. You slide your water bottle into your bag as you walk, Clark keeping pace. “Do you?”

“Oh! No, no I–Well…maybe?” he stumbles over his words and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His shoulders straighten just a tad. “There’s this new ice cream place that just opened downtown and I saw it and thought of you and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to check it out?”

You nearly trip over yourself, a pit dropping from your throat to your stomach. He thought of you. Is he asking you on a date? He thought of you. A mirage of emotions rushes through you and over your face. Clark starts to panic at your silence.

“Totally friendly!” You let out a soft breath. He thought of you. “Obviously! We don’t have to, unless you want to. And it doesn’t have to be tonight, sorry I didn’t–”

Clark’s a panic rambler you’ve come to notice. It’s rather endearing if you’re honest. The two of you pause outside the elevator. You nudge him with your shoulder which jostles you more than it does him.

“Tonight’s great, Clark,” you say, cutting off his rambling. He looks at you and breathes something like a sigh of relief at the sight of your smile. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. He lets you in first, mumbling under his breath.

“Great. Great, okay.”

Clark leads you around downtown Metropolis, his hand hovering just above the small of your back as a guide when needed. You fall into step and easy conversation the whole way, Clark making you laugh without even trying to be funny. 

You mention the argument that you heard break out by the coffee this morning and he tells you it was Jimmy and Lois arguing–Jimmy annoyed that Lois has used up all the sugar. He mentions his Ma is planning to come visit him in the coming weeks and you swear you can feel your chest start to expand at the evident admiration for her in his voice. 

“Here it is!” he announces a few minutes later as you turn a corner. 

The first thing you notice is the red, yellow, and blue striped awning with scalloped edges. A sign above reads Super Scoops in bright letters and a bold font. The obvious hero homage makes you snort but the small line out the door leads you to believe it must be good.

“How’d you find this place?” you ask, relishing in the shade the awning gives while you wait in line.

“Just happened upon it on the way into work today,” he shrugs. He hopes you don’t realize his route to work from his apartment never crosses this section of downtown. If you do, he’s none the wiser. 

“And the whole,” you wave a hand around, “Superman of it all isn’t at all why you wanted to try it?”

You’re teasing. Poking a jest at his superhero work connection. Clark scoffs a little though there’s no malice behind it, and briefly wonders if maybe you’ve figured him out. (You haven’t.)

“No!” his voice pitches up an inch. “I know you like ice cream and you just did that how-to bit about summer and I just thought you might like it s’all.”

There he goes again. Thinking of you and sending your heart ablaze. You need to get a grip. 

The line moves quickly for which you’re thankful. When you get to the counter, you opt for a swirl of soft serve on a cone and Clark gets his in a cup. The price seems a little outrageous for what you’re getting and you accredit it to the theming. 

You pull out your wallet and Clark gives you a piercing look, bumping your hand away though not unkindly. You go to protest but relent and put your wallet back in your bag when he swipes his card. He shoves his wallet back into the pocket of his slacks, stepping off to the side with you.

“I could’ve paid for that, you know,” you say, eyes locked onto the employee dispensing the swirl of chocolate and vanilla onto a cone. The uniforms here are rather silly. Blue t-shirts with little red capes attached, the parlor’s logo on the back. 

“I know. I didn’t want you to,” he states simply, like he’s telling you the sky is blue. You probably should’ve expected it. Small town, farm boy chivalry and such. 

Clark collects your ice creams from the teenager behind the counter who looks a little miserable. You accredit that to the uniform. He passes your cone off to you as he leads you out the door. 

A comforting silence hangs around you as you linger in a little grassy patch next door. There’s kids running around and a dog chases them off leash. A hum of delight escapes you at your first taste of the soft serve. It’s exceptionally good.

Golden rays of the fading sun cast a radiant haze around the outline of your body. Ice cream is starting to melt around the rim of your cone. The surface tension breaks and a rivulet slips over your knuckles. You let out a soft gasp, more an exhale than anything and quickly lick it off. 

Clark’s looking at you. Endearment glimmers in his irises, the sunlight reflecting off of it. You’re trying desperately to ignore the sticky feeling on your knuckles. You need to wash your hands. Or steal a generous glob of hand sanitizer even.

You catch his eye and feel pinned by his stare. You blink at him. 

“What?” you ask. A thorn of self-consciousness pokes at you for a brief moment. Clark shakes his head.

You’ve got a smear of vanilla soft serve across your left cheek from when you tilted your hand to lick the ice cream off your knuckles. Your eyes are doe like. Backlit by the setting sun, the fleeting rays highlight the frizz in your hair, creating a halo around your head. 

Clark thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“You’ve got a little..” he gestures towards his own face. You bristle with a light embarrassment. Before you can reach up to wipe away the ice cream from your face, Clark beats you to it.

He’s somehow procured a napkin and softly wipes the ice cream you smeared across your cheek away. You don’t remember seeing him grab them on your way out of the parlor. 

Time seems to slow. The seconds drag by like the pouring of a thick stream of honey. The moment feels incredibly intimate for what it is. Your breath stills in your lungs. 

“There we go,” he says. He turns and tosses the napkin into the trashcan. The spell breaks. Your fingertips reach up to graze against the spot he cleaned. You drop them before he can turn back around to catch you.

“Thank you,” your voice feels a little shaky. Clark smiles at you with a soft shake of his head, a silent don’t worry about it, and takes a bite of his ice cream.

“This is really good,” he says, swallowing it down. He looks so..boyish in this moment and it does something funny to your heart. Combined with him wiping your face clean, you’re a little afraid you could go into spontaneous cardiac arrest.

You’re staring at him, something sweet and awe-like in your eyes. Something in Clark brightens at your attention. His cheeks twinge pink and he smiles softly. 

“Careful,” he points at your cone that’s starting to melt down to your fingers again. You blink away, embarrassed at your staring and hurriedly lick up the melted cream. What is going on with you?

Clark seems to have figured out a way to weasel himself inside and poke at your tender bits, making things in your chest twitch and move in a way they hadn’t in years. You weren’t sure when he had been able to step in so close to do so.

It feels all too familiar, yet different, just like that coffee he’d brought you a few weeks back. Your heart stutters, the beat spelling out an uh-oh.  

You think you might be falling in love with him.

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Things steadily progress with Clark after your ice cream not-date.

You’ve crossed into hug territory. Simple side ones when you see him in the office in the mornings. Longer, more proper ones when you go your separate ways after a hang out. Each one starts to untie the rope that’d been knotted around your heart three years ago. 

The risk grows more and more each day and now it feels even more ominous. Because now Clark’s more than just a potential romantic partner, he’s also one of your closest friends. And the thought of losing him in two ways instead of one scares you infinitely more.

You don’t mean to work so late on a Friday but it happens anyway and when you log out and pack up your things, the moon has risen completely in the sky. Clark has stayed late today too but you wonder if he was just waiting for you to finish so he can walk you home. 

You’ve never asked and he’s never outright offered except for the very first time. Now it’s just become something unspoken. A given in your friendship. You appreciate it all the same.

He lingers outside your apartment with you tonight and you can tell something’s bothering him. Like he’s holding himself back, restraining from something. You go to ask if he’s okay or what’s wrong but you never get the chance. 

Because Clark asks if you want to get dinner with him tomorrow night.

“Like a date. A nice, proper one with dinner and dessert.”

And despite the fear that shivers down your spine and the choking anxiety like a lump in your throat, you agree. 

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds…nice.” 

You hope your smile looks real and not as scared as you feel. He seems to buy it. He’s beaming with glee, trying to hide the intensity of it and failing. Quite adorably, you might add.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at 7.” He states. No sense of a question, just a simple statement. Warmth rushes through you. 

“Okay.” The word is pushed out with a breath. Clark smiles at you. 

“It’s a date!” 

His enthusiasm is comforting and you squeak out a confirming uh huh! which is all you can seem to muster. Words are failing you. He reaches out to squeeze your hand briefly instead of hugging you goodbye tonight. 

You’re grateful for the change, certain he would’ve been able to feel your racing heart when your chest pressed against him. You watch him walk a few strides down the hall before you go inside. 

You’re already nervous when you wake up on Saturday morning. You spend a lot of the day panicking, over both the mundane and existential. Should you wear a dress? What if this goes horribly sideways and the two of you never speak again?

The usual.

In the end, you decide on your nicest dress, or rather, the nicest date night dress you own. You feel good. So long as you don’t think too seriously about it all. 

You’re trying to practice some age-old breathing exercise in the mirror to calm your nerves. Trying not to overthink too much about your shoes or your hair or how this is your first date in three years. You’re interrupted by a knock on your door.

A quick glance at the clock on your way to the door shows it’s seven on the dot. You’re a little surprised at Clark’s punctuality. Not because you didn’t think he wouldn’t be but because you’ve never experienced it before. A punctual date, that is.

You pause at the door for a beat. Then, you shake out your hands and swing it open.

Clark stands at your doorstep with a bouquet of fresh cut flowers. Peonies and delphiniums, chamomile sprinkled amongst blushing roses in a brown paper wrapping tied with string. He must’ve stopped by the florist for these, you think. It might be the prettiest arrangement anyone’s ever shown you, let alone given you.

Clark is staring at you, jaw a little slack. You feel yourself start to fluster under his gaze, shrinking slowly. 

“Wow. You look..” his voice trails off, eyes dropping to what you’re wearing and back up to lock with yours. “You look great.”

Your smile is a little shy, bright around the edges. The heat beneath your skin makes you feel like you could burst into flames.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself,” you say. He’s wearing clothes similar to what he wears to work, a charcoal pair of slacks and the usual white button down but he’s not wearing a tie and the sleeves are pushed up his forearms. It’s really doing something to you. 

A blush rises on his cheeks and it’s his turn to offer you a shy smile. He clears his throat.

“These are for you,” he says, holding the flowers out for you to take. The paper crinkles as you take them from him. Your fingers brushing sends a pleasant zing! down your back. You can’t resist pressing your nose against the blossoms. 

“They’re beautiful,” you say on an inhale. Clark could say the same about you ten times over. “Come in. I’ll put them in a vase and then we can go?”

You back up to let Clark inside and he closes the door behind him. He stands in the tiny entryway. It’s not very big, your apartment; it looks even smaller with him standing in it.

“You can come in further, you know?” your laugh carries through the air like a breeze. He lingers in the entry of your shoebox kitchen now. The bouquet lays gently on the little kitchen table tucked away in a nook off the kitchen.

You’re grateful for the boost of height the kitten heels you decided on give you, albeit small, as you reach up to grab your favorite vase. Clark’s eyes trail after you as you flit around the kitchen. Watching as you bring the vase to the kitchen sink to fill it with water and take it over to the table.  

You untie the string and paper around the bouquet and place the flowers in the water with the utmost of care. It’s a perfect fit. You fluff it a little bit, arranging it so each blossom has space to shine. Then, you slide it to the center of your little homely kitchen table. 

It’s picturesque. And so are you, standing with your hands clasped, admiring it. Clark wishes he had a camera. You turn and look at him, taken aback a bit at the sweet look in his eyes.

“Ready?” you ask. Clark blinks like he’s been shaken out of a stupor. 

“Right. Yes! Let’s go.”

He follows close behind you as you grab your bag off the hook by the door and lock up. It’s your turn to follow him as soon as you leave your building. Ever the gentleman, he walks on the outside of the sidewalk and offers you his arm to hold.

Butterflies that have laid dormant inside you start to revive and flutter around your stomach. It’s a beautiful night in Metropolis, the sky clear and the air fresh. You think you’d be satisfied if you never made it to dinner and just walked around all night instead. Your feet might not thank you though. 

He takes you to a nice restaurant a few blocks over. A place as nice as this was always reserved for anniversary dates in the past, never for a first. This specific one Clark leads you into, you’d never been to. The reservations always too hard to come by.

You’re a little awestruck when you walk in. Your eyes dance around, taking it all in as you get seated. Beautiful artwork decorating the walls. The tables covered in pristine white linens. The lights are low and there’s music playing softly in the background. Clark pulls your chair out for you and pushes it in. 

“This place is so nice,” you say, as you sit. “How’d you even manage a reservation with so short notice?”

Clark looks a little sheepish, his shoulders hunching upwards towards his ears. 

“Oh I, uh- This is going to sound presumptuous and I apologize. I got one a while ago. It’s just taken me so long to work myself up to asking you out.” He says it like a confession. Something in you preens at the idea of Clark liking you so much, he’d plan so far ahead for a first date with you. 

Your nerves start to ease as the night progresses and maybe the bottle of red wine you share helps a bit too. It’s easy with Clark. As if you’ve always been doing this. It sends a thrill through you. 

Slowly but surely, your defenses start to come down. The hesitancy and fear that normally holds you back starts to fade. Clark starts to see you really shine with each new thing he learns and each new laugh that escapes you.

Just like he said when he asked you out, you get dessert after dinner. A rich slice of the most decadent chocolate cake you’ve ever had in your life. Your eyes close when you take the first bite, a delighted hum escaping you louder than you’d like. 

“Oh my god,” you open your eyes and the amused admiration in Clark’s eyes is clear as the moon in the sky. You get a little shy, your skin prickling under his gaze. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

You gesture for him to try it. Clark’s reaction almost mimics yours.

“Golly,” is all he says and you laugh a little at his choice of word, both of you going in for another bite. The cake is gone almost embarrassingly fast but you’re both too stuffed to care. The waiter drops off the check as you take your final sip of wine, draining the glass. 

He reaches for it without hesitation, doesn’t flinch at the total, just slides his card into the fold and sets it on the edge where it’s quickly retrieved. You fold your arms and rest them on the table, your hands holding on limply to the space above your elbows. 

The edges of you feel fuzzy. Your head is tilted a little towards your shoulder, a serene smile on your face. To Clark, you look radiant even in the dim lighting. When the waiter brings back his card, you watch as he signs and puts his card back in his wallet. 

He offers you his hand to help you out of your seat and neither of you let go as you walk out of the restaurant. In fact, you make the move to intertwine his fingers with yours and swing them a little between you. He pulls you into his side and you giggle, your shoulder bumping his bicep. 

You feel giddy head to toe. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the wine. Maybe it’s Clark’s fingers slotted between yours. Or the way he’s been looking at you all night.

All you know is you feel more happy than scared and it’s been so long since you’ve felt this way that you’ve forgotten how good it feels. And maybe it’s your lapse in memory or maybe it’s Clark but it feels even better this time around.

You’re laughing at something Clark says–he’s been making you do that a lot tonight–when there’s a call of your name. The laughter gets stuck in your throat and dies out quick, your steps faltering on the sidewalk. Clark’s eyes are swimming with concern when he looks at your face. 

“Is that you?” Ben’s voice is just like you remember it. You turn towards it and your hand falls out of Clark’s grip when you catch sight of him. Because standing next to him is Jane. Beautiful, alluring Jane who drank your wine at your hosted parties and probably slept in your bed when you weren’t around. 

You think you might be sick. 

“Oh my god, how are you?” Ben gives you a hug, like you’re still friendly and things ended amicably. Like the last time you saw him he didn’t put your heart through a paper shredder. Your limbs feel wooden as you half-heartedly reciprocate. Ben steps back and wraps his arm around Jane’s waist. “You remember Jane?”

She lifts her left hand in a wave and the streetlight overhead catches on the ring on her finger, making it glint. At least she looks a little awkward at the whole situation. You nod, a pounding starting to form behind your brow. 

“Yeah, I..I remember,” you reply. You take a deep breath, force yourself to smile and sound way more friendly than you feel. “Good to see you.”

The puzzle pieces start to click into place in Clark’s head. He’s not completely aware of your dating history but he’s easily figures out that’s what this is. And that you’re completely beside yourself. He’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist, steady and strong. You relax a bit without even realizing. 

Ben catches the motion and his eyebrows raise a hair. He has to look up at Clark, not by a lot but enough that you notice it if you’re paying close attention. And you are. Then Ben looks at you, silently waiting for an introduction.

“Oh. Ben,” his name tastes like venom on your tongue. “This is-”

“Clark Kent.” He finishes for you, taking a step forward and extending his hand. You think you can see Ben wince from Clark’s grip but it’s gone as soon as it arrives. (And if Clark put more of a grip into the handshake than normal, well that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

There’s a beat of silence that passes. The four of you stand on the sidewalk, almost mirror images of each other. The same wave of nausea passes over you, the pressure in your head getting worse.

“Well, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy,” Ben says, voice genuine. Something in you bristles at that, taking it more as one final nail in the coffin jab at you. Clark feels you stiffen in his hold. You’re not sure what to even say, lips parting but nothing coming out. 

It doesn’t seem to matter. Ben nods at you and Jane gives you a tight smile as they pass. You blink at their retreating figures. You’ve long since gotten over the love you held for him but you didn’t expect the pain of it all to still linger. 

You don’t want to let this one twisted encounter ruin the great night you’ve had with Clark but you can feel your reservations start to creep back in. It’s like Clark can see you start to slowly build those walls back up after he’d worked to pull them apart all night.

“Hey, you okay?” 

You focus on the good. The softness of his voice. The care in his eyes. The steadfast grip of his arm around your waist. You inhale and on your exhale, flash him a shaky smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, that was just…” A plethora of words dance around your head. Weird. Unexpected. Awful. Horrifying. “Strange.”

Clark nods and glances over his shoulder in the direction they walked off in. He looks back at you, your eyes locked where his just were. He clears his throat softly and your gaze finds his.

“Sorry but, I couldn’t stand that guy.” A sudden laugh, loud and genuine bursts out of you. A sentence so unlike Clark and yet, you can tell he means it. His eyes crinkle at the corners at the glow that’s started to come back to your face. He almost hadn’t noticed how dim you’d become in that guy’s presence. 

“Yeah,” you say, as your laughter dies down. Your smile softens. “Me too.”

Clark walks you home, conversation still full but maybe not as lively as it had been pre-Ben and Jane. You hate how they seem to haunt you like this. But you revel in how easy it was–and is–for Clark to make you laugh again. 

He expects the night to end at your doorstep but you invite him inside for a little while longer. You’re a little surprised, mostly delighted when he agrees. 

“Make yourself at home,” you say, kicking off your shoes and walking into your kitchen. Clark toes his shoes off and neatly arranges them next to yours. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Clark glances over and can see you grabbing two glasses down from a cupboard near your tiny stove. You set them on the counter and at his silence, look up to where he’s standing.

“Oh! Water’s fine.”

He takes interest in your photos hanging on the walls and the knick-knacks on your shelves. He particularly likes a corkboard you’ve got hung up with a bunch of mementos pinned: movie ticket stubs, fortunes from fortune cookies, postcards, one of your first how-to pieces from the Planet, a photobooth strip of you. 

You bring your drinks in, and set them on the coffee table, water for him and another glass of wine for you. You sit, knees pulled up on the couch and your feet tucked beneath you, your body facing Clark. You like how he looks sitting in your space. Like he fits right in. 

You talk for hours about anything and everything that seems to come to mind. You share the abridged version of Ben and Jane and your chest goes warm at how quick Clark notices your need for a subject change. He switches gears smoothly. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

The hours tick by without either of you paying much attention. Your drinks sit empty on the table and when the conversation lulls, you take them into the sink. Clark checks his watch when you leave the room. 

“Oh gosh, it’s late,” he says. You come out of the kitchen to an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up. I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

“Clark, it’s okay,” you shake your head with a smile. His mouth is twisted into an apologetic frown. 

“Still. I should let you get to bed.” Only then do you realize how tired you feel.

You walk him to your front door and watch him put his shoes back on. When he straightens up, you take a step closer to him.

“I had a really good time tonight.” You say softly. Your eyes shine in the dim lamplight. 

“Me too.” Clark smiles. He swallows and shifts on his feet. “Would you..wanna do this again?”

“I’d like that.” You nod, smiling widely up at him. He nods.

Clark leans down to hug you goodnight, his arms wrapping tight around your waist. Yours reach up and over his shoulders. Your body sinks into his and you think you could stay right there forever. After a beat, he pulls back but you don’t let go right away.

With your arms around his neck and his around your waist, it leaves hardly any space between you both. Suddenly, the air feels similar to the moment before lightning strikes nearby in a storm. Your gazes both fall from eyes to lips and back. 

Clark’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and you track the motion with your eyes. You swallow, lips parting only just. He starts to lean in and your eyelids start to flutter shut. Your hands are trembling from both anticipation and uncertainty. Not about him, but about the unknown. You send a quick plea outwards that he doesn’t notice. 

There’s no telling what lies on the other side of letting Clark kiss you, a faint warning siren echoing in the back of your mind. You decide to ignore it the second his lips brush against yours. You’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

The siren fades into a silent static hum, your senses flooded with ClarkClarkClark. Of the gentle press of his lips to yours, pliant and willing. Of the press of his body against yours as you eagerly push up to reciprocate. 

You wonder briefly why you hadn’t done this any sooner. There’s such an ease to it that you almost feel like you’re experiencing deja vu. Like there’s another version of you that wasn’t burned, that gets to kiss Clark like this all the time. You’re envious of her immediately.

His hands slide to your hips to pull you even closer to him and that dreaded siren breaks through the static in your brain. You pull back, your hands falling to his shoulders. Clark’s glasses are askew and have fogged up considerably but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Wait,” you say breathlessly. He’s quick to renew the gap of space between your bodies.

“Sorry-”

“No, no, it’s not- you’re okay,” you pause, chest heaving. You try to catch your breath, coming up short. Your arms fall from his shoulders as you take a step back. “I think I need a second.”

The wounded expression on Clark’s face makes you feel considerably worse. He resembles a confused, kicked puppy and you think you might be sick. 

You turn on your heel and make a beeline for the bathroom. Clark catches your shaking hand wiping at your eyes and doesn’t think twice before following after you. To apologize, if anything. Convinced he’s done something wrong enough to make you cry.

The counter of your bathroom is cold against your palms. You take a couple deep breaths in and out. Mentally kicking yourself because why can’t you just be normal about this and cursing Ben (and his bloodline, too) under your breath for causing your aversion to love in the first place. 

You turn the tap on, splashing cold water on your face in hopes that it’ll shock your system back to normal. Back to how it felt mere moments ago when you were kissing Clark. 

A gentle knock on the door makes you jump.

“Honey, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Your heart pinches, a piece of it chipping away at how sad he sounds. You don’t say anything for a beat. “Did I…” a defeated sigh, “sorry, did I do something wrong?”

You turn the water off. 

“Oh, Clark,” you sigh. He hears the lock click and then the door swings open. This time, his heart twists at the expression on your face. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just..”

You let out a sad laugh and then your eyes are pinching shut. You press your face into your hands.

“I’m just a mess.” Your words are muffled against your palms. Clark tsks in disagreement and takes a step towards you. His fingers circle around your wrists and he’s so soft with you, you think you might burst into tears all over again. 

“Hey, hey, no. Look at me,” his voice is equally tender and you let him pull your hands away. The reveal of your eyes shiny with unshed tears chips away at his heart. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m fine,” you sniffle, rapidly trying to blink away the tears. One slips past anyway and he quickly smooths it away.

“You’re most certainly not fine,” he says, voice still gentle but firm. Your shoulders slump. Clark sighs. “Let’s get you some water. That sound good?”

You nod, looking at the floor. He leads you over to your couch and sits you down before getting you a glass of water from the kitchen. He’s back faster than you expect and you whisper a quiet thank you when he hands you the water. 

He doesn’t sit until you’ve drunk a considerable amount. You cradle the cup in your hands, looking anywhere but at Clark. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. You spare a quick glance up at him. “It wasn’t anything you did, I promise. I just…I haven’t done this since..”

“Since Ben?” Clark fills in. You look at him with a small smile that’s equal parts embarrassed and sad. 

“Yeah. I just spooked myself a bit,” you say. Clark nods in understanding. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” he says, resting a hand on your knee. Your eyes focus on it. 

“Okay. I just don’t want you to think it’s because of you,” you say, gaze lifting to his eyes. They’re looking at you like you’re made of porcelain. He scoots a little closer to you on the couch and lightly brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His palm settles on your cheek. 

“We can take it slow, yeah?” Clark offers. You perk up, a little surprised. After all this, he still likes you. He still wants to try with you. The realization makes you ache. You nod, anyway.

Slow is perfect.

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The air outside has started to go cold, summer finally fading away into a brisk autumn. You’ve five more dates with Clark now under your belt. It’s slowly getting easier, less scary though you can’t deny that your brain continues to do risk assessments over each new romantic gesture.

He brings you a new assortment of flowers each time. The newest, a golden arrangement featuring sunflowers and dahlias, sits in the usual spot on your kitchen table. The sun reflects off the petals through the window. 

Clark’s at your apartment again in a handknit sweater his Ma made him, sat at the table and warming his hands with a cup of cocoa. Speaking of.. 

“My Ma is visiting this weekend,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“And she’d…like to meet you.” 

The world seems to still, your body going with it. You blink at him, lips parting and closing. 

“Oh!”

Clark rushes his words out, sensing the rising panic in your chest.

“You don’t have to, I know we’re taking it slow and this is definitely, probably not even remotely close to that. But I’ve talked about you so much she won’t stop asking about you, even before this started. It’s only if you want to.”

Your heart picks up at the image in your head of Clark including you in his updates to his Ma. It makes you burn from the inside, a sweetness pooling in your veins. He talks about you. The pendulum swings back and forth in your head as you consider it. 

“Okay,” you say. Clark raises an eyebrow at you.

“You’re sure?” When you nod, he beams. He gets up from his seat and comes over to press a kiss against the top of your head. His excitement is sweet to witness. “I’ll call and let her know.”

On Sunday, you go over to Clark’s for dinner. 

You shift nervously outside the door to his apartment. Your fingers are stiff from the brisk air outside and from the tight grip you have on the flowers you picked up on the way over. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, willing your body to still.

Then, you lift your fist and knock it against his door. You’re wiping your palm against the front of your pants when he answers the door. His smile is blinding.

“Hi,” he steps aside to let you in. The door closes behind you and he dips his head to kiss your cheek in greeting as you’re toeing off your shoes. “You look nice.”

“Hi,” You smile, nerves still going haywire beneath your skin. “Thanks.”

“Clark? Is she here?” You can hear her voice from the kitchen and you glance at Clark, grip tightening on the small bouquet in your hand. You’re a little nervous that it's not as nice as it could be. Clark presses a hand against the small of your back and you remember to breathe.

He leads you the short distance to the kitchen in lieu of a response. As soon as she sees you, her eyes light up. You smile nervously at her and give a small wave of your hand.

“Ma, this is-” Clark starts to say, but he’s quickly cut off. 

“You must be, y/n!” Her accent is thick as honey and it warms your heart. 

“Hi,” you hope your voice doesn’t sound as nervous as you feel. “These are for you, Mrs. Kent.”

You hold out the flowers to her and she takes them with a soft audible aw. Then she’s pulling you into a hug and saying, “call me Martha.”

It takes you a beat to huge her back. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been hugged like this. Different from how Clark hugs you, different from your own mother’s hugs. This one has a specific air of home to it that’s overwhelming. 

You look at Clark over her shoulder who looks extra smiley.  When she pulls back, she looks at the flowers again. Then she turns to Clark who already has a hand extended to take them and go put them in water. 

“Clark has told me so much about you,” she says. A hand, weathered and gentle from age touches your cheek. “You’re even more beautiful than he described.”

“Ma,” Clark says, from the kitchen sink. You smile, loving that boyish part of him that still gets embarrassed when his mom shares something she probably shouldn’t. Martha tsks and angles herself slightly to look at him, her hand falling away.

“I’m serious, Clark.” She turns to you and lowers her voice a smidge. “He’s always talking about you, it's hard to get him to stop. I knew I had to meet the girl he’s so sweet on from the second he mentioned you.”

You can feel your skin start to flush. Your eyes catch onto Clark who’s arranging the flowers in the vase and setting them on his own kitchen table. 

“You’re the only girl he’s ever been like this over,” she says almost conspiratorially. Your body softens, something distantly familiar coursing through your veins. Clark catches your eye and smiles at you and it leaves you a little dizzy. 

When the food is ready, the two of them fall into a rhythm, bringing dishes to the table. Watching the two of them interact, you can tell where Clark gets it from. His mannerisms and certain words and phrases in his vernacular. 

Clark pulls out both yours and Martha’s chairs when you sit to eat. The food is delicious and you make a note to ask Martha for recipes when the night ends. 

It’s as easy to talk to her as it is Clark. She asks questions about you and your job and your family. And she also asks about you and Clark. How you met and when you started “going steady” as she puts it. You’re particularly fond of the stories she shares about Clark when he was little. Even more fond of the red blush that covers his cheeks at the more embarrassing ones. 

In the back of your mind though you can’t get Martha’s words out of your head. 

You’re the only girl he’s ever been like this over. 

It unnerves you slightly. And at the same time, you wonder how you could even begin to describe how much it means to you to have his Ma treat you so kind and warm. Like you’re already part of the family. Your mind starts to analyze a risk assessment, a voice in the back of your mind poking and prodding and whispering that something this good has to come down. 

Clark reaches for your hand at the table and gives it a quick squeeze, momentarily pulling you out of your spiral. You look at him with a soft smile, ever grateful and surprised that he can read you so well.

At the end of the night, Martha hugs you tight again and you soak it in. 

“It was so good to meet you, dear,” she says, pulling back from the hug. Her hands hold onto your forearms.

“You too,” you smile and she gives your arms a squeeze. She looks at Clark, who’s holding your purse for you in his hand. 

“You make sure she gets home safe, Clark.” 

Clark lips twitch. “I know, Ma. I always do.”

He’s true to his words, walks you safely home and all the way to your door like he always does. You linger outside the door until you’re toeing the line of inviting him in. He kisses you goodnight, soft and sweet, his hand cradling your jaw and yours pressed against his chest. 

It quiets your brain enough for you to get to bed but when you wake up the next morning, it’s racing immediately again. You’re distracted during the work day and no matter how much you try, you can’t get it to stop. A steady downward spiral.

Clark comes home with you after work. You’re unusually quiet on the walk to your apartment and through dinner–leftovers from the night before that Martha insisted you take home with you.

You clear the table of dishes and Clark helps you wash up. When the two of you go to sit on your couch, Clark sits first and holds out a hand. 

“C’mere,” he says, all but pulling you to sit in his lap, though really you might as well be straddling him. For the first time all day, the chatter in your brain starts to dim. “What’s wrong? You’ve been unusually quiet all day.”

You look down at your hands in your lap and shrug. You’re not sure how to phrase it even if you tried. 

“It’s..nothing. It’s silly,” you finally say, still refusing to look at him.

“Hey,” his voice is a soft caress against your skin, gentle like his fingers that tilt your cheek so you look at him. “It’s just me. You can tell me.”

Your gaze roves his face, stars in your eyes. Clark pushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your cheek like a feather. His eyes haven’t once strayed from yours. 

A shiver runs down your spine and you try not to squirm. It’s still new being seen like this. Like he’s looking right through you, straight into the messy walls of your subconscious. You swallow, your mouth dry and the words hang in a lump in your throat.

“Just..when I met your mom yesterday,” you can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, feeling a little silly. Clark’s looking at you, so tenderly it squeezes your heart in your chest. “She hugged me. Like really hugged me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and something shimmers in his eyes as he scans your face. One hand rubs against your arm and his thumb on the other spreads a tear across the apple of your cheek as he wipes it away.

“Honey, that’s a good thing. Yeah?” 

“I-” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, nodding though your shoulders inch up towards your ears. “Yeah. Yes. I dunno, it just…”

Your shoulders drop on an exhale and your eyes flutter open and latch onto his. Clark looks at you with quiet reassurance. His fingertips trail against the skin of your arms featherlight while he waits for you to finish your thought.

“It felt like home,” your voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. Clark's eyes seem to soften even more than they already were. The corners of your mouth twitch into a small smile. You look away to wipe at your eyes, damp fingertips coming to rest along the side of his neck.  “Been a while since I’ve had that.”

Your eyes lock back on his. Something familiar is swirling in his eyes, your breath getting stuck in your throat for the briefest of moments. Your heart starts to play a symphony against your ribcage. Clark’s hands have migrated to the small of your back.

“You’re starting to feel like home,” he says. Your fingers against his neck can feel the timbre of his voice. There’s a rush of warmth that covers you from head to toe. It’s dizzying enough to leave you a little nauseous, though there’s a fleeting thought that wonders if it’s because his words feel like a euphemism for the L word. 

Despite the onslaught of emotion you feel, your lips start to curl into a giddy smile just as Clark leans in to kiss you. His lips slot against yours, slow and sure and it’s enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Your smile gets kissed away but the giddiness doesn’t fade.

His hands on your back pull you closer towards him and your thumbs press against his jawline. Your body feels like it’s starting to liquify in his arms as you melt against him. You pull back and Clark steals one more lingering kiss from you. It elicits another soft smile.

You don’t open your eyes right away, breathing in deep through your nose as you press your forehead against his. His thumbs rub circles against your back and his nose nudges yours. You blink your eyes open and lean back enough to look at him fully. 

You run a hand through the mess of curls on his head, eyes as soft as the edges of your smile. Clark’s looking at you like you hung the moon. The simplest of thoughts pops into your head. A flash of fear shocks your body. You push the feeling down and away, locking it up deep in the gooey center of your heart.

But you can’t lock away the thought that races around your brain like a news headline. 

You’re a thousand percent, without a doubt, in love with Clark Kent.

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It’s an almost difficult realization for you in the coming days. The familiar dip in your stomach, a pull on your heart, like passing by an old friend in the grocery store. Things are safe with Clark, you’re safe with Clark. But it doesn’t quell the stutter of fear in the beat of your heart that’s been opening itself back to love.

You can’t help it but you do the best thing you know how. You pull away even though it’s twisting your heart into knots. A part of you hopes that he’ll break things off if you push hard enough. Maybe it’ll hurt less that way.

Because what if you love him too much, too hard that he slips away? In your head, it’s better to withdraw now and first before he ever gets the chance to. Logically, you know it’s unlike Clark but you can’t help it. You’re not feeling very rational right now. Common sense has seemed to fly right out the window.

Clark feels utterly confused. You keep things about the same at work but the second you get home, he can feel you pulling away. You stop answering his calls. You don’t let him kiss you, barely let him hold your hand. 

He goes into fix-it mode, trying to retrace his steps and figure out if maybe he did something but he comes up short. He tries talking to you about it but you shrug it off, insisting everything is fine when he can clearly tell it’s not. 

He decides that maybe you just need a day or two to yourself and he acquiesces, giving you the space that he thinks you need. When he does, you think maybe he’s finally pulling away too and even though it makes you ache, you think it’s for the best.

But when space doesn’t work and you still won’t talk he knows something is really wrong. In his head, he makes a loose plan. He’ll get you to talk to him somehow, if anything to just get some kind of closure if you’ve decided this isn’t something you want to pursue with him anymore. The thought makes him ache but he has to know.

A couple weekends after dinner with his mom, you’re in your apartment staring at the wilted flowers on your kitchen table, wondering if you should maybe get rid of them. But that feels like getting rid of Clark somehow and you can’t bring yourself to do either of those things. 

There’s a knock on your door and your heart knows it’s him before you do. You open the door and there he stands. His nose is pink from the cold and there’s a sadness so heavy in his eyes it stabs at the tender bits of your heart. 

“We need to talk,” he says, and then at the last second, “please.”

You don’t say anything, just step aside to make room for him to come in. You close the door behind him with a click.

“What’s going on?” he asks as soon as you turn around. You fold your arms, hugging them to you like some kind of armor. 

“What do you mean?” you try to play a little dumb and Clark huffs. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him anything close to angry. 

“You know what I mean. It’s what I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me about for weeks.” he sounds the slightest bit exasperated. “You won’t talk to me outside of work anymore. You won’t let me close enough to do much of anything. You’ve stopped returning my calls. It’s like you’ve completely pulled away.”

He sounds hurt more than anything. 

“Did I do something? What happened?” 

You close your eyes and sigh. “No Clark, you didn’t do anything. Nothing…happened.”

“Then why. Why are you pulling away?”

“Maybe we’re just better as friends!” you burst out, arms falling to your sides. “We were moving too fast. Maybe it’s just…easier if we just go back to being friends. Nothing more.”

“Don’t do that,” he says and you blink at him. Your eyebrows furrow. 

“What? I’m not-” you pinch the bridge of your nose. Your words have started leaving you both so fast your sentences almost overlap. “Clark-”

“You’re quitting before things get tough. You can’t do that.”

“What? I’m not..I’m not quitting. God, Clark I-” your voice starts to break. “I’m trying to protect myself. I’m terrified.”

Clark’s shoulders soften. “Terrified?”

“Yes,” you say and now the words won’t stop spilling out of you. “I’m scared to death of…of this. Of you! Of us! Of…of all of it! I’m scared.”

Clark looks like a kicked puppy again.

“Me? Us?” his voice sounds so small and your heart twists. “Why?” 

“Because I..” you’re almost panting. “Because I love you, Clark. I love you and it scares me because I never wanted to fall in love again. I never wanted to risk the pain of losing someone again. I didn’t want to risk the possibility of things ending just like they did with Ben three years ago.

And then I met you and I just knew if anyone would change my mind it would be you. The thought of being loved by you scared me and at the same time I was scared by how much I wanted that. And I tried not to but falling in love with you was the easiest thing for me to do.”

You’re not sure when you started crying or when Clark got close enough to be able to wipe your tears away with his thumbs. He looks pained at the sight of your tears but beneath that is a joy so vibrant it almost glows.

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice is a soft melody in your ears. “I love you, too.”

It doesn’t sound as scary to you when he says it outloud. You sniffle, unable to fight the smile that spreads across your face. It’s teary and you’ve got a sudden worry that your nose is running. 

“You do? Even still?”

Clark lets out a soft laugh and nods, wiping away fresh tears that have fallen over your cheeks. “Yeah, honey, I do. Even still.”

“It’s an awful lot of work,” you say. Through a wet laugh, “I’m a mess, clearly.”

“No it’s not. Not for me. Not when it’s you.” 

The look in his eyes is so intense and serious, you’ve no choice but to believe him. Your heart soars. You sniffle again, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Your fingers curl themselves into the fabric of the sweatshirt he’s wearing.

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” you tease and it pulls a smile out of Clark. He presses his lips to yours, so tender and soft, it leaves you melting like that ice cream cone he bought you what seems like a lifetime ago.  

Love this go around feels familiar, but it’s different, better even in all the right ways. It’s like returning from a lifelong journey and sinking into a hug. 

It feels like coming home.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

as usual, tagging some people who might be interested (if not u can ignore) & those who asked hehehe: @stevebabey @brettsgoldstein @almightyellie @katsu28 @sanguineterrain @anonymouse1807 @superemobitch @manicandobsessive @clonesdserveb3tter @lalameors @celestialend @claudiwithachanceof @pessimisticmoon @clarkstwin @cupid4prez