#clark kent au

[illumoria]

"Order For Superman"!

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⋆·˚ ༘ .⋆𖥔 ݁ ˖۶ৎ superman/clark kent x waitress!reader

content warning!!: fluff | a little surprise at work <3

author's note: I love u david corenswet + pt.4 of sweet face, sour taste tmrw, half of it is done and in my drafts 🤞 | first of MANY superman fics...coming soon...

🏷️: @chuuchuutrainn @angel06babysworld @rafeysvenicebitch @pinkitty97

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"No, I just-I gotta call you back there's a rush right now and–Clark–Shit, holdon."

You balanced another plate in your hands as you walked out the kitchen, simultaneously holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, attempting to multi-task serving plates of food and talk to your boyfriend.

His voice was clear as day even through the chatter of the customers around you blabbing about sports and things you really couldn't care less about in the moment as you walked through the aisles, eyes looking out for your table.

"If you're busy I can always call back, I was just flying over–"

"No!"

Your voice came out a little louder than expected, the table of 4 you were standing by staring at you a little too hard before you began walking through the crowds of people once again.

"No, please don't show up. I don't–you know I'd never say no to an opportunity to see you but–," you lowered your voice, whispering into your phone, "Superman wouldn't be very helpful–to the packed restaurant. I've had two parties walk in, no reservations–"

"Baby?"

"Yeah?" You sighed, the burning sensation from the bottom of the plate of hot food finally hitting you as you stopped walking once again.

"I'll call you later alright?"

"No flying?"

You heard him laugh from behin the screen.

"No flying."

You let out another sigh, finally placing the plates in your hands down onto your table, mouthing the group a little "sorry" before grabbing your phone.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" He smiled–even though you couldn't see.

"Bye, sunshine."

"Bye, Superman." You replied, your own lips curling into a smile as you slid your phone into the apron around your waist, trying to compose yourself as much as you could as your table began to...stare.

"Superman?" One of the ladies spoke up, her lips pressed together as if she was trying to hold in her laughter.

"Just a little joke between me and my boyfriend." You giggled, brushing her off as if you weren't feeling your cheeks grow warm at the innocent question.

"To be young and in love." The woman replied before taking a small sip from her glass.

Your smile grew wider at her words, completely forgetting you were at work. At your job, before you heard a fork hit the floor–a baby's babbling hitting your ears like a reality check.

"Could I get you guys anything else?"

"Just another water, sweetie."

"On it."

By the end of the day you were done. Figuratively and literally. You were sitting in a corner booth, lazily spooning at an ice cream sundae you may or may not have put in just for you...until the chime of the door distracted you.

You got out of your seat, walking towards the front to warn whoever just came in that you guys were closed until–

"Cl–Superman?"

He broke out into a grin as soon as he saw you, going in to hug you as if he wasn't still dressed up in his red and blue attire.

"What are you doing here?" You whispered aggressively, looking back towards the kitchen doors–as if one of the cooks could pop out any second.

"Just wanted to have some pasta." He teased, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

And so there you were, walking back into the kitchen, a guilty look on your face as you pranced over to your favorite cook–well, the only one that let you get away with mysteriously ordered icecream sundaes...

"Celia!"

She turned over to face you, right in the middle of cleaning everything up, her usual chipper attitude completely dead as she was in her close-up zone.

"I have a little request–'

"I'm not making you anymore food."

Well, shit.

"Actually there's a customer outside–'

"And you don't tell them we were closed? Such a people pleaser I swear.."

"Could I get a sentence out?" You muttered under your breath, earning you a side-eye from the girl beside you before she finally paused to give you a chance to speak.

"Supermanwantstooorder." You mumbled, your words barely audible as you rushed them out your mouth.

She paused for another second before rolling her eyes, her knuckles visibly whitening as she held onto the cloth in her hand.

"What?"

"Supermanwantstooorder, Celia–"

"What?"

"Superman wants to order!"

The kitchen suddenly grew quiet, her facial expression remaining skeptical until she saw your own–serious as ever. And a little nervous. She was scary..

"Are you serious?'

"Why would I lie about that? It's like...9PM."

She slowly walked over to the kitchen window,–just to see your boyfriend in all of his red and blue glory, sitting there like the patient man he was–tapping his fingers against the table.

"Holy shit, Superman's here." She squealed, her mood switching faster than the speed of light.

"I just said that–"

"Oh my god, well you should've sooner! What does he want? I'll get it right now, oh my god.."

"Well, pasta–"

She didn't let you finish. Not before she was flying around the kitchen, already scouring through pots and pans.

"You never let me finish.." You muttered under your breath, letting out a small sigh before leaving the kitchen through its double doors, walking back over to your too happy boyfriend–a humanized golden retriever.

"Does this classify as a date?" He smiled, his skin denting dimples immediately catching your eye.

"Are you paying?" You teased, rubbing gently under your eyes as if that could get rid of the dark circles beneath them, your body completely limp as you fought sleep.

He noticed. Immediately. He always did. And his expression dropped a little.

"I just wanted to surprise you, was this a bad idea?"

Oh, c'mon. The kicked puppy look?

You shook you're head slowly, a sleepy smile replacing your slight frown.

"No..no, I'm glad you're here. I'm always happy you're around, you know that ..just..I'm just tired." You admitted, pressing your cheek into your palm as you leaned against the table.

"I'm sorry–'

"Clark, don't start." You whispered, already aware of his rambling–his apologies that never stopped. They were sweet. He was sweet. But ...God.

"Clark?" He chuckled, pearly white teeth smiling at you like diamonds–and maybe you were just sleepy. Or hallucinating–but did one just sparkle at you?

"Let me go check on your pasta, Superman." You chuckled, sliding out your seat before walking back into the kitchen, a certain sway to your step.

Celia was just finishing up the plate, sprinkling some parmesan cheese before handing it to you in just a couple of seconds.

"Tell me if he likes it–you think he'll stay to give me an autograph?"

You take the pasta from her, eyes barely open as you reply with a,"Celia, I have no clue," before leaving through the kitchen doors.

You walk back to your boyfriend, hot plate in hand as you call out to him,

"Order for Superman?"

He let out a small laugh, watching as you placed the food down in front of him, just about to walk back to your own seat before he grabbed you by the waist.

"I really am sorry you had to go through all the trouble.." he whispered, voice suddenly softer than before.

"I know you are." You replied, shifting closer so you were just by his side, baby blue eyes staring into your own.

"Are you really okay?"

"Clark."

"Baby."

You laugh in response, plopping down onto the seat next to him.

"Eat your food, okay?"

"Just because you told me to." He mumbled, pressing a small kiss to your forehead before digging in.

You let him have his peace. For a good few minutes before you spoke up again.

"I'll 100% forgive you if you do me this one thing."

"Name it. Anything."

"Sign an autograph for my friend, Celia?"

line dividers: @/hyuneskkami

[squipa]

touch tank

you're a teacher, currently trying to fill up your summer vacation with freelance work when you stumble into not one, but two situationships with clark kent, the adorkable reporter from the daily planet, and superman, the hero you can't stop running into. overall? you're having a very interesting break.

wk: 14.8k (worth it i pinky swear)

the best and the worst part of teaching is that you never stop having summer break— two and a half months of pure boredom and relaxation that always go the same. you find a job, you visit family, you take random classes at the community center just to get yourself out of the house. you really did not expect this year to be any different, any better. you expected the same boredom, the same routine, the same desperation to find someone to occupy your time. 

however, you didn’t count on clark kent to stumble into your life and take your world by storm. 

you met in late may, the first time you came around the daily planet selling pictures for the paper. you spent a lot of your free time behind a camera, capturing moments you didn’t want to lose— and you really needed some extra cash. metropolis might pay better than most cities, but at the end of the day, a teacher’s salary is a teacher’s salary. 

you were hopelessly turned around, clutching a small, manilla file that was nearly overflowing with the photographs you felt were relevant enough to submit with one hand and biting your freshly manicured thumbnail with the other, staring up at the very useless building directory, reading the names and numbers with little understanding. the receptionist had told you to go to perry white’s office for your meeting— but she hadn’t been so kind to tell you exactly where you could find it. 

the signs were no help. you are embarrassingly lost, and—

“need any help?”

you turn around, dropping your hands to your sides. you’re met kindly with the direct view of a man’s chest, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

and there he was. six foot four, built like a linebacker and stuffed into a suit, wearing glasses that looked a bit too small and a smile that seemed a bit too warm. the man you would come to know as clark kent— the center of your universe.

and those eyes. bluer than the ocean, captivating you so wholly you forgot to breathe. one’s that looked to you with such unequivocal kindness, coupled with a smile that was breathtakingly gentle— you forgot how to breathe. 

he’s staring down at you as if he’s not the only one who needs to catch his breath. as though he finds something about you to be just as overwhelming as you find him. 

he pauses, clearing his throat. “i just mean— ah, sorry, you look lost. i-i can help you. i work here. uh, reporter— um, i mean—“ he takes a deep breath, extending a hand. “clark kent.” 

god, he’s adorable. 

you smile up at him, taking his hand in yours and giving it a gentle shake. you note how large and uncalloused his hand is, and try to ignore the shocks of electricity you feel with that first, all-consuming touch. you tell him your name, thankful that you don’t manage to stumble over your words, and he jots it down in the back of his head like it’s sacred. “i’m looking for mr. white’s office? i have some pictures for the paper.” you explain, holding up your file. 

“oh, yeah, that’s my boss. i’ll walk you there.” he says, looking down at you with a soft grin that renders you so useless you nearly forget why you’re here. carefully, he motions for you to follow him, and you oblige, walking slowly down the arched hallways of the daily planet at his side. your heart begins to pound out of your chest.

there’s a beat of silence as you walk, before he breaks it with, “can i see them?”

he points to the folder in your hands, the one that you’re clutching like a lifeline. you hand it over without a second thought— how are you supposed to say no to the ridiculously cute, dorky guy guiding you through the building? you’re just not. 

he cards through them carefully, commenting on the quality, the angles, the color grading, basically just complimenting every picture while you try not to swoon. he pulls one of the prints out of the file, a rare picture of superman you managed to get two weeks ago. you consider it the strongest picture in your portfolio. most of the photos of superman are blurs of red and blue, or shaky selfies he’s taken with fans. this one is still, certain— hopeful. you took it candidly. he was crouched with a kid, one of your students, helping him fix his broken project with gentle hands. 

you think about that moment every now and then. it changed you from a casual viewer of superman’s heroics to someone who supported him completely. you watched him stop, and with hands capable of much greater things, sooth the worries of a child when he could have been doing anything else. it instilled a kind of faith in humanity you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“i like this one.” he mumbles, sliding it out of the folder, staring at it like it means as much to him as it does to you. superman fan, noted. 

he pauses, staring at it a second longer than he did your other pictures, memorizing every detail before sliding it back inside the folder. “i don’t see how perry wouldn’t buy these— you’re an amazing photographer.” he says with a smile, handing you back the file. 

you do your best not to turn completely red at the compliment, looking up to meet his gaze. “i’m a teacher, actually.” you explain, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “just looking for a side hustle. that picture of superman? he’s helping one of my kids.” 

“really—? wow that’s really, uh, very cool.” he says, wearing a smile that you try your best not to read into. you both stop in front of an office with the name Perry White stamped across the door in shiny silver lettering. as anxious as you are to start the meeting, your heart sinks when you realize your time with clark is over. “well… good luck.” he says, all shy and dorky in a way that makes your knees weak. “i have a feeling i’m gonna see you around.”

you can’t help but grin, thanking him for walking you— and for the vote of confidence. you really don’t want to say goodbye, not when one look from him already disarms you.

he opens the door for you, and he’s lucky enough that you don’t realize how long he lingers by the office, memorizing every detail he can catalogue— the way you stand so confidently, yet with a demeanor that is so kind and genuine it makes him reevaluate everything he’s been looking for, the way the draft from the vent in perry’s office blows through your hair and makes you look like a movie star, the way you speak like it’s your favorite thing to do. 

you leave the meeting with a steady freelance gig, and a yellow post-it note you hadn’t noticed earlier, tucked into an interior pocket inside your file. 

i really hope you call me (xxx-xxx-xxx) 

-clark :)

you’re in your apartment when you find the note, and you can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, heat rising to your ears and dusting your face a rosy shade of pink. you waste no time dialing that number.

——

you meet superman before you see you clark again. actually, you’re on your way home to get ready for your first date with clark, trying to not let the nerves and anticipation shake you. 

you’re excited. like— bouncing off of the walls, can’t stop thinking about him kind of excited. you text constantly, and he calls you like talking to you is the highlight of his day, not some chore he has to do to maintain a relationship. you’ve been talking for about a week, and all the time with him has done is confirm your many blooming suspicions about him: he’s sweet, gentle, incredibly well-spoken and not afraid to be open about his interest in you in this shy, dorky kind of way that makes you kind of want to melt. 

you’re practically skipping down the street when it happens. it’s barely sunset, but you suppose crime doesn’t really depend on time of day anymore, not in the era of aliens and meta-humans. a hand darts out of the alleyway, grabs your arm, and pulls you into the shadows. before you can think to scream, to ask for help, anything— there’s a knife at your throat and you realize that your silence is a lot more valuable than your survival instinct.

“wallet, now.” you can barely see him— a combination of the dark alleyway and blurry vision. you make out dark clothes, dark eyes, and an expression that tells you to comply with whatever he says. 

your heart is beating so loudly you can feel it in your fingers. you’re shaking like a leaf— fumbling with your wallet, trying to hand it to the mugger. 

it drops from your hands. you look up at the man, eyes wide with the overwhelming fear for your life. you fucked up. it’s over. you can practically envision your funeral: sad, sparse, the death of someone who’s never really lived. you slam your eyes shut.

but then there’s a gust of wind, and the knife disappears from your neck.

it takes a moment for you to breathe, to process, to blink open yours and face a blue chest with a red and yellow emblem.

“are you okay, ma’am?” 

your gaze moves up to meet his. you’re not all there yet. there’s still adrenaline moving like shocks of lightning down your veins and the phantom breath of death sticking up the hairs on your neck. all you can really focus on is his eyes. impossibly blue like the deep sea, captivating you so wholly you forget yourself for a beat too long.

“ma’am?” he repeats, and his voice less authoritative. instead a gentle, concerned call to your senses, breaking out of your haze. 

you down, taking a deep breath. “yes, uh…” your hand darts to your neck, feeling for any imprint the knife could’ve left. you’re grateful to find nothing but untainted skin, like it had never happened at all. “i’m fine.” 

he nods, but there’s something in his expression that tells you he isn’t totally convinced. he hands you your wallet, a small, green leather clutch you’ve carried around since you were eighteen. somehow it had become the last thing on your mind.

“you’re safe, i promise.” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you nearly forget that it’s superman standing in front of you, making sure that you’re okay. “the danger’s gone.”

you look up at him, eyes wide, brimming with tears you don’t know if you can hold back for much longer. he leans in a little closer, just enough for you to notice, his eyes checking over you carefully. maybe you’re just thrown off, because of the whole… mugging situation. but he almost looks a little scared, maybe a little relieved, like you mean a bit more to him than a civilian he saved.

you shake the thought. you’ve heard he’s like that anyways, kind, caring, a boy scout through and through. the look you’re seeing now can’t be anything more than that. 

he clears his throat, leaning back, taking on a more official, heroic posture. “can i take you home, ma’am?” and just like that, the moment’s over.

you nod, letting him guide you out of the alleyway with a touch that is impossibly gentle for someone you’ve seen pummel aliens into the ground with a single punch. a comfortable silence hangs between you, and you’re grateful the streets are empty enough for no one to pay the pair of you any mind. 

you must look ridiculous together. the thought makes you smile, and your adrenaline-induced panic is officially over.

 “thank you.” you say, breaking the silence. you smile up at him, craning your head to meet his gaze. he honestly looks a bit surprised that you’re thanking him. “for… y’know, saving me.”

“of course. i’m glad i made it in time.” he says with a quiet nod, his eyes meeting yours. his smile is so genuine, so human, you wonder how anyone could really hate him. 

you miss the lovestruck look in his eyes. 

you laugh. “me too.” you say, your hands swinging freely at your sides. “i know you don’t normally handle, uh, muggings, so… i feel pretty lucky.” 

his eyes dart away, looking around at the block— anywhere but you, really, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “well, i try to keep an eye on the street. y’know, on the rare days when aliens and robots don’t tear apart the city.” 

you grin, his eyes meeting yours again. “yeah, i know.” you say, looking up at him with wide, starry eyes that make him forget he’s superman and not anything besides the man lucky enough to be by your side.

your eyes are so focused on the god beside you that you miss a step, losing your balance because the tip of your heel got caught in a sidewalk crack. you fall into him— no, you practically dive into him, because of course you do. 

“woah there.” he says. his hands, which are just warm and huge and tender, carefully grab your sides and he steadies you, lifting you back onto your feet. 

you pause, flush with embarrassment. “i’m so sorry,” you cringe, looking up at him. “my heel got stuck because i had to humiliate myself and ruin the moment.” 

he laughs, sliding his hands away and looking down at you with a soft smile. “no harm done. just glad i caught you, miss.”

you pause, returning his smile with a grin that you just can’t seem to push down. 

“i saw you once, with one my students. he broke his history project, a popsicle stick model of the golden gate bridge?”

“i remember— jackson, right?” he asks, and there’s something so touching about him knowing the name of the random child he helped— it makes you want to melt. “smart kid, i’ve never met someone so knowledgeable about geography.” he says, nodding towards you. 

“right? he’s a little genius. i’m pushing him into architecture. i teach third grade, which is, i think, the best, ‘cause you get to see their passions develop in real time.” you say. you’re not sure why talking with him feels so easy, so natural. maybe it’s the whole superhero thing, or his impeccable bedside manner— but whatever the reason is, you can’t remember the last time you smiled so much.

“that sounds very rewarding.” he says, a gust of wind blowing his cape through the air. “i wanted to be a teacher, once.”

“got busy?” you ask, gesturing to the suit. 

he laughs in the sort of way where his shoulders shake and his voice booms throughout the street, even though you didn’t say anything particularly hilarious. 

“you could say that. how’s jackson doing now?”

“he’s on his way to becoming a very talented fourth grader.” you hesitate, before you continue. “i got a picture of you two, when you helped him.” you pause, stopping in front of your apartment building. “not in like a creepy stalker way— i’m a photographer too. kind of. hence the photo.” 

he pauses, peering down at you curiously. “may i see it?” he asks. 

you stop, your eyes locked with his. you can’t kick that feeling— how familiar he is. you can’t quite place it, so you push it back down deep for another day. “yeah.” you say, softly, pressing on the door. “i’ll be right back.”

it only takes you about a minute to retrieve the photo, digging through that same manilla file for your spare copy, the same file that clark stuck his number in. god— you were supposed to start getting ready, like, fifteen minutes ago. 

you pray clark is late. 

there’s a shadow over your window before you start heading back downstairs. right. flying. superman can fly. not crazy at all. you stumble over towards your fire escape, grinning up at him while you slide up the window.

you stick your head out, leaning on your arms, halfway out the window. 

“here, uh, this just a print.” you say, handing him the picture. he takes it gently, his fingers brushing against yours. he stares at it for awhile, his eyes tracing over every detail. 

“could i… keep this?” he asks, looking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the world— in a way that knocks the air out of your lungs. 

you nod, because really, how could you say no when he’s staring at you like that? you didn’t have a choice.

“thank you.” he says, before clearing his throat, floating back out towards the alleyway. “i, uh, i should be going.” 

“you got big plans tonight?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. 

he laughs, a soft chuckle that rings like wedding bells in your ears. “something like that.” he pauses again, looking back down at the picture and then up to you. “…see you around… miss.” 

there’s a burst of wind and just like that, he’s gone. 

and maybe, just maybe, you have a tiny crush on superman. 

——

your date with clark was an awkward, disastrous, mess— in all the best ways. the flowers he brought you had somehow gotten smushed, even though he insisted they came from the little shop on the corner right by your apartment— but they were your favorites. the restaurant lost your reservation, so you ended up having a picnic with food from the best food truck you’ve ever been to. the conversation was bumpy, at times a little difficult to navigate, but by the end, you had never laughed so hard in your life. 

you really had never met anybody like clark kent. 

he’s a gentle giant, a man who, despite being extremely built, you truly incapable of hurting a fly. he’s also the perfect gentleman, the definition of a man. for the entire evening, he refused to let you open a door, or pay, and when you started feeling a little chilly when he was walking you back to your apartment, late at night, he tucked his jacket over your shoulders before you even had the chance to complain. he’s also just… kind, plain and simple. he stopped to help an old woman cross the street, to ask a kid where his mom was and led him back to his parents, and, no shit, he literally rescued a cat from a tree. mind you, all in the span of four hours. he’s a good person, the kind of guy you read about in fairytales and grow up thinking doesn’t exist.

but here he is. 

“i had a really good time tonight.” he says, lingering by your door. you nodded in absolute agreement, looking up at him with a giant, uncontrollable smile that he returns in full. 

“yeah, me too.” you respond. the distance between you closes quickly, you lean in just enough to feel clark’s breath ghost on your face. 

he flushes and looks down to his feet, like he’s working himself up for something— before his eyes dart back to yours. “i, uh… i really want to kiss you right now.” 

you can feel a red hot fire spread to your cheeks, and you pray that the dim light of your apartment prevents him from seeing it. your eyes meet his, staring through his glasses into a sea of endless blue. 

you’ve never actually wanted someone to kiss you more than you do right now. 

“yeah?” you ask, your voice teasing him ever-so-slightly while you move in closer, your fingertips brushing against his. 

“may i?” he asks, sliding his unbelievably large hands on your sides then down to your waist, leaning over you in a way that makes you feel incredibly warm. you have to physically tilt your head back to meet his eyes, and your mood nearly sours at the idea that at some point you’ll have to pull away. 

you nod, and slowly, delicately, he leans in— pulling your body gently against him, his lips pressing into yours. it isn’t an eruption of passion, or some overwhelmingly fervent kiss, no. it’s soft, slow, sensual, an agonizingly perfect connection that makes you knees go weak when you’re in his arms. 

it’s too short, that’s your only complaint. he pulls away breathless, smiling down at you with a pink tint dusting his cheeks, ushers you back into your apartment and demands that you have a wonderful night, insisting that he’ll call you in the morning. 

you go to bed that night an hour later, only certain of two things.

this was going to be the best summer ever

you like clark kent so much it makes your head hurt

you want to see if superman is as good a kisser as clark

——

“here.”

clark pushes a cup of coffee that is somehow still piping hot into your hands, smiling down at you. you’re not sure how he even knew you were coming to the planet today, much less when to meet you at the door, but you liked that about clark. he always knows a lot more than he lets on. you chalk it up to the investigative journalist in him. 

“you got me coffee?” you ask, feeling the warmth from the cup spread through your hand. apparently, no matter how hot it is outside, none of that leaks into the planet. it’s freezing. 

“yeah, i didn’t know what you liked, uh, so there’s cream and sugar— not too much, though, uh, well, i mean, hopefully there’s enough—“

you press a kiss against his cheek and that effectively cuts off his rambling and leaves him quietly flushed, his eyes focused only on you. “thanks, clark.” you say, taking a sip. it’s a bit too sweet, but so incredibly thoughtful you might just start taking your coffee this way. 

he smiles, going red from his neck to is ears— god, he’s so cute. “you’re seeing perry today?” he asks, walking with you down the hall. you nod. 

“apparently he likes my work so much i get a daily planet issued camera.” you say excitedly. clark chooses to leave out the part where he practically begged perry to lend you one, a privilege freelancers don’t usually receive. he has to do an extra mountain of paperwork every night for a month— but gosh was it worth it to see you so giddy.

“makes sense.” he muses. “perry rewards the incredibly talented.”

he says it in a silly way, but you can tell he’s completely serious. he’s so sweet it literally makes your teeth hurt. 

you’ve been on three other dates since the first, and you’ve bumped into each other at the daily planet a couple times before this— everything is going extremely well. he’s so caring, thoughtful, and the more you learn about him the more infatuated you get. you swear, when he puts his hands on you it makes you dizzy. 

it’s perfect. he is. there’s only one issue: his constant tardiness, and his tendency to cancel last minute, or just not show up at all. it bugs you, when you’ve gotten all dolled up just to have to fight back tears at midnight, forced to leave an angry voicemail or two after you’ve downed a glass of box chardonnay, stuck alone, in your living room. 

but he makes up for it with a thousand apologies and small gestures that make you wonder why you were ever mad. 

it’s frustrating— the doubt creeping in about whether or not he likes you, the anger of being left behind without so much as a call, the loneliness that swallows you like a black hole. but when you’re with clark, he makes sure that his feelings for you are never in doubt, swearing up and down that he just has supremely bad luck and it doesn’t have a thing to do with you. still, it makes you wonder: what makes clark kent so busy?

“my lunch break is at one,” he says, taking your folder like it makes all the sense in the world for him to carry it and not you, “if you want to hang around a bit after your meeting, we could grab something together?” 

you nod, looking up at him as you approach perry’s office. “that’s perfect. i was gonna stop at the bookstore down the street and grab something for my mom’s birthday. pick me up there?” 

“yes ma’am,” he says in a way that is all too familiar, and he hands you back your folder, tucking it underneath your arm, his hand ghosting at your side. “good luck.”

“don’t need it. i’ve got you.” you say, opening the door and heading in. you don’t see the way clark flushes, this time redder than a tomato, nor jimmy laughing at him from all the way from across the building.

——

you’re on your way to the bookstore when it happens— the sky opens up, a giant alien-whatever pops down and starts wreaking havoc on the skyline of metropolis. the event is far enough away to where you would normally just shrug and continue on your path towards the bookstore while the people wait for superman to show up. 

except that you’re a photographer now. professionally. and professional photographers run towards their killer shot, not away from it. besides, your meeting with perry didn’t go… the greatest. he said most of your shots were unusable— and he wanted more pictures of superman.

but it would be stupid to run into danger like that— clark would disapprove, so would probably anyone with common sense. the ground is literally shaking because that demon thing knocked a skyscraper over like legos— you really should walk away. 

so, obviously, you end up climbing a tree about a hundred yards away from the creature (and superman, who stepped in about a minute ago), trying to find your perfect shot. it’s stupid, really, the way that you’re about twenty feet off the ground, perched just right on the branch so that if you can get superman and the alien to stay still for half a second— you’ll have your picture. 

unfortunately, you hadn’t accounted for the monster to have giant fireballs spewing out of its fingertips, with one specially aimed at you. foolishly, you expected it to be the normal kind of cryptid. 

so, you shut your eyes and brace yourself, praying that you’ll be the sexy kind of burn victim and not a crisp, dead one— but the impact never comes. instead, a pair of arms wraps around you and you’re on a rooftop— ridiculously far away from the scene with no way down. 

“stay here,” superman says, flying back with a harsh burst of air. he sounded… angry, probably from the fight but… you can’t shake his eyes met yours in that single glimpse, before he had gone back into the fray. 

the fight takes four minutes. you’re like, a mile away, on top of some random building with a pretty subpar view of the action— but you manage to still make out the flashes of blue and red that surround the being and shoot him back off to space. 

you frown, peering over the edge of the building. there’s no rooftop access, no door, nothing. you’re kind of just stuck— which is perfect, because it’s 12:55 and clark’s about to get off for lunch, so he’ll get stood up while you figure out how to get down. 

“you need to be more careful.” a voice behind you says, and you jump, nearly toppling over the side of the building. 

a hand grabs your arm and spins you around to face him, steadying you— it’s superman. thank god. 

you nod. “yeah. probably.” he looks unconvinced, and maybe a little pissed. his arm drops back to his side and he shoots you a stern look. 

“it’s irresponsible to run into danger like that. you could have died, ma’am.” he says. his hair looks a bit windswept, curling around the edges like clark’s does when he tries to tame it. his eyes zero in on the camera hanging around your neck. “no picture is worth your life, okay?”

you nod, looking down, a tad embarrassed. “yeah… adrenaline kinda beat me on this one.” 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do anything like that again.” he says. when you look up at him, he doesn’t look angry anymore. he looks scared. its the kind of thing that makes your heart jump into your throat.

“please?” he asks quietly, his gaze locked with yours. 

you nod, swallowing down the strange feelings twisting around in your gut. “okay. i promise.”

there’s a beat of silence before he steps towards you, beaming down at you like you’re any other citizen. “let me get you down from here.” 

“please do.” you agree, and he lifts you by the waist like you’re featherlight, slowly flying you down until your toes touch the concrete. 

“by the way,” he begins, speaking quietly as you land, stepping back, “i framed that picture you gave me. thank you.”

he’s gone before you can say ‘you’re welcome,’ just a blur of red and blue that disappears into the sky like a shooting star.

he remembered you. 

he probably remembers everyone he meets on the street— he’s known for stuff like that, being so kind, so hopeful. 

but he remembered you. and that feels different. 

your phone rings and you shake off whatever you’re feeling, because clark, the guy that you really really like and who really really likes you is calling and there’s no reason you should be thinking about someone as untouchable as superman in the way that you are right now. 

“clark, you will never believe what just happened—“

——

today is july first.

your one month anniversary with clark. the day that marks one of the best months of your life coming to a close— and hopefully a sign that these next months are going to be just as good, if not better. 

this month, clark kent has literally swept you off your feet. perfect dates, amazing chemistry, gentlemanlike in a way that all seems too good to be true. and maybe it is. 

because, well, it’s three hours after your date was supposed to start. clark had been talking about today all week, texting you every free second about the amazing evening he had planned— but he’s not here. he couldn’t even send you a text, “hey, so sorry i can’t make it. raincheck?’ nothing. 

you wonder what the excuse is, this time. had to work late? ma called and he lost track of time? you hate it, how small you feel when he forgets about you. you suddenly wish it was august again, so you could have school and a whole new pack of students to occupy your time with— you wouldn’t even have to think about clark, you’d be so busy.

right as you reach for another glass of wine, there’s a knock at your door. 

you frown, tiptoeing silently towards the peephole like you don’t already know who it is. 

it’s clark— and he looks rough. 

there’s a nasty shiner on his eye, and he’s got blood peeking out from under his collar, and you wonder what other injuries his clothes are hiding. it takes you half a second to swing the door open, your hands flying to his face. 

“holy shit clark— are you okay?” you ask, eyes wide, checking every inch of his face to see just how bad it is. you’ve never seen him have so much as an odd bruise before, but now…? he looks beat. “what happened?”

his eyes don’t follow your hands, or your movements, they don’t stick to the ground, they just find yours and hold your gaze once you’re done giving him an extremely thorough once-over for any prevailing injuries. “you were crying.” he frowns, looking down at you. 

you pause, lowering your hands. “yeah, but—“

he hands— which are notably shaky, press against your biceps, wrapping around your upper arms as if to ground himself. 

“i’m so sorry.” his voice is so tender it practically kills you, pure, genuine guilt and sadness that makes you feel like a jerk for even being mad in the first place. and those eyes— god, those eyes. they take you and they refuse to let go. 

“clark, you look like shit, i’m not upset—“ you start, biting down on your lip. he cuts you off by pulling you into a suffocating embrace, holding you so close and so tight he practically knocks the air out of your lungs, not that you mind.

he traps your lips in a kiss— one that isn’t soft, or gentle, not the way that clark usually kisses you. it’s fervent, sloppy and overwhelming— he surges into you like he never thought he’d be able to do it again. 

what you don’t know is— with the battle he had, the one he lost, that was exactly what was on his mind. 

“i’m sorry i missed our date. i promise i’ll make it up to you.” he mumbles as he pulls away. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, squeezing you like he can’t get you close enough. you have no idea what’s going on, but you like the way you feel when he holds you, so you don’t stop him. 

you tentatively wrap your hands around him, unaware of the fallen god that has you in his arms. “what happened?” you ask quietly, your voice just a whisper against his ear. 

he gives you a final squeeze that toed on the line of breaking your ribs before pulling back, looking down at you. “uh, i just… this lady got her purse stolen, picked a fight i couldn’t win. i’m fine, promise.” 

you nod, your heart swelling with both concern and pride. you picked the guy who’d risk his own safety to help an old lady get her purse back— the thought makes you all warm and fuzzy, especially now that you know he’s okay. 

you have to push down the feeling that there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. 

“do you wanna come in?” you ask, tilting your head. he shakes his head. 

“i uh, i can’t. gonna sleep this off— but i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank. i just didn’t want you to think i flaked for no reason.” 

you smile up at him, shaking your head. he’s too damn sweet for his own good. 

“okay, well, get home safe, okay?” you say, pressing a kiss on his cheek before sending him away with the promise that everything will be fine in the morning. 

——

you didn’t think that “i’m gonna make this up to you. i swear— you can take that to the bank.” meant breaking into your apartment to make you breakfast, but apparently that was clark’s exact line of thought. 

you didn’t even register the sound of him in your apartment when you stepped out of your bedroom— your hair a mess, makeup peeled off, wearing nothing but an oversized sleep shirt and your panties. you yawned, stretched, then nearly jumped out of your own skin when you noticed him staring at you from over your stove like you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. 

“what are you doing here?!” you yelled, darting back into your room, searching frantically for a hairbrush. 

“uh, i, um— i wanted to make you breakfast?” he starts, putting his hand to his face and shaking his head. “starting to realize how creepy this is.” 

you sigh, laughing softly to yourself, the shock slowly wearing off. “it’s really sweet, clark, just give me a minute to look… presentable.” you say through the door.

“you look beautiful— but, sorry. take all the time you need.” 

you emerge ten minutes later with your rats nest combed out, your makeup done, and wearing a pair of shorts that fit snuggly around your thighs. clark smiles at you in a sort of, i’m-sorry-for-breaking-in-but-hey-here’s-some-breakfast, kind of way. 

you shake your head, walking over to him and letting him wrap an arm around you, taking a deep breath to smell the absurd amount of pancakes he made for the two of you. seriously, there’s like, three stacks and half a bowl of batter left. you lean against him, enjoying the warmth. 

“sorry for freaking out.” you say as he presses a kiss against the top of your forehead. 

he shrugs. “sorry for breaking into your apartment.”

you laugh. “yeah— how long have you been here, and how did you get in—“ you pause, looking up at him, noticing how clean his face is for the first time. “your bruise is gone.” 

he leans back, rubbing his neck. “yeah, uh… i’m a fast healer.” he pauses and shrugs like that’s the only answer he can give you. “i’ve been here for like, thirty minutes. your neighbor let me in. mrs. stilinsky?” 

you nod— decide not to question anything, moving back to lean on the countertop. you note the way he shifts in the back of your head and move on. 

“i still feel bad about last night,” he starts, pausing to lift you up and onto the counter like you’re featherlight. you giggle, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips. “hence the breakfast. if you’re not busy today, i’d like to make it up to you.”

you raise a brow. “you know you don’t have to make up ‘getting jumped’ to me, right? i kind of get that one.”

he leans back to flip another pancake, shaking his head. “this is non-negotiable, honey.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a pancake off of one of the stacks. “actually, i could use another set of hands to help me decorate my classroom…” you say, taking a bite of the pancake, looking up at him. “god, this is good— how did you make this?” you ask, mid-bite. 

he laughs, a motion that moves through his shoulders. “kent family recipe. ma would kill me if i shared.” 

“—is there pumpkin spice in this?” 

——

clark insisted on being the only one to carry anything— so you’re mapping out your classroom while he hauls stuff from your car, little by little. 

you’re switching to second grade this year, so you have a newer, slightly crappier classroom a mile farther from the teacher’s lounge, and a new curriculum to teach— but you don’t particularly mind. eight is a good age, you’ll just need to practice a little more crowd control during your lectures. 

most of your stuff was brought over from your old classroom last week, this is just the stuff you bought with your daily planet money to get a fresh new look for your class. 

clark drops the last of the junk gently by the door, smiling down at you as he approaches. he hooks an arm around your waist and presses a kiss atop your head, giving you a quick squeeze. “so, what are we doing today?” 

you grin up at him, leaning into his side while you begin rambling about your big plans for the room. 

you kinda prefer this to big dates. there’s something special about the mundane when you get to do it with clark. you just like being around him, basking in that sweet farm boy energy that has you totally whipped.

“okay, so, i’m gonna move my bookshelf to this corner, and then i’m gonna put up a bunch of posters in this area and make it, like, a reading corner, right. i’m gonna put up one of my big art wall things here and the other over there, and—“

you’re cut off by an earthquake. 

clark instinctively tightens his grip on you, looking up and around for any danger. your frown, leaning into him. 

he looks up at the ceiling for what seems like a beat too long when the ground shakes again. a couple trinkets fall off of a bookshelf, and one of your boxes topples over. he looks down at you, ushering you out of the classroom. “is there somewhere safe to hide?” he asks, looking up and down the hall. 

“here, c’mon,” you start, leading him down the hall. “kids go in the gym for tornado drills— it’s kind of the same thing?”

he nods, following you with his hand tightly interlaced with yours. the ground shakes again and little bits of drywall fall from the ceiling— none big enough to do any real damage, but enough to spook you. 

you and clark make it to the gym, where the infrastructure seems a lot more sturdy. you run inside— but he hangs by the door. “i’m gonna see if anyone else needs help, okay? i’ll be back.”

“clark—!“ you start, but he’s already gone. 

you frown. the school is empty save for the two of you. he should be back in two, maybe three minutes. 

but he’s not. he’s not back in five. or ten. 

by the twelve minute mark you’re worried in a way that is all-consuming— and the building keeps shaking. you nearly got smashed by a ceiling tile that came loose, and you’ve spent the last few minutes half focused on clark’s survival and your own. 

you give up on waiting, going to the administrative office to check the cameras for him, a relatively easy journey. you flip through them all twice. you give time for him to leave any blindspot. he isn’t there— he just ditched you. 

you try not to throw the computer across the room. you could, logistically, and you could blame the damage on the whatever going on outside— but you don’t. you just storm out of the building, looking up at the sky. 

superman’s fifty feet above your school fighting some robot-looking thing mid-air. to be fair, he’s winning, but not enough for you to be particularly thrilled about the sighting. you look around for clark, and he’s nowhere, which is just great. 

“clark!” you call out, looking for him, ducking debris from the action above you. you turn the corner of the building, looking around by the dumpster, trying to see if he was hiding with some sweet old lady or doing anything besides running away and abandoning you. 

you rush past the wall— and maybe if you were a bit less panicked and a bit more observant you would have noticed the pile of clothes peeking out from under the dumpster, or the glasses that belonged to clark kent reflecting sunlight onto the stack of bricks behind you. 

but you continue, rushing out to the courtyard, met with a great big field filled with nothing but astroturf and gym supplies. 

“clark!” you call again. he’s not there— you know he isn’t and you’re really, really freaking out. what if he got caught under a chunk of debris? what if that robot monster up there crashed into him? what if he really did just abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself?

you brush that last one off. he wouldn’t do that. you know him well enough to know that. he’s good to his core, he’s not the type of guy to run from danger. 

you look up at the fight above you. superman is pummeling into the robot like there’s no tomorrow, getting closer and closer towards the ground. he’s right above the field you’re hanging around, and—

oh shit. 

they both crash against the ground, knocking a literal crater into the field. the impact of the collision knocks you onto your ass, and despite being fifty feet away, the yelp you let out when you hit pavement attracts superman’s attention— and the thing he’s fighting. 

it happens in slow motion: you, with wide eyes, scrambling to get up on shaky legs, the robot, hurling towards you impossibly fast, and superman, an inch behind, trying to stop it

you’re frozen. you can’t run, or fight, or even move— you’re just stuck, shaking, your heart beating out of your chest, adrenaline shooting through your veins like fire. 

you think it’s the end, but superman grabs hold of the thing when it’s an inch away, pulling it back and throwing it across the field so hard the boom that follows sounds like a missile strike. you just stare, your breaths uneven and panicked, watching with teary eyes as superman punches that thing into the ground, ripping the machine’s head off with bare hands, tearing it apart until it’s nothing but scrap metal and wire. 

and then he turns to you, moving faster than the speed of light across the field to gently help you up. 

“are you alright?” he asks, taking your hand. your legs are shaking so bad that he has to practically hold you upright, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

you nod. “yeah, i’m okay.” you say, taking a deep breath, swallowing down your panic. 

he checks you over for any injuries, the same way he did the first night that you met. “you shouldn’t have been out here.” he says, and he sounds frustrated— you feel bad. bad that he always seems to be saving you, and that you seem to be his least favorite regular. he’s saved you once a week for the last month at least, sometimes when you’re taking pictures for the planet, sometimes when trouble just seems to follow you home. either way— you have seen a lot of superman lately. 

“i uh, yeah, i was looking for… clark kent? i know he’s interviewed you before, have you seen him?” 

his gaze softens, and he takes a breath, looking down and shaking his head softly like he’s having a conversation in his head you aren’t privy to.

“he’s fine.” he says, looking up at you. you’re captivated— it’s always those damn eyes. bluer than the pacific, you don’t know how a man so perfect can exist.“i, uh, he was about to get crushed by some debris, so i moved him half a mile west.”

you breath a sigh of relief. “thank you.” you say, steady enough to stand a bit taller. he doesn’t let go. 

“you get into a lot of trouble, don’t you?” he asks— not in a, ha-ha we run into each other a lot way, but in a, hey i’m kind of concerned about your well-being kind of way. your heart leaps to your chest. 

“yeah. kept my promise though. didn’t come out here for a picture.” 

he smiles— you almost swoon— and shakes his head. “do i have to start keeping a special eye on you, miss?” 

you try not to blush. you fail. “with my luck, that might just be necessary.” you say, smiling up at him. 

you pause. 

you are totally flirting with superman. and even crazier— superman is totally flirting with you. 

you have clark. loving, caring, sweet, handsome clark. 

but can it really hurt to indulge in the fantasy for a minute longer? 

“well, if you need anything, ma’am, call out for superman, and i’ll be there.” he says.

“anything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “i might just take advantage of that.”

he laughs— a laugh that seems too familiar. “i hope you do.”

you look up at him, tilting your head. “thank you, again, for saving me.”

he smiles, looking down at you, giving your hand a final squeeze before he lets you go. he leans in a bit closer, smiling down at you in a way that makes your heart jump to your throat. “i’m always gonna save you. i promise.”

the way he says you gives you pause. it makes your knees want to buckle. it makes this whole thing seem completely unreal. 

because he’s talking about you like you mean a lot more to him than a pedestrian he’s had to save a couple times. like you’re someone he cares about— which confuses you a lot more than you care to admit. 

he leans back, clears his throat, acts like he said a bit more than he should have and returns to that superman persona he let slip for half a second. “you try to stay safe, okay?” he says, raising an eyebrow, and you nod, a little dazed. 

“on it.”

he steps back and shoots back off into the sky, and you stare until he’s completely gone, now just a whisper of blue in the skyline of metropolis. 

“hey! there you are!” clark’s voice echoes from behind you. you spin around, overwhelmed with relief that he’s safe and running back towards you. 

you practically crash into him, simply relieved that he is safe and not smushed under a building or something like that. his arms wrap around you so tight you can barely breathe, and you hold him so close you think your arms might break. 

“i got so scared when you didn’t come back.” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. he nods, pulling back, looking down at you. 

“yeah, uh, i was looking for others and this giant piece of wall almost got me— superman swiped me out and took me like, three blocks away.” he says, taking a deep breath. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you nod, swallowing down the guilt forming in your chest. here clark is, all worried about you, who literally ran back from half a mile away to come and get you, and you were just flirting with superman. 

“yeah, uh, superman saved me too. guess we both got lucky.” you say, chewing on your lip. you feel horrible. 

he frowns. “a-are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head. you hate how he can read you like that.

you nod. “yeah, uh, i think i just want to go home.”

——

that night you sent clark home, promising you would call him in the morning. you told him that you were just a bit shaken— and you were. but not from the whole… robot trying to kill you thing. from the superman one. 

you just felt guilty about it. confused on what made superman so keen on you. you’ve felt confused a lot, lately. about clark, superman, your own feelings. 

to make it clear: you are 100% whipped for clark. he is your perfect man, and he has never made you doubt for one second that he likes you just as much as you like him. the whole superman thing feels like a fantasy come true— having some angelic, godlike protector single you out. it’s probably very human to have some feelings, to get a little flustered when someone like superman flirts with you. 

there’s just something about superman that feels achingly familiar, in the kind of way that bugs you wholly. his laugh, his voice, his eyes. the eyes get you the most— like there’s something right in front of you that you just can’t see. 

you take another sip of your beer, looking out at the moonlit skyline from your fire escape. 

“are you alright?” 

you jump, whipping your head around to see superman floating ahead, approaching you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll scare. he smiles, leaning against the railing of the fire escape, looking down at you with this weird, soft look in his eye. like he’s worried. 

you nod. “what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “i wanted to make sure you were okay, after today.”  he says, staring at you with those impossibly familiar blue eyes. 

you raise an eyebrow. “do you check up on all the people you save?”

he chuckles, and shakes his head. “just the lucky ones.”

you pause, offering him a beer. he waves his hands no, climbing over the rail to sit with you. 

“you’re real friendly.” you observe, taking another swig of your drink. he shrugs.

“just concerned.” 

there’s a long beat of silence before either of you speak again. you’re not really sure what to say, how to proceed. you can feel him staring at you, while your eyes trace over the buildings around you. 

“how’s your day going?” you ask, blinking back up at him. he stares for a second, then smiles— and those eyes capture you once more. 

“been an odd day. y’know, stray robot attacks and all.” he pauses, giving you a once over. “you?” 

you shrug. “odd’s probably the best word for it.”

“would you like to talk about it?” he offers. “i’ve been told that i’m a good listener.” 

do you wanna talk about it? it’s kind of been an emotional roller coaster of a day. of course, it’s the kind of thing that would only happen to you, having superman on your porch step, asking how you feel. at first, all the running into each other seemed like dumb coincidence— now it all feels a lot heavier. 

“i’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.” you say, tilting back your head to get a better look at him. 

he nods. “is that a bad thing?”

you shrug in response. “it’s an odd one. especially ‘cause—“ you start, cutting yourself off. you look down, chewing on your lip so you don’t confront superman for being a huge flirt. 

he looks at you inquisitively, a small frown playing on his lips. “‘cause?”

you take a deep breath, looking down. “i have a boyfriend. well— he’s not technically my boyfriend, yet. he hasn’t asked, but like, y’know. i really like him.”

you look back up and he’s smiling, almost like he’s trying to suppress a grin, which confuses you even more, because, like, two minutes ago he was acting all into you.

“and how are things going with your not-boyfriend?” he asks, leaning back. 

“great. so i need you to stop flirting with me.” 

he laughs— he actually laughs, with his full chest. acts like you saying that is the silliest thing in the world. like he didn’t randomly show up at your apartment to ‘check on you.’

he smiles up at you with this weird, knowing twinkle in his eye. “you’re right. i’ve got no business getting between you and clark.” 

you pause, your eyebrows knitting together. you didn’t mention anything about clark. 

“how’d you know it was clark?” you ask, frowning. 

he pauses— like his body stutters. “uh, well—“ he starts, stumbling in a way that seems so familiar, just like everything else he does. god, what is it about him? “i assumed, since he was who you were looking for at the school.”

you nod, training your eyes on the loose curl sitting on his forehead. you guess that makes sense, at least, enough for you to not dwell on it any longer. yet, coupled with everything else you’ve noticed, it’s all just… very strange.

“i’m onto you, superman.” you say, looking up at him, eyebrows raised. you see it, just the briefest, tiniest moment of panic in his eyes before the superhero persona sets back in. it’s just enough to let you know that you’re not crazy. 

“onto me?” he asks, slightly incredulous. “what for?” 

you shrug, leaning back against the railing, taking another quick sip of your beer before placing it down against the barred floor of your fire escape. “just whatever it is that you’re hiding from me.”

he nods, like he’s barely entertaining the idea. “i could just stop running into you.” he says, a bit more serious now than he was a minute ago. “if i was hiding something.” 

you smile, shaking your head, standing up and leaning back against the railing. “you could. i doubt you will.” you say, flashing him a grin, hoisting yourself up to sit on the railing. 

he tilts his head. “why’s that?” 

now, you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t at least two beers deep, and right now, you’re three and a half in, so your judgement is maybe… slightly impaired. besides, it’s not like this is the farthest you’ve ever gone to prove a point. 

you slide your legs over the rail, and without a single thought or hesitation, you push yourself off. 

you plummet for a bit longer than you thought you would— not like the drop would kill you, anyways, you live three stories up, but you’re a lot closer to the ground than you thought you’d be when he catches you. 

his arms wrap around you bridal style— and he looks kind of pissed. he doesn’t quite look at you, not until you’re back up safely on the fire escape and he’s floating back out in the alleyway. 

“that was, gosh—“ he starts, looking down at you, arms crossed. “why would you do that?”

“i knew you would catch me.”  you say, your eyes glancing up to find his. 

he shakes his head. “promise me you won’t do that again. ever.” he asks, eyebrows firmly knit together. 

you nod, which, doesn’t seem to be good enough for him, because he tilts his head and looks at you with a gaze that is incredibly stern. you reach out your hand, extending your pinky finger out towards him. 

“i pinky swear.” 

he smiles, locking his finger with yours. “thank you.”

there’s a boom somewhere off in the distance, one loud enough to attract his attention. his hand slips away from yours, and with a nod, he’s gone. 

you’re gonna figure him out. 

——

it’s been two weeks since that night— and that was the last time you saw superman, a new record for you and him. you enjoyed the space as much as it infuriated you— so your time has been spent cataloguing every interaction, sorting through everything that bugged you, even slightly. 

you don’t tell clark about it. it can’t feel good to hear that your girl is constantly thinking about another guy— especially one that is a god amongst men. 

you and clark do have a good rhythm, though. he spends most nights at your place now, and he spoils you with two ‘real dates’ (as he calls them) a week. it’s nice, having him around. someone you can force feed your baking to and cuddle up with when watching scary movies.

it’s nights like tonight, actually, that make you so into him it scares you. he came over after work, and after making you a pasta salad that tasted like heaven on your fork, you sat together on the couch to watch some random sitcom he liked. his arms wrapped around you immediately, and he held you so close and so tight it was basically impossible not to fall asleep in those big, bulky arms of his. 

you blink awake now, soft light and sound still playing on your television despite how quiet everything else seems. you listen to clark’s breathing, steady and even, snoring softly with his grasp loose around you. 

you slide out of his arms quietly, surprised that you didn’t manage to wake him when you knocked into the table behind you on your way to the bathroom. you come back two minutes later, wiping your hands on your sleep shirt and looking down at him. 

he looks so peaceful, so relaxed. it makes you smile. carefully, as to not wake him up, you slide his glasses off of his face and put them on your coffee table, and grab a blanket off of your armchair to throw over him. 

in this motion, you realize you’ve never actually seen clark without his glasses before. you look down at him, tilting your head, squinting for whatever shapes you can make out with such little lighting. 

you didn’t realize how strong his prescription was, because he looks quite different. like— noticeably different. 

huh. he looks a lot like superman. 

you frown. squint a little harder. besides the hair, he’s nearly identical. 

you shake the thought. it has to be some weird coincidence, right? clark, your clark? not possible. you’re too sleepy to give it much thought, anyways. 

still, it bugs you. it bugs you the next morning, when he makes you breakfast. it bugs you the day after, when you see him at the planet. it bugs you for another week, because the similarity is just too damning. 

you stare down at that picture you have of superman. of him, helping your student. the one that inadvertently led you to clark. the one that superman himself framed. you’re looking at all the similarities of note between clark and him. sure, they’re different, but everything different is something easily changed. hairstyles, tone of voice, hell, even posture. 

you chew on your lip. it’s 5:30, clark’s supposed to pick you up in two hours. 

but, hypothetically, if you went to his place now and looked around when he wasn’t expecting you… would you find this picture hung up somewhere? 

it would be just to get the thought out of your head. you’re like, 95% sure there is no way in hell that clark kent can be superman. especially because, if he was, and he’d been flirting with you as superman? you’d be beyond pissed. 

you knock twice on the door. “clark?”

you hear a shuffle and a pause. it takes thirty agonizingly long seconds for him to open the door, but when he does it’s all smiles and laughter— “hey, what are you doing here? thought i was picking you up later.”

he urges you in and gently shuts the door behind you, smiling down at you. your eyes trace every inch of the apartment, looking for something you pray you don’t find. 

“i didn’t want to wait any longer,” you say, looking back up at him, “i missed you.”

he grins, wrapping an arm around you and giving you a squeeze. he looks nice— white button up, black slacks, his hair impossibly perfect. you lean into him, nearly forgetting about your mission. 

“do you want to just hang out here tonight? skip the date?” he asks, sliding your purse off of your shoulder and setting it down on his mahogany front table— one that he made himself when he still lived in smallville. 

“actually,” you say, uncertainly, sliding off your jacket. “that sounds perfect. i wanna talk.” 

he raises a brow, taking your jacket and hooking it the coat rack. you lead him to the living room, flopping down on the couch. “do i need to be worried?” 

he sets himself behind you, leaning against the back of the couch, smiling down at you. you look around, still looking for that picture— one you’re sure you won’t see amongst the decor of his apartment. 

“yeah, maybe.” you say, your eyes meeting his. his smile fades, and those ocean blue eyes stare down at you with just enough concern to make your heart skip a beat. “what are we?” 

you don’t know why you picked that question to stall for time, but here you are. 

he takes a breath, like that question somehow relieves him— what an odd guy. 

“what do you want us to be?” 

he asks it gently, hopefully, like he’s easing you into it. he is— he wants you, bad. more than just a summer situationship. clark isn’t built for that. but he understands hesitation, he understands if you want to take your time. he’s got all the time in the world. 

you pause, taking a breath. “well, i really like you clark.” you say, scooting back on the couch, patting the empty space next to you as a signal. he dances around the side of the couch, extra careful not to knock into anything and disrupt a moment like this one. the couch dips beside you and you sit with your legs crossed, facing him. 

“i really like you, too.” he says, quietly, like it kills him not to say more. 

you nod, chewing on your lip. “and i want to be your girlfriend.” 

he breaks out into a grin, leaning back, looking at you with nothing but love in those ridiculously blue eyes. “yeah?”

“not that you don’t still have to ask me, cause you do, and you have to make it, like, the most romantic thing i’ve ever seen.” you say, smiling up at him. he nods— super serious, like one of your kids planning out an assignment in their head.

“i promise.” he says, leaning in. “i’m gonna romance your socks off, babe.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him against you. he presses a quick kiss against your lips— one you’re careful not to get sucked into; you’re not done yet.

“now that that’s settled,” you say, forcing him back with a playful push that elicits a groan from him. “if i’m gonna be with you— you can’t hide anything. i need complete, open honesty.” 

he nods, looking away. you frown. “is there anything you haven’t told me? anything important?” 

he pauses, his eyes trained to the wall, like he’s deliberating on something super important. 

were you right? is clark really… superman? 

he looks back at you, smiling, like that moment didn’t happen. like everything is alright. “i stole one the toys from your classroom.” he shrugs, laughing a bit. “the stuffed deer? it reminded me of you.” 

you gasp, feigning offense. “i’ve been looking for him everywhere!” you exclaim in fake horror, but you can’t help but giggle. 

what were you thinking? clark, superman? sweet, adorkable clark? it’s more likely that he’s secretly mother teresa. 

his laugh grounds you, and he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. “i’ll let you know if anything else comes to mind.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “wanna watch a movie?” 

you nod, looking up at him. “i’ll let you pick it if you make popcorn.” you grin, pressing a kiss against his jawline. 

“yes ma’am.” he says, standing up, lingering in your touch a second too long before leaving for the kitchen. 

you watch him, unable to suppress a giant, dorky smile. god, you love him. 

oh god, you love him. 

you decide to table that thought for when you get home. 

“i’m gonna change into one of your shirts!” you call out, standing up and heading towards his room. you’re still in date night attire, and you would much rather be dwarfed by one of clark’s nice, cotton, smallville t-shirts than brave the night in jeans and a tube top. 

“have fun!” he calls back, and you can hear the sporadic popping of the popcorn from the kitchen. 

you make it to his closet, filtering through the half-dozen tees he keeps hung up. he doesn’t have that many clothes, you note, a few dress shirts, a couple cheap suits, two pairs of jeans, and a box of ties below it. you look around a bit more, noting the weird amount of dress shoes he has lined up on the ground when you notice a pair of black wingtips sat above a silver, face-down picture frame. 

huh. 

maybe if you were a bit more trusting and a bit less suspicious you would have left it alone— but that isn’t you. 

your eyes flicker to the doorway, which is empty, and back to the frame. carefully, you crouch down, sliding the shoes down to the ground, tentatively picking up the frame and flipping it towards you. 

your heart beats out of your chest. 

it’s the picture. 

it’s the picture. 

the one you took of superman, the one you gave him that first night, the one he told you he framed— the one that you decidedly did not give to clark, the one that clark never told you he framed, the one that clark would have no reason to hide except—

that he’s superman. 

that you were right. 

that he lied to you. 

you take the picture. hold it so tight your knuckles turn white. walk out of the closet, out of the bedroom, into the kitchen. drop it on the countertop so clark can see it. 

the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. he looks shocked, caught, then scared, guilty. his eyes dart from the picture to you in an instant. the microwave beeps three times, the popping slows to a stop. it’s over. 

“i can explain.” 

you shake your head. he doesn’t need to— it’s pretty open and shut. he lied to you, and if it was just him hiding the superman thing, you could understand. “you talked to me as superman— flirted with me, asked personal stuff— you lied. you’ve been lying, this entire time, i—“ you take a deep breath, fighting tears. “i should go.” you say, spinning around on your heels.

he grabs your hand before you can move, squeezing it gently. “please, wait— let me explain it. please. you don’t understand.”

you pull away, looking at him with nothing but hurt in your eyes— because you are hurt, you feel betrayed and broken and everything you thought you wouldn’t feel with clark. you stare at him, trying your hardest not to cry— not in front of him. he looks hopeless, half-defeated, uncertain, and lost in a way that overwhelms him.

you sniffle, shaking your head. “i understand fine, clark.” you say, swallowing down your heartbreak and peeling towards the door. 

“this is over.”

——

the days that follow are bleak. all you have to show for the breakup are dark, lonely hours wasted in pints of ice cream and dirty tissues. your only solace is scrolling through article after article— either ones written by clark, or ones written about him. 

you push yourself through it with everything you can muster, praying that he doesn’t hear your sobs from across the city. you love him. loved him. and you’re not sure you’ll ever be so in love again. 

but he betrayed you, he lied to you— he hurt you in a way that you can’t explain. you don’t want to let that push you down any more than it already has. 

so, you push back. get up, out of bed, get dressed, call your friends, make plans. put yourself in a situation where you don’t have to think, especially about clark. it’s been ten days since you stormed out of his apartment and you have to move forward. it’s the last day of summer before you go back— you can’t have let it all been a waste. 

you club. you party. you convince yourself that you’re having fun. you drink too much and then you spend an hour sobering yourself up before you home. you kiss your friends goodbye and toss the numbers you had pocketed in the trash outside your apartment. you head upstairs, taking a deep breath to try an avoid letting yourself think about the silence.

about clark. 

and, when you get to your door, fumbling for your keys— you notice a piece of neatly-folded card stock taped below your peephole, your name encircled by a heart on the front of it. 

carefully, you take it down, removing the tape with little tear and opening the letter, recognizing the handwriting before you can even read a word. 

to start this, you were right. i shouldn’t have lied, i shouldn’t have pretended i wasn’t lying, i shouldn’t have spoken to you under false pretenses. the last thing i ever wanted was to hurt you, and for that, i am so sorry. 

i hope, for you, this past week hasn’t been as miserable as it has been for me. i hoped to have seen you at the planet, or bump into you on the corner, or find some way to see you and try and redeem myself— but i couldn’t wait any longer to explain.

yes, i am superman. i was born on the planet krypton, sent here as an infant, and adopted by my parents, john and martha kent. i have a cousin who too, is from krypton, but remembers much more than me about home, and i take care of her superpowered dog, krypto, in a secret fortress in the arctic. i can fly, i can move incredibly fast, i have inhuman strength, x-ray vision, laser vision from my eyes and breath that can freeze nearly anything, all given to me by the earth’s yellow sun. 

i came to you as superman at first by accident. the night i saved you from the mugger, before our first date. i had spent the days leading up to our date spiraling. you, who are so perfect, so beautiful, and so kind, were going out with me, and i was terrified to mess it up. i realized how easy it was for me to talk to you as superman, when it was difficult for clark kent. the times i saved you, i shouldn’t have lingered. the times i spoke to you as him, i shouldn’t have been there. at first, it had been a crutch, but by the last time, it had become a compulsion. 

i had to see you. to make sure that you were safe, and warm, and happy. i realize now that i violated you in a way i cannot make up for. for this and for everything else, i am truly sorry. while my betrayal is inexcusable, know that i did it because i love you. this summer has been the best of my life, i have never met someone as compassionate, hilarious, talented, and beautiful as you, i have never wanted to be around someone more than you, i have never had someone plague my thoughts and dreams the way you do. you have quickly become my everything, my reason for waking up, for helping people, for pushing through every day.

you asked me, the day of our fight, to make my request for you to be my girlfriend the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen. and i promised you that i would. 

and while i have lied to you, hidden things from you, and hurt you, i have never broken a promise. 

open the door, please. 

you look up from the note, wiping away a river of tears that had just poured out of you. carefully, your hands wrap around the doorknob, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. 

and there he is. 

standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a thousand rose petals, holding a giant bouquet with an iron grip. candles litter the foyer, giving his face an ethereal glow in the low light. his glasses are gone. his curls are out. he’s someone between clark kent and superman now, someone who you desperately want to know. 

he clears his throat, his gaze holding yours hostage with those infinity blue eyes captivating you so wholly. 

“i promise never to hurt you again. never to lie to you, or hide things from you, or betray your trust— if you’ll let me be yours again.” he says, smiling down at you like he’s on the verge of tears. “will you be my girlfriend?” he asks, as you approach taking in the entire set up slowly, trying not to lose what little composure of yours you still have. 

you take a breath, your eyes locking with his once more. 

“yes.” you say, grinning while tears— happy ones, slip from your eyes. he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen, practically throwing the bouquet so he can wrap his arms around you in a giant bear hug. 

he lifts you up and spins you off of the ground, pulling an exciting giggle from your lips. it takes you a second to realize he’s off the ground too, that you’re both mid-air inside your tiny apartment— but you’re too focused on clark to mind. 

he holds you close, leaning in just enough to warm your face with his breath.

“i love you.” he says, quietly, like if saying it any louder would have scared you away. 

“i love you too.” you say, smiling. 

he grins, leaning into you and crashing against you with a kiss so fervent it nearly topples you over— so passionate it makes your chest explode with warmth. 

and suddenly, just for a moment, just for now— everything is okay again. and you know that as long as you have clark at your side, it always will be. 

——

there are two quick knocks on the door, followed by a rasp “honey? you okay?”

you tremble, sat with your back against the door, bunched up in your wedding dress, trying to force the tears to stop falling to avoid messing up your ridiculously expensive bridal makeup. ten minutes ago the pressure got to you, and five minutes ago you sent your entire party— bridesmaids, stylists, even your mom —out the door so you could properly break down. 

“yeah.” you say, sniffling. your voice shakes so much that the lie isn’t even half-convincing. clark can see right through you anyways (literally), so it’s not like you were really trying to lie. you just didn’t want him all concerned. it’s his wedding day too, you want it to be the happiest day of his life, even if your own experience is a train wreck. 

you can practically hear his frown. “kara told me what happened.” he says, softly. 

oh. yeah. your bridezilla breakdown. not one of your best moments. you aren’t exactly proud of screaming at your mom to stop messing with your hair, or your aunt for commenting on the fit of your dress, or your bridesmaids for giving you all sorts of unsolicited advice. you yelled, threw a fit, and pushed everyone out of the room so you could sob mascara into your veil. 

“can i come in?” he asks, gently, and you let out a weak laugh. 

“the groom can’t see the bride before the wedding, remember?” you say. he groans, sliding down against the door, his back to you. 

“that’s a silly rule.” he says, and you smile. you love how much he makes you smile. 

“i don’t need any more bad luck.” you wince. “did kara tell you about my bitch fit?” 

you hear him snort a little bit through the door. “she used nicer words.” he says, pausing. “wanna talk about it?”

god yes. it’s all you want to talk about. but you don’t want to bring clark down any further than you already have. you want him to have the perfect wedding, even if you are decidedly not. 

“it’s fine. i just needed a minute.” you say, your voice shaking again— enough to where you know clark won’t drop it now. you bury your head in your dress, taking a deep breath. 

“c’mon. i’m your husband in like, ten minutes. you can talk to me.” he says. his voice is so sweet and syrupy— you’re not sure how you can refuse him. 

you lean up, back against the door, shutting your eyes so tight it hurts. the words spill out of you so fast you don’t even think about them before they do. “i wanna be married to you so bad. but god— i know we spent so much on this and we spent so much time planning it but… i just want this over with. my dress is so goddamn tight and nobody can leave me alone for half a second without telling me something i need to be doing or something i’m doing wrong. and i just— it all got to be too much. and now my mom is probably gonna storm out ‘cause i yelled at her and then my dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle, and i just ruined everything for no good reason.” 

the end of your rant is met with a beat of silence. a terrifying, overwhelming, moment where you think you might have finally scared off clark. 

of course, you didn’t. you couldn’t. “hey, honey— nothing’s ruined. look, don’t think about what your mom wants, or what your bridesmaids want, or even what i want. what’s gonna make you happy? ‘cause i could fly you off to a courthouse right now and ditch the party. all i want is to married to you— you could be in your pajamas for all i care and you would never have looked more beautiful. i just— darn it, i want you to be happy.”

you’re crying again, but this time you’re smiling, because god, your fiancé is just so sweet it makes your knees weak. 

“what do you want, sweetheart?” he asks again, his voice so soft and tender it makes you turn to putty. 

you sniffle again, wiping your tears with your fingers while trying not to further destroy your $120 makeup. “i really want a hug.” you mumble, staring down at your mascara-stained hands. 

“on it.” he says, and you hear him stand up and try for the door— which is still very much locked. 

you giggle a bit, standing up with him “i can’t let you in, though. the rule?” 

he scoffs. “that rule is just plain— gosh, it’s just ridiculous. let me in, please, or I’m gonna break this door down.” 

you laugh— god, it feels so good to laugh. you haven’t seen him all day and it felt like you were drowning. 

you pause, giving in and slowly turning the lock, but you don’t quite open the door yet. 

“promise me you’ll keep your eyes shut?” you ask, knowing how silly it sounds. god help you, you’re a bit superstitious. 

“scouts honor.” he confirms, and you slowly open the door, peeking out to see clark, who looks breathtakingly stunning, with his tie wrapped around his eyes like a blindfold. 

you laugh, smiling so wide the muscles in your mouth start to get sore. 

“there she is.” he says, reaching out blindly for you, his hands— impossibly warm, feeling around for your shoulders. “you feel very beautiful.” 

you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and burying yourself against him, your head in his chest. his arms circle your body and he squeezes you so tight you might faint— exactly the kind of hug you needed. 

you do your best not to let yourself cry, but clark has a way of forcing the tension out of you, one way or another. one hand presses into the small of your back, the other strokes your hair softly. little praises and comforts slip from his lips like sugar, while you sob into him.

“i love you so much.” he whispers, giving you another squeeze.

“i love you too.” you cry, holding him so tightly your arms ache. “i am so excited to be married to you— this is not cold feet i promise.”

he laughs, nodding against you. “i know, honey, i know.” he says, and god, he knows just how to sooth every one of your worries away. 

finally, you pull away, looking up at him. his glasses are tucked into his pocket, his hair is slicked back with one little curl popped out against his forehead. his suit is a deep black, with a navy blue tie (still covering his eyes) and a matching pocket square that makes him look irresistible. 

“you look really nice.” you say, sniffling, but you can’t wipe the smile off of your face. 

he shrugs. “i’m sure it’s nothing compared to you.” and he says it like you aren’t already a mess and you’re not blushing like, well, a bride. 

you grab the edge of his sleeve and use it to wipe away your tears. his thumb brushes against your cheek, falling to your bicep when you let his sleeve go.

“so, what’s the plan, gorgeous?” he asks, grinning down at you with that five-star smile that gets you every time. “are we sneaking out and going downtown?”

you take a deep breath, shaking your head. “no, no we’re doing this.” you say, leaning into his touch. “but if you, say, asked one of your superhero friends to slip a roach down my mom’s dress, i think i’d skip down the aisle.” 

he laughs, squeezing your arm and pulling away. “i’ll see what i can do.” 

you smile, memorizing how dorky he looks with that tie around his eyes and his cute open mouth smile. 

“see you on the other side?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“see you on the other side.” he confirms, stepping back with just enough uncertainty to let you know that he’s not using any x-ray vision. 

you watch him through the crack in the door until he’s gone, smiling so wide you might be stuck that way. 

half an hour later the music starts, your dad takes your hand, and you’re walking down the aisle like nothing ever went wrong.

first you eye the crowd, looking over the array of friends, family, and superheroes that showed up. thank goodness clark is a reporter and not, say, an office worker, because you don’t know how else you could explain the random celebrities like bruce wayne and oliver queen who are sat in the audience. 

then you look at your feet, which, are hidden beneath the dress, but you want to make sure you don’t stumble and embarrass yourself with a hundred pairs of eyes on you. 

finally, you look up at clark, who’s staring at you in the sort of way that makes you feel faint. like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. like you’re about to make his knees buckle. like he’s in pure awe. he doesn’t even look nervous— a trait which you envy, because you’re an absolute mess right now. he just looks captivated.

you make up to the alter, looking up at him with a healthy mix of nerves and excitement. he’s looking down at you like he’s never been more certain of anything in his life. 

“i love you.” he mouths, grinning at you.

“i love you more.” you mouth back, and he shakes his head with glee.

“—you may now share your vows.” the officiant says, looking to clark.

he smiles, looking down at his feet, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you.

“for… for a long time i didn’t know what to write. i had about six… thousand drafts, but i don’t think there’s any way i can put into words how much i love you. how much i depend on you, how much of my happiness is thanks to you. i have so much purpose now. because if i can make you happy— if i can make you safe, if i can make you feel loved and supported and half as good as you make me feel every day by just being you… i’ll have accomplished more than i’ve ever dreamed of. i love you, honey, so much it makes my chest hurt. and i am the luckiest man in the world to be the man who gets to marry you— my soulmate.” he looks back up at you with stars in his eyes— your spaceman.

there’s like, five tears sliding down your cheeks by the end of that speech. you literally cannot stop smiling. you expected a lot— his job is writing for chrissakes— but wow.

wow.

“i, uh, wow. i don’t think i can top that.” you say, and a gentle laugh echoes from the crowd. you take a deep breath. “clark, i— i spent a lifetime thinking i’d never find someone like you. you’re, literally my knight in shining armor. when we met, and you walked me to perry’s office when i was so, horribly lost, i remember thinking how much i wanted this guy to ask me out. and then i found your number in my files, and i didn’t even realize how lucky i was. clark— my life has become so much better because you’re in it. having you, my rock, my best friend, my soulmate— i don’t have to dream any more. every morning with you is one come true. you are the incredibly dorky, adorable, and unfathomably amazing love of my life, and marrying you is the best thing i will ever do. i’ve never been certain of anything, but for this i have no doubt: i love you, clark kent, and i will love you no matter what life throws at us— i know that despite any tragedy or circumstance, i am yours, always and forever.”

you smile up at clark, droplets of water falling further down your face while a single tear drops from his eye. he smiles at you like you’re all he could ever want. you are.

“by the power vested in me by the state, i now pronounce you mr. and mrs. clark kent, husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride.”

clark grins at you and leans in, his lips pressing gently against yours, his hands pulling you in by your sides. the music plays, the church erupts in applause, and your husband knocks the breath out of you and for one moment, just one, everything is completely perfect.

this is so easily the longest fic i've ever written.... i am very proud of her though i very much hope you all enjoy!!

[cherrysinner]

─── TAKE THE BAIT ♡

♡ pairing: clark x girlfriend!reader

♡ summary: you've been known to prank clark, but one of your pranks is starting to make your boyfriend overthink things.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! clark keeps getting ragebaited. wc: 1.5k

♡ author's note: we're ragebaiting clark kent in and out of canon!!

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST ♡

it was no secret that you liked pulling harmless practical jokes on your boyfriend, whether it was by buying a bunch of tiny plastic babies in bulk and hiding them around the apartment, making clark scratch his head when he started finding more and more babies every day, even hiding a few of them in his bag, or by convincing him to do a tiktok with you, only for you to prank him.

one day, after weeks of baby-hiding when clark had found a row of babies on his bathroom sink, he'd walked up to you with his brows furrowed, hands cupping a bunch of plastic babies.

"is this- is this supposed to be some kind of hint?"

you'd looked up from your laptop with a perplexed expression, "what... what am i looking at here?" "the babies. the plastic babies." "clark, what are you talking about?" you chuckled as you looked from him down to the babies, "and why do you have a bunch of plastic babies?"

"because i've been-" he let out an exasperated sigh, "i keep finding a bunch of babies everywhere." "sorry, clark. i have no idea where they're coming from." you shrugged, bringing your cup of coffee to your lips, "maybe it's some supervillain playing with you."

your boyfriend narrowed his blue eyes at you, letting out an adorable huff, and making his way back to the bathroom, your lips quirking up into a smile.

but later that night, as you and clark were in bed, your boyfriend in the middle of writing an article, you stretched your arms over your head, "mm, i'm starving. i think i'll go get a snack." "do you want me to make you something?" clark asked, looking up from his laptop with a small smile. "nah, i'll just go grab something small."

only for you to make your way to the kitchen and grab the bag of babies. "what'd you get?" clark was now back to focusing on the computer screen. "oh, nothing much." you mumbled, getting back under the covers. you held out the bag to him, a mischievous grin on your lips, "want one?"

"oh, no th-" when clark's eyes landed on the bag of babies, he looked to you with his blue eyes narrowed, but a playful grin on his lips, "i knew it."

"i couldn't res-"

your sentence was cut off by clark bringing his lips to yours, making you drop the bag of babies onto the bed, more focused on having your hands on him.

it had taken you a few weeks for you to be able to convince him to make a tiktok with you; clark was never too into social media, but you were playing the long game, and eventually, he finally agreed.

"so, what are we doing?" clark asked, clearing his throat and straightening his tie. you shook your head as you set up your phone so that it was leaning against a stack of books, "oh, it's just... a little get-to-know-you video. i tell people about you and then you can tell them a bit about me." "alright." clark took in a deep breath, and you made the phone to record.

"so, some of my favorite things about clark... he's a sweet guy, obviously." you let out a soft chuckle, "he's funny, but in a dorky, adorable way. and one thing he does, is every morning he'll wake me up by holding me close, pressing kisses on my cheek and mumbling stuff to me really softly."

as you turned to clark, you could see his cheeks starting to redden, the man clearing his throat, "do... do i go now?" "no, still my turn." you turned back to the phone, "but... clark does have like, a certain set of rules for me to follow." "wait, rules?"

"so, clark doesn't wan't me speaking to guys," "you have guy fr-" "and whenever i leave the house, he wants me to send a picture of my outfit to make sure it's not too revealing." "i ask for them because you look cute in them!" "and he always wants to be able to track my location through my phone."

"what- i don't even know how to do that?" "and i always need to have dinner ready by the time he gets home." "we alternate!" "he always logs everything i eat on a meal tracker to make sure i don't gain weight. and the last thing-"

"sweetheart." your boyfriend said with the softest voice, his brows furrowed in concern, "i'm confused, did i do something to make you think you have some sort of rules?"

you couldn't help the pang in your chest at the softness of his words, and the genuine worry marring his features, making you feel bad, "no, no!" you rushed, letting out a sigh, pursing your lips with an apologetic look on your face as you cupped his cheeks, "i'm sorry, clark, it was just a stupid prank."

"really?" clark asked with a relieved tone, and you nodded your head, "golly, you worried me." "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to make me feel bad."

your boyfriend's lips turned upwards, "you're lucky i love you so much." "i love you too, clark." you smiled, bringing your lips to his.

next time, you decided to go for something you considered to be a nice prank, one that wouldn't make clark overthink things and that he'd actually really like and find cute, but what you couldn't predict was that it was the one that was going to make him overthink things the most.

you and clark walked into the diner you'd spotted on your way home after you'd gone out for drinks with your friends, both of you thinking about nothing but pancakes and milkshakes. clark led you to a booth, picking up the menu off the table as you sat down next to one another, both of you looking over it together.

"what were you thinking?" clark mumbled, turning to you with a fond smile on his lips, your lips pursed in thought, "i was thinking... strawberry milkshake and blueberry pancakes." "good choice. i was thinking chocolate milkshake and chocolate pancakes." "excellent choice, mr. kent."

moments later, an older waitress walked up to your table with a wide smile on her sweet face, "what can i get for ya?" "i'll have the blueberry pancakes with a strawberry milkshake, and my husband will have the chocolate pancakes with a chocolate milkshake."

clark felt a flutter at the pit of his stomach when he heard that word leave your lips. husband. he was sure it was just a random slip-up, but he couldn't help the way his smile brightened when you called him your husband.

but then... it started happening more often.

clark could hear that you were on the phone with someone from outside your front door, though it was mostly covered up by the sound of a pan sizzling. he pushed open the door, smiling as he started to make his way towards the kitchen, popping his head in.

"i'm home." clark said softly, and you rolled your eyes, "i should get going, my husband just got home. yeah. talk to you soon. bye." once again, clark felt a wave of flutters, his cheeks feeling warmer. husband. "so, how was work?" you looked to clark as you set down your phone. "yeah," clark cleared his throat, trying to bite down his smile, "it was good."

suddenly, the sleepy mumbles of "good morning my love..." you'd let out every morning turned into "good morning my husband..."

when you went out to museums or on the beach, instead of asking a stranger, "could you take a picture of us?" it became "could you take a picture of my husband and i?"

and although clark's bright blue eyes only got brighter every time you referred to him as your husband, he couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety. why did you keep calling clark your husband? could it be...? no. no way. the nightstand drawer was locked.

but when it continued to bother him, he decided to finally bring it up as the two of you were laid up on the couch, clark's arm around you. "sweetheart?" he mumbled softly, and you turned your attention from the tv to your boyfriend with a warm smile, "what's up?"

"i was wondering... how come you've suddenly started calling me your husband?" your eyes widened slightly, brows raising, "oh." you let out a soft chuckle, "well, initially it was because of a prank i saw about calling your boyfriend your husband. but you didn't really react to it, so i wanted to see how long it'd take for you to react. and... i guess it kind of stuck. do you- are you not comfortable with it? i can stop."

"no, no, it's not that." clark smiled, "i like it." he brought his lips to your forehead. but it was a relief to know that you hadn't found the ring box in the drawer of his nightstand.

taglist: @angel06babysworld @raahosh @biancasisstuff @iamarealmicrowave @angelicp0etry

join the taglist! ♡

[bubblesoflou]

caught...

clark is your not so prudish little boyfriend.

✦ warning: mdni (+18), clark kent, soft smut, kink! with panties.

Your boyfriend Clark Kent is a sweetheart. Since you started dating three months ago, it’s been like biting into something sweet and heavenly. Flowers, candlelit dinners — you have it all.

Well… almost all.

Because despite all the romance, the two of you have never actually slept together. Not that it’s a problem. Not really... it’s just that, well, he never brings it up. Always so gentle, with those bright blue eyes that make you feel just a little guilty for constantly imagining him in all kinds of filthy scenarios.

At least, that was the case until the day you come home early. At the entrance, you spot his dark shoes and think nothing of it. Clark has his whole dinner ritual — purple apron, vintage playlist, dishes arranged by color.But today... nothing. No scent of food in the air. No tight purple bow around those strong hips. And, obviously, he’s not in the kitchen either.

You tread lightly through the apartment, about to open the office door, when a muffled grunt breaks the silence of the hallway. Your brows furrow as you change direction, heading upstairs. With every step, the sound grows — sticky, rhythmic, unmistakable.

And the moment your eyes catch the crack of the slightly open door, your hand grips the knob tight.

Clark is there. Spread out on your bed.

His dark hair clings to his forehead, cheeks flushed deep red, and those plush lips caught between his teeth. One hand moves slowly along the thick, hard length between his legs the tip slick with precum, and in the other, between his strong fingers... he’s holding a pair of your panties. Black. Lacy.

You could waste time questioning what’s right or wrong, but the sight is too painfully sexy for logic. The door clicks shut behind you. Clark freezes. When he looks at you, his blue eyes are glazed over, heavy with need.Without a word, you crawl onto the messy bed. He chokes out something — maybe your name, maybe a plea — but you only smile.

With cruel calm, you slip off the panties you’re wearing and drag the damp fabric through your fingers before holding it up to his lips.

“Open.”

“Baby...” he breathes, and the sound makes your whole body ache.

“Open for me, Clark. Now.”

He obeys with a trembling sigh, and the lace settles between his teeth.You lean in, letting your fingers trail over his hot skin until you wrap around what he was hiding. "If you drop it... I stop.”

Clark locks his jaw, those pleading eyes watching as you slowly sink down onto him, your dripping heat welcoming every inch until he’s buried deep. The growl that leaves him is stifled, his teeth clenched tight around the fabric as his eyes roll back and his grip digs into your hips.

“Good. Stay like that.”

And since he’s being so good, you make sure to reward him properly — riding him hard, deep, with a rhythm that shakes the room, while your prudish little boyfriend chokes on his own moans.

[bellasweetwriting]

in every place

────────────────────────────

— clark kent x f. reader ♡

— plot; without asking, without wanting, without thinking it, you somehow end up getting to know clark kent very well

— content; very popular reader , secret relationship , kissing , fluff

— a/n: this is a prequel to “in every universe”, the start of clark kent x reader’s secret relationship. i really loved writing this version of reader, hope you enjoy. requests are open!! also, as i always say, i write for tom welling’s clark kent, feel free to imagine any clark kent you want !! xoxo ♡

— prequel. one.

— masterlist

────────────────────────────

You pushed your books inside your locker, all while Zach kept talking to you about the party he was organizing for this evening. How great and amazing and other very simple adjetives were used to describe the get together he was planning, that involved the whole school, or at least the people at school that mattered. You smiled politely, wondering if he even cared you were standing there, or he just he just wanted an excuse to hear himself talk and not look weird. that’s just what he used to do normally. since he was as arrogant as a common swimsuit model, acting as if every moment of natural silence between you was the time for him to pose to an invisible camera.

He’d always liked looking pretty on the exterior so to not let people look at the emptiness inside.

“Zach,” you called him, closing your locker’s door. “I’m happy for you, really. I believe this party you’re planning has required a lot of effort. I can tell you put a lot of work into this.”

He shrugged, trying to disguise his arrogance with indifference, his narcissism with modesty. You hugged your History text book right against your chest, pressing down your nails to the back cover. You couldn’t wait for this long, insisting, tired conversation to be over so you could go to class. You couldn’t believe you actually wanted to go to class.

“You look beautiful today, have I told you that?” It was the first real compliment he had made you over the course of the twenty minutes he’d been talking about himself.

You looked at him with a soft smile. “Thank you,” you said, softly. “That’s very nice of you to say, Zach.”

He smirked, as if he was proud of getting the recognition he thought he well deserved. “I better get going. Class started five minutes ago, wouldn’t want to be any more late.”

Your face suddenly dropped at the mention of the time. You had classes with McGee, the history professor, and he was very strict with tardiness and the importance of being punctual. If you had known Zach’s intense and unending babbling would affect you in more ways than it already did, you would’ve left sooner.

You ran, didn’t walk, to your history class. But it was too late. Once you opened the door, and the eyes of your punctual classmates as well as your teacher laid on you, it was game over. You knew getting away with this with any less than detention would be improbable.

Your teacher said your last name with disgust. He’s made a point during the semester that he wasn’t fond of your way of getting things due to your looks, even if you thought it was just a discriminatory thought covered in pure fiction rather than anything that resembled the truth. You didn’t like the easy way, you’ve never had. Of course, he didn’t know that; and he felt wise to punish you for something he thought to be true rather than hearing the actual truth.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You know how I am regarding time. I don’t like any time of my class to go to waste. And since you’ve made it a habit to interrupt me and your classmates that take in consideration the time our class start, I’m left with no other choice than to give you detention.”

“Huh?” You let out, frowning. “But I—“

You were interrupted by the classroom’s door opening, a tall guy walking inside, someone you had seen before, yet never quite paid attention to. You turned to look at him. He was definitely tall, his eyes were as blue as crystal water, his skin tanned, his shoulders broad, his chest puffed. You raised your eyebrows in surprised, not expecting to see someone like him, and surprised you hadn’t noticed him before.

“Mr. Kent!” Your teacher yelled, taking you out of the trance you were involved in.

“I am very sorry, sir, I really am. See, I ran into some—“

“You can tell her all about it when you’re both in detention this afternoon.”

You both turned to look at one another, Clark noticing your presence to his side at that moment. He held his breath for a second, mesmerized by the sight of you standing so close to him. Of course he knew who you were, everyone did. Everyone in school would kill to be as close to you as he was right at that second. So close to someone as ethereal as you were.

“Now, you both, sit down.”

There were only two seats available in the whole classroom. Clark noticed, out of his luck, that they were right behind Chloe and Pete, and he followed you to them. His best friends smiled at him, practically mocking him, as he pulled the chair for you, letting you sit there. You thanked him, placing your bag on top of the counter, watching him sit down as well.

The blonde girl sitting in front of you that you recognized as Chloe Sullivan from the school newspaper turned to look at both of you, giving a mocking smile to your seat partner.

“Goodie two shoes Clark Kent got detention. That should be the Torch’s next front page article,” she whispered, mockingly, making Clark roll his eyes. “Do you even know in which classroom detention is.”

“3B,” you interrupted as you looked at Clark, both of them looking back at you. “I’ve had my fair share of detentions this semester to know a thing or two about them.” You extended your hand politely towards Clark, smiling, and you told him your name.

He reached for it, smiling as well. “I know who you are. I’m Clark Kent.”

“And I’m Chloe Sullivan,” Chloe interrupted, Clark and you letting go of each other’s hands. “What is your opinion on the recent resurface of cheating that the cheerleading squad has been apart of in the recent week? With the algebra midterm? Most of them had the same answers. Care to comment?”

You opened your eyes widely, surprised at the intensive eyes that were staring at you. You stammered, trying to find the right words, but you barely were even understanding the question.

“Chloe!” Clark reprehended her, his stared widened. He turned to look at you, giving you a kind smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said back, smiling. “Do you have a pen by the way? I’ve misplaced mine.”

He looked inside his backpack, taking out a blue pen and handing it to you. You grabbed it, your fingers gracing his as they passed. You smiled, he smiled, before you looked away down to your notebook.

────────────────────────────

When you arrived at the 3B classroom and saw Clark Kent inside, sitting alone in a two seat table, behind all the common attendees to detention, you smiled to yourself. You looked around, noticing there was also an empty seat right where you always sat, but something called you. By instinct, by a force more powerful than yourself, you walked in Clark’s direction; sitting, on the back of the classroom, right by his side.

“Hey,” you said. He looked up from his book, giving you a wide, excited smile. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, not at all,” he said, as you sat right beside him. “I thought there would be more people.”

“Well, you’re early… to detention,” you said, and as if they’d heard you, people began entering the classroom. “You’ve never been here before, haven’t you?” He shook his head with such cuteness you thought for a second you were going to melt. “It isn’t half bad. Normally, the guardian teacher just shows up at the beginning to take attendance, then leaves, and comes back to let us out. I normally watch movies or listen to music.”

“What a rebel,” Clark mocked, making you chuckle. “So, what music do you got?”

And, sharing your light pink headphones, both of you listened to some Billy Idol, Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac, and many others, side by side, while you played tic tac toe or read, inevitably close. You didn’t want the headphones to fall, so you kept him close to you, trying not to move as much.

Before detention could end, you knew you had to say something, anything, otherwise it would be too late, and he would be gone, and you had no clue when would Clark Kent would ever be so social with you.

“Hey,” you said, and he put down the headphone, turning to look in your direction. “Would you like to come to Zach’s party this weekend? From what I’ve heard, it’s the event of the millennium.”

Clark snorted. “Is that so?”

“It is so, yeah. There’s going to be unlimited cheap beer, some loud dirty music and a lot of people sweating and moving around trying to go with the rhythm but not quite. It’s actually very fun,” you finally said, smiling. He smiled as well. “I would really like to see you there. I mean, because I believe it’s just a step up from detention, really. If you are here, might as well be there, you know?”

“It’s the same thing?”

“Maybe a different font,” you mocked, making him laugh. “Will I see you there, Clark?”

The way his eyes lit up you thought he was having a stroke. You’ve never seen that look on someone, it freaked you, but amazed you as well. It was as if he was trying to melt you with fire in his eyes.

“Yeah… I’ll be there.”

────────────────────────────

He wasn’t there.

The wave of teenage men with beer in there system came to attack you as soon as you walked through the door, and the tsunami has yet to finish passing. You knew parties like this, specially as big as Zach organized them, eventually end up in disaster, and a lot of drunk high schoolers thinking they are more attractive than Calvin Klein model try to shoot their shot once they can.

But your eyes were looking for someone in particular.

And he did show up, just that you didn’t see him. But he saw you. He saw that white silk tank top you were wearing with those low rise jeans, and those high heeled pink sandals. Your hair was curled, different from that normal straight hair you always carry. And your lips were graced with something different, a shade of pink lip gloss you love to wear but always forget you have. And that smile of yours, which left him stuck right beside that door, your face just unmatched to any beauty he had ever seen.

But Zach had acted quicker. And he had said something that made Clark come back down to Earth from the ethereal place you had traveled him to.

“Hey,” Zach said to you as he sneaked up from behind, scaring you. “You look hot.”

“Hey, Zach,” you whispered. “Nice party.”

“Thanks, yeah. Hey, is it true you invited Kent? Clark Kent? That nerd guy that hangs around at the torch all the time? I just ran into him, and, let me tell you, he was under the impression that you asked him here.” He then started laughing, which made you frown. “Can you believe that guy? What a loser.”

You were quick to turn around and look through the kitchen window towards the front yard, being quick to see Clark Kent walking towards his red truck parked across the street, head down, staring at his feet.

Without even saying a thing, you left Zach talking to himself all alone in the kitchen, running towards the back exit. The cold air hit you right in the face as you stepped down the porch steps, white smoke coming from your mouth as the coldness of the night made red flush through your cheeks and the top of your nose. You yelled. Loud. His name echoed through the entire street, the sound of your voice filling him as he turned to look at you, without something to cover you up, running in his direction.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you cold!?” He asked abruptly, taking off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

“Why are you leaving? You didn’t even say hi? How long have you been here?”

He exhaled. “Not long. Your boyfriend asked me to leave. Figured it would be wise considering this is his house, those are his friends… and I was there because of… his girl.”

You swallowed. “No, Clark, he’s not my boyfriend. He could never, in a billion years, be my boyfriend, okay? He just likes telling people that because it makes him feel better. The truth is my parents don’t allow me to date, alright? They’re very strict… I’m giving you too much information.” He chuckled. “I sometimes act out. Get in detention. Come to parties. Just to piss them off. Look, I just…” You smiled a bit, trying to find the words. “Please, believe me… I do not like Zach, okay? Just… come inside again, please?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled to himself, doubting.

“Then,” you began, taking a step forward in his direction. “Let’s go someplace else.”

And you did. He took you to the barn right next to his house, to the loft that sooner you’d become so familiar with. And, trying to be as brave as he could, he kissed you so softly you practically melted in his arms. The way he held you, both of you breathing in as your soft touch eclipsed any other feeling you’ve had. The way he brushed your hair, the way your fingers caressed the back of his neck. It was the perfect kiss.

That’s how you and Clark Kent, under the cold light of the moon, decided that it was impossible for either of you to not see each other again, and that, for you to keep kissing like that, your relationship had to remain a secret.

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.

“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.

“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.

His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.

Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.

One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it’s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.

Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up—introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.

[niceysmusings]

Currently binging some David and Nick interviews and I'm in love with David's foul mouth. I mean I love sweet Clark Kent but I like my men a little rough around the edges.

So my upcoming Clark Kent fic will be AU and it's going to be more inspired by Corenswet than Clark. I can't wait to present Cowboy Clark Kent. 😈

See my first Clark one shot here and check back for Cowboy Clark by tomorrow night. I should have it ready by then.

[neilsbeloved]

…in today’s torch exclusive !

summary: yeah… trying to get an exclusive interview from his girlfriend? doesn’t really end well when both of you have been kept apart for so long (or short, either way, you two can never get enough).

pairing: clark kent x student body president!reader

warnings: mature / ass grabbing (f) / clark and the reader are Horny ppl (they match each other’s freaks) / rough make out / gets caught (kinda) / lap straddling goodness / grumpy and sassy clark / misuse of torch office / legally aged students !!!!! / boners

a/n: will probably be continuing this clark kent x student body president/officer dynamic until my death bed (/hj). feel free to send asks btw!

divider from @uzmacchiato !

"Clark!" You hiss, taking multiple steps back until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the table.

Clark makes a sound somewhat similar to that of a growl. He keeps his hands on either side of your body, keeping you from tripping on your feet. He ignores your hiss, continuing his attacks from your jaw to the column of your neck to your collarbones.

The soft breaths that leave your mouth every time he sucks on that sweet spot is like music to his ears, urging him to do even more—hands massaging your sides with a delicateness that contradicts how big and manly they were. Your eyes roll back when you feel his teeth graze over that spot again, lips falling open as Clark hoists you up on the desk.

He spreads your thighs with a single jerk of his knee, slotting himself between your legs. He pulls away briefly, letting a smile come on his face before he begins peppering the edges of your mouth with chaste kisses again. Placing one on every side except your actual lips.

"We shouldn't—" Clark's lips dart up to yours, swallowing your weightless protests as he explores your mouth hungrily. Your arms rest on the back of his neck, hands pulling at the roots of his hair making him groan.

You open your eyes to glare at him, eyebrows knitting in a stern manner. "Clark."

He looks at you lazily, "Mhm, I'm busy."

Clark doesn't give you much choice as raises one hand to tilt your chin up, locking his lips with yours. He wasted no time swiping his tongue on your bottom lip, slipping the wet muscle inside once more as he registers that familiar sugary taste, pretty much telling him what you did right before you came to the Torch office.

You lose yourself on him, the logical side of your brain being put on hold as you leave yourself defenseless in his hands. Letting him explore each and every inch of your mouth like it was something he needed to do.

And in some way, some twisted way in Clark's mind, he really needed to.

Hours of being stuck to the sidelines because of the extra tasks you pick up from those wretched and useless council members that can't seem to do their job has him almost going insane. One more second of not having you in his arms might do the trick though, that's why he's not even thinking of doing that right now.

Nope, not even close.

"Clark," you gasp, finally managing to pull him off of you. Your chest heaved, trying to catch your breath while Clark stares at you impatiently, lips swollen and cheeks flushed light crimson. "My exclusive, remember? Chloe's gonna kill you if you don't get her data."

"Chloe's busy with her Daily Planet column, baby. I'm sure she can wait until we're done," Clark responds, jerking his eyebrows. 

You narrow your eyes at him, Clark, however, smiles at you. One he usually does when he wants something from you, or when he did something he probably shouldn't have—either way, you already know you're done for the moment you see that smile.

"Please?" Clark says, nudging at your waist. "It'll be quick."

You swallow down on nothing. The way Clark looks at you like he's hurting inside, voice aching with need, desperately wanting to be closer.

He urges you even more. "Chloe's not coming back for an hour, we have the whole office to ourselves. We can do the interview in five minutes tops." 

"What's gotten you so needy?" You ask out lightheartedly, planting your arms on your hips.

Clark rolls his eyes, nuzzling his face on the side of your head, inhaling in your scent. "Can't I just miss my girlfriend?" When you don't respond, not even to his wet neck kisses, he sighs. "Okay, fine. You've been spending way too much time doing work that's not even your responsibility. We never have enough time to play around."

You're unable to stop the snort that leaves your lips at his terminology. Play around. The phrase itself is innocent, but when it comes from your boyfriend?

It's basically porn.

He pulls away from you, glaring at you with seriously? written all over his features. His sudden grumpiness overpowering that bright and approachable presence he always has.

"You are such a big baby," you finally give up, pulling him close. Letting your arms wrap around his broad shoulders as you give him a kiss on his pouty lips. A victorious smile quickly stretching across his face.

However, before the two of you can escalate things further, a loud rattling sound comes from the door.

Clark inhales, frustratedly pulling away in record time as he looks at anywhere but you. All the while you hastily hopped off the desk and sat on one of the swivel chairs, crossing your legs in a formal manner while also fixing your hair.

"Sorry! I forgot my pens," Chloe says apologetically. "How's the interview going, by the way?" She says as she rushes over to her table, rummaging through the cabinets.

You give her the best smile you can give, ignoring the way Clark rolled his eye, walking behind her. "It's going really well."

"Perfectly well," Clark supports, voice awfully monotonous.

She finally finds the pen case she's been looking for, happily holding it up for you and Clark to see. "Found it."

Clark smiles sarcastically. Chloe's eyebrows furrows as she looks at him confusedly.

When Chloe turns her back to face Clark, you glare at the man, nostrils flaring.

"I'll leave you two to it," Chloe announces, "Make sure you finish all the questions, okay Clark? And don't forget to record it. Send the file to me afterwards, okay?" She lists them out with a firm tone, shoving the case in her beaded sling bag.

Clark nods, holding the door open for her. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Chloe leaves the room with a loud thanks! directed to you. Clark closing the door shut before clicking the lock, letting out an exasperated sigh as he walks over to you.

"Chloe has the best timings, did you know that?" You throw the question at Clark, who gives you the same sarcastic glare he gave to Chloe.

Clark slumps down on the desk you previously sat on not before snatching the small recorder and piece of paper on Chloe's table. He grunts, pressing a button on the device, eyes going over the questions.

You watched him with amusement, slowly inching your chair closer to him.

"What can you say about the recent incidents about students criticizing the alleged theme for the Winter Formal? Why is the council letting the students get away with disrespecting and insulting the efforts of their fellow students?" Clark pulls his lips into a straight line, his cheeks puffing out as he looks at you expectantly.

You answer instantly, "For the first question, I have nothing to say. I believe the keyword there is alleged, it's only the alleged theme and not the actual one. However, we'll take note not to ever use that theme. Ever."

"And secondly, I assure you that the council is not letting student get away with their improper behavior. Proper documentations are being done, and cases are being made to properly deal with these students that continue to insult and disrespect the efforts of others."

The questions barely took any effort to answer. Clark found that very hot. Even more so because of the confident look you had on your face, something you always do when you go into your upright-student-body-president-mode.

You stood up from your seat, taking one step to your boyfriend before you moved your face close to his. Your hand discreetly going over the recording device to press the stop button.

Your lips ghost his jaw, moving across the smooth skin of his face as you began nipping on his spots.

Clark's deep breaths slowly turned into low and guttural groans, your hand resting itself on his firm chest as it slowly moved downwards.

You suck on the skin of his neck, putting some light pressure with your teeth before licking the spot. Staring up at him through your lashes as your hand finally reaches just below his belly button.

Clark grabs your wrist with his hand, glaring at you with dark eyes before he pulls you to him with no effort. Adjusting himself on the desk so he can have you straddling his lap, waist at the perfect height for him to rest his hands on.

The two of you wasted no time. As soon as you got comfortable on his lap, arms on the back of his neck, both of your lips connected in a heat-searing kiss. Your bodies pressed together like they'd be separated in a moment.

You feel heat burn in your chest as Clark swiped his tongue on your lips, parting them ever so slightly before he thrusted his tongue into your mouth. Exploring it with a new found fervor, even more hungrier than before.

His hands move down your waist to your ass, giving both cheeks a tender squeeze as he pushes you towards him, as if the two of you aren't already pressed into each other's bodies. You feel a low moan slip from your mouth, Clark responding to it with a groan of his own.

Time seemed to be irrelevant to the moment as both of you completely lost yourselves. The recorder long forgotten, the paper filled with questions now thrown somewhere in the office.

What matters right then was the two of you. Only the two of you.

When you thought it'd continue just like that, it doesn't. Not when the door's rattling again. This time even harsher than before.

You pull away from Clark, slowly peeling your eyes open as you met his, just as blown-out. The outer part of his lips now shining with the remnants of your lip gloss.

"I'm getting the truck," Clark says, jaw clenched, one arm wrapped around your waist to gently let you down from the desk.

"I'll wait for you at the gate." You breathe out, smiling as you wipe his mouth with the handkerchief you had on your back pocket. Something primal flicking across his eyes that had him sucking his teeth.

You compose yourself, grabbing the recorder and piece of paper on the ground and shoving them inside your bag. You watch as Clark walks to the door in strained steps, slowly noticing the way his jeans tightened around his pelvis. He fixes his plaid longsleeve, making sure it goes past said area.

When he opens the door, Pete appears.

"Hey, Chloe asked me to get her recorder—why's the door locked?"

You and Clark share a look, one that says a lot.

He clears his throat, turning to Pete with a smile so casual no one would have guessed what was happening just seconds before.

"Chloe probably locked it on her way out."

hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo

[st4rfckerz]

Telescope

ʚ word count: 1k

ʚ summary: you drive clark crazy without even realizing it

ʚ warnings: mdni, clark is lowkey a pervert, masturbation, voyeurism

The evening air settles gently over the fields, tinted with the soft gold of a fading sun. Inside the barn, it’s quiet, just the occasional shift of wood as the structure cools for the night.

Clark stands near the open barn doors, his telescope propped up on its usual spot in the middle of the floor. He adjusts the lens slowly, gaze steady as he peers through it, scanning the darkening sky.

It’s his everyday thing—this quiet watching, this still kind of waiting. The stars begin to appear one by one, and he tracks them like he always has.

Clark’s hand moves slowly over the telescope’s adjustment knob, guiding the lens across the horizon. He passes over the tree line, the dark outline of the Kent field, and begins to sweep across the neighboring yard—just out of habit.

He almost keeps going.

But something small tugs at his attention.

A soft glow, warm and steady, shines from a window across the way.

He shifts the telescope back, just slightly, retracing the angle until it lands there again. Your bedroom window.

The curtains are drawn open, your lamp casting a warm, golden glow across your room. You’re inside, walking around in an almost cropped t-shirt and tiny shorts, completely at ease in your space. The shirt rides up slightly every time you stretch or twist, and your shorts cling snug around your hips. You’re not doing anything meant to be seen—just folding a blanket, fluffing your pillow, pulling your hair out of a loose knot and letting it fall.

For a moment, Clark forgets the telescope is even in his hands. He doesn’t even move. He knows he should look away, but he doesn’t.

His throat bobs with a quiet gulp, the warmth rising under his skin spreading too fast, too thick. He shifts his stance but doesn’t move from the scope. His hand tightens just slightly on the side of it.

You glance toward the window once absentmindedly and he freezes. But you don’t see him. You just keep moving, and the curve of your smile, even at nothing in particular, makes something twist low in his stomach.

He swallows again, hard. Every part of him is tense, like he’s standing too close to a fire.

He shouldn’t be watching.

Out of instinct, he presses a firm hand down against the growing strain in his pants, trying to will it back—trying to get control.

But it only makes things worse.

The pressure sharpens, his body reacting faster than his thoughts can keep up.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

The guilt sinks in fast—sharp and immediate. He knows he should look away. Shut it down. Go back to the stars or literally anywhere else.

But he just can’t.

His eyes flutter shut, breath catching in his throat as the tension coils tighter. The image of you, soft light on your skin, the way your shirt clung, the curve of your body as you moved around so casually—plays behind his eyes like a loop he can’t break.

His hips buck up involuntarily as he squeezes himself harder, a low moan rumbling in his chest. The rough fabric rubs deliciously against his sensitive flesh, the friction sending jolts of electricity through his nerves.

With a shaky breath, he reaches down and unbuttons his jeans with trembling fingers. He hesitates for a moment, his hand hovering just above the waistband of his boxers, a final chance to back out and put an end to this inappropriate and self-indulgent act. But the throbbing ache in his groin was too intense to ignore any longer.

Holding his breath, Clark quickly unbuttons his jeans and shoves his hand into his boxers, his fingers brushing against the hot, hard flesh of his erection.

Clark gasped as he wrapped his fingers around his pulsing shaft. It was so hot and hard, the skin velvety soft and smooth as he began to stroke himself with long, slow motions. His thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of precum that had already formed at the tip.

He watches you bend down, reaching for something near the foot of your bed and it’s the last straw for him.

Your shorts ride up just slightly, the fabric pulling tight as you shift your weight. It’s not deliberate. Not posed. Just the natural way your body moves. But the soft curve of your ass shows through, framed by the stretch of those tiny shorts, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hand moves frantically over his aching cock, stroking and squeezing with desperate, urgent motions. The pleasure was overwhelming, the sensations more intense than anything he had ever experienced before. He could feel the pressure building rapidly, his balls tightening as his climax approached.

“Oh fuck,” Clark panted, his voice a low, guttural rasp as he chased the release he so desperately craved. His hips jerked and bucked erratically as he fucked into his own hand, the obscene sounds filling the quiet room.

When it’s over, it hits him all at once.

The heat, the tension, the ache that had been building—it’s over before he fully realizes it, and what’s left behind isn’t relief.

It’s guilt.

It settles heavy in his chest the moment it ends, raw and immediate. He exhales shakily, dragging a hand down his face as he sits back from the telescope like it might accuse him out loud. The barn feels too quiet now. Too still. The air around him thick with something he doesn’t want to name.

He sits there in the dim barn for a long while, the sounds of the night pressing in around him—crickets, the rustle of the breeze through the rafters, distant dogs barking.

But underneath the shame, beneath the heat still clinging to his skin, is something even harder to ignore: need.

It makes his stomach twist. Somehow the guilt doesn’t cancel the desire. It just complicates it.

He fixes his pants and stands, eventually, running a hand through his hair as he steps away from the window and the telescope and the silence he’s drenched in.

Clark closes the barn door behind him, the creak echoing too loud in the quiet.

He knows he’ll see you tomorrow.

[the-fyre-flie]

Okay so the Justice League thinking Shazam is Batmans son is great. But hear me out:

The Justice League thinks Billy is Batman and Superman's clone son the way Connor is Superman and Lex Luthors son.

They find out Shazam is just a kid and they're like "hm wow he looks a lot like a young superman... shares a lot of powers..." then Batman/Bruce adopts him officially and they're like "is.. is this a ploy for them to admit to having a son together without telling anyone???"

Canonically Clark does care a lot about Billy and he would be a great co-parent with Bruce hehe

[ponyosmom35]

'Light' series master list

Serena Miles—a young woman cursed with uncontrollable hellfire and haunted by the souls of those she’s burned. Feared, isolated, and desperate to end her own life, Serena crosses paths with Superman, the one man who sees through the flame to the girl inside. But as past trauma, dangerous powers, and outside forces threaten to consume her, Serena must face a terrifying question: is she destined to destroy everything she loves—or can she choose something else?

hey y'all this new Superman movie has inspired me to get back into writing and I have been loving David Corenswet so he is the one i'm imagining! I feel like DC finally has a chance after so many years of awful movies. The Batman ate and Robert Pattinson was incredible and Joker (the first one) ate as well. I am so ready to see the Superman that we should've had all along, the happy, silly, symbol of hope! Not the dark broody version of him. This is everything to me! Now lets hope Fantastic Four is good as well!

I'll be posting chapters as I write them and you can find them in order here!

Meeting

Fortress of Solitude

A Dog with Superpowers?

Human

Call Me Clark

Let Go

Thats Life

He's Gone Away

Snowball Fights

Sick Days

Nightmares

Metropolis

Freak Out

Not So Warm Welcome

Not A Burden

Stitches And Lore

For the Man Who Carries the Weight of the World

Time To Move Forward

Moving On

Workin Girl

Flames

When Your Soul is Ready to Receive Love

More Promises

Explosion

He Isn't Mine

Adam

Lily of the Valley

Look Up

Jealousy

Definitely Flirting

Betrayal

Thanks For Your Patience

Re-Do Date

Magic Pills

Not Even A Spark

Saving Kids & Reunions

LuthorCorp

Not the Kind of Girl Who He Falls For

Rose Blush

Flying

I Like a Challenge

Monster

Withdrawls

Alien Sent to Rule

Lois Lane

Pocket Dimension

Rescue

Home

Mr. & Mrs. Kent

Hero

Nothing But A Weapon

She hurts him

I Love You

Rest Now

Hero?

[cherrysinner]

─── A LITTLE FAMILY ♡

♡ pairing: neighbor!clark x single mom!reader

♡ summary: how the next-door-neighbor who helped you move into your apartment became a part of your family.

♡ warnings / tags: domestic fluff! wc: 1.8k

♡ author's note: clark isn't the stepfather... he's the father that stepped up.

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST ♡

clark had been in your life since your daughter was two months old when you became his neighbor in metropolis, having left your no-good ex to live closer to your parents.

he had been on his way home from work when he noticed the large moving truck, a woman trying to lift a moving box, clearly struggling with it. "uh, hello." he cleared his throat, and you straightened your back, letting out a heavy, exhausted breath. "do you want some help?"

"no thanks, i've-"

"yes, please, dear." an older woman who you resembled emerged from the apartment building, interrupting your refusal, "mom." "he's a strong young man, let him help! thank you so much." the woman smiled at clark, the man feeling his cheeks flush as he turned back to you.

"really, you don't have to help me, you're probably swamped." "i've got time." the man smiled widely, taking the box you'd been struggling with and lifting it up with ease, starting to carry it towards the apartment building.

he could overhear your mother letting out a small gasp, whispering, "he's handsome!" making you let out another muttered "mom!"

surprisingly, it didn't even take one more hour for all the boxes to be scattered around your new apartment, even though you'd thought it'd take the rest of the evening. you'd said goodbye to your parents, and then turned to the stranger with a grateful smile on your face.

"thank you so much. really, you're a lifesaver. please let me know if i can ever repay you."

"don't, it was really no bother. i'm glad i could-" clark's sentence was interrupted by the sound of a small sob coming from the other room, your head snapping to the direction, "i should... go get that." you said with a small, tight-lipped smile, "but thank you, really."

"of course. i live right across the hall, so feel free to knock anytime if you need anything. i'm clark." he smiled, holding out his hand, and you shook it, telling the man your own name.

only a few days later, there had been a knock on clark's door, and you were standing there with a smile on your face and a platter of cinnamons, and you asking him for help with assembling a desk. that was the first time he met your daughter, rosie.

it wasn't long until small, neighborly favors turned into random friendly hangouts, until those turned into seeing each other nearly every day, and that became butterflies that fluttered around clark's stomach whenever he saw you like he was a teenager again. and three months after he'd first met you, clark kissed you in the middle of the apartment he'd helped decorate when you'd beat him at a game of chess and done the dorkiest, most adorable victory dance. after that, you became even more inseparable.

"drumroll, pleeeease!" you requested, clark starting to tap the table, "and today we will be seeing if our contestant, young seven-month-old rosie likes... cheese!" clark watched amusedly as you offered rosie a thin slice of cheese. rosie looked at the thing, clearly examining it, before bringing it to her mouth. when she took it out, you let out a dramatic gasp, only for the infant to put it back in her mouth. "she liked it!" you held your hand up for clark to high-five you, before pressing a kiss on his lips.

clark knew about rosie's biological father, how he abandoned you both a month after rosie's birth, and every day that went by with you and rosie, clark couldn't picture how someone would ever want to give this up. giving up waking up next to you, giving up holding you, giving up kissing you... or giving up hearing rosie giggle, giving up hearing her babble nonsense, giving up the way she'd happily clap when he fed her something good. he couldn't even picture wanting to give up dirty diapers or waking up in the middle of the night due to her cries.

a while after rosie's first birthday, you'd asked clark to move in with you two; a lot of people would think that moving in with someone after being together for seven months is too fast, but since you'd gotten together, he'd only spent a handful of nights at his own apartment, only going there to get a change of clothes and pick up the mail. and so, a blue toothbrush officially joined a pink toothbrush and a flower-patterned baby toothbrush in your bathroom. not 'for now' but 'for good'.

a few months after clark had moved in, rosie had wobbled to the bathroom door while clark was brushing his teeth, the toddler always following him around. the man turned to the toddler, with a tooth-pasty smile, "what do you need, sweetie?"

"mama."

"what'd you say?" clark mumbled through the toothpaste, his eyes wide turning as large as saucers, making him spit out the toothpaste as he called out to you, "honey, she said it!" "what?" "rosie said mama!"

you rushed to the bathroom with wide eyes, "she did what?" you exclaimed, both of you dropping to your knees right next to her, the little girl looking between you two with wide eyes. "rosie, did you say mama? say it again for mama." "come on, rosie posie, say mama."

the little girl pursed her lips as if considering your joint suggestion, until finally babbling, "mama." making you squeal happily as you pick her up into your arms, standing there with the widest smile he'd ever seen on your lips, "i'm your mama." you smiled, and clark pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss on top of your head as rosie let out small giggles.

that night, the two of you were laying in bed, your hand drawing patterns on clark's chest through his shirt, a thoughtful hum leaving your lips. clark looked to you, stroking back a bunch of loose hair, "i'm pretty sure i can hear the gears turning in your head. talk to me?"

"well, rosie saying mama today made me think… what do you want her to call you?" your question made clark swallow, his voice turning weak, "what… what do you want her to call me?" "i mean… clark is probably hard for a toddler to say." "i think so too."

your eyes glimmer as you looked into your partner's eyes, biting down on your lower lip nervously, "would you be okay with it if rosie called you dad?"

"you'd… really want that?" "only if you're okay with that. i mean… you're the only dad she's ever known. she looks at you with the same love she looks at me. even before we were together, you were so great with her. there's no one else that i'd want for her to use that title on. no one else that deserves it." clark’s thumb went to stroke your cheek, warmth filling his chest because you wanted him to be rosies dad, "then i'd love it if she called me that."

and it wasn't long until both of you and clark were reffering to him as 'dada' to your daughter. whether he picked her up, if he was playing with her, feeding her, reading to her...

at the end of every evening, you'd play a game where you'd point to your face and say 'mama', while clark would point to his and say 'dada'. then when you'd point at your face again, your daughter would mumble 'mama', but then babble the same thing when clark pointed to his face.

but as weeks, and eventually a few months went by, nothing seemed to work. eventually, as your daily game continued, she'd learned that you were mama, and no longer called clark that, simply stared at him with a big smile on her face, clark responding with one of his own as his finger went to stroke her chubby cheek.

"i'm sure she'll say it eventually." you sighed as you sat down on the couch and stretched your arms over your head, rolling your shoulders. without you having to say a word, clark's large hands went to your shoulders, starting to massage them, making you let out a contented sigh as you turned yourself so that your back was to him.

"she will." clark mumbled, pressing his thumb right where your shoulders were aching, causing you to let out a small moan of relief. "she's smart. just have to be patient." "have i ever told you how much i love you?" you hummed as your partner's hands continued their movements.

"only every day." clark leaned closer, brushing some hair aside and bringing his lips to the pulse point on your neck, leaving a warm kiss there that made a shiver run up your spine, before humming against your skin, "i love you more."

one evening, you and clark were standing in the kitchen; you were washing dishes while clark were drying them, the man occasionally peeking into the living room to make sure that rosie was still playing.

"it was... surreal. fifteen people were trapped in there." clark recalled, shaking his head as he wiped a mug dry. "i can imagine that. fires are really scary, i've always worried that i'm accidentally gonna start a grease fire and panic and throw water on it. i'm glad you got everyone, yourself included, out in one piece."

"don't worry. if you're ever in trouble, just say call name and i'll come faster than you can finish your sentence." he turned to you with a smile and you looked up at him, shaking your head, "you big sap." "you little sap."

clark leaned down to bring his lips to yours, but as you were about to kiss, a loud, giggly exclamation came out of the living room.

"dada!"

you froze, pulling apart from one another, eyes wide, "did she just-"

with rubber gloves still on your hands, you and clark rushed into the living room to find rosie enthusiastically clapping her hands. when she saw you and clark, she pointed to the tv. "dada!" she happily announced.

when you turned to the tv, you saw that it was playing the news. on screen, there was a close-up video of clark as superman after he'd saved people from a burning building.

you watched as clark rushed to rosie and scooped her up into his arms, standing there with the widest smile you'd ever seen on his lips. when you went to them, clark pulled you into his side. "i'm your dada." he mumbled, pressing a kiss on top of the toddler's head and making her giggle.

"you are."

taglist: @angel06babysworld @raahosh @biancasisstuff @iamarealmicrowave @angelicp0etry

join the taglist!

[bellasweetwriting]

Something sweet about him { clark kent x f. reader }

masterlist

plot: maybe the smell of fresh flowers was all Y/N needed to clear her mind, and realize how much she desires her best friend Clark Kent.

tags: smut, fingering, +18 characters, y/n is spelled to act to her desires, what she truly wants

prompt: “maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

Clark Kent stares at you as you walk across the Talon, holding a tray of recently brewed cappuccinos towards a table to the left of the place. The way your whole body tilts forward as you place the mugs on the round table, letting any passing bystander take a look at the way your jeans hug your thighs nicely, highlighting every inch he just dreams of touching.

“Clark!” Lana calls him, making the guy turn around quickly, embarrassed. “What are you doing?”

“Mhm? Nothing, nothing. Studying… stuff. I have a test soon.”

“You know you can talk to her, right? She’s your friend.”

“Talk to who?”

Lana laughed before walking away, leaving the path clear for you, as you dropped the tray on top of Clark’s table and sat right in front of him, sighing in an exaggerated manner. Your legs were killing you, your arms felt wobbly, and you were just glad to see Clark at your place of work.

“You owe me five bucks,” you said, looking at the books he had on top of the table. “I didn’t drop any coffee today, and in three minutes I finish my shift.”

“Anything could happen in three minutes.”

“You have so little faith in me, Kent, it’s becoming insulting. Besides, I have a deadline.” You showed him your drawings that you kept in your apron’s pocket. “I need to finish these for my composition class.”

“They look really good.”

“They’re trash. I have to start over.” You hand one to him. “Use it as a napkin for all I care.”

“Y/N,” another waitress called you, interrupting your conversation. “There’s a guy on the door for you. And he has flowers.”

You looked up, noticing Ryan, the guy you’ve been seeing for the past two weeks, standing there in front of the door with flowers in his hand, smiling widely. You smiled the same, standing up from the chair.

“I’ll see you at the farm later, Kent. Remember my five bucks.” You pat him on the shoulder, standing up from the chair and walking in his direction.

You’ve been seeing this guy for a few days, and you’re not sure if you see a future, but you’re free for him to change your mind.

“Flowers? I think you have the wrong girl, cowboy,” she joked, receiving them with a smile.

“I know, I know, but the woman that sold them to me said they were perfect to know what a girl truly feels, and there’s nothing I’d like more to actually get to know you, Y/N.”

“Am I that mysterious?” You asked, smiling.

“I’d say good at hiding.”

You looked down at the flowers, leaning over them and sniffing them, the naturalist and feminine smell of it hitting you up like a train, your thoughts suddenly clouded, but immediately cleared into the clearest they’ve ever been. Your thoughts have never been louder than this, clearer, exactly where your mind is has never been so… right.

“Clark,” you muttered.

•••

He wasn’t at the talon, he wasn’t in the loft, so, naturally, you searched for him at his farm, where Mrs. Kent greeted you with a smile on her face and welcoming arms.

“It’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” she mumbled softly as she wrapped you in her arms. “You look so good. So grown up, I’d say.”

“I try my best, Mrs. Kent,” you joked. “Is Clark around?”

“He’s in the kitchen. Come in.” You walked inside, your eyes going straight for the kitchen to see Clark Kent there, fixing the upper cabinet with a screwdriver. “Why are you wearing that big sweater? Aren’t you hot?”

“Boiling,” you muttered, staring at the back of your best friend as it arched.

His big arms, his muscles, all calling you, and finally you’ve being able to see the signal with a clear mind.

“Clark,” Mrs. Kent called him, gaining his attention. “Y/N is here.”

“Y/N, hey,” he said with a smile, dropping the tools on the counter and approaching you. “I thought we had scheduled for later. Where did you drop Ryan off?”

“Who cares about him?” You asked. “Can I show you something at the loft? If you’re not too busy, of course.”

“Yeah, sure. Are you okay, though? You seem a bit strange,” he asked, but you simply grabbed his hand, dragging him outside through the kitchen door. “Alright.”

You practically dragged him outside into the barn. He was probably a foot taller than you, could lift an elephant, and had the strength of a million men, but when it came to you, he let himself being dragged like a dog, a moth to a flame, he did not care.

As you reached the top of the loft, you let yourself fall onto the couch, staring at the object of your true desires clearer than ever.

Maybe the only people that didn’t know Y/N loved Clark Kent where Y/N and Clark Kent, because now that you did, everything seemed so clear. Whatever was in the pollen of that flower let you see things in a different perspective. He was what you wanted. Next to you, on top of you, inside of you. His big arms holding you, his body on top of yours, his hands touching your skin.

Your skin was practically boiling to the thought of Clark Kent without a shirt, let alone without pants.

“How long have we’ve been friends, Clark?” You asked, playing with the zipper of the oversized sweater you were wearing. “You’ve clearly grown up a lot. More than vertically. Do you think I’ve grown up too?”

“Uhm, well… yeah, yeah, you have. What’s going on?”

“And do you like what you see?”

“What?”

“I’ve seen you check me out, Clark. I even know which one of my jeans you like best by the amount of time you keep staring,” you said, playfully, making the big, strong, tall and handsome Clark Kent blush. “Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.”

“You’re a very bad liar, Kent,” you said, standing up, moving closer in his direction. “I like that you stare. Makes me want to pose more.”

He took a step back, practically crashing against the fence behind him. He let out a nervous chuckle, trying badly to stay away from the imminent force coming in his direction.

“I think something happened to you, Y/N. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“Actually, I think I’ve never seen things more clearer than this. You’re what I want, Clark, you’ve always been. You’ve always just been so… unattainable.”

“Unattainable?”

“Always have kept your distance. And I’ve respected it, rejecting my feelings, fooling myself. But now, for some reason, I’ve never seen the sky so bluer… Everything just makes sense. And I’m going after what I want, and it’s you. I want you.”

You grabbed his hand, making him hold the zipper of your sweater and pulling it down, revealing the outfit you’ve hidden underneath.

A red lace bra and short denim shorts that didn’t leave anything to interpretation.

“Do you want me too?”

He looked down, his breath slowly increasing as the sight of your breasts came so close to him he could practically lose it. He couldn’t contain his smile, your scent of vanilla and cinnamon making his judgement feel clouded, as the closeness of the object of his desires was making him loose his mind.

“Yes,” he said, as if it has slipped out and didn’t have time to even use reason. His heart, and his dick, were thinking for him. “Uhm… what… Uh, what are you wearing? Uhm…”

“Do you like it?”

“I think we need to talk about this first.”

“Don’t you think we’ve done plenty of that already? Maybe what we need is to shut up… and use our mouths for something else.”

The way your lips crashed into his took him by surprise. You tasted like cherry lip balm and fresh coffee, your hair was quick get his hands lost in, he grabbed you by the waist, holding you closer, pushing you deeper, as if the one that had been hiding his desires was him and not you.

He didn’t feel strange, he felt right at home, as if your lips were the most familiar sentiment he had ever experienced, even if it was his first time tasting them. It didn’t feel new, it just felt right.

“Wait,” he said, the sweater that was covering you falling to the floor, and your hands quickly loosening that first button, revealing his neck to you. “Y/N” He mumbled your name as your lips touched the skin of his neck. His eyes practically rolled out of their sockets to the back, his face melting at the touch. “Y/N,” he begged for mercy, placing his hand on the back of your head.

He grabbed the beam of the railing for support, breaking it instantly as he grabbed it too hard, splinters of wood falling all over the place.

“God!” He yelled.

You grabbed him by the shirt, pushing him to the coach. Then, you sat on his laps, the exposed skin of your thighs touching the harsh denim of his jeans. You finally ripped off the last buttons of his shirt, revealing that tone abdomen that drove you crazy all those visits to the lake, where you could see that glorious farm boy all exposed to the sun, the muscles of his back tensing as he swam. You couldn’t help yourself and licked his chest.

“Y/N, I really don’t want to hurt you,” he said, keeping his hands locked onto the coach.

“I’m not fragile, farm boy,” you said, smiling teasingly, “maybe I can teach you a thing or two.” You unbuckled his belt quickly, tossing it aside. “What do you think about riding?”

He gulped. “Horses?”

You smiled. “Sure, Kent,” you said, helping him by driving his hands to your breasts. “Have you ever done this before? Want me to take control?”

But then, a cheeky smile appeared on his face. He grabbed your waist and tossed you to the couch, your whole back leaning on the seat. He placed himself on top of you, the fire in his eyes growing, and you could swear you saw them turn orange like flames.

“I got it,” he said, smiling.

Clark Kent was a man of many mysteries.

“Are you sure want this?”

“I think I’ve been hiding for so long how much I’ve wanted this. How much I’ve wanted you,” you said under your breath, smiling bigger than you’ve ever had before. “Are you going to kiss me or not, Kent?”

“I’m going to do more than that,” he mumbled, joining your lips once more. “I really can’t believe this is happening,” he said, his lips still on top of yours, trying to hold back his smile in order to kiss you, but struggling to do so. “You’re so hot. Fuck…”

“Did you just swear?” You said, chuckling, as his lips found your neck, and his hands found the button of those tiny denim shorts you had on. “God…”

His hand slid inside your panties so quickly you thought it was inhuman. The way his fingers touched your clit made you crumble to pieces, melt into his big muscled arms. They barely touched it, leaving you wanting more. He just move his hand to your butt, squeezing it, smiling.

“You’re so wet,” he said.

“Clark,” you said as his hand move back to your front, his fingers close enough to touch, but not enough to make you feel what you want to. “Please…” you begged.

“I thought you were going to teach me,” he groaned, bitting your earlobe.

“You already know what I want.”

“Teach me how to make you cum,” he asked you lowly to your ear, your legs opening practically to the sound of his voice. “Show me what you like.”

You grabbed his hand, closing in the distance he had with your center, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt his warm, rough, touch. You moved his hand in circles, in the rhythm you liked, your eyes on his as he watched you about to cum.

He was so mesmerized by you, by the way your breath was shaking up as you felt so close to completion, the way your face showed how much you liked what he was doing to you, the way he was handling your body.

“Clark,” you called him as your eyes closed. “Oh God, I’m about to…”

He kissed you, letting you moan in his mouth as the orgasm made your body tremble, shake you up.

You were completely out of breath, sweating, while he looked as if nothing had happened, he was completely fine.

“You okay?” He asked you, helping you sit back down on the couch. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no… I was just thinking… Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

“Come to my place in your underwear?”

“No… Just… Stop overthinking. I’ve known about my feelings for a long time. I just had to push those cloudy thoughts away.”

Clark smile, kissing you softly. “It was worth the wait.”

[neilsbeloved]

so high school

summary: thanks to the new biology professor, clark signs up for the tutoring program of smallville high to try and save his grades from plummeting. too bad his tutor bails… unless, of course, fate has a better teacher in mind. (prequel to the alchemy)

pairing: freshman!clark x student body officer!reader

tags: s1 clark / pure fluff (for now) / oblivious pining / very very subtle awkward flirting / awful try at banter and crack / chivalrous clark kent / direct + confident!reader with anxious + shy!clark / biology and mitochondria mentions (lol) / food mentions

Freshman Year

Clark sat on one of the benches outside of school, with Chloe on her laptop beside him, the two of them watching different alumni go in and out of the gymnasium dressed in their posh suits and dresses.

Unlike Chloe who was solely focused on getting their data for the first issue of the Torch this freshman year, Clark was busy watching you run last minute touch-ups for the event currently happening.

Dressed in an all-black top and bottom, you had rolls of tape and ribbon as bracelets, numerous scissors and other materials in your pockets, and a rather intimidating look on your face that had every person thinking twice whether or not to approach you. Clark watched you with awe at every second.

"Clark, hello? Earth to Clark?" A hand is waved in front of his face, Chloe's irritated look snapping him out of his trance. "Gosh, don't tell me you're flaking out on me already."

"What—No, I wasn't dozing off… I was just watching the alumni come in." Clark purses his lips, straightening his back, watching you stand on a step, arms reaching up to hang a banner.

Chloe rolls her eyes, closing her laptop abruptly before shoving it in her bag. "Well, I'm gonna run over to the gate. I asked Ryan to get me a latte from the Talon on his way here."

"Didn't we already get coffee?"

"Yeah…" Chloe picks up the cup, eyebrows furrowing. "…but our resident barista probably mistook me as a different blonde ordering regular caramel coffee because that's what she gave me." She scoffs sarcastically before placing the cup back down.

Clark does the same scoff, raising an amused eyebrow as Chloe turns away without a second thought, high pitched voice letting him know that he can have the coffee if he wanted to.

Now left alone on the bench, he sighs while leaning back. Head returning to where he last saw you. Clark smiles when he sees you still at that place, though it quickly drops when he sees you being helped by another student wearing all-black.

Clark keeps a close eye on you and the other student, watching as he pats the side of your arm before leaving you there, heading back inside of the gymnasium after helping you successfully put up another banner. When you lean against the smooth wall of the gym's exterior, a yawn goes past your lips. Clark's eyes squint when you do so, an idea popping in his head when he remembers the untouched coffee beside him.

Just as you had began to put up the third and last banner for the night, you nearly slip from the step when you turned around.

"Hi." Clark breathes. An awkward smile stretching on his lips, one arm stiffly holding a cup of coffee while the other held his bag.

You blink. "Hi."

Clark stands there in silence, the smile still plastered on his face, arm still up, his mind actually going blank. You stand there confusedly. The emotion very apparent on your features with your furrowed eyebrows at slightly jerked lips. You clear your throat, snapping some sense back into him.

"I, uh—Hi, we're classmates in history if you remem—"

"Yeah, I remember. Clark Kent, right? Down at Kent Farm?" Clark nods, the hand holding the cup of coffee slowly descending as he feels his insides blossom at the thought of you knowing him. "Oh yeah… I know you."

"You do?" His eyebrows raise.

"Uh-huh. You asked me something about the extracurriculars, I think. I'm not really sure." You offer him the best apologetic look you can give. "Anyway, uh, do you have a concern?"

He shakes his head.

"Oh, is it a bad time? I didn't mean to bother you I just…"

"You just…?"

Clark swallows the saliva building up in his mouth, breathing in deeply as he glances at the cup of coffee in his hand. You look at him weirdly, shifting your weight to one hip. "Well… I saw you still working and, uh, y'know, just wanted to give you this coffee."

"It's… it's actually my friend Chloe's," Clark starts, holding the cup out with a stiff arm. He smiles sheepishly when you look at him confused. "She doesn't like sweet coffee and there was a mix-up—this one's caramel, no one drank it. It's still warm—just thought maybe you'd want—"

The poor boy gets cut off when you grab the cup off his hand.

The brush of your hand—as brief at it is—made him feel sparks of electricity all over; it takes everything in him not to combust and run around like a crazy man.

"Thank you, Clark," you say, smiling, calm and composed. "But do you have a concern?"

Clark blinks slowly. "N-no, I'm good. Totally fine."

He clears his throat, shaking off the nerves. "Uhm, do you need help? I'm actually not doing anything right now, Chloe's still picking up her actual coffee and so uh…"

He's rambling again. This time, you can't even stop yourself from smiling at him. So you look away, tongue poking at your cheek. "I'm fine, Clark, I appreciate it… Chloe's looking for you anyways."

The look on his face drops. "She is?"

"Yeah, that's her right?" You jerk your head towards the blonde. Clark quickly looks at that direction, internally cringing when he sees you're right.

Chloe is back already.

"That is her." He sighs, shoulders dropping.

Then, out of nowhere, he feels his world tip over. The chuckle that escaped your lips was almost enough to get him tripping all over the place. When he looks at you, smiling and snickering at him, it's like nothing he's ever seen before.

It was way different from how he saw you smile in front of your friends, in front of the student body (or at least that's what he thought to himself). Nevertheless,  gathering the courage to actually approach you is already a big achievement for himself.

When you urge him to get back to Chloe, he heads back to their spot, an almost disappointed look on his face as he arrives on the bench. Chloe wasted no time asking a dozen questions.

Where were you? Why were you with the student body president? Did she ask you for help? Since when did you volunteer for the council?

"Geez, Chloe, calm down," Clark sighs. "Just 'cause you got your coffee doesn't mean you have to go all beast mode again…" he rubs his hands together, "I was… I was asking her for an exclusive."

"Really?" Chloe looks at him skeptically. "Clark Kent asking council members for exclusives on his own accord?"

Clark subtly watches you from the corner of his eye before he wriggles his eyebrows at Chloe, smiling charmingly, "Journalistic curiosity."

"Wait, correct me if I misheard but—did you just say Sanders is purposefully manipulating your grades?" Chloe looks to Clark for confirmation, watching him huff out a breath as he keys in the code to his locker.

"I said I think, Chloe. I mean, think about it," Clark takes a second to scan the vicinity before lowering his head to Chloe, "I've been studying biology every night in the barn, I can't possibly be getting a D- two exams in a row!" The frustration is evident in the way Clark's voice strained, eyes widened for emphasis.

Chloe sighs, Clark's right. Getting a D- on two consecutive exams is already very peculiar, more so for someone as grade-conscious as Clark.

Just as both of them think of throwing out their farfetched and meteor-rocks-centric theories, the devil walks by them. Calling out their last names while thrusting two pieces of papers towards them.

With a tight smile, Clark takes their papers and keeps them faced on the floor. Both of them watching Sanders walk away—boldly throwing them a sharp glare over his shoulder as he enters a different corridor. Both Clark and Chloe turn to each other, sharing a knowing look.

Clark flips the papers up in one swift motion. His jaw dropping the same time as Chloe lets out an overly happy cackle.

Written on the face of the paper was a bright red B+, comments on the side reading “The conclusion is nonsense. Next time, read your work first before writing the conclusion.”

"No, I swear, Chloe, he's setting me up," Clark complains, slamming his locker shut.

"Clark, unless Professor Sanders was with us when we wrote this essay, he couldn't possibly know that you wrote the conclusion." Chloe reasons out as she takes the papers from Clark's hands. She flips the front page, reading the other comments on the latter parts of the essay.

"And look," she tilts the paper for Clark to see, "His comments actually support the one in front. It's not just baseless."

Clark pauses, staring at Chloe in disbelief. He can't believe Chloe actually is siding with Sanders. Their hell-sent biology instructor that seemingly has his motives set on making sure Clark experiences the worst freshman year of his life.

"Look, Clark, I know grades are important to you, and I know it's hard when you don't see the outcome you expect," Chloe starts, keeping her voice low, "But it's still not too late to re-evaluate your study habits. Maybe you can sign up for the tutoring program, I think they still have some slots left before the break. There's nothing wrong with asking for some help studying the lessons." She gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder, letting him have the their essay.

"I have to get to the Torch now, Clark. See you after class?"

Clark nods, licking his lips. "Yeah, see you."

The first time Clark went to the council's office to sign up for a tutoring class, the slots were already full. Five names—one of which were yours—all had complete timetables already. Not a single open slot in sight.

And so he spent the entire break bundled up in his loft, occasionally driving over to Lex Luthor's castle just to get some extra biology textbooks from his library. As Clark expected, the very first suggestion Lex gave him after learning about his situation was to get Sanders fired. Which, according to Lex, would just take two phone calls and a check for donation to the school.

After the break, once the classes resumed, the slots were still full until the end of the week. The previously five names were now down to three—one of which were still yours.

To say that Clark basically had to fight tooth and nail just to get a slot at the tutoring service was an understatement. He practically had to arrive at the school earlier than everybody else. When he managed to snag a slot under Noah at 6 p.m., best believe Clark arrived at the library on the exact dot.

He arrived there before Noah did, and so he pulled out his textbooks and studied instead. Letting the time pass by advance reading on the upcoming chapters. When he hears a bell ring from outside, he looks to the wall clock.

6:15 p.m. and his tutor still hasn't shown their face.

The council's policy is that a tutor can wait for their tutee only for fifteen minutes. Any later than that meant that the tutor had the right to cancel the session and wait for their next tutee. Although that was the general rule for the tutor's side, Clark wondered how long is acceptable for him to wait before he can head back home and just study there instead.

Clark runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly before he shoves all of his materials back in his back, heading over to the council's office. He spent a buttload of time trying to secure this slot, he's damn sure he'll look around and wait for his tutor even if it meant—

"Is there a concern?" Your sweet, neutral voice asks. Head snapping to him as you remove the thumbtack from the bulletin board.

All of the words of complaint Clark initially had tucked under his tongue was long gone now. The farmboy blinking continuously as if he was trying to see if this was actually real life. That you were actually looking at him, speaking to him at this moment.

Last time he remembers that happened was at the start of the year, right at the Alumni Homecoming Party. A big chunk of the school year has passed and he hasn't spoken to you since. Resorting to watching you from afar like he always did ever since he saw you campaign as the fifth grade representative.

"Clark, do you have a concern?" Your voice calls at him again, only this time a little firmer and with your arms crossed on your chest. Neatly trimmed eyebrow arched intimidatingly.

He opens his mouth to speak, stammering in the process, "I-I was supposed to get tutored by Noah at 6 p.m. but he wasn't at the library so I came to see if he was, y'know, in here waiting for me."

You furrow your eyebrows. Taking the folder from the table and looking through the names. There definitely was a Clark Kent on Noah's schedule, though you clearly remember Noah telling you earlier that he wouldn't be able to attend to his last session because of… unforeseen circumstances.

"I'm really sorry, Clark, but Noah is attending to an emergency. He won't be able to accommodate your slot for today." You break the news to him, sounding as sympathetic as you can. "If you want, I can sign you up on tomorrow's slots? Have you first one on his tutoring."

"Oh! No, that won't be necessary. I can head home now and—"

"Oh, it's biology," your surprised voice cuts him off. Seeing the subject Clark wrote on the subject column. "You're having a hard time with biology?"

Clark tries not to feel small under your squinted eyes. He knows you simply asked out of curiosity, but he can't help but feel a little dumb from your question especially when it came from one of the top ranking students in school.

How can he possibly tell you that he's not the problem—he understands the concepts religiously—but the professor is.

The professor who always praises you every time you raise your hand to answer his outrageously difficult and out-of-this-world questions. He’s sure you wouldn’t believe him.

"I won't judge, Clark," you scoff lightheartedly. Placing the folder back on the table as you continued fixing the bulletin board. "And come in, take a seat—anywhere."

Clark scratches the back of his head, taking another step inside of the office, closing the door behind him before sitting on one of the vacant seats. "Well, yeah, somethin' like that."

He quiets down on his seat, eyes following your every move as you went around the office like an agitated rabbit—fast, focused, and completely unaware of how he can't look away.

The fact that he was inside of the office probably slipped from your mind already as you focused on cleaning up the board, wiping away the words written on the dry-erase part of it.

You pile on the different papers on your hands, moving them from one side of the room to another in a quiet rush. The folder at the very top falling in front of Clark. He picks it up and crosses the room quietly. You're wiping down the whiteboard, sleeves pushed up, the fading sunlight catching the edges of your hair in a soft glow.

"Hey—this fell," he says.

You glance over your shoulder, brow furrowed in focus. "Thanks." You take the folder without much thought, already shifting a new stack of papers into your arms. "Shit, sorry—uh, what part of biology were you having difficulties with? We share the same class right?"

"Mhm, with Professor Sanders." Clark nods, clasping his hands behind his back. "Look, uh, forget biology, d'you need any help? I can help if you want. Pretty much lost the momentum to study anyway," he chuckles nervously.

You look at him with a glint in your eyes, an ambiguous smile growing on your lips before you slid away from your spot. The distance between you two suddenly growing now that you moved away. You two were barely two feet apart a second ago, now you two were on either side of the room.

Clark feels himself grow slightly anxious, worried that he might've invaded your personal space. The council office was pretty much as close to you as the Torch office was to Chloe; Clark knew that very well. And so he waits for you in his spot silently, and patiently. His hands resting in his pockets while he looked around and drank in the environment.

It was definitely bigger than the Torch office. Though it had lesser computers, there were much more storage cabinets and materials lying around. Organized shelves with various papers and documents. Numerous bulletins for the council's announcements and quick view.

The faint hum of a nearby classroom projector drones in the background, alongside the mechanical sound of printers working.

Just as he started reading the front page of the budget report on the desk beside him, you call out his name. Again.

"You know, I can tutor you if you want," you say plainly. Your fingers going over the folder of blank pages you randomly took, pretentiously looking over it.

He looks at you dumbfounded. "W-what? Can you repeat that? I don't think I heard you correctly."

"I said, if you want, Clark, I can tutor you." You purse your lips. "The whole situation with you waiting for Noah in the library was a completely avoidable situation if he had just informed you beforehand… and I was the one that proposed this whole tutoring project in the first place so I feel partially responsible for the wasted time," you end, placing away the folder and slinging your bag over your shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

Clark's eyebrows shoot up the more you spoke. It's actually the first time he's heard you speak this much in a single go. He can see the sincerity in your eyes as you brushed away your hair from your face.

Before he can assure you that it isn't really a big deal, you beat him to it. Shrugging your shoulders as you walk over to the door.

"But the, uh, the school library's closing in a few minutes and we can't stay in the office after school hours since I have to return the key so…" You inhale, mentally scolding yourself. "If it's okay with you to have me as your tutor—as a substitute for Noah, of course—I can tutor you over at the Talon or somewhere you're comfortable."

Clark stumbles over his words. Something along the lines of Really? You'd do that? hidden underneath all of that nervous stuttering and blabbering.

"If you want me to," you reply, trying your best not to sound too pushy or too passive.

"I'd love that." Clark says in a heartbeat. A smile spreading on his face, wider than his own shoulders which, considering his size, says a lot. His sharp canines making an appearance.

You bit the inside of your lip, stopping yourself from smiling. "Perfect. Talon then?"  

Clark walks over to you, taking your place by the door as he holds the knob, failing miserably at hiding the absolute joy in his face. "Actually, is it okay if we stop at the Talon first? I'll just grab something then we can study at the barn."

"The barn?" You echo, confused.

"Yeah—oh, we have a barn at our farm and I have a loft there. All of my textbooks and notes are in there and there's enough room for the two of us to study there but, if you don't want then—"

You cut him off, "Clark, it's fine."

"It's quiet," Clark adds, a little softer now. "The loft gets good light before sunset, and you can hear the crickets when it gets dark. It's… peaceful. Might help us focus."

"Clark, if you ask me one more time, I might actually deck you," you tell him with a straight face.

Clark, despite his tall and buff stature, actually freezes at your word. The look on his face mimicking that of a deer getting flashed with headlights, so innocent that it actually makes you squeal inside.

When he starts stammering, you finally break through your poker-face and laugh at him. The sound sticking in his head like a melody he didn't know he'd been waiting to hear. "I'm just kidding, Clark. C'mon, we gotta catch the bus before it leaves."

The moment you take a step out of the door, Clark's hand holds your wrist. You actually freeze, feeling your breath get caught in your throat. The moment quickly flees as Clark lets go, muttering repeated apologies.

His gaze finds yours, steady and stunned, the noise of the hallway slowly disappearing from his mind. His eyes linger for a second longer than it should have, and so he looks away. "Sorry—I, uh, I bought the truck with me. I can drive us there."

You were still replaying that short moment when he grabbed your wrist. Something about it kept your mind on the edge of its seat, as if it was anticipating something you've been continuously trying to shake off since the start of freshman year.

You didn't even get to weigh in the pros and cons of getting in the same car with Clark—as if there even were cons—when your head already nods itself.

Behind the explosion of joy you see in his eyes, you don't miss the small shimmer of affect he tries (and fails) to hide.

The funny thing though is that Clark doesn't miss the same shimmer in yours too.

It's only been an hour since you and Clark have arrived at his loft and began studying. The woody and cozy smell of the space making you feel at home, especially with how the sunlight spilled inside because of the gigantic window in the middle.

Clark shifts beside you, letting out a relaxed yawn as he hands you the two-page worksheet you gave him ten minutes earlier. "I swear, I think I understand it now—basically the mitochondria is like you?"

"Good try, no." You scoff, finally looking away from your laptop to take the paper from him.

Clark chuckles, "Right, right… 'cause the mitochondria doesn't really breathe caramel coffee huh?" He raises a teasing brow, the ends of his lips inching up ever so slightly.

You shoot him a glare, your red pen checking the items on the paper. "Not my fault you gave me caramel coffee during the start of school."

The way you brought the memory up makes him smile—wider than he should—but he covers it by taking a bite of the donut on your plate. "My bad, I probably shouldn't have introduced you to the best coffee you ever tasted huh?"

"Don't get cocky, farmboy," you glance at him as you wrote his score on the corner of the paper, handing it to him after, "You have Chloe to thank for that. If she never took the coffee, then I wouldn't have tasted the best coffee ever."

You mimicked the way he spoke of best coffee, smirking at him when he rolls his eyes playfully at you, arms crossing sassily.

"And who was the one that gave you the coffee?" He moves his head, hand softly pushing the back of his ear to hear you better.

"Actually, I think he was just a random stranger passing by, never really got his name." You feign innocence, putting on your best thinking face while nodding your head slowly.

"Did you now?" Clark scoffs, eyebrows raising, "Never got his name, really? Not even his first name? Or what he looks like?" He tilts his head as he played along.

You shake your head, competing with his glare. "Nope."

The stare-down lasts for a few seconds before the two of you laugh. Clark watches the way your eyes scrunched up when you do, not letting a moment slip by.

"Good job, Clark," you say, going back to your tutoring voice as you put your laptop back on your lap. "Y'know, if you didn't get the cell organelle question wrong, I'd think you never had problems with biology in the first place."

"Please. If the diagram was just drawn a little better, I definitely would’ve gotten it right." Clark places his biology textbook away.

You quickly glance at the trunk-turned-coffee-table, inhaling sharply as you look back on your laptop. Clark's lip twitches, grabbing the cup of coffee and handing it over to you without a word. Your hand quickly darting out to take it.

Your eyebrows furrow when you feel the cup be a little too heavy. "This isn't mine."

"Oh, it's mine. I bought an extra one just in case you wanted more caffeine," Clark says ever-so casually. His lips pulling into a pout as he looks away, making himself look busy by going through the short stack of worksheets beside him.

When he peeks to look at you from his side, you're looking suspiciously at him while swirling the cup. "Just natural instinct… you know," he shrugs, "I am the right-hand of the Torch's editor."

"Sure…" Clark watches you slowly nod your head, bringing the cup to your lips.

A contented smile comes on his face when you let out a soft and satisfied groan. Your arm jutting out to place the cup back on the table. Clark nibbles on his bottom lip as he starts itching to speak again despite one side of him screaming to just let you rest for a second.

The silence hanging between the two of you weirdly calming and comfortable, like the morning of a Sunday chore-day with a radio playing softly in the back.

Then, his voice speaks. "Hey."

You look to him in a heartbeat.

"I really appreciate it… this whole tutoring session." Clark means it. It shows in the quiet way he says it, like he's been holding on to the words since the two of you arrived there. Even in the subtle actions he does—in those small, unspoken gestures that says he's at your beck and call, even without needing to be asked. "I didn't think you'd offer your time to tutor me."

You blink, forehead creasing lightly. "Why not?"

Clark shrugs, this time a little more relaxed—somewhere between playful and bashful. "You're… y'know, you. Student council officer, top of the class, all busy and intimidating—"

"Clark, I’m literally a student."

"Terrifying," he teases, leaning his elbow on his side of the couch, grinning lazily. "I'm sure I even cried when you told our algebra professor that I forgot my assignment."

You laugh—a louder, more genuine one than the first one Clark ever heard from you—and his body short-circuits. Clark swears, if given a chance, he'd bottle that sound and use it whenever he has a hard time, automatically brighten up his day on demand.

"God, I didn't know you were such a drama queen, farmboy." You stand up abruptly, placing your laptop on the spot beside you as stretched your arms. "Oh, and, your cell drawings are hideous, by the way."

"They're my artwork."

"It's chicken scratch on paper, farmboy," you scoff.

Clark's eyes narrow, smoldering his eyebrows, "An artistic chicken scratch perhaps?"

"Charming," you snort, sitting back down to slice off a part of the pie. Your eyes rolling back when it practically melts in your mouth. "God, you could bribe me to tutor you again just with this pie alone." 

"Blueberry pie and caramel coffee… I'll keep that in mind." Clark humors you.

You follow up, "And glazed donuts."

"And glazed donuts," Clark echoes, nodding affirmatively.

The two of you exhaust the remaining time in the session by going over the lessons for tomorrow. Clark listening to your every explanation like you were the actual professor. The way he kept his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you see that he’s paying attention to every word.

Clark’s confident that he understands the lessons, but the way you explained it to him in a waaay easier approach made him swoon for you all the more. The topics he found mildly confusing and challenging, you went over them in a breeze.

If you continue giving him the time of the day to tutor him, Clark might consider pursuing a degree in biology.

The sun had already gone when you two finished, with all of the cup of coffees emptied and the plate finished; The clock on the wall indicating that you’ve went past the standard time for a tutoring session by an hour.

“Maybe if you didn’t take fifteen minutes criticizing my cell drawing, we wouldn’t have lost track of the time,” Clark jokes at you, handing you the rest of your stuff as you arranged them neatly inside of your backpack.

“Hey!” You glare at him, zipping up your bag as you followed him to the stairs. “It’s not my fault Professor Sanders said cell drawings are part of the major exam. I’m simply… preparing you.”

Clark responds, “Looks like I’d have to practice even more then.”

When he sees you pause on your way, blinking once before resuming, his forehead scrunches. Confused on what it was you were thinking about. Fortunately, it doesn’t take you too long to actually voice out what you were thinking.

“Good thing my tutoring slots for tomorrow are still empty,” you say with a smoothness to your voice, as if you didn’t just take an awfully prolonged time to think of your response.

The corner of Clark’s mouth extends up, eyes searching yours for an answer. “Are you saying you want to tutor me again?” He juts out his lips, head tilting teasingly. “…‘cause, y’know, I’m not really sure that’s what I’m hearing right now. You might wanna clarify just a tiny bit.”

An endearing sigh leaves your lips, looking away to hide the amused smile while Clark waits for you with a smug grin. His arms crossed on his chest as if he was expected something from you.

“I think your hearing needs a good check-up, farmboy.” you say crossing your arms.

Clark groans, one hand to his chest, “That hurts.”

But he’s smiling again—cheesy and lopsided, like he’s not quite used to this kind of bantering between the two of you. Not like he ever wants this moment to stop. And you, standing there in front of him, at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and eyes glittering despite the dim lights of the barn, smiling right back at him.

Neither of you speak.

Until you do.

“My 6 p.m. is open, Clark,” you say, voice low and careful. “Only if you promise to let me leave with your mother’s pie.”

Clark laughs, bright, genuine, and somewhat relieved. “I saved you half of it the moment you finished the two slices.”

You nod, then started to walk out of the barn, only this time taking way slower steps. Clark following your tail in a heartbeat.

Somewhere in the quiet surroundings, between the sounds of his steps on the gravel and the sleepy hum of the animals around the two of you, something shifts inside of Clark.

Not the nervousness from before. Not the anxiety of possibly making a fool of himself.

Only something real.

hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo

[st4rfckerz]

Grandma's Jam

ʚ word count: 1.9k

ʚ summary: your grandma has you bring some homemade jam to the kent house but clark is the only one home

ʚ warnings: mdni, oral (f receiving), clark is lowkey pathetic, mutual pining (?)

You can faintly hear the oldies radio station humming from the kitchen, the soft crackle of vinyl and slow melodies weaving through the warm, lived-in air of the house. The voices of gospel harmonies and Motown crooners drift past the hallway as you make your way toward the sound, carried on the scent of something sweet — maybe some kind of cobbler, or tart.

Your grandma’s at the counter, humming along quietly as she finishes labeling a few mason jars. “There you are,” she says, glancing up at you with a smile. “Come here for a second.”

You step in, curiosity piqued as she sets a few jars in a checkered cloth lined basket.

“I’ve got some jam ready, peach and apple. I was thinking I’d send a few over to the Kents,” she says, tying off the bundle with practiced fingers. “You don’t mind walking them over, do you?”

You shake your head, already reaching for the package. “No ma’am, I got it.”

Her grin warms. She pats your arm lightly before handing the basket over. “Tell Martha I said hello. And walk carefully — those jars bite if they break.”

You cradle the basket carefully in your arms, the jars clinking softly beneath the cloth as you make your way down the familiar path. The sun sits low in the sky, casting everything in that soft, golden glow that makes Smallville feel like a photograph you could step into.

The Kent house fully comes into view — still the same pretty yellow, still with those white shutters that always looked freshly painted, even when they weren’t. There’s something comforting about it, like the place hasn’t changed a bit since you were a kid.

You step up onto the porch, the wooden boards creaking lightly under your feet, and lift a hand to knock on the door.

You knock gently, then shift your weight onto your other foot as you wait. The house is quiet inside, save for a distant sound, maybe a chair scraping or a floorboard creaking.

A moment later, the door swings open, and there he is.

Clark fills the doorway effortlessly, wearing a white, worn-in t-shirt and a faint look of surprise that quickly melts into something warmer.

“Oh — hey,” he says, his voice just a little breathy like he hadn’t expected it to be you.

You hold up the basket. “Grandma made some jam. Peach and apple. She wanted me to bring it over.”

Clark glances at the basket, then back at you, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “Well…that’s nice of her. And you.”

He steps back, pulling the door open wider. “You wanna come in for a second?”

You hesitate for a moment, the nostalgic warmth of the house tugging at something inside you. Then, with a small nod, you step inside.

Clark closes the door softly behind you and leads the way down the hallway. “My folks aren’t home right now,” he says casually, glancing back at you with a half-smile. “Just me.”

You follow him through the quiet house, past the living room and down the short hall into the kitchen. Everything looks the same — the checkered curtains, the chipped ceramic rooster on the counter, the light that always hits just right around this time of day.

Clark nods toward the counter. “You can just set them over there.”

You move to the counter and start gently pulling the jars from the basket, one by one. The fabric-wrapped glass clinks softly as you set each one down.

Clark leans against the fridge, arms loosely crossed. “You always deliver stuff like this, or am I just special?” he teases lightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You roll your eyes with a small smile, focused on unwrapping the last jar —

But your fingers fumble.

The jar slips from your grasp, hitting the edge of the counter with a loud crack before tumbling to the floor and shattering into a sticky mess of glass and jam.

Your eyes widen. “Shit — sorry. I’m so sorry —”

Clark’s already moving, waving a hand. “It’s okay, it’s just jam.” He grabs a towel that was left on the counter.

“I got it,” he says, voice a little quieter now. “Just stay there. Don’t want you stepping on anything.”

He kneels in front of you, his broad shoulders blocking the light for a second as he starts to carefully gather the glass and sticky mess. You can hear the soft scrape of broken pieces against the tile, but all you can really focus on is the way the air suddenly shifts, it’s thicker now, heavier.

You’re both quiet, but it’s not the comfortable kind. It’s charged. Tangled in everything unspoken.

From where you’re standing, you can see the curve of his neck, the way the muscles in his forearm flex as he works. He’s close — too close, and somehow not close enough.

He looks up briefly, eyes meeting yours, and for a second it feels like the whole room is holding its breath.

Clark doesn’t move at first. He just stays crouched there, fingers curled loosely around the tattered red rag, breath caught somewhere between his chest and throat.

Your fingers slip into his hair slowly, and he blinks up at you like he’s not sure if this is really happening.

You brush the strands back gently, tracing along the softness of his waves before your touch glides down to his cheekbone. He leans into it, just slightly, like his body is moving before his brain can catch up.

Your thumb lingers there, warm against his skin, and Clark swallows hard. His eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something in them — something fragile and full and burning all at once.

Clark’s fingers slowly loosen around the rag, letting it fall from his hand without even glancing down. His gaze stays locked on you, wide and soft, his eyes shining with something almost puppy-like, like he’s silently asking for permission to stay this close.

Then, without a word, he shifts forward and wraps his arms gently around your legs, pulling you in just a little more, his grip secure but tender.

His cheek brushes against your thigh, and for a moment, he nuzzles into you, like he’s grounding himself, like the simple contact is enough to make his whole body relax. A quiet sigh leaves him, warm against your skin.

The weight of him there, his arms wrapped around your legs, his cheek nestled softly against you — it’s enough to send a quiet shiver through you.

You weren’t expecting it, but something hot starts to stir low in your stomach. A slow, blooming heat that spreads with every soft breath he lets out against your skin.

The warmth inside you grows hotter as his fingers start to gently squeeze and grope at the curve of your ass, testing and exploring, like he’s feeling out what he can get away with.

Without fully realizing it, he nuzzles his face closer — his cheek brushing right against the heat of your cunt, his breath warm even through the fabric. The soft drag of his nose, the accidental pressure, the low hum he lets out, it all sends a jolt straight through you.

Clark’s breath grows a little heavier as he tilts his head, pressing a slow, soft kiss right against your covered core. The fabric barely muffles the warmth of his lips, and the contact makes your stomach tighten, that heat burrowing itself even deeper.

His hands glide up under your skirt, fingertips teasing along your thighs before finding their way back to your ass. He gives a gentle squeeze — firmer this time, like he’s savoring the feel of you under his hands.

Moving with a careful slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. His eyes flick up to yours for just a second, searching, silently asking. He slowly starts to drag the fabric down, inch by inch, exposing more of you to the cool air and the heat radiating between you both.

Once your underwear pools at your ankles, Clark’s hands glide down your legs, steadying you as he presses a trail of slow, deliberate kisses up the inside of your thighs. Each kiss gets a little closer, a little more dangerous.

When he reaches the top, he pauses for a beat, looking up at you with that smug grin — his sharp canines barely peeking through, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

With a smooth motion, he shoves your skirt up around your hips, exposing all of you to him.

Without another word, he finally leans in, lips pressing firmly against your core. The first touch is warm, wet, and deep — his mouth working like he’s been dying to taste you, tongue gliding against you with slow, perfect precision.

His hands grip your legs tighter, holding you open as his mouth moves in rhythm, every flick and swirl dragging more heat out of you.

Your fingers dive into his hair, gripping tightly as a soft moan escapes you, hips shifting involuntarily under his mouth. His tongue works you expertly, sending sparks through every nerve as the pressure builds inside you.

Between shaky breaths, you manage to whimper, “C-Clark…we, fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this…”

With his mouth still working against you, his voice comes out muffled, low, and almost teasing.

“Then stop me.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Your grip in his hair only tightens, your thighs trembling as the heat inside you spirals higher, your body giving him every answer he needs.

The words stick in your throat, lost to the waves building inside you. Clark’s mouth moves with more purpose now — quicker flicks of his tongue that leave your legs trembling against his shoulders.

Your grip tightens in his hair, pulling just slightly, but he groans into you, sending a fresh pulse of heat through your core.

The pressure inside you coils tighter, tighter — until it finally snaps.

You cry out, hips jerking against his mouth as your orgasm crashes over you, sharp and overwhelming. Clark holds you steady, not letting up, his mouth working you through every last wave until you’re gasping, spent, and shaking under his hands.

When you finally come down, he slowly pulls back, lips glistening, eyes blown and locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world.

Clark rises slowly, hands still steady on your thighs as he stands between your legs. His breathing is heavy, his cheeks flushed, but his eyes are nothing but soft when they meet yours.

Without a word, he leans in and kisses you, like he’s trying to ground you both after everything. His lips move softly against yours, tasting you, holding you. His hands slide up your sides, fingertips tracing your skin with quiet care while he stays close, his forehead resting briefly against yours between kisses.

“I should go,” You whisper, barely able to get the words out,

Clark stills for a moment, eyes searching yours, like part of him wants to ask you to stay, but he doesn’t. He just nods, gently swiping your bottom lip with his big thumb.

“Okay,” he murmurs softly, voice still low and warm.

He steps back, giving you space as you adjust your skirt and smooth your clothes back into place. His eyes follow every small, shaky, movement, drinking in the sight of you one last time before you leave.

And even as you walk toward the door, you can feel his still aching gaze lingering on you.

[the-fyre-flie]

Superbat playing Minecraft lolol

Bruce plays Hard-core. Like a NERD! He has a world that's like 8 years old with about a hundred pet bats, dogs, cats, birds, and horses. He named all of them unique things. All of his gear is the best possible, with all the enchantments. He's a bit of a perfectionist and refuses to wear armor if it's not perfect. To him, it's not just about doing it, but doing it perfectly. This is his stress relaxation game.

Clark plays creative and only creative. He likes building large replicas of Metropolis and Gotham. He's built all of the Daily Planet in a superflat word, TO SCALE. When he invites Bruce to play on his world, Bruce is mildly freaked out that his boyfriend knows like... all the schematics of multiple buildings, including Wayne Manor. Clark is just happy to show off his builds.