frivolousimagination

[frivolousimagination]

breakfast for breakfast | clark kent

summary: waking up next to clark, and he’s just a softie in love. you both are tbh (fluff)

word count: ~1.9k (of the main, then I got bored and antsy so I did bullet points. Not sure on a word count for that)

warnings: slight spoilers for superman 2025 (maybe?), one pet name I think, kisses and some bare skin but no smut, i believe it is gender neutral

notes: i am literally giggling and kicking my feet, he makes me feel so giddy. first time writing for clark pookies

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Clark’s favorite morning was always Saturday. In childhood, they were the mornings he’d wake up and rush to watch cartoons. Mornings spent with his Ma and Pa, who made pancakes every Saturday, never missing even once. The tradition was so ingrained at this point that they still did it, even without Clark home.

Saturday mornings stayed his favorite in college because it meant no classes. Shockingly, the Kryptonian found himself easily drained in his college days, catching sleep anytime he could. Could’ve had something to do with the beginnings of a vigilante lifestyle that kept him up in late hours of the night, but he’d never confess to that.

And Saturday mornings stayed his favorites now because of you. A guaranteed slot of time spent holding you, kissing you, fawning over you. No interruptions from your nosy (but loving) friends, no deadlines to meet by noon, nowhere to rush off to for a story. Occasionally Superman was needed, but Clark always became yours the second he got back.

Saturday mornings didn’t always stop when the clock hit 12. Well, technically the afternoon began, but Clark always reminded you that “Saturday mornings are a mindset” while pressing a honey dip kiss into your neck. Saturday mornings could last all weekend, if one really pushed for it. But right now was a true Saturday morning, 7:38am to be exact. Your busy lives kept your bodies and minds from sleeping in much later than that anymore.

You were awake just a moment before Clark, deeply inhaling cold air as you woke. Your comforter was pooled over your bodies, and you felt warmth radiating from his place in bed. Clark was always running hot, which provided your ice cold hands with a personal heater on several occasions.

Laying on your stomach, you turned your head to check on Clark. His breathing was still steady, slow, rhythmic. You watched as his torso rose and fell, his hand on his stomach giving every reason for his torso to be center focus. You knew that Clark was awake when your eyes flickered back to his face and you saw a dimple form on his cheek. He couldn’t help himself. Never could.

“Morning,” his voice was deep and rasp. There wasn’t a single time where you were staring at him and didn’t get caught. Blame it on his abilities.

“Morning.” You smiled, watching him slowly open his eyes to see you. You were the first thing his eyes were met with every morning, and he couldn’t be happier about that.

He shifted in bed, turning so he could fully see you. You looked gorgeous, his brain could hardly comprehend. It didn’t seem fair that you got to wake up so beautifully. Hair askew, just giving him a reason to fix it. The sunlight’s orange haze peeking through the curtains gives him an excuse to look into your eyes and discover a new fleck of a color. And, anytime you were awake before him, your lips were curved into a smile that he wanted the world to see, swearing it was some sort of miracle cure.

His hand instinctively reached out, fixing your sleep ridden hair with a few strokes. And just like routine, his fingertips glided over your cheek before the palm of his hand rested to hold you. His thumb glides over your cheekbone carefully, a sensation that pulls both of you further from sleep.

“Caught you staring again,” he mumbled tiredly, pressing a kiss to your nose. “That makes… three days in a row?”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning into your palms. Clark’s smile deepens, eyes flickering desperately to take in your every move. His hand on your cheek lifts and takes hold onto one of yours, gently trying to reveal your face again.

There’s that smile. He reassures, “No, it’s cute. Maybe tomorrow will make lucky number four.”

You laugh at his remark and let him remove one of your hands. With half your face covered, you look at him with one eye. His sight rarely left you in the mornings. In the beginning it felt like some immense pressure, being almost observed by a man known for protecting an entire world. Being observed by Superman. But the pressure faded once you realized that you weren’t being observed by Superman, you were being memorized by Clark Kent.

“Can you blame a person?” You joke and remove your other hand. “I’ve got an actual godlike being in my presence here.”

Clark rolled his eyes, and, despite his disapproval of that comparison, his dimples deepened as his lips found a smile that actually had served as a cure of some degree in the world.

“Don’t start,” he grumbled and rubbed his face to wake himself up.

You continued anyway. “I’m laying mere inches away from Superman himself, I’m never gonna stop.”

Clark looked at you with raised brows, like trying to give you a warning to stop. Didn’t make a difference other than maintaining the smiles on both your faces and making a laugh roll from his chest. He couldn’t even take himself seriously like that.

“You know I strongly dislike that, even in jokes.” His tone lacked any and all sternness.

You grinned, pulling up the comforter just a little further to hide your teasing smile from him. He was impossibly adorable, strongly dislike. Everything he did, you ate it up. He knew exactly what you were doing too, hiding behind the blanket.

“Oh, huh uh,” he laughed, wagging a finger at you.

“Huh uh?” You repeated with raised brows, voice muffled from the fabric. “Huh uh, what?”

“Huh uh that.” He tugged the blanket away and pointed to your shit eating grin. “I’m just a guy, and you’re being…” his brows furrowed as he searched for a word. “Mischievous.”

“Mischievous?” You laugh, eyes darting all over his face. He was doing his best to withhold a smile… meaning, he was smiling, just not quite ear to ear.

“Devious, even!” He found a new word.

“I’m devious now?”

“Ornery.”

“Really putting your journalism expertise to work here.”

“You’re teasing me.” He finally just states it.

For someone that was just a guy, Clark had a sickening effect on you. Even caught red handed, you turned yourself over to him with joy.

“I am.” You easily reply.

He laughs at that, the way you just give in. His hand takes hold of yours again. He just needed to be close to you.

You continue. “But you really are godlike, Clark.”

“Uh huh.” He chuckles, tongue in cheek as he slowly leans closer. Your hand is brought to his lips, covering your knuckles with kisses.

“Like a son of Aphrodite or something.” Your gaze is locked onto his. He didn’t so much as glance away.

“A son of Aphrodite?” He grinned, kissing the inside of your wrist. “Her children were the result of an affair, right? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

Always a way out. He couldn’t stand to be put on a pedestal, lighthearted or otherwise. But he was so impossibly perfect in everything he was, is, did, touched, said. You knew that wasn’t fully true, but it was true often enough.

“No,” you reply with a smile. Your heart fluttered as his lips warmth into your skin, trailing up your arm. “I’m saying that you’re beautiful.”

His lips were pressed to you, just above your elbow now. You felt the way they curled into yet another smile. It drove you crazy.

“Beautiful?” He repeats. He gives a second kiss to that same spot before continuing his trail. “That I can accept.”

Beauty didn’t equate perfection, not always. Although, it did to him when it came to you. And he supposed it equaled perfection to you when it came to him. Still. It was a standard he felt he had at least a chance of living up to. It meant a lot of different things to people.

God, he loved Saturday mornings.

Your eyes closed again, Clark now kissing your shoulder and heading along your back. Your arms came up to rest beneath your head, just taking it all in. His carefully laid kisses, hot breath brushing your skin with each placement of his lips. Clark sat up for a moment, readjusting to hover over you.

The bed dipped around you as his hands went on either side, holding himself above you. He needed more and more. His fingers pulled the comforter down and then slid beneath the edge of your shirt, carefully pushing the fabric up to expose some of your back.

Chills went through your body as his fingertips teased along your spine. He just looked over you for a moment. How you looked beneath him, how you looked on your stomach, how you looked with goosebumps from the cold air and his lingering touches. He needed it carved into stone, sealed into a vault deep within his mind. He needed you forever.

“Would you eat pancakes?” He quietly asked, kissing your shoulder blade.

What?

It hadn’t occurred to him how random that would sound, even after he asked. The question just made sense.

“Honey?” His voice vibrates in your ear, searching for an answer.

You hum, turning your head to the side and resting your cheek on the pillow. “Pancakes would be good.”

Clark had such an innocent air. Pancakes? Here you were, heart racing at the notion that he was about to strip you of your (minimal) clothes again. And he asked about pancakes? It warmed your heart.

Clark’s lips had begun to trail down your spine at this point. His hand rested on your ribs, gently holding onto you as he relished you being his. How’d he get so lucky?

“Perfect.” He smiled, pressing a kiss between your lower back dimples before tugging your shirt back down.

He let himself relax a little, his hips resting at your upper thighs. He was careful not to put his entire weight on you, always cautious. He was holding himself up on his forearms now, back pressing against yours as he leaned down to cover what was showing of your face with kisses.

Your heart rate didn’t seem to slow down, given there was zero reason to. His fractional weight on you felt good, and the way he absolutely covered you in kisses could’ve sent you into cardiac arrest because this was casual for him. This was routine, an obvious part of every single Saturday morning now. He hadn’t even made it the point of your lips connecting, you knew he wouldn’t until later. And it didn’t matter.

“I’m starving.” He mumbles, one final kiss on your cheek before pushing himself off you and climbing out of bed.

You watched him from that place, body still feeling every place his lips had just been. There was no sin behind those lips, but they still burned. Like the sun when you stay in it for too long, unable to resist how comforting it feels soaking into your skin.

And he continues his routine, tugging his blue sweatshirt over his t-shirt, giving you a glimpse at his bare torso when his arms are raised. Is this how Victorians felt? Commemorating any and every detail to memory with the unknown of when you’d see it again. Or maybe it was more keen to how artists such as Michelangelo carved Moses, a need to share lifetimes worth of beauty if only every detail is right.

skip to him going in the kitchen, and you hearing him trying to quietly talk to Ma on the phone for tips on making the perfect pancakes. He really, truly believes you don’t hear him. But, god damn, he is terrible at whispering over the phone because Ma already can’t hear

You give him time to talk to her on the phone, needing time to recuperate and plot revenge anyway

Which, by the way, your revenge would not have to be complicated. Clark is giddy about any little thing you do. You wrap your arms around him when you come in the kitchen? His heart is running. You kiss his back through his sweatshirt? His heart is speeding. Your hand sneaks beneath his shirt and up his side? His heart is literally gone.

He 100% makes faces on your pancakes, just like Pa always does for him

And I have to state the (hopefully) obvious and say… Clark is eager to share this family tradition with you, hoping it’ll last a lifetime

wanna write something about him being able to pick you up so easily, but my brain is struggling with it for some reason

feel free to send requests (please, please, please)

[frivolousimagination]

The thing you gotta understand about Mr. Terrific in the new Superman movie is that he is always the smartest man in the room.

And he HATES it.

It's not that he hates being smart, he just hates how he can never quite predict how dumb everyone else is.

Just when he thinks he knows how low Guy's IQ is: "we are both of the cloth"

No, Lois, we can't repel down there, WHERE WOULD WE GET THE EQUIPMENT?

DO YOU REALLY NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CIRCLES AND SPHERES?!??!?

WHY WOULD YOU BRING YOUR DOG TO THIS TEAR IN THE FABRIC OF REALITY?

And then, when there's someone who actually is intelligent, it's like the intelligence only increases their capacity for dumbassery

Lex, you're supposed to be a super genius so whY WOULD YOU BUILD A GOD DAMN POCKET DIMENSION?!?!!?!

[frivolousimagination]

what the hey dude!

[frivolousimagination]

SPOILERS the best part of the Superman movie was when Lex was walking towards the fortress of solitude and it just opened for him without explanation and my best friend turned to me in the cinema and whispered "he's already pregnant"

[frivolousimagination]

At the end of the day, I think that Snyder was always trying to say that humanity doesn't deserve Superman, and that Superman sometimes thinks that himself.

While James Gunn is saying that we do. And that Superman WANTS to help. He loves humanity because humanity is all the best parts of him.

Snyder came in with his idea of what he wanted Superman to be. Gunn KNOWS who Superman really IS. And that's an important distinction.

[frivolousimagination]

THAT'S MY SUPERMAN

[frivolousimagination]

y’all i had no clue my ask box wasn’t open lmao but it is now! please send any ideas 🙏

Big fan of the way Clark just picks Lois up without even thinking about it. In the kitchen scene (love her) but also later when they’re just hugging. Might have to write about it 🤭

[frivolousimagination]

off the record

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 1.2k

- husband!clark x journalist!reader (light)

summary: married life with clark kent means soft words, warm baths, and problems that mysteriously take care of themselves.

warnings: strong language (brief), but that’s it!

a/n: i just love how soft and gentle this man is. i might write more husband!clark content soon!! <3

It all started at the Daily Planet. With you, a copy machine, and Clark Kent…

You were rush-printing, darting back and forth between your desk and the copy machine that seemed hell-bent on testing your patience. You swore it had a personal vendetta against you. Paper jam. Low toner. Random blinking light that meant absolutely nothing. You were mid-grumble, juggling half a stack of still-warm pages, when your body slammed into someone.

Someone solid. Tall. Unmoving. 

Clark.

You stumbled back hard, breath caught in your throat, but before gravity could finish the job, he caught you. One arm steady at your waist, the other bracing just in case.

And while apologies probably should’ve been the first exchange between you, they weren’t. Just soft “hi’s,” eyes locked like the world didn’t exist. Like you weren’t very much at work.

Jimmy had broken the spell, popping his head around the corner to complain about your copies clogging the machine. You’d muttered something and scurried off, face burning.

At the time, you were beyond embarrassed. Mortified, even. But now?

Now, you and Clark laugh about it like it’s your favorite inside joke.

That day felt like a lifetime ago. Before you knew what he could do. Before the cape. Before you ever imagined you’d marry a man who could stop a plane midair and still somehow burn toast.

You smiled at the thought, your head tipping back against Clark’s chest as you sank deeper into the warm bathwater. His arms were wrapped around you, strong and grounding—one of the few things that had made you feel at ease today.

The bath had been his idea. A quiet suggestion spoken against your temple. Something to help you relax.

You let out a sigh, one meant to soothe you—but all it did was remind you why you needed this in the first place.

Steve Lombard. 

The reason you were so worked up? He’d gotten—more like stolen—the byline you pitched. The one you’d outlined, sourced, and submitted three times. Steve hadn’t even touched the story until yesterday. And now? He was scheduled to run it in the next edition.

It wasn’t just wrong—it was complete bullshit. 

You felt yourself start to relive it all over again, the frustration rising in your chest—

But then Clark pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re supposed to be relaxing. That’s the whole point of this, remember?”

You narrowed your eyes without lifting your head. 

“Are you sure you can’t read minds?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “You know I can’t.”

Then, his breath brushed your ear as he added,“But I can hear your heartbeat. And that little huff you let out every time someone says Steve’s name…”

You sighed through your nose.

He smirked. “Like that.”

You rolled your eyes and shifted slightly, turning just enough to glance up at him. “It’s not fair, Clark. And I say that as someone whose literal job is to stay neutral.”

He smiled, soft and understanding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

You could feel it coming before he said it.

“But…”

“But what?” you asked, giving him a pointed look, already knowing exactly where this was headed.

“But,” he said, matching your expression—only his carried more warmth. “You already gave that trouble your whole day.” Clark’s voice dipped quieter, steadier. “You don’t owe it your night too.”

And there it was.

The voice of reason. That unshakable calm he carried like second nature. Clark’s tenderness threaded with Superman’s clarity—gentle where it mattered, resolute when it counted.

He always knew how to quiet the storm in your mind—sometimes before it even had the chance to fully form. Just like now.

You shifted a little more in his arms. “You’re getting a little too good at that,” you murmured, voice light but laced with affection.

He knew what you meant. Had already caught the shift in your breathing, the way your body eased ever so slightly. A sign you were listening. Letting it go.

A faint smile pulled at his mouth before he kissed you—lips meeting yours in a way that asked for nothing and promised everything. 

The kind of kiss that didn’t seek reassurance, just gave it.

You turned back around, settling against his chest again. This time, actually letting yourself relax.

No more thoughts of Steve. No more replaying what-ifs or what-should-have-beens.

All you focused on was the warmth of Clark's body against yours, and that steady, familiar peace of being with the one person who always knew how to bring you back home.

The next morning, everything at the Planet felt… normal again. The buzz of the newsroom, the hum of too many phones ringing at once, the distant shuffle of papers—it was all the same.

You were still agitated, the sting of yesterday’s injustice hadn’t completely left, but last night helped.

Clark helped.

Now you stood at the coffee station, watching the machine wheeze and cough out something that barely qualified as drinkable. The smell alone was enough to make you question your choices, but you needed it. 

Then you heard it—

There was a slight commotion a few desks over. Nothing major, but just loud enough to catch your attention—Perry’s voice, sharp and no-nonsense, and Steve’s not far behind, defensive and flustered.

You couldn’t make out every word, but the gist was clear: Steve couldn’t find a single note related to the byline he tried to claim. Something about missing files. A corrupted drive.

Perry didn’t bite.

“If you can’t produce it, you’re not running it. End of story.”

A pause.

Then—

“Ms. Y/L/N!” Perry’s voice carried clean across the bullpen. “You still want that byline?”

You turned, coffee cup halfway to your mouth, already biting back a grin. “Absolutely.”

“Then it’s yours. I want a draft by end of day.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied, already walking back to your desk, the first real bounce in your step all morning.

Across the room, Clark sat at his desk, posture straight, eyes fixed on his screen like it held the secrets of the universe. Stoic. Focused. Suspiciously dialed in for 8:47 a.m. Even for him.

Raising your mug to your lips, you watched him over the rim. His expression was calm, almost too calm. Like a man performing innocence a little too well.

You eyed him knowingly. “Clark,” you whispered under your breath.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. But you knew better. Knew he’d heard you the second you said it.

You tilted the mug a little higher, shielding your mouth as you spoke into the ceramic.

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with Steve’s entire draft folder going missing overnight, right?”

Still nothing. No shift in his eyes, no tilt of the head. He kept typing, quiet and composed.

But then you saw it. Just barely.

The corner of his mouth twitched, the dimple in his cheek deepening. A restrained smirk tugged at the edge of his otherwise saintly face.

That was all the answer you needed.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

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[frivolousimagination]

What must it be like // To grow up that beautiful? // With your hair falling into place like dominoes // My mind turns your life into folklore // I can't dare to dream about you anymore

pov: (first) dates with clark kent

[frivolousimagination]

ೃ࿔:･ trying to give clark a hickey

you shift closer in the dim glow of the lamp, your lips grazing the edge of his jaw, then lower in that slow and teasing way. you let your tongue drag across his skin until you find the spot just under his collarbone. the one you know would make anyone else melt. you kiss it. suck, just a little. just enough. then, you smooth over the spot with your tongue once again.

and…nothing. you pull back, squinting. with the tilt of your head, you try again—harder this time. you’re focused like a girl with a mission. clark watches, amusement dancing around his eyes. but still, no mark and no color. not even the faintest blush blooming under the skin. it’s like trying to bruise marble. you sit back, scratching your head and blinking at him. “okay. weird question.”

clark, propped up on one elbow, looks up at you with that soft, dopey smile like he’s already charmed and doesn’t know what for. “yeah?”

“do you…not bruise?”

he winces, sheepish. “oh. right. yeah, that’s—that’s a thing.”

you just stare at him. “you let me go at you like a vampire and didn’t think to mention that first?”

he shrugs, cheeks a little pink. “i didn’t wanna ruin your moment. you looked really focused.”

you groan and flop forward, burying your face in his chest. “clark.”

“in my defense,” he says, trying not to laugh, “this is the first time anyone’s been disappointed that they can’t injure me.” you hit him in the ribs—it does nothing. he peeks down at you. your brows are furrowed, lips pursed forward in pure thought. suddenly, your bare feet are padding on the wooden floors. you make a sharp turn into the bathroom and shuffle through your makeup bag. finally, you pull out the shiny tube.

he hears the click of the cap before he sees you again. you’re strutting back, hips swaying and smirking. your lips are twisted in triumph, the lipstick already slick across your mouth. clark’s still propped up against the pillows, watching you with that boyish, utterly doomed look on his face. “uh oh.”

you crawl onto the bed with the kind of slow, lethal grace that should be illegal. “stay still, superman.”

his eyes dart down to your mouth, then back up. “should i be scared?”

“yes,” you say sweetly, straddling his hips. he’s warm under you and still shirtless, still glowing faintly like he swallowed the sun. you grab his chin with two fingers, tilting his face, and then press your mouth to his neck. firmly, purposefully, slowly. you pull back to admire your work. a perfect crimson kiss blooms right beneath his jawline. “there,” you declare, victorious. “perfect.”

clark touches it, awestruck. “you vandalized me.”

you grin. “i claimed you.”

he sits up a little straighter, brows high. “this is your version of a kryptonian bonding ritual?”

“pretty much. and don’t wipe it off.”

“never.” he promises, all starry-eyes and solemn.

the next morning, he stumbles into the bathroom half-asleep, hair a riot of soft curls, rubbing at his eyes. he flicks on the light—bright, unforgiving—and freezes. his reflection blinks back at him, bleary and shirtless. his neck, his collarbone, and the swell of his shoulder are completely covered. your lipstick blooms across his skin. your smudged kisses in scarlet and rose, one dusted over his clavicle, another tucked just beneath his ear like a secret.

he exhales a laugh. quiet and disbelieving. his fingers skim over one of the stains, careful not to smudge it further. “yeah,” he murmurs to the empty room, lips twitching. “definitely claimed.”

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[frivolousimagination]

Big fan of the way Clark just picks Lois up without even thinking about it. In the kitchen scene (love her) but also later when they’re just hugging. Might have to write about it 🤭

[frivolousimagination]

DAVID CORENSWET Photographed by Noua Unu

[frivolousimagination]

omg omg do you know that tiktok trend where girlfriends wipe off their boyfriend's kisses as like a joke/prank?? Imagine that with Clark Kent, omg he's so babygirl 😭😔

Where love lands

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I couldn't help myself and wrote two versions bc I kept thinking about the scene, one not metioning tiktok and the other mentioning the trend. Here are both because I couldn't choose! Genre: Fluff

No spoilers for the film!

Total word count: 1.3k (V1 0.4k and V2 0.9k)

Version 1 (0.4k)

You were leaning against the kitchen counter when he walked in, glasses slightly fogged from the change in temperature, tie askew, coffee in hand and a grin that could light up Gotham.

"Morning, sweetheart," he said, leaning in and planting a warm kiss to your cheek before walking past you to grab a second mug.

You waited two beats, just long enough for him to feel safe. Then, with exaggerated flair, you reached up… and wiped the kiss off with the back of your hand.

Clark froze mid-pour and you could feel his confusion like a change in air pressure.

“…Did…did I miss?” he asked, already glancing down at his lips like maybe he somehow did it wrong. “Was that– was it scratchy? I shaved last night, I swear–"

You covered your mouth to hide your smile, but it was too late for him as his eyes already widened with full, horrified realization.

“Did you wipe it off?” he asked, aghast, like you’d just thrown the sun into a dumpster. “You wiped off my kiss?”

You turned dramatically away. “Sorry, I’m trying to keep my skin clean. Skincare is getting ridiculously expensive.”

“My kiss is clean! That’s all the skincare you need.” he insisted, voice cracking just a little as he stepped closer, looking tragically betrayed. “I’m basically cruelty-free! I–I’ve literally flown through fire for you and you’re worried about a little cheek grease?!”

You shrugged. “Guess I’m just not into PDA anymore.”

“Inside our house?…Do we have a roommate I don't know about? Wh–you just…yesterday morning you made me kiss you goodbye on Krypto’s forehead too.”

“Did I?” you asked, all innocence.

Clark looked like you’d personally sucker-punched his soft farmboy heart. He set the coffee pot down gently, like it might break under the weight of his sorrow.

He exhaled slowly before speaking. “Do you want me to leave? Because if that’s what this is about–”

You burst into laughter, grabbing his shirt and tugging him back toward you. “No! No, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’re too cute…come here.”

Except now he was pouting. Clark Kent, the Man of Steel, pouting like a kicked puppy. “I can’t believe you wiped it off. My love…gone, like chalk dust.”

“I was kidding!” you giggled, pressing kisses across his face. “See? I love your kisses.”

“You better,” he muttered, melting into your hands anyway, arms sliding around your waist. “You should be grateful I didn’t laser-eye the whole sink out of heartbreak.”

“Oh yeah?” You snorted. “Is that what they call emotional maturity on Krypton?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, finally grinning. “On Krypton we hold dramatic grudges and float away slowly while sad orchestras play.”

You nuzzled into his neck muttering more half-giggled apologies while he kissed the crown of your head repeatedly and of course, you didn’t wipe them off this time.

Version 2 (0.9k)

The apartment smelled like cinnamon and newsprint.

You were in the kitchen, half-focused on your cereal, swaying a little to the oldies station humming through the speakers when the front bathroom door creaked open, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone larger than life tiptoeing through the space like he didn’t weigh 230 pounds of muscle and space metal.

“Hey, baby,” Clark’s voice came, low and sleepy. His tie was undone, shirt collar open and hair still damp from a too-fast shower he must’ve taken after fighting crime before breakfast. “Didn’t expect you to be up.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, soft and sweet before continuing to the cabinet to grab his favorite mug. The one with a print of Kansas cornfields on it, chipped on the rim but he refused to let you throw it out.

You gave him two seconds, two full seconds of peace, before you slowly and dramatically, reached up… and wiped the kiss off your cheek with the back of your hand.

Dead silence followed and Clark paused mid-reach. “Did you just…?” He turned, blinking. “Was that...Did you wipe off my kiss?”

You gave a casual shrug, barely glancing at him. “Just trying to keep my skin clean.”

He stared at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, brow furrowing like you’d just slapped a baby bird. “But–but I’m clean.”

“Mhm...I’m sure you are but–”

“I brushed my teeth! And I used mouthwash. You see me floss every morning!”

You turned away with a hum, taking a sip of your coffee like this was just another Thursday. Clark took one slow, wounded step toward you. “I can’t believe this. You wiped it off… My love, my affection…just gone, tossed out like garbage.”

“I didn’t toss it,” you said sweetly. “Just…recycled it.”

“Don’t joke,” he said, horrified. “Do you want me to leave? Is that it? Is it because I crushed you while cuddling last night? Because if it is, I can sleep on the floor–”

You finally looked at him. His lips were pressed tight, brows pinched and his eyes were full of puppy-dog devastation. He looked like a man who had just watched a romantic movie get spoiled mid-airplane ride.

You cracked. “No! Clark, I was joking! I’m so sorry…well, you did crush me a little but you should know by now that you’re my favorite weighted blanket.” You laughed, grabbing his shirt to pull him close. “Gosh, I feel terrible! You look like I spit on your cape.”

“It felt like you did,” he muttered, arms looping slowly around your waist even as he pouted. “Do you know how many people wish they could get kissed by Superman?”

“I didn’t wipe off Superman’s kiss. I wiped off Clark Kent’s,” you teased.

“Oh great…much better. Kick the civilian while he’s down.” He gave an over-exaggerated sigh, tilting his head back like he was praying to the ceiling. “First I’m rejected, now I’m slandered.”

You gently grabbed both sides of his face, tilting his head down so you could kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m six foot four and I cry while watching old Christmas movies, let me live.”

You buried your face in his chest, still giggling apologies. 

He kissed the top of your head again softly and this time, you let it stay but your brain was already turning.

Later that night, after dinner, a movie and a cuddle-heavy couch session, you tested it again. 

This time mid-forehead kiss as he reached across you for the remote.

You wiped it off in slow motion.

Clark gasped. “Again?!”

“It’s unnecessary exfoliation. I have sensitive skin!” you said, barely holding back a grin.

He narrowed his eyes. “You have a sensitive boyfriend too! What did he do to deserve this?”

You laughed so hard you could barely breathe. “It’s a trend, baby! It’s going viral on TikTok. I promise, you did nothing wrong.”

He blinked, confused. “…Why would anyone do that? What’s the joke? You’re rejecting love!”

Your body shook with laughter, so hard you nearly slid off the couch. He caught you mid-topple, strong hands grabbing your waist and gently placing you back on it. You barely had time to recover before he leaned in, bracing himself with one arm and settling his weight just enough to trap you beneath him. 

His glasses were askew and his expression caught somewhere between a pout and a grin as he stared you down, breathless. His lips twitched.

“This is emotional terrorism,” he said, voice low and faux serious. “You’re terrorizing me.”

“Oh, c’mon Smallville.” You grinned.

“I’ve fought aliens with less cruelty,” he declared. Then, in a whisper, with his forehead dramatically on your chest he added, “My heart…”

You chuckled before leaning down and kissing the top of his head with a loud ‘mwah!’. “You’re so babygirl.”

“Don’t weaponize that word against me,” he grumbled, now looking into your eyes.

“I’d never,” you promised, grinning up at him.

He lifted your hand and kissed the knuckles, eyes still vaguely wounded but soft with forgiveness. “I’ll remember this.”

“Oh no,” you gasped. “What’re you gonna do? Kiss me so many times I can’t wipe them all away?”

His smile turned smug, dangerously smug. “Exactly.”

And of course he did, peppering your face with relentless, exaggerated kisses until you squealed and squirmed beneath him, the apartment ringing with your laughter, his muffled chuckles and the kind of love that felt both ridiculous and endlessly real.

[frivolousimagination]

Parents are for telling their children who they're supposed to be. We're here to give you tools, to help you make fools of yourselves, all on your own. Your choices, Clark. Your actions. That's what makes you who you are. Tell you something, son. I couldn't be… more proud of you.

[frivolousimagination]

i need him so bad its concerning at this point

[frivolousimagination]

some people don’t know how to have a silly time anymore and it shows. you hate the new jurassic movie? unplug your brain bro. enjoy some dinos killing the evil capitalist mr wickham. but also some criticisms are so valid

you hated the altoids gag? couldn’t be me. sometimes a movie is good just because it has an actor i like looking at and dinosaurs. sometimes a movie is good because it blatantly tells you that science is for everyone (a narrative that is becoming lost btw). sometimes a movie is good because it is predictable and i know it’s not going to have a death/extreme gore just to shock the viewer. sometimes a movie is good because it ends by reminding you how beautiful the world we literally have in our real actual lives is, and that we don’t need to push to create the next shocking dinosaur (it’s a metaphor 🚬) but to push to maintain the world we have and push to take care of the people and creatures living on it.

But also, with all that. The fact that there is so much media for Jurassic Park (including even the first movie if we want to go that far) goes against the point of the original story and feeds into capitalism.

[frivolousimagination]

finest shyt ☝️