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[sinflowersugar]

SOFT.

that sound you make ── .✦

content: pure fluff, soft!Pedro being whipped, silly jokes, cuddling, giggly kisses, domestic vibes, that feeling of “i’d do anything for you”

Pedro loves your laugh.

No — loves is too weak. He’s obsessed with it. Addicted. A man possessed.

It started subtly. The first time you met, you laughed at a dumb joke he made (something about a sandwich, he doesn’t even remember it now) and he swears he blacked out a little. Like someone punched the air out of his lungs. It was loud and warm and real and maybe a little snorty at the end and it became his favorite sound in the entire world.

And now?

Now he spends most of his days trying to get you to do it again.

It’s not even for attention. He just likes watching it happen. The way your face scrunches. The way your body curls in when it really hits. The way you try to stop and end up laughing more.

He lives for it.

Today, you’re both on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket. Pedro’s in sweatpants and your hoodie (he keeps stealing it), holding a half-eaten cookie while reading dumb facts off his phone.

“Did you know,” he says between bites, “that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart?”

You blink. “Wait, that’s real?”

“Mmhmm.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Like this.”

He grabs your hand with both of his and smooshes it to his chest.

You laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“A sexy, affectionate idiot,” he corrects.

You giggle again — that soft one, the build-up. Pedro watches you like he’s watching a sunrise.

“And get this,” he continues, serious voice activated, “ducks… have regional accents.”

You full-on snort.

He gasps. His eyes widen like you just blessed him.

“There it is,” he whispers dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart. “That sound. My muse.”

You shove him. “Shut up.”

“I won’t. I can’t. I need it again.”

You’re already laughing harder. He leans in, chasing your giggles like they’re oxygen.

“Please,” he murmurs in a fake-posh accent. “One more snort, m’lady. Just one. I shall perish otherwise.”

“Pedro—”

But you can’t finish because he’s tickling your sides now, and you're shrieking and laughing and trying to push him off while he refuses to stop. “Gimme that laugh, baby,” he grins. “I live for it.”

Eventually you both collapse, breathless, tangled in each other and sweaty from the dumbest wrestling match of your life. You’re still giggling, pressed into his chest, and he kisses your forehead so gently you almost melt into the cushions.

“I really love it,” he says quietly, serious now. “The way you laugh. It’s my favorite thing.”

You glance up at him, cheeks warm. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I’d do anything to make you happy. But hearing you laugh like that?” His thumb brushes your cheek. “Makes me feel like I already have.”

You stare at him, soft and a little stunned.

Then you giggle again.

And he grins like a fool, like he just won the lottery.

And maybe he did.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[sinflowersugar]

For mvm! Reader sees JealousBoyfriend!Unsub!Spencer kill her ex. (unsub spence lives in my head rent free lmao)

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

--

Though you'd long since harbored nothing but hatred for them, seeing the life leave your ex's eyes was jarring. The eyes you'd stared into so dreamily time and time again, the eyes that had admired you for a year and eight months straight, were now glassy and dark.

And the man standing over them, the man who currently admired you, had a sick smirk on his face. Fear hammered in your chest at the sight of Spencer hunched over your ex's corpse, a low laugh leaving his mouth as he stabbed them one final time.

"That's 20. One for each month you kept them from me. I'm gonna make sure they never think about you again." He stood up straight, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, biting the inside of your cheek hard to contain your terrified tears as you fled, not willing to hear the rest of his speech.

You sprinted as fast as you could back to your car, throwing yourself into the passenger's seat and locking the doors. You grabbed your phone with shaky hands, pretending to have been on it the whole ten minutes that Spencer had been 'grocery shopping'.

He came back empty-handed, a smear of blood that he hadn't noticed lingering on his left shoe. You clocked it, though, and feigned surprise at his lack of groceries.

"They didn't have what I needed." His voice was perfectly monitored and acted out, a soft pout resting on his lips, "I had to walk around the whole store twice and I still didn't find it."

"We'll find it somewhere else." You mused, beginning to space out from the situation as he reached for your hand over the center console.

He hummed in agreement, looking back over his shoulder as he backed out, "Right. Well, angel, are you ready for movie night? I thought we could do horror."

"I've had enough horror for a lifetime." You mumbled, staring out into space too far to notice his confused glance towards you, "And I don't want romance either."

[sinflowersugar]

i cant stop thinking about how clark knows about everyone’s coffee orders like it’s second nature but he’d get so flustered if reader found out about his snack and dessert preference and started bringing those to him

and also, the hugs this man would give!!!

yes yes, okay walk with me here. ahem. one cup of coffee coming right up!

clark's no stranger to doing the grunt work around the daily planet.

he’s been through hell and back with a few internships in college where he was honestly basically just a warm body with a press badge, relegated to coffee duty, sorting mail, rewriting press releases until his eyes went all fuzzy around the edges. he got really good at paper jams. and then really good at fetching lunch orders with a smile and remembering how everyone took their coffee. doesn't complain, not ever. he likes being able to be the one to show up for everyone else!

and you know, when you do it long enough, it sticks—like it becomes second nature. not just remembering people’s orders, but noticing stuff like how perry only really drinks from the chipped mug with the faded daily planet logo and how lois needs something hot in her hands before 9 a.m. or she starts talking in sharp consonants and gets rougher around the edges, or maybe how jimmy gets a lil too jittery if he has more than one shot of espresso but will still take two if you hand them to him with just the right amount of confidence. he's learned, really learned over his years of being an intern and the college kid taking it all in in the corner, how to fit into spaces like that, quietly, seamlessly, like someone who figured out pretty young that it’s easier to carry things for other people than let them carry things for you.

really, he doesn’t expect anyone to notice that he never puts in a request when everyone's gathering coffee orders in the morning. he just drinks whatever’s left, whatever’s convenient, or he makes a small, cracked pot in the break room and drinks it lukewarm, over-sweetened, whatever’s just there. he’s not picky. he says he’s not picky. it’s just... a lot easier that way.

but then... then you start noticing. just little, insignificant things. like how he always grabs the oatmeal raisin cookie if it’s there, how he stirs his coffee absentmindedly but never adds milk, how he lingers a little too long near the front desk when someone’s doordashed a box of donuts, like he’s thinking about it, like he’s almost going to grab one but talks himself out of it at the very last second.

so one day, you bring him a donut. just drop it on his desk with a shrug, like it’s nothing. “they were two-for-one. thought of you.”

and fuck, that's when he short circuits. like genuinely doesn’t know what to do with his hands for a second. he says "thank you" in that soft, uncertain way like he’s not sure if you’re joking, like this might be a prank and steve's gonna come out of nowhere and say he's on an episode of nathan for you but it’s a... really really nice one if it is, so he’s going to go along with it anyway.

you keep doing it. not every day, just… when it makes sense. a granola bar when it looks like he skipped lunch. a cup of something warm when you pass the café. and his own coffee order—simple, reliable, not too sweet—without asking. and he never tells you what he wants. you just know. see, THAT, that’s what gets him.

he doesn’t know where to put any of it, the way it softens him. the way it stays with him. he thinks about the way you pressed the donut into his hand for like hours, not because of the donut but because of the look on your face. casual and warm and just… good. and then the hugs, oh god, the hugs. you hugged him once, offhandedly, not really thinking about it, more like a “thanks again” kind of thing, arms slung around his shoulders in the elevator, and he had to consciously remember how to breathe.

then it just… kept happening. small, thoughtless touches. a squeeze to his arm when he made you laugh so hard that tears came out of your eyes. the press of your hand at his unfairly toned lower back when you passed behind him at the printer. your head drifting off on his shoulder during a late night in the bullpen, half-asleep, trusting him to stay still, and he did.

he didn’t move for the whole hour.

and so now he just finds himself lingering at your desk more. not in a weird way. not in a weird way. maybe just… just to say hi. just to see if you need anything, a stapler, a proof reader, a piece of gum. just to hear your voice or maybe get lucky and even earn a smile. because for once, someone noticed him, and he doesn’t know what to do with that but hold it close, real close, like maybe if he’s gentle enough it won’t go away.

[sinflowersugar]

I wouldn't mind going out under the weight of clark kent.

clark kent blurb where he's just a big softie loverboy who just so happens to weigh 240 lbs and who you insist on using as a weighted blanket <3

»»————-　♡　————-««

"are you sure this doesn't hurt?"

"yes, clark, for the 47th time," you say, begrudging smile evident in your voice, "it doesn't hurt."

he's just home from work, tie loosened and bag tossed to the side before flopping on top of you on the couch with a dramatic huff.

he always asks you if it hurts to have his weight on you like this, even though you were the one who first asked him to do it at all. and of course, he would never set his full 240+ pound body weight on you, even if you did ask.

his head rests on your chest now, his upper body pressed flush to yours. you're ever so slightly propped up against the arm of the couch, a pillow under your neck, with your knees drawn up on either side of clark's waist where it tapers in the most, just above his hips. the heaviness of him on top of you makes it maybe a little harder to breathe–which you would never willingly admit to him–but you just love the pressure of him. it makes you feel safe.

clark is nothing if not an overly concerned boyfriend, though, so he insists on asking if he's hurting you anyway. every time.

"i like it," you tell him. once again.

he makes a kind of 'hmph' sound, like he still doesn't really believe you, but by now your fingers have started raking through his curls and, despite himself, he sinks a little further into you.

you smile secretly, victoriously, to yourself.

"you have such beautiful curls," you say, words tinged with something like frustration as your nails scratch lightly across his scalp. you're obsessed with the way his hair naturally wears when it's not windswept from flying, the unruly dark curls falling over his forehead. he looks so sweet, it hurts just to think about. "too pretty, baby. it's just not fair."

he makes a little sound, like a hum, you don't hear it so much as feel it through your body. you're not sure if it's in response to the praise or the sensation, probably both, and it makes heat rise in your chest. just a little bit. you can't help it.

"stop objectifying me," he says, muffled against the neck of your shirt.

"stop monitoring my involuntary bodily processes."

he huffs out a breath. "well, it seems we've reached an impasse in the argument."

your resulting laughter shakes against him, and you feel his cheek dimple with a smile you can't see. unfair.

there's a little pause, just the soft sounds of your breaths as they sync to one another, the scratch of your nails in clark's hair.

"how was work today?"

he groans, ever so dramatically, nuzzles further into you like you can shield him from the world.

"that bad?"

he turns his head just enough so that he's not talking directly into your skin. "it was objectively fine, i have a very good job and i'm very lucky–"

"and?"

"and perry's been nitpicking every little thing lately, and jimmy's out this week which has made steve even more annoying, somehow–"

"and?"

he acquiesces, somewhat shamefully, "and there were 300 new posts in the #supershit tag today."

"clark."

"yes, darling?"

"what am i going to do with you?" you sigh.

"oh, terrible things, i hope."

"hush." you roll your eyes, and you're sure he can tell even though he can't see your face from this angle. good, you think. "you know i love to compliment you, but you're going to make my job that much harder if i'm competing with three hundred idiotic tweets." per day! that's just unrealistic.

"you think they're idiotic?" he sounds so irritatingly hopeful, as if there was any possibility that you could ever agree with such nonsense.

"mhmm. idiotic, inane, dimwitted, preposterous–"

"oh preposterous, good word."

"thank you, gorgeous," you hum. "such a compliment, coming from expert journalist clark kent."

he hides his face in the crook of your neck again at the word 'gorgeous', his blush heating your skin. "okay," he speaks the word fully into your skin, defeated. the vibration of it almost tickling enough to make you twitch.

you really don't know what to do with this man. your hand slips down to the base of his skull with his movement, and you drag it against the short hair there, enjoying the feel of it under your palm. "please stay off the internet."

"no promises," he says against your throat.

[sinflowersugar]

Would love the college boyfriend experience 😞

mara if you drop anything, and i mean ANYTHING, even remotely related to little college kid clark majoring in journalism and being a little bean in the daily planet press room i will love you froever. NEED something to feed me before i start crashing out

THIS ASK FOUND ME AT JUST THE RIGHT TIME! i've been nervous, crashing out, sweating buckets about returning to college in a couple weeks, but college boy clark i loooooove you. contents: mildly suggestive, allusions to sex, protection (wrap it before you tap it!), tooth-rotting fluff, character study, clark being a lover boy.

clark’s definitely that guy in your lecture who always shows up ten minutes early but still looks... almost surprised when you say hi to him for the first time? he's the guy sits in the second row with his little blue composition notebook and the same pen every time. has freakishly neat handwriting, but it tilts just a tad bit more the sleepier he is. never really raises his hand or asks questions out loud but writes so many notes in the margins like he’s having a conversation with the damn textbook.

he’s probably got some work-study job that no one thinks twice about—maybe filing books in the library basement or tutoring people in intro comp for twelve bucks an hour and a university-provided hoodie if they can swing it. it's clark. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. he just goes like clockwork.

and he’s always, always carrying stuff. someone’s dry cleaning. a lost phone charger. boxes of flyers for the campus paper because he offered to help distribute them across three buildings and “it’s no trouble, really.” always something in his arms and someone saying “thanks, kent,” and him smiling just a little bashfully, proud of himself without meaning to, and already halfway down the hall with his sneakers that martha got for him the summer before he went to college squeaking.

you meet him in a class he doesn’t even really need to take—some sort of gen ed, maybe public speaking or rhetoric or intro to mass media, something that's light and can be skipped on friday mornings when everyone goes out the night before—but he ends up next to you because the seat was empty and because he’s just the kind of guy who feels bad for leaving a gap in the somewhat empty lecture hall. you ask to borrow a pen one day. he gives you two and says, “one for backup,” and just... smiles. and fuck it, that’s it, you’re whipped. you're gonna be this guy's seat partner for the rest of the year.

he’s soooo funny in this really quiet way, like he doesn’t even know he’s being funny which makes it so much better, and like he'll say “good gravy” without irony when something goes inevitably wrong with the projector and mutters “criminy” under his breath when he realizes he printed the wrong notes and his brows are furrowing and his lips jut out in a very, very slight pout. he types so softly. he eats his lunch on a bench behind the humanities building like a little old man on a break from the farm. old habits die hard.

and then one day you sit next to him again, and he offers you half his sandwich before even asking if you brought your own. like of course he fucking does. just splits his grilled cheese in half and then munches along with you in the back while wiping up the crumbs on your desk. and that's how you learn pretty quickly that he’s the kind of guy who remembers what kind of snacks you like and carries napkins in his backpack just in case, like not for any specific reason, but yknow. just in case.

he really, really likes the way you talk. he likes the way you’re not afraid to tease him, how you say “yes, country boy” or call him a midwestern huckleberry every time he does something hopelessly sweet and homemade like give someone directions or pick up a dropped pencil without making a big deal out of it. you'll catch him staring at your lips a lot while you're animatedly ranting or teasing him or chewing on your pen cap.

clark takes you to a house party once—just one, because they're honestly lame and you guys aren't doing anything that one friday night, so what the hell—and you’re not even halfway through your second drink before he’s offering you water and asking if you’re warm enough and if you want to sit down, if your shoes are okay, if maybe it’s too loud. you tell him he’s fussing. he tells you he likes fussing. you stay curled up together on a sagging couch for the rest of the night, playing some dumb party game with the rest of the floor and sneaking unsubtle little glances at each other every time someone asks “who in this room would you wanna kiss silly in the closet?"

when you end up drinking too much (happens to the best of us), he holds your hair back and rubs your back gently and just says, “you’re okay, i got you, you’re okay,” over and over and over until your stomach stops trying to escape your fucking body. doesn’t even flinch or make a face. doesn’t make fun of you. instead, he helps you rinse your mouth out and puts you in one of his old high school football t-shirts and tucks you into bed like he was born to take care of people and maybe he was.

and yeah, it’s a little awkward dating him at first, like you go to hold his hand and he's thinking you're going to high-five him so you guys bump knuckles. but then when he realizes, he just gets this... this look on his face like he got hit with a whole freight train and you’re like “clark. it’s just hands. it's me.” he nods way, way too fast and says “right. yep. just hands. totally great with hands.” and turns bright beet red from the implication.

he’s such a great fucking boyfriend, it honestly pisses me off. like high-key, not even low-key in the slightest, amazing.

clark's always ready with a granola bar or a spare umbrella or some dumb compliment that he says without even realizing i. "you’re really good at that,” he’ll say even when you’re just doing something small like showing him your notes or trying to fix your keycard that's slipped out of your wallet or brushing your hair out of your face, and it always catches you off guard because it’s so goddamn genuine.

he’s the one who drags you guys to the student health center to pick up a paper bag of free condoms before your first time and even some pamphlets because “they’re there for a reason” and you’re both sweating buckets the whole time. you do try to be casual about it, bless your soul. but you're also evil at the end of the day, so you whisper, “you picking out a good flavor for us, clark?” and he knocks over an entire bowl of dental dams. the whole fucking center goes quiet and looks over at you. you guys have to LEAVE. but he still picks up the bag :)

something you take advantage of is the fact that he gets flustered SO easily. like you’ll say one thing, not even filthy, just... maybe suggestive enough to make a nun blush—maybe something like “bet you’d look real pretty on your knees” and he just about dies. goes bright pink and blinks slow like he needs to reboot. swears and says “you’re gonna kill me” with this breathy, overwhelmed laugh, and then immediately proves you right.

and he wants. good grief, he wants so many things, so fucking bad. not just the sex, though, like hell yeah dude, that too, with this deep steady ache like gravity, but all of it. the mess of it. your clothes half on, his half off. the press of your hips against his in the middle of making a microwave dinner. lazy morning make-out sessions before running to class when neither of you smell great but you still can’t stop. he wants to be in your orbit, wrapped around you, under you, whatever you’ll let him have. he'll take it.

he’s so stupidly, wonderfully in love that it just leaks out in moments you don’t expect. like you’ll be kissing, slow and easy, not even really thinking of going anywhere in particular, and he’ll murmur “you’re so good to me” against your mouth and it knock the fucking the wind out of you. enough to make you pull him in between the stacks and wrench a couple more praises out from his pretty little mouth.

you guys also study together. or, at least you try. it usually starts out okay and productive enough but unfortunately for your grades, it ends with both of you horizontal on his tiny dorm bed, heads pressed together, blinking up at the ceiling like it might contain the answers for your exam more often than not. he hums when he reads, soft and low like a tractor engine, and when you fall asleep in the middle of writing flashcards, he covers you with his hoodie and finishes the rest for you.

he WILL say a lot, eventually. he starts off quiet in the relationship, never really opening up about smallville or his powers or his insecurities, but give him time and he’ll talk to you about everything—about growing up in a place with only one flickering streetlight and a high school class of thirty-two, about the first time he saw his name in print on the smallville post, about how sometimes he worries he’s too much, too soft, too honest for the world he really wants to write about.

you tell him he’s just right. and he believes you. eventually. again, it just takes time and a little elbow grease and some love.

but yeah... clark in college... he'll still show up to class ten minutes early. still gives you backup pens. still carries everything anyune hands him. but now he stands and waits for you by the door to the lecture hall. now he saves you a seat in every class you guys take together. now he’s got a piece of your scribbly handwriting tucked into his notebook, a little note you left him once that he rereads when he’s having a rough day, and he never tells you about it, not really, but you catch him smiling at it once and decide not to say anything. just squeeze his hand a little tighter in a dark, crowded lecture hall and smile with your eyes and ask him where he wants to get coffee that day. and that's enough.

🗽 mara's note: special thanks to @emmcfrxst for her brain, her kindness, and her willingness to thirst over college boy clark with me. mwah mwah mwah!

[sinflowersugar]

I love being called out on Tumblr.

How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life

[sinflowersugar]

Crashing on the rocks

this is a mess of love, lust, and Joel Miller’s terrible timing. read the chapters in any order your heart (or hormones) desires. wanna follow a path? the masterlist has your back.

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader

summary: The pivotal day.

tags: established relationship, age gap (30-50), kissing, slight angst but mostly fluff, unprotected p-in-v, kissing, vows (oww), tommy appears (say hi)

w/c: 3,2k

a/n: i think this one is my favorite so far

When Joel realized he couldn’t sleep without your perfume filling his lungs, or that your steps walking down his creaky stairs were becoming too familiar, he knew he had to do something about it.

He made a promise to himself. A long time ago. Be alone, be safe.

He was safe, indeed. But when you appeared, he started to think often about what would it be to see you every morning puffy with sleep, what would it be to have to clean your hair off the walls after you shower, what would it be to have the counter packed with stuff he doesn’t understand but he knows better than to touch, what would it be to come home to someone.

He knew that if he’d let you in, his heart would be hanging on a thread. Hanging from your hands. You were snappy, short to anger, mouthy, hella silent when you got angry and he knew it was gonna be a headache to have you around. But he wanted you anyway.

Even when you hated him, he wanted you anyway.

Even when you rolled your eyes every time he entered the room.

Even when you avoided him on the street,

or when you got angry because he switched you from patrol to kitchen duty.

He wanted to love you anyway.

And now he was there, standing like a fool. Trembling like a leaf. He ironed his best flannel, even asked Tommy to trim his hair.

“You’re goin’ on a date with that chick again?” His brother asked while Maria’s scissors snipped over the tip of his ears.

“You know her name. Stop callin’ her like that.” Joel grumbled while trimming his nails, lightly hunched. “It ain’t a date.”

“Then?”

“We’re jus’ gonna spend the afternoon cleaning out the old barn by the river.”

“Why the hell would you do that? There’s one near Main–”

“I know. We know.” Joel cut him off and glances over his shoulder. “It’s jus’... We want to have a place to be. Alone.”

Tommy narrows his eyes looking at Joel’s nape. Joel could feel it, his glare cutting through his skin. He was always able to read him.

“You don’t care, Tom.”

“The hell I don’t. You’re up to somethin’ and yer not tellin’ me.” Tommy puts his hands on his hips and walks around Joel, standing in front of him. “You’re gonna tell me y’just gonna go there, leave that old dump tidy just because? I ain’t a fool, brother”

Joel looks up at him while leaving the nail clippers on the table. Then he stands up.

“Thanks for the trim.”

When he is about to walk past his brother, Tommy grabs his arm.

“Hey, hey. Hold on, sit down” He urges Joel softly. They both sit again, Joel avoids his eyes. 

“I know you barely tell me about her ‘cause y��think I don’t like her for you”

“I don’t think. I’m certain,” Joel says, turning towards him with a  frown. “All you’ve done is take cheap shots and expect her to bend over”

“I didn’t take chea–”

“Yes, you did, Thomas.”

Silence.

“I jus’… don’t  know what she wants from you, and it scares me, Joel. I don’t want to see you fall apart again.”

Joel looks at his eyes and then lets his gaze drop to the table. His fists clenched over the smoothed wood. 

“I’m gonna marry her.” He says, low. “I asked her las’ week.” He lifted his eyes again. “Said yes.”

Tommy lets out a breath. Half surprise—half disappointment.

“You moved on, Tommy. I’m allowed to do it too.”

“María didn’t treat me like shit.”

“Maybe she didn’t, but she sure as hell controls your every move.” “Because she cares ‘bout me.”

“My woman cares too.”

“That's barely a woman. She still acts like a damn bratty girl!”

“Standin’ up for herself doesn’t make her a brat.” Joel stands up and points at him. “And whether you like her or not, I’m gonna do this. And you better treat her like family the same way I did with María. ‘Cause before anythin’ else, you’re my brother, and I expect, jus’ like I did, a bit of respect over my choices.” 

Joel’s jaw is clenched tight, his nose flaring.

Tommy stares at him and then lowers his head.

“Congrats.”

The air softens a bit. 

Joel lowers his hand and plants his hands on his hips, letting out a huffed breath.

“Thank you.”

As the sun was bleeding onto the rooftops, he made his way where you two agreed to meet. 

The barn. 

You weren’t there when he made it in time. Two wine bottles and bread in a canvas bag, a box with rings in his denim pocket.

It was quiet, already clean. As much as it can be cleaned. A hole on the ceiling makes the sun seep through the wood slats, golden rays casting over the hay patching the dirt ground. The paddocks were emptied a long time ago, but the rural spirit was still there.

He sat over one of the hay bales, ripped some bread and munched it while feeling the sun caress his skin. The crumbs falling softly over his dark green flannel and his lap. He was already thinking if you regretted it, or if maybe something happened to you in the way. But he was not about to let fear make him run away.

“You look neat” 

He snapped his head up and straightened his back. When he spots you there, sitting on the edge of the hayloft, his hands quickly brush the crumbs off his clothes and he stands up.

“I didn—” Joel clears his throat. His eyes glide over your form that goes down the ladder. “I didn’t know you were here already”

Joel looks at you clearly, now standing below the ray. Pearl white sundress, barefoot, hair a dream, lips too.

“I’ve been here for an hour” You smirk softly, while stepping towards him and letting your hands find his, holding them against your cleavage. “I wanted to make sure the place was spotless.”

“You don’t trust my cleaning skills?” Joel says softly, lifting your knuckles to his lips. His eyes on yours while he leaves soft pecks on your skin.

“I do. Bein’ honest, I was just nervous and I wanted to be here on time.” Your hand lifts to run your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft curls between your digits. “I like your hair short.”

“I feel like a damn boy.”

“I like you this boyish.” You say chuckling. “You didn’t touch your beard, I see.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. That ain’t happening, babe.” Joel wraps his hands around your waist and lifts you with a soft grunt, twirling slowly in place with you. When your soles kiss the ground again, he leans down slightly and approaches his lips to yours.

“Hey, tch, tch, tch” You place your fingers softly over his mouth and Joel lifts his brows. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Joel looks down for a second, smiling softly below his lips. His hands go to his jeans back pocket and grabs the small box. Your eyes attach to the small velvet box and when he opens it, you can’t hold yourself from tearing up a bit.

It’s so weird. Getting married. Being someone’s. Being with someone.

When it happened, you said ‘I do’ way too fast. It even surprised him, but a part of you was completely certain that there was no other answer. Not because you didn’t wanted to be with him, but because you couldn’t imagine being without him.

You never thought about doing such a thing. In a setting where life is as short as a sigh, promising yourself to someone when you were always so independent, feels like betraying a part of you in a way. 

Are you wife shaped?

Do you see yourself washing someone’s shirts?

Preparing dinner and waiting at the end of the table?

Having kids?

“Are you ready?” Joel’s voice lulls you back to him. The wooden ring between his fingertips, hovering just above your finger. “I… I should say somethin’, right?”

You shrug softly, looking at his expression that keeps avoiding your eyes. He looks shy, but comfortable.

“I would like to know what you’re thinking…”

“Well. I’m feelin’ too many things right now,” Joel begins, voice hoarse. “Life always had its ways to surprise me, in good and bad ways. I ‘spouse you’re one of those good things life gives me once in a while” 

He stays silent for a moment, brushes his thumb over your knuckles. 

“I don’t know what’s waitin’ for us. We started off with the wrong foot and I ain’t gon’ lie to you,” His voice breaks lightly. “I’m scared as hell.” Joel smirks a bit and meets your eyes. “But I want to try and see. ‘cause I love you.”

You look at him with attention, with patience. He feels like he’s melting and he stutters.

“And I-I… I’m not good with words…” Joel scratches his nape and you chuckle softly. “ But I think your greatest display of love has been stepping out of your comfort zone, changing your mind and giving yourself to me.” He finally slides the ring on your finger.

“You always find the way to disarm me completely only by saying one thing,” You whisper, watching the delicate ring finally decorating your finger. Finally being his. “And you stole all the things I was thinking. Just like you made me yours.”

Joel stares at you with eyes that melt as you talk to him. The way that the light caresses your hair, how your scent envelopes him and lifts his thoughts in the air, how your mouth moves while talking to him.

“You’ve been irresistible in the worst and best ways. You’ve been an aid, an obstacle, a need and someone I loathed myself for wanting. But then, you found your way into my heart.” Your voice comes out warm, begging time to stand still to live in that moment where his eyes water with love. “You’ve been so noble, understanding and patient. You’ve attacked with the same fire when it was needed, and that made me adore you more. Because you never treated me as a delicate doll but an equal.”

“‘Cause if I treat you as a doll, you’d eat me alive.” 

You nudge his chest and he huffs a laugh.

“I love you, Joel. And I also want to try.”

“I love you too, darlin’.”

You finally slide the ring on his finger and he doesn’t waste a second on sealing his promise and yours. His hands cradle your face, his lips move slowly to study you with patience. Finally, he presses his forehead against yours.

The rest of the afternoon passes slowly. The barn becomes blue, lit by the moon hanging from the sky like a pearl, illuminating just enough of Joel and you drinking wine straight from the bottle.

“Y’think it would have been a good idea telling everyone else?” You ask while laying over the square bale. Joel is standing near the edge of the hayloft, opening another wine bottle.

He turns while throwing the cork away and shrugs.

“It would hav’ been a damn small ceremony,” He chuckles lightly while sitting beside you. His feet are bare, his sleeves rolled, some buttons open. “and the girls woulda been all over you, trying to get you in a real wedding gown.”

“Wouldn’t you like that? All the pompous amounts of fabric and a veil?” You say, cheeky, sitting closer. He glances at you while he takes a chug of wine.

“If it comes with a lovely garter, then hell yeah. You would have me all dolled up.” Joel leans, lowering the bottle on the ground beside the bale. He leans to nuzzle his nose against yours and captures your mouth in a slow kiss. His hand slides up your thigh, slowly. 

“You’re sweet…” You whisper husky between kisses. 

“No, you’re sweet,” Joel licks your lips. “And I wonder what else is sweet of you…” He says with a hoarseness that makes your skin crawl deliciously. 

It tastes like that dusty wine he got at the market. Old grape for an old man. Sweetness mixed with rusted desire, need carved into his hands, a passion he had once forgotten now swirling around his bones.

Joel leans over you, laying you over the bale while you part your legs to let him fit. His hands ruck your dress over your hips while he mouths at your neck, licking a long hot stripe that steals heavy sighs from you.

“Joel…” You whisper heavily with want.

“I know, love…”  His hand cups your mound over the fabric of your underwear. “I’m gonna give it to you.” Then, his mouth finds yours again. 

This seals everything. You two have been together before—Oh, sure you have been—but this moment feels completely different and out of time, standing beside the moments of your life where you thought that you would be happy and satisfied if you were to die the next day.

Being his. Being someone with him.

He’s slow. Gentle. His hands guide your legs to wrap around him, to hug him close. His hand moves your underwear to the side while he lowers his mouth to your chest. His fingers curl over the edge of the neckline and pull it down, tongue gliding over your breast and suckling your nipple.

The way your back arches tells him everything. How your hands hug his head makes him kiss small soft kisses over your ribs. His hand caressing you between your damp and warm folds urges more of your arousal to coat him.

“You’re beautiful… Beautiful and now, mine…” Joel whispers against your ear. He undoes his belt and takes himself out of his briefs. 

Joel let himself rest over your stomach, leaking. You look down at his member throbbing warmly over your navel, your hand softly caresses the leaking sensitive tip and the way he shudders and places one hand beside your head to hold himself, makes you smile cheeky.

“You’re…” He grumbles. “The worst…”

He groans more when you curl your fingers around his tip and start to pump him slowly. His hand beside your head tightens into the hay.

“Teasin’ like that” Joel mutters, voice hot—getting rough with every beat of this song you two are about to play together. “You don’t know what it does to me…”

“What’ya wanna do to your wife?” You lift yourself a bit to whisper against his mouth. He groans low.

“Makes me wanna fuck you so slow,”  He leans licking your lips again. “Until you beg me to stop ‘cause you’re sensitive as fuck.” Joel takes the back of your knee and spreads you slowly, lifting your leg.

And just like that, you feel it. Forward, unapologetic, so him. His length slides between your folds, shaft heavy massaging your bundle, tip catching onto it and making you twitch. He drags it up and down, not pushing in.

“Jo-Joel… Please…” You breathe out. He chuckles against your jawline.

“Now you say please? Whatta woman I’ve got for myself…” Joel grabs you by the hips and presses you against him fully. He nudges the tip into you, pushing in and out.

“Joel, for fuck’s sake.” You take him by the biceps, staring straight into his eyes with annoyance and arousal.

He chuckles.

“There you are, impatient lil’ thing..:” Joel gently takes your wrists and guides you to wrap your arms around him while he presses his chest against yours and then, slides into you all the way slowly.

A long relieved moan slides out of your throat, your hands bury into his hair, your cheek pressed against his ear while he rocks gently into you. Sliding in, stretching you with patience, dragging out, taking another sound from you.

“You get so wet with a few words…” Joel whispers against your ear, arms strong around your body. “I start to think y’like my accent too much, love…” “Joel, don’t stop…”

“I ain’t planning on.” He bites your earlobe softly and lets go of it with a soft pop. Then he lifts himself and caress your thighs while watching himself moving in and out, your slit swallowing him, your skin slick and adjusting to his girth. Joel lets out a low rumble of his chest and tighten his jaw.

“Fuck, look at you…” Joel grumbles. “I can feel you drippin’ down my fucking balls.” 

You can feel your whole body heating up way more. Your skull burning, your nape sweating, hair sticking to the crook of your neck. You move your hands to his lower stomach, caressing softly with your nails while he thrusts.

His happy trail is slick between you and him. He caresses the back of your hands and then interlock fingers, holding your hands over the hay.

“Hell, you can’t squeeze me like this, baby,” He whispers in a heavy, pleasured sob. “You’re gonna make me get obsessed with you”

You caress his face, locking eyes with him.

“Top,” You whisper ragged. “I need to go on top.”

Joel smiles softly, breathing heavy.

Your bodies roll for the new position you asked for. His hands finally take your dress off, throwing it to some place in the hayloft. Your hands open his flannel, finally having a sight of his beautiful scars over his caramelized skin.

“Move f’me, darlin’” Joel  urges you with that soft drawl and a gentle pat on your ass to then squeeze your flesh between his fingers.

You begin to ride him slowly, hands on his chest. 

“Look at you…” His eyes lock on the gentle sway of your body. Of your breasts. Of your flesh. Of you being so pretty up there. “Goddamn beautiful…”

Joel caresses your back while sitting up and kisses your neck while you move every time faster.

“Bite me…” You whisper between bouncing. “Joel, bite me…”

He doesn't ask why or if you're sure. He just does. Joel's teeth dig into your skin, his tongue wet and hot against the spot, his beard scratching softly around.

It makes your walls pulse. It makes your stomach jumpy. It makes your legs feel funny and a warm stream flows out of you.

“Aah!” Your eyes shut tightly and your hips falter but it feels delicious. That fine line between pain and pleasure that you love to tiptoe. Your fingers dig onto his shoulder blades, his mouth now sucks over the spot he bit on your neck.

Joel doesn't let you stop. He moves your hips a bit more, helping you in that orgasm–weakness to let him come. Then, he lifts you just enough to slide out of you and spurts between you and him.

You look down at the warm stickiness sliding down your navel. 

And then you look at him.

Joel holds your gaze while you both breathe heavily. His throat bobs softly.

“We have a lot of time…” Joel brings you to him in a hug. Your head tilts over his shoulder, laying on his sweaty skin while his hand caresses your back.

His ring runs over your spine.

Your eyes attach to the moon. Hanging on.

thanks for every reblog, like and comment. <<<<<<<<33333333333

[sinflowersugar]

Crashing on the rocks

this is a mess of love, lust, and Joel Miller’s terrible timing. read the chapters in any order your heart (or hormones) desires. wanna follow a path? the masterlist has your back.

pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Memories from the past. A hunger that Joel couldn't live with anymore.

tags: established relationship, age gap (30-50's), no use of y/n, kissing, violence(?

w/c: 1,2k.

notes: short and sweet like Sabrina Carpenter, yeehaw

The second you see a chance, you slap away the hand dragging you out of the bar by the collar of your coat. The metal door slams shut behind you two, echoing down the narrow alley, lit by a single sad streetlamp.

It reeks of damp trash, of old snow freezing andthawing over and over. Of anger. Your anger. boiling up because this man won't stop screwing with your life. He pulled you off patrols, stuck you cleaning horse shit in the stables, scared off every guywho tried to get close to you since you showed up three months ago. You're the butt of Jackson because Joel Miller won't let you do a damn thing, and you don't even know why.

He let his hands drop on his sides from your slap and just stands there. That corduroy jacket, that damn stoic face.

"What the fuck do you want now?!" you bark. "Stop getting in my damn way! What the hell did I ever do to you?!" Your fists pound against his chest.

All that rage has been piling up, turning into this mountain of resentment towards him.

"Say something! Stop lookin' at me like goddamn idiot—talk!" You shove him again, and he takes a few steps back.

Then, he lets out this heavy breath that means danger. His fists clench at his sides, brows pinched with something near pain. He takes a step towards you. Then another. You think he's about hit you back, so you retreat—two steps back.

"Ah—!" The sound cracks through the cold air.

His hand flies to his cheek, where your slap landed. He stares at you, jaw tight. Then he grabs your shoulders, firm.

"Wait... wait, I'm sor—"

His mouth crashes into yours, Clumsy. Pushed hard against your lower lip. Dry, rough. You don't even think about resisting. Your hands climb up his jacket, fists curling into the fabric like you're scared he'll pull away. What a stupid kiss. Teeth, noses, years of rusted affection grinding together.

But a clarity hits you. That desperation in him when the stative kiss becomes dynamic. It's genuine hunger. It drenches you.

He feels the hesitation in you, the inertia, the shaky first steps back into something like this. Just like him. And that's when he unravels you with experience. He's a natural. He shapes you to his desire. One hand slides up your chest and grabs your jaw gently, opening it to slide his tongue inside. Your brows lift up and melt again. The other hand sneakes around your waist and slides under your layers of clothing. Cold fingers against the heat that is forming by the kiss. Your hands slide under his jacket and splas over his back over the thick flannel.

It breaks suddenly. A rush of shivers and anxiety running through you, fading the haze. You pull back a bit, brows drawn tight, shaking your head, lips swollen.

"No..." There's no certainity in that word. Just war. Internal war. You stare at him again and slap him once more. Softer, a reflex.

"The first one was good, I'll give ya that..." He smirks with that confidence he carries and shows every now and then. Then he takes your hand in his to his back, pulling you, his other hand on your lower back and then kisses you again, making you arch a bit as he hunches to kiss you deeper. Like a damsel in distress.

"I need you to stop throwin' yourself into danger like that..." Joel whispers against your wet mouth, his forehead resting against yours.

"Why the hell do you even care what I do..." You whisper back, still chasing his lips.

"I care too much. Too fucking much" Joel answers. "Y'think I don't deserve you... and don't worry, I think the same damn thing. But you don't even begin to imagine what I'd be willing to do to protect you. To keep you safe..." He says as his eyes soften. Goddamn brown cow like eyes. His lips melt right back into yours as he presses you against the damp alley wall.

There's no clothes coming off, no nudity. Not even close. But Joel's hands move over your hips, urges your thigh to lift over his. And you let him. Damn brat, you're burning, pressing into him even though ten minutes ago, you couldn't even stand the sight of him.

And just like that, the winding road begins. The one neither of you knows how to walk, but start anyway.

thanks for every reblog, like and comment. you gave me nothing but happiness with the support you've been giving to my work. really, thanks a lot.

"Crashing on the Rocks" is a short story made up of snippets of memories. The actual title in my Google Docs is "Tales of a Marriage Crashing on the Rocks." I was scared to let anyone read it, but here I am—and I’m so happy with the love these two are receiving!

kisses!

[sinflowersugar]

Am I actually into this??? Or is it the man??

pairing: clark kent x reader cw: smut, crying/whimpering during sex (sub!cent clark, reader also emotional because his cock is literally huge), mutual overstimulation, cnc if you squint, messy bodily fluids (mention of slick, cum, sweat, saliva), possessive behavior during sex, desperate emotional intimacy, praise + begging, light dacryphilia themes (getting off on partner crying or overwhelmed), mild size kink references, slight imbalance of control, reader is implied afab

it’s so messy.

he’s so messy — whimpering right up against your ear with his chest plastered against your back like he’s trying to crawl into your skin. the sheets underneath you are damp with sweat and slick, some of it his, but most of it yours — and god, he sounds like he’s in pain with how much he’s whining about it.

“‘s too much,” he snifles, voice warbly, thick with saliva as he sloppily ruts his hips down into you. “honey—” he gasps again, louder this time, “honey! you’re hurtin’ me—”

but he’s the one holding you down. thick arms wrapped underneath your hips like he’s terrified you’ll slip away from him, even as his thrusts turn rougher, more uncordinated — all hips and no rhythm, and it’s clear he’s overwhelmed. his cock’s twitching every time you squeeze down around him. soaked. loud. every time he slams forward it’s a wet pop,obscene and unrelenting.

your thighs tremble under the weight of him. he’s pressing into you like he needs to feel everything at once — the heat of your skin, the way you moan and shake when he’s too deep, the tears forming at the corner of your eye. he’s not cruel, no, just absolutely mindless. totally out of his head.

“god—baby, baby, what is that,” he pants against your neck, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “how’re you makin’ that much—fuck, you’re leaking all over me, i can feel it—feels so good—i can’t—”

he cuts himself off with a choked whine, rocking his hips forward like he’s chasing salvation in your cunt. every push forward makes him cry a little harder. “i’m gonna cum, i’m—‘m sorry, i can’t help it,” he babbles, voice hiccupy, like the tears on his cheeks have made it to his mouth. he means it, too — he really is sorry, but he’s also too far gone. too drunk on the warmth of you, the taste of your skin, the sheer amount of slick coating his cock like syrup.

his hands tremble where they hold your hips, possessive and needy, and his forehead drops to your shoulder with a soft thud. he moans your name like a prayer. like an apology.

you’re sobbing too, breath catching every time he brushes that perfect spot — because you can’t even answer him, can’t even think straight, not with how he’s fucking you like he’s never going to get to again. so you only manage a soft, drawn-out, “it’s okay, baby… ‘s good… yeah, like that—ohh,” broken in the middle by your own gasp.

you feel his body jerk, tight muscles shuddering with the onset of his orgasm, and he nearly wails as he cums. hot and sudden and far too much, his release fills you like a flood, and he gasps into your shoulder, twitching from the overstimulation.

“ohh my god—ohmygod,” he whispers, desperate and still clinging to you like you’re his lifeline, “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, baby, i didn’t mean—just felt so good, please don’t make me stop—”

his hips haven’t stopped moving. he's still grinding into you with soft, exhausted cries, as if letting go might kill him.

and you just nod, dizzy from pleasure, squeezing his hand as he fucks the last trembling aftershocks into you, both of you stuck together by sweat, tears, and something far deeper than either of you can name.

[sinflowersugar]

I've found it! FINALLY! Something that will put me to sleep 😭 Mr. Kent, your services are desperately needed.

Now I just need Lex's cloning services so I can have two 💁🏾‍♀️

mr. bedtime - CK. ── .✦

You're curled under the covers, screen glowing in your face, finger mid-scroll. Clark shifts beside you, already in his usual sleeping position: one arm tucked under his head, the other reaching for you blindly like a sleepy sea creature.

"Baby," he mumbles, voice low and warm from sleep. "Put the phone down."

"In a sec," you murmur. "Just one more thing."

“Mhm.” He doesn’t believe you. He never does.

Instead of arguing, he does what he always does — rolls over slowly and wraps himself around you like a human weighted blanket. Big chest pressed to your back. One leg thrown over yours. A soft kiss behind your ear.

“Five more minutes,” you promise.

Clark lets out the smallest dramatic sigh. “That’s what you said twelve scrolls ago.”

You snort. “Are you counting now?”

“Yes,” he says. “Because I’m being ignored. Neglected. Replaced by a tiny glowing rectangle.”

He nuzzles into your neck like a needy puppy. “I’m cold. And alone. And possibly dying.”

“You’re 6'4" and 200 pounds of cuddle,” you giggle, leaning into him.

“Exactly,” he says, smug now. “You’re lucky I haven’t suffocated you with affection yet.”

With that, he gently but firmly grabs your phone and sets it on the nightstand. The room dims immediately, leaving only the soft yellow hue of your bedside lamp.

“Hey!” you whine.

“No more blue light, sweetheart. It’s time for cuddles.”

And then he tucks you into him. Tight. Chin over your shoulder, arms around your belly, one hand petting slow, sleepy circles into your hip.

“See?” he whispers. “Way better than doomscrolling.”

You huff, but you’re already melting. The warmth of him, the rhythm of his breath, the safety of his arms — it’s your favorite place on Earth.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m Mr. Bedtime,” he corrects, smiling against your skin.

You roll your eyes. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

And before you can argue, he whispers:

“Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

You fall asleep five minutes later. Phone forgotten. Heart full. Clark already snoring softly into your hair like the big bedtime menace he is.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[sinflowersugar]

I might evolve.

THIS

[sinflowersugar]

Foolish Hearts

Loving Clark Kent is easy, but he seems to find letting you go even easier. At least, until Clark is forced to fully reckon with what it means to really lose you.

▸ PAIRING: Clark "Superman" Kent x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort?, very little angst, limited knowledge of DCU ▸ WORD COUNT: 4.6K ▸ A/N: quick thing i wrote instead of working. i love a soft yearning clark who gets a lil jealous. also a sucker for exes to lovers so here we are! pls go easy on me, clark isnt the easiest to write :')

—

The breakup is easy. Painfully easy. Too easy.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Clark. I’m tired of constantly waiting for you, wondering if you’re going to show up and being disappointed when you don’t. I think… we just want different things right now.”

His gaze only briefly falters before he nods silently, keeping his head ducked. “I understand.”

No fight. No rejection. Part of you hoped that Clark would say something, convince you to stay. If he even asked you to reconsider, you would’ve. It wouldn’t take much for you to forgive Clark Kent. 

But he doesn’t, so you let him go, and he does the same for you. 

Being friends with Lois and Jimmy throughout the early stages of your careers means that you are bonded by the shared struggle of being a journalist in Metropolis. The violent streak of villains streaming into the city. The sick billionaires plotting the deaths of good, innocent people. The corrupt government willing to sell themselves to said billionaires for more power over neighboring countries, even allies. That sort of depravity binds you. 

Regardless, meeting Clark was inevitable. On the surface, Clark is broad and tall, oftentimes too big for whatever space he is in, no matter how many times he tries to shrink himself to avoid attention. But Clark is also delicate and gentle and clumsy, all of the traits that make him endearing to those around him. 

You can’t help but want to protect Clark. When someone’s giving him a hard time, you are the first to stand up for him. He is a man who means well. 

It is not difficult to fall for him, especially when the glances he sends your way are shy and curious. Whenever he gets caught looking a little too much, he quickly drags his eyes away with a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

Clark is thoughtful. Once he finds out how you take your tea, he prepares a perfect cup for you every morning. The right temperature, the right sweetness. He never fails to walk you home at night, taking the time to make conversation to learn more about you as you also learn about him growing up in Kansas. He reluctantly leaves you at your door each evening, refusing to actually depart until he sees you waving at him from the safety of your home. 

Clark Kent is a good — no, he is a great — man. 

When he finally asks you out to dinner, it is natural to say yes. The first date quickly leads to a second and a third, consecutive nights spent giggling over nothing and everything. Clark asks you to be his exclusive girlfriend with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a home-cooked meal. 

With strawberry pancakes on the table and the stars twinkling outside, Clark shyly asks you to love him and only him. 

Again, another easy yes. 

Things with Clark are easy, at least for a while. Superman’s growing popularity along with the Justice Gang (you’re still debating if you really want to put that name on paper) draws plenty of unsavory characters to Metropolis, the temptation of challenging Earth’s mightiest heroes luring them into the otherwise quiet city. 

With Superman getting busy, so does Clark. The two seem to have a good bond, with Clark getting exclusive interviews after every battle, which makes big splashes on the front page. His career takes off and Perry has been more than pleased with his work.

However, with this new steep trajectory, it also means that Clark has less time to spend on things outside of work. One of those things is you. 

There have been a handful of dates where he shows up an hour late, if he even shows at all. When he does, he is disheveled, having rushed from wherever the battle had been to the date spot that you had picked out and planned. When he doesn’t even appear, the apologetic texts come in hours after you’ve gone home and prepared yourself for bed. 

These days come with excuse after excuse. Perry held me up. Trains were delayed. Traffic was crazy. There was an accident on the highway. Superman this, Superman that. At some point, you have to salvage your pride and admit to yourself that maybe Clark isn’t as interested in you as you are in him. He has a stronger relationship with Superman than he does with you. 

Because someone who wants to make time would. Right? That’s what you’ve always believed. 

Perhaps the bitter pill to swallow is just that — Clark does not want to make time so he doesn’t. It’s a simple line of thinking but it’s one that you settle one to give yourself a reason to call it quits. With an amicable breakup, there is no tension between the two of you. A few awkward silences here and there, but nothing either of you can’t handle. 

Your freelance work with The Daily Planet also means you frequently see him at the office. You walk in and greet your friends, Clark included. When you wrap up a meeting with Perry, Clark is there waiting with your cup of tea ready. He is still same old Clark which makes it difficult to not fall more in love with him. 

Even today, as you step out of Perry’s office and towards one of the spare desks, Clark is rising from his desk with a cup of tea. Clark is still indisputably beautiful. The way his dark curls fall against his forehead, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Your heart aches. Once upon a time, you had buried your fingers through his thick hair as he whispered kisses onto your skin. 

Now, his touch feels like a distant stranger. 

“Good afternoon,” he smiles, dimples appearing. 

Your heart flutters traitorously in your chest and you stomp down on those butterflies in your stomach. He really is unfairly handsome. “Good afternoon,” you return politely. 

As much as you tell yourself to be calm, cool, and composed around him, your heart never fails to say otherwise. 

“How was your meeting with Perry?” Small work talk is always his safe bet. 

“Good, I’m making good progress on my piece. Just need to do a little bit more digging to polish things up.”

At that, his brows furrow in concern. “Aren’t you working on that piece about the Gotham masked vigilante? What’s his name again? Batman?” You’re surprised that he knows what you’ve been investigating. Maybe it came up in other conversations with the Daily Planet team. “Is that safe? I mean, Gotham isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Not that you’re not strong, because you are, and you’re very smart and incredible—” he bites his tongue, wincing when he realizes that he’s rambling.

This is the Clark that you’ve missed. Awkward, concerned, adorable. 

“I could go with you, it might be safer,” he offers. You cock a doubtful eyebrow at him. Clark is big and tall, but he’s also a semi-klutz. You can’t imagine him going with you into Gotham with his puppy-dog eyes and golden retriever energy, talking to your sources. Superman feels more of his speed compared to Batman. 

“Thank you, Clark, but honestly, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve been working with Gotham PD and I’ve got good sources who have my back. I’ll be safe.”

He looks far from convinced but that’s just who Clark is. 

Thankfully, he decides to drop the subject and move on to the next. By the way he keeps shifting around your desk, you almost think that he wants to spend more time around you, even if it means talking about the most meaningless things. “Are you going to the event tonight?”

It’s an industry networking night The Daily Planet is hosting. Every year, Perry invites the who’s who of the news world — anyone from newspapers, television, and even social media (the last one Perry is less happy about but he has to keep up with the times). It’s a chance for his full-time staff and any adjacent journalists that he likes (you) to meet other professionals. 

Really, it’s an excuse to drink and shit talk the industry that you all love with your peers. 

You show up on time, hoping to get a few drinks in to loosen you up before the head honchos arrive. Apparently, a few of your friends have the same idea. When you enter the room, your eyes immediately land on Clark. 

It’s not that you’re looking for him, your eyes naturally find his tall frame in the room. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

Lois waves you over and you snatch up a glass of champagne on the way. Your shimmery black dress flutters against your thighs, landing at an appropriate length without looking too risque, but also not too conservative that it looks like you’re going to a business dinner.

“Look at you,” Lois beams, taking your hand and twirling you around.

You giggle and stop with a curtsy. “Thank you, you clean up very well yourself, Miss Lane.” Lois’ navy blue dress is stunning and emphasizes every gorgeous part of her. 

Jimmy tugs you into a side hug. “I might need you to protect me tonight. Those two girls from accounting keep making eyes at me and I’m starting to get scared for my safety.”

A smirk pulls at your lips. “Only you would be terrified of hot girls pursuing you.”

“It’s not just me! Tell her, Clark. They’re relentless and I just want to write my articles.” 

That is when your gaze finally shifts to Clark. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at him because you already know how your body will react. It’s always been the worst at self-control when it comes to Clark. 

Still, you eventually have to look at him and he is delicious in his classic black tux. His glasses are still perched on his nose but his hair has been slicked back slightly, taming the wild tendrils. 

“Mhmm, relentless,” Clark mumbles distractedly, too busy looking at you in the dress. You can feel the trail of fire his gaze leaves on your skin as he peruses you. When his eyes finally meet yours, you could see the blues have turned into midnight. 

Shivers snake up your spine and your breath hitches quietly in your throat as you try to pull your stare away from him, but you can’t help it. Your body feels tingly all over with the way he drinks you in like a man parched. 

You remember the nights Clark looked at you like this, right before he slants his lips over yours, tugging you desperately into bed. He’s always been greedy with you, chasing after your kisses, refusing to let you leave. He bides his time worshipping you until you have no other thoughts except his name rattling in your mind.

Swallowing thickly, you watch as Clark’s eyes fall to your throat. His fingers twitch by his side, betraying his desire to reach out to you. 

The magnetic pull to him is undeniable. You almost cave. You want to give in. 

However, the sound of your name crescendoing in your ear yanks you out of this haze. Clark looks away just as Perry reaches you. He looks irritated. “What are you doing? I’ve been calling you. Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Lois and Jimmy look relieved to be released of the tension, glancing at each other with knowing looks. They are fully aware of how things ended between you and Clark, opting to choose no sides. 

Before you can respond, Perry is already dragging you by the elbow towards a man some distance away from your friends. Sighing, you plaster on a smile when you finally lock eyes with the man Perry is introducing you to.

“This is Mark, he works for the Gotham Gazette.” 

Your eyes flick to Perry briefly, a go-get-him look in his eyes. You’ve been meaning to talk to someone at the Gazette to see if they have additional sources or if they’re willing to offer a comment for your piece. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Mark,” you force out your brightest grin. 

Honestly, you are in no mood to socialize, but anything for the article right? 

The three of you chat briefly about how Mark and Perry knew each other. Mark is significantly younger than Perry but no less ambitious. You can see him being the editor-in-chief for the Gazette soon. Perry gives you one last look before leaving the two of you alone to chat. 

“Can I get you a drink?” It’s an open bar but sure. 

So you make your way to the bar and he puts in both your orders. Mark mentions his interest in learning more about your piece on Batman and what you’ve found so far. “Well, I can’t really share my sources. Plus, I’d like to publish it once it’s final, so no sneak peeks,” you smile behind your cocktail. 

“Beauty and brains,” Mark hums. You feel heat lick at your skin at the compliment. Mark is good-looking, you’ve spotted a few dirty looks thrown your way since you started speaking with him. But he can’t hold a candle to Clark. 

Speaking of Clark, you try to search the room for him and spot him some distance away. His eyes are still on you, narrowed now but still on you. 

Mark interrupts your thoughts, “Would you like to get some air? I’d love to chat more with you, it’s just getting a bit loud here, isn’t it?”

The absolutely not nearly falls from your lips, but you remind yourself again that this is work. This is what tonight is for. Armed with pepper spray in your purse, you let him lead you out onto the balcony of the banquet hall. The music fades out behind you, turning into a distant muffle. Mark’s hand reminds low on your back, a little too low. 

The two of you share more small talk for a little bit, but all you want is to get more out of him for your article. You don’t care much for his Ivy League education or his pretentious boarding school. You’ve seen your fair share of privileged kids and Mark feels like another. 

“So, what else do you know about Batman?”

The corner of Mark’s lips tip up. Perhaps you sound overeager, but he still plays along anyway. “How about, if I share some of my Batman sources with you, you go on a date with me.” He leans against the railing, a charming smile dancing on his lips as he leers at you again. 

The look isn’t particularly flattering nor uncomfortable so you let it slide. The industry is smaller than you’d like, which means you can’t exactly tell him to piss off without ruining Perry’s relationship with the man. 

“Trading secrets for a date? Your editor would be ashamed of you,” you choose to tease. 

“Well, anything to get to know you a little more. Even if it means risking my journalistic integrity.”

One date for more sources? That seems like the easiest and best bargain you’ve ever struck. 

However, before you can agree, Clark’s face flashes in your mind. Sweet Clark. He would likely hear about this date. And while the two of you aren’t technically together anymore, it doesn’t mean you want to close out that possibility completely. 

Crap. 

You open your mouth but the words don’t come out when you feel an arm slide around your waist. Whirling to your side, you crane your neck to look at Clark who is suddenly next to you. You didn’t even the door click open. 

“Clark,” you blurt out.

“Perry says he wants to see you,” he bites out. His eyes are laser focused on Mark as he says this, fingers digging into your side. 

“Right now?”

“Yeah, something about that senate policy piece for next week.”

The senate policy piece isn’t due for another two weeks, the hearing was pushed back. You cock an eyebrow at Clark but he still isn’t looking at you. 

“Sorry about that, I have to steal her for a second.” He does not wait for Mark to respond before he manhandles you — gently — back into the building and straight into a closed-off room on the side. 

Once you’re in there, he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He paces the length of the room, which isn’t long at all, while you stand by the shelves, arms crossed over your chest. 

Clark isn’t a liar until he needs to be, you suppose. The question is why he needs to be one.

“What’s going on? I know that piece isn’t due for a while. Perry wouldn’t be badgering me on a night like this for work.”

“Were you going to say yes?” Clark asks, a little breathless as he stops and turns to look at you. 

His eyes are bright blue underneath the room’s fluorescent lights. They are softened by the creases on his face, the concern that etches itself deep into his skin. 

“Say yes to what?”

“To a date with him?”

How did he— “How did you hear that? You weren’t even there when he asked me.”

Clark purses his lips and only looks at you. “Well, were you?”

“Why does it matter if I did? It would’ve been for work.”

“It was a date.”

“I wanted his intel for Batman.”

A groan slips past his lips as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, curls coming apart. “I could help you get that, you don’t need to go on a date with him for that.”

“How would you help me do that? You don’t do work or pieces on Gotham.”

Clark opens his mouth, frowns, then promptly shuts it again. “I would’ve figured it out.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Clark. Mark isn’t a bad guy, Perry knows him, that’s why he introduced us.”

He looks far from appeased, earning a sigh from you.

“You want to tell me what this is really about?”

His face crumbles, blue chipping away into something lighter, something more vulnerable. “I miss you,” he whispers. “I miss you so much.”

Fuck. All the air is sucked from your lungs as you look at him. “Clark, don’t do this.” 

“I do. I know it’s been a couple of months but I can’t stop thinking about you, how good things were between us. And I know it wasn’t perfect, I’m not perfect, but I want to be with you.”

This can’t be happening. Not now. You’re in the midst of a very public event for god’s sake and Clark is… Clark. He’s beautiful and he’s honest and wonderful, and he’s telling you that he misses you. 

Your heart splits in two as you look at him. Fury and sorrow mixes inside you. How dare he but also why is he doing this? Why is he doing this to you now of all times? “If you told me all this when I told you things weren’t working out, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. I would’ve stayed. But now that time has passed, I still don’t see things changing. It’s not like we’re any different.”

Clark swallows. “We can be different. We can. I need to tell you something—”

The door slams open and Lois spills inside, stumbling in her heels. “Clark, you have to see this.” 

The desperately apologetic look on his face says everything. The excuse on the tip of his tongue is loud and clear before he even opens his mouth. Another story to chase. Another thing that takes him away from you. 

Something in you cracks because this is not unfamiliar. It’s like the time before and the one before that. You know that nothing is going to change between you and Clark. Doomed before you even start. 

Seeming to sense that shift, Clark steps up to you and catches your chin between his fingers. His eyes are earnest, pleading, as they search yours. “I have to go, but I’ll come by your place after.” 

It’s not a question. It’s not a request. It’s a promise. 

Instead of arguing, you whisper, “Okay.” He presses his lips against your temple. His touch is gentle, but there is a tremor to his mouth that melts your heart. With one last squeeze of your hand, Clark heads out to what most likely is a battle scene. 

By the time you regain your composure and rejoin the guests, everyone is honed in on the one television screen in the room. Some massive monster has breached the Delaware Bay, clawing its way towards the shore. News and police choppers are circling the scene, the whirring of its blades buried in the monster’s roars. 

The Justice Gang has been at it for a couple of hours with no progress made. You see Superman fly into the scene and the guests erupt into cheers. It’s another day in Metropolis but Superman somehow always puts on a show. 

Superman’s laser beams are followed by Hawkgirl’s strikes. Mr. Terrific’s T-Spheres and Green Lantern launch combination attacks of offense and defense. In no time, the heroes take them down. Another successful day for the metahumans. Just another day in Metropolis. The attendees swiftly turn back to their conversations. 

Glancing back at the screen, you wonder if Clark is already out there. You wonder if he’s safe. If he got his big story. If he’ll make it back to you. 

When the camera comes in close to the heroes, they do a full close-up of each hero, including Superman. His face, dashing and bloodied. But that’s not what you pay attention to. It’s his eyes. 

The eyes of a man who has looked at you across the office for months. The same eyes you yourself have gazed upon on those late nights sharing snacks and giggles under your duvet. The same eyes of the man who made you a promise just thirty minutes ago. 

You have never paid too much attention to Superman. He’s another superhero. A supposedly, particularly kind one who really considers humanity when saving the world. But there are enough journalists who write about him that you have never felt the need to really care. 

Plus, you have Clark and he is equally — if not more — cute and nice and big. 

Now that you’re really looking at him, looking at his eyes, you think that Superman has Clark’s eyes. 

And you’ve never been an idiot. At least, you didn’t think so until today. Everything seems to fall into place. The excuses, the disappearances that are always timed with Superman’s fights, both domestic and international. It all makes sense. 

You are still stewing in this discovery when you hear a knock at your door a few hours later. You know who it is, of course. 

When you swing your door open, the first words out of your mouth are “you’re Superman.”

Not an accusation, just a fact. 

Clark shows up at your door with flowers, your favorites, and no glasses. You feel your breath catch. The resemblance has always been there, you don’t know how you could’ve been so blind. All the pieces seem to click into place. 

He takes a step forward, you take a step back. One after another until you’re pressed up against the wall and the door is closed behind the two of you. He sets the flowers on the hallway table and dips his head, a shaky exhale escaping. He leans closer, until his lips are brushing yours. 

“I am,” he murmurs. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

The time that you’ve lost. The evenings you spent wondering what if. 

You look up at him, those familiar blue eyes that now you’re struggling to fully recognize. “Why now? I mean, we had months. You had months to say otherwise.”

Clark shies away slowly, his gaze shattered with guilt. “I thought I’d be content with just being in your orbit, just by being… around you. But I realize today that it’s not enough. The idea of you with someone else — someone else who makes you laugh, who cooks you breakfast for dinner, who gets to tell you that they love you every day — I don’t want to imagine that. Today, I felt what it was like to possibly lose you and I’m not perfect, and I’m selfish, but I want you. I want to be with you.” 

Your palms flatten on his chest as you push him away. The flicker of hurt in his eyes is unmistakeable but you need space. You need to breathe and think about this. 

It had torn you apart months ago to end things with Clark. You knew it was a leave you before you leave me situation. All this time, you thought it was the best thing to do for yourself. Although you weren’t with Clark for that long, your chemistry wasn’t something you could ignore. 

There are piece of yourself that you’ve given Clark that he can’t possibly return. 

“I don’t get it, you— we could’ve had all that. I always just thought that you didn’t have time for me, that you weren’t actually interested.”

Clark winces as another sympathetic expression settles on his features. “For a while, I thought it would be easier for you, if I wasn’t in your life. I didn’t want to inconvenience you or hurt you more than I already have.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know, it seems like I have fudged it up, haven’t I?” He smiles softly. Fudged. God, as if you couldn’t be any more endeared by this man. “I can’t be the perfect boyfriend. To be fair, I don’t think anyone can. But I can promise you I’ll do my best to be better. I’ll overcommunicate. I’ll always have the justice… thing supporting me. It won’t be all me all the time. I’ll make sure we have time.” 

“Clark, that’s not… right. You have a city and a world to protect, and I don’t want to be the person standing in the way of that.”

An exasperated sigh escapes him. He pulls on his curls again. “You can’t— you can’t possibly think that that’s why. I’ve always wanted to protect the world, that’s what I always believed to be my purpose. But with you, it’s even more clear. I want to make sure this planet is safe, because you’re in it. So if you’ll allow me, and if you’re willing, I want to give us another chance to make it. Because I really, really like you.”

The gravity of his words sink into your bones. Clark is at his best when he’s like this. Beautiful, sweet, honest. He is trying now and you have to give him credit for it. And you miss him so, so much. You don’t even realize how much until he’s right here again with you. You miss how he held you gently with his large hands, the way he would slip into your bed quietly and tuck you into his chest.

And maybe this time, you can make it work. 

You know you can. 

“I really like you too,” you confess quietly. 

Clark’s eyes brighten and that beam of hope strikes you in the heart. “What do you say? Would you give me a second chance?” He is smiling but you can see that his eyes are tight. He’s nervous. 

You laugh, “Yeah. Let’s try this again, Kent.”

–

Bonus:

“Wait, so does that mean you’re friends with Batman?”

Clark freezes. “Um, yes we have met a few times.”

“Do you think you could get me an interview with him?”

“Honey…”

“Come on!”

[sinflowersugar]

Since I'm white and blushing today...

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐧 જ⁀➴ 

part 6; prev part: spill your guts

Summary: Clark finally gets his second chance at taking you out; hopefully, this one goes better.

Warnings: none, fluff <3

Word count: 1,818

Author's note: See!!! told you it would be out later today, and if it's tomorrow for you, sorry! I Also incase anyone cares its maroon in a taylor swift kinda way if that gives you any insight

You had closed your phone that night, not bothering to see if Clark texted again, and then did not check it again when you woke up, leaving your phone on do not disturb. You almost turned it off when you got into work and realized he wasn't there, but you refrained. 

Which proved to be the right move. 10 minutes after everyone had meant to be there, you heard the squeaky wheel of the chair next to you. You looked over to see that Clark possessed a single rose and your favorite coffee. 

“Hi,” he said, holding out both for you to take. You take them, setting them on your desk before looking back up at him. “Is this the apology?” you question curiously. “Are you buying my affection back?” you half laugh, and to be honest, if he brought you a coffee every day for the rest of the week, your ‘hatred’ would be almost a distant memory by then. 

“No,” he said, sitting down. “I was hoping I could get another chance.” 

“Another chance, Kent?” you questioned, taking a sip of the coffee, and oh my god, it was perfect. It was sweet and cold, and it was your exact order down to the milk. 

“Please, if- only if you want. If you don't want to, I will just apologize, and we can both move on,” he said sincerely. “I feel horrible, and I want to make it right.”

You stared at him, taking another shift. Your gaze pierced him, but you finally tore away from your coffee. “So what does this second chance entail?” 

“I’ll handle everything, you just show up, yeah?” 

“Okay, sure, don't mess it up.” 

“I really hope I don’t.” your heart fluttered at that. 

── .✦     

The only information you had for this date was the singular message Clark had sent you. It was a simple text that read:

TODAY'S DATE: location: secret

Dress code: casual 

Time: 6:30 sharp 

See you soon :) 

For some reason, the smiley face gave you butterflies. But what really made your heart soar was when he brought over even more flowers. Even bigger than the last time. You had asked multiple times on your walk where you were going, but he didn't budge. He had one of three responses: "Somewhere, it's a secret, you’ll find out,” which you had let out a groan to every time, and every time without fail, he would squeeze your hand and smile, showing his dimples. It was like heaven on earth. You had reservations about a second chance, but once again, the conversation flowed, the vibes were right, and it felt like once again, your stars were aligned. 

You two had been walking for a hot minute after getting on the subway, and you actually had no idea where you were going, but you watched as he pulled a door open to a cafe and motioned for you to move forward. “A cafe? Seems like a quick restaurant. Are you going to leave me again?” 

“Low blow, but I deserved that. And no, this is our first stop.” First? As you reached the register, you watched as Clark ordered two peppermint hot chocolates. And you felt bad at how much this many had given you, so in an attempt to even the field, you reached for your purse, but one hand shot out to grab your arm, and the other handed over his card. “My treat,” is all he said. A smile escaped you; it was a bit awkward for you as you stood to wait for the coffee, mostly because physical touch was your love language, and you had a need to be close to him, but everyone has this thing called boundaries, and you didn't want to cross his. So you stood back and waited as the barista called his name. He grabbed both of them before returning to you, holding the door open for you once again, setting out on this mission. 

The night was chilly as it got to the later months, and tonight was no different, but you both were warming up with the cocoa. And thankfully, not even five minutes later, he opened another door, and as soon as you stepped into the store, you almost gasped. It was the most beautiful bookstore you had ever seen, walls and walls of books, old, new, used, and fresh off the press, there was absolutely everything there for you. Clark had just let you take it all in, and he watched as you stared at the tables of new releases and the wall of bookmarks before speaking up. 

“Get whatever you want,” he said. 

“What?” you turned 

“Whatever you want, one, five, ten,” He said, completely serious. 

“No, no, I couldn't.”

“It's fine, I promise. Please,” he said. 

Your eyes lit up. “You're really pretty when you're happy. Like your whole face lights up,” he blurted out, and you turned away, hiding the blush creeping into your cheeks. "Sorry,” he said. 

“No, no. It's just more so I have never had a compliment like that,” it was true most of them had been about your appearance, not so much your light. You started to circle around the books, looking at all of them, picking up the ones that were especially interesting or pointing out which ones you had read, which were a lot of them. Sometimes you’d find an empty spot to set down the cocoa, and it would always find its way into the hands of Clark. 

“I actually really like that one,” he said, pointing to the book in your hands. 

“You’ve read it?” holding up a copy of Sally Rooney's Normal People. He nodded. “I won't spoil it, but it was sad and good in a really beautiful way.” You smiled. 

“Clark, are you a reader?” you smiled and joked, and he nodded. 

“I like to read more than being on my phone, so a couple of years ago I deleted all my socials and started other hobbies.” 

“Very profound of you, Clark I think you're better than most people in the world, better than me.” 

He shook his head, “No, no, it just wasn't good for me, but I do indulge sometimes on my computer. I'm not totally off the social grid, just don't post.” he picked up his own book and started looking at some, putting two in his hand for later. Eventually, the bookstore took you in its grasp, and the more you looked, the more you wanted. 

And for only a split second, you had two books in your hands before they found their way into Clark's hands, and he held onto them for you. You guys had spent more than two hours in that bookstore; it was an even bigger surprise to learn that there was an upstairs, and even the stairs had more books piled onto them; it was book heaven to you. And the whole time, Clark follows you around like a lost puppy watching the books you pick with a smile on his face. 

And as part of his promise, when you get to the register, Clark pays for yours and his books and even takes the bag and carries it back on the way out. He looks over to you as he carries a huge bag that must be heavy, and you can't help but feel the tiniest bit bad, but the bag looks light in his hands. 

“I have one more thing if that's okay with you,” he says, looking at you with a smile. 

“Yeah, lead the way, this is your date after all,” you say and motion for him to lead you. 

── .✦     

The third and final stop of the night had been a hidden little food truck in the parking lot. And according to Clark, it would be the best thing you've ever tasted. You had chosen the birria tacos, and Clark surprisingly chose an order of four tacos and a huge burrito. You laughed at him when he ordered it, but then you realized he was 6 '4 which was much taller than you, and roughly 230 pounds of pure muscle; he had to get it from somewhere. 

The dinner was phenomenal, he wasn't wrong, and you even got ice cream after. As you two walked home, you both had your own ice cream cones and talked as the night moved around you two. 

“The other day, it was an emergency, I have an well a well-trained dog and he got lost and I had to get him back, and while it happened, he kinda…kicked my ass.” He laughs. "He's a strong dog and not well trained.” 

“You have a dog?” you questioned, taking a bite of the waffle cone. 

“Well, more of a foster situation, but the point is, I'm so sorry I ran out on you like that, you deserved an explanation. And no one deserved that, especially not you. Running out like you're trying to get away from a bad date, because on my end, I had an amazing time, and I did today too.” 

“I did too. It was definitely even better than the first one.” 

“Is that because I bought you stuff?” 

“No,” you say as you shake your head, yes joking with him. His shoulder knocks yours as you approach your building, seeing it in the distance. You drop your trash in the trash can and continue walking. “No, I just had an amazing time with you, Clark. I really like hanging out with you without all the work stuff.” 

“Me too, I'm glad you joined the Daily Planet cause I wouldn't have met you if you didnt.” his face was a bit maroon. You smile at him, and in that same moment, his hands make their way to your face, pushing back hair as your breath catches and your heart practically stops. He leans in closer, his breath hot on your neck as he whispers, “Is this okay?” You only nod, and he plants a small kiss on your neck, on your cheek, and finally on your lips. 

And for a moment, everything makes sense. Your face feels hot, and your head is pounding, but everything feels right as you return it, deepening the kiss. He breaks away, a smile forming on his lips as his forehead hits yours. “I had a great time tonight.” 

“Me too.” It was breathless, but god, were you breathless after that. 

“Goodnight, y/n” 

“Goodnight, Clark,” you smiled, going on your tip toes to plant a kiss on his cheek, taking the bag from his hands, taking your books, and returning the rest. You smiled as you pushed through the door. You turned back to see him watching as you walked onto the elevator, only motioning to leave once the elevator closed again. 

As the elevator motioned to move, you felt your phone buzz. 

Clark: Thank you for a second chance.

next part

(🏷️: @ifilwtmfc , @casiiopea2 , @clark-kents-bae , @nightmaredressedlikeadaydream57 , @otakusimp1 )

Comment or dm me to be added or removed from the taglist!! (Also, if you could specify if you want all Superman fics or just this series, it would be greatly appreciated!! )

[sinflowersugar]

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐬 જ⁀➴

part five; prev part: check please

Summary: A bad date and another meeting with Superman leaves you spilling your guts to him. Maybe things aren't so bad after all.

Warnings: language, use of y/n

Word count: 1,845

Author's note: My stories are a mess, I know, but thanks for reading!! Im already working on the next chapter. Im really excited about it, actually <3 It'll either be posted later tonight or tomorrow.

Tuesday morning, everything bad happened on Tuesdays, everyone hated Mondays, but you hated Tuesdays. Tuesdays were the worst day of the week, but this one takes the cake. You tried to look your best, putting on your makeup and fixing the curls you had from the night before, acting as if you didn't cry as soon as you sat in the Uber, trying to figure out why he would up and leave you, knowing he would see you the next day too. 

But when you walked into the office the next day, you walked to your desk looking for Clarks and saw nothing. He wasn't there as he always was with a coffee in hand as he wrote rigorously on the computer. He wasn't even in the copy room, messing with the printer, where you caught him enough times to know to look there first. 

You didn't even catch him in the break room sneaking more coffee, even though he probably already had enough, and the break room coffee was bad. His words. From when he showed you around. Showed you kindness, telling you where the good coffee was stashed that he never touched but almost always restocked just so someone else's day could be better.

It broke a piece inside of you, knowing how sweet he was, because if this was some random Tinder date, hating him would be easier. It would be much easier to say that this guy was an asshole who had no respect for anyone but himself. But it wasn't the case because you knew Clark, knew how he could be. 

In 2 weeks, he managed to share more kindness with you than anyone had in your whole 24 years of life. So when you came back from the break room on your secret hunt to see if you could spot him, you sat and sighed with the good coffee in hand and focused on work. 

You didn't pay attention to Jimmy’s story of the girls he met last night, or Lois and her unsuccessful interview. And they had noticed, they exchanged glances in the moments you were really focused, and whispered as you walked to grab more paper. 

“So, what's up with you?” Jimmy said, “Bad date?” Lois smacked him. “What?! Been there, done that. Im trying to help,” he said, and you felt inclined to believe that this was his idea of helping, even though you wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and not emerge for a long while. 

“Where's Clark?” You changed the subject. 

“No clue, he didn't call, apparently. Just didn't show up today” Lois said.

Was the date really that bad had you officially scared him off to the point he didn't even want to have to sit next to you for 8 hours?

The silent rejection hurt the most. Not the fact that he got up and left your date, but the fact that he had not even shown up. He didn't want to see you. That little voice in your head hurts. It belittled you and made you feel small. He didn't even bother saying anything because he doesn't want to be next to you that much. 

“Oh, weird…has he done that before?” you asked in a small voice. 

“Um, once really early on, I think he was gone for about a day and never said anything about it,” so it has happened before. “Didnt Clark have a date the other day?” 

“Oh, uh yeah, when we went out to dinner…” Had he set you up? Made you feel all nice and special and ran off when some other girl called. Had it really been a pastime? 

“Yeah, I probably got caught up with her or something.” Jimmy said. “I know I've done that.” 

“Well, Clark isn't you…clearly,” Lois said, they always fought like siblings, sometimes it surprised you that Jimmy wasn't dead in a ditch because you knew full well sometimes Lois thought about it. 

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Jimmy yelled, Lois, only walked away looking at you, “What does that mean?” You could only laugh at him before he turned to chase after Lois, hoping to get the answer out of her. 

── .✦    

The day wasn't too bad, besides the obvious sting of betrayal you felt from Clark when you had finished your article that was meant to be due Friday on Tuesday. Maybe Tuesdays were coming around. Or maybe it was the fact you didnt have a chance to chat with Clark every hour or so for your ‘mandatory think break’. 

Currently, you were sprawled outside with a book and some chai in your hand, trying to forget the awful night before. It had been cold, and your sweat pants and band tee weren’t really cutting it, but determination got the better of you, and you only had 40 more pages left and half of your chai still in your mug. 

You let the breeze flow as your hair was pushed, and the chill took over your body, listening to the hum of the cars passing by and the almost silent chatter of the people walking below because of how high up you had been. It was times like these that you had been grateful to luck out with a balcony. The solitude of living alone and the nice night outside reminded you why it was nice to get away, even when you were just outside. Plus, in the last two weeks, alien activity had gotten worse, leaving it almost impossible to go outside without an attack within a couple of hours, and the justice ‘gang’, as they were more or less referred to, showing up and causing destruction. 

It was to protect, yes, but you were glad the only noise tonight was the normal sounds of the night in Metropolis. You were about to get up and head inside when you heard a woosh. You snapped your head around to be met with 

“Superman.” You muttered, almost dropping your mug. “You gotta stop finding yourself on my balcony.” 

“Sorry, I just…wanted to check in to see how you're doing.” he was sincere in that, so you sat back down and motioned for him to come over. He was reluctant, but eventually he sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “So how are you?” he said, fidgeting like he was nervous of your reply. 

“Been better.” Honestly, you had been better. You were better yesterday morning when you had the whole office looking at you; today, you just felt like a loser. “But it's honestly whatever, I don't think you’d want to hear about my drama, you have people to save.” Hopeful that he would leave so you didnt have to spill your guts to him because you would if he kept talking. He was easy to talk to, like an old friend. 

“Drama? Like what kind?” he asked curiously

“Um, dating?” you laughed, it was a fake laugh, breathless and full of lies, the kind of laugh you use when even you aren't convinced you're okay with everything yet. Your eyes met his, boring into your soul like he was reading you, listening to your thoughts. “I went out with this guy, but turns out he was just using me as a place holder till someone else responded, the usual with men, you know?” trying to not sound so hurt at the prospect of that. 

“Maybe he had an emergency,” he shrugged. 

“Oh yeah, for sure a perfectly planned emergency. At least he paid and called me an Uber.” Sarcasm thick on your words. 

“You don't think he did?” he genuinely was confused. 

“That's the oldest trick in the book. Oh no, my dog got run over! The babysitter lost the baby! My sister is in trouble, and I have to go because this date is so bad I can't sit with you for another 30 minutes.” 

“I don't think it was that,” he said. 

“Eh, debatable, but what's worse is he’s my coworker, so all that fear and anxiety about the awkwardness of today was for nothing because he didnt even show up. He didnt even text me other than a meek sorry.” 

“Maybe he’s sick” was a plausible answer, but one you didnt accept. 

“I've never even heard him sneeze before pretty sure he has like some superhuman ability to not get sick, which if that's a thing sign me up.” you joked to easy the tension within you, you just didnt know why superman was so adamant about clearing Clark Kents name with you, other than the interview they had shared and you didnt even tell him who you went out with. 

“It was Clark, by the way,” he looked at you with confusion again.. “I went out with Clark, he asked me to dinner and I said yes stupidly, because he had a date not even a couple of days before, and I felt so special. I was stupid and naive, but I thought he might be different. I thought we clicked, you know?”

“You are none of those things. ” 

You sat silently, and he filled the silence. "The journalist?"

“Mhm, you let him interview you,” looking away from him. 

“Yeah, I uh I remember him.” 

“Well, you didnt come here to check out my relationship drama. So why did you make an impromptu stop on my balcony?”  

“I did actually want to check on you,” he said, “wanted to know how you were after the robbery and the flying and everything.” 

“Im okay, still don't like walking home super late, but I’ll get over it. Thanks for the help the other day, when I wasn't in immediate danger, just…in danger of curbs.” 

“To be fair, you were in danger of breaking your face, so it counts,” he joked. And a real laugh escaped you. His eyes lingered on you. “Well, Superman, I might be the only person who has gotten three visits from you. Either Im really unfortunate or really lucky.”

“Unfortunate?” he asked. Did he sound hurt? 

“Yeah, because each time I have something wrong with me.” You nodded, and it was true. Robbery, drunk…tipsy but stupid, and drama. You had a track record. 

“You don't have anything wrong with you,” he said simply 

You didnt know what to say to that, you just looked down at your hands in your lap. But you didnt have to say anything because in the next second, you hear commotion coming from the distance. And as quickly as you look up, he's gone flying into the night. “Goodnight, Superman,” you say, standing up, collecting your things, and going inside, locking your balcony door behind you. 

── .✦    

As if Clark had heard your complaints about not even giving you a text, you got into bed and heard your phone ding. 

Clark: I'm so sorry about last night. You probably think I’m a jerk, which I am after that. Please let me make it up to you, and I’ll explain everything. 

You stared at the message. Watching three dots appear, only to disappear again. 

You: You owe me a game of Scrabble anyway.

next part

────୨ৎ────

I said I'd make it up eventually, not in the next one, my badddd

p.s. Let me know if you wanna be included in my tag list for just this series or all my Superman stuff!!

(🏷️: @ifilwtmfc , @casiiopea2 , @clark-kents-bae )

[sinflowersugar]

Appetite GONE, but wrap it up so I can eat while crying on my couch later.

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 જ⁀➴

part four; prev part: lessons in flying

Summary: Monday mornings are never peaceful; you should know that by now. But you never realized half a million people would see your face. But what's even more shocking so far is the fact that Clark Kent asked you out.

Warnings: angst..? if you could call it that

Word count: 2,256

Author's note: I was so tired today, but I wanted to keep up consistency. If you have any requests for the story, don't be shy to let me know!! Im just trying to get better as a writer. This chapter isn't my fav, but the end certainly is!!

Monday morning came around, and while the morning had been fine and you had settled into the routine, you hadn't checked your phone. Or the news, or anything for that matter. You had simply woken up, gotten ready, and turned on some music as you walked to the train station. 

It was a peaceful day, and you were hoping it stayed that way, but in the middle of working on your newest article, you heard a scream

“OH MY GOD?” Cat yelled from across the room. Both you and Clark had shot up from your work, looking around at her commotion. 

The sound of her heels hitting the tile floor got closer and closer as she ran to you. She bent down, shoving her phone in your face. It was too close, you couldn't see, and too bright, couldn't read it. You tried to squint, but it didn’t help, so you pulled away. 

“YOU MET SUPERMAN?” she screamed. It almost felt like the room zeroed in on you. If people didn't know you before, they do now. More than just this room would know you. Because the article's main focus was a picture of you floating in the air in the arms of Superman. 

“I uh- I hurt myself, so he helped me home.” Was that convincing? This photo was from Friday night, and two days had passed. Why was it shown now, of all times? 

You felt someone behind you, and you could see Clark looking at the photo too. “Good shot” is all he said before returning to his article.  

“It just got posted 10 minutes ago, and you are the center of focus.” You are famous. She turned the phone, and you looked at the views of half a million. You suddenly felt too watched. “He was just being nice, I'm sure of it. There are literally so many photos of him saving squirrels and other people. I'm not special.” You leaned back in your chair, and it almost felt like in that moment, Clark's eyes flickered to you. 

More footsteps approached, and you could smell Lois' perfume before you saw her. She looked at the photo and back at you with an almost disapproving look, but you knew by now that she was just figuring out what to say. 

Her eyes scanned down before returning your gaze. “It’s a great photo. But next time something like that happens, tell me so I can write the article,” She joked. 

“I swear if I ever end up having Superman fly me home, I will inform you so you can schedule an interview with me,” you joked, knowing the likelihood of that ever happening was slim to none. 

Yes, you had seen Metropolis superheroes twice, which is more than most can say, but it was pure coincidence. It was unlikely to happen a third time, and for some reason, that left a pit in you. The gazes of the rest of the office had averted, and suddenly it was back to only you, Lois, and Cat. 

The conversation lasted a while and even shifted away from you, which was nice. Now it was solely on Superman and the new articles being written about him. Everyone in the office had fought over it, and you even tried to put your best foot forward and show your blog, but no one could top the personal interview with the man. 

“Clark,” you called out. “I forgot, you know Superman, right?” He turned red in the ears a bit and looked away, adjusting his glasses. 

“No, well, yes. I mean, I know him. But I don't know him. I just saw him one day after saving someone, and he happened to be close enough to interview him after. It was cool but…No, I don't know him. It's not like I have his number. I don't have anyone's number, well, I have my parents, but I mean I don't have yours. And certainly not Superman’s. If he has a phone,” his voice trailed off, getting small and quiet to the point you could barely hear him anymore. 

You couldn't help the small laugh escape you as you listened to his rambles. Whenever you asked anything non-work related, he would go on a tangent, and it was cute and adorable, which made you want to do it to him more. 

“So you don't know him, you just met him?” you asked, trying to understand the gist of what he had actually meant. He nodded. “Okay, that was it.” he looked at you curiously before returning to his own work. 

You looked back at Lois and Cat, who both had that look. “What?!” It sounded a bit harsher than you expected. They only glanced at each other before looking back at you with that same expression of ‘you're missing something’, which it totally felt like you were. “Jesus, what?!” 

Cat finally spoke up, “We’ll explain later,” and with a wink, they both walked away. “Weird,” you breathed out. 

“What?” Clark said. “Oh, uh, nothing,” you said, “Just talking to myself.” He nodded understandingly. 

“So you got an interview with him?” you asked. You didn't want to put the conversation to rest; mostly, you didn't want him to stop talking to you. “Oh yeah, he was nice about it too.” He didn't seem too interested in retelling the story, so you dropped it. 

“Um, Y/n?” he spoke out. 

“Yeah?” you replied, looking into his gaze, and it felt like the room froze again. Like everyone was gone, and it was only you and him. 

Every conversation with him felt special; you always felt important in his presence. You'd barely known him for two weeks, but you couldn't help but cherish the gazes he left you. His eyes were always focused on you when you talked to him. He made sure he paid attention to you; no matter what, you always had the full attention of Clark Kent when speaking to him. 

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?”

── .✦   

6:45, you had adorned a whole new outfit, new shoes, new makeup, and new hair. And you had freshly showered because you agreed to go out on a date with Clark Kent. He wouldn't be here till 7, and your apartment only had so much for you to pace. 

So in your nicest heels and prettiest dress that said “im trying but not too hard,” you walked around your apartment in silence beside the clack of your heels against the hardwood floor. Any attempt to calm down your nerves was quickly met with pacing again. 

It was about the 5th time you walked to the mirror and leaned over the sink to ensure there was nothing in your teeth. There was nothing because your stomach couldn't handle the idea of food, and you had brushed your teeth about three times for good measure. 

Everything had to be perfect on your end. You couldn't care less if Clark was an utter buffoon and messed up everything you'd find endearing, but the thought of you ever tripping like the other day made you cringe and want to crawl into a hole. You had thought about Superman and how nice he was and how it felt to be in his arms. 

Warm, safe, inviting, like you could do it for the rest of your life, but you knew you’d only see him twice, and it was not a plausible dating venture to date a superhero. Plus, you liked Clark more; he was more human, you knew his kindness to be true and not a fake persona to get ahead or in your pants. Which is why this date freaked you out, you didn't want to scare the only decent guy within a 1,000-mile radius off because of some bad joke or kale in your teeth. 

But you didn't have to worry long because at exactly 7 pm sharp, you heard a knock at your door. You hurried over, taking a deep breath before swinging the door open with a smile. God, he looked handsome. You smiled at him, watching as his dimples appeared. Your eyes scanned him, looking at his outfit, a clean white shirt, but you lingered on the flowers in his hand. 

“You got me flowers,” you asked. You were touched, in awe of the gesture. 

“Too much?” his hand moved to the back of his neck. Was Clark Kent nervous? 

“Nope, they're perfect. You took them from his hand, and they're lilies, my favorite." You turned back to find a vase. “Come in.” 

He stepped in almost nervously, closing the door quietly behind him as you bent down to reach the vase hidden beneath the sink, filling it up with a bit of water and dropping the flowers in. “I'll tend to them better later.” You promised. 

“Like plants?” he asked curiously, looking around your living room and kitchen, considering it was an open plan. You nodded and pointed to your balcony, which was littered with different plants all meant to be soaking up the last bit of sun before it set. “I do, keep my mind occupied when I work outside,” you added honestly. “Ready to go?” he nodded. 

You watched him step towards you, his hand outstretched as you reached for him, lacing your fingers in between his. “You look amazing by the way,” he said shyly. “Thanks,” it was a meek, shy thanks in response, but maybe that would be you guys. A meek, shy couple, you could get used to that. 

── .✦    

You guys opted to walk to the restaurant as it wasn't too far away by subway, and you learned neither of you possessed a car. It was nice to chat with Clark about things that weren't related. You had learned that he loved dogs but wouldn’t mind a cat. He prefers walking over anything and would rather not touch a bike. You both take the same walk to work, but you live closer. And he prefers his coffee black, while you have an overly sweet coffee order that he critiqued, but he shared that he had a huge sweet tooth for pastries and cakes. 

It was even nice to sit hand in hand on the subway. For two stops, there was only one seat, which he let you take, but the whole time, he kept his eyes on you, listening to everything you had to say. 

Even when you got to the restaurant, it was a family-owned Italian restaurant. Clark found one day while working that and needed somewhere to eat and work. Or that was his story. He opened the door for you and pulled out your chair. Letting you sit down before he even walked to his own chair. 

The conversation was great, it was light, and it flowed so easily like you two had known each other for years. 

“So central city?” he asked. 

“It was cute, but not a huge spot for journalists, so I left. My friend is a writer there, but it's a small place and I’d rather not compete with her.” 

“Not one for competition?” 

“Oh no, I am just not with people I like in that sense. I still crush her at Scrabble.” 

“Scrabble?” he asked, almost like you couldn't believe it. 

“Yeah, in college I'd force everyone to play with me by making it a drinking game.” You laughed at the memory of all the drunk college students in your apartment yelling over Scrabble of all things. 

“You’ll have to teach me this drinking scrabble game next time.” Next time. 

Next time like this was going to happen again. Next time like he was already thinking of you again. Next time, like in the future, and not just at work. 

── .✦    

You were halfway through your pasta when Clark's phone beeped, and everything shifted. 

For a minute, it was just him staring at his phone sitting on the table, but after a bit, he put his fork down and grabbed his phone. He was engrossed in it like you couldn't pull him out. You almost spoke, but his face shifted ever so slightly. His expression darkened, sad, almost scared, even. And in the same second, in the same moment, he stood grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. 

“I-I called you an Uber,” he muttered quietly. If you weren't so fixated on him, you wouldn't have heard it. 

“What an ub-”

“I have to go, I'm so sorry,” he said, almost pained, and you wanted to believe him, this was the oldest trick in the book, fake an emergency and run. He opened his wallet, dropping a 100 bill on the table. 

He shifted, almost leaning towards you, but he quickly leaned back like he second-guessed what he had meant to do. And he ran. He ran from the date, the date you thought had gone so well. You heard the bell of the door ring as he actually ran away in the opposite direction of the subway. 

As you leaned back, about to cry because what the fuck. Your phone buzzed, picking it up, it was a notification from Clark. 

Uber is 5 minutes away. 

Two minutes later. 

Sorry. 

Salt in the wound, Clark salt in the wound.

"Can I get the check, please?"

next part

────୨ৎ────

My formal apology, so much love, I promise I'll make it up to you eventually <3

[sinflowersugar]

I think I deserve something nice. Something good.

x marks the spot ── .✦

requested! thank you. ♡ content: pure fluffy comfort, soft kisses, pedro being absolutely gone for the tiniest act of affection, lots of cozy dialogue and sleepy cuddling.

Pedro’s lying on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other lazily curled around your waist. You’re both half-awake, tangled in the sheets, still clinging to the morning like it might run away without you.

Your nose brushes the side of his jaw. He smells like warmth, like home, like a man who didn’t want to get out of bed and very much still doesn’t.

You smile sleepily.

And then — just like you always do — you lean in and kiss that tiny little freckle at the base of his neck, right where his hairline softens near his ear.

He lets out a groggy laugh. “There she goes.”

You hum. “Can’t help it.”

“I swear you’re obsessed with that spot.”

“I am,” you say, kissing it again. “It’s mine.”

He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, smiling like an idiot. “It’s literally just a freckle.”

“Wrong,” you murmur against his skin. “It’s a national treasure.”

Pedro laughs into your collarbone. “A national treasure?”

“Mhm. That’s where your girlfriend kisses go. Like how X marks the spot on a treasure map.” You press another soft kiss there, lips warm and lazy. “This is my X.”

His chest shakes with quiet laughter. “God, you’re so corny.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, smiling, “you love it.”

He kisses your shoulder. “I do.”

You go back to nuzzling your face into his neck, hand resting on his chest while his fingers trace lazy shapes along your back. And then, there’s just silence — the good kind, full of sleepy comfort and soft skin and mutual peace.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[sinflowersugar]

I can cook 😭

just one bite ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: domestic fluff, kitchen chaos, pedro being a hungry menace, reader being the talented cooking queen that she is.

Pedro tries. He really does.

But every time you cook, he turns into the human version of a starving raccoon.

It starts innocent.

You're at the stove, stirring something magical in a pot that smells like love and comfort and possibly the secret to world peace. The playlist is on low, you're swaying a little, humming, completely in your element.

Pedro walks in.

Immediate disaster.

“Hi,” he says, already opening the fridge like he’s got business in there. “Need help?”

“No,” you say sweetly. “You just got banned last time for trying to flip something with your hand.”

“One time!”

“One time with no spatula!”

He wanders closer. Arms around your waist. Chin on your shoulder. Nose in your neck.

“Smells insane,” he mumbles.

You smile, proud. “It’s not done yet.”

“What if I die before it is?”

“Then you’ll die dramatic.”

Pedro groans and presses a kiss to your neck before pulling back — only to immediately reach for a wooden spoon.

“Don’t you dare—”

He dips it in the pot and slurps a taste before you can swat him away.

His eyes close. He moans.

“Oh my God, baby.”

You roll your eyes, taking the spoon back. “You’re gonna ruin your appetite.”

“Too late,” he mumbles, already grabbing a chunk of bread off the counter and using it like a shovel for the sauce.

“Pedro.”

“I’m helping,” he says with a full mouth.

“You are not. You’re a blackhole in a hoodie.”

He kisses your cheek in apology, but his eyes keep drifting to the pan on the stovetop like it owes him money.

You push him gently toward a stool. “Sit. You get one more taste and that’s it until dinner.”

He holds up three fingers.

You squint. “One.”

He pouts. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You literally burned rice last time you touched the stove.”

“I said sorry.”

He watches you move around the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw soft. The way you chop with ease, how you know where everything is without looking. The rhythm of you.

He’s so in love it hurts.

“You’re so good at this,” he murmurs.

You glance up. “At what?”

“Making things. Taking care of me. Cooking like you're running a Michelin-star restaurant while I eat shredded cheese over the sink.”

You giggle, cheeks heating. “You're not that bad.”

He points dramatically to the pot. “That's not me. That’s art. I should be paying for this.”

“You can pay in kisses.”

He’s up and across the kitchen in two seconds flat.

“Done.”

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.