anon-188

[anon-188]

double jeopardy

pairing: ex!jj x f!reader x ex!rafe | genre: smut | wc: 4.6k

summary: jj. rafe. both your exes. both secretly promised the same thing: win the enduro, win you. but when the race ends in a crash and they show up outside your house, fists clenched and egos bruised, you decide to let them settle it another way…

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), porn with plot, strong language, oral sex, vaginal sex, overstimulation, jealousy/rivalry dynamics, possessive behavior, rough sex, spit mention, mild dom/sub undertones, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), reader called “pretty” + “princess”

a/n: so… this is my first threesome fic. somehow ended up at 4.6k words. honestly i’m a little scared to post it lmao. please enjoy responsibly! (again, thank you for being so patient with me this past week! ♡)

You sat on the sidelines, legs crossed and sunglasses low, watching as the racers lined up for the Kildare Enduro. Engines growled. Gasoline hung thick in the air. Tension buzzed through the atmosphere—charged, electric.

Your eyes landed on two riders in particular.

JJ Maybank and Rafe Cameron.

Your exes. Both of them.

JJ came first. All heat, all chaos. The kind of love that burned too hot and left nothing but smoke in its wake.

Then came Rafe. Sharper. Louder. Meaner. A terrible idea from the start, and one you didn’t even try to resist.

Neither relationship ended clean. And neither of them ever really let you go.

That was something you’d been toying with all summer—breadcrumbing, teasing, leaving just enough to keep them circling. Nothing solid. Nothing certain. Just a game of almosts and what-ifs.

Until now.

Before the race, you’d pulled JJ aside behind some random car. Voice low. Lips curled. Told him if he won, you’d double the prize. He’d get the money—and you.

He hesitated. Just a second. “Why now?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice like he already knew better. But it didn’t matter. It was an offer he wouldn’t refuse, and you both knew it. You saw it in the way his gaze stuck to you as you turned to leave.

What he didn’t know was that Rafe got the same invitation. You’d found him in the crowd just before the lineup, leaned in close, lips nearly brushing his ear as you whispered it to him.

He didn’t flinch—just gave you that look he always did when he knew you were playing a game, but liked it anyway. Then, without a word, he nodded, strapped on his helmet, and disappeared into the chaos.

The stakes were already high: money, pride, the usual Kooks-versus-Pogues bullshit that never seemed to die.

But you?

You raised the race to something far more dangerous.

And while neither of them gave you a clear answer, the look they each sent from the starting line said enough.

Blue eyes shadowed by helmets, still sharp. Still relentless.

They weren’t just racing to win. They were racing for you.

And it showed.

The race was fast and reckless, the kind that left no room for hesitation. Within seconds, it narrowed down to just two—JJ and Rafe. Every moment just another excuse to one-up the other.

Honestly, you couldn’t tell who had the lead. Neither backed off. Especially not when the finish line came into view.

That’s when it turned from competition to carnage.

JJ veered first, body tilting as he swerved just enough to clip Rafe’s balance. Rafe responded with a hard kick to JJ’s back tire, boots catching rubber.

The result was instant.

Both bikes jolted off course, tires screaming, dirt kicking up in wild spirals. The impact came fast—metal grinding against the ground, bodies colliding mid-fall, a blur of wreckage, friction, and adrenaline.

They weren’t hurt. At least not enough to stay down.

And they sure as hell didn’t win.

Another racer flew past them, seizing the moment while they scrambled up, fists clenched, seconds from beating the shit out of each other right there in the dirt.

The only thing that stopped them?

Catching sight of you.

Your back, slipping through the crowd like none of it mattered. Like they hadn’t nearly destroyed each other for a shot at your attention.

You figured that was it. Over. Done.

You went home, let it all go, told yourself they would too.

But hours later—long after the sun disappeared behind the waterline and the cicadas claimed the quiet—you heard it.

An engine cutting through the silence. Then a car door slamming shut. A few seconds later, the same thing.

Then nothing.

Until the shouting started.

You crossed to your window, peeled the curtain back just enough to see.

There they were. Rafe and JJ. 

In your front yard, chest to chest, voices raised, arms flying. Shoving. Cursing. Fighting like the race never ended.

You didn’t know who got there first. But they both looked ready to finish it—right then and there.

You rushed outside, heart pounding, and shoved between them before you could think. They didn’t stop. Rafe’s arm clipped your shoulder as he lunged again. JJ snapped something back through gritted teeth.

Eventually, Rafe eased back—just enough. His jaw was tight, chest rising hard.

But the words kept coming.

“Fucking cheat,” Rafe spat, eyes locked on JJ.

JJ shot back. “You wrecked the whole damn race ‘cause you couldn’t stand being behind me for two seconds.”

Rafe shoved forward again. “I don’t even know why you’re here, man.”

JJ immediately closed the space. “I showed up first,” he said. “Besides, if anyone has a right to be here, it’s me.”

Rafe tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

JJ didn’t reply. Just looked at you like Rafe wasn’t even there anymore.

“Look,” he said, voice low, rougher now. “I know I didn’t win, but can we talk?”

That’s when Rafe paused. 

His gaze drifted between the two of you, landing on the way JJ looked at you. The way you didn’t look away.

And then it clicked.

His laugh came hard, loud and bitter.

“So that’s what you were doing,” he said, the edge of a smirk in his voice. “I should’ve fucking known.”

You didn’t even get a word out. Rafe saw it coming and shut it down with a shake of his head.

“Same deal, huh?” he said. “Whispered it to him like you did to me?”

JJ’s brow furrowed.

That flicker of softness he had when he looked at you? Gone.

He straightened, mouth pulled tight.

“What’s he talking about?”

You opened your mouth, ready to explain. Ready to smooth it over, maybe. But then you stopped. 

Because… why should you?

You didn’t crash the bikes. You didn’t throw the punches. All you did was play the game—one they’d both already been in long before you made a move.

“Yeah,” you said, calm and steady. “I did. You both got the same deal.” You lifted your chin, eyes locked. “And guess what?”

Your voice didn’t waver.

“You both lost.”

Rafe was quick to cut in. “I didn’t lose—he cheated.”

“You’re calling that cheating?” JJ’s jaw clenched.

“What about the shit you pulled at the end? If I cheated, then what the fuck was that?”

Rafe didn’t back down. “You swerved first.”

“You kicked my tire!”

“Because you cut me off!”

And that was it. They were back at it.

Yelling over yelling. Fingers pointing, shoulders squared. Neither one willing to back down, both swearing they weren’t the one who fucked it all up.

“Enough!”

The word snapped out of you, cutting straight through the noise.

You shoved Rafe back a step, hard enough to make him stumble, then pressed a hand to JJ’s chest to keep him from charging again.

“Jesus. Everything is a pissing contest with you two.”

You looked between them, heart still racing, heat rising to your face.

“And honestly? I don’t even know why either of you are here.”

Their heads turned at the same time, like some unspoken cue had passed between them. Two pairs of blue eyes locking on you, suddenly still.

The silence that followed was heavy. Stubborn.

Your gaze flicked between them. Slower this time. Like you were finally seeing it for what it was.

Why neither of them had walked away after the crash. Why they showed up now, hours later, still charged with whatever was left between them. Why they stood there—so sure, so unshaken.

It wasn’t just anger or rivalry. It was possession. Pride. 

And that’s when it hit you.

In their minds, the prize was still on the table.

You were still on the table.

A dry laugh slipped past your lips.

“Unbelievable.”

Despite losing, they both came to collect anyway.

You called them out on it, expecting at least one of them to say something. To push back.

But they didn’t.

They just stood there.

So you let the silence hang. Let it stretch between the three of you until it said more than anything they could’ve come up with.

At first, you were annoyed by it. The arrogance. The nerve.

But then something shifted.

That irritation didn’t stay.

It twisted.

Settled low. Turned heavy in your chest, in your gut, somewhere deeper. Because as messed up as this was… wasn’t it what you wanted?

Maybe not like this. Not with wrecked bikes, shouting matches, and pride torn raw.

But still—

They were here. For you.

And even now, after all of it, neither one was backing down.

Your lips curved into a smirk, not out of amusement, but something else entirely.

“You know what?” you said, your voice a little too calm. “New deal.”

You stepped forward, just enough to pull the tension taut between the three of you again.

“If you both think you deserve me so badly…”

Your head tilted. Heat laced your words now.

“Prove it.”

The air didn’t just shift—it thickened. Grew heavy with something that didn’t need to be spoken to be understood.

JJ’s voice broke the silence first, low and steady, eyes pinned to yours.

“You want us to fight over you?”

You let out a soft laugh. “With your fists?” you said, leaning in. 

“No.”

That’s when the corner of Rafe’s mouth twitched. His gaze dropped, dragging down the length of you, then slowly back up again.

Your hand found his chest, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric stretched over him. Just a touch. Then you turned and did the same to JJ, palm brushing over where his heartbeat pushed hard against his ribs.

“You’ve been fighting for months,” you said. “And for what?”

Your voice was smooth like you weren’t throwing gasoline onto an already lit fire.

“No clear winner. No prize. Just bruises and bullshit.”

Your hand dropped back to your side, sure and certain.

“So settle it,” you said, unflinching. “With me.”

A breath passed. The tension didn’t.

It only coiled tighter.

Then—

“Just hands. Mouths. Whatever else you’ve got.”

JJ exhaled a quiet curse, like the words caught him off guard. Like he didn’t think you’d actually go there. 

Rafe laughed under his breath, slow and sharp, like he never doubted you would.

Still, neither of them moved. And that told you everything you needed to know.

You turned, walking toward your front door without another word, knowing full well they were still watching.

“Either way,” you called over your shoulder, voice honeyed but pointed, “I suggest you figure it out quick.”

Just as your hand reached the doorknob, you paused. Turned back to face them.

You met their eyes one at a time, gaze calm, daring.

“Unless you’re both fine with losing. Again.”

You saw it the second the words hit. 

Rafe’s jaw went tight. JJ’s eyes dropped the heat and settled into something colder.

Then you reached for the hem of your shirt. Pulled it up—taunting and unapologetic—the fabric skimming over your skin, baring it to the warm night air.

You let it fall to the ground at your feet.

“Your choice,” you said, leaving the silence do the rest.

They locked eyes.

And that was all it took.

A challenge thrown. A line drawn.

The tension finally snapped—like wire pulled too far—and then motion. 

Both of them surged forward at once, no warning, like a starter shot had gone off in their heads.

But JJ got to you first.

His hands gripped your waist with the same reckless urgency he brought to everything, hauling you in and crushing his mouth to yours. Heat and momentum slammed into you all at once, and you stumbled back, caught in the force of it.

Your hand fumbled for the doorknob, twisting it open as JJ pushed forward. The moment you crossed the threshold, his mouth tore from yours and found your neck—biting, dragging, sucking hard enough to leave marks.

You barely made it two steps into the entryway before your eyes caught Rafe’s.

He stepped in, shoving the door shut with one hand. It thudded closed—loud, final.

His eyes stayed on yours until he circled in behind you, chest pressing to your back. You could feel him, solid and waiting, breathing slow in that way he did when he was calculating.

JJ’s mouth landed on a spot just under your ear, and your head tipped back instinctively, a moan spilling out before you could stop it.

Rafe’s hand caught your jaw, fingers firm as he tilted your face toward him.

“So this was your big plan, huh?” he said, voice gruff and close.

Another sound escaped, softer this time, as JJ’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Sure, you won,” Rafe said, his gaze never leaving yours even as JJ’s hand dipped lower. 

“But if you think I’m gonna play nice…”

His grip tightened.

“You’re wrong.”

Then he kissed you—if you could even call it that.

It was more pressure than passion. Heat with a bite. 

Literally.

Before you could react, he grabbed your waist and yanked you in, tearing you away from JJ like he didn’t give a fuck who got there first.

You hadn’t even steadied your footing before he lifted you off the floor, arms locking around your thighs as he carried you up the stairs toward your bedroom.

His mouth stayed on yours the whole way.

Possessive. Demanding. Lips dragging against yours, tongue pressing deeper every time you tried to breathe.

The house blurred around you, footsteps heavy on the stairs, his grip iron around your legs.

Then the bed.

The moment your back hit the sheets, Rafe came down with you—closing in, mouth trailing from your lips to your jaw, then lower. His breath was hot and uneven, hands greedy as they claimed every inch of skin they could reach.

Behind him, movement caught your eye.

JJ.

He pulled off his shirt, muscles tight, chest rising with every breath. His jaw clenched hard as he looked at you—like every second not touching you was one too many.

Rafe hooked his fingers into your shorts, stripping them away with your panties in one single move. No pause. No words. Just the warmth of him settling between your thighs, tongue already moving.

The first stroke was sharp, almost punishing—your spine lifted off the bed. You gasped, but JJ was already there, leaning in from your side, one arm braced above your head. 

His mouth caught yours mid-breath—deep, intentional. Slower than Rafe’s, but no less consuming. His free hand slid up your stomach, rough fingers dragging over bare skin, marking a path as they went.

Your fingers fisted the sheets. Moans caught between JJ’s mouth and the pressure of Rafe’s tongue. You weren’t sure who you were reacting to more—and it didn’t matter. 

They weren’t giving you the space to choose.

Then Rafe pulled back. Just a little. Just enough to strip off his shirt. But that moment of distance gave JJ the exact opening he’d been waiting for.

His hand wrapped tight around your thigh, yanking you toward him in one hard motion. Your body twisted across the sheets, legs falling open as he moved—faster than your breath could follow—already on his knees.

Then his mouth hit you.

He dove in like he was starving—tongue buried deep, lips pulling moans straight from your core. Then his fingers slipped inside, pushing in and curling like they had a score to settle.

Every thrust, every twist, had your hips jerking off the mattress like muscle memory.

You didn’t hold back. Your hand flew to his hair, fingers twisting hard in the strands as your hips rolled into his mouth. JJ groaned like he couldn’t get close enough—like he needed more of you.

Then you gasped his name, the sound cracked and breathless.

He lifted his head just enough to look up at you, lips slick, chin wet, fingers still thrusting deep with that unfair precision.

“Keep making that sound, pretty,” he murmured, smug against your skin. “Let him hear what it sounds like when it’s done right.”

Then his thumb dragged over the perfect spot, slow and cruel.

“Fuck, JJ,” you cried, voice breaking, eyes squeezing shut as another moan ripped free.

But JJ wasn’t finished. His mouth dropped back to you before the echo of your voice had faded. His tongue moved with more intent now, faster, deeper, working in sync with his fingers.

You almost missed the way Rafe shifted around the room. But when your eyes opened again, there he was—on the opposite side of the bed, standing over you. 

His eyes locked on you with something darker now. No smirk. No laugh. Just pure, quiet intensity settling in his shoulders like a weight he had no intention of setting down.

He leaned down without saying a word. One hand slipped beneath your bra, shoving the cups down with impatient ease. His mouth found your skin instantly, lips wrapping around the soft curve of your breast. Slow at first, then rougher. His tongue traced lazy circles before his mouth clamped down, sucking hard enough to pull a whimper from you.

JJ didn’t stop, not even when your body started to tighten beneath both of them.

Your thighs began to tremble, hand fisting his hair, the burn in your stomach rising fast.

Rafe didn’t wait.

He pulled back just enough to catch the look on your face. Your mouth opened, the high cry already building in your throat.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

He swallowed your moan, lips crashing into yours as you came with a shudder. His grip stayed firm at your chin, keeping your mouth sealed to his until the sound died in your throat—stealing it from JJ entirely.

JJ eased back like every inch cost him, gaze cutting to Rafe—mouth slick, face flushed, eyes narrow.

“Always stealing my fucking moment,” he muttered, straightening, breath still tight.

Rafe didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at him. His attention stayed entirely on you as his hands went to his belt, the metal clinking sharp in the quiet. 

He shoved his pants down, cock already thick and straining as it sprang free. His hand wrapped around it, stroking from base to tip as he watched you.

“Come here,” he said, voice low and commanding.

You moved without hesitation.

Turning over, you crawled across the bed toward him, breath still ragged, that hum still under your skin. You settled in front of him, back arched, ass up, hands sliding up his thighs as you leaned in.

You worked him with a few firm strokes, thumb gliding over the sensitive ridge as you looked up at him. His chest rose, mouth slightly parted, eyes burning into yours.

JJ was on you before the moment could settle, the mattress dipping behind you as his hand clamped around your hips. With the other, he shoved his pants down just enough to free himself—movements rushed, rough, like he couldn’t get there fast enough.

He dragged you back into him in the same motion, lining himself up before the head of his cock slid through your folds—thick, hot—nearly pulling a gasp from your throat.

Still, you tried to follow through, lips brushing the tip of Rafe’s cock, mouth just about to close around him.

And that’s when JJ drove into you—one deep, relentless push that tore a moan from your throat.

Your mouth fell open, the sound spilling into the space between Rafe’s legs as your hand locked around his thigh, nails biting into his skin. 

“Fuck,” you choked out, eyes fluttering as JJ’s next thrust jerked your body forward.

Rafe muttered something under his breath. You didn’t catch all of it, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable. He was pissed. Done.

His gaze darkened, fingers twisting into your hair, tugging you back into place.

“Focus.”

He guided you down, his swollen head nudging at your lips, pushing them open. There was no easing in—he pressed forward until you took him, tongue barely able to curl around him before he slid deeper.

JJ grunted behind you, both hands gripping your hips now, pulling you back onto every hard stroke.

Rafe didn’t give you space to adjust.

His hips pressed forward, thumb brushing your jaw as he held you in place, making you work your lips around him. The stretch burned down your throat, but you swallowed him all the same.

Your body rocked between them, breath stolen with every movement. JJ’s pace snapped harder, hips slamming into your ass. You could feel how deep he was, the impact sharp and addictive. He grunted with each thrust, low and filthy.

Rafe kept your head steady, pushing past your lips with growing force, his voice tight.

“Keep that mouth open. Just like that.”

Your moans vibrated around him, messy and broken, spit nearly dripping from your chin. Your thighs shook as JJ drilled into you, cock dragging against every sensitive spot, sending you toward the edge again.

Neither of them eased up.

You were caught between them, surrounded by heat and sweat and need, stretched full. Rafe’s hips rocked forward just as JJ’s slammed in from behind, their rhythms falling into sync. 

Each thrust forced you forward and back again, a perfect, brutal pendulum that left you no time to recover.

And you didn’t want it any other way.

Every time JJ buried himself in you, your mouth took more of Rafe. And every time Rafe slid deeper into your throat, your body clenched tighter around JJ. 

The stimulation blurred together until you couldn’t separate one from the other. Only the sound of skin meeting skin, breathless grunts, and the wet suck of your mouth around Rafe cut through it.

Then JJ’s hand tangled in your hair.

He yanked hard, dragging your mouth off of Rafe with a slick pop. You gasped, spit trailing from your lips, lungs aching for air.

“Let me hear you,” he growled, voice rough. “C’mon, pretty. Let me hear you when I fuck you.”

You whimpered as he drove into you again, voice caught somewhere between a moan and a cry, broken and desperate.

But before you could fully give it to him, Rafe’s hand clamped around the back of your neck.

You barely managed another breath before he hauled you down again, mouth forced back onto him, your lips sliding over his length in one messy stroke.

“I'm not done with you yet,” he said, his voice thick and biting as he shoved deeper than before. “You can cry for him later.”

Just like that, your mouth was full again. No room for protest. No room for anything at all except the overwhelming pace of it.

You tried to keep up. You really did.

But it was too much—eyes watering, jaw straining, lungs begging. 

Each breath broke into a soft cry as your body began to give, tipping you closer to a breaking point you weren’t sure you could handle.

You whined against him, voice cracked and thin, and when you pulled back just an inch, lips ghosting the crown of his cock, his name spilled out of your mouth.

“Rafe…”

The way you said it—needy, wrecked—wasn’t new. He’d heard that tone before. Knew exactly what it meant.

His hand gripped tighter in your hair.

“Don’t,” he said, low and brutal. “You wanted this. So you’re gonna take it.”

Before you could answer, JJ thrust into you again, rougher this time. The sound that tore from your throat wasn’t a word, just a moan, but his name came next, breathless and high.

“JJ—”

Rafe laughed once, humorless. “He’s not going to help you. That’s the one thing we agree on.”

Your eyes darted back, over your shoulder, searching.

JJ looked right at you, chest heaving, hair falling into his face. His hand tightened on your hip.

“He’s right, princess,” he rasped, voice frayed at the edges. “Now come here.”

He pulled your hips up, angling you higher, and pushed back into you. 

The impact knocked your breath out. Your body jolted forward, and Rafe’s hand shot out, catching your face in his palm, forcing your head back toward him. His fingers dug into your cheek, his thumb pressing just beneath your chin.

They didn’t slow down.

They didn’t let you settle.

Rafe held your head in place while you swallowed him again, the tip of his cock sliding back over your tongue, his hips rolling with cold precision.

JJ’s thrusts stayed ruthless behind you, deeper now, rhythm breaking down into something feral.

You were unraveling fast.

Every inch of you burned. Pleasure twisted sharp and blinding through your spine, your legs shaking beneath the weight of it.

They were relentless. Ruinous. And you couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your body was right on the edge, heart hammering, skin slick, vision blurred.

JJ was close. You could feel it in how his grip turned desperate, in the ragged sounds that fell from his throat each time he buried himself in you. 

And Rafe… he was just as close. His hips stuttered once, then again. He pulled you in deeper, lips parted, brows drawn tight, breath shallow. 

Then he tipped your head up. Forced you to look at him through the wet blur in your eyes.

And there it was. 

That look. 

The one he used to give you when he had you just like this—on the edge, trembling, helpless.

You didn’t stand a chance.

Your orgasm tore through you, violent and unforgiving—ripping a cry from your throat, muffled against Rafe’s cock. Your knees gave out, legs spasming, vision flooding white for a second that felt like forever. 

You barely registered JJ’s groan behind you before you felt it—his release, hot and deep, his body shuddering as he pressed tight against your back.

Rafe’s hips bucked once more. His hand tightened in your hair.

Then he spilled into your mouth.

His head fell back, jaw clenched, a grunt catching in his throat as you swallowed him down, your body still twitching.

You stayed right there—knees unsteady, throat raw, body wrecked between them. Aftershocks rolled through you in harsh, stubborn waves, leaving you breathless. Spent.

JJ finally eased out of you, slow, but he didn’t go far. His presence stayed close, heat radiating against your back like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Rafe pulled back from your mouth, his cock dragging against your lips as he let go of your hair. 

His thumb swept through the mess at the corner of your mouth, smearing a mix of spit and cum across your lower lip. The touch was possessive, familiar.

Then his voice dropped, smooth and edged with something satisfied.

“I think that was more of a tie.”

Before you could even process it, JJ was already moving. He leaned in behind you, pressing a kiss to the small of your back. It wasn’t sweet. It was slow, deliberate, almost smug.

Then his fingers slipped between your thighs, sliding through the slick mess he left behind. He found your clit instantly, rubbing it like he was trying to wake the nerve endings they’d just burned through.

“Guess we’ll have to sort it out in round two,” he murmured against your skin. “Right, pretty?”

You didn’t get the chance to reply.

His fingers hit that spot with unholy precision. Your body jolted—too sensitive to take it, too desperate to stop.

And in that dizzy, fucked-out haze, a thought settled sharp and quiet in the back of your mind.

You didn’t know when exactly, or how.

But the game had flipped.

You weren’t running it anymore.

They were.

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[anon-188]

currently editing as we speak! hoping to have it posted by saturday at the latest. thank you so much for your patience ♡ sorry for the delay!

also: wc is looking like 4k+ 😭 i may have gotten carried away…

working on a little something…

title: double jeopardy

pairing: ex!jj x f!reader x ex!rafe | genre: smut | wc: tbd

summary: jj. rafe. both your exes. both secretly promised the same thing: win the enduro, win you. but when the race ends in a crash and they show up outside your house, fists clenched and egos bruised, you decide to let them settle it another way…

- posting sometime this week!!

[anon-188]

tradition

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.8k

summary: clark grew up with home videos. you decided to keep the tradition going.

warnings: established relationship, FLUFF, pregnancy themes (bonus), written in headcanon/multiple scenarios style.

- a/n: just a little something while i finish up my other works for the week! thanks for being patient ♡// (gif/photo creds: @olympain)

Clark often shared his childhood memories with you, little moments he held onto with quiet affection. You could tell how much they meant to him, the way his voice softened whenever he mentioned his parents or the farm.

So when he brought up how they used to film home videos—grainy footage, clunky camcorder, someone narrating everything in the background—you got an idea.  

You walked into the kitchen with the camera already rolling. Clark stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled way too good, completely unaware.

“It should be done in a few—” he said, then looked up.

His brows lifted the second he saw the camera pointed at him. A soft laugh slipped out, low and surprised. “What are you doing?”

“Continuing tradition,” you said, grinning as you zoomed in just a little.

“Tradition?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Picking up where your parents left off. Home videos—grown-up edition. We’re seriously lacking in flannel though, but we’ll work on it.”

That made him laugh, full and wide, his head tilting back slightly as it broke out of him.

And you made sure to catch every second of it.

One morning you pulled out the camera, letting it record as you stepped toward Clark’s side of the bed. The sheets were rumpled, his arm draped over the edge, morning light slipping softly through the curtains. His dark hair was a mess against the pillow, sticking up in a few stubborn directions.

He stirred at the sound, squinting one eye open, voice gravelly. “You filming me?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling behind the lens.

A lazy smile tugged at his lips. He let out a low laugh, then shifted toward you, one hand sliding around your waist, hauling you back toward the bed.

“Wait!” you yelped, the camera slipping from your grip as he pulled you on top of him.

You laughed as you landed, tangled in the sheets and in him.

"Morning," he mumbled, pressing you closer to his chest.

“Good morning,” you whispered back. Then you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips—the kind that lingered. Somewhere on the bed, the camera kept rolling, quietly forgotten.

You hit record, camera aimed at the front door just as it opened with a soft creak. You were grinning already, half expecting to catch Clark mid-yawn, tie loosened, maybe muttering something about the coffee machine being slow again.

But the second he stepped inside, your eyes went wide.

“Clark!”

A streak of red and blue flashed across the screen as you gasped and fumbled with the camera, jerking it away just in time. The lens caught nothing but the trailing edge of his cape before it ended on a blur of drywall and your hand, Clark's low chuckle just barely audible in the background.

Of course you filmed the quiet days, the holidays, the special occasions. But Clark caught on quick—noticed how the camera was always pointed at him.

So naturally, he had to fix that.

You were standing in the doorway one night, camera in hand, watching him brush his teeth—shirtless, hair still damp from his shower.

He glanced at you in the mirror, foam at the corners of his mouth, and smiled around the toothbrush.

Without a word, he reached out, tugging you gently toward him. You laughed, stumbling a little as his arm wrapped around you. He took the camera from your hand with ease, flipping it toward the mirror until both of you were in frame.

“You’re supposed to be in these too, you know,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, voice muffled but amused.

You leaned into him, cheeks flushed with laughter, as he gave the camera a crooked little grin.

The camera caught everything—your laugh, the way he rested his chin against your head, the moment he kissed your temple, toothpaste and all.

And when you watch them all back—those quiet, flickering glimpses of a life stitched together with laughter and kisses half caught on film—he never fails to remind you.

Of all his memories, you’re his favorite.

⟢ bonus! 

The camera shakes a little as Clark adjusts it. You’re in the kitchen, one hand resting on your belly, the other reaching for a bowl on the shelf. Still wearing his oversized T-shirt.

He zooms in—softly, slowly.

And then his voice, warm and steady from behind the lens:

“And this one’s for you.”

A pause.

“That’s your mom. She doesn’t know I’m filming right now—she’d probably throw something at me if she did.”

He chuckles under his breath.

“But she sings to you in the mornings. Craves the weirdest food combinations I’ve ever seen. And she already loves you more than anything.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching him—and roll your eyes.

“Clark.”

“Just say hi,” he grins. “It’s for the baby.”

You shake your head, laughing—but your expression softens.

And then your voice drops, quiet and sure.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur to the bump, hand resting gently on your belly.

Then a whisper from behind the camera:

“You and her—my whole world right there.”

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

• tag list: @sophiethelesbian @floufli @yeonalie

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[anon-188]

it’s posted!! 🫶

- so this is love (again)

so this is love

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.7k

summary: a quiet realization, a late-night ache, and the moment johnny finally understands what love is.

warnings: just lots of fluff, emotional intimacy, and soft!johnny.

- there will be a part two to this! enjoy <3

If you ask Johnny, he’ll swear he’s been in love before. Probably more than once. He’s said the words. Meant them, in the moment. Maybe even believed they meant something back.

But none of them ever kept him up at night—just thinking.

Not until tonight.

Which, for the record, was one hundred percent Ben’s fault.

Johnny had been in the middle of telling a story. He thought he was retelling a joke—something funny, light—but somewhere along the way, the punchline got lost. The whole thing turned into a play-by-play of you.

How you laughed before he even finished the joke. How you laughed even harder when he did. How he barely got the last word out because he was too busy watching the way your nose scrunched and your shoulders shook.

Ben didn’t laugh. Instead, he tilted his head and said, “You know you’re in love with her, right?”

Johnny blinked. “What? No, I—what does that even have to do with the joke?”

Ben gave a small, maddening smile. “You tell me.”

Then he walked off, leaving Johnny standing there, mouth half-open and his heart doing something weird he didn’t have a name for.

And that’s what started the internal spiral. Not panicked. Just… processing. Okay—maybe a little panic. But mostly reflection. A quiet kind of unraveling.

Now he was laid out in bed, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers.

He hadn’t gotten a single ounce of sleep. How could he, when he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

Your smile. Your voice.

The way your brow furrows when you’re reading your favorite book—again. Fully invested, like you’re living it for the first time, not the fifteenth. Like the words still surprise you, even though you could probably recite the whole thing from memory if someone dared you.

He felt it then. That quiet little ache in his chest. The one he’d been ignoring. The one that’s been showing up more and more, subtle but persistent, like it had nowhere else to go.

Maybe Ben was onto something…

The next morning felt like any other. At least to you.

But for Johnny, everything had changed.

He showed up at your place a little earlier than usual, something restless pulling at him. You didn’t seem to notice—just smiled when he walked in and offered him coffee like it was any other day.

Now he stood in your kitchen, one hand wrapped around a mug, eyes on you from across the room.

You were curled up on the couch, nose buried in that same worn-out copy of your book. He knew the spine was cracked. Knew the corner of page seventy-six was folded down because you always stopped there when you were too tired to keep going. He almost smiled at that.

Then you reached for your coffee.

Held it with both hands like it was sacred. You took that first sip with your eyes closed, a low hum slipping past your lips. And Johnny—he didn’t even realize he was watching until he caught himself holding his breath.

Waiting for it.

That moment.

That small, familiar thing he’d seen a hundred times before but never really noticed.

And he was like that the rest of the day.

A look here.

Too long of a glance there.

And always, always, that little ache that was getting harder to ignore.

That night in bed, you lay half on top of him, one arm draped across his chest, completely asleep.

Johnny looked at you—not like he had been all day, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice. This was different. Deeper. Still. 

He studied you quietly, eyes tracing the lines of your face as he replayed every small moment between you. The ones filled with laughter, with silence, with comfort. The ones that felt soft. Safe.

He brushed a bit of hair from your face, fingers light and gentle. You stirred a little, nuzzling closer, but didn’t wake.

His chest ached again, but this time he didn’t question it.

Didn’t need to.

A small, helpless smile tugged at his lips.

So this is love.

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

• tag list: open!

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

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- inspo ⬎

[anon-188]

so this is love (again)

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.8k

summary: it started with a feeling he couldn’t name. and then it happened—again.

warnings: fluff!!, established relationship, pregnancy themes, labor and childbirth (non-graphic), soft!johnny.

- so this is love (pt. one)

You stood in front of Johnny, four pregnancy tests clutched in your hands—well, three now, since one had slipped from your grip and landed on the floor with a soft clatter. Your fingers were still trembling, but it wasn’t just nerves. It was him.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. You weren’t even sure he was breathing.

You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay, but then he looked up. Finally.

His eyes were wide, stunned, but they gleamed with something else too. Something brighter. Something only Johnny could manage in a moment like this.

And then he smiled. Full. Blinding. Like the sun had cracked open inside him.

“We’re having a baby,” he said, voice soft, almost in awe.

You nodded, your smile catching up with your heart. “Yeah. We are.”

Then he said it again, louder this time. “We’re having a baby!”

And before you could brace yourself, he wrapped you up in his arms, lifting you slightly off the ground.

You just laughed, clinging to him, your world tilting in the best possible way.

Over the next nine months, Johnny cycled through the every stage of panic and then some. Not because he wasn’t happy—he was. But because he cared so deeply it scared him. You knew it was coming from that deep, quiet ache he never talked about. The part of him that just wanted to get it right.

You saw it in the way he redid the nursery three times.

The first theme “felt too cold,” he said.

The second had “weird vibes.”

And the third?

“What if she doesn’t like it?” he asked, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, worry etched into his brow.

You smiled, already familiar with this version of him.

“Well, she is a baby. And I don’t think she’ll really notice.”

Johnny sighed like that made it worse.

“But I see it,” you said, slipping your hand into his. “And I love it. You should too.”

His gaze finally dropped to yours. And he smiled—soft, grateful. A quiet kind of reset.

There were other moments too. Like the nights when he laid his head on your stomach, talking to the baby. Sometimes it was random facts. Sometimes it was wild, half-true stories that made you roll your eyes and laugh.

But the other times? The ones that left you breathless?

It wasn’t just soft words. It was him telling the baby about you. About how you always knew the right thing to say. How your laugh made things feel lighter. How the baby was lucky to have you—just like he was.

And then there was the first ultrasound.

Johnny didn’t say a word. His fingers tightened around yours as he stared at the screen, his usual smirk replaced by something weightless. Wide-eyed. Awestruck.

He was completely speechless—a first for him.

But that flutter in his chest came back. Quiet. Aching. Familiar.

Then came the day you went into labor. Everything turned to chaos. Johnny was stressed, more scared than he’d ever admit, but he was there. Every second. Every breath. Pacing beside you one minute, gripping your hand the next.

Of course, he asked if you were okay. Then again. And again. No matter how many times you said yes, no matter how calm your voice was, he never fully believed it.

When another contraction tore through you—worse than the one before—you squeezed his hand with everything you had.

He winced but didn’t let go. Watched you grit your teeth, your jaw clenched, breath shallow. He hated it—seeing you like that. Not being able to fix it.

So—God help him—he tried a joke.

Something dumb. Low-hanging. He doesn’t even know what possessed him to say it, but the second it left his mouth, he regretted it. Until he saw the curve of your lips as you let out a laugh. Small. Tired. But real.

Your head tilted in his direction, eyes heavy.

“That was a really bad one,” you said.

“I know.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your hand, gentle and grounding for the both of you.

Then it happened. The final push. That first breath.

Tiny. Loud. Alive.

Johnny froze. Time stilled. Everything in him went quiet except the pounding of his heart. That sound—your daughter’s cry—hit him harder than anything else ever had.

And when he finally held her, a quiet exhale slipped from him, followed by a soft, shaky laugh. His eyes burned at the edges as he looked down at her, wonder written across every part of him.

He reached out, his thumb brushing gently along her cheek. For a second, nothing—then she stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips. And just like that, his heart stumbled.

That ache returned. The same one that had crept in slowly, silently, over days and weeks and months. The one that had been quietly growing with every moment that led to this. And now, with her in his arms, it wrapped around him fully. 

She shifted again, settling closer against his chest.

The feeling inside him only pulled tighter, deeper—but he didn’t question it.

He didn’t need to.

He had been here before.

A warm, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

So this is love, he thought.

Again.

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

• tag list: open!

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

- inspo ⬎

[anon-188]

⟢ IN PLAIN SIGHT | 003. the rumor

pairing: bsf!clark kent x f!reader | series m.list

series summary: you’re in love with superman. clark’s in love with you. the only problem? you think they’re two different people.

warnings: emotional tension, soft angst.

You were already seated when you saw Clark walk in—hair tousled, messenger bag slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning the café like he wasn’t walking into the same place you’d been meeting at every week for years.

Just as he approached, you slid his coffee across the table.

“You’re late,” you said, though the curve of your mouth made it anything but serious.

Clark huffed out a quiet laugh as he dropped his bag beside the chair and sank into it. “By two minutes.”

“Two dangerous, coffee-deprived minutes,” you said, lifting your cup. 

He smiled as he took a sip of his own. That’s when you leaned in, eyes lighting up, voice just a little too casual to be innocent.

“So.”

His fingers tightened just a little around the cup as he lowered it from his lips. He already knew what was coming—could hear it in the rhythm of your breathing, in the soft stutter of your heartbeat picking up.

“So?” he echoed, trying to keep the usual ease in his tone.

“I read your article,” you said, grinning now.

Clark tilted his head, smirking. “The zoning board meeting? Didn’t realize city infrastructure was your thing.”

You nodded solemnly. “Especially the part about widening crosswalks. Riveting stuff.”

He gave you a flat look in response. 

You gave it right back, eyebrows raised.

“You know which one I’m talking about.”

“Oh!” he said, snapping his fingers dramatically. “The school taxes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile grew wider.

“The Superman one.”

His mouth twitched, like the grin wanted to fall but couldn’t.

“Right. That one.”

The one he published barely two hours ago.

“I read it on the walk here,” you said, sipping your coffee. “Twice, actually.”

Clark froze for a second, clearly thrown. “Twice?”

Your lips curved, slow and genuine. “It was really good. You outdid yourself.”

And he could tell—you meant it. He knew you weren’t just being nice. But he also knew why it hit so hard. Who you were really thinking about when you said it. 

That was the part that landed too deep.

He leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat. “And?” he asked, drawing it out with a playful lilt that didn’t quite hide the tension in his eyes.

“And…” you repeated, stalling a bit. Then you rushed ahead, voice quick. “I’ve got questions. Two or three. Okay—maybe four if you count the boots thing.”

“Just ask,” he said. The words came out dry, restrained. He added a shrug, like that might make it feel easier than it was.

You paused. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He forced a smile, lifting his cup to mask it. “Fire away.”

So you did. 

You dove right in, questions spilling out one after the next—some logical, sure. Sensible. The kind any curious person might ask. But most of them?

Most circled around one thing: Clark’s proximity to Superman.

You wanted to know if Superman ever made jokes during interviews. If his boots squeaked when he walked or if he was actually just that graceful. You asked if he ever had bad hair days or if the wind just conveniently cooperated. You wondered—without shame—if Clark ever got nervous around him. If he could tell when Superman was genuinely smiling or just being polite for the cameras.

Each question somehow came quicker than the last, each chasing the one before it. And he answered them all—well, except the one about whether Superman uses product in his hair. That one earned a conveniently timed sip of coffee and nothing more.

After your twelfth question, he thought you were finally satisfied.

Then—

“Oh, by the way,” you said, pausing with your drink in hand. “Apparently there’s a new rumor about him going around.”

He straightened in his seat—a subtle shift, one you didn’t catch right away. “About Superman?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “There’s this whole theory that he, like, causes danger on purpose so he can save people.”

His brows pulled together, slow and hard.

“Yeah,” you continued. “Like that apartment fire last week? Some people think he set it himself—just so he could come flying in to fix it.”

You opened your mouth to say more, but Clark beat you to it.

“That’s not—” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “He wouldn’t do that.”

You blinked, confused. Clark never interrupted you. And definitely not with that edge in his voice.

“He doesn’t make things worse just to feel important. That’s not who he is.”

“Yeah—” you started, a faint, reassuring smile forming.

But he kept going.

“You really think he’d do that?” He asked, more clipped now. “Put people in danger just to feel useful?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

“He’s not that selfish.”

Then he leaned forward again, the storm in his eyes flaring hotter than before.

“He saves people because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, quick and certain. 

“That’s the whole point.”

You studied him—his eyes, his posture, the way his glasses slightly shifted when his jaw tensed.

It made your next words come a little softer.

You nodded, slower this time. “Yeah. No, I agree,” you said, the warmth in your voice doing what your smile had tried to—ease whatever he wasn’t saying.

It wasn’t until then that Clark exhaled—quiet and controlled, like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath in the first place.

“That’s actually what I was going to say,” you added gently. “I don’t think he’s the kind of person who could do something like that.”

Your eyes drifted down to your empty coffee cup, thumb tracing the rim absently.

“If anything,” you murmured, “he probably forgets how to put himself first.”

When your eyes lifted back to his, Clark was already looking at you. The tension in his expression had softened, that crease between his brows had started to fade.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat lightly. “That’s—uh… yeah. That’s what I was trying to say.”

The edge in his voice from earlier had smoothed out, but he still looked a little… off. Not wrong, exactly. Just out of sync. Like he was trying to find his footing again.

You let the silence settle for a moment, then leaned back with a half-grin—the kind you knew he couldn’t resist. If something had cracked the mood, you’d fix it the only way you knew how.

“Quick question,” you said, like it just hit you. “Do you actually read zoning reports for fun, or was that article a cry for help?”

Clark paused, then a slow smile started to form—hesitant, like he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

But it broke anyway.

He laughed, and this time it felt real. The kind of laugh that came from somewhere easy.

You watched him, the corners of your mouth lifting, as he followed it up with a quick-witted comeback—the conversation slipping back into the familiar rhythm you both knew by heart.

Though the moment passed, part of you stayed caught on the one before it—the way he’d snapped, the sharpness in his voice when he did.

Clark wasn’t usually like that. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten that worked up about anything.

It made you wonder if something had shifted.

But what lingered longer than the quiet weight of not knowing was the sinking feeling that, for the first time—

You weren’t so sure he’d tell you if it had.

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

- a/n: i really enjoyed writing this one—hope you guys like it! again, thank you so much for the support and feedback! i really appreciate it <3

• tag list: @wiispyluvhayden @otakusimp1 @boogiemansbitch @buckturd @clarksweetheart @officialcaptain @sophiethelesbian @yeonalie @floufli @bragiarts @or-was-it-just-a-dream @cypherpt5fttaehyung @chuiisi @eternalsams @taurtel @macbaetwo @livbonnet @animegamerfox

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[anon-188]

thank you so much for mentioning me!!! 🤍✨

clark kent / superman (2025)

fanfic recommendations pt.1

off the record by @sc3ptre

a healing touch by @sc3ptre

starved by @anon-188

syrupy sweet by @barnesonfilm

honey by @miedei

clark kent who… by @diorchids

clark kent is a munch by @daithedune

love me harder by @makeyoumine69

boyfriend headcanons by @daithedune

but he doesn’t like me, does he? by @sillyswriting

the space between friends by @hearts4hughes

clark kent’s love language by @ilyasorokinn

take the edge off by @diorchids

tease by @preciousbrat

stop avoiding me by @killishin

home (is you) by @jordiemeow

a bad idea by @spideyhexx

a lesson in trust falling by @swordgrace

clark kent is big… by @cicobuffs

smile by @ggclarissa

love language by @diorchids

behind closed curtains by @texassmashmyass

morning flight by @krunchkrunch

[anon-188]

hi guys! just a quick update—i know i have a few fics in the queue this week and i am still working on all of them, but i’m running a little behind!

turns out i’m actually pretty allergic to walnuts 😭 i’d been snacking on them all week (like handfuls at a time) and it was fine. yesterday, however, i was eating them and suddenly started feeling weird… then had a full reaction. so i’m still recovering a bit today.

i’m mostly focusing on editing + revisions for now, so there will still be content coming—it just might not be in the order some were hoping for.

thank you so much for your patience and understanding 🤍

[anon-188]

this is the nicest thing ever omg 😭 thank you for taking the time to say this!! i appreciate it so so much 🥹🩷

space talk

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.6k

summary: johnny storm loves to talk—that’s no secret. but when he talks about space, something changes. it’s softer. quieter. and that shift? that's exactly what pulls you in even more.

warnings: established relationship, soft!johnny, kissing, emotional intimacy.

a/n: i tried to refrain from adding another character to the roster. i did. but i love him 😭 (saw the movie friday morning. so what, i made it all of 4 days? lmao.) i hope you enjoy ♡

Johnny’s passionate about a lot of things—fast cars, bad decisions, even worse jokes, and, surprisingly, Lucky Charms. (That one caught you off guard at first, but you’ve learned to accept it.)

It doesn’t matter what he’s talking about. He brings all of himself to it—hands moving, voice rising with excitement, laughter breaking through like sparks.

He’s loud, expressive, impossible not to watch.

Space, however, is the exception.

When it comes up, something in him shifts. His words come softer, lower. Like they’re too heavy to throw around the way he usually does. There’s still fire behind them, burning with that same intensity… just quieter.

You never interrupt. You just watch him. The way his fingers twitch like he’s tracing constellations midair. There’s a look in his eyes—part wonder, part ache—and it hits you in the chest every time.

You’ve always loved the way he talks.

But this?

This is something else entirely.

It’s become a quiet kind of routine: your body stretched across his, cheek resting on his shoulder, one hand tucked beneath your chin, the other pressed gently against his side. Just close enough to feel the steady heat of him.

And he keeps talking.

Not like he’s performing—just thinking out loud, letting his mind wander from launch mechanics to how weightlessness felt, then to the way sound works differently in space. His voice never falters. It’s smooth, measured, a gentle sort of reverence threaded through every word.

You lose track of the actual facts after a while. Something about pressure suits and magnetic boots. But you don’t stop listening. Not really.

You’re too caught up in the way his mouth moves, the way his lips curve around words like “orbital decay” and “solar flare.” Most of all, it’s the way his eyes soften when he talks about stars like he’s still floating among them.

The way he strings it all together shouldn’t work—a burned glove, solar winds, the way Earth looked from orbit. But with him it does. It always does. 

And he notices. The way your gaze lingers. The quiet focus. The subtle tilt of your head, like you’re trying to memorize every part of him in this exact moment.

Normally, he lets you be. Just soaks it in.

But not this time.

Johnny's voice dips, low and teasing as his eyes flick to yours. “What?”

You blink slowly, lips curling as you play it off. “Nothing.”

His grin curves up, cocky as hell. “You’ve got that look again.”

You arch a brow. “What look?”

“Like I’m saying something brilliant.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping even lower. “Or like you’re about to kiss me.”

You hum, fingertips brushing his ribs. “I just like hearing you talk.”

“Yeah?” he asks, lips already edging toward a smirk.

Your mouth finds that warm spot just below his jaw, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Then you shift, just slightly lifting from where you’d been resting on his shoulder. It’s subtle, easy, but enough for your face to tilt up toward his. Enough to kiss him properly.

You start soft, your lips grazing the smile he hasn’t bothered to hide.

He kisses you back like he means it—slow burn, no rush—then murmurs against your mouth.

“Oh, I get it. You like it like it.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Shut up.”

And he does—but only because you kiss him again. And again.

This time, he deepens it, no warning, no hesitation. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. Whatever comeback he had dies on his tongue, lost in the way you kiss him—deep and certain, like you already know he’ll chase it.

He exhales through his nose, like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. And then he kisses you even harder.

Turns out, that’s something Johnny’s passionate about too—

You.

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

• tag list: open!

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[anon-188]

thank you for the mention!! 🥹🤍

Clark Kent - Superman Fic Recs

⭒ in honour of me finally seeing the movie

07/30/2025

Three Lies and Half a Truth by @fluentmoviequoter

You and Clark get into an argument about who should complete a last-minute assignment from Perry. To settle it, you interrogate one another. During your questioning, you accidentally discover Clark's biggest secrets.

clark kent’s love language  by @ilyasorokinn

clark thinks his love language is to keep you safe. he likes to check in on you every once in a while during the day. one afternoon, his daily check-in’s prove to be necessary.

LOVESICK by @hearts4hughes

yearning!clark kent x journalist!reader

TOLD YOU SO by @/hearts4hughes

the whole truth by @leaveonthelight

when Clark’s glasses fall off at work, you learn the truth

chewing gum by @indouloureux

a lot of things can kill you: a burglary, a building falling on top of you, and clark kent’s personal vendetta– cigarettes.

some “Clark Kent who” thoughts by @404superman

𝑀𝑦 𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑜  by @jungkooklover777

an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

Kansas by @anon-188

clark tells you everything, but there’s just one thing you can’t get past.

‘til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours by @alwritey-aphrodite

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 by @multi-fandom-imagine

baby, it’s you!! By @bodhiscurls

clark kent finally works up the courage to ask you to dinner; only to run behind on work with lois and completely stand you up. it's fine, you're three glasses of wine in and ready to rant at your friend lois' door, only to find the cause of tonight's rage sitting there on her sofa. now, clark has to find a way to tell you the truth; that this is all a misunderstanding and it's only ever been you. it will always be you.

Starboy by @buckysfaveplum

recovering from kryptonite poisoning back home in Kansas leaves your relationship with Clark a bit confused. you’ve always been his rock- his best friend. but now, back on the farm, maybe there was always something more

Dating Clark Kent HCs by @lacy-oh-lacy

Nice Try, Kent by @y4-mama

You’re the only one in the newsroom who isn’t fooled by Clark Kent’s glasses — and you’re tired of pretending. A late-night confrontation turns into something a lot more complicated when your favorite frenemy stops hiding

he’s all that. By @fawnindawn

as a reporter of the daily planet, you haven’t been shy of your dislike for superman. clark is desperate to prove to you how superman, and by extension, him, is not as bad as you think.

LITTLE THINGS ABOUT CLARK by @blushhbambi

can’t stop thinking about clark realizing you’re pregnant before you even had a clue….. By @kindnessistherealpunkrock

clingy clark by @plaidcowboy

after insecurely taking advice from jimmy and spending hours online, clark distances himself from you. scared he might’ve overwhelmed you with his clinginess. all for a crying clark to come back home to you.

Sunday in Smallville by @octraiin

Your boyfriend, Clark Kent, brings you home to Smallville to meet his parents.

Gravity always pulls me to you by @yoxiaogi

after months of flirting he finally had enough

Recs

⋆˙⟡ clark kent/superman fic recs ⋆˙⟡ by @lianmendes

clark kent recs by @kaylasficrecs

[anon-188]

so this is love

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.7k

summary: a quiet realization, a late-night ache, and the moment johnny finally understands what love is.

warnings: just lots of fluff, emotional intimacy, and soft!johnny.

- so this is love (again)

If you ask Johnny, he’ll swear he’s been in love before. Probably more than once. He’s said the words. Meant them, in the moment. Maybe even believed they meant something back.

But none of them ever kept him up at night—just thinking.

Not until tonight.

Which, for the record, was one hundred percent Ben’s fault.

Johnny had been in the middle of telling a story. He thought he was retelling a joke—something funny, light—but somewhere along the way, the punchline got lost. The whole thing turned into a play-by-play of you.

How you laughed before he even finished the joke. How you laughed even harder when he did. How he barely got the last word out because he was too busy watching the way your nose scrunched and your shoulders shook.

Ben didn’t laugh. Instead, he tilted his head and said, “You know you’re in love with her, right?”

Johnny blinked. “What? No, I—what does that even have to do with the joke?”

Ben gave a small, maddening smile. “You tell me.”

Then he walked off, leaving Johnny standing there, mouth half-open and his heart doing something weird he didn’t have a name for.

And that’s what started the internal spiral. Not panicked. Just… processing. Okay—maybe a little panic. But mostly reflection. A quiet kind of unraveling.

Now he was laid out in bed, staring at the ceiling like it owed him answers.

He hadn’t gotten a single ounce of sleep. How could he, when he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

Your smile. Your voice.

The way your brow furrows when you’re reading your favorite book—again. Fully invested, like you’re living it for the first time, not the fifteenth. Like the words still surprise you, even though you could probably recite the whole thing from memory if someone dared you.

He felt it then. That quiet little ache in his chest. The one he’d been ignoring. The one that’s been showing up more and more, subtle but persistent, like it had nowhere else to go.

Maybe Ben was onto something…

The next morning felt like any other. At least to you.

But for Johnny, everything had changed.

He showed up at your place a little earlier than usual, something restless pulling at him. You didn’t seem to notice—just smiled when he walked in and offered him coffee like it was any other day.

Now he stood in your kitchen, one hand wrapped around a mug, eyes on you from across the room.

You were curled up on the couch, nose buried in that same worn-out copy of your book. He knew the spine was cracked. Knew the corner of page seventy-six was folded down because you always stopped there when you were too tired to keep going. He almost smiled at that.

Then you reached for your coffee.

Held it with both hands like it was sacred. You took that first sip with your eyes closed, a low hum slipping past your lips. And Johnny—he didn’t even realize he was watching until he caught himself holding his breath.

Waiting for it.

That moment.

That small, familiar thing he’d seen a hundred times before but never really noticed.

And he was like that the rest of the day.

A look here.

Too long of a glance there.

And always, always, that little ache that was getting harder to ignore.

That night in bed, you lay half on top of him, one arm draped across his chest, completely asleep.

Johnny looked at you—not like he had been all day, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice. This was different. Deeper. Still. 

He studied you quietly, eyes tracing the lines of your face as he replayed every small moment between you. The ones filled with laughter, with silence, with comfort. The ones that felt soft. Safe.

He brushed a bit of hair from your face, fingers light and gentle. You stirred a little, nuzzling closer, but didn’t wake.

His chest ached again, but this time he didn’t question it.

Didn’t need to.

A small, helpless smile tugged at his lips.

So this is love.

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

• tag list: open!

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

- inspo ⬎

[anon-188]

space talk

pairing: johnny storm x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.6k

summary: johnny storm loves to talk—that’s no secret. but when he talks about space, something changes. it’s softer. quieter. and that shift? that's exactly what pulls you in even more.

warnings: established relationship, soft!johnny, kissing, emotional intimacy.

a/n: i tried to refrain from adding another character to the roster. i did. but i love him 😭 (saw the movie friday morning. so what, i made it all of 4 days? lmao.) i hope you enjoy ♡

Johnny’s passionate about a lot of things—fast cars, bad decisions, even worse jokes, and, surprisingly, Lucky Charms. (That one caught you off guard at first, but you’ve learned to accept it.)

It doesn’t matter what he’s talking about. He brings all of himself to it—hands moving, voice rising with excitement, laughter breaking through like sparks.

He’s loud, expressive, impossible not to watch.

Space, however, is the exception.

When it comes up, something in him shifts. His words come softer, lower. Like they’re too heavy to throw around the way he usually does. There’s still fire behind them, burning with that same intensity… just quieter.

You never interrupt. You just watch him. The way his fingers twitch like he’s tracing constellations midair. There’s a look in his eyes—part wonder, part ache—and it hits you in the chest every time.

You’ve always loved the way he talks.

But this?

This is something else entirely.

It’s become a quiet kind of routine: your body stretched across his, cheek resting on his shoulder, one hand tucked beneath your chin, the other pressed gently against his side. Just close enough to feel the steady heat of him.

And he keeps talking.

Not like he’s performing—just thinking out loud, letting his mind wander from launch mechanics to how weightlessness felt, then to the way sound works differently in space. His voice never falters. It’s smooth, measured, a gentle sort of reverence threaded through every word.

You lose track of the actual facts after a while. Something about pressure suits and magnetic boots. But you don’t stop listening. Not really.

You’re too caught up in the way his mouth moves, the way his lips curve around words like “orbital decay” and “solar flare.” Most of all, it’s the way his eyes soften when he talks about stars like he’s still floating among them.

The way he strings it all together shouldn’t work—a burned glove, solar winds, the way Earth looked from orbit. But with him it does. It always does. 

And he notices. The way your gaze lingers. The quiet focus. The subtle tilt of your head, like you’re trying to memorize every part of him in this exact moment.

Normally, he lets you be. Just soaks it in.

But not this time.

Johnny's voice dips, low and teasing as his eyes flick to yours. “What?”

You blink slowly, lips curling as you play it off. “Nothing.”

His grin curves up, cocky as hell. “You’ve got that look again.”

You arch a brow. “What look?”

“Like I’m saying something brilliant.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping even lower. “Or like you’re about to kiss me.”

You hum, fingertips brushing his ribs. “I just like hearing you talk.”

“Yeah?” he asks, lips already edging toward a smirk.

Your mouth finds that warm spot just below his jaw, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Then you shift, just slightly lifting from where you’d been resting on his shoulder. It’s subtle, easy, but enough for your face to tilt up toward his. Enough to kiss him properly.

You start soft, your lips grazing the smile he hasn’t bothered to hide.

He kisses you back like he means it—slow burn, no rush—then murmurs against your mouth.

“Oh, I get it. You like it like it.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Shut up.”

And he does—but only because you kiss him again. And again.

This time, he deepens it, no warning, no hesitation. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. Whatever comeback he had dies on his tongue, lost in the way you kiss him—deep and certain, like you already know he’ll chase it.

He exhales through his nose, like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. And then he kisses you even harder.

Turns out, that’s something Johnny’s passionate about too—

You.

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

• tag list: open!

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[anon-188]

having a dcu fixation and a (revived) mcu fixation at the same time just might be the death of me.

#clark kent x johnny storm x me

[anon-188]

Hiii.. I'm sorry for asking as anon but how would you see reader finding out what AJ does for living? Would it be angsty? Would it be in middle of action? Would it be simple conversation?

no need to apologize! 🤍

honestly... i see it being angsty. and not just "hurt feelings" angsty—i mean worst possible way angsty.

maybe it's a job gone wrong. maybe someone tells her before AJ ever gets the chance. maybe it's not just what he does, but how long he's been lying about it.

definitely not a simple conversation and definitely not something she gets over easily.

my favorite scenario? she finds out during a job. like mid-heist, full mask, guns drawn—AJ didn’t think there was a chance she’d be anywhere near it. but she’s there.

and she knows.

she recognizes his voice—maybe he’s shouting commands. or maybe it’s the way his eyes lock on hers through the mask. it hits her like lightning. like betrayal in real time.

and he sees it. he sees the exact second she figures it out.

the aftermath of that??? OH MY GOD.

- feel free to send in more questions! i loved answering this :)

(also: so sorry it took me forever answer this, i literally didn’t see it until now 😭 it was a really good question—thank you for asking!!)

[anon-188]

working on a little something…

title: double jeopardy

pairing: ex!jj x f!reader x ex!rafe | genre: smut | wc: tbd

summary: jj. rafe. both your exes. both secretly promised the same thing: win the enduro, win you. but when the race ends in a crash and they show up outside your house, fists clenched and egos bruised, you decide to let them settle it another way…

- posting sometime this week!!

[anon-188]

⟢ IN PLAIN SIGHT | 002. the sketch

pairing: bsf!clark kent x f!reader | series m.list

series summary: you’re in love with superman. clark’s in love with you. the only problem? you think they’re two different people.

warnings: emotional tension, pining, soft angst.

Today was one of those days—the kind that started bad and kept getting worse.

Your alarm didn’t go off? Check.

Cold shower because someone in your building managed to bust another pipe? Check.

Late to work? Obviously.

And to top it off, when you finally made it in, the office coffee machine—the one dependable lifeline you had—was “under maintenance. 

Which, judging by the handwritten sign and the actual smoke coming out of it, was code for broken beyond repair.

You groaned then.

And probably ten more times after that.

By the time lunch rolled around, you’d decided the day was officially a lost cause. You slumped at your desk, half-heartedly finishing tasks while venting to Emily, your go-to work friend, about the morning’s disasters.

“Honestly, I’m one inconvenience away from throwing my laptop out the window,” you muttered, twirling your pen over the edge of your notebook.

Emily leaned over your shoulder, peeking without warning. “You’ve been drawing for the past hour,” she teased. “Is that supposed to be…?”

You snapped the notebook shut before she could finish, nearly dropping your pen in the process. “Creative stress relief,” you said quickly.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but you weren’t eager to explain it either. 

Your phone buzzed on your desk and reached for it automatically, expecting an email—maybe another crisis.

Instead:

Clark: Movie night? I was thinking popcorn and something dumb. You in?

You blinked, then smiled. 

The timing was suspiciously perfect—but that was Clark.

Always knowing. Always showing up right when you needed him most. You’d once called it his superpower. He’d just smiled like he didn’t know what to do with that.

You: Yes. Desperately in.

You: Also dibs on the blanket this time.

Clark: Pretty sure it’s been yours since 2021, but sure. Dibs noted.

You laughed quietly to yourself before setting your phone back down, the weight of the day easing just a little. It didn’t fix everything, but it gave you something to look forward to. 

You finished your work day—not without complaint—but you did it. And true to form, Clark showed up that evening with a bottle of cheap wine and even cheaper snacks. You barely glanced at the labels. Didn’t need to. It was the perfect bad day combo, and he knew it.

You’d already had the movie picked out in your head hours earlier. Something comfortingly terrible. Just enough plot to follow, just enough chaos to distract. You clicked play and settled in. 

When it came to bad days, movie nights always helped—therapeutic in their own way. But the real reset? That was Clark. He just had this way of grounding a room without even trying. Quiet. Present.

Tonight, he refilled the snacks without being asked. Topped off your wine glass before it ever got too low. Laughed when you needed it, stayed quiet when you didn’t.

It's just who he was—the kind of friend who showed up without needing a reason. A good friend. The best.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know that?” you said, lifting your wine glass to your lips, letting your head tip back against the couch.

Clark stood, brushing crumbs from his hands with that familiar, low-lift smile. “Yeah. I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“Well, it’s true.” Your voice lifted with a teasing lilt as you watched him walk toward the kitchen. “Superman might have some competition.”

He let out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but wasn’t just a breath either. Somewhere in between.

“Right.”

He rounded the corner into the kitchen, calling out, “Hey, do you want the salty popcorn or—”

He paused mid-sentence. A beat of silence followed before he stepped back into the living room.

Clark was holding a piece of paper, brows lifted in mild curiosity. “What’s this?”

He held it up between two fingers, the corner slightly bent. 

Your stomach dipped. You recognized it immediately. 

It was your sketch. The half-finished drawing of Superman you’d scribbled earlier, back when your brain refused to focus on anything work-related. The same one you were sure you’d tucked between notebook pages and buried beneath a stack of papers.

“Oh—uh,” you stumbled, setting your glass down faster than intended. “That’s nothing. Just something I drew at work today. I was bored.”

Clark glanced down at it again, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Pretty good for being nothing.”

You shrugged, watching the way his fingers held the paper, careful not to smudge it.

He was quiet, but not in a weird way. Just… Clark quiet. Thoughtful.

“You even got his eyes right,” he added after a moment. “Like… perfectly.”

Your stomach did that dip again, but slower this time. 

“Yeah, I guess,” you said with a small laugh, brushing hair behind your ear. “I’ve always thought they kind of looked a little like yours.”

The words came out too easily. Too naturally. You felt it the second they landed.

You shifted in your seat, your face warming as you rushed to clarify. “I mean the shape. And maybe the color. A little.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at the sketch like he was studying it.

The silence got awkward fast. So you did what you do best: deflect.

“Funny enough, Emily saw it and said it looked a bit like you.” Your voice picked up speed, the grin on your face a little too wide, a little too bright. 

That’s when he looked up—eyes catching yours over the edge of his glasses.

“And what do you think?” he asked, voice low, gaze steady.

You held it for a second longer than you meant to. Then shook your head, smiling like it was obvious.

Like it didn’t matter.

“I don’t see it,” you said. “Not really.”

Clark gave a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching like something almost surfaced—but didn’t.

“Yeah. Me neither.” His voice was soft. Unreadable.

He set the sketch down carefully on the coffee table, fingertips gentle on the edge of the page, before turning back toward the kitchen.

“Which popcorn did you want again?” he called over his shoulder. “Extra butter?”

You didn’t answer right away, your focus stuck on the drawing—on the curve of the jaw, on the eyes you suddenly weren’t so sure didn’t belong to someone else.

“Yeah,” you said finally, a slight furrow in your brow betraying your thoughts.

“Extra butter’s good.”

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

a/n: just wanted to say thank you so much for all the love and support on this series—it really means the world to me!! <3

• tag list: @wiispyluvhayden @otakusimp1 @boogiemansbitch @buckturd @clarksweetheart @officialcaptain @sophiethelesbian @yeonalie @floufli @bragiarts @or-was-it-just-a-dream

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

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[anon-188]

thank you for the mention!! <3 i appreciate it so much 😭🫶

ᯓ★ clark kent - superman

𝜗𝜚 masterlist • dc • 07/27/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs three II one I two II gif credit - @/junkfoodcinemas

here are some clark kent stories i’ve read, loved, and reblogged. all the admiration for the writers who share their talent so generously. please be sure to read the warnings on each fic. and if you enjoy them, let the author know by a comment, reblog, or both! ♡

ᝰ.ᐟ key: A- angst I F- fluff I S- smut I C- comfort I HC- hurt/comfort I ~S- implied smut I

ꨄ︎ immune I @ggclarissa I F

in which your psychic abilities work on everyone except clark kent — and the more you try to figure it out, the more everything starts to make sense.

ꨄ︎ love, meteors, and clark kent’s accidental flight I @stevebabey I F

Working at the Daily Planet, you - like everyone with eyes - are particularly enamoured with Clark Kent. A meteor and a spilled secret later, he shows you just how enamoured with you he is.

ꨄ︎ you are in love I @auroralwriting I F

clark kent had always been a good friend to you at the daily planet—but as the two of you fall head over heels for each other, you can’t help but notice the striking similarities between him and superman

ꨄ︎ hope I @toxicflowergirl I A + F

Clark saves you.

ꨄ︎ in every universe I @bellasweetwriting I F

keeping a relationship a secret is never easy, specially when two people really love each other, and specially when one… loses their memory.

ꨄ︎ hair falling into place like dominos I @alwritey-aphrodite I F

ꨄ︎ made you blush I @hoult-nicholas I F

ꨄ︎ kryptonite poisoning I @kindnessistherealpunkrock I F

ꨄ︎ drabble I @skeltnwrites I F

even when you throw yourself into danger clark can't stay mad at you

ꨄ︎ to whom it may concern I @cursedheartsclub I F + S

You start getting anonymous love notes at the Daily Planet—soft, sincere, impossibly romantic. You fall for the words first, then realize they sound a lot like Clark Kent. And just when the truth begins to unravel, you start to suspect he might be more than just the writer… he might be Superman himself.

ꨄ︎ soulmate imagine I @kirietown I S

ꨄ︎ play pretend I @bloatedandalone04 I S

Once the work day is done, you and Clark are free to be just that - You and Clark. That means you get spontaneous visits and dinner made for you, and Clark gets all he will ever need. You.

ꨄ︎ soup deliveries I @starluved I F

You don't come to work for a while, Clark worries about you and brings you soup.

ꨄ︎ pet I @honeybunnyale I S + A

Had Clark seen the second half of the transmission... 

ꨄ︎ to trust and trust till you can no longer bear it I @heartburriedinvenice I A + F

in which you vowed to never let anyone into your life anymore until one day you met clark kent. and now you wonder if maybe that was all a big mistake.

ꨄ︎ you’re a witch I @maikorian I F

Clark didn’t expect his girlfriend to be the newest hero in Metropolis. The red witch.

ꨄ︎ the other man I @honeypiehotchner I A + F

You think Clark is seeing someone else. That someone? Superman.

ꨄ︎ drabble I @mcrdvcks I F

ꨄ︎ 2 for 1? pt2 I @anonymousfangir1 I S

What if you were seeing both Clark and Superman? And no, you didn't know they were the same person.

ꨄ︎ not our universe I @saltcxrcle I A + F

you've had a complicated relationship with being a metahuman, but after taking a look into the multiverse—you've never hated having your powers more.

ꨄ︎ request I @headkiss I F

ꨄ︎ i got it I @lomlsatoru I HC

you tell clark “i got it.” so many times and he is sick of it.

ꨄ︎ going home/staying home I @softestqueeen I F

while trying a viral trend on your boyfriend clark kent, you realise how much you really mean to him.

ꨄ︎ in case you’re reading this I @hangmanwrites I F + A

You, a hopeless romantic who leaves a note in a library book on a whim, and him, the quiet stranger who writes back signing only as “C.K.” It wasn’t meant to be anything, just a moment, a message, a maybe, but somehow it becomes something more.

ꨄ︎ field trip savior I @caoimhewritesfics I F

Your field trip gets rudely interrupted by another inter-dimensional monster. Superman saves the day and steals your heart

ꨄ︎ order for superman I @illumoria I F

ꨄ︎ slow down pt2 I @ficsbyfrankie I A

y/n has had an obsession with superman for ages. like, in a crush kind of way! lucky for her, her best friend is the best wingman ever.

ꨄ︎ in plain sight I @anon-188 I A + (in progress)

you’re in love with superman. clark’s in love with you. the only problem? you think they’re two different people.

ꨄ︎ swear jar I @hyoer I A + F

Clark is the office goody two-shoes. Can you really make him swear?

ꨄ︎ one-shot I @barnesonfilm I C + ~S

you didn't imagine meeting your boyfriend's parents for the first time would start with you crash landing on their lawn in the middle of the night

ꨄ︎ drabble I @little-miss-dilf-lover I F

clark kent finding out you read superman fanfic

ꨄ︎ i know, i know, i know I @luveline I F

You confess your affections to an unsuspecting Superman, but your best friend Clark can’t know about your crush, okay? You’d die of embarrassment. (Or, Clark falls in love while Superman does most of the wooing.)

ꨄ︎ mysteries of our disguise revolve I @supershithits I A + F + S

you’re just the new intern at the daily planet—anxious, invisible in your books, and falling for the man who, disguised, saves the world between coffee breaks. he could catch the sky if it fell. but for some reason, he keeps choosing to catch you.