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cherryite · 13 days ago

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MY BESTIE POSTED HER FIC U SHOULD ALL READ IF U LIKE CLARK !!!!!

somebody that i used to know

pairing: corenswet!clark kent x !fem reader tags + tw: angst w/ little to no comfort, yearner!clark, jealous!clark (?), no smut, clark is a sweetie and irrevocably in love with you, no use of y/n, not many physical descriptions of reader word count: 1.7k summary: you’re not with him anymore. you’ve moved on. has clark? notes: not proofread, first fic…ever??

That shade of blue looks beautiful on you. The thought crosses his mind before he even thinks to stop it. He runs his hands through his loose black curls, still damp from his shower earlier. Gosh, he shouldn’t be so, so–he doesn’t know what to think.

It’s been a couple months or so, since you had both ended things. Months since he’d seen your soft smile as he woke up in your shared bed, or smelled your shampoo lingering on his shirt that you’d claimed as yours. Months of awkward silences, the slow creeping coldness of a just-ended relationship, avoiding each other in the bullpen, the inevitable awkwardness of bumping into each other in the elevator at the Daily Planet.

There’s an award ceremony today, broadcasted on live TV, and there you are, in a beautifully fitted dark blue blazer. You’re confident in your acceptance, Clark can tell of course. He remembers you practicing your acceptance speech in your bedroom. He’d been leaning against the doorframe, watching you in your too-large shirt, hem brushing the tops of your thighs, barefoot in front of the mirror, smiling and rehearsing over and over. In particular, he remembers the warmth of his fondness, his pride, the deep seated i love you unsaid that night that still burns deep within him.

The journalist standing to your right offers you a dashing grin, white teeth shining in the sunlight, light brown hair curly, but gelled back. But Clark pays him no attention, eyes still glued to your place on the screen. Something deep inside him aches though, when he sees the genuine smile you give in return. A couple of months ago that smile had been reserved for him, the cute dogs you saw on your walks, and anything in Brooklyn 99 that made you laugh.

–

“No, Clark, that isn’t what the Halloween heist is about!” You smile like the sun.

Your bare feet are tucked under his thigh, a soft blanket thrown over the both of you. You’ve been attempting to explain this part of the show for the last 10 minutes, but Clark, in all his innocent lack of pop culture knowledge, doesn’t understand.

He smiles, and his dimples make your heart soften. The tv cast shadows across his face, bathing him in hues of blue, red, yellow. The light catches the sharp line of his nose, and of his jaw, and for a minute, you forget why you were talking at all.

He’s watching you, too. The show is in the back of his mind, keeping track of it only to make you happy. He feels your cold feet tucked against his thigh, but he doesn’t mind, he always runs a few degrees warmer than you do anyways. But all he can think about is how lucky he is to have you. How you now share an apartment, and he’s able to wake up each morning with you soft breaths ghosting across his face. Also, the fact he knows exactly what’s going on in the show but just loves to see you be so passionate about your favorite part of the show.

–

He blinks. The ceremony is still going on, now a quiet hum in the background. The male journalist's arm is around your waist. Clark is angry–no, he’s jealous. He shouldn’t be, gosh, he knows that he shouldn’t be. He knows he wasn’t good enough as a boyfriend for you. All the good moments you shared were overshadowed by the missed dinners, his perpetual lateness, and the final nail in the coffin–missing your 1 year anniversary.

He still remembers the night it all happened. You had been crying, tears running down your face. The sight tore a hole so deep in heart he didn’t know what to do with himself. In those final months he knew he wasn’t enough, call him selfish, but he wanted to hold onto you, his one constant, amidst the mess of his double life. He was drawing it out, and he knew that.

You’d screamed, beat your hands against his chest, and he had let you, hoping praying that this wasn’t the end, though he knew it was.

So it stung. It stung seeing you smiling with another man. He’d known about it, enough to be in denial about it. The bullpen was busy, yes, but not that busy. Clark had heard your laughter at his–what was his name? John? James?–desk as he’d walked by with his cup of coffee. He’d seen you leaned over his shoulder as you two discussed a piece you were working on. He’d seen the soft barely there touches, the quiet whispers, of the relationship the two of you had been trying to keep under wraps. And it hurts. It hurts because he remembers when those soft touches were meant for him, those quiet smiles across the loud bullpen, they were all from you to him, Clark. And now they were his.

–

“Hey, could you–could you maybe take a look at this piece I’m working on?” Clark asks, hands fidgeting at his sides. His glasses have slipped low on his nose, crooked.

You look up from your laptop, cursor blinking on an empty page. You take a sip of your lukewarm coffee. This is the first time Clark’s talked to you directly, since, well, everything went down.

With all the warmth of a campfire long since cold, you respond cordially. “Yeah. What exactly does Perry have you working on?”

For a moment, Clark says nothing. You watch his eyes, even bluer in the light of the bullpen. After knowing each other for so long, you can tell he’s holding something back. What you don’t know is how much it hurts for him. What was once warmth, laughter, and smiles spun into gold have turned into dull blades, steel, and ice masquerading as workplace politeness.

“Yeah,” Clark rubs at the back of his neck, unable to meet your eyes. “Just a piece on the construction of that new mall, downtown.”

You grab the draft from his hand, and pull out a red pen, pen cap sitting between your teeth. Clark leans against the pillar besides your desk. As you read over his article, you can feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your face.

You pass the marked up article back to him.

“Yeah, no, it’s good, you have a lot of good stuff there. I think maybe a couple grammar changes ....” As you ramble on about his article, all Clark can do is watch. He knows his article is good. He put those mistakes in there for you, for you to see, just to have an excuse to see you, to talk to you. Even if it was just as cordial as coworkers.

“Clark? Hello? Are you even listening?”

“Yes, gosh, yes. Sorry.” The tips of Clark’s ears go bright red, the flush beginning to spread to the rest of his face.

A soft sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, those are the changes I’d make. You get all that?”

“Y-yes. Yes. Thank you, really.” He gives you a soft smile, dimples reappearing.

You stand, grabbing your coffee mug. “No problem. Let me know how that goes.”

As Clark watches you walk away, all poise and confidence, something deep within him aches. An ache that grows when he watches James hand you your coat, you grinning a thank you as he slings an arm around your shoulders. Guess you weren’t trying to keep that relationship quiet anymore.

��

Perry’s invited you all to dinner. At a popular Italian place in downtown Metropolis. Clark’s come alone, because of course he has. He only has eyes for you. You’re in a deep, shimmering wine red gown. Thin straps run over your collarbones and shoulders. The color compliments you. It runs down your body like a silken river of merlot.

Jimmy is asking him something, and Clark seems half invested. His eyes stay on you as he laughs animatedly at whatever joke Jimmy made, murmuring a response in return.

You don’t notice of course. Kat is asking you about your weekend. You respond, smiling, as James rubs small circles into your thigh, hand placed there comfortably.

You don’t notice the pain in Clark’s eyes as he watches the love of his life slip beyond his reach. You don’t notice how his blue eyes darken when he notices James’s hand on your thigh. You don’t notice when his smile becomes strained at the thought of you smiling, laughing, cuddling into James.

You only notice when his chair screeches as he abruptly stands and announces that he’s headed to the restroom. You give him a curious glance as he leaves, wondering what’s wrong. You pull your phone out, tapping away at the keyboard.

You okay?

You put it facedown on the table, and not even a second later, a buzz.

Fine. Sorry to make a commotion.

You like the message, turning back to James. You kiss him lightly, and grab his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. Kat continues to talk, and you let yourself melt happily into the ambience, the food, and the music.

In the bathroom, Clark grips his phone, barely there restraint is the only thing keeping him from crushing his phone in his hand.

Maybe he should have just told you. Maybe he should have told you who he was. But he didn’t. And now all he is to you is a small chapter of your life. A bad boyfriend and now an ex. He should be happy, he thinks. You’re happy. James is good for you. He’s on time, he doesn’t miss out on dinners or anniversaries. He’s supportive. He’s not off fighting dimensional imps when he’s meant to be meeting your parents for the first time. He’s not balancing two lives.

He glances at his reflection in the mirror. His curls are a bit damp with sweat. The top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned from when he was worked up over you. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms, veins straining against his skin from the restraint of not crushing the bathroom sink with his bare hands.

He lets go. Tie loose on his neck. You would have fixed that for him, straightened it and re-tied it, once upon a time. But now, he lets go. He lets you go. He leaves the bathroom, and walks quietly back to the table. He smiles at Jimmy’s jokes, and Steve’s bad lines. And the night is over.

He spares one final glance, watching you get into the cab with James. And somewhere, deep in his chest, something shatters.

#clart talk #read my shawtys writing shes my beta reader lololol

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