spoiledprincessbratsblog

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

I love!

Ohh now that I have permission to request, could I request newgirl au rommates!marauders with a reader who is very independent and tries to do and deal with everything on her own. I mean we know how codependent the boys are and I would love to see how they would interact with a reader who is the complete opposite

Thanks for requesting (you never need permission babe haha) !

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms as he leans his hip against the couch to watch you. “Training to leave us for the circus?” 

“Ha ha,” you monotone. Your voice falters slightly as you wobble on the ball of your foot, standing on tiptoe atop a pile of thick books atop a chair in order to reach the uppermost shelf of the bookcase in your sitting room. “Do you guys never clean up here? It’s gross.” 

“Sounds like you’ve just answered your own question,” he says. “Why are you messing with it?” 

“Because,” you strain your reach, running a dusting wand along the shelf and stifling a gasp when your pile of books threatens to tip, “it’s the only empty shelf, and I have stuff to put here.” 

“Shit, babe, can’t your stuff wait a while? Remus will be home soon.” 

“So?” 

“So,” says Sirius, “he’s a tall bloke. He could at least reach up there without so much…peril.”

You make a dismissive noise. “I’ve got it.” 

You overextend your reach a tad, the books leaning precariously. The ball of your foot shuffles a few inches to the left in a semi-frantic instinct to regain your balance, but after a second you have to bail out, hopping down onto the chair and then the ground with a thunk that’s sure to win you favor from your downstairs neighbors. 

“Yeah,” Sirius drawls. “Looks like it.” 

You make a face at him. James comes out of his room as you’re moving the chair a couple feet to the left to climb back up. 

“I can’t decide…uhh…” He watches you ascend with brows drawing together in concern. 

“She won’t be deterred,” Sirius says swiftly. “What can’t you decide?” 

James’ eyes stay stuck on you as you pick up the dusting wand to try again. “I, erm, can’t decide what to have for tea.” 

“You said the other day that you were craving Thai,” Sirius offers. “Order takeaway?” 

Though you’re turned away, you can practically hear the smile enter James’ voice. “Genius. You want in?” 

“Sure. Pad see ew, please.” 

“Got it. What about you?” James asks you.

“No, thanks.” The duster looks suspiciously clean for how far you’ve gotten. You attempt a little hop to see the shelf. “I’ve got leftovers.” 

“Right, okay—god, please don’t do that.” James’ voice pitches when your books sway after another hop. “It’s a long way down the stairs if you break your neck and we have to call 999. Why did you say we can’t stop her?” he asks Sirius. 

“I tried telling her to wait for Remus—” 

“That’s a good idea. Remus is tall, love, let him do it.” 

“—but she wants to do it herself.” 

“Oh.” Similarly to how you could hear James’ smile before, now you can hear the lack of it. “I see. This is like the jar thing?” 

“The jar thing?” Sirius asks with mild interest. 

“Yeah. I found her struggling with a jar of spaghetti sauce the other night” —you roll your eyes; struggling seems a bit superior— “so I tried to help, but she wouldn’t let me. Accidentally shattered the whole thing in the sink trying to get it open.” 

At this point, you can feel both James’ and Sirius’ pointed stares at your back. You keep about your business as though you can’t. 

“We can’t have you breaking bones the way you broke the jar,” says James. “We don’t have liability insurance.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m not totally familiar with how insurance works around here, but I don’t think you need that if you’re not employing me.” 

“Whatever.” Sirius’ voice is dispassionate. “If she wants to break her neck to prove a point, that’s her prerogative.” 

James sounds about to protest, but then you hear the door open. 

“What the fuck?” Remus asks under his breath, as though speaking to no one but himself. “What are you doing up there?” 

“It’s fine,” you insist, though admittedly it takes some willpower to continue dusting when your quietest roommate sounds so horrified. “I’m cleaning.” 

You hear the door shut and the lock click. There’s a papery shuffle as Remus sets down whatever he brought inside. “Why?” he asks, bewildered. 

“Uh, because I don’t want my books on a dusty shelf?” 

“Let me take care of that. Come down from there.” You start turning to give your rebuttal the same as you had to Sirius and James, but before you can Remus’ hands are at your waist. Your balance falters. 

“Careful,” he tsks, his grip on you tightening momentarily. “Step down, one foot at a time.” 

You find that, with his hands on you and his tone so resolute, you have a harder time refusing him. You put your foot down on the chair. 

“There you are.” Remus doesn’t seem inclined to release you until you have both feet on the ground, but he turns to give James and Sirius a look. “You were just going to let her do this by herself?” 

“We tried to tell her,” Sirius defends them. “She won’t have any help, she’d rather smash things.” 

Now Remus turns back to you, bemused. “Smash things?” 

“It was an accident,” you mumble. “I wanted to open my own jar.” 

“You’ve got to let James handle jars, babe,” Sirius tells you sagely. “He needs it, it makes him feel good.” 

James shrugs as though this may or may not be true. 

“Please,” Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, “no smashing anything while I’m away. Jars or bones.” 

“That’s what we were trying to tell her,” James says helpfully. 

You cross your arms, avoiding anyone’s eyes. “Fine.” 

Remus sighs. “Thank you.” He sets a fond hand on the top of your head, and the familiarity of the gesture sends a pleasant warmth all the way down to your toes. You feel a tad less aggrieved. 

“Thank goodness,” says James. “Hey, does this mean I can start opening your jars for you? And you’ll have takeaway with us tonight?” 

Your flatmates all look at you. “Sure,” you relent. “That would be nice, thanks. But I’m not going to start joining you for those bedtime stories you do in Remus’ room every night.” 

“I’m an unwilling participant in those,” Remus protests unconvincingly. 

“You should rethink that one,” Sirius advises you as he sits down on the couch, pulling out his laptop to begin ordering dinner. “We’re reading the Wrinkle in Time series right now; it’s riveting.”

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

It’ll be ok tho

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

the dream

When I find a 10k+ words count, friends to lovers, where he fell first and harder, extra yearning, no smut, fluff + angst fic

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

Big beefy men who are lowkey pathetic for thick women >>> best trope known to man.

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

so in love with your writing!

Baked With Love

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Smallville Clark Kent x popular reader

synopsis: Y/N was the popular girl who wore her heart on her sleeve—for him. But Clark, caught between fear and pride, kept pushing her away… until her absence finally made him realize what he had lost.

wordcount: 3,505

note: 16+ angst to fluff

For most of his college life, Clark Kent had genuinely no idea why you liked him so much. It all began on a very unfortunate afternoon when Lex Luthor introduced you two. Lex had said...

"Clark, this is Y/n. She's a family friend from the city. Be nice."

You were effortlessly intimidating— born in a silverspoon, a wardrobe that looked like it walked straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and a confidence that Clark couldn't even fathom. You were loud, bold, smart-mouthed, and just happened to be jaw-droppingly pretty. Clark tried not to think about it, but he failed miserably.

Clark didn't feel uneasy with you, per se. But you weren't exactly his to pick for "people I'd like to be trapped in a room with." Not because you were mean. No, you were actually weirdly nice. You just had this energy. An unshakable presence that made Clark, the most powerful being on Earth, feel like an awkward schoolboy with sweaty palms.

One day, you popped in the barn, saying something about "needing fresh country air." Then the next week, you were lounging in his loft like you owned it, flipping through one of his books like you weren't just sitting in the sacred space of solitude he thought only he and Lana would occupy. Then there was the time you baked cookies and just showed up at the Kent kitchen, and Clark genuinely thought Martha had invited you. She didn't.

It was like you were on a personal mission to infiltrate every square inch of his life— and you were doing it so casually that no one really questioned it. Not even Clark.

Until Pete started teasing.

"Hey, look. Your girlfriend's here."

Clark would turn with a flush in his ears. "She's not my—"

But Pete was already laughing.

Even Chloe had chimed in. "You know, Y/n's got her sights on you, right? Like a missle. Might as well surrender."

Clark had no response to that. Mainly because he had just run into you in the hallway and accidentally inhaled whatever perfume you were wearing, which now lived permanently in his brain.

You'd greet him like it was the most natural thing in the world— "Hey, Clarkie." With that little smug grin like you knew you made him nervous. And maybe you did. Okay. Fine. You definitely did.

But to be honest, Clark didn't find any of it funny anymore.

Sure, despite being one of the popular girls on campus, you never acted like it. You were popular, yeah, but not in the usual sense— people gravitated towards you because you had personality. You were brilliant in class, always raising your hand with the kind of answers that made instructors nod like proud parents. You were involved in different university organizations, and somehow, you still made the President's List every semester like it was no big deal.

Basically, you were the kind of girl that many people admire. And yet, somehow, you had decided to direct that same energy to Clark. And it wasn't subtle, either.

You brought him snacks. You had saved him a seat in the library. You texted him stupid memes at night. You even helped him with his Physics project once— and looked good doing it, too, in that annoyingly cute shirt and eyeglasses.

But Clark had brushed it all off. It's not like he didn't find you attractive. He did. Painfully so.

You were a lightning in a bottle— vibrant, driven, and bold. And he was just... Clark. The farm boy with secrets a size of a planet, who spent most of his nights chasing off meteoric weirdos and hiding his abilities from half the people in this town.

You deserved someone normal. Someone who wasn't still half-tangled in the heartbreak that was Lana Lang.

You arrived at the Kent farm with a basket in hand, your smile as sweet as the scent of the freshly baked pastries you brought.

"Oh, Y/n. You always bring something so delightful." Martha beamed, ushering you in.

Clark, leaning against the barn wall, tried not to stare. You were just... too much. Too pretty, too kind, too good to be real. His mom always looked at you with sparkling eyes, and Jonathan always seemed to feel the same way.

When the two of you were finally alone, you turned to him, hopeful.

"So... you free this Saturday?" You asked casually, hopping to sit on a slab of wood. "It's my birthday. Lex is hosting something in his house. Nothing too crazy, just a small thing. A few people, food, music. Chloe and Pete are also invited. I was hoping you could come?"

Clark looked up from the hay he was pretending to be interested in. Your eyes were soft, curious, and earnest. He hated it.

"I... uh, I might be busy. Football stuff. The season's picking up, and my parents are going to be out of town this weekend. I'll probably be covering some chores."

You blinked once and then smiled faintly.

"Oh..." You said, trying to hide your disappointment. "Well, it's open if you change your mind."

You left him a cupcake on the table. Vanilla with pink frosting and sprinkles. He didn't eat it.

And Saturday came fast.

You woke up with butterflies in your stomach. Your room was filled with balloons Lex insisted having delivered, despite your protests. "It's your birthday, Y/n. Let people celebrate you for once." He argued.

You liked Clark. A lot. It wasn't some game. Not some challenge your friends had dared you to do. You weren't being ironic. Your feelings were real— surprisingly real— and Lex had raised an eyebrow once, muttering something like, "Well, that was unexpected."

But he didn't understand. Clark was real in ways no one else around you ever was. He didn't care about money or popularity or image. He was awkward and shy, yet grounded. And you loved that about him.

So you got ready. You wore your favorite dress. You styled your hair. You told yourself he'd show up. He had to.

By 8:00 PM, the living room was warm and full of laughter. Music played softly in the background. Your friends chattered around the dinner table, passing drinks and stories.

"Clark's coming?" Lex asked you as he handed you a drink.

You shrugged, smiling tightly. "I hope so."

Chloe had shown up with a gift and a knowing smile. "Clark and Pete didn't say anything to me. But maybe they're just late."

You nodded. But the hours passed.

9.00. No Clark.

10:00. Still nothing.

By 10:30, your phone screen was painfully blank, and your stomach had started twisting into knots.

By 11:00, the guests started filtering out. Some hugged you and wished "happy birthday" with laughter and light hearts. But all you could feel was this hollow building up in your chest. He wasn't coming; he never was.

"Come on," Lex said gently, wrapping a gentle arm around your shoulders. "Let's go back inside. Stop waiting for someone who won't show."

Unbeknowst to you, Clark was not at home. Wasn't working on some chores. He was at a party across the town. A big one— loud music, red solo cups, beer pongs, too many football jerseys, and girls hanging around. Pete and Clark had been invited there, and both of them reluctantly showed up.

Clark drank a lot. Way more than he should've. But not enough to get drunk (he couldn't, anyway), but just enough to blur the guilt.

The sun hadn't even reached its peak yet when you arrived at the Kent farm, your hands cradling a tray of leftover cake—chocolate hazelnut with buttercream, the one you baked yourself because it reminded you the first time Clark ever complimented something you made. You told yourself it wasn't a big deal. Just a small peace offering. Just a way to see him.

Maybe, you thought, he regretted not showing up. Maybe you could laugh it off, hand him a slice, tell him he owed you one, and pretend like the silence between you hadn't cut through your chest the night before.

But as you reached a gravel path leading to their porch, your steps faltered. An unfamiliar girl emerged from the front door. Probably your age. Wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts, barely buttoned. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick smudged, like she had just woken up.

You took a step backwards, hiding from their line of sight.

And then came Clark. Topless. Barefoot. Looking like a tragic painting of betrayal in broad daylight, sunlight washing over his body like it was trying to make him look holy. But there was nothing sacred about the red kiss marks littering his neck or the one at the corner of his mouth.

The girl turned, smiling up at him before heading to her car. And before she got in, she tiptoed and planted a soft, small kiss on his cheek.

He smiled back. Not awkwardly. Not nervously. Like it was easy.

You quickly backed away, ducking behind the side of the barn as Clark went back inside his house. The pain burned inside of you. It was sickening and humiliating.

God, you thought, I wore my favorite dress last night just for him.

Without a second thought, you immediately found the nearest trash bin and shoved the cake in with trembling fingers. You walked away without looking back.

"Why didn't you show up at Y/n's birthday party?" Chloe asked sharply, catching Clark mid-page of the local meteor-rock incident report. Pete, just beside him, visibly flinched and gave him a look.

Clark blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Chloe leaned across the table, arms crossed. "She was excited to see you, you know? Lex threw the thing in his house. It wasn't exactly as small as one would expect. So where were you?"

Pete tried to focus on his apple juice.

"I... we were busy. Football thing. Plus, I didn't think it was a big deal. I mean, she was always around, right? I figure she'd understand."

"Always around?"

Clark sighed. "She's just... always there, alright? Popping out of corners. Bringing pastries at 7 AM. Sitting in my loft like she owns it It's annoying. She's always tailing me, and I never asked her to."

Silence.

Even Pete stopped sipping on his juice.

And behind the bookshelves, hidden just out of sight, Y/n froze.

You had only come in to return Chloe's notes in your shared Philosophy class. You weren't even going to say hi. You were keeping your distance— just like you promised yourself.

"She's not so bad like you made it seem, Clark." You heard Chloe.

"I just want some peace," Clark muttered, clearly annoyed.

"You can't run away from her forever."

"I'd be glad to try."

But Clark didn't have to because that same week, you became an enigma after that. He didn't even have to dodge around the barn. Didn't have to wake up seeing your face first in the morning. You weren't popping in with muffins or sticking heart-shaped post-it notes around his loft window. You weren't waving at him in the hallways. You were just gone.

His brows furrowed every time he walked past your locker and found it unopened. He found himself always glancing at the entrance of their barn more than once, hoping you'd finally show up one morning. At the farmer's market, he wandered longer than necessary at the baking aisle booth, wondering if you'd suddenly walk by.

You didn't.

Jonathan asked him to take out the trash. And Clark, half annoyed, half distracted, grabbed the bin from the porch and stomped towards the compost. But when he opened the lid, he saw a cake box. Pink polka dots, cute bow— the one you always used.

His stomach dropped.

What's it doing in here?

Clark's grip on the edge of the box tightened. Guilt rolling in immediately.

You weren't annoying. You were just kind. Consistent. Loud in a good way. You liked him, and he treated it like a problem. And now, he realized what kind of an asshole he was.

He had to apologize. But he didn't know where to start. Finding you was not an easy task, either. He wandered through the halls, eyes scanning every classroom, but you weren't there. He went to the farmer's market three mornings in a row— hoping— praying— you'd be there. But you weren't.

He had gone two full weeks without a glimpse of you. He hated to admit how often he found himself pausing during the day, waiting. Hoping.

So when Lex rolled into their farm one day in one of his new ridiculously expensive cars, Clark barely noticed. He was too busy dragging the hay until he heard Lex's voice.

"Clark," Lex said, grinning. "Hope I'm not interrupting you."

And then Clark saw you.

You stepped out of the passenger seat, wearing jeans and a simple cropped tee, hair styled neatly. No designer boots. No bold lipstick. But Clark swore his lungs forgot to work.

You offered him a polite nod. "Hey, Clark."

And that was it.

Lex greeted the Kents, asking for a quick word inside. And then, it was just the two of you, sitting in silence, like strangers.

You took a seat on one of the old wooden benches, thumbing through your phone. Clark awkwardly stood by the wooden door for a few seconds, pretending to dust his hands, eyes flicking towards you every five seconds.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Lex got a new car."

You didn't look up. "Yeah, Lamborghini. He won't stop talking about it."

Clark scratched the back of his neck. "It's... nice."

"Yeah."

Silence again.

"Look, I— I'm sorry about your birthday. Me and Pete... we couldn't come."

You finally glanced up. "It's okay; you were busy."

Clark nodded, unable to say something else, especially now that you seemed uninterested in what he was going to say.

Earlier that week, he had stormed inside the Torch like a man possessed. Chloe looked up from her computer with an annoyed glare.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" She snapped, clicking through the keyboard.

Clark ran a frustrated hand along his hair. "I need a bit of advice. About Y/n."

Chloe didn't even look up. "Wow. That only took, what, half the semester? You realize she's been MIA, right? Like, completely ghosted. And now you want to talk?"

Clark sighed. "Chloe, please."

She glanced up, her eyebrows shooting up when she heard how desperate and wrecked he was.

"She won't even look at me now. She used to be everywhere, and now it's like she never existed. And— I— I don't know."

"You miss her."

"I do," He admitted. "I didn't think I would, but I do. It's like— I keep looking for her. Like she's supposed to be there, and when she's not—God, Chloe. It was driving me nuts."

And then she'd told him to just talk to you. Simple. Direct. No weird detours.

So when Lex called about the delivery that Thursday, Clark had thought maybe this is it. Maybe this was the moment the universe was finally giving him another shot. He had practiced a dozen versions of the same line in his head.

But when you descended the stairs in that usual, effortless way, bored eyes locked into the screen of your phone, he realized immediately— something had changed.

"Lex isn't here." You said, eyes darting at the box he was carrying. "You can leave it in the kitchen."

"I know," He replied, a little breathless. "I was hoping you'd be home."

You paused. "Really?"

Clark nodded, setting down the box of fruits and vegetables. "Been doing alright?"

You shrugged. "Same old. You?"

"Maybe." He shifted nervously. "I— I'm free this Saturday. If you wanted to— I dunno, go by the lake with us. Just hanging out."

You looked at him. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

Clark blinked. "Pretend? I— I wasn't—"

"It's fine, Clark. If you don't like me, you could just say it to my face. I'm a smart girl, Clark. I'll understand whatever reason you have."

"But I don't—" He tried to move forward, to explain, but you were already walking away from him.

Down Main Street, past the closed café and the silent bookstore, hands in his jacket pockets, brows furrowed so deeply, Clark found himself walking in the streets of Smallville. His boots scuffed against the pavement with every distracted step, and his mind was loud— too loud.

He was driving himself mad.

So when Lex pulled up next to him in his Lamborghini, rolling down the window and watching Clark with one raised brow, it was hard to look anywhere but embarrassed.

“Late night for a stroll,” Lex said casually, but his eyes were sharp. Observing. “Don’t tell me the world’s strongest farm boy is out here moping.”

Clark gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

Lex tilted his head. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” Clark muttered.

Lex leaned his elbow on the edge of his window. “This about Y/N?”

Clark stopped walking.

Lex gave a small, knowing smile. “Figured.” There was silence for a beat, and then Lex said, almost thoughtfully, “You know… You really got the wrong idea about her.”

"Clark looked down. "Oh, yeah?"

Lex looked away briefly before adding, “Did you know that she waited by the door longer than she’d ever admit on her birthday? Kept peeking at the window, fixing her dress— her favorite one. And then, when you didn't show up, I know that broke her heart.”

Clark swallowed hard. "I..." He shook his head, trying so hard to convey coherent words but failing to do so.

“Don’t screw this up, Kent,” Lex said more gently now. “You think you’re the only one scared? That girl was brave enough to love you in front of everyone. Maybe it’s your turn.”

Clark didn’t speak. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his truck keys, and offered them to Lex.

Lex raised a brow. “What’s this?”

“I need your car,” Clark said, almost urgently.

Lex blinked. “You’re not going to wreck it, are you?”

“No promises,” Clark replied, already moving.

Lex rolled his eyes, but tossed him the keys anyway. “She’s at my house. Kitchen. Baking. Don’t ask what time it is.”

Clark was already gone before the sentence ended, a streak of blur and hope trailing behind him.

You were baking again.

It was your comfort. Your reset button. The world could fall apart but give you flour, eggs, and your favorite playlist and you could pretend everything was fine for a few hours.

You didn’t expect to hear tires screech in Lex’s driveway. Didn’t expect heavy, rushed footsteps across the porch. Didn’t expect the door to swing open like something out of a dramatic rom-com.

Clark Kent stood there, breathless.

Hair wind-swept. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wild with emotion. He looked like he’d run across all of Smallville just to get here. He had.

“Y/N..."

You blinked at him, surprised, a spoon still in your hand. “Clark?”

“I— I need to talk to you,” he said, stepping inside before you could shut him out. “Please. Just hear me out. I won’t screw it up this time.”

“Clark, I’m kind of—busy—”

“Please.”

You froze.

“I was stupid, okay?” He said. “I was scared. You’re… everything. You’re so vibrant and loud and brilliant, and I thought I wasn’t enough for that. I thought I couldn’t keep up with someone like you. But I was wrong. You make me better.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Clark beat you to it again.

“I like you,” He breathed. “I really like you. And I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t. I don’t want to keep lying to myself that losing you is somehow better than facing how much I care.”

You stared at him, heart thudding. “Clark…”

He looked desperate. “Please say something.”

“I liked you first. But that doesn’t mean I want to be someone you settle for. I don’t want to be some spontaneous decision because you’re lonely.”

Clark shook his head, stepping closer. “You’re not. You’re not a decision. You’re the only thing I’m sure of right now.”

There was still doubt in your eyes. Still guardedness.

So Clark did the only thing he could think of to prove he meant every word.

He kissed you.

Gently at first— carefully, like you were made of glass. But then you responded, melting into it with a small sigh, hands finding his chest, and it deepened— slow and sweet and real.

When you finally pulled away, slightly breathless and a little dazed, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“You’re it for me,” He whispered. “I didn’t see it before. But I do now.”

You smiled, just a little. “You’re gonna owe me, Clarkie.”

“I’ll bake,” He offered.

You laughed. “You can’t even toast a bread.”

He grinned, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Then I’ll learn.”

©kjhbsies

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

OH YEAHHH, beautifully written!

Too much?

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Smallville Clark Kent x reader

synopsis: Clark was too busy saving Smallville, and Y/n just wanted a little attention. But when he told her to stop being clingy, She took it to heart— pulling away completely.

wordcount: 1,771

note: 16+ angst to fluff

divider from @enchanthings

"Am I okay?" Y/n echoed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped forward. "You seriously had the audacity to ask me that?"

Clark blinked, completely thrown off guard. "What—?"

"Our date, Clark. You stood me up. Again."

His stomach dropped. And Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Y/n wasn't finished.

"I waited for you for hours at the diner. I called. I texted. And nothing! No explanation, no anything. Just me looking like an idiot in front of everyone while my boyfriend completely blew me off."

Clark swallowed, "Y/n, I—"

"I'm so sick of this, Clark. This is the third time this has happened. And I know— God, I know you're busy. That people need you. But what about me? I'm your girlfriend."

Clark's jaw clenched. He had been through hell tonight, barely keeping Smallville safe, and how he was being berated for doing the right thing?

"Y/n, you know that's not fair." He shot back, voice sharper than intended. "I can't ignore people just because of a date."

Y/n scoffed. "Wow. That's just... great."

Clark exhaled sharply, patience wearing thin. "I'm not saying that, but you're acting—"

"Like what?" She challenged, tilting her head.

Clark hesitated, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Clingy. I just—" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I need space, Y/n."

Silence.

And then, something in her head shifted.

Y/n quickly wiped the tears off her face. The anger in her eyes didn't die out, but something colder settled in. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and took a small step back.

Clark immediately regretted it.

"Y/n, I—"

"Got it. I'm sorry." She said, voice almost detached.

Clark felt like the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Wait, I—"

But she didn't let him finish. She quickly turned to her heel and walked as fast away as she could.

And Clark did nothing but watch her disappear from his sight.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Clark actually got some rest. Deep, uninterrupted sleep. His body had needed it. His mind had been craving it. But the moment he opened his eyes, the argument last night was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Clark exhaled slowly, sitting up on the worn-out couch in the loft, running a frustrated hand on his hair. The barn was eerily quiet in the morning light, but his thoughts weren't.

He told himself over and over that it was probably for the best that Y/n was leaving him alone. That's what he wanted, right? He had been overwhelmed by Smallville's never-ending chaos, by his responsibilities, by the weight of everything he was trying to juggle. He just needed time to breathe, to think, to clear out his mind. And Y/n, for the first time, was giving it to him.

So why does it feel so wrong?

He shook the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had farm chores to do, and things he needed to take care of. He'd see Y/n later. He'd apologize after everything was settled down.

Except... he never got the chance. Because Y/n was nowhere.

She had stayed at Chloe's house for tonight. The next morning, she was out with her parents for the entire day. The day after that? She was doing something, somewhere, but Clark had no idea what. And the next day, and the next.

And suddenly, Clark had realized— he had no clue what she was doing at any moment.

For as long as he could remember, Y/n had always been there. She was in his messages before he could open his phone. She was calling him just to tell him something entirely random, or waiting for him at the Torch, or showing up at the loft with snacks. She was always present. But now? Nothing.

Clark had caught himself glancing at his phone every few minutes, waiting for a text that didn't come. His inbox was empty of her usual good morning and good night messages. No texts about her breakfast. No updates about her cat. No sudden burst of excitement at whatever TV show she was obsessing over.

Clark had shook it off, telling himself that it was fine. This is what he asked for and he should be grateful for it.

But the lack of her presence left a void in his heart. He missed her voice. He missed the way she would randomly call him in the middle of the day, just to tell him the most insignificant details of her afternoon. He missed her rants about school, her dramatic complaints about the people that pisses her off, and the way she would text him just because she thought about him.

Clark found himself staring at his phone, scrolling through their old messages, re-reading conversations he had taken for granted. He hovered over her contact, debating whether he should call first.

But he didn't.

Clark didn't remember running to Y/n's house. He didn't even realize that his feet had taken him there until he was standing beneath her bedroom window, hands shaking, heart pounding violently against his chest.

He had fought off yet another creature, saving Smallville again, but for once, Clark didn't feel like a hero.

For the past week, Clark had endured every kind of physical battle ever imagined— facing off against meteor freaks, barely dodging blows that could've shattered his bones, and throwing himself into danger with no hesitation. But none of those compared to losing Y/n. Nothing could've even come close to that.

His hands gripped the windowsills, knuckles turning white. He had climbed through this window a hundred times, sneaking into her room when he wanted to escape and when he wanted to see her. It had always felt so easy, so natural. But tonight, his knees felt weak.

Still, he climbed inside, landing on the floor, breath uneven as his eyes found her. She was curled up in her bed, her hair splayed over the pillows as she was reading one of the books Chloe had recommended. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated her features and Clark thought she was beautiful. Heavenly.

Y/n looked at him with a cold stare, sitting upright before setting the book down on her nightstand. She didn't say anything. She didn't rush into his arms. She didn't scold him for going through her windows like he always did.

"Why are you here?"

Clark took a step forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. "I wanted to talk."

Silence.

She just stared at him, head tilting to scan his face.

His heart clenched, his breath catching in his throat as his knees hit the edge of her bed. "Please," He begged, voice raw, and with pure desperation. "Please talk to me."

Y/n exhaled sharply, trying to toughen up as she could feel her resolve cracking. "What do you want me to say, Clark?"

"I— I miss you."

"You miss me?" She echoed, scoffing. "That's funny because a week ago, you called me clingy."

Clark's jaw clenched, regret tightening in his chest. "I was stupid. I thought— I thought I needed time to figure things out."

"For what, Clark? To decide if I was too much for you? That my love was overwhelming just because I wanted attention for my boyfriend who I haven't spent time much with for weeks?"

Clark opened his mouth, but the words died out his throat. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Y/n looked away, angrily blinking away her tears. "I gave you space," She continued, voice quieter now. "I pulled away. I stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped clinging to you like you hated so much. Did it make you feel good now?"

"No," Clark immediately answered. "I hated it. I thought space was all I wanted. I thought it would make things easier. But it didn't." He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out, fingers trembling. "I missed you. I missed your texts. I missed your calls. I missed hearing about your day, about your cat, about your gossip with Chloe. I missed you— all of you."

"I thought you wanted to break up," Y/n admitted. "And I was ready to give it to you if it would make you feel any better—"

"No, no, no," Clark interrupted, immediately dropping to his knees beside her bed. He reached for her hand, grasping it gently as if she would slip away at any second. "Don't say that, baby, please."

Y/n stiffened. "Clark..."

"No," He pleaded, shaking his head. "Don't say it. Don't—" His breath hitched, squeezing her hands tighter. "Don't say we should end this. Don't say we should part ways. I can't—" His voice cracked, and suddenly, his vision blurred with tears. "I can't lose you."

"You hurt me, Clark."

"I know, baby, I know. And I'll spend forever making it up to you if you'll let me."

"I don't know if I can go back to how things were."

Clark exhaled shakily, hands reaching up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with such tenderness that Y/n shuddered under his touch. "Then let's start over. Let me love you better."

Y/n let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. "You're such a sap, Kent."

Clark smiled through the tears, relief flooding his chest. "Only for you."

A long beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with emotions too big to be put into words. And then, Clark leaned in, his lips brushing against hers— gentle at first, testing, waiting.

Y/n melted into the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him close.

Clark let out a desperate sound, his body pressing closer as if trying to mold himself into her as if trying to make up for every second they had been apart.

The kiss deepened— slow, intoxicating, filled with longing. Clark’s hands trembled as they slid down her back, holding her so close it almost hurt.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, lips hovering over hers.

"You better.”

And then she pulled him down again, her lips claiming his, her body pressing into him, her hands gripping him like he was the one who had been missing her all along.

Clark let out a breathless laugh between kisses, his heart feeling whole again for the first time in days.

Maybe he had been strong enough to fight monsters, to save a town, to lift things heavier than any man could imagine.

But when it came to Y/N?

She was the only one who could bring him to his knees.

©kjhbsies

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

so cute I love!

Stay Close

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Smallville Clark Kent x reader

synopsis: Y/n started to tone down her flirting when she thought it made Clark uncomfortable. But Clark pulls her close and finally admits that he never wanted her to stop.

wordcount: 962

note: a bit of angst, fluff

The sun cast a warm glow over the lake, the air was filled with the sound of giggles, splashing water, and overall serenity. It was supposed to be the perfect day. You planned it all for weeks— just you, Clark, Chloe, and Pete hanging out after a week of overloading schoolwork and weird escapades around Smallville.

But as you sat on the picnic blanket, quietly watching Pete and Chloe argue by the lake, your thoughts were only about what you'd heard last night.

"She's relentless, isn't she?" Chloe said, half-laughing.

"Don't you think Clark gets annoyed with her sometimes?" Pete asked her.

Chloe shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, he's probably just too polite to speak up."

It wasn't said with any sort of malice. Just a casual commentary about you and Clark's relationship. But it got you thinking that maybe they were right.

You just liked Clark so much, and you've told him about it a couple of times jokingly. But you were very serious about your feelings for the guy. You couldn't help teasing or fawning over him every chance you get because you find everything he does very adorable.

But right now, you were sort of keeping your distance for a bit. You tried to replay every interaction you had with Clark, and you've noticed that every time you compliment him, he doesn't say anything. Just a casual laugh or smile thrown over at you. You thought nothing about it before— like maybe, he enjoys it, too. But maybe you were wrong.

Your chest ached at the thought. You didn't mean to make him uncomfortable or anything of the sort. You were just being you. But maybe it's time to back off for a little bit. So that's what you were doing right now.

You didn't call him Clarkie or handsome when he offered to carry the cooler. Didn't brush the hair out of his eyes after his swim. Didn't throw a flirty comment when he came out of the water shirtless, droplets running down the ridges of his sculpted chest, looking every bit of a guy that was straight out of your dream.

Instead, you sat over there quietly. Guarded. Still.

Clark walked over to where you were, droplets still trailing down his hair as he took a seat beside you. You felt the warmth of his skin as his shoulder brushed yours, but unlike every other time, you didn't lean into it. Didn't melt into it.

"Hey," He looked at you, brushing your damp hair over your shoulder to take a look at your face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Clark." You gave him a quick smile and shifted slightly, putting a few inches of space between the two of you.

His brows immediately furrowed. He didn't like that. Not one bit.

Without missing a beat, Clark closed the gap again, this time more purposefully— his arms brushing yours. Still, you said nothing.

Clark watched you. Studied the way your hands rested in your lap. The way your eyes lacked sparkle, like they usually did when he was around. And it made his chest feel tighter.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked quietly, head tilting just enough for you to meet his eyes. His voice was soft with worry.

You let out a dry chuckle, looking at him. "Clark, no. Why would you say that?"

"You seem quiet," He says, eyeing you.

"I'm fine," You repeated, offering him a small smile. Then, almost without realizing, you shifted a little farther away.

Clark's jaw tensed. He noticed. Every inch you scooted away from him felt like a pinch in his heart. He didn't even think— he just reached out, big arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you against his chest, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath hitched.

"Clark—"

"What's going on?" He hummed, running a soothing hand along your shoulder. "You've been off all day."

You looked away, heart pounding against your chest wildly. It was hard keeping your feelings at bay already. But now that he was touching you— holding you— almost made your heart burst right there and then.

"I just..." You started, voice going soft. "Did I make you uncomfortable?" You looked up at him.

"What?"

"Do you think I was being too flirty? Too annoying?" You gulped. "And if I ever did make you uncomfortable, then I am really sorry. That was the last thing I ever wanted you to feel."

He was quiet for a bit, still studying you. You looked at the lake again, and still, Clark said nothing.

"Clark," You said again, trying to wiggle from his iron grip.

"No," He said, and you paused. His arms held firm, but gently, tightening his grip on you. "You're not making me uncomfortable."

You glanced up again. "Really?"

Clark hummed, a small tint of blush creeping across his cheek as he looked away. You noticed the small twitch at the corners of his lip, a smile threatening to break from his face.

"But... you barely say anything when I tease you. When I compliment you."

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "That's because I'm shy."

You stared at him. "You? Shy? No way."

He chuckled, cheeks flushed. "Only around you."

A wide grin broke out on your face as you stared at him. There was something new in this gaze— something warm. Like he had been seeing you for the first time in a different light.

"Are you saying that you like me, too?" You bit back a smile.

"I thought I was being obvious even before."

And just like that, the clouds in your chest lifted. You grinned—wide and bright— before leaning into him like you usually does. You rested your head against his shoulder, your fingers intertwining with his.

©kjhbsies

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

your alien boyfriend is just so alien in the sense that his anatomy is just slightly different and off putting but you kinda love it.

you’ve noticed his heartbeat doesn’t really sound like a heartbeat, and he’s so fascinated by the way yours beats so rhythmically.

or maybe his irises get slightly wider than a normal person’s would when he sees something he likes, making them seem darker than what they usually are.

he doesn’t drink, like at all, which is fine, but he tells you it’s because alcohol doesn’t effect him. you think he’s just realizing he’s a heavy weight but you’ve seen him take ten consecutive shots back to back and not even flinch once. but funnily enough he does act a little tipsy at the smell of your perfume.

he’s also weirdly light on his feet. like, you can barely make out his footsteps half of the time and he tends to scare you sometimes because of it. you can only tell when he’s approaching is if the door creaks, or he knocks something over or he trips on his own feet or something along those lines.

he can also hold his breath for an concerningly long period of time. whenever the two of you are at the beach or the pool and he dives in, he spends an uncomfortable amount of time underwater. and when you start to worry, even the lifeguard (if there is one) starts to blow their whistle, he resurfaces casually, barely breathless.

he also kisses you like he doesn’t really need oxygen to breathe, it’s almost as if he can breathe through you, quite literally taking the breath from your lungs. he’s always looking at you like a kicked puppy whenever you pull away, telling him you need a minute for air. he doesn’t really get that you don’t breathe the same way he does.

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

me n my situationship lol

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

Actually, the death of me.

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

┆ trying to end being fwb with rafe ✶

.ᐟ cw: angst! mentions of having had sex before. fwb. the usual mention of rafe + ward strained relationship. mentions of rafe being selfish + insecure. .ᐟ notes: one day i'll write a full fic with actual smut that isn't a little short...

you were pulling your jeans on when he finally sat up. pillow lines streaked across his cheek, his hair all bent and wrong from sleep, or sex, or both. he looked at you like he always did. like you were some kind of answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

you didn’t look back.

“so that’s it?” he said, voice still rough from the night.

you tugged your shirt over your head, didn’t bother fixing your hair. “yeah.”

he swung his legs over the side of the bed, elbows digging into his knees, hands clasped together like he was praying. or like he was trying not to break something.

“you’re not even gonna pretend you’re sad about it?” he asked, and the laugh that came after didn’t sound like him. too sharp. too small.

you turned, finally. leaned against the dresser and crossed your arms. “what do you want me to say, rafe? that i’m gonna miss your fingers inside me? that i’m gonna cry into my pillow because we won’t be fucking in secret anymore?”

he blinked like he didn’t recognize you. like you’d gutted him clean.

“you don’t mean that.”

you shrugged. “i don’t know, maybe i do. maybe i’m just tired of being the thing you use when you’re bored or drunk or angry at your dad.”

he stood, too fast, and the way his jaw clenched made your heart stutter, just once. he wasn’t angry. not really. just unraveling.

“is that really what you think this is?”

“i know what this is,” you snapped. “we sleep together, you leave. sometimes you stay. sometimes you say shit that almost sounds like you care. but you don’t. not really.”

rafe stepped closer. too close. his hand ghosted over your hip like he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to touch you. “i do care,” he said, and his voice cracked like he hated himself for it.

you looked up at him and wished you were the kind of girl who could pretend. who could say sorry with a smile and let him back in again, just to feel something. but you weren’t.

“you’re selfish, rafe.” your voice was ice. “you take and take and take and you only show up when you think i’m about to disappear.”

he flinched, barely, but it was enough.

“i’m not gonna wait around for you to figure your shit out. this thing between us? it’s done.”

the silence that followed was ugly and too full. he stared at you like he wanted to shake you. or kiss you. or both.

you turned away, started toward the door.

“wait.”

you stopped, hand on the knob.

he didn’t move. he just looked at you with something broken in his face, like he was ten years old again, and somebody had just told him no for the first time.

“would you be my girlfriend?”

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

me n this song rn.

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

i don’t do these type of country western shows but ransom canyon..you have me hooked

[spoiledprincessbratsblog]

Finished Ransom Canyon in two days....I now need to go to Texas and find myself a Cowboy.