#and then kal is going to take the whole thing

[tending-the-hearth]

thinking about alexsander kallus who starts off being a passionate servant to the empire and proud destroyer of lasan who has a strong mutual hatred for zeb

alexsander kallus who never really sat well with the massacre on lasan after it happened, because it was never supposed to happen that way, who starts to question things after being trapped on bahryn with zeb, who actually gets to talk with his enemy and come to a shaky, shaky truce

alexsander kallus who helps sabine escape even before he's officially fulcrum, just because he knows he owes zeb, and he knows how important sabine is to him

alexsander kallus who becomes fulcrum because he knows it's the right thing to do, because he knows that the events on lasan have happened to so many other planets, and he realizes how wrong he was, and how he's been changed

"heart of a rebel" alexsander kallus who fights against thrawn and manages to escape and becomes an unofficial spector as he gets folded into the rebels

alexsander kallus who, after feeling guilty and twisted for so long because of the lasan massacre, who has atoned for so many mistakes, who has struggled for so long to find his place, is shown to the planet where the lasat people are thriving, who is welcomed into their home, forgiven and seen as one of them

just... alexsander kallus

[blackynsupremacy]

DOUBLE TROUBLE

pairings: kal kent x black!fem!reader! x clark kent

summary: you get revenge on your cheating boyfriend by hooking up with his twin brother.

contains: 18+ content (mdni), smut, pwnp, redk!clark twin au, kal and clark are brothers, good twin/bad twin type of vibe, toxic relationship, cheating (both reader and kal), family betrayal, angst/anger, revenge sex, unprotected p in v, squirting, creampie, mention of birth control, riding, reader and clark basically use each other, manipulation, swearing, cursing, praise, degradation.

a/n: heyyy idk if anyone else came up with this au, but i think it would be cool to see redk!clark as a whole separate person alongside clark. requests are temporarily closed, so please be patient with me because my family and i are mentally preparing for an impending loss, so any thoughts and prayers would be appreciated. love you all sm 🫶🏾

want more? check out my masterlist!

taglist: @greengoblinswifey @hopefully-saturn @jkr820 @hoffmansgirl @austeenbootler @niteskysx @sabrinasopposite @thabiddie23 @hnch33rios @xoxoglittergossip @supaprettyg @ellethespaceunicorn @afrogirl3005 @afrowrites @paisholotus @motherismotheringggg @oscarisaackissmykitty @simply-lovley44 @v3n1ce-bxtch @elitesanjisimp @gxuxhdjdu @stargirl-mayaa @miguelspvssy @artyandink @horror-moviehoe

“ah, fuck, clark!”

you cry out as your hips steadily bounced on clark kent’s massive length, your nails dig into the toned, pale skin of his broad shoulders as his hands cups the plush skin of your ass while he releases his own string of groans and whimpers. with each movement of your hips, the pleasure only intensified between the two of you. clark’s baby blue eyes were hypnotized by the slight jiggle of your breasts, he didn’t miss how the necklace with the familiar red gem you were wearing moved back and forth against your brown glistening skin that was stained with perspiration. god, how he wanted to take it off, but he was so caught up by how good you were at riding him, he could really care less as he was relishing in this sinister moment. you were a sight to behold as your shimmering, dark eyes were half-lidded and your full glossed lips were agape before his name came out again.

“you fuck me so good, clark. ah—wish i chose you instead.”

you breathed out, you were so drunk at how skilled he moved his hips in perfect tandem with yours, you weren’t sure if what came out of your mouth was true or not. one thing for sure, clark knew exactly what he was doing and those words caused him to drill his cock within your pussy faster, resulting in you to whimper with each time his bulbous tip kissed your cervix.

“y’know it, pretty—t-told you i can treat you better than that asshole.”

you hated and loved the fact that he wasn’t lying.

you both never thought that this would happen due to the fact that you were dating, kal kent, clark’s twin brother. despite the two being identical, they couldn’t even be more different. clark was the goody-two shoe twin who was the quarterback that made the best grades, did his part with the chores on the farm, and tried his best to help others in need. although he was charming and popular, he was shy, humble, and a bit awkward. clark seemed like to be the perfect candidate as your boyfriend, but then there was kal, his brother. he didn’t really care much for school, but he was still intelligent like clark. he spent his time skipping classes to go on adventures to metropolis like he was born to be there, instead of driving around in a pick-up truck like clark, kal saved up to get a motorcycle, which had all of the girls wanting to ride with him— or better yet on him, you included. kal kent was a bit arrogant and short-tempered, but he was adventurous, charismatic, bold, and an all around smooth operator when he wanted to be up to no good, especially when it came to the opposite sex.

your relationship with kal was— tumultuous. with the exact right words and actions, you were basically putty in his hands. it amazed you that out of all the girls in the senior class of smallville high, he chose you. with him, you unlocked the courageous wild side that’s been hidden deep within you. you went from a homebody ti a hometown hottie. kal kent was indeed trouble, but he was good trouble as he wasn’t afraid to show you new things and take risks beyond the limits of smallville. every weekend, you get dolled up and sneak out with kal on his motorcycle to journey to metropolis where he would smooth talk his way into the hottest dance clubs for some thrilling night life action—until he gets into a fight, but you still stuck by him as he took you to all of those “bases” that your friends would be hyping about with their respective beaus, your face would heat at the steamy details. now, you don’t feel so shy anymore as kal had completely transformed you to someone more liberated, sexy, and confident.

you loved kal with all of what you got, but sometimes he would be so fickle with his wandering eyes towards other girls. you and kal would be in a heated argument because you would catch him subtly flirting with other women, shamelessly complimenting their looks, or catch a glimpse of their swaying hips beneath their skirts. you never forgot how one time at a nightclub, you caught him bumping and grinding with two randoms on the dance floor after you went to the bathroom for three fucking minutes, causing you to lash out and make a scene resulting in an argument between you. you two wouldn’t even talk to each other for a good week, so you would find solace with clark, who was kind enough to console you and tell you how you deserved better than his brother (i.e. himself, but he wasn’t going to do that now). clark was right, but kal was the fire in your loins. you couldn’t just get over him and you knew he couldn’t get over you. that’s how you and kal would “make-up” then return back to normal.

if by normal, you mean repeating the cycle of kal playing in your face, you break up, you cry to clark, and then ultimately forgive kal just because he got you a promise necklace to match the ring on his finger? then, yeah, that was your normal and you were getting fed the fuck up. after another explosive confrontation on his infidelity, you were at the kent farm with clark in his loft. kal was off on his motorcycle at god knows where with god knows whom, you didn’t care because you were really done with him. there was no way that all of this pain, anger and insecurity was in the name of true love. clark always was there to be a shoulder for you to cry on, willing to listen to your repetitive laments and offer that old-fashioned, kindhearted farm boy comfort.

“i’m so sick of this, clark. i’m so sick of him!” you exasperatedly sigh out as you wipe the final tear from your eyes, finally composing yourself. clark wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his hand gently caressing your arm.

“i’m so sorry, y/n. no one deserves what you’re going through. ever.”

and he meant that with every bone in his body. no matter how many times you’ve cried to him, clark would always reassure that you would find better for yourself, hopefully one day you’ll realize that you wouldn’t have to look far because he was literally right here. clark has always been fond of you, even before you started messing around with his brother. fortunately, his patience was a virtue and it worked out for him in the end as you uttered these words.

“thank you, clark. i never would say this out loud with him around, but i wish kal was more like you sometimes.”

“more like me? in what way?” he inquired, with that signature tilt of his head that you always found to be adorable. it resembled a golden retriever.

“y’know— like a gentleman.” you sigh in relief at clark’s gentle touch on your shoulder. the gears in your brain start to turn as a devilish, nasty idea crept in your mind. you knew this was wrong by any means, but your fiery anger and growing bitterness towards kal kent was the director of your moral compass. you leaned in closer to clark, smirking when his cheeks painted with red at the new close proximity.

“clark—i’ve been burnt by your brother way too many times before and i’ve never thought about stepping out once.” you confess in a light, soft voice, your hand reaching to trace along the warm skin of clark’s jawline.

“this time—i want to burn him back.” you leaned in forward, your thigh was brushing against his as your breaths mingled with each other. you glanced down at his pouty, rose lips that was so similar to your boyfriend’s.

“and i want you to help me.”

“b-but, i can’t. it wouldn’t be fair to kal.”

you smile widely, admiring clark’s angelic benevolence to his savage of a brother and his relationship—too bad that you were going to play devil’s advocate.

“you’re right, clark, but he hasn’t been fair to me.” you emphasize, pointing to your chest. “didn’t you always say that i deserve better? wouldn’t you think that i deserved you?” you press him further, placing your hands on his shoulders to push him up against the sofa you were occupying, finally cornering him. it didn’t help his case as he felt the blood rush straight to his cock when you pressed your heaving chest against his.

“c’mon, clark. we both know you can treat me better, love me better, and maybe even fuck me better. you can tell me all you want, but i’d like it if you show me, baby.”

clark was speechless because you were right. he did want you, so fucking bad. he admired your boldness, your realness, your intelligence, and of course, your beauty. it was common for the twins to bicker, but kal always made sure to rub it in his face and make him feel like such a loser that even a “mr. popular” couldn’t bag a chick as bad as you—well, now this was his chance to prove kal wrong. clark’s own morals started to blur between the lines of right and wrong as your lips drew closer to his. before you knew it, clark threw all cares out of the window as he finally closed the gap between your lips in a kiss that started out as gentle, but grew more fervent as you started to climb upon his lap, grinding your hips in a sweet rhythm to feel the erected arousal buried in his signature levi’s. with each kiss and touch exchanged, every article of clothing that you had was swiftly discarded to the floor leaving you both exposed. 

“fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

you reveled in the amount of body worship that clark showered you in as his skilled hands roamed to every part of your body, from your chest down to your aching core, it all elicited the lewdest of sounds from you that had you ready to feel him— all of him. it wasn’t long before you got him sitting nice and pretty up on the couch, readily positioning yourself right above his swollen cock. although, he was ready, his sweet self still wanted to know one more thing before you proceeded,

“don’t you think we should use protection?”

you could only simper, he was such a softie that you could melt.

“it’s all good, babe. i’m on the pill—m’gonna start now, you ready?” you ask, caressing his heated face and placing a searing kiss on his lips. with his eager approval, you deliberately lowered yourself onto your boyfriend’s brother’s length. as he filled you up inch by inch, your grip on each other grew tighter as your walls did around him once he bottomed out. your hips began to get into a steady rhythm once you both adjusted to the new sensation. a string of strained moans erupted from your throat with each thrust, usually with kal it would be more about him, prioritizing his release over yours, but with clark, he was more attentive to your needs. from the way his lips would take the time to trail bites and kisses along your chest to how he would tease your clit with his thumb every now and then. to make sure you didn’t tire yourself out, his hips jolted up to meet you in the middle as they gained in speed, his name becoming the only thing on your lips. clark was enjoying every moment of this. he wished kal would walk in to see you completely going crazy as he fucked deeper within your walls.

“heh. look at you, getting fucked so good by your boyfriend’s brother. you’re so damn scandalous, but i love that about you.” he deeply chuckled, fully taking control by tightly clasping your hips and holding them in place to where you couldn’t move. your confusion was brief when clark began to drill himself at such a speed you weren’t even sure was human, but that’s what the fuck you’re talking about. if this was how revenge felt, you’d gladly do it again to teach kal a lesson.

you felt the familiar heat coil inside, burning more intense as you gaze down between you to watch each fluid motion of his cock rutting eagerly in and out your slickness with such precision.

“that’s it, clark. just like that. do it for me, baby, do it for me! y’gonna make me cum all over you if keep doing that.” you mewled out, your nails scratched on his skin as his movements started to be more erratic. the only sounds that filled the room was the slapping of your skin, the squelching of your sex, and the mix of your harmonic moaning in the air.

“that’s right, baby. let that pretty pussy cum all over me— give it all to me, pretty girl. i got you like always.” he mused, the pad of his thumb finding its rightful place on your sensitive bundle of nerves, swiping it rapidly on the wet, puffy surface to elicit the pleasure that you’ve been waiting for. that’s when you feel the final snap of the coil. without ceasing your movements, your lips collide with his in a needy kiss. your whole body trembles, every muscle spasms as your juices disperse all over his navel and cascade down your thighs. it doesn’t take long for clark’s orgasm to follow suit, his fluids rapidly shooting into your walls to paint them white as snow. after catching your breath, you get off of him for you both to retrieve your clothes.

“thanks, again, clark. you may feel crap about it now, but knowing your brother, this should be a humbling experience for him.” you reassure him as you adjusted your hair to break the awkward tension with some humor.

“it’s no worries, y/n, but the question still remains—did you mean what you said about how you should’ve chosen me instead of kal? i know we were caught up in the moment, but—” you cut him off by simply cupping his face in your hands to kiss him, he instinctively reciprocates. with the slight tug of his bottom lip between your teeth, you pull away, a tantalizing smile painted on your glowing features.

“between you and me, clark, you can believe what you want to believe, but know this—drunk actions speak sober thoughts. if you’re down, let’s keep this our little secret and do this again if kal decides to screw with both of us, ‘kay?” with a final quick peck to his lips, you take your exit from the loft before hopping into your vehicle to retire for the night, relishing in the fact that you got kal kent, your playboy boyfriend, back for all of the hurt he’s caused.

at around midnight, kal came stumbling through the door of kent farm. he was out in metropolis again hitting up the club with a couple of hotties, but they weren’t you. he’d make it up to you when you’ve cooled down enough and stopped talking to his cookie-cutter twin.

“i take it that you had a good time tonight. it’s not like your girlfriend was worried sick or anything.” clark snidely remarked with the roll of his blue eyes as he relaxed on the sofa before resuming to watching the cheesy horror movie on the tv.

“you’re damn right i did and let me guess, you did the same loser activities with the same loser friends like you always do on nights like these.” kal called out from the kitchen to retrieve a needed bottle of water before stepping closer to clark.

“instead of butting into my relationship with my girlfriend, you should stay in your fucked up lane of a love life.”

kal then sarcastically feigned a “eureka” type of expression, snapping his fingers.

“oh! i got it. maybe if you had what it takes to live a little, you wouldn’t be stuck doing the same old loser routine in boring old smallville, would you, mr. popular?” kal finished his speech with a chuckle, thinking he had the last laugh when clark was probably playing the bigger person by giving silence as a response. kal had no idea about the bombshell that his own twin brother was about drop on him.

“yeah, alright, kal. i’m such a loser doing the same loser activities, but in reality, i was fucking your girlfriend a couple hours ago, asshole. how’s that for living a little?”clark harshly retorted, the dirty little secret out in the open.

kal immediately stopped at that confession, everything had just—paused. if the harsh tension between the brothers was already damaging, it was now fucked beyond compare.

[imagines4thefandoms]

In Love with the Tats

(This has been in my drafts for a long time)

Warning: Lots of smut

summary: Henry comes home still wearing fake tattoos from his latest movie.

Henry Cavill is a kind and loving man. He is the real-life Superman. And he’s British so he’s automatically very polite and nice to everyone. He looks like an actual bear with all those muscles but he’s really just a giant teddy bear who requires cuddles to function. He usually plays good guys in the movies cause it's who he is. 

Which is why the world lost its mind when Mission Impossible: Fallout came out. Henry “king of nerds” Cavill was a bad guy. Seeing him betray, hurt, and kill was out of pocket and extremely hot. And you were not expecting it. When you started dating you told him not to give you any spoilers from his movies. You wanted to get the whole experience when you saw it at the premiere. Sometimes it backfired like in Dawn of Justice when Superman died, and you were caught off guard but he brought you tissues cause he knew you needed them. And when you got married that promise was in your vows. Maybe cause you told him you would divorce him if he spoiled anything for you. 

So when you watched your husband who can’t hurt a fly try and destroy the world and kill millions, you got turned on. Seeing a darker side of him was very attractive. And every girl can tell you how villains are a lot more attractive than heroes. So when you got home from the premiere you jumped his bones. And for the next 24 hours, you two rarely left the bed for longer than 5 minutes. The phrase fucking like rabbits could have legally changed to fucking like Cavill’s. 

After that when he would look over scripts his agent sent him, you would help him and pick out the role you liked (spoiler if he played the bad guy you liked it). He auditioned for the roles you liked cause he could never say no to you and you would never steer him wrong. And he got the role. You did your civic duty to the world and Henry Cavill was going to be a bad guy again on the silver screen. 

And now while he’s filming you spend all day with your favorite Cavill, Kal. You had gotten a text from your husband saying filming was running late and he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner which didn’t bother you at all. You made a simple pasta dinner and left it on the table cause you didn’t want to eat without him. Usually, when he runs late he gets home around 10 or 11 instead of 6 and you had a big lunch with friends so you didn’t mind waiting. While you waited for him to come home you and Kal sat on the couch watching The Office (American edition). It was the episode with Asian Jim so you were dying laughing over Dwight's reaction. Suddenly the front door opened and you felt a kiss on the top of your head, cause you were too busy to look over at who walked in the house. Though you knew it was Henry. 

“I could have been a robber,” he lightly scorned seeing as the front door was unlocked.

“Well then the robber could finish the episode with me and then take our things,” you teased still not looking at him. 

“You are a pain, love,” he said taking off his jacket and locking the front door. 

Kal, your nice warm cuddle buddy, jumped off the couch and ran to Henry excited that he was home. You turned to scorn your husband for causing your furnace to leave when you took in his appearance. 

“What is that,” you asked him noticing how he was covered in tattoos. Like COVERED. His neck, both arms and his knuckles had ink. 

“I didn’t want to keep the makeup artist there any longer and I told them to leave them til tomorrow,” he explained rubbing behind Kal’s ear. 

When he was met with silence he looked over at you and noticed you were staring. He immediately thought you were turned off. 

“I’ll try to get us to wrap earlier tomorrow so they have time to take it off,” he says grabbing Kal’s leash to take him on a walk. 

“You don’t have to,” you said staring at the tattoo on his neck and biting your lip. 

It suddenly clicked in his mind that you were very much turned on. He smirked at your reaction and bent over to whisper in your ear. 

“I'm going to walk Kal and when I get back I'll show you the rest of them.”

“There’s more,” you gasped finally bringing yourself to look him in the eye. 

He simply replied with a nod and walked back out of the house to walk the dog. Henry might have been gone for only 10 minutes but seeing how you were suddenly very hot and bothered it felt like hours. You were too antsy to move from your spot on the couch and could not for the life of you pay attention to the antics of Jim and Dwight. When Henry finally came back, he sent Kal to lie down in his bed in the living room and threw you over his shoulders to bring you to the bedroom. 

“You are not helping my situation,” you cried out as he threw you on the bed. 

“I'm not in a helping mood,” he replied taking off his shirt. 

His chest was covered in tattoos and scars. There was no bare centimeter of skin. You got on your knees and slowly ran your hand over the art. When you reached his navel he turned around and showed you the back. There was a cross with a rose intertwined with it and blood dripping from the stem. You turned him back around and placed one hand over the skill on his chest and your other hand covered the flames on his neck and brought him down to you for a very firm kiss. His hands went to your waist and he laid you down hovering over you. As soon as you got your legs out from under you they went around his waist to bring him closer to you. The kiss got very heated and sloppy. His lips left yours and traveled to your neck. Your hands alternated between gripping his hair and scratching his back. 

He pulled himself from you and removed the shirt you were wearing leaving your chest bare. He kissed your nose then your lips then your neck and kept traveling til he was right above your shorts. You whined as he slowly took off your shorts and peppered your hips with kisses. When he finally took your shorts off he kissed the inside of your ankle and slowly went up til his nose brushed against your very wet cunt. 

“Hen, please,” you cried as he just kept kissing your inner thigh and letting his mouth hover so close but so far from when you needed him. 

“Where do you need me,” he asked bringing his face back up to yours and staring into your eyes. “Here,” he asked placing a kiss on your neck. You shook your head no. “here,” he asked kissing between your breasts. 

“No,” you cried wiggling beneath him. 

His hands gripped your hips causing your movements to cease and his lips brushed over your right nipple. “Here?” You again shook your head no. and he did the same to your left nipple. He asked the same question and got the same answer. He continued to kiss down your body, your stomach, hips, knee, and ankle but still wouldn’t touch you where you needed him. 

“If you don’t hurry up or I’m going to do it myself,” you cried out. 

“No, you’re not. You are mine, your kisses are mine. Your tears are mine. Your whimpers, moans, and pleas are mine. And for damn sure your orgasms are mine. No one, no toy, not even these beautiful fingers can bring you the pleasure I can,” he said kissing the tip of all ten of your fingers. “They can’t fill you or stretch you the way I can. You will forever be unsatisfied, empty, and cold without my fingers, mouth, and cock to fill you and keep you warm.”

His mouth finally hovered over where you needed him. He could see and smell how turned on you were but still hesitated to do anything about it. “Say it. Say no one can fuck you like I can. Tell me you are mine,” he said staring at you. 

You wiggled and cried and gasped at the feeling of his hot breath on your cunt. You tried to close your leg to get a little morsel of relief but his hands gripped your thighs and forced them open. 

“Say it,” he said again this time deliberately blowing directly on your clit. 

“Fuck. I’m yours only yours. No one can ever fuck me as good as you do,” you cried trying to close your legs again but not moving them an inch. “Please Hen I can’t take it.”

“Good girl. I’ve got you just relax,” he said before attaching his mouth to your aching cunt and eating you out like a starved man. 

His tongue traveled from your clit to your vagina and back again. He started sucking on your clit but his eyes never left your face. He watched as your eyes closed and face contorted with pleasure. Your hands gripped his hair and you were either trying to pull him away or pushing him in more you didn’t know but a groan left his throat causing you to fall over the edge and cum in his mouth. 

He lapped up the juices and sat back and just admired the mess between your legs. He used his fingers to spread you open so he could get a closer look. He spits in your very exposed cunt and then goes back to eating you like you were a whole meal at a 5-star restaurant. You cried and screamed his name when his teeth gently grazed over your clit. Before you could even come down from your first orgasm the second one hit like a ton of bricks. Your hips lifted off the bed and you screamed his name but he still wasn’t done. When your legs stopped shaking he finally removed his mouth and bruised your lips with a kiss. You let out a moan when you tasted yourself on his lips. 

You opened your eyes and noticed his were filled with a lustful/predatory look. He gently pressed kisses on your nose and lips causing you to laugh. His hand traveled from your neck to your left breast then down til his fingers stopped between your legs. 

“I'm not done with you princess, that was just my mouth. We still have my fingers,” he said pressing two into you without warning causing you to gasp. “And my cock,” he said placing a small kiss on your neck. 

“Fuck Hen,” you cried turning your head away from him. 

“On no princess, I said those are mine. You are going to look in my eyes as you come undone on just my fingers,” he said turning your head towards him.

You couldn’t say a word so you just nodded as your response. He thrust his finger in and out of you so slowly that it was almost painful. “Faster please,” you whined running your hands through his hair and bringing his lips against you. 

“Too impatient, you that much of a whore you can’t wait to drench my finger,” he asked picking up his speed. 

“Oh yes,” you said both at the new pace and his words.

“Yes, what,” he asked pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them to his lips. “Fuck you taste exquisite.”

You whined at the now empty feeling seeing as you were so close to cumming again. “Yes, I'm your whore please.”

Satisfied with your answer he plunged his fingers into your agains and was fucking you with such a brutal pace that tears fell from your eyes. “That’s my good girl. You're doing so well for me. You're taking my fingers so well, should we add another,” he asked rubbing your clit with his fingers. 

“Yes, Daddy please.”

He inserted another finger and stretched you out. Henry stroked your face when he saw you wince in pain. 

“It's okay baby, Your pussy was made for me. I can feel you gripping my fingers. Do you wanna cum,” he asked kissing your ear. 

“Please,” you whined. 

“Let go, Daddy’s got you,” he whispered. “Be my good girl and cum for me.”

The knot in your stomach broke and a wave of ecstasy filled every atom of your body. His finger still fucked you through through your intense orgasm. When you came down he once again removed his fingers. He brought them to your lips and gave them a little tap. 

“Clean my fingers, taste how sweet you taste,” he said looking at you. 

You sucked your cum off his fingers like there was no tomorrow while your eyes never left his. Once you were done he removed his fingers from your mouth and got off the bed to remove his jeans. Out of instinct, you got on your knees in front of him. He unbuckled his pants and pulled both his jeans and boxers down. You were about to take him in your mouth when you noticed more tattoos on his hips and all over his legs. 

Your fingers traced the dragon that covered his entire right leg. From his ankle to his hip. On his left thigh was a wolf’s head with trees around it like it was a forest. Henry let out a growl seeing as were were quite literally leaving him hanging. 

“It's not fun is it,” you retorted letting him think your were punished him for leaving you high and dry earlier. 

“Either you take my cock in your mouth now or I shove it down your throat and fuck you so hard you can’t speak,” he threatened gripping your throat and forcing you to look up. 

You pressed your legs at the thought of him fucking your mouth with such force. He noticed you squirm and he laughed. “You want that, don’t you. You want to wake up tomorrow with a sore throat and remember how I used you for the slut you are.”

You nodded your head and his hands gripped your head and he just stared into your eyes. “Then open up,” he said before he shoved his dick down your throat causing you to gag. Once the shock was over you tried to suck the soul out of him. 

“Fuck,” he moaned as your nails dug into his thighs.

He kept fucking your mouth and made sure that every inch was in. He brought your face to the base of his cock then pulled out completely to give you a breath. His thump traced your lips and pushed the drool from your chin back into your mouth. “My beautiful wife.” Your mouth fell open waiting for him to shove his cock back down your throat. Henry let out a laugh before giving you what you wanted. The pace he was going was brutal but beautiful at the same time. 

You watched as his face scrunched in pleasure at the feeling of your mouth. The sound of his balls slapping your chin filled your ears making your legs squeeze together. Henry’s hands cradled your face as he forced his cock as far down your throat as he could reach and he just held you there. When your tongue ran over the vein on the underside of him he quickly pulled himself out. 

“If I’m going to cum anywhere,” he said pulling you to him, “it’s going to be in this pussy.”

Henry’s hand stroked you clit one more time before he gently pushed you down on the bed. You tried to scoot up to the pillows but, Henry grabbed your ankles and dragged you back down til your ass was almost off the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face and places a kiss on your nose before plunging deep into your aching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you yelled dragging your nails down his back. 

Henry pounded into you at an alarming pace causing you to slowly move up the bed. “I'm gonna,” you yelled before his lips attacked yours. The orgasm ripped through your body. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably and your bones felt like mush. But Henry didn’t stop. His pace was speeding up like he was chasing his own pleasure. 

“I can’t,” you cried moving your head side to side. 

“Yes, you can baby. Just one more,” he said kissing your shoulder. “I'm almost there, you’re doing such a good job.”

Your head is still shaking from the overstimulation. His hands went from your waist to your painfully throbbing clit. “Please,” you cried when he roughly pinched it. He ignored your cries and just focused on your clit. You tried moving away but his other hand moved to your throat. “I know baby. But I know you have one more. Please I need you,” he pleaded as his strokes slowed down. You slowly nodded your head and he forcefully kissed you again. He removed his hand from your throat and went back to your thigh. Henry gave you a little squeeze before moving your legs over his shoulders. 

At this angle, you could swear you felt more of him. He slammed into you over and over again. “Cum with me baby,” he said bending you practically if half so he could kiss you. His movements stopped and his head fell to your shoulder as he came. “Fuck,” he yelled once he emptied his entire load. He stayed in you for a minute to catch his breath. 

“I love you,” he said whipping the sweat off your brow. 

You winced when he slowly removed himself. “I love you too,” you said when he walked into the bathroom to get a washcloth. When he ran the warm cloth over your abused cunt you flenched in pain. “Fuck, did I hurt you,” he asked kissing your knee. You shook your head and pulled him up to you. “Just very sore. Can you just hold me,” you asked.

He rolled off you and laid on his back with his arm extended waiting for you to move at your own pace. While your head rested on his chest, he rubbed small circles on your lower back. 

“So you want me to keep these tomorrow too,” he asked mumbling into your hair. You let out a laugh and slapped his stomach. “God no, I can’t survive another night like this tomorrow,” you said moving to look up at him. “But definitely next week,” you said with a smile.

[suzukiblu]

Excerpt from the one where Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it.

(The read-more is definitely necessary, length-wise. I . . . got very into this idea and frankly this is barely a third of it so far, lol.)

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no metas allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely fun.

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with Robin and your team and even Robin's literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #25

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Family Reunion

Clockwork sends an adult Danny, newly appointed Ancient of Space, on a mission through time again. Except this time, it isn't located on Earth, but a distant planet he's never even heard of before. Clockwork didn't tell him any specifics on what he was supposed to do or when he was supposed to return to his own time, just to blend in and have an experience. He would know when it was time to return.

Needless to say, he has a blast! His core is bursting with happiness at getting the chance to explore this unknown corner of the universe with a sky full of constellations he's never seen and fascinating locals. Considering he might be here a while, he buckles down and learns all about their culture and their traditions and even eventually learns their language without having to use the two-way translator Clockwork gave him.

He spends decades there, not even having to worry about how he never appears to age, the people here being incredibly long-lived. However, he eventually meets someone. Someone he falls head over heels for. He gets married. He has kids. He watches them slowly grow into adults as well. It isn't until one of his sons informs him that he's expecting his own child(1) that Danny feels a tug at his core.

He ignores it, but over the course of a few weeks, it's gone from the occasional pull to a full-on yank at his entire being, along with a sense of dread that something was going to happen to this wonderful little planet. To his family.

He becomes restless and loses so much sleep, it's a miracle he can even stand. His family are worried for him, but he assures them that he's just feeling a little under the weather. One night, he's sat up in bed, unable to sleep again. His gaze is fixed lovingly on his spouse, but nonetheless sad.

He doesn't miss when all the soft sounds of the night stop and a green glow appears behind him.

"It's time to leave, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"There isn't any way I could stay? I can't bring them with me?"

"I'm afraid not. There are some things that can't be changed or stopped, even when they fall into your domain. I'm sorry."

"Why send me here just to make me abandon them like this? What was the point?"

Clockwork is silent, but when Danny turns to look at the ghost, he's gone.

Danny takes a few more precious days to spend time with his family. Kiss his spouse. Hug his kids. Feel the strong kicks of his grandchild he won't be there to witness the birth of.

The night he leaves, he places a letter on his spouse's nightstand, gently kisses their forehead, and disappears in a flash of green, never to be seen again.

Years later is when Danny gets the news. That the planet Krypton is no more and that his family is gone. He searched the Ghost Zone for them, but he never knew the location of Krypton in the cosmos. Their afterlife is beyond his reach, in a place that isn't even on the Infamap.

He nearly drowns himself in grief when he finds a sliver of reprieve in the form of a news broadcast. An extraordinary man in blue and red with the kryptonian symbol for such emblazoned on his chest is shown fighting off multiple enemies at once. He is the spitting image of his father and Danny as well.

He had a grandson. His grandson was alive.

✦

(1) This was Kara, not Clark. Danny left before he even found out about Kal-El being in the oven, so there will be a misunderstanding at first. Then Kara pops up later, and Danny just bawls his eyes out that he had two surviving grandchildren without even knowing it this whole time. How he first meets either of them is up to you!

(*) What this means power-wise for Clark is yours to decide. As well as what Clark already knows about his grandfather from the stored information his father left him. What his father thought of Danny disappearing without a word is also up for you to decide.

[purpledemonlilyposting]

Wakey, wakey. The latest hot, steaming garbage Dragon Age hot-takes have dropped.

Wow, Lily. That's a LOT of words to say "I've never played any of Dragon Age. I've only hate-skimmed the series because I decided it was all problematic garbage before going in because there's no sister character I can project my messed-up fantasies on to, so I'm just going to pretend to be oh-so "deep". and "woke" so I can earn progressive brownie points without any effort."

Oh yeah my fans were showing me this last night after I finished Veilguard. I finished Veilguard on stream by the way!

"Dragon Age itself is boring, a generic high fantasy series seasoned with racism it never really bothers to address and a massive host of worldbuilding that is always the least interesting version of a kind of fantasy that was already not interesting to begin with."

The thing I've always loved about Dragon Age, the thing that got me through the slog that is the gameplay of Origins in 2009, has always been the worldbuilding. It's fairly unique as far as fantasy worlds go. All of it takes place on a single continent called Thedas. No one knows what else lies beyond it.

Elves used to be powerful immortal beings until a cataclysm in pre-history that has been pretty unclear until this current game (though you could already figure it out before Veilguard with all the clues throughout the first three games), now they are small second-class citizens who were once enslaved. Their entire culture has been decimated and they have no land of their own. They can only live in ghettos in human cities or as wandering tribes people reinventing the few scraps of history they do have into their own unique cultures.

Dwarves have a stringent caste system and anyone who leaves for above ground is forbidden to come back. They lose all of their social status. Their kingdoms were also decimated when the Blights began, leaving Orzammar the sole Dwarven kingdom. Besides, of course, the elusive Kal-Sharok that is mostly closed off to the world. Dwarves rely on trading lyrium (a substance essential to mages and Templars alike) with the surface for their survival and so they are often traders and economists. The Merchant's Guild is a powerful surface institution that despite being full of Dwarves who left Orzammar or were born on the surface still ties itself up in stringent Dwarven tradition. Dwarves also invented the common tongue/trade language everyone uses.

Humans don't have a whole lot of known history on their origins. We know they're not native to Thedas but Veilguard tells us they were there before the Veil (what separates the real world from the Fade, the world of spirits and dreams). Which is very interesting cause the world was so different back then. After the Veil humans formed the Tevinter Imperium which was a Roman Empire-like civilization that spanned the entire continent. When Andraste lead armies against them the empire was broken up, Tevinter became a smaller country in the North and other countries formed all around the continent. Humans ended up bringing the Blight to the world when the Evanuris, the ancient elven gods sealed away behind the veil, used their dragon thralls to speak to high ranking Tevinter magisters and lure them into breaching the Veil to enter the Fade physically.

Qunari are a completely unique concept to Dragon Age. They're a nameless horned race the majority of which follow a religion/social structure/philosophy called the Qun. It was passed down to them by an ancestor in a long forgotten land they left centuries ago. They conquered Par Vollen, pretty much the furthest north of Thedas, and have been there ever since. Their goal is to submit all to the Qun because the Qun is certainty. Living is a choice and the Qun gives that choice purpose, giving you a role you need not ever question because it is a demand of the Qun and the Qun is certainty. There is some evidence they are people who mixed themselves with dragon blood to become what they are now.

And that is just an overview of what makes the worldbuilding unique. There is so much more to everything I just said.

"Half the characters you meet are related in some way to the Chantry"

Yeah almost like the Chantry has the political power and reach of the Catholic Church in medieval Europe. Almost like Andraste as a prophet is a mix of Jesus Christ and Joan of Arc. Almost like fictional stories take influence from real life history to easily communicate to an audience what they're doing with this concept.

"BioWare is averse to the idea of Elven companions who aren't either chronic backstabbers or insufferable."

Lily what did Fenris and Merrill ever do to you? Did you not actually do Zevran's companion quests and raise his approval? He won't go back to the Crows if you do that you know. Sure Velanna is annoying but I wouldn't call even her insufferable.

The only real backstabber is Solas and he is literally Fen'Harel the elven trickster god.

"Outside of that all encompassing issue, a lot of Dragon Age companions require you to go through a long quest chain before you get to learn anything interesting about them"

Yeah Lily. If you want to get to know your companions better you actually have to do things to get to know them better. That's part of the fun of the game. If you don't like that then these games are maybe not for you.

"The worst version of this is Leliana. If you do her quests and follow her story to completion, she's a somewhat interesting character. BUT... for 11 hours before that point she's just Imoen as a born again christian. How the fuck does a Triple A game fall into "Original Character Do Not Steal"?"

... okay legendary super ultra rare W from Lily.

I'm only half joking because Leliana is the character I coined the term "writer's pet" for.

""Okay I think the group mage will be Vivienne" and then I met Vivienne and spoke to her for ten minutes, and proceeded to leave her in the camp because she's the mage equivalent of Stella Kubler, sucking up to the Chantry and actively supporting Mage Auschwitz."

And it was immediately negated with a common major L.

Maybe if you'd actually hear Vivienne out on why she supports the Circles you could learn something from her Lily. She's very similar to Wynne in that regard. Vivienne feels mages need a place to commiserate with other mages and learn to control their power. And she is absolutely right about that.

Also she is a queen and if you actually had to talk to her for 10 minutes she'd probably leave you weeping on the floor with her verbal stinging barbs alone.

She also becomes the mom friend companion if you befriend her. She's the only one who really checks in on the Inquisitor and frets about how you're doing. In her own way.

"BioWare for a while kept operating under the assumption that there was a real ethical question behind Mage Auschwitz. There wasn't. There was edgy gamer bros roleplaying as fantasy nazis and EVERYONE ELSE siding with the Mages, and rather than give up BioWare kept forcing the issue."

Lily if you didn't spacebar hammer your way through cutscenes and dialog and actually paid attention to the fucking story you would know the Circles and Templars are way more complex than you're stating here. You don't even seem to realize that Templars are an arm of the Chantry. Despite the fact they're called Templars.

I doubt you even know that Templars are usually recruited as children or teens in a monastic-like tradition and orphans are often just handed to them.

"Dragon Age 2 gives you an escaped slave party member who is also a bigot.

By the end of Dragon Age 2 I was a Warrior and my part was "My Mage Sister, my Mage Girlfriend, and my Mage BFF."

Oh god she likes Anders. Of course she likes Anders. The same Anders that turns to said escaped slave and says "Hey mages in the South are PRETTY MUCH slaves, you should be supporting them!"

The escaped slave who has lyrium markings carved into his skin by his former mage master. His former master who may have also had a sexual relationship with him. The escaped slave from Tevinter, where mages are the upper class and rule over all of society. Where blood magic is nominally forbidden but constantly happening behind closed doors. Where slavery is legal.

That escaped slave. Fenris. My favorite character in the entire series and my favorite romance in the entire series.

You ain't winning this one Lily lol.

"Going into Veilguard, I just don't bother with companion quests, because I know I'm just going to hate them at the end of it because that's how this game works.

Compare this to Mass Effect"

Compare it specifically to Mass Effect 2 because you are going to get everyone killed by not completing their companion quests.

"You get Miranda and Jacob who are big simps for Cerberus, but their companion quests have nothing to do with that so you don't have to listen to any of it past the first time."

Ah the human supremacy group is fine though.

"Mass Effect does have its dud characters. Zaeed, Kasumi, Thane, Ashley, Miranda"

Lily you get Thane and Kasumi out of there right now.

Really? You didn't list JACOB? The most lame nothing companion in any Bioware game ever?

That's the end I can't take any more.

[zimt-deathnote]

Okay, so I got some more shadow people Shinigami lore.

PART 1

LIFE DRAIN Shinigami can actively and passively drain the life out of things to feed themselves. Different things have different amounts of life energy. Having a Shinigami attached to you drains you passively. The life energy of people being killed by a Death Note will automatically “feed” the Shinigami and therefore weakens the life drain effect of the user. So it’s in your own interest to use the Death Note regularly if you don’t want to return it to the Shinigami.

DREAM WALKER Shinigami don’t sleep and just hang around menacingly in your room as you’re trying to fall asleep. Can be quite boring though and some find it fun to invade their users dreams messing with their head. Death Note keepers have vivid dreams every night and you can imagine seeing a Shinigami in your dreams regularly and waking up to one looming over you is terrific for your mental health. You quickly lose your grip to reality if this goes on for too long.

I imagine Light learned lucid dreaming after noticing this behaviour and starts messing with Ryuk invading his dreams too.

Rem gets a whole lot more tragic with in this version, as she is the reason Misa is suffering. As soon as she grows feelings for Misa, she’s torn. She doesn’t want Misa to keep writing names, she doesn’t want to take the Death Note away from her, she doesn’t want to write her name and end it all, she doesn’t want Misa to work with Light either.

I can imagine Misa always ordering two of everything when she goes out to eat and everyone going "how are you staying so thin??" and Rem be like "I got you"

Kal suffers to the extreme under Sidoh’s possession, despite Sidoh being on the more unintimidating tame side. The guy can’t cope at all with the haunting presence. He becomes terrified of sleeping/dreaming and tries to keep himself awake with meds, excessive amounts of coffein etc. Maybe he opens up to Rocket-Rick about this:

I have some more thoughts but I gotta stop somewhere.

----- My other socials Commission Info Let's drink some Ko-Fi! 🍵

[unfair-water-plane]

So one thing that has always made me chuckle in ME2 is the fact that Kal’Reegar is a marine in a Quarian suit. And he fits in with Shepard easily, the same attitude and headspace and cadence (for mShep at least). And I’m sitting here at work and the thought just hit me.

What if that’s because he is a marine in a Quarian suit?

Hear me out. Kal is older than Tali, or at least gives off those vibes, and so he would have been on his pilgrimage a while ago. Like maybe right after first contact. And here are these brand new people who came out of nowhere and had apparently enough fire power and attitude to give the Turians a very brief pause. The whole galaxy wants to know more. And humanity has no idea who is out there, but surely they can’t all be like the creepy bird people?

Cue one very curious Quarian in Shanxi, just as curious an out humanity as humanity is about everything. Meeting with early alliance brass, giving them information common palace to any kid with an extranet feed but wholly new to humanity. He explains that the Quarian don’t have ground forces because they don’t have a ground, and is honest about the geth, and is like ‘so how did you make the Turian Hierarchy freak out?’

And somehow ends up observing basic training, and falls in love with it. To the point where he actively asks to go through marine boot camp in Hanshan, and is just earnest and endearing enough to be allowed. So he goes through it, puts in the work and the blood and sweat and tears and makes the kinds of friends that you sort of have on the Flotilla, but everyone also knows you are all going to separate ships eventually and getting attached is hard.

But the humans will pack bond with a robot vacuum without issue, and when they meet a Quarian who wants to learn and thinks it’s amazing that they stood up to the biggest military in the galaxy running on old fashioned rocketry and spite? The marines adopt him as one of their own. They are brothers, something most single child Quarians have no experience with, and Kal gives it back in spades. He talks like them, fights like them, jokes and learns and is like them.

And when it is over and they graduate, it’s hard to turn down the offer to stay. But humanity respects the loyalty to his people that takes him back to the fleet, and it almost brings him to tears when his graduating class passes a cap for his passage back to the fleet in more comfort than sitting on a box in a volus cargo ship.

It actually brings him to tears when his drill instructor informs him that while it might not be in great shape, Arcturus has authorized them to gift Kal’Reegar with a battered but space worthy corsair and an official greeting from the Systems Alliance to the Migrant Fleet.

The SSV Jarhead is perhaps the best gift anyone is his age range can give to a future captain, though his practical military experience is a gift to the whole fleet. It catapults him through the Quarian military, from for soldier to instructor to commander, and somewhere he hopes that his brothers and sisters are as proud of them as he is of every transmission that makes it back to him.

On Haestrom, that training keeps him alive long enough to watch his squad die, and that cuts like nothing else. But he can’t stop, because the principle is still depending on him, and until his suit gives out he has to fight to her.

But then the voice cuts through the chatter of his own mind, and he *knows it*. Knows the cadence and the phrasing, knows how a human mouth forms the phrases that he has spent years trying to teach. Commander Shepard might not be a marine, but they are a human combat specialist and the fraternity is there.

Maybe it’s just three more people who are going to die for this fools errand, but somehow Kal doesn’t think so. There are two bone deep beliefs that he will carry it’s him to either the home world or the afterlife, and it has always felt appropriate to him that they rhyme. That they sound similar, when he breathes them into the air.

Keelah Salai. Semper Fi.

[cameoliob]

girl give us the eriss lore

oh my god I'm answering this so late (Emma check your inbox challenge level impossible)

For those of u who don't know; this is Eriss  ↓

And she's my lil Kalluzeb kiiidddd

HERES THE LOREEEE

So, it's 3 ABY when the Ghost Crew gets a tip about some lasat refugees, and when they arrive they find two elderly grandparents and a three year old little girl named Eriss.

And this little girl just adores Zeb. Her grandpa suggests that it's because Zeb reminds her of her father, who'd been murdered alongside her mother by the empire. And Zeb can't help but love her back.

Once they get to Lira San, Chava quickly takes it upon herself to get the small family aquainted with the planet, and The Ghost Crew heads back to the Rebellion.

As the years go by, Eriss' grandparents pass peacefully of old age and she's placed with Chava. Its a temporary solution; Chava's old and-- as much as she would like to-- she can't keep up with the energetic little girl, but it would have to work for the time being.

But sometimes Zeb calls, just to check up on things, and she gets to hear all the stories about the rebellion, and the adventures that he goes on, and she loves it.

And then the war ends and Zeb comes back to Lira San.

And Eriss is fucking HYPED. She doesn't really like grown ups all that much but Zeb is fun as hell and now he can tell Eriss all his war stories in person, and it'll be so great and-- Who the fuck is that guy

Eriss had never met Kallus in person because he wasn't apart of the original mission that brought her and her grandparents to Lira San (damn intelligence mission got in the way). Zeb had mentioned him before in passing, but putting a face to the name was weird. Really weird.

She didn't mind it, though. He was nice-- not as cool as Zeb, but he was nice.

It takes some time, but eventually Chava brings up the idea of Zeb and Kallus taking Eriss in; as stated before, she's getting old and she cannot keep up with this six year old. Kal and Zeb are hesitant, of course, they didn't really plan to raise a kid but... realistically it would probably be what's best for Eriss in the long run so... they agree

And for all that hestation they really are the dads of all time

She's midly confused and it's a whole lot of getting used to, but by the time she's ten she's calling them Adan and Dad

So she grows up with two war heroes as parents who teach her everything they know ANNNDDDD she gets a Cousin (which... is kind of a curse. Is Jacen one of her best friends? Yes. Is he also her nemisis and rival? Also yes.) (average cousin experience)

^ Top ten photos taken moments before disaster (they accidentally set Chopper on fire)

And sure she ended up with her Dads smart mouth, and her Adan's brashness, (a combonation resulting in what some may call attitude issues (all in good fun, of course)), but life is good. She's well read, she's educated, she's a student athlete (grav-ball point gaurd, and 3 time collegiate wrestling champ), her family is fire, she is truly living la vida loca

But then the First Order rolls around and she has to deal with all that bullshit but yk what, families who fight fascist regimes toegther stay together

[goblin-jr]

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Summary: The documentary starts taking over Clark’s life. The similarities between Kal and Clark take up Y/N’s

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

complete

words: 7.3 k

💌 💌 💌 💌

Clark adjusted his tie and exhaled slowly, willing himself to stay calm. The meeting room at Y/N’s record label was ridiculous. He had covered government briefings, sat across from world leaders, been inside courtrooms filled with corruption and power, but somehow, this was the most aggressively expensive space he had ever stepped into.

The walls were lined with plush acoustic panels, the chairs looked custom-made from imported leather, and the sleek, black conference table stretched so far across the room that Clark was sure it cost more than his Metropolis apartment. A skyline view loomed beyond the towering windows, and even the water bottles on the table had gold-embossed labels.

It was excessive.

It was exactly what he had expected.

The executives sitting across from him, however, weren’t as predictable.

They were measuring him, trying to figure him out just as much as he was trying to figure out a way to get through this as quickly as possible.

“So, Mr. Kent,” one of them finally said, folding her hands neatly on the table. She was poised, professional, the type of person who had perfected the art of sounding polite while still managing to look like she could fire you in an instant.

“You don’t typically cover entertainment.”

Clark nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Then why are you here?”

It was a fair question.

One Clark did not want to answer.

He almost said, Because I was blackmailed into it, but that didn’t seem like the kind of thing Perry would appreciate him admitting out loud.

“I was requested,” he settled on, keeping his tone professional.

A few of the execs exchanged knowing glances.

One of them, an older man with silver-rimmed glasses, leaned forward slightly. “By Y/N.”

Clark resisted the urge to shift in his chair. He kept his expression neutral. “Yes.”

Another exec, a younger man who had been quiet up until now, leaned back in his seat, appraising Clark. “Are we sure about this guy?” he asked, not bothering to lower his voice. “No offense, but Y/N is a global superstar. This documentary is going to be deeply personal. Are we sure we want someone who doesn’t know the industry?”

Clark’s fingers curled slightly against the table. This was his out.

If the label didn’t think he was a good fit, then he wouldn’t have to do this.

And he really, really didn’t want to do this.

Before anyone could press further, his gaze drifted down to his bottle of water. A familiar emblem caught his attention. A small bird, wings spread wide, embossed elegantly into the label.

Clark felt something cold settle in his chest.

His mind flashed back to the silver guitar mounted in Y/N’s apartment.

The same delicate bird decal, etched near the strings.

His pulse kicked up.

It was the same symbol.

But before he could process it, the woman across from him noticed his gaze. “You’re hesitating,” she observed, tilting her head slightly.

One of the other execs smirked. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is?”

Clark glanced up, masking his reaction. “It’s… her logo.”

The table went silent for a moment before someone actually laughed.

“Wow,” the younger exec muttered, shaking his head. “You really didn’t do your research, huh?”

Clark fought back a sigh.

“What am I missing?” he asked, his patience thinning.

The older man adjusted his glasses. “That’s ‘The Songbird.’ Y/N’s entire brand. Her fans call her that, the press calls her that—hell, it’s in half her album titles.”

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to nod as if this was brand new information and not something that had just rattled him to his core.

Before anyone else could comment, the door swung open.

“Sorry, sorry—I got held up.”

Y/N swept into the room like she had been here the whole time.

She was completely unbothered by the tension hanging in the air, her presence immediately shifting the energy in the room.

She slid into the chair beside Clark like they were old friends, flashing him a grin.

“Happy to see you, Clark,” she said casually.

Clark blinked.

That… threw him off completely.

“I—uh. You too.”

Y/N didn’t seem to notice his hesitation. Instead, she pulled a thick folder out of her bag and set it down in front of her, flipping it open.

“Alright,” she began, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “I have a lot of thoughts about this documentary.”

Clark tilted his head slightly.

She actually prepared for this?

For some reason, he had expected her to be casual about the whole thing, like she had picked him on a whim. But the folder in front of her was full of notes. Highlighted, color-coded.

She was serious.

Even the execs seemed surprised.

“I want this to feel real,” Y/N continued, flipping a page. “No sugar-coating. No weird, PR-polished version of my life. Just me, my music, and how I got here.”

Clark blinked.

This was already not what he expected.

Then, she said something that made him stop completely.

“And I want all proceeds from the documentary to go to organizations that help survivors of domestic violence.”

The room went still.

Clark paused mid-breath.

That…

That was unexpected.

One of the execs adjusted their suit jacket. “Y/N, that’s incredibly generous, but are you sure—”

“Yes,” she said simply.

Clark looked at her then, really looked at her.

She was still Y/N, still the playful, teasing person who had wreaked havoc on his newsroom, but there was something steadfast in her expression.

She wasn’t just throwing out a random good deed. This mattered to her.

Clark felt something shift.

For weeks, he had been trying to avoid this, trying to convince himself that this was just a nuisance assignment.

But maybe…

Maybe this wasn’t about her at all.

Maybe it was about the people this could actually help.

Y/N must have caught something in his expression because she tilted her head, studying him.

Then, with a small smile, she leaned back in her chair.

“I’m not gonna force you to do this, Clark,” she said. “If you don’t want to be here, you can walk. No hard feelings.”

Clark hesitated.

She meant it.

This was his chance to leave.

But instead, his gaze flickered down to the songbird logo.

The same one on her guitar. The guitar that had once been played by a girl he used to know.

The feeling nagged at him, but he pushed it aside.

Right now, the decision was in front of him.

Helping people.

That’s what this was.

Not about his past.

Not about her.

Just a project that could actually do some good.

Clark exhaled slowly.

“…Alright,” he said, resigned. “I’m in.”

–

Clark Kent was back in the shiny marble elevator.

It was eerily similar to his first visit—the same polished chrome walls, the same soft chime of expensive convenience, the same sensation that he didn’t belong in a place like this.

He adjusted his tie, exhaling slowly as the elevator glided upward, carrying him toward yet another long afternoon in Y/N’s world.

It was bizarre how quickly things had escalated.

A week ago, he had been actively avoiding this assignment. Now, he had production schedules in his inbox, a research folder getting thicker by the day, and an artist who had personally chosen him to dig into her life.

Why him?

The question still sat uncomfortably in the back of his mind.

A soft ding signalled his arrival, and the elevator doors slid open into the same vast, pristine penthouse that had greeted him last time.

Everything was exactly as he remembered it.

Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the skyline, furniture that looked like it was meant to be admired, not actually used.

Cold. Luxurious. Empty.

And then Y/N appeared, barefoot, wearing sweatpants, and grinning like she didn’t live in a billionaire’s museum.

“Welcome back, Kent.” She gestured dramatically like she was unveiling a grand ballroom. “Try not to look so thrilled.”

Clark sighed. “I’m containing my excitement.”

“Good, because I am so ready for some serious brainstorming,” she said, already turning on her heel. “Come on, we’re working in the studio.”

Clark followed her through the polished, impersonal space—past the cold, modern furniture, the carefully curated décor, the spotless kitchen that looked like it had never actually been used. His eyes lingered on the silver guitar still hung in her living room. 

And then, she opened a door.

And suddenly, everything changed.

Clark stepped inside and immediately felt the shift.

This wasn’t like the rest of the penthouse.

This was lived-in.

If the label’s conference room had been a corporate temple to capitalism, this space was the complete opposite. Warm lighting, a deep-red vintage rug, and walls filled with music memorabilia. Handwritten notes were pinned to a cork board, some half-finished lyrics, others just chaotic reminders to herself ("BUY MORE TEA" / "DON’T FORGET TO SLEEP, DUMBASS" / "FIND WHERE I LEFT MY BRAIN").

The air smelled like faint lavender and old paper, and in the corner, there was an oversized couch that had clearly been used as both a seat and an occasional bed.

Clark’s gaze flickered to the grand piano in the corner, its surface covered in loose sheet music and half-empty tea mugs.

This was her space.

Not the penthouse. Not the labels or the awards or the PR-perfect image.

This.

This was where she actually existed.

Y/N dropped onto the couch with zero grace, stretching her arms above her head. “Alright, Clark. Time to build a documentary.”

Clark pulled out his notebook and took the chair across from her. “We need a structure.”

“We need vibes,” she corrected, grinning.

Clark ignored that.

He clicked his pen, scanning his notes. “We should start at the beginning. Childhood, early influences, your first introduction to music.”

Y/N nodded, tapping a pen against her knee. “Yeah, that makes sense. Then signing my first deal, what that was like.”

Clark noted the lack of deeper childhood talk. He didn’t press.

Not yet.

“Where do you want it to end?” he asked.

She considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Where I am now, I guess.”

Clark looked up. “And where is that?”

Y/N paused, blinking once like she hadn’t actually thought about it. Then she laughed. “Wow. That’s… a really good question.”

Clark tilted his head, waiting.

She exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean—I’m still here. Still making music. I took a break, but I’m back. And now I guess I’m letting you write a deep-dive into my soul.”

Clark smirked. “Good life choices.”

“Terrible life choices,” she corrected. “But we’re already here.”

Clark nodded, scribbling something down. “So, early childhood, signing at nineteen, and then present day.” He looked at her. “Are we skipping the in-between years?”

Y/N leaned back against the couch. “No. Just… let’s save the childhood deep dive for later.”

Clark studied her for a second, then nodded. “Okay. Nineteen, then.”

Y/N let out a breath. “Ah, yes. The Signing.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Dramatic.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered, flipping through her notes. “I was nineteen, thought I was on top of the world. Had no idea what I was walking into.”

Clark leaned forward slightly. “How did it happen?”

Y/N tapped her fingers against her knee, remembering.

“My first album was doing well, and labels were circling like sharks.” She smirked. “I thought I had all the power.”

Clark nodded. “And did you?”

Y/N let out a small, dry laugh. “Absolutely not.”

Clark wrote something down. “What changed?”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “I realized pretty fast that they weren’t signing me. They were signing an idea of me. And I let them.”

Clark glanced up. “Because you wanted the opportunity?”

She nodded. “I was nineteen, Kent. The dream was right there. So I made the deal.”

Clark tapped his pen. “And?”

Y/N smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And then I had to figure out how to survive it.”

Clark felt something settle in his chest.

She was still talking like it was a funny story, still delivering everything with the same offhanded charm. But there was weight underneath it.

The unspoken. The things she wasn’t saying yet.

But she would.

Eventually.

She ran a hand through her hair, shaking it off. “Anyway. That’s the dramatic backstory. You’ll love it. Full of bad decisions and good music.”

Clark gave her a look. “I’m sure.”

Y/N grinned. “So? Are we officially making progress?”

Clark glanced down at his notes—childhood (later), signing at nineteen, the industry (learning the hard way), and present-day (figuring it out).

A rough map. A starting point.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “We’re getting somewhere.”

Y/N clapped her hands together. “Fantastic. I vote we celebrate with food.”

Clark sighed. “You just want an excuse to take a break.”

“Absolutely,” she said cheerfully. “You’re catching on, Clark.”

Clark shook his head, but there was a small, unwanted warmth in his chest.

This was going to be a long process.

And, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing.

–

The first time Y/N showed up at the Daily Planet, it had been a little funny.

The second time, it had been mildly disruptive.

By the third, fourth, and fifth time?

It was routine.

Clark wasn’t even surprised anymore.

She had taken over his space just as much as he had taken over hers. If they wanted to fit the documentary into their already packed schedules, they had to work in whatever spare moments they had—whether that meant late-night recording sessions or early-morning strategy meetings at the Planet.

It had started as a necessity.

Now?

It was just what they did.

Clark sighed as he walked into the newsroom, coffee in hand, only to find Y/N already sitting on his desk, cross-legged, flipping through his notes like she had editorial authority.

"Morning, Kent," she greeted without looking up.

Clark exhaled slowly. “Why?”

Y/N finally looked up, grinning. “Deadlines, Kent. I thought we established this.”

Clark set his coffee down, rubbing his temples.

It was too early for this.

Across the room, Lois and Jimmy were watching.

Lois, because she found the whole thing hilarious.

Jimmy, because he was still processing the fact that Y/N was just… here. All the time.

Lois raised a brow. “She practically works here now.”

Y/N grinned. “I like to think of myself as an honorary journalist.”

Clark sighed. “You are not a journalist.”

“I interview you constantly.”

“That’s—that’s not the same thing.”

She waved him off. “Details.”

Lois was clearly loving this. She turned to Jimmy. “Did you ever think you’d see the day when Clark had a famous best friend?”

Jimmy shook his head, still slightly starstruck. “No. And I definitely didn’t think it’d be her.”

Y/N leaned over Clark’s desk, grinning. “Aww, you think we’re best friends?”

Clark took a long, slow sip of his coffee. “I’m thinking of filing a restraining order.”

Y/N gasped, dramatic. “Clark, don’t be mean.”

Lois snorted.

Clark sighed deeply.

This was his life now.

–

Clark Kent had never given much thought to how music was made.

He’d always assumed it was simple enough—write a song, record it, release it. But sitting in a high-end recording studio, watching Y/N work, he realized how wrong he’d been.

The room buzzed with controlled chaos—soundboards blinking, cables tangled across the floor, producers tweaking levels, musicians waiting for cues. And in the middle of it all was her.

Y/N, in the booth, headphones on, building something.

She wasn’t just singing. She was stopping, adjusting, running through the same verse over and over with slight variations, searching for perfection. Every take mattered.

Clark, used to fast deadlines and breaking news, sat back in his chair. I didn’t know this much effort went into this.

David, the lead producer, adjusted a dial and sighed. “She’s a perfectionist.”

Clark glanced at him. “Yeah?”

David nodded, watching through the glass. “She hears things the rest of us don’t. We’ll think a take is perfect, and she’ll go, ‘No, I can do it better.’ Drives us insane, but she’s always right.”

Clark looked back at Y/N, who was mouthing lyrics between takes, brow furrowed in concentration.

He believed that.

The track started again, her voice flooding the speakers—clear, powerful, precise. Clark had heard her songs before, but he had never really listened. There was something raw about it, something that made the room still, even though everyone here had probably heard this song dozens of times.

David hit a button. “That one felt good. What do you think?”

Y/N pulled off her headphones, grinning. “Terrible. But I’ll pretend I liked it so we can move on.”

David chuckled. “Classic.”

Clark smirked, jotting something down.

Y/N – terrible critique when it comes to her own work.

Clark had been here too long.

What started as a quick afternoon session had stretched into eight hours.

A sound engineer clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by. “You hanging in there, Kent? How’s your crash course in the music industry?”

Clark exhaled. “Eye-opening.”

The guy laughed. “Yeah, it’s not all fancy award shows, huh?”

Clark shook his head. “Definitely not.”

He’d underestimated all of it—the layers of harmonies, the tiny adjustments no one would notice but that made all the difference. It was art, but it was also relentless work.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t just talented. She was leading all of it.

Clark had assumed—wrongly—that an artist at her level just showed up and sang. That the producers handled the rest.

But every decision, every adjustment, every fight over what made the final cut went through her.

She wasn’t just the face of her music.

She was the architect.

Clark made another note.

Y/N – has full creative control, even when it would be easier to let someone else take over.

–

Clark Kent had spent years keeping his worlds separate.

But now, somehow, Y/N had slipped into his life so seamlessly that he wasn’t sure where the lines had been drawn in the first place.

It had become routine.

Some days, Clark was in her world—recording sessions, photoshoots, interviews, late nights spent in her studio as she played with lyrics and melody, making small adjustments no one else would ever notice. Between the Daily Planet, the documentary, and his actual responsibilities as Superman, there had been very little sleep lately. 

They were always working, always talking, always finding time between their packed schedules to fit in just one more meeting, one more round of edits, one more conversation about where this documentary was going.

And now, after another long day—this time, an industry event that had required Y/N’s presence but none of her interest—they sat in the back of a quiet car, watching the city lights blur past the windows.

Clark had his notebook open on his lap, but he wasn’t writing.

Y/N sat beside him, slouched against the seat, staring out at the city, fingers lightly tapping against her knee in time with some silent rhythm.

For the first time all day, she was quiet.

Clark didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

There was something about the way she sat there—not tense, not restless, just still. Like she was waiting for something.

And then, in a voice so soft he almost missed it, she said—

“I ran away when I was seventeen.”

Clark stilled.

She wasn’t looking at him.

Her gaze was still fixed on the window, but her voice was steady.

“My mom had just died,” she continued, each word measured, like she was placing them down carefully in front of her, piece by piece. “And I left. Took a bus to Metropolis and never looked back.”

Clark’s fingers curled slightly around his pen.

She had never talked about this.

She had dodged the questions before, skimmed past the details, treated her early years like they weren’t important.

But now, finally, she was saying it out loud.

“My mom was a victim of domestic violence,” Y/N said, inhaling slowly. “And for years, I knew—I knew—she was never going to leave.”

Clark’s chest felt tight.

“I used to think, If I can just make it to eighteen, I’ll get out.” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “I had a plan. I was going to finish school, save up, and then leave for good.”

Clark had spent his whole life trying to save people.

But no one had been there to save her.

Her fingers tapped against the seat again, but this time, it felt less like a melody and more like nervous energy.

“But then she died first,” Y/N said, her voice quieter now. “And suddenly, I didn’t have to wait anymore.”

Clark felt something heavy settle in his chest.

He thought about seventeen-year-old Y/N, alone, stepping onto a bus with nothing but a bag of belongings, heading toward a city she had never lived in before.

A kid, leaving behind everything she had ever known because there was nothing left to stay for.

Clark swallowed, forcing his voice to stay even. “Where did you go?”

Y/N shook her head. “We’re not getting into that part tonight, Kent.”

Not yet.

Clark nodded, accepting that.

But the weight of it still pressed against him, still sat in the silence between them.

Y/N exhaled, tilting her head against the window. “Music wasn’t allowed in my house,” she admitted after a moment.

Clark frowned. “At all?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p,’ a flicker of her usual playfulness slipping through, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Too loud. Too self-indulgent.”

Clark didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

She had loved music her entire life. And she had to hide it.

“I used to steal radio time when I could,” she continued. “Learned chords in secret.”

Clark didn’t realize how tight his grip on the pen was until his knuckles started aching.

“The silver guitar,” he said, realization settling in.

She let out a breath, nodding. “I saved for it for years. Had to hide it.”

Clark swallowed. “And when you left—”

“It was the only thing I brought with me,” Y/N finished. “That, and some cash.”

Clark looked at her, and for the first time, he truly saw it.

The silver guitar wasn’t just an instrument.

It was the only thing she had ever owned that was truly hers.

Not just something she had worked for—something she had fought for.

Clark felt something twist inside him.

And suddenly, everything clicked into place.

The proceeds from the documentary. The decision to donate every cent to organizations supporting domestic violence survivors.

Clark had assumed it was just a cause she cared about.

But now, sitting here in the dim light of the car, hearing the exhaustion in her voice as she talked about a childhood spent hiding the things she loved, saving for an escape she wasn’t sure she’d ever get—

Now, he understood.

This wasn’t just a cause.

This was her.

Clark exhaled slowly, staring down at the blank page in his notebook.

The questions he had wanted to ask didn’t feel relevant anymore.

He knew why she was telling him this now.

He knew why, after weeks of skimming past it, deflecting, dodging—

She had finally let him in.

Because she trusted him.

Because somehow, in the mess of studio sessions and late-night edits, stolen coffee and newsroom banter, him showing up in her world and her barging into his—

Somewhere along the way, they had become friends.

Real friends.

The kind that tell the truth, even when it’s ugly.

The kind that don’t have to fill the silence.

Clark didn’t say much after that.

Just sat there, letting her words settle.

Letting her breathe.

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t rush to fill the quiet either.

She just let it stay.

—

Y/N wasn’t crazy.

She wasn’t.

But spending this much time with Clark Kent was messing with her head.

At first, she had been sure they were nothing alike—Kal had been sharp edges and reckless grins, a boy who didn’t belong anywhere but carried himself like he belonged everywhere. Clark was careful, steady, the kind of person who made people feel safe just by existing.

And yet, the more time she spent with him, the more she saw it. The way he carried himself, the rare moments where he let go of the professional act and grumbled under his breath, the way he always knew what was happening in a room before anyone else did. It was Kal. Or at least, it felt like him.

But that wasn’t possible.

And it was driving her insane.

There was only one way to prove herself wrong.

She needed to see Clark’s chest.

Kal had a brand on his skin—a jagged scar in the shape of a crest that he had always refused to talk about. It had been there since the day she met him, burned into his skin like a permanent mark of something he couldn’t escape. If Clark had the same scar, then… well.

But if he didn’t—then she could finally let this go.

But how the hell was she supposed to get Clark Kent to take his shirt off?

The perfect opportunity fell into her lap.

A Vogue cover.

–

It had started out fine.

Y/N had landed a Vogue cover shoot, a big deal even by her standards. Since Clark had to ask her a thousand questions for the documentary anyway, it had been decided that he should just tag along, catching moments between outfit changes, hair touch-ups, and the endless chaos of high fashion.

Clark hadn’t been thrilled about it, but in comparison to the other ways Y/N had tormented him lately, it had seemed… manageable.

He had been wrong.

Because thirty minutes into the shoot, disaster struck.

The first sign of trouble was the sharp gasp from Jacques, the artistic director.

"Mon dieu!" Jacques clutched his pearls—well, his Gucci scarf, but the reaction was the same. "Where is Antoine?!"

A frantic assistant rushed over, whispering something.

Jacques gasped again, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead. “NON!”

Clark, who had been standing quietly in the background, frowned. “What’s going on?”

Y/N, now mid-pose in some ridiculously expensive gown, grinned. “Sounds like our male model is missing.”

Jacques began pacing. "This is a disaster. A catastrophe! We cannot proceed without ze vision!"

Clark, already sensing where this was going, took a slow step back.

Jacques snapped his fingers. “Your bodyguard! He will do.”

Clark froze.

Y/N lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said immediately.

Clark’s stomach dropped. “No.”

“Yes.”

"Non!" Clark tried.

"Oui!" Jacques countered, waving his hands. "He is tall, strong, handsome in a very serious way. This will work!"

Clark turned to Y/N, desperate. “Fix this.”

Y/N beamed. “Oh, no. I think this is perfect.”

Clark gritted his teeth. “I am not modeling.”

Jacques clapped his hands. "Into wardrobe! Immediately!"

And before Clark could react, three assistants descended upon him like vultures.

This was happening.

And Y/N?

Y/N was thrilled.

Clark was getting shoved into a dressing room, and all she had to do was wait for him to take his shirt off.

This was foolproof.

Or at least, it should have been.

Except then, at the last second, a horrible thought entered her mind.

What if Clark was sensitive about the brand on his chest? It seemed painful and Kal never talked about—what if he didn’t want people seeing him like that?

Guilt immediately punched her in the gut.

What the hell was she doing?

This was Clark. She teased him, sure, but she never wanted to actually make him uncomfortable.

If he didn’t want to take his shirt off, he shouldn’t have to.

And so, she did the only responsible thing.

She burst into the dressing room.

"Clark, wait—"

She froze.

Clark, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, froze too.

There was a long, agonizing beat of silence.

Clark’s chest was bare, and it was a good chest, and Y/N had zero shame admitting that to herself.

But that wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was that there was no scar.

No brand. No mark.

Her stomach sank.

Clark blinked. “Why do you look disappointed?”

Y/N snapped out of it, clearing her throat. “No! No, of course not. You look… great! Fantastic. Just. Uh. I remembered something wrong. That’s all.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “Right.”

“Anyway!” She backed toward the door, smiling a little too wide. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to! I totally get it, some people are weird about—um, stuff. So if you wanna back out, I’ll tell Jacques.”

Clark exhaled, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Unless, of course, you want to—”

Clark exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Listen, if I—if I do this, my face cannot be in it." He leveled her with a firm look. "I’m serious, Y/N. No full shots. No close-ups. No tragic, longing stares into the camera."

Y/N pressed a hand over her heart, gasping in mock offense. "Clark, would I ever betray your trust like that?"

"Yes," he deadpanned.

She grinned. "Alright, fair. But don’t worry, I’ll personally make sure they only use the anonymous, artsy ones. Shadows, silhouettes—the mystery will drive people wild."

Clark sighed, rubbing his temples. "Thank you."

–

Y/N was a little disappointed.

Just a little.

Because, okay, maybe she had let herself believe it for a second. Maybe she had spent too much time looking at Clark and seeing someone else. But the proof had been right there—his chest, completely unmarked. No scar. No brand. Nothing.

Clark Kent was not Kal.

And yet, even as she told herself that, something still felt off.

But she wasn’t stupid.

If this was a dead end, fine. She could live with that.

But there was no way in hell she was letting a golden opportunity pass her by.

Because Clark Kent—stoic, serious, perfectly put-together Clark Kent—was about to model for Vogue.

And Y/N?

Y/N was going to make this the funniest experience of her life.

"Clark, are you having fun?"

Y/N's voice was sweet, teasing, her eyes bright with amusement as she adjusted the delicate lace sleeve of her gown.

Clark, standing stiff beside her, dead inside, muttered, “No.”

She beamed. “Oh, but you look so good.”

Clark closed his eyes.

The shoot had started only fifteen minutes ago, and he was already in hell.

Jacques circled them, adjusting angles, barking instructions.

"Intensity!" he cried. "Longing!"

Clark bit back a sigh.

He had faced literal supervillains with less dramatic energy.

Y/N placed a hand on Clark’s chest, tilting her head up toward him, her lips just inches away from his jaw. “Like this, Jacques?”

Jacques sighed dreamily. “Perfection!”

Clark, frozen, could only stare straight ahead, praying for death.

Y/N’s fingers curled slightly against the lapel of his suit.

Then, in a low, amused whisper, she said, “Don’t worry, Kent. I’ll make sure your first time is so good.”

Clark choked.

Jacques clapped his hands. “YES! That energy!”

Clark was going to combust.

His ears burned as Y/N grinned up at him, clearly thrilled.

“That’s not what I—”

“Shhh,” she whispered, patting his chest. “Let me take care of you.”

Clark wasn’t going to survive this.

"Closer!" Jacques called. "You are lovers, doomed by fate!"

Clark exhaled sharply. “This is ridiculous.”

Y/N, clearly thriving, hummed. "I think it's fun."

Clark sent her a flat look. "Of course you do."

Jacques suddenly gasped. “I have it!” He turned to the photographer, wildly gesturing. "We need the hands!"

Clark frowned. “The what?”

“THE HANDS, MON AMOUR!” Jacques clutched his chest. “The gentle, reverent touch!”

Y/N, eyes glinting with pure mischief, took both of Clark’s hands and placed them firmly on her waist.

Clark immediately stiffened.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Kent,” she teased, leaning in slightly.

Clark’s jaw locked. “I hate you.”

Y/N smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Jacques sighed dreamily. “Magnifique.”

"Now, the final shot!" Jacques cried. "The one Vogue will remember for centuries!"

Clark mentally prepared for impact.

Y/N, however, was clearly in her element.

Jacques paced for a moment, then suddenly pointed at Clark. "Lie down!"

Clark blinked. “What.”

"LIE DOWN, MON CHÉRI!"

Clark was too exhausted to fight it. He carefully eased onto the ridiculously soft velvet chaise lounge, feeling utterly ridiculous.

Jacques turned to Y/N. "Now, you, on top of him."

Clark's brain blue-screened.

Y/N perked up. “Oh, finally.”

Clark shot up. “Absolutely not.”

Y/N pushed him back down. “Oh, relax. It’s art.”

Clark exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

Jacques gestured wildly. “More passion! More tragedy! You are soulmates torn apart by destiny!”

Y/N, now draped effortlessly over Clark, sighed dramatically.

“You hear that, Kent? Soulmates.”

Clark groaned.

Y/N rested her chin on his chest, smiling innocently. “You wanna hold me tighter? Really sell it?”

Clark turned his head toward the ceiling. He was in hell.

The flashbulb went off.

It was done.

And Clark Kent was never going to live this down.

–

Clark was used to people coming and going.

It came with the job—stories started, stories ended. He met people, learned their lives, wrote their truths, and then moved on.

That was how it worked.

And yet, as he sat at his desk, fingers hovering over his keyboard, staring at the final draft of the documentary plan, he couldn’t help but feel…

Weird.

Tomorrow morning, his involvement would be mostly over.

After months of following Y/N through her world—recording sessions, tour rehearsals—the bulk of his work was done. The structure was set, the story complete, the interviews wrapped.

By all accounts, he should be relieved.

And he was.

Sort of.

Because his secret was intact.

For all the time they had spent together, for all the questions Y/N had asked, she had never once connected the dots.

She had let it go.

And that should have made Clark feel safe.

But instead, as he sat there, staring at the screen, he felt something he hadn’t expected.

Something that felt an awful lot like…

Regret.

Because against all logic, he had gotten used to having her around.

Her constant presence at the Daily Planet, her shameless ability to steal his desk, the way she dragged him into conversations he had no business being in.

Her stupid little nicknames, the way she teased him, the way she could pull a smile out of him even on his worst days.

She was a good friend.

And he wasn’t used to losing those.

Clark sighed, leaning back in his chair.

This was good. It was.

Everything had worked out.

So why did it feel like something wasn’t finished?

He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaustion settling deep in his bones.

The day had been long—an oil rig fire had kept Superman out past midnight, and Clark still had to be up early.

He should have gone to bed.

But then his phone rang.

And when he saw the name on the screen, something in his stomach dipped.

Y/N.

He answered immediately. “Hey.”

She didn’t waste time.

“Can you come over?”

Clark frowned, sitting up. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” She sounded… different. Not frantic, not upset, just… off.

Clark’s shoulders tensed. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“There’s something missing from the plan,” she said finally. “I know what it is.”

Clark exhaled slowly.

And just like that, the weird feeling in his chest got worse.

Because after months of this, after learning everything about her—her childhood, her music, her fears— there was still one thing she had never talked about.

Her stay in Metropolis.

She had glossed over it entirely.

She had told him everything else, but somehow, the part where she had arrived in the city—broke, alone, lost— had disappeared from the story.

And he had let it go, because maybe she had just… forgotten.

But now, sitting there, phone pressed to his ear, he knew.

She hadn’t forgotten.

She had been choosing not to say it.

Until now.

Clark closed his eyes briefly. “I’ll be right there.”

He grabbed his coat and left.

–

Y/N grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter, uncorking it with an ease that told him she’d done this a thousand times before. She poured herself a glass, took a slow sip, then turned to face him, tilting her head slightly.

"You drinking?"

Clark shook his head. "Not tonight."

She hummed, swirling the glass in her hand before setting it down on the coffee table. Then, with a small smile, she gestured to his recorder.

"Go on, then. Let’s finish this."

Clark pulled the device from his bag, placed it between them, and pressed record.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the blinking red light.

Then, softly—

“I never told you about the first person I met in Metropolis.”

Clark stilled.

He kept his expression neutral, but his pulse picked up.

She had never said this before.

She had told him about her childhood. About her mother. About running away. But she had never said what happened after.

Not once.

He leaned forward slightly, pen poised over his notebook. "Go on."

Y/N exhaled, settling back into the couch. “I was seventeen. I stepped off a bus with a few hundred bucks, a guitar, and no clue what the hell I was doing. I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know where I was gonna stay. And the city—” she huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “Metropolis is a lot, even when you have money. When you don’t? It eats you alive.”

Clark nodded, staying quiet, letting her tell it in her own way.

“I was barely holding it together. I didn’t sleep much. Kept telling myself I’d figure it out. Then, one night…” she trailed off for a second, eyes distant, like she was looking at something just beyond his shoulder.

Then, quieter—

“There was a guy.”

Clark gripped his pen a little tighter.

“His name was Kal. He found me,” she said simply. “Or maybe I found him. I don’t know. But he let me stay with him. No strings attached, no expectations. Just gave me a place to sleep, something to eat, and never asked for anything in return.”

Clark swallowed, his throat dry. “Why are you telling this now?”

Y/N’s gaze met his, steady. “Because people should know that good people exist. That when you think you’re out of options, sometimes the right person finds you. That help is out there, even when you don’t believe it.”

Clark’s jaw tightened.

Because she was saying this for them.

For the kids who had nowhere to go.

For the ones who would watch this documentary and see themselves in her.

For the ones who needed to know that hope was real.

Clark took a careful breath. “And what happened to him?”

Y/N’s fingers traced the rim of her wine glass. “He left.”

The words landed heavier than he expected.

“He was gone before I realized I didn’t want to leave him behind.” She smiled, but it was small, almost sad. “I never got to thank him.”

Silence settled between them.

Clark forced himself to stay still. To keep his face blank.

But inside?

His heartbeat was a war drum.

She had just told him everything.

Then, finally, Y/N turned to him.

Her voice was soft. Certain. “You remind me of him.”

Clark’s chest tightened.

“That’s why I asked for you.”

Clark didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because if he let anything slip—if he gave her even an inch—she would see it.

So instead, he forced a noncommittal expression, nodding slightly.

Y/N watched him. Closely.

And then—

She caught it.

A flicker. A millisecond of hesitation.

Clark barely even felt it happen, but Y/N did.

And that was all she needed.

She reached forward and turned off the recorder.

Clark’s stomach dropped.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

Y/N set her wine glass down carefully, then looked him straight in the eye.

“Are you?”

Clark’s throat went dry. “…Am I what?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Are you him?”

Clark’s heart pounded against his ribs.

His mind raced.

He had gotten so good at lying. So good at burying the darkest parts of himself, making sure no one ever got too close.

But this was Y/N.

She had seen him at his most human.

And now—

She had seen past it.

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

Then, carefully, he gave her a small, almost amused smile.

“That’s a hell of a question,” he said lightly.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him.

Clark held her gaze, keeping himself calm, unreadable.

And after a long moment—

She let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for her wine again.

“Guess it is,” she murmured, taking a sip.

And just like that—

The tension broke.

Clark exhaled, leaning back slightly, believing, for just a second, that he had gotten away with it.

But as Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Because she knew.

And Clark Kent had no idea.

–

Bonus

–

Clark had barely stepped into his apartment when his phone rang.

Mom.

He sighed deeply. He’d spent all day following some dead-end lead about a corruption case. It had been a few weeks since the documentary proposal wrapped up and the lull of his regular life had gotten a bit tiring without having Y/N glued to him at every moment. 

Bracing himself, he picked up. “Hey, Mom.”

There was a long pause. A terrifying, mom-sensing-bullshit-from-a-mile-away pause.

Then—

"Clark. How do you know Y/N?"

Clark blinked. “Uh—what?”

From the background, Jonathan Kent’s confused voice: "Martha, what are you talking about?"

More rustling. The sound of a magazine being handed over.

And then—

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

Clark winced. “Oh, no.”

Jonathan was losing his mind. “CLARK. SON. WHY ARE YOU ON THE COVER OF VOGUE WITH A POP STAR?!”

Clark immediately went into defense mode. “What? That’s not me.”

Silence.

Then, Martha, voice calm but lethal: "Clark Joseph Kent, do not lie to me."

Jonathan, scandalized: “YOUR HANDS ARE ON HER WAIST, BOY.”

Clark rubbed his temples. “Dad, that's not me, you can’t even see the face of the model.”

Martha let out a long, knowing sigh. “Clark. I raised you. I know what my own son looks like.”

Jonathan was still yelling. “YOU THINK A LITTLE SHADOW IS GONNA FOOL ME?!”

“IT’S FOR WORK!”

“YOU WORK AT A NEWSPAPER, CLARK. NOT A RUNWAY SHOW.”

Martha, now flipping through the magazine, humming thoughtfully: “Hmm. These are very… romantic poses.”

Clark groaned. “Mom—”

Jonathan, in horror: “THIS LOOKS LIKE A MARRIAGE ANNOUNCEMENT.”

Clark felt his soul leave his body. “It is NOT—”

Martha, now in full investigative mode: “You know, dear, Y/N seems like a lovely girl. I like some of her songs.”

Jonathan, gripping the pages like they personally offended him: “A LOVELY GIRL WHO IS LOUNGING ALL OVER OUR SON LIKE HE’S HER PERSONAL CHAISE.”

Martha, ignoring him: “Clark, do you… like her?”

Clark nearly dropped the phone. “MOM.”

Jonathan, STILL LOSING HIS MIND: “SHE’S TOUCHING HIS HAIR IN THIS ONE, MARTHA. HIS HAIR.”

Martha, studying the spread: “Oh, I like this one. Very soft, very intimate.”

Clark was having a full breakdown. “WHY ARE YOU ANALYZING THE PHOTOS?!”

Jonathan threw the magazine down like it physically burned him. “BOY. I THOUGHT YOUR BIGGEST SECRET WAS THE SUPERMAN THING.”

Clark was ready to die. “IT IS.”

“WELL, NOT TODAY.”

Martha, still way too amused: “Clark, honey. If you weren’t planning to tell us about Y/N, you could’ve at least warned us before you ended up in a fashion magazine.”

Clark felt faint. “BECAUSE THERE’S NOTHING TO TELL.”

Martha: "Mmm."

Jonathan, muttering: “Son, I swear, I have spent my whole life worrying about people finding out you’re Superman, and now I gotta worry about Y/N’s fans hunting you down too—”

Clark was seconds away from launching himself into the sun. “I HAVE TO GO.”

“Clark—”

Click.

[maisnamedmoon]

Young Justice Headcanons #1

Don't mind be posting this in German lesson, we are watching Christmas movies and this idea came over me. (The idea doesn't have anything to do with Christmas, I just hate them and didn't pay attention)

When Altantians sing it sounds something like gregorian throat singing.

The first time they heard it they were on a mission, Wally got hit while trying to contain the villain of the week. The wound wasn't deep, it didn't bleed much, but it hurt like a bitch. On the way back in the Bioship KF was laying in the back on a bench clutching his side, groaning every time a gust of wind shook the ship. After a particularly bad turbulence that had Wally wailing in pain, Kaldur'ahm stood and moved to the back, sitting down and taking Wally's head into his lap. After a while the others started to hear something akin to humming through the mind link, looking back they saw Wally seemingly asleep in Kaldur'ahm's lap. Kal was leaning against the wall, fingers raking through Wally's hair, eyes closed and head tipped back a bit, the angle together with the slight movement of his head from side to side gives a view of his gills fluttering in beat with the humming they can still hear in their heads.

The second time was after the weekend when the cave was empty, everyone was with their families, Connor and M'gann were on a date. Artemis, Robin and Roy just came back from Gotham, walking through the sitting and living area to the kitchen when they heard it again. The humming from a few weeks ago, but this time it seemed to vibrate in the air. Silently they creeped closer to the kitchen from where it seemed to originate, peeking around the corner they could see Kal sitting at the kitchen table, writing something, completely engrossed in it, not noticing them. He tipped back his head, mouth slightly open, gills vibrating he started making soft growl like sounds in the back of his throat. They fit perfectly in between the bouts of humming, blending together into a song.

"Is ... Is he singing?" Artemis asked, stunned at the display of Atlantian culture before her. When she didn't get an answer she looked at Roy, who's mouth was hanging open, staring at the dark skinned boy. Looking to her other side Robin was filming the whole thing "I'm so sending this to KF"

The third time was years later, the original team, Beast Boy, Robin and Blue Beetle were sitting on the couches in the living area, playing monopoly, Nightwing and Robin were obviously winning with Kal a close third (as the prodege of the King of Atlantis you had to pick up a thing or two about economics). M'gann, Gar and Nightwing were having a conversation about traditions, M'gann going on about Mars, while Nightwing was giving examples of how customs can change simply by crossing a river.

"Hey, Kaldur?"

Kal gave a sound of acknowledgement, encouraging Beast Boy to keep talking, while focussing on driving Robin to bankruptcy.

"Do the people in Atlantis sing? You know with the whole living in water thing? I'm sorry if that sounds weird"

Kal laughed, "Don't worry, I'm happy to answer questions. Yes, we do sing, the water makes the sounds travel differently, so it sounds different there than it does here, but yes, we do sing, it's part of almost every festivity"

"Oh that's lovely, can you sing something for us?" M'gann asked, always exited to learn something new.

Putting down the dice, Kal leaned back on his hands, face slightly angled towards the cave sealing. He started humming, after a bit his chest started rising and falling, with the growling and grunting sounds that made up a resemblance of a melody. And then he started singing in a low voice, still a bit growly, fist slamming on the floor to keep up a beat.

The team sat there on the couches, some on the floor and stared, mesmerized. Wally and Nightwing started humming with Kal, seemingly used to the Atlantian singing.

[fae-morrigan]

Okay, guys, I have to be so honest, the cyborg Jon stuff is not actually out of nowhere if you've been paying attention to the themes and ideas present in Jon's story. Actually, something to this affect has been hinted and foreshadowed all the way back in Supersons.

Jon's story, fundamentally, has always been about agency, and how being the son of a public figure like Superman hinders his ability to self-determinate. It is an idea that is present in every story, yes, every single one, starting from his debut as a character.

The cyborg stuff isn't meant to be a replacement of past traumas- it is an evolution, the thesis of what all the things he's been through have been leading up to. It is the ultimate culmination of everything Jon has been struggling with his whole life- being seen as nothing more but a tool that can be exploited.

Clark and Lois robbed Jon of knowledge about who he was for a large portion of his childhood (1). Manchester Black tried to use Jon as a weapon against his father, actively possessing him in order to do it, explicitly against Jon's wishes and opinions (2). Kid Amazo wanted to use Jon as a flesh puppet, a new healthy body that he could take over (3). Ultraman robbed years of his life and literally confined him in a place where he, literally and metaphorically, had no power. Jor El and Jon had a whole conversation about fate vs. free will in the age up arc (4). The entire central conflict of Son of Kal El was Jon fighting against a capitalist dictator who was trafficking marginalized people, altering and taking over their bodies for profit (5). Adventures of Superman Jon Kent has Jon going up against a version of his father thats a dictator, a man who has (in the words of the text) made the whole world a prison (6). In all of these situations, Jon's put in these positions specifically because he is the son of Superman, and he will forever be defined by it against his will. It is commentary on what it means to be the child of a hero, and it is an exploration of legacy that I think is very very interesting.

We've BEEN headed here! It was always going to come to some plotline of this nature. Sure, we couldn't know it'd be specifically this, him getting borged was specifically a surprise, but Mark Waid is an incredibly intelligent writer who knows what he is doing and does not just present events in a story, but ideas. The Speed Force is a love story. Absolute Power is about, well, power. And Jon Kent is fundamentally, at his core, about agency. The robot stuff isn't meant to be strictly literal!

Post Bibliography so you can check that I'm not bullshitting you. I didn't want to go look up panels because I'm laaazy, you can go see for yourself:

Superman: Lois & Clark by Dan Jurgens

Super-sons by Peter J Tomasi

Superman Rebirth by Peter J Tomasi

Superman 2018 by Brian Michael Bendis

Superman: Son of Kal El by Tom Taylor

Adventures of Superman: Jon Kent by Tom Taylor

[suzukiblu]

5 headcanons meta for Plot Bunny, who wanted to know what Ma and Pa are currently thinking in the one where Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids. 

Ma and Pa aren't sure if their new kids are alien shapeshifters or bodysnatchers or just weird government experiments or whatever, but they're not really worried about it. Worst-case scenario, they'll be raising terrifying goop-kids, they figure. Or maybe crab-kids or something, after the possible larval stage. Lots of things end up crabs, right?? Crabs make sense. It’s whatever, the kiddos both still like pie and Kara is adorably helpful around the farm and Kal is just adorably ADORABLE. 

The whole dang town thinks Kara is Kal's mom, and Ma and Pa don't know either way and so have been politely vague about answering everyone’s questions in case they're actually siblings or something. Those El eyes are VERY distinctive, though, especially on a planet without any other Kryptonians on it, so they’re pretty positive they’re related. They just don’t know how to ask a kid they’ve just met if she’s a teen mom or not with an intergalactic language barrier in the way. She’s just their foster child! Their totally legal foster child from . . . Norway?? Maybe???? Sure, Norway. They’ll go with Norway. 

Martha is zero-reservations delighted to have a free baby (grandbaby??) AND a free daughter. She has been rewarded for her patience in life, and it is a DELIGHT. She wants to buy Kara all the pretty dresses and cute jewelry and braid her hair and teach her how to make every single baked good in the entire Midwest, but she’s doing her best to not be overwhelming. She is very easily destroyed by both Kara getting excited to learn new things and Kal’s giggles. 

Jonathan is a little more uncertain about how to bond with a daughter and a maybe-grandbaby for about five seconds before deciding, actually it’s fine, he’ll just treat Kara like he would’ve treated a son and . . . well, he’ll follow her and Martha’s lead on how babies work, he supposes. Then he takes Kara out back to play catch while Martha watches Kal on the porch. They lose several baseballs in the back field just IMMEDIATELY and he wonders if suggesting his new kid join the baseball team once they get her in school is, like, a normal parental thing to do? Maybe?? He might just MENTION the idea if it comes up, he decides privately, and then buys a few more baseballs. 

Martha and Jonathan are regularly comparing notes on how “human” their new kids are (or their new kid and grandkid; they’re not gonna be picky). They are increasingly convinced they’re going to have crab-kids sooner or later, but it’s whatever. As long as Kara doesn’t jump that high or pick up anything that heavy or make any of those incredibly weird noises she keeps making in front of any of the town busybodies, anyway. Also, why does Kal sound like a melodious car engine whenever he’s happy? Is that a weird thing? Is that a thing they should be concerned about? Well, it’s fine, as long as he’s happy.

[lunarluvver]

Liquid Lust pt.2

M!vampire x chubbyF!reader

Tw: blood, fangs, oral, penetration, semen, crying

MINORS DNI

Your clit throbs as his tongue explores your slick folds.

All you wanted to do was take a nice shower and get dressed in peace before you explore the mansion but he had to barge in and slam you, wet hair and all, onto the sink. The two of you just had sex all morning and you had a light breakfast. It's been a few weeks since you decided to abandon your previous life to live here with Kaltain. You did go back to get your cat, but you haven't really left since that day. That's the way you like it. You've spent your time exploring the mansion, exploring the grounds, and of course having sex. It's a good life. Kaltain has two maids, a butler, and one cook. Just enough to keep the place clean and organized.

Your hand buried itself in his black hair as he gobbled up your fat cunt. Panting and moaning, the porcelain sink of the master bathroom hurts your ass but you don't care. His tongue is touching places you didn't even know you had, in between every fold and nook and cranny. Your clit is swelling with every circle his thumb makes while Kaltains long tongue is diving into your hole. Your hips grind into his head as liquid lust pools in your belly.

"Yes, keep going." You beg as you get closer and closer to climax. He moans into your pussy and not a second later you scream and gush into his open mouth, his thumb twiddling your button and making your legs spasm around his head.

It's so good. It's TOO good. Another builds right after and you almost cry, writhing beneath him, helpless. He doesn't let go. His nose touches your clit, tongue still jammed deep inside. You pant and cry, begging for him to stop and keep going and stop and keep going. You can't make up your mind. He finally stops after you cum once more, pulling you into the bedroom.

"I need to get dressed." You whine.

He brushes your hair back, his other hand at your waist. "You can do that after." He says and plants his mouth onto yours. Your clit is still so sensitive. He picks you up and plops you on the bed.

"I just showered, I don't want to get dirty again." You protest weakly.

"Well then." He smirks pulling you back up and bringing you back to the bathroom. "Let's do it in the shower, then we can rinse off after."

"Alright." A smile decorates your face and you start undressing him, making him stop kissing you.

You undo every button slowly and let the shirt fall, and then take off the belt and let that fall. Then for the pants. You get on your knees before him, his hand pushing your wet hair back. You take your time, zipping his fly down and letting his member hang out. He's already pretty hard. You don't know how much of him you'll be able to take, but you're horny enough to want to swallow the whole thing. One hand wraps around his shaft and the other goes to his balls. Tenderly you suck on the tip, taking him into your mouth inch by inch until it hits the back of your throat. You feel him grow harder in your hand, which turns you on. His saliva is still on your clit, so you come before you can even really start sucking.

"Aw, you're such a sopping wet mess for me, babygirl." You look up at him with lustful eyes as the orgasm fades and you begin to suck on him, flicking your tongue at his tip and caressing his balls, your other hand stroking the part you can't fit in your mouth. Kal bites his lip, head tipping back and groaning.

His hand in your hair grows more forceful, and soon he is fucking your face, not going too deep, but just deep enough that for a split second you can't breath. You cum repeatedly as he fucks your mouth, groaning and panting, telling you how good you feel. Tears run down the sides of your face, but you're having the time of your life. Hearing him moan for you satisfies some deep need to please. He thrusts faster, inching deeper as he nears orgasm. You cum again and cry as semen dumps down your throat, your nose in his pubes. He smells of musk and sweat. He finally pulls out when you can't breathe anymore and you swallow heavily, panting on hands and knees.

"You did an amazing job, love." He is panting too, leaning on the sink.

"I'm not done."

You stand, pulling him into the shower and closing the curtain. Turning around, you bend over in front of him and turn on the water. He slides into you, the feeling is different since your legs aren't open that much, but it feels amazing. Kal grips your hips, thrusting rapidly, making little moaning noises that drive you crazy. The thrusting paired with the water on your back is simply exquisite, and you cum hard, your legs buckling beneath you. He holds you up, not struggling at all. You always wondered how he managed to do that, you aren't exactly light. It doesn't matter. All that matters is right now.

His grunts pick up and a final moan comes out as the tip of his meaty cock pushes hard at your cervix, giving you pain as you cum again. You almost collapse, exhausted. You haven't really slept for a while. Rest is needed. Once you're both out, you slip on a robe and make your way to the bedroom. He grabs your arm as you pass by.

"I know you dont need to sleep, but I do." You pleaded, sounding and looking really tired.

"Of course, I just wanted to say goodnight." Kal pulls you into a hug and plants a kiss on your forehead. You smile up at him. You see yourself in the mirror hugging the air, and for the first time you really think about what he is. You don't really care, but it's oddly arousing to think you're fucking a vampire you found in a mansion in the woods. You go get in bed, and youre asleep by the time your head hits the pillow, exhausted from the days activities.

[highly-invested]

Also while the climax of the book is on my mind, I feel like having Szeth be unconscious so nobody knows what happens to Kal is cool in the long run, but in the moment robs both Kaladin and Szeth of a satisfying resolution for their arc in this book. Kaladin goes to find himself and who he can be without the spear. Szeth goes to discover how to choose for himself and discovers he wants to be done fighting. But having Szeth unconscious at the end takes away Szeth's ability to say no to being a herald (which he was seriously considering!) and presses kaladin back into the spear with the threat of all spren dying, which undermines his whole "I'm choosing to go back to this now" thing.

[invinciblerodent]

That "least favorite companion" post I referenced earlier today keeps haunting me.

Because... well, it was obvious that many would say Oghren. I expected many to have said Oghren.

But it still makes me a little bit sad just how much of Oghren's depth and potential was lost by him being written as a "comic relief" character that both fell flat, and aged poorly.

I remember, the first time I played Origins when I was like 17-18, I was a bit put off by him immediately: he reminded me of people I knew in real life, and were not people I liked, or was proud to know. I was a little disappointed that I'd have to have him in my party for the last part of "Paragon of Her Kind". But that short little scene, where he first steps out under the open sky...

That scene, I still think about regularly.

The moment he casts off his caste, the last thing he still genuinely had. When he first looks up at the sky, and realizes just how vast and open it is. When he takes that step he knows would mean that he can never go back.

That tiny little scene, less than a minute long, made not just him, but my own Aeducan click for me immediately.

Because Oghren is a clear failure of the caste system. Or better said, a failure of dwarven society, really.

He's a castoff, a reject, a lost cause: a once respected warrior, a famed dwarven berserker and husband to a Paragon, who fell through the cracks because he fell out of his house's favor.

Because he got hit hard by his wife and his whole family leaving him behind. Because he got too hard to deal with, too embarrassing.

So under the carpet he went, in both his own mind and everyone else's.

Oghren's, is... an ordinary tragedy. A story of an everyday struggle for men like him (lonely, middle aged, depressed), with feelings that are quietly shoved to the side, joked about, tamped down by both him, and the people around him- and him not being “likeable”, well... isn't that just the way it usually is? People who are suffering are sometimes genuinely not good people.

And despite his best efforts, I can't bring myself to dislike him. I don't like having him in my party because I don't find him funny like he was clearly intended to be, and a lot of his dialogue, I find deeply frustrating and off-putting (in Origins and Awakening alike), but... I can't bring myself to dislike him.

I just... feel sad for him, more than anything else. Because in a few rare moments, there is loyalty. There's honor. Care. Sadness. Even humor when it's allowed to be there, beneath the very 2009 "sexual harassment is totally funny you guys".

There is a lot to talk about regarding Oghren, starting with mental health, and ending with the typical dwarven mentality being to cut ties with what they perceive to be lost causes (which also goes for Kal-Sharok, really), but... I can't shake this feeling that had he been written a few years later, with a touch slightly more careful than the ones with which he was originally handled, he could have been so much more.

..... Though I suppose there's some poetic irony in how the character who was let down by his people would also be one that was let down by his time.