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messenger-of-babel · 3 months ago

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In Your Eyes

Summary: Clark isn't much of a morning person, but your eyes are enough to get him out of bed each day. (Clark Kent x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: First Clark and this piece nearly had me dead on my feet (simply just tired- after this month I need to take a holiday and move house soooo). Fun Fact: I was actually the biggest superman fan when I was younger so he's kind of like my comfort now haha. Not really any warnings on this one, general mentions of violence again? angst? Either way, it hurt doing this to my boy.

Enjoy~!

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Clark wasn't particularly a morning person.

In fact, the longer he could stay curled in his sheets he preferred. Working as Superman was hard, but not nearly as hard as being a reporter at the Daily Planet. He worked long nights before getting changed into his suit, his headlines, deadlines and taglines rattling around his skull while he did his patrol. Even with his Kryptonian stamina and ability to synthesise the sun for energy, it did nothing to stop the tiredness endemic of working a nine-to-five for the sake of capitalism.

You however, rose for the sun. Gently shaking his shoulder each morning, greeting him with a soft smile that fooled his eyes into thinking the sun was already up. He'd groan, smile in return and pretend to roll over to go back to sleep, making you giggle. It never lasted long, and you'd flop on top of him, draping your arms over his stomach before pinching at the skin playfully.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." you'd say, pushing at him to get him up. He'd just huff and bury his face into the pillow.

"The sun isn't even up." he'd tiredly protest, sound muffled.

"Yeah, but it's about to be." you'd laugh before moving off of him, slipping out of bed to get dressed. He'd just watch you through one eye lazily, studying the way that you would flit around the bedroom so effortlessly. Humming softly to yourself you never noticed how his eyes clung to your figure, the slope of your shoulders and the arch in your spine. Unaware of the lovestruck gaze he'd send your way as you got changed, pulling on clothes for the day and washing your face.

When you made coffee he'd finally rouse himself, pulling him from the warm embrace of the bedsheets to seek yours out instead. He'd hug you from behind, leaning his weight on you and cheek pressed into your hair. Inhaling softly, his senses were alight with the smell of coffee and your shampoo, soothing his irritation of being woken before dawn. "Double shot." he'd mumble sleepily into your hair. "Please."

"Already added," you say with a smile, finishing his coffee first. You take in in your hands, turning to the side so you can offer it up to him. He moves one hand from your hip to grip the mug, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip.

"Thank you, honey." he murmurs with a sigh, unwrapping from you so you can make your own. He watches how you busy yourself, slow yet methodical in your movements. He leans his chin in his hand, set up at kitchen counter and a lazy smile on his face. He might not have liked mornings, but he sure as hell liked you.

Your morning routine was always followed by getting changed, checking each other’s outfits and making sure you were both presentable for work. You also worked at the Daily Planet, being introduced to him as a reporter previously at the Gotham Gazette. The darkness of Gotham had gotten to you, the constant reporting on crime, corruption and the latest murder on the block slowly wearing away your soul. So, you had moved to Metropolis with its art deco buildings and lit streets for a change of pace.

He could tell from the first time his eyes met yours, that you were meant for Metropolis.

Clark didn’t want to be biased, doing his best not to be swayed by the thudding in his chest and ears every time he saw you. Yet he still couldn't help the thought popping into his mind every time you passed his desk or waved to him in the mail room. The way the tension eased out of your shoulders day by day, getting to report on new things. As you wrote about medical breakthroughs and charity events instead of gangs and mob violence, your smile peeked out of the shadows. You took the stories no one else wanted to take, the local library art competition, the national science fair, the new displays at the museum. The stories no one else wanted to fight for, his coworkers all stepping over each other for a scoop on Superman or the latest minor crime to rack the Metropolis streets.

Clark could see though.

The same way he could see the darkness that clung to Bruce, like a shadowed cloak heavy on the shadows of all Gothamites. Your pen was already heavy with death and violence, desensitised and numb. The way that your eyes cringed slightly when Perry asked you to take larger articles. You finally got to report on the positive, got to embrace the things that came so easily in Metropolis, yet you fought tooth and nail for in Gotham.

So, who could blame him when he fell in love?

He had worked up the courage to ask you for a date, which turned into two and three. On the fourth he might have accidentally revealed his identity as Superman, but you promised to keep his secret before kissing him breathlessly. Now you were in his apartment, your apartment together, making coffee. Clark was sur that this is what heaven was like.

his favourite part of the morning, however, was going to work together. You were close enough to walk to work, and you'd show up to work hours before anyone else, an hour before the sun showed its face. In the dark you both would scan and drop your bags at your desk before heading for the stairs, his hand on your back the whole time to make sure that you don’t trip or fall. When you unlock the door to the roof a cool gust of air hits your face, making you sigh happily while he winces slightly at the sudden breeze. Every morning you'd sit there together, watching the sun come up.

When that golden orb began painting the sky a beautiful pink and orange, he woke up fully. The beams settling onto his skin made his DNA thrum with energy, as if his cells were waking up as well. It was a shot of energy stronger than anything coffee could give him, muscles relaxing under the touch of its light. He loved the feeling of the sun, the warmth, the light, the gentle caress of the morning and the last hug of it before it set in the evenings. Yet all of that was nothing compared to the way he felt when he looked over at you.

You always wore the softest smile as you watched the sun come up, the gorgeous colours of the sky mixing with the shine of your irises. Clark felt like was looking into galaxies more beautiful than any other he had seen in space, and endless sea of colour and warmth he wanted to dive into. Every morning without fail it made his heart overflow, and he could never resist pulling you to him softly and dropping a soft kiss into your hair. It was his favourite way to watch the sunrise, through your eyes instead of his. He'd look at your eyes no matter how many skies you sat under, just to see if what you saw was different. You always looked up with such amazement and wonder that Clark was convinced you saw a different sky from him. When he took you home to meet his parents, the purples trails of the cloud looked like fields of lavender in your eyes, the blue of the clear sky appearing as an endless ocean. You had both been sitting out on the fence, pressed into his side to block out the sting of autumn's chill. He had kissed you on the head like he now did every morning, and that's when Clark realised that he wanted every day to be like this. Wanted to be able to look into your eyes every morning to try and get just a glimpse of what wonder you managed to capture in your gaze.

So, he had proposed.

The backdrop was the farm visiting his parents, under the tree down by the creek. He had waited for the most beautiful sunset, the dusk just beginning to settle in and stars peeking through the soft blanket of purple and pink. when you said yes, the joy and sparkle in your eyes had been something unmatched still to this day, outshining every star that had twinkled to cheer him on that evening. As soon as you said yes it felt like his heart had soared to the heavens, and finally, he could see those eyes every morning for as long as he lived.

When Clark wakes up one morning without the gentle shaking of his shoulder or your coffee on the counter, he barely makes it to work. He drops his bag as usual, walking up the stairs and settling on the roof, legs over the edge of the building. He sits there, waiting in the darkness. He turns his head, hoping each time that he'd see you walk through those doors and apologise for being late. For not making him a coffee, for not calling ahead and telling him you weren't going to be in work. For not coming home.

You had been called back to Gotham for family business, and the darkness you had finally managed to shake from your shoulders finally got you. He had received the call from Batman, not Bruce, making his heart lurch. Bruce had been the best man at his wedding (shocking a plethora of guests), so of course he knew what you looked like. Knew that it was you even when you were splayed out over the pavement, unseeing and still. You were friends with Bruce as well, and Bruce’s own pain was evident in the sombre tone as he tried to break the news to Clark.

Clark had flown over there, his best friend intercepting him before he could get close to the scene. He hadn't even been allowed to help, forced to sit in the shadows knowing that you were right there metres away and he couldn’t touch you, hold you, confirm for himself what he had heard over the phone.

Gang violence. A mugging gone wrong. Another victim, just another number.

And now you had become the thing you hated writing about, a death so common in the city of Gotham that you didn't even make front lines like it would have in Metropolis. You were on the fifth page, the ninth name down on a list.

Clark felt sick.

He felt sick being called in to ID your body and seeing the face he loved so much. Staring dully upon the cheeks he'd pepper with kisses every morning and every night before bed, the shoulders that held up his chin when he read over your shoulder or to watch a video you wanted to show him. The hands that interlocked with his so perfectly when you walked together held limply and empty at your side, unable to ever feel the warmth of his palms again.

So, when you were gone and it had sunk in fully, he struggled to get back.

Things around him seemed to fall apart, things that even the support of Bruce and the financial aid couldn't fix. Yet the one thing he kept together was the routine, dragging himself like a zombie through the behaviours so deeply engraved in his muscle memory. Even if he wanted to sleep in his body woke up like clockwork, spectral hands rousing him, and he could dream that you really were there. That when he rolled over, he'd see you beaming back at him. His hand ached to escort you up the stairs of the Planet, uncomfortably heavy by his side instead.

He’d turn to drop a kiss into your hair but was always met with air, and he'd falter. Then the sun would come up and the energy would zing across his skin, but the morning after he lost you was the darkest sunrise he had felt to date. The beams would fuel him, humming across his cells and stirring his DNA. Yet he’d still stare out at the sunrise, the colours mixing across the sky in a beautiful display. He couldn't get his heart to fall in love with the sky again, nor warm at the image of it. After all, you were now looking at a completely different sky from him, and the sky just wasn't as pretty when it wasn't reflected in your eyes.

Clark just hoped that wherever you were now, that you had the most beautiful sky to look at. That somewhere, you were out there, galaxies reflected in your eyes that never had to close again.

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