#superman drabble

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away. 

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known. 

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering. 

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready. 

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.

[moonylovegoodsposts]

sneak peak

Back To You | David!Clark Kent × Plus Size Latina! OC

Wordcount(for this sneak peak): 189 word

Warnings: fluff, no use of Y/n (no matter how hard I try, I just can't get myself used to write using the Y/n thing, I'm so sorry about that!). Plus sized Oc, because why not? and Latina(Brazilian) Oc, because again, why not? Her name will be revealed in the nexts post. Hopefully I'll finish the chapter by tomorrow or after, I really don't know, depends on my inspiration.

faceclaim: Brianna Marquez (@/brimarqz)

"Need some help?" I hear a voice that makes me turn back to the farm entrance and see a ridiculously tall guy wearing a blue flannel shirt and jeans, standing in front of the porch steps. "Excuse me?" I ask, not understanding where the man came from. I look a little behind him and see a blue pickup truck parked at the farm entrance. How did I not hear him coming?

"My parents said you came to live here permanently, so I thought it would be a good idea to come and help you... and it's summer, I have nothing to do on my parents' farm, so..." he continues chattering, as he climbs the steps, seeming nervous about something but only one thing goes through my head: Who is this guy?

"Excuse me, who are you again?" I ask, very confused, making him stop on the last step, his expression changing a few times. "Do I look that different?" He asks with a smile, looking at me. I open my mouth to say some sarcastic retort, but my brain freezes when I finally recognize the bright blue eyes. "Clark?"

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.

“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.

“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.

His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.

Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.

“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.

One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it’s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.

Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up—introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.

[sunsburns]

imagine trying to keep up with clark 🤯 (18+)

clark kent is an undeniably gentle lover—clumsy at times, almost bashful, his movements hesitant in a way that’s endearing. sometimes, he looks to you for reassurance, those soft blue eyes pleading, asking if he’s making you feel good.

and he always does.

he knows your body so well it’s almost frustrating. his hands, his mouth, the way his voice drops just slightly when he whispers your name—it’s enough to leave you trembling every time.

he always tells you that you do. “perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and uneven as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his voice is wrecked, raw in a way that makes you believe him—for a moment.

but there are things you’ve started to notice.

like the way he lingers for just a second too long, his lips brushing your temple as if hesitating to pull away or draw you closer. or how his hands tremble slightly when they release you, the strength behind them still careful, too careful. then, there are the moments he waits for you to fall asleep—the soft creak of the mattress, the shuffle of his feet as he slips out of bed, barely disturbing the air.

it’s always the same. the quiet click of the bathroom door, the faint rush of water as he turns on the shower.

you know what he’s doing in there.

and it eats at you, imagining him under the stream of hot water, head tilted back, his chest heaving as he works through the need that still claws at him. need that you weren’t able to fully satisfy.

once, you caught him. half-asleep and bleary-eyed, you stirred when the bed dipped, his weight returning as if nothing had happened. his skin was still damp, his hair darker and curling against his forehead.

but you want to be the one to help him blow off that steam.

“just blowing off some extra steam,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

no, you need to be the one.

you want him completely undone—panting, his chest heaving, red staining his cheeks while he’s too wrecked to say anything but your name. you want him shaking with pleasure, the same way he leaves you, winded and unable to think of anything else.

you want him gasping, moaning louder, his voice breaking apart as he tries to keep himself together. you want to see spit pooling at the corners of his lips, his body shuddering uncontrollably. you want him to blow load after load—on you, with you, inside you—until neither of you can take any more.

you just have to make sure you don’t turn the tables on yourself.

“you got another one for me, hun?” clark pleads, his voice soft but ragged.

his curls stick to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his face is flushed deeper than you’ve ever seen. his big hands hold your hips gently, fingers twitching as if he’s trying to resist gripping you tighter.

you’re blubbering, incoherent, your eyes unfocused as your nails scrape at his shoulders. it’s ridiculous trying to leave marks on steel skin, but the feeling of him, the weight of him, makes it impossible to stay still.

you’ve finally managed to corner him. after weeks, nearly a month of easing him into the idea that you could keep up with him, he let you try. and now he’s showing you a side of himself you’ve never seen before.

his body trembles against yours, his movements are frantic, urgent, a stark contrast to the measured pace he usually sets. your legs ache as you struggle to keep up, your body pliant and exhausted, while he bucks up against you, doing most of the work after you had given up on riding him.

he moves you easily, up and down his cock, his strength apparent even in his restraint. his head falls back against the headboard, blue eyes locked on yours, his glasses long discarded.

in all honesty, you don’t know if you have another one in you. you’d lost count three orgasms ago. you must’ve been delusional thinking you could keep up with clark kent, a man who is finally breaking a sweat, his broken moans and soft whimpers starting to turn into ones you’ve never heard from him before. even after cumming countless times, making a mess of your sheets, he still wants more, asks for it, begs for it—he needs more, he can take more, wants to give you more.

the slow drag of his cock, sliding in and out of you, has you mewling, tears staining your cheeks as the pleasure mounts again. his grip is firm but careful, guiding you, ensuring you can take everything he’s giving.

he makes you feel so good. your body trembling in his hands, every nerve alight and melting under his touch. you’ve become putty for him to mould.

it’s a little embarrassing, honestly—that he’s got you like this. you were supposed to be the one pleasing him, breaking him down, undoing him. not the other way around.

but he seems perfectly satisfied with the way things are right now.

you’re fully collapsed onto him now, your strength all but gone. his hips jerk upwards, his movements frantic and desperate, breath puffing hot air against your ear.

“can you… can you look at me?” he pleads, his voice cracking as his hands shift from your hips to cradle your face, tilting your head so you’re staring into his glassy, almost desperate eyes. “look at me while you come—it’ll make me come, too. please.”

you mean to whine, his touch burning against your skin, but the sound catches in your throat when you see him.

he looks utterly wrecked.

his eyes are clouded, unfocused, his lips slick and parted, his brow furrowed with something between pain and pure desire. you imagine you look much the same—spit glistening on your chin, cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, wetness trailing down your thighs.

he holds your gaze for a moment, his thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping into your mouth.

then, both of you move at once—you surge forward to kiss him, capturing those perfect, pink lips, your movements slow and languid while he remains restless. he adjusts to your pace, pulling you impossibly closer.

his blue eyes roll back as he thrusts into you again. one hand traces lines up your spine while his lips devour yours, leaving you trembling and teetering on the edge within minutes.

his kisses turn softer, trailing to your cheek, his teeth catching on your skin as he nips gently. “i’m not hurting you, am i?” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “i know it’s sensitive, baby. tell me if it’s too much, okay? i can stop if—”

“no, please,” you whimper, terrified he might actually stop. “it’s so good.”

you’re drunk with desire, clenching tightly around him.

“you feel so good, baby. so fucking good. you’re taking me so well.” his next thrust is sharp, deep, dragging a cry from your lips as he stills, buried to the hilt. “you’re gonna make me come again,” he groans, his voice breaking.

“fuck, please—”

“i want you to come for me again,” he interrupts, his desperation bleeding through. “you’re so tight and hot when you do. i need it again—please, baby, one more for me. can you give me one more?”

“i—yeah,” you nod, trembling, your body already vibrating on the verge of release.

he hardly gives you a moment to recover before he’s crooning, “one more, just one more, please, please, please—”

clark kent is completely undone.

[superbat-love]

Daily Planet employee 1: Don’t you think Clark Kent and the new CEO have been quite… close lately?

Daily Planet employee 2: Yeah, they do seem to get along a lot better these days. I wonder…

Daily Planet employee 3: Shh, they’re coming this way! [pretends to be busy with her work]

Clark: Are you still feeling sore?

Bruce: No thanks to you slamming into me. A little warning would have been nice.

Clark: Sorry, I got caught up in the heat of it. At least it ended well for the both of us, right? And we got back here as fast as possible without anyone noticing.

Bruce: Don’t remind me. [wincing] Riding you was a bad idea.

Clark: But I made sure to move a bit slower so you’d feel more comfortable!

Bruce: It’s not about how fast you were moving, Clark, it’s about the position. I hate it.

Clark: Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We can try different positions next time. I could hold you up by the waist…

Bruce: [muttering] Should have just taken the jet…

Daily Planet employees: ?!!!

[innorality]

clark kent can feel everything. he hears everything, sees everything, smells everything... so best believe your orgasms are as pleasurable for him that they are for you.

he's already high off the sensations that your body allows him to witness during sex—the way your walls stretch everytime he thrusts up into you, the way you insides keep increasing the amount of wetness pooling between your legs, the way he can hear your eyes rolling back a bit further more at each stroke of his finger against your clit...

but it's only when you orgasm that he thinks he has truly hit the jackpot. when you whimper out his name while stuttering about how you're cumming, he already knows. he hears your blood rushing in your veins, he smells the cream oozing out of you, he feels your body heating up instantly.

the way your entire body is putting in maximum amount of effort to take him, to adjust to the kryptonian, makes him climax aswell.

and when he sees his cum sneak into your womb while using his x-ray vision, he thinks he might faint.

[st4rfckerz]

clark kent is the kind of guy to plan out his entire future with you while he’s balls deep and absolutely pussy drunk. his body is pressed against yours with his head buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily while making scarcely comprehensible promises in your ear. the fantasies swirl in his mind, becoming more vivid as he gets closer and closer.

“ ‘m gonna marry you, a-and we can have a farm of our own, ah- and a big house with kids, fuck…jus’ want it all with you please.” and then in true clark fashion he gets a tad embarrassed about what he said after he’s done, but you both know he really means it.

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce enters the conference room on the Watchtower. He is wearing a baby carrier with a baby inside it.

There is a hoo-ha.

"Why is there a baby," whispers Flash to Superman.

Clark shrugs. "It's probably one of the Robins."

"What?" says Barry tightly. "No, none of them are that age!"

"Jesus Bar, it's like you've never heard of de-aging beams."

"I'm not feeling good about the fact that you're taking this so lightly." Barry scratches at his five o' clock shadow. "If it is a Robin, it's very weird. But it's more weird if it's not."

"Maybe it's a Batgirl," suggests Diana, leaning in. "Cass or...or Steph. The purple one."

"That fits the purple diaper," says Barry reflectively.

"Barry stop hyperfixating on this," Clark says. "Let it go."

The baby is crying a little, sucking on its thumb. Batman gives it a chew toy as he continues working, and then produces a bottle out from under his cape, and holding the baby's head at a careful angle, begins to feed it.

"Batman..." Flash says, miserably curious. "Why do you have a baby?" He points at it, as if to make clear what baby he is talking about.

Bruce looks up, his brow furrowed. "Newly orphaned. Mother threw her from the spire of a church tower in Scarecrow-fear-toxin-induced hallucinations. Then she threw herself. I could only save one."

Barry looks like the dictionary illustration for the word 'flabbergasted'.

"Oh," is all he says. "Oh. Okay."

"I've found her a good home. She'll leave in a few hours." Bruce looks down, and then mutters to himself, "I just wanted to hold her".

Superman pretends he doesn't have super-hearing.

[sc3ptre]

Off the record

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/n: I just had to and if you’ve seen the movie and that scene, you’ll understand why

Warning: SMUT +18 (with plot) | safe sex, p-in-v, oral f! receiving during a professional environment, praise, superpowered sex?, power imbalance, destruction of property during sex Disclaimer: This scene is loosely based on content shown in the trailers for Superman (2025) — so technically, no major spoilers! That being said, if you're trying to go into the movie completely fresh, feel free to skip this for now and come back later.

Word count: 3.3k

You got home late, again. The city was quiet in that way it only ever was past midnight with streetlights buzzing faintly, the sound of your boots echoing in the stairwell and your coat carrying the weight of the day like a second skin. 

Once inside, you kicked off your heels, pulled your scarf free in one motion and slung your bag onto the hallway hook like muscle memory. The apartment welcomed you with familiar silence and the gentle creak of old pipes. It smelled like dust and the faint ghost of coffee and maybe the takeout you didn’t finish yesterday.

You locked the door behind you without looking and then you heard it, a sound that shouldn’t be there, one of a pan shifting.

It was soft and deliberate, like someone trying not to make noise in your kitchen.

You froze, coat still half-off. Your brain went cold before your hands did, every hair on your arm standing. You moved without breathing, slow and smooth, peeling the coat the rest of the way off and dropping it on the hook while simultaneously reaching for the bat you kept stashed by the door, the one with the worn grip and the cracked stripe of duct tape at the end. You hadn’t used it in years, not seriously, but your fingers still curled around it like you’d never stopped.

The hallway felt longer than usual as you crept toward the sound. Your breath came shallow and the refrigerator hum gave away nothing. You rounded the corner, raised the bat and swung hard without thinking twice.

The bat made solid contact with something unmoving and unbothered, and then cracked violently in half. It felt like hitting a steel beam with a stick of chalk.

“Shit–!”

You staggered back in pure panic, already wincing and then realized, mid-heart-attack, that the man now holding the broken bat with one hand and a sauté pan in the other was, in fact, Clark.

Still wearing his work clothes, pressed dress pants and the white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his chest just barely stretching at the buttons. His hair was tousled, his eyes unfairly soft and he smelled like butter, basil and the kind of quiet only he seemed to carry in your space.

You stared at him, wide-eyed while he looked at you, entirely unfazed, holding half your weapon like it was a bouquet.

“I’ll get you a steel one,” he said calmly, as if the most normal thing in the world was letting you try to brain him with a Louisville Slugger and then continuing to sauté garlic.

“I knew it was you and I still panicked,” you said, chest still tight, adrenaline peaking. “I am so sorry. God, did I–did I hurt you?”

“You can’t hurt me...physically that is, so if you’re planning on breaking up with me tonight then the answer would be yes, emotionally.”

“I’m not and that’s not the point. The point is I hit you with a bat.”

“And I made you dinner,” he said mildly, nodding toward the stove. “One of us is clearly ahead in this relationship.”

You blinked then laughed, nerves breaking like surface tension. You stepped closer, smelling whatever he was cooking, pasta, maybe. Something with cream, pepper, garlic and fresh herbs, because of course he would make it taste better than the best restaurant in Metropolis. 

Of course he would do this without asking. 

Of course he would smell like rosemary and feel like a safe house in the middle of a war.

He didn’t even wait for you to react or respond. After setting the pan down, he just leaned forward, touched your hips gently and lifted you like you weighed nothing, placing you on the kitchen counter with a softness that felt like something sacred. He stepped in between your knees, pulled you forward by the waist and kissed you slowly, like the world didn’t matter.

You curled your fingers into the collar of his shirt and kissed him back, melting and losing track of everything except the solid warmth of his hands and the way his mouth moved like he already knew what you needed but eventually, your brain kicked back in and you pulled back slightly.

“Mmmm…you’re hiding, aren’t you?”

He paused, forehead leaning against yours.

“You made dinner,” you continued softly, “...You never make dinner unless you’re avoiding headlines.”

“I’m not hiding,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your jaw.

“You’re literally in the middle of a political firestorm, Clark. There’s a subcommittee meeting about you on four separate networks.” You shifted your head back slightly, forcing him to meet your gaze. “They’re calling it a ‘failed interventional conflict.’ They're saying you lost a war you started.”

He didn’t flinch but he didn’t meet your eyes, either. You exhaled, pressing your palm to his chest. “Let me help, let me do something. I’m not just…whatever this is. I’m still good at my job and you can’t interview yourself forever, it’s suspicious.”

“It’s really not.”

“Oh yeah? Not to mention it’s wildly unprofessional, unethical and quite simply stupid–”

“That’s taking it too far…and I know you’re very good at your job,” he said quietly, one hand brushing your thigh. “Too good.”

“Then let me interview you…him. You know how much it matters, and–”

He was quiet for a second but then nodded. “Fine.”

“…What?” you paused, registering his words. “You’ll let me interview you as…Superman?”

“Yeah… sure,” he agreed, voice sheepish with a slight edge of doubt.

You slid off the counter then, still buzzing from his kiss and went to your bag, pulling out your small field recorder, the one you kept for quick takes and on-the-fly quotes. You placed it on the counter, clicked it on and gave him a small smile as you sat back up on the counter and crossed your legs.

“Alright,” you said, in your best calm-journalist tone, the one that always made people lean in without realizing it, “Superman.”

Something in him changed instantly. You heard it more than saw it, that shift. The register of his voice dropping a full octave, steady, strong and smooth like ocean pressure. It was calm and assured, the voice the world believed in.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said and just that tone, sent a ripple down your spine that made your knees tighten.

You cleared your throat. “There’s been a lot of controversy around the UN vote last week. Some say you overstepped–”

“I acted on intelligence I believed to be urgent,” he said. “And I take full responsibility for my actions, but I believe they prevented greater loss of life.”

You nodded, swallowing. “And the report about your…uh, withdrawal–”

“I withdrew because I was asked to. Not because I was defeated.”

You were about to ask the next question when he stepped between your legs again, parting them with ease, close enough to touch and pressed a kiss just beneath your ear.

You jolted slightly. “Clark.”

“I’m still answering.” He murmured, voice dipping lower, kisses trailing now to the base of your neck, each one melting something inside your chest. His voice was unsurprisingly steady when he spoke again.  “I intervene when the scale of a disaster surpasses what human systems can handle…I don’t weigh in on politics.”

“You entered a country illegally.”

“I stopped a war.” 

"You crossed borders without permission, ignored airspace alerts, made a decision entire governments didn’t agree on…what–” you began, breath hitching slightly when his fingers gently swept higher, drawing slow circles through the fabric of your pants “–what happens when the public perception of your involvement shifts?”

He tilted his head slightly. “If I’d waited for permission, there wouldn’t have been anyone left to thank me. Bottom line is, I care what the truth is, I care about the people who are afraid and I care when I become a reason they feel unsafe, which I’m not.”

You let out an embarrassing moan which was supposed to be a warning. “Fuck, Clark–”

“Superman,” he corrected, deep and rich in your ear, the sound of it sending something hot and traitorous spiraling in your stomach. “I thought this was formal.”

“It was, Superman.” You gritted out, watching as his hands went higher and higher, “I swear to God–”

Before you could protest any further and remind him of the running recorder, of your journalistic integrity…of anything remotely rational, he kissed you. Full and deliberate, every part of your body folded into it like you’d been waiting to be touched like this again.

The recorder was still on and the interview far from over but neither of you seemed to remember.

His mouth was everywhere, devouring your lips, tracing a desperate path down your jaw, your throat and the hollow where your pulse thundered so loud you were sure he could hear it. His large hands roamed under your shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, fingertips so broad but gentle– always so careful—even when he was trembling with need.

The countertop was cold beneath your thighs but the rest of you was burning. Clark stood between your knees, pressing himself forward until there was nothing but heat and fabric between you.

His hands found the buttons of your blouse, undoing them with almost superhuman precision except when he lost patience, then the fabric tore apart, seams splitting and buttons flying beneath his grip. Your bra followed, straps flicking off your shoulders before his mouth found you again, hot, wet and all teeth scraping gently around your nipples as he sucked and groaned, letting you hear how much he ached for you. 

You arched into him, fingers tangled in his hair as he lavished attention on your hardened nipples, causing your lips to part in pleasure. Your legs parted for him in anticipation as your panties clung to you with unabashed heat. When you gasped, Clark grinned against your skin, catching every tremble in your voice and every spike in your breathing. 

“Your heart,” he growled, moving up to kiss under your jaw, leaving wet kisses and soft bites you wished pierced through your heated skin, “it’s racing. Like you’re about to run or come from me just touching you…so which one is it? Mm? I can hear the blood rushing in your veins.”

His voice vibrated everywhere, inside your chest and especially between your legs in a way that made you grind against the cold marble, erupting soft whimpers from your plumped lips. He brought you even closer to the edge so you could rock your hips against the hardened tent in his pants, desperate for more friction. Your head fell back as he gained more access to your neck, groaning into it as you continued to rub your clothed center against his erection.

The sheer understanding of what was missing settled between the both of you and Clark acted on his desperation first by grabbing the sides of your pants and yanking them down your legs, your panties disappearing with them in one smooth motion as air cooled your swollen and wet folds, making you whine as if it had been your lover’s touch, suddenly withdrawn. He looked down at your nakedness then, eyes darkening with pure want as its sweetness filled his nostrils.

He dropped to his knees as if he’d been defeated, a sight that nearly undid you, spreading you wide on the countertop before he shamelessly buried his face between your thighs, tongue broad and hot, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit, spreading your folds apart to accommodate him.

Clark groaned at the taste of you, pressing a kiss to your swollen and aching clit before sucking and flicking his tongue against it at just the right pressure. It was never random, he listened to every thud of your heart, every tiny gasp or shuddering inhale, adjusting his rhythm to what made you crazy. His spit mixed with your sweet arousal, coated his lips and chin as he penetrated you with the tip of his tongue. You closed your eyes and gently grinded your hips against his mouth as he continued, eliciting the softest of moans from your beautiful throat while you pulled him closer to you by his hair.

His fingers slid inside you then, replacing his tongue as he let it flick against your bundle of nerves again, making you shudder. His digits were long and thick, curling up to hit a perfect spot that made your vision go white and your eyes roll, a sight he couldn’t help but grin at. He worked you over with a skill that could only come from pattern recognition beyond human ability, sensing precisely when your pulse jumped and when your breath caught just when you were about to fall apart.

“Let go,” he murmured against you, tongue relentlessly moving against you until he felt you pulse. “I know you’re there.”

You cried out, fingers clutching at his hair so hard you were thankful you couldn't hurt him, as you came for him with your hips jerking helplessly against his tongue and fingers. You could feel him smile against your heat as he worked you through every aftershock, sucking and licking you off all you had to offer him.

He stood in a rush, eyes wild, moving with the kind of urgency that said patience was not on the menu tonight and just as your fingers fumbled at his belt, he froze.

“Hang on,” he murmured and vanished in a gust of air so fast it nearly knocked the blender clean off the counter. It teetered for half a second and whoosh he was back, one hand catching it casually mid-air while the other held up a foil square like he hadn’t just broken the sound barrier to practice safe sex. You reached for his belt then but he was already outpacing you, ripping his shirt open like it had personally wronged him and then flinging it aside, exposing the stretch of muscle he was made out of. You ran your hands across his chest causing him to shudder under your soft and warm hands, your lustful gaze heating his skin more than a thousand suns ever could.

He shoved his pants down, boxers barely cleared before his cock sprung free, thick, flushed and achingly hard. You wrapped a hand around him and he groaned like he was a second short of combusting, the sound vibrating in your bones as you watched him roll the condom on. He pulled you to the very edge of the counter guiding his cock against your entrance and slowly pushing in with a clenched jaw and a deathly grip to your thighs. The sight of your pussy leaking and fluttering around it made his hips jerk forward then retract pulling a wince out of you. He paused only to look into your eyes.

“Tell me if I’m too much,” he said, voice hoarse but utterly tender.

You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist, tilting your pelvis back and pulling him in slowly, moaning as he slid deep inside with ease, stretching you so wide you could hardly breathe. Clark gritted his teeth, fighting not to move too fast but the way you squeezed around him made his control snap slightly.

He thrusted slowly at first, savoring every inch of your slick pussy as his lips fell apart, letting out soft gasps of pleasure that made your nipples harder as they tickled his chest. Your hands grabbed at any skin available, nails digging into almost unbreakable skin as his rhythm sped up, fueled by the overwhelming pleasure building between you. Each movement was deep, powerful, filling you so perfectly you could barely hold yourself together.

You both moaned in the same space, sharing breaths as you kissed while your tongues fought for control. You could taste yourself on his lips, the same sweet slick that was now leaking onto the counter and between your naked bodies as he delivered unforgiving thrusts that seemed to split you open, while his hands were around you, making it impossible to even think about pulling back.

“You don’t know how many times…I’ve thought about fucking you over your desk afterhours.” He mumbled onto your mouth with a grin that could’ve made you come. Your heart had staggered and he knew it. “Like the sound of tha’?”

You nodded quickly, messily as pleasure took over your brain and the only thing you could voice were moans and drawled whines.

“Uhhh–What? Want me to…write a piece…about how well Superman f–fucks?”

He chuckled deeply and the counter creaked, threatening to give beneath the force of his grip on the edge whenever he couldn’t force his hands to be gentle on you. He wanted them everywhere, really…on your ass, your thighs, cradling your head while he kissed you silly while his dick caused addicting damage within you. He whispered your name like a secret prayer between grunts and moans that made you forget he wasn’t an ordinary man.

“So beautiful…fuck… sweeter than any sunrise. I’m never giving this up.”

He listened to your body, tuning his pace to the staccato of your heart as it started to climb again and your nails failed to dig deeper into his skin. “That’s it,” he panted. “There, just like that…you’re so close, breathe, baby.”

You were both getting louder now, his voice rougher, needier, while yours was high and desperate as he pounded into you harder, faster, until the counter and everything on it shook violently around you.

“Clark…I–” You broke off into a wail as he hit just the right spot over and over, until your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave. Your whole body went tight around him and he lost whatever little restraint he had left when your head fell back against the upper cabinet, lips parted and letting out the most sinful sounds he had ever heard. Your pulse points were on full display as blood rushed down, making your pussy and clit pulse for him.

He slammed in hard one last time and crack!. The edge of the countertop sank under his grip as he came inside the condom with a helpless and guttural moan, hips locked tight to yours, burying himself deep inside you so you could feel his cock throb. 

You collapsed against each other, sweat-slick and shaking, his arms still holding you close like he never wanted to let go. Then came the sharp press of something under your hip, the cracked edge of the countertop, jagged and out of place.

You winced and instantly, he lifted you like you weighed nothing, cradling you against him as he stepped back, brows furrowed with guilt.

He pressed soft kisses all over your face and shoulders while you caught your breath. “Sorry about the mess…I’ll pay for it.” he added with a sheepish little smile, leaning in to kiss the spot behind your ear he knew made you sigh.

You brushed a kiss over his lips and chuckled breathlessly. “Yes you will.”

Clark grinned against your mouth, his hands still sliding softly over your sides but then your gaze drifted and landed on something that made your stomach drop.

The recorder. Still blinking and running.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back slightly as panic flooded your chest. “Shit, shit. The interview.”

He blinked, lips parted and twitching into a smile as he fumbled for the stop button like it might bite him. “I trust you’ll keep this part off the record.”

You turned your head to glare at him. “You have to say that before you rail me into the countertop!”

He smirked, hugging you closer like the most unbothered man alive. “Noted. I’ll…make sure to think about that the next time”

You stared at him, still breathless, ruined and absolutely already planning on letting him destroy you again…after you destroyed the recording, of course. Just in case.

[neilsbeloved]

currently thinking about: clark kent flashing you right before you head off for work (18+)

it all started with that damn groan. that type of deep, throaty, guttural groan that you can feel in your core every time clark does it.

most of the time it tells you that clark's just woken up, that he had just finished having some fun on dreamland somewhere.

on rare times, it's an intentional way of getting your attention.

seven in the morning, you woke up, slipped away from bed, cooked enough breakfast for you to bring to work, and for clark to eat later when he wakes up. you two work at the same place—the daily planet—although your job position requires you to be at the planet way earlier than him.

you got ready after preparing your lunch. showering alone and getting ready in the other room—which clark had made specifically to be the office-slash-dressing-room for you considering the mountain of clothing you had even when you two were just boyfriends and girlfriends.

when you head back to your shared room to grab your bag and do some last minute checks for your hair and make-up, you hear that groan from behind you.

at first it was nothing. you greet him a good morning, even asking him how his sleep was—just the usual sweet and gooey stuff you two do as newlyweds. but then clark doesn't respond. at least not in a very appropriate way with the way he's still groaning from behind you.

you turn around confusedly, eyes glaring at your husband who seemed to be storing a wicked idea in that head of his.

"i've already cooked you breakfast, clark, make sure you eat some before you come to work, okay?" you remind him, slinging your bag on your shoulder as you spray on some perfume.

clark hums, running his hand down his firm abdomen. "you leavin' already?"

"uh-huh. tess just called and they need me as soon as possible somethin' about the legalities and stuff… whatever that is. i'll probably just skip over it, y'know how tess gets with those legal stuff," you ramble, clipping on your earrings.

you glance at your husband, his eyes still heavy with sleepiness as he had his one arm stretched behind him, the muscles on his neck and biceps flexing naturally.

there's a dryness in your throat and a wetness in your core just from that view. taking everything in you not to just throw tess' request out of the window and jump on your husband's bones first thing in the morning.

you shake those inappropriate thoughts away, blowing off a breath as you looked at yourself through the mirror.

"i'm off now, baby. go and get off your ass now," you walk over to his side of the bed, originally meaning to give him a kiss on the cheek when he moves his head just in time to catch your lips.

a huff leaves your throat, slapping him lightly on his bare chest as you push him away. "clark, i need to head to the office."

the glint in clark's eyes tells you he's not letting you go that easily but the way he pulls away says otherwise. plastering on a lazy smile on his lips as he nods, telling you i love you in his deep and drowsy voice.

you smile, saying the words back before heading to the door.

before you even turn the knob, you hear him call—groan—your name. the very sound making you stop abruptly, hand tightening on the doorknob.

he calls you again. this time, with a bit more strain in his voice.

"clark, what—" the exact moment you turn around, clark's pulled down the covers just below his knee, his cock springing up tall and proud.

you swallow on nothing. "clark."

"yes, baby?" he tilts his head, voice and eyes innocent, contradicting the way his free hand quickly descended down his body and onto the tip of his hard cock. the sheer size of his cock compared to his already massive hand had you subtly squeezing your legs. "i thought you had to go to work?"

your eyes shoot up at his face, the lazy smirk on his lips telling you he's got you exactly where he wants you—frozen by the door, legs clenched, eyes stuck on the lewd movements of his hand.

you blink. "you're an asshole, y'know that, right?"

"i don't know what you're—" he grunts, adjusting himself on the bed as his chest flexes. his features straining when you see his hand smother the pre-cum leaking on his tip down the length of his cock. "—talking 'bout, sweetheart. i'll… i'll be at the office in a few hours."

you sigh, shaking your head irritatedly as you throw your bag on the pile of clothes on the floor. hands quickly unbuttoning your coat and throwing it away too.

clark grins victoriously, moving to the center of the mattress as you come onto the bed. legs immediately going on either side of thighs.

his big, strong hands grabbing at your hips, massaging the clothed flesh before he pulls up your pencil skirt to bunch at your waist. fingers quickly making their way at your center. he chuckles lightly when he feels your wetness already seeping through the cotton fabric of your panties.

you drop your chest down on his, the fabric of your top scratching against his bare skin. he locks his lips onto yours, hungrily nipping at your bottom lip before you let him in without a fight.

your arm reaches down, grabbing a hold of his cock making him chuckles into the kiss. "i thought you had work to do?"

you roll your eyes, letting him adjust the two of you as he sits up so he can rest his back on the headboard. his knees propped up and legs spread apart, giving you enough room to work with. you pull your panties to the side, already angling yourself on the tip when you feel him hold your body.

"baby, it's gonna hurt," he says, the look of lust on his eyes disappearing for a second as his voice drips of concern. "let me eat you out first, c'mon, it'll be quick. get you all nice and—oohh fuck."

clark's offer was cut short when you sink down on his cock, loud gasps slipping from both of your mouths. you drop forward, head on the crook of his neck as you clutched his shoulders, letting your cunt barely adjust to his size.

"you're such an overachiever," clark clicks his tongue, holding onto your sides. feeling the way your sweet cunt pulses around the length of his cock like its begging for more.

the moment the stinging subsides and pleasure starts registering, your hips get to work.

you use his shoulders for leverage as you bounce on his cock, desperately trying to push yourself over the edge, slowly feeling yourself drip down his cock.

"so good, fuck—so fucking big, clark," you moan, pulling your head up to watch his pleasured face. eyebrows knitted, lips freely letting out low grunts. "did dream about me? dreamt about this pussy?"

"yes, shit, i-i dreamt about this goddamn cunt begging for me," he grunts, shifting his hips just slightly. the change in angle making you gasp, your hands falling down to his pecs.

clark leans forward, kissing up your exposed throat as your eyes rolled back. the tip of his cock finding your sweet spot in a moment, hitting it deliciously with each time you drop your ass on his cock. his teeth sinks onto your clavicle, just enough to have you clenching around him.

his hips thrust up as a response, cock twitching inside of you. loud pleads of his name spilled from your lips. using every bit of your energy to keep your pace steady but it was hard when the ache intensifies with each second.

"still got some energy in you, baby? don't wanna tire you out before you—h-head off to work." clark struggles to get his words out, the pleasure making him close his eyes harshly. pulling you impossibly closer as his arms wrap around you.

"should've thought of that before you showed me your cock, pretty boy," you responded, losing your hands in his hair as your hips stutter.

clark laughs breathlessly, littering kisses all over your face now, probably messing up your makeup—not that you cared.

"sorry baby," one hand drops to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before landing a loud slap on it. you hiss, clenching around him even tighter. "you just looked so fuckin' good… can't—shit," clark stops to rest his forehead on yours, feeling his climax coming, "so good, baby, riding—bouncing on that goddamn cock like you need it."

"i need it," your voice heightens, the feeling in your core tightening. "i need it so bad, clark, fuck me, please—just give it so me." 

clark's lips pull to a smirk, both hands now on yours ass before he starts helping you bounce yourself on his cock. every inch, every vein that ran through his cock etching itself on your gummy walls like it was field notes.

your moans turn into incoherent begging, clark's name leaving your lips like a damned prayer as clark himself struggled to keep his moans in.

he continued helping you up and down his cock, meeting your cunt with thrusts of his own. the walls shaking with how harsh he's driving himself into you. he's gripping your ass tightly, cock twitching as you clench uncontrollably.

"don't stop, don't stop—right there! o-oh! clark!"

"yeah? right there, baby?" clark watches as you drop one hand to your chest, fondling yourself shamelessly whole he focuses on fucking you even deeper—harder.

when he feels your legs twitch, threatening to close around his body, he knows for a fact you're close.

clark takes one hand away from your ass and slides it over your slit, expertly finding your clit as he begins to rub messy circles on the bundle of nerves.

you scream, finding every nerve on your body on fire. clark's name bouncing off the walls like a cry for help while clark desperately groaned yours. the lewd sound of skin on skin slamming against each other filling your ears.

one more thrust from clark on that spot and you're spilling hopelessly all over his cock, stars appearing in your eyes as you shook on top of him. shortly after, you feel him slow down, letting you work down your high as you feel his own come paint your insides. the feeling made you moan deeply, your body stiff and eyes rolled back.

clark rolls his hips, kissing all over your cheeks and forehead as he leans back on the headboard. his hands intertwining with yours as he takes you in for a warm kiss—a stark difference from the way he was moving a few seconds ago.

"that was…" clark's breathless, chest heaving up and down. "…wow."

your eyes peel open, clark's fucked-out eyes and disheveled hair making you clench around his length one more time.

"you're driving me to work." you tell him, jabbing a manicured on his chest.

clark laughs when you get off of his lap, your knees nearly giving out, almost falling to the wooden floor if not for clark quickly holding your waist with one hand.

he gives your ass one more slap before he gets off of the bed, towering over you with a lovestruck smile.

"yes, ma'am."

(yes, this is inspired by one of those tiktoks where someone flashes their partner right before they head to work)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐈𝐭 || 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 ||

The rooftop was quiet. Too quiet.

Clark had just taken off his glasses. Just… casually took them off while squinting at a distant fire, and then muttered something about needing to go help before turning back to you.

You froze.

Your eyes narrowed.

His eyes glowed slightly. Just enough to fry a toaster.

“…Clark?”

“Hm?”

“Do you—” You took a step closer. “Do you want to tell me something?”

He blinked. Then gave that sheepish half-smile. “I suppose it’s time.”

And with that, the blazer came off, the shirt unbuttoned—bam! Superman suit underneath, red and blue in all its glory.

You stood still for a beat...it was quiet for a moment until you shouted. "I KNEW IT!”

You threw your arms in the air like you’d just won the lottery.

“I freaking knew it! Clark Kent is Superman! ME! I figured it out!”

You began to hop in place, then broke into a celebratory dance—some chaotic combo of a shimmy, a spin, and a finger-point skyward.

“Who said the glasses were too obvious? ME! Who said no one’s shoulders are that broad by accident? ALSO ME!”

Clark, amused, tried to interrupt. “Honey—”

“And to everyone who said I was overthinking it? To Lois? I say—HA!”

You spun triumphantly, taking an exaggerated moonwalk backwards—

—and stepped right off the edge of the roof.

There was a pause.Then a yelp. Followed by;

“OH COME ON!”

Before gravity could do its thing, a blur of red and blue swooped under you and caught you mid-air.

You glared up at Clark, now floating and cradling you like a princess.

“Just admit it,” you huffed, “this is the second most dramatic way I could’ve found out.”

He chuckled. “What’s the first?”

You smirked. “You accidentally heat-visioning the TV during The Bachelor finale.”

He winced. “Okay, yeah. That would’ve been worse.”

[scribes-of-valar]

𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝐵𝑜𝑦

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

A/N: I watched maybe two seasons of this show last year and kind of moved past it. I randomly got a Clark Kent fic on my feed last night and suddenly I have a demon in my brain telling me to write. Anyway, there is a horrendous lack of full fledged, non-smut fics for this man, so, here you go.

Summary: Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

“Have any plans?” You pull your English book from your locker, fingers stilling as you wait for Clark to respond. Silence stretches between you, long enough to make your brows furrow in confusion. Peering around the edge of your locker door with narrowed eyes, you let out a sigh. 

You should have seen this coming. As always, Clark is staring at Lana from across the hall, looking like he walked straight out of a sappy romance movie. 

She’s close, so close, but entirely out of his reach. She laughs, tucking a perfect, shiny strand of hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the way Clark pines for her. Always pining. Always looking at her like she’s the only girl in the world. 

You could gag. 

Slamming your locker shut, perhaps harder than necessary, you break Clark out of his trance as he flinches away from the noise. His head snaps toward you, blue eyes narrowed on the irritated scrunch of your face. You smile, forcing the snark out of your expression. 

“Did you say something?” His voice is kind, expression open, as though he’s finally ready to listen. But the bell rings, cutting into the moment. You only have a minute to sprint to the other side of school. 

“No,” you sigh, forcing the stilted smile to stay on your face, “I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you,” he offers, falling into step beside you. “That way you can tell me what you actually said,” he teases, giving you that familiar boyish grin that never fails to make you unravel. 

You bite your tongue for a moment, mind unraveling as you struggle with telling him the truth or not. This is stupid. He’s Clark, your best friend. Your stupid, oblivious, beautiful best friend. But the way he looks at you, soft and warm as he slows his stride so he can walk together a little longer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

No. It will definitely still hurt. 

“Would you want to do something this weekend?” You rush it all out at once and immediately look away from him, terrified by what you might see on his face. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then Clark laughs, light and easy. Your stomach twists and your head shoots up, a disbelieving glare on your face. You’d known it would be unlikely that he’d return your feelings, but laughing seems below him. 

“Why’re you being so weird?” He shakes his head, still grinning. “We’ll just do a movie night like always.” He squeezes your shoulder, casual, friendly, a wholly innocent gesture. Nothing more and nothing different. It’s completely platonic to him, as it always is. It takes you a moment to realize that he took what you were saying the wrong way. Or, maybe this is just the gentlest way he knows how to let you down. 

“Right,” you struggle to keep your voice even but it doesn’t matter, the dejection slips through your tone. His smile falters slightly and he looks like he wants to say something when the shrill ring of the bell interrupts you both.

“I’ll see you later,” he offers but he sounds uncertain. Most of your plans have fallen through lately. Either because he was busy with Lana or off disappearing somewhere. You’re not sure, but you know the divide is growing larger between you both and you’re getting scared you’re going to lose him. 

“Sure,” you give him a flat smile and he hovers beside you for a moment, like he wants to fix this but doesn’t know how. 

“You’re going to be late,” you startle slightly and glance over your shoulder. Blake, a boy you share your English class with offers you a shy smile as he hovers by the door, holding it open for you to walk through.  

“Thanks,” you walk past them both and into class, not wanting to look at Clark any longer. You miss the sharp look Blake shoots Clark and the way your friend lingers by the door for a minute before rushing off to his own class. 

You slide into your seat, lucky to have gotten in before Mrs. Brown, lord knows she would love to make a spectacle of anyone being tardy. Blake follows not far behind you, slipping into the seat beside you as always. He’s nice enough, quiet, unassuming. You’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but right now all of his attention seems to be on you. 

He whispers your name and you give him a brief glance and smile, mind still wrapped up in Clark. “Um, I was going to ask,” he stutters over his words for a moment, swallowing thickly before finally meeting your eye. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Yeah,” you answer absentmindedly. “I have plans with Clark,” you tell him shortly as Mrs. Brown walks in. You don’t have time to explain that you’ll probably just end up waiting around your house all weekend. Just to get a brief and incomprehensible explanation of why you were all alone on Monday. 

He sinks back in his seat with a sigh just as the teacher begins writing the assignment on the board. You shoot him a slightly concerned look before brushing the interaction off as nothing.

Standing in the line at The Talon has become almost a hobby for you. Not just because Clark drags you here constantly, but because he distracts Lana from actually taking any orders. The wait time seems to triple every time he walks into the shop. You hear people grumbling behind you and finally move toward Clark, breaking the unspoken rule of leaving him and Lana alone. 

“There’s a line, Clark,” you sing-song, warning him. The both of them flush, breaking their hushed conversation and shooting you a sheepish look. 

“I’m sorry,” Lana apologizes and you wave her off. “Do you want anything?” 

You’d been considering getting a muffin, but when you look over and see the lovesick smile Clark is giving her, you find your appetite has disappeared. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

Clark turns toward you with a soft frown and he nearly makes you forget just how much you resent him for dragging you along to see this. “I thought you were hungry.”

You glance back at Lana and find her eyes already on him. God, what’s the point of a breakup if you’re still obsessed with each other? “No, it’s alright.”

You move away from the counter to step outside, expecting him to stay there and continue flirting despite the angry customers behind them. You’re surprised when you hear his voice immediately beside you. 

“Hey,” he moves away from the door, a grin on his face. Face wrinkling in confusion, you nod your head in greeting even though you’d just seen him. Your eyes narrow in on the leather of his jacket and your head tilts in confusion. You swear he was wearing a zip up a moment ago. “What’re you doing?” He asks, tone light as he stands beside you closer than he normally would. 

“Uh,” you’re tempted to glance over your shoulder and make sure he isn’t still standing in The Talon. “Did you hit your head?” He flushes slightly and you laugh. “Just our usual friday endeavors, you moon over Lana and I hold back the mob of angry customers who just want a coffee.” Laughing to ease some of your own tension, it trails off when you see the smile drop from his face. 

His eyes narrow and he glances toward the shop, “Idiot,” he mutters. You shoot him an affronted look and he blanches, quickly correcting himself. “Me, not you.” You want to question him further but he slings an arm over your shoulder and redirects you away from the shop. Mind a blank slate, you feel your brain break slightly at the simple touch. 

When you were younger, before Lana, before either of you even knew what crushes were, something like this would mean nothing to you. As it is, though, your friendship seems to have dwindled to nothing but compulsory hangouts and the occasional conversation in the hallway. Something as simple as his arm around you has turned into everything for you. 

“So, what are we doing tonight?” 

“Movies at your place, like usual,” you remind him. He must have slipped and hit his head on the way out of The Talon.  Either that, or he already forgot the plans you made just this morning. Neither would surprise you. 

His face screws up and he shakes his head, “God, that’s lame.” You scoff, shooting him an odd look, not bothering to remind him that it was his idea. “I mean what’s he-” 

Clark cuts himself off, glancing down at you before letting out a short laugh. “How ‘bout the fair?”

You reach up and press the back of your hand to his forehead. He gives you a bewildered laugh, taking your hand in his and grinning. “What are you doing?”

You lean back slightly, breathless at the awestruck way he’s looking at you. You’ve only ever seen him look at…

Lana, you’ve only ever seen a look like this directed at Lana. But now, those deep blue eyes are pulling you in and you feel helpless to fight them. You swallow hard, blinking while you try to remember what you were even going to say. 

“Uh,” licking your lips you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement. “I was seeing if you had a fever. Since when do you want to go out?” 

He laces your fingers together and tugs you forward, “Since now.” 

Usually, you’re not so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth. Months, you’ve been praying he treats you with even a semblance of care he throws toward Lana. Now, you finally get it and you can’t help the sick tightening feeling in your stomach telling you this is all wrong.

The fair is less crowded than you had expected. Though, it is nearly the last day it’s in town, you suppose everyone’s already had their fill of it. You have been trying to get Clark to come with you for nearly a week, maybe this is why he had waited so long to join you. Some of the rides you actually got all to yourself. 

“You know these things are rigged,” you tease, watching as he tries and fails at the bottle toss for the third time. The bored teenage girl behind the booth briefly glances up from her book to glare at you both. You shoot her a sardonic smile and she turns to Clark. 

“You can just buy the stuffed animal, ya know?” She drawls. 

“That’s cheating-”

“Where’s the fun in that-”

You and Clark share a grin as you speak over each other. The girl pales at your joined voices and returns quickly to her book, muttering something about annoying couples. 

Your stomach flutters at the idea of you and Clark as a couple but you push it down. “Alright,” Clark chuckles and holds his arm out for you, “let’s get out of here.”

You slip your arm through his easily, smiling up at him. You’ve long since stopped questioning just how touchy he is. Clearly, he’s in a generous mood tonight and you feel like taking advantage of that as much as possible.

“Where to next?” He asks and your eyes crawl across the fairground, struggling to find something you haven’t already done. 

You toss what must be your third lemonade in the closest bin and shoot him a sheepish smile. “I think I’ll need to go to the bathroom before we do any more rides.”

He’s slow to let you go, hand drifting down to hold yours as he steps back. “I’ll wait by the ferris wheel,” he tells you lowly. 

Your cheeks flush, eyes widening slightly as you slip away from him. The ferris wheel is notorious among Smallville students as the place to make a move. Everyone knows it’s just couples that ride up in those rickety old cars. Still, Clark is slightly oblivious to stuff like that. You don’t want to get your hopes up just for it to ultimately be nothing more than a friendly outing. 

Rushing toward the sad group of Port-a-potties you let out an annoyed sigh when you see the long line awaiting you. Your foot bounces against the dirt impatiently as you peer around the girl in front of you just to see there has to be, at least, ten people before you. 

There’s a vibration in your pocket before you hear the shrill ringing of your Nokia. Digging it out of your jeans you answer without checking the contact. “Hello?” The girl in front of you shoots you a dirty look and you take a step back from her. 

“Hey, where’re you?” You frown at the sound of Clark’s voice, glancing around like you might be able to spot him in the crowd. You’d told him where you were going, why would he be calling?

“You know where I am,” you tell him, chuckling. 

There’s a slight huff on the other end and you frown, he almost sounds disappointed. “What are you talking about? We were supposed to watch movies tonight.”

“Okay, Clark, I’m officially concerned. You’ve been acting weird all day. We’re at the fair,” you say slowly, over-enunciating your words like he’s slow. “You said movies were going to be lame.”

There’s a long pause and he utters your name in a concerningly serious tone. “The person you’re with-”

“Alright, do you mind?” The girl in front of you whips around and snaps at you. Blanching, you lower the phone from your ear and she shoots you an incredibly dirty look. 

“Clark, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” you whisper into the phone. 

“Wait-” 

You cut him off, hanging up and shoving your phone in your back pocket. She turns back around and rolls her eyes. It doesn’t take long for your Nokia to start ringing again but you figure you’ll just meet Clark by the ferris wheel like he said. 

Low groaning drifts through the noises of the crowd and makes you pause. Tilting your head around the corner of a trailer, the sounds only grow louder. Everything inside you says not to investigate, but the person sounds like they’re genuinely in pain. You can’t just walk away. 

“Hey,” you call out softly. “Are you okay?”

There’s no response and you take a hesitant step closer. A scuffed white converse slips from behind the back of the trailer and it looks worryingly similar to Clark’s. “Clark?” You call out, creeping a little further into the dark. 

It’s like a cocoon of silence back here, as though the shadows swallow the voices and loud cheering sounds of the games beyond you. “No,” the small voice croaks out. You see a hand in the dirt and they begin dragging themselves forward. You jump back a step, heart picking up as you watch them get to their feet. 

This was a stupid idea, walking toward a stranger in the dark. Even in Smallville you couldn’t trust everyone. They finally turn and you let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Blake, hey.”

He gives you a weak grimace, clutching his stomach like he’s in pain. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, taking a step closer to him, trying to get a better look. 

“Fine, fine,” he stutters out, shifting just enough to keep his face half-hidden in the shadows.  Even knowing the person lurking within the shadows, you still feel slightly on edge. Something about the way he moves unsettles you. It’s not as though you know him well, he’s just a classmate. Someone quiet and harmless. Or, you hope he’s harmless, right now there’s something about him that feels wrong.

“Alright, um, if you’re sure,” you take a careful step backward. Your foot’s barely back on the ground when he lunges forward. His hands stretch toward you like he’s about to snatch you into the shadows with him. You’re stuck deciding whether you’re going to scream or bite him when he jerks back like a puppet being yanked on a string.  

“Sorry, sorry,” he blurts out, breathless. “Clark walked by. He- he told me to tell you he was leaving.”

Your stomach twists with panic. Right now you care more about not getting your throat slit in a dark alley than you do about Clark ditching you. Without a second thought, you turn on your heel and run out from between the trailers. You swear you hear footsteps, quick and light, following your path to the cars. 

Sliding into your car, you lock your doors and peel out of the lot. You leave the fair, and whatever just happened, behind, not looking back. The phone in your pocket vibrates again but you ignore it, too freaked out by what just happened to bother answering.  

Someone calls your name and you peer around the edge of your locker door, grimacing when you see Blake walking toward you. His brown hair is a mess, like he’s been fussing with it all morning, and his thick glasses, normally perched precariously on his nose, are nowhere to be seen. His normal polished clothes look like they’re three sizes too big and you frown.  

“Hey,” you drag the word out, trying to sound polite even if his outburst last night left you feeling incredibly unsettled. “Feeling any better?” You hesitate to meet his eyes, and when you do, your annoyance only deepens. 

He’s watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for something. 

“Did you need anything?” You ask, voice trailing off as you close your locker and take two deliberate steps back. 

Blake’s brows furrow and he almost looks hurt before his expression smooths over into something startling unreadable. “Um, no, I’m sorry,” his gaze drifts past you. The color drains from his face and you barely have a second to process the oddity of this conversation before he turns on his heel and goes barrelling down the hall.

“Hey,” Clark’s familiar voice cuts through your confusion, and you turn to see him striding toward you. Gone is the easy, playful grin he wore last night. He looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, intent on something. “We need to talk,” he tells you, tone grave. 

“I know,” you snipe, not bothering to hide your irritation at just leaving you alone at the fair last night. You aren’t surprised, he’s been doing that for weeks now. What stings is that, for a little while, you had felt like you were actually friends again, only for him to ruin it. 

His brow furrows and he glances around the empty hallway with a frown. “Look, we can’t talk here, but-”

The warning bell rings, cutting him off. “Shit,” you mutter, shoving your books into your bag and turning away from Clark. He calls your name but you wave him off. “Later, Clark, I can’t be late again.” He watches you go with a frown, running a hand through his hair before turning toward his own class. 

Not even ten minutes later you spot him walking past Mrs. Brown’s room. Though, you swear he was wearing a red shirt not a green one. You could be wrong, it’s not as if you had long to take in his outfit.

You figure he’s just passing by and go back to taking your notes. There’s a light hiss from the door and you frown, looking up to see him hovering in the doorway and waving you forward. You glare toward Mrs. Brown’s back and shake your head. No way, you mouth. 

Clark gives you a pleading look, frowning and motioning you forward again. You know that look, you’ve been on the receiving end of it for years now. He’s clearly not going to let go of whatever  he was badgering you about this morning. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” You call out, not bothering raising your hand. The old bat’s half-blind, you doubt she’d see it anyway. 

She answers without even bothering to turn around and face you. “If you need to use the restroom, you do so before my class,” her shaky voice calls out with a huff. 

You roll your eyes and grab your bag, stuffing your books in it as she turns back to the board. There’s no point in arguing with her, she’s never going to give in. You wait until she drops her eraser. The second she bends over to grab it, you’re bolting toward the door. Clark grabs your arm, dragging you behind him.

He makes a break for the end of the hall, blowing past the geometry class he’s meant to be in. He busts through the school doors and leads you quickly through the courtyard. “Clark,” you hiss, trying to hold back a laugh at the stupid grin on his face. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes alight with mischief, “Come on, you can’t tell me you actually want to listen to her rambling on about Shakespeare for an hour.”

You can’t argue with that, but he hasn’t done a jail bust for you in a while. Especially not during one of the few classes he shares with Lana. “No, I didn’t,” you pause as you realize he’s leading you to your car and not his truck. “Am I driving?”

“Truck didn’t start this morning,” he tells you shortly, not bothering with any further explanation. You swear you saw him drive in this morning but you could be wrong. It’s not like he’s the only kid driving his dad’s old busted truck in this town. “I’ll drive, though, you won’t know where we’re going.”

“Ominous,” you snark as he takes your hand in his, directing you toward the passenger door. Gentle hands push you up against the side of the car and he ducks down, leaning into your space. You crane your neck up, flushing slightly at the proximity. Any closer and you could kiss him. 

“Well?” He questions softly, lips curling up in a half-smile that makes you want to melt. You blink, forgetting what you were doing before you notice his outstretched, open, palm. Swallowing thickly you take your keys out of your bag and place them in his hand. “Thanks,” he ducks down, soft lips pressed against your cheek before rounding the front of the car. 

Your hand drifts toward your cheek, a bewildered smile on your face as you try and regulate your breathing. “What the hell?” You mutter, shaking your head slightly. Turning around, you open the car door and slip into the passenger seat. 

Clark greets you with a grin, scooping your hand up in his as he pulls out of the school parking lot. You don’t want to think about the trouble you’re going to be in tomorrow, all you can focus on is how good Clark’s hand feels in yours. 

“I’m really starting to feel like I’m getting kidnapped,” you joke, head tilting to look out the window. The golden fields stretch endlessly, rolling past in waves as the car gets further from town. Houses become scarce, replaced by sprawling farmland and grazing cattle. The further you go, the more isolated you feel. 

Clark chuckles, but there’s something off about the sound, a slight wheeze, a strain where there wasn’t before. His face crumples and he turns away from you, his knuckles turn white around the steering wheel from his tight grip. 

“Are you okay?” You reach instinctively toward him but he jerks his hand back. You gasp, jumping back when you catch a glimpse of his face. It ripples, the skin shifting unnaturally, as if something beneath it is struggling to break free. 

“Oh no,” Clark groans, voice strained. His entire body spasms and his hands slip from the wheel. The car lurches violently to the side, tires screeching against the pavement. Panic surges through you, hands bracing against the door as you shout his name. 

He curls into himself, muscles seizing, leaving the car veering out of control. The telephone pole ahead rushes toward you, growing larger by the second. You throw yourself forward, grasping at the wheel, desperately trying to steer, but Clark’s foot slams against the gas instead of the brake. 

Everything happens too fast. A blur flashes in front of the windshield. Then, a sudden stop. Your body flies forward, arms bracing against the dashboard as your head whips forward and back, pain rattling through your spine. 

You whine in discomfort, slowly sitting up and trying to take in your surroundings. The passenger door is ripped open. You flinch, recoiling instinctively and sending a shock of pain down your body. Your breath stutters as someone ducks their head inside, a startling familiar pair of blue eyes find yours.  

“Clark?” You whisper, gaze flicking to the seat beside you where Clark still sits, doubled over, his breathing ragged. 

The Clark outside the car reaches in and gently pulls you out. Warm, calloused hands skate carefully over your arms and shoulders. He cups the back of your neck, tilting your head up, thumbs gently smoothing over your jaw as he looks you over. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice is soft, thick with concern. His eyes briefly leave yours to double check you for any injuries he might have missed. 

Your heart pounds. This isn’t possible. You must be concussed. You blink rapidly still struggling to wrap your head around the whole two Clark’s thing when the second one stumbles out of the car. 

He steps are uneven as he rounds the fender, his entire body shaking. Your rescuer moves swiftly, placing himself between you and the other Clark. He shields you, broad shoulders tense, protective to a fault. Must be the real one. Right? You rub your aching head and frown. 

“What were you going to do with her?” The one in front of you barks the question out, his voice sharp and edged with something dangerous.

“I just,” the other one keels over, cutting himself off with a pained groan and shaking his head. “Wanted to get away,” he grits out through clenched teeth, forcing himself straight again. 

“And you had to take her with you?”

“What’s going on?” You jut in, stepping back from both of them. Facing them, you see the same wounded expression reflected on both faces. Whichever is the fake, he’s certainly mastered the puppy dog look. 

Your rescuer tries to take a step forward but you throw your hand up, keeping them both at bay until you know what’s going on. He sighs and glances over at his shoulder at the other one.  “How long have you been able to do this?” 

It's like they start a conversation in the middle and you’re completely lost.  “Last year, I never saw a use for it and it was too much of a pain. But then I realized,” he looks at you, face contorting. “You would never go for a guy like me. You couldn’t. You were too wrapped up in him,” he spits the word out with venom, nodding toward the Clark you know has to be the real one. 

“You love him and that stupid all-American smile.” He chuckles, but it breaks off into a groan as he doubles over in pain, clutching his stomach. He drops to his knees and moans through clenched teeth, clutching at his face as he folds over. The longer black hair shrinks to a dull brown, broad shoulders slimming as the clothes he wears hang loose on him.

The illusion shatters, “Oh, God, Blake?” You gasp out, taking one step toward him. He shakes his head and you stop as Clark grabs your elbow. You glance up at him but he just shoots you a soft look that has you rooted to the spot. 

“I’ve been in love with you since freshman year,” Blake chuckles, still sounding like every word hurts. “If only I figured it out earlier, it’s always going to be him. I never had a chance, did I?” His gaze flickers toward Clark before he collapses to the pavement. 

You both go running toward Blake. Pressing your trembling fingers to his neck, you let out a sigh of relief when you feel his faint heartbeat. 

“We need to get him to a hospital, fast.” You lean back from Blake, looking around for Clark’s truck, confused when you don’t see it. “Dammit, Clark, where's the truck?”

He flushes, shaking his head, “I didn’t bring it.”

You frown, “What’re you talking about?” 

He glances toward Blake, the rise and fall of his chest steadily slowing. When he looks back at you his expression is unreadable, an intensity to it that you’ve never seen before. “I need you to trust me.”

“Always,” you tell him without missing a beat. He gives you a small smile but it lacks the usual warmth. 

“Close your eyes.”

“What?” You glare at him but he just shakes his head. 

“Please,” he looks close to begging and the pulse under your grip is getting weaker. Swallowing down your confusion you close your eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, “I’ll be back.”

You frown, feeling a rough breeze blow back your hair as your eyes shoot open. But the spot in front of you is empty and the body under your hand has disappeared. Getting to your feet, you spin in one slow circle. There’s nothing out here except golden fields, your totaled car, and you. All alone. 

Clark eventually came back for you. His truck rolling into view after being on your own for half an hour. You hadn’t talked to him the whole ride back to town, too shocked by everything that had happened. 

He carried the conversation for the both of you, offering a brief explanation that only confused you more. Blake had apparently been one of the meteor freaks, somehow being exposed to it when it had left a crater in your town. 

But Clark didn’t tell you how he made it across the highway and to the hospital in under five minutes with no car. He didn’t tell you anything that actually mattered. So, you told him to drop you off at home and you haven’t seen him in a week. 

Chloe had called you once during your self-induced isolation, just to tell you that she’d driven by Blake’s house. Apparently the entire place looked like it had been cleaned out. No sign of him or his parents anywhere. You wish you could say you care, but you don’t. You’re almost grateful he’s gone. Not only did he reveal your long held secret infatuation to Clark, he’d clearly had ill intentions as he tried to take you out of town. 

Your Nokia nearly buzzes itself off your nightstand as you set your book to the side and look at the all-too familiar contact.

Clarkie

The stupid nickname you’d given him in middle school lights up the small screen and you let out a rough sigh, watching as it rings and rings before finally quieting. The screen goes dark before lighting up once more as his ringtone fills the silence of your room. He doesn’t give up easily, you have to give him that. 

You’re not entirely sure you’re ready to face him. Not now that he knows about your feelings for him. There’s no hiding what Blake so plainly laid out for him. You sink into the comforts of the pillows on your bed and wonder if you could just live here forever. 

Something knocks against your window and you ignore it as nothing more than a branch from the tree. It’s not much longer before it happens again and you rip your hands off your face and are forced to sit up. Your phone rings once more and there’s a sinking feeling in your gut that you know exactly who waits outside your window. 

“You can’t hide forever,” comes an annoying cheerful voice from outside. You force yourself off your bed and slink toward your window. Sure enough, Clark waits below it, a boyish grin poised on his face as he looks up at you. As much as you’re avoiding him, it’s plain cruel to just leave him outside. 

Reluctantly, you open your window and he’s quick to climb your tree. You back up as he slots his broad frame through and into your room. He lets out a short huff of breath and straightens up, giving you a sheepish smile. 

Taking a seat on your bed, you find it a tad difficult to look at him. Clark sucks in a deep breath and grabs your desk chair. He straddles it, resting on the back of it and staring at you until you feel like he’s going to burn holes into the side of your face. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

You hum and shrug, tucking a loose wave behind your ear. “I’ve been sick,” you lie, briefly looking up. The intense way he’s looking at you leaves you breathless and you have to take in a slow breath so your heart doesn’t kick up too much.  

“I want to tell you something.” Your head shoots up, concern lacing through you at the grave tone of his words. He looks away from you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I want to ask you something first. Is, uh,” he chuckles a little and licks his lips, a nervous tick he’s never been able to kick. “Is all that stuff that Blake said true?”

Your stomach drops, burying your face in your hands, you let out a low groan. “Oh, god,” you suck in a sharp breath, unable to look at him as heat flushes through you. 

Lying is always an option. It’s a poor option, but it’s there. Maybe, if you just lied straight through your teeth he would drop it and leave you alone. But you’ve been hiding this for so long, tucked so tightly to your chest, it would be a relief to finally be unburdened of the truth. 

“Yes,” you whisper. You don’t want to look at him, don’t want to face the truth of his rejection. Clark has been your best friend since you could walk, losing him over this stupid crush would destroy you. 

The silence drags on for too long and you feel the anxiety calling its way around you. Warmth envelops your hands and calloused palms draw them away from your face. 

You peek one eye open to find Clark kneeling before you, a soft smile on his face. “You better not be laughing at me, Kent.”

A small chuckle slips through his lips and you slap at his shoulder. He catches your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’m not, I promise. I wish you’d told me.”

“Why? So I could ruin our friendship faster?” You snark. 

“No, so I could do this,” he darts forward, soft lips capturing yours. You freeze up, eyes wide as his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. 

There’s a brief moment of shock where you’re completely frozen. But then you feel the way his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. And you find yourself melting into the feeling of his embrace, eyes closing as you slowly open up to him. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the soft waves of his hair. 

The kiss itself is gentle, chaste almost. But it warms you from the inside out, makes you feel like you’re going to be nothing but a puddle of goo the longer he holds you. When he pulls back, he drags it out, lips lingering as long as they can. 

You’re slow to recover, eyes glazed over as you stare at him. He seems just as shocked, like he hadn’t expected to do that. Of course, you say the first thing that comes to mind instead of just shutting up and enjoying the moment. “What about Lana?” You blurt out, wincing the second it leaves your mouth. 

He frowns at you and shrugs, “What about her?”

“You’ve been blowing me off for months for her. We go to her shop every day just so you can stare at her. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly discovered feelings for me. I won’t be your backup, Clark.”

He shakes his head vehemently, looking almost offended by the idea. “What? No. Of course you’re not,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes at you before sinking back on his heels with a huff. “Look, I wasn’t ditching you for her, I can explain all that,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “later.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion and he reaches up, taking your hands in his. “There’s a lot I have to tell you. But the most important thing is that I am completely over Lana.”

“Really?” You question, tone harsh but bordering almost on teasing. “You look at all your friends like that?”

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “just you,” he adds with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and shake your head, looking away from him. “Whatever you thought you saw between us, it was only on her end. I swear, it’s been you for a long time.”  

You look away, but he’s not accepting that, tilting your chin to face him once more. “It’s always been you,” he murmurs, voice steady, certain.

Your breath hitches, heart stuttering in your chest. Maybe this is real. Maybe it’s been you that’s been the oblivious idiot. 

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then prove it.”

His smile is slow, confident, and this time when he leans in you don’t hesitate to meet him halfway.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[beaucate]

๑°⋆｡ ୨୧ nsfw . . . blurb for the mean time bcz im busy </3 — it’s meant to be awkward but i also haven’t written anything suggestive in a while so be patient pleek!!

you were sprawled half-asleep on the couch within the kent’s barn, painkillers smudging your vision into a blur of purple and black hues, when suddenly; clark’s heavy boots thudded up the loft stairs.

his red flannel was rolled to his elbows — forearms streaked with light dirt, and all you could do was stare dumbly as he crouched beside you, all broad shouldered and nervously sweating.

“ma said you’re still… y’know.” he gestured vaguely at his jaw, cheeks pink as your drool coated the plush of your swollen lips.

“still dying,” you slurred, tilting your head back with a light thud. the motion made the room spin. “s’your fault. your mom’s apple pie is a calling for cavities”

he huffed a half-hearted laugh, and sat on the edge of the couch near you.

in your dazed state; you hadn’t realised how close he was until his knee bumped yours, denim rough against your bare leg, as your skirt scrunched upwards. his hands flexed, like he’d wanted to touch but held himself back.

“let me,” he muttered, but his gruff tone didn’t match the way his fingers trembled when he cupped your chin.

you let him pry your mouth open, too hazy to care about your dignity — and gasped softly when the rough pad of his thumb pressed into the swelling ache. your tongue involuntarily (or so you tell yourself) brushed his calloused skin, and he made a noise; a low, almost pained grunt— before he shifted closer.

the old couch creaked dangerously as he leaned in, his hip accidentally slotting against yours.

you both froze.

for a pregnant pause, all you felt was the heat of him, the hard line of his muscular thigh pressing into the sensitive skin of your legs. the way his breath stuttered when your knee slipped between his.

“clark-“ you breathed out, his thumb still pressing against your gums, and sliding slowly so that it brushed against the inside of your cheeks and on your tongue.

he was already moving, a hand slipping from your face to lean against the worn out pillow behind you. that small shift of his body had made him slide forward, his larger body pinning yours deeper into the couch.

your hips rocked up, ‘accidentally’, and his free hand gripped down on your waist, holding you still.

“don’t,” he stuttered out, eyes wild.

though his own words fell to deaf ears, because you weren’t sure who moved first.

maybe it was the arch of your back. but suddenly he was everywhere all at once, the thick muscle of his chest crushing against your hardened nipples, and his knee nudged your legs wider. it was all so clumsy, and reeked of desperation; his hips jerking forward once, before he had to wrench himself back like he’d been shocked.

“i-i have to-, tractor,” he stammered, jumping hurriedly himself off the couch, your saliva connecting a line from his thumb to your lips. he tripped over his own boots, catching himself on the doorframe, and fled.

you laid there, heart jackhammering, and underwear chafing against your swollen bud. your tooth still throbbed, but the pain dulled in comparison to the way he’d looked at you, like he wanted to eat you alive, and like it terrified him.

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ “ NEED A FRIEND YOU CAN FUCK, I CAN BE THAT ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | dc comics. NOTES: i haven’t seen this movie yet so unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ david!clark has huge dick syndrome ノ mentions of reader having hair ノ trying out the mating press position ノ talking you through it ノ allusions to pussy eating ノ p in v ノ unprotected sex ノ emphasis on eye contact.

“Clark… I don’t know about this…” you hedge, twisting the tip of your nail between the narrow space in your biting teeth. As your confidence wanes, a large and soothing hand smooths down from your shoulder to your arm. The calluses scratch you in a most pleasant way, and it relaxes some of the tense in your shoulders. You peer up at him uneasily, searching for reassurance as he adjusts to stand on his knees, rearranging your body when he tugs you down by your hips until you’re settled deep into the pillows of the bed. You sit pretty for him, the little nighty you had on having ridden up to show him what’s underneath. At the sight of it again, his tongue rolls between his lips.

“Just… keep your eyes on me.” he calms you, his fist coming to rest next to you on the mattress, and it dips with his weight as he fixes to hover over you. He’s so close to you now, blanketing you under his large body and the urge to capture his lips in a kiss from muscle memory is conveyed by the jut of your neck, reaching for him. Coolly, he lifts his chin to dodge it, making sure he knows you’re focusing. “Remember what we talked about?” It’s an instruction to relay it, and your feet curl to fiddle with your toes in your socks, your fingers mirroring them in a nervous habit. You glance down, biting onto your lower lip, only to meet his gaze and be pacified by the kindness in his eyes. You tilt your head to your shoulder, staring at him lovingly.

“Mhm.” you respond and nod obediently, your hair tickling your skin. “‘Stay still.’” you parrot, and when his face breaks out in a grin, you mimic it.

“No, no, that was before.” he chuckles, inclining over to peck you on your hair for such a cute mistake. Instead, his eyes darken from the recollection as he holds your gaze, and you feel warm in your chest. You had been squirming too much when his mouth was on you earlier, layering open kisses on your wet heat to help you loosen up. Even when he locked his arms around your thighs, you couldn’t help but try to fight him, he didn’t even budge. Instructing you was necessary to remind you to be good for him, otherwise you’d still be trying to run from your own orgasm. He reiterates the other conversation, “Gotta try to stay relaxed. Deep breaths. Can you do that for me?” You make a show of thinking for a second, but end it with another nod all the same. At your permission, he begins to enact the position you’d be talking about before—the one you’ve never gotten to do with him. “It’ll be like last time, okay?” he talks you through it as he kneels to maneuver you again, and the loss of his body heat makes you shiver. “We’re gonna let you get used to it first.” One leg is raised to hook your ankle on his shoulder. “Let’s start with one.”

In a burst of confidence, you cry, “Both!” and Clark looks at you crooked, wearing questioning brows and a little smirk that affirms your decision. “Do both.” you repeat, lifting your other leg with a point of your toes to reach his shoulder. His palm catches it, and takes it the rest of the way, settling both of your feet on either side of his neck. His hips push out, and your eyes flicker to his hard abdomen feeding into his v-line, that trail of pubic hair leading to the bulge in his pants.

Carefully, he stretches you out, folding you in half as he crawls back on top of you until your knees have hooked properly onto his shoulders. You squeak at the sensation of the bands in your thighs now taut, “Feeling okay, duchess? Need to start with something different?” he asks, you can hear the concern in his whisper, and feel his breath fan your cheek.

“No, I’m okay, I’m okay.” you insist, your eyes falling closed until he peppers kisses onto your jawline. Your lashes flutter open when you remember what he said. Keep your eyes on me… “I want you, Clark. I really do.”

“I’m not even in yet and I can already hear your little heartbeat. Are you sure?” he speaks through latching his mouth onto your neck, tasting your pulse on his tongue. He ends the suck with a wet pop, and you wiggle your hips with need at his frustrating stalling. “We can go back to what we were doing before. I don’t mind.” He certainly eats your pussy like he doesn’t mind, but right now you need something a little harder.

“Mhm. Please. Please?” Your brows skew into something pathetic, the way he’s talking to you has you twitching around nothing, and you feel his grin against your neck.

He rears to meet your eyes, a gentle hand coming to brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “yeah, let’s try it. Just keep talking to me, okay? Don’t try to be brave.” Something about eye contact and the sound of undoing his pants makes you flood, watching him with your hazy bedroom gaze as he grips the base to feed into you. His tip brushes your clit and you suck in through your teeth with a hiss. Clumsily, it searches for the give, and your hips chase it even though your tailbone is suspended in air right now. As he sinks the head in, you both inhale, and you witness the twitch in his eye as his pupils darken, buttering your insides with pre as he gently ruts into you with just an inch.

You reach for him, fingers tangle in his hair, and you clutch onto him as you ride out the sting of being stretched. “More,” you tell him breathlessly, “more, Clark…” The way you’re looking at him, the way his name pours from your parted lips like sex, his jaw slacks as he starts shoving in for his sake more than yours. You just feel so good. Warm and soft, he can’t help but beg for your heat to be wrapped around more of him. You moan in anguish, your back arching off the bed as just half of him hurts. He scolds himself for acting like a dog, pulling out enough for you to notice. “No!” you whine, desperation clear on your tongue, your grip releases him to grab onto the loose waistband of his pants hanging off his hips. You use the fabric as handlebars, yanking him toward you. You’ve got no hope of overpowering him, but it’s enough to show him what you want. “Please, Clarkie, please—“

Your feet bob in suspense as he forces more of himself in, sinking an inch away from the hilt as the last of your resolve melts, as if he’s battering you open with each stroke. Keeping your eyes on him is too much when your eyes can’t focus, lazing into the back of your head as he hits that spongy spot inside you perfectly at this angle. “It’s… so deep. It’s so deep, you’re so deep…” you babble, your chest jumping as he sheathes all the way in over and over again. Sweetly, he lands on his elbows, freeing his hands to cradle your head. Noises fill the room, skin smacks skin, grunts escaping his nose, your pretty lofty moans. It’s a symphony. A love letter from body to body. You ache and drool around his cock lodged so deep up your guts you can feel him in your throat.

“You look so beautiful like this…” Clark manages to say through his efforts, and he feels tremors build in your legs. “What’d you call this position again?”

“M-“ you stutter, “mating press.”

“That’s right. A mating press.”

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[sunsburns]

no. 1 party anthem — clark kent (superman) ! ᢉ𐭩

⟢ synopsis. what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

⟢ contains. clark kent x reader, ots and lots of fluff! it is one of the more romantic things i have written, cute blind date, characters are dumb, set up date, lois is a mastermind, i do not know anything about journalism, pinning from both sides but too shy to do anything about it.

⟢ word count. 5.8k+

⟢ author’s note. i can’t get this man outta my head pls help me 😣 the voices!!! also feel free to imagine this as any clark (and i mean any i swear: comic book, adventures with superman, tom welling, david corenswet, henry cavill, or even reeve)

“Hey, you’re gonna hate me but I’m gonna be like 10 minutes late. You go ahead and check in and order. The table should be under my name. I’ll pay the bill. I’m so sorry!”

You weren’t exactly surprised when the message lit up your phone screen. You rolled your eyes, exhaling through your nose. If there was one thing you knew about Lois Lane, it was that urgency wasn’t always her strong suit—unless it involved an exclusive scoop or a headline-worthy disaster with Superman. Still, considering this was supposed to be a work-related meeting, you had half-expected her to arrive early, not leave you waiting.

You typed out a quick reply, telling her it was fine when it really wasn’t, telling her to take her time when you wished she wouldn’t. Then, slipping your phone back into your bag, you made your way toward the hostess stand.

“Table under the name Lane?” you asked, offering a polite smile.

The hostess nodded, flashing you a warm smile in return. “Right this way.”

As she led you through the restaurant, you took in your surroundings with subtle curiosity. The place was charming—exactly the kind of cozy, floral-accented spot Lois would dig up for an ‘informal work chat.’ The kind of place that felt like it had stories tucked between its soft candlelit tables and ivy-draped walls.

You tried to dress the part, too—professional but approachable. You weren’t here for a casual dinner, after all. This meeting was supposed to be a quick sit-down with a lawyer Lois had arranged, someone who could confirm a few key details for a piece you were both working on. A case involving a corporation and some shady legal maneuvering—Lois had the sources, but you were the one handling the research. You’d spent the past week buried in legal jargon, piecing together statements and contracts, and now you just needed a professional to verify what you suspected before the article could go to print.

By the time you reached your table, you were already running through the questions in your head, mentally preparing for the conversation. The restaurant wasn’t grand, but it was stunning in its own way. You admired the decor, taking in the quiet hum of conversation and the delicate clink of silverware.

At least if Lois was late, you had time to go over your notes one more time.

You ran your hands over your portfolio, smoothing the cover absentmindedly as you flipped through the pages. The neatly typed notes stared back at you, but none of the words really registered. All you could do was wait—for the lawyer, for Lois, for some sign that this wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time.

With a sigh, you reached for the glass of wine you ordered a few minutes ago, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. You had to pace yourself, or you’d drain the whole thing before anyone even showed up. You checked your phone, hoping for an update, but the screen remained frustratingly blank.

Disappointed, you rested your chin on your hand, eyes drifting across the restaurant. The warm glow of golden light reflected off polished wood and delicate floral centrepieces, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of silverware. Your waiter had already stopped by twice, politely offering more appetizers while you tried not to look as painfully alone as you felt. If they came by again, you weren’t sure if you’d accept out of politeness or embarrassment.

And then, just as you took another sip of wine, a familiar figure walked through the entrance.

Clark Kent.

You blinked, watching as the hostess led him inside, guiding him through the rows of neatly arranged tables. Even from where you sat, you recognized the way he carried himself—like he was constantly trying to shrink his presence, shoulders slightly hunched, movements careful and deliberate. It was ironic, really, considering how much space he naturally took up. Clark was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossible to miss, yet he carried himself like he didn’t want to be noticed.

You knew him, but not really.

Not as much as you want to.

You were office acquaintances at best—two reporters who shared the same workplace, desks across from each other, but rarely the same conversations. There had been moments, though. Fleeting ones. Catching his lingering glances during late nights at the Daily Planet, both of you working in near silence, save for the tapping of keyboards. A handful of polite exchanges over the coffee machine, his voice always gentle, soft-spoken. And then, of course, there were the times someone would call out "Hey, Smallville!" across the office, earning a sheepish smile from Clark as he adjusted his glasses and ducked his head.

He looked nice tonight. Not too different from his usual work attire, but more relaxed. A crisp button-up, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a strong line of his forearms, dress pants fitted just right. He had forgone the tie, leaving the top button undone. Simple, but put-together. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t have been so charming, but somehow was.

And then you realized the hostess was leading him closer.

You quickly dropped your gaze, staring into your half-empty wine glass like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. The last thing you wanted was to be caught staring, especially while sitting alone, nursing a drink, and very clearly sulking.

Maybe, just maybe, if you looked busy enough, you could avoid drawing any attention at all.

And for a moment, it worked.

You picked up your phone again, checking the time for what had to be the hundredth time that night. With a little too much urgency, you started to type out a message to Lois—something casual, something that wouldn’t sound desperate, something that would make it seem like you weren’t upset about currently sitting alone in a nice restaurant, swirling the last remnants of your wine waiting for her to get there. You were so focused on forming the perfect text that you almost missed it—

Your name.

Spoken softly, but clear. Familiar.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. The voice had a weight to it, warm and steady, like someone genuinely surprised but pleased to see you. You swallowed and glanced up, feigning a search for the source before your gaze finally landed on Clark.

He wasn’t seated directly beside you but rather at the table across, angled just enough that you had to turn your head slightly to meet his eye. His lips curled into a sheepish smile, glasses slipping just a little down the bridge of his nose before he quickly pushed them back up again.

“Hi.”

That was all. Just hi. Simple, unassuming, but it made something settle in your chest, something you hadn’t even realized was tense.

You couldn’t bite back the smile forming on your own lips. “Hi, Clark.”

“Hey.”

A kind man with few words.

Though you’d heard him talk endlessly before, especially with Lois—deep in discussion, debating headlines, getting lost in conversations about ethics and reporting. But with you, it was always something short and sweet. A few words here and there. And yet, even the simplest conversations had a way of lingering. Would it be silly to admit that your brief, slightly awkward chats with Clark kind of made your day? Even when it was just him asking to borrow an extra pen?

God, you felt like a teenager again, having a crush on a classmate.

You watched as he rubbed at his cheek, the scruff there catching the soft glow of the restaurant lighting. His pointer finger rested idly at the seam of his lips, and you forced yourself to focus—not to stare at his mouth, not to let your gaze linger anywhere it shouldn’t.

He was your coworker, for fuck’s sake.

A really pretty one.

A really kind, really good-looking coworker.

You exhaled lightly, pressing your fingertips against the stem of your glass as if that might ground you. “It’s nice to see you.” The words came out before you could stop them, but they were true. It was nice.

It was almost like he perked up at that, his posture straightening just a little. “Yeah, great to see you too. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I... I could say the same.” Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you were smiling. You tried to temper it, but it was hard when Clark Kent was looking at you like that—all honey-eyed.

“Are you here for work?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio by your hands, stacked neatly beside your drink.

You glanced down at it as if you had momentarily forgotten it was there. “Um, yeah. I’m meeting with a source, so... they should be here any minute.”

Clark’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s your story on LexCorp, right?”

Your fingers, which had been absently tracing the condensation on your glass, paused. “Yeah, it is actually.” You blinked at him, a little surprised. “How’d you know?”

His smile was almost bashful, his hand brushing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was being modest. “Oh, I just remember you mentioning it a few days ago. It’s a great story.”

Something in your chest tightened—not in a bad way, just in a way that made you feel warm all over. You hadn’t expected him to remember, let alone bring it up. The conversation you’d had at work had been so brief, just an offhand remark about how you were stepping outside your usual comfort zone. No one else had really asked you about it since.

“You think?” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I thought it was kind of a stretch. I mean, like—a stretch from what I usually write, you know? I don’t really deal with politics and corporate stuff and all that.”

Clark shook his head, that gentle, reassuring look in his eyes making it impossible not to believe him. “I’m sure it’ll be great. You’re an amazing writer.”

You were smiling even wider now. Compliments weren’t uncommon at the Daily Planet—people gave each other nods of approval, a “good job” here and there. But Clark said it like he meant it, like he had read your work, thought about it, believed in it.

It reminded you of the time he had quietly left a sticky note on your desk after an article of yours had been rushed to print. Really great work on this one! -CK. You’d found it hours later, after everyone had gone home. It had been such a small thing, but you’d kept the note tucked inside your notebook anyway.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Clark. I think you’re a great writer too.”

He ducked his head slightly, smiling. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just something familiar to the pauses between you two at the office. Expect this time you didn’t have any work to distract yourself with. You hesitated before finally breaking it.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh… I have a date, actually.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But for some reason, you felt your stomach drop slightly, and you almost wanted to smack yourself in the head for not catching on sooner. Of course, he was here on a date, looking like that—all charming and shy.

He even smelled good, like fresh linen and something warm, something undeniably Clark.

“I know how it looks,” he started, and you noticed the way his shoulders began to hunch in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Feels strange. I don’t think I’ve been dating since college.”

You let out a breath of amusement, nodding slowly. “Wow. Uh—good for you, though. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He hesitated, then glanced up at you, a little sheepish. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a blind date, so I have no idea what this person looks like or who they are.”

You blinked. “You don’t know anything?”

“They’re a friend of Lois.” He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. “But that’s as much as I got.”

“Oh.” Your lips parted, then closed. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Clark.” You shot him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I’ll be here for moral support.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve got your thing to worry about.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend out too.”

The words left your mouth before you had a chance to really think about them. Friend. You wondered if you could even call yourselves that. You were more acquaintances if anything—a friend of a friend. But Clark always did little favours for you, and he was always kind to you.

Like the time he had grabbed you a coffee when you’d been stuck in a seemingly endless editorial meeting, dropping it off at your desk without a word. Just a small smile, a quiet “figured you could use one.”

Or the time he’d helped you carry an entire box of research binders up three flights of stairs because the elevator was down. He had done it without hesitation, without you even asking, took it from your hands like it was weightless.

Then there was the time he had lent you his jacket when an assignment had left you stranded in the rain. It had been late, the Daily Planet nearly empty, and you had been standing by the windows, arms wrapped around yourself, shivering slightly as you tried to figure out how to make it home without getting completely drenched. Clark had passed by, paused, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Just give it back tomorrow,” he’d said.

But it wasn’t just him.

You had done things for him too.

The time you had stayed late to help him rework an article after an editor had torn through it with a red pen, sitting beside him as the newsroom emptied, tossing ideas back and forth until it finally felt right. He had looked at you then, something warm in his eyes, and said, “I owe you one.”

Or the time he had misplaced his glasses—how he had checked every possible spot, growing more and more flustered, only for you to walk over and pluck them from where they had been resting atop his head. You had laughed, shaking your head as you handed them back. He had gone pink in the ears, mumbling something about being forgetful, but the way he had smiled after made you think he didn’t mind the teasing.

Then there was the time you had covered for him when he had mysteriously disappeared right before a meeting. Lois had been looking for him, impatient and muttering about how he always seemed to vanish at the worst times. You had lied—just a small one. Said he had mentioned stepping out for a quick errand, and that he’d be back soon. You weren’t sure why you had done it.

Helping him out never hurt. So it shouldn’t hurt one more time.

Well, maybe it would. Just a little bit.

It might hurt your pride, mostly.

“Besides,” you continued, “I’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and no one’s showed up.”

“That’s... odd.”

“I know,” you muttered, glancing at your phone again, the screen glowing with no new notifications. You hesitated, thumb hovering over your messages before sighing and picking it up. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

“Of course,” Clark said, ever patient, though his brows knit together slightly in concern.

You slid out of your seat, weaving through the dimly lit restaurant. The warm hum of conversation filled the air, glasses clinking, silverware scraping against plates. A jazz melody played softly from the speakers, almost drowned out by the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. You stepped toward the front, near the entrance, where it was quieter, and pressed the phone to your ear.

Lois hadn’t answered your last two—three?—messages. You tried calling her once. The line rang and rang, then went to voicemail. You exhaled sharply and called again, tapping your fingers against the wooden counter near the hostess stand.

On the last ring, she finally picked up.

"Hello-?"

“Where are you?” You didn’t bother hiding the frustration in your voice, pacing a little near the door.

"I'm... on my way, I swear."

“You said that almost half an hour ago, Lois.”

"I know, I know—I’m sorry. I was just about to call—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through your teeth. “And the lawyer, do you know when they’ll get here?”

A pause.

"I… I don’t know."

Your stomach dropped. “You don’t know?”

"No… now that I think about it… I don’t think I confirmed a time."

“Lois,” you breathed, dragging a hand down your face.

"I’m sorry. Maybe we should rain check. I’ll leave them a message or something and we can do this another day."

You glanced back toward your table, then toward Clark, who was politely minding his own business, idly staring at his menu. Your eyes flickered to your untouched portfolio, the very reason you had come out tonight in the first place.

“I need the papers approved by Wednesday.”

"And it’s Saturday night. You have plenty of time."

“This is rich coming from you,” you deadpanned, rubbing your temple.

"I know, just… maybe it’s a sign you gotta take things slow. You know, focusing on yourself instead of work. Maybe you should go to a club or something."

You scoffed, barely biting back an incredulous laugh. “Lois… this fucking sucks.”

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, okay? I’ll take you out tomorrow for brunch, swear on that. I promise. And I’ll transfer you for whatever you order tonight. Keep the receipt and give it to me."

You sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I’m just gonna go home.”

"What? And waste a perfectly good night? You should stay out, meet new people, socialize with things that aren’t your laptop. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You exhaled, staring blankly at the floor tiles. “I think a movie from my bed sounds really nice.”

"I’m not even gonna fight you on this."

“Bye, Lois.”

"Bye. Love you."

You ended the call with a quiet sigh, lingering in place for a moment, letting the frustration settle. You had spent the entire day mentally preparing for this meeting, running through questions, making sure every document was in order. Now, all of it felt like wasted energy.

With another steadying breath, you pushed off the pillar you had been leaning against, shoulders still tight with frustration, and made your way back to your table. The restaurant hadn’t gotten any quieter in your absence—if anything, the crowd had only grown as the night grew longer.

Clark glanced up as you returned, and the way his expression softened told you everything—he didn’t even need to ask how the call had gone. He just knew.

Still, before he could say anything, you beat him to it. “Your date’s not here yet?” You sank back into your seat, brushing a stray napkin aside as if the small action would help ground you.

Clark shook his head, and he didn’t seem too disappointed. “No, not yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, observant way of his. “Is everything alright?”

You blinked at him, still half in your own thoughts. “Hmm?”

“The phone call,” he clarified, “you seem… a little… annoyed.”

That was putting it lightly.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should push further, then asked, voice gentle, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The simplicity of it—the way he just offered, no pressure, no expectations—unravelled some of the tension in your chest.

“I don’t wanna bother you about my stuff,” you said honestly.

“It’s no bother.”

You glanced up at him, at the unwavering patience in his expression. “You’re really sweet, Clark. You know that, right?”

A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears. “I wouldn’t say that…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s in your nature?” you teased.

He let out a small, awkward laugh, shaking his head. “I definitely wouldn’t say that either.”

That made you smile—something small, something real.

“Well, it’s true,” you insisted. “Must’ve been the way you were raised.”

“Must’ve been.”

Before you could say anything else, a waiter arrived, carefully setting a starter plate and a drink down in front of Clark. He thanked her politely, offering a small nod before she walked away.

“I, uh…” He gestured to the plate. “I ordered some nachos if you want some.”

You raised a brow. “Shouldn’t those be for your date?”

He gave you an easy, lopsided smile. “They won’t have to know.”

A small chuckle slipped out before you could stop it. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The nachos were surprisingly good, crisp and warm under the layer of melted cheese, but you barely tasted them. Instead, your focus kept drifting—to Clark, to your phone, to the door.

At first, you thought about calling it a night. You could have told Clark you were heading home, and he probably would have understood, probably would have even offered to walk you to your car or wait with you for an Uber. But something stopped you.

Maybe it was the way he seemed at ease, talking to you like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. Maybe it was how easy it was to talk to him tonight, without work looming over you, without deadlines keeping your conversations clipped and efficient. Or maybe—maybe it was the nagging feeling in your gut that kept telling you he was waiting on someone who wasn’t going to show.

You hated that thought.

You didn’t say anything, though, not when another ten minutes passed, not when he checked his phone for the fourth—or was it fifth?—time. You just sat with him, keeping him company, even if you dreaded the moment someone else walked through those doors.

Clark kept insisting his date would be there soon. But every time he said it, the confidence in his voice waned.

By the time another twenty minutes passed, you were sitting with your phone open in your lap, ready to call an Uber. You should go home. It had been a long day, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be out any more. But you hesitated when Clark spoke again.

“They should be here any minute now,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You glanced up at him, watching the way his brows pinched slightly as he checked his phone again.

He had said that before. More than once.

You were starting to feel bad for him.

You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to get stood up for a date (work was something else you could get over by tonight but a date?)—to wait around, watching the minutes tick by, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the person you were waiting for was running late instead of ignoring you altogether. And worse, you were starting to get peeved. How could anyone ghost Clark Kent?

But you didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t seem upset.

Or maybe he was just pretending not to be.

Either way, you didn’t want to remind him of the rejection. If he was pushing through it, then so were you.

It wasn’t until another thirty minutes flew by—until the sky outside had fully darkened, the city lights reflecting off the windows—that you finally exhaled and set your phone down.

“My source isn’t coming.”

Clark blinked at you, pulling his gaze away from the door. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there was a mix-up with the times or something.” You waved it off like it was no big deal, even though frustration still sat heavy in your chest. You weren’t nearly as mad as you had been earlier, but you had still wasted your night on something that should have been simple.

Clark studied you for a moment, then gave a small, almost amused huff. “Looks like we’re both out of luck then.”

You watched as his gaze flickered back toward the entrance, and then, after a beat, he sighed.

“I don’t think my date’s coming either.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” you said, and you meant it.

“Don’t be,” he told you, and before you could say anything else, he was already flagging down the waiter, asking for the bill. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he turned back to you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You blinked. “And go where?”

He shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Anywhere. I don’t mind.”

And somehow, that was how you ended up walking down the streets of Metropolis, shoulder to shoulder with Clark Kent.

The night air was crisp, cool enough that you tugged your coat tighter around yourself. The sidewalks were busy with people, cars rolling lazily through the streets, their headlights casting soft glows against the pavement.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how a frustrating, dead-end night had turned into this. But you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you were enjoying every minute of it.

The streets of Metropolis buzzed with an early-night energy. Neon signs flickered, storefronts cast golden light onto the pavement, and the hum of conversation from passing pedestrians filled the air. You walked close to Clark, close enough that your arms brushed with every step.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something trusted about it—something new.

You risked a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. But when the light of a passing car swept over his face, you caught the way his jaw tensed slightly, like he was thinking about something.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable for a split second before softening into something reassuring. “Yeah. Why?”

You lifted a shoulder, tucking your hands into your coat pockets as you shrugged. “Just… getting stood up sucks. I figured you’d be at least a little upset.”

Clark exhaled a small huff of amusement. “I mean, yeah, I guess I could be. But I’d rather not waste my night sulking about it.”

You nodded, accepting his answer. But then, after a few seconds, you heard him add, quieter, “Besides… I’m having a nice time.”

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

You kept your gaze forward, pretending like those words didn’t sink into you in a way that left you warm despite the cool night air.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time, it felt different. More aware. More weighted.

And then Clark suddenly spoke.

“Can I show you something?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. “Uh… sure?”

He smiled, but there was something almost shy about it, something hesitant like he was second-guessing himself. “It’s not far.”

Curious, you followed his lead, stepping off the main sidewalk as he turned down a quieter street, where the glow of streetlights gave way to something softer, something greener.

Within moments, you realized where you were headed.

The city park.

You’d been here plenty of times before—Metropolis had its fair share of green spaces, a welcome contrast to the steel and glass of the skyline—but Clark led you past the more well-known paths, past the benches where couples sat talking in hushed tones, past the fountain that usually served as a meeting place.

Eventually, he guided you toward a narrow, gated pathway, tucked between a stretch of trees. He reached for the gate, pausing before glancing back at you.

“It’s, uh… it’s kind of a secret spot.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Secret?”

His lips quirked. “Sort of. I mean, it’s public, but not many people know about it.”

“Riiight... totally not a cheesy thing to say.”

“Just, come look.”

You watched as he pushed the gate open, stepping aside to let you through first.

You hesitated for only a second before slipping past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as you stepped inside.

And then you saw it.

A sheltered little garden.

It wasn’t grand, but it was beautiful. A small, enclosed space, with an arched trellis overhead wrapped in evergrowing vines. Flowers bloomed in neatly arranged clusters, their colours muted under the soft glow of the moon and city. A narrow stone pathway curved through the space, leading to a bench beneath another canopy of vines.

The whole thing felt… unreal. Quiet. Removed from the city entirely.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is…” You exhaled, searching for the right word. “Wow.”

Clark smiled, stepping further in behind you. “I found it by accident a while ago. It’s kind of nice, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Kinda nice is an understatement, Smallville.”

The two of you lingered in the quiet, the city’s distant sounds muffled by the greenery around you. And when you looked at Clark again, you caught it—

That brief hesitation. That barely-there glance.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before he cleared his throat, looking away, suddenly busying himself with adjusting his glasses.

It was awkward. Endearing.

And for some reason, it made your heart beat just a little faster.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to break the silence. “So, what, you bring all your failed dates here?” you teased lightly.

Clark huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. Just you.”

His voice was light, teasing back—but something about it stuck with you.

Just you.

You had no idea what to say to that.

So instead, you just smiled. And hoped the darkness hid the warmth rising in your face.

Clark shifted beside you, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets, gaze flickering toward the night sky. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Just... don’t tell Lois about this place.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Or else it’ll be on the front cover of the Daily Planet and it won’t be so secret anymore.”

You snorted. “Figured.”

Then, almost immediately, your lips twisted into a frown. “Ugh, you know what? I’m still kinda pissed off with Lois.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Lois? What—why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “She was the one who arranged the whole meeting with the lawyer today. My source. She forgot to confirm or something and cancelled last minute. Can you believe it?”

Clark blinked. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither. She’s probably got caught up with Superman again or something—I don’t know.”

Clark’s head tilted slightly, brows drawing together. “Sorry? Superman?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just an inside joke between us and our friends. Since she’s so close with the guy, we joke that whenever she’s acting weird, it’s because of him.”

Clark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Does she usually?”

“Not really. But we like to watch her squirm when we bring it up.” You smirked. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s been acting weird all week.”

Clark hummed, his gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I noticed that too. When she was telling me about this date, she just... wasn’t herself, I guess. Left a lot of things in the dark.”

Your steps faltered slightly, your brows knitting together as something in his words made your stomach twist. You turned to look at him, trying to piece together the implications of what he was saying.

“Wait—” You exhaled, mind racing. “Lois set you up?”

Clark slowed as well, blinking as if he’d only just realized you hadn’t put it together yet. “Uh… yeah?” He frowned slightly. “I did say my date was a friend of hers.”

“Right.” You blinked, mind catching up. “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The sounds of the city—distant honking, the chatter of pedestrians, the hum of neon signs—faded into a dull blur. It was as if the entire world had taken a collective breath and was holding it, waiting for the two of you to catch up.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The pieces clicked together—Lois arranging your meeting, forgetting to confirm, being strangely vague about the details.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped as realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Clark’s eyes widened just a fraction, his breath hitching. And then, almost at the same time—

“…No way.”

You exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking your head as your mind reeled. Clark let out a chuckle of his own, one hand running through his hair, his fingers ruffling the strands at the back of his head. His ears—just barely visible under the glow of a nearby streetlight—had turned the faintest shade of pink again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just looked at each other, as if confirming that, yes, this was real, and yes, Lois Lane had absolutely just played matchmaker.

“Well,” Clark finally said, voice warm, laced with amusement. “At least we won’t have to spend the whole night getting to know each other.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The tension in your shoulders, the nervous energy, the awkwardness of the night—it all melted into something else entirely. Something softer. Something that felt… kind of nice.

Clark was still smiling, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and you had to resist the urge to look away, to keep from giving away the way your heart had started beating just a little faster.

He shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced down for a second before looking back up at you.

And then, with just the slightest hint of something almost timid in his voice, he asked—

“Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Sure.”

“When Lois was telling me about the date... I was hoping it would be you.”

“…Really?”

Clark nodded, lips pressing together like he was debating whether he should keep going. But then, in a quieter voice, he admitted, “Yeah... It was the only reason I agreed. And when I saw you at the restaurant, I was really excited—until you told me you were there for work.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Sorry I let you down.”

His head snapped up. “No.” He shook his head, quickly, almost too quickly. “You didn’t.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I still had fun,” he added, a little sheepishly.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. “You should’ve just said something.”

Clark exhaled a laugh, glancing down again. “I know. I just... I’m not really good at this stuff.”

You smiled, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You’re doing pretty good so far. Had me swept off my feet.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice just a little lower, a little softer.

“Oh yeah.”

A pause. A lingering look.

And then—

“We should do this again.” His lips curled, a little nervous but hopeful. “On purpose next time.”

You grinned widely, feeling warmth spread through you, from your chest to the very tips of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’d like that a lot.”

[superbat-love]

Batman may claim to have no powers, but Green Lantern knows better. He’s convinced that Batman’s cape is sentient.

Green Lantern has observed it on quiet nights in the Watchtower, when Batman thinks no one’s paying attention. He releases control over his cape, letting it unravel and float menacingly around him in different directions. It moves on its own, sweeping across nearby surfaces, carelessly knocking over items.

There’s one thing Green Lantern knows for sure—Batman’s cape has a sweet tooth. Every time Batman passes the candy bowl, it’s mysteriously emptied.

Even stranger, it seems to influence other capes. Once, while Batman was talking to Superman, their capes briefly touched, and Green Lantern saw Superman’s cape come to life—swirling and fluttering as though it had a mind of its own. Superman, unfazed, didn’t even react to the way their capes were flapping erratically around them. Green Lantern was relieved he didn’t have a cape.

He told the others about his theory, but they were skeptical at first. They eyed Batman’s cape with suspicion as he was distracted by a mission briefing with Wonder Woman. But even the Flash had to admit Green Lantern might be onto something when Batman’s cape swiped their feet out from under them, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Martian Manhunter nodded sagely and agreed on its intelligence, having felt the minds of four little beings flitting around underneath Batman’s cape. Maybe one day they’d feel comfortable enough to run underneath his cape too.