max

[14thgalerie]

about me.

max. she/her. twenty. lover of all things angst.

the writings the library

requests are open right now! before sending one, please do have a look at my guidelines! my asks are also open for anything, even if it's something not at all related to fics!

[14thgalerie]

i forgot to log back in to this account ever since i started using my reading acc more 😭 i’m back and pressured once again to finally finish that vegas fic

[14thgalerie]

wait i thought krytonians couldn’t get drunk on planets with yellow sun ??? so did clark actually know what he was doing in your vegas fic ? or can he just get drunk in your fic ? lol sorry if thats a dumb question

hello! just saw this now since i’ve been using my other acc. to keep spoilers even though nobody cares, i won’t answer this for now. 😅 but yes, canonically, kryptonians can’t get drunk!

i really should finish the next two parts already but i’ve been binging on everything star wars again recently so i keep forgetting -.- anyways, i promise to put it out as soon as i can for those who wanna read more about it!

[yuunarii-arii]

Wizardmore House Quiz

Just tried the quiz out again after some time, I still got gryffindor 🥳Though Slytherin was so close in second-

If you want to see the weight and percentages use this version of the quiz Wizardmore Extended Quiz

NPT: (Idk if anyone has tried this quiz already, probably did, join in if you'd like! Maybe you'll get something different 🧐)

@dhazefawn @viperify @dearmisshoney @vividly-vermillion @yintous @godricgryffinsnore @govnder @artytaeh @nottswitch @nottsangel @nottscherry @nottsbabe @lovesincerely @blocked-zombieartist @blondwhxrewrites @ur-local-wizard @pizzaapeteer @fawnfate @nottsnymph @leeny-leens @moscatosin @lushleona and anyone else may join!

[godricgryffinsnore]

thanks for the tag, yuna!!! 🥰🥰🥰

This was so fun, I loved it!!

I am a Gryffindor at heart 🥰💋

npt : @wintrsoul @yasministration @mischievousmoony @g0lden-sky @neverthatsirius-jo @ghostedgwen @selenewowww @potterheadlovespotter @cherryflickswrites @lilacprincess7 @g1rld1ary @prettydaisygirl @pretty-little-mind33 @marauroon @i-heart-atj @dismalflo @agreeewrites @acourtofchaos @foodiegoogie @milescrypt @sarahwithanh5 + anyone who wants to join <333

[selenewowww-deactivated20260430]

I'm so in love with this quiz😭🩷 thanks for the tag, bellissima🩷

of course I'm a Slytherin🫣✌️

npt ☞ @agentbils @colouredbyd @dismalflo @evaalovett @florenceandthejellybean @faerieroyal @foodiegoogie @ghostedgwen @dolcecuore @hopeless-umii @haeerizm @laufeysvalentine @mirohyou @moonyspilld @mossycereustea @nephelessupernova @ningningeve @organized-chaos-stuff @onyx-di-angelo @pjxcksonswrd @potterheadlovespotter @siriuslyjam @starchaser-has-my-heart @sunnygub @wintrsoul @wqlfstqr @yasministration

[foodiegoogie]

tysm for the tag @godricgryffinsnore and selene!!

twas nice to see that i'm still in ravenclaw 😎🤓

npt: @sunskisser @14thgalerie @neverthatsirius-jo + anyone who wants 2 join <3

[14thgalerie]

thanks for the tag @foodiegoogie !!

slytherin through and through, damn right

npt: anyone who wants to join !!

[14thgalerie]

currently writing part 2 & 3 of the vegas fic and gah i'm drawing blank. writing gods, bless me with the ability to write like i'm not five years old.

[14thgalerie]

twin peaks took over my life. job hunt literally on pause because all my time has been spent binging on the show and the movies. possibly the books too if i can find e-pubs.

[brenshor]

Hahaha, what's that?? Oh is that Clark writing Lois's name in the clouds which she took a picture of and framed it and it's in their apartment????

Anyone who says Lois isn't as down bad as her boy doesn't look for the signs.

[14thgalerie]

they’re so silly in love, i love them

like no fucking wonder everyone knows about them, you guys aren’t exactly as great at keeping secrets as you are at being a journalist

[mask-knife-is-buggys-wife]

What I really loved about this portrayal of Mr. Terrific was that yes he is the smartest man there. But he is so expressive. So many smart characters have to act like their above emotion and reacting. But no he's getting mad because he knows he's too smart to be dealing with this shit

"Quit playing around!!!"

"You brought the damn dog????"

*shoves guys face out of the way with his entire hand*

A lot of geniuses on shows and movies become detached because their so much better than everyone else. But Mr. Terrific is very much present and kind of always pissed about that. He's human and caring enough to not just Dr. Manhattan his way out.

He gets the job done but he will also tell you "Hurry your ass up!!!"

[rodrickheffeley]

"It's a dog!"

"Yeah, he's not even a very good one. But he's out there alone, and probably scared."

[14thgalerie]

fucking clark kent came swooping into my life right as i was looking for something new to obsess and hyperfixate on.

can’t even complain at the way he got me kicking my feet back and forth when superman (2025) interviews pop up on my socials.

[14thgalerie]

blind boxes and x-ray visions

• pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

• now playing: love you for a long time by maggie rogers and the simple things by michael carreon

• word count: 3.2k

• genre: fluff

— another quick one I made just now. unedited again, but i hope you enjoy!

The keys jingle loudly in your grip as you twist them to open your front door; the singular key to your apartment is lost among the numerous keychains hanging on the split ring. You were well aware that Clark was already inside. It had become a sort of tradition between the two of you for him to leave earlier from the office to buy stuff to make dinner, if you call breakfast food dinner, as a surprise. It has also become a habit of yours to make a fuss while opening the door to subtly announce your presence, because, for a metahuman, he does get startled a lot.

“Hey! You’re right on time,” he says as you step foot into the kitchen. Before you could even get a word in, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. You let your bag drop from your shoulders to the floor and slide your hands across his chest.

It’s warm and easy, his way of saying I missed you in the three hours we spent apart without saying it out loud. He tastes like coffee and something sweet. It must have been from taking bites from the small bowl of strawberries behind him. He pulls back as you gasp when he effortlessly picks you up to place you on the counter, just enough to glance down at you.

“How was the drive home?” he murmurs, voice low against your cheek.

You nod, half-dazed. And he smiles that adorable grin of his that reminds you of summer.

Then, with a chuckle, he steps away to check on the pan on the stove. “You’re just right in time. Can you hand me some plates?”

You grab two mismatched plates from the overhead cabinets behind you before moving to stand next to him. With no words spoken and collisions,  you move around like it’s your second nature. He transfers the food to the plates you put on the counter next to the stove. While you reach for the utensils as he shifts out of the way. At the sound of the door opening, a hand reaches out from behind you to grab two glasses.

It felt like a quiet rhythm you’ve both fallen into without trying. It was something you loved with Clark. You didn’t have to think about anything the way you normally would without others. 

You just know. And so does he.

Sitting next to each other on the couch as the voices from the television fill the room, your attention was entirely on the film that was playing. Your legs are folded beneath you, shoulders leaning slightly into his. One of his arms lay comfortably on the back of the couch.

He shifts to grab your empty plate, walking towards the kitchen to drop them off in the sink in an organised manner, knowing that you liked to wash them by hand after dinner. It was sort of a therapeutic time for you to rinse the dishes with the great view of Metropolis just above the sink.

He resumes his position beside you, but instead, he grabs your legs to place them on top of his lap while your eyes remain focused on the movie. At some point, his eyes drift from the television to the shelf on the wall. His eyes lock onto an unfamiliar figurine resting beside your books. 

Thanks to his incredible vision, he looks closer. Its wide, green eyes look to be in a glare. It, or she, was holding a white notepad with what seems to be a black cat with wings on its back. The colors were soft and pleasing to look at: forest green pants, a cream and blueish green hoodie, and a headset atop her orange hair. It reminds him of you while you’re busy at work with your notepad always on hand.

“What’s that?” he asks with a small furrow in his brow and a curious glint in his eyes. You pause the movie and shift your gaze to where he was looking.

“Oh!” You immediately knew what he was pertaining to. “That’s a figurine that I bought yesterday. I was at the mall with my sister, and she wanted to go to this store that might have something she was looking for. A figurine, too.”

You pull your legs from his hold and stand to grab the figure from its place. Dropping next to him, you show it off. “She was collecting those ugly little monster figures, but then I saw these on display and had to buy them. It was so adorable.”

Clark blinks at you, then at the figurine in your hands, and back at you again. “Ugly little monster figures?” he asks as he carefully takes the plastic figurine from your grasp. He was holding it sodelicately since it reminded him of those comic hero figurines that he used to collect back in high school. 

“Yeah, they have sharp teeth and furry bodies. I hated them, but I promised her I would buy whatever she wanted.” You shrug.

“Are they a collectible or what? You said she was looking for it specifically,” he asks, eyes still focused on the item in his hands.

“Yeah, it’s a blind box figurine. You buy it without knowing which one you’re gonna get. They have a preview on the side of the box that tells you what it might be,” you explain. “There’s even a secret one that is super hard to get!”

His eyebrows draw together as he looks at you, the gears in his head visibly turning. “So you just… pay for it and hope you get the one you want?” he finally asks, confused by its appeal.

You grin, nodding. “Pretty much. I chose a series that had more of the cute designs so I wouldn’t regret it.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he gives it back to you with the same measured care. Seeing him do so made your heart soften. The fact that he didn’t fully understand what it meant to you, but still wasn’t so dismissive and uncaring, was a change from your past partners.

“Why not just buy the one you want?” he asks.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you shoot back, “I wondered that too, but while we were opening our bags in the car. It was so thrilling. Lana said I should choose which ones I wanted first and the ones I don’t want and say it out loud so that it keeps it suspenseful.”

He looks at you endearingly at the way you were so happily describing the experience with your sister. The glint in your eyes was so bright even in the dark. You were also waving your hands around the way you do when you are overly excited about something.

He laughs when you say, “Lana was so mad that the thing she said of saying the one you want out loud didn’t work.” 

“Why?”

“Apparently, if you declare the ones you hate or something, you would get that specific one. But luckily for me, I got a good one!” You clapped like a kid in a candy store. The sight made a small, affectionate smile tug at his lips. The deep dimples on the side of his mouth that you loved so much make an appearance.

Clark keeps asking you questions to which you happily answer. Then, unable to control himself, he comes forward and cups your jaw gently as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

The next day, around lunch time and you were off on an assignment wth Cat. He turns to Lois.

“Hey, do you happen to know what blind boxes are?’ he asks. Lois was confused as to why he was asking her about such things, but nodded, nonetheless.

Lois raises an eyebrow, mid-sip into her sugar-filled coffee. “Yeah,” she says. “Those little collectible toys that come in sealed packages so you don’t know what you’re getting until you open them. Why.”

He shifts a little, feigning casualty, but the way he pushes his glasses up is a tell of his interest. “No reason. Just…uh, do you know where to get them? Like the ones that are girls with big wide eyes,” he says, unsure of how to describe them.

Lois stares at him.

He adds, “It’s tall and wears baggy clothes and has orange hair,” and gestures vaguely to show how tall it was.

“Clark,” she turns her chair to face him, “are you trying to buy one of those cutesy little female dolls?”

He clears his throat, rushing to clarify. “It’s not for me!”

“Right.” Lois leans back in her chair, knowing perfectly well it’s for you, but you guys haven’t been public yet at the office, so she lets go of it. “You’ll want ot check any toy store at the Metro Center. I’m pretty sure they have the ones you’re looking for. It’s a bit farther, but there’s a store on 7th Avenue that has the official store for them if you can’t find any at Metro.”

He quickly thanks her and moves back to his desk just as you enter through the double doors and slide a cup of hojicha for him. Making sure to drop one for Lois, too, as you pass.

The store was quite big, tucked beside a bookshop, and had a lot more people walking around than he expected. Clark was standing in front of the display like he was inspecting evidence of conspiracy, hands in his pockets, brow slightly furrowed. The low display table was stacked with rows of Peach Riot boxes, some for individual buys and a few sealed off the whole thing. The glossy packaging was plastered with chaotic, overdramatic little poses of the characters in different attire.

He scanned the 12 boxes in front of him, then again, a slow breath leaving his mouth.

Peach Riot Rise Up Figures.

That was the one that seemed to be the series you got. His eyes skimmed over the lineup printed on the side of the display box: Gigi Lil’ Lead, Frankie Sick Beats, Poppy Business, Frankie Diva.

You pointed out that you wanted Frankie Diva last night, flickering through your phone as you were lying back on his chest, showing the complete collection to him. You found her little red cowboy hat adorable, which reminded you of the one you had as a kid. Then you also liked the Sick Beats one. 

He looked around. A couple of teenagers hovered by the huge figurines at the centre. One bored cashier. No one that would wonder why he would be staring so intently at the boxes.

Casually, he reached out and grabbed a box in each of his hands. His x-ray vision flicked on for just a second, just enough ot catch a glimpse of the figure inside. “Poppy Business, pass,” he muttered under his breath.

He set it back and continued to pick up another box until he found one that contained either of what you wanted.

It was box five when he hit the jackpot. That went into the crook of his arm.

He looked around for another series you mentioned, the Punk Fairy ones. He immediately spots them a few steps over.

Jackpot on box three. Poppy-Strawberry. He found the secret figure. Looking at the two he has, you would have one of each character now. 

Then, just for fun, he scanned for two more: Gigi Leaf and Frankie Tutor. Both were cute, but kind of too boring for their price tag. 

About two days later, you come home from the grocery store to find Clark already in your apartment. He swiftly grabbed the bags from your arms and gave you a peck on the forehead before moving to the kitchen to sort them out for you.

“I got something for you,” he says as you follow him to help. 

You turn to see where he was pointing to find a bag from the store waiting for you at the coffee table. You gasp and run towards the living room with Clark trailing after you with a smile on his face.

“Oh my! No, you didn’t!” You excitedly slap his arms as you sit down on the floor. 

“Yes, way!” His high-pitched voice makes you laugh. “Open it.”

“Ok, what do we have?” you say to yourself as you spill the contents of the bag. Meanwhile, Clark was looking at you expectantly, waiting for your reaction as you opened them. 

“This is a lot, Clark. You shouldn’t have!” you off-handedly remarked. But from how distracted you were by them, it seemed like you weren’t as bothered as you normally would be when he spoils you. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Ok, but you have to open them with me so you get what I mean by how exciting it is!” You pull him forward from his relaxed posture beside you. You grabbed a random box, which you handed to him, and grabbed one. He laughs to himself, but you ignored him. Turning it to the side where twelve colorful iterations were printed, “We have to pick which ones we want.” You tap on one, then another. “I want the Tree Stump or Sunflower. Just not this leaf one. What about you?”

He glances at the box as if it were the first time he was looking at it before pointing decisively at the secret figurine.

You snort, “Secret figurines have, I think, a one in a hundred forty-four chances. Pick another.”

He laughs, “Ok…the Sick Beats then.”

“Ok, let’s tap the boxes before opening them,” you say as you tap on yours.

“Why?” 

“For luck.”

Clark stares at you, unimpressed, before looking down at the box in his hand. He exhales and mimics your movement. “This is dumb.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You wave him off, starting to rip the cardboard box already.

The sound of crinkling stiff plastic fills the room as you both rip them open. You close your eyes and let him look at your pull first. At his laugh, you groaned while opening your eyes to find Gigi Leaf staring back at you.

“The most boring one, seriously?” you sagged against the couch behind you. “What about you?”

He closes his eyes, too, before pulling out his own. You glance at it and groan again. “Ok! You’re bad at choosing boxes, I guess,” you tease, in a mix of disappointment and laughter. “You got Frankie Tutor. Cute but a bit boring too.”

Clark lifts the tiny figure between his fingers with a faux thoughtful hum. “Hmm, she’s cute. She’s helping kids out with their studies.” Brow furrowing with mock seriousness.

You snort, “Ok, Superman.”

He chuckles at that, the sound low and warm, and sets the figure down next to yours. Then he reaches to grab another box for you and himself. He made sure to grab the secret figure to mess with you even more, because he wanted to see the way your nose scrunches when you’re overflowing with energy. He finds it ridiculously adorable and swore to never stop buying you stuff that you loved if it meant seeing it again and again.

“Round two,” he says.

“Ok, hopefully this is good.” You tap the box like crazy and go as far as shaking it. Like that’s gonna help.

He tries not to smile too much so he won’t give himself away. You’re just so serious about it, like it was such a high-stakes mission. He loves that about you. The way you get so animated over things you were passionate about. And particularly loves that you make an effort to make him a part of the experience.

“You know shaking it won’t do anything, right?” he teases, knowing better the contents of the box.

You side-eye him, “You never know.”

“Ok, scientific method.” 

You both pulled the seal open again. He watches as you rip through the plastic and, much to his delight, your eyes widen the second you spot what’s inside.

“No way-” You yank it out, mouth open in surprise and glee. “It’s Frankie Diva!”

You turn the figurine to face him, showing it off like it was your baby. He leans back with a grin, watching you stare at the small figure like it’s made of gold.

“Open yours!” You sit up straight, suddenly reminded that there was still one more. 

Clark looks down as he spots the figure inside and makes a loud snort. You wait impatiently as he pulls it out. You lean in, wide-eyed, “What is it? Show me!”

But he takes his time, fingers curling slowly around the tiny figure as he lifts it out with the same reverence as someone handling a rare artifact. 

Your jaw drops.

You stare in disbelief as you look at the secret figurine he’s carefully holding in his hand. Your eyes comically dart back and forth from the figure to him. “Are you kidding me?”

He doesn’t even try to look modest. His expression shifts instantly more into that loud, smug look, the one that he wears when he knows he’s right. The one that makes you want to shove his face in.

“What did you say just now?” he says, putting a hand by his ear, pretending like he didn’t hear you right. “I’m bad at choosing boxes?”

“It was a joke,” you laugh, sheepish now as you reach for the figure in his hand. “I take it back. You’re gifted!”

But Clark knew, and he shifted just out of reach, holding the figure high above his head and a bit further behind him with ease. His grin widens as you try (and fail) to grab it from him.

“Oh no, no,” he says, voice dripping with faux-seriousness. “I don’t know, that seemed very insincere.”

You groan. “Clark. Baby. My lovely alien darling, who is good and generous.”

“I mean, now you say I’m gifted and you call me your darling, but five seconds ago I was horrible at this.” He tilts his head, tapping the side of his cheek with his other. 

You huff, narrowing your eyes. “What do you want?”

He pretends to consider. “I want a fair trade.”

You cross your arms. “Like what?”

He shrugs, all innocent as he pushes his face closer to you. “A kiss. Just a little one.”

“That’s it?”

He nods. “And maybe a laugh at one of my jokes sometimes.” He quickly adds.

You stared at him for a second, flustered. You couldn’t help yourself from laughing at how adorable he was. “You’re unbelievable. The second one might be a bit hard, but fine.”

“Hurry up.” he pushes his face out even more, still holding your figure hostage above you.

You roll your eyes, blushing as you lean in and are surprised as he turns slightly for your lips to press against his lips instead, a cheeky smile on his face as he holds you close to him by the back of your neck.

“Clark!” You giggle at the cringy move. He moves his head to the space between your neck and shoulder and drops the figure into your hands.

“There,” he says, softly. “It’s yours.”

He looks fondly at you as you give him one more kiss on the cheek before pouring all your attention to the figurine. 

Maybe sometimes secrets can be a good thing.

masterlist

[14thgalerie]

blind boxes and x-ray visions

• pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

• now playing: love you for a long time by maggie rogers and the simple things by michael carreon

• word count: 3.2k

• genre: fluff

— another quick one I made just now. unedited again, but i hope you enjoy!

The keys jingle loudly in your grip as you twist them to open your front door; the singular key to your apartment is lost among the numerous keychains hanging on the split ring. You were well aware that Clark was already inside. It had become a sort of tradition between the two of you for him to leave earlier from the office to buy stuff to make dinner, if you call breakfast food dinner, as a surprise. It has also become a habit of yours to make a fuss while opening the door to subtly announce your presence, because, for a metahuman, he does get startled a lot.

“Hey! You’re right on time,” he says as you step foot into the kitchen. Before you could even get a word in, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. You let your bag drop from your shoulders to the floor and slide your hands across his chest.

It’s warm and easy, his way of saying I missed you in the three hours we spent apart without saying it out loud. He tastes like coffee and something sweet. It must have been from taking bites from the small bowl of strawberries behind him. He pulls back as you gasp when he effortlessly picks you up to place you on the counter, just enough to glance down at you.

“How was the drive home?” he murmurs, voice low against your cheek.

You nod, half-dazed. And he smiles that adorable grin of his that reminds you of summer.

Then, with a chuckle, he steps away to check on the pan on the stove. “You’re just right in time. Can you hand me some plates?”

You grab two mismatched plates from the overhead cabinets behind you before moving to stand next to him. With no words spoken and collisions,  you move around like it’s your second nature. He transfers the food to the plates you put on the counter next to the stove. While you reach for the utensils as he shifts out of the way. At the sound of the door opening, a hand reaches out from behind you to grab two glasses.

It felt like a quiet rhythm you’ve both fallen into without trying. It was something you loved with Clark. You didn’t have to think about anything the way you normally would without others. 

You just know. And so does he.

Sitting next to each other on the couch as the voices from the television fill the room, your attention was entirely on the film that was playing. Your legs are folded beneath you, shoulders leaning slightly into his. One of his arms lay comfortably on the back of the couch.

He shifts to grab your empty plate, walking towards the kitchen to drop them off in the sink in an organised manner, knowing that you liked to wash them by hand after dinner. It was sort of a therapeutic time for you to rinse the dishes with the great view of Metropolis just above the sink.

He resumes his position beside you, but instead, he grabs your legs to place them on top of his lap while your eyes remain focused on the movie. At some point, his eyes drift from the television to the shelf on the wall. His eyes lock onto an unfamiliar figurine resting beside your books. 

Thanks to his incredible vision, he looks closer. Its wide, green eyes look to be in a glare. It, or she, was holding a white notepad with what seems to be a black cat with wings on its back. The colors were soft and pleasing to look at: forest green pants, a cream and blueish green hoodie, and a headset atop her orange hair. It reminds him of you while you’re busy at work with your notepad always on hand.

“What’s that?” he asks with a small furrow in his brow and a curious glint in his eyes. You pause the movie and shift your gaze to where he was looking.

“Oh!” You immediately knew what he was pertaining to. “That’s a figurine that I bought yesterday. I was at the mall with my sister, and she wanted to go to this store that might have something she was looking for. A figurine, too.”

You pull your legs from his hold and stand to grab the figure from its place. Dropping next to him, you show it off. “She was collecting those ugly little monster figures, but then I saw these on display and had to buy them. It was so adorable.”

Clark blinks at you, then at the figurine in your hands, and back at you again. “Ugly little monster figures?” he asks as he carefully takes the plastic figurine from your grasp. He was holding it sodelicately since it reminded him of those comic hero figurines that he used to collect back in high school. 

“Yeah, they have sharp teeth and furry bodies. I hated them, but I promised her I would buy whatever she wanted.” You shrug.

“Are they a collectible or what? You said she was looking for it specifically,” he asks, eyes still focused on the item in his hands.

“Yeah, it’s a blind box figurine. You buy it without knowing which one you’re gonna get. They have a preview on the side of the box that tells you what it might be,” you explain. “There’s even a secret one that is super hard to get!”

His eyebrows draw together as he looks at you, the gears in his head visibly turning. “So you just… pay for it and hope you get the one you want?” he finally asks, confused by its appeal.

You grin, nodding. “Pretty much. I chose a series that had more of the cute designs so I wouldn’t regret it.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he gives it back to you with the same measured care. Seeing him do so made your heart soften. The fact that he didn’t fully understand what it meant to you, but still wasn’t so dismissive and uncaring, was a change from your past partners.

“Why not just buy the one you want?” he asks.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you shoot back, “I wondered that too, but while we were opening our bags in the car. It was so thrilling. Lana said I should choose which ones I wanted first and the ones I don’t want and say it out loud so that it keeps it suspenseful.”

He looks at you endearingly at the way you were so happily describing the experience with your sister. The glint in your eyes was so bright even in the dark. You were also waving your hands around the way you do when you are overly excited about something.

He laughs when you say, “Lana was so mad that the thing she said of saying the one you want out loud didn’t work.” 

“Why?”

“Apparently, if you declare the ones you hate or something, you would get that specific one. But luckily for me, I got a good one!” You clapped like a kid in a candy store. The sight made a small, affectionate smile tug at his lips. The deep dimples on the side of his mouth that you loved so much make an appearance.

Clark keeps asking you questions to which you happily answer. Then, unable to control himself, he comes forward and cups your jaw gently as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

The next day, around lunch time and you were off on an assignment wth Cat. He turns to Lois.

“Hey, do you happen to know what blind boxes are?’ he asks. Lois was confused as to why he was asking her about such things, but nodded, nonetheless.

Lois raises an eyebrow, mid-sip into her sugar-filled coffee. “Yeah,” she says. “Those little collectible toys that come in sealed packages so you don’t know what you’re getting until you open them. Why.”

He shifts a little, feigning casualty, but the way he pushes his glasses up is a tell of his interest. “No reason. Just…uh, do you know where to get them? Like the ones that are girls with big wide eyes,” he says, unsure of how to describe them.

Lois stares at him.

He adds, “It’s tall and wears baggy clothes and has orange hair,” and gestures vaguely to show how tall it was.

“Clark,” she turns her chair to face him, “are you trying to buy one of those cutesy little female dolls?”

He clears his throat, rushing to clarify. “It’s not for me!”

“Right.” Lois leans back in her chair, knowing perfectly well it’s for you, but you guys haven’t been public yet at the office, so she lets go of it. “You’ll want ot check any toy store at the Metro Center. I’m pretty sure they have the ones you’re looking for. It’s a bit farther, but there’s a store on 7th Avenue that has the official store for them if you can’t find any at Metro.”

He quickly thanks her and moves back to his desk just as you enter through the double doors and slide a cup of hojicha for him. Making sure to drop one for Lois, too, as you pass.

The store was quite big, tucked beside a bookshop, and had a lot more people walking around than he expected. Clark was standing in front of the display like he was inspecting evidence of conspiracy, hands in his pockets, brow slightly furrowed. The low display table was stacked with rows of Peach Riot boxes, some for individual buys and a few sealed off the whole thing. The glossy packaging was plastered with chaotic, overdramatic little poses of the characters in different attire.

He scanned the 12 boxes in front of him, then again, a slow breath leaving his mouth.

Peach Riot Rise Up Figures.

That was the one that seemed to be the series you got. His eyes skimmed over the lineup printed on the side of the display box: Gigi Lil’ Lead, Frankie Sick Beats, Poppy Business, Frankie Diva.

You pointed out that you wanted Frankie Diva last night, flickering through your phone as you were lying back on his chest, showing the complete collection to him. You found her little red cowboy hat adorable, which reminded you of the one you had as a kid. Then you also liked the Sick Beats one. 

He looked around. A couple of teenagers hovered by the huge figurines at the centre. One bored cashier. No one that would wonder why he would be staring so intently at the boxes.

Casually, he reached out and grabbed a box in each of his hands. His x-ray vision flicked on for just a second, just enough ot catch a glimpse of the figure inside. “Poppy Business, pass,” he muttered under his breath.

He set it back and continued to pick up another box until he found one that contained either of what you wanted.

It was box five when he hit the jackpot. That went into the crook of his arm.

He looked around for another series you mentioned, the Punk Fairy ones. He immediately spots them a few steps over.

Jackpot on box three. Poppy-Strawberry. He found the secret figure. Looking at the two he has, you would have one of each character now. 

Then, just for fun, he scanned for two more: Gigi Leaf and Frankie Tutor. Both were cute, but kind of too boring for their price tag. 

About two days later, you come home from the grocery store to find Clark already in your apartment. He swiftly grabbed the bags from your arms and gave you a peck on the forehead before moving to the kitchen to sort them out for you.

“I got something for you,” he says as you follow him to help. 

You turn to see where he was pointing to find a bag from the store waiting for you at the coffee table. You gasp and run towards the living room with Clark trailing after you with a smile on his face.

“Oh my! No, you didn’t!” You excitedly slap his arms as you sit down on the floor. 

“Yes, way!” His high-pitched voice makes you laugh. “Open it.”

“Ok, what do we have?” you say to yourself as you spill the contents of the bag. Meanwhile, Clark was looking at you expectantly, waiting for your reaction as you opened them. 

“This is a lot, Clark. You shouldn’t have!” you off-handedly remarked. But from how distracted you were by them, it seemed like you weren’t as bothered as you normally would be when he spoils you. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Ok, but you have to open them with me so you get what I mean by how exciting it is!” You pull him forward from his relaxed posture beside you. You grabbed a random box, which you handed to him, and grabbed one. He laughs to himself, but you ignored him. Turning it to the side where twelve colorful iterations were printed, “We have to pick which ones we want.” You tap on one, then another. “I want the Tree Stump or Sunflower. Just not this leaf one. What about you?”

He glances at the box as if it were the first time he was looking at it before pointing decisively at the secret figurine.

You snort, “Secret figurines have, I think, a one in a hundred forty-four chances. Pick another.”

He laughs, “Ok…the Sick Beats then.”

“Ok, let’s tap the boxes before opening them,” you say as you tap on yours.

“Why?” 

“For luck.”

Clark stares at you, unimpressed, before looking down at the box in his hand. He exhales and mimics your movement. “This is dumb.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You wave him off, starting to rip the cardboard box already.

The sound of crinkling stiff plastic fills the room as you both rip them open. You close your eyes and let him look at your pull first. At his laugh, you groaned while opening your eyes to find Gigi Leaf staring back at you.

“The most boring one, seriously?” you sagged against the couch behind you. “What about you?”

He closes his eyes, too, before pulling out his own. You glance at it and groan again. “Ok! You’re bad at choosing boxes, I guess,” you tease, in a mix of disappointment and laughter. “You got Frankie Tutor. Cute but a bit boring too.”

Clark lifts the tiny figure between his fingers with a faux thoughtful hum. “Hmm, she’s cute. She’s helping kids out with their studies.” Brow furrowing with mock seriousness.

You snort, “Ok, Superman.”

He chuckles at that, the sound low and warm, and sets the figure down next to yours. Then he reaches to grab another box for you and himself. He made sure to grab the secret figure to mess with you even more, because he wanted to see the way your nose scrunches when you’re overflowing with energy. He finds it ridiculously adorable and swore to never stop buying you stuff that you loved if it meant seeing it again and again.

“Round two,” he says.

“Ok, hopefully this is good.” You tap the box like crazy and go as far as shaking it. Like that’s gonna help.

He tries not to smile too much so he won’t give himself away. You’re just so serious about it, like it was such a high-stakes mission. He loves that about you. The way you get so animated over things you were passionate about. And particularly loves that you make an effort to make him a part of the experience.

“You know shaking it won’t do anything, right?” he teases, knowing better the contents of the box.

You side-eye him, “You never know.”

“Ok, scientific method.” 

You both pulled the seal open again. He watches as you rip through the plastic and, much to his delight, your eyes widen the second you spot what’s inside.

“No way-” You yank it out, mouth open in surprise and glee. “It’s Frankie Diva!”

You turn the figurine to face him, showing it off like it was your baby. He leans back with a grin, watching you stare at the small figure like it’s made of gold.

“Open yours!” You sit up straight, suddenly reminded that there was still one more. 

Clark looks down as he spots the figure inside and makes a loud snort. You wait impatiently as he pulls it out. You lean in, wide-eyed, “What is it? Show me!”

But he takes his time, fingers curling slowly around the tiny figure as he lifts it out with the same reverence as someone handling a rare artifact. 

Your jaw drops.

You stare in disbelief as you look at the secret figurine he’s carefully holding in his hand. Your eyes comically dart back and forth from the figure to him. “Are you kidding me?”

He doesn’t even try to look modest. His expression shifts instantly more into that loud, smug look, the one that he wears when he knows he’s right. The one that makes you want to shove his face in.

“What did you say just now?” he says, putting a hand by his ear, pretending like he didn’t hear you right. “I’m bad at choosing boxes?”

“It was a joke,” you laugh, sheepish now as you reach for the figure in his hand. “I take it back. You’re gifted!”

But Clark knew, and he shifted just out of reach, holding the figure high above his head and a bit further behind him with ease. His grin widens as you try (and fail) to grab it from him.

“Oh no, no,” he says, voice dripping with faux-seriousness. “I don’t know, that seemed very insincere.”

You groan. “Clark. Baby. My lovely alien darling, who is good and generous.”

“I mean, now you say I’m gifted and you call me your darling, but five seconds ago I was horrible at this.” He tilts his head, tapping the side of his cheek with his other. 

You huff, narrowing your eyes. “What do you want?”

He pretends to consider. “I want a fair trade.”

You cross your arms. “Like what?”

He shrugs, all innocent as he pushes his face closer to you. “A kiss. Just a little one.”

“That’s it?”

He nods. “And maybe a laugh at one of my jokes sometimes.” He quickly adds.

You stared at him for a second, flustered. You couldn’t help yourself from laughing at how adorable he was. “You’re unbelievable. The second one might be a bit hard, but fine.”

“Hurry up.” he pushes his face out even more, still holding your figure hostage above you.

You roll your eyes, blushing as you lean in and are surprised as he turns slightly for your lips to press against his lips instead, a cheeky smile on his face as he holds you close to him by the back of your neck.

“Clark!” You giggle at the cringy move. He moves his head to the space between your neck and shoulder and drops the figure into your hands.

“There,” he says, softly. “It’s yours.”

He looks fondly at you as you give him one more kiss on the cheek before pouring all your attention to the figurine. 

Maybe sometimes secrets can be a good thing.

masterlist

[whimswonders]

[14thgalerie]

dumbass forgot to add the read more button, i’m so sorry

[14thgalerie]

what happens in Vegas, doesn't stay in Vegas... ?

• pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

• now playing: my one and only love by john coltrane & johnny hartman, i fall in love too easily by chet baker, and i know why (and so do you) by red garland

• word count: 5.3k

• genre: fluff, angst, suggestive but not really

— hello! wow it’s been months since I wrote anything. of all characters, I’m surprised that clark kent would be the one to take me out of my writing slump, not that I’m complaining. this is unedited so forgive me. before anyone asks, yes, there will be a part 2 because this is too short. maybe up to 4 parts if I follow my outline. but anyway, I hope u enjoy this thing! also this was kind of inspired by this one fic I read, maybe years ago, that I can barely remember.

The Las Vegas air was drier than you expected, even in the night. Not suffocating, but still sharp, clinging to the back of your throat with every breath. All around you, neon lights blinked in no real pattern, just bright enough to remind you how far from home you were. The city buzzed in a rhythm that felt completely unfamiliar.

Clark had been mostly quiet today, save for when he became quite aggravated when Lois and Jimmy were bickering about Superman’s involvement in Boravia. The two were convinced that the hero acted a bit impulsively, not considering the geopolitical ramifications of involving himself in the war. While the bespectacled man insists that the actions that Superman took were justified, given that Boravia’s invasion of Jarhanpur was simply not right. The three exchanged arguments on the ethics and legality of the issue; meanwhile, your thoughts were far away. 

Initially, you were only supposed to be on Sports duty this week. However, Lois, ever so passionate, dragged you into a joint piece on LuthorCorp operating its shady businesses in one of the casinos here. The flight to Vegas was only about three hours, but Lois insisted on leaving the same evening for reasons unknown to you. Now, here you are, three days into the assignment, in the middle of the lively and loud city, feeling overwhelmed and tired after running around for three days. All that was left to do was polish your draft before you could finally collapse in the soft sheets of your hotel bed. 

Lois had left with Jimmy about four hours ago, vanishing into the blur of neon lights, pulsing music, and the glittering lure of slot machines. They had begged you and Clark should come along, but you smiled and said you were too tired to keep up with them and waved them off. You pushed for Clark to join, too, but he asserted that he didn’t want to leave you alone tonight. 

Now the two of you were in your hotel, claiming your own corners with your laptops, screens aglow with soft white light.

“Remind me to hide the next time Lois wants to rope everyone into another one of her exhausting exposés,” you groaned, stretching your arms above your head. You sank into your chair, shoulders heavy, after shutting down your laptop. 

Clark chuckled under his breath, low and warm. “I don’t think there’s a place on Earth far enough, honestly.” 

You let out a small laugh, too, knowing that it’s completely true. Lois trusted only a handful of people for stories like this, and unfortunately, you are a part of that small statistic.

His phone buzzed, which made you glance over to him. “Should we check on Lois and Jimmy? I’m afraid they might be drinking and gambling away their savings by now.” You stood to refill your cup of coffee. “They should get some sleep so they won’t be too tired before leaving tomorrow.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he says with a crooked smile, flipping his phone around to show a message from Lois. The text was barely comprehensible with more typos than actual words, but the gist comes through: flight’s cancelled. Which means one thing: an extra day all to yourselves. 

You took a long sip from your cup. “I should be surprised that Lois managed to send that in her state, but if anything, this just gives them reason to get blacked out drunk. So…. not surprised.”

Clark let out a laugh. “So, um…” He leaned back on his chair, trying to play it cool. “I know this bar downtown. A little quieter than the usual scene, if you’re up for it?” Clark would’ve sworn he was perfectly calm if you asked, but his hands told a different story. They were shaking just enough that he had to fold his arms across his chest in what he probably thought was a casual manner. Not that that was what you noticed anyway, your eyes shifting so quickly to the way his biceps bulged beneath his folded-up, white sleeves.

You tilted your head and gave an apologetic smile, “Hmm, I want to. But the bed is calling to me.” 

For a brief moment there, you could have sworn that disappointment tugged at his features, but before you could take back your response, a loud ping from your phone caught your attention. Before opening it, you already knew what it was from. So, you excused yourself from Clark and went outside to the balcony.

“Hey, Mom,” you call her instead of replying to her messages.

“Wow! You’re still alive!” The sharp and sarcastic voice of your mom rang through. “I was starting to think you forgot all about us already.”

“You’re being too dramatic, Mom. It’s not like I’m on a vacation here,” you sigh, resting your forehead in your hand, elbow propped against the cold metal of the railing. “I’ve been busy with the story we’re coveri-”

“Gosh, you’re always too busy. Surely, you could spare a few seconds to answer my messages. Did I not tell you about your Aunt Linda, who wanted to work so badly? Now look at her state, living alone with no child to take care of her.” She always brings up the poor woman, who frankly didn’t even seem all that bothered to be living alone. The last time that you saw her, she was leaving to have a tour around Europe for 3 months. That certainly didn’t look like someone who was pitiful.

You love your mom. Really. But sometimes, she can be so exhausting to talk to with her way of letting her thoughts spill out unchecked. On a good day, when your energy is full, you have the patience to gently rein her in and have a proper conversation. But she seems to have an otherworldly sense to call when your energy and emotional reserves are at their lowest.

“I called, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after ignoring the many messages I sent you.” Well… she’s right, but you won’t admit that. “What has gotten you so busy? Surely your colleagues could handle things without you for a moment or two.”

“Just… work, Mom. I was at a press conference the whole day, and I had to turn off my phone. Sorry.”

“Gosh, Mari’s daughter is an architect, and she even got featured on that Architectural Digest magazine. Did you see that, by the way? Anyways, she’s doing all that and she still has the time to check up on her dear mother.”

“I’ll look it up later when I get the chance.” 

“And most of all, she got engaged. Those high-school sweethearts are just too adorable; the whole family is excited.”

There it is.

You say nothing. Partly because there’s nothing you could say now to stop her from saying whatever it is she has in mind, and partly because you’ve heard it all already before.

“Not that I’m pressuring you, darling,” she adds, in the least convincing tone possible for your mother.

“Right.”

“I’m just saying. A lot of your friends are getting married and having children of their own already. Surely, if you have a husband or a wife, even, that would bring some fun to your life instead of working yourself to death.” 

“Mom, I’m not unhappy. I love what I’m doing.” You close your eyes for a second and take a deep breath. It’s frustrating that despite a thousand conversations about this, your mom still wouldn’t get it.

“I never said you were. I’m just wondering when you will stop covering and chasing after exciting stories and start living one! There are so many things out there to spend your time with, darling. But you waste your free time too with your work. Your whole life revolves around being a journalist.”

“So many things being: getting married and building a family?” you childishly remarked, knowing that in some ways she’s right, but you just really hate how she goes about pushing her point across. “I am living an exciting story, Mom. It’s just not the one you envisioned for me at my age.”

“That’s only one of them, don’t get technical with me, young lady.” She tsk’ed at you. “You never listen to me. Why do I bother? Anyways, did your busy schedule at least let you eat something?”

“I had a burger and some fries for lunch.”

“You’re going to have heart disease with how much fried and instant food you eat.”

You pull your phone away from your ear to check the time. It’s getting late, and Clark must be waiting or something. “I've got to go, Mom. It’s late and I need to sleep.”

“Fine, make sure you’re actually getting sleep and not working till 3 in the morning.”

“Yes, Mom. Goodnight, and I promise I’ll call you tomorrow, and when we leave for our flight. Our original one got delayed, so I’ll be staying one more day.”

“Well, enjoy your last day, at least. Good night, too, darling.” 

You hang up and, with no care and grace, let your head drop forward until it meets the cold metal railing with a dull thunk. The call was as exhausting as you expected. The sudden gust of wind bites at your exposed skin, letting it ground you for a moment, when a hand suddenly touches your back. It was gentle but unexpected, which made you jolt upright, your heart racing.

“Whoa, hey,” Clark’s voice came from behind you. “It’s just me.”

You turn to find him standing so close you could feel his warm breath. His brows were drawn with concern, hand still half-raised as if he was afraid you might flinch again. “Are you okay? Bad news?”

You shook your head, “No. Just… dumb mother-daughter stuff.” Running a hand through your hair as you try to ignore the fact that he was too close for your poor heart.

He gave you a look. “Well, I’m neither a mom nor a daughter, but I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he offers. 

“Actually, can I take you up for that drink at that bar?” You looked up at him, hoping he hadn't taken back his offer earlier. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep after today. I’m too…tense.”  

“Yeah!” He grins, those dimples you secretly adore making an appearance. Your heart softens at his enthusiastic voice, even after having a heavier workload than you do today. “You wanna change first, or do you wanna go straight ahead?”

“You stink. You should change.” You press your pointer finger across the opening of your nose. 

He lets out a breathy laugh, “You’re one to talk, lady,” to which you admittedly laughed at too, feeling icky at the way your blouse stuck to your back earlier from sweat.

“Whatever. Give me fifteen to freshen up a bit, and we can meet back up in the lobby.”

A short walk later, the two of you stepped into a bar tucked between a shuttered wedding chapel and a pawn shop with flickering signage. The inside, however, was another world. It was the kind of place you could hide away into. Soft warm lights casting faint light across stone walls, candlelit mismatched tables, slow jazz from a baby jazz in the middle of the room bleeding through a haze of cigarette smoke that didn’t seem to bother anyone. While you normally abhorred the smell, you find that it doesn’t bother you much right now. 

Clark led the way in, greeting the bartender like he’d been here before. Maybe he had, you would have to ask when you sit down.

You slid into a booth, your arm brushing his as you did so. He placed down your drinks— an old-fashioned for him and a cocktail you didn’t quite catch the name of for you. The only thing that mattered was that it was strong enough that it almost felt like blades on the back of your throat, but sweet enough for you to properly enjoy it. It must be the lack of food in you, but it hit fast.

“You weren’t lying when you said you know a good spot,” you murmured, swaying your half-finished glass, watching the spherical ice swirl before looking up to meet his gaze.

Clark leaned back against the booth, glasses slightly askew as if he’d been tugging at them in thought. 

“Glad you like it. I went to college with a friend from our club who took me here one spring. The bartender from earlier is his brother and also the owner of this place,” he said, pointing back at the bar with his thumb. 

“So you’re saying I’m drinking for free tonight?” You raised your brows, impressed.

Clark smiled, sipping from his glass. “That depends on how charming you are to Milo when he comes by later.”

“Milo?” you echoed, a scrunch in your forehead, glancing at the 6’4 bulky guy moving around the bar. “He doesn’t look like a Milo.”

“What does that even mean?” He laughs.

You shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know. I imagine someone who was a theatre kid and wears glasses and is kind of lanky.”

“Well, that was him back in college. He was in the theatre club with us, too,” he replies. “Jerry, my friend, said that the guy got his heart broken and decided to spend his time off the stage, lifting weights.”

“Are you for real? Is he still performing?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t spoken with the two much lately.” 

“Here I thought you found this cool place on your own,” you say teasingly.

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy to find a place like this in between a chapel and a pawn shop,” he replied.

You nodded, your gaze drifting back to your drink before you took a swig. “Yeah, Vegas doesn’t exactly specialise in quiet. But quiet is exactly what I need right now." 

Clark watched you for a moment with those soft, blue eyes before saying, in a more serious tone, “That’s what I figured.”

The two of you edged on opening up for a few more glasses, but by the fourth round, your shoulders had dropped, and the thrum in your chest had dulled into a relaxed state. You weren’t sure if it was the music or the drinks that loosened your tongue.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “With... anything. Life, work. My mom thinks I'm failing at everything; otherwise, she wouldn't be so overbearing, just because I’m not married or planning baby showers or I don’t know... making casseroles to bring to her every Sunday.”

You sighed, eyes fixed on the sad wedge of blood orange in your drink.

“I used to think I’d be someone by now. Like the version of me I pictured at sixteen would be proud of. But all I see in the mirror is someone who is at a stagnant point in her career, unable or maybe not even qualified to have that growth. 

You exhaled, bitter and tired. “And then I look at you. Hell, I was at the Daily Planet before you, and already Superman has chosen for exclusive interviews.”

You point out, before adding quickly. “Not that I’m jealous or feel like you don’t deserve it because you do! You’re a great journalist, and I can see why you have those exclusives. But still…  it just messes with your head.”

“I can ignore it sometimes, but then my mom calls to ask how I’m doing, and then somehow everything comes crashing down. And it’s not like she means to make me feel bad. I know she genuinely worries for me too, and it might be just my head saying this, but… there’s still that unspoken question in her voice — Is that it?”

He didn’t say anything. Letting the silence rest softly between you. You almost regret opening your mouth, knowing he must find you ridiculous. But before you could excuse yourself, his voice filled the air, low and steady.

Clark’s fingers tapped his glass, thoughtful, “I get it.”

“My folks used to say I was meant for something big, that I had to stand out, lead, and make a difference. And I did that in the way I understood it, which is how I ended up as a journalist. When you grow up hearing that, it starts to feel like no matter where you are in life, it’s never enough. Like if you’re not constantly doing something to do good, you’re letting everyone down.”

You blinked, his words slicing through your heart. There was weight in his voice, but no resentment. 

“I’m not saying it’s the same,’ he flusteringly added, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I know how heavy it can feel. Like you owe everyone some incredible version of yourself. And if you’re not living up to it, you’re failing. However, like you said, maybe it’s just something inside of us pushing this idea.”

Your fingers were loose around your glass now, the heat in your throat no longer from the alcohol as the words settled in your chest. 

“Did you talk to your parents about it?” you ask, curiosity filling you since you remember that his relationship with them seems more like a fulfilling and loving one from their phone calls.

“Oh,” he said, after a pause, clearing his throat. “They’re great. Still, it took me a while to really open up. I think they always knew, though.” 

You looked at him closely. His expression was unreadable, like he was holding something back. But the softness in his eyes told you it wasn’t anything to be worried about.

“I’d love to meet them someday,” you said instead

He smiled, “They’d like you.”

You sip the last drop of your drink before saying in a resigned tone. “I hate that it still gets to  me.”

“That means you care,” he said. “But caring doesn’t mean you owe anyone, even your mom, a version of yourself that doesn’t exist. A you who exists solely to satisfy somebody.”

That silence returned, but it felt a bit warmer. Like a blanket draping over you instead of a thousand-pound weight. Being in a city buzzing with slot machines and bad decisions, it felt right sitting in this private corner with Clark, with the rhythm of jazz and soft murmurs filling the space between you.

You push your empty glass to the middle of the table, the melting ice clinking at the sudden move. “Okay,” you said, sitting straighter. “I am officially done with my downward spiral episode for tonight. We should go somewhere else!”

Clark smiled at your sudden burst of energy. “Are you drunk enough for karaoke, maybe?”

You made a face. “I don’t need to be drunk for that. But I think I need something more fun.”

“How about we go somewhere else? We could ask Milo for suggestions.” His eyes held a glint of mischief, which excited you.

“Ok, let’s be free from expectations and have a Vegas cliche rest of the night!” You laughed loud enough that a couple of heads turned your way, not that you noticed.

“...Okay,” he said, standing up before you could overthink your idea. He stretched his arm towards you to offer his hand. “Let’s go make bad decisions.”

To which you gladly took it before stepping out into the neon-soaked streets with his hand curled around yours.

The first thing you noticed the next morning was the dryness in your throat; it felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry in the desert. The taste in your mouth was weird as you tried to swallow, but even your mouth had run dry. A dull, nagging pain resounded in your head. Despite the harsh conditions when you woke up, you just lay still, trying to find the will to push yourself up and quell your thirst.

The second thing you noticed when you finally did open your eyes was that the room felt slightly different. 

With a slow survey of the room, you find that the interior is exactly the same as the hotel you’ve been staying at. But the faint trace of aftershave in the air and a crisp, clean, and earthy fragrance clinging to the sheets you were curled under was definitely not yours. With half-closed lids, you reached for the shirt closest to you. It looked like yours. The shirt was wrinkly and smelled like alcohol, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. A trail of the rest of your clothes was strewn about from the doorway to the bed, tossed off in a hurry you couldn’t remember.

You sat up slowly with a groan, gripping the heavy quilt to your chest as the cool air hit your bare skin. Your heart stumbled once, then twice, as you looked below the sheet of fabric to find that you were naked as a newborn. You hurriedly put on the shirt you grabbed.

“Fuck. How much did I drink last night?” you muttered, running a hand over your face. You freeze when something cold grazes your cheek.

With dawning horror, you pulled your hand away from your face like it offended you.

There, on the fourth finger, sat a ring. Simple. Something you would choose for yourself. Gleaming with the light from the open curtains on the balcony.

It took a second for it to register in your mind, but when it did, your heart dropped hard and fast like gravity had yanked it straight down. “No, no, no….”

Your attention was caught by the shifting in the spot behind you, and you looked back in horror to see exactly who the stranger was that got you so plastered last night that you ended up with a ring on your hand. However, the voice that emanated from the clump of sheets stopped you cold.

“Morning,” came the sleepy, gravelly voice of Clark Kent. You’re fucking screwed. 

On any normal day, you would be swooning over his voice, but given the situation, it left you blank. Your heart has leapt from your feet and into your throat. Unable to find the voice to answer, you simply stare wide-eyed at the squirming body.

You try to recall the night before, but the events played like a tangled reel of tape. Clark laughed at the lounge bar as he looked down at you. The glint in his eye when you invited him to have a “Vegas cliche experience”. His large hand is drowning yours. The dry gush of wind as you left. A glowing pink sign of the chapel next door. The stupid, drunken smirk on that Elvis guy.

But then he moved, sitting up, and you saw… way more of Clark Kent than anyone in your office could ever imagine.

Clark stretches his arms over his face, muscles shifting beneath his skin. His hair was tousled from sleep, and the sight of his bare chest sent heat rushing throughout your body, especially with the way every curve and line of his arms stood out in the morning light. He turned to the side, making his back face you. It was something in the way his broad, sculpted back moved as he strained to grab his black-rimmed glasses on the nightstand. You haven’t even realised he wasn’t wearing them.

His gaze unabashedly travelled your body until he cut himself off, “Y/N? What-” as his eyes locked in on the ring on your finger. Looking up at you to see you staring at his hands, which lay on his lap, made his heart beat so loud. Hoping it was just another one of your rings, he hesitatingly looked at his own ring finger, only to find a similarly designed one.

“Oh,” he said softly. Then, after a beat, “Fucking shit.”

“Ditto.” You could barely get the words out. Your voice is suddenly too high, too thin. You turned to reach for the glass resting on the carafe, the soft clink of the glass on glass oddly loud in the stillness. Quickly pouring yourself a drink, the water was crisp and sent a clean chill down your throat every time you took big gulps.

Sitting back properly to face him, you see him still staring in the same spot your hand was at, like somehow staring any harder would help him make sense of what was happening. “Are we…?”

“Well, there’s no other explanation for why we’re both naked in bed with rings on our left hands.” You sarcastically spit out. “We’re married.”

He slowly nods, still in a state of disbelief. You watch him look around the room until both of your eyes lock on a folded sheet of paper near the lamp on the desk across the bed. He checks to see if he was decent before standing to grab it with shaking hands. Clark hands it over to you to and you open it quickly, to get it over with. 

A marriage license. 

Signed. Stamped. Dated with today’s date, at two o’clock in the morning.

Clark leaned in from beside you after hastily putting on a pair of pants and a shirt from his suitcase. The two of you stared at it like the printed words on the paper would change if you willed it enough. 

You could physically feel how the blood on your face drained. The shock came back to you at seeing it confirmed in the paper. You just woke up in Las Vegas with no memory of last night, in your coworker's room, someone you were definitely not crushing on for weeks now, with a ring on your finger. 

Opening the folder paper fully, a piece of hard paper falls out. You grab it to see that it’s a printed photo of the two of you. You were wearing a veil and holding a bouquet, with your arms slung around Clark’s neck as he carried you bridal style with wide grins on your faces. You looked happy.

“What the hell did we even drink last night to end up in this situation?” you ask Clark, still trying to wrap your head around how mind-bendingly drunk you must’ve been to marry someone you weren’t even dating— right after telling your mom that marriage wasn’t in the cards just yet.

“I… don’t know. I don’t even usually get this drunk. I can’t even remember a thing from last night. Fuck, I’m so sorry for this,” he rambled, running a hand through his dark hair and pacing slightly in front of the bed. You watched him for a moment before you pushed yourself to stand and made him sit down on the chair by the foot of the bed. You stared down at your…husband. It feels weird to say it in your head.

“What are you saying sorry for? We both willingly got drunk last night and decided to do this. Hell, I’m even more at fault because, for some reason, I wanted to get even more drunk when I was already tipsy,” you reassured him, trying to calm him down.

“Yeah, but I agreed!” he argues. “I should’ve known better, too.”

He finally looks up at you, and his face flushes in such a bright red before sharply looking away. Looking at where his eyes were before, you gasped and grabbed the quilts to cover your lower half. You hadn’t realised that you were only wearing your underwear and a shirt. Despite the fact that something obviously happened between the two of you last night, you weren’t exactly thinking rationally.

“Ok. First priority. Clothes. Do you, uh… need me to grab you something to wear from your room?” he asked as he looked outside through the glass door of the balcony. Hopefully, nobody could see you from other buildings. 

“Uh, probably not. Jimmy and Lois might see you. Just grab thrones on the floor for me, will you?” you asked. He chuckled and nodded, and made a quick move to grab each piece of clothing of yours and hand it to you while still trying to look as far away as possible. “Can I use your bathroom for a sec?” “Yeah! Go ahead, the hotel stuff is in the drawer if you need it.”

Quickly running towards the bathroom, you shut the door behind you, making sure to lock it before dropping your full weight on the edge of the tub. You were still in shock at what had apparently occurred in the last… you haven’t even been able to check the time.

You make quick work of doing your business and make sure to splash yourself with cold water to fully wake up and look presentable before you go to your room. 

You slipped out of the room to find Clark, cleaning the mess you left last night across the room. Clearing your throat to grab his attention, you go back to sit on the edge of his bed. The quiet between you was thick. Not cold. Just heavy. Like neither of you, with your big brains, knew what the next step was. He sat beside you, hands leaning on his knees, staring into nowhere like you were.

“I know we already said it, but I hope you know I mean it when I say I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve watched you more closely. I shouldn’t have let us drink that much, and now we’re…marrie,d and I know that’s not something you wanted.”

You sighed, knowing he would never accept the fact that he wasn’t at fault. “Ok. We were both at fault. I need you to understand that, too.” You grab his hand and pull it to your lap, your thumb gently grazing the skin on his palm.

At his continued silence, you added, “Clark. You didn’t hurt me on purpose. You didn’t take advantage of me. We were being stupid and drank more than we could. There was no malicious intent for either of us. Stop worrying about it.”

His eyes finally flicked to meet your assuring gaze, hesitant. “But still. You didn’t want this. Not like this.”

You were quiet for a beat.

“I guess I could at least have my mother off my back now that we’re married. So that’s a win.” You shrugged with a grin. “If I had to be married in Vegas to anyone by accident, I could’ve done a hell of a lot worse than Clark Kent.”

He cracked a smile at that, disbelieving. “You know, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

You laughed, “Oh, it’s not like I didn’t know.” You waved your hand like it was nothing.

He lightly pushes you on your arm, which makes you fall back against the pillows, laughing heartily. You pull him by the arm to lie back beside you. He grabbed your hand to interlace your fingers together and let them rest on the small space between you on the bed. The warmth of his skin is comforting in the haze of the morning. 

With a quiet sigh, you ask him, “What do we tell Jimmy and Lois?”

“I feel like no matter how much we prepare, they’re just going to freak out on us. Mainly because they weren’t at the wedding.” He replies. Chuckling at the thought.

You nod; those two have a flair for dramatics sometimes. 

“We should at least try to figure out if that license is legit before we leave for Metropolis, too.” 

The low rumble in your stomach made you look at the clock to see if you still had time to grab breakfast. “But before that, let’s go, I’m hungry.”

“Alright, just promise me no mimosas for now.”

masterlist

[14thgalerie]

clark kent

author's notes

any similarities with other works are purely coincidental, and not intended.

this is purely fictional. any name, institution, and other things mentioned in the story is fictional.

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💐 - author’s favourites

what happens in vegas, doesn’t stay in vegas…? | [F, A]

summary; you were only meant to kill time. a few drinks and the promise of a night free from everything waiting back home. but vegas has a way of sending you home with more than you came with.

extra notes:

- some of my fics are unedited, hence there will be some slight error. if you notice any of them, please feel free to let me know so i could edit to make everyone’s reading experience better!

- i am horrible at writing synopsis', so i'm sorry already ><

[14thgalerie]

miscellaneous

author's notes

any similarities with other works are purely coincidental, and not intended.

this is purely fictional. any name, institution, and other things mentioned in the story is fictional.

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💐 - author’s favourites

Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger

he waits and he waits forever | [A]

summary; excerpt of pure agony for draco.

extra notes:

- some of my fics are unedited, hence there will be some slight error. if you notice any of them, please feel free to let me know so i could edit to make everyone’s reading experience better!

- i am horrible at writing synopsis', so i'm sorry already ><