We’ll Be A Fine Line, We’ll Be Alright ❤️

Jackie, she/her, 26, 🇨🇦, show fanatic, music lover, dog enthusiast and all around goddess 👑

[fuckyeahcomicsbaby]

You don’t have to love your body

[naamahdarling]

I really needed to read this today. Thank you.

[louferrignojrofficial]

LOU FERRIGNO JR in The Pitt 2.10

[sophsun1]

The Golden Girls – 1.03: Rose the Prude

[h00dst4r-deactivated20250922]

[zolyarozanova]

Heated Rivalry || 1.05 "I'll Believe in Anything" Ending

[siratonin]

Buck tying Tommy's tie before Tommy's captain ceremony?

well idk if this what you had in mind (i dont think so lol) but here you go 🫣 wc: 1,678 Ι canon compliant, grief, hopeful ending

Buck almost turned around in the parking lot.

He spotted Tommy immediately.

Center of the crowd, half in uniform, half distracted, talking to the chief while his captain clapped a hand on his shoulder. He looked good.. Sharp lines, steady posture, the kind of presence that said captain even before the ceremony made it official.

Buck’s stomach twisted.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling stupidly underdressed without his uniform, even though he’d put on a decent shirt. He shouldn’t be here. He knew that. Showing up felt like picking at a scab he’d spent months trying not to touch.

Lucy had texted him the time and place with a simple He’d want you there. Please, come?

Buck hadn’t believed that then. He wasn’t sure he believed it now, watching Tommy smile at something the chief said, like nothing in his chest hurt anymore.

Then Tommy’s eyes lifted, scanning the crowd—and caught on him.

The shift was tiny, but Buck saw it.. the brief hitch in Tommy’s expression, the way his shoulders tensed, then straightened. Like he’d been punched and then remembered he was on display. And then a smile softened his entire face.

He excused himself from the cluster of brass and started walking toward Buck.

Buck considered bolting. His feet didn’t listen. Typical.

“Hey,” Tommy said when he got close enough. His voice was low, a little rough—shocked, and unable to hide how happy he was to see him. “You are here.”

Buck lifted a shoulder, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to raw. “Yeah, well. Heard some guy was getting himself promoted. Thought I’d see if they lowered the standards.”

That got him a huff of air, the ghost of a smile. “Funny.”

“You look good,” Buck added, before he could stop himself. His eyes flicked over the uniform, up to Tommy’s face, then away again. “Official. Important. Terrifying.”

Tommy snorted softly. “Sure. You know I've done this before, uh- interim captain.”

“Yeah,” Buck said. “That doesn’t—”

He stopped, the words stalling, reshaping themselves mid-breath.

“Well, t-this… this is different. Huge.” A big grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

Silence slid in, sticky and awkward. There were a thousand things they hadn’t said to each other. None of them were going to get said here, with almost the whole department twenty feet away.

Buck’s gaze snagged on Tommy’s collar. The tie sitting just a little off-center. Knot too loose. Tilted slightly to the left.

He frowned. “You’re really gonna let them take photos of you like that?”

Tommy blinked. “Like what?”

“Like... h-here, let me,” Buck stepped closer without thinking. “Your tie’s crooked.”

Tommy opened his mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to say something smart—but Buck was already there, fingers closing around the fabric.

The world shrank down to that small point of contact. The noise of the crowd fell away—just muffled voices, distant chairs scraping, someone laughing too loudly. Buck could feel Tommy’s breath on his skin, could see the faint crease between his brows, and the deep lines around his eyes.

He tugged the knot loose, coaxed it back down. His hands remembered the pattern even as they started to tremble.

“Hey.. you’re shaking,” Tommy said quietly.

Buck didn’t look up. “Yeah, well. I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Fixing ties?” Tommy asked.

Buck swallowed. His fingers faltered for a second. His hands knew the steps, but there was a hollow space where steadier hands used to be. “uh- y-yeah something like that.”

He tightened the knot, smoothed the length down. It still wasn’t perfect.

They were so close he could smell Tommy’s cologne, clean and familiar, layered over starch and something warm that was just… Tommy.

Buck’s chest felt too small.

He forced his voice out. “So, didn’t know you wanted to become a captain.”

Tommy’s mouth twisted. There was a tiny shift in his expression, one Buck wouldn’t have caught if he didn’t know him so well. “Well,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, eyes skirting away, “I didn’t want to.”

Buck stilled.

Tommy huffed a humorless little laugh. “But, my captain wanted to retire and he wanted me to take over Harbor, a place he loves and built himself. I got nothing else to do, so I figured, why not?”

Buck’s fingers tightened on the tie for half a heartbeat before he made himself let go.

“That’s not true,” Buck said, a little sharper than he meant to. “You have… you had… plenty else.”

Tommy’s gaze flicked up, finally meeting his. There was a lot there—tiredness, hurt, something that looked way too much like longing. “I… did…”

That did sat between them like a dropped weight.

Buck looked away first. His eyes landed on the trucks lined up like a guard of honor, chrome flashing in the sun. The last time he’d stood in a lot like this, not even a month ago, Chimney's captain ceremony.. Before that, Bobby's—

His throat closed.

He forced a breath in, focused on the knot under his hands, one last adjustment after many others. The tie lay flat, centered, finally behaving. Tommy watched him with a stillness that made Buck’s skin prickle.

“You know.. I k-keep thinking about how many moments he should’ve been here for,” Buck said, the words tumbling out before he could trap them. “Calls, promotions, Baby Bobby being born… this. He’d have wanted to see this.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Tommy’s eyes softened—the steady, quiet attention that used to make Buck feel seen instead of exposed.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “He would’ve.”

Buck blinked hard. One tear almost managed to escape.

He swore under his breath and swiped at it with the heel of his hand, laughing once, bitter and embarrassed. “Jesus, look at me. It’s- It's not time for tears.”

Tommy’s hand came up, almost on instinct, fingers brushing Buck’s wrist, stopping him. The touch was warm, grounding, familiar in a way that hurt. In a way that Buck wanted more of.

“Hey,” Tommy said. “You’re allowed.”

Buck tried to pull back. Tommy didn’t hold him there, just… didn’t let him pull either. His thumb smoothed once over Buck’s skin before dropping away.

“Think he’d approve?” Tommy asked after a beat, voice quieter, he gestured around. “Of any of this.”

Buck let out a shaky breath. He forced himself to look up, really look at Tommy, the uniform, the tie he’d just straightened, the new lines of responsibility on his face, the same old eyes under all of it.

Buck smiled, “Yeah. He’d be proud as hell.”

Tommy smiled, nodded once. “Yeah.. Of you too, you know.”

Buck laughed once, because the alternative was crying again. “I don’t know. Pretty sure he’d have some notes.”

That pulled a real smile from both of them.

From the direction of the crowd, someone tested the mic. “Sorry for the delay, we’re starting in five!” a voice boomed out, a little too loud.

They both glanced over. People were moving toward the rows of chairs, uniforms falling into loose lines, families shifting and settling. The whole machine of ceremony gearing up, with or without them.

Tommy looked back at Buck. “You staying?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask.

Buck nodded. “I didn’t come all this way to bail before the main event.”

“Could’ve,” Tommy said, quiet. “But I'm glad you're staying.”

Something in Buck's face loosened at that. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

For a second, neither of them moved. The air between them felt charged, like standing too close to a downed power line. One wrong step and everything would arc.

Tommy wet his lips, hesitating. “Listen… after all this is over, do you—” he broke off, laughed once, nervous. “Would you maybe want to grab coffee? Just… talk. No pressure.”

Buck’s heart did something painful and stupid in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough but sure. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Some of the tightness in Tommy’s shoulders eased. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll come find you.”

Buck cleared his throat. He tugged once more on the tie, as if the fabric could anchor him. “Okay you’re good,” he said. “It’s straight now.”

Tommy’s mouth quirked. “mm, can't relate.”

Buck huffed out a startled laugh. “God, I forgot how fast you are with those.” He shook his head, smiling. “You know what I mean. You look… incredible. Like this.”

A real smile this time. “Thanks.”

Buck took a step back, hands falling empty to his sides. The urge to reach out again—to fix something else, to say something stupid and honest like I miss you—was almost physical.

Instead, he drew in a breath that felt like it scraped on the way down.

“Now go make us proud, Captain.”

The title came out softer than it should have, reverent and a little broken.

Tommy’s eyes shone for a second, just enough that Buck knew he’d hit somewhere deep. Then he squared his shoulders, like stepping into a role and into himself at the same time.

He held Buck’s gaze. “I’ll try,” he said. “Stay close, I'll come find you.”

“Yeah,” Buck replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy turned toward the ceremony, toward the waiting crowd and the future with his name on it. As he walked away, the tie lay perfectly centered, a small, invisible line running from Buck’s hands to his chest.

Buck watched him go, hands still buzzing with the memory of warm fabric and warmer skin. He let his eyes drift up to the sky for a second, muttering under his breath, quiet enough that only the ghosts could hear:

You’d like this, Cap. You’d really be proud. Of all of us.

He huffed out a crooked half-smile and moved toward the chairs, finding a spot where he could see Tommy clearly.

The ceremony started. People clapped. Names were called. And when they said “Captain Thomas Kinard,” Buck was already on his feet, hands stinging from how hard he was applauding.

They're getting coffee after this..

[sherlocking-out-loud]

a complete (?) timeline of 911 related crumbs involving Lou since s8's finale aired until now:

7 Jul - Lou answered a cameo about Tommy saying "You deserve more Tommy, and I will try my damndest to make it happen"

27 Jul - Lou followed Corinne on IG

13 Aug - Elijah and Corinne are announced as new mains & 911's IG account followed Elijah

17 Aug - Lou answered another cameo message about Tommy

20 Aug - Lou followed abc's casting account on IG

25 Aug - 911's set photographer, Chris Willard, followed Lou (and several of 911's cast members)

1 Set - Lou followed abc's IG account

2 Oct - Lou answered a cameo message about bucktommy

8 Oct - Lou liked Kenny's post about 911's cast

2nd week Oct - Shannon Ryan Bornheimer, Disney's President of Marketing, followed Lou (and Kenny, Elijah and Corinne) on IG

14 Oct - Lou wished a happy birthday to a 911 crew member on IG

15 Oct - Lou liked a 911 bts video of the sound crew & a 911 bts video posted by Kenny

17 Oct - Lou liked a 911's post about the just aired episode

22 Oct - Lou followed 911's set photographer, Chis Willard

27 Oct - Lou liked a 911 IG bts post about the opening emergency

5 Nov - Lou followed Shannon Ryan Bornheimer, Disney's President of Marketing, on IG

and, of course, 911's IG account still follows Lou.

if these are not signs that he's still a part of the 911 cast and that Tommy will be back at some point, I demand a written explanation by all people involved in this. 🤣🤣🤣

(also, another bit of possibly relevant information: during October they were filming scenes for 9x07 and 9x08 - that may be titled "War" and "Secrets", not sure which will be which.)

(and if anyone has any more information, feel free to add.)

[sad-girl-hours23]

“Sometimes I feel like... a dog chasing a car. You want something so bad, you run after something for s-so long... what do you do when you get it?”

— rcmclachlan, The Only Adventure Left

Thank you to the wonderfully talented & generous @rcmclachlan for letting me use one of my favorite quotes from her incredible fic (linked above). If you haven't read it yet, do yourself a favor and read it asap. And if you've read it, read it again (yes, it's that good).

As soon as I put these photos together, I knew the quote perfectly encapsulated this moment.

[azaharinflames]

the thing for me is like… obviously i’m gonna care about tommy. obviously i’m gonna want the best for him and for him to be happy. my 6’2 massive, self sacrificing teddy bear.

and also. the show does want you to care about him. and most of all, with past relationships of buck, they always gave us a motive to dislike the LI before they broke up or left. the only sort-of exception could maybe be natalia, and only bc they intended that to be his HEA if the show wasn’t picked up. and even then, we all felt there was something a bit off about that relationship.

with tommy? the break up happened in a way where we felt for him, where we hurt for him, where we fully saw why he did that (and now even debate he could’ve been right). it left us saying he deserved to find happiness and for him and buck to get back together.

and then they go even further, and bring him back. and makes us feel even more sympathetic towards him, feel bad for him, want happiness for him. and then they bring him back to show him as a hero, as someone that would drop everything to help buck and his loved ones.

what i meant to say is - the show has made the effort to keep him likeable, to not give us a reason to want buck and he to keep being separated. they’ve given us reasons to love him and for him and buck to fix their shit.

it’s interesting. quite interesting in fact.

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Bang bang bang.

Tommy's head snapped up. He wasn't expecting anyone.

Bang bang bang.

He crossed to the door, pulled it open and then froze. A very pissed off Evan Buckley stood on his doorstep. Before Tommy could say a word, Buck pushed past him and strode into the house.

"Hello, Evan. Would you like to come in?" Tommy asked sarcastically.

"You didn't come." Buck spun to face him, voice tight with anger. "I needed you and you didn't come. That's our thing, Tommy. You're always there when I need you, and I know it's not fair but fuck—" His voice broke, dropping to a whisper. "I needed you."

Tommy took in Buck's red-rimmed eyes, the dress blues he was still wearing. His heart sank.

"Evan...I..." Tommy began.

"I felt so alone, Tommy." Buck's voice cracked. "I just stood there as they dedicated the station and I felt numb. Empty. Hollow. The Robert Wade Nash Memorial Station." His hands clenched into fists. "I hate it. I hate it almost as much as the stupid baby name Maddie and Chim chose, and I'm sad and I'm angry and you weren't there."

"Evan, I couldn't." Tommy's voice was barely above a whisper. "I couldn't face any of you when it's my fault."

"Were you hiding another vial of the antidote somewhere?" Buck demanded.

"Well, no—"

"You're the reason Chimney lived, Tommy. Bobby didn't die because of you." Buck's voice broke. "Bobby died because the world is cruel and..." He sucked in a shaky breath, tears streaming down his face. "I miss him, Tommy. I miss him so much and everything hurts all the time and you weren't there."

"Sweetheart," Tommy whispered, barely stopping himself from pulling Buck into a hug.

"I had you and my life was so fucking good. Even the shitty stuff like Gerard was okay because I had you. And then you broke up with me and the world started to crumble." Buck's voice grew raw. "Maddie was kidnapped and Eddie left and then Bobby. It's been hell, Tommy. And it's been so much worse because I haven't had you."

"I'm a coward, Evan," Tommy said quietly.

"I just don't understand why." Buck shook his head. "You left me, Tommy. I wanted forever. And you just left me alone in my kitchen."

"Ev..." Tommy tried, but Buck wasn't finished.

"And then you did it again." Buck's eyes were red and angry and heartbroken all at once. "I know I said stupid things both times, but Tommy, I do that. I say stupid things. I'm wired like that. I speak before I think things through." His voice cracked. "But you didn't even give me a chance to explain."

"I did it because I was scared, Evan. You are so bright and sparkly and you brought so much sunshine into my life. Everything was different and so much better, and I knew it was just a matter of time." Tommy's voice broke. "I don't get to keep nice things. I never have. So I ran before you saw the cracks and realized I wasn't enough."

"Tommy, what does that even mean? Enough?" Buck's hands trembled. "You were enough for me. You were everything. I felt like myself for the first time in years because of you. And not because you're a man, Tommy. My bisexuality has nothing to do with it. It was because of you. You and your stupid cleft and your terrible taste in coffee. Your questionable Star Wars opinions and the fact that you eat your steak well done." His voice cracked again. "I love you and you took that away from me."

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Tommy said quietly.

"Right for who? Because it sure as hell wasn't right for me."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Tommy said.

"Why are we still doing this?" Buck asked, his voice breaking.

"Doing what?" Tommy asked carefully.

"Tommy, I am so mad at you. I am so sad and angry, but all I want right now is for you to hold me." Buck's shoulders slumped. "Because you make things better. You have my heart, you idiot. Just stop trying to fight it."

Tommy stood frozen for a moment, then closed the distance between them and pulled Buck into his arms.

"Stop leaving," Buck whispered. "I can't do this alone. I can't do life alone. We can be scared together, Tommy. Don't break my heart to protect yours."

Tommy's arms tightened around him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Evan."

"I am too, but I meant what I said before, Tommy. I love you and I need you." Buck's voice was muffled against Tommy's chest. "Please let me keep you."

"Oh baby..." Tommy pressed his lips to Buck's hair. "I love you too."

Buck sagged against him, feeling safe and warm and whole for the first time in months, silently praying that this time was forever.

[fi1iat3rra3]

sum; after he accidentally reveals that he's superman, and you successfully keep his secret while being his roommate, he finds himself subconsciously telling you more and being softer than usual, and he thinks he's blessed by the damn gods when he gets a chance with you.

content; roommate au, slow burn, friends to lovers, f!reader finds out clark is superman, eventual smut, subconscious yearning through actions, clark is a sweetheart who absolutely loves to take care of you, clark loves kissing omg he's so cute, fingering, unprotected sex, a silly pinky promise during sex

wc; 10.4k

Being Clark's roommate was great. You happened to work at a diner near the Daily Planet, so when you found out that someone nearby with a good job was in need of a roommate, you signed up quickly, eager to leave your previous living situation.

First meeting, he was a little clunky and awkward, but he never made things feel weird. You learned quickly that he had a habit of making himself smaller for doorways or beds or couches. Part of you definitely found that a little attractive, but you'd never speak on that.

Easing into the first three months of living together, you'd wake up an hour after he left, and he'd always leave coffee on the hotplate for you along with a small measurement of your favorite creamer and a little dish of sugar for you to scoop from. He'd always leave extra breakfast on the stove top—an extra egg or two, even if you ate them in a different style, an extra three pieces of sausage or bacon, and toast or a waffle. That's how you learned he liked to take care of people he cared for. And that's when you realized he actually cared instead of just being roommates with no bond.

In return, you'd often get home earlier than him, so you'd make dinner and leave out a sweet treat for him. He always left a small thank you note in the mornings that you two wouldn't see each other before work.

Being his roommate was great! Until you started to worry about his late nights.

Where was he going all the time? He'd disappear for an entire day. No calls, no texts, no notes. It wasn't required, of course, but he was usually open about staying late for work at the Daily Planet. As his roommate and friend, it worried you. Especially with all the danger in Metropolis as of recent.

All kinds of extraterrestrial beings seemed to pop up every other day. The Justice Gang and Superman would always fix things, so you had faith in them for your safety, but part of you couldn't help but fear for Clark. So many nights he wouldn't come home. You stayed up a few nights—just waiting for him. You even called him a few times. No answer, just his voice-mail.

You never pestered. You didn't feel it was your place. You didn't want to overstep into his personal business. But the one morning you actually woke up early with him, you caught a glimpse of bruises. All over his back. As you were passing the bathroom, he was pulling a shirt over his head after a shower. The door was open since he had his pants on, but your timing was a blessing and a curse. You didn't mean to, but you gasped at the sight, and Clark's unnatural hearing caught the subtle sound. He tugged the shirt down and turned to you, glasses askew, curls still dripping wet from his shower.

"You're awake," he cleared his throat, reaching for a small towel to dab at his messy hair.

"I.. yeah. I have a doctors appointment for the ache in my back." You muttered, still taken aback by the sight.

"Oh. Yeah, I remember. Are you alright? There's some Tylenol and ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet if it flares up again." He offered, trying to ignore the fact he knew you'd seen the bruises. The bruises he'd gotten during one of his recent late nights.

"Clark, what happened?" You asked. "Your back. It's covered in bruises." You reached out, but he gently took your hand and shook his head.

"It's nothing. Just a fall down the stairs the other day." He lied, offering that sweet smile of his. The smile that usually took away all your fears and worries.

You exhaled heavily through your nose, but you nodded.

"It's just some bruises. Nothing I can't handle. I'm a grown man, yknow." He joked, patting the back of your palm in a friendly way that almost hurt your soul.

"You should be more careful." You pulled your hand back and stepped away. Your gaze lingered for a moment as he nodded and turned away. His dark curls still lay messy, his glasses now fixed, chin slightly stubbled since he's not shaved recently. You didn't usually see him in such a state. You liked it. Something about it felt nice.

You walked off. Your alarm went off in the other room, so you knew it was almost time to leave for your appointment. You'd have to pester Clark another time.

The next thing that scared you was the large gash on his palm. You—unintentionally—found him in his room, unwrapping the bandage from his hand. Earlier, when asked about the bandage, he said he hurt his hand at work somehow. Now, you didn't believe it. Not with the giant gash that looked like he'd completely had a knife run over the width of his palm.

"Jesus, Clark!" You scurried over, not bothering to apologize for intruding. He lifted his head, eyes wide. "You said this happened at work, but that's not a thing that should happen at the Daily fucking Planet." Your brows furrowed as you hesitated, hands struggling to decide if you should help or not.

"Okay, well, maybe it wasn't at work. But it's still not a big deal. Just a little misunderstanding on the way home late the other night. Nothing bad." He brushed it off. Again. Like he did with those terrible bruises.

You took his wrist and grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide on his nightstand, and didn't hesitate to pour it over the still open cut. It wasn't bleeding, but it was still an open wound that could easily breed bacteria when he's got the bandage on for too long.

He stammered, using his other hand to try and stop you, but he hissed at the feeling of the liquid filling the cut and bubbling up.

"Oookay, that feels less than ideal." He forced out a laugh, but his lips were twitched into a deep scowl.

"Just hold still. You're lucky you don't need stitches. How does this even happen, Clark? Did someone try to stab you?" You asked, using a clean rag to dab at his palm.

"Well—" He hesitated with a groan, his other fist balled up as he tilted his head back and forth—the thing he did when he was brewing up a new lie. "Yes. But it was just on the way home, some dude tried to mug me."

"And you didn't go to the police or even tell me that you got hurt?!" You scolded, unintentionally pressing the rag against the cut.

"Ah! Ow! Okay, I'm sorry!" He grabbed at your wrist, easily taking your hand away from the rag despite how hard you pressed. "I didn't want to worry you, and it was late! I got away, didn't I?"

"You're like a magnet for injuries, you big doof." You frowned. "I see you more than you think, Clark. You come home later, and I hear you groaning. That's not just 'exhausted from work' kind of tired groaning. That's the kind of groaning that only happens when you're getting your ass handed to you frequently. Or frequently enough to leave aches often."

"I am not a doof." He huffed, focusing more on your little name calling than the lecture you were giving.

"Oh, please, you're the biggest doof I've ever met." You scoffed half jokingly as you wrapped the clean cut in a new gauze wrap, careful not to hurt him this time.

A moment of silence tugged between you two, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry for worrying you." He looked up at you finally. Well, not really up. He lifted his head, and from his seat on the edge of his bed, he was level with you at your full height. God, he was a tall, big man.

When you lifted your gaze to meet his, still holding his hand gently, you were met with the look of an abandoned puppy begging for mercy and love. You wanted to tease and tell him how silly he looked, such a big man with such a baby look. It was ironic, really.

"Just... be careful. I'm not gonna ask you why you're always home late and why you never text most nights, but.. I do ask that you come home safely. You're like... the only thing that keeps me sane outside of my work friends." You murmured with a shrug as you pulled your hand from his, reaching to take the first aid stuff back to the bathroom between your two rooms.

"Thank you." He said, watching you closely as you walked out of the room and left his door cracked, just how he preferred for the hallway light to peek into his room so he didn't need his own night light. Yeah, Clark Kent wasn't a fan of the pitch black dark unless the moon shone bright enough to provide him some sense of safety.

For almost two weeks, you'd barely seen Clark. Once for dinner, once for a lunch break when you brought him his lunch on the way to your work because he forgot his, and once when you two crossed paths in the morning right before he left.

Clark wasn't avoiding you, no, but he was definitely.. acting weird. You figured maybe it was work stress getting to him. Maybe he was anxious about all the stuff with Superman and the Justice Gang in the nearby area. That's what you were anxious about. There have been a lot of attacks in your area, especially late at night. Thankfully, none of them were to the level of truly causing danger to citizens. The Justice Gang and Superman were good at their jobs of protecting the people.

The last few nights, the attacks got loud, rousing you from bed. In just your sleep shirt and a pair of panties, you roamed out to the living room and found yourself watching the city from the large glass door that led onto your balcony. You'd watch, sometimes catching better views of the fights. It was weird to see such inhuman things. Giant floating blobs that had tentacles, an oddly tiny yet deadly cat-like creature with some kind of horns and fangs, and other weird shit that felt like fever dreams every time you saw them.

Tonight, it was a giant glowing eyeball. It was so gross, but you couldn't sleep, so you watched. Flashes of green lit up your apartment from Green Lantern's moves. The eyeball seemed to be fluttering with its luminosity. Each hit made it dimmer, and when the final hit was delivered, a green puss exploded from it.

"Oh, that's disgusting." You gagged faintly, turning away and pulling the curtains to cover the big balcony doors. You turned, jolting when you found Clark, stumbling into the apartment. He looked exhausted. Slouched, barely on his feet, and trying not to collapse as he hung up his bag and removed his shoes.

"Clark?" Your eyes widened as you approached him, and he looked up. He was covered in dirt and debris. Your brows furrowed. "Did you get caught in the crossfire? You're not hurt again, are you?" You asked, stepping closer to let him lean on you as he stumbled toward the couch. He laid down, head falling to the side with an incoherent mumble. His glasses shifted, ready to fall off his face.

Part of you wanted to call someone for help, but when you reached to take his glasses away, he was startled as if you'd come at him with a knife to take his life. He pulled away and quickly saved his glasses, keeping them high on the bridge of his nose as he blinked to try and get rid of the blur in his vision.

"Just.. need sleep.. sun.." he uttered, his head falling back again. Sun? What kind of need was that? You understood that maybe it was helpful to have a day of relaxing in the sun, but when he looked this bad, you didn't understand why he thought of the sun instead of a hospital.

"Jesus, Clark," you sighed, kneeling at his side as you lifted his head and placed a pillow under his head for support so he didn't hurt his neck. "You're really gonna be the death of me one day." You whispered, and you watched as his lips twitched faintly with the effort of a smile.

You stayed with him all night to make sure he was okay. You couldn't carry him elsewhere, and like an idiot, you trusted that he was just tired after possibly getting caught in some of the fighting. He didn't seem to have any outstanding injuries, so you didn't want to panic until you had to.

Another late night. This time, you were coming home late. Too late. You needed some extra money, and when your coworker needed you to cover her closing shift, you took the opportunity like it was a once in a lifetime thing. The diner you worked at closed around 2:00 a.m., so you got home around 2:30 in the damn morning. You didn't expect Clark to be home, so when you were greeted by a silent, empty apartment, you weren't shocked. It wasn't pleasant. You didn't like being home alone, despite how often you told yourself that you understood Clark and his personal life.

But coming home and feeling like you lived alone? You hated it. Not because you hated being alone, no. You liked alone time. But you hated it because you lived with such a sweet, lively man. You lived with the kind of guy that'd stop on his way to work just to save a kitten from a tree. You live with the man who leaves you breakfast and a note every morning and makes sure you have a list of all your necessary errands just in case you forgot.

You lived with fucking Clark Kent for Christ's sake! Who wouldn't hate coming home to an empty home?

You made your way to the bathroom to unwind for the night. You didn't want to sleep without taking your hair down and at least brushing your teeth real quick. After that, you went to change. All limp bodied and exhausted, you changed into a large t-shirt and panties. Ready for bed. Ready to sleep in since tomorrow was a day off.

BANG! THUD!

Well, now you were awake. Assuming it was an intruder, you grabbed the bat at your bedroom door along with your pocket knife, and you snuck into the hallway.

Before you could even reach Clark's room, a tall figure comes stumbling down the hall. You shrieked, flicking your knife to open at the same time as lifting your bat. But then you see the cape in the shadow. And your eyes adjust.

It's fucking Superman.

He's injured. He's hurt. Holding his side and barely standing. With the faith you had in the man from another world, you dropped the bat and closed the knife, letting it drop as you went to his side.

"Not what I was expecting tonight." You whispered, hooking his arm over your shoulders and letting him lean onto you. "Oh, Christ—big guy." You choked out as you guided him into Clark's room since it was the nearest room.

Upon hearing your voice, the man's body felt heavier as if he was weighed down by more. He fell onto the bed, clutching his side and struggling to keep steady breaths.

He looked up at you, and before you could walk off to retrieve first aid, he stopped you with a grasp on your wrist.

And a choked breath of your name.

Why the hell would Superman know your name? You froze, looking back to him.

"I need to get the first aid kit so I can—"

"Sun." He breathed faintly, head falling back as he sighed and closed his eyes. "I just need... sleep.. and the sun.." he let his hand fall as he lost consciousness.

"What? What the hell? Are you—" You panicked, reaching out to gently press two fingers to his pulse point. You exhaled sharply with relief as you felt a steady pulse. No fluttering or struggle to stay strong. You just hoped he didn't need a hospital because you couldn't carry this giant man, who also faced a lot of troubles and would likely be shamed in a public space if someone else found him like this.

Just like you did a few nights ago for Clark, you remained by his side. You fell asleep at the foot of his bed, practically falling off with each shift. He really took up the whole bed.

Waking up to the blinding sunrise, you fell off of Clark's bed, reminded of the fever dream night you had.

You sat up on the floor and was baffled to find Superman. So it wasn't a fever dream. His back was turned as he seemed to be inspecting his suit. You shuffled over to his side of the bed, quiet as a mouse.

He lifted his head. Glasses on. He froze when he realized his error. Instinctively, he clumsily tore the glassed away. But as the realization dawned on your face, he knew it was too late.

Silence. Stunned silence. Clark Kent was your roommate. And your roommate was Superman.

"I'm living with Superman." You barely breathed out, as if you had the air punched from your lungs.

"I-im sorry. I need you to understand—"

"I'm living with fucking Superman." You repeated.

He paused, blinking at you, confused.

"Y-yes, you just said that..?" He mumbled.

"It makes sense! All your silly secrets and your weird behavior and the injuries and—" You stopped, staring at him. "The sun. You—oh my god! I-i heard somewhere that Superman needs the sun to heal steadily. That's why you ask for sleep and the sun when you're hurt! When your hand was cut and you let it breathe at the park? When—oh, God, when you came home all sleepy and limp, and you told me you were okay, you just needed the sun—oh my god!" You nearly shrieked at the end, hands coming up to tangle in your hair at the sides of your head.

"Oh, jeez—" his tone dripped with guilt. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I just—you couldn't know. I couldn't tell you. It'd put you in danger. If you knew, you'd become a target."

"And?! How am I not already a target when you come home every night after a fight?! All you do is put those stupid glasses on and—" You stopped again. You stared at him. "The glasses! The God damn glasses! They—the stupid things change your face! They make you unrecognizable!" You laughed—a strained sound, like you felt insane.

"They're.. they're hypno glasses.." he added quietly, reaching for them and putting them on.

"I live with a fucking alien." You huffed out.

Clark paused. "I-is that bad?" He stepped back, almost like he didn't know if he wanted you to answer.

Your eyes widened at his body language. "No! No! I just—it's not something common! You're.. You're Superman!" You gestured to him.

"I know that. I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out, and if you had to, I didn't want it to be like this." He hung his head low as he inhaled and exhaled, shoulders slumping in a way that wasn't purposely making himself smaller.

You sat down on Clark's bed, head in your hands as your elbows rested on your knees.

"That's why you're always gone." You muttered.

"Yeah.. guess so.." he murmured to match you, stepping closer to come and sit with you again.

Silence stretched on. You weren't upset. Not at all. You understood the need for a secret identity. You just never thought you'd live with Superman.

"Can you fly me around?" You asked suddenly, looking up at him with a childish grin.

Clark stared. "Possibly..." he said, suspicions growing.

He can fly you around.

"Hooohohoh my god!" You shrieked, clutching onto him like a koala. "Holy shit!" You looked over his shoulder, eyes wide as your stomach churned with the horrid mix of excitement and fear.

He couldn't help but laugh, anxious as ever. He held you close with one arm, doing the typical superhero flight pose with the one unused arm. Finally, he slowed down as you two reached a desert. He'd flown you so far so fast, you weren't even sure where you were. He came to a slow stop, and gently pried your head away from the crook of his shoulder to get you to look around without being so tense that you might give yourself a muscle cramp.

"How high are we?" You asked, looking down with another fearful churn in your stomach.

"Few thousand feet. Do you feel okay?" He asked, his other hand idly rubbing at your back to soothe you like he could feel your nerves from a mile away—which he could. Because your nails were dug into his suit, and you refused to lift your head higher than two inches from his shoulder as if it would protect you from a fall. Not that he minded. He knew this was a hard thing to trust him with, even though it was your idea. The idea you'd begged him to do for a week before he gave in with the one promise that you trusted him and didn't squirm.

"Totally. Feels great up here. Not at all hard to breathe." You forced out, laughing nervously before you experimentally lifted your head higher to look over at him as he held you against his front with a firm grasp over your waist. He looked at you, still idly comforting you with circular rubbing over your back.

"Let's go lower. I forget that you guys are less easy to adapt to high elevations.." His tone dripped with apology, and his eyes said the same thing. You nodded, curling back into his shoulder.

"Lower, please." You agreed.

"Yes, ma'am." He started slow, like a car building speed as he flew directly down from where you two were floating beforehand. Once he came to another stop, he was a few feet off of a high cliff.

"Are you staying still?" You asked, peeking over his shoulder again. He chuckled lightly.

"Yes, I'm staying still. You can look now." He reassured, lifting you up a little higher so your legs wrapped more comfortably over his hips.

You lifted your head and looked around. You didn't know where you were, and you didn't care. Clark held you tight and secure, ensuring your safety, but part of him wanted to play a bit of a joke. He waited. While you admired the view, he subtly lowered just above four or five inches from the ground before he let go of you for literally two seconds. You screamed, but your legs clinging around his waist kept you from falling. He laughed as you restabalized yourself, delivering a hard punch that didn't really hurt as much as you wished it did.

"Okay, okay, sorry. I would never actually drop you. Look at how high we are." He said, a mix of amusement and guilt on his face. You looked down, expecting the exact opposite of what you found. A few inches from solid ground of a cliff. You grumbled, looking up at him.

"I knew you weren't all sweet and sugary like you come off as." You jabbed at his chest, accusing him jokingly.

His heart fluttered slightly at your words. "Sweet and sugary?" He quipped.

You stared at him, realizing your error. "I-i mean, yeah, you're kinda the only guy that really comes off as nice and legitimately trustworthy." You shrugged a little, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

Clark fought back a grin, feeling an overwhelming sense of joy at your words. "Right. Yeah. I guess it wouldn't be hard to come off that way considering the way other guys are nowadays." He shrugged, matching your casual look as he slowly floated up a little higher.

"We going home already?" You asked.

"We don't have to."

"You want dinner?"

"Where to?"

"What about the new Mexican restaurant down by the diner I work at?"

"Sure. Let's stop by the apartment first. Can't really go out like this." He gestured toward his own suit, head tilting back and forth as he held an arm over your back and tugged you close again.

He started this flight a little faster since you'd gotten used to it now. He kept you tight to his body, and part of him wanted to memorize every curve and plush spot that pressed against him. He wasn't trying to think that way, he swears—it just happens when he feels your breasts pressed into his chest with your plush thighs pressing tight around his hips. He can also feel your warm breath on his neck, and he tries to ignore the way it makes his skin prickle with warmth.

Stopping by the apartment only took about a half hour. Clark needed a shower, so while he rinsed off and got ready, you waited on the couch, dressed nice enough for a restaurant, but still not fancy for anything more than a small, local outing.

Clark emerged from his room finally, curls still damp and but neatly laid just lightly over his forehead as he fixed his glasses and adjusted the nice dress shirt he always wore. The man really only had one good shirt for going out that he actually liked wearing—similar to the two or three pairs of good pants. Two good pairs of slacks that fit perfectly and one well-formed pair of jeans. It was tough for a guy with his height and build.

You lifted your head as you saw him emerge and head into the kitchen, likely looking for his wallet since he looked confused with his bottom lip jutted into that small thoughtful pout he always had when he was focused.

"Clark," you cleared your throat. No answer. "Clark." You said a little more firm. Still no reply, looking around with a grumble. "Clark!" You swatted at the wall to get his attention, and he jolted upright like a puppy, looking at you. His glasses fell crooked, and goddammit, he looked so cute. You almost forgot to tell him his wallet was right here on the coffee table—too distracted by his gorgeous blue eyes staring wide behind his glasses as he used a little nose scrunch to fix his glasses.

"Sorry. What's up?" He asked, rubbing at the back of his neck like it'd soothe the embarrassment of jolting like that.

You cleared your throat, standing up and pointing to his wallet. "It's right here, Clark. Your.. your wallet. Not that you need to bring it." You shrugged, avoiding his gaze as he stepped into the living room, his shoulder brushing yours unintentionally.

"Sorry." He uttered once again, a hand reaching out as if trying to soothe a pain that he didn't cause when your shoulders bumped. He automatically tried to hold whatever he'd hit when walking.

Bump into a doorway? His hand would gently hold the door frame as he hissed. Bump into a chair? He'd gently push it back in and frown. Bump into another person? His hands would reflexively try to catch them because he'd knocked down so many people on his way to work through the busy mornings of Metropolis.

You thought it was the cutest thing ever. But you never let him reach you. His hands always reached, but never quite made contact. You weren't sure why, but you didn't think anything was wrong with that.

"Uh, are you ready?" He asked finally, double checking for his wallet, phone, and keys. You did the same, giving a thumbs up.

"Got it. Let's go. I wanna be back in time to finish the book I'm reading." You hummed, watching as Clark opened the door and gestured for you to walk ahead. He closed the door behind him, locking the deadbolt and regular lock before he walked down the hall with you. He nodded at your words, and before he could speak, you spoke again,

"So.. Superman." You muttered, glancing up at him. He glanced around. No cameras, nobody coming.

"Yeah. What about him?" He asked, making sure you caught onto how he spoke of Superman like he was a random guy that Clark didn't know well.

"You interview him. Tons. Well, enough to get a little suspicion going around.. but.. how long? Like.." you paused, shrugging as he clicked the button on the elevator to bring it up.

"He said he's had the powers of Superman his whole life, but only truly became the hero he's known as when he moved away from home. Which I can't tell you where he's from. That's confidential." Clark said, clearing his throat.

"Yeah. Cool. Superman needs his.. privacy. I get it." You nodded. Silence.

More silence.

You two stepped into the elevator as it opened up. It closed, Clark pressing the button for the bottom floor.

"What's with the red trunks?" You blurted out. Clark groaned.

"The suit looks stupid without them, I swear it makes sense!" He insisted, but you giggled, covering your mouth.

"Really? The blue suit and red cape look better with red underwear on top?" You snickered.

"Yes. It does. Believe me—he's shown me. They really do not look good separately."

"Oh, I'm sure Superman looks great in boxers." Yoh blurted out. You clearly forgot who that was for a second. Clark's cheeks flushed, and his silence made you look up. He looked away, a large hand coming to cover his face.

"I wouldn't really.." he trailed off.

"Oh! Right. Sorry. Probably shouldn't say that—" You paused, clearing your throat. "A‐about your friend. That's probably weird." You added quickly, still wanting to ensure Clark's privacy.

The elevator opened up, and he quickly stepped out, glancing back to make sure you followed.

"Hey, Clark?" You asked, idly picking at the meat from the tacos on your plate, eating the bigger chunks while the plate cooled down.

"Mm?" He hummed, mouth already full of a spoonful of pozole, chewing on the chunk of chicken he picked up.

"Does anyone else know?"

He swallowed the bite of food, clearing his throat. "Only Lois. From work." He shrugged.

"Okay. Cool." You nodded, leaning over your plate to take a proper bite of your taco, which you piled some rice into for extra flavor in the bite.

"Just asking or is there a reason?" He asked, tilting his head as he picked up a spoonful of broth and sipped it into his mouth. You shook your head, waving a hand dismissively.

"Just curious." You mumbled, halfway through chewing—a hand covering your mouth to seem a little less impolite. Clark chuckled at the sight.

"Ma and pa used to always get upset at each other for that. Pa would talk with his mouthful, and ma absolutely despised the sound of it. She made sure we knew to swallow before we spoke, even if it took five minutes to chew through a thick bite of slightly overcooked steak." He mused, visibly a little softer as he spoke about something he rarely opened up about. Not that he never spoke about his parents, just not as often about memories like that.

You smiled a slight smile, nodding as you swallowed. "Yeah, my parents tried to beat it into me through verbal threats, but... well, sometimes a girl has something to say and she wants to say it. My grandma always told me to just cover my mouth, and it's less impolite." You explained.

"You never really talk about your family." He observed, head tilting slightly as he took a bite of chicken from his bowl.

"Never really need to." You shrugged. "I mean, there's nothing.. crazy about us. I'm not close with some of them, but I haven't really talked to any of them besides my parents since I moved out when I was nineteen."

"Wow. Nineteen?" He choked lightly, a hand covering his mouth as he looked at you.

"Yeah," you laughed a little. "I wanted to be independent, so I got a job in junior year, saved up for the rest of the time in school, and moved out pretty fast." You leaned in to take another bite.

"Gosh, I wonder how that was on your parents. Ma was torn apart when I moved out around my eighteenth birthday. She didn't stop me—though she really wanted to—but she was absolutely heartbroken. Told me she was 'losing her little boy'." He laughed, leaning back in his seat.

You laughed with him, shaking your head as you swallowed your bite. "Little? Please, you've never been little a day in your life from the photos I've seen you keep in your room." You scoffed playfully.

"Nope. As a baby, I was big for my age. As a kid, I was big for my age. As a teen? Whoof, middle school was a doozy with how big I was. High school, too. Of course, I was kinda bullied. Big, buff kid who accidentally broke door handles and sink handles just from nudging them." He explained, using a napkin to lightly wipe around his mouth as he watched you eat.

"Ehh, people will bully for anything. But I bet you had all kinds of girls in line to get at you." You joked, nudging his foot under the table.

The simple touch of your foot against his ankle sent a blush to his cheeks, but he hoped you'd think it was just your words that caused it. He laughed nervously, sitting up straight.

"No, not.. not really. I had a girlfriend, but.. moving away kinda put that to a stop." He looked off to the side before turning his attention back to his food.

"Oh. A girlfriend?" You blinked. "That so..?" you muttered, glancing down at your plate as you took a bite of rice.

"Yeah. Yknow how it is. The typical high school couple except we were the nerds, so it wasn't us making out against the lockers or leaving condom wrappers in the bathrooms during school dances." He snickered at his own quips.

You cringed. "That's so gross. I do not miss high school." You shook your head, taking a drink of water as you looked at him.

"Nobody does. Unless they peaked in high school and can't let go of the damn school." He stuck his tongue out in mock disgust at the mention of those who clung onto their high school personality rather than developing into a functioning adult.

"Can't say you're wrong." You hummed.

As you two continued conversation, your foot would occasionally brush over his ankle, and he'd subtly tense each time. He had an oddly prominent blush over his cheeks the entire time.

Eventually, as he waited for you to finish your plate or decide to take it home, he let his ankle tangle around yours. You looked at him, but didn't stop your story. It seemed you two were even—catching each other off guard with gestures that shouldn't be shared between friends, let alone roommates.

You and Clark didn't mention the little brushes under the table. Didn't mention the way he tangled legs with you. Didn't mention how he opened up about his family.

Days passed, life returning to normal for a while as there were no attacks, no extra work for you two, no extra errands. It felt good. Waking up to Clark's breakfast being set off to the side for you, his sweet note always on the side. He'd come home to dinner made, and he'd check on you at night, whether you were awake or not.

Things that he started to realize weren't so normal between roommates.

Jimmy told him that.

"Dude, she's not just your roommate if you're doting on her life a husband would to his wife." He scoffed with a laugh, finding it amusing how oblivious Clark was to his own feelings.

"What? N-no! I don't 'dote' on her, Jimmy, I just.. we take care of each other! She makes dinner, I make breakfast. She does groceries, I do laundry. I do dishes, she does the floors. That's all normal!" Clark insisted.

"Yeah, that's normal." Jimmy leaned forward in his chair, making Clark lean back. "But those little notes? Checking on her at night? Going out every two weeks for dinner or lunch? That's not normal roommate behavior, man. Trust me, I'd know." Jimmy grinned, a knowing look in his eyes.

"You're not the man I'd go to for relationship advice. No offense." Clark muttered, fixing his glasses as he glanced away.

Jimmy huffed, brows furrowed as he flung his hands out to his sides. "What?! I'm totally the man! Clark, you know I am!" He further insisted, and Clark could hear Lois laughing in the background.

While Jimmy tried to convince Clark he was the right man, Clark focused on trying to finish the article he was working on editing. He didn't notice you coming in with the lunch he'd forgotten in the fridge along with a small container of cookies that Clark had recently brought from his trip back to visit his parents. You still had no clue where he lived, but that didn't matter when his ma made such amazing cookies.

When he felt your presence at his side, he lifted his head and was quickly overcome with a toothy grin.

"Hey," he greeted, voice softer than what he'd use at work.

"You left lunch again. And I figured you might want a couple of cookies since you said you'd be working late tonight." You said, setting down the small bowl and the paper bag he'd packed a sandwich and apple inside the night before.

"Oh. I did forget." He mumbled. He glanced at the bowl and reached for it, shamelessly excited about the cookies. "Thank you." He looked up at you—well, kind of up. Sitting in his chair even with his subconscious slouch, he wasn't much shorter than your eye level.

"No problem." You hummed.

He glanced down at your outfit, and back up to your face. "Off to work?" He asked.

You nodded, mood slightly deflating at the reminder. "Yeah. I'm covering Marie's shift again tonight, so I won't be home, but there's leftovers." You said, voice a small huff.

Clark chuckled lightly, but he had a sympathetic look in his eyes. "I'll make sure the apartment doesn't get too cold tonight then. I know your room has trouble with heating." He mused.

"You don't have to."

"But I can and I want to." He said. Your smile melted a little, becoming softer and more mushy like he'd just told you he loved you without actually saying it.

"Don't wait up."

"I'll wait."

"I said don't."

"But I will." He grinned, and as you straightened up with that reluctant smile of yours, he handed you a cookie. Jimmy's mouth gaped at the sight.

"You evil thing! You never share your mom's cookies with us!" He pouted.

Clark looked at Jimmy. "Because you don't bring me lunch and make me dinner." He huffed.

"You're so whipped, man." Jimmy scoffed, rolling away toward Lois' desk.

You snickered. "I'll see you at home." You mumbled to Clark as he waved goodbye while you walked away.

Later that night, you walked into the apartment to a sight you hadn't seen—Clark was waiting on the couch with the TV playing an old rerun of a show you'd mentioned in passing. He lifted his head, and you felt horrible. He looked so tired.

"I told you not to wait up." You murmured, but you knew he heard you. He always heard you.

"I told you I'd wait." He countered, a small smile spreading over his lips. You could tell he'd only showered recently, curls still wet and clinging to his forehead.

"And I told you not to before you said you would." You countered.

"Eh, a little sleep loss never killed me." He hummed, shrugging.

"You're as stubborn as damned toddler." You scolded, but there was an unstoppable smile on your face. Clark had one that matched.

"So.. what's playing?" You asked, kicking your shoes off and already beginning to remove your jewelry so you could prepare for a shower before bed.

"That old show you mentioned last week. It seems like they're doing a nightly rerun marathon for the next week. I figured you might wanna watch before bed?" He asked, looking up at you as he patted the spot next to him on the couch—which he took up most of the couch, leaving just enough room for you to join him.

You hesitated, glancing at the calendar and the time before you caved in and came to sit on the couch with a huff, followed by a long exhale as your body relaxed into the familiar cushions that you had fallen asleep on so many times, only to wake up in your bedroom the next morning because of Clark.

"Long night?"

A small beat of silence, and another sigh through your nose. "Mhmm." You barely nodded, already melting into full relaxation as you let your legs bump his.

Clark nodded, looking back to the TV as the colors flashed in the dark living room. He glanced at your legs, and without thinking, he took your legs and laid them over his lap, his big hands automatically resting over your shins. You looked at him, ready to object, but he took initiative and lightly pressed his thumbs along your calves, applying just enough pressure for it to feel good.

You melted, head falling back and eyes closing. He glanced up at your head, a soft chuckle filling the silence between scenes.

"Don't laugh." You groaned.

"Not laughing. Not at all."

But he did snicker a little when you groaned again as his hands worked up and down your sore calves and ankles. He knew how tired you got, how sore you got during double shifts.

"Jimmy said I dote on you." He suddenly blurted out, and you lifted your head to look at him.

"You do, Clark. When I was sick, you slept on the floor of my room just to make sure I had company when I threw up so I didn't have a panic attack." You laughed lightly, sitting up a little with your elbows behind you for support.

"You get scared of throwing up." He frowned, eyes wide like a puppy. God, he was so cute.

"You're not wrong there... but a regular roommate.." You paused, realization dawning on you. Regular roommates wouldn't do the hingd you two do. You knew it was a little abnormal to care so much about some dude who you moved in with, but you hadn't thought much about how kind Clark was. And you thought you were just returning the favor for the sweet, considerate man who made sure you had a meal to start your day with a cute little note to have a lovely day with that silly smiley face or star.

Neither of you spoke, and his hands stilled on your legs.

"I didn't think it was weird." He murmured.

"It... doesn't have to be. If you don't want it to be." You shifted, hands idly picking at the aged and stressed fabric of your jeans.

"Do you not want it to be weird?" He asked quietly, offering a shy, sidelong glance.

You returned the shy glance, and he fought back a grin as you nodded lightly. "I'd prefer it be normal." You shrugged as if trying to play it casually.

"So. What's that mean exactly?" He asked, a small nervous exhale leaving his lips.

"Uh.. what do you want it to mean?" You asked.

"What do you want it to mean?"

More unbearable silence.

And more.

And shy glances. His hands remained on your legs. Your legs shifted as you sat up more to look at him. Even though you were on the same couch, at the same waist level, his torso was taller, and he loomed over you without even trying or leaning forward.

"Yknow, I don't often say things. I.. prefer showing." You finally spoke, and he swallowed slightly, unsure of your implications.

"I suppose I have always been a bit of a visual learner.." he tilted his head slightly.

"Just... tell me to stop if you don't want the same thing."

When you shifted to lean in closer to his side, you wanted to kiss him so badly. You wanted to grab his cheeks and smash your lips to his and make him forget his own name while you could only remember his name.

But you hesitated, faces only an inch or two apart. Your cheeks prickled with uncomfortable heat, and his mouth seemed to water. He felt like a dog.

Clark was losing his mind.

He remained still for a moment, and when he saw you start to shift away, he had to make a move and take the risk. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You almost didn't react. Your body tensed, eyes wide.

As his hand came up to gently press his large palm to your cheek, you relaxed into the kiss and leaned in to return the affection—palm coming to splay over his thigh as you lifted yourself to situate your knees under your body. Since you accepted the kiss, Clark made the next move of tugging you into his lap so you straddled one of his thighs.

"Clark," You exhaled against his lips, and he pulled away to give you a second to breathe. He forgot you couldn't go as long without needing to properly inhale.

"Sorry," he huffed, his hand still idly cupping your cheek with his thumb soothing over your cheekbone.

"Sorry for what?"

"I just—I assumed you needed to breathe.." He muttered.

"Well, yeah," you laughed a little. "But I was just saying your name. Just... yknow, experimenting..." You shrugged lightly, and he shivered at your words. He did like it when you said his name, but he'd hoped you hadn't felt him shift his hips to try and adjust himself in his sweats.

"Right. Yeah. That.. makes total sense." He nodded, eyes flickering back down to your lips. You stared at him for a moment, waiting. Watching. Hoping.

And he must have felt it because he was right on time as he leaned in to press another kiss. This one with stronger—less afraid and more eager. He let his hands fall down, holding your hips before he felt your hands come to slink under his t-shirt. You let your hands roam, and he did the same—although his touches were less strong to start with. His grip on your hips tightened as he felt your leg lightly press against the bulge in his pants. You could feel his size, and you had to pull away to look at him with wide eyes.

He stared back.

He blinked.

You blinked back.

"Please tell me you know how to not hurt a woman." You blurted out.

A bashful blush spread over his cheeks as he laughed at the sudden blurted words of yours. He let his head fall forward to your collarbone to hide his blush.

"I won't hurt you. I promise." He reassured, a hand coming to gently glide up and down your back.

"Jesus, man, I had assumed you weren't gonna be small, but damn."

He groaned, embarrassment growing in his chest. "Your words are oddly bold for someone who couldn't kiss me two seconds ago." He muttered against your collarbone.

"Shut up." You huffed, your own cheeks flushing.

"You first."

"Make me."

"FIne."

His head lifted as he suddenly hoisted you off his lap and into his arms while he stood up. You yelped, holding onto him as he padded down the hallway to find his way to his bedroom. He didn't even flick the light on as he entered, just laying you on the bed and climbing on top of you as he let the moonlight bathe the room in a cool toned glow. You looked up at him, and despite his bold move, he still looked nervous.

He leaned in to kiss you again, tongue swiping softly over your lower lip to ask for an entrance. You gave it to him immediately. He moaned into your mouth as he let his tongue meet with yours in a gross, slobbery dance.

Clark wasn't one for rushing unless he had a deadline, and even then, he hoped to prioritize accuracy and final product.

And you could tell that translated to his affection and love. He took it slow, despite how sloppy and needy it felt. He shifted between your legs and let his hands come to lift your thighs, wrapping them around his hips as he let his hips press into yours with a heavy exhale, his body weight melting against yours.

"Claark," you whined, head falling back lightly as he let you breathe while he kissed down your neck, fingers softly massaging the flesh of your thighs and hips.

"Wha's up?" He murmured, the annunciation in his words becoming less and less as he kissed along your neck and collarbone.

"Don't take forever." You murmured, hips pressing up into his. He groaned, pushing back against you.

"Mm.. feels good." He ground his hips against yours, grumbling lightly at the slight restraint and restrictions of feeling. He loved how it felt for foreplay, but it drove him insane how he couldn't feel your skin on his.

Your head lifted as he began to undo the buttons of your work shirt. You watched him for a moment, and when he got it undone, he used one arm to lift you slightly so he could push the fabric off of your shoulders and toss it to the side before he resumed his kisses downward.

He reached the waistband of your low rise jeans, and he paused for a moment as your breath hitched.

"You okay?" He asked, hands gently soothing over your hips.

"Yeah, just.. never really had anyone go down there like this." You admitted.

His eyes widened and he sat up between your legs. "Are you a virgin?"

You gasped. "No! No! Oh, God, no, I'm not—I meant no one has ever eaten me out! I-i assumed that's what you'd do since your head was going so low!" Your cheeks flushed, and his matched at how blunt your wording was.

"Well—yeah, I was... do you not want me to?" He asked, but you shook your head. "You want me to? Or not?" He prodded further, looking for a verbal agreement.

"I want you to." You shifted your hips impatiently.

"Okay. Just tell me if it's good or not, okay? I can take it if you don't like it." He gave a soft smile as he leaned forward to kiss you again. This time, he distracted you with a kiss while he undid your pants and gently pushed them down. Now you were left in just your panties and bra, and he just about busted in his pants when he pulled back to just look at you for a minute.

To him, you were the softest, most sweet and gorgeous thing he'd ever found on earth. And the look in his eyes told you that exact thing.

"You're so beautiful." He sighed out, leaning back down to mouth down your torso until he reached your underwear again. When you thought he'd remove them, he didn't. He kissed over the mound and made you wait as he decided he wanted to suck hickeys into the soft, pliant flesh of your thighs. Your hand came down to hold onto his hair, and he hummed against your thigh as he sucked a dark hickey into the skin.

You closed your eyes and fully relaxed into the comforter of his bed as he worked on marking you as his and his only. His dark curls wrapped light around your fingers. You felt him press his lips to where your entrance would be beneath your panties, which had already created a damp spot that his saliva only worsened as he ran his tongue along the mound from your entrance to your clit. You shuddered, but didn't stop him.

"Mm.." you hummed, hips lightly bucking against his mouth as he let his tongue circle your clit through the fabric of your panties. "Clark," you whined, lips parting for a soft gasp.

"'S okay," he murmured, leaving one more kiss over your clit before he found himself tugging your panties to the side so he could see you more. You looked down at him, swallowing harshly as he inched a hand up your thigh.

Two fingers gently pressed between your folds, and you suddenly realized how thick his fingers were. You whined lightly, but he shushed you with a kiss to your hip.

"I'm not gonna rush. Wanna take my time with you." He shook his head before he dove back in and ran a tongue along your folds. He groaned, and you shivered at the feeling. He held your folds apart with two fingers and let his tongue circle your hole. You moaned softly, and as he felt your body relax, he let his tongue slip past the tight hole, pressing back and forth. You gasped, body tensing at the foreign intrusion. He looked up at you, glasses slightly fogged up.

His nose nudged your clit, and your thighs closed around his head as he fucked his tongue back and forth, curling and twisting to find what you liked. When he found that the penetration of his tongue didn't seem to give you as much as you wanted, your hips bucking impatiently, he lifted his mouth and let his tongue focus on your clit while he slipped two fingers inside of you.

That got a reaction out of you.

A soft cry of pleasure filled the dim room as he suckled at your clit and curled his fingers to find that spongy spot inside of you. He used his other hand to keep your panties pulled to the side, but as he focused more on your pleasure, he didn't even hear the rip of fabric right next to his ear.

You gasped, looking down at him. "Cla—aaark!" You tried to scold, but it morphed into a loud moan as he pushed a third finger alongside the first two. "Oh, fuck!" Your hips jolted against his face, and he moaned as if he was the one being pleasured. He looked up at you through his fogged up glasses, and as your hand tugged at his hair, his brows furrowed faintly.

To see his eyes properly, you reached down with a shaky hand to remove his glasses. He let out a gruff noise, but didn't stop you. He watched you from where his face was buried against your pussy, and from the look on his face and in his eyes, you'd think he was the one getting fucked like this.

But no. He just really liked pleasing you.

"Holy shit," you gasped lightly, back arching as a choked whimper left your lips. "Clark," you looked down at him. "Fuck, please don't—don't stop!" you ground your hips harder against his mouth and he doubled his efforts. He kept his eyes on you as his fingers drilled into you with ease. Your core squeezed and pulsed around him, and before you could warn him, the knot in your belly snapped like a rope with too much weight.

"Oh, my—Clark!" You cried out, your pussy gushing around his fingers as he worked you through the orgasm, letting you squirm and buck as if you weren't sure whether or not you wanted more.

Slowly, as the shocks and waves came to a stop, he eased his fingers out and lifted his head. You panted, eyes hazy and half-lidded as you watched him settle between your legs. His hands quickly came to push his sweats and boxers down to his knees before he leaned over you and found your lips with his once more.

"Y're so good f'me." He murmured, the kiss lazy and uncoordinated as you barely returned it due to how dazed you still were. "Y'ready?" He asked, slowly guiding his tip to glide back and forth along your folds, making sure to nudge your oversensitive clit.

You whimpered, but nodded lazily. "Please," you huffed, bringing your hands to search for his. He cooed softly at you, murmuring about how gorgeous you were as he kept his lips on yours. He brought his free hand to link his fingers with yours as his other hand held his cock to press against your still soaked pussy.

"'m sorry if it hurts," he warned, but he began to sink in slowly as he could. Your eyes rolled back and your nails dug into his hand.

"Cl—aaark," you whimpered, voice breaking slightly. He shushed you, carefully continuing until he reached your limit. There was still an inch that you couldn't take.

"That's all I can go." He said, finally pulling away so he could look at where your bodies met. You looked too, and shuddered at how big he was.

"You'll go slow, right?" You looked up at him, brows furrowed with worry.

"Oh, sweetheart," he shushed you softly. "I'd never hurt you. I'll go slow. I promise it'll feel amazing once it's past the first couple of seconds."

"Pinky promise?" You muttered. He laughed softly, nodding.

"Pinky promise, gorgeous," he lifted his hand and looped his pinky around yours before he kissed it. "I've got you." He promised.

You nodded. His pinky stayed looped with yours as he slowly pulled his hips back and then forward. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut. He hesitated, but continued with slow, deep thrusts. The whimpers died down and were replaced by gasps and moans in a matter of seconds, and he lost it. Once he was sure you wouldn't be hurt by his size, he sped up slowly.

"'S so big," You bit your lip and looked down, watching as his cock disappeared inside of you and showed through a small tummy bulge.

His hand left yours to press on the bulge, and you cried out at the way it only made him feel so much bigger. He choked on his own sounds as he angled his hips a little lower to swipe along that sweet spongy spot inside of you. A squeal filled the room as he sped up for the last time, finding a good rhythm to settle on with the perfect angle that made your eyes roll back and your back arch.

"Oh, gosh, sweetheart," he panted, his own moans mingling with yours. "Takin' me so well, gorgeous. So perfect—like you were made just for me." His own eyes rolled back as he felt you clamp down on him when he praised and complimented.

"Fuck, 's so good," you panted.

"You like it, sweetheart? Like hearin' me talk about how good you are for me? How you're so darn perfect?" He teased, thrusts becoming a little harder as you squeezed him like he'd leave if you didn't.

"Y-Yeah—fuck—yes, clark!" You nodded eagerly.

"Gosh, you're so cute. Moanin' my name like that. You sound like an angel." His voice morphed deliciously into a whimper as he felt himself getting closer and closer.

"'M gonna cum—ah!—gonna cum!" you cried out, and he kept one hand low so he could let his thumb massage your clit while he let his other hand come to hold yours. Moments later, another orgasm crashed through you like a bulldozer hitting a building. A squeal of pleasure echoed and your core gushed around his cock.

"Oh! Oh, yeah," he panted, hips bucking faster inside of you. "Feels so darn good. Better than anything I could'a dreamt." He whined. His balls drew tight to his body, and he looked at you. "Wh-where do you want it? Where should I cum?" He stammered, hips losing rhythm as he squeezed your hand.

"I-Inside—do it inside." You told him, and the moment he got permission, he spilled inside of you. His cock twitched and pulsed inside of you as thick ropes of cum coated your walls to the point where it was already leaking out due to how he filled you with just his girth.

"Y're so perfect." He breathed, body giving one last shudder and a final spurt before he slowly pulled out. He knew it was lewd, but he couldn't resist looking at the mess he'd made. Your pussy gaped from his size, and his cum leaked out of you.

You looked up at him, both of you panting unevenly.

Panting was all that broke the silence.

Until his laugh rang in your ears.

"I guess I am a visual learner." He quipped, recalling his earlier joke.

You let out your own huff of a laugh. "A very visual learner."

"It came in handy." He grinned. There was a small pause before he shifted and got off the bed. "I'll be back." He said softly. You waited for him, still splayed comfortably on his bed.

When he came back, he had already cleaned himself up and now he approached with a warm, damp rag. He crawled onto the bed next to you and carefully wiped you down to clean up the mess he'd left between your thighs. Once you were comfortable and clean, he gave you one of his t-shirts to put on so he didn't have to leave the room again. You'd already told him not to worry about underwear for you since you thought you two were far past needing to be covered if laying together.

He tugged you into his embrace and curled up around you, letting you lay a leg over his hip. "We should probably talk more in the morning.."

"Yeah.." You muttered. He sighed into your hair and relaxed, closing his eyes. "Goodnight, Clark."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

[simplyseveredslut]

Could u do virgin Clark x virgin reader? Thank you!

for the first time

summary: Clark’s nervous about telling you it’s his first time, but little does he know it’s also yours

a/n: lowkey the window pic has nothing to do with the fic I was STRUGGLING to find images that made sense. also my titles for my works are trash im sorry 💔 anyways I loved this request and hope it’s what you had in mind!

warnings: p in v sex, baseline smut

—————————————————————————

It’s an innocent set that he almost feels guilty for finding so devastatingly sexy - polka dotted cotton fabric lined with intricate lace at the hems. The way they cling perfectly to your form like they were made for you, he’s convinced you were made for him. Like god moulded an angel and set her in front of him.

“You’re staring, clark,” you nervously chuckle, a soft one that barely makes any noise at all. You cross your arms over your chest, increasingly aware that he can see you, all of you. when he doesn’t speak, sitting on the edge of the bed just looking at you, you squeak out a regretful “I can go chan-“, the sentence doesn’t fully leave your mouth when clark, Almost on instinct like a reflex he’s born with, reaches out to grab your wrist, releasing your grip around your front and pulling you towards him.

“Nonono,” he pulls you onto his lap, legs straddling his sides. Jesus, he’s so fucking nervous.

“You’re just,” he runs his fingers softly down your stomach, as if tracing a vein pattern only he can see. He does it with the most delicate touch, like he’s handling a famous art piece he’s scared of damaging. “You’re so beautiful.”

suddenly breaking the confident pattern that seemed so natural for him, he retracts his hands from your skin and he swallows like he’s thinking. it makes your stomach hurt.

“what’s wrong?” you furrow your brow, leaning away from him. “we don’t have to-“

“no, fuck- no,” he breathes, pulling you back toward him. “i want to, i want to so much, I just,” he stops, his face crinkling, “I’ve never done this before.” he’s humiliated - you’re so pretty, so perfect - there’s no reason you shouldn’t get up to leave now. but when you softly smile, placing both hands on his cheeks and mutter, “me neither,” time stops.

“I’ve never really wanted to, I was never sure about anyone enough to give that much of myself to someone,” you explain, running your fingers down the sides of his cheeks where his stubble is beginning to poke through. “but with you, Clark I’m so sure.”

he’s going to explode. he’s almost sure of it. to know how comfortable you are with him, to know how much you trust and love him, he falls even deeper in love with you - which he didn’t even think was possible. “I’ve never been so sure of anything.” you repeat.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, stroking your cheek.

there’s a beat, and then you beat him to the words.

“it’s okay, clark. you can touch me,” you assure him, stroking his cheek in return with your thumb.

—————————————————————————

“so big, clark,” you gasp, convinced his cock is pressing all the way in to your stomach. “so deep.”

“yeah? feels good?” he searches your face for approval, receiving it when you tip your head back as he slightly shifts, girth pushing against your walls.

“mhm, feels so good,” you breathe. “move, please. need it, need it so bad.” you plead, and he is more than happy to oblige. he starts slow, almost hesitant, you feel it in his slow movements.

“faster, clarkie. y’aren’t gonna break me. promise. i can take it.”

afraid he’ll cum just hearing your voice, asking so nicely for him, he quickens his pace. his length sliding in and out of your entrance, met with slight resistance each time. you’re so tight, it makes his jaw fall slack at the pressure when he enters and your pussy clenches around him. the sound of him slamming into you becomes a more frequent hurried tempo - his balls slapping against you in harmony with the squelching of your folds.

“can’t hold on much longer, sweetheart,” he pants, not breaking his stride. his head is craned down to the crook of your neck, breath tickling your skin. “can- can i” he doesn’t know how to say it. his brain is so fuzzy, judgement so clouded, that the only thing running through his brain is youyouyou.

“yes, please, yes- I’m ready,” you cry, digging your nails into his shoulder muscles. in one last thrust he’s whimpering - cum filling you to the brim. he goes limp, collapsing on top of you. You both instinctively wrap your arms around one another, as if scared the other will disappear. you both let out shaky, labored breaths as you come down from your high, together, in each others arms.

“i love you, love you so much,” he breathes, smushing a kiss to your temple. “thank you for letting me have you like this, all of you.”

[spideystevie]

how to: fall in love again

summary: lovergirl at heart, you've decided love isn't anything you're willing to risk pursuing again after your last boyfriend. and then comes clark kent who's a little too perfect at breaking down those walls. and isn't that terrifying?

word count: 10.8k...yeah <3

a/n: the word count getting longer when i edited oh i'm sure. this one was serious to me. like notes app outline, specific through-line playlist, pinterest board inspo serious. hope it's serious for you guys too hehe fem!reader, no spoilers, avoidant attachment tbh, bit angsty but happy ending! happy reading, let me know what you think <3

If there was anyone more cynical about love in Metropolis than you, you’d be delighted to know. 

It’s not like you’re against love by any means. In fact, you really, well, love it. You love your friends and you love seeing them in love. You enjoy romance books and love songs and romantic comedies. You take pleasure in finding the ways in which love is around you each day. 

You’ve just decided that romantically, it’s not for you. Not anymore, at least. 

It’s been three years since you swore off of it and honestly? You’re doing great! So what if sometimes a viscous yearning creeps through your apartment on a Sunday night? That hardly means anything!

Relationships are one thing and you’ve had your fair share. Once in high school, a couple in college. They never ended well, not like how you would’ve wanted rather. Sometimes they faded like a bruise and other times you were left alone and behind in the rearview. 

But none of that mattered to you anymore once you met Ben.

Six years ago, you fell in love. Ben was a dream and a half. The kind of guy you bring home to your parents and revel in the way they gush over him and the both of you together. The kind of guy someone writes songs about with a swooning guitar and lyrics that wax poetic. The kind of guy you marry. At the time, Ben was it for you. 

Then, three years ago, Ben broke your heart. You hadn’t seen it coming. It felt completely out of left field. You believed you were everything each other wanted until he was walking out the door. 

“I’m not..happy anymore. I don’t know how to make you happy.” He had said and you remember a nauseating confusion coursing through your veins. What did that mean? You were happy….weren’t you? And before he walked out the door, “I hope you find someone who does.”

He clearly had. Two months later he was engaged to another woman you’d had in your home at dinner parties and holidays and suddenly it all clicked. You’re only slightly embarrassed to admit how long you cried and the amount of sweets you ate to try and feel better. 

While the wound was still fresh, the ache cutting so deep in your bones, you decided you never wanted to risk feeling like that again. It took you a while before you felt like you were yourself again.

Two years ago, you got a job as a columnist for the Daily Planet. A basic “how-to” column that you’ve come to love, even if you’d rather be writing something more substantial. There, you met Clark Kent. 

He was everything Ben wasn’t from the second you were introduced. The second he’d fixed his striking blue eyes on yours and smiled at you, something inside you jolted. And you’ve been petrified ever since.

Because if there was anyone who could make you consider taking that risk again, it was Clark.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

It’s a busy day at the Daily Planet. Well, it’s always “busy” but it’s especially so today. The printers are working overtime and there’s people fluttering all about, checking edits and typing like there’s no tomorrow. An argument splits open near the coffee counter. 

Deadlines will do that to you.

You’d arrived earlier than usual, earlier than you needed to considering you were basically done with your newest “how-to” for the next print. Still, the only time you can pin Perry White down to talk to him about writing for something other than your column is on his way from the coffee machine and back to his office. 

“But Perry, I think I’ve really got something here! If you’d just look at it-” your footsteps are hurried as you keep pace with Perry. He stops suddenly and you nearly stumble over yourself, words getting cut off.

“Look kid, I appreciate your enthusiasm but right now I need you to stick to your how-to’s,” he fixes you a look and fits his cigar between his lips before resuming his trail to his office. You sigh, but you don’t want to give up that easily.

“But could you at least just-” you start to plead and then you’re cut off again. He holds up a finger this time and heaves a sigh.

“I’ve given you my answer, kid. We’ve got a deadline to meet.” The words form around the cigar in his mouth. You wither, footsteps faltering. 

“Yes, Chief,” you sigh, to which he just shakes his head. Your shoulders sag, the entirety of your body drooping like a wilted rose. When Perry’s out of earshot you toss your head back with a frustrated groan. 

This wasn’t exactly where you thought you’d be by now. Two years seemed like enough time to establish yourself at the Daily Planet. Your little column that’s shoved towards the back of the paper seemed like as good a stepping stone as any towards writing about something more. 

It’s not like you dislike your column, in fact, you really enjoy it. You just feel like you have more to offer after two years if Perry would just give you the chance one of these days.

You’re admittedly, a little visibly pouty on your way to your desk. It feels a little childish, like you might as well cross your arms and stomp your foot with a hmph! You don’t, of course. Though maybe it’d provide some kind of emotional release. That’s why toddlers do it, right?

As you near your desk you notice there’s a new coffee cup waiting for you by your keyboard. The culprit, you notice next, is standing next to your desk with his bag still on his shoulder like he just got in. Which, he probably did.

It’s hard for you to stay grumpy at the sight of Clark. His tie is slightly askew and he’s holding his own cup of coffee, hot where yours is iced. 

He’s far too nice to you, you think, but he’s a wonderful friend. And God knows you were in dire need of a good one after what happened. Sometimes though, when you start to feel a little lonely, you wonder if he’d be a wonderful boyfriend too, but you’re quick to shove that aside. 

It’s better for you to just be friends. Less scary that way. Less of a risk that you end up absolutely demolished again, too.

“Was just dropping this off. Just how you like it,” he says when you’re within earshot, motioning towards the coffee that wasn’t there when you’d gone after Perry this morning. You can see the ring of condensation it leaves against the lacquered top of your desk. You smile at him.

“Thank you. You know you don’t have to.” 

He matches your smile and shrugs. 

“Yeah but I want to,” he says. There’s a faint pink that blushes his cheeks but you think it might just be the lighting. Still, you revel in the fact that he wants to do a nice thing for you. You try to quell it. The familiar fear of getting too close to someone again prickling your skin.

On paper, Clark is the perfect guy to be with after Ben. He’s charming and patient and kind, overwhelmingly so, to everything and everyone he encounters. He never fails to make you smile. Doesn’t hurt that he’s devastatingly handsome, too. 

Truth is, Clark Kent scares you to death.

“How’d it go with Perry this morning?” he asks, breaking you from your thoughts. You deflate, frustrated all over again. A grimace pulls at his face at the look on yours and the huff that escapes you. “That bad?”

“He refused to read it! Appreciates my enthusiasm but wants me to,” you twist your voice into your best impression of your editor-in-chief, “stick to my how-tos.”

You relish in the chuckle your impression pulls out of Clark. He opens his mouth to say something and is cut off.

“Stop flirting and get to work, Kent. We’ve got a deadline,” Perry’s voice seems to boom as he strides past your bullpen on the floor. Clark flounders, cheeks warming into an embarrassed red. You’re all too aware of the amount of eyes on you and you feel yourself start to fold inwards.

The two of you look at each other and Clark flashes you a tight lipped, shy smile. He motions towards his desk across the way and you nod, wordlessly communicating with each other.

“Thanks again for the coffee,” you say before he can walk away. 

“Anytime, really,” he says as he passes. There’s a fleeting press of his hand against your back. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, heat radiating out from where his touch lingered. You steel yourself for a beat before sitting down at your desk. 

The ice in your coffee shifts as you log into your computer. You glance over to Clark though you can only see the back of his head from here. The side of your hand brushes against the cold drops of condensation on your coffee cup. Goosebumps skitter up your arm.

When you finally take the first sip, a pleased hum drifts out of you. It’s just how you like it, like he had said, but it’s also better somehow. Familiar, but different in the best way. 

Just like Clark, you think.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Despite it being sarcasm, you can’t get Perry’s insinuation that Clark was flirting with you out of your head. It’s been weeks and no matter how hard you try, it stays at the back of your mind constantly. And it’s starting to do a number to your nervous system.

Sure, maybe your interactions can be read as flirtatious but Clark’s also your closest friend. It’s just friendly banter and actions to show you care. Hardly anything romantic. 

That’s what you keep telling yourself anyway.

It’s a Wednesday towards the end of summer when you start to notice something different. 

The second the workday ends, you’re logging out with a swiftness. You’re not alone. Nearly everyone at the surrounding desks does the same. 

There’s a shuffle of sound as everyone starts to pack up their things. The corner of your notebook bends as you shove it in your bag and you curse under your breath. You’re inspecting it, trying to bend it back into place but the crease is still there in the corner. Annoying.

“Heading out?” 

The sound of Clark’s voice behind you makes you jump in surprise, your bag falling from your hands and to the ground. You’re pressing your hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. He at least has the decency to look apologetic when you turn to face him.

Clark has a bad habit of sneaking up on you. You’re not sure how someone so…big can be so quiet. Or how he only seems to be able to sneak up on you, considering his occasional clumsiness tends to alert his presence. Too busy always trying to not occupy so much space that he almost seems to occupy even more. 

“Sorry! Sorry.” He’s dropped to the ground to retrieve your bag and bent notebook for you. His lips press together in a sympathetic grimace as he hands them over. Your hand falls from your chest to take them. 

“Jesus, you’re like a stealth agent or something, Clark. I’ll never understand it.” You shove the notebook into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. He shakes his head and is reaching to grab your water bottle for you before you even get a chance to turn around and get it yourself.

He holds it out to you and you smile your thanks. There’s a shock of something almost magnetic when your fingers brush his in the exchange. You try not to flinch away too noticeably. 

“Do you have plans? Like, now?” he asks, almost a little nervous. It makes you nervous and you hesitate in your movements. The corners of your eyes crease as you narrow them quizzically at him. “Sorry, that was..really forward.”

“No…why?” You start to walk away, full trust that he’ll follow you. He does. You slide your water bottle into your bag as you walk, Clark keeping pace. “Do you?”

“Oh! No, no I–Well…maybe?” he stumbles over his words and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His shoulders straighten just a tad. “There’s this new ice cream place that just opened downtown and I saw it and thought of you and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to check it out?”

You nearly trip over yourself, a pit dropping from your throat to your stomach. He thought of you. Is he asking you on a date? He thought of you. A mirage of emotions rushes through you and over your face. Clark starts to panic at your silence.

“Totally friendly!” You let out a soft breath. He thought of you. “Obviously! We don’t have to, unless you want to. And it doesn’t have to be tonight, sorry I didn’t–”

Clark’s a panic rambler you’ve come to notice. It’s rather endearing if you’re honest. The two of you pause outside the elevator. You nudge him with your shoulder which jostles you more than it does him.

“Tonight’s great, Clark,” you say, cutting off his rambling. He looks at you and breathes something like a sigh of relief at the sight of your smile. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. He lets you in first, mumbling under his breath.

“Great. Great, okay.”

Clark leads you around downtown Metropolis, his hand hovering just above the small of your back as a guide when needed. You fall into step and easy conversation the whole way, Clark making you laugh without even trying to be funny. 

You mention the argument that you heard break out by the coffee this morning and he tells you it was Jimmy and Lois arguing–Jimmy annoyed that Lois has used up all the sugar. He mentions his Ma is planning to come visit him in the coming weeks and you swear you can feel your chest start to expand at the evident admiration for her in his voice. 

“Here it is!” he announces a few minutes later as you turn a corner. 

The first thing you notice is the red, yellow, and blue striped awning with scalloped edges. A sign above reads Super Scoops in bright letters and a bold font. The obvious hero homage makes you snort but the small line out the door leads you to believe it must be good.

“How’d you find this place?” you ask, relishing in the shade the awning gives while you wait in line.

“Just happened upon it on the way into work today,” he shrugs. He hopes you don’t realize his route to work from his apartment never crosses this section of downtown. If you do, he’s none the wiser. 

“And the whole,” you wave a hand around, “Superman of it all isn’t at all why you wanted to try it?”

You’re teasing. Poking a jest at his superhero work connection. Clark scoffs a little though there’s no malice behind it, and briefly wonders if maybe you’ve figured him out. (You haven’t.)

“No!” his voice pitches up an inch. “I know you like ice cream and you just did that how-to bit about summer and I just thought you might like it s’all.”

There he goes again. Thinking of you and sending your heart ablaze. You need to get a grip. 

The line moves quickly for which you’re thankful. When you get to the counter, you opt for a swirl of soft serve on a cone and Clark gets his in a cup. The price seems a little outrageous for what you’re getting and you accredit it to the theming. 

You pull out your wallet and Clark gives you a piercing look, bumping your hand away though not unkindly. You go to protest but relent and put your wallet back in your bag when he swipes his card. He shoves his wallet back into the pocket of his slacks, stepping off to the side with you.

“I could’ve paid for that, you know,” you say, eyes locked onto the employee dispensing the swirl of chocolate and vanilla onto a cone. The uniforms here are rather silly. Blue t-shirts with little red capes attached, the parlor’s logo on the back. 

“I know. I didn’t want you to,” he states simply, like he’s telling you the sky is blue. You probably should’ve expected it. Small town, farm boy chivalry and such. 

Clark collects your ice creams from the teenager behind the counter who looks a little miserable. You accredit that to the uniform. He passes your cone off to you as he leads you out the door. 

A comforting silence hangs around you as you linger in a little grassy patch next door. There’s kids running around and a dog chases them off leash. A hum of delight escapes you at your first taste of the soft serve. It’s exceptionally good.

Golden rays of the fading sun cast a radiant haze around the outline of your body. Ice cream is starting to melt around the rim of your cone. The surface tension breaks and a rivulet slips over your knuckles. You let out a soft gasp, more an exhale than anything and quickly lick it off. 

Clark’s looking at you. Endearment glimmers in his irises, the sunlight reflecting off of it. You’re trying desperately to ignore the sticky feeling on your knuckles. You need to wash your hands. Or steal a generous glob of hand sanitizer even.

You catch his eye and feel pinned by his stare. You blink at him. 

“What?” you ask. A thorn of self-consciousness pokes at you for a brief moment. Clark shakes his head.

You’ve got a smear of vanilla soft serve across your left cheek from when you tilted your hand to lick the ice cream off your knuckles. Your eyes are doe like. Backlit by the setting sun, the fleeting rays highlight the frizz in your hair, creating a halo around your head. 

Clark thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“You’ve got a little..” he gestures towards his own face. You bristle with a light embarrassment. Before you can reach up to wipe away the ice cream from your face, Clark beats you to it.

He’s somehow procured a napkin and softly wipes the ice cream you smeared across your cheek away. You don’t remember seeing him grab them on your way out of the parlor. 

Time seems to slow. The seconds drag by like the pouring of a thick stream of honey. The moment feels incredibly intimate for what it is. Your breath stills in your lungs. 

“There we go,” he says. He turns and tosses the napkin into the trashcan. The spell breaks. Your fingertips reach up to graze against the spot he cleaned. You drop them before he can turn back around to catch you.

“Thank you,” your voice feels a little shaky. Clark smiles at you with a soft shake of his head, a silent don’t worry about it, and takes a bite of his ice cream.

“This is really good,” he says, swallowing it down. He looks so..boyish in this moment and it does something funny to your heart. Combined with him wiping your face clean, you’re a little afraid you could go into spontaneous cardiac arrest.

You’re staring at him, something sweet and awe-like in your eyes. Something in Clark brightens at your attention. His cheeks twinge pink and he smiles softly. 

“Careful,” he points at your cone that’s starting to melt down to your fingers again. You blink away, embarrassed at your staring and hurriedly lick up the melted cream. What is going on with you?

Clark seems to have figured out a way to weasel himself inside and poke at your tender bits, making things in your chest twitch and move in a way they hadn’t in years. You weren’t sure when he had been able to step in so close to do so.

It feels all too familiar, yet different, just like that coffee he’d brought you a few weeks back. Your heart stutters, the beat spelling out an uh-oh.  

You think you might be falling in love with him.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Things steadily progress with Clark after your ice cream not-date.

You’ve crossed into hug territory. Simple side ones when you see him in the office in the mornings. Longer, more proper ones when you go your separate ways after a hang out. Each one starts to untie the rope that’d been knotted around your heart three years ago. 

The risk grows more and more each day and now it feels even more ominous. Because now Clark’s more than just a potential romantic partner, he’s also one of your closest friends. And the thought of losing him in two ways instead of one scares you infinitely more.

You don’t mean to work so late on a Friday but it happens anyway and when you log out and pack up your things, the moon has risen completely in the sky. Clark has stayed late today too but you wonder if he was just waiting for you to finish so he can walk you home. 

You’ve never asked and he’s never outright offered except for the very first time. Now it’s just become something unspoken. A given in your friendship. You appreciate it all the same.

He lingers outside your apartment with you tonight and you can tell something’s bothering him. Like he’s holding himself back, restraining from something. You go to ask if he’s okay or what’s wrong but you never get the chance. 

Because Clark asks if you want to get dinner with him tomorrow night.

“Like a date. A nice, proper one with dinner and dessert.”

And despite the fear that shivers down your spine and the choking anxiety like a lump in your throat, you agree. 

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds…nice.” 

You hope your smile looks real and not as scared as you feel. He seems to buy it. He’s beaming with glee, trying to hide the intensity of it and failing. Quite adorably, you might add.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at 7.” He states. No sense of a question, just a simple statement. Warmth rushes through you. 

“Okay.” The word is pushed out with a breath. Clark smiles at you. 

“It’s a date!” 

His enthusiasm is comforting and you squeak out a confirming uh huh! which is all you can seem to muster. Words are failing you. He reaches out to squeeze your hand briefly instead of hugging you goodbye tonight. 

You’re grateful for the change, certain he would’ve been able to feel your racing heart when your chest pressed against him. You watch him walk a few strides down the hall before you go inside. 

You’re already nervous when you wake up on Saturday morning. You spend a lot of the day panicking, over both the mundane and existential. Should you wear a dress? What if this goes horribly sideways and the two of you never speak again?

The usual.

In the end, you decide on your nicest dress, or rather, the nicest date night dress you own. You feel good. So long as you don’t think too seriously about it all. 

You’re trying to practice some age-old breathing exercise in the mirror to calm your nerves. Trying not to overthink too much about your shoes or your hair or how this is your first date in three years. You’re interrupted by a knock on your door.

A quick glance at the clock on your way to the door shows it’s seven on the dot. You’re a little surprised at Clark’s punctuality. Not because you didn’t think he wouldn’t be but because you’ve never experienced it before. A punctual date, that is.

You pause at the door for a beat. Then, you shake out your hands and swing it open.

Clark stands at your doorstep with a bouquet of fresh cut flowers. Peonies and delphiniums, chamomile sprinkled amongst blushing roses in a brown paper wrapping tied with string. He must’ve stopped by the florist for these, you think. It might be the prettiest arrangement anyone’s ever shown you, let alone given you.

Clark is staring at you, jaw a little slack. You feel yourself start to fluster under his gaze, shrinking slowly. 

“Wow. You look..” his voice trails off, eyes dropping to what you’re wearing and back up to lock with yours. “You look great.”

Your smile is a little shy, bright around the edges. The heat beneath your skin makes you feel like you could burst into flames.

“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself,” you say. He’s wearing clothes similar to what he wears to work, a charcoal pair of slacks and the usual white button down but he’s not wearing a tie and the sleeves are pushed up his forearms. It’s really doing something to you. 

A blush rises on his cheeks and it’s his turn to offer you a shy smile. He clears his throat.

“These are for you,” he says, holding the flowers out for you to take. The paper crinkles as you take them from him. Your fingers brushing sends a pleasant zing! down your back. You can’t resist pressing your nose against the blossoms. 

“They’re beautiful,” you say on an inhale. Clark could say the same about you ten times over. “Come in. I’ll put them in a vase and then we can go?”

You back up to let Clark inside and he closes the door behind him. He stands in the tiny entryway. It’s not very big, your apartment; it looks even smaller with him standing in it.

“You can come in further, you know?” your laugh carries through the air like a breeze. He lingers in the entry of your shoebox kitchen now. The bouquet lays gently on the little kitchen table tucked away in a nook off the kitchen.

You’re grateful for the boost of height the kitten heels you decided on give you, albeit small, as you reach up to grab your favorite vase. Clark’s eyes trail after you as you flit around the kitchen. Watching as you bring the vase to the kitchen sink to fill it with water and take it over to the table.  

You untie the string and paper around the bouquet and place the flowers in the water with the utmost of care. It’s a perfect fit. You fluff it a little bit, arranging it so each blossom has space to shine. Then, you slide it to the center of your little homely kitchen table. 

It’s picturesque. And so are you, standing with your hands clasped, admiring it. Clark wishes he had a camera. You turn and look at him, taken aback a bit at the sweet look in his eyes.

“Ready?” you ask. Clark blinks like he’s been shaken out of a stupor. 

“Right. Yes! Let’s go.”

He follows close behind you as you grab your bag off the hook by the door and lock up. It’s your turn to follow him as soon as you leave your building. Ever the gentleman, he walks on the outside of the sidewalk and offers you his arm to hold.

Butterflies that have laid dormant inside you start to revive and flutter around your stomach. It’s a beautiful night in Metropolis, the sky clear and the air fresh. You think you’d be satisfied if you never made it to dinner and just walked around all night instead. Your feet might not thank you though. 

He takes you to a nice restaurant a few blocks over. A place as nice as this was always reserved for anniversary dates in the past, never for a first. This specific one Clark leads you into, you’d never been to. The reservations always too hard to come by.

You’re a little awestruck when you walk in. Your eyes dance around, taking it all in as you get seated. Beautiful artwork decorating the walls. The tables covered in pristine white linens. The lights are low and there’s music playing softly in the background. Clark pulls your chair out for you and pushes it in. 

“This place is so nice,” you say, as you sit. “How’d you even manage a reservation with so short notice?”

Clark looks a little sheepish, his shoulders hunching upwards towards his ears. 

“Oh I, uh- This is going to sound presumptuous and I apologize. I got one a while ago. It’s just taken me so long to work myself up to asking you out.” He says it like a confession. Something in you preens at the idea of Clark liking you so much, he’d plan so far ahead for a first date with you. 

Your nerves start to ease as the night progresses and maybe the bottle of red wine you share helps a bit too. It’s easy with Clark. As if you’ve always been doing this. It sends a thrill through you. 

Slowly but surely, your defenses start to come down. The hesitancy and fear that normally holds you back starts to fade. Clark starts to see you really shine with each new thing he learns and each new laugh that escapes you.

Just like he said when he asked you out, you get dessert after dinner. A rich slice of the most decadent chocolate cake you’ve ever had in your life. Your eyes close when you take the first bite, a delighted hum escaping you louder than you’d like. 

“Oh my god,” you open your eyes and the amused admiration in Clark’s eyes is clear as the moon in the sky. You get a little shy, your skin prickling under his gaze. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

You gesture for him to try it. Clark’s reaction almost mimics yours.

“Golly,” is all he says and you laugh a little at his choice of word, both of you going in for another bite. The cake is gone almost embarrassingly fast but you’re both too stuffed to care. The waiter drops off the check as you take your final sip of wine, draining the glass. 

He reaches for it without hesitation, doesn’t flinch at the total, just slides his card into the fold and sets it on the edge where it’s quickly retrieved. You fold your arms and rest them on the table, your hands holding on limply to the space above your elbows. 

The edges of you feel fuzzy. Your head is tilted a little towards your shoulder, a serene smile on your face. To Clark, you look radiant even in the dim lighting. When the waiter brings back his card, you watch as he signs and puts his card back in his wallet. 

He offers you his hand to help you out of your seat and neither of you let go as you walk out of the restaurant. In fact, you make the move to intertwine his fingers with yours and swing them a little between you. He pulls you into his side and you giggle, your shoulder bumping his bicep. 

You feel giddy head to toe. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the wine. Maybe it’s Clark’s fingers slotted between yours. Or the way he’s been looking at you all night.

All you know is you feel more happy than scared and it’s been so long since you’ve felt this way that you’ve forgotten how good it feels. And maybe it’s your lapse in memory or maybe it’s Clark but it feels even better this time around.

You’re laughing at something Clark says–he’s been making you do that a lot tonight–when there’s a call of your name. The laughter gets stuck in your throat and dies out quick, your steps faltering on the sidewalk. Clark’s eyes are swimming with concern when he looks at your face. 

“Is that you?” Ben’s voice is just like you remember it. You turn towards it and your hand falls out of Clark’s grip when you catch sight of him. Because standing next to him is Jane. Beautiful, alluring Jane who drank your wine at your hosted parties and probably slept in your bed when you weren’t around. 

You think you might be sick. 

“Oh my god, how are you?” Ben gives you a hug, like you’re still friendly and things ended amicably. Like the last time you saw him he didn’t put your heart through a paper shredder. Your limbs feel wooden as you half-heartedly reciprocate. Ben steps back and wraps his arm around Jane’s waist. “You remember Jane?”

She lifts her left hand in a wave and the streetlight overhead catches on the ring on her finger, making it glint. At least she looks a little awkward at the whole situation. You nod, a pounding starting to form behind your brow. 

“Yeah, I..I remember,” you reply. You take a deep breath, force yourself to smile and sound way more friendly than you feel. “Good to see you.”

The puzzle pieces start to click into place in Clark’s head. He’s not completely aware of your dating history but he’s easily figures out that’s what this is. And that you’re completely beside yourself. He’s quick to wrap an arm around your waist, steady and strong. You relax a bit without even realizing. 

Ben catches the motion and his eyebrows raise a hair. He has to look up at Clark, not by a lot but enough that you notice it if you’re paying close attention. And you are. Then Ben looks at you, silently waiting for an introduction.

“Oh. Ben,” his name tastes like venom on your tongue. “This is-”

“Clark Kent.” He finishes for you, taking a step forward and extending his hand. You think you can see Ben wince from Clark’s grip but it’s gone as soon as it arrives. (And if Clark put more of a grip into the handshake than normal, well that’s nobody’s business but his own.)

There’s a beat of silence that passes. The four of you stand on the sidewalk, almost mirror images of each other. The same wave of nausea passes over you, the pressure in your head getting worse.

“Well, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy,” Ben says, voice genuine. Something in you bristles at that, taking it more as one final nail in the coffin jab at you. Clark feels you stiffen in his hold. You’re not sure what to even say, lips parting but nothing coming out. 

It doesn’t seem to matter. Ben nods at you and Jane gives you a tight smile as they pass. You blink at their retreating figures. You’ve long since gotten over the love you held for him but you didn’t expect the pain of it all to still linger. 

You don’t want to let this one twisted encounter ruin the great night you’ve had with Clark but you can feel your reservations start to creep back in. It’s like Clark can see you start to slowly build those walls back up after he’d worked to pull them apart all night.

“Hey, you okay?” 

You focus on the good. The softness of his voice. The care in his eyes. The steadfast grip of his arm around your waist. You inhale and on your exhale, flash him a shaky smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, that was just…” A plethora of words dance around your head. Weird. Unexpected. Awful. Horrifying. “Strange.”

Clark nods and glances over his shoulder in the direction they walked off in. He looks back at you, your eyes locked where his just were. He clears his throat softly and your gaze finds his.

“Sorry but, I couldn’t stand that guy.” A sudden laugh, loud and genuine bursts out of you. A sentence so unlike Clark and yet, you can tell he means it. His eyes crinkle at the corners at the glow that’s started to come back to your face. He almost hadn’t noticed how dim you’d become in that guy’s presence. 

“Yeah,” you say, as your laughter dies down. Your smile softens. “Me too.”

Clark walks you home, conversation still full but maybe not as lively as it had been pre-Ben and Jane. You hate how they seem to haunt you like this. But you revel in how easy it was–and is–for Clark to make you laugh again. 

He expects the night to end at your doorstep but you invite him inside for a little while longer. You’re a little surprised, mostly delighted when he agrees. 

“Make yourself at home,” you say, kicking off your shoes and walking into your kitchen. Clark toes his shoes off and neatly arranges them next to yours. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Clark glances over and can see you grabbing two glasses down from a cupboard near your tiny stove. You set them on the counter and at his silence, look up to where he’s standing.

“Oh! Water’s fine.”

He takes interest in your photos hanging on the walls and the knick-knacks on your shelves. He particularly likes a corkboard you’ve got hung up with a bunch of mementos pinned: movie ticket stubs, fortunes from fortune cookies, postcards, one of your first how-to pieces from the Planet, a photobooth strip of you. 

You bring your drinks in, and set them on the coffee table, water for him and another glass of wine for you. You sit, knees pulled up on the couch and your feet tucked beneath you, your body facing Clark. You like how he looks sitting in your space. Like he fits right in. 

You talk for hours about anything and everything that seems to come to mind. You share the abridged version of Ben and Jane and your chest goes warm at how quick Clark notices your need for a subject change. He switches gears smoothly. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

The hours tick by without either of you paying much attention. Your drinks sit empty on the table and when the conversation lulls, you take them into the sink. Clark checks his watch when you leave the room. 

“Oh gosh, it’s late,” he says. You come out of the kitchen to an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up. I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

“Clark, it’s okay,” you shake your head with a smile. His mouth is twisted into an apologetic frown. 

“Still. I should let you get to bed.” Only then do you realize how tired you feel.

You walk him to your front door and watch him put his shoes back on. When he straightens up, you take a step closer to him.

“I had a really good time tonight.” You say softly. Your eyes shine in the dim lamplight. 

“Me too.” Clark smiles. He swallows and shifts on his feet. “Would you..wanna do this again?”

“I’d like that.” You nod, smiling widely up at him. He nods.

Clark leans down to hug you goodnight, his arms wrapping tight around your waist. Yours reach up and over his shoulders. Your body sinks into his and you think you could stay right there forever. After a beat, he pulls back but you don’t let go right away.

With your arms around his neck and his around your waist, it leaves hardly any space between you both. Suddenly, the air feels similar to the moment before lightning strikes nearby in a storm. Your gazes both fall from eyes to lips and back. 

Clark’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and you track the motion with your eyes. You swallow, lips parting only just. He starts to lean in and your eyelids start to flutter shut. Your hands are trembling from both anticipation and uncertainty. Not about him, but about the unknown. You send a quick plea outwards that he doesn’t notice. 

There’s no telling what lies on the other side of letting Clark kiss you, a faint warning siren echoing in the back of your mind. You decide to ignore it the second his lips brush against yours. You’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

The siren fades into a silent static hum, your senses flooded with ClarkClarkClark. Of the gentle press of his lips to yours, pliant and willing. Of the press of his body against yours as you eagerly push up to reciprocate. 

You wonder briefly why you hadn’t done this any sooner. There’s such an ease to it that you almost feel like you’re experiencing deja vu. Like there’s another version of you that wasn’t burned, that gets to kiss Clark like this all the time. You’re envious of her immediately.

His hands slide to your hips to pull you even closer to him and that dreaded siren breaks through the static in your brain. You pull back, your hands falling to his shoulders. Clark’s glasses are askew and have fogged up considerably but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Wait,” you say breathlessly. He’s quick to renew the gap of space between your bodies.

“Sorry-”

“No, no, it’s not- you’re okay,” you pause, chest heaving. You try to catch your breath, coming up short. Your arms fall from his shoulders as you take a step back. “I think I need a second.”

The wounded expression on Clark’s face makes you feel considerably worse. He resembles a confused, kicked puppy and you think you might be sick. 

You turn on your heel and make a beeline for the bathroom. Clark catches your shaking hand wiping at your eyes and doesn’t think twice before following after you. To apologize, if anything. Convinced he’s done something wrong enough to make you cry.

The counter of your bathroom is cold against your palms. You take a couple deep breaths in and out. Mentally kicking yourself because why can’t you just be normal about this and cursing Ben (and his bloodline, too) under your breath for causing your aversion to love in the first place. 

You turn the tap on, splashing cold water on your face in hopes that it’ll shock your system back to normal. Back to how it felt mere moments ago when you were kissing Clark. 

A gentle knock on the door makes you jump.

“Honey, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Your heart pinches, a piece of it chipping away at how sad he sounds. You don’t say anything for a beat. “Did I…” a defeated sigh, “sorry, did I do something wrong?”

You turn the water off. 

“Oh, Clark,” you sigh. He hears the lock click and then the door swings open. This time, his heart twists at the expression on your face. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just..”

You let out a sad laugh and then your eyes are pinching shut. You press your face into your hands.

“I’m just a mess.” Your words are muffled against your palms. Clark tsks in disagreement and takes a step towards you. His fingers circle around your wrists and he’s so soft with you, you think you might burst into tears all over again. 

“Hey, hey, no. Look at me,” his voice is equally tender and you let him pull your hands away. The reveal of your eyes shiny with unshed tears chips away at his heart. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m fine,” you sniffle, rapidly trying to blink away the tears. One slips past anyway and he quickly smooths it away.

“You’re most certainly not fine,” he says, voice still gentle but firm. Your shoulders slump. Clark sighs. “Let’s get you some water. That sound good?”

You nod, looking at the floor. He leads you over to your couch and sits you down before getting you a glass of water from the kitchen. He’s back faster than you expect and you whisper a quiet thank you when he hands you the water. 

He doesn’t sit until you’ve drunk a considerable amount. You cradle the cup in your hands, looking anywhere but at Clark. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally say. You spare a quick glance up at him. “It wasn’t anything you did, I promise. I just…I haven’t done this since..”

“Since Ben?” Clark fills in. You look at him with a small smile that’s equal parts embarrassed and sad. 

“Yeah. I just spooked myself a bit,” you say. Clark nods in understanding. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” he says, resting a hand on your knee. Your eyes focus on it. 

“Okay. I just don’t want you to think it’s because of you,” you say, gaze lifting to his eyes. They’re looking at you like you’re made of porcelain. He scoots a little closer to you on the couch and lightly brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His palm settles on your cheek. 

“We can take it slow, yeah?” Clark offers. You perk up, a little surprised. After all this, he still likes you. He still wants to try with you. The realization makes you ache. You nod, anyway.

Slow is perfect.

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The air outside has started to go cold, summer finally fading away into a brisk autumn. You’ve five more dates with Clark now under your belt. It’s slowly getting easier, less scary though you can’t deny that your brain continues to do risk assessments over each new romantic gesture.

He brings you a new assortment of flowers each time. The newest, a golden arrangement featuring sunflowers and dahlias, sits in the usual spot on your kitchen table. The sun reflects off the petals through the window. 

Clark’s at your apartment again in a handknit sweater his Ma made him, sat at the table and warming his hands with a cup of cocoa. Speaking of.. 

“My Ma is visiting this weekend,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“And she’d…like to meet you.” 

The world seems to still, your body going with it. You blink at him, lips parting and closing. 

“Oh!”

Clark rushes his words out, sensing the rising panic in your chest.

“You don’t have to, I know we’re taking it slow and this is definitely, probably not even remotely close to that. But I’ve talked about you so much she won’t stop asking about you, even before this started. It’s only if you want to.”

Your heart picks up at the image in your head of Clark including you in his updates to his Ma. It makes you burn from the inside, a sweetness pooling in your veins. He talks about you. The pendulum swings back and forth in your head as you consider it. 

“Okay,” you say. Clark raises an eyebrow at you.

“You’re sure?” When you nod, he beams. He gets up from his seat and comes over to press a kiss against the top of your head. His excitement is sweet to witness. “I’ll call and let her know.”

On Sunday, you go over to Clark’s for dinner. 

You shift nervously outside the door to his apartment. Your fingers are stiff from the brisk air outside and from the tight grip you have on the flowers you picked up on the way over. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, willing your body to still.

Then, you lift your fist and knock it against his door. You’re wiping your palm against the front of your pants when he answers the door. His smile is blinding.

“Hi,” he steps aside to let you in. The door closes behind you and he dips his head to kiss your cheek in greeting as you’re toeing off your shoes. “You look nice.”

“Hi,” You smile, nerves still going haywire beneath your skin. “Thanks.”

“Clark? Is she here?” You can hear her voice from the kitchen and you glance at Clark, grip tightening on the small bouquet in your hand. You’re a little nervous that it's not as nice as it could be. Clark presses a hand against the small of your back and you remember to breathe.

He leads you the short distance to the kitchen in lieu of a response. As soon as she sees you, her eyes light up. You smile nervously at her and give a small wave of your hand.

“Ma, this is-” Clark starts to say, but he’s quickly cut off. 

“You must be, y/n!” Her accent is thick as honey and it warms your heart. 

“Hi,” you hope your voice doesn’t sound as nervous as you feel. “These are for you, Mrs. Kent.”

You hold out the flowers to her and she takes them with a soft audible aw. Then she’s pulling you into a hug and saying, “call me Martha.”

It takes you a beat to huge her back. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been hugged like this. Different from how Clark hugs you, different from your own mother’s hugs. This one has a specific air of home to it that’s overwhelming. 

You look at Clark over her shoulder who looks extra smiley.  When she pulls back, she looks at the flowers again. Then she turns to Clark who already has a hand extended to take them and go put them in water. 

“Clark has told me so much about you,” she says. A hand, weathered and gentle from age touches your cheek. “You’re even more beautiful than he described.”

“Ma,” Clark says, from the kitchen sink. You smile, loving that boyish part of him that still gets embarrassed when his mom shares something she probably shouldn’t. Martha tsks and angles herself slightly to look at him, her hand falling away.

“I’m serious, Clark.” She turns to you and lowers her voice a smidge. “He’s always talking about you, it's hard to get him to stop. I knew I had to meet the girl he’s so sweet on from the second he mentioned you.”

You can feel your skin start to flush. Your eyes catch onto Clark who’s arranging the flowers in the vase and setting them on his own kitchen table. 

“You’re the only girl he’s ever been like this over,” she says almost conspiratorially. Your body softens, something distantly familiar coursing through your veins. Clark catches your eye and smiles at you and it leaves you a little dizzy. 

When the food is ready, the two of them fall into a rhythm, bringing dishes to the table. Watching the two of them interact, you can tell where Clark gets it from. His mannerisms and certain words and phrases in his vernacular. 

Clark pulls out both yours and Martha’s chairs when you sit to eat. The food is delicious and you make a note to ask Martha for recipes when the night ends. 

It’s as easy to talk to her as it is Clark. She asks questions about you and your job and your family. And she also asks about you and Clark. How you met and when you started “going steady” as she puts it. You’re particularly fond of the stories she shares about Clark when he was little. Even more fond of the red blush that covers his cheeks at the more embarrassing ones. 

In the back of your mind though you can’t get Martha’s words out of your head. 

You’re the only girl he’s ever been like this over. 

It unnerves you slightly. And at the same time, you wonder how you could even begin to describe how much it means to you to have his Ma treat you so kind and warm. Like you’re already part of the family. Your mind starts to analyze a risk assessment, a voice in the back of your mind poking and prodding and whispering that something this good has to come down. 

Clark reaches for your hand at the table and gives it a quick squeeze, momentarily pulling you out of your spiral. You look at him with a soft smile, ever grateful and surprised that he can read you so well.

At the end of the night, Martha hugs you tight again and you soak it in. 

“It was so good to meet you, dear,” she says, pulling back from the hug. Her hands hold onto your forearms.

“You too,” you smile and she gives your arms a squeeze. She looks at Clark, who’s holding your purse for you in his hand. 

“You make sure she gets home safe, Clark.” 

Clark lips twitch. “I know, Ma. I always do.”

He’s true to his words, walks you safely home and all the way to your door like he always does. You linger outside the door until you’re toeing the line of inviting him in. He kisses you goodnight, soft and sweet, his hand cradling your jaw and yours pressed against his chest. 

It quiets your brain enough for you to get to bed but when you wake up the next morning, it’s racing immediately again. You’re distracted during the work day and no matter how much you try, you can’t get it to stop. A steady downward spiral.

Clark comes home with you after work. You’re unusually quiet on the walk to your apartment and through dinner–leftovers from the night before that Martha insisted you take home with you.

You clear the table of dishes and Clark helps you wash up. When the two of you go to sit on your couch, Clark sits first and holds out a hand. 

“C’mere,” he says, all but pulling you to sit in his lap, though really you might as well be straddling him. For the first time all day, the chatter in your brain starts to dim. “What’s wrong? You’ve been unusually quiet all day.”

You look down at your hands in your lap and shrug. You’re not sure how to phrase it even if you tried. 

“It’s..nothing. It’s silly,” you finally say, still refusing to look at him.

“Hey,” his voice is a soft caress against your skin, gentle like his fingers that tilt your cheek so you look at him. “It’s just me. You can tell me.”

Your gaze roves his face, stars in your eyes. Clark pushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your cheek like a feather. His eyes haven’t once strayed from yours. 

A shiver runs down your spine and you try not to squirm. It’s still new being seen like this. Like he’s looking right through you, straight into the messy walls of your subconscious. You swallow, your mouth dry and the words hang in a lump in your throat.

“Just..when I met your mom yesterday,” you can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, feeling a little silly. Clark’s looking at you, so tenderly it squeezes your heart in your chest. “She hugged me. Like really hugged me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and something shimmers in his eyes as he scans your face. One hand rubs against your arm and his thumb on the other spreads a tear across the apple of your cheek as he wipes it away.

“Honey, that’s a good thing. Yeah?” 

“I-” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, nodding though your shoulders inch up towards your ears. “Yeah. Yes. I dunno, it just…”

Your shoulders drop on an exhale and your eyes flutter open and latch onto his. Clark looks at you with quiet reassurance. His fingertips trail against the skin of your arms featherlight while he waits for you to finish your thought.

“It felt like home,” your voice is so quiet it’s almost a whisper. Clark's eyes seem to soften even more than they already were. The corners of your mouth twitch into a small smile. You look away to wipe at your eyes, damp fingertips coming to rest along the side of his neck.  “Been a while since I’ve had that.”

Your eyes lock back on his. Something familiar is swirling in his eyes, your breath getting stuck in your throat for the briefest of moments. Your heart starts to play a symphony against your ribcage. Clark’s hands have migrated to the small of your back.

“You’re starting to feel like home,” he says. Your fingers against his neck can feel the timbre of his voice. There’s a rush of warmth that covers you from head to toe. It’s dizzying enough to leave you a little nauseous, though there’s a fleeting thought that wonders if it’s because his words feel like a euphemism for the L word. 

Despite the onslaught of emotion you feel, your lips start to curl into a giddy smile just as Clark leans in to kiss you. His lips slot against yours, slow and sure and it’s enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Your smile gets kissed away but the giddiness doesn’t fade.

His hands on your back pull you closer towards him and your thumbs press against his jawline. Your body feels like it’s starting to liquify in his arms as you melt against him. You pull back and Clark steals one more lingering kiss from you. It elicits another soft smile.

You don’t open your eyes right away, breathing in deep through your nose as you press your forehead against his. His thumbs rub circles against your back and his nose nudges yours. You blink your eyes open and lean back enough to look at him fully. 

You run a hand through the mess of curls on his head, eyes as soft as the edges of your smile. Clark’s looking at you like you hung the moon. The simplest of thoughts pops into your head. A flash of fear shocks your body. You push the feeling down and away, locking it up deep in the gooey center of your heart.

But you can’t lock away the thought that races around your brain like a news headline. 

You’re a thousand percent, without a doubt, in love with Clark Kent.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

It’s an almost difficult realization for you in the coming days. The familiar dip in your stomach, a pull on your heart, like passing by an old friend in the grocery store. Things are safe with Clark, you’re safe with Clark. But it doesn’t quell the stutter of fear in the beat of your heart that’s been opening itself back to love.

You can’t help it but you do the best thing you know how. You pull away even though it’s twisting your heart into knots. A part of you hopes that he’ll break things off if you push hard enough. Maybe it’ll hurt less that way.

Because what if you love him too much, too hard that he slips away? In your head, it’s better to withdraw now and first before he ever gets the chance to. Logically, you know it’s unlike Clark but you can’t help it. You’re not feeling very rational right now. Common sense has seemed to fly right out the window.

Clark feels utterly confused. You keep things about the same at work but the second you get home, he can feel you pulling away. You stop answering his calls. You don’t let him kiss you, barely let him hold your hand. 

He goes into fix-it mode, trying to retrace his steps and figure out if maybe he did something but he comes up short. He tries talking to you about it but you shrug it off, insisting everything is fine when he can clearly tell it’s not. 

He decides that maybe you just need a day or two to yourself and he acquiesces, giving you the space that he thinks you need. When he does, you think maybe he’s finally pulling away too and even though it makes you ache, you think it’s for the best.

But when space doesn’t work and you still won’t talk he knows something is really wrong. In his head, he makes a loose plan. He’ll get you to talk to him somehow, if anything to just get some kind of closure if you’ve decided this isn’t something you want to pursue with him anymore. The thought makes him ache but he has to know.

A couple weekends after dinner with his mom, you’re in your apartment staring at the wilted flowers on your kitchen table, wondering if you should maybe get rid of them. But that feels like getting rid of Clark somehow and you can’t bring yourself to do either of those things. 

There’s a knock on your door and your heart knows it’s him before you do. You open the door and there he stands. His nose is pink from the cold and there’s a sadness so heavy in his eyes it stabs at the tender bits of your heart. 

“We need to talk,” he says, and then at the last second, “please.”

You don’t say anything, just step aside to make room for him to come in. You close the door behind him with a click.

“What’s going on?” he asks as soon as you turn around. You fold your arms, hugging them to you like some kind of armor. 

“What do you mean?” you try to play a little dumb and Clark huffs. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him anything close to angry. 

“You know what I mean. It’s what I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me about for weeks.” he sounds the slightest bit exasperated. “You won’t talk to me outside of work anymore. You won’t let me close enough to do much of anything. You’ve stopped returning my calls. It’s like you’ve completely pulled away.”

He sounds hurt more than anything. 

“Did I do something? What happened?” 

You close your eyes and sigh. “No Clark, you didn’t do anything. Nothing…happened.”

“Then why. Why are you pulling away?”

“Maybe we’re just better as friends!” you burst out, arms falling to your sides. “We were moving too fast. Maybe it’s just…easier if we just go back to being friends. Nothing more.”

“Don’t do that,” he says and you blink at him. Your eyebrows furrow. 

“What? I’m not-” you pinch the bridge of your nose. Your words have started leaving you both so fast your sentences almost overlap. “Clark-”

“You’re quitting before things get tough. You can’t do that.”

“What? I’m not..I’m not quitting. God, Clark I-” your voice starts to break. “I’m trying to protect myself. I’m terrified.”

Clark’s shoulders soften. “Terrified?”

“Yes,” you say and now the words won’t stop spilling out of you. “I’m scared to death of…of this. Of you! Of us! Of…of all of it! I’m scared.”

Clark looks like a kicked puppy again.

“Me? Us?” his voice sounds so small and your heart twists. “Why?” 

“Because I..” you’re almost panting. “Because I love you, Clark. I love you and it scares me because I never wanted to fall in love again. I never wanted to risk the pain of losing someone again. I didn’t want to risk the possibility of things ending just like they did with Ben three years ago.

And then I met you and I just knew if anyone would change my mind it would be you. The thought of being loved by you scared me and at the same time I was scared by how much I wanted that. And I tried not to but falling in love with you was the easiest thing for me to do.”

You’re not sure when you started crying or when Clark got close enough to be able to wipe your tears away with his thumbs. He looks pained at the sight of your tears but beneath that is a joy so vibrant it almost glows.

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice is a soft melody in your ears. “I love you, too.”

It doesn’t sound as scary to you when he says it outloud. You sniffle, unable to fight the smile that spreads across your face. It’s teary and you’ve got a sudden worry that your nose is running. 

“You do? Even still?”

Clark lets out a soft laugh and nods, wiping away fresh tears that have fallen over your cheeks. “Yeah, honey, I do. Even still.”

“It’s an awful lot of work,” you say. Through a wet laugh, “I’m a mess, clearly.”

“No it’s not. Not for me. Not when it’s you.” 

The look in his eyes is so intense and serious, you’ve no choice but to believe him. Your heart soars. You sniffle again, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. Your fingers curl themselves into the fabric of the sweatshirt he’s wearing.

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?” you tease and it pulls a smile out of Clark. He presses his lips to yours, so tender and soft, it leaves you melting like that ice cream cone he bought you what seems like a lifetime ago.  

Love this go around feels familiar, but it’s different, better even in all the right ways. It’s like returning from a lifelong journey and sinking into a hug. 

It feels like coming home.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

as usual, tagging some people who might be interested (if not u can ignore) & those who asked hehehe: @stevebabey @brettsgoldstein @almightyellie @katsu28 @sanguineterrain @anonymouse1807 @superemobitch @manicandobsessive @clonesdserveb3tter @lalameors @celestialend @claudiwithachanceof @pessimisticmoon @clarkstwin @cupid4prez

[fakemouthstaticpilot]

I am still of the belief that the original plan was to have Buck and Tommy get back together at the end of the season.

The break up was early to be able to show Buck pining, show the audience just how in love with Tommy he is.

The hookup was both to show the audience that they both wanted to try again and to shut down Buddie.

But, with the death of Bobby, they realized that that's what they needed to focus on. As rushed as everything else was, they didn't want to rush the reconciliation.

And that's why we got Tommy watching Buck on the monitor added at the last minute.

Tim wants Buck and Tommy to be his new Tarlos.

[steddieas-shegoes]

if you love me right, then who knows?

for @steddiesongfics inspired by the song Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

also on ao3

rated e, 18+, minors dni | 1,782 words | cw: unprotected sex | tags: friends with benefits, dom/sub implications, dom eddie, sub steve, top eddie, bottom steve, breeding kink, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, love confessions, idiots in love

🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻🫄🏻

Steve knows better than to be seen with Eddie in public. Word will get back to his parents and he’ll be shipped off to a cousin’s house or some university states away that he wouldn’t have gotten into without bribery involved.

He only sees him late at night, at his trailer or in the woods, and he makes sure his car is hidden or parked a good distance away.

He gets fucked good.

Eddie knows every button to push, every word to say, every name that gets under his skin.

Well, except for one thing. One thing Steve would never tell him about.

***

He is desperate to get fucked in his own bed. Like, if he could be wet for it, he would be. Actually, he is a little wet for it. His dick is leaking, rubbing against his boxers uncomfortably.

Eddie is busy tonight or so he says, had to cancel their not-date at the last minute after Steve was already a little worked up from thinking about Eddie holding him down in his backseat and fucking him, not letting him come until he’d already gotten off. He could get himself off, but Eddie didn’t say he could.

And he always listens to what Eddie says.

There’s a tap on his window and he jumps. A shadow passes and he hopes it’s the tree branch that he keeps meaning to get trimmed.

Another tap. Steve gets out of bed and rushes over to the window.

If he’s gonna die, he’s gonna face the killer head on.

“Jesus, Stevie, it’s freezing. Can you unlock the window faster before I lose the dick you love so much?”

Steve does as Eddie asks because he always does. Cold immediately seeps into the room, following Eddie like a shadow.

He kicks off his boots and throws off his jacket as Steve closes and locks the window.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He whisper-yells.

“My appointment canceled! I figured you could still use a goodnight fuck,” Eddie’s charming smile usually wins him over, but his heart’s still racing and he feels a shiver wrack through his body. Eddie’s smile falls. “Or not?”

“I’m not gonna be your second choice, Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie!” Steve takes a deep breath. His mom is asleep in her room, probably passed out from too much wine. “You can’t just show up to fuck me because you’re bored!”

Eddie crowds him against the bay window.

“You think I came here because I’m bored?” Eddie grits out between his teeth. He’s mad.

Steve likes getting under his skin a little.

“You think I’d ever choose to meet other people in the woods for anything other than selling drugs to buy you nice things? You think I wouldn’t spend every waking second buried in you if I could?” Eddie’s breath is hot against Steve’s parted lips, his eyes nearly black. “You think I’m not always thinking about being with you?”

Steve gulps. He shakes his head.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me, do you?”

He doesn’t. Or he doesn’t let himself think that far. He convinces himself he’s just the best fuck Eddie has, not that he’s actually special to him.

“You have no idea how bad I wanna take you away from here, find us a cozy little house, find a real job. I’d give you everything,” Eddie’s hand wraps around his neck, fingertips resting against his pulse. “A ring, an RV, a white picket fence, 2.5 kids. Anything.”

Steve whimpers.

“Don’t tease me,” Steve says. He doesn’t like this kind of teasing.

Eddie’s lips are bruising against his, and his hand tightens around his throat. Steve knows what to do if he doesn’t want this.

He moans into the kiss.

“Not teasing. You’ve got me so wrapped around your finger and you don’t even fuckin’ realize it,” Eddie growls against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “Wanna give you everything. Anything. Name it, it’s yours.”

Steve feels lightheaded as he answers, “Want a baby, gimme a baby.”

“Yeah? You want me to knock you up?” Eddie plays along because he’s a good sport, even if he doesn’t mean all this, even if he’s just playing a game with Steve. “Bet your parents would hate that. Their precious angel unwed and pregnant with the local drug dealer’s baby.”

Steve can’t think, can only nod as Eddie pushes him down so he’s sitting on the bench of the window. He’s leaning over him, towering in the darkness of the room.

“You’d be the perfect little housewife, wouldn’t you? Probably drop to your knees the second I get home from work, supper on the stove, belly so round you’d need help getting back up,” Eddie grins against his neck, he feels his teeth against his pulse. “Maybe I’d fuck you so full, you’d have twins. How many you want me to give you, baby?”

Steve moans again, and Eddie covers his mouth with his hand. Steve’s dick jumps in his boxers.

“Hush. We can’t wake your mom up. Not until I’m done filling you up.”

“But-“ Steve’s gonna play into this. It may be the only time he gets to experiment with this thing that’s been nagging at him for weeks, months. “Will you still wanna fuck me once you’ve knocked me up?”

He knows he sounds ridiculous, knows he probably looks ridiculous with his round eyes and pouty lips. Eddie likes when he gets like this, though.

“Baby, I’m never gonna wanna stop.”

He’s naked seconds later, legs thrown over Eddie’s shoulder as he eats him out on his knees. For all the talk of Steve kneeling, Eddie’s always the first to worship. Steve’s head falls back against the cold glass of the window, sharp enough to remind him he needs to be quiet.

Eddie’s licking into him, pushing fingers in until Steve’s squirming so much he’s nearly bent in half.

“Need you,” he pants. “Fill me up. C’mon, please.”

His back and neck will be sore tomorrow, but he’s used to compromising positions. At least there’s a cushion under his ass.

“I’m gonna give you what you need,” Eddie slides his cock into Steve as he talks. No condom; it would ruin the illusion. They go without every time now. They didn’t really talk about it, but Steve knows Eddie takes safety seriously. He wouldn’t do this if he was worried about anything. “Gonna fuck you ‘til it takes.”

Steve whines as Eddie drills into him, not giving him any time to adjust. He likes it like this; hard and fast. There’s less time to think about how much he loves him.

He gets lost in it, like he always does, letting his mind wander to the possibilities that aren’t really there. He wonders what would happen if he could get pregnant. Would Eddie still play into this so much? Would he let him?

Eddie’s hand on his cock takes him from his thoughts.

“Look at me.” Steve does. He loves him, he hates what’s coming. “You’re gonna come first. Heard it helps.”

Steve keeps playing along because this is what he wanted. Isn’t it?

He wanted to explore this strange part of him, and Eddie didn’t even know before tonight, but he’s playing his part like he’s coming for an Oscar. Maybe he’s into it, too.

“C’mon, precious boy,” Eddie hums against his lips before he kisses him. “Come for me.”

It’s the way he says it, precious boy. Like Steve is precious. Like he loves him, too.

Steve’s legs are shaking as Eddie’s hips stutter and stop, his cock pulsing inside him. He feels some of his cum dripping, somehow escaping despite how tight he is. His neck is bent at a weird angle and it aches, but he’s not gonna be the first to stop this.

Eddie always is.

Eddie kisses his chest, right above where his heart is trying to beat through his skin. It’s softer than Steve’s expecting.

He pulls out and helps Steve up, walks him to the bed. Steve doesn’t want him to leave, but knows he won’t stay.

Eddie watches him, Steve can feel his attention through his closed eyes. It’ll be gone soon, so he basks in it, rests one hand on his stomach and one above his head.

Eddie breathes out shakily.

His hand comes down to cover Steve’s over his stomach.

“Think it worked?”

Steve’s eyes shoot open. His heart stops.

“Don’t tease me, seriously,” Steve sounds breathless, a little scared.

Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead. “I’m not teasing you. Didn’t know you were into this.”

“Me either,” Steve admits, still shocked this is how his night’s going.

“I meant it, ya know.”

“What?”

“All of it. I’d give you anything. If you wanted a dozen kids, I’d find a way to start tonight,” Eddie swallows around the words, sounding and looking more nervous by the second. “I’d steal you away and we’d live in some rundown apartment until we saved up enough to buy a house a few towns over. I’d build a swingset in the yard and plant flowers for you to look at.”

Steve giggles, rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to keep-“

“Steve.” Eddie’s tone makes him shut up. “I need you to listen to me.”

“Okay,” he’s so quiet, he isn’t even sure he spoke it aloud.

“I meant it. I want you tonight, and tomorrow, and the rest of the tomorrows I’ve got, which will never be enough. I wanna figure out how to make a life for both of us.”

Steve has to be dreaming. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his.

“You climbed on my roof,” Steve says dumbly. He just realized Eddie’s never come to his house, never taken that step before. It felt like crossing a line. “You came to me.”

“And in you.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but a weight is lifting from his chest, a smile growing on his face.

“You meant it.”

“I wanna have more than backseats of cars and behind a tree. I want you always, everywhere, any way I can have you,” Eddie lifts his hand and kisses his fingertips. “All the ways I can have you.”

Steve’s already given himself in more ways than Eddie even realizes. He belongs to Eddie, has belonged to him for a while.

“Then have me. I’m right here. Been right here.”

Eddie stays. It’s probably not smart because his mom’s been known to walk into his room much too early to ask stupid questions about his plans for the day.

It’s hard to think about that when Eddie’s wrapped around him, keeping him from falling anywhere but deeper in love.

[sneakybiskit]

forever it is

After they get married, Tommy and Buck spend the night celebrating.

Part 2 of in every universe

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Tommy Kinard

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Wedding Night

Married Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard

Smut

Fluff and Smut

Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Porn with Feelings

Anal Sex

Making Love

Gentle Sex

Dorks in Love

[read it now on ao3]

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Healed Masterlist

"You saved his life. I'm asking you to help him keep it."

Joel Miller x Doctor Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one. Warnings: alternating pov, injury, eventual smut, mutual pining, fluff, domesticity in the apocalypse, joel survives, medical jargon, blood, sponge baths Chapters will have individual warnings.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Convalescence Chapter 2 - Awake Chapter 3- Steps Chapter 4- Listen Chapter 5- Adjust Chapter 6- Ground Chapter 7- Care Chapter 8- Dance Chapter 9- Commitment Chapter 10- Hope Chapter 11- Home Chapter 12- Walls

Healed, The Video Edit Healed Playlist

—- Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on updates to be alerted when a new chapter drops!