Husband Jack Abbot, who loves slapping the tip of his cock against your tongue before letting you suck him off…I’m obsessed!
Jack reached his hand out, gently caressing the back of your neck, keeping you still while you knelt in front of him, clearly desperate to taste, desperate to feel his heavy, thick cock on your tongue. He couldn’t help but use your desperation against you, teasing you while looking into your eyes.
Your beautiful eyes, which held back tears caused by his teasing. How could you possibly not cry? You’d been waiting for him to come home all night, and now he's withholding the only thing you'd been thinking about for the past twelve hours.
Meanwhile, Jack is trying to maintain his own sense of self-control, but he is failing miserably, too. There's nothing he enjoys more than the feeling of your mouth around him after a long day.
The way your eyes sparkle as he finally, finally, allows you to wrap your lips around his cock was more than worth the wait. He couldn't help but let out a deep groan of relief, his body leaning forward slightly as he wraps your hair around his fist.
When Justice Gang starts a new initiative to work with other superhero groups across the country and Checkmate is chosen for the trial run, you’re assigned to work the breaking story. After all, your best friend is a founder of the company. Clark is happy for you. He really is. But…why are you friends with these people?
Basically I wrote adrian vs. superman and y'all ate it up so here's the reverse as requested by @bunch-of-bens which is somehow double the length!! <3
tags/warnings: jealous!Clark, journalist!reader, frequent cameos from the Justice Gang and the 11th Street Kids
Thank you @embeanwrites for the beta I desperately needed it for this mammoth fic you're a real one!!
Masterlist
He disappears constantly, never explains. Always timed perfectly with the breaking news. When he returns, he’s always a mess. Windblown hair, a smudge of ash on his neck. You imagine him rushing to clean himself up in the bathroom, missing a spot. Then he flashes his bright, charming smile at you, maybe a shy little wave, and he sits down at his desk to write the latest exclusive front-page interview, which is just the icing on the cake.
Clark Kent is doing some vigilante superhero shit.
You’ve been through this before. You know the signs. You do.
It’s like Adrian all over again.
Lois knows. You know she does, because she’s always glancing over at Clark’s empty desk, worried, when there’s metahuman shit going down on the tv screens, and making pointed comments about his articles. Jimmy might know, too, because he always glances Clark’s way when Superman comes up in conversation.
You can’t believe no one else has noticed. None of them are subtle about it at all.
“Fucking amateurs,” you mutter into your coffee cup.
“Don’t let dear old Clark hear you talking like that,” Jimmy says, startling you, and you nearly spit out your coffee all over the papers on your desk. Instead you choke it down and try not to cough as it goes down the wrong pipe.
“Fuck, Jimmy, you scared the shit out of me,” you say.
You do have a bit of a sailor’s vocabulary that makes Clark blush. (Maybe you swear more than you probably should, at your place of work, just to see that pretty pink flush on his cheeks). You blame Adrian’s bad influence.
The man in question rushes into the bullpen. You glance at the clock. Only two minutes late this morning, which has to be a personal record for him. Probably because there was no alien bullshit going on this morning that Superman had to deal with. Despite that, his tie is still crooked. So are his glasses.
And you are so, so enamored by him. You want to melt into a puddle every time you see him. Handsome and kind and respectful and—god. You never stood a chance.
“Morning,” Clark says. He’s talking to everyone, but he looks at you when he says it. You smile shyly into your coffee cup, watching him put his briefcase on his desk.
Is the suit stuffed in there? You’ve never seen him open it. No one else carries one. What does he keep in there, a legal pad? Pens? Who even writes down paper notes anymore? You all keep notes on your phone, your voice recorders—
Your train of thought is interrupted by the buzzing of your cellphone on your desk. You glance down at it and your brow furrows, accepting the call, picking up your coffee mug, and making your way toward the break room as you press the phone to your ear.
“Guess what?” Adrian says. No hi, hello, how are you. Straight and to the point. Typical.
“Why the fuck are you awake right now?” you ask him. It’s nine in the morning for you, which means it’s even earlier for him—six a.m., if you’re not mistaken, and he is not a morning person.
“I just got back from patrol,” he says. “I never went to bed, I got a tip about this drug shipment and I was doing a stake out—”
“Ade, you have to sleep if you’re going to be a functional human being,” you remind him. You know his job at Checkmate starts in a few hours.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” he insists. “Now guess what!”
“Umm, you saw a really cool bird while you were on patrol?”
“No. I did see a cute fox! I followed it for a while because I wanted to hear it make a noise, because—have you heard that song What Does the Fox Say?—I don’t believe foxes make any of those noises—”
“Adrian,” you interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “I know you didn’t call me at 6 a.m. to talk about fox noises.”
“Right! I’m moving to Metropolis next week!”
You choke on your coffee for the second time in the last ten minutes, because that was the last thing you were expecting him to say.
“You’re—what?”
“Not permanently! But for a couple months,” Adrian says excitedly. “Checkmate is participating in a new program with the Justice Gang. They’re trying to work with more superhero groups across the country, and Ads submitted an application, and they picked us to be first!”
“Oh my god,” you say. “That’s—that’s incredible, Ade—”
“We get to hang out in person! For the first time in like, a thousand years!”
You smile. “I just saw you at Christmas, you drama queen, and it’s only the second week of January. But I know what you mean.”
Adrian yawns on the other end of the line, and you roll your eyes.
“Would you go to sleep for like, an hour, at least, before you need to go to work?”
“Don’t wanna,” Adrian says petulantly.
“Go sleep,” you order, smiling. He’s like an overtired toddler when he pulls an all-nighter for a patrol. “I’m at work, and I have to go talk to my boss, okay?”
“Are you actually going to talk to your boss, or are you going to talk to Clark with his curly hair and his dimples?” he asks. You feel your cheeks get hot. You never should have told him about your stupid crush on your coworker. He never misses an opportunity to tease you about it.
“I am actually going to talk to my boss, Adrian,” you say. “Just like you are actually going to bed right now.”
“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll talk to you later. Love you, bestie.”
“Love you too, bestie.”
When Adrian hangs up, you don’t hesitate. You stalk right over to Perry’s office and knock firmly on the frame of the open door. He looks up with a raised eyebrow, unlit cigar dangling from his lips, and sits back in his chair.
“What’s going on, kid?” he asks. You step further inside and sit in the chair across from his desk.
“I want to cover the new Justice Gang initiative,” you say firmly. Perry raises his eyebrows.
“I just got an email about that this morning. How the hell did you even know—“
“I’ve got connections at Checkmate,” you explain. “The vigilante company that they’re doing this trial run with? I know the founders. The people who work there will feel comfortable talking with me. I know I haven’t covered any metahuman stories before, but I am the right person for this story. I know I am.”
Perry looks at you. You’ve never stormed in here and—demanded something like this, and you think he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.
But you want it. You want it bad. This is your chance to make the front page for the first time.
“This is going to be a big piece,” he says. “Several articles, over a couple weeks. Maxwell Lord reached out to me directly. He wants a Daily Planet exclusive.”
“I can handle it,” you insist.
“I know you can,” Perry says, and your heart races. “So I’ll give it to you. As a joint piece with Miss Lane. She’s got a working relationship with the Justice Gang, and if you know the folks over at Checkmate, that covers both bases, and you can check each other’s biases.”
You smile, wide, practically vibrating with excitement. “Thank you, Chief.”
He makes a face. “Don’t call me Chief. Now go, get back to work. I’ll forward you the details, you and Lane can hash things out together.”
“Clark,” Lois hisses.
Clark pushes his glasses up his nose and turns around in his swivel chair, abandoning his latest Superman interview draft.
“Why are you whispering?” he whispers back.
“Supply closet. Now,” Lois demands, and she stalks off. Clark watches her go with wide eyes.
“What did you do to piss her off?” Jimmy asks.
“I’m about to find out,” Clark mutters.
When he stands up, it catches your attention, and you glance up from your monitor. Clark flushes with your watchful eyes on him, sees them narrow with a bit of curiosity. Maybe suspicion.
He feels vulnerable. He always does, when you look at him. It’s like your gaze strips him bare, like you can see right through him. It makes him—restless. In a good way.
“You’d better go, before she comes back with a vengeance,” you say, smirking and nodding in the direction that Lois stalked off.
Clark blushes. He does that a lot around you. His cheeks are perpetually hot and pink when you’re in his vicinity. He goes to follow Lois, feeling the heat in his face and your eyes on his back.
He meets Lois in the hallway. She glances around, makes sure it’s clear, and yanks him inside the storage closet.
“Ah—geez, Lois,” Clark says, his head bumping into a high shelf. Some cleaning supplies tumble over, and he tries to catch them, but he just bumps into another shelf and makes things worse.
“Ow,” Lois grumbles when he accidentally elbows her in the chest. Clark flushes even more, if that’s physically possible.
“Sorry, sorry—” It’s tight, shoved in there with her, and he tries to press himself back further away from her, to make himself smaller, to no avail. “Some warning would be nice. Why are we hiding in the closet?”
“You have a problem,” Lois says, voice low.
“O…kay?” Clark says nervously. He thinks about the way you looked at him just now, your questioning gaze on his back as he walked away. “What is my problem?”
“The new Justice Gang initiative,” Lois says.
“Um,” Clark says, brow furrowing, because that is not what he was expecting. “I thought that was a pretty good idea? Mr. Terrific brought it up; it seems like a good thing. Working with more superhero groups across the country, creating a more united network. Wait a minute—how do you even know about tha—”
“Because Maxwell Lord wants a Daily Planet exclusive piece written up about it.”
“Oh,” Clark says. “Did Perry assign it to you? Why is that a problem?”
“It’s a dual assignment,” Lois says.
“Shoot,” Clark says. “Well—we can work with that, right? Who is the other—”
“Your girlfriend.”
The color drains from Clark’s face. He doesn’t even have it in him to point out that you’re not his girlfriend, or be embarrassed about his debilitating crush on you, because he’s too busy thinking about all the thousand ways that this could go wrong.
“Ah, hell,” he says.
“Wow,” Lois says. “That’s the closest thing to a real swear word I’ve ever heard you say. You kiss your mother with that mouth, Kent?”
“What am I going to do?” Clark asks, fisting his hair in his hands in a panic. “She’s gonna know. Instantly, Lois. Maybe I could get away with it if they didn’t call me by my name—I could ask them to—gosh, why do I tell everybody my name?”
“You really think Guy Gardner is gonna be able to keep his big mouth shut? You need to tell her, Clark. She needs to find out about Superman from you. Not on the job.”
“This isn’t how I wanted to do it,” he whispers, distraught. “She—what if she—”
The supply closet door swings open to reveal you, startling both of them. Lois gives Clark a worried look. If he was so absorbed in his panic he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching with his super ears, he really is a mess over you, and it’s more serious than she realized.
“Hey guys,” you say lightly. “I assume you guys are talking about the Justice Gang piece?”
They stare at you.
“Okay. Right. Um, Lois, is it okay if I talk to Clark for a minute?”
Lois looks between you and Clark once, then twice, before she steps out of the closet hesitantly. Clark stares at you, open-mouthed, like he wants to say something, but he’s forgotten how to talk.
You step into the spot that Lois has vacated and shut the door. Clark’s breath hitches, and if his cheeks were pink before, now they’re bright, flaming red. It’s one thing to be shoved up against Lois in here, but with you—
“Did you want to—it’s um, hot in here, gosh,” he says, tugging at his tie, trying not to think about the fact that he’s crammed into this confined space with you pressed up against him, all soft and pretty, with your wide, bright eyes blinking up at him. He swallows nervously. “We can go somewhere els—”
“I already know,” you say. Soft. Quiet. “That you’re Superman.”
Clark gapes at you, frozen in place, because—what?
“I won’t tell anyone,” you assure him. “My best friend back home is a vigilante. I know how this works. With the whole—secret identity thing, and all. My lips are sealed.”
“Y-you—h-how did you—” he stutters. He doesn’t deny it. He would never insult your intelligence like that; you’re one of the smartest people he knows. But he never, in a thousand years, would have guessed that you knew.
“I just—” Now it’s your turn to flush red. “I pay a lot of attention. To you.”
“You do?” Clark asks. He tries not to be too pleased about that, but—if you’re watching him, as much as he’s watching you…
Does that mean you’re wanting him, too, as much as he’s wanting you?
“I do,” you say softly. “I promise you, your secret is safe with me.”
He stares at you, and you stare right back at him. Your heart rate is even, steady in his ears. You’re breathing a little faster than normal, but that could easily be attributed to the tiny, confined space you’re shoved into right now.
“I trust you,” he says after a moment. He really, really does.
You smile. “I’m glad.”
You both just look at each other for an awkward moment. Clark feels like he should say something more. He doesn’t know what. But the last two minutes have given him absolute whiplash, and his brain has elected to stop functioning.
“I should probably go talk to Lois,” you say. “Make a plan for this assignment.”
He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, uh—if you need anything, I—well. Let me know. And, uh, if you have any—well, questions, about the whole—” His voice drops to a whisper. “Superman thing. We can…talk? Maybe…do dinner? At my place, or yours?”
He winces at what a mess of a sentence that was, if it can even be called that. He should be grateful he even managed to get any words out at all.
“I would like that,” you say, a little shy. “I’ll—text you? When I get home tonight?”
“Yeah,” Clark nods. “I mean—yes. Yes, please do.”
Then you leave him in the closet, the door falling shut behind you.
“Golly,” he says, rubbing his face with both hands. “What the heck am I doing…”
“Hey,” you say, opening the door to your apartment later that night to a very sheepish Clark Kent.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so late. I’m offensively, rudely late. If you want me to go home…”
You glance at your watch. You’d planned for six. It’s eight thirty. But you’re not angry, and you tell him so.
“I’m not upset, Clark. I kinda figured you would be,” you say, stepping back and walking inside. Clark accepts the wordless invitation and follows you through the foyer and into your tiny living room.
There are framed photos all over the walls in the hallway that remind him of the ones his Ma has on all the side tables back home. Posed group pictures, candid snapshots. He pauses and looks at some, smiling to himself.
“Are those your friends from back home?” he asks, pointing to a group photo. You’re out at a bar, arms wrapped around a tall, heavyset man in a graphic t-shirt and a shorter man with silver-framed glasses and a long-sleeved polo shirt. It’s a little bit blurry, and the lighting is bad, but everyone in the picture looks so—happy.
“Yeah,” you smile. “John and Adrian. It was Ads’s birthday, that night, and we went to a gay bar, for karaoke night.”
“Oh? Are you hiding your vocal talents from the rest of the Daily Planet staff?” Clark teases.
“Absolutely not,” you giggle. “I sound like a dying bird. Never hand me a microphone when I’ve had more than two beers.”
You pause behind your couch and gesture at the television, which is running the news coverage of the alien attack of the day. The reason why he was so dreadfully late coming over here.
“Speaking of hiding things from the rest of the Daily Planet staff,” you say cheekily, and Clark sighs.
“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
Clark watches himself, on the screen, shoot lasers out of his eyes.
“Does that actually make your eyes really hot?” you ask, crossing your arms as you watch the replay. Then you turn and cock your head at him. “Like, if I touched your eyes right now, would they still be warm? How much can you control it? Can you use it to like, heat up your coffee when it gets cold?”
Clark raises an eyebrow. You flush.
“Sorry. That was a lot of questions. You don’t have to—”
“No,” he laughs. “That’s okay. I was…expecting the questions. That’s why I’m here, right?”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m interrogating you,” you say. “Or that, I don’t know, I’m gonna take everything you tell me and leak it online, or write an exposé, or something. I’m just—so curious.”
“I said earlier—I trust you. I mean that,” Clark says, soft and firm. “Besides, you’re not grilling me half as aggressively as Lois did when she found out.”
“So she does know,” you muse. “I thought she did. Does Jimmy, too?”
“Not as far as I’m aware,” Clark says, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. “The Justice Gang members know who I am. My parents, obviously, and Lois figured it out a couple years back and threw herself off a rooftop to prove a point.”
“That sounds like her.”
“Now there’s you. Thank you for not doing that, by the way. But that’s really it, I think. Apparently, though, I’m not as good at hiding it as I thought I was.”
“I just…recognized the signs,” you say. “Like I said earlier, my best friend back home is a vigilante. And before he told me, he was doing all the same things. The frequent disappearances, and—well, I can’t really talk about specifics. He’s really particular about his secret identity, as I’m sure you can understand.”
Clark does understand. “You’re a good friend, you’re keeping a secret. I get it.”
What he doesn’t understand, though, is the weird, vague jealousy that starts churning in his stomach. Because he knows now that he’s not the only superhero in your life? Because he wasn’t the first? Because the other man you’re describing is your best friend, and he’s just your coworker and nothing more?
Now isn’t the time for that conversation. He’s stripped himself bare enough for the day.
“The lasers do make my eyes hot,” he says, answering your question from earlier. “And…I have used it to warm up my coffee in the break room, when no one is looking.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he says, feeling a little silly. “My Ma always used to have me start up the fireplace, actually, when I was a kid, and get the water boiling faster for dinner.”
You cackle. “Oh my god. You’re kidding.”
“I made myself useful,” Clark grins. “Super strength comes in handy when you’re lugging stuff around a farm all day. It was the least I could do. I didn’t make things easy for them, when I was a baby and I would just start…floating off.”
“Oh, god,” you say, shaking your head. “A flying toddler…what a disaster. With Ad—” You cut yourself off. “My friend, I mean. He’s meta, but. Nothing like you. He can heal pretty fast. He gets stabbed, he can just sleep it off, be totally fine in the morning. But the laser vision, the flying, the strength…that’s…really, really cool.”
Clark tries not to be too pleased about the fact that you think he’s cool. He shrugs it off, plays it nonchalant. “It’s just…the sun. I get my powers from the yellow sun.”
“How come nobody recognizes you?” you ask, cocking your head, squinting at his face. Clark feels himself blush under your detailed attention, eyes darting over his every facial feature like you’re going to unlock another secret part of him just by looking hard enough.
“It’s, uh,” he stutters, fumbling with the frames of his glasses.
“The glasses?”
Clark doesn’t answer, just takes them off, and your eyes widen.
“Holy shit,” you say, and Clark turns even redder when he hears you swear. You giggle. “That’s insane—the glasses are, what, magic?”
“Kryptonian technology,” he says. “Hypnoglasses.”
“The suit, too? Where do you keep it, by the way? When you run off in the middle of the day, I always wonder. Is it in your briefcase? Do you just…wear it under your clothes?”
“You really do have a lot of questions,” Clark teases.
“I am a journalist,” you remind him. “Curiosity is basically my job.”
“And you’re good at it,” he says, which makes you flush, pleased by the compliment.
“You know, I did eat without you,” you say. “I got hungry. But you just saved the city, and all, for like, the hundredth time. And I’m being a bad host, bombarding you with questions before I’ve even offered you a drink, or food, or—anyway. There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you want to heat them up with your laser vision. I would love a demonstration.”
Clark laughs.
The dynamic shifts in the office, after that night. Once Clark knows that you know—well. It shouldn’t change things. But it does.
He should feel more confident, now, around you, but instead, the opposite happens. He’s even more likely to trip over his own feet when he walks by your desk, because now, sometimes, you’ll glance up and smile, or worse, wink at him, and it makes his knees all wobbly. The man of steel, gone weak in the knees because a pretty girl grinned in his direction. And now, when he has to run off in the middle of the day because of whatever daily downtown disaster is happening, his phone chimes with a text from you, telling him things like don’t let Guy Gardner steal your thunder today or bring me back a latte from the corner store or his personal, heart-stopping favorite, be safe ♥️.
He tries to give it back as good as he gets. When he notices your coffee has gone cold, he rolls his desk chair over to you, snags it off your desk, and says, “need a reheat?” and waits for you to laugh before he brings it back to the break room, and lasers it with his eyes. Lois catches him doing it one day and rolls her eyes so hard they almost fall out of her head.
“God, you are so down bad for her, Smallville,” she mutters, but she’s smirking. Clark doesn’t even care.
And he does feel like he can be more himself around you, now. When it’s just the two of you in the elevator, or the break room, or walking to the coffee shop on the corner for a fifteen minute break, Clark feels like he can breathe easier, because he has nothing to hide anymore.
You and Lois have been spending most of the week prepping for Saturday morning, which marks the start of the new Justice Gang initiative. He’s seen you bent over her desk for hours at a time, developing interview questions and planning out a series of articles to publish over the next month or so.
He tries to make sure you’re both taking care of yourselves while you’re absorbed in your work. When it looks like you’re about to work through lunch, he buys you both sandwiches from the deli across the street and drops them on your desk. He makes sure you’re staying hydrated, drinking water throughout the day and not just Lois’s sugary, sludgy excuse for coffee, but he will reheat it for you if that’s what you really need in the moment. It’s the least he can do, but the private, goofy smile you give him when he brings you your freshly eye-lasered coffee makes him feel more like a hero than half the things he does for the rest of the people of Metropolis.
“Ready for tomorrow?” Clark asks you on Friday.
“I am,” you say confidently. “I’m really looking forward to it, actually.” You lower your voice a bit. “I would show you the questions we came up with, but I think it might be cheating if you know the interview questions in advance.”
“Lois is rubbing off on you,” Clark mutters.
Clark arrives at the Hall of Justice bright and early on Saturday morning. He feels weirdly nervous, and it takes him a minute to put his finger on why, until he realizes—you’ve never seen him in the suit. Not in person. He keeps fidgeting, readjusting his cape, his hair, picking at invisible, nonexistent lint on his costume because he weirdly needs to make a good impression on you.
Which is ridiculous. Because you already know Clark. But you haven’t met Superman yet, not really.
“Why are you so fidgety?” Hawkgirl asks. “You act like you’ve never spoken to the press before.”
“He hasn’t,” Guy Gardner reminds her. “He is the press. He doesn’t do interviews. He just talks to himself. Like a weirdo.” Clark rolls his eyes.
“You’ll be fine, Clark,” Maxwell Lord says, which does not make him feel better. “There’s a reason I asked for the Daily Planet to cover the story.”
“Your coworkers who are covering the story do know who you are, don’t they?” Mr. Terrific says. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah,” Clark says. “They do. It’s not that, it’s just—”
At that moment, a large group walks into the room. Checkmate has arrived, chattering excitedly among themselves as they admire the building, from the large modern space to the large mural on the walls. Clark’s eyes dance over the group. He catches himself frowning and schools his expression.
But internally, he’s stewing. Why did no one tell him that Peacemaker was on the Checkmate team?
A guy who talked crap about him to the media when Lex Luthor was running his smear campaign? A guy who implied on national news that he was an out of control alien with a god complex?
“It’s guys like this, they always got a whole bunch of dark, ugly secrets…Thinks he’s better than everybody else…”
Clark’s jaw clenches. It’s fine. This is fine. He can be the bigger person. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. You and Lois will be here soon, at least. That will make things better. You always make things better.
“Ah, Peacemaker,” says Maxwell. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Oh, can it, would you?” Peacemaker says. “Don’t give me that bullshit. We both know how you feel about me.”
“Chris,” sighs a blonde woman. Clark reads her nametag. Agent Harcourt. “We talked about this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Peacemaker mutters. “This is me on my best behavior, Emilia. Did I call Guy Gardner a puke freak to his face? No, I did not!”
Clark furrows his brow and glances over at Guy, who looks bewildered. Hawkgirl cackles, and Mr. Terrific and Maxwell Lord look like they’re regretting all of their life choices. Honestly, Clark is too, at this point, and they’re barely two minutes into this whole ordeal.
“I am not a puke freak!” Guy cries. “Would you stop telling people that!”
“Can we maybe tone it down before the press gets here, at least?” Mr. Terrific asks bluntly. “I’d like this program to get off on the right foot.”
“We would like that too, Mr. Terrific,” says another Checkmate member, Agent Adebayo, firmly.
“Please, call me Michael. We’re all pretty informal around here, we’re all professionals who can be discreet, so we do disclose our secret identities with each other, but don’t feel pressured to do so if you don’t feel comfortable.”
Everyone else goes around the room and introduces themselves. Most of the Checkmate team, apparently, are former ARGUS agents. There’s probably a story there. Clark is sure you’ll get to the bottom of that.
One of the Checkmate tech guys looks really familiar, but Clark can’t quite put his finger on where he’s seen him before. Clark himself gets some interesting looks from them when he shares his name, but otherwise, everything goes smoothly, until it comes to one member of the Checkmate team.
“I’m good,” says Vigilante, crossing his arms. “It’s called a secret identity for a reason.”
“Whatever, man,” says Peacemaker—Chris, Clark corrects himself.
At that moment, the massive doors to the Hall of Justice swing open, and you and Lois walk in, dressed as professionally as ever, Daily Planet press badges around your necks. You grin and smile at Clark, and he starts to wave, but then your gaze flicks right past him, over his shoulder, and your smile widens even more.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clark hears behind him, and he turns around to see Vigilante—rushing at you. There’s a split second that he feels a protective instinct to step in front of you, defend you, but—it’s not an attack. It’s…excitement? The masked crime fighter lifts you up by the waist and spins you around, and you laugh, and Clark…does not know what is happening. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Chris laughs, too. “No way! Hey, kid.” He comes up and ruffles your hair.
Clark is really confused for a moment, but then he freezes as he remembers one crucial detail.
These people are from Evergreen, Washington. You’re from Evergreen, Washington.
My best friend back home is a vigilante, you’d said. Your best friend, who is really particular about his secret identity.
A vigilante? Or the Vigilante?
That must be why Perry gave you the piece. You’ve got inside information, connections at Checkmate that other journalists at the Planet wouldn’t have. And—he is happy for you. He is. But god, why do you have to be connected to Peacemaker?
Clark’s teeth grind, loudly, and Hawkgirl raises an eyebrow at him.
“You good, dude?”
“I’m fine,” Clark says shortly.
Clark is not fine.
He pastes on his Superman smile, and he is respectful and kind and all the good adjectives that Ma Kent raised him to be. But as he answers Lois’s interview questions, his eyes keep drifting over her shoulder, across the room, where you’re sitting with the group from Checkmate, conducting your own interviews, laughing and taking notes, eyes bright and excited. You’re in your element.
You’re with your best friend. Who, according to the dossier Clark read ahead of the introductions today, has murdered quite a lot of people.
He tries not to eavesdrop. He really, really does. But when his super-sensitive ears catch the sound of his name on your lips, he can’t help himself.
“I can’t believe your Clark with the curly hair and the dimples, and Superman are the same person,” Vigilante is saying. Clark smiles to himself. Your Clark. He likes the sound of that. He wants that. He wants to be yours. “How come you never said—”
“For someone who’s always going on and on about secret identities, I would think you would know the answer to that question, Vigilante,” you say pointedly.
“True,” he says. “Hey! Doesn’t he have, like, a super dog? Have you met the super dog? Can you ask him if I can please meet the super dog? Pretty pretty please?”
“I have not met the super dog, Adrian,” you say. Hang on—your best friend Adrian, who you talk on the phone with all the time in the break room? He’s Vigilante? And that’s when it hits Clark—the tech guy, John. He and Adrian were in that framed picture, in your living room the other night. “Why don’t you ask him yourself? He’s literally right across the room. You can go talk to Superman.”
“Who cares about Superman?” Vigilante scoffs. “I mean, I get he’s an alien. And that’s cool and all. But the dog is a super dog. That can fly.”
“So would you say Superman is like, your friend?” Peacemaker interrupts, and Clark’s heart stops. He holds his breath while he waits for you to answer, and it all rushes out of him in a relieved whoosh when you nod. Clark smiles to himself.
Your friend. Your Clark. Not just a coworker.
“Does he really have a poop fetish?” Peacemaker continues.
The smile drops from Clark’s face.
“What in the world—“ he mutters to himself.
“Oh my god, is that what that hashtag #supershit was all about?” Vigilante cackles. Clark’s frown deepens, teeth grinding together.
“Shut the fuck up,” you scold. “You are like middle school boys, I swear. And I will describe you that way in the article if you don’t get your shit together.”
“Hey, Supes,” Lois says, waving a hand in front of Clark’s face. “Stop glowering. You’re gonna accidentally activate your laser eyes.”
“Clark? Glowering?” Mr. Terrific jokes. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him be anything but pleasant and happy-go-lucky.”
“I am pleasant,” Clark says unpleasantly.
Mr. Terrific follows his gaze across the room toward you. “Ah. Trouble in paradise?”
“There would need to be a paradise in existence in order for there to be trouble in it,” Lois mutters.
“Maybe I’ll activate my laser eyes at you on purpose,” Clark suggests, annoyed. Lois rolls her eyes.
“You’re the one who hasn’t made a move, Clark. She’s waiting. For you.”
“She doesn’t—” Clark swallows, looks down.
Normally it’s so easy to stand tall when he’s in the super suit. It makes him feel powerful, feel good, feel like he’s doing all of the things he promised he would do to help humanity. But right now his shoulders slump a bit.
“I’m not what she wants. Or needs. I’m not even—human, Lois.”
Lois gives him a worried look. “Clark, you’re one of the most human people I know.”
He tries to be. He tries so hard. So why, suddenly, does it not feel like enough?
The first joint public appearance of the Justice Gang and the Checkmate team follows a few days later—a swarm of floating, jellyfish-like aliens wreaking havoc in the park downtown. You, Lois, and Jimmy are all on the scene—you document events, Lois catalogs damage, Jimmy takes photos. While the chaos unfolds around you, the Checkmate team flanks you for protection. Harcourt, Adebayo, Bordeaux, and Fleury stay at the ready with their weapons aimed at the sky.
Clark spends most of the time trying to wrangle the crowd out of the park, but his job is more difficult than usual with the appearance of some new heroes. Everyone has their personal phones and cameras turned on the scene. Peacemaker and Vigilante draw quite a bit of attention, and they thrive in that spotlight, showing off their sharpshooting skills as they take out kaiju after kaiju, dead jellyfish slopping to the ground one by one.
The media is buzzing the following day. The entire Checkmate team starts to garner attention in the news, but Peacemaker and Vigilante, with their flashy, colorful costumes, are the obvious instant stars of the media attention. The front-page article you and Lois publish is perfectly timed, your exclusive interviews providing answers to many of the public’s immediate questions.
Other people, though, are quick to dig into their pasts and churn up old, bad memories. You’re glad that your profiles give Checkmate the opportunity to come out ahead of any rumors. Your piece lets Chris address his past as a member of the Suicide Squad and his racist father on his own terms. It allows Adrian the chance to prove Vigilante as the hero he’s supposed to be, the hero you know he is, rather than letting people paint him as an amateur.
And the response is…fantastic. People love them. Not as much as their hometown heroes, of course. There’s something to be said about that kind of loyalty.
While Clark hasn’t quite bought into the new hero hype, he’s proud of you. He knows how hard you’ve been working, and how much it means to you when Perry stops by your desk to tell you, “Nice work, kid.” You’re getting congratulations constantly from the whole team, and every time, you light up more, practically glowing from the inside, and your happiness makes Clark happy, too, because it means he gets to see your pretty smile more.
“Hey,” Clark says, nudging you at your desk on Tuesday. “What do you say we do lunch? To celebrate your smashing front-page success?”
You look up at him with that bright, pretty smile. “That sounds great.”
As you walk down the street toward the nearest cafe, Clark clears his throat. “Um. There’s something I need to say—and I promise you, I really was not trying to eavesdrop the other day—but the ceilings are all arched in the Hall of Justice, you know, so things echo, and it was kinda quiet in there, and with my super hearing—”
“Spit it out, Clark,” you say, curious. “What’s up?”
“I just. Feel the need to clarify,” he says, blushing a furious shade of red, “that I do not have a…poop fetish?”
You laugh, covering your face with your hands.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. They are such morons,” you say. “Chris just—believes whatever he reads on the internet, and Vigilante thinks Peacemaker is, like, perfect, so he never questions when he says something idiotic. The two of them together can be…a lot.”
“I also, um, heard you call him Adrian,” he admits. “Just. For full transparency’s sake. I’m assuming…he’s the one from the pictures? In your apartment?”
“I think he kind of already knows that you know,” you say. “I mean. I talk about him in the office all the time by name. He just didn’t want the rest of the Justice Gang to know.”
“Okay,” Clark says, feeling a little better about it. “I just didn’t want—”
“Oh my god,” you say, stopping on a dime when something catches your eye. Clark follows your gaze through the window of a kitschy I ♥️ METROPOLIS store, brow furrowed. “We have to go in there. Oh my—no fucking way. Adrian is going to lose it.”
You grab Clark by the sleeve of his suit jacket and pull him inside.
There’s an entire shelf full of Vigilante merchandise. His signature black, white, and teal chevron, splashed across t-shirts, coffee mugs, keychains—even a little figurine of his likeness, down to the tiny holsters on his utility belt that hold all of his weapons and ammo.
“How did they make all this shit so quickly? It’s literally been like, a couple days since—I have to buy it,” you say, because there really is no other option. “I mean. I have to. This is going to make his day, Jesus Christ.”
Clark’s jaw twitches as he watches you gather it all up in your arms. He pretends to look around the rest of the store.
“Hey, they have Superman merch, too. I didn’t even know they made that,” he says. He’s lying through his teeth for scraps of your attention. What has his life come to? “That’s so interesting.”
“You’re kidding, right?” you say. “They’ve been selling this stuff for ages! You should be like, making royalties or something. One of my friends bought me a shirt a couple months ago. It’s way too big for me to wear anywhere, I just sleep in it sometimes.”
Clark pictures you in bed, draped in nothing but an oversized blue shirt printed with his Superman symbol, and tries not to spontaneously combust.
“Oh,” he says, voice cracking a little. “That’s—that’s nice.”
“I would buy you a mug,” you say, holding up a blue one with a tiny caped figure painted on it, “but these are probably pretty crappy. I’m not sure they would hold up to your usual coffee reheating method.” Your eyes catch on another shelf, and you smirk, reaching to hold up a pair of boxers printed with the Superman symbol. “Maybe these instead?” Your eyes flick downward toward his crotch. “If they would even fit.”
Clark groans. He can feel how pink the tips of his ears are. “You’re trying to kill me. I offer to buy you lunch today, and you’re trying to kill me.”
You laugh, take pity on him, and put them back. Clark waits patiently with you while you check out, and carries your giant bag of Vigilante merch for you for the rest of the afternoon, because he’s a gentleman.
He doesn’t notice until you get back to the office that afternoon that you’ve clipped a brand-new Superman keychain to his messenger bag. And when he glances over at your desk to say thank you, he notices you’ve got a matching one attached to yours, dangling right next to a Vigilante one.
Clark hopes that things will get easier with the Checkmate team after your first article has been published and the reception from the general public has been positive. But things are just as tense the following Saturday as they were the first day.
While things went well when responding to an emergency, the ultimate goal of this program is to carry out mission-based work, and that requires more cohesion. More teamwork. Which requires training. And a lot of the Checkmate agents aren’t metahuman, so they’re struggling to keep up during exercises, frustrated when Guy pulls a stupid stunt with the Green Lantern Ring or Hawkgirl’s metallic wings knock them over.
Clark manages just fine during the training sessions, but during the off periods—when he’s supposed to be—socializing? He struggles. A lot. He never has before. His Ma and Pa raised him to have manners, taught him how to carry on polite small-talk conversations. He’s a journalist, for god’s sake. Half his job is talking to people. He’s a pretty open person, trusting.
But it’s hard to be open and trusting with a man like Chris when all Clark keeps thinking about is the things that he said to the media to tear him down when the world was turning against him.
He takes a deep breath. These people are your friends, he reminds himself. If he wants—if he wants to be with you, the way he intends to, once he works up the courage to actually say something about how he feels, he’s gonna need to pull up his bootstraps and get over it. He can be the bigger person. He can.
So at lunch time, he decides to make an effort. The groups have made their usual split—the Justice Gang and Lois huddled around one table, you and Checkmate circled around another. And Clark makes a choice.
He grabs his sandwich and pulls up a chair between you and Peacemaker, and the table falls quiet. But you’re beaming at him, and you put a hand on his bicep and squeeze, and that makes the awkward silence worth it.
“Uh,” Clark says. “Hi.”
“Hi there,” says Harcourt, clearly a little confused as to why he’s there, but accepting his presence anyway and nudging at Chris’s shoulder so he scoots over a bit to make room for him. Clark likes her, he’s decided. She’s capable, emotionally intelligent. How she ended up leading this ragtag group of disgraced ARGUS agents and insane killers, Clark would love to know.
“Why are you over here?” Vigilante asks bluntly.
“Adrian,” Adebayo scolds.
“Ads! My secret identity!”
“You’re an idiot, if you think he didn’t make the connection already, Adrian,” you scoff. “You’re my best friend. I talk about you all the time at work.”
“Oh. Right. Well. Don’t tell anyone,” Adrian says, pointing at Clark’s face, “or I’ll fuck you up.”
“I would never,” Clark says firmly. He glances down at you next to him. “She would…mess me up.”
“God, you weren't kidding, he really is a goody-two-shoes. He can’t even say the word ‘fuck,’” Harcourt muses. You giggle and shove a forkful of salad into your mouth.
“So, what brings the high and mighty Superman over to the rejects table?” Chris asks. He doesn’t say it with anger. Maybe a tiny bit of bitterness. But Clark is confused.
“The rejects table?”
“Chris is butthurt because he interviewed to join the Justice Gang and they rejected him,” Harcourt explains.
“They did more than reject me, Em. They asked me about my skills and then started talking about my violent tendencies and how I’m indecisive and they told me I suck right to my face!”
“They did what?” Clark says, a little shocked. “I—I didn’t even know they were interviewing for new members.”
“Clark isn’t even really part of the Justice Gang,” you point out to the group. “He’s kind of like…an independent contractor.”
“It doesn’t even matter anymore,” Chris says. “I don’t even want to be a part of your stupid group anyway.”
“I don’t know why you even applied to begin with, Peacemaker,” says Adrian. “They couldn’t even show up for us when we needed them, with the butterfly invasion at Coverdale Ranch—”
“We left as soon as we were notified,” Clark interrupts, feeling a little defensive. “We—”
“That doesn’t change the fact that the one time we needed you, you weren’t there,” Adrian says. “Harcourt almost died.”
You’re starting to look stressed out, eyes darting back and forth between Clark and Adrian, mouth open like you feel like you need to say something, but you’re not sure how to stop this from spiralling into a full-blown argument.
“Okay,” Adebayo cuts in, and some tension leaves your shoulders, and you look at her gratefully. “How about we stop making digs at Clark? We’re all human, we all make mistakes.”
“We’re not,” Adrian says plainly. “All human.”
Clark’s jaw ticks, fists clenching.
“Hey,” you say sharply, and Clark can’t see Adrian’s face beneath the Vigilante mask, but he visibly recoils. You turn back to him, look him in the eyes, and say, more quietly, “He doesn’t mean it like that. He’s just—really, very literal.”
Clark swallows. He believes you, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. It will never stop bothering him, the way everyone looks at him like he’s—other.
“I’m human in all the ways it matters,” he says to the table, tiredly, because he is so sick of explaining this to people who don’t understand. “I am sorry we weren’t able to be there for you. I’m glad you’re okay, Emilia. Hopefully this program can—help. For problems like that, in the future.”
“Not your fault,” Harcourt says. “But I appreciate it.”
The table falls silent again. You’re staring at Adrian and Chris, crossing your arms. They stare back at you, until you clear your throat pointedly.
“I’m sorry,” Adrian says, when he catches on. “I think I’m not supposed to have called you an alien. Even though you are an alien.”
It could sound a bit more genuine, but something is better than nothing, Clark supposes.
“Apology accepted,” he says, clearing his throat.
“I’m sorry too,” Chris sighs. “You’re not the one who told me that one of my skills is sucking dick.”
John chokes on his sandwich across the table. “What?”
The following Monday, you don’t show up to work.
Clark rushes in a few minutes late, like he always does. He stopped this morning at the coffee shop on the corner and got you your favorite caramel latte. But when he goes to drop it at your desk, it’s untouched. Your computer hasn’t been turned on, your chair still pushed in, notes from last week still scattered around.
“She called in sick,” Jimmy says, when he sees Clark staring forlornly at your empty desk. “So if that extra coffee you got is meant for her…I will gladly take it. Because I had a pretty wild weekend, man, I could use the caffeine.”
“She’s sick?” Clark asks worriedly, absentmindedly handing Jimmy the coffee cup when he holds his hands out for it. You’d been completely fine on Saturday during the day.
Something must have happened that night. Clark’s chest tightens with anxiety as he remembers the conversation he overheard as he was leaving for the day.
“Are you going or not, dude?” Chris had asked Adrian impatiently as the two were tucking their guns away in their bags.
“To the orgy?”
Clark had stopped on a dime, because—what?
“Depends,” Adrian said. “You know how I feel about sex—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said. “Only as an opportunity to bond with your best friend. If I promise a threesome—”
Clark had stopped listening after that. He feels sick to his stomach now, just like he has all weekend, thinking about it. You, going to—a sex party? To—be with Adrian?
And now you’ve called out of work. Did something bad happen? Did someone hurt you?
He slides into his chair and sets his things down carelessly, immediately pulling out his phone.
Jimmy just told me you’re not feeling well?
Make sure you rest up. Take some medicine.
I can swing by on my lunch break and bring you soup, or anything else you need. Let me know.
Clark doesn’t hear from you for a few hours. He closes his eyes, briefly tunes in across the city, listens for the sound of your heartbeat, and he hears it, strong and steady, which settles him a bit. You’re alive. You’re resting, he tells himself. That’s why you haven’t answered.
He tries to focus on his work, draft up the pieces Perry has assigned him for the week, but he keeps glancing over at your empty desk, the dark computer screen. A little pang of worry runs through him every time.
When his phone buzzes, screen lighting up on his desk, and your name pops up, his heart does a backflip.
You’re too sweet. I’m completely fine.
Just playing hooky 😂
Adrian begged me last night to take him to the aquarium 🐟🐠 he heard they have a touch tank with manta rays in it. He loves those damn things.
You’re…not sick. You’re with Adrian. Your best friend, who you have sex with. On a date.
“Why are you looking at your phone like you’re going to crush it in your hands?” Lois asks, trying to peek over his shoulder. Clark jumps. She raises her eyebrows.
“You have been so jumpy for the last two weeks, Smallville,” she says. “What the hell is going on?”
“I—” Clark starts, then cuts himself off. He’s not going to tattle on you for calling out of work. But he can talk to his own best friend about this. About you. Can’t he? “Lois, I—”
“Is this about what I think it’s about?” she asks, glancing over at your desk.
Clark leaps out of his desk chair, grabs Lois by the wrist, and drags her over to the supply closet, shutting them both inside.
“Is this where we’re having all of our important private chats now?” Lois asks, raising an eyebrow.
“You started it!” Clark accuses.
Lois sighs. “Tell me what’s going on in your big doofus brain. What is eating you up so much?”
“She’s not here today.”
“I noticed.”
“She’s not sick,” he says, distressed. “She’s with Adrian. At the aquarium. On a date.”
Lois pauses. “Did she say that, Clark, or is that a conclusion that you’ve jumped to? Because I think you’re jumping. Not even jumping. You’re using your superpowers and flying to conclusions. She likes you, Clark. Just tell her how you feel.”
“I don’t think she does,” he says hoarsely. “I think she’s in love with Adrian. I think they…” Clark swallows past the lump in his throat. “I think they were. Together, on Saturday night.”
“Are you telling me you think they fucked?”
“God, Lois, please don’t say it like that,” Clark says, flushing redder than he ever has before in his life. Thinking about it, alone, is hard enough, but—when she says it like that, so vulgar—he feels like he’s going to be sick.
“She did not have sex with Adrian,” Lois says. “She was with me on Saturday night.”
“...what?”
“We went out for drinks and sorted through our notes for the day, like we did last week, and organized everything so we could prep for the article writing this week,” Lois says. “For someone with super vision, you really are blind as a bat, Clark. She. Likes. You.”
“I just—Peacemaker and Vigilante were—they were talking about—” Clark lowers his voice. “—an orgy—”
“You think she went to the orgy?” Lois shakes her head. “You are an idiot, Clark Kent. It’s a terminal diagnosis.”
“But—”
“You want to know if she was at the orgy?” Lois says. “You know who you can ask? Jimmy.”
Clark stares. “I—what?”
“Jimmy went to an orgy this weekend,” Lois says. “With Eve. She posted about it on her Instagram story. I imagine it was the same one. There cannot be that many Saturday night orgies happening in Metropolis on the same day—”
Lois pulls out her phone and brings up a photo. “See, look—”
“Please do not show me a naked photo of Jimmy, Lois. I can’t take it. Not after the week that I’ve had.”
The first official field mission happens the following week.
“Lex Luthor might be in prison, but that hasn’t stopped his company from doing shady research,” Mr. Terrific says to the group at the debrief.
“Most of his employees did not face the same charges he did, after the Metropolis rift situation,” Bordeaux tacks on. “We know that for a fact, because many of them were recruited by ARGUS. That’s part of what sparked the founding of Checkmate in the first place. But some of those employees are still operating under LutherCorp as well.”
“We need to find out the extent to which Luthor still has his hands in the business,” says Harcourt. “Especially since he’s been transferred from Belle Reve to a lower-security prison that allows him to have more visitors.”
“So we’re just…gathering intel?” Chris asks. “Sounds lame.”
“It’s not lame, dude, it’s like a spy mission!” Vigilante says excitedly. “Can I like—hide in the vents and snipe the bad guys?”
“No hiding in the vents,” Adebayo says, “but you are going to be there to snipe the bad guys. But you are only shooting if necessary, Vigilante.”
“Fucking sick,” he says joyfully.
“I have to emphasize,” Maxwell Lord cuts in, “that when we say necessary, we mean absolutely necessary. It’s one thing for you and Peacemaker to take out a bunch of mindless kaijus invading the local park. It’s entirely another to senselessly kill—”
“I get it,” Vigilante snaps. “Despite what you all might think about me, I’m not a fucking moron, and I don’t just kill people for no reason.”
“So what’s the plan?” Guy Gardner says, redirecting the conversation. “Are we going in undercover?”
“You’re an idiot,” Mr. Terrific tells him. “You? Undercover?”
“Hey, I can work undercover!”
“You are one of the most recognizable superheroes in the city,” Hawkgirl says. “And you are a bad liar.”
“We’re going in after hours,” Harcourt interrupts. “One or two a.m. The lab techs and employees will be gone for the day, and then all we’ll have to worry about is security.”
“The Raptors,” Clark says. “Luthor’s flying armed forces? He’s got them doing low-level security work?”
“That’s precisely why we think it might not be as low-level as they’re making it out to be,” Adebayo says. Clark nods.
“Good point. They’re powerful, but their biggest strength is in numbers. I can’t imagine all of them will be on staff at one time, especially in the middle of the night. If we’re careful, we might be able to get in and out undetected,” he muses.
“We’ll be dividing and conquering,” Mr. Terrific says. “There are four main floors to the lab, and we’ll each take one. Agents Bordeaux and Adebayo will be going in with Guy to cover the first floor. Peacemaker, Judomaster, and Kendra will cover the second floor. I’ll be going in with Agents Fleury and Harcourt to cover the third. Clark, you’ll cover the top floor with Agent Economos and Vigilante.”
Of course I am, Clark thinks, self-pitying, but he pastes on a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
They spend the next few hours reviewing the plan, giving everyone the opportunity to ask clarifying questions and understand their roles before they pile into discreet vans and leave. It’s an interesting experience for Clark, who usually just—flies, wherever he has to go, at least when he’s in the Superman suit.
But it’s kind of nice. The camaraderie, the way the Checkmate group jokes and laughs and shoves at each other playfully. Clark even sees Mr. Terrific crack a smile, a sight so rare he has to pick his jaw up off the floor. And maybe—he’s starting to get it. What you see in these people. Why you love them the way you do.
When they arrive at their destination, everyone grows quiet, more serious. Mr. Terrific and Economos huddle around a computer near the front of the van, typing away furiously, doing something to shut down the security systems silently and remotely so the teams can get inside undetected. Then, one by one, the groups trickle out of the van, and under the cover of darkness and nonfunctioning cameras, make their way inside.
There are no Raptors anywhere to be seen, which puts everyone on edge, but they go through with their tasks as planned, splitting up to their assigned floors and starting to dig through paperwork, lab tests and results. Vigilante and Clark are mostly there to keep an eye out for Economos as he hops onto a computer attached to the mainframe and digs as deep as he can into the files, to see if anything interesting pops up.
“Raptors located,” comes a whispered report from Adebayo on the first floor, sent through to everyone’s earpieces. “They’re coming up from the basement. There’s something down there that they’re guarding.”
“Economos, can you find anything out about that?” Mr. Terrific asks.
“Working on it,” John reports, typing furiously as Clark glances over his shoulder. “God, their file labeling system is so shitty—”
Suddenly, an alarm starts blaring, startling the entire team out of their quiet focus.
“Okay, time’s up,” Guy Gardner says. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Everyone abort mission,” Mr. Terrific orders.
“Wait—I just need a second—” John says, and Clark puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Take the time you need,” he says firmly. “Remember, I can fly us out a window, if I have to.”
“If Economos is staying, I’m staying,” Vigilante says. “I’m not leaving my number four BFF behind.”
A door slams open across the room, three Raptors spilling through the doorway, guns raised, fingers twitching on the triggers.
Before Clark even has the chance to do anything, all three of them go down, bullets in their heads.
“Haha! Right in the fucking forehead, did you see that Economos?” Vigilante laughs, the end of his gun smoking. “Would have been cooler if I had a chainsaw, but…”
Clark’s jaw hits the floor. “I—what—”
“Economos, are you done yet?” Vigilante says calmly, like he didn’t just kill three people and laugh about it.
“You just killed them!” Clark sputters.
“Uh, yeah,” Vigilante says, scoffing. “Did you not see the way they were pointing their giant fucking guns at us? You’re welcome, by the way.”
“They wouldn’t have—I’m bulletproof! I could have just stepped in front of you!”
“I’m done,” Economos says, apparently completely unfazed by the literal murder that took place right behind him less than a minute ago.
Clark clenches his fist, stalks over to the nearest window, and punches through it.
“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got to go. Before more people show up, and you kill them, too.”
“I’m sensing that you’re upset,” Vigilante says.
“I am upset,” Clark confirms, lifting Economos and flying him down to street level, dropping him at the van. When he turns around to go back for Vigilante, he’s already scaling his way down the building with a grappling hook. Where the heck did he even get a grappling hook?
The following day, you and Lois drop by the Hall of Justice for another round of interviews. The information Economos was able to pull from the computer was incredibly valuable, so everyone is celebrating a mission success, really.
Except for Clark, who keeps thinking about the way the Raptors went down with bullet holes in their heads, and how Vigilante had laughed as he’d killed them.
He tries, desperately, not to listen now as Adrian recounts the whole situation to you. But when he glances over, he sees the way you’re hanging on his every word, and you are smiling and laughing, and Clark just—doesn’t know what to do.
He knows Adrian is your best friend. He knows that. But it is so, so hard not to walk over there and yank you out of your seat and just hide you away until his bad influence goes all the way back across the country to Evergreen, Washington, and things can go back to the way they were before all this. Back when you were just the pretty girl who sat across the bullpen at the Daily Planet, and he looked at you and felt light and happy, and not this terrible, churning, awful, uncomfortable jealousy.
“Thank you,” you’re saying to Adrian, and Clark inhales sharply. “For protecting John and Clark.”
“Just doing my job,” Adrian says, but Clark can hear the proud smile in his voice, the way he preens under your attention.
And Clark can’t take it anymore. He comes up behind you, taps on your shoulder, and you look up at him with your bright eyes and your pretty smile, and—god.
He’s in love with you. But he can’t live like this.
“Can I talk to you, for a minute?” he asks. “Outside?” He glances down at your Daily Planet notepad. “And, uh, off the record?”
“Of course,” you say, leaving your things at the table and following him through the side doors into a little courtyard where Hawkgirl likes to practice her flight combat.
“What’s going on?” you ask.
“I’m worried about you,” Clark says, honestly, and your brow furrows.
“Worried about me? Why? I’m doing—great,” you insist. “I mean—I’m having the time of my life, professionally. This piece with Lois is everything I’ve wanted, and I think Perry is really impressed by it so far—”
“He is,” Clark says, smiling softly, because you deserve to know when people have said nice things about you. “He told me he was. That he was proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s—awesome,” you say, a little awed. “I mean. Work is amazing. I’ve gotten to spend more time with you, and get to know you better, since I, you know, know everything now. And I like spending time with you.”
“I like spending time with you, too,” Clark says, and he opens his mouth to say more, but you keep talking, words coming out of you in a rush.
“And my friends are here,” you add. “From back home. It’s so amazing to spend time with them and see them succeed, and with these articles, I get to help be a part of their success. I mean, Adrian—”
“Adrian,” Clark interrupts, “is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Why? Did he say something stupid to you again?” you ask, concerned. “I can talk to him about it. I promise you, he doesn’t mean it in any type of way. He really does just take things so literally, and he doesn’t realize how he comes across sometimes, I’ve been trying to work on it with him—”
“He’s dangerous,” Clark says. “I don’t—I don’t think he’s—safe, for you to be around.”
“Adrian?” you say, disbelieving. “He’s harmless, Clark!”
“I watched him kill three people yesterday! And he laughed while he did it!”
“And what were they doing?” you demand. Clark looks caught off guard.
“Wha—it doesn’t matter!”
“It does,” you say firmly, growing more serious. “It does. Adrian doesn’t just go around killing people for no fucking reason. He kills bad people who do bad things.”
“He is a bad person,” Clark says furiously. “Good people do not kill other people!”
“Oh get off your fucking high horse, Superman!” you shout, voice raising to match his. “Newsflash, you are not a better person than him just because you’ve never killed anyone. The only reason you can sit up on your pedestal and act like you’re better than everyone else is because there are people like him on the ground doing the fucking dirty work for you!”
Clark jerks back like you’ve physically slapped him. He thinks back to when Lex Luthor stuck him in a glass cell to rot away in his pocket universe. How he struggled to breathe when Metamorpho morphed into Kryptonite, the agony he experienced when he shoved the green crystal closer to Clark’s face. He feels a little like that right now, deep in his chest. In his heart.
“Clark,” you say, instantly regretting the way your words came out and trying to take his hand, but he steps out of your reach. “I—I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right—”
“Is that really what you think?” he asks. Not angry anymore. It’s just a distraught whisper. “Or have your friends just—convinced you of that?”
“What—what do you mean?” you ask, voice shaking. “Have they convinced me of what?”
“Do you know what Peacemaker said about me on the news? When—when that video of my parents—” Clark chokes. He can barely get the words out. “He said exactly what you just said. He said I think I’m better than everyone else because I don’t kill people. I don’t think that.” He swallows, voice thick, eyes wet with a sheen of tears. “I try every day to just prove that I’m human enough to exist among you all. That I’m not a threat. And then people spin it like—like I’m the bad guy? But it—it kills me. When people die. When I could save them.”
“You are not the bad guy Clark,” you say softly. “You are the most good person that I’ve ever known. I love that you love humanity. It makes—it makes me hopeful. But not everyone is as good as you are. Do you have any idea how many people have died because of Lex Luthor, even after he’s been put behind bars? You should talk to Fleury. Dozens of ARGUS agents, at least. I’m not telling you to—to change who you are, Clark. I don’t want that. I like you just the way you are. I just think you need to understand where they’re coming from. Don’t be so quick to judge.”
Clark doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He can’t look at you when you lay a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “For the way things—came out, just now. You are my friend, and I respect and admire you for everything you do. It’s important, and I think we would all be worse off without you. But your way is not the only way.”
You go back inside. Clark can’t bring himself to do the same. He flies home in pensive silence.
“Basically,” Mr. Terrific sums up, “we need to find out what’s in that basement. They’re going to be on higher alert than they were last time, so we’ll need a smaller team. I discussed it with the Checkmate leaders, and we agreed that myself, Superman, Peacemaker, and Vigilante would be the best choices, as we have all had direct experiences with the Raptors or active combat experience that would be beneficial should we need to face them again.”
Clark grinds his teeth for the fortieth time in the last two weeks. It’s a miracle he’s got any molars left.
“I think my activity in the computer is what set off the alarm, last time,” Economos says. “I was digging pretty deep into their files, I might have accidentally tripped something inside the system by accessing something I shouldn’t have been. But either way, we know Luthor is keeping his most well-protected experiments down in that basement. Including the original device he used to rip open his first pocket universe.”
“The goal is to get in and destroy it,” Mr. Terrific says. “So we don’t ever have to deal with another universal rift.”
“Okay,” Clark says. “When are we going?”
“Tonight,” Adebayo says. “It’s only been two days. They won’t be expecting you to come back for a second night in the same week, so there’s less chance for things to go wrong.”
Things go spectacularly wrong.
It was supposed to be simple. Get in, destroy the device, get out. The basement is darker, creepier, a bit better protected than the other floors they explored a few nights prior, but infiltration is easier, because Peacemaker and Vigilante have been outfitted with heavily drugged blowdarts to knock out the Raptors.
Clark had insisted. The last thing he wanted to see tonight was another casualty.
It grates on his nerves, the way Chris and Adrian laugh and giggle as they make their way deeper into the lab, making a game out of who can take down more Raptors. Like it’s a joke, not a job. Like they’re playing a video game, not drugging people.
“Wanna try?” Vigilante says, holding the blowdart out to Clark, and he cringes.
“I absolutely do not want to try.”
Vigilante grumbles, and then has the audacity to bring you into the conversation. “She’s more fun than you. I don’t get what she sees in you. She would want to try.”
“Because you’re a terrible, terrible influence,” Clark grits out.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Peacemaker laughs.
“I don’t get what she sees in you,” Clark says, a little bitterly. Chris raises his eyebrows.
“Holy shit, are you jealous of Vig?” he gasps.
“Why would Superman be jealous of me?” Adrian says.
“You’re in love with her,” Chris realizes. “You want to fuck her?”
“Please, for the love of god, stop talking,” Clark grumbles.
“Hang on—what does that have to do with me?” Adrian asks, completely clueless.
“Oh my god, you think she’s fucking Adrian?” Chris says.
“Would you guys keep it down?” Mr. Terrific says halfheartedly, because he is incredibly invested in the drama unfolding before him.
“Um, absolutely not. You think we’re fucking?” Adrian says, face screwing up with disgust. Clark cringes at the way he says it so crudely. “We do not fuck. That’s gross. Just because she’s a girl and I’m a guy does not mean we have to fuck. I don’t even like fucking—”
“Please,” Clark interrupts. “Stop—stop saying that word. I will do anything. And—that is absolutely not what I meant.”
“Besides, she doesn’t want to fuck me, anyway. She’s in love with you,” Adrian says, like it’s obvious, and Clark freezes.
“She’s—what?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Adrian says. “I’m like, notoriously bad at emotional shit. And I’ve known for months. You really didn’t know?”
“I could have told you that too, Clark,” Mr. Terrific mutters as they finally reach the bottom of the staircase. “Now can we return to this conversation later, and maybe focus on the mission now?”
“Or we could just not ever talk about this again,” Clark proposes, but his heart is racing, because—you’re in love with him? If Adrian is right—
If you’re in love with him, he needs to tell you that he’s in love with you too. He needs to apologize for the stupid argument that you had, and hope it’s not too late.
Mr. Terrific opens the door at the bottom level and lets Peacemaker and Vigilante head in first with their blow darts. They take out six Raptors standing around in the room before they call the all-clear.
The room is dimly lit, the walls lined with hundreds of boxes like metal lockers.
“Fuck,” Chris says. “Which box is it in?”
“I guess we’d better start looking,” Mr. Terrific says. “Take it one by one. Clark, can you snap the locks off? Or just break the doors?”
Clark nods and starts making his way down the line, frowning at every strange contraption and suspicious bubbling concoction behind each door. The entire room is full of dangerous machines and biohazards.
“Be careful,” he warns the others. “This stuff looks unsafe.”
Then he opens another door, and a cloud of green dust puffs into his face, and Clark coughs violently as he inhales it.
“Gross,” Vigilante says. “What the hell was that stuff?”
Clark can feel his throat closing up, the strength draining from his body in an instant, and he looks at Mr. Terrific, panicked, as he tries to speak. But his vision goes blurry, and his knees hit the floor, and then there’s nothing at all, because he just inhaled a lungful of pure Kryptonite.
You jerk awake suddenly in the dark to a loud banging noise.
“What the fuck,” you mutter, eyes trying to adjust to the dark. And then you hear— “Adrian?”
It’s coming from the front door. Adrian is pounding on your apartment door in the middle of the night, calling your name.
“Shit,” you say, suddenly wide awake, jumping out of bed and racing down the hallway. You throw the door open so fast it nearly leaves a dent in the wall. “Oh my—oh my god, what the fuck—”
Adrian and Chris push past you, dragging an unconscious Clark between them, and your heart leaps into your throat as you slam the door shut.
“What the fuck happened,” you ask, panicked. “Adrian—what—is he—”
“Kryptonite,” he huffs. “Where can we—”
“Shit—sorry, I—my bed, put him in my bed—”
“We were in the LuthorCorp labs,” Chris says as they toss Clark’s dead weight on top of your mattress.
You rush to his side instantly. He’s sweaty, feverish, his breathing shallow and wheezy, and it shakes you to your core. You’ve never seen him—unwell. He’s Superman. He doesn’t get hurt, or sick, or injured—
“It was like, they ground it down into a fucking powder or some shit,” Adrian says, yanking his Vigilante mask off. He looks a mess, too, eyes wilde, hair sticking up all over the place. “He just fucking—inhaled it. Started—choking, and passed out.”
“I’m gonna call Lois,” Chris says, looking at Clark’s prone form on the bed. “Terrific told me I should, that she’s got his family’s contact information, just to let them know. But he says Supes will be okay. I’ll be right back.”
“Clark,” you say, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “Clark, wake up. Please, wake up.”
He doesn’t answer. Your eyes well with tears.
Adrian puts a hand on your shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound certain. He’s never been a very good liar. But you love him for trying.
“Adrian, what do I do?” you whisper. “I—what if he—”
“He’s fucking Superman,” Adrian says firmly. “He is not going to get taken out by a powdered green rock. How fucking lame would that be?”
You laugh, wetly, a few tears streaking out of the corners of your eyes.
“He can’t—I never even told him—”
“Um, about that,” Adrian says. “I might have. Said something?”
“...What?” you sniffle.
“He said something to me tonight,” he says. “About me and you. He thought we were…fucking? And I was obviously like, no fucking way. Shut that shit down real quick. And I maybe might have told him that you are in love with him.”
“I never even told you that,” you say, trying and failing to brush the wetness from your cheeks.
“You didn’t have to,” he says. “I might have some deficiencies when it comes to emotional intelligence, but I am really fucking smart when it comes to you. And you need to get it together bestie. I won’t lie, I was hesitant about him at first. And I wasn’t sure I could trust him with you, after the whole butterfly situation, but—you know. I can’t be here to protect you all the time. I live all the way across the county. He’s a decent second choice.”
It doesn’t sound like much. But coming from Adrian, who never trusts anyone with anything—the fact that he’s telling you he trusts Clark with you is the closest to a blessing you’re ever going to get.
You both look up when you hear Chris in the doorway, tensing as you wait for his update.
“Lois says she’s seen it before,” he says. “And he recovered basically overnight. So he’ll probably be fine by morning. Once the sun comes up in a couple hours, he should heal right up. Open up the curtains, let as much light in as you can. He’ll wake up at some point, he’ll be able to tell you what he needs. She’s gonna call his parents, and he can call them himself, too, when he’s awake.”
You slump with relief, even more tears coming to your eyes. Your hand finds Clark’s and squeezes tightly as you look at him, still unconscious, still sickly, but—not forever.
“Thank you guys,” you say, voice thick. “I just—I love you both. A lot.”
“Anything for you, kid,” Chris says softly, coming over to pat you on the head. “I’m gonna head out, though. I don’t think my face, no matter how beautiful and jacked, is the one Supes wants to see when he opens his eyes. You coming, Vig?”
“Do you want me to stay?” Adrian asks you, because he will. For you.
“Can you?” you ask, feeling a little pathetic as you look up at him. “Just—until he’s awake?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, brushing the last of your drying tears away with his gloved hands. “I’ll be out in the living room on the couch, if you need me. You just stay here with him, okay?”
You nod, turning your attention back to Clark as Adrian and Chris file out of the room.
Clark wakes up in a bed that’s not his own, with a warm, solid weight draped over his side. When he cracks open his eyes, his heart nearly stops at the sight of you, curled up next to him, snoring softly. Your arm is draped over his waist, and you’re using the edge of his cape like a blanket.
He blinks into the bright sun shining through the bedroom window and takes a deep, relieved breath. Then movement in the doorway catches his attention.
“Adrian,” he says quietly, trying not to wake you. It’s the first time he’s called him by his name, but—he’s standing there without the mask on. No suit, just silver-framed glasses and sweats. It feels like an invitation.
“Hey,” Adrian says, smiling. “Glad you’re awake, dude. That was fucking scary last night. Try not to do that again any time soon. Maybe ever? She was upset. I hate it when she cries.”
Clark’s heart wrenches at the thought of you crying over him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking down at you, almost afraid to move. He doesn’t want to disturb you. You look so peaceful.
“I’m gonna go,” Adrian says. “I was just sticking around until you were, you know, conscious again, in case she needed anything. But you look better now, so I think you’ve got that covered. And I think maybe you two have some things to talk out, and I don’t need to be here for that, so…”
“Thank you,” Clark says. “For the save last night. And for looking out for her, and…for everything else, too.”
Adrian just gives him a little salute before he turns to go.
Clark closes his eyes again, enjoys the sun on his skin for a few more minutes as he listens to Adrian gather up his things in the other room and leave, the door to your apartment clicking shut behind him. He relaxes back into the pillows and shifts closer to you, because as much as he knows with his mind that the sun is what’s healing him, he feels in his heart that your presence is what’s truly making him feel better. Safe and calm and warm.
Just ten minutes later, he hears your eyelashes flutter, and he tilts his head up and looks down at your head on his bicep as you blink awake, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. He feels you press your ear to his chest, listening to him breathe.
“Hey,” he says, catching your attention, and you startle, looking up with wide eyes.
“Clark,” you cry, worried. “You’re awake! Are you—do you feel okay? What do you need—”
“‘m okay,” he says, lifting a hand to your forehead and brushing you hair, mussed from sleep, out of your face. “Are you okay?”
You’re silent, staring at him as you shift up onto your elbow to get a better look at him, one hand tracing over his neck, where just last night, his veins had been blackened with Kryptonite poisoning.
“Your heart is racing,” Clark murmurs, arms circling your waist, hands rubbing down your back in a soothing motion.
“You and your stupid fucking—super hearing,” you choke out. “Don’t smirk at me like that. You scared the shit out of me.”
Then you reach up, hands cradling his face, and you kiss him. Clark feels his own heart start to race, too, so fast, so hard, it might pound right out of his chest if it weren’t for the weight of you on top of him, holding it inside. He lets his eyes drift shut, tilts his jaw for a deeper angle, tightens his arms around you and finally lets himself hold you the way he’s wanted to for weeks. It’s intense, and urgent, and impatient, and when your lips unlock from his to take a gasping breath, he pauses.
“Hey, honey,” he says, soft, soothing, because there’s anxiety lingering there, too. He can hear it in your heartbeat, in the quiet hitch of your breath when you breathe in, like you can’t fill your lungs all the way. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
He sits up carefully, shifting you around in his arms until you’re settled in his lap.
“I’m in love with you,” you say. “You fucking moron.”
“I deserve that,” Clark says with a tiny smile, and you offer him a shaky one of your own. “I love you, too. In case you didn’t know.”
“I hoped,” you whisper. “I really, really hoped. God, I can’t believe you thought I was fucking Adrian.”
“He told you about that,” Clark winces. “I’m sorry—”
“I think we’ve both apologized to each other enough over the last week,” you say, putting a hand over his mouth before he can say anything further. He smiles against your fingers. “Maybe we should just stop being stupid, huh?”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
You move your hand to kiss him again, and it’s tentative and tender and perfect. Everything he’s wanted.
“You have to call your parents,” you say when he breaks away and presses his forehead against yours. “And Lois. And you should probably call Mr. Terrific, too—”
“Shh,” Clark says. “Just—let me have this. For a second.”
“You can have me for as long as you want,” you say softly. “All day. Every day. Except not next Friday, because that’s the day before Adrian leaves to go back home, and I promised I would take him to the zoo.”
“Maybe…” Clark hesitates. “Maybe I could come? And get to know him better?”
clark kent x reader warnings: angst to fluff, clark using his superhearing to spy, jealous!clark, not proofread :0 word count: 3,000k
clark kent doesn’t do love. he tells himself he doesn’t have time for it. i mean, how could he, with the weight of an entire world on his shoulders? one more person to worry about would be a distraction, a weakness. at least, that’s what he used to believe. but then you came into his life. you waltzed into the daily planet with your perfect smile and beautiful features, and swept him off his feet—literally (lois still teases him about it). and everyone sees it, even if he thinks he’s good at hiding secrets. he hovers without hovering, the kind of man who will cross a crowded newsroom just to put your coffee down exactly where your hand is about to reach for it. he buys your lunch when you forget, pulls your chair out before you can, nearly trips over himself when you say thanks, clark, with a bright smile.
so when he walks into the bullpen that afternoon, balancing two coffees because he knows your usual order and wanted to surprise you, it feels like the floor drops out beneath him because his hearing snags on your voice. “…jimmy is so cute and amazing and everything he does is just perfect. i think i’m in love with him.”
the cup nearly slips out of his hand. his jaw clenches, something sick curling in his stomach, because you sound so sure—like it’s been sitting heavy on your chest for weeks and you finally let it out. he freezes in the doorway, coffee cup creasing between his thick fingers, staring at you and lois huddled by her desk like the world didn’t just tilt sideways. he forces himself to move, to keep walking, though each step feels wrong, like wading through cement. he sets the extra coffee down on your desk without a word, the gesture suddenly hollow, stupid. his throat is tight, his ears ringing with the echo of your confession.
"ugh, my hero," you grin, looking up to see him. he just nods, eyes looking everywhere but you. then, without a sheepish goodbye, or a murmured compliment, he trudges to his desk. you furrow a brow, watching the way his shoulders slump and his mouth curves downwards. you shrug and sip the coffee, practically groaning at the taste.
clark can barely focus for the next ten minutes because lois is still laughing at whatever you said, patting your back, and putting way too much sugar in her cup. when he moves his chair farther away from her chattering, he's met with the sight of perfect little jimmy olsen. clark knows it's wrong, but he can't help but feel hatred towards the red-head. of course you’d want jimmy. why wouldn’t you? he’s—he’s everything. he’s normal. he’s good. he's not…clark. he exhales deeply, pushing the thoughts out of his brain and rising to his feet. he mutters something about interviewing superman to lois before slinging his bag over his broad shoulder. for the first time in months, clark passes your desk without tripping over his own feet or offering to bring you back lunch. he just keeps his gaze straight, ignoring the small smile you send him that would've had him in cardiac arrest last week. when he shuts the door to the stairwell, he slams it harsher than usual.
"huh," you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. it’s odd, the absence of his usual stammer, the way he doesn’t even pause to ask if you’ll need anything while he’s out. clark kent doesn’t just leave. not without fussing. not without that earnest, big smile that always makes you laugh under your breath. you glance toward the glass doors just in time to see the back of him vanish into the street. his frame seems even larger when weighed down with that invisible heaviness, his shoulders hunched like the city itself pressed down on them.
lois waves a hand in front of your face. “earth to dream girl. what’s got you staring holes into the exit sign?”
“nothing,” you say quickly, taking another sip of your coffee. it burns your tongue, but you don’t flinch. “he’s just…weird today.”
lois smirks, like she knows something you don’t. “maybe you’ve finally scared him off.” you roll your eyes, but there’s a seed of unease tucked somewhere beneath your ribs. clark, ignoring you? clark, walking out without a word? something’s off, and you don't like it.
meanwhile, he’s already halfway down the block, jaw tight, breath sharp against the collar of his shirt. every noise in the city seems louder, harsher. he wants to fly, to tear through the clouds until the ache in his chest evaporates, but even that won’t fix the image burned into his head—your smile, your voice, the certainty when you said something about loving jimmy. he adjusts his glasses, forces his hands into his pockets. you deserve jimmy, he tells himself. you deserve someone simple. someone safe. not a man who lies every day just to keep you from finding out what he is. but god, it really does feel like he’s been punched through a building.
~
the next morning, the newsroom is its usual chaos of ringing phones and rustling paper. you’re perched at your desk, expecting the familiar shadow of clark kent to appear at your elbow with a steaming cup balanced carefully in his hand. but he doesn’t. he walks straight past you, no “morning,” no stammered compliment about your outfit, not even the ghost of his bashful smile. his stride is stiff, mechanical. he sits, adjusts his glasses, and pretends the stack of notes on his desk is suddenly urgent.
your brows pinch, the silence where clark usually is buzzing like a mosquito in your ear. from across the bullpen, lois notices immediately. she grins like a cat with cream, rolling her chair over until she bumps against clark’s desk with a little thunk. “wow,” she drawls, crossing her arms. “no coffee or expensive danish for your girlfriend today? what’s the world coming to, kent?”
normally, clark would flush bright red, choke on his words, maybe even sputter something about she’s not my girlfriend. today, though, he just stares at his computer, jaw tight. “it’s not funny, lois.”
her smirk falters, curiosity sparking. “okay, grumpy. what’s crawled up your cape?”
he exhales slowly through his nose, voice quiet enough that only she can hear. “i heard you two yesterday. by your desk. i wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but i couldn’t not hear it. she basically confessed her love for jimmy.”
lois blinks, letting the information sink in, then lets out a bark of laughter so loud perry pokes his head out of his office and scowls. she waves him off, shoulders shaking. “oh, clark,” she says finally, grinning like she’s just been handed front-page gossip. “you are so out of your depth.”
he looks at her, confused and a little wounded. “lois-” but she’s already rolling back toward her desk, still laughing under her breath, deciding it’ll be far more entertaining to let him stew in his own misery than clear things up for him. from your desk, you glance between the two of them, unsettled by the storm cloud hanging over clark’s usually sunny face.
~
by the end of the day, you’re convinced something’s wrong. it’s not you—at least, you don’t think so. clark isn’t avoiding eye contact out of shyness, he’s dimmer. a man sized shadow slumped in his chair, typing but not seeing, answering questions with one-syllable words. it unsettles you. so, on impulse, you stop by his apartment that evening, balancing a warm paper bag of his favorite takeout against your hip. you knock, humming under your breath, rehearsing some lighthearted line about him looking like he needed it.
when the door creaks open, you almost drop the bag. clark stands there, hair mussed, tie still crooked from work. his glasses slide a fraction down his nose and he doesn’t even push them back up. his expression is blank, exhausted—nothing like the clark kent that you know. “hi,” you start, lifting the bag like an offering. “i, um…thought you might want dinner. you seemed…i don’t know. sad, today.”
for a beat, he just blinks at you. no blush, no stammer, just an emptiness that makes your stomach twist. and it’s impossible not to remember the last time you stood at this doorway. it was months ago, when you came to return the coat he’d forgotten at the office. he’d opened the door with his shirt half-tucked, papers scattered behind him, his ears blazing red. he’d practically yelped, slammed the door in your face, and by the time he opened it again—thirty seconds later—his hair was brushed, his apartment spotless, his shirt pressed like he’d just stepped out of the dry cleaner. you never questioned it, just laughed at how adorably flustered he was.
but tonight, none of that frantic effort. no rush to impress you. just clark, a shell of himself, standing there like he doesn’t quite know what to do with your kindness. “you didn’t have to do that,” he says finally, voice low, almost flat.
you frown. “clark, it’s just noodles. not exactly a grand gesture.” he steps aside reluctantly, letting you in. the apartment is dull, curtains drawn, papers stacked haphazardly on the table. he doesn’t make any excuse for the mess, doesn’t try to straighten anything. you set the bag down, glance back at him. “are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do i have to guess?”
his throat works. he looks at you, then away, as if the sight of you burns. clark rubs a hand over his face, glasses skewing, and mutters, “it’s nothing. really.”
you narrow your eyes. “you look like your dog died.”
“i don’t…have a dog. well, not really,” he says, almost defensively, before realizing how stupid it sounds.
you huff out a laugh despite yourself, unpacking the food. “exactly my point. sit down before you collapse on me.” he obeys, but slowly, like his body weighs twice as much tonight. he doesn’t even move to help, just watches as you set the cartons on his table and search his cabinets for plates. normally, he’d be at your side in a second, fumbling for napkins, tripping over a chair leg in his rush to make himself useful. “you’re freaking me out, clark,” you say finally, sliding a plate of noodles toward him. “yesterday you were fine, and today you’re like this. did perry yell at you? did lois make some crack about your tie again?”
“no.” his fork stirs aimlessly through the noodles, appetite nonexistent. his eyes flicker up to yours for a heartbeat, then drop to the table. “just—don’t worry about it.”
but you do. you can’t not. this is clark, the man who once apologized three times in a row because he accidentally bumped your chair. the man who leaves sticky notes on your desk when you’re having a bad day, with scribbled little cartoons that always make you smile. seeing him dulled, detached, is like finding the sun burned out overnight. “too late,” you murmur, softer than you meant to. “i’m already worried.”
his throat tightens. he pushes his food away, elbows braced on his knees, palms clasped so tightly his knuckles blanch. he wants to say it—that he heard you, that he knows you’re in love with jimmy, that it’s tearing him apart. but the words wedge in his chest like shards of glass. so instead, he shakes his head. “you don’t have to take care of me. i’ll be fine.”
you stare at him, unsettled. the clark you know would’ve blushed at the sight of you standing in his doorway with dinner, would’ve tripped over his gratitude, would’ve told you a dozen times you didn’t need to, but thank you, thank you, thank you. this version of him? he feels distant—even untouchable. “so who will?” you sigh, reaching out to rub your manicured nails up and down his arm. he flinches at the sudden contact. “if i don’t take care of you, who will?” you repeat the question, voice quieter this time.
for a beat, there’s nothing but the hum of his old refrigerator, the distant honk of a horn outside. then, the sudden snap of his words. “maybe you should go take care of jimmy instead.” the words land like a slap. sharp, petty, and completely unlike him. his voice isn’t raised, but it cuts through the room like glass.
your lips part in confusion. “what?”
instantly, his face crumples, shame flooding in. he drags a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “i—god, i didn’t mean that.”
but you’re still staring at him, confusion knitting your brow. clark kent doesn’t snap. he doesn’t sulk like a child or spit out jealous little barbs. he doesn’t tell you to go take care of someone else. except, apparently, tonight he does. you whisper, incredulous, “where did that even come from?”
that’s when the words begin to spill out like you’d given him truth serum. “iheardyouandloistalkingaboutjimmyyesterday.” he babbles, eyes pinching shut in pure embarrassment. “i wasn’t eavesdropping—well, i guess i was—but that’s only because i have really, really good hearing.” you blink at him, stunned into silence. his words tumble over themselves, frantic and messy, and it’s so painfully unlike the careful, gentle clark you know. “you said he was super amazing and he was perfect and blah blah, and it really upset me because i really like you.”
your chest goes still, like the air’s been punched out of you. clark’s face is pink, his glasses slipping low on his nose as he finally dares to glance at you. his expression is raw, almost desperate. and then, all at once, it clicks. the conversation he must’ve overheard. the laughter with lois. the exaggerated tone you’d been using.
your lips part. “oh my god.”
he flinches. “i knew i shouldn’t’ve said-”
“no, clark,” you cut in quickly, leaning forward across the little table. “you didn’t hear the whole thing.” his brows pinch, confusion warring with the nerves flickering across his face.
“jimmy is so cute and amazing and everything he does is just perfect. i think i’m in love with him,” you’d said, slouched against lois’s desk, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. lois had nearly spit out her coffee, laughing as you mimicked the wide-eyed gush of the new intern who couldn’t string two sentences together without swooning over poor jimmy olsen. “and she didn’t know that he was right behind her! i almost died.”
back in clark’s apartment, you cover your mouth, a laugh threatening despite the tension. “clark… i wasn’t talking about me. i was making fun of that new intern, melanie. you know, the one who brings jimmy muffins every morning like she’s feeding a baby bird?”
his entire body stills. he blinks once, twice, the words catching up like bricks tumbling into place. “…oh.” clark’s ears flame instantly, red creeping down his neck. he scrubs a hand over his face like he can hide inside his palm. “i-” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “i thought—i really thought-”
“that i was in love with jimmy?” you supply, a mix of incredulity and something softer curling around the words.
he groans, deflating like a balloon and dragging his fingers through his hair. “god, this is humiliating. i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have assumed. i just—i heard it, and it felt like someone punched a hole straight through me. and then tonight i went and…” his jaw tightens, guilt coloring every syllable, “snapped at you. you didn’t deserve that.”
you study him, the way his shoulders slope in defeat, the way his chest still rises and falls too fast. you’ve never seen clark kent like this. it makes your heart ache. “clark,” you say gently, resting your hand over his where it grips his knee. he jolts at the touch, eyes flying to yours. “you like me?”
the question cracks something open in him. his throat bobs as he nods, slow, reluctant, but honest. “more than i should.”
your lips curve into a wide grin. “you’re serious.” you try your best to feign disbelief.
his laugh is humorless, quiet. “painfully.”
you tilt your head, studying him, the way his broad frame looks so small slumped forward on the couch. “i had a hunch.”
that makes him look up, startled. “you…what?” sure, maybe he was a little obvious. okay, more than a little. but in his defense, how else was he supposed to act around you? how do you look at someone who makes the whole room feel like it’s finally in color and not trip over your own feet? he thought he’d been careful. that the coffees and lunches and endless, nervous “thank yous” were just gentlemanly. the kind of things anyone would do for a coworker. except no one else at the planet is lining up outside your favorite deli to grab your lunch when you’re too swamped to get it yourself. no one else memorizes how you take your coffee down to the sugar packet.
but you noticed. of course you did.
you shrug, trying to bite back your smile. “clark, you bring me coffee every single morning without fail. you pull out my chair like we’re in a black-and-white movie. you once carried my bag down three flights of stairs because you said it looked heavy—it had one book in it.”
his ears are glowing now, eyes wide behind his lenses. “i—i thought i was being-”
“discreet?” you finish for him, laughing softly. “you aren’t very discreet.”
he groans, hiding his face in his hands, muffling something that sounds like, “oh, god.”
but you reach forward, gently prying his hands away until his flustered face is bared again. “hey.” your voice is softer now. “for the record i like you too. i have for a while.”
his mouth parts, a little stunned breath catching like he doesn’t quite know how to hold it. the corners of his lips twitch up, like a smile is fighting its way through all that disbelief. “you—really?”
“painfully,” you echo back, teasing but oh so true.
Hello! Yes everyone, I am still active on both accounts. I have been very busy recently because i’m studying to be an anesthesiologist (it’s draining). I apologize for being away for so long, I have many drafts of incomplete fics I will be posting soon! 😭😭😭😭
could you write something where dave is obsessed with readers boobs please?
18+
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Warnings: 18+ English is not my first language! Smut, Fingering, Teasing, Switch Dave, Switch Reader/Dom Reader, Dave begs, Mommy kink, Female Penetration. (I think that’s it)
Parings: Dave Lizewski x Reader
A/N: This man is such a LOSER and I love that. I got carried away with this one. I don’t proofread.
Dave’s obsession with boobs, especially your own is truly…questionable. We all know he’s got a thing for boobs I mean we all saw that one scene!
Dave struggles to voice his feelings, often too embarrassed to even speak about such things. He’s frequently averting his gaze, but his eyes involuntarily gravitate towards your chest. The ogling always intensifies when you choose to wear tank tops or choose to forgo a bra, leaving him subtly captivated.
On a particularly hot summer day, Dave had invited you to his home due to your apartment’s lack of electricity and air conditioning. You gladly accepted his offer immediately and chose to wear the most revealing outfit in your wardrobe to keep the heat from affecting you. The outfit was perfect; poor Dave couldn’t look away. He was hypnotized by the way your boobs looked, and his gaze seemed glued to them. Despite his efforts, he found himself entranced, unable to divert his attention.
You weren’t completely oblivious to your boyfriend’s wandering eyes. Of course you didn’t mind but you couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts were playing inside his head. Filthy thoughts consumed your mind, the way Dave’s tongue was poking out of the corner of his mouth and the way he licked his lips only made you more curious as to what scenarios he could possibly be playing out in his mind.
You wondered if he was thinking about sucking your tits as you ride him, or if he was thinking of you kneeling in front of him with his dick between your tits as he coats them with his come. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together in your seat as you bit your bottom lip, desperately trying to find some relief or pleasure. The thought alone is simply enough for you to get off on.
Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Dave’s hand and hear his soft voice. “W-what are ya thinking about?” He stutters, his voice laced with nervousness.
He watches and notices how you become fidgety when his hands caress your thigh. A sense of warmth comes over you at his soft touch. His featherlike touch further ignites the small flame that has been burning within you since you noticed his gaze.
your voice is soft as you trip over your words. “N-nothing. T-this is just a good movie, don’t you agree?” Your head nods towards Dave’s tv. Truthfully you couldn’t care less about whatever movie was on at the moment, and neither did Dave, all he could focus on was how thin your blouse was and how he could just barely see the outline of your boobs.
Dave nods even though he isn’t paying any attention to whatever the fuck was playing either, how could he when the most beautiful girl in the world was right in front of him with her boobs on full display! His heart was racing as he tries to calm down his arousal.
He can’t take it anymore, he decides to make a bold decision and just acts before thinking. If all failed he could just die of embarrassment and curl up into fetal position, right?
Dave slowly moves his soft hands up your torso tracing small random patterns against your skin. You shiver as you feel his cold hands make their way up and under your blouse.
"I-I'm sorry, I can't help myself..." He leans in closer, his breath tickling your neck as his fingers brush against your bare skin. His heart is pounding in his chest as he struggles with his desire for you.
“Davie-“ your voice is soft. Dave takes it as a good sign when you don’t immediately stop him and curse him out for being a pervert. You of course know what Dave wants and exactly what he’s up to, he plays this game far too often. Pretends to be shy, innocent, and soft then next thing you know you’re both naked as he’s deep inside you while his mouth is wrapped around your boob or his hand is down your shorts while he suck on your boob, regardless of what happens mark my words, some part of him will be touching your chest.
"I'm-I’m sorry, I can't help myself," Dave confesses, his lips moving against your neck, his hands gently squeezing your soft breasts through your thin blouse. "You're so irresistible." His voice is soft and whiny.
His hand trails across your cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your skin. “Y-you’re going to love it. I promise, alright?”
His hands slide down to unbutton your blouse, revealing your bare skin underneath. He leans in to lay a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your collarbone as his fingers skim across your chest.
You nod hesitantly as his hands focus on unbuttoning your blouse, once it’s finally off and your breasts are revealed to him, he can’t help but let out a small whimper. Dave can’t help it, when he sees your bare chest he swears he’s in heaven.
Dave's hands tremble as they slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. He leans in closer, his warm breath fanning across your skin. "They're perfect," he murmurs, his voice barely audible even to himself.
You hesitate to speak, stuttering at every word that leaves your lips. “T-Thank yo-u Davie.” The heat between your thighs is becoming so unbearable.
“I w-wanna taste you mommy” Dave murmurs, his voice rough with need. His hands slip inside your panties, his fingers finding the dampness between your legs. Dave’s mouth wraps around your nipple, flicking at it and sucking at it as his hands explore your panties, feeling how wet you’ve become just for him, because of him.
The only sounds that can be heard throughout Dave’s household is the sound of your moans and whimpers as his hand plays with your wet pussy. You buck your hips agaisnt his hand as his fingers rub your clit. "Dave... I'm close," you gasp out, your body arching into his touch. "Don't stop oh my god baby!" The feel of his fingers inside you, combined with his mouth on your breast, sends waves of pleasure coursing through your entire being.
You pant his name, your body trembling with need. The sensations are overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable as his fingers continue to tease you.
F-fuck, yeah, baby," Dave gasps out, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to feel you come around my fingers, come on pretty girl. Let me feel you come around my hand." His fingers move faster, curling deeper inside you as he searches for that one perfect spot to send you over the edge.
Your eyes shut tight and your nails dig into his shoulder as you feel your climax approaching, you cry out his name and beg for him to let you come.
“Fuck, yes," Dave moans, his hips bucking against your leg as he whispers in your ear."Let go, baby. Let me see you come apart for me."
"Come for me, baby. Let go," Dave urges in a husky whimper. "I want to feel you baby.." His fingers curl and stretch, finding just the right spot, the perfect rhythm.
Dave’s eyes watch your every move and reaction as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, his eyes light up as he hears you moan and watches you buck your hips uncontrollably agaisnt his hand. Broken cry’s of pleasure leave your mouth as you come apart around his fingers.
Dave watches you fall apart under his touch. He groans, his hips bucking up against your side , seeking more contact as he feels you shatter around his fingers. “Such a good girl, so fucking tight.” he breathes, his voice thick with lust and pride.
A small gasp leaves your lips as you feel empty when he pulls his fingers from your pussy and brings them to his mouth. You watch and bite your lip as with a slow, deliberate motion, he tastes you, savoring your sweetness.
“You taste amazing," Dave murmurs, his eyes locked on yours."Mmm," Dave hums, his eyes closing in pleasure as he tastes you. "You're so fucking addictive," he whispers, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.
Feeling your body pressing against his, Dave groans into the kiss, his cock twitching against the rough fabric of his jeans. His cock is begging for a release. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks into your eyes. "You're killing me," he mutters, his voice rough with lust.
Your eyes slowly wander down to the bulge in his jeans, you lick your lips at the sight admiring the imprint of his cock against his jeans. “Is this all for me Davie? You’re this worked up over watching me come and playing my tits?” Your words are filthy and condescending, something Dave catches on to quickly.
“Y-you turned me on so much just by letting me play with your pretty pussy.” He whimpers "I need you right now." He tugs on your hand gently, guiding it to his erection. “I want to feel you wrapped around me so bad." Dave’s voice comes out as a whimper as he begs for you. He’s become desperate and grinds against your palm.
“Please, baby." He whines, his hips undulating against your hand. "I need you so fucking bad." His eyes bore into yours, full of desire and need.
Your eyes admire him as he begs desperately for you, your body is begging for him but the desire to make him beg for your body overpowered your need to please him, to have him inside of you.
Whimpering, Dave presses his hips into your hand. "Please, mommy, please. I need to be inside you.." His voice is raw with need and desire. He leans in, pressing his lips against your neck.
Your resolve slowly fades and you feel yourself giving into him. His desire and desperation turns you on more than anything. Watching him fall apart simply because he needs to be inside you is the most amazing thing you’ve ever experienced.
You give him a small nod and watch as he quickly moves to unzip and take off his pants and quickly drops his boxers to floor, kicking both items of clothing off and moving back to sit near you looking at you intently. You slowly bring your palm to his cock and wrap your hand around it. Admiring his manhood. His cock twitches in anticipation, leaking pre-cum onto your hand.
Your eyes sparkle in admiration as you watch Dave’s face contor into one of pleasure. A deep moan escapes from his throat as he jerks his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into your hand.
“What do you need baby?” You tease him, watching closely as his glasses fall askew. “I need you to take me inside that tight little pussy of yours, mommy." Dave's voice is ragged.
You tsk at him in disapproval. “Oh such nasty words coming from such a pretty boy, what a shame.”
His cock jerks in your hand, a testament to his arousal. Your hand slows around him, teasing him. “I'm sorry, mommy," Dave pants, his hips jerking involuntarily. "I can't help it. I need you." His cock throbs in your hand
“Oh that’s much better, good boy.” You praise.
“T-Thank you mommy.” As if responding to your approval, Dave's cock twitches again, this time more forcefully. He arches his back, offering you better access to his sensitive tip. "Please, mommy," he whispers. "I need you to ride me.."
You coo at him and slowly remove your hand that’s wrapped around his shaft. “I know baby, you’re just so pretty when you beg. Mommy’s gonna give you what you want baby”
Dave's breath hitches when you remove your hand from his cock. His head rolls back in anticipation, his eyes closed tightly. "Oh, god..mommy," he moans, his voice shaky with desire.
His eyes flutter open, he watches you through the lenses of his glasses. “Thank you, mommy," Dave breathes out, his body trembling with anticipation. As you pull back, he reaches out, tracing the curve of your breast with his fingers. "You're so beautiful."
His words send a shiver throughout your body, his compliment bring out a small smile from you.
“Thank you Davie” You kiss his lips softly then pull away as you straddle his hips. Your entrance hovering right over his thick length, his hands slowly make their way to hold your hips.
Dave watches as you position yourself above him, his heart racing in anticipation. "Mommy," he moans, his hips pushing up against you. His cockhead brushes against your entrance.
His cock twitches against your sensitive folds, begging for entrance. "Please, mommy." You slowly lover yourself down on him, your mouth falls open as you gasp and your eyes shut as you feel his large cock slowly stretch you open around him. “Oh Davie-“ You steady yourself against him.
A soft moan escapes Dave as you lower yourself onto him, feeling you stretch around him. He grips your hips tightly, guiding you slowly down his length. "Oh fuck, mommy," he whispers.
“You’re so big Davie” You cry out as you lower yourself down on him, feeling him inside you. Dave pants, his voice thick with lust and need. He thrusts upwards gently, meeting your downward motion, their hips slapping together in a rhythmic dance of desire.
his cock throbs inside you. His hands slide up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples, his hands hold your breasts tenderly. His hips buck slightly, pushing further into the tight embrace of your warmth. You whimper when he’s fully inside you, his throbbing cock fills your body and your brain feels empty, your only thought is him and how good he’s making you feel. You slowly grind your hips down agaisnt his own.
“Fuck, yes," Dave groans, feeling you move against him. His own hips buck up, meeting your grind with enthusiasm. He bites his lower lip, feeling overwhelmed by the sensation of being inside you. "So fucking tight," he pants.
You groan as you feel him thrust up into your pussy, the sounds of skin slapping filling the room. “You feel so good baby-Oh fuck!” Every sound and noise that is being made is borderline filthy, every moan and whimper sounds almost pornographic.
Dave cries out, his hips bucking wildly as he takes you with force. His cock pistons in and out of you, driving you both towards the brink of ecstasy. Your tits bounce at his hard thrust, your moans and cries come out broken, due to the overwhelming sense of pleasure that’s he’s giving to you.
Daves hands roamover your body again, finding your nipples. He pinches and rolls them between his fingers, using them to his advantage as he continues to fuck you senseless. Dave’s hands wander back down towards your hips, his hands wander lower and grope your ass. he leans forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. Dave’s glasses are foggy and crooked, barely on the tip of his nose.
You whimper and reach your hand towards his face gently taking them off and tossing them to the side of the couch. His tongue circles around your nipple, tugging gently at the sensitive flesh, his face somehow burrowing further against your tit. Feeling the warmth of your ass against his hands, the taste of your nipple in his mouth, and the tightness surrounding his cock, Dave can't hold back any longer. His hips buck up fiercely.
You moan and your eyes roll back as you feel your climax approaching “I’m gonna fucking come!” You groan. “Come for me baby, fuck-Oh Dave-“
Dave’s groans are muffled as he sucks on your tit, his feels his own orgasm taking over. He thrusts up into you, his cock pulsing as he releases his seed deep inside you. His hips buck wildly, his hands gripping your hips tightly. His hip shudder as he thrust up into you, emptying himself inside you. He pulls his mouth off and away from your tit and just rests his head against your chest.
As the wave of pleasure subsides, leaving both of you panting heavily, Dave remains connected to you, his cock still buried deep inside. He kisses your chest tenderly, his ear still pressed against your racing heartbeat.
I’m obsessedddd with the idea of sub!frank. Like that man was a soldier and he follows karen like a lost puppy. Maybe not all the time, but yk that man likes to be told what to do
Submissive Solider
Warnings: smut, talks of sex.
Parings: Frank Castle x Reader
A/N: This is more of a thought/blurb? Omg I’m sorry I got carried away, this man just does things to me. ⬇️ 😭
This man absolutely follows his partner around like a lost puppy everywhere, everywhere.
Don’t get me wrong, Frank loves being dominant, loves taking control of you, mind and body, but there are days where he just needs to take a break, days where he doesn’t want to think for himself.
On those days he starts arguments, and has an attitude until you decide you’ve had it with his behavior, with him. Some days Frank puts up a fight, he’ll be bratty, he’s giving you lip until you fight him into submission which is difficult. But on those days where he just gives in. No arguments, no talking back. Those are the days where you know he’s having a really rough time.
Frank is willingly to do anything on those days, he’ll listen and do as told, he’ll beg. He’ll get on his knees while looking up at you, kissing your thighs, pleading for even just a look at your chest or under your skirt.
He’s so shameless when he’s in a submissive headspace, he loves doing anything in his power to please you. Frank adores your whimpers, moans and whines, any noises that escape your lips from his doing is music to his ears.
Now I don’t think he’s the type to call you mommy in bed…but there has definitely been times where the word is on the tip of his tongue. There has been times where you just make him feel soo good and he just wants to groan ‘Mommy.’
I feel like he’s definitely more of the ma’am type, I don know if he’d be the type to say any other titles than Mommy and Ma’am.
One night though, one night when Frank is so tired, so, so tired and just needs a break, he’ll come home and find you cooking in the kitchen or reading some book he recommend and he just gives you ‘that’ look with his stupidly beautiful eyes.
You don’t have to ask any questions before you’re taking off your shirt and laying in bed, letting him suck your tits. He just lays there with you caressing his head, running your nails against his scalp comforting him to the best of your ability. Kissing his head while he runs his hand down your hips. He groans as soon as he wraps his mouth around your tit, sucking and groaning.
He treats this moment as if it’s something he never wants to forget, as if he never wants to leave it. Now, it happens when you have to pull him off for a second. He just so needy for you, he needs you. Frank groans ‘Mommy’ his voice is deep, it’s clear he’s desperate. He looks up at you. His eyes starring into your soul begging for more.
God the things it does to you just hearing it leave his mouth, God you didn’t even realize you liked that until it left his mouth, Franks mouth. You just have to give in, you have to. He’s your solider, ‘The Punisher.’ For the first time he’s begging you for something and you just have to give in, just have to let him have it.
This will usually always leads to passionate sex with soft caresses followed by ‘I love you’s’ and ‘So good Frankie.’
Can please get tangerine smut? 🙏 Literally anything please 🫶🫶🫶
Parings: Tangerine x Reader
Warnings: Smut, Choking, Name calling (?)
A/N: i’ve never written for this man before so sorry if it don’t feel accurate to the character ‼️sincere apology to the British.
“F-fuck oh fuck-“ You moaned out as Tangerine thrusted into you from behind, his hand slowly reached up to wrap around your throat his grip tightening as his thrust fastened.
Your whines were heard all throughout your home. Tangerine’s grunts were only turning you on more and his filthy words were adding to all the pleasure you were feeling.
“There ya go love, just like that filthy little slut” he groaned into your ear, his grip around your throat loosened and his hand moved down your hips caressing them before he pushed you down into the mattress, he gripped your hips, he was using your body and you loved it.
“Tan-“ you could barely get any words out before he roughly shoved your head into the mattress holding your head down, muffling your moans. “Hush now love.” his british accent was thick, his voice was hoarse. “ya’ thas right, good girl”
A/N: I love nerdy dick too twin, you so real for this omg😭‼️
How did this happen? How did Dave end up with the woman he thought was the hottest girl on earth, on top of him straddling his hips?
It all started when Dave decided to invite his girlfriend over to study. She definitely did not want to study—how could she, when all she could think about was how hot he looked while he rambled on about some silly, boring, and excessively long economic questions for class.
Truth be told, she didn’t care much about anything he was saying at the moment. Although that might sound rude, she didn’t care one bit. Her boyfriend sat at the edge of his bed, rambling, and he looked absolutely perfect. His glasses were set perfectly in place on his face, and the way the tip of his tongue stuck out as he delved deep into thought about his stupid economics homework—how could she possibly focus?
Dave was completely oblivious to her ogling. He wasn’t aware that she was practically salivating just from looking at him, he was oblivious to all the impure thoughts running through his girlfriends head, he was so focused on finishing his assignments he didn’t realize just how needy his girlfriend was.
Although Dave and you were in a very serious relationship you’ve never discussed sex it was uncharted territory for both of you. Dave was too shy and embarrassed because he was still a virgin it was a sensitive topic for him. Everyone is aware he isn’t the most popular guy at school.
You on the other hand were scared you’d send him running for the hills if you tried to suggest sex, It’s not like you both never did anything well…the furthest you’ve gotten with each other was making out and grinding against each other, and the ending result was always the same: Dave blushing, covering his lap with a pillow while he sat at his desk chair, and diverting into discussions about random comics and superhero references as if you didn’t just have your tongue in his mouth.
You kept eyeing Dave and biting your lip the thoughts running through your head were pure sin, you were convinced if Dave knew about them he would be a stuttering and blushing disaster. You didn’t think your staring was obvious until Dave suddenly redirected his attention from his five-minute monologue about consumerism, catching you in the act.
He looked back at you from his spot on the bed as he cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Are you okay? Is um something wrong?” God he was so sweet and caring he was oblivious to the fact that all you wanted to do was have him whimpering and groaning beneath you, your desires were consuming your mind. You always wondered what he would sound like when he was overwhelmed with pleasure. You’d caught a glimpse of it once, and since then, your thirst for more was like that of a desert traveler yearning for a drop of water.
“Yeah-Mhm everything’s fine sorry my mind was somewhere else for a second” you smiled at him trying to sound as if you weren’t seconds away from jumping on him. He smiled and adjusted his glasses before he nodded and turned his attention back to his paper.
You couldn’t stand it the last straw was when he bit his bottom lip in concentration you couldn’t stop yourself you swiped his paper off the table, the rustling sound breaking the spell between you. You set it down with a bit more force than intended, a bold move that marked your intentions.
Leaning in, you placed a hand on his cheek and pressed your lips to his, a surge of unspoken desires finally finding expression. His initial surprise melted away, replaced by a hunger that mirrored your own. In that stolen kiss, the air crackled with a mix of passion and anticipation, as if the world outside had faded, leaving just the two of you suspended in that breathtaking moment.
And there it was, the culmination of all those unspoken desires, manifesting in the reality of the moment. Dave found himself reclined against the headboard, a sensation of both exhilaration and disbelief coursing through him. You straddled him, your legs encasing his body, intimacy that had been a distant fantasy until now. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, which had turned a deep shade of crimson. The flush of his cheeks mirrored the intensity of the moment, a testament to the shared vulnerability and passion.
Your gaze trailed down, drinking in the sight of his bare chest pressed against you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath a captivating dance. The tousled strands of his hair cradled his head against the pillow like a crown, accentuating his allure.
His eyes held a mix of emotions as they lingered on your chest, a blend of curiosity and desire. The gravity of the moment weighed on the air, punctuated by his words, “Are you sure about this?” Your fingers, tender as a whisper, glided across his cheek, a gesture of reassurance and care. Leaning down, you captured his lips in a soft, lingering kiss, your intention clear—to grant him the choice to halt if his comfort wavered.
You sought to convey through touch what words might not fully express. His gaze held yours, a reservoir of affection and trust that spoke volumes. With a glance saturated in love, he nodded, affirming his readiness to explore uncharted realms with you.
He looked down between both your bodies, you were hovering over him, he bit his lip. Dave whined out a small, broken “please.” You closed your eyes savoring the way he spoken his plead was music to your ears.
You slowly sank down on to him, your mouth let out a small gasp at the feeling as he let out a deep groan, he felt the way you clamped down against him, the way he stretched you open had you groaning. You leaned down to kiss him gently, and gave yourselves time to adjust to the new sensation. Dave was girthy and long, he was bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, this felt different from all the times you’ve had sex this, this was love. You could feel the love radiating off of him as he kissed you and groaned into the passionate kiss.
Once you both adjusted, Dave gripped your hips and bucked his hips into you, his thrust were slow and deep, the noises of skin against each other and pleasurable moans filled the room. “Y-you’re so beautiful” Dave muttered and he looked into your eyes. “You’re so pretty davie” You couldn’t help but cry out as you reached down to play with yourself rubbing small gentle circles on your clit and slowly grinding down against him.
He whimpered and you felt his arms wrap around you, holding you in place. You could feel the tension in his body, the excitement building as he felt you against his body. You leaned down to kiss him gently, your lips meeting his in a gentle, tender embrace. You were addicted to the feeling of him inside you, the way he held you, the way he moaned your name. The pressure was building and you knew that you were about to cum you were trying to hold off trying to make this last for as long as you could. “Dave-I’m gonna cum--“ You cried out.
“I-f-fuck” Dave stuttered out as he felt you squeeze around him as you reached your climax, your body shaking with the intensity of the orgasm. Dave was groaning deep in his throat, his hips moving up and down as he came as well. You felt like you were one, a single unit, moving together in a synchronized dance of pleasure as he came deep in you.
Dave whimpered as you rode out your high against him, he felt himself growing overstimulated, he reached for your hips and kept a firm hold on you to keep you from moving, his body was shaking and sweat dripped from his forehead.
“I love you,” you murmured, your voice laced with affection.
“I love you too, baby,” Dave replied, a tender smile on his lips. With a gentle motion, he lifted himself and drew you in for a sweet, lingering kiss.
Releasing yourself from the embrace, you let out a soft sigh of contentment as you reclined against the bed, Dave at your side. He seemed to shift, a hint of nervousness tainting his usual bashful demeanor. “So, uh, how did I do? Was it okay?” His cheeks flushed a shade of crimson that rivaled a tomato’s hue.
I don’t write about cheating/infidelity, it makes me uncomfortable.
I do not write Pedophilia. (Minor characters x Adult Reader, Adult Characters x Minor Reader)
I do not write Character x Character.
If requesting something please be nice! Any rude/racist/bigotry/ homophobic behavior will not be accepted, you will be blocked.
Make sure your requests are detailed, I need specifics. Please be sure to use ‘Thank you’ or ‘Please’ just a personal preference (Isn’t required but would be nice!). Be respectful.
I do not proofread my work so please excuse any typos, english is not my first language.
My apologies if anything I write is bad i’m not great at writing smut but I’m making this account just to try!!
If you have any questions feel free to message me or send an ask!
A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this please be nice I can’t take bullying :)
I grip his length in my small hands he’s so thick and long he grabs the back of my head and pulls me up for a kiss, he gently guides me as I lick it with little teasing licks, He groans.
“like a lollipop pretty baby, atta girl there ya’ go”
he says In a deep groggy voice.
The noises that are being made are so dirty, the gagging. It’s music to his ears.
