"i want old fandom back :(" y'all can't even handle people shipping fictional characters with a 2 year age gap, what makes you think you'll be able to handle all the stuff old fandom came with?
thinking about coming home drunk to clark and he rubs your back as you run until his arms and he kisses the crown of your head as you debrief your day/night. then you complain about being too tired to shower and even though he’s already showered that night he offers to hop in with you to help you(and also to make sure your safe and you don’t fall given your drunken state) then he helps you with your stupidly long skincare and then he puts you on his chest and listens to you mumble yourself to sleep then he listens to your heartbeat and your soft shallow breaths as you fall asleep and only then does he allow himself to drift off with your hearts connected dispute the layers of flesh and fabric
Sinopsis: Clark Kent becomes obsessed with uncovering the identity of the mysterious vigilante known as Jade Witch, a heroine whose methods clash with everything he believes.
Warnings: Identity Secret, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Moral Conflict, Vigilante Justice, Violence, Murder, Human Trafficking, Crime, Graphic Themes
WC: 6,400 words approx.
Clark kept his eyes fixed on his computer screen. If it weren't for the sun practically erasing the shadows beneath his eyes, or for that yellow sun wiping away every trace of exhaustion from his body, he would have looked like any ordinary man with dark circles under his eyes, dazed and utterly worn out. But no, he was Clark Kent on a perfectly normal day, or at least that was how it seemed from the outside.
His expression was calm, his posture relaxed, yet inside, his mind raced without restraint, like a train that couldn't find a station where it could finally stop. He hadn't stopped thinking about what had happened a week and a half ago over the weekend, and it was more than that: he had completely lost his mind.
Yes, he wondered if it was even possible for a Kryptonian to go insane like this. He wasn't sure of the answer, but what he did know was that his thoughts refused to stop circling around the same subject, the same person, the same situation that had left him completely bewildered.
The reason behind that endless storm inside his head was the woman everyone called a heroine.
As Superman, Clark genuinely appreciated the help of the heroes who emerged from the shadows to protect innocent people. He admired those willing to risk their lives for others, and he always tried to see the best in each of them. But there was something about her that had never truly sat right with him, something that clashed directly with his deepest principles.
He always did everything in his power to keep innocent people out of danger, and he refused to kill in cold blood, even when facing his most dangerous enemies. Clark held firmly onto the belief that there was hope in everyone, even in the cruelest of criminals. He believed everyone deserved a chance to redeem themselves, to change, to find a better path.
But that woman didn't share his beliefs, and that unsettled him far more than he wanted to admit.
People had named her "Jade Witch," and the name fit her perfectly.
The word "Jade" came from the powers she wielded, those brilliant emerald flashes that appeared whenever she moved objects with her mind, manipulated the space around her, or unleashed her magical abilities. Everything about her carried that rich emerald glow.
As for "Witch," it came from her appearance. She wore a sleek black bodysuit adorned with subtle emerald accents that seemed to come alive every time she used her powers. Draped over it was a hooded cape that was anything but ordinary. It had been enchanted, capable of detaching itself from her body and acting independently.
The cape protected her, attacked her enemies, and even fought alongside her, moving as though it possessed a will of its own. A dark green visor concealed the upper half of her face, hiding her identity while leaving only her striking green eyes visible, eyes that shone brilliantly whenever she channeled her magic.
She was an imposing, mysterious figure, and Clark couldn't deny the profound impression she left on him.
Clark had been observing her ever since the first time he saw her in action.
It happened at a facility where animals were being experimented on. She had arrived like a storm, tearing through the place while rescuing every animal trapped inside, every creature suffering behind those walls.
By the time Superman arrived, the researchers were already dead, executed in cold blood.
Clark examined the bodies and noticed that several of them had injections in their necks, the exact same injections they themselves had been using to subdue the animals.
The animals that had been gravely injured or infected had been healed. She had cleansed them, given them another chance.
But she hadn't given one to the people responsible for their suffering.
Clark understood her anger, her outrage at witnessing such cruelty. But seeing so much blood spilled throughout that laboratory made him deeply uncomfortable. He couldn't agree with her methods.
It became an internal conflict that haunted him because he knew she was doing good, yet the way she chose to do it went against everything he believed in.
Of course, he tried to understand her.
He wasn't a narrow-minded man, and he knew everyone had their own reasons for acting the way they did.
But witnessing such direct, cold, calculated violence felt excessive to him.
Eventually, he realized she was always the one initiating the attacks, and he decided to speak with her. He wanted to explain how he operated in Metropolis, how he believed in giving criminals the opportunity to redeem themselves.
But when she once again killed a man who belonged to a group responsible for kidnapping children, Clark felt he had no choice but to intervene.
She looked at him with those piercing green eyes that seemed capable of staring straight through his soul.
"You save murderers who prey on innocent people. Isn't that hypocritical, Superman? Your actions leave victims terrified that their abusers will walk free again. I erase that fear."
With that, she flew away without giving him the chance to respond.
From that moment on, Clark tried to stop the deaths from becoming so gruesome, but she always found a way to do exactly what she wanted.
She didn't even have to touch the men who came after her. They would suddenly collapse to their knees as though an invisible force had crushed them, gasping in agony, and then their bodies would explode without her lifting a single finger.
It was both astonishing and horrifying.
"You don't have to do this," Clark told her one night, trying to reason with her.
That time, she smiled.
It was a smile that never reached her eyes, carrying only the faintest trace of irony.
She stepped so close to him that Clark hadn't even sensed her approach, despite the fact that he himself could move at incredible speeds.
Maybe he had simply wanted her close. Maybe he wanted to see her clearly.
And for the first time, he did.
She tilted her head slightly, studying him with quiet curiosity.
"You have to live with the consequences of your own actions," she said.
Clark didn't fully understand what she meant.
Then she continued.
"He slaughtered an entire family, murdering them in cold blood and using their bodies for his own twisted satisfaction. Didn't he deserve to die, Superman?"
Clark remained silent, unable to find an answer.
He knew she was right, at least in part.
But he also knew that the way he viewed the world would never allow him to accept death as the solution.
But that wasn't the real reason Clark couldn't stop thinking about that woman. It wasn't their philosophical differences or her violent methods that had him so deeply unsettled. It was what had happened during their last encounter, that night when everything changed between them. Superman had rescued the women who had been abducted after attacking a place disguised as a church that was actually being used for human trafficking. Women were being sold there as though they were nothing more than objects, and Clark couldn't allow that to continue. He stormed the building with determination, helping the women escape. But the moment he sensed the woman's presence, Clark knew she intended to do the worst to those responsible. So he focused on the victims instead.
"Nothing is going to happen," he told the women as he looked at them trembling with fear. "There's a back exit. Go now. The officers should already be waiting for you outside. Everything will be alright."
Clark calmly guided them through the hallway he had discovered, making sure they escaped safely, and felt relieved when he saw them putting more and more distance between themselves and the danger.
At that moment, Superman heard the men's cries of pain.
She had arrived.
He rushed toward the commotion, effortlessly disarming the men who were firing at her without seriously injuring them. By the time he reached her, her cape was already suffocating the men, wrapping itself around them with a life of its own. Clark reacted quickly and took down one of the men who was about to attack her from behind. She looked at him for only a brief second, her emerald eyes locking onto his, before continuing her assault, weaving spells with graceful movements of her hands while her cape fought on the opposite side of the room.
Everything seemed to be under control until one of the men shouted,
"Damn witch!"
She looked at him with nothing but contempt.
The man sneered.
"I hope I see you in Hell!"
Superman noticed the bomb clutched tightly in the man's hand, and time seemed to freeze.
Everything happened in an instant.
The man pressed the detonator.
The building shook violently, and flames spread like an unstoppable wave.
Without thinking twice, Superman swept the woman into his arms and launched himself into the sky, feeling the heat of the fire chasing after them, almost close enough to reach them. Once they were safely among the clouds, Clark realized he was wrapped in the cape that normally covered her.
She, however, looked up at him with a crooked smile, as though the entire situation had been nothing more than an amusing game.
"It's always a pleasure seeing you up close, Superman," she said.
Clark felt a knot tighten in his throat.
He swallowed hard without releasing his hold around her waist, feeling the weight of her body against his.
Her hand rose to cup his cheek, and her green eyes slowly wandered across his face with an intensity that completely disarmed him.
"Your cape... it got the wrong person," Clark whispered, unable to move away from her.
God, something was happening to him, something that made him feel as though he were betraying his own values, yet he couldn't stop it.
"No. I wanted to protect you," the woman replied with such simple honesty that it stole his breath away.
"I thought you hated me," Superman admitted.
She let out a soft, almost mocking laugh.
"Hate you? I hate the way you save people, but letting the hero who gives Metropolis hope die would go against my own principles," the woman said as her fingers gently brushed along his jaw, making Clark shiver beneath her touch.
"I couldn't care less about murderers or idiots who kill for pleasure, but good people, children, deserve to have the hope I always wished I'd had," she admitted, holding his gaze.
Clark never expected what happened next.
The woman kissed him without warning.
Although Clark froze for a brief moment, he didn't pull away.
Instead, he deepened the kiss, feeling his body respond to her in a way it never had before. Breathless, longing for more of her in the middle of the sky, he gently lowered her beneath him as though the cloud itself were a bed, holding her tightly as he kissed her again, his hands instinctively tightening around her waist.
Had he wanted her before? Maybe he had, but he had always refused to think about a woman that way because he believed it was disrespectful to have those kinds of thoughts without her consent.
Lost in that haze of distraction, the woman shifted, rolling over until she was above him, her hands resting against his chest while her hips moved unconsciously.
When she finally broke the kiss, she smiled with playful amusement.
"It's always entertaining to find out you're not just a hero, and that you need things most people would never imagine," she whispered, her lips barely brushing against his.
"I'm not evil, Superman. I don't kill because I enjoy it. I'm the consequence of men like the ones you keep trying to save, knowing they destroyed people like me."
She gently caressed his cheek before adding,
"I hope I get to see you again soon, Clark."
She placed one last kiss on his lips before finally pulling away.
That kiss, the lingering sensation of her touch against his skin, and the fact that she knew his real name, Clark Kent, drove him completely insane.
From that moment on, he searched for her every single day during the following week and a half, but there wasn't a single trace of her. There were no signs, no clues, nothing that could lead him to her.
The worst part was that his obsession had reached the point where he found himself looking at everyone around him with suspicion.
If she knows me, she could be close, he thought.
Then his eyes landed on you.
You were the very first person he doubted.
But even he refused to believe it.
No.
It couldn't be you.
You couldn't possibly be the woman who had left him so utterly confused and, at the very same time, so captivated.
You were the Daily Planet's staff writer assigned to natural disasters. Whenever a hurricane struck or any natural disaster unfolded, you were there gathering information, taking notes, interviewing the people affected, and writing the story so everyone would know what was happening. You took your work very seriously, but you were also reserved, kind, and smiled often.
Your smile was something many people in the newsroom appreciated because it brightened the atmosphere and made even the busiest workdays easier to get through.
But Clark knew that wasn't enough to rule you out.
There was something else.
Your eyes were brown.
A warm, deep brown.
Not green like the woman who had left him so bewildered.
But Clark also knew the woman's green eyes could have looked that way because of her powers, powers that concealed her identity and protected her. Maybe she used some kind of magic to change the color of her eyes, or maybe it was simply an effect created by the visor she wore.
He couldn't be certain.
Your hair, however, was identical to hers.
He had noticed that detail from the very beginning, and he couldn't get it out of his head.
But was it really that long?
He couldn't remember for sure because she almost always wore her hood whenever she appeared, and on the few occasions he had seen her without it, the wind had tossed her hair around, making it impossible to distinguish the finer details.
For days, Clark rubbed his temples while watching you from his desk.
You worked beside Lois's desk, laughing with her, your cheeks turning bright red from either laughter or embarrassment.
Every time he looked at you, his mind filled with questions and doubts, and he couldn't stop himself from watching you closely, searching for something that would either confirm or dismiss his suspicions.
"No, Ms. Lane," you said in a soft, slightly nervous voice.
You were still young, and you hadn't quite grown accustomed to speaking to Lois so casually. She was a renowned journalist with years of experience and an overwhelming personality, and sometimes she intimidated you a little.
"Really," you said with an embarrassed smile as you lowered your gaze to the papers in your hands.
As always, Lois refused to give up.
"Come on, you've done an incredible job. Your article about the hurricane on the coast was fantastic. You really captured the essence of what happened. If you ever decide to move into politics and give it a try, you can count on me to help you," Lois said, gesturing enthusiastically.
You knew that was simply who she was. She always wanted to encourage everyone around her. Still, you weren't sure you wanted to change departments. You loved covering natural disasters, feeling the wind against your face, witnessing nature's raw power, and telling stories that connected people with the world around them.
But Lois was persistent, and her enthusiasm was contagious.
No, Clark told himself once again as he watched the two of you from his desk.
You laughed easily, became nervous in certain situations, and always carried yourself with a warmth that made people feel comfortable.
None of that matched the image of the cold, mysterious woman he had encountered before.
Even so, he couldn't ignore his curiosity.
One day, he approached you while you were printing a few documents in the copy room.
The moment you noticed him, you looked away for an instant, as though his presence made you uncomfortable.
It wasn't that you disliked him.
Clark simply carried an intensity about him that sometimes made you nervous, and you weren't entirely sure why.
"Good morning," Clark said as he stopped beside you, carefully studying you.
His eyes traced your features, your nose, the shape of your eyes, and the curve of your lips.
But the dark green visor that had hidden the upper half of the other woman's face made comparing the two nearly impossible.
It was frustrating because he felt he needed to see more.
He needed one clue that would confirm everything.
You looked back at him with your warm brown eyes, feeling his unwavering stare fixed on you, and your heart skipped a beat.
You had no idea why he was looking at you so intently, and it made you feel vulnerable.
"Good morning," you replied with a shaky smile as you sighed and neatly stacked your documents together.
But something about his silence made you stop.
"Is something wrong, Clark?" you asked when you realized he was still staring at you without saying a word. "Did I do something wrong?" you added, unsure of what else to say as the silence stretched between the two of you.
Clark blinked, finally realizing he had made you uncomfortable.
"No. I'm sorry," he said quickly in a gentle voice.
You nodded, feeling that the moment had become strange, then gathered your documents and hurried back toward your desk.
Clark remained there for another moment, watching you walk away, feeling more and more convinced that he was losing his mind.
Once, the two of you were riding the elevator together.
Clark quietly watched you standing in front of him, your hair tied back in a low ponytail, your hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. You were lost in your own thoughts, thinking about the article you were writing on a recent earthquake, when the elevator stopped at the next floor and people crowded inside.
Several people squeezed in all at once, pressing against you, and before you could do anything, the crowd pushed you backward until you collided with Clark's chest.
You felt the warmth of his body against your back, and your heart immediately began to race.
You tried to move so you could reclaim your space, but the elevator was completely packed. There wasn't enough room to move even an inch.
Clark, meanwhile, felt your body bump into his and realized you were the exact same height as the woman.
It was a small detail, but his mind couldn't stop making connections.
Even so, it wasn't enough for him to be certain, and that frustrated him even more.
He could feel your hair brushing lightly against his chin, and the sweet, delicate scent of your perfume reached him.
The woman with the cape hadn't worn perfume, at least not that he could remember, and that made him doubt himself once again.
When the elevator finally reached the newsroom floor, everyone hurried out.
You almost rushed away, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.
You hadn't meant to bump into him, and the feeling of his body pressed against yours had made you nervous in a way you couldn't explain.
You stepped out without looking back, walking quickly toward your desk with your coffee cup trembling ever so slightly in your hand.
Clark remained inside the elevator for a few more seconds, watching you walk away.
She must feel embarrassed, he thought.
But he also wondered whether that embarrassment meant something more, or whether you were simply being yourself, a reserved, kind young woman who didn't know how to handle an awkward moment like that.
The days passed, yet Clark remained trapped in that endless cycle of doubts and observations.
Every time he saw you around the office, his eyes instinctively found you.
It was as though something inside him compelled him to look for you, to study your movements, your expressions, the way you laughed, or the way you concentrated on your work.
Of course, none of that went unnoticed by you.
It made you uncomfortable to constantly feel his eyes on you.
Many times, the moment you realized he was looking, you quickly looked away or pretended to be busy with something on your desk.
Whenever Clark noticed your discomfort, he suddenly realized he probably looked like some kind of creep.
He would sigh in frustration, run a hand through his hair, and quickly walk away, embarrassed with himself.
It wasn't his intention to make you uncomfortable.
He simply couldn't stop searching for answers in you.
One day, Lois caught him in the act.
He was leaning against the newsroom doorway with his arms crossed, staring at you while you talked on the phone.
He hadn't realized how obvious he was being, but Lois, with her eagle eye for details, noticed immediately.
She walked over with a teasing smile and lightly smacked his shoulder.
"Hey, I've seen the way you've been looking at her. Are you trying to become a stalker or what?" Lois asked, raising an eyebrow with the exact tone she always used whenever she wanted to get a reaction out of someone.
Clark nearly jumped, as though he'd just been caught doing something forbidden.
He immediately shook his head.
"No, that's not it," he answered quickly, feeling warmth spread across his cheeks.
"I was just thinking about something. I wasn't looking at her like that."
Lois didn't believe him for even a second.
She let out a short laugh before hitting his shoulder a little harder.
"Sure you weren't, Clark. Don't even try that with me. Do you like her? She seems exactly your type."
Lois grinned mischievously, clearly enjoying how nervous he looked.
Clark opened his mouth to deny it, but no words came out.
Instead, he sighed and walked away, thinking that Lois somehow always managed to leave him completely defenseless with comments like that.
After that conversation, Clark made a promise to himself.
He wasn't going to look at you anymore.
He decided it was for the best.
He was wasting his time with his suspicions, and all he was accomplishing was making things uncomfortable for both of you.
"I'm not going to look at her anymore," he repeated to himself over and over like a mantra.
For a few days, he actually succeeded.
He stayed focused on his work, avoiding even turning his head toward your desk, and whenever he had to walk past you, he lowered his gaze or deliberately looked somewhere else.
But everything fell apart one afternoon.
You were walking down the hallway carrying a stack of documents, distracted as you read one of them.
You didn't notice Clark coming from the opposite direction.
Before either of you realized it, you walked straight into him.
The papers flew into the air, scattering across the floor like autumn leaves.
You lost your balance and stumbled backward.
Clark reacted instantly, catching your arm before you could fall, his hand wrapping firmly yet carefully around your wrist.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you said quickly as you bent down to gather the papers scattered across the floor.
Your cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment while you hurriedly tried to collect everything.
Clark crouched down beside you to help.
As he picked up several pages, his eyes landed on your hand.
On the inside of your wrist, exactly where he had been holding you, there was a mark.
A small crescent-shaped scar.
It was barely visible.
But Clark recognized it immediately.
He had seen that very same scar on the woman's hand during one of their encounters, when she had extended her arm to cast a spell.
His heart skipped a beat.
His fingers froze above the papers as he stared at the mark.
It can't be a coincidence.
It's exactly the same.
Meanwhile, you hadn't noticed he was staring at your wrist.
You continued gathering the documents.
Once everything had been picked up, you stood again with a shy smile.
"Sorry, Clark. I didn't see you," you said softly as you adjusted the papers in your arms.
"I was so focused on this that I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
Clark blinked several times, trying to process what he had just seen.
Eventually, he managed to compose himself and forced a smile.
"Don't worry. It's nothing," he replied, although his voice sounded tighter than he intended.
You smiled again.
It was warm.
Completely sincere.
Then you quickly walked back toward your desk with the papers held tightly against your chest.
Clark remained standing in the middle of the hallway, staring in the direction you had disappeared.
His mind began racing again, even faster than before.
The mark.
That tiny crescent-shaped scar on your wrist.
It was identical to the one he had seen on the woman's hand.
It couldn't simply be a coincidence.
What if it was her?
What if she had been standing right in front of him this entire time, laughing, working, being kind, and he had never realized it simply because her eyes were brown instead of green?
Then he remembered that the woman's eyes glowed with an emerald light whenever she used her powers.
Perhaps green wasn't even her real eye color.
He let out a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, feeling every one of his doubts return stronger than ever.
Clark remained there in the hallway, the image of the scar on your wrist still burned into his mind.
As he slowly walked back toward his desk, he began thinking about every time he had ever seen you.
You were so different from the woman with the cape.
You laughed easily.
You became nervous.
You blushed over the smallest things.
You apologized for everything.
The other woman, meanwhile, was cold, confident, and never hesitated to eliminate her enemies without blinking.
Clark stopped in the middle of the hallway, placing one hand against the wall while his mind worked at full speed.
Then it hit him.
He did exactly the same thing.
He also presented himself as Clark Kent, a clumsy, absent-minded reporter, so no one would ever associate him with Superman.
He wore glasses.
He slouched slightly.
He spoke softly.
He behaved like nothing more than an ordinary man.
No one could ever imagine he could fly, possessed superhuman strength, and fought crime every single night.
So why couldn't it be the same with her?
Maybe she also hid behind that gentle, reserved personality so no one would ever imagine she was capable of killing without hesitation.
It was the perfect disguise.
The exact same one he used.
With that realization in mind, Clark decided he needed to confirm it once and for all.
He watched as you stood from your desk and headed toward the staircase leading to the archive room in the basement.
People rarely went down there unless it was absolutely necessary.
It was dusty, filled with boxes and old files that almost no one ever touched.
Clark waited a few seconds before following you downstairs, carefully descending the steps without making a sound.
When he reached the bottom, he found the door slightly open and heard your footsteps inside.
He hesitated.
If this didn't turn out the way he expected, if it turned out you weren't her, then he would probably have to quit his job because he would have made you uncomfortable with his suspicions, and he would never forgive himself for ruining the kindness you had always shown him.
But he also knew he needed answers.
He couldn't keep living with this uncertainty.
He took a deep breath.
Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
You had your back to him, searching through one of the archive boxes lining the shelves.
When you heard the door, you turned around in surprise.
Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him standing there.
"Clark, are you here for documents too?" you asked with your usual kind smile, although your voice carried a hint of confusion.
He nodded quickly, trying to appear natural.
"Yeah... something like that," he answered before quietly closing the door behind him.
You looked at him for a brief moment, your brow furrowing ever so slightly because you didn't understand why he had closed the door.
Still, you decided not to think much of it and returned to searching through the box.
"Perry said my article is going on the front page," you said without looking at him, excitement coloring your voice.
"I'm looking for some older information to add to it."
Clark didn't answer.
Instead, he slowly walked toward you, feeling his heart pounding inside his chest.
When he was only a few steps away, he decided to stop avoiding the question.
"Have you ever heard of Jade Witch?" he asked.
His voice sounded much steadier than he had expected.
You paused for a moment and looked at him, raising an eyebrow curiously.
"Who hasn't?" you replied naturally with a small shrug. "She's always on the news alongside Superman. They call her the Heroine of the Night, although some people say she's too violent."
Then you turned back toward the box.
"Here they are," you murmured to yourself as you pulled out a couple of folders, placed them on the shelf, and slid the box neatly back into place.
But when you turned around to leave, you found Clark standing much closer than you had expected.
Your eyes widened in surprise, and you instinctively took a step backward until your back met the wall.
Your heart immediately began pounding, feeling as though the space between the two of you had suddenly become far too small.
"Clark... is everything okay?" you asked, your voice trembling, unable to understand what was happening.
His gaze was intense.
Different from the one you knew.
"I... I need to confirm something," Clark said, his voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned slightly closer, and the air suddenly felt heavy.
"Clark... I... you're really scaring me," you said.
This time, genuine fear filled your voice.
You placed a hand against his chest, trying to create some distance between the two of you.
The instant your hand touched him, Clark felt it.
It was exactly the same touch he had felt that night among the clouds, when the woman had rested her hand against his chest.
His heart skipped a beat.
His mind suddenly filled with certainty.
Then he looked up.
He saw fear in your eyes.
Those warm brown eyes trembling ever so slightly.
Something inside him shattered.
It couldn't be you.
You couldn't possibly have that kind of genuine fear if you were the woman who faced criminals without hesitation.
He slowly stepped back, lowering his head in shame.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I... thought you were... but it doesn't matter."
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."
You looked at him in confusion, your heart still racing.
"I don't know what's going on, Clark, but you're making me uncomfortable," you said firmly, although your voice still trembled slightly.
He nodded, feeling as though the ground had disappeared beneath his feet.
"It won't happen again," he promised before turning toward the door.
The moment his hand touched the doorknob, he heard a mocking laugh behind him.
A laugh he recognized instantly.
He had heard it before.
In the darkness of the night.
Among the clouds.
Surrounded by fire.
Clark froze.
He didn't dare turn around.
Then he heard your voice.
Only...
It was no longer the nervous, kind voice of the newsroom writer.
It was confident.
Mocking.
The sound sent a chill racing down his spine.
"God, seriously? You're only just now starting to suspect the people around you?" you said from behind him.
Clark slowly turned around.
What he saw stole the air from his lungs.
Your posture was completely different.
You were no longer slightly hunched or nervous.
You stood tall, your shoulders back, carrying a confidence he had never once seen from you.
Your smile was no longer shy.
It was knowing.
Almost teasing.
Your eyes were still brown, but there was something different about them.
A spark.
As though you were enjoying every second of this.
"Did you really think it was going to be that easy?" you asked.
Your voice carried an edge Clark had never heard before.
"You've spent days staring at me like some kind of creep, Clark. I honestly thought you were never going to figure it out. But here you are, in the basement, just about ready to run away."
Clark opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing came out.
He simply stood there, staring at you, feeling everything he believed he knew crumble before his eyes.
At first, Clark simply stared at you without understanding.
His mind struggled to process what he was seeing.
What you were saying.
Everything felt so unreal that, for a moment, he wondered whether he was dreaming.
You smiled again.
It was a completely different smile.
Confident.
Relaxed.
Then you shrugged casually.
"Getting a job at the Planet was easy, and honestly, it wasn't because of you. I actually like working here. There are idiots around, but not the kind of idiots I need to kill," you said lightly, as though you were talking about the weather.
Clark blinked several times, trying to find the right words.
His mind was completely blank.
"Besides, the whole disappearing every time something happens thing... I'm surprised no one else has noticed," you added with a sigh before looking at him with a mixture of amusement and mild discomfort.
"Clark, the way you were trying to find me... what if you had been wrong?"
You slowly walked toward him.
Every step was deliberate.
"What? You weren't expecting this?" you asked, tilting your head while looking straight into his eyes.
Clark swallowed hard, feeling his throat go dry.
"I really thought I was wrong," he admitted at last, his voice quieter than he intended.
"You were so different... but somehow the same."
You smiled, nodding slowly.
Then you began clapping.
Slowly.
As though congratulating him for solving a difficult riddle.
"That's exactly what I wanted. If Superman says I passed the test, I'll take that as a compliment," you teased before leaning comfortably against the wall, crossing your arms.
"So, why were you looking for me, Kent?"
The way you used his last name, with that particular tone, sent another chill through Clark.
You had never called him that before.
The difference in your voice was so striking that it felt as though he were speaking to an entirely different woman.
Clark looked at you, feeling warmth spread across his cheeks.
"I just... couldn't get you out of my mind," he admitted.
The sincerity in his voice was so genuine that you raised an interested eyebrow.
"You know... you figured out my identity," Clark continued.
You let the folders slip from your hands before walking over to him.
Your fingers rested against his chest as you carefully straightened his tie with slow, precise movements.
"I thought you were looking for me because of the kiss, but I guess not," you said with a hint of fake disappointment that Clark immediately recognized as part of your act.
"Even so, I liked the kiss, Mr. Kent."
You teased him before giving his chest a light pat.
"Good job, Superman. You can identify secret identities now."
You smiled before turning around to pick up the folders, ready to leave.
Clark reacted before he could think.
He gently turned you back toward him, his hands resting on your shoulders.
Before you could say anything, his lips found yours.
You kissed him back immediately.
With exactly the same urgency.
The same longing.
Time itself seemed to stop inside that dusty basement.
Your tongues met in a slow, searching kiss.
Your hands rested against his chest while his tightened around your waist, forcing himself not to let them wander any lower, refusing to ask for something he knew this wasn't the time for.
When the kiss finally broke, your lips still barely touching, you smiled, slightly breathless.
"Did you miss me, Superman?" you whispered.
Clark looked at you, blushing, a hopelessly silly smile spreading across his face.
"I'm not Superman right now. I'm just Clark," he replied, his voice rough with emotion.
"And that's because I want to get to know you."
You looked at him, still uncertain.
Then you laughed.
A genuine laugh that seemed to brighten the entire basement.
"Convince me, Clark," you said before placing a brief kiss on his lips.
"Tell me you're worth getting to know," you said before kissing him again.
"And you'll get to know me," you finished, giving him one last, longer kiss.
Then, with one smooth movement, you picked up the folders.
"Back to work," you said with a smile.
You walked away, casually straightening your clothes and fixing your hair as though nothing had happened before leaving the basement with the same natural ease with which you had entered.
Clark remained standing there, blushing so intensely he could practically hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
There was an awkward situation in his lower body that he couldn't ignore.
Even so, a foolish smile spread across his face as he let out a deep sigh and followed you upstairs, doing his best to compose himself.
When the two of you returned to the newsroom, Lois noticed you walking in together and raised an eyebrow curiously.
You immediately smiled shyly, slipping effortlessly back into the role of the nervous newsroom writer.
Lois couldn't resist commenting.
"Seriously, Clark? She has work to do. Can't you see I'm trying to convince her to transfer to Politics?" Lois said, crossing her arms with an amused smile.
You smiled shyly and lowered your head.
"Sorry, Ms. Lane," you said softly.
Then you turned toward Clark.
"Thanks for helping me with the archives, Clark."
For the briefest moment, your eyes met his.
There was a spark in them.
One that only he could understand.
Then you walked back to your desk.
Clark remained where he was, staring after you, completely flushed and wearing a smile he couldn't hide.
God.
You played your role at the Planet unbelievably well.
He loved both versions of you.
That duality had captivated him completely.
He knew he had so much to learn from you.
And he knew this was only the beginning of something that would undoubtedly become unforgettable.
✧ "Don't burn a witch at midnight. Everyone knows this. No one remembers why anymore. That's the problem."
✧ The coven doesn't cast spells. They just remember things. They've been remembering things for four hundred years. Memory, it turns out, is the most dangerous magic there is.
✧ "She left a circle of salt around the house every night for sixty years. Her daughter thought it was superstition. Her daughter stopped doing it. That was three years ago. The daughter doesn't sleep anymore."
✧ The herbs hanging in the window aren't decorative. They're functional. They've been functional for a long time. Whatever they're keeping out has been trying to get in for just as long.
✧ There are no witches in this town. There haven't been for two hundred years. The town made sure of that. The town is very proud of this. The town should ask itself why the crops keep growing anyway.
✧ She knows three hundred remedies, four hundred warnings, and one thing she will never tell anyone. She learned it from her grandmother. Her grandmother learned it from the thing in the woods. The thing asked for something in return. The women of this family have been paying it ever since.
✧ The folk song has forty verses. Only twelve are ever sung. The other twenty-eight exist. They've always existed. Every woman in the village knows them. No one sings them. Not anymore. Not since what happened last time someone sang them all the way through.
As always, picking what prompts to include was really hard thanks to you guys' wonderful brains, but we hope this list will excite many of you! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut. Please check the FAQ below before sending asks.
FAQ and Rules
What sort of content can I create for this event?
You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content. You're also free to combine these prompts with the prompts of any other event.
Do I need to make 31 things to participate?
Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you. Your works can be separate oneshots or one continuous fic, or something in-between.
How do I interpret these prompts?
Creativity is the name of the game here! If you don't understand a prompt, feel free to send us an ask about it. However, the important thing is you can interpret the prompts however you want. For example, 'heat' could be literal (fever, heatstroke, burn wounds) or figurative (somebody getting heat for something). The dialogue prompts are allowed to be slightly rewritten to fit better for the character whose mouth it's coming out of, be that the whumpee, whumpter, or caretaker. As long as you're having fun!
What are these alts about?
If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice. This will count as having covered that day for completionists.
How do I tag my works and is there an AO3 collection?
It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw content, since we'll be using that tag on this blog too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.
There will be an AO3 collection like every year. It will be linked here once created (closer to October).
What's this I hear about badges/achievements?
For those who want an extra challenge, we come up with a set of achievements each year in addition to the 'completionist' one for you to strive for. Each achievement you complete comes with a cool little badge, hand drawn by our very own Mod Radio, which you can claim at the end of the event. A full list of the achievements will be linked here once created (closer to October).
That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!
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Plain text versions of the prompts:
October 1: Used like an object - Sacrificial lamb - "Can't you see you're hurting them?!"
October 2: Pulled underwater - Electrical burns - "I never expected this from you."
October 3: Magical affliction - Struggling to breathe - "Pain makes you taste sweeter."
October 4: Substance withdrawal - Moments too late - "Shhh, shhh, you're okay."
October 5: Life altering injury - Pushed to the limit - "Go to hell!"
October 6: Arranged Marriage - Misunderstanding leads to whump - "I deserve this."
October 7: Trapped in a small space - Dehydration - "How many fingers am I holding up?"
October 8: Sibling caretaker - Whumpee trivializing their own trauma - "Me?! What about you?!"
October 9: Forced to fight - In the nick of time - "What happened? You look half dead."
October 10: No sedation - Flinching - "Just hold on a little longer."
October 11: War prize - Gilded cage - "You'll live to regret that, I'll make sure of it."
October 12: Psychological torture - Hallucinations - "This is where you belong."
October 13: Human shield - Surprised at being offered aid - "You're hurt because of me."
October 14: Thrown into a wall - Blood draining - "Look at you. Pathetic."
October 15: Last one left of a species - Raised in a laboratory - "Whatever happens, just remember that I love you."
October 16: Moment of softness - Losing a comfort item - “I hate you"..."I love you too.”
October 17: Apotheosis/Deification - Resurrection - "I'm saving you from yourself."
October 18: Collapsing from exhaustion - Hunted like an animal - "This is how you repay me?"
October 19: Nonconsensual body modifications - Unconventional limb removal - "Be good."
October 20: Bridal carry - Weakness - "Sweet dreams, whumpee."
October 22: Unconscious for days/weeks - Classic sickfic - "Hey, open your eyes. Stay awake for me."
October 23: Unwilling witness - Blindfolded - "I miss it more than I can ever explain."
October 24: Everybody you once loved is dead - Scar torn open - "Please don't lie to me."
October 25: Living weapon - Forced to hurt somebody - "If you love me, you'll do it."
October 26: Fever causes a seizure - Can't see straight - "I thought it was just a cold."
October 27: Infection spread through bite - Rash - "Don't touch it, you'll make it worse."
October 28: Flogging/Whipping - Hanging - "I just want it to stop."
October 29: Stabbed in the back - Untrustworthy - "At least I never pretended to be anything I'm not."
October 30: Public humiliation - Involuntary tremors - “Takes one to know one, hm?”
October 31: (Found) family but they suck - Reading the will - "You actually thought I cared? That's hilarious."
ALTS:
1. Haywire instincts
2. Shaving
3. Forced bitching
4. Time loop
5. Dopplegänger/Changeling
6. Tampering with food or drink
7. Eldritch horror
The thing is that sex scenes actually are incredible ways to explore character. People are at their most vulnerable during sex! The way they have sex says a lot of very interesting things about their desires, obviously, but also their psychology, their vulnerabilities, their hopes and fears, etc. It is completely insane to me to think that sex scenes have no value other than to sexually excite the audience. And even if their only value is to sexual excite the audience - SO WHAT?? A movie is supposed to excite and entertain you! Grow up!!!
f/o asking to kiss you, chest heaving, eyes blown with lust— but his hands are on your hips and his face is between your thighs, waiting, begging for you to say yes
Unfriendly reminder that if you're displeased with a piece of fanfiction your courses of action are:
Read something else
Bitch PRIVATELY to friends
Write your own take on the premise (strongly recommend!)
All of the above
Under no circumstances should you try to "politely" critique the author who put the story up as a hobby. For free. Especially if the story in question is multiple years old. Ao3 is not Goodreads
blakekathryn
prguitarman
germansingergirl
2087
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
theartofmadeline
