After a few after-work drinks at the bar, you let Clark know that he's your favourite guy.
Content: reader is drunk, Clark is the sweetest sweet pea of course 💗
For @fluffyjuly Day 24 - “You had a crush on me? That's so embarrassing” "…We're married"
Masterlist | DCU | Clark Kent
"Better watch out man, think Supes is out to steal your girl."
Jimmy tipped his beer at the TV above the bar, showing Superman's latest accomplishment. Namely catching an asteroid in space and sending it back out into the darkness instead of letting it crash into earth.
At the bar, you were leaning forwards, elbows bent, nails drumming on the sticky counter top while you waited for your own drink. And your eyes were trained on the screen, tracking Superman's every move.
Clark smiled to himself, he could see how nervous you were, watching him re-enter the atmosphere and almost falling back towards Metropolis. Your tapping nails gave you away, one hand finding your way to your mouth as he landed with a boom sending dust flying around him even as he stood. He'd been playing to the crowd a little, full of adrenaline, and he knew you'd been stood at the back because you'd sent him a picture of him meeting children soon after.
But you couldn't run to him, he couldn't fly to you. It was too important to keep it all separate for your own safety.
You returned to the table, glass of wine in hand, and gave him the smile he knew was really for the other him, for Superman. The kiss on the cheek he would've gotten, if he could allow you to do so in public. And that was enough for him.
After another few rounds you began dozing on his shoulder, snuggled up in the booth while Jimmy and Lois argued about the latest editorial choice for his pictures. Or his girlfriend Eve. It was hard to tell.
Clark gathered your bag and jacket, bidding everyone a good night before guiding you out into the evening.
"Jimmy said Superman is going to steal you away from me." Clark teased, watching your face scrunch up in confusion.
"Superman's got nothin' on you, Clarkie. You know that." You slurred, pressing your face into his bicep and kissing it dramatically.
"So you don't have a crush on Superman then?" Clark put his arm around your waist, taking more of your weight while you teetered along the road, leaning over to brush your hand in a patch of lavender growing from an iron planter on a front step.
"Maybe a little. But there's someone else I like more." You grinned, almost skipping along beside him.
"Yeah? Who's that?"
"You Clarkie!"
Clark grinned too, sweeping you into his arms and rubbing his nose on yours. "You have a crush on me? That's so embarrassing!"
"Clarkie! Did you forget?! We're married!" You swept your arms out wide, letting him balance you and he span you around under the faded city stars.
"I could never forget."
Your smile softened and Clark set you back down on your feet, bending down to kiss you gently, his thumb rubbing over the little gold band on your hand.
Synopsis: What happens when you get stuck in another universe and are forced to find help from another version of your childhood best friend who you've also been in love with since childhood? Nothing good, apparently.
Pairing: Soft!Dark Clark Kent x Implied Audhd!Reader
TW: A whole lot of cringe, implied stalking, and somewhat of a kidnapping.
Word count: 15k
A/N: Holy shit, I can't believe I wrote this. Be prepared to cringe and don't take any of this seriously. Also, the ending is rushed but anyway, I hope you all enjoy! I also want to say thanks to everyone who beta read this! You are all amazing. I love you all so much <3
If you had to describe Lex Luthor in one word, it would be "bitch." A total bitch.
For example, the bitch decided to open a rift in the multiverse, tearing through the city and causing you to fall in. Now you were stuck in another universe with absolutely no idea how to get back home.
“Oh, you have got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”
Usually, the sounds of Metropolis's city comforted you— a familiar chorus of cars honking and people going about their days, all blissfully ignorant of the problems lying below. Oh, how you wished that were you. Instead, all the noise did was feed into the existential dread, and your anxiety grew with every step you took through the city.
All of it was hauntingly familiar. There went the corner store and—
oh.
The sign was different, and the whole building was painted a new color. Well, at least your favorite Chinese place was the same. So was the cafe you and Lois loved to visit.
And to your pleasant surprise, the apartment building was also still the same as you had left it years ago. It towered over you, like an ominous stronghold with no guarantee of return.
Irene, you hoped this wouldn't backfire horribly. I mean, it was Clark. Your sweet, adoring Clark.
How bad could it go? The worst he could do was refuse to help, right? Gosh.
This was a horrible idea.
————————————————————
“Look, I know all of this seems crazy but I promise it's not. Can I come in? Please?”
You probably looked insane standing in front of his apartment, pleading for his help. Fortunately, the hallway was deserted—practically a ghost town, but that was due to change, and you did not need any more people seeing you in the state you were in.
You tilted your head to look up at Clark, an uneasy feeling washing over you. The man in front of you was not your best friend, despite the uncanny resemblance he held to the man. He was nothing but a stranger who wore his face.
You gulped. Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as you thought it would be. You certainly hadn't thought it out properly, only knocked and prayed he would open the door.
Clark stood in the middle of his doorway, his body tipped forward slightly as his hand still gripped the doorknob. From the corner of your eye, you could see his knuckles slowly turning pale.
His gaze made you shiver. You weren't used to him looking at you as if you were a stranger. It felt wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.
“Alright.” Exhaustion seeped through his voice, and guilt immediately bubbled up in your gut like acid as you took in his sleep-disheveled appearance. You must've woken him up.
He stepped back and pressed himself up against the tiny wall of his apartment, giving you just enough space to walk in without being crowded. You brushed past him, and the door closed with a soft ‘click’ behind you.
“Oh, wow, I haven't been here in forever.”
The walls, the decoration, even the welcome mat—all of it was the same, just as you remembered.
“Why is that?” You didn't have to look at him to see his confused expression. His voice said it all.
“You and Lois moved in together a few years ago.” You mindlessly shrugged as you struggled to kick off your shoes, stumbling around until both of them were finally off and kicked to the side.
A wave of emotions danced across his face, and you struggled to remain silent. You could unpack whatever that was later.
You wordlessly trudged down to the living room with Clark's much heavier footsteps following not far behind, making an immediate beeline for the couch.
You collapsed onto the piece of furniture with a breathless groan, snatching the nearest pillow and burying your face into it, letting out the loudest, highest-pitched scream your throat could manage. What a release.
Finally, you could relax.
A few feet away, Clark tilted his head as he fully took you in. He looked pensive. Not exactly lost in thought, but just thinking.
“Are you okay?” he questioned.
No, your life was a dumpster fire, but he didn't need to know that. At least not yet. “I’m a little frazzled. Mainly just exhausted.”
“Who are you?”
You turned your head to the side, your cheek being the unfortunate victim of being smashed against the pillow. “I am the best and worst thing to ever happen to you.” Or at least that's what Martha and Jonathan told everyone when they asked about you.
“That doesn't answer my question…?” He now stood next to the coffee table, so close that every time he shifted his leg would brush against the wood.
You sat up, eyes locking with him and hesitantly answered. “I'm your best friend.” You watched in slight embarrassment as his eyes widened and his mouth fell ajar.
“Okay.” He nodded, unsure. “Is there somebody that you can call?”
“Please, just trust me Clark.”
He nodded warily, seemingly content enough, which you appreciated because speaking felt like a chore.
Experimentally, he stepped forward. One step, then another, until he hovered just a few inches away from your upper half. You were almost half unconscious but completely used to the closeness that came with Clark. It never fazed you. Not anymore.
He studied you intensely as if you were a painting in a museum. It might've been your imagination, but it was almost as if he were admiring you.
“Get some rest,” he whispered softly. “We can talk later.”
————————————————————
Later meant that night on the couch while eating takeout. You explained everything to him: how you got there, your history with Clark, anything you could think of. You told him everything, which was a lot. You rambled for hours. It was just as releasing as that scream.
Somewhere along the line, you'd both changed into comfier clothes. He'd given you a familiar sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that dwarfed you—thank Irene for the existence of drawstrings—while he himself had changed into a simple shirt and sweatpants.
He looked sinfully attractive with his pants drawn low and his shirt stretched across his chest, highlighting his muscles.
While you looked like a raccoon who'd just emerged from a dumpster.
“So, do you think you can help me?” You set aside your empty box that used to hold fried rice. He'd ordered it from your favorite Chinese takeout place, although he hadn't known that when he got the food.
He lounged on the other side of the couch, fully relaxed as he sat back and devoured his own food. “Of course I'll help you.” His voice was muffled as he chewed his food. He always had the bad habit of speaking with food in his mouth. Martha scolded him about it all the time.
“Good. We can start talking about plans of action tomorrow.” You beamed brightly, and he sent you a sad, pitiful excuse of a smile back. You could smell his emotional turmoil from a mile away.
“What about tonight?”
You appreciated the optimism, but, uh, no. Your brain could barely function. You were surprised that you hadn't shut down yet.
You shrugged and turned back to the TV. “We’re watching Star Wars—” Your words left no room for argument. "I want to see if anything changed in this universe.” You leaned back, content to snuggle up in the blanket you had stolen for yourself.
It wasn't up for debate.
He perked up at the mention of the franchise, and if he had a tail, you just knew it would be wagging vigorously. Just like every time someone brought up his special interest. “You like Star Wars?” Your heart panged at the sheer hope in which he spoke.
“Uh, duh.”
You almost wanted to be offended. How dare he question your love for Star Wars. Somebody smite him.
“Favorite character?” The question left him immediately, and your grin widened. It wasn't a challenge or a test, as some might assume, only the curiosity of a fellow fan.
“Ezra Bridger, but if you want a really specific answer, it's Hondo Ohnaka. I also love Ahsoka.”
"Oh, you watched the animated media too?” His entire demeanor brightened, and a smile spread across his face, a genuine smile, not the fake, painful one he had given you earlier. “Gosh, nobody ever knows what I'm talking about when I bring the animated stuff up!”
He leaned forward and grabbed the remote, and in his giddiness he struggled to turn it on, although he eventually successfully pressed the power button.
He turned to you. “So, what do you want to watch?”
“The Siege of Mandalore.”
“A New Hope it is!”
————————————————————
Sleeping in Clark's guest bedroom was nothing new to you—at one point in your life, you practically lived there. Neither was the sight of him barefoot and shirtless in the kitchen making himself breakfast.
You barely even blinked.
“Mornin’.” You grumbled, your voice still thick with exhaustion. You were never a morning person, unlike Clark, who woke up whenever the sun rose.
He jostled at your sudden appearance, which was ridiculous because he literally had super hearing. You snickered as he whipped around to face you, his face completely flushed red.
You brushed past him straight to where he stashed the cereal, and you grabbed yourself a bowl and poured yourself your breakfast. When you turned around, bowl in hand, you were surprised to see him still staring at you as if you'd grown another head.
“Do…do you know where everything is?”
You nodded slowly, eyeing him weirdly as you grabbed a spoon. Can't a girl eat her breakfast in peace?
“Huh” he looked pleasantly surprised, which relieved the ever-loving shit out of you. “That's convenient.”
Breakfast was spent in silence. Not an awkward type of silence. A peaceful silence. The type that existed between two people who were content to simply exist together. He watched you the whole time you were eating. Not like a creepy stalker would, although now that you thought about it, maybe it was weird. Meh. It was too early in the morning for you to care.
The rest of the morning was spent showering and collecting your thoughts. It was the weekend, Saturday to be specific, so luckily he didn't have to work. It gave you plenty of time to come up with a plan to get you home.
The meeting took place during lunch. Clark sat on the couch while you paced back and forth in front of the TV.
“Okay, obviously the first thing we should do is find Lex. He's the one who fucked up the multiverse, so maybe he can unfuck it.”
Clark tensed the moment you mentioned the bald-headed demon, and his expression fell eerily blank. “Lex Luthor is dead.” Completely blank. No emotion whatsoever.
You paused in the middle of your pacing, your eyes growing wide at the information. Lex Luthor dead? Impossible. You hated to admit it, but the man would never go down without a fight, and unless Clark killed him—which you highly doubted—there wasn't much of a threat against him.
The journalistic urges instilled by years of hanging around Lois urged you to pry, but the haunted expression Clark wore forced you to let it go.
“What about the Justice Gang?” Visible relief washed over him, and he leaned back, crossing his arms.
“We can definitely speak to them. I can't exactly promise anything, though.”
“Batman…?”
He nodded his head. Oh, thank Irene. “Absolutely, although last time I spoke to him he seemed busy, so it might be awhile before he responds.”
Yeah, that made sense. In all the times you had met the man, he was always occupied with some sort of weird, over-the-top crime case that involved a highly mentally ill person who obviously needed therapy and some tender love and care.
You put your hands on your hips and fixed him with a determined expression. “So, what do we do today?”
He leveled you with the same look of indecisiveness he wore whenever he was trying to decide which fidget to steal from you.
Thirty minutes later, you found yourself lounging in the Justice Gang's building.
They were all the same as when you met them before, during times of urgency in which you and Lois would force yourselves into whatever dangerous situation to help; it was familiar. Comfortable.
You watched as Mr. Terrific tried to explain the science behind the multiverse theory to a totally confused Guy Gardner. They'd been going at it for at least the past five minutes.
It was as irritating to witness as it was amusing.
“If you would only listen—”
“Yeah, yeah." Guy waved him off with a scoff. “Different universes, multiversal collapse, all that fun, world-ending stuff.”
“Do you guys think you can help or not?” Clark interjected. His jaw ticked every time they ignored him in favor of their conversation, and from the corner of your eye you saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. He’d shed his normal clothes for his suit. A reminder of his parents. With its vibrant colors, you remembered watching Martha sew it together when you were younger. The look on Clark’s face when she gifted it to him had been everything. He wore the suit with pride ever since.
You held back the urge to snort at his obvious annoyance. Clark was a saint, but even he had his limits. Although this Clark seemed much more privy to the emotion. Interesting.
“How much time do you think it will take?” You finally questioned, and for a second, you swore you heard the distant sound of doom approaching. Weird.
“Days, weeks, months. I don't know. It could take years for all we know. Without Luthor—” Clark's expression fell. “—and his technology or notes…” You could practically see the cogs turning in Mr. Terrific's head.
You glanced up at Clark, and he returned the unsure look you gave him. Out of habit, you reached out and grabbed his hand. He tensed. Instantly you panicked, and your hand retreated, but his tightened around yours. He didn't let you go. You turned your cheek, hiding the small smile that threatened to show through.
“So it's a waiting game,” Guy supplied, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at the frankly obnoxious blond man. His haircut was a crime against humanity.
Kendra, Hawk-girl, rolled her eyes at his comment, and you internally thanked her for doing what you didn't have the guts to do. “Yeah, I think we got that.”
You tuned out their bickering and assumed Clark had done the same.
It was a start, at least. Definitely better than nothing.
Before you left, they'd offered to help you set up a place to stay. The offer was tempting, but you had already agreed to stay with Clark.
Besides, you wouldn't be here for that long, right?
————————————————————
“Are you sure about this? I can always just wear the clothes you gave me.” You stood in front of the Metropolis City mall, shifting your weight from one leg to another as your mind raced. You didn't mind wearing Lois' clothes. They fit you just fine and gave you a sense of comfort. Like she was there, holding you.
“You deserve your own clothes,“ he insisted next to you, and while the sentiment warmed your heart—your anxiety and sensory issues said no.
Clothes were always…difficult for you. Not because you didn't have any fashion sense, but because the fabric could be so uncomfortable. Jeans, shirts, everything. All of it sucked. Especially those annoying tags that always dug into your skin.
“Fine,” you reluctantly conceded with a sigh. “Three hours, and then we leave.”
Triumphant, he walked up to the entrance, and you followed behind. Much to your relief, the mall was mostly deserted, which was expected, given that it was a Monday afternoon. You guessed that was why he insisted you two shopped today.
————————————————————
“How can you even afford all of this?”
Your eyes darted to the array of bags in his arms, where his biceps flexed with each movement. You forced yourself to look away.
The past two hours had been spent running around, going into each store, and trying on any item Clark told you to at least give a chance. You couldn't deny him. Even the alternate version of him had you wrapped around his pinky finger, and it hadn't even been a week yet!
“I have my ways,” he shrugged, and your eyes narrowed. Bruce was definitely involved in whatever that was. You felt it in your nuggets. You were sure they found each other in every universe. Soulmates in every sense of the word.
You rolled your eyes and scoffed as he pulled you toward the next store on his lineup.
“You cannot be serious,” you deadpanned, staring at the dress Clark held up. It looked ridiculous. Too frilly and puffy, and the fabric looked like it would itch.
He pouted, his eyes glinting with puppy-like innocence. “Please…?”
You tried.
You tried so hard not to cave, and yet you still ended up in the dressing room putting on the dress while Clark patiently waited outside.
To your surprise, the dress was comfortable. It was definitely not your type of outfit, but wearing it made you feel pretty, and that's all that mattered. For once, you stared into the mirror and felt like a princess stared back at you.
You walked out, and immediately all of your confidence drained. You felt his gaze rove across your features, and you squirmed in place, not noticing the sparkle in his eyes or the flush of his cheeks.
“We’re getting it.” He declared, leaving no room for you to argue. You flushed at his unjust determination and hurriedly scurried back to your stall. You wiggled out of the dress and back into your own clothes, and when you came back out, Clark immediately snatched the dress from your arms. He marched up to the front register, smiling widely at the lady behind it as he purchased the dress. He didn’t even glance at the price-tag.
You see, this was why you stopped shopping with him in your universe. He loved wasting his money on you and Lois.
“Can we leave now? We've gotten more than enough clothes for me.” You glanced at the nearest clock you could find. Almost three hours. Soon you would be free.
He glanced at the same clock, his brow pinching in thought. “Wanna grab lunch and then head out?”
————————————————————
“Gosh, I missed this place.”
You bit into your burger, not caring that you were being a total hypocrite by speaking while chewing in front of him. You groaned and leaned back, struck by the deliciousness that flooded your taste-buds.
Clark chuckled as he watched you from the opposite side of the booth. “So this place closed down in your universe. Why?"
His confusion said it all. This place, this beautiful, beautiful place, deserved so much more than what it had been given in your universe. You almost cried when you saw it was still open here.
“Apparently they weren't getting enough customers. Which is bullshit because the food is amazing. It's so nice to know that this place is getting the appreciation it deserves here.”
You ate the rest of your meal in peace, sighing happily as you rubbed your now-full stomach.
“So I'd say this was a successful mission.” Clark finally said after finishing his last bite of burger, and you nodded half-heartedly, totally not distracted by the hypnotizing movement of his lips.
You wondered what they felt like—if they would be soft or chapped, how they would feel against your skin.
He said your name.
You snapped out of your trance, and your whole body warmed as fresh embarrassment rolled off you in waves. “Sorry…just got distracted for a sec," you mumbled. Nevermind how it was a lie.
“Can we go home now?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Your heart warmed at the familiar nickname, and you wondered how he would feel if he knew your version of him called you the same. Wait, that would be awkward. Definitely not.
You rose from the table and leaned over, stacking all the plates at the edge. You would hate it if the server had to spend extra time cleaning up your mess. You weren't a snob, and it was the polite thing to do.
"Do you always do that?" He asked, and he gestured to the table. You saw the way he eyed your work—all the plates stacked upon each other like a community of little towers. It was neat. Your brain liked it
"Of course! It's polite.”
He breathed out a light puff of laughter. “You really did grow up with me, didn't you?”
Your brow raised, and you shrugged. Weird, but okay. "Of course I did; did you think I was lying to you?"
Panic overwhelmed you at the thought, and as you walked out into the parking lot, your heart twisted painfully in your chest.
As if he could hear your inner turmoil, Clark paused and turned to you. His hands landed on your shoulders, and he turned you to face him with a serious expression, one that radiated comfort.
"I was joking." He gently assured.
"Clark, I'm autistic. I don't get sarcasm."
He paused.
"Yeah, that makes sense."
You gawked at him, and his eyes widened. He backpedaled immediately. "Not that you act a certain way or anything; it's just ma and pa were pretty sure I'm like the Kryptonian version of being on the spectrum—”
"You definitely are."
He stilled and his face fell hilariously blank. Oh, wow. No hesitation. He sighed, and you held back the urge to snort, which earned you a look from him.
“Let’s just go home." His shoulders slumped. He even sounded defeated. The poor baby.
Yeah, maybe you could get used to this universe.
————————————————————
“Why are you on the floor?”
“I'm having floor time.”
Clark stared down at your figure lying flat on your back in the middle of his living room. He wound up to ask but paused before any words could leave his mouth.
“I missed this floor,“ you sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The nostalgia was killing you. So many memories, some sweet and others bitter. It brought out feelings you buried years ago. “I missed this apartment.”
He didn't respond. You couldn't blame him.
A moment passed.
“So what you're saying is that my floor is comfortable?” He sounded awfully proud of himself, like having a comfortable floor was a proud achievement.
“Yes, now join meee” you raised your hands toward the sky and gestured for him to join, even resorting to using grabby hands. He chuckled, and your heart skipped a beat. His laugh was otherworldly, but then again, so was the rest of him. Alien. Duh.
You heard him approaching, and he settled down next to you. A peaceful silence fell between you and every few moments his finger twitched—like he was trying to hold himself back, but from what?
“So, you come here often?” You turned your head to the side, offering him a cheeky smile.
“Only when I'm desperate.” Ah. A man of sensibility. You could work with that.
“Fair. As for me, I need at least five minutes of floor time each day. It's enriching.”
Usually by now people would've judged you, but Clark simply nodded along as if you were the most natural thing in the universe.
“Does he ever join you during floor time?”
The question came as a surprise. Although it really shouldn't have. Of course he would want to know about another version of himself. If you had existed in this universe, you would want to know everything about her too, after all.
“Yes, he does, and usually Lois joins us as well. We all spend floor time together.” You enjoyed floor time. It was a pivotal part of your routine. “It’s enriching.”
“Huh” He turned his attention to the ceiling, staring at it while the cogs in his head worked. “You're close with Lois too?”
“Of course. When you, er, he started dating Lois, I kind of pulled away. I never wanted her to think I was trying to steal you or anything. So I hung out with her instead and me and her just clicked, I guess.”
“That's nice.”
“Yeah. He got jealous, though, so he started joining us, and now we all just hang out together. Like three peas in a pod,” you shrugged.
“You all seem close.” He noted.
That's because you were. You could confidently say Lois and Clark were your best friends. They were your people.
“They're like my stars. They light up my life.”
You looked up at the ceiling, and Clark took the time to look at you. Truly, look at you. Like you were once again a painting in a museum—meant to be admired.
“You know, I like this. I think I'll join you from now on.”
Yes. Another one converted. Soon floor time would be a staple in every household.
————————————————————
Lex Luthor was dead.
No article explained it. None. Absolute zilch. Strange couldn't even describe it.
A man like Lex didn't just keel over and die. The man was a genius, as much as you hated to admit it. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, and whenever you tried to ask Clark about it, he just shut down. It made no sense.
Then came the other blaring question.
Where were Ma and Pa? No pictures. No phone calls. Like Lois, they seemed to have completely disappeared from Clark's life. And every time you brought them up, he retreated into himself. It gave you a queasy feeling.
‘Small town mourns the passing of a couple.
Jonathan and Martha Kent were a staple to the heart of the Smallville community. Their sudden passing, the cause of death still unknown, truly shook the small community. They live on in their son, Clark Kent, and the town continues to honor them.’
Small, with barely any information. That's all you got. Just a single article that barely even skimmed over their deaths. Irene, it wasn’t even an article! Just a section from the local newspaper.
They were gone.
Martha and Jonathan Kent were gone.
You felt sick to your stomach. Martha and Jonathon, they were your family too. They were the ones who taught you how to tie your shoes and didn't judge when it took you a few years longer to learn. Your childhood was literally spent having dinner at their house and sleeping over.
Jonathan taught you how to drive and was the one to pick you up in the middle of the night after you got drunk for the first time. He taught you the gentleness of love. Showed you the kindness of humanity.
Martha taught you how to do your makeup and milk a cow. She lifted you up and showed you how to be strong. Without her, you would never have learned to appreciate life. To see how beautiful it was in each and every thing.
Clark's door was cracked open—a free invitation. Last time you checked, he’d been cleaning, and he was just about to finish making his bed when you rushed in.
He turned to you, and his expression twisted into one of concern as he threw down his pillow and stepped forward.
“Are you okay?”
“They’re gone.” You felt hollow speaking the words. Like saying it out loud meant finality. That they were really, truly gone.
He tensed.
“Clark…I'm…” you were at a loss for words. How did you comfort someone who lost what you still had? Both of them were alive in your universe. Completely healthy and alive.
You had seen Clark sad before, had witnessed him break down and cry, and endured all the times he lost control and accidentally broke something. You watched him get beaten up and defeated. Seen the devastation he felt whenever a civilian died. But you had never seen this before.
“You found out, huh?” He fought hard to keep his voice from wavering. He turned his cheek, jaw clenching. Tears already pricked the corners of his eyes, turning his vision blurry.
He hadn't been paying much attention, but he still heard your footsteps approach in his haze of sadness. Your arms snaked around his waist, and your chest pressed up against his.
Tears already blurred your vision and streaked down your face, leaving your cheeks puffy as you buried your face into his plaid shirt and squeezed him tight. Sadly, you couldn’t give him the bear hugs he usually gave you.
For a moment his hands stayed frozen at his sides. Like he didn’t know what to do with them or himself. But you never let go, and soon his trembling hands rose and wrapped around you until finally he was hugging you just as tightly as you were, if not more.
He buried his face into the crown of your head. His body trembled and his shoulders shook and a sob finally ripped its way from his throat. It sounded painful, as if he were gasping for air. Still, you never let go.
No words were spoken.
They weren't needed. Not in a moment like this. You would simply be there. Ready and willing to hold him as his emotions bubbled over and he broke down.
It didn’t matter how long you both stood there, just holding each other. It could've been minutes, hours before you both finally calmed down from the tsunami of uncontrollable emotions.
“Thank you.” He eventually whispered, and you pulled away to look up at him, but the moment he felt you step back, his arms tightened around your waist.
“I'm sorry for breaking down on you.”
“Clark, never apologize. Your emotions are valid. Your grief is valid.”
“I know.”
“But do you?” He frowned and looked away.
You tilted his chin back down to face you.
“I know,” he sniffed. He stared down at you, his cheeks also red and puffy from crying, and streaked with dried tears. Slowly, a small, trembling smile grew as he watched you wipe away your tears.
“Can we stay like this?” His voice cracked with unsung emotions, yet it was much lighter than it had been before. “Just for a little bit?”
“Of course.”
His hold on you once again tightened, and you relaxed into his embrace, letting your eyes close as you relished in the familiar warmth of his arms. This was nice. You missed hugging him. You think he missed hugging too. Certainly, with the way he held on to you for dear life. Like if he let go, you would vanish.
“Can we do this more often?” He whispered into the silence.
You nodded silently.
Maybe everything would be okay.
————————————————————
Around you, the park buzzed with all kinds of life. One of the many things you adored about the parks around the city. Not only were they beautiful, but life thrived in them. It was truly a gift to witness.
The sun peered down at you, and the clouds danced across the blue-painted sky. The sun, paired with the light breeze, made for a perfect environment. You always loved picnics, and it was the perfect opportunity to wear the dress you'd gotten, seeing as it was a sundress.
Clark lay on his back next to you, face up and completely content to let the sunshine beat down upon him. No sunglasses either, which was brave.
“So, your version of me is still with Lois?” he sounded hesitant when he asked, like he was afraid to upset you—to upset himself.
Until then he'd been pleased to simply bask in the sun and let you read silently beside him while he photosynthesized. Yeah, that's right; you weren't afraid to call it out for what it was.
“Yeah…”
How the hell were you supposed to talk about this with another version of Clark?
“They..they're…really happy.” You smiled bitterly, an emotion you tried to hide. You weren't a bitter person. Both Clark and Lois deserved all the happiness in the world. Even if it came at the expense of yours.
You bookmarked your page and placed the book down beside you with a sigh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” You tilted your head down to look at him.
You noticed the absence of Lois in his life immediately. It was a stark difference from your universe, and you were still trying to decipher how you felt about it. You missed her mostly.
Clark closed his eyes and exhaled, a sigh that came from deep within his chest. You could almost feel the weight of whatever issue dragged him down. You wished you could help more. “It just didn't work out.” His gaze fell from the sky and fixed itself upon you.
Mindlessly, your fingers threaded through his dark curls. The first time you'd done it, you both panicked. Now the affection came naturally.
“Can we stay like this? Just for a bit?” The words were achingly familiar. He tilted his head toward you, leaning into your touch. You swore he enjoyed your head scratches more than your Clark ever did.
“Of course.”
The sound of birds chirped in the distance. Mindlessly, you played with his hair, watching as people passed by in the distance.
To you, each person told a story, a different life you could imagine. You could read their clothes and analyze the way they walked. Make assumptions about who they spoke to on the phone and where they were going. All of them fascinated you. They were all so special in their own ways.
The feeling of being watched soon swept over you, and you turned to see Clark staring at you.
“You're beautiful,” he sighed, smiling softly to himself.
You froze, and your mind took a second to process what he'd said. When it did, your body flushed, and you turned away, fighting the urge to swat him when he laughed.
The compliment came out of nowhere, no warning whatsoever! What were you supposed to do, not freak out? Your heart couldn't take it. You might as well have keeled over and died.
“S..shut up!” You squawked, and the urge to swat him only grew as his laughter continued. You were pretty sure the passersby were staring.
Your hand stilled in his hair and receded back to your side. A small look of disappointment flashed across his face, but he remained silent.
Poor thing. It pained you to see him so starved of affection.
You would have to change that.
——————————————————
Whoever said Lego's were just for kids was wrong. Lego's were a beautiful piece of art meant for everyone to enjoy. The people who said differently were just a bunch of bums.
“So you and he are just friends,” he reiterated for like the third time in the past fifteen minutes since opening the box of Lego's.
Was it really that unbelievable that you and Clark were just friends? Literally everyone asked. Heck, most people automatically assumed you were together without even asking.
“Yes. Our relationship is purely platonic.” It still left a bitter taste in your mouth, even after years. “And no, me and Lois are not secretly dating.” You added because, yeah, people asked that too.
“You and Lois?”
“In another life, we were married.” It was true. You felt it in your soul and so did she. You had at least two cats and an apartment with a balcony close to the ground so you could both people watch.
He blinked, and fiddled with the Lego piece in his hand. “I think I'm starting to understand why most people assume you're their third.”
Oh, great. Now you had to deal with him too, how wonderful!
“You're doing it wrong.” You pointed at the legos in his hand, small and frankly obnoxious looking compared to the appendage. You couldn’t imagine the frustration that came with dealing with the smaller pieces.
Clark frowned and his brows pinched as he looked over the directions. Oh, yeah, you were right; he was doing it wrong. “Dang it," he muttered as he tried to detach the two pieces from each other. He failed horribly to the point one of the pieces broke because he accidentally gripped it too hard.
You cackled. Your Clark did that all the time back home. It wasn't his fault; he was just too strong. It was why he kept a bucket of spare pieces.
“Dude, you totally just committed Lego murder.”
“It was an accident!”
————————————————————
Some would say sitting in the shower was strange, maybe even unnatural. You believed otherwise.
Sitting in the shower was a gift, an experience to let the water fall on you and completely drench your senses. The pounding droplets against your skin were a constant weight that grounded you. You read somewhere once that people sat in the shower because it replicated the feeling of being held—which was a major call-out.
To you, a shower was a way to cleanse yourself from the day. All your worries and anxieties would wash away, and you could finally relax while letting the warm water ease all your tension.
You could daydream, or you could simply shave and spend the whole time pampering yourself. So many possibilities, but to be honest, most showers were a mix of both.
You still couldn't fully wrap your head around your situation. Every day was spent around Clark, getting to know him and this new, strange world. Apparently, this universe was years ahead of yours. While you and your Clark were both twenty-seven, this Clark was thirty-six. Which made sense now that you thought about it. He looked older and more mature instead of boyish. He didn't slouch to make himself smaller like your Clark did. Instead, he stood confident, like he was no longer afraid to be strong.
You hated to admit how attractive it was. Your feelings and relationship with your Clark were already complicated, not to mention Lois too. Now you had to deal with an older, highly attractive, more mature version of him. It felt weird. So incredibly weird.
His smile gave you butterflies with a side of nausea. And the low timber of his voice…
Irene, everything about this confused you.
It was different—he was different. You just couldn't explain it. He was still the man you knew who could light up the room with a single smile. He still took time to go around and help people. He even risked his life to save animals.
Gosh, maybe you were going crazy. Hyper-fixating on this needed to stop before you spiraled. Irene forbid you had a meltdown. You didn't want him to see you like that.
You stood with a sigh, turning off the shower and immediately reaching for a towel to run from the cold. Weird. You could've sworn you left the door closed, not cracked open. You seriously had memory issues, probably from all the times you hit your head growing up.
You shrugged the coincidence off and waddled back to your room, making sure your towel was tightly hung around your body just in case Clark suddenly decided to stop hibernating in his room like he'd been doing all day.
The poor thing was exhausted beyond comprehension. He spent the past forty-eight hours assisting with some world-ending issue with the Justice Gang. Usually, you would have panicked, but after years of dealing with crazy world-ending issues, you didn't even blink.
Besides, it all happened away from Metropolis, so you were mostly safe. Clark still tried to convince you to hunker down in the fortress to wait it all out. You denied his offer, though, and refused to leave the apartment. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win against your stubbornness. Not in this universe or yours.
Anyway, you were just happy he was getting the rest he needed, even if it meant you were lonely for a day while he slept.
You would survive.
——————————————————
Your perfume was missing.
Realistically you knew it was useless to turn over the apartment just for a single bottle of perfume; however, you refused to waste the money.
You were close; you felt it in your nuggets and could practically smell its scent. No, seriously, you could smell it or maybe you were just imagining it. Either way, you were on a mission, determined to find what you had lost. You didn't care how long it took. You would find your perfume and then celebrate by making yourself victory cookies.
“Have you seen my perfume? It's gone and I can't find it anywhere.”
From the couch, Clark shook his head, clueless. “You wear perfume?”
Your face scrunched up, and you turned to him. "You literally complimented how it smelled the other day." You pointed out, and for a moment he seemed to falter, caught off guard. You could've sworn he even looked guilty for a second.
"Oh, yeah…”
You rolled your eyes at his faulty memory. You swore he had the best memory around, and yet he was completely useless. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, but still, your point stands.
“Useless alien…”
"Hm?" He perked up, turning his ear to you. “What was that?” You could practically feel the smirk curling at the edge of his lips. You both knew full well he heard you. The smug bastard just wanted to mess with you, and well, it was working.
“I said you were a useless alien.” You crossed your arms and stood defiant against him. You would not fall victim to his smug ways.
Dramatically he gasped, and like an arrow, your words shot him straight through the heart; he clutched his chest and fell back against the couch. “It hurts," he gasped in dramatic pain. How dare he take this so non-seriously? Your perfume was very important.
“I hope you fall into a cliff of Kryptonite.”
——————————————————
If there was one thing you missed about growing up in Kansas, it was the fresh produce. Nothing could compare. That is until you visited the farmers’ market in the city.
You never expected you would enjoy it so much. Usually, you loathed crowds. That's why the one in Smallville was perfect because it was so small, while the one in the city took up an entire block. But after years of visiting every weekend, the abundance of people became less of a problem as you found new solutions to ease yourself. Now you adored the city's farmers’ market, usually visiting with Clark and Lois by your side.
“Okay, so we just need strawberries and mango's, and that should be it.” You squinted at the crumpled piece of paper you called your grocery list. You and Clark had found a quiet corner to gather your bearings after shopping for so long. He stood next to you, his body practically pressed against yours as he too squinted down at the grocery list.
“There’s a few stands nearby that sell those,” behind Clark trailed a wagon, a clearly old and paint-chipped wagon filled with groceries. It had definitely seen better days. He gripped its handle tightly, like anyone would actually steal that old thing.
“You think you're ready to face the crowd again?” His eyes darted over to you, and you nodded with a grin.
“Yep!” You grabbed his hand with giddiness and dragged him back to the street, weaving through the crowd as if it were a maze for you to solve. You were determined to get your mangoes. So determined that you didn't notice the man heading straight towards you, but Clark did.
His hand wrapped around your waist and gently tugged you away, your feet lifting from the ground by just a few inches as he moved you to his other side where you would be safe.
You hummed along to the song replaying in your mind, content to let Clark take the lead in guiding as you mindlessly trailed along. “I am their fury; I am their patience. I am a conversation.”
You wondered if he ever got annoyed by your stimming, repeating phrases and making weird noises. It certainly seemed like it would, but then again, he never brought it up. Unless it was one of those situations where he assumed you would pick up on his social cues and automatically know he was annoyed, as if you could suddenly read his mind.
You both paused in front of a familiar stand. In your universe, you knew the owner, a lovely old lady who always gave you a discount on your mangoes. You would have said something, but Clark, like usual, had already taken the initiative and was grabbing what was needed.
There was no small talk, simply a hello and a goodbye, and then you were on your way. He never lingered like your Clark did, which was great for saving time, but you couldn’t help but miss watching him so easily connect with others.
Once again, you wove your way through the crowd with him by your side. Luckily, there were no collisions, and you both made it back to the car unscathed and successful in your mission to get groceries.
He opened the car's trunk, and you reached for one of the grocery bags, and for once Clark actually stood back and let you work.
You loved putting away groceries. It was like a game of Tetris where you had to find the right place for every bag, or else the trunk wouldn't close.
“A little bit to the left.” He chimed in, and, like second nature, you followed his instructions. The bag fit perfectly in the spot, and you stepped back with a small cheer, admiring your wonderful piece of art. He walked up next to you, and you snuck a glance at him, your body heating when you noticed the admiration with which he gazed at your work. Like it actually mattered. “It's perfect.”
You preened at the praise, and he shut the trunk, bringing the wagon with him and placing it in the back seat before making his way to the driver’s door. You walked to the front of the car, swinging open the door and plopping down in the front passenger seat.
“What's next?” You turned to him in your seat, and your foot mindlessly tapped the ground. “Tell me, good sir, what is on the schedule for the rest of today?”
His brow furrowed, and for a moment he seemed to think. “Nap time?” He leaned forward and inserted the key. He maneuvered out of the spot and drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road.
“Nap time,” you agreed.
A man after your heart. Nap time sounded exactly like what you needed. All snuggled up in your bed, comfortable as can be. Just the thought of it made you sleepy.
You watched with subtle interest as he drove. His hands looked way too delicious gripping that steering wheel. Lois once said that they would make a great necklace on you. Of course, she’d been joking, but the moment still lingered in the forefront of your mind.
“You know I saw this post on Tweety talking about Superman and I feel you should know that apparently people find you submissive and breed able.”
He choked on air, and you were concerned you'd distracted him too much, but he seemed fine multitasking. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Yeah, apparently it's a big thing.”
“I'm taking your phone away. "
Your eyes widened, and you gasped at the blatant threat to your livelihood. “Don't you dare!” He would have to pry that device from your cold, dead hands.
He only chuckled as if he were amused by your suffering. “I’m just saying the internet is obviously a terrible place.”
Of course, that’s what he would say. Clark was the single most chronically offline person you had ever met. He literally wrote letters for Lois as if he were in an eighteenth-century love story. You even heard from a little birdy that he also had a secret stash of letters addressed to you hidden away in his closet.
Okay, yeah, maybe you were beginning to understand why so many people believed you were their third.
——————————————————
Once, Clark told you he felt uncomfortable in Wayne Manor. That the paintings hung on the walls seemed to follow him and that the silence haunted its endless hallways.
You thought differently. In a way, the silence comforted you; it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, beckoning you to follow it. And while you agreed some paintings were creepy, they held stories you could only imagine.
To say that the main living room was big was an understatement. It was bigger than the apartment, luxurious too, with a couch that seemed to be made from heaven. No, seriously, it was so comfortable you thought you were sitting on a cloud.
“So you're from another universe?” The man seemed unimpressed for someone who had just learned the multiverse was indeed real, but then again, he probably already knew.
“Yep.”
Bruce glanced at Clark, who stood next to you, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared. He grimaced at the pure, unadulterated light radiating from the man.
“And you need my help?”
You nodded wordlessly, and he seemed to retreat into himself, no doubt pondering your words and deciding whether this was worth his time. “How long have you been here?”
“Three months and fifteen days. "Clark piped in, and Bruce frowned. His expression never once changed, although you could see the way his brows pinched in thought and the slight glimmer of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.
He turned to you, his brow raised. “And why are you just now bringing this to my attention?”
Clark's happy expression faltered for a split second, a small, barely noticeable action that Bruce was just able to catch.
"Clark told me—”
"You never responded to my message." Clark chimed in before you could finish, which earned him a glare from you, and his lips puckered in a dramatic pout that both you and Bruce frowned at.
"I've been busy, and I do not recall receiving—"
"Soooo, can you help us?" Clark hastily interrupted, and while you glanced around the room, the two men shared a silent conversation, a complexity that you couldn't figure out even if you tried.
Bruce grunted, and your attention snapped back to him. "I'll do what I can but it's going to take time."
You smiled, hands flapping. "Thank you!"
To you, this was a massive win. No offense to Mr. Terrific or the Justice Gang, but they weren't the most reliable people around. The most you'd gotten from them so far was a few crude theories that did nothing to help in the long run.
"If I may," Alfred's voice piped in. Wait, when did he get here?
"Dinner is almost ready, and I made more than enough for all of you."
"Alfred…"
"Master Bruce, I recall you pondering whether to invite Mr.Kent for lunch again."
"Alfred!"
Clark lit up. "You were thinking about me?"
Dang, again? He told you they were close, but you didn't expect this. Your Clark was never invited to the manor for lunch, only for missions. Well, that explained why Bruce actually spoke to you with words instead of grunts.
Friendship truly was magic.
——————————————————
“Look, as much as I love lazing around all day reading and writing, it's not fair to you. At least let me get a job to help with groceries,“ you pleaded to the man who stood towering before you, his arms crossed and his expression serious as he shook his head.
“I make more than enough money for both of us,” Clark insisted, as he always did whenever you brought up the idea of getting a job.
“You're a journalist,” you fixed him with a knowing glare that not even he could argue with. His and Lois' salaries combined were more than enough in your universe, but she wasn't here. And you refused to continue leeching off him like you were when Bruce could easily set you up with a fake identity and the paperwork to allow you to work.
He frowned at your callout. “I can make diamonds with my heat vision and pressure, you know that, right?” He raised a brow, and you hated how smug he looked when talking.
And yeah, you already knew that. You were there when he found out about the possibility during science in middle school. You literally watched Pa almost have a heart attack when Clark actually did it and made a diamond. On a random Tuesday, mind you.
It was a distraction, but what for?
It clicked.
“Bruce bought the apartment complex and forced you to no longer pay rent, didn't he?”
Clark paused, and for a moment, he was about to shake his head but didn't in defeat. “Yeah…”
“He also helped me fix up the family farm,” he added weakly. “I'm plannin’ to move there. Renovations are finished. It's truly just a matter of waiting for the lease to end.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, now that I think about it…it is actually coming up. Oh lord, I gotta start packing and I still need to go visit the farm one last time to make sure everything works before the official move-in. Golly, I almost completely forgot.”
“Do you think I could maybe go with you? I can help with any last-minute projects or issues, I swear! Ma and Pa had me luggin’ hay bales right beside you growing up!” Oh Irene, your accent was peeking through.
Clark's grin continued to widen as you continued to ramble.
“And did I ever tell you that Ma taught me to cook? Heck! I learned everythin’ from her.”
He nodded along to the gaggle of new information that tumbled out of your mouth.
“Ah, so that's why your cooking almost made me cry.”
You nodded proudly. You couldn't count how many hours you spent with Martha in the kitchen learning how to cook and make the most delicious pie. Some of your best memories were spent in that kitchen.
“How about next time I go, I'll take you with me?” Your eyes lit up, and you beamed, jumping in excitement while your hands flapped in front of you.
“Besides, you will probably be movin’ in too if we don't find a solution to get you home by then.” He shrugged, and you paused in your celebration.
“Oh, yeah…I guess so.” You hadn’t thought of that until he brought it up.
You turned your back to him for a moment, completely oblivious to the way he adjusted his sweatpants. A flurry of emotions danced across his face, yet in just a few milliseconds, he was completely back to normal.
“I wouldn’t mind living in Kansas again.” You faced him again, and he sent you a completely innocent smile. The one that made your heart skip a beat and your face flush. It made you throb.
Irene, you needed to get home. Your heart couldn't handle this pain.
——————————————————
You'd forgotten how tedious a process moving was. All the packing and running around. The stress was enough to knock you out, but fortunately, you weren't alone.
“Hey, lemme carry that for you.”
You tried to protest as the box you were carrying was lifted out of your arms by Clark. He'd been doing that all day. You could barely lift your finger without him immediately coming over to fuss over you.
You couldn't really complain, though. This barely counted as a workout for him. All you had to do was watch him haul his ass around and make sure he took breaks to drink and eat, or else he'd forget being so hyper-fixated on moving everything.
“So what made you want to renovate the farm?” He paused, and for a moment you panicked, thinking you'd hit a nerve, but to your utter relief he shrugged and continued on with his ministrations.
“I needed a distraction, and I always knew I would end up back in Kansas eventually—” That made sense. Your Clark told you the same thing. “—It just felt right, I guess.”
You nodded, taking in his words with a slight hum. “And what about The Daily Planet and work?”
“It's a five-minute flight away, and they've already approved my request to take on a more remote position."
He lifted another box over his shoulders, and you pattered after him like a duckling following its mother.
“And what's it like being Bruce's sugar baby?”
He groaned. “Look, he got my bank information somehow. I can't control what he does. I tried. He just grunted and told me no. Alfred told me to accept my fate. I listen to Alfred!”
He set the box down beside the others, and both of you made the journey back.
“I'm just saying friends don't send each other thousands of dollars for no reason,” you closed the door behind you, dodging and weaving through the trail of boxes that laid around the apartment.
“Sweetheart, he's a billionaire. He has absolutely no concept of a normal friendship. I'm pretty sure I'm his first actual best friend in years.”
That actually made a lot of sense. You doubted Bruce got out a lot during the day. Not to mention his social awkwardness and obvious unresolved trauma.
Clark collapsed onto the couch, and you followed after him, dramatically flopping right next to him as if you'd just done a whole day's work.
“You both need therapy.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Trust me, we already know.”
Well, at least he was self-aware.
——————————————————
You recalled the day Clark moved out of his apartment vividly. You, he, and Lois spent the entire day lugging boxes around, although it was truly only Clark who did the work. He insisted he could do it alone while you and Lois hung out.
You looked back on that day fondly. A bittersweet memory of friends and a life you wished you had.
A life with them.
The apartment was so bare you barely recognized it. Without the furniture, it felt soulless, like everything that made it home had been stripped away. It was familiar in a way that made you itch.
“Well, I think that's the rest of it,” his arm effortlessly slipped around your shoulders.
“I'm going to miss this place.” Your eyes darted across the hallway, taking it all in one last time. It felt like ages ago when you first stumbled in, frazzled and confused. It baffled you how many weeks had passed since then.
Clark nodded along, his expression pensive. The way it always was whenever he was pondering something deep. “But you'll love it in Kansas." Well, you obviously couldn't deny that or the deep, almost sinful rumble of his voice.
“You're right.” You sighed. “I will.”
“The flight still sucks, though.” You added with a frown, and you shrugged Clark's arm off your shoulder, an action that made his jaw tick. His eyes grew cold for just a single moment, too quick for you to catch, but you noticed his offended demeanor and snorted. He melted in an instant.
“Do we seriously have to take a plane? Can't you just fly me?” You despised airplanes and, most importantly, airports. The crowds terrified you, and standing in a line to wait was not one of your strong suits.
Clark shook his head, following you out the door one ultimate time. “Nope!” He popped the P. “We can not just rely on my powers for everything.” You hated how correct he was.
You both paused, finality hitting like a brick.
You turned to each other.
“To Kansas?”
You grinned at his barely contained excitement. He was buzzing with it.
"To Kansas!”
——————————————————
Nothing could've prepared you for the mixed feelings that came with living full time at the Kent's house, or well, Clark's house without Martha and Jonathan. There was a feeling of emptiness without their presence. It was still the same house you grew up in, and yet everything felt different. Not exactly in a bad way, just different. You assumed the feeling would dissipate as time went on.
There had been several renovations made to the house. Appliances were all upgraded; everything was repainted to look good as new. The furniture was mostly kept the same, just with some added touches from Clark that made the house more his instead of his parents'. All of it exactly the same as when you visited.
You could definitely tell Bruce funded it all; the new editions were the best of the best, which was kind of jarring because you were used to the guest room's bathroom toilet absolutely sucking, and now it was literally luxurious. Same thing with the shower that had a leaky faucet; all of it was completely fixed.
You didn't miss the chores, though. Although it was Clark who did all the heavy lifting. He refused your offers of help, even after you showed him how far you could throw a hay bale, which was pretty far if you had to say so yourself. Instead, you focused on taking care of the inhabitants of the farm, which you didn't mind. In fact, you always drifted toward the animals. You always had. They were easier to get along with than people.
“Okay, children, one at a time—no, Aph, stop, that's Katelyn's food. Nana stop pecking at my feet.” You shooed the chicken away, scowling right back at her when she fluffed up her feathers and clucked in obvious annoyance. You stuck your tongue out at her and closed the gate behind you.
“Garroth. Lawrence,” you acknowledged the pigs as you passed their pen. Gosh, you'd forgotten how much work it was to keep animals. It kept you busy, offering a distraction from the festering unease inside you.
You found Clark in the barn fussing over Betty, the cow, or as you called her, ‘the princess of the farm’. She ruled her kingdom with an iron fist and a powerful moo. Most of the time she was a grump, and Clark was the only one she allowed to touch her. Apparently his pets were good enough while yours weren't.
You couldn't blame her. His hands were nice, sturdy, yet somehow soft, even after years of farm work. Yeah, Clark Kent had a very nice pair of hands.
“Such a pretty girl.”
A shiver ran down your spine at his rumble, his words twisting your gut. That cow was absolutely spoiled. You were surprised she wasn't overweight, with how gluttonous she was.
“This is why she's a brat. You spoil her too much.” You glared at the cow.
She glared back.
For a moment Clark paused in his petting, and Betty's tail flicked in immediate dissatisfaction. She huffed and trotted away, not even giving him a chance to redeem himself.
Your hands fell to your waist, and you jutted your hip out as you gave him a look that screamed, ‘I told you so.'
“Okay, so maybe I spoil her. She deserves it. She's my baby” He conceded with a shrug and made his way over to you.
“You're ridiculous—”
“—Ridiculously empathetic and caring toward animals," he finished for you. You swatted the hand away that reached for you and moved away, but he followed persistently. “Nuh uh, don't run.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue in faux disappointment. He caught you almost immediately and dragged you back.
“Let me go, you heathen!” You clawed at his arms, desperately writhing around. “I will destroy you!” He threw his head back and laughed when you turned and pushed him. He didn’t even budge an inch.
His arms slackened, and like an animal being hunted, you scrambled away from him toward the entrance of the barn. He followed leisurely behind.
“Sweetheart, watcha doin’?” His head tilted curiously, but you wouldn't fall for his fake innocence. You saw the mischief gleaming in his eyes.
“You are like a needy golden retriever.” You pointed at him accusingly with a harmless growl.
“What?” He had the audacity to look perplexed by your statement. You had given a whole rundown of character dynamics when he asked about the story you were writing. He knew exactly what you were talking about.
“Hey, hey, six feet away! I value my freedom!”
With a smug smirk, he cocked his eyebrow and took a single step forward.
You took it as a declaration of war and bolted back to the house.
——————————————————
You were getting a serious sense of déjà vu tiptoeing through the house in the dead of night, like a single wrong step would wake everyone up. Technically, with Clark’s super-hearing, you weren't far off.
“Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious," you whispered, singing the mantra to yourself like an annoying kid's toy on repeat.
Your mind wouldn't let you sleep, so instead of tossing and turning in your bed all night, you decided to go to the kitchen and get a snack. At least then you would be tossing and turning all night without your stomach rumbling.
You were just tiptoeing past Clark's room when you heard him whimpering. It sounded as if he were in pain, which you doubt was the case. No, that wasn't a ‘help, I'm in pain’ whimper. It was a 'Help, I'm having a horrible nightmare and about to wake up and probably have a panic attack’ whimper.
Look, you were no stranger to nightmares. Although your nightmares weren't exactly normal. Not if being stuck in a crowded mall in a constant state of meltdown, constantly suffering while everyone you love ignores your pleas for help, was normal.
You were confident enough in your relationship with Clark to know that barging into his room, food in hand, at two in the morning was acceptable.
You knew the layout of his bedroom like the back of your hand. The total darkness that encompassed it never hindered your journey to his bed.
However, you made a pit stop to place your snacks on his dresser nearby.
“Clark?” the whisper barely left your lips. The last thing you wanted to do was bombard his super-hearing. You knew how sensitive all his senses got whenever he had nightmares. He once described it to you after you comforted him one night during your high school years.
You knew what it was like to be overstimulated. What he went through sounded worse.
The moment you got close enough, you reached out to him, and as if he could sense your presence, he shot up.
Clark gasped, and a sharp inhale of air flooded his lungs. He panted as he gulped it all in.
“Hey, Clark.”
His head snapped in your direction, and for a moment in his panic, he looked as if he were about to attack. His eyes snapped down to your outstretched hand that now trembled, frozen in place. He frowned and then he registered it was you.
He whispered your name like a lifeline and immediately slumped over. His head bumped against your shoulder, and you struggled to take on all of his weight as he seemed to bury himself in you. Like that was possible.
“Oof,” you grunted and wrapped your arms around him to steady you both. You carefully maneuvered yourself onto his bed, and the man had no issue scooting over to let you in. In fact, the moment you finally laid down on your side, he attached himself to you like a koala.
His body curled around yours, and hands snuck around your waist, dragging you as close as possible to his chest.
In the dark, you had to squint to see him. Fortunately, from being in his embrace, you could feel his erratic breathing slowly calming. You heard him sniffle, and one of his arms unwrapped around you to swipe away his tears. But in just a few seconds it returned, once again wrapping around you.
You let him cling to you. To the point that you almost fell asleep for a few minutes. I mean, how could you not? This was the most comfortable spot in the world. Okay, yeah, it was a little bit warm, but the sweat was worth it!
Soon enough his breathing evened out, and you frowned as a snore left him. Oh, great.
He trapped you and you were really looking forward to those snacks too…
By the time your mind allowed you to sleep, the sun was already rising. Fortunately, its rays of light were blocked by the massive body curled around your body. You weren't even that short, and yet you felt small when he completely encircled you like this.
The moment you stirred and tried to pull away from the living furnace next to you, his arms locked around your waist and forced you still.
“Clarkkkk.” You pushed at his chest helplessly and groaned when he didn't even move an inch. He was fighting back a smile, the corner of his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He popped open a single eye, peering down at you in sleepy amusement.
“What's the magic word?” This is why you stopped sleeping in the same bed with him. Once he latched on, he never let go. Neither did Lois. Both of their sleepover privileges were revoked.
“Let me go, or else I'll never make you a pie again.”
His other eye shot open. “You wouldn't dare…” He was right. You were bluffing. However, you had the audacity not to care.
“Try me.”
His arms around you finally slackened, and you wiggled out of his grip, just barely dodging his attempt to snatch you back. He frowned like a kicked puppy, but you refused to feel guilty.
You rose from the bed and headed straight to his drawer, where you checked up on your snacks and then waddled back to his bed.
What? Your food was important.
“So, you want to talk about last night?” You crawled back onto the bed and finally let Clark pull you back into his arms.
For the first time, he didn't tense up or shut down. You were used to him retreating whenever you asked.
“It was Lex who did it.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Does that mean…?”
He nodded, and his gaze fell as he fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “He found out. I was too late. By the time I got there, they were already gone.”
Everything fell into place, finally painting the full picture. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice-cold water, and you went tense in his arms. The somber haze that had seemed to have taken over him seemed to clear because his gaze snapped back to you.
“It was you who killed him, wasn't it?”
He nodded, and you noticed the lack of guilt in his demeanor. You couldn't blame him for what he did. Not at all. Still, the lack of guilt irked you. Not enough for you to truly care, though. Lex Luthor ruined Clark's life. You wouldn't feel bad either.
But this was different. The Clark you knew would have felt guilty even if it was Lex, but then again, your Clark never went through what this Clark did.
“I hate to say it, but…good riddance.”
Oh, you felt so guilty saying it, but it needed to be said! Nobody was going to miss that bald-headed demon. In fact, the world was much safer without him. Clark was safer without him.
“Wait, is that why Metropolis is so much more peaceful in this universe.” It all made sense.
He barked out a sudden laugh, and you were glad that even with the sad subject, he could at least find some joy.
——————————————————
Smallville was different in ways you couldn't explain. Of course, you hadn't actually gone into town yet; just the idea of it made you nervous but the farmers market was today and you were finally ready to venture out.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" He stood in front of the door, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared like he was guarding something—probably you.
You rolled your eyes. Ever since you told Clark your plans to go to the farmers market, he'd been insistent he come with. You weren't exactly against it per-say, it's just you wanted to spend some time alone. Get used to being in town again, but then again, you were a complete stranger to everybody, so maybe Clark coming with wasn't that bad of an idea.
"I'll be okay. It's just the farmers market," you reassured the gentle giant, who seemed more than concerned about the idea of you heading along alone. You had to admit it was slightly annoying, all of his fussing, like you couldn't go more than ten seconds without him. But you would be lying if you said you didn't find it a little cute.
"But what if it's too much? I wouldn't want you to have a meltdown and not be there to help." Wait, how did he even know about those? Did he do research?
Clark sighed at the well-earned glare he received and raised his hands in front of him in defense. "Please just let me come with for my peace of mind." He pleaded.
He really wasn't going to let this go was he?
You sighed, finally conceding, and victory flashed across his expression, a smile quickly growing on his face.
"Fine, you can come with, but only because it'll be easier to carry groceries with you around."
"I'll take it." He beamed and stepped away from the door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was.
"Come on, the truck is already ready."
You raised a brow, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.
"Seriously?"
"What? I wanted to go to the farmers market too!"
The drive to town was only a measly ten-minute affair. The whole time Clark hummed along to the songs you had added to his playlist because you refused to listen to Clark's abhorrent music taste.
Finally getting out of the truck felt damning, like there was no turning back after this, which was true given the stares you immediately received from the familiar faces around you. You were surprised you made it out of the parking lot without being stopped by someone. However you didn't even make it past the first stall before Mrs. Mendelev was scurrying up to the both of you. The woman was a gossip—the town gossiper as some would say. She knew everything and anything about everyone. It was pretty impressive.
"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little thing?" The older woman squeezed you tightly in a hug. "You have no idea how happy we all were when we heard Clark finally brought home a girl!"
Behind you, the man groaned, the tips of his turning red. “After Martha and Jonathan’s passing, God bless their souls, he just was never the same. It’s so nice to see him smile again."
You smiled softly at the kind words. "I wouldn't say I'm the reason for that." You laughed, waving her off, and Clark's brows pinched together as if he were about to speak but held off at the last second.
The woman only waved her hand and shook her head. "Nonsense. He practically glows when he talks about you."
Oh, wow, you had no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, Clark took the opportunity and muttered an awkward goodbye and dragged you away to the next stall, for which you were eternally grateful.
"Well she hasn't change," you giggled as you leaned over to grab an apple, inspecting it before tossing it into your bag and grabbing a few more.
"Let me guess, she's a gossip in your universe too?"
You nodded. "Yep," you popped the p and moved on to the next stall.
"Why, hello there! You must be the lady Clark won't stop blabbering about!" Your eyes widened as you took in the man before you—Kevin. He was only a few years older than you, but everyone in town knew who he was, at least in your universe. He went down a dark path after his marriage fell apart because of his wife’s issues with fertility. His ending wasn't so happy
"Dad! Amy got into the produce again!" a smaller voice called out from behind the stand, and Kevin sighed, a long arduous groan.
You watched as a little boy stumbled to the front of the stand, a smile growing on your face as you took in the little lad. "You have a child."
No, you were totally not about to cry. That would be pathetic.
"I'm adopted!" A startled, but happy laugh burst from your mouth at the boy’s exclamation and Kevin’s horrified reaction.
“I told you to stop telling people that!”
You let the family be and scurried to the next stall, taking one last glance at the happiness radiating from the man before finally moving your attention away.
"Hey, are you okay?" Clark's fingers brushed over your arm.
"Yeah…I'm just happy. Kevin never really got to be happy in my universe. I'm glad he got it here. He deserves it."
His expression softened. "Well, I'm glad too. He's a good man, and a great father and husband."
The rest of the morning was spent wandering around the market, grabbing what you needed and introducing yourself to every face you encountered. It was nice, tiring, but nice to see everyone again. So much was different, and yet so many things were the same. You didn't know whether you found comfort from it all, and by the time you got back to the farm, you didn't have the energy to care. All you wanted to do was put the groceries away and nap.
"Sweetheart, you looked drained."
He snatched the groceries from your arms; you were a fool to believe he would let you carry them all in. "Get some rest. I'm sure all that socialization was tiring, " he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the action so natural that neither of you blinked at the affection, and he disappeared into the kitchen.
You could kiss him.
You bet he tasted like sunshine and comfort.
Ugh, you seriously needed to get your feeling in check. This wasn't your Clark. You didn't love him, just another version of him. If only your stupid heart would realize that.
——————————————————
You were no stranger to the danger that came with being Superman. You watched Clark get beaten up, thrown into buildings, and smashed with cars. He always survived. It's what he did, but the suit? Oh, the suit was a whole different story.
"This poor fabric." The repetitive motion of sewing was soothing to someone like you, which was why you happily volunteered to fix up Clark's suit because, good lord, it needed some tender love and care.
“In my defense I didn't ask to be stabbed at.”
"And yet it still happened." You pulled the needle through the fabric.
"Hey!" he gawked, offended. "I tried my best to dodge it; it's harder than it looks."
You nodded, pretending that you believed him, but he seemed to recognize your bad acting and scowled.
“Look, I'm sorry” he whined.
“I know you are. I just get concerned.” You frowned and once again threaded the needle through the fabric. You would never get over how satisfying it was to watch as the string tied everything together once again, patching it all up.
“Just be more careful out there. I know you're practically invincible, but I still get worried seeing you get beat up.” Clark sighed, his scowl softening and his body relaxing.
"I know, I know." He didn't exactly wave off your concerns; he would never do that, always too thoughtful, but it still felt like that as he rose from his sitting place on the couch and made his way over to you. He leaned down, placing a light kiss to your forehead.
"I'm sorry."
He leaned back, staring down at you with a soft smile. "Thank you for the suit. I can't remember the last time someone took the time to fix it up."
"Well, someone has to."
"You and I both know that's not true." He chuckled lightly.
You only shrugged, your tongue poking out as you focused on finishing the final stitches. You could feel his eyes on you—a feeling you were all to familiar with. He liked to watch you. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't creepy.
"There." You smiled proudly as you cut off the string and held out the newly patched up suit. "Good as new."
"You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart."
"I know right. I'm amazing."
Peaceful silence fell between you, and you handed him back the suit, the bright symbol almost shining when the light hit it just right.
"Do you ever regret it?"
"Regret what?" He hummed, checking over his newly repaired suit, obviously satisfied with your work.
"Killing Lex."
He froze and you watched as his knuckles paled from how tightly he gripped onto the fabric. His expression fell blank just like it always did whenever you brought up this sort of topic.
Shit.
Had you gone too far? Oh gosh, you knew asking was a bad idea. You should have listened to your brain when it told you to leave the topic alone. It was obvious he didn't like talking about it.
"No, I don't," he finally answered. You slowly nodded, taking in his words. Of course he didn't. Honestly, you wouldn't either in a situation like that, but a small part of you was still surprised. The Clark you knew valued all life, even Lex Luthor's, but then again, this wasn't your Clark, which your brain couldn't seem to register quite yet.
"Would you do it again?"
He looked down at the fabric in his hands, his gaze flickering over the symbol.
"No."
Both of you knew that was a lie.
———————————————————
Martha was the one who taught you how to bake. You remembered the way she would set out everything and go through each step with you, teaching you how to correctly measure and how to roll the dough.
Baking was a process, a process you enjoyed very much.
It was also an escape. It allowed your mind to go numb as you went through the steps, doing the same thing every time. It was as relaxing as it was delicious.
“You know, if you keep on baking these pies, I think I'm gonna die from the sugar overload.” You turned around, scowling at Clark, who stood leaning against the entryway in his usual plaid shirt and jeans. The only difference was the long hair he decided to grow out. It was almost a mullet now, and gosh darn did he look delicious, almost as delicious as your pie.
"Oh hush you love my pies." You turned back to the oven, eyeing the pie that laid inside. Just a few minutes left.
Footsteps approached from behind and his hands landed on your hips.
"Is that my shampoo?" Your nose wrinkled at the familiar scent, and you craned your neck to look at Clark, who smiled at you sheepishly with a guilty expression that said it all.
"It smells nice—like you." He shrugged as if that were a perfectly good reason to steal your freakin' twenty-dollar shampoo.
"You are so lucky that Bruce Wayne funds this household or else I'd kick your butt."
A laugh left him at your obvious threat, and you frowned at the way he didn't take you seriously. You were very scary, just not to him, apparently. "Sweetheart, you couldn't hurt a fly even if you tried." He sounded so sure of it, and you would have been offended if it weren't true.
The oven interrupted any attempt to threaten him more, and you huffed as you turned your attention back to the appliance, tugging it open and groaning when his arms unwrapped around you and sneaked past to take the pie out, his hands completely bare.
"You're a freak of nature," he placed the pie down on the countertop, and you cringed. "You do realize that can ruin it, right?"
"You said it yourself," he shrugged. "Bruce Wayne funds this household."
He turned the oven off, and you stepped back and untied your apron from around your waist. "Touché"
You threw the fabric onto the countertop. "Speaking of which, how is Bruce? Any updates?" You questioned.
He shook his head. "No. Apparently, the multiverse is, uh…complicated."
Even after so many months, the only progress made was a few crude theories, and even those were iffy. But both Bruce and Mr.Terrific knew how to contact you if anything came up.
"I just can't imagine how worried everyone is back home,” you sighed. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can to get me back. "
A small part of you hoped one day a portal would randomly open and out would come your Clark and Lois, most likely rambling about how they missed you and did everything they could to get you back. It was wishful thinking, and maybe foolish, but still, you could hope.
"You know you've been baking a lot; are you okay?”
Aw, dang it, you were hoping he wouldn't notice.
Okay, so maybe you baked more whenever you were stressed; it was a healthy outlet, and in all reality, you weren't fine at all.
It was like a creeping feeling of doom approaching in the distance. You could see the storm, hear its thunder rumble, and watch its clouds invade the sky. Now, you were just waiting for it to hit.
“I'm fine." You turned your back to him, focusing on retrieving a knife to cut the pie with.
He didn't believe you, probably because he could hear your heart beating a million miles per hour.
Something about his gaze felt predatory. The way he watched you flutter around the kitchen like you were some piece of meat ready to be devoured. You noticed that gaze a lot.
Wait, where did your apron go? Oh lord, not again!
——————————————————
You loved when it rained, always have and probably always will.
It was the sound of each droplet hitting the ground, the grounding effect it had on your mind. The way the worms would always come out after, your little army of beloved insects. You adored all of it.
So of course you couldn't miss the chance to revel in it.
"You do realize this is a one-way ticket to getting sick, right?" He leaned against the side of the porch, where he was protected from the rain while you stood a few feet away absolutely soaked and delighted to stomp in each puddle. Your hands flapped in front of you as you danced around, splashing and giggling as you jumped around.
"I didn't realize you were such a party pooper. " You turned, sticking your tongue out at him.
The only thing you didn't enjoy was the way your soaked clothes stuck to you, an uncomfortable feeling that made your skin crawl. But it wasn't enough to ruin your mood. It wasn't often that Kansas had rain, especially during such a dry season like summer.
"Are you going to join me or just watch like a creepy stalker?"
"Oh, no. I'm more than okay staying right here."
You rolled your eyes and turned back around, running and jumping straight in the largest puddle you could find, your hands flapping happily in front of you.
Oh, how you loved puddles. They were always so fun to jump in. You and Clark used to do it all the time growing up while Martha and Jonathan watched from their porch. You couldn't count how many times you got sick from it, unlike Clark, who was never affected, but it was always worth it. Although you swore it wasn't the rain that made you sick, just your immune system fucking you over.
From the porch, Clark watched with his arms crossed over his chest . You were always so excited about the littlest of things. It was cute.
"Sweetheart, you should probably come in soon," he called.
"Only if you promise not to fuss over me."
"I don't fuss over you."
"You absolutely do."
He absolutely did. He couldn't help it. It was just his nature to help, especially for the ones he cared for.
"Fine, I won't fuss but only if you promise to warm up with some towels and Ma's hot chocolate."
You lit up.
"You had me at Ma's hot chocolate."
——————————————————
Ultimately, it was Mr Terrific who revealed Clark’s lies. That's right—lies. In one simple phone call, the small life you'd built with him was torn to shreds.
He'd been lying to you for weeks.
He called off the research.
All of it.
Bruce, the justice gang—he demanded they all stop their research and move on. You didn't know which was worse: that he did it or the fact that they all listened. So blindly loyal to a man who apparently wanted you all to himself, tucked away on a farm in Kansas. But why? You had done nothing but invade his life? Why would he want you to stay so badly that he went out of his way to betray you like this. It didn't make any sense.
"So it's true?"
"Sweetheart—"
Oh Irene, it was. He'd lied to you. For weeks! It made so much sense now that you thought about it. The way he avoided your questions or even just the topic itself. The weird way he'd been acting ever since you both moved to Kansas. The clinginess, the avoidance, red bright flags that you had opted to ignore just because you trusted him—technically not even him but another version of him!
"Clark, why?" You felt one second away from completely breaking, and you hated the way your voice wavered. The weakness that crept in.
"Because I love you, okay!" He suddenly exclaimed. "I love you so much it hurts, and that universe—that Clark—doesn't deserve you."
…what?
In another life, you would've been ecstatic to hear those words. In fact, your heart still skipped a beat, and a familiar warmth spread across your body, but it felt wrong. So terribly wrong.
"Clark, I—" how do you respond to that? For your whole entire life you had thought that Clark Kent would never love you, not in the way you loved him. Yet here he was, another version of him, telling you exactly that.
You watched frozen in place as he took a careful step toward you, like one wrong move and you would just disappear. He looked so fragile, so hopeful. So completely and irrevocably different from the Clark you knew.
"I…I think I want to go home." Yeah. You wanted your apartment, your bed, your safe place. You wanted your noise-canceling headphones and your stuffed animals.
"You are home."
You weren't. This wasn't home. Just a false replica of it.
"No, I want to go home," you repeated, and his face scrunched up.
You didn't know when he managed to get in front of you, but you blinked, and he suddenly towered over you only a few inches away, blocking any escape.
"I need you to calm down." You shrugged off any attempt at touching you, and his expression flashed with hurt.
"You're not leaving. Not me or Kansas." His words felt like a finality you refused to accept, but truly what could you do? He was stronger than you, and if you tried to run, he could easily catch up and just throw you over his shoulder and take you back.
You were stuck.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by his hand taking yours, and you watched in frozen horror as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a familiar ring—Martha's ring. The same one you would fawn over growing up, wishing that one day it would belong to you.
"I wanted to wait until you were settled down more but Bruce already has the papers forged."
The ring slid onto your finger. It was a weight that felt binding, something you couldn't exactly explain.
"Clark, what do you mean?"
He smiled, soft yet predatory in a way that made you shudder. "It means we're going to be happy," His hand ghosted up your arm, trailing up to cup your cheek with his palm. You would have melted if it weren't for the situation.
"Together."
Once again, in any other scenario, you would've swooned. Unfortunately, this was the one scenario where you, in fact, did not swoon. Instead panic seized you, forcing you to stay frozen in your place.
"Clark, I can't. I have a life. Clark and Lois—"
"—Do not deserve you."
Again with that bullshit. How dare he say that? Your Clark and Lois deserved the world, and you were a part of that world. They most definitely deserved you.
They just didn't want you.
His hands left your body, and you stepped back. Something he obviously did not like with the way he immediately crowded into your space again.
"Stop saying that!"
"But it's true!" He exclaimed. "They don't see you. Never will. Not the way I do, and I can't lose you!" For a moment he went silent before speaking. "Not like I loss them."
Oh, wow. That was a box of emotions you were not willing to open up.
You shook your head, anger guiding you to slide the ring off your finger and throw it to the ground, but before you could even think about doing it, his hand came down onto your wrist, effectively stopping you.
"Don't." He sounded annoyed. It was terrifying. He gave you the ring for a reason, and there was only one reason someone, especially someone like Clark, would give you a ring. His ma's ring, too.
"Clark, what type of papers did you get Bruce to forge?"
The smile he gave you sent chills down your spine, whether it was from the predatory gleam in his eyes or the actual happiness that radiated from him. "I think you already know, sweetheart."
baseball!clark who... is the campus catch (pun intended) at 6’4” fielder for kansas a&m’s baseball team.
baseball!clark who... is nearly oblivious to the attention he receives. sure, he always gets a good partner for group projects and gets bought at least three drinks at the bar, but they’re all just being nice! no other reason…
baseball!clark who... sees you and his brain short circuits while watching you make brightly colored energy drinks for under caffeinated students.
baseball!clark who... has never really had an affinity for caffeine (it doesn’t touch him, and he can stay awake just fine on his own, thank you very much) but suddenly is a regular at the tiny coffee shop just off campus just so he can talk to you.
baseball!clark who... spots you in the crowd during his warmup and makes sure he hits a home run right to your section
baseball!clark who... skips his post-game shower and runs to catch up to you in the parking lot, pretending to be shocked you caught the ball
baseball!clark who... signs your ball when you jokingly ask- signing it “to the prettiest girl this ballpark has ever seen” and adding his phone number at the end.
baseball!clark who... stays awake that night, laying atop his covers and wondering if he went too far or was too bold until you text him.
baseball!clark who... spends far too long picking out your first date activity. is dinner too fancy? ice cream is definitely too casual. a movie is a safe bet, but he wants to actually talk to you and look at your beautiful face, so he settles on mini-golf.
baseball!clark who... stands behind you, adjusting your stance and grip on the club, very aware of the game you’re playing as you lean back into his chest.
baseball!clark who... kisses you in his truck after your second date and asks the girlfriend question after the third. you’re crazy enough to say yes, but what can you say? it’s clark.
baseball!clark who... keeps a polaroid of the the two of you in the inside of his hat, pressed against his forehead when he plays for good luck.
baseball!clark who... sneaks you into the stadium for batting practice on off days, standing behind you in a way very reminiscent of your first date as he teaches you how to properly hit a baseball
baseball!clark who... grins when you challenge him to a race around the bases, jogging lazily behind you until you get close to home plate, speeding up and throwing you over your shoulders. you’re laughing all the while, squirming in his grip while he pats your ass placatingly
baseball!clark who... pulls you into the showers with him, fully clothed, and kissing you hard as he mutters “we gotta keep quiet, honey, it might be just us but you can never be too careful.” until your skirt is flipped up and he’s pressing you against the wall to fuck you, surrounded by the steam of the shower while you bite his thumb to muffle your moans.
baseball!clark who... does a very wet walk of shame with your to your car, rushing back to your apartment so he can do it again in a proper shower. you can’t look at anymore without blushing.
baseball!clark who... tries to be as gentlemanly as possible in bed, but after a rough loss, can’t help but make sloppy, rough love to you as soon as he gets home, unshowered and pissed off.
baseball!clark who... has your heels up by your head as he thrusts into you, making your eyes roll back as he rubs your clit. “sorry, baby, just- hah- need this… i’ll take care of you i swear, i just-nnng, need you right now. so wet, so perfect for me.”
baseball!clark who... is so lost in his own pleasure he doesn’t notice that you’ve come twice, so filled up by him that stars bloom in your eyes with every thrust.
baseball!clark who... qualifies with his team for the college world series and goes down on you three times as his celebration.
baseball!clark who... begs you to come to omaha to watch the CWS and refuses to sleep at the hotel, insisting on cramming into the tiny room at the motel you rented, even though it’s an extra 45 minutes away.
baseball!clark who... wins back-to-back college world series his junior and senior year, resulting in a very drunk you and clark hanging off of each other and giggling about all the things you’re going to do when you’re alone
baseball!clark who... declares for the draft his senior year, just after graduation, and spends the summer leading up helping out around the kent farm. you go with him, spending as much time relaxing as you can, but really just admiring clark doing his farm work.
baseball!clark who... walks around the kent house like a ghost in the days before the draft, working long hours outside with ma and pa and using you as his emotional support human (he can’t go 30 minutes without touching you)
baseball!clark who... gets the opportunity to relieve some stress with your mouth on him, but it only does so much. you’re a pretty good distraction, though! it’s hard to think of anything but how good he feels when he looks down and sees your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.
baseball!clark who... gets drafted in the first round by the metropolis meteors and his over the moon, but bursts into tears as soon as the cameras turn off
baseball!clark who... stays up late with you, crammed into his childhood double bed and whispering under the covers about how much he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you but also doesn’t want to drag you around with him.
baseball!clark who... doesn’t quite believe it when you tell him you got a job doing remote work and have been planning on going with him so long as he’ll have you.
baseball!clark who... decides then and there that he needs to marry you like he needs air (not that he didn’t already want to- now he’s taking that $30k signing bonus and buying your ring)
baseball!clark who...is barely in the minors for a month before getting called up and making his debut.
baseball!clark who... swears he’s never been happier than in the moment he sees you waiting for him after his debut, wearing his jersey and the biggest smile on your face.
baseball!clark who... is at an away game when he hits his first major league homer, only slightly disappointed that he can’t celebrate with you right away.
baseball!clark who... forgets all about that disappointment when he gets home from the short road trip and finds you atop your shared bed in a lacy blue bra and panties under his jersey.
baseball!clark who... swears he never cums as fast as he does when he gets to fuck you from behind, pushing up his jersey to get a better view of where he’s thrusting into you and seeing ‘kent’ written across your back in bold letters
baseball!clark who... is about two seconds away from catching a fine from the team because of the sheer number of near misses you guys have had. locker room? Check. showers? obviously. that one time actually on the field at like three in the morning where you had to keep quiet when security did their sweep? you only live once, right?
baseball!clark who... sometimes needs to just… fuck after a long slump. he goes eight games without so much as a hit. of course it’s on a road trip, and phone sex and his fist just doesn’t cut it after the first series. he’s on the phone whining “just need it so bad, baby. please, tell me you’re touching yourself too… want you to feel good,”
baseball!clark who... comes groaning into your ear, telling you to just “rub your clit for me, come on honey, let me hear you. feels so good… can’t wait to be home and fill you up.”
baseball!clark who... does exactly that, right after coming through the door. he’s barely put his bag down before he’s setting you atop the counter and pulling your sleep shorts down and eating you out within an inch of your life, moaning into your cunt as you grip his hair and scream his name.
baseball!clark who... comes in his pants after your second orgasm, palming himself and desperately grinding against nothing. before fucking you on the counter… and the floor… and against the wall…
baseball!clark who... miraculously comes out of his slump the next game, going four for four and hitting two home runs. suddenly, you’re being pushed to your absolute limits orgasm wise as clark does whatever he can to keep the streak going, “you don’t mess with a winning streak, sweetheart.”
baseball!clark who... is literally head over heels for you and also kind of a freak in bed.
sc talks: pretend like this didn't take me a month to write and post ok? much love to @kryptidfiles for listening to me ramble in her dms and also for her rugby!clark au. thanks for reading! love you all :)
sloppy makeout sessions with Clark would be a regular thing.
he'd arrive home after work and immediately rush over to you, lifting you up by your hips and onto the counter before slamming his lips onto yours. no words even being exchanged before he goes for your lips.
passion is evident in his gestures, hands exploring all around your body while his tongue tries to go deeper in— needy and hungry. it's as if he's never going to have enough of you, always having to roam further, hands reaching beneath your pencil skirt that's fresh from work. he continues to grope your body while he consumes you whole and you gladly accept.
you moan into the kiss as his tongue fucks your mouth, hands cupping his chin and pulling him in.
a scandalous heat makes itself known, growing in between your legs as you feel his palms dip beneath your skirt that's hiked up inappropriately. he only squeezes your thighs and kneads the flesh, not yet pressing against your aching clit.
but there's no need for talk when you two are practically begging for more from each other. even after many hot, steamy nights, you two still haven't filled up your quota. and it's disgusting.
Note: I don't know yet if there will be a second part, but if you like it, I'll post it :)
Clark Kent x Female Kryptonian reader x Ultraman ¿?
Sinopsis: After years of loving Clark Kent in silence, a Kryptonian journalist watches the only person who ever truly understood her fall in love with someone else.
Your eyes drifted back to the view beyond the large window of your apartment. The city looked gray, just as it always did, but today that gray felt heavier, as though the sky itself had grown tired. A faint redness lingered around your eyelids, and the dark circles you'd been carrying for days were more noticeable than ever. You had slept badly, once again, and your body reflected it. Your breathing still came in uneven waves, as if something inside you had broken and could no longer be put back together. The world outside felt distant, so distant that you hardly cared what happened beyond those windows anymore. Only you existed, sitting on that couch with your gaze lost in nothingness.
Your heart beat slowly, painfully slowly, as though it no longer had the strength to keep going. It was the heartbeat of someone waiting for something while already knowing, deep down, that disappointment was inevitable. Like waiting for a phone call that never comes or for words that are never spoken. That was how your chest felt—empty and unbearably heavy at the same time. You looked down at your phone again, the same one as always, its screen dark. With a gentle tap, it lit up, and there it was. That photograph you treasured like the most precious thing in the world, as though it were the last memory of something that no longer existed. You let out a long, deep sigh, your fingertips brushing lightly over the image.
It was him.
Of course it was always him.
"Come with me. Come on, we'll be in Metropolis. The Daily Planet is where you belong."
His voice echoed through your mind once again, just as powerfully as the first day you'd heard it. So clear. So certain. So convinced.
And you, as always, had followed that voice without asking a single question.
Because whenever he spoke, you listened.
Whenever he asked, you gave.
Whenever he smiled, you smiled too.
Now, though, that voice felt different, like an echo that no longer belonged to you.
You should have realized it from the very beginning.
That was all you were to him: a traveling companion, someone who happened to share the same place of birth among the stars, the same powers that made him extraordinary. But despite the Kryptonian blood running through your veins, Clark only ever saw a human woman before he saw you.
It had always been that way.
And you had always known it.
You had simply refused to accept it.
You squeezed your eyes shut until tiny stars danced behind your eyelids. Your brows furrowed, and another sigh escaped your lips.
Why were you doing this to yourself?
Why were you still holding on to something that had never been yours?
You had met him in college, back when everything still seemed possible. He was the quiet boy who always sat in the back of the classroom, the one who looked as though he were hiding something behind those glasses. And you, with your own secrets, knew exactly what it meant to hide who you truly were.
Everything changed during a history field trip, when the bus veered off course and chaos erupted. Your friend nearly flew out of the bus after fainting, and in that moment you didn't think—you simply acted. You activated your heat vision to push the bus back into place and used your strength to catch your friend before pulling her to safety.
Everything happened so quickly that you barely had time to process what you'd done.
But he saw it.
Clark told you one night, with that calmness that always defined him, as though it weren't a big deal. You barely spoke back then. You weren't even friends.
Then, all at once, he became your everything.
You felt seen.
Understood.
Like you finally weren't alone anymore.
That warmth inside your chest became something you never wanted to lose.
"People talked about you," you had told him that day, looking straight into his eyes.
"On other planets, Kal-El."
You called him by his true name with a smile that tried to hide just how much it meant to you to say it aloud.
"You're lucky you ended up on a planet that doesn't attract the attention of the people searching for you," you whispered, as though sharing a secret that only the two of you understood.
He smiled.
That smile.
The one that always unraveled you.
Then he nodded.
In that moment, everything made sense.
You had arrived on Earth when you were fifteen years old, alone and terrified, knowing nothing about this world. But the parents who took you in loved you as though you had always been their daughter. They taught you that humans weren't selfish, that they could be kind, compassionate, and generous.
And with Clark by your side, life felt right.
It felt as though everything had finally fallen into place.
Like you'd found something you'd been searching for without ever realizing it.
He convinced you to apply to the Daily Planet, and the two of you did it together, like a team. After living together in the same apartment for a year, you eventually found a place of your own directly across the hall from his.
It was routine.
Comfortable.
Safe.
You believed Clark would eventually see you as a woman instead of just his friend. He was so close, close enough to touch, close enough to dream about.
But time passed.
And he never took that step.
Then she appeared.
"No, it's just..." Clark said, his eyes shining with a light you'd never seen before. It was different, as though he had discovered something entirely new.
"God, I mean... Lois is... she knows so much."
He laughed softly, his cheeks turning pink like a boy talking about his very first love.
"Seriously," he repeated, almost as though he needed to convince himself.
"The woman you work with?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.
Your voice sounded far calmer than you actually felt.
You had seen her countless times.
Not with Clark.
At the Planet.
She was everyone's favorite. The one who always received praise. The one everyone admired.
You thought it would pass.
That it wouldn't change anything.
That everything would stay the same.
But then you saw them.
Normally, you worked alongside Cat as both a photographer and a reporter, which kept you away from the office most of the time. That day, however, you came back early.
The moment you stepped into the building, you saw them.
Clark was holding two cups of coffee.
With a smile that shattered your heart, he offered one to Lois Lane.
They stood there together, close enough that the rest of the world seemed to disappear around them.
You froze.
Watching them from a distance.
Feeling something inside you splinter apart.
"They look good together, don't they?" Jimmy teased as he appeared beside you without you even noticing.
You forced one of those smiles.
The kind you wore whenever you wanted to hide what you truly felt.
"I already told Clark he should ask her out," Jimmy added enthusiastically, as though he were doing the greatest favor imaginable.
"I hope it's soon," you replied.
Your voice sounded so natural that it almost surprised even you.
Jimmy nodded before heading back to work, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
The smile vanished from your face the moment he walked away.
You looked at Clark.
You could hear his heartbeat perfectly.
Fast.
Excited.
A rhythm you knew better than anyone.
Then you left.
Because they did look perfect together.
Like two puzzle pieces that had spent their entire lives searching for one another.
Like two magnets already pulled together, with only time separating them from becoming completely inseparable.
There was no place for you in that story.
And no matter how much it hurt...
You knew it.
But the real reason you now found yourself sitting silently on your couch with swollen eyes and smeared makeup was what had happened during that night out with your coworkers.
Everyone knew one another.
Including Lois.
Clark had already told her about you.
So she knew you as "Clark's friend."
The girl who was always by his side.
The one who shared his secrets.
The one who seemed to understand him without either of you needing to say a word.
You should have expected it.
You should have prepared yourself.
But when the music thundered through the room, when everyone else danced while you remained leaning against the bar, you saw Clark kiss Lois.
Your vision blurred instantly, as though someone had placed a sheet of fogged glass in front of your eyes.
Your hair fell loosely around your shoulders, the same hair you'd spent so much time carefully straightening, hoping he'd notice it and give you a compliment.
It became nothing more than another hairstyle.
He didn't notice.
He didn't notice that you were wearing the blouse he'd once told you looked beautiful on you, the one you'd carefully saved for a special occasion.
He noticed nothing.
Every bit of effort.
Every ounce of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would finally look at you differently...
Disappeared in a single second.
Your heart pounded so hard that you were certain everyone around you could hear it. But what shattered you the most wasn't the smile they shared after the kiss, or the blush spreading across Lois's cheeks, or even their fingers intertwined as though they were two perfect pieces of the same puzzle.
What truly broke you was when they walked over to you as though nothing had happened, as though you hadn't just watched your entire world collapse.
Then they laughed, and Lois said something while you picked up the glass of orange juice you'd ordered simply so you wouldn't have to drink alcohol.
"God, it must be awful not being able to get drunk. I guess alcohol tastes different for you," Lois said with an easy smile, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.
You looked at her, confused at first. It took your mind a few seconds to process what she'd just said.
"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice tighter than you intended.
"Oh, don't worry. His secret is perfectly safe with me. Besides, it's amazing knowing a woman can be just as strong as a man," Lois replied with a kind smile that somehow made you feel even worse. "But I won't pressure you to talk. Clark said it's only a matter of time before your warm personality comes out."
She let out a light laugh, as though it were some inside joke.
"I'll go get another drink," she said before walking away with the same confidence she'd arrived with.
You stood there frozen.
You looked at Clark, and he was watching Lois as though she were his entire world, as though the whole universe had narrowed down to her alone.
You pressed your lips together and swallowed the knot forming in your throat.
To anyone else, her comment had been harmless.
But to you, it carried years of ridiculous remarks, lingering stares, and whispered conversations that had filled you with insecurities.
Years of hearing you were too strong.
Too strange.
Too different.
Did Clark see you that way too?
Did he think that because you were so strong, you couldn't be fragile inside?
Did he really believe that just because you could lift a car with one hand, your heart couldn't break into a thousand pieces?
"Did you tell her your secret?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, nearly swallowed by the music.
He looked at you, and for a brief moment you caught something that resembled guilt in his eyes.
"Yeah... she figured it out. And I wanted her to trust me, so I told her who I really am," Clark said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"And while you were at it, you decided to tell your beloved my secret too?" you asked, unable to hide the sharp edge in your voice.
Clark looked at you again.
This time, he noticed you were angry.
"Lois is trustworthy," Clark said with the certainty he always seemed to have. "She won't tell anyone."
"It was my secret, Clark. I don't care if she found out about you. I..."
You stopped yourself.
The music kept pounding through the room, an irritating buzz echoing in your ears.
You stared at him, feeling anger and heartbreak twist together inside your chest.
"You've told her so much about me, haven't you? That's why she seems to know me almost as well as you do," you said, your voice trembling by the end.
He shook his head, though not with the confidence of someone who truly believed what he was saying.
"No, it's just..." Clark stopped, searching for the right words. "You're my best friend, and I thought... Lois likes me—I mean, I like Lois. I wanted to be honest with her."
Your eyes drifted toward Lois, who was already walking back with another drink in her hand.
Without thinking, you grabbed your purse.
You needed to leave.
You needed to breathe air that wasn't poisoned by the sight in front of you.
You hurried away, hearing your name being called behind you.
Clark tried to stop you, but you were already heading for the exit.
With your super hearing, you caught Lois saying something about "the noise must have overwhelmed her," followed by the sound of Clark's footsteps chasing after you.
Outside, the night air was freezing, slamming into your face with force.
You didn't care.
You didn't shiver like a human.
You couldn't feel the cold settling into your bones.
It did nothing to you.
The only thing you felt was anger.
Hot.
Bitter.
Rising through your throat like vomit you couldn't force out.
Knowing Clark had told Lois everything about you.
That everything the two of you had shared...
She now knew.
Your secrets were no longer yours and Clark's.
They belonged to Clark and Lois now.
There was nothing left that belonged only to the two of you.
You finally stopped when he continued following you.
The streets were empty, illuminated only by streetlights flickering as though they, too, were exhausted.
"I know... I was wrong," Clark said, using that gentle voice he always used whenever he wanted to fix things. "But you're important to me, and Lois deserved to know our story."
"Everyone has their own story," you said, your eyes burning as you looked at him. "Did you tell her where I came from? Did you tell her what happened to me on the other planet I lived on before I came here? Did you tell her all of that, Clark?"
Your voice broke on his name.
He looked at you with shame.
With that expression that confirmed everything you already knew.
"You stole my story!" you shouted, tears threatening to spill over. "You revealed things I only shared with you because you're so blinded by your love for her!"
"It wasn't like that... I just..." he tried to explain before stopping himself.
Maybe he had finally realized what he'd done.
Maybe, for just a second, he understood.
You didn't wait to find out.
You shot into the sky without caring who saw you.
You flew through the clouds, passing your apartment building with your purse still hanging from your shoulder.
Clark didn't follow you.
Because you knew he'd rather go back to Lois.
Because he wanted to protect her.
Because you were strong...
...and she wasn't.
Because you could send people flying with a single punch.
Because you could eliminate threats with the heat vision blazing from your eyes.
Lois Lane couldn't.
Lois was fragile.
Human.
She needed protection.
You didn't.
Tears filled your eyes as you flew, the icy wind crashing against your face but doing nothing to soothe the burning ache inside your chest.
You climbed higher and higher until you were above the city, watching its lights flicker below like tiny stars scattered across the earth.
Then you went home.
That was how you ended up curled up on your couch, your knees pulled tightly against your chest, your hair now a tangled mess after all the effort you'd put into straightening it earlier.
You slipped off your ankle boots with trembling hands, realizing that everything you'd done to look pretty had been for nothing.
Maybe that was the moment you finally understood.
Clark wasn't looking at you that way.
And he never would.
To him, you were the strong friend, the one who could always take care of herself. You had always been that way, even before arriving on Earth. And once you got here, nothing changed. You fought back against the people who tried to hurt you, against those who mocked you. You were strong by nature, by genetics. Hurting you was nearly impossible. With only the smallest fraction of your strength, you could knock down any man foolish enough to stand in your way.
"God, no one will ever want you. You're the man in the relationship," they used to tease before you even started middle school. The girls would laugh behind your back, whispering that you were too rough, too aggressive, that no boy would ever want someone who could break his bones with a hug.
"Don't wear skirts. You act more like a man," others would say, simply because you refused to let people walk all over you. Because whenever someone tried to hurt you, you fought back. Because you refused to stay quiet. Because you never lowered your head.
And so they called you manly, tomboy, freak.
Words that lodged themselves beneath your skin like tiny needles, one after another, until you taught yourself not to hear them anymore. Until you learned to smile and pretend none of it mattered.
You looked down at your hands.
The same hands that could crush steel as though it were nothing more than paper.
Kara loved her powers just as much as Clark loved his. She was proud of who she was, proud of everything she could do.
You weren't.
You wanted to be normal.
You wanted to blend into Earth.
To go unnoticed.
To avoid drawing attention to yourself.
That was why you didn't have a suit like theirs.
No cape.
No symbol across your chest.
You didn't fly around saving people like Clark or Kara did, unless someone happened to be within your reach.
You didn't use your powers.
You never used your strength.
At least not intentionally.
Sometimes, though, when Jimmy looked like he was about to throw his back out carrying heavy boxes, you'd pretend to be struggling even more than he was. Then, the moment he turned around, you'd lift every box effortlessly and stack them where they belonged.
Always carefully.
Always afraid someone might notice what you were capable of.
"Clark helped me."
That was always your answer.
A lie you repeated so often you had almost started believing it yourself.
But even then...
You had been exposed.
Lois knew.
And who knew how many other people did too?
Your feelings had to stay buried.
Your secrets weren't yours anymore.
Your identity had been revealed without your permission.
You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand, but they kept coming, as though someone had left a faucet running somewhere deep inside you.
"You're so strong. You don't need anyone."
"You can handle everything on your own. You always can."
But none of it was true.
You wanted someone to hold you too.
You wanted someone to tell you everything was going to be okay.
You wanted someone to see beyond your strength.
Beyond your powers.
You wanted Clark to see you as a woman.
Not as his strong friend.
Not as the girl who could handle everything on her own.
But maybe the world would never accept people like you.
Maybe Clark would never truly see you, because for him there was only Lois.
And nothing else.
You were merely another presence in his life.
A blurry memory he turned to whenever he needed something.
You remembered every single time you had held yourself together.
Every time you wanted to cry but couldn't because the strong one doesn't cry.
Every time you wanted to ask for help but stayed silent because you can do it on your own.
You had built yourself an armor made of strength.
But beneath it...
There was only a little girl who wanted to be loved.
And now, sitting on that couch with your makeup smeared and your heart shattered into pieces, you finally realized that armor had never protected you from anything.
It had only made you heavier.
You remembered the day, back in school, when a boy shoved you against a row of lockers and called you a freak.
You had simply looked at him, knowing you could have lifted him with one finger and slammed him into the ceiling.
But you didn't.
You stayed perfectly still.
Biting your tongue.
Swallowing every urge to show him what you were truly capable of.
Because if you did...
You would only prove everything they already believed about you.
And being different was already hard enough.
The memory slowly faded away.
You stood up from the couch and walked toward the hallway mirror.
You looked at yourself.
Your hair was a mess.
Your eyes were red and swollen.
The blouse you'd spent so much time choosing was now hopelessly wrinkled.
You stared at your own reflection.
At the girl who had always wanted someone to truly see her.
And for the first time, you wondered whether it was worth continuing to wait for someone to do it.
As soon as the sunlight slipped through the curtains, you slowly opened your eyes. The energy flowing through your body, the warmth radiating from the sun, almost made it seem as though nothing had happened. It was as if your skin and every cell within you were renewing themselves, as though emotional pain could heal as easily as your physical wounds always did.
But it couldn't.
No matter how rested your body felt, no matter how much strength the sunlight gave you, the weight in your chest remained exactly where it had been, unmoving, like a stone that refused to be lifted.
You sighed as you shifted beneath the covers.
It was Monday afternoon.
You hadn't stepped outside your apartment all weekend.
The blinds were still closed, silence filled every corner of the room, and you had done nothing but exist between your bedsheets and your thoughts.
You knew Clark was waiting for you to come out so he could talk to you.
You had heard him.
Of course you had.
Even when you didn't want to.
Your hearing always picked him up without your permission.
It was as though your body had been programmed to look for him, to find him, to know exactly where he was at every moment.
You had memorized the sound of his heartbeat.
Those slow, steady beats that had always filled you with peace whenever you listened to them.
Just as he had memorized Lois's heartbeat, you had memorized his.
It wasn't something you could control.
It was as natural as breathing.
As instinctive as blinking.
He was on the other side of the wall, inside his apartment, and you could feel him there.
His presence pulled at you like a magnet.
Now, more than ever, you wished it didn't.
"I know you can hear me," he had said on Saturday morning.
You heard his voice clearly, as though he were standing right beside you.
Your hearing always searched for him, like a storm searching for calm.
His voice was so gentle, so full of emotion, that it made you feel things you didn't want to feel.
Even his laugh, a sound that had once felt like music to you, had become nothing more than a reminder of everything you could never have.
Without meaning to, your hearing always tuned itself to the sound of his voice.
Now you wished it wouldn't.
You wished you could switch off that connection between the two of you, as though it were nothing more than a light you could turn off and forget.
"I'm sorry. I truly am."
Clark didn't have to raise his voice.
He knew that.
He could have looked through your walls with his X-ray vision if he'd wanted to.
But he never did.
It was one of those boundaries neither of you ever crossed, one you both respected because privacy mattered.
That morning, while he spoke from the other side of the wall, you remained silent, staring at the ceiling as tears once again slipped down your cheeks.
"I should've thought about it. I was only thinking about myself. You know how important you are to me. Please... just talk to me."
Then he waited.
But no answer ever came.
You couldn't speak.
You couldn't even move.
The words remained lodged in your throat like thorns that refused to come out.
So you stayed there, staring at the ceiling while tears silently rolled down your face.
You thought about every time you'd imagined a future with him.
Every morning you'd woken up hoping that day would finally be different.
You thought about all the ways you believed the two of you might someday become something more.
That Clark would look into your eyes and finally notice the way they always lit up whenever you looked at him.
That he'd notice how you searched the skies every time there was a battle, even though you hated using your powers.
But if he needed you...
You would have used them for him without hesitation.
That your smile always grew wider whenever he laughed, whenever those dimples appeared on his face.
That your heartbeat changed whenever he was close.
It sped up.
It raced.
It completely lost its rhythm.
If he had noticed...
If he'd only paid attention...
Maybe everything would have been different.
Sunday passed slowly, stretching endlessly like an hour that refused to end.
You knew eating wasn't necessary.
Your Kryptonian body didn't need food the way humans did to survive.
You enjoyed eating.
You simply didn't need it.
Back in college, you used to skip meals to save money.
It wasn't because you didn't have any.
You just didn't want to spend it on something you didn't actually need.
Until Clark said something to you one afternoon while the two of you were sharing a park bench.
"If you don't eat, then what's the point of living?" he had said that day, breaking his sandwich in half with his large hands.
His eyes looked so blue beneath the sunlight that you found yourself staring at them for a second longer than you should have.
You smiled.
You accepted the half he offered you.
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
He had managed to make something as simple as eating feel important.
Now that memory hurt far more than it should have.
Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone.
It wasn't ringing.
It wasn't vibrating.
But the screen lit up with Cat's name.
You hesitated for a moment, staring at it, feeling like you didn't have the strength to talk to anyone.
In the end, you picked it up and answered, clearing your throat so your voice would sound as normal as possible.
"Finally, you answered! Where are you? Do you have any idea how worried I've been? Are you okay?" Cat asked so quickly you could barely keep up.
"Yeah," you replied, your voice sounding far more fragile than you wanted it to. "I got sick, but everything for the article we worked on is already scheduled."
You wanted to change the subject.
You wanted her to know that, despite everything, you'd still done your job.
"Hey, that doesn't matter," Cat said, her voice softening. "I thought something had happened to you, especially after I saw Clark's little shadow asking whether it was true that you hadn't come in. And him asking is weird because out of everyone here, he's the only one who should know where you are."
Cat paused, as though waiting for you to say something.
You stayed silent.
"I'm home, Cat. Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow," you said, your voice sounding steadier even though you still felt completely broken inside.
"You left the party early too, sweetheart. You might be able to fool everyone, even Kent, but we both know what you saw."
This time, Cat sounded more serious.
More understanding.
You couldn't answer.
There weren't any words capable of describing what you felt.
"It's okay. Get some rest. Just... remember how beautiful you are. He isn't the only man in the world. Someone will come along who truly sees you."
Her words lingered in the air after she said them.
A comfort that somehow never quite reached you.
"See you tomorrow," you said before ending the call.
You turned your phone off without reading the messages Cat, Jimmy, and Clark had already sent you.
You didn't want to see them.
You didn't want to read the apologies.
You didn't want to face the reality that everything had changed.
You simply sat there, your phone still in your hand, feeling as though the world kept moving forward while you had been left behind.
Tuesday arrived, and it was as though you had decided to erase everything that had happened.
You were the first to fly toward the sun, letting its rays wrap around you and replenish your body as you floated weightlessly through space, doing nothing except absorbing the energy you'd drained over the weekend.
It had become a ritual.
A moment that belonged only to you.
A chance to feel whole again without thinking about anything else.
But that morning, even the sun felt different.
Its warmth couldn't quite reach the hollow that had formed inside your chest.
The moment you returned to your apartment, you hurried to get dressed.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing made you feel any different.
You arrived at the Daily Planet and followed your usual routine, but something inside you had hardened.
You ignored Clark all day.
Whenever he walked toward your desk, you found an excuse to leave, pretending you needed to print something.
Whenever he tried to talk to you, you quietly changed directions, as though the two of you had become magnets that now pushed each other away.
Even when you had coffee with Jimmy, you always made sure more people joined you so you wouldn't have to be alone with Clark.
You smiled.
You pretended everything was fine.
Inside, though, every smile cost you a little more energy than the last.
When work was over, you would barely make it to the restroom before waiting a few minutes and using your super speed to race home in the blink of an eye, locking yourself inside your apartment.
That became your routine for weeks.
A routine built on avoidance.
On eyes that never met.
On conversations that never happened.
Clark kept trying to get close to you.
You had already built a wall between the two of you.
One that seemed impossible to tear down.
Then Perry called for you.
"My office," he said, pointing at you with his index finger.
You walked over slowly, already convinced something bad was about to happen.
The moment you stepped inside, you saw him.
Clark was already there, sitting in one of the chairs with the same expression he always wore whenever he wanted to fix something.
Apparently, not even superpowers could help you escape your boss's orders.
You sat in the chair farthest from him.
Clark looked at you and offered a small smile.
You never saw it.
You were too busy staring down at your fingernails as though they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
"Finally, everyone's here," Perry said.
You looked up just as Lois, Cat, and Jimmy walked in, greeting everyone with cheerful smiles.
You looked back at Perry, waiting for him to explain why he'd called all of you in.
"The annual Journalists and Photographers Convention is here again," he announced. "I want all of you there. It'll be held near the Metropolis History Museum. They gave us six passes, and I thought the six of you should represent the Planet."
You couldn't refuse.
You had already missed a day of work.
Even though you wanted to decline, you knew accepting was the least you could do for Perry.
So you nodded, gathered your things, and left the office first, hoping Clark wouldn't follow you.
He did.
"Can we talk?" he asked as he walked beside you with that steady confidence he always carried.
"No," you answered without looking at him.
He gently caught your arm, forcing you to stop.
You looked at him.
His blue eyes searched yours, and for just a moment you felt your resolve begin to waver.
"I'm sorry," Clark said, his voice softer than you'd expected. "You're the only person who understands what it's like to be born the way we were. I don't want to lose you."
You remained silent, feeling his words trying to force their way back into your heart.
"I was wrong. I said too much, and... I didn't realize how terrible of a friend I was being. I really... you have no idea how much I miss you."
For a split second...
You almost believed him.
Instead, you pulled your arm free, brushing his hand away with more force than you'd intended.
"My secrets are now shared with someone who isn't even my friend," you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be.
You glanced toward Lois, who was laughing with Cat as though nothing had happened.
"How am I supposed to trust you again when I know you'll tell her everything?" you asked.
Without waiting for an answer, you walked away.
"Want to grab lunch?" Cat called after you.
You turned and found her smiling at you with that warm smile that always managed to make you feel a little better.
"Sure," you replied.
This time, your smile was genuine.
Cat looped her arm through yours, and the two of you walked toward the exit together, leaving Clark behind.
The day of the convention arrived sooner than you'd expected.
Everyone traveled together in a company van.
You sat in the front passenger seat beside Jimmy.
As the van drove through the streets of Metropolis, you found yourself laughing at one of Jimmy's stories.
For a moment...
You almost forgot everything.
"It's not funny. I mean... how did I forget?" Jimmy said, shaking his head without taking his eyes off the road. "I planned two dates at the same restaurant. I felt like such a jerk, but I honestly don't remember agreeing to go out with the other girl."
The embarrassment in his voice only made you laugh harder.
"Well, Jimmy, that red mark on your cheek speaks for itself," you teased, laughing again as the lightness of the moment settled around you.
"You'll learn eventually, Jimmy," Cat said from the back.
"You will. And if you don't, start protecting your cheeks," Lois added.
Everyone laughed.
You smiled as you looked out the windshield.
For just a moment...
Everything felt like it used to.
When they arrived, you grabbed your purse and closed the van door behind you.
You could feel Clark's eyes on you.
Heavy.
Persistent.
You looked at him for only a second.
He tried to smile.
You immediately looked away, as though meeting his eyes would burn you.
"Come on, Jimmy," you called as you walked over to Cat.
Together, everyone made their way toward the auditorium, admiring the banners and digital displays announcing the convention.
You occasionally scribbled notes into your notebook, trying to keep your attention focused on work.
Everyone settled into their seats in silence, waiting for the presentation to begin.
When you looked up, you noticed that several university students had also been invited, most likely the winners of the annual journalism competition.
Your attention drifted toward two students sitting a few rows ahead.
A red-haired girl.
A blond boy wearing glasses.
They were speaking quietly, but every word reached your ears with perfect clarity.
"See? This is our world," the boy said.
A small, bittersweet smile appeared on your face before you even realized it.
"I know, Jack, but this world feels way too big for me," the girl admitted.
The insecurity in her voice felt painfully familiar.
"As long as it's the two of us, it'll feel small enough. We'll figure it out together," the boy replied as he adjusted his glasses with a gesture that somehow reminded you of Clark.
You lowered your gaze.
His words echoed inside you long after he'd finished speaking.
Then your phone vibrated.
Your chest tightened before you could stop it.
"Last time we came here as college students, and now we're journalists :)"
It was a text from Clark.
You locked the screen without replying and slipped your phone back into your purse.
Then you looked toward the stage again, your expression unreadable as you listened to the presentation and continued taking notes.
You weren't angry because he'd fallen in love with someone else.
As much as it hurt, you could understand that.
No one chooses who they fall in love with.
If Clark had found Lois, you were willing to accept it.
What you couldn't forgive was the betrayal.
The way he'd shattered your trust by revealing your secrets.
Those secrets had been your safe place.
The parts of yourself you'd shared only with him.
Now they belonged to someone else.
More than anything else, that was what broke you.
It wasn't unrequited love.
It was knowing he'd told someone else everything you were without ever asking for your permission.
You felt something before it happened.
It was like an electric current racing down your spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with imminent danger. You lifted your gaze, searching through the crowd, trying to identify the source of that feeling. But everything seemed normal. People were listening attentively to the talk, students were taking notes, and camera flashes lit up the stage every now and then. You sighed, thinking maybe it was just your imagination, and turned your attention back to what the speaker was saying.
Then you felt it.
A vibration, deep and powerful, shook the ground beneath your feet. A massive explosion rocked the entire place, making the walls tremble and people scream as they grabbed onto whatever they could. The lights flickered, and for one second, everything became chaos. The main door burst open, and a man ran in, his face twisted with panic.
"They're attacking the place!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the screams of the crowd.
You looked around, assessing the situation with the speed your years of training had given you. You spotted the emergency exit at the lower level, and you knew it was the only safe way out.
"Move!" you shouted, helping people to their feet and gently pushing them toward the exit.
Then you saw the two students in front of you, the blond boy and his red-haired friend. He was holding her by the arm, shielding her with his body while she trembled with fear.
"They're going to attack the emergency exits," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you expected.
Without thinking, you ran, leaping between the seats and moving with an agility you couldn't explain. You arrived just in time to stop them from opening the door. One second was enough for you to throw yourself over them, covering them with your body as the emergency door exploded in a rain of fragments. The students stared at you with wide, terrified eyes, unable to understand how you had gotten there so quickly.
"There," you whispered, pointing to the side as you stood up.
A sharp pain shot through your leg, and you looked down to see a shard of glass from a table embedded in your calf. Without hesitation, you pulled it out in one swift motion, and the wound began closing almost immediately. No one was looking at you. Everyone was too busy running.
Clark looked at you from across the room, and in his eyes, you saw a mixture of worry and gratitude. He used the explosion of one of the walls to slip away, and within seconds, he was dressed as Superman, ready to act. He got Cat and the others out, including Lois, then returned to face the attackers.
Meanwhile, you protected the two college students, guiding them toward the stairs.
"This way," you said, running toward the main exit.
When you reached the outside, the cold evening air struck your face, and you saw Clark fighting two strange figures. One of them was a woman whose body seemed to be made of silver nanobots, shifting and glowing like a swarm of fireflies. The other was a man completely covered in black, even his face, with strength that matched Superman's. You turned your head and saw strange soldiers aiming unfamiliar weapons at civilians. You knew they needed Superman. He was the only one who could stop them.
Taking advantage of the soldiers rushing toward the building, you aimed your heat vision at the roof. The beam of energy struck the structure, and the ceiling began collapsing in pieces, creating a curtain of smoke and debris. Superman flew out immediately, and his eyes met yours.
It lasted only an instant, barely a second, but something passed between you.
As though the broken trust still hung by a thread.
As though that wordless communication you had always shared still existed.
He understood.
You had used your powers so he could save the people.
But then the man in black lunged at you. His arms closed around your body with brutal strength, and before you could react, he was already dragging you backward, pulling you away from where you stood. The screams of the crowd multiplied, and you heard Cat shouting your name in desperation.
Clark tried to throw himself toward you, but the woman made of nanobots stepped into his path, striking him with enough force to send him flying several meters back.
"No!" you heard Clark shout, but his voice began fading as the man in black carried you farther and farther away, bursting through the roof of the building and out into the open air.
Everyone left below thought a human had been taken, an ordinary journalist.
They didn't know you weren't like them.
And maybe it was better that way.
The wind struck your face as you flew in your captor's arms. You clenched your fists, feeling rage gather in your chest. You weren't going to stay still. You weren't going to let him take you without a fight. Once you were far enough from the building, once you knew no one could see you anymore, you acted.
You broke free from his grip with a violent movement, using your strength to push yourself away from him. The man in black flew back several meters, surprised, and in that brief hesitation, you took your chance to hit him. Your fist slammed into his chest, and you felt the force of the impact travel up your arm.
But he didn't fall.
He stumbled, yes, but he recovered quickly.
He launched himself at you again, and you moved with agility, dodging his outstretched hands as he tried to grab you. An aerial dance began, with you retreating and him chasing you, both of you moving through the clouds as though the sky itself had become your battlefield. You found one moment of advantage, a single second where he lost his balance, and you struck him hard, feeling his body shift from the impact.
But he was fast.
Faster than you expected.
He recovered almost immediately and, instead of attacking you, changed his strategy. Instead of striking you, he grabbed you as though he wanted to shove you toward something.
Then both of you began to fall.
The wind whistled in your ears as you plummeted. The ground rushed closer and closer, and you couldn't stop the force he was using against you. Within seconds, the sky became a green blanket of trees, and the impact with the ground was brutal.
You landed in a forest, the crack of branches and dry leaves accompanying the heavy thud of your fall. You rolled several meters, feeling dirt cling to your clothes and hair. You lifted your head quickly, searching for your attacker among the undergrowth.
The man in black rose slowly.
So did you.
The two of you stood there, facing each other in the middle of the forest, surrounded by silence and the breeze moving through the treetops. There was no more movement, only your uneven breathing and the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet.
You shifted into a defensive stance, ready for whatever came next.
You were no longer in the city.
You no longer had to hide who you were.
Here, in the middle of nature, you could use all your strength, all your powers.
You were breathless, your body still tense and your fists clenched, ready to charge at him again.
But the man in black didn't move.
He only stood there in the middle of the forest, his mask covering his face and his hands falling to his sides. The crunch of leaves beneath his feet was the only sound that broke the silence.
Then something small fell from his chest.
A metallic device that clinked when it hit the ground and rolled a few centimeters.
And from it, a voice came through. Human. Of course it was human, as though the device connected him to another place.
"There are malfunctions. He's... losing it."
Then, with one hand, he crushed it and looked at you.
Even though you couldn't see his face beneath the mask, you knew he was looking at you.
You blinked several times, confused, and he, the man in black, tilted his head like a curious animal watching you from a distance, analyzing you.
Then he spoke.
His voice was strange, broken, as though he wasn't used to using it. Every word seemed to cost him an immense effort, as though he had to remember how sounds were formed.
"You... here... better," he said.
What kind of joke was this?
This man had kidnapped you, dragged you through the sky, and slammed you into the middle of a forest, and now he was telling you that you would be better here. You let out a bitter laugh, one made more of disbelief than amusement.
"I don't have time for games," you said.
With one powerful impulse, you tried to fly.
But he was faster.
He grabbed your arm with a strength that startled you, and both of you crashed to the ground among branches and dirt. You rolled several meters before standing up, furious, feeling earth cling to your clothes while anger burned in your chest like a flame you couldn't put out.
"Who are you?" you shouted, your voice echoing through the trees, bouncing off the trunks like a sound that refused to disappear. "Tell me who you are and what you want from me!"
He stood slowly, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. He said nothing. He only shook his head when you tried to move away again.
"You... not go," he said.
His voice sounded firmer this time, though it still carried that broken quality, like someone who hadn't spoken in a very long time, as though the words got stuck in his throat before they could come out.
"Why not?" you asked, your heart beating fast, so fast it felt like it might tear out of your chest. "What do you want? Why did you bring me here?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he slowly lifted his hands and touched the edge of his mask. Without rushing, with movements that seemed calculated, as though every gesture had a purpose, he removed it completely.
And then you saw him.
Your breath caught in your throat.
It was Clark.
No.
It wasn't Clark.
He was identical to him, but different.
He was an imposing, rough, imperfect version of Superman, with rigid muscles that seemed carved out of stone instead of flesh. The difference was minimal, but it was enough for you to know it wasn't him. His features were slightly misaligned, as though someone had tried to copy a perfect face but failed to finish the final details. Unlike Clark's impeccable hairstyle, his dark hair was noticeably longer and unkempt, lacking the careful order Clark always maintained. His face was the same, but there was a hardness in his expression that Clark had never had, a cold and empty look that sent a chill down your spine.
"Ultraman," he said, pointing at himself with his thumb before gesturing to the U on his suit.
His voice was still broken, but now it carried a weight you hadn't noticed before.
"Kill... Superman."
You blinked, trying to process what you had just heard.
Ultraman.
The name was unfamiliar, but the intention behind it was clear.
This man, this twisted version of Clark, had come to kill Superman.
To kill Clark.
The same Clark who had broken your heart, yet you still couldn't fully hate. Despite everything, despite the lies and the secrets, he was still important to you.
You stood there in silence for a moment.
Then, without thinking, you moved closer to him.
His eyes followed you with that empty stare, without expression, without emotion, as if he were looking through you instead of at you.
You stopped a few steps away from him, your chest tight and your head full of questions you didn't know how to ask.
"Are you going to kill me too?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, almost a whisper lost among the leaves.
He shook his head, and his fingers pointed toward the broken device on the ground.
"People... from here," he said, clumsily touching his chest where the device had been removed, the one that had seemed to give him orders. "Not know... about you."
He repeated the words as though he wanted to make sure you understood, as if every syllable were a brick building an explanation that could barely stand.
"Why did you bring me here? I'm Superman's friend, the man you're planning to kill," you said, still unable to believe what your eyes were seeing. "I don't understand."
He tilted his head like a dog hearing a new sound, and his forehead furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to process your words.
You assumed he didn't understand, because he seemed to want to speak but kept stopping, as if the words slipped away from him just as he was about to say them.
Then he sighed.
A deep sound that seemed to come from somewhere far inside him.
"Energy... yours... draw me... protect you," he said, each word sounding like an effort, as though he were pulling strength from some dark place within himself.
Then he flew away with force, moving so fast you could barely see him.
You rose into the air with super speed and, using your vision, realized he had left with the other soldiers and the woman who had attacked.
But you didn't know who they were.
You didn't know where they came from or what they truly wanted.
You descended carefully, touching the ground as your legs trembled slightly, and sighed, releasing all the air you had been holding.
You took out your phone.
Clark was calling.
You answered.
"Where are you? I'm still in the suit. I can attack him and..." Clark said, his voice worried and rushed, as though he were about to fly straight to you.
"I'm fine. I'll fly back to the apartment. Just act like Superman rescued me," you said sharply, feeling the words leave your mouth with an edge you couldn't soften.
Before hanging up, you added, "Clark, do you have any idea who they were?"
You swallowed, feeling the knot in your throat.
"I have no idea," he admitted, then sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "But I feel like Luthor is involved."
You nodded, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the name resonate inside you like the toll of a bell.
"Fine," you said, and hung up without another word.
You stayed there in the middle of the forest, phone in hand and your head full of questions with no answers.
Ultraman.
Luthor.
The broken device.
The energy that had drawn him to you.
None of it made sense.
You flew back, feeling the cold night air cling to your skin as you approached your apartment.
When you arrived, you called back everyone who had been trying to reach you, making sure they knew Superman had saved you and brought you home, that you were fine and only wanted to rest.
But the truth was, you couldn't rest.
You paced back and forth across the living room, arms crossed, your mind spinning like a carousel that refused to stop.
The face of that man, that Ultraman, made you go pale every time you remembered it.
He was identical to Clark, and yet so different at the same time.
Had they made a clone of Clark?
Or was it something else?
Questions piled up in your head like a storm you couldn't calm.
And then another question arose.
Why was he interested in you?
What reason did he have to pull you away from the area he seemed to consider dangerous?
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... you walk into a room, and he’s looking over his phone, eyes squinted as if he doesn’t have telescopic vision. His fingers tap at the too-small phone screen, his tongue caught between his teeth as uncertainty furrowed his brow, missing the buttons by accident and resetting his progress on his Instagram post. “Sweetheart?” He looks up and gives you a guilty grin. “Hi, honey… can you help me make a post? I forgot how.” You shake your head, sitting down as he hands his phone over with no protest. The photo was a picture of you from your date the other night. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Why are you posting me?” you asked with a smile. “Why don’t you post both of us?” He shrugged, “Because this is my favorite picture. Look at your smile!’ Your heart melted a little. You leaned over, sneaking a kiss to his arm before hitting post. Curious, you tapped on his profile. Last post: 100 weeks ago. A blurry photo of his family at Christmas. Three likes on it, and one of them was himself.
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... he’s always in charge of selfies because his arms are longer. When you look back at his camera roll, he has duplicates of every selfie you’ve ever taken together. Half of them are blurry, cutting you out of the photos, facing the wrong way, or blocked entirely by his thumb. Once you had found a video that was over a minute long of him trying to take a selfie, the reflection of himself in his glasses, his brows pinched in focus, your voice echoing in the background, patiently talking him through it.
“Clark! You make sure you press the little white button, and don’t put your thumb over it!” You could hear your laughter in the back as he grinned, his dimples dipping into his cheeks. “What? You don’t like looking at my thumbs?” he had teased, laughter bubbling up from his chest.
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... you ask him to do a TikTok trend, lip-syncing to a sound, and he looks at you, confused. “Okay… So, I’m gonna pick you up, put you on my shoulder, while you sing?” he asked, looking down at you as you set up the camera. “Oh yeah, it’ll be a hit, just trust me!” you insisted, setting up a timer and looking back at him. “I always trust you, honey. Start it,” Clark said, voice calm as he stood exactly where you told him to. You pressed play, listening to the timer tick down until the sound started. “A boy who’s jacked and kind,” fills the room, and you back into him, his big hands splaying over your stomach as he lifts you with ease up onto his shoulder. His hand stayed to secure you, his eyes looking up at you with admiration that Hollywood could never recreate. You giggle, your lips moving to the sound, hand in his hair. When the sound is over, he sets you down, watching you rush to post it, making him smile.
The video went viral, getting almost a million likes! In bed, you scrolled through the comments with him. His favorite comment was, “Oh, he’s in LOVE!” and another, “He looks like a puppy.” Clark smiled to himself because he was shamelessly both those things for you.
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... he comes home from work setting his briefcase down on the floor and toeing off his shoes before lining them up neatly. He steps into your apartment, the summer sun shining through the windows and warming up the intimate space. You came from the bedroom, sports bra and workout shorts, fresh from the gym. “Hi!” you exclaim, moving to plant a kiss on his face. “Sorry, all sweaty.” Clark shrugged it off, looking you up and down, an appreciative glint in his eyes “Wow, you look… Um—how do you say it? You cooked?” he asked, his head tilted and embarrassment started creeping up his neck. You laughed, burying your face in his chest. “Where’d you learn that, Clark?” He kissed the top of your head—it was obviously Cat, she knew that lingo better than anyone and used it to confuse poor Clark. “Cat,” he grumbles, looking into your eyes, confusion there. “Well thats not quite how you use that one.” Your hand went up to his hair, smoothing a hand through his curls. “Body Tea?” Clark tried again, and your threw your head back in laughter. “Sure, that one works,” you rubbed his arm watching his brain work overtime.
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... he voice types, too busy to type out a well thought out text. When he’s typing up an article, or walking through the crowded streets, Clark talks into his phone. “Do you need anything from the store? I’m passing by on the way home…” and at the end of every text it’d say, ‘Stop’ or ‘Please stop’. A glimpse into how Clark talked to his phone, but you hardly seemed to notice after around a month of texting him.
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... he can’t read tones over text. No punctuation makes him think your upset. His texts are always perfectly punctuated, spelled, and with little emojis that remind you he’s a millennial. Whenever you used the crying emoji instead of the laughing emoji? He sprung into action. “Are you okay?” or “What happened?” Texting him was difficult all around; he answered quicker on phone call most of the time.
✦ Chronically Offline!Clark when... you sneakily set up a camera when he comes home, aimed at the front door. ‘Seeing how long it takes him to melt’ trend, knowing not in a million years that he would have seen it. So, you waited and waited; the minute he stepped into the door, you had him hold his arms out, leaving him confused as you kissed him, deep kisses that made his heart flutter. His hands dropped down to your sides, folding in three seconds; his lips moved over yours with a gentle devotion, still firm and almost commanding, completely oblivious to the camera looking at him and the sweet intent behind the kissing. Clark scooped you up under the thighs, one hand moving to start pulling up your shirt and letting his hand roam. It felt too good to stop him.
You ended up scrapping that video after he took you right there on the hallway floor, the grind of his hips needy and passionate as he whimpered over top of you, you squeezed him needily as he brought you to your high, hitting your good spot with each drag of his cock—all on camera
Scott decides Storm Par should join the rest of the storm chasers for a day at the beach. Of course, he has to bring along his wife and their 10-month-old daughter Ruthie Jean.
(reader has no physical description other than being shorter than scott. it is also mentioned that reader breastfeeds. no y/n. this is mostly about scott and ruthie but reader is beloved by all. this is my first reader insert so go easy on me <3 why are the storm chasers at the beach? idk. baby's named ruthie jean because scott is southern. it also kind of just... ends? sorry!)
Word Count: 1.9k
It was rare for the Storm Par crew to have days like this. The nature of their profession meant they were often landlocked, miles away from idyllic lounging spots on the shore of salty water. That was what made Scott Miller’s suggestion for the team to hit the beach not seem totally anomalous. Just because Scott was stoic and curt didn’t mean he wasn’t human. The Wranglers were there already, so it was only fair to join them. Human nature was what brought Storm Par to the beach on a day off; it was also why Scott insisted on meeting the team there after he stopped to get somethin’. Only Javi knew what he meant, but he didn’t answer any questioning looks from the rest of the team. So, when Scott Miller’s truck pulled up to where they had set up for the day, no one batted an eye. The moment he got out of the truck and made a beeline for the passenger seat and flung it open, that’s when the shock set in.
Climbing out of the passenger seat with the help of Scott’s steady extended hand was a woman. You were such a tiny thing standing beside Scott once he got your feet onto the floor, looking up at him with a sweet smile. Scott gave you a quick kiss before handing you a bag from the passenger seat. As you adjusted the bag on your shoulder, Scott moved onto the back seat. Right as the back door opened, a tiny voice squealed from the backseat. A smile that Scott Miller never wore on the clock spread across his hardened features as he leaned forward into the back for a short moment before he hauled a small infant out of the truck and onto his hip. The little one was narrowly about to age out of infancy and was especially tiny in Scott’s hold as he planted a smacking kiss on the baby’s chubby cheek while she babbled away.
“Is that my favorite Miller?” Javi called out from the sand, setting his drink down on the lid of a cooler before jogging over. “Scotty finally brought the only reasons I still keep him around!”
“Ha ha,” Scott deadpanned as he adjusted the little bucket hat on his daughter’s head. “I wasn’t gonna leave them at the hotel while you jokers spent the day on the beach.”
“I wasn’t going to let you,” you chimed in with a pleased grin.
It was true, the beach had been your idea anyway. You were the one who had suggested it to Javi the night before when he joined the Millers for dinner. Then, he mentioned it to Kate the next morning when they got breakfast and she had been the one to put the plan into motion. When she then messaged you saying you had to be there, you have Scott a look that told him the beach wasn’t up for a debate. It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a request. It was happening.
From there, the folks of Storm Par got to watch Scott Miller be a doting husband and father at the beach behind looks of pure disbelief. Their dark sunglasses would typically hide their obvious observation if not for their unmistakable shock. First, the man ensured his wife was comfortable and sufficiently lathered in sunblock before insisting you join Kate and a few Wranglers in the water instead of fretting over him or the baby. Javi hung back with Scott and chatted about baseball of all things, Javi drinking a beer while Scott opted to share a water bottle with the baby.
The whole point of this was for you to get some time to just be a person and enjoy a day at the beach. Scott always sought to do that. It had always been a priority that you got to still be your own person, not just his wife or your daughter’s mother. So, when we saw you unwinding in the shallow waves with some Tornado Wranglers, he lounged with your chunky baby girl in his lap under the shade of an umbrella with Javi not too far off to the side, watching the waves from a beach chair.
He took his time, carefully covering his daughter with infant sunscreen, being mindful to get in between the adorable rolls of fat on her limbs and under her chin. After seeing a baby with bright red toes at the park, Scott always made sure the baby’s feet and toes were protected from the sun too. Scott couldn’t help but coo over her, showering her with little kisses on her giggling face and sweet words reminding her how beautiful she is. Most of the storm chasers watched him, absolutely dumbfounded.
“I know, pretty girl,” Scott hummed when his little Ruthie Jean whined at the feeling of the cool cream on her warm face, taking her little foot to kiss the sole. “But we have to make sure you protected. No sunburns on Daddy’s watch. Your Mama and my Mama would have my head.”
“Dada!” Ruthie whined again, kicking her chunky legs restlessly. “Ow!”
“Ow?” Scott frowned, immediately ripping his hands away and scanning her from head to toe with vigilant eyes. “Am I hurtin’ you, princess? ‘Ow,’ where?”
“Ew!” the little one sputtered out with a sob and a scrunched button nose, but Scott noted there were no tears in her big blue eyes, only frustration as she weakly kicked at his hands.
“Then say ‘Ew,’ please,” he sighed and continued massaging the cream on his daughter’s soft skin. “You scared me. Daddy thought he was hurtin’ you.”
“Ow!” Ruthie giggled through her phony pouts, laughing and kicking her legs again when Scott gasped animatedly with his hands ripped away.
“No!” Scott groaned playfully, leaning forward to kiss Ruthie Jean’s chubby cheek. “No ‘ow’s. Daddy would never hurt you, baby bug.”
Javi was the only one who didn’t blink an eye. He was the only one who got to see Scott over Zoom meetings from home with a babbling Ruthie Jean in his lap. Out of all the storm chasers, Javi was the only one currently invited to Ruthie’s first birthday party coming up. However, Scott knew that the more time his wife spent with the other storm chasers, the more likely that would change. There were already rumblings of the upcoming event Scott overheard from his wife when she trotted off with Kate and Boone. It was a massive deal, in all fairness; their baby girl was celebrating a year of being the best thing to happen to her parents. Scott had always dreamed of being a dad and you had given him the most perfect child. Ruthie Jean was a healthy baby girl, the apple of her Daddy’s eye, and always got strangers cooing at her. As the person on the field closest to Scott, Javi was more than familiar with the soft dad side of him. The cute babblings and exaggerated smooches he overheard were nothing new to him, but were like looking into another dimension for everyone else.
Scott, to their disbelief, was the most affectionate and loving father and husband. His dedication to his wife was equally as evident in how often he sought the sight of you out in the water, only content to return his attention to Ruthie when he confirmed Mrs. Miller was happy and safe. They all knew about you, though. He wore his wedding band every day without fail and most of them had seen the small photo he kept tucked in his phone’s clear case. It was of you and Ruthie sporting the brightest smiles the two of you could muster and it always put Scott at ease. The case and photo had been something you had given him at the beginning of the chase season, just a few months ago, and he never went anywhere without it. But that was your Scott, not many people got to see your Scott the way you and Ruthie Jean did.
He stretched out on his back with the little one sitting up on his ribs. With his eyes closed, Scott went between giving Ruthie some teething toys to play with and gnaw on and running his fingers through the dark curls trailing down toward the nape of her neck once she ripped her bucket hat off. She was so adorable in her frilly little pink swimsuit and half of her dark curls tied into two of the sweetest teeny pigtails. Her dimples were deep in her chubby cheeks, and an obvious Miller birthright, so easily attributed to the tall, grumpy MIT graduate.
“M’mma,” Ruthie babbled after a short while of smacking her drooly little hands on her Daddy’s broad chest. “M’mma. M’mma.”
“Momma’s swimmin’, bug,” Scott hummed with his hand rubbing the baby’s back soothingly. “She’ll come back in a little bit. Just sit with me for a minute.”
“M’mma!” Ruthie whined and reached for Scott’s chin, who then readjusted her to be flat on her tummy on his chest so he could cradle her comfortingly.
“Momma’s having fun right now,” he murmured against her dark curls before kissing her head. “You can relax with Daddy to let her do that. We’re okay here, just us. Right?”
“Dada.” Ruthie hummed, her chubby little hand reaching for Scott’s mouth this time, causing him to grab her tiny wrist to press kisses to her palm.
“See?” Scott chuckled and tucked the baby’s face under his chin when her long, dark eyelashes fluttered with sleepiness. “Just take a nap with me, sugar. Momma will be back by the time you wake up.”
“She’s gorgeous!” A voice yanked Scott out of his peaceful nest of love for his baby girl, peeking out of one eye to see Tyler Owens approach, with Kate following close behind.
“I’m aware,” Scott replied shortly with his eyes closed again and his hand rubbing Ruthie’s back when he felt her sit back up to coo at Tyler.
“Hey there, darlin’!” Tyler greeted the baby once he crouched down to be closer to her eye level. “My, you are even prettier than your Mama!”
“Momma!” Ruthie Jean cheered with excited claps that picked up when she saw you approach from behind Kate, bouncing her diapered butt up and down on Scott’s chest. “Momma! Momma!”
“She gets all her pretty from her Mama,” Scott added with a grunt as he sat up, hauling Ruthie up with him to greet his wife. “Hey, baby. Fun swim?”
“The water’s beautiful, Scotty!” you cried and took the baby from your husband without a word when the little one reached for you. “You should go for a swim! I think your daughter’s hungry, so she’s keeping me here for a bit.”
“I can wait.” Scott shook his head, helping you sit on an unoccupied beach chair with a hand hovering around you as you held Ruthie against your chest. “We can all go swimming once she’s full. Maybe even after she naps.”
“She won’t get a second of sleep out here, babe.”
“Maybe,” he hummed, rubbing your bare shoulders before draping your thin swimsuit cover-up over your shoulder to give you and Ruthie privacy. “Then, we can take her to dip her toes in the water. She’ll love that. I can wait for my girls.”
While Ruthie got to nurse, Scott fed you some fresh fruit the two of you had brought and made sure you stayed plenty hydrated. He was always looking after both of you, not just Ruthie. It was obvious that his role as a husband was just as important to him as his role as a father, and that made his recent interest in possibly making Ruthie Jean a big sister not sound all too crazy.
ship: husband! clark kent x wife! f! reader (established relationship, marriage)
content warnings: (sfw) implied past implied past sexual intimacy, soft, non-explicit, past tense, emotional intensity, love, devotion, awe, quiet tears, minor domestic accidents burnt hand, flour— very mild, pregnancy & pregnancy reveal
word count: 2.5k
author's note: merry x-mas, loves! 🎄💛
happy finale day of kinkmas 2025! i’m so sorry for the delay in posting today—i got completely sucked into the stranger things finale and, well… time got away from me. but here we are, and i wanted to make sure this last piece was extra special for you.
now playing: last christmas (pudding mix) by wham! ❅*
(photo credits to pinterest and editing and colouring by me)
the morning started before the sun. the snow had fallen overnight, thick, white steady flakes that blanketed the world in white. softening every noise and turning the small kansas town into something dreamy and untouched. in the early dawn, your bedroom still belonged to the shadows. a faint spill of pale blue filtered through the curtains.
the air smelled faintly of pine from the garland clark insisted unhinging along the banister last night, humming carols under his breath while you pretended not to watch him. you lay ib bed in the soft silence, sleepy and unmoving, your body still cocooned in warmth. it took a moment to realize clark was already awake. he always seemed to be.
but instead of being up, reading the paper, checking the mail, rinsing mugs at the sink, he was still beside you. on his side, arm bent beneath his head, just watching you. there was something childlike in his expression, wonder, reverence, and disbelief. it had been one year of a wonderful marriage.
he looked at you like he was still surprised you stayed. "morning." you whispered, your voice cotton-soft. his lips curled slowly, like sunrise itself. "morning, sweetheart." a quiet beat, a breath, a moment where time didn't move. you slid your toes toward his beneath the quilt. he chased them instinctively, hooking a foot around yours.
holding you close the way he always did in his sleep. "it's still early." you murmured. "you could've slept longer." sleep tugged on his lips as he smiled sweetly at you. "i didn't want to miss this." you blinked, as you looked at him and then back down at your feet. "this?" his chuckle came out soft.
"waking up beside you on christmas morning." his voice was low but steady, certain. "feels like something i prayed for before i ever knew what i was asking for." your chest warmed, he said things like that rarely. he didn't know how to talk like dreamers did, but when he did it.
it was always because he meant every word. outside, snow ticked against the glass. the house, your house was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and clark's gentle breaths. there, resting beneath your heart like a tiny secret was the thing that made today unlike any christmas before.
you hadn't planned to tell him now. you'd imagined later, when the tree lights were on, or after breakfast, maybe while bing crosby sang and clark kissed sugar dust from your fingers. but now, in this hush, with his eyes soft and his body warm beside yours, you knew. this... was the moment.
you turned, sliding your hand beneath your pillow. your fingers brushed cardstock, cold and small and terrifying. a tiny red gift box. when you looked back at him, his brows knit faintly. he noticed everything. "what's that?" he asked, voice still wrapped in sleep. "a gift." you said, though it felt too simple a word.
his eyes widened slightly, boyish, earnest, almost shy. "for me?" you giggled. "i hope so." you placed it in his palm. he stared at it, thumb brushing its corner as though afraid it might vanish. "you didn't need to get me anything." he said softly. "i already have everything i ever wanted."
your breath caught, because you believed him but still, you whispered. "open it, clark." he did, carefully. slowly. like anything from your hands needed reverence. he lifted the lid, and froze. inside was; a small crocheted baby socks, cream-colored, soft enough to feel like a dream and a note, handwritten, folded once.
his fingers shook as he opened the note.
august.
his breath left him all at once. you didn't speak, you didn't fill the silence. you let him feel it. his lips parted, and his hand, trembling just barely, came to rest on your belly. soft, unsure, like he was asking permission. "can i?" he didn't finish the sentence, you simply nodded. he leaned down slowly, pressing his ear to your stomach.
he wasn't searching for proof, but connection. his palms spread wide, protective, like he could somehow shield you both from the world just by touching you. you watched the muscles in his shoulders soften. his eyes closed, his breath grew uneven. everything inside him was loud, shock, disbelief, love.
yet he dodn't move fast, didn't speal, didn't fear. he just felt. when he finally looked up at you, his voice was barley a sound. "you're... you're sure?" you smiled, tears gathering without burning. "a few weeks. i found out yesterday." his eyes glistened. "you didn't... you were alone when you found out?"
you just smiled, tears gently threatening to escape. "i wanted to be certain before i made it real. before i made it ours." he swallowed, you wanted the moment he decided something. "i', staying." he whispered, not because you doubted him, but because he once doubted himself. he swallowed, you watched the moment he decided something.
"and i'll be here. everyday, overnight, every...everything." he crawled back up beside you, cupping your face with both hands. he kissed you like a vow. slow, still, centering. not the way he sometimes kissed you, late at night. when the world fell away amd you were tangled in memories of shared sheets and whispered promises.
this kiss wasn't hunger. it was home.
eventually, laughter bright and quiet, pulled the two of you back into the world. "okay." you sniffed. "we should... we have to get up, don't we?" you breathed him in, watching him. "we could stay here forever." he argued, burying his face against your neck. "tell the world, we're hibernating."
you huffed, eyes gentle with admiration. "the world would never believe you." clark mirrored you, in awe of the news, with his wife, and mother of his child. "the world doesn't need to know." but he let go, reluctantly, and both slipped out of bed. you wrapped yourself in your robe, plaid and soft.
while he pulled on an old cotton shirt and flannel pants. he'd had them since college. you loved them so much, you secretly hoped they never wore though. you padded downstairs together. the 1970's kitchen welcomed you like an old friend. it's mint-green fridge, chipped ceramic mugs, lace curtains your mother handed down.
clark lit a match against the stove edge and set the flame beneath the kettle. you pulled the percolator from the shelf and started coffee, your daily ritual. he leaned against the counter while it brewed, watching oyu through lashes. you felt it, the new gaze. you were no longer just his wife, you were his future.
when the coffee finished, he poured two mugs, always pouring yours first. always adding a splash of crea, before passing it to you. little habits that felt like love, even when you didn't say the word. "so." he said, voice soft and playful now. "when did you?" you giggled. "find out? yesterday morning."
he stared, coffee in his hand. "how did you know?" you looked down, cheeks pink. "well... i thought maybe because i cried at the cookie commercial." his smile broke slowly, like dawn over a snowy field. "you cried at the cookie commercial?" you defended yourself with a cry. "they were making it as a family." you ckutched your heart dramatically.
he laughed, a sound you would do anything to hear every day. "that should've been the sign, yes." you sheepishly continued. "and then, i tried to make the cookies myself and fell asleep while whisking. so i... maybe suspected?" his brow furrowed. "you fell asleep mid whisk in cookie mix?"
he stepped closer, sliding an arm around your waist.
"you’ve always been adorable, but this is a whole new level." you swallowed. "clark?" he hummed, soft, content in this moment with you. "hm?" you breathed out in in a soft huff. "i’m… a little scared." he took your face in his hands again, fingertips warm and grounding.
"me too." he admitted, voice low. "but it’s… a good scared. the kind that means life is changing and… i want it all, with you."
your home was small, barely more than what you could afford on clark’s newspaper salary and your part-time library job. but you loved every inch of it. in the living room, the christmas tree sat glowing—silver tinsel, big colorful bulbs like candy drops. glass ornaments from childhood that had gone slightly cloudy with age.
beneath it, only a few wrapped boxes. one gift from your mother. one sweater you’d knitted for clark. and a tiny package he’d hidden behind the tree skirt. "is that for me?" you asked. clark's expression turned sheepish. "open it later." he said, suddenly shy. you crossed the room and gently turned on the old record player.
the vinyl crackled first, then nat king cole filled the air, warm as cinnamon. clark sank to the couch and tugged you down with him, tucking you beneath his arm. "this feels…" he exhaled deeply. "like the life i didn’t know i could have." you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heart. steady. certain.
"you don’t have to earn love here." you whispered. he breathed, as he inhaled pulling you in. "you just get it because you’re you." his arm tightened. christmas lights glowed against his skin. snow outside fell in little flurries, sparkling. the fireplace, fake electric, but still magical—buzzed softly in the background.
for a long time, you didn’t speak. sometimes silence is what love sounds like.
there were moments, brief and quiet, that drifted through your mind. the night in late october when he’d come home from work exhausted, and you had pulled him into bed, held him like something precious, letting your bodies press together as though it was the only language you shared. the way he had kissed along your jawline, slow and reverent.
whispering i love you against skin instead of saying it aloud. the first night in this home, when there were no curtains yet, no dresser, the walls echoing and you’d made love on a makeshift mattress on the floor, still laughing because the radio wouldn’t turn off no matter how many times clark threatened it.
the way he had held you afterward, like you weren’t just wanted but chosen. those memories whispered beneath your ribs now and inside you, a new heartbeat, its seed-small and forming. existed because of those nights. because of love in borrowed t-shirts, in late-night oldies radio, in whispered "stay with me's."
you pressed your palm to your abdomen gently, clark noticed. his hand covered yours instantly, broad, warm, steady. "may i?" his voice was almost reverent and you nodded. he slid down onto the rug, kneeling before you, not worshipping you, but grounding himself. resting his cheek against your stomach like he did earlier.
"we’re really doing this?" he whispered, not a question. a marvel. "yes." you breathed. he looked up, eyes shining. "i won’t run, i won’t disappear. i’m choosing this." you cupped his face, thumb brushing the dimple that only appeared when he meant every word. "you already did."
later that morning, you baked cinnamon rolls—badly. clark tried to help but accidentally dropped flour everywhere, and the two of you laughed until you couldn’t breathe. when the timer rang, he lifted the tray with an oven mitt, burning his other hand slightly because he rushed. you kissed the reddened knuckle, scolding him.
he melted like butter in the heat of your affection. you exchanged gifts. his, a silver locket. when you opened it, you found a tiny pressed wildflower—the first flower he’d ever given you, still perfectly preserved. yours, the hand-knitted sweater. brown, soft, a little uneven at the collar.
"i’ve never felt more handsome." he said, slipping it on with pride. you hung the tiny crocheted sock ornament on the tree. both of you stared at it. a symbol so small, a future so impossibly big. as evening neared, you both lay on the couch, tangled beneath quilts. snow swirled outside, whipped now by winter wind but inside, warmth.
clark traced shapes gently along your palm—circles, stars, invisible hearts. "you know." he murmured, "last christmas… i still didn’t know if i deserved this." your eyes watched him, as a brow quirked. "and this christmas?" you asked.
he looked at you—really looked—and his voice was unshakably certain. "this christmas, i know i do. because you’re here and because i’m choosing it." you leaned your forehead to his. "you’re going to be a good father, clark." he shook his head slightly, swallowing emotion. "no." he corrected softly.
"i’m going to be mine and you’re going to be ours. and that is more than enough."
night settled. the tree lights dimmed. you stood in the doorway, watching him lock up the house. he turned, saw you, and smiled that small smile that belonged only to you. he crossed the room, took your hand, and whispered like a promise, "let’s go to bed. so tomorrow can get here faster."
you laughed quietly, leaned into him, and let yourself be held. christmas morning had begun in stillness. it ended in future and somewhere beneath your ribcage, a tiny, forming life rested, safe because clark kent learned not to fear love but to choose it.
author's note cont.
thank you, truly, for sharing this month with me—laughing, swooning, and getting cozy with each story. kinkmas 2025 has been such a joy to write, and every little note, comment, and message from you has made it feel even more magical.
this final fic, with clark and his darling wife, is my little gift to you—a slow, cozy christmas morning, full of nostalgia, love, and the kind of tender devotion that i hope sticks with you long after the last snow has fallen.
kinkmas 2025 may be ending, but the warmth, the magic, and the love we’ve shared this month? that lingers. thank you for reading, for supporting, and for letting me be a part of your holiday season.
here’s to more stories, more love, and more cozy magic in 2026. 💛
with all my heart,
—laela xx
A/N: CLARK IN HEAT AHHHH CLARK BEING RAGEBAITED AHHHH PINCERS ARE BACK AHHHH
tags: clark kent in heat x reader ovulating (afab, no y/n), ragebaiter vs ragebaited, p w mild plot, clark loves boobies propaganda, p in v, PINCERS, breeding kink-ish, finish inside, praise, talks you through it, overstimulation
It was a rare occurrence for both of their cycles to coincide. But when they did, Clark was a mess and she was a menace.
As soon as she got home from work, she knew she was in for a treat. The apartment was spotless. Not a thing out of place – the spices lined in alphabetical order, all her knick knacks ordered the way he knows she likes. He would deep clean to no tomorrow, under the off chance that it would distract him just enough. This quarterly perk was one of her favourite things about his biology.
And from the look on her face, he knew he was in for a very long evening.
“Hi…” He approaches her warily, leaning down for a quick peck before taking four steps back.
A laugh bubbles up in her throat at how tight he’s wound up, looking physically pained.
“Okay,” he frowns, heading towards the kitchen, “It’s really not that funny.”
“It is a little,” she grins, following behind him, “And we could so easily take care of it if you just-”
Glancing over his shoulder to give her a pointed look, he flinches away from her fingers slipping under his shirt, “Absolutely not. You remember what happened last time, and I know you’re ovulating so it’s going to be even worse.”
His senses made him so attuned to her body, she’d stopped questioning his random odd comments ages ago.
“Worse?!” Her frown now matching his, she continues to prod at him. “Oh, so you don’t want me.”
“I didn’t say that!” He guffaws, whipping around to look at her.
Score.
“Yes, you did.” She ups the dramatics, knowing she’s getting to him, “You basically just said that sleeping with me is the worst thing ever, and you’d rather do anything but touch me, which is saying a lot since you’re literally in heat right now and-”
“Oh, come on!” The whine that leaves him sounds anguished and she has to do everything in her power to not laugh in his face again.
“First of all,” he starts listing on his fingers while taking careful steps back, “Sleeping with you is the best thing ever. Second of all, there’s nothing I’d rather do than touch you. Third of all,” his cheeks flush a bright red at his last counterpoint – or at the fact that he’s now cornered by her, “I am not in heat, it just… happens sometimes.”
She raises her brows, taking another step closer until she can feel the energy vibrating off him.
“Right. And you’d rather suffer than just work through it the easy way out.” She sighs dramatically, shaking her head in disappointment, “All while making me suffer too. Depriving your poor girlfriend of her biological needs…”
“That’s not fair, I-” he huffs defeatedly, looking her over. It’s obvious she’s playing it up, but he can feel her – can smell her. He knows she’s aching for him, and who is he to deprive her of that?
“Sweetheart,” he takes a deep breath, “I think it’s obvious how much I want to as well, but you need to remember, once we start I won’t be able to stop. And last time-”
She raises her brows at him, encouraging him to continue as she folds her arms across her chest, “What was wrong with last time?”
“Nothing!” His eyes widen, almost reaching forward to touch her before pulling back immediately. He can’t lose control while they’re still having this conversation. “Absolutely nothing was wrong, but I think you’re forgetting you slept for nearly fourteen hours after.”
“Well, good thing it’s a Friday night and we have no plans for tomorrow,” turning around to leave the kitchen, she starts heading towards their bedroom. “Anyway, forget it. I’ll just take care of myself.”
“Wait, what?” He blinks in confusion, immediately following behind her as if he’s tied to her by a tightrope.
Wordlessly taking her clothes off, she slips into the bed before reaching for the bottom drawer of their bedside table.
“That’s not funny.” He’s trying his best to be stern, but the coil that’s about to snap in him makes his voice shake.
“Hm?” She looks up at him as she reaches for a toy – the pink vibrator he’d gifted her with flushed cheeks just months ago, “What’s not funny?”
“This!” He waves around vaguely, stepping closer to the bed.
A faint buzz, muted under the sheets, fills the room.
“Oh, I totally agree with you, baby,” she purrs softly as her legs spread with a quiet rustle. “There is nothing funny about this at a– ah!” Gasping as the vibrations finally meet her core.
“Alright, that’s enough.”
Before she can blink, the covers have been ripped off the bed, her grasp empty of what was there – leaving her bare in front of him.
Her initial shock is quick to fade, grinning up at him as he climbs on top of her.
He’s entirely wrecked. Body trembling, sweat beading at his temples, muscles taut against his shirt. And she’s having the time of her life seeing him like this.
“Honey,” he mutters through gritted teeth.
“Hm?”
“I need you to stop looking so amused, and promise that you’ll tell me if you’re hurting or need a break.”
Her eyes soften as she nods, “I will. But, now, can you please stop putting yourself through this torture ritu-”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, his lips swallow the rest of her sentence. Hand cupping her jaw as his tongue carefully finds its way in, his fingers card through her hair. His grip is gentle, but firm, as if trying to make sure she won’t slip away at any unsuspecting moment.
The hunger coursing through his body is palpable, and hers is on par. She pries at the buttons of his shirt, struggling to focus on the task while he starts kissing his way down her neck. Huffing in frustration, she tugs hard enough for a few buttons to scatter to the floor, pushing the collar and sleeves back until he rips it off himself. His pants and briefs are next to go, wincing when he finally feels her skin on his.
He’s quick to move down her body, his kisses and nibbles leaving a wet trail until he comes back to her breasts, groaning as his lips wrap around her nipple. She never believes him but he swears she tastes sweeter – everywhere – during this part of her cycle. Or perhaps it’s just his craving for her going into overdrive.
She can tell he’s trying his best to hold back and take his time with her, wanting to be as gentle and thoughtful as he always is. But this is not the time for that.
“Clark,” she squeezes his arm gently to get his attention, gasping as his hand slips between them to give careful attention to her clit.
He hums absentmindedly, body quivering under restraint as he tries to distract himself in her pleasure.
“Clark.” She repeats, her voice firm, making him snap out of it and look back up at her. His eyes are wild, frantic, chest heaving for air as he drowns in all-consuming thoughts of her, her, her.
“Yes. Sorry, yes,” his voice is shaky, hands subconsciously moving to her hips in a firm grip, “I’m still here.”
Frowning slightly, her fingers move to the nape of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “You don’t need to be,” she mumbles against his lips, already breathless from how quick he’s deepened it, “You don’t need to hold back, I can handle it. I want you to use me.”
He pulls back suddenly, brows furrowing the same way they do every time they have this conversation. Before he can open his mouth with another warning or reminder, she interrupts him.
“I need you to use me,” she purrs, “Don’t you want to fill me with your seed, Kal?”
That’s all it takes for him to forget any and all semblance of control. His mouth is back on her, his hand gripping his cock for dear life as he drags it along her folds. The slick of her arousal easily coats his length and he’s not surprised – he could smell it as soon as she stepped through the door.
Her breath hitches as he brushes the head against her clit, before drawing it down to her entrance. He grunts as he nudges through the tight barrier, taking a sharp breath before breaching her in one push, his fingers bruising into her hips.
The bed creaks under them, his head dropping to hers in the momentary relief of finally being connected to her. His hips are flush against hers, but he’s so big he still barely fits. He hears her wince through the haze of his heat, searching her eyes as she clamps around him. The shaky breath that leaves her fills him with a brief cloud of worry, until she gives him a small nod and he’s reminded she can take it, can take him – and wants to.
He pulls out entirely, before shoving himself back inside of her. The sudden stretch makes her cry out, eyes rolling back from the combination of pain and pleasure. Her hands move to his arms, nails digging into his biceps as he pistons in and out of her. Withdrawing almost entirely every time, leaving just the thick head of his cock inside of her, a desperate slew of whimpers slip out of his mouth once he’s surrounded by her again.
The pressure against her cervix has her flashing back to the last time she had him on top of her like this, the memory making her walls flutter around him as her legs spread wider. He whimpers as he hits deeper, his hips stuttering as his first release pumps deep into her. She moans at feeling so full, her hips rolling up to chase his next rut.
He’s barely drained himself before he’s back to speed, no sign of wanting to leave her empty and barren. Each thrust molds her around him, the curve of his cock catching on her G-spot at every return. He starts grinding down, wanting to feel as close to her as possible, his pelvis rubbing her clit. After all, on Krypton, women’s pleasure was monumental in having the seed stick.
The headboard hits the wall in tandem with her mewls as she starts convulsing around him, her first orgasm hitting like a freight train after waiting all day to get him. She pulls him to a new depth, milking his second climax with ease. The veins on his neck pop out as he lowers his head, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss, ruthless in his momentum.
Five rounds in, he’s barely broken a sweat and her entire body is flushed, her cunt sore and leaking the mixture of their releases from being too full. Her neck is covered in bite marks, the impenetrable skin of his biceps in faint claw marks. Trailing hasty kisses down to her breasts, his lips latch onto her nipple, his hand leaving her hip to enclose around the other one. He hums at her thighs shaking as he sucks harder, his grasp squeezing and tightening on the tissue.
She sobs from the overstimulation, his thrusts unrelenting. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he grits out, his voice hoarse around the swollen bud. Gasping for air, she weakly meets his advancements, somehow still wanting more of him.
“That’s it,” he preens, “One more. Then we can take a break and start again, yeah?”
She whines at the prospect, nodding eagerly when she finally starts to feel the slow protraction of his pincers. The additional grip on her walls triggers his last load – for the moment – shooting endless ropes of his cum to pool in her core. A strangled moan escapes her when his fingers glide between them to find her clit, urging her to lock him in. She babbles nonsense as she crashes over the edge for the nth time, clawing at him as he continues to pump his seed deeper in her even with the pincers keeping him in place.
Slowly fading out of the fog, he gently brushes the damp hair off her forehead, leaning down to place soft kisses all over her face before landing on her lips.
“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, “Did so good for me, pretty girl.”
Kissing him back lazily, she smiles against his lips,
Chlo I have a request for Scott and I hope it’s not too difficult! It’s a soulmate au?
I was thinking of Scott who goes into a town after a tornado to see the damage and yk.. do what he always does. Maybe he meets reader who was a bit injured. Turns out they’re soulmates 🥺 You can decide what type of soulmates they are, but I’ve had this on my mind for a bit and I’ve been wanting to a whole series of just soulmate au myself but I’ve been too lazy lol
Lovee ur stories! 🫶
Life before you was grey.
A world which you can only see colours when you’ve met the right person.
Contents ; Slight angst, mentions of injuries , Soulmate au, swearing , denial, mentions of alcohol, mentions of hook ups. Inaccurate medical information ; jokes about Scott being a creep.
might turn this into a series ???
2k words.
For Scott life was dull. Grey. Quite literally his entire life thus far was in black and white. It was the way of the world. If you haven't met your soulmate. You weren't seeing in colour anytime soon. So he tried. He hooked up with so many girls. Nothing. Spent so much money on girls to get them to love him. Nothing. If anything it felt like his life turned more gray and it made him feel grey . Like a colourless void. Because that's what he was. He had stopped looking. Soulmates are bullshit.
His friends tried for weeks on end. To convince him to be patient but nothing. Nothing they could say or do would change his mind.
Right now he was on the road with Javi to help out at a town where a tornado hit. He knew him and his uncle were gonna benefit off the land. It's sick. Twisted. And he knows it too.
But he takes a look around at the damage. Houses destroyed. Bricks and mortar in piles. For once it actually pains him more than usual.
Meanwhile you were under a pile of rubble and your leg was aching painfully. A small gash on your forehead and you whimpered painfully.
"HELP!" You screeched and you could hear someone say "Scott! There's someone over there!" Followed by rapid footsteps and things being thrown to get to you.
Then you saw him. A guy in a cap with a polo shirt. Looked like a complete fucking asshole and he carefully takes the shrapnel off your leg revealing s huge bruise and another wound, he kneels in front of you clicking his fingers.
"Hey hey look at me.. you're okay! How many fingers am I holding up ?" He holds up two fingers checking you're not concussed and you look at him. Something in your heart tingles. But you clear your throat and speak up. "Two!!" You huff softly and he nods looking over at his friend.
"JAVI! bring me the first aid kit!" He looks back at you again and tilts his this time. His friend brings over the first aid kit.
"It's just temporary for now, ambulance is gonna be here and they'll take care of everything okay?" You nod at him heart still pounding and he carefully dabs at the wound on your head making you hiss painfully and he clicks his tongue at you.
"Sorry kid... nasty gash... keep lookin at me you're okay!" But when you look at this time. A small jolt of colour appears. You shriek and jolt backwards. His eyes widen. Like he's seen the exact same thing and he clears his throat chewing his gum and you close your eyes again.
You open them and the colour is gone.
"Easy... easy.. you're safe!" He puts a temporary dressing on your head and does the same for your leg. But he doesn't look at you.
The ambulance arrives and he offers you a hand to help you stand, when you take it he wraps an arm around your waist supporting you the entire way as you walk to the ambulance. Maybe you never saw colour at all. Maybe you're really shaken up. The colour was gone for him too. He was blaming it all on the pressure. The shit he's seen today. Soulmates do NOT exist.
When you settled in the back of the ambulance he looks at you almost squinting like he was trying to bring something back. "Take care okay?" He nods at you and chews his gum obnoxiously and you nod.
"Thank you...!" You smile and he nods patting the paramedic on back. "Take care of her!" He walked away and everything went a darker grey.
The paramedics checked you over again just to be sure you weren't concussed. When they were happy that you weren't they still took you to hospital to get the gash on your head stitched and clean up your leg. They put a support around the knee and told you to keep the dressings on your head dry.
You were discharged and sent away , but with nowhere to stay and the heartbreak of losing practically everything there was nothing else to do but go to a nearby bar.
When the doors open and you stumble in. The guy from before was at the bar. So you walk over carefully and tap him on the shoulder.
He turns around and looks down at you. He raises an eyebrow at you but grins almost.
"Good to see you kid. You had a lucky escape. How you feeling?" He sips his beer and looks at the bartender "let her get whatever I'll cover it!" You rapidly shake your head.
"No no! You don't have to do that! And... I'm good... thank you..: minus not having a house and well..." You gesture to the dressing on your head and leg and he shakes his head.
"Yeah... that's rough kid.. but at least you're alive. Please I insist let me get anything you want!" He takes a sip of his beer and looks at you.
"Okay... well thank you Uhm..?? I never really caught your name before." You look at him again and it's like something inside you is trying to tell you something.
"Scott. Scott miller! And you?" He grins , you tell him your name and something in his eyes twinkles. He shakes your hand , his larger hand engulfing yours and it happens all over again. The flickering of colours and he quickly pulls back like it had burned him. He helped you get your drink and be clears his throat looking away.
"Thank you... for before really... Uhm.. " you started again and puts his hand up. "It's not a big deal... all part of the job!" He gently pats your back and walks off. He thought he was going stir crazy.
"Dude what is going on you've been weird all day?" Javi raises an eyebrow at Scott and he just sighs pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I keep seeing flickers of colour man..." Javis grinning from ear to ear over this information.
"Oh my god. It's that girl from before!! Dude go talk to her are you fucking crazy??" Javi shoves him and Scott rolls his eyes.
"No! I'm not doing this shit man! It's all bullshit !" He finishes his beer but Javi gives him a look that isn't backing down.
So Scott made his way back over to you and you look up at him and smile again. "Oh hey! If it isn't my hero!" You beam at him and he shrugs. There was something about him being so close that sent shivers down your spine. His scent causing a soft rainy spearmint smell to linger.
"Look.. kid have you got anywhere to stay tonight?... family ? Friends?" He asks already reaching into his pocket to get the business card he always carries on him for his uncle. Come on Scott. Profit profit profit. Uncle needs profit. Benefit off the grieving.
And then he stops and looks at you. Colours flickering all over again.
"No.. I'll try get in contact with someone .. I'll be fine.. I'm a big girl!" You beam and he shakes his head almost grinning, his dimples on show.
"Big girl or not. You've had a pretty fucked up day ... look, i accidentally booked a motel with two beds... if you wanna stay with me you can?" He raises an eyebrow at you and you look at him.
"Okay I really appreciate that... but how do I know you're not a creep or trying to kill me?" You snort at him and he rolls his eyes at you.
"Why would I go through the effort to help you this morning to kill you?you already almost got a concussion once!"He chuckled deeply nursing his beer , you erupt into giggles and the flickering gets stronger, flickering from colour to black and white.
"I supposed that's true ,.. thank you I'd really appreciate it!" You looked at him so gratefully. After a few drinks he walks with you to the motel staying close in case you need a little extra support.
He unlocks the motel door, it's nothing fancy but nothing trashy. It looks really comfy. And honestly ? You'd sleep on the floor right now you were so exhausted.
"Can I get you something to wear?" He asks putting the motel keys on the side table and you shake your head hugging yourself, almost trying to get an ounce of comfort.
"No! I'll sleep in this..." you smile referring to your shorts and soft blouse. Again he raises an eyebrow going over to his bag and pulling out a zip up jacket.
"It gets cold ..." You sigh taking it off him and pulling it around you beaming at him more. "You're really kind.. I can't thank you enough. The jacket smelled like him. It felt like a warm hug.
"I'm pretty sure everyone else would disagree , but thank you.. I'm gonna get a shower. Shout if you need anything!" He nods at you his eyes locked on yours before walking away.
When he returns in a white shirt and some joggers he nods at you.
"Goodnight.." A soft smile from your face and you nod "Goodnight Scott."
And you waited. And waited. Until you thought he was asleep , then everything you've been holding in all day comes crashing down. Soft whimpers and sobs spilling from your lips. Everything was gone.
Scott was not asleep. He was listening to you cry. He would be lying if he said it didn't break his heart. It was strange. He knew nothing about you. And yet his soul felt connected to you.
So he slowly got out of his bed in the dark room and moved onto your bed his voice softer than he would ever talk to anyone else.
"Come here kid." He coos opening his arms for you and you sniffle turning around and burying yourself in his arms.
"Let it all out. You don't have to a big girl right now. You've been through a lot for one person.." Hes being so careful of you making sure he doesn't bump your leg or your head. All while rubbing your back and muttering the sweetest things.
"I think you're so brave" He coos. You listen to his heart racing and when you fall asleep, he pulls you so you're laying on his chest. Something felt different. Eventually he falls asleep too. Exactly where he's supposed to be.
The next morning you woke up to the sun beaming though the gap in the red curtains. The walls a soft green , sheets a cream colour. And then it clicked that the colours were sticking. You look down. The dark grey jacket Scott gave you. His arms around you. His pale skin holding onto you protecting you.
"Oh fuck!" You spat out and Scott jolts awake. And he looks around the room and then at you and everything stops. When you look at him. His eyes are the prettiest tone of turquoise blue ever. His lips a rosey pink. His hair filled with black tones.
“You have the prettiest eyes …” you gasp just above a whisper. So quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it. But he does. He’s taking in every single one of your features , appreciating them for the first time. Appreciating that he can see colour now.
And instead of responding. He slowly cups your face and leans in and kisses you. A long kiss filled with everything he’s been waiting for. His warm lips moving against yours in perfect harmony. He hardly knew you. BUT THIS WAS FATE. Your hands tangled in his black hair. When he finally pulled away. It’s like he’s looking at you for the first time. Looks deeply into your eyes. He knew for once he didn’t wanna jump straight in bed. He wanted to cherish the beauty he had in front of him. Take his time with finally living.
“I think I have a new favourite colour”
SO. UHM. PART TWO WITH SMUT???😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫😵💫
This was kinda new !!! I’ve never really written a soulmate AU before so thank you for this request (you know who you are you beautiful soul)
If someone had told Scott 5 years ago that he would be getting bossed around by his pregnant wife…. he would have thought they were crazy.
But believe it or not, the man was exactly where he wanted to be. She was in fact, the only woman who could put him in his place. Or at the very least have an ego as big as his own.
Every morning before he was able to escape out the front door, she would call out to him.
“Oh Scotty!” She would sing-song from somewhere inside the house. Scott would freeze in place, his hand barely grasping the knob.
“You silly-willy, you were almost about to leave without giving me a kiss.” She reminded him.
He smiled and turned to face her, “of course…” he says retreating to in front of her to lean down and capture her lips with his.
“Be good, be safe…. Do you have your gum? Extra pens? Phone charged? Car keys? Wallet?” She began to list off for him and he pulled them from his pockets showing her every single item.
“Prepared like always, sweetheart… thanks to you.”
“I like you prepared… it means you’ll come home in one piece.” She says fixing his collar so it laid flat. “Now… don’t be a dick to your coworkers or I won’t blame them if they leave you out there for dead.”
“I’m always nice.” He says and she looks to glare at him.
“Now that’s a load of crap and you know it.” She says.
Scott chuckled, “alright… I will attempt to be cordial to my coworkers. Happy?” He asked.
She smiled, “extremely.” She said before grabbing his hands and placing them at your belly. “Baby boy wants to say bye to you too.” She says and Scott sighed with a smile before he knelt down to be eye-level with her bump.
“Hey kid, be good for your momma while I’m gone today; cause if you’re an ass, she’ll surely let me know about it.” Scott says before receiving a smack to the back of his head, “yeah, I should have seen that coming.” He admits.
“Well… here’s hoping our child didn’t acquire your fat head.” His wife sassed. “Or the world will be in some serious trouble.” She remarked.
Scott got up from the ground and held her hips in place, “oh is that so…” he asks and she nods.
“By the way I want you home this weekend to paint the nursery.”
Scott shook his head, “baby, I can’t… I have to go over the numbers from this week…” Scott began to explain but he quickly shut up as his wife gave him a look indicating that her demand was nonnegotiable. “You know what, I’ll just shut up.” He says.
She scoffed, “finally something we can agree on.” She snaps.
He rolled his eyes, “you are lucky I love you, woman.”
She laughed in his face, “oh please…. you’re lucky to love me, Miller. After all, I am the only woman who can put up with your bullshit.” She reminds him.
As much as Scott wanted to deny that fact, he was unable to. As much as his wife annoyed him to no end, he still loved her deeply. He may have been the boss at work, but at home… his wife was the boss and he was perfectly okay with that.
Description: Clark Kent had always felt he'd end up riding into the sunset with his oldest friend, but a wrench is thrown into his dream life when she's suddenly swept up with a new boyfriend. He could never deserve her, but Clark isn't one to step between anybody on purpose. On accident though? Sometimes things happen that you don't expect.
Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, slow-burn smut (fem receiving oral, p in v unprotected), emotional abuse/ultra-shitty boyfriend, cheating, clark kent cries during sex
Word Count: 9.6k
He’d loved you for a long time. He knew how he felt about you was different since you were little, running around together every summer. He wasn’t the type of little boy to tug on your pigtails or try to rough-house with you. His Pa had told him that was no way for a polite young man to behave, and Clark had taken it to heart.
He always wanted to be nice. Kind. Friendly. It made him feel better about himself every time he accidentally took his door off its hinges while trying to open it, or when he’d feel his eyes start burning, quickly closing them to hide the red glow that began when he got frustrated. It made him feel more human, being good.
He could be forgiven for his accidentals as long as he was good.
So, he never pulled on your hair. He’d pick little wildflowers and weave the tiny stems through your braids because they looked pretty. You’d smile and tell him how much you liked the little blossoms, and he’d smile because he made you happy. He did a good job, he was kind. You were beautiful.
It extended into his teen years, too. Always one to be a shoulder to cry on, or offering up help with homework, or making sure to bring his lawnmower over to anyone’s home who needed a hand. Your parents commented on it the summer you’d gone on your annual visit to Smallville, sitting around the table with Mrs. Kent.
“That Clark is growing up to be a good boy,” your mom mentioned, spotting him out in the yard with his Pa and your dad. He lifted the tractor while his Pa reached up with his tools to fix something. “Very helpful.”
“He likes to make sure everyone’s taken care of.” Mrs. Kent grinned.
You leaned up a little, watching Clark for a moment. He’d always been sweet, and very friendly. It was almost odd to see someone so soft spoken and almost shy to display that kind of otherworldly strength. You’d known about it forever. Your parents and the Kents were long-time friends, and they were the only ones to know about the circumstances of Clark’s… adoption. A tiny, little baby who’d dropped from the sky.
You parents hadn’t believed it at first until they’d seen the spacecraft for themselves.
Your dad had gaped, then easily went to help Mr. Kent drag it to an old shed and out of the sight of any potentially-prying eyes. Your mom stared down at little Clark in Mrs. Kent’s arms, her hand placed gently on the swell of her stomach, thinking of her own baby, soon to be born. It was shocking.
More shocking when Clark started growing into his powers.
Now? He seemed to be able to lift anything without a second thought. As evidenced by his casual hold on the giant tractor.
“He’s always been sweet,” you comment softly, not noticing the soft look between your mother and Clark’s ma.
Yours and Clark’s parents had sensed something for years.They’d always thought you two were just the most darling pairing as young kids: sleeping in the same crib as babies, sharing toys as toddlers, splashing in a tiny pop-up pool as a couple of rowdy six-year-olds.
They watched you as teenagers, always glued together when you thought nobody was paying any attention. Even when you’d both graduated high school, you still always came back to the Kent’s farm every summer on your own volition.
By the time you’d each left college, the summer you were pressed to each other’s sides with a couple glasses of wine on the front porch, they were certain of it: you’d end up together.
“So, what have you been doing lately, honey? I hear you're thinking of moving out to Metropolis by our Clark,” Mrs. Kent said, a soft, excited smile on her lips.
You chuckled once. “Yeah. I think I’m going to finish out the year at my job now, and then… yeah. I mean, there are so many great opportunities in Metropolis for writers. Clark is evidence of that.”
“Technically, I’m a journalist,” Clark added with a small smile.
“Dork.”
He just grinned, taking a big bite of his mashed potatoes. Your parents all shared some knowing glances, looking between the two of you. Twenty four years in the making, you would finally be in the exact right position for everything to work. Your mom was practically floating at the idea of planning a wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Kent were buzzing with the notion of grandbabies. Your dad was just happy you’d end up with someone he knew would treat you right. So, it was no surprise that they all felt like the floor had been swept out from under them when you spoke again.
“I’m thinking of it, too, because… well,” you paused for a moment, the whole room seemingly holding their breath. “I mean, my boyfriend has been talking about it, and I think we’re starting to get more serious, actually.”
Murmured questions and half-hearted congratulations were drowned out by Clark hearing his own heart beating in his chest.
Both of your folks had clearly been invested in the idea of the two of you forever. But Clark? He’d never thought to entertain the idea of you being with anybody. He supposed it made sense. You were friendly and beautiful and one of the funniest people he’d ever met. Lovely and, in his eyes, perfect. He’d been telling everyone at work that his life-long family friend was probably going to move nearby soon. He’d been planning in his head all the places he’d get to take you to in the city. Maybe even get your opinion on the suit his Ma was making for him to help people. He still hadn’t decided on a name for this alter-ego yet, and he thought you’d probably have some great ideas.
He’d built it up in his head so much that he’d never factored in that you might have someone besides him in the city. He just plastered on a smile that he hoped you wouldn’t see through and told you he was happy for you. A boyfriend. How… exciting.
January came around quickly. Clark trudged through the snow, finally getting to the door of his apartment building. He got in, shaking the snow off of his clothes and out of his dark hair before taking the elevator up to his unit.
He liked winter. The snow was pretty, he got to go home for Christmas, and crime rates went down a bit in Metropolis. He had some time to relax.
He peeled off his outer layers, setting his glasses careful on the kitchen counter. A warm shower and a cup of chamomile tea later, and he was sitting in his small living room watching an old movie re-run on cable. His phone started buzzing on the table, and he sighed. Duty calls, probably.
He looked down at the screen, and his mood flipped in an instant. He grinned widely when he saw your name flash on the screen, hitting the green answer button.
“Hi!”
He heard you laugh on the other end, it warmed his heart. “Hey, stranger. How’s it going?”
“Good! Y-yeah, good. Watching the snow fall in my apartment right now, it’s so pretty.”
“I bet.”
“Yeah…” he smiled, sinking back into his chair. “Uh, well, how are you? What’s the occasion?”
“I have to have an occasion to call you?”
He chuckled, the sound low and deep in his chest. He felt his cheeks warm. Whenever he talked to you, he often felt like he was still a teenager watching you try and fail to milk his favorite cow on the farm. He could still see you in his mind’s eye, still feeling that soft, fluttering feeling in his chest. Still realizing that you weren’t just a friend, you were a girl. A really pretty girl. A girl that made him feel things that a gentleman could certainly never voice.
“No. You don’t. You just usually do.”
“Touché,” you murmured, sighing softly on the other end of the line. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I just signed a lease in Metropolis. I’m officially coming to the city.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He could hear the smile in your voice. “Yeah, Sam and I are gonna be moving in two weeks.”
“Oh. You and… you’re moving in together, huh?”
“Yeah. He’s been asking for a little while now, and I finally gave in.”
He heard you chuckle, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile about it. He didn’t know Sam. He had no real reason to hate him. But he did.
He’d seen pictures of him on your social media. He’d been caught by his Ma during Christmas zooming in on the man in one photo you’d posted. She just rested her hand on his shoulder, saying something about making him a cup of hot chocolate. Far too much pity in her voice.
“It’s fine, Ma. I’m fine,” he sighed, shutting off his phone.
She just looked at him for a moment. “You were zooming in awful close for someone who’s ‘fine’.”
He huffed. “She always said she didn’t like blonde guys. He’s blonde.”
His Ma did him the service of turning before she let herself chuckle a little. She wasn’t happy about this turn of events either, but… you were happy. She loved you like her own, and couldn’t bring herself to feel too sour about your recent relationship development. She reserved those feelings for whenever your mom brought it up first on their phone calls.
“I was just hoping maybe you could pick me up at the airport?”
“Y-you and Sam?”
“No, just me. Sam is gonna be a few days behind.”
“Oh. Yeah, I can do that. Of course.”
Clark begrudgingly took you to your new apartment two weeks later, helping you unpack and put up your furniture. He wasn’t upset to be helping you, of course. He loved helping you. He’d do anything you asked. He was grumpy about it because your boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to set up the apartment with you. He was supposed to be a few days behind you to tie up some things with his job before he left for Metropolis. But then, he had to spend an extra few days to go see his family out of the blue, and sent you a measly text asking you to unpack everything on your own.
Clark frowned the second you told him that you’d be doing it all yourself with that easy smile. He ignored your honey-sweet voice telling him he didn’t have to stay with you. Yes, he did. If your boyfriend couldn’t be bothered to help set up the apartment you’d share together, Clark certainly wouldn’t let you do it alone.
He felt your eyes on him as he sat on the ground, putting together your coffee table. He ignored it for a while, but eventually he broke down.
“What’re you looking at?” His voice was soft, the smallest twitch of his lip upward giving him away.
“You’re just… you’re a really good guy, Clark. I’m really happy I came here.”
“I’m happy you’re here, too. I’ve missed you,” he mumbled softly, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “It’ll be nice. Seeing you more than once or twice a year.”
You smiled, and his heart beat a little faster again. “Yeah, my mom has been over the moon about it. I think she’s just happy you’ll be around to protect me if I ever need you.”
“Aw, come on. I’m always around when you need me. I can fly anywhere, you know?”
You laughed. “I know. You’re closer now, though. Maybe we can spend more time together, too. That’d be fun.”
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
“You and Sam will totally get along.”
Clark’s expression fell a little as he got back to work. Sam. He promised himself he’d be nice and give the guy a chance, for you. But he already wasn’t too sure about the guy for a number of reasons. Mostly that he got to you before Clark could work up the nerve. But Clark would be nice. He’d be good.
He was good, he was good, he was good. He told himself over and over again as he sat across from you at your parent’s home. He’d been invited over for a small party for your birthday with your family and his. Your aunts and uncles asked him about his job as a reporter in Metropolis. Your little cousins were drawn to him. Despite not knowing he was the new ‘Superman’, he always seemed to have a pull with kids. Almost like they could sense he was a protector through and through. Normally, he’d be happily indulging all their requests for him to push them on the swings, and he’d chat at length about your aunt’s latest paint-by-numbers piece she was working on. But he was distracted. Horribly and frustratingly distracted.
He watched you as you smiled at Sam, talked to his Ma, listened to your dad’s work stories… but he was spiraling under the surface. One little thing had entirely thrown him off course and had him incessantly reminding himself that he was a kind and rational man. But it was almost like it was staring at him, reminding him that even though you’d grown even closer since you’d moved to his city last year, he was too little too late. A pretty little diamond on your finger.
He glared at it all night. Every time he caught a glance, it filled his chest with something angry and ugly and possessive. Which, of course, only made him feel worse. You weren’t his. You never were. He had no right to be jealous, and yet…
“Engaged, huh?” he said softly, walking up to you as you sat by yourself out on the back deck.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah,” you replied with a soft smile.
He nodded once, sitting next to you on the step. He sniffed, looking up at the sky.
“Stars are really pretty tonight.”
You hummed in agreement. “Yeah. They’re so bright out here. Not like at the farm, but definitely more than Metropolis.”
He let himself smile once. “Well, if you ever want to visit the farm, say the word. You happen to be friends with a human airplane.”
You laughed at that, touching his forearm. He felt his chest squeeze.
“As much as I appreciate it, I don’t think Sam would be too keen on Superman literally sweeping me off my feet.”
“You could just tell him we were taking a road trip.”
“He wouldn’t like that, either.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “He’s… I don’t think he likes how close you and I have gotten.”
“We’ve been friends since we were babies.”
“I know, Clark. It’s just… We’ve definitely gotten closer since I moved to Metropolis.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No. No, of course not. I think he’s just… maybe a little bit jealous.”
Clark snorted, but secretly he preened at that. He liked the idea that he was a threat to your boyfriend. Or– fiancé. He’d never dare admit that. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t kind. But it was the truth.
“Jealous?”
You rolled your eyes. “Come on, Clark.”
“What?” He grinned.
“Like you don’t know.”
His smile faltered for just a moment, shaking his head. “No, I… I actually don’t.”
You sighed. “You’re… you. Like you said, friends since we were babies. We’ve gotten even closer now. You’re… Superman.”
“He doesn’t know I am.”
“No, but he knows you’re huge and attractive–”
Attractive? Clark blushed. He opened his mouth to try and respond without sounding like his stomach was doing cartwheels. But the back door opened.
“Babe?”
You looked up at Sam as he walked out, eyeing you and Clark suspiciously. He frowned at you after a second.
“Hey, honey.”
“You said we could leave at nine. It’s nine.”
Clark raised a brow, finally looking at Sam. He wasn’t too sure about the tone he’d just taken with you.
“Okay, yeah. I just lost track of time, I guess.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Uh huh.”
“Hey. Good to see you again, Sam,” Clark said, rising to his feet, helping you up before he reached out to shake Sam’s hand.
Clark sized the man up as Sam attempted a hard handshake. Clark almost smiled as Sam squeezed his hand in a faulty show of dominance. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He didn’t realize he was trying to intimidate Superman himself. He could see the frown forming on Sam’s face as his hand was practically engulfed by Clark’s.
You raised a brow, seeing your fiancé clearly annoyed by the man you’d grown up with. You weren’t particularly keen on a dick-measuring contest starting up, so you touched Sam’s shoulder.
“Baby, can you go start the car? I’m just going to say bye to everyone real quick.”
He huffed, muttering something you didn’t quite catch under his breath. It wasn’t long before you were settling into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt in an uncomfortable silence. You probably should’ve known better than to ask, but you couldn’t help yourself.
“Is everything okay?” You spoke up once he pulled onto the road, driving towards the hotel.
He let out a harsh breath. “You really have to ask?”
“I don’t–”
“Seriously?” He shook his head, gripping the steering wheel. “You were alone with him. Again.”
“Wh– Clark?”
“No, your dad,” he snapped, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I don’t like the guy.”
“He’s a good person.”
“He wants to fuck you.”
“Sam.”
He shot back with your own name, then fell silent for a moment. You twisted the ring on your finger. He’d proposed only a few days ago, shortly before your flight out here. You were elated, so excited to tell your family. You didn’t think the night would end like this.
“I don’t get why you insist on being around that asshole. He clearly wants to get in your pants, and you just– You obviously don’t respect me. Why do you need to be around him? Am I too boring for you?”
“What? No, of course not–”
“I’m not tall enough? Not build like a fucking building, so you have to entertain the guy who is? Let him think that he has a shot so you can stare at him and fantasize about fucking a guy with muscles? Is that what it is?”
“Baby, no. Please.”
He shook his head. “You said you liked how I look.”
“I do. That has nothing to do with this at all.”
“I get it. You’ve only dated taller guys, bigger ones. Maybe this wouldn’t be an issue if you lost a little weight.”
You scoffed in disbelief, tears pricking your eyes against your wishes. He’d been mean before. He was sensitive and sometimes said stuff he didn’t mean during arguments. But that felt like a line being crossed.
“Sam.”
“I’m just saying. I’m not a fucking body builder, but I’m not weak. You’re just–”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
He huffed, muttering under his breath, “so fucking sensitive.”
You were quiet for a minute. “Clark is my friend.”
“Sure he is.”
“He is.”
“Have you two fucked?”
You frowned, lip quivering. “No.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Why are you being like this?”
“I don’t want to marry a fucking slut, is why! I put that ring on your finger, and days later I find you alone with the guy you know I have a problem with.”
You felt the tears before you could stop them. You stopped talking, sitting silently with your thoughts as he turned up the music to drown out the sound of your crying. It wasn't until you reached the hotel that he finally turned down the music, huffing a sigh as he looked at you.
“Why are you crying?”
You looked at him incredulously. “You called me a slut.”
“No, I said I didn’t want to marry one. Babe…” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t call you that. You’re putting words in my mouth, and I really don’t appreciate that.”
“I don’t… I just don’t understand why you’re being so mean to me.”
“I’m not being mean. I’m asking you why you insist on hurting my feelings. I don’t ever go sneak off behind your back with other girls, so why do you think it’s okay to do that to me?”
“I wasn’t sneaking.”
“Oh, well sorry for not using perfect fucking wording. You know what I mean.”
You let out a slow breath. “He’s just a friend. He’s always been a friend.”
“I’m going to be your husband. Is that not more important, or am I fucking stupid?”
“Sam–”
“Just… whatever. Fine. Do what you want, but don’t pretend you wouldn’t be all pissy if the roles were reversed. Maybe I’ll reconnect with my high school girlfriend, since she was such a good friend when I was a kid, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, now you’re sorry? Now that I’m proving that you’re being inconsiderate?”
“I just said I’m sorry. Can we not do this anymore?”
“Uh huh. Get all weepy and apologetic now that you feel caught.”
You jumped as he slammed his door shut after telling you to go to the room when you were done crying. You stared at the hotel building for too long, trying to make yourself stop. It would be fine, you kept telling yourself it would be totally fine. He’d been angry before and gotten over it. He didn’t mean everything he said, he was just upset and probably feeling a bit insecure. You took some deep breaths, steeling yourself against the emotions that choked you up and threatened to steal away all of your air supply. You’d be fine. It would be fine.
Clark stopped seeing you so often after the night of your birthday dinner. He figured it was probably because you were engaged now. Planning a wedding was a lot of work, and you… You had different priorities now. You had a fiancé, he wasn’t just a boyfriend anymore. Things were different.
He took in a small breath, gathering all of the courage he could manage when he showed up at your apartment with a gift basket in hand. He realized he’d never properly congratulated you two, too caught up in the sick feeling brewing in his stomach the moment he had seen your ring for the first time. He rang your doorbell, waiting patiently for a while before the door got flung open.
“What are you doing here?”
Clark blinked, a bit surprised at the aggressive tone in Sam’s voice as he stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat, looking past Sam to see into the apartment, hoping to catch a glance of you instead of the guy who clearly didn’t like him.
“Uh…” Clark looked back at Sam, lifting up the basket. “Brought a gift. To congratulate you two on the engagement. There’s, like, muffins, a fancy soap, wine, some other stuff–”
“Great. Thanks.”
Sam grabbed the basket, and started shutting the door. Clark’s brows shot up, his hand pressing against the wood before he could think twice about it. Sam scoffed, looking up at Clark like he’d just personally kicked him in the shins.
“The fuck are you–”
Clark just mumbled out your name. “Is she home? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“She’s in the shower.”
“Oh. Could you maybe ask her to just… Just text me?”
Sam huffed once. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Pardon me?” Clark looked at him, astounded.
“Take a hint, Kent. She’s mine.”
“I–” Clark shook his head, profound confusion taking over any urge to be angry. “What are you talking about?”
“She doesn’t want to see you. Newsflash, dickhead–”
“Sam,” you stated, staring at him with wide eyes as you cut in.
He turned, rolling his eyes at the intrusion. He hadn’t heard you come out of the bathroom, and the glare he leveled at you as you stood there in your towel had you nervous.
“Go put some fucking clothes on. He was just leaving.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Clark snapped, then looked at you, bewildered you’d be with someone like him. Your name fell softly from his lips.
You sniffed, hurt and embarrassed. “Sam, stop it.”
He slammed the door in Clark’s face, just before tossing the gift basket on the ground. Clark swallowed, flinching as he heard Sam’s raised voice through the door. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just barge in. But he couldn’t let this keep happening to you, and he had a bad feeling Sam wasn’t doing this out of nowhere.
He made a decision. If he couldn’t get to you as Clark, he knew how he could.
You walked out of your building, about to head off on your walk to work. It was sunny and beautiful out, but it was torture against your tired eyes. You started trudging down the sidewalk when there was a sudden shadow.
You looked up to see bright blue and red clouding your vision.
“Ma’am.”
You frowned, looking up at him with furrowed brows as he descended, his feet hitting the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”
He dropped his Superman voice, leaning in a little closer. “I just wanted to see you.”
“Cl–Superman. I can’t. Not now,” you muttered back, glancing towards your apartment building like you were about to get into trouble.
“After work. I’ll wait outside. Just… just for a little bit?”
You begrudgingly agreed when he assured you it wouldn’t take long. So, you found yourself sitting next to him on the rooftop of the Daily Planet. He was quiet, but you knew better. Through the silence you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“Why are you with him?” He finally asked, voice soft.
“I love him.”
Clark felt his jaw tick. “He treats you like garbage.”
“You just caught him in a bad moment.”
“Every one of his moments are bad, from what I’ve seen.”
You crossed your arms. “We’re engaged. I’m not just going to break things off cause he was kind of mean to you the other day.”
“I don’t care how he treats me. He was awful to you.”
“I… I know, okay? I get it. I just…”
“I miss you.”
“Clark.”
“I mean it. August is just around the corner. Ma says you don’t plan on coming back to the farm this summer,” he mentioned, fiddling with his hands.
You swallowed. Okay, now you felt caught.
“Sam has a work thing.”
“And you have to stay behind for that?”
He had a point. You knew he did. But you’d never had a serious relationship before this. You’d dated, sure. Had some long-term things, but they never lasted. They never ended in an engagement. Legally, you weren’t locked in yet. But it still felt like you had an obligation. It was… complicated. Sam had a way of making you feel like you should stay.
“He didn’t want me going alone.”
“You wouldn’t be alone.”
“Being with you wouldn’t exactly ease his nerves,” you mutter.
He reached over, taking your hand in his. You knew you shouldn’t let him, you knew it felt too good. It made your heart beat in a way it shouldn’t. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You looked up at him, his face unobscured by those silly frames he always had to wear now. Your eyes traced the familiar slope of his nose, the hue of his eyes, the way his jaw moved when he was holding back from saying more.
“Please?” Clark whispered, giving you those puppy dog eyes that you’d always given in to since you were little.
After several arguments with Sam, and a hell of a lot of convincing that it was just because your parents wanted to see you, you were walking up to the front door of the Kent’s farm house. You swallowed, shoving down the nerves that you’d somehow incur your fiancé’s wrath just by standing there. You reached up to knock, but the door opened before you had the chance. Mrs. Kent smiled brightly at you as she pulled you into a tight hug.
It felt like home, being at the Kent’s for the summer again. Even if the ‘summer’ was really just a week or so. Your parents were happy to have you around again, especially since you hadn’t visited much since you’d moved to Metropolis. Mrs. Kent had a million questions about your upcoming wedding and your fiancé, and Clark bit his cheek to avoid telling everyone how he acted behind closed doors.
But the second he got you alone again, he couldn't help himself any longer.
“You can’t marry him,” he said with a sigh, leaning on the doorframe of his childhood bedroom. You always stayed in his room, and this time, instead of sleeping on the floor next to his bed, he took the couch in the living room.
You glared at him. “Clark.”
“I’m trying to look out for you, here.” His shoulders dropped as he walked in, watching you unpack your things in the top two drawers of his dresser as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You deserve to be happy.”
You were quiet, turning that over in your head several times before you found your voice again. You turned around, leaning against the dresser as you looked at him.
“It isn’t that simple.”
“You didn’t say any vows yet. It could be that simple.”
“But it isn’t,” you assert with a groan. You sit next to him on the bed. “I made a commitment. Sure, it’s not on paper just yet. But I’m not a quitter, and Sam… You don’t get it. I can’t just leave him.”
He sighed softly, just looking at you. He always looked at you like that, you realized. Like he was trying to memorize every square centimeter of your face. You breathed gently, chest rising and falling with each inhale. It was… quiet. In a good way. It always felt that way with Clark.
“I’m happy I came,” you say, changing the subject.
He looked a little disappointed, but nodded. “I am, too. Thank you. For coming.”
“Thanks for convincing me, Superman,” you said, nudging his shoulder with a small smile.
“Oh, quit.”
“What?”
He smiles when he sees you grinning back at him. “You keep making fun of the name.”
“It’s kinda silly, to be fair.”
“Alright, alright. It’s a little silly. But totally true,” he muttered with a wide grin, subtly flexing just to make you laugh.
“Cocky bastard,” you chuckle.
He hummed once, happily. This felt normal. Right. Like it should. He felt a funny feeling in his stomach when your head dropped carefully on his shoulder, and he let his hand rest on your knee in return.
“I’ve really missed you.”
“We still see each other,” you said, glancing up at him.
“I know, but… Not enough. It’s like right when we started really getting close and spending more time together, you… you kinda disappeared on me cause of him.”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“May as well have.”
You sat with that for a few moments, then lifted your head. You looked at him, close enough to really see each and every little fleck of gold in his bright blue eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”
“Kinda is.”
“No. It isn’t,” he reaffirmed.
You took in a slow breath. It felt nice, good even, not to be blamed. You’d grown too accustomed to taking the hit for everything that could feasibly be pinned on you. Even some things that didn’t seem like they made much sense ended up being your fault. Talked into blame over and over. You let your eyes trail over Clark’s face again. You’d always cared about him. Always had a crush. But it never seemed to go anywhere. Every lingering glance, every time you’d spent your evening laying together under the stars in the summertime, those few times during the year he and his parents would drop by for a surprise visit… It never led to anything.
Butterflies in your stomach, Clark’s blushed cheeks, and your mom asking what you two had talked about on your trip to the swimming hole. That’s all it ever amounted to. He never made a move. You never worked up the courage to tell him you liked him. Now, you were constantly under surveillance from your fiancé, noticing that you two were close. Maybe you stayed with Sam because underneath it all you were guilty. Or maybe he was just there when nobody else was a couple years prior. You didn’t really know why you stayed, only that you promised you would.
It didn’t feel like enough at that moment, though.
You leaned in before you knew it, lips pressing to Clark’s like you’d always wanted to. You heard him make a soft, surprised noise. But he didn’t pull back. Not right away.
You let yourself melt into it, hand against his stubbled cheek.
He pulled back first, his eyes wide and shocked, muttering apologies as if he’d been the one to kiss you first.
You had a long week after that.
It was almost a month before you spoke again. One text from him, simply checking in. Neither of you talked about the kiss after it happened, but you never stopped thinking about it. But that one text turned to at least a handful every day. A quick hello turned into meeting up at cafés, telling Sam you were going out with a girl friend from work. Shared glances turned into hugs that lingered for far too long in Clark’s living room.
You sat on the chair in his apartment, and he leaned back on his arms on the ottoman across from you. You laughed, sharing stories from childhood and nightmares you’d dealt with at work. You finally picked up a few freelance ghost writing gigs on the side, but you were still stuck peddling wedding dresses on the side at a local boutique. Clark had really made his way at the Daily Planet. You were proud.
“You really need to get an actual couch. This sad, lonely chair in front of the tv just screams single-guy bachelor pad,” you mentioned with a snorted laugh.
“To be fair, I am a single guy.” He chuckles.
“Mm…” you hummed softly, nodding once as your smile faltered a little. Right. Single guy friend. Available guy friend. Just not to you. “I told Sam I was with Rebecca tonight, but honestly I don’t think he even listened.”
Clark swallowed. His guilt built and built every time Sam was brought up. He couldn’t stop thinking about you kissing him in his childhood bedroom. He’d always wanted to kiss you, he’d wondered what it would feel like since forever. He just didn’t expect it to happen while you were engaged to somebody else. He couldn’t stand Sam at all, but he didn’t feel right about moving in on you while you were with somebody. It wasn’t right.
But you were so sweet. So pretty. So… taken.
“Maybe you shouldn’t keep lying to him. About where you are.”
You raised a brow. “Clark. Come on, he’d never let me out of the house again if he found out I was hanging out with you.”
“That’s not right.”
“Just… let me have this. It’s working. He’s been… happier. I get to see you. It’s a win-win.”
“But you’re lying to him.”
“Why does that matter?”
He let out a breath, his jaw clenching. He wished he had a good answer to that. One that you would listen to. But if he did get through to you and make you listen, he might not see you again. He couldn’t risk that.
He scooted closer, holding out his hands until you placed yours in his. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, one of them snagging on the diamond on your hand. He looked at it, twisting it a little.
“Can’t believe you’re gonna get married.”
“It’s… so weird. We were like five years old yesterday.”
He huffed a short laugh. “Yeah. Now you’re… all grown up.”
“So are you.”
He smiled a little, looking up at you. He tried, he really tried not to let his eyes drop. But you were looking at him the same way you did when you’d kissed him. His gaze fell to your lips, a sinking feeling in his stomach and a stirring in his pants made his heart race a little faster.
But… no.
He couldn’t.
You left not long after with a smile that covered up your disappointment. You didn’t exactly go over to his place with the intent to cheat on your fiancé. You knew that was wrong. You knew you should end things. But… Sam had a way of making you feel like you couldn’t leave. He’d all but said so with how many times he reminded you how lucky you were that he was so forgiving, that he put up with you and your mood swings. You knew you shouldn’t put up with him, but how do you get out from under someone's shoe? You hadn’t yet figured it out.
How do you leave someone you thought would be your forever?
How do you tell the person who’s always been there that you really want them?
Does it make you a bad person for not wanting to have to think about it? It certainly didn’t feel good or right, that much you knew. But you also knew that kissing Sam had never felt like kissing Clark.
Months passed. You still couldn’t stay away from him. At every chance you were making some excuse to sneak out of the apartment to meet with Clark. He’d bring you to all of your favorite places, never letting you pay a dime. He rationalized that if he did, you risked Sam finding out. If he paid, it wouldn’t be reflected on you at all.
It helped that Sam had taken a third shift position. His pay increased, which was great for him. He was around a lot less, which was great for you. It started getting riskier, though. You’d begun inviting Clark to your apartment, and he’d only slip away once you fell asleep against his chest. You’d wake to Sam barging into your bedroom rather than Clark’s head on the pillow next to yours, trying to mask the obvious disappointment you felt each time it happened.
Things with him hadn’t gotten better. Less frequent, sure, with him being gone more often. But he was a master at picking fights, and at winning them. Each time you so much as suggested something he didn’t like, it was your fault. You were unkind, inconsiderate. He’d thrown around insults, but never directly. It kept the blame off of him on a technicality. It was exhausting.
So you’d hide away in your mind, covering up your sorrow using Clark’s arms as a shield.
But everyone has their breaking point.
“I just don’t know what to do,” you sighed, leaning into Clark’s side on your couch.
Clark glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You know what would change things.”
“You can’t expect me to do that.”
“You’re miserable.”
“Not when I’m with you,” you try a small joke.
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. “I just wish you’d… I wish you would move on. You deserve better than him. He doesn’t treat you well.”
You reached for his hand, playing with his fingers. He watched you do it, trying not to focus on the ring that was still ever-present.
“Are you really going to marry him?”
You didn’t answer. He looked at you.
“I don’t know. You could always object. It would be super dramatic.”
He huffed once. “That isn’t funny.”
You shrugged, tracing his face with your eyes yet again. As always, the gaze settled on his lips. He wet them once, drawing your attention even further. But the moment you leaned in, he backed away.
“Don’t.”
You went to protest, but he wouldn’t hear it. He stood, hands on his hips as he paced in your living room. It’s not that he didn’t want to kiss you, he just didn’t want it to happen because you were sad. He wanted you to kiss him because you loved him. He lingered in front of the door of the balcony. You called his name once, but he didn’t respond.
His back was turned, his eyes on the city below. It always needed him, there was always a way he could pick up the pieces for Metropolis. He didn’t know how to pick up the pieces for you without crossing some kind of line that he wasn’t sure he could live with.
He wanted you. More than anything. But not if he couldn’t keep you.
You watched him as he went through it all in his head. The way he tensed and relaxed as the thoughts cycled through. His back a wide expanse that covered your view from the door of your balcony. You were on the verge of begging. You weren’t above the action. You just needed something, needed him. So you sank to your knees silently, looking up at him.
“Clark,” you whispered, eyes trained on the back of his head.
“Yeah?”
You didn’t answer, just knelt there, waiting. He finally turned, his throat bobbing as he looked down at you. You stared up at him with wide, wanting eyes. On your knees like it was a form of worship. He opened his mouth, but words never came.
“Please.”
A short, breathy sound escaped his lips. “Honey, don’t–”
“Please. Please, Clark. You’ve always been there for me.”
He watched in awe and horror as you crawled closer, hands on his thighs with your wide, sparkling gaze on his.
“We can’t,” he whispered back as if it hurt him to say. You noticed the way his eyes went glossy. “I can’t. Not like this.”
“I need you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” You nuzzled your cheek against his leg, his body tensing as he tried to will away the erection straining against his jeans. “You’re always so sweet to me. You always have been. You always look out for me and you protect me and–”
“And I can’t help you cheat on someone.”
“You think what we’ve been doing already is totally kosher?”
He froze, looking down at you with a furrowed brow. He hadn’t touched you, he hadn’t crossed that line other than one measly kiss that he hadn’t even initiated. What had he done? Why was it wrong to be there for you? Someone had to make you feel special. To be considerate, to make you laugh, to hold you when you needed it. It wasn’t romantic. Not overtly.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Clark,” you said with a soft voice, shaking your head. “You can’t seriously tell me all of this hasn’t meant anything.”
“Not… not nothing. Just not that.”
“So you don’t like me? I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you lean into me at every chance. We’ve practically been dating the past few months. I think we already crossed that line.”
He murmured your name with closed eyes, his jaw tense. He didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t that kind of person. He wouldn’t ever help someone cheat.
But he had.
He didn’t want to admit it, but you were right. The way he held you, the way he spoke with you, the way he looked at you… none of it had been friendly as of late. But if he never touched you, did it really count? He wished it didn’t. He wished it had happened in a different way. That you were single and free, and he had swept you off your feet. That he’d have kissed you on the first date, not that you’d leaned in first in his childhood home because you were lonely and desperate and knew he wouldn’t back away. He’d have taken you to bed after the fifth or sixth date, making sure you felt as special as he believed you to be. He’d have gone home to his parents, telling them he finally got the girl.
He didn’t think it would be like this. He didn’t feel like the good guy this time.
“I can’t do this. I can’t. You’re right, it’s gone too far already, and I can’t cross this line.”
Your lip quivered, face still pressed to his thigh as your eyes closed. You were broken down, tired, hurt… and you wanted this more than you’d wanted anything before. You wanted to feel loved. Not blamed.
“I’m so tired, Clark.”
“I know. I know you are,” he mumbled, voice low. He sank down with you on the floor, gathering you into his arms. “I know, but I can’t do that. You can’t ask me that.”
A rattling breath left your lungs, your face pressed to his neck. “I… I’ll leave him.”
Clark paused, stilling entirely. He hardly took a breath.
“You’ll…what?”
“I’ll leave him. I promise I will.”
His eyes found yours, searching them for something. Some kind of confirmation that you weren’t lying. That you’d actually do it.
“You will?”
“Yes. I promise I will, I just… Give me a reason to.”
He nearly whimpered, pressing his forehead to yours silently. He sniffed, feeling the tears on his cheeks before he really realized he’d begun crying. He didn’t mean to. He was just overcome with emotion. Guilt, joy, need, love.
“Promise?”
You nodded, reaching up to wipe the tears from under his eyes. “Promise.”
He finally gave in. His hands framed your face as his lips met yours. You weren’t in the clear yet, but you promised you would be. He held onto that promise with an iron grip. He let you lead him to the bedroom you’d shared with your fiancé. He wondered how many times he’d taken you here. If you even enjoyed it, or if you faked it and had to take care of yourself later in the shower. He tried putting it all out of his head as he watched you sprawl out on the bed, peeling off your clothes. He blindly tugged all of his off, spurred on once you were bare, your legs spread for him. Just for him.
He felt himself puff up with pride when your eyes locked onto his length, throbbing and leaking for you. Begging to be inside of you. But not yet.
His eyes were locked on your face, your chest, your neck. He watched your every movement and every small breath from between your legs, grinding himself against the bed as he tasted you. He couldn’t get enough. He knew you’d be perfect, but this was like heaven. His eyes fluttered when your hands tangled in his hair, pushing him further into your cunt.
He moaned, circling your entrance with one thick finger. He teased until you were whining and whimpering so much he was sure you’d start crying at any moment from wanting. The feeling was mutual for him. He finally sunk his finger inside of you, eyes locked on your face as you gasped and writhed under him. He groaned into you when you moaned out his name over and over. He liked that. He liked being the one you were begging for.
He fit another finger into you, trying to prepare you for his cock. He wanted it to feel as good as possible, to leave a stellar first impression. He hoped you’d let him reshape you to every vein and ridge and inch of him over time. He hoped you’d never take anyone else.
It wasn’t long before you were over the edge, body convulsing and soaking his face as your orgasm hit you hard. He sucked hard on your clit, forcing it out of you with such tender care that you were certain you saw the light. You pushed his head away from you after a moment, sufficiently overstimulated.
“Good?” He looked at you, face searching for approval.
You nodded easily. “So good. Need you.”
He let out a breath, accepting a condom you’d pulled out of your nightstand. It was a tight fit, but he managed to get it on, gazing down between your legs, so wet and inviting, drawing him in. He dragged himself through your wetness, his tip leaking precum into the condom already. He almost lost himself when his eyes trailed up your body, landing on your face.
“Please,” you whispered.
“Almost there, baby. Almost. Gotta go slow.”
“You’re so big.”
“I know, honey. Shh…”
He pressed his tip in, a choked sound in his throat as he watched you swallow him. Your soft, needy sounds were music to his ears. He pushed in further, little by little, torn between watching your face and your cunt. He was halfway in when he collapsed on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, his face in your neck. His lips left sloppy kisses along the slope of your shoulder, shallow thrusts beginning to open you up for him.
“Oh, fuck… just like that, Clark.”
“Okay,” he whispered back, nodding.
He tried keeping it slow, only pushing in further when he was sure you could take it. He was almost seated entirely when you both heard a soft snapping noise.
You looked confused for a second, but when you noticed the shocked expression on Clark’s face, it was no longer a mystery: the condom broke. But he didn’t stop. His moans grew louder, needier, as he felt all of you. Your warmth choking out his length.
“M’sorry. I’m sorry, it feels too good. Don’t hate me,” he whined, sheathing himself fully as he continued pushing against you despite the break. His hips moved faster, each thrust pushing your body into the mattress. “So good.”
You moaned in the back of your throat, hands moving over his shoulders and back, scratching your nails through his hair. He shuddered against you as he felt the sharp drag against his scalp, cock jumping inside of you.
“Baby, m’sorry,” he repeated, his tears soaking your skin. He didn’t just mean the condom breaking. He was sorry for all of it. For not being with you sooner. For being the other man. “I’m sorry.”
“D-don’t. Fuck. Don’t be sorry, Clarkie. Don’t be. This is perfect. I need it. I need you.”
He let out a shaking breath as he ground his hips against yours, relishing in the way your walls clung to him. He felt locked inside of you, like he couldn't escape you if he tried. Maybe he couldn’t. He’d always wanted this, to be close to you. He dreamed of it more times than he could count, ruining his sheets by the time he woke up, his skin burning with the ghost of your hands on him. Nothing compared to the real thing.
The sound of your soft breaths, tiny, sweet noises falling from your lips every time he thrusted into you. It was everything he wanted, and it was all wrong. He groaned, dragging his teeth up your neck. His hand pushed your arm up onto the pillows beneath your head, his eyes glancing upward. His thrusts became a little sharper when he saw that terrible little ring on your finger sparkling at him.
“Clark…” you moaned, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut.
He looked down at you, a soft whine in the back of his throat. The girl he’d loved forever. He finally had you, but… he didn’t. Not yet. He swallowed, kissing your lips once before he moved his hand over yours. He felt for the stone sticking out on the band of the ring, closing his fingers around it. He tugged, putting in a little effort to pull it off of your finger. You opened your eyes, seeing his brows furrowed after he’d taken your ring off. Oh.
You watched, only a few moans leaving your throat instead of words that probably should’ve told him to stop as he tossed the ring towards your closet.
“Tell me I’m better.”
“What?”
He grunts. “Tell me I’m better. I know you better, I can please you better than he can. I know I can. I kn–oh. I know it. Am I bigger?”
“Y-yeah. Yes, you’re bigger.”
“I’m better?”
“So much better, baby.”
Soft groans left him. He fucked into you faster, harder, but still like he loved you more than anything. He blinked away tears again, his hands bracketing your face as he kissed over your cheeks and lips.
“M’close,” you breathed out.
“I know. I can feel it. I can hear your heart.”
“Gonna cum.”
“I know, baby.”
He moved his hips more intentionally, trying hard to hit that soft spot in you each and every time. His breathing sped up, his lips parted as he watched you come undone from his cock. He couldn’t imagine anything better than this.
“M’gonna cum,” you moaned again.
“Yes. Yes, you can cum, baby. Cum for me. Please, I want to feel you.”
You whined, voice loud and broken as you finished for the second time that night, squeezing his dick hard. He gasped, eyes fluttering as he watched your face twist in pleasure. Pleasure he gave to you. You’d never felt anything quite like it. Not like this.
“Baby… shoot. I’m…”
“Don’t pull out.”
Clark’s eyes fell to yours, shining. “What?”
“Don’t pull out, please.”
“The condom broke.”
“I know.”
Clark shattered, tears falling again, the drops landing on your face as he held himself up above you, his forehead pressed to yours. You felt him tense, spilling inside of you with a cry of your name over and over again. You tasted the salt of his tears on your lips, his hips still grinding against yours.
“Oh… I… I love you. I love you.”
“What?” you whimpered.
Shit. Clark shuddered, finally stilling on top of you. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Not right now.
You breathed heavily under the weight of his body, hands still around his shoulders.
“Clark?”
“I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“You… did you mean it, though?”
His lip was pulled between his teeth as he leaned back up, looking at you flushed and gorgeous underneath him. Of course he meant it.
“Yes. I mean it.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to say it, though, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” You smiled, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead.
He sighed against your lips as you kissed him again, letting himself melt into your touch.
He spent the next few days in a flurry of emotions. He hardly slept, he was sloppy at work, distracted as Superman. He told you he loved you, and you kissed him. But you didn’t say it back. You told him you’d break things off with Sam, but he didn’t know if you actually had or not. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it had felt like to touch you.
He waited almost a week before he heard from you again. His phone rang in his pocket on his walk home, and he quickly fished it out. He breathed out your name as he answered, pressing the device to his ear. You greeted him back.
“We should… we should talk. If you’re free tonight.”
He gulped. “G-good news or bad news?”
“Your place? Around eight?”
He agreed, his stomach doing cartwheels. He didn’t know what to make of this. He hoped that you were coming to tell him it was over with Sam. He was terrified that you would tell him you couldn’t.
He did his rounds after work as Superman, intervening in every tiny dispute he heard across the city just to kill the time. To try to not think about it. He finally got home, cleaned every square inch of his apartment, and took a long shower.
It seemed like forever before he heard your soft knock on the door of his apartment. He rushed over, pulling the door open quickly. A hard breath left his mouth when he looked down to see you toting along a duffel bag and a suitcase.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathed, pulling you into his arms. “You did it?”
“Yes.”
He tilted your head up, lips against yours before you could blink twice. You let him pull you inside, his arms around your waist to hold you against his body. Your arms circled his neck, your bags left by his front door that he kicked closed.
His entire being was consumed. All he could feel and think was you, you, you. Over and over again. All night long.
You woke to the sun streaming through the window, groggy and mentally preparing for the slam of a door invading your ears. But it never came. What did come was Clark’s arms around your waist, his chest pressed to your back.
“Good morning,” he whispered, hearing your breathing shift as you woke.
You turned in his arms, kissing him. “Good morning.”
“A-are you okay?”
“I’m so… so happy.”
He smiled brightly, kissing you once more. You leaned back, watching his face for a minute. He looked at you in the softest way imaginable. Like he loved you. Because he did.
“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but… would you maybe want to go out with me?”
You chuckled. “Yeah. Yes, I’d really like that.”
“Good,” he said, his voice dreamy and deep. “I’ll, uh… I’ll go make us some coffee, okay?”
You nodded. “Okay.”
He started moving, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
superman/clark kent x f!reader - you’re a photojournalist for the daily planet, and a good one at that. this leads to scrutiny and rumors from rival papers and misogynistic journalists who have a hard time believing you could get such good photos of the superman without having some sort of special access
or - you’re sick of people accusing you of sleeping with superman (which is insane), your sweet coworker clark comforts you, and you may even get some reassurance from the hero himself?
OR - just a fun fluffy self indulgent drabble because school is kicking my butt and I am majorly struggling to write rn (no like fr please send help)
w/c: 4.1k
the ever elusive metropolis superhero has- yet again- been captured in perfect precision by a certain daily planet photographer. the question remains- is this supposedly skilled young journalist truly just that good, or does she have a secret in with the cape-wearing conqueror?
"original." you grunt from where you're hunched over your desk, flicking through files on your computer as jimmy reads the article aloud to you and your coworkers. "a rework of the last three articles they put out."
"you really shouldn't let it get to you that much." jimmy chuckled from his own desk. this makes your shoulders tense a bit. maybe if you'd been having a better day you would've been able to brush off your coworker's mildly annoying remark, but alas.
"well when you start getting smear articles about how your photos are only so good because you're secretly sleeping with the green lantern, you can chime in jimmy." you spit, standing abruptly from your desk chair and clomping a bit dramatically out of the office. your short heels clack harshly against the hard floor as you round the corner to the break room.
it's empty but for one person sitting at the table in the corner. clark kent. his ridiculously tall frame makes the small table look miniature, like a child's playset, his legs splayed out awkwardly so his knees don't smack the underside of it.
you silently pass through, coming to a stop at the counter where a hardly full pot of coffee sits. at least it still feels hot. you swing open the cabinet overhead for a mug and can't help but let out the frustrated sigh that's been building inside your chest all morning. the bottom shelf is entirely emptied of mugs, only a spare selection left way higher than you can reach. you try anyway, pushing up on tip toes and grappling with a hand to no avail.
"here." a deep voice speaks from behind you, much closer behind you than you would expect, and startles you back flat on your feet. your shoulders hit something warm and hard, and before you can even begin to turn around a long arm clad in rolled up sleeves is reaching past your head and effortlessly retrieving a mug for you. you whirl around as clark sets it gently on the counter, sparing only the briefest of moments to meet your eyes and smile sweetly down at you before taking a step back. you realize you'd been holding your breath as you let it out shakily, cold office air of the planet that had previously been blocked by your coworker's broad frame swirling around your body and sending a small shiver up your spine.
"oh. thank you, clark." you say softly, hand absentmindedly going toward the mug as you stare back at him.
" 'course." he replies simply, shaking his head minutely as if there's nothing to it.
when you'd first started at the daily planet, you'd been thrown into an office of coworkers with drastically varying personalities. ones like jimmy and cat, who were very easy to get to know due to how much they liked talking. then there was lois, who you spent the first few weeks slightly skirting around because you were afraid she didn't like you. it turned out she just hadn't even realized you were a new hire, and when you actually had a conversation with her for the first time you became fast friends, close friends outside of work even.
but then there was clark.
clark, who showed up nearly thirty minutes late to work on your first day, stumbling in with a briefcase that was unzipped and holding onto an assortment of files for dear life as its owner bounded into the office. glasses half sliding down his nose, hair looking unkempt and tie... he wasn't even wearing the tie. that was hanging out of his briefcase too.
you had read clark kent's articles, a handful of them actually, before you'd been hired at the daily planet. lois's too, of course. she was the only reason you'd even heard of kent. they were good. seemingly well researched, thorough, sometimes a bit more biased than you'd prefer but, to be expected. he seemed like a hard worker, and a serious journalist.
so when the bumbling, giant mess of a man had come rushing into the planet so late that first day, you would never have guessed it was the clark kent whose articles you'd been reading. maybe an intern, or a higher up who didn't need abide by the guidelines of the work day. he'd clambered right on over to the empty desk next to the man who'd introduced himself to you as jimmy- and hadn't stopped talking since- and sighed deeply.
"rough morning, clarkie?" he'd asked, and you were much more eager to take the opportunity to actually start working and get out of the conversation than pay attention to the new face.
"something like that." the man sighed in response.
"don't worry, told perry you were out on a source run. i don't know if he actually believed me, but it at least got him to stop pacing your desk waiting for you to show up." jimmy clapped the man on the shoulder.
"thanks jimmy."
you were logging into the desktop computer that the chief of the daily planet, perry white, had told you would be your workstation. it seemed brand new, all shiny and untouched. a huge upgrade from the tiny, dark photographer's room you'd been shut away in at your last job. your attention was caught by a reflection in the computer screen as you typed, the large frame of the man who'd come bumbling into the office a few minutes ago approaching you.
you turned slowly in your office chair, eyes meeting deep blue ones as he came to a stop at your desk.
"hello." the man greeted you, hands shoved in his suit pockets.
"hello." you replied kindly.
"i'm clark. clark kent." he extended a hand then, and it took you an embarrassing moment to realize he was trying to shake yours. how gentlemanly.
"nice to meet you, clark kent." you smiled, introducing yourself in return. "i've read a few of your articles."
a wave of pleasant surprise seems to spark over the man's face, his eyebrows lifting over thick glasses and shiny smile reappearing. it's endearing. it makes you want to smile back.
"really?" you'd nodded. he'd smiled harder.
"yes. i enjoyed them. even the superman superfan ones." you'd joked with a wink. clark had blushed madly, which you'd chalked up to simply being teased about the number of articles he'd written about the anonymous hero.
that had been your first interaction with clark. and you'd decided that he wasn't quite so easy to pin down as some of your other coworkers. he seemed clumsy, distracted, a bit... haphazard. you learned he was from a small farming town and had only moved to metropolis a handful of years ago. that he was late to work nearly every day, and would often "go out for meetings" and never come back.
but you also learned that he was a hard worker, one of the most hard working at the planet. that he'd probably gotten that trait from working hard on his parent's farm his whole life. he was kind, like genuinely kind. brought people coffee when they hadn't stood up from their desk in hours, distracted perry with his own shortcomings when jimmy was late turning photos in, let lois yell at him when there was no one else in the office to be yelled at. and for all his clumsiness and tardiness, clark kent seemed to have a knack for always being exactly where you needed him to be.
you'd seen him drop his own things more times than you could possibly count, but if a cup slipped out of your hand or files began to slide off of your desk- there he was, large hands scooping them up before they could hit the floor.
he was quiet most of the time, nodding along or shaking his head in amusement when the rest of your coworkers told stories theatrically. you often caught yourself watching him in those moments, and could never quite put a finger on why. but he was sweet, never holding back from complimenting a submission you'd put in or giving the credit for his articles to "the fantastic pictures you'd given him to go along with it".
"hard day?" clark asked, tucking his hands into his pockets as you picked up the mug and tapped your nails against it rhythmically, simply for something to do with your hands.
"you could say that." you sighed. he extended you a sympathetic smile, and you turned to fill your cup with the break room coffee.
"there's some of that creamer stuff you like in the fridge." he spoke from behind you.
"oh, I think I finished it yesterday actually-" you began to reply, but then there he was right next to you again, holding an unopened carton of your favorite coffee creamer out to you. "oh." you laughed awkwardly, taking the carton from him and popping the cap open. "thank you. I don't know who restocked it. that's nice of them." you hummed, somewhat to yourself, lost in thought. you weren't aware of just how well clark could hear you- or just how closely he paid attention to things. simple, normal things really. like how your mouth pinched when you were in a bad mood or how you hunched over your desk when you hadn't slept well the night before and what you liked to put in your coffee.
"what's buggin' ya?" clark asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the table he'd previously been sat at.
you let out a long sigh, feeling your shoulders physically tense up at the question.
"it's nothing."
"it's not nothing."
you're quiet for a beat, and then another. and then you turn to look at him, mug clasped between both hands.
"they keep running those articles on me. I mean, it's not like they're putting my name or anything but. still. every time I get a few good shots- you know- actually do my job? they're accusing me of fucking a superhero. as if women can't just be good at what they do all on their own!" you add, voice a bit louder than you want it to be. when you meet clark's eyes, they're a bit wide, but he's trying his best to school his expression. "sorry, clark. I forget you're such a-"
clark huffs a laugh that stops your words in their tracks, and you realize you weren't even exactly sure what you were going to say. goody-two-shoes? something like that. you'd never once heard a curse word come out of clark kent's mouth.
"it’s okay.” he chuckles, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. his face turns a bit serious then though, and he looks off as if thinking deeply before speaking again. “i’m sorry. i saw the article today. i didn’t realize there had been so many of them. it’s wrong, and obviously completely untrue. not that you need me to tell you that of course.” he adds quickly at the end, as if worried to further offend you. you laugh softly now.
“no, it’s okay. i appreciate hearing it. thanks clark.”
“nothing to thank me for.”
your conversation is interrupted then- and you aren’t quite sure why a current of striking annoyance zips through you- when cat walks into the room to fill her own mug. you bid both coworkers a polite smile and head back to your desk to finish editing your photos for the day.
the end of the day finally draws in, and you bend to retrieve your bag from under your desk as the clock strikes five.
the smarting hit to your pride had softened slightly since you’d send the article about your photos this morning, but mild annoyance was still bubbling in the back of your mind. it certainly didn’t help that the planet was running a story on the man of the hour himself this friday, and you by no surprise had been tasked with capturing some new photos for it.
apparently clark had scored another one on one interview with superman, caught him after the tussle with some freaky alien creature that had been terrorizing a coffee shop the other day and gotten a full two pages out of it. it was no surprise really, kent seemed to be a super magnet these days. you thought with mild annoyance that no one seemed to be writing articles on him having a nefarious in with superman, but the thought quickly faded when none other than clark himself appeared at your side with a warm smile.
“heading out?” he asked, his own bag slung over a broad shoulder. you nod in response, standing from your office chair and shrugging on your coat.
"finally." you reply, tugging out the locks of hair that were caught inside your coat. you met clark's gaze and he gave a soft nod toward the exit, motioning that he'd walk out with you. you smile in return and ignore the way it makes your stomach flutter a bit. you walk for a few steps in comfortable silence, bidding quiet goodbyes to your coworkers as you pass. then clark speaks.
"so, I read the article." he sounds almost hesitant to bring it up, and you don't blame him after how you'd been acting this morning.
"okay." you hum in response, unsure where he's going with it.
"it was trash. obviously." he huffs a laugh, and you're grinning before you even realize.
"obviously."
"I just thought I should let you know, you know- as someone who's done a few interviews with the guy, he doesn't make himself easy to get to."
"you've done more than a few interviews, I'd say clark." you say, a tone of slight teasing. it was still somewhat beyond your understanding how exactly he managed to have such luck reaching the elusive superhero. your coworker doesn't quite give you an answer, instead smiling in a way that makes you wonder if there's something he's not saying.
"anyway." clark starts as he reaches out for the door handle, long arm pushing it open and waiting for you to exit. you hum a quiet thank you as you pass under him. "don't let those idiots get to you. you're work is fantastic. it always has been."
you're blushing furiously, you can feel it. you pray that the evening light outside the planet building isn't highlighting every inch of your fiery red cheeks.
"thank you." you whisper, having a hard time meeting clark's eyes. you'd learned a long time ago that the earnest kindness the man extended was just a part of who he was. it didn't make it any easier to accept such flattering comments from your undeniably handsome and sweet coworker. you think he must be done, his flattery coming to a necessary close as the two of you need to part your separate ways to head home. but before you can turn away, hand still half raised in the air to wave farewell, clark speaks again.
"and even if you were working with an... advantage- anyone would be more than lucky to be posing for your photos. especially superman."
you're stuck still, heels glued to the pavement as you watch clark's head of black curls get swept up in the sea of pedestrians making their own walks home. only when a passerby accidentally knocks your shoulder, making you jostle and blink back into reality, do you turn on your heel and begin walking your own path home.
had you imagined that? imagined the subtle tilt of clark's lips as he'd spoken, made up the underlying tone of more than friendly flattery in his words? or had it really been there?
it was completely in clark kent's nature to be so kind- to extend compliments and reassurance to all of his co-workers when they needed it. but to so blatantly address the accusation of you having a more than friendly relationship with -superman- of all people, not to pile onto the unfounded rumors or joke about how crazy such a claim was, but to say metropolis's savior would be the lucky one in the arrangement...
that was a bit more forward and friendly than you'd ever witnessed the old fashioned gentleman being.
it had been about a week since your semi-awkward moment with clark, and to your credit you'd moved past it quite well if you did say so yourself. it was totally normal to be overly flattered by such a kind compliment, and you were simply a human woman with working eyes! anyone in close proximity with a man as endearing and handsome as clark kent would get flustered from time to time. nothing to obsess over.
and so you'd managed to put both the interaction and any lingering annoyance about the article out of your mind, getting back to your hardworking normal self and taking on a handful of completely non-superhero related articles for good measure. this could only last so long in a city that seemed cyclically plagued by extraterrestrial terrors, though.
it was a thursday morning, and you were jolted alert so suddenly you nearly fell right out of your rolling desk chair. perry had shouted for everyone's attention, jogging into the main office and flicking the channel on the tv. a few clicks and the screen lights up with an aerial view of metropolis's skyline, and the shining globe of the planet is center stage.
that's not what grabs your attention though. no- your eyes are following the blurred flash of red and blue zipping on and off the screen. it takes no solid form, but it doesn't need to to be recognized. superman is veering up and down, around buildings and under bridges as a robotic looking figure, all heavy dark metal and smoke, follows his path through the sky.
you're out of your chair, fist clamping around your bag as you head for the back door before perry can even finish saying your name.
"on it!" you holler over your shoulder, pushing through the door to the stairway and taking two stairs at a time. one hand is digging in your bag as you reach the top landing, and you pull free your camera as you shoulder open the door to the roof. a blast of air hits you dead on, strands of hair flying back as you make your way onto the roof only to be met with another in quick succession.
superman is circling the mystery assailant, and from all the way down here you can feel the distinct blast of warmth as red hot heat shoots from his eyes.
you whip around, camera held up to your eye as another blast goes by overhead- the unknown enemy your subject of attention is currently fighting against.
then, it all happens at once. a deafening crash that has your hands smacking against your ears, camera only saved by the strap around your neck as you fall to your knees and clutch either side of your head against the noise. smoke blooms behind you, and when you've blinked hard and shaken your head free from the daze of the boom you turn to see it. dust and debris scattered from where something hard has collided with the roof of the building. the roof you're standing on.
from the plume of smoke, you watch in frozen shock as the hulking metal of the robotic figure you'd seen flying through the sky just moments ago rustles and fights to stand. even with shaking hands your camera is raised, finger snapping photo after photo of the scene.
"ma'am."
"AH!" you whirl, once again nearly startled off of your feet as your eyes meet the figure that's materialized silently behind you.
standing on the roof ledge- no, no not standing. levitating a solid few inches above the roof ledge is a man, a tall, broad, smiling man in head to toe blue and red. his long cape billows behind him in the rustling breeze as he extends a hand toward you.
for all the talk about how well you'd photographed the hero over the past few months, you had truly never seen him so close- in all of his true glory. what surprises you most, takes your breath out of your chest most sufficiently, is how very human he looks.
"you really can't be up here." the man speaks again, and his point is only further proved by another hulking screech of metal from behind you. you turn to look, but before you can even fully turn a rush of air hits the side of your face, and superman is mere inches from you. you let out a soft and startled woah. "I'm going to pick you up now." it's all the warning you get before the world is spinning around you, camera bouncing helplessly against your chest as strong arms wrap around you and whisk you off the roof.
it's only mere seconds before your feet hit solid ground, and you're standing in the park across the street. you look up bewildered, eyes landing on the roof of the very building you'd just been on top of. you have the distinct feeling that you might throw up.
"sorry about that, miss." not for the first time in the past few minutes, you whirl in surprise to see the man standing just beside you, looking completely unruffled by the fact that you just flew off a damn building. "just trying to keep you safe."
your mouth opens and closes like a blubbering fish out of water, and superman gives you a kind nod and cheesily bright smile before blasting off into the air again, disappearing behind the daily planet. a few loud crashes and booms shake you out of your state of shock well enough for you to get back to work, camera at the ready as you once again witness the scene of the battle.
it hardly lasts another minutes, the caped hero grabbing the now dilapidated and smoking hunk of metal and whisking it up into the atmosphere. when it comes back earth-side, landing a few yards behind you in a deserted area of the park, there's hardly anything to take a picture of. you snap a few anyway, mostly of the thick plumes of smoke and sparks flying from the wreckage, before your lens is overtaken by a much more colorful scene.
you peer over the device to see a familiar face.
"I would offer you a photo, but I think we both know you don't need me to help you out."
you could almost swear he winks at you. you stutter over a response, but he beats you to it again.
"here's a direct quote for your next article. superman doesn't do any photoshoot favors. even for the best photojournalists." you know without a doubt that he does wink at you this time. he leans in a bit then, hands on his hips in a way that could only look natural on a man like him and speak just to you. "though I certainly wouldn't mind posing for you, miss."
he doesn't give you a moment to respond, to even process. he's up into the sky again, hovering a few hundred feet up only long enough for you to realize what exactly he's doing.
you raise the camera with still shaking hands and the shutter snaps under your finger, once, twice, a few more times as you get the clearest photos you've ever managed of the flying hero. in the last one, he raises two thumbs up and shoots you a shining grin, before disappearing in a blast of air.
when the article comes out on the attack the next day, lois indeed does quote superman directly, and includes not one but three of the pictures you'd gotten of the scene. you'd like to see any other journals come up with something to say about your work now that the superman himself has come to your defense.
you'd kept that last photo for yourself though. and when you stared at it sometimes, pulled up on your laptop as you worked in your apartment, you'd wonder why exactly that bright, warm grin seemed so very familiar.
y'all mind if a pitt girly goes back to her superhero roots for a minute ? -reef <3
Sinopsis: After unexpected overtime threatens your plans with Clark, the two of you rush to Smallville for a beloved town festival.
Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, mild stress, work pressure, small-town teasing
WC: 4,200 words approx.
No. The last thing either of you had planned was staying at work this late. When you finally looked up from your monitor and noticed the clock, a weight settled in your chest. It was already almost four in the afternoon, and the two of you had important plans. You let out a deep sigh as your fingers moved to your forehead, gently massaging your temples in an attempt to ease the tension that had built up after so many hours staring at the screen. The exhaustion lingered in your eyes and at the back of your neck, but you couldn't complain out loud because you knew Clark was just as tired.
The overtime had been an unexpected punishment. Just as the two of you were packing up to leave, backpacks already slung over your shoulders and excited to get an early start, your boss had called you into his office. Perry had explained that he needed your help with a breaking story, that Lois was out of town with Jimmy, and that there was no one else he could trust. It wasn't really a request—it was an order disguised as a favor. And even though deep down you knew there hadn't been any other choice, you couldn't stop yourself from feeling a little frustrated.
You glanced over at Clark, who was sitting beside you with his fingers still resting on the keyboard, his face illuminated by the glow of the monitor. His blue eyes moved quickly as he read through the files the two of you had spent the past several hours reviewing. Despite everything, he didn't seem nearly as bothered as you were. Maybe because he was more patient. Or maybe because he genuinely believed everything would work out in the end. But you knew him well enough to recognize the tiny line that formed between his brows whenever something weighed on his mind, and right now it was there, etched into his forehead like a small crease.
You reached over and rested your hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his shirt. You gave him a gentle squeeze, hoping to reassure him with such a simple gesture. Clark turned his head toward you, and your eyes met. There was no need for words anymore. The bond between the two of you had grown strong enough that sometimes silence said everything.
"We'll make it there on time," you whispered, leaning closer to place a brief but tender kiss against his dark curls.
For just a moment, the scent of his shampoo surrounded you—that familiar smell you had long since begun to associate with home and peace. Clark nodded slowly as a faint smile appeared on his lips, though you noticed it looked almost forced, as if he were trying to convince himself that everything would be okay.
"I know," he replied quietly, but his voice carried far less confidence than his words.
It was Friday. Under normal circumstances, the two of you would already be back at your apartment by now, changing clothes and getting everything ready before heading out. Your usual time to leave work was three in the afternoon, but that week you had requested permission to leave early—specifically at one-thirty. The reason was the town festival, the annual Smallville tradition that Clark had looked forward to with the same excitement ever since he was a child.
Clark had spoken about that celebration with so much enthusiasm that you couldn't help but catch his excitement every single time he brought it up. He had told you that during that special time of year, the people of Smallville filled the streets simply to spend time together. Some handed out little bags of candy to children, others served hot coffee or pumpkin juice to the adults strolling through town, and the more generous families prepared homemade dishes to share without charging a single cent. It was a celebration of community, kindness, and togetherness. And for Clark, who had grown up there, it meant far more than just another fair.
He had told you that when he was little, his parents would take him walking through the streets lit by hundreds of warm lights, and every year he felt the same comforting warmth blooming inside his chest. Seeing neighbors smiling, sharing food, and chatting with one another had become one of the memories that shaped who he was. That was why, this year, Clark had told Martha and Jonathan that he wanted to hand out his own candy bags to the children. Martha had volunteered to bake her famous chocolate cookies the week before, and he had been genuinely excited about giving them away with you by his side.
Even while he told you these stories, his eyes sparkled in a way that always made you smile without even realizing it. You already knew Martha and Jonathan—you had met them during your third month of dating, when Clark decided it was finally time to introduce you to his family. And now, after eight months together, your relationship had become much more serious. You couldn't wait because this would be your first year celebrating in the town where Clark had grown up, where he'd spent his childhood, and where he'd learned to become the man he was today.
More than anyone else, you understood what all of this meant to him. It wasn't just about handing out candy. It was about sharing a piece of his childhood with you, showing you the streets where he'd run as a little boy, the places where he'd hidden with his friends, and the little shops where he'd bought ice cream during the summers. Clark had even insisted on driving there in his pickup truck, despite having the ability to fly there in seconds if he wanted to. But to him, tradition wasn't about getting somewhere quickly. It was about arriving with your heart, living every moment, and enjoying the journey without rushing.
"The truck makes it more special," he'd told you one evening over dinner. "It's not the same as flying there. Driving down the highway, watching the scenery change, seeing the town lights appear in the distance... that's part of it."
And although you knew he was right, you also understood that the real reason he wanted to drive was because it meant more time together. More time to talk, to listen to music, and to watch the sun disappear behind the endless cornfields. Clark wanted to show you the entire drive again, even though you'd already done it before, because he insisted that this particular night was different. He said the people of Smallville lined the roads with glass jars filled with candles, placing them along sidewalks and lamp posts until they created a glowing path that welcomed every visitor into town. They also hung colorful papel picado decorated with stars, pumpkins, and little animals that danced in the breeze, making a soft rustling sound that felt like a constant whisper accompanying everyone who walked beneath them.
You remembered perfectly the day Clark came home carrying two enormous boxes. Three weeks earlier, you'd heard the front door open and walked out of the kitchen to see what he'd brought.
"Honey, where have you been? What's all this, Clark?" you asked as you watched him lower both boxes onto the floor without showing the slightest sign of fatigue despite their size and apparent weight.
Clark smiled—that smile of his that always made you feel as though everything in the world was exactly as it should be.
"It's everything we need to make the best candy bags for the kids," he said proudly as he placed the boxes on the living room table.
Curious, you stepped closer while he opened one of them. Inside was a large black bag, and when you unzipped it, you found dozens of clear cellophane treat bags, perfect for packaging candy. But what truly caught your attention were the designs printed on them. Every single bag displayed a brightly colored image of Superman, his red cape billowing behind him and the famous crest emblazoned across his chest.
You picked one up and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, trying to hide your smile.
"Superman?" you asked, amusement coloring your voice.
Clark shrugged, putting on an innocent expression.
"There weren't any others, sweetheart," he said.
There absolutely were.
You knew he was lying. He had gone to several candy stores and craft shops, and you knew perfectly well he could have found bags decorated with animals, flowers, or just about anything else. He had chosen those on purpose.
Before you could tease him about it, he cupped your face in both hands, gently cradling your cheeks, and kissed you. It was brief, but overflowing with affection—the kind of kiss that made you forget whatever complaint you had been about to make.
"I didn't greet my girlfriend when I got home, and that's just bad manners," he said.
Then he leaned in again and placed another soft kiss on your forehead, as though he wanted to make absolutely sure you knew just how important you were to him.
The weeks passed, and the two of you worked on the candy bags together. Every evening after dinner, you'd sit in the living room with the television playing softly in the background while filling each bag with colorful candies, chocolates, and the cookies Martha had sent. Clark carefully tied every single bag shut with ribbon, making sure each one looked perfect. You helped by counting the candy and organizing everything into boxes so nothing would get crushed.
It became a project the two of you shared—one that somehow brought you even closer together.
But then Friday finally came.
Just as the two of you were ready to leave, Perry had called you into his office, and suddenly the entire plan had fallen apart. Now, after hours of unexpected overtime, you had finally finished. Clark had told you he'd already sent over the files, and you quickly reviewed them to make sure everything looked right.
"I got them. I'm just going to check everything over," you said as you moved your mouse across the screen.
He nodded and remained silent for a moment, watching you with that intensity that sometimes made you feel nervous—but in the sweetest way. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, and when you looked up, you found yourself meeting his blue eyes.
"Do you really think we'll make it in time to hand out the candy bags to the kids?" he asked, and there was a trace of uncertainty in his voice, as though he feared all the effort he'd put into this would end up being for nothing.
You let go of the mouse and looked directly at him, your confidence coming from how badly you wanted this moment to be special for him.
"Yes, Clark, we will," you answered firmly. "I'm not going to disappoint those kids... and I'm definitely not going to disappoint my boyfriend."
You watched a faint blush spread across his cheeks.
He lowered his eyes with that shy little smile that only you ever got to see—the one that always made you want to wrap him in your arms.
The two of you focused on work for a few more minutes, and finally, when the clock struck four in the afternoon—an entire hour past your usual time to leave—you clicked the Send button.
"Done," you sighed in relief, leaning back in your chair for just a second.
You picked up your bag and glanced at your watch.
The festival started at seven, but you still had to stop by the apartment first. You needed to grab your backpacks with your clothes and personal belongings, along with the three boxes filled with the candy bags you'd spent weeks putting together with so much care. After that, you'd have to head out onto the highway from Metropolis, and traffic at this hour was always horrible.
You quickly did the math in your head.
It was four.
You'd get home around four-thirty.
Leave again by five.
With traffic... you'd probably arrive in Smallville around eight that evening.
Four hours altogether, counting the city traffic and the drive to town.
You sighed.
Maybe it wasn't enough time.
But giving up wasn't an option.
"We'll have to take the shortcut back to the apartment," you murmured, almost to yourself, as you slipped your laptop into your backpack.
Clark looked at you in surprise.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes instinctively scanning the empty office hallway, as though making sure no one could overhear.
"Yes," you replied without hesitation, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.
The two of you made your way up to the rooftop of the Daily Planet without anyone noticing. After saying goodbye to Perry with polite smiles and quietly slipping out of his office like two teenagers getting away with a prank, you hurried through the empty hallway toward the staircase that led to the roof.
The afternoon wind hit your faces the moment you stepped outside.
Clark reached for your hand while making sure no one had followed you.
Below, the city stretched endlessly, overflowing with traffic, noise, and movement.
But none of that mattered right now.
The only thing that mattered was getting home as quickly as possible.
Clark wrapped a firm arm around your waist, and you instinctively held onto the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against yours as he prepared to take off.
It wasn't the first time you'd flown with him.
But every single time, your stomach still tightened the instant his feet left the ground.
The wind whistled in your ears as the city blurred into streaks of lights and colors beneath you while he effortlessly wove between skyscrapers with a grace that never stopped amazing you.
Only seconds later, the two of you were hovering outside the window of your apartment.
Clark carefully slid the window open so you could climb inside without any trouble.
He helped you through first, keeping a steady hand around your waist while you stepped one foot inside, then the other.
The moment your shoes touched the living room floor, you turned just in time to watch him slip in behind you with the same effortless agility as always.
You didn't waste a second.
You hurried toward the bedroom, pulling both backpacks from the closet and placing them on the bed to make sure everything was packed.
"Don't carry anything heavy, sweetheart," Clark said from behind you as he approached with quick steps. "Just make sure we have the chargers and our jackets."
You nodded without stopping your inspection.
You unzipped both backpacks, reaching inside to feel for the phone charging cables before checking that the portable battery packs were still where they belonged.
Then you walked over to the closet and pulled out two thick jackets. Even during that time of year, Smallville nights tended to get chilly.
You folded them quickly and laid them neatly on top of one of the backpacks.
While you were doing that, Clark had already started changing.
He slipped out of his work shirt and tossed it into the laundry basket before pulling on a loose plaid button-up and a pair of well-worn but comfortable jeans.
You changed as well, trading your office blouse for a soft sweater and a pair of dark pants that were much more practical for walking around town.
Your work clothes joined his in the laundry basket.
Once you were finished, you grabbed the large travel bag where you packed both jackets, the chargers, and a few personal belongings for the two of you.
Meanwhile, Clark had already carried the backpacks and the three boxes filled with candy bags down to the entrance of the apartment building, carefully stacking them so nothing would fall over.
You quickly ran through a mental checklist to make sure you hadn't forgotten anything: the truck keys, the jackets, the candy, the backpacks with extra clothes, the chargers, and your phones.
Everything was ready.
Finally, you pulled the apartment door shut with a firm click, and Clark picked up the jackets you'd packed, draping them over his arm while you grabbed one of the backpacks.
The two of you headed downstairs to the parking garage, where Clark unlocked the truck with the remote. The rear doors swung open, and he loaded every box and backpack with the effortless strength that never failed to amaze you, arranging everything neatly in the back while you climbed into the passenger seat.
The engine rumbled softly to life.
Clark settled behind the wheel, adjusted the rearview mirror, and pulled out of the parking garage.
The drive to Smallville was a long one, but one of the many wonderful things about being with Clark was that he could spend hours talking about something without ever growing tired of it. Somehow, it always helped him relax, even when the two of you were stuck inside a vehicle.
You listened attentively as he shared stories from his childhood—about climbing trees just to watch the sunset, or about all the ways he'd hidden his powers whenever he played with the other kids in town.
Sometimes his stories made you laugh.
Other times, you simply enjoyed the sound of his voice while watching through the window as the crowded city slowly gave way to wide-open fields.
About halfway there, you stopped at a gas station.
Clark shut off the engine while you stretched your legs.
The convenience store glowed with bright white lights that contrasted beautifully against the orange sky of the setting sun.
He went inside and returned a few minutes later carrying two sandwiches, a bag of potato chips, and two bottles of water.
When he climbed back into the truck, he handed you your share with a smile.
"I didn't want us getting there hungry," he said as he started the engine again.
The two of you ate while driving, sharing the chips and passing the bottles of water back and forth.
The farther you got from the city, the quieter the road became.
Before long, the constant chorus of horns and engines had been replaced by the gentle whisper of the wind and the soft music Clark had playing on the radio.
Then, at seven-thirty that evening, you realized Clark hadn't been exaggerating.
The very moment the Welcome to Smallville sign came into view, something in the air seemed to change.
There were no impatient drivers.
No blaring horns.
None of the endless noise that filled Metropolis.
Instead, there was only a quiet sound...
A gentle murmur that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The streets were decorated with colorful lanterns and garlands stretched from one lamp post to another.
People wandered through town carrying bags, chatting with one another, smiling as they walked.
Without realizing it, you found yourself smiling too.
Tiny lights twinkled between the branches of the trees, and several homes had carved pumpkins glowing softly in their front yards.
Everything looked so warm.
So inviting.
So completely different from the endless rush of Metropolis.
"We made it in time... isn't it magical?" Clark asked, glancing toward you for only a second before returning his attention to the road.
His smile was genuine.
His eyes shone with the same excitement they always did whenever he talked about his hometown.
"It really is," you whispered, feeling as though words simply weren't enough to describe how beautiful everything looked.
Clark steered the truck toward Smallville's town square, where a large crowd had already gathered.
Rows of tables had been set up, and many of the townspeople were already serving food and drinks.
He parked nearby and turned off the engine.
The two of you climbed out, leaving your backpacks inside the truck and putting on only your jackets now that the cool evening air had begun settling in.
Clark opened the back of the truck and effortlessly lifted all three boxes of candy bags, stacking them on top of one another as though they weighed absolutely nothing.
He carried them over to where his parents were standing.
The moment Martha saw him approaching, an enormous smile spread across her face when she noticed the two of you together.
"I'm so happy to see you both!" Martha exclaimed as she hurried over and wrapped you in a warm, tight hug.
She still carried that familiar scent of fresh baking and cinnamon that always made you feel at home.
"We baked more cookies for when you got here," she added as she stepped back, smiling at you affectionately.
"We're sorry we're late," you said, unable to hide the guilt in your voice for not having been there from the beginning, even though you knew it hadn't really been your fault.
Martha simply shook her head and gave your arm a gentle pat.
"That doesn't matter," she said warmly. "What matters is that you're here."
Meanwhile, Jonathan walked over with his usual calm stride and kind smile.
"Clark texted us," he said, giving your hand a firm shake before pulling his son into a quick hug. "But I'm glad you both still made it."
Clark had already opened the boxes and begun taking out the clear cellophane candy bags decorated with Superman.
The children nearby immediately crowded around him the second they spotted the candy.
It didn't take long before a small, makeshift line had formed.
Every single child greeted him like he was an old friend.
Some happily called out, "Clark!"
Others simply giggled and stretched out their hands, eager to receive their little candy bags.
Martha and Jonathan took their places beside one of the tables and began handing out the chocolate cookies they'd baked earlier that afternoon.
You walked over to Clark and stood beside him, watching the way he treated each child with endless patience and kindness.
His eyes sparkled as he handed out the candy bags, asking each child how they were doing or whether they'd already gone to see the town lights.
Every child who stepped up received one of his genuine smiles, and some of them even thanked him with quick little hugs that he happily returned.
"Hey, Clark... is she your girlfriend?" a little boy asked, pointing at you with a curious finger. A dinosaur backpack nearly as big as he was hung from his shoulders.
Clark looked at you, and his smile only grew wider.
"She is," he answered immediately, without even a second of hesitation. "She's my girlfriend."
The little boy stared at you with wide eyes before looking back at Clark.
"She's pretty."
You laughed softly and bent down to hand him an extra candy bag.
His face lit up, and he ran off toward his friends without another word.
Then, from somewhere behind you, you heard a woman's voice that made you stop in your tracks.
"I'm sure Clark's already practicing for when the two of you have kids," she said playfully, clearly teasing.
Both of you froze for a moment.
You didn't recognize the woman, but you were certain Clark did. In a small town like Smallville, everyone knew everyone else.
Turning around, you saw a group of women standing near the cookie table, watching the two of you with knowing smiles.
"Martha must be thrilled," another woman chimed in.
Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks.
An older gentleman standing behind them added in a deep but friendly voice,
"Wedding first, don't you think?"
Clark kept handing out candy, nodding politely as he did, but his eyes drifted toward you with an expression that mixed embarrassment and affection.
Once the line of children finally began to thin out, he quietly walked over to you and gently took your hand.
"Don't feel pressured..." he whispered, leaning close enough that only you could hear him. "You know how people are around here... everyone gets involved in everyone else's business."
He smiled sheepishly.
"I know you want to focus on your career first... and I support that."
"Your dreams come before mine."
As he spoke, he lifted his free hand and gently brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, carefully tucking it behind your ear with such tenderness that a lump formed in your throat.
"I'm not feeling pressured, Clark," you assured him, holding his gaze.
"I'm not afraid of imagining a future with you... a wedding... children," you admitted aloud for the very first time, surprised by how steady your own voice sounded.
"In fact..."
A small smile spread across your face.
"It's one of my dreams."
Clark simply stared at you for several seconds.
He didn't say a single word.
It was as though he was trying to process everything you'd just told him.
Then, slowly, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was a soft kiss...
But it carried every feeling the two of you couldn't possibly put into words.
You kissed him back without hesitation, closing your eyes as the warmth of his lips melted against yours.
Around you, several neighbors who had been watching couldn't help reacting.
"Awww..."
A few chuckled fondly.
Others smiled to themselves.
The sound made you smile against Clark's lips before you pulled back just enough to look at him again.
Fear simply didn't exist when you were with Clark.
Whenever he was by your side, everything felt easier.
Lighter.
Even talking about a future that, not so long ago, you'd never dared to imagine now felt natural...
Beautiful...
As though it were the only thing in the world that truly made sense.
↳ Warnings/Themes: None unless you count that it's my first time writing Clark!
↳ Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader
↳ Words: 1725
↳ Summary: 4 times you almost found out that Clark Kent was Superman (and the 1 time you did).
☁️: first ck fic and it's only right it's inspired by two shows sosooo dear to my heart; Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and Superman & Lois. Inbox is always open to talk all things superman ❤︎
General Masterlist here. Clark Kent Masterlist here.
I. The Crush
"I’m just saying," Lois muttered, leaning over your desk and rewinding the video on your laptop for the third time, “the man was practically drooling. And look at his body language.”
You sighed, rubbing your temples as the video feed played back Superman answering your final question. “Lois, for the hundredth time, it’s part of his whole routine to be all suave and charming. He was just playing it up for the cameras.”
“He was the same off camera,” she countered, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She paused the video and crossed her arms, leaning against the divider of your cubicle. “You shouldn’t question my journalist abilities. I’m telling you; Superman likes you.”
While you had no doubt about Lois’ abilities, this sounded a bit too far-fetched, even for Lois. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, shaking your heard as you glanced away from her and looked across the busy Daily Planet Bullpen. “Well, I’d hate to be the gal that broke Superman’s heart but I’m not interested in him.”
Lois raised an eyebrow, picking up the hint in your voice. “Oh? But you are interested in somebody.”
“Yup, a certain dorky reporter from Kansas,” you murmured, a genuine smile on your face as you spotted him.
Right on cue, Clark came shuffling out of Perry’s office, a stack of papers balanced precariously in his arms.
“Clark!?” Lois squeaked as quietly as she could. “You like Clark?”
“I do,” you replied.
Across the room, Clark’s head snapped towards your direction so fast that his thick glasses slipped down his nose. He stared right at you, wide-eyed and breathless, as if you’d just called his name.
You tilted your head slightly, there was no way he heard that conversation, right? You kept watching to see what he’d do next and the effect was instantaneous. He turned too quickly, attempting to make his escape but ending up crashing, and subsequently falling over, the rubbish bin. The stacks of paper in his hands went flying in all directions. The handful of pens he’d had in his breast pocket slipped free, clattering to the floor beside him.
Lois winced at the sight. “Seriously? You’d choose the guy currently apologising to a piece of office furniture over the guy who could fly you across the world?”
“I would,” you laughed, already standing up to go and help him gather his papers.
II. The Close-Up
You chewed thoughtfully on the bottom of your pencil as you stared at Clark’s side profile, having completely given up being subtle.
Clark was focused on the screen in front of him, typing furiously to meet Perry’s deadline.
“Are you staring at me, or just zoning out in my direction?”
His voice broke the silence, thick with amusement. He didn’t take his eyes off of his monitor, but a soft, dimpled, smile was on his face.
"I'm staring," you admitted honestly, not even trying to deny it.
“O-Okayyy.” He turned to look at you then, and you took the opportunity to lean forward, resting your chin on your hand.
It was as if your brain was hitting a brick wall. It infuriated you to no end, every time you looked at him, you could swear you’ve seen his face somewhere before. But every time you were right on the precipice of figuring out exactly who he reminded you of, a strange mental fog would roll in, making your mind go black just as the pieces were about to connect.
Looking at him now, beneath the obviously oversized clothes and his hunched posture, he was undeniably handsome. You traced the sharp line of his jaw and his deep dimples all the way up to the way his soft, dark, curls fell perfectly across his forehead. and his eyes, even behind the thick, slightly smudged lenses of his glasses, were an impossibly bright blue.
A sudden wave of déjà vu hit you, causing your breath to hitch. You were flashing back to three nights ago, when you were high above the Metropolis skyline, pressed against a chest that was as broad as Clark’s looked, looking up into those exact shade of eyes.
“You just really remind me of someone," you murmured, the pencil dropping from your fingers. "I can’t remember who but it’s right at the tip of my tongue..."
Clark snorted a little too loudly before turning back to his computer monitor.
Awkwardly clearing his throat, his hands came to frantically adjust his glasses, pushing them higher up the bridge of his nose. He slumped a little lower in his chair.
"Uh, probably just some guy from your local store," he stammered, offering a sheepish, crooked grin as he swivelled his monitor toward you. "Hey, do you... what do you think, is this headline too wordy? I’ve rewritten it four times and Perry is going to be so angry if I don't turn it in."
You blinked, the fog settling back over your thoughts as you looked at the screen, the mystery slipping through your fingers once again.
III. The Delivery
It was one of those days where the weight of the deadlines and the grey skies outside brought the mood of the entire bullpen down. You were slumped at your desk, resting your forehead against the cool wood as you let out a dramatic groan.
“If I don’t get out of this office soon, I’m going to lose my mind,” you muttered into the desk.
Clark, who was sat beside you as always, chuckled. “Hungry?”
If there was anybody who could decipher your moods, it was Clark. You hadn’t even realised you were hungry until he had said it.
“Starving,” you whined, turning your head so your cheek was pressed against the wood. “I would honestly give my left leg for a that pastry we had from the little bakery we found.”
Clark paused, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. An incredibly tender look crossed his face, his eyes softening behind his lenses. "Paris, huh? That’s a bit of a trek for a Tuesday lunch break."
"I know, I know," you sighed, sitting up and rubbing your face. "A girl can dream. I'm going to go stare at the vending machine and pray it has something better than stale food.”
"Actually," Clark said, suddenly standing up and smoothing down his shirt. "I need to go grab a coffee from the breakroom anyway. And I think I left some notes in the archive downstairs. Give me fifteen minutes?"
"Take your time," you mumbled, already turning your attention back to your screen.
Exactly fourteen minutes later, a delicious scent hit your nose as Clark placed something down beside you. You looked up from your screen and blinked.
Sitting on a clean napkin was a pastry. Not just any pastry, it was perfectly golden, flaky to the point of shattering, and dusted with a light layer of powdered sugar. The only time you’d seen a pastry that perfect was on the trip you and Clark took to Paris last year.
You stared at it. Then you looked up at Clark, who was calmly sipping a cup coffee.
"Clark," you whispered, your voice trembling. "What is this?"
"Oh, that?" He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing slightly as he looked anywhere but at you. "Uh, funny story. There's this... new bakery just down the road. They import... stuff. I ran down there to get a coffee and they just happened to have a fresh batch from Europe. Crazy coincidence, right?"
You picked it up. It was warm. How could it have been imported and warm? It was like it had been pulled out of an oven twenty minutes ago. Paris was a seven-hour flight away.
“A new bakery,” you repeated slowly as the corner of your lips tugged into a bright smile
“Yeah,” he responded, smiling back at you so wide his dimples appeared.
You shook your head, slightly confused but not wanting to question as you tucked into your pastry. You let out a soft moan as the food touched your tongue. Behind his coffee mug, Clark took a slow breath, hiding the slight breathlessness in his chest from flying across the Ocean and back just to make you happy.
IV. The Rescue
You were crossing an intersection together, arguing over who was writing the front-page headline, when a driver blew past a red light. Tensing as you braced for impact, you squeezed your eyes shut, knowing there was no way you could move in time.
You barely had time to scream before the world blurred. There was no impact, just a sudden gush of wind that slapped your face and a bizarre sensation of floating.
When your eyes blinked open, you were standing safely on the far curb, tucked securely against Clark’s chest.
Across the intersection, the car sped past, completely oblivious to the fact that they almost flattened the two of you but, somehow, didn’t.
"Wow," Clark stammered instantly, his voice high and nervous as he quickly stepped back, adjusting his glasses with trembling hands. "We... wow... we must have jumped fast. Adrenaline is a crazy thing, huh? Good reflexes."
You didn't answer. You just stared at the empty intersection, then back at Clark, your heart hammering against your ribs. There was no physical way two humans could have leaped that far, that fast.
V. The One Time You Did
It happened late at night on your apartment balcony. Superman had just flown you back to safety after a close call downtown. The adrenaline from the danger was finally fading, leaving you with a weird emptiness as he set you down.
You stepped closer to thank him, reaching out to gently touch his arms, then his hands.
“I’m running out of ways to thank you, Superman.”
“You never have to thank me; I’ll always be there for you.” Superman reached out, his hand gently cupping your face.
And then, everything stopped.
The warmth of his palm felt identical to ones you’d felt before. It was a feeling you’d recognise anywhere. It was like the fog that was clouding your mind for months suddenly disappeared, leaving an overwhelming sense of clarity. Your hand moved up, covering his over your cheek.
Looking up into his eyes, the realisation washed over you. as his breath hitched, you softly whispered, “Clark...”
If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc. it means a lot x
Scott Miller who strikes a friends with benefits kind of deal after he fucks you over his desk back in the office out of season. (You were pissing him off, your ass looked great in your pants. That's what pissed him off)
Scott Miller who is your boss, and who you definetly shouldn't be fucking, but it’s just soo good.
Scott Miller who is still a massive dick (with a massive dick) even towards you, and will not hesitate to yell at you if you decide to talk back, after all, he is your boss.
Scott Miller who secretly has favourites. Hint: it's you. Although, it's very very secret because you often thinks he's hate-fucking you.
Scott Miller who does fucks you every night out of anger, grunting in your ear how much of a fucking brat you are, how much of a slut you are, just begging for it.
Scott Miller who does find you insanely attractive, and it does piss him off because he doesn't really know what he wants with you yet.
Scott Miller who hates labels.
Scott Miller who leaves you high and dry most nights, shaking, leaving you covered in his cum because he 'needs an early night'.
Scott Miller who doesn't believe in aftercare.
Scott Miller who is so fucking pissed when he comes to your apartment one night to see three pregnancy tests on the coffee table, a forth in your shaky hands, all positive, with tears in your eyes.
A/n: This is so random but someone sent me a request for a step-dad fic with either clark kent or scott miller, and for that fic i chose clark, but it got me thinking about baby daddy!scott miller, and it's now all I can think about. I'm not sure if i'm gonna set her pregnancy during the movie, but let me know what ya'll think, any ideas, requests, and thoughts! <3
There are many things Scott has given you in a short period of time: migraines, high blood pressure, and a son you would do anything for. A son he doesn’t know exists. Cutting him off was hard enough — welcoming him home might be worse.
▸ PAIRING: Ex-FWB!Scott Miller x F!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, former situationship to baby daddy to lovers (all at the same time tbh), fingering, slight degradation and dumbification, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, bickering is their foreplay, breeding kink, mean in bed!scott, grumpy scott in general, hurt/comfort, emotionally avoidant!reader, miscommunication (my favorite, of course)
▸ WORD COUNT: 14.1K
▸ A/N: wowowow this is the second and final part of this story!!!! thank you so much for all the love in the first one <3 i'm glad we're all hyperfixated on this man who has no screen time together. i wrote this over a month ago but i've been rereading it aggressively to make sure it's good to free into the world. one of my fave things i've written and i fucking love scott my angsty husband <33 i hope you enjoy. if you do, please comment and reblog, i'd love to hear your thoughts!!!!
↤ main masterlist | part one
“I extended my trip.”
It’s the first thing you hear when Scott shoulders past you in the evening. You’re still standing, shell-shocked by the door, trying to comprehend how this man is in your apartment hours past his supposed flight time. He comes in bearing paper bags with your local fancy grocery store stamped onto the front.
Scott has never grocery shopped a day in his life.
“Why?” You question slowly. Your eyes briefly fly to Ben who’s scribbling on the coffee table, he looks up curiously when he sees the familiar face.
“Uncle Scott,” he beams in greeting.
Scott matches that expression, the sweetest he’s ever looked, as he comes over and ruffles his hair. “Hey, big man, what’re you working on?”
“Me, mom, and dog.”
“Dog, huh?” he chuckles, “I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Ben brightens, hopeful eyes turning to you. You’re going to strangle this man. “Let’s talk about it after dinner, bud.” Your narrowed eyes switch over to Scott. “A word?”
He confidently strolls back over to you, disregarding your glare as he begins to pull out all sorts of things. Mushrooms, vegetables, packs and packs of meat. USDA Prime. Jesus Christ— “What are you doing?”
“Unpacking groceries.”
You pinch his side. He’s built like a brick wall, he doesn’t even flinch. “Scott.”
He says your name in response. A teasing lilt hanging to each letter.
“Why are you here? What is all this?”
“Groceries.”
“Don’t be an ass. Why did you extend your trip?”
“To spend time with you.” He begins to organize your fridge. Worst part? He knows exactly how you like your fridge arranged so he’s putting all the things in all the right places.
“I’m serious,” you hiss.
“What makes you think I’m not?”
You swallow, gaze flying to Ben again who’s back to drawing out his dream dog. It looks more like a deformed puppy but you get the gist of it. “We can’t—” you take a deep breath, “Listen, Ben is young. He’s going to latch onto you if you keep coming around.”
“Would that be so bad?”
The question infuriates you. You scowl, “Are you fucking kidding me? That would be a nightmare. What happens when you leave? He’s going to be asking around for Uncle Scott who will never come around again. There’s a reason why I don’t bring around just anyone to meet him.”
Scott’s eyes tighten almost imperceptibly, but you know him better than that. “You bring others around to meet him?”
“I— no, that’s not what I meant. Jenna’s really the only person who comes over other than my mom. The staff at the hospital know because he pops by time to time. I don’t— I’m careful about who I expose him to. I don’t want to have to answer questions about where someone went or pick up the pieces of a boy who shouldn’t have his heart broken because people disappear on him.”
He seems to mull over this for a moment. His next question sends a shock through your system.
“Who says I’m leaving again?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Traitorous little thing is getting excited for nothing. “What’re you talking about?”
“Storm Par is set up and running. We have a good team down in Oklahoma always collecting data. I’ve been managing mostly strategy and investor relations.” He looks a little too pleased when he says, “I need to be closer to potential funders anyway, a lot of them are in the northeast.”
“You’re not—” Your breath hitches in your throat, “you’re not considering moving back, are you?”
A proud look settles on his face. “Just signed for a sublet for the next couple of months while I look for a more permanent apartment. How’s this neighborhood? I don’t remember it being particularly nice, but it seems good. How do you feel about moving?”
“Scott,” you snap. “That’s insane. You can’t just— that’s crazy. You were literally supposed to leave today. Suddenly, you’re deciding to stay here? On a whim? What’s wrong with you?”
“Not a whim, I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve… just decided it’s the right move.”
“In one night?”
“I don’t need more time than that.”
You give him a look. “That’s stupid.”
“It’s efficient decision-making.”
“Scott.”
“What’s for dinner? Does he have any allergies?”
“Scott.”
He takes a deep breath, sapphire eyes dulled out as he looks up at the ceiling, praying for some lord almighty to save him. “We can spend all night arguing about this but it’s a done deal. I like Boston, I’ve decided to come back. Is that so hard to believe?” Before you can say yes, absolutely, Scott continues, “I’ve thought about this for a while. Trust me when I say I am not doing this impulsively and I’m not just going to change my mind.”
The two of you are locked in a stare-down, neither budging. Two stupidly stubborn fools.
Scott’s eyes are jagged when they first land on yours, sharp in a way that could cut. But the longer he looks at you, the more they thaw, like ice melting in the changing of seasons. It’s a soft transition that warms your frozen heart.
However, then his gaze trails to your mouth, the way they’re parted, teeth peeking out in aggravation, tongue pressing against your teeth as your jaw is clenched. His eyes go molten, scorching as they sear into your skin, tracing your bare shoulders, the length of your neck, exposed collarbones.
“Should put more on you,” he mutters.
“What?” You jerk back, confused.
“Nothing. Dinner? I don’t know how to cook.”
“Then get your own damn dinner, I’m not cooking for you.”
He challenges you with a raise of his eyebrow. “But I bought groceries.”
“That I didn’t ask for.”
“I fuckin’ forgot how bull-headed you are sometimes. Arguing for the sake of arguing.” He huffs a laugh through his nose, hip leaning against your counter, eyes sparkling. “If you wanted to fuck, just say so.”
His voice is low, low enough that you know Ben doesn’t catch it over the sound of the television, but it still puts you on high alert. “Can you not say insane things when my son is around?”
“Always picked a fight when you wanted a fuck,” he smirks.
Your lips part, ready to tell him off, but he turns to the sink instead, beginning to wash his hands.
“Now, what do you need help with?”
Scott’s reappearance has thrown your life for a loop, adding this new, uncontrolled variable that you’re not sure how to handle. He drops you off and picks you up from work. The moment he heard that you’ve been taking the train an hour each way to work, he made that call with no room for argument. He refuses to even drop you off a block away from the hospital so you end up with your coworkers’ curious eyes on you when you’re pulling up every morning in Scott’s stupidly shiny car.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” he would call out obnoxiously through the open window.
The furious glare you throw his way does nothing to deter this behavior. Now, you’re bombarded with questions about him every time you have a moment to yourself, which means you no longer have a shred of peace at work.
He comes by nearly every evening; you say nearly because you had to cut him off, tell him that he cannot show up every single day.
“Why not?”
“Scott. You can’t just come here everyday, he’s going to get confused. You are not family.”
“Yet.”
“What?”
“Fine. Every other day, but full weekends.”
It’s a compromise that you tried to negotiate down, but he refuses to budge on.
The worst part is that Scott is terrific with Ben.
He’s smart and answers all of Ben’s questions with tact. The moment your son learns that Scott works with tornadoes, chasing after them and being smack dab in the middle of the action, he’s absolutely enthralled. You have to emphasize to Scott that you will murder him if Ben ever tells him that he wants to be a tornado chaser.
“I’ll protect him, don’t worry,” is all he says.
You still worry.
Beyond that, Ben seems to enjoy his company, has started asking when Uncle Scott would be coming around again so he could show him the progress he’s made on the massive Superman LEGO set that Scott had gotten him.
“You can’t spoil him too much,” you frown when he pops by on his assigned day, a gift box in hand. It’s the fourth in two weeks.
“He’s a kid. He likes toys.”
“You can’t spoil him,” you mutter.
Your worry is partially rooted in the fact that you can’t just give Ben whatever he wants, whenever he wants, but it also stems from your guilt for not being able to provide all this. It’s not as if you’re not making money; you save enough from your salary, but Boston is an expensive city.
Scott seems to understand this. He dials it back, but you know that he’s itching every time Ben mentions something new he’s curious about. He just picks and prioritizes what he gets him.
Otherwise, he’s good. Too good even. That seems to be a pattern when it comes to him.
You tell yourself it’s because he doesn’t know he’s the father. It’s less commitment, less pressure. He plays the role of a cool uncle who showers Ben with gifts and attention.
Scott has pressed again, of course — who’s the father, when did this happen, do I need to have a conversation, you could fight for child support — to which you answer no repeatedly. An easy denial to give him none of the answers he’s looking for. It never stops him from asking again; he thinks he’ll wear you down eventually.
Truth be told, you think that Scott will bore himself soon. He can’t possibly be serious about permanently moving back to Boston. You’re convinced that in the next couple of weeks, he’ll realize that this pretend domesticity isn’t the life he wants, and he’ll pack up his bags again and leave. When that day comes, you won’t be disappointed.
As long as he never finds out Ben is his son, you’ll be fine.
(Maybe if you repeat it enough times, you’ll actually believe your own words.)
However, you seem to have a knack for putting your foot in your mouth and speaking too soon, because your worst nightmare comes to fruition one day when you let your guard down. Usually, you do a pretty good job of keeping track of their conversations, making sure they stay on safe territory that gives away nothing. Ben has zero clue about his father anyway, so there’s nothing really to give away.
Or so you think.
You’re caught up trying to balance sending work emails and batting away your mother’s efforts to inquire more about Scott. She’s been badgering you nonstop to learn more about your history, prodding Scott whenever she’s here to share more, even going as far as to drop the most obvious hints.
“You know, she is very single. Incredibly single.”
“Mother!”
“I’m aware,” Scott smirks. “Refuses to let me change that.”
You don’t appreciate the way he’s looking at you now, how your body is tingling all over from the memories. The press of his fingers on your hip, how his mouth feels mapping out the curve of your breasts, the burn between your legs when he pushes himself in with a hungry groan.
Heat unfurls across your face and you’re quick to turn away, missing how your mother and Scott share knowing looks.
But now that she’s not here, she’s still torturing you with incessant, inane questions about him. The only thing you manage to catch in the midst of your stress is Scott saying, “Your birthday’s in Decem—”
You don’t think much of it. Not for a moment. Until it hits you.
By the time you look up, Scott’s already directing his eyes towards you. Your blood runs cold.
It’s not a question. He knows. He’s not a fool.
Born the December in the year that you graduated college, it’s not difficult to do the math on when Ben was conceived. If you retrace your steps, it’s not difficult to know who had done the conceiving.
The two of you don’t address it, not out loud. Not yet. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to configure an excuse or a lie that would work in this instance. You’re running on empty, especially when your heart is beating straight out of your chest. Everything feels hot, your body can’t seem to handle this stress very well.
You have maybe an hour left before Ben’s due for bed and you’re half tempted to keep him awake because that means keeping Scott’s anger at bay. You can feel it roll off him in waves, crackling energy that zaps you even from this distance.
The minutes tick down much too quickly and, before you know it, Ben is yawning on cue and you’re getting him ready for bed. You spend a little longer than necessary tucking him in, reading him his story, all the while Scott is standing in the doorway watching the two of you.
He’s being considerate of Ben, maintaining his distance before he probably rips you a new one. You appreciate it, but you press an extra kiss or two onto your son’s face before you exit the room — for good luck.
When the two of you are back in the living room, Ben completely out cold to the world, Scott doesn’t ask. He simply states the irrefutable truth.
“He’s mine.”
You clear your throat. “Technically, he’s mine.”
“Don’t fucking act cute with me right now,” he snarls, jabbing his finger in the direction of the hallway both of you just left. “That’s my kid in there. Are you fucking kidding me?”
Wincing, you take a step away from him. “Can we not do this?”
“Like hell I’m letting this slide. You’ve got to be shittin’ me. That’s my kid. Ben is mine.”
The pulsing in your head only worsens the harder he glares, the more he seethes. “You’re the father. Doesn’t make him yours.”
You hear the sharp intake of breath. The confirmation landing firm in his chest. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me?”
“Why does it matter?” You snap, throwing his irritated look right back at him.
“You’ve got to be on another fucking level of insane to think it doesn’t matter.”
“I was going to,” you begin, “tell you, I mean, but the timing never felt right.”
Scott looks at you, completely aghast. “Timing never felt right? You knew. You knew before I left, before we graduated. All those times you didn’t want to drink, didn’t want to eat sushi, this was why. You had all the fucking time in the world to tell me.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“It would’ve changed everything!”
Your lungs feel devoid of oxygen as you look at Scott, his frustration palpable. Fury is carved into the lines of his face, eyes blazing with the sort of anger you’ve never seen on him. However, in between the twist of his lips and the fire in his gaze, you see a flicker of something warmer. Softer.
Hurt.
The kind of hurt that comes with a betrayal that you cannot take back.
Scott breathes out. “I would’ve been here for you.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You never asked,” he spits out, “you never let me make that decision for myself. Instead, you let me believe that I had fucked up something between us. You cut me off and I didn’t even know why.”
“It would’ve been selfish,” you argue.
“It would’ve been fair,” he insists. “You should’ve trusted me to make my own judgment call.”
Your fingers wring together in front of you. Is this it then? The point of no return. You can’t seem to find the words to say to remedy the situation.
“I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you murmur. “Between me and your dream.” The unsaid words being I didn’t want to watch you choose your dream over me.
Scott has always been larger than life. He is meant for greater things, to innovate and create. He has gone so far since you first met him. He’s become an even bigger person than you could’ve imagined.
What right did you have to hold him back from all that?
“Again, that’s not for you to decide,” he sighs, “Have you ever considered they’re one and the same?” Your gaze flies up to meet his weary one. “You’re an idiot,” Scott mutters. “So fuckin’ stupid.”
You press your lips together into a thin line. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”
“Does he know?”
With a shake of your head, you lean back. “No, he’s been… pretty good at not asking too many questions about who his dad is. It’s only a matter of time before that curiosity grows though, especially once he starts school and the other kids will undoubtedly ask him.”
“I can help you with all that, you know. I am his father after all.”
Wincing, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to, Scott. It was my decision to go through with the pregnancy. You don’t have to feel like you have to participate.”
“Why do you keep saying it like that?” He lets out an exasperated sound. You frown in question. “Like I don’t want to be here. For him. For you.”
“I— I just don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
“Sweetheart,” he begins and your heart feels like it’s been dipped in syrup, “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I’ve been present, haven’t I? And that was before I even knew he was mine. What makes you think I’m going to change my mind?”
“It’s different! Being here to support me as a friend and being here as— as his dad! As a parent.”
Scott looks up to the ceiling again, inhaling deep through his nostrils. “Tell me how it’s different.”
“A fun uncle is not a co-parent.”
“So I want to co-parent.”
“You don’t know what that means.”
“It means being here for you, for him. It means having equal responsibility and stakes in raising him. It means you’re not doing this alone.”
A lump grows in your throat as you look at him. His determination is evident.
“So I’m going to need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to piss you off, you’re going to piss me off, but we’ll make it work.”
You laugh, tears pricking the corner of your eye. “Maybe if we don’t kill each other first.”
His lips curve into a smirk. “You can’t kill me. I’m your baby daddy after all. Fucked you so hard that your birth control didn’t work.”
You almost choke on your own spit. “You’re such a piece of shit.”
He laughs. “Don’t forget the father of your child.”
Your fingers are itching to make contact with his cheek. He really can be such an asshole sometimes. He knows exactly which buttons to push. Repeating the fact that he’s Ben’s father, reminding you again that he knows your big secret now. The worst part is you know that he’s doing it intentionally; the more irritated he gets you, the better the sex. He likes it when you fight back, when you push him.
He likes it when he can put you in your place.
“Some friend you are,” you grunt.
Scott’s rising to his feet, moving towards you. With every step he takes forward, he backs you up until your lower spine lands against the kitchen counter.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” Scott says low, coming up to press you against the solid surface. With both hands planted on either side of you, he leans towards you. Your breath catches. “We’re not friends. We haven’t been for a while.”
“That’s… mean,” you whimper.
“The things I want to do with you — to you — they’re not things friends do.”
There’s a promise in his gaze that has your heart fluttering, your stomach curling with desire as heat builds between your legs.
It’s hard to breathe when he’s this close. Hard to even think. Your palm flattens against his firm, broad chest, applying pressure in a feeble attempt to put some distance. Except now you can’t help but feel the way his pecs feel underneath your fingers and you can picture yourself on top of him, sinking down on his cock while your hands are planted on his skin.
Heaven have mercy.
“Things are different now,” you gulp.
“You think I still can’t make you cum three times in a night?”
Your lips part. “That’s not—” Heat climbs up your throat. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Scott chuckles. “I hope you know that this only makes me want you even more. You’re stupid if you think I’m ever letting you out of my sight again.”
“Just because you want to be here and be a father does not mean that it changes anything between us.”
His joy quickly morphs into irritation again. “Why not?”
“Because Ben will always come first and we can’t… just keep fucking.”
“Again, why not?”
Because I’m in love with you. Because I’m going to get my heart broken again.
“I want to maintain some boundaries. It’ll be better for us that way.”
Scott is quiet, thoughtful as he regards you, before he straightens. “Okay then. You do that. You maintain your boundaries.”
“Thank you.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be helpin’ you do that,” he laughs, bitter as he smiles at you. A threat laced into his expression. “Better prepare yourself, sweetheart. I’m not here to protect your walls. I’m here to break them down.”
“We should go out.”
Your gaze lifts from your laptop, eyes instinctively wandering down the hall to Ben’s room where he’s safe and sound asleep, then back to Scott who’s on his own laptop on the dining table. “Like to get groceries?”
“No, for dinner.”
You look over your shoulder, to the take-out menus stuck to the fridge with a mismatched set of magnets. “There’s a pizza place Ben likes down the street. We could go tomorrow.”
“Finally letting me in two days in a row?” Scott cocks an eyebrow.
A glare is all he gets in return.
“I meant us. Just the two of us.”
Your fingers stop, hovering over the keyboard. “Why?”
“So I can take you out.”
“Why?”
“To spend some time together. You know, outside of parenting.”
Parenting still sounds foreign on his tongue, at least to you. Scott seems to have settled in comfortably with the title, taking on the mantle even without the official acknowledgment. The two of you agreed to ease Ben into it; he seems to have taken a liking towards Scott so at least telling him may be easier than you initially anticipated.
However, considering the situation at hand, you can only ask, “Why?”
“How old are you?” Scott snaps.
“I don’t think we need to do anything together outside of parenting.”
“Why not?”
It’s your turn to give him a look. “We are two people who happen to be raising a child together. Somewhat.”
“But we’re friends first.”
“I think co-parenting supersedes the friend label now, which means I can’t be doing that with you. Not alone.”
He knows you’re being obstinate for the sake of it, pissing him off just because you can. However, he doesn’t take the bait.
“You know what, you’re right, sweetheart. Let me rethink this.”
Scott was never one to give up easily. On the contrary, when presented with a challenge, he rises to the occasion. He goes above and beyond.
It starts off innocuous enough, subtle that you nearly think that all of it is accidental. When he’s trying to help around the kitchen and he reaches across you, arm brushing your breasts. Your nipples perk up on instinct, seeking the familiar warmth of his touch like you’ve been trained. He doesn’t say a thing so you brush it off as inconsequential. His hand on your hip when he’s excusing himself behind you. His eyes on you when he licks his thumb clean off the brownie batter you’re making.
It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. These tiny touches, interactions that shouldn’t mean anything. You shouldn’t be reacting this way. You tell yourself it’s because it’s been a while since you got laid last — unfortunately, by none other than the source of your frustrations.
But then the touches become firmer, intentional in a way that you can’t miss. He’s slipping an arm around your waist when he picks you up at the hospital, head ducking to press a kiss to the side of your head, all the while you’re mid-conversation with a coworker who then scurries away under Scott’s glare. In the car, he’s sliding a possessive hand over your thigh, squeezing when he asks you about your day. He has a hand pressed against your lower back at all times, practically manhandling you when you move around different spaces.
And god do you fucking love it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been deprived of physical touch for so long, you haven’t had anyone in your corner reminding you that they’re there. But you also know yourself better than that and the only reason all of this works is because it’s Scott and you were in love with Scott.
You tell yourself it’s all in the past. This is the remnants of your feelings long forgotten from your more youthful self.
But then it all disappears. The touches. The fleeting glances. The flirty smiles. The difference is jarring and you can’t help but notice the extra space he puts between the two of you when you’re walking with Ben, keeping him in between you two. Or how he moves away from the kitchen when you enter it, and again when you move into the living room. Or how his question actually sounds polite when he asks you how work went.
How he doesn’t even blink twice when you tell him a colleague — that same one that he had scared away — had asked you out to dinner.
The frustration builds inside of you, like he’s crafting a wall with the distance brick by brick. You find yourself leaning towards him only for him to shift in his seat and away from you. The inches between you on the couch feel like they stretch for miles, his arm extended on the other side instead of behind your back.
You feel like an addict seeking a fix, constantly chasing after him — subtly, not enough for it to be obvious, but certainly enough for him to notice.
So, by the time he suggests it again, he’s Pavlov’d you to seek his attention. Fucker.
“Do you want to spend the day together?”
You grit your teeth. Somehow, Scott has conspired with your mother that she whisked Ben away early this morning for a trip to the zoo and you end up with this asshole at your front door with a smirk on his face, shoulders squared, chin tilted up like he’s done something good.
“You did this on purpose.”
“What did I do?”
He knows exactly what he did. “All of it.”
“Come on. Get dressed.”
“You haven’t even told me where we’re going,” you snap.
“Nowhere you need anything fancy,” he says before steering you by the elbow out the door.
You allow yourself to be pushed into the car, he even straps your seatbelt in for you, before he’s driving. Destination still unknown. You try to ask and Scott tells you to just relax, tells you that you’re wrung up too tight.
Then he stops and you look quizzically out the window.
“I got you a massage appointment.”
You nearly break your neck at the speed you whip around to look at him. “What? Why?”
“Thought it would be a nice thing to do. You used to gather knots like you were starting a collection and I had to press all of that out for you. Figured, with all the years of build up and I highly doubt you’ve been smoothing those out, a professional could do a better job.”
At a loss, you find yourself only staring at him. He looks cocky, so damn proud that he’s done something right — that he knew exactly what you needed.
“Now get going, they’re not gonna find another timeslot for you.”
With your mind in a blur, you exit the vehicle. The spa is nice, a mix of lavender and eucalyptus in the air that has you relaxing almost instantly. The experience is… divine to say the least. For once, you have not a single thought in your mind and you find yourself melting into the table during your two-hour long session.
By the time you step back outside, after the people inside tell you that it’s been paid for, Scott is waiting out front. In a daze, you slip back into the car.
“Good?” is all he asks.
You nod slowly.
“Good,” he smiles, “now, let’s get you ready for dinner.”
Scott tells you that he’s taking you somewhere casual, but nice. Nice enough that you end up spending a bit of time washing your hair, doing your makeup, even fixing your hair a little bit. When you spritz on perfume, you tell yourself that it’s for your sake.
But you can’t deny that when you see Scott drink you in — how his blue eyes go ten shades darker, how his lips part when he gets a whiff of the florals clinging onto your skin — that it might’ve been for him too.
You would think a man like Scott would take you somewhere nice, somewhere you’re going to be gawking at the prices all night, wondering if you should even be in a place like that. But when he pulls up to a quiet corner in Cambridge, an Italian restaurant that seems all too familiar, you find yourself caught off guard.
“What? You would’ve preferred steak and fries at Del Frisco’s?” He’s chuckling quietly to himself, knowing full well what your answer would be.
Before you can reach for your door, Scott’s rounding the car and pulling it open, even going as far as to offer a hand.
He’s a perfect gentleman the entire night. When you hesitate on ordering because of the prices, Scott — the condescending prick that he is — orders for you, except he orders right. You’ve been eyeing that dish but you couldn’t do the math fast enough to figure out your budget for the month. He orders a bottle of red, your favorite — it’s nothing fancy, but it had been a step up when you felt like splurging in college. The food is delicious, reminiscent of the old days when he would treat you to a meal to make you feel better, right after he fucked you seven ways to Sunday.
You’re warm, body buzzing with your fill of food and wine. For the first time in a while, you feel a little lighter, like the world isn’t weighing down on your shoulders. Scott drives you back home and he stops right in front of your apartment building.
You know what’s coming. A proposition — as always. You’re going to say yes — as always. He’s always been a snake charmer, saying and doing all the right things to get one into bed with him. It worked on you for months. It used to work on all the ladies before he stopped using it on them.
It still works on you, considering you’re feeling that warmth between your legs. That anticipation humming in your veins. You can practically taste his mouth on you, the tartness from the wine mixed with the gelato you ordered for dessert. You take a breath in eager hopefulness.
However, when he walks you to the apartment entrance, he only kisses the back of your hand. “Have a good night, sweetheart.” Then he’s slowly making his way down the steps, leaving you completely gobsmacked.
You find yourself saying, “Wait,” before you can even think twice.
Scott halts, turns, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.
You should have more self-restraint. But when he’s looking at you with those bright blue eyes and an expression that promises you a good time, you’re only human.
“What is it?”
You fidget with the handle of your purse. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” he drawls, tilting his head like he’s waiting to see your next move.
“You’re not gonna stay?”
Scott’s lips quirk up, shfiting into a look too cocky for your liking. “Do you want me to stay?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Doesn’t sound like you do,” he makes a face, raising his shoulders in a shrug as he pretends to slowly turn back around.
You should let him go. You hope he has fucking blue balls tonight. However, that also means you’ll be left alone with your thoughts in an empty apartment and your vibrator on a Saturday night, and that sounds a heck of a lot less fun than getting your brains scrambled by the one man who knows exactly how to do that.
“Do you want to come up?”
It’s comical how quickly he whirls around to say, “Don’t mind if I do.”
The ride up the elevator is weighed down by tense silence. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears in time with the numbers that climb, a beep in rhythm to each floor. Scott stands next to you, hands planted on the railing casually, but you hear the impatient tapping of his shoe. When the elevator finally dings, he lets you leave first and you feel the burn of his gaze on your back, trailing the length of you down to the curve of your ass where the silk of your dress rests.
Your fingers are barely functional as you clumsily dig through your purse to open the door. It’s one thing to have someone watching you, it’s another to have Scott staring at you. The hungry look in his eyes, the way you can practically feel the heat radiate off him.
You don’t even get a chance to properly set aside your bag before Scott is pressing you up against the wall. He drinks in your surprised little gasp, your instinct to move away from him only has him backing you up against your kitchen counter. With you half-seated on it, Scott’s hands slide around your neck, cupping your cheeks so he can lick into your mouth. He takes the chance to slip his tongue in between your little gasps, tasting that sugar on your tongue.
“Fuck, sweetheart, been waiting to do that all night,” he groans as his mouth travels towards your neck instead, sucking on the delicate skin until you feel the sting spark every nerve inside your body. He does it over again, like he’s zapping you with electricity every time he leaves a new mark on your body.
You’re no better, your hands immediately crawling up his chest to find his buttons and fumble with them, slipping them out one at a time until you can shove his shirt off his shoulders. God, how is it possible that he seems even broader than before? Your palms explore his biceps, feeling the way they flex beneath your fingertips, muscles tensing into a firm surface for you to hold onto.
“You got… bigger,” you note in a daze. It’s ridiculous how drunk you feel right now and it’s certainly not from the wine. It’s his scent — masculine and clean. Like rain on freshly mowed grass, earthy in a way that grounds you. You can’t help but breathe him in, making a mental note that he still uses the same shampoo.
“A lot of time lugging around equipment out there,” he mutters. As if to prove a point, he lifts you up to the counter and wraps your legs around his waist. “Always getting drenched in the storms.”
Fuck. Terrible visual. You imagine him in a white short-sleeve shirt, the fabric soaking up all that rain and clinging to every inch of his muscles and leaving nothing to the imagination. His dusky nipples poking through the fabric. Curly brunette hair with droplets, that one stray hair on his forehead whenever it gets too humid. You can practically see the light smattering of hair on his chest, a path leading down to his navel.
God forbid that the women in Oklahoma have seen him like that. That’s a visual you’d rather keep to yourself.
Scott distracts you again when he brings his face back to kiss you. He kisses like he’s inhaling you, stealing every hitched breath from your lungs. His mouth is ravenous as it moves against you, teeth grazing your bottom lip lightly in a tantalizing threat. He finally nips and you let out a little whine that he laughs lightly at as he kisses you harder. Firmer. Soft lips, only slightly chapped, as they relearn what it is exactly that makes you moan down his throat.
“Love kissing you,” he mutters, “missed doing this. I want to do this everyday.”
You’re about to tell him why that would be a bad idea but you sigh dreamily instead, tipping your head back when he begins trailing wet kisses along your jawline again.
His hands wander to your back, dragging the zipper down quietly until your dress pools on the floor. His thumb brushes over your nipples peaking through the lace. “Missed these pretty tits too. Couldn’t get enough of them last time.” He ducks his head and tugs one free from your bra, lips closing in around your nipple in a wet heat. His groan reverberates straight through you, tongue laving around your pert nipple like he’s trying to coax it out.
As he does so, his other hand reaches for the clasp of your bra until you hear the little sound before it slides down your shoulders.
“Hands on the counter.”
“Bossy,” you murmur, but do so anyway.
Scott looks mildly surprised at your obedience and you can’t even bring yourself to care. You lean back slightly and spread your legs wider to let him step in between them, his mouth warm and sweet on your tits. He mouths hungrily at your breasts, biting, squeezing, until you’re a moaning mess arching into his touch. One of his hand slides down to your lower spine to yank you closer to him, pressing your core against the thickness in his pants.
“I’ve been hard all night lookin’ at you in that pretty dress,” Scott growls, “knew exactly what you looked like underneath it, couldn’t wait to take it off you.”
You appear to have lost your entire vocabulary when he slips that hand from your back to the space between you, two fingers against the panties that’s quickly gathering moisture. The whine that is pulled from your lips is instinctual. Pure primal need.
“Imagining you stretched out on that massage bed, naked, slicked up in oil. Fuck, I had to drive around and keep myself busy for two hours so I didn’t go back and do the job myself,” he huffs a laugh as he begins rubbing your clit over the material, arousal easing the slick of his fingers even with one layer between the two of you.
A gasp is wrenched from your throat as you stare at him, wide-eyed. “That’s— that’s ridiculous.”
Scott hums, shaking his head, pressing harder, pulling out another needy sound. “Stop bein’ so tense. You’re undoing all of that woman’s hard work.” Your eyes light up briefly. “I wasn’t going to let some other man touch you. I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re such a possessive asshole,” you let out a breathless laugh, “it’s just a massage.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going to be the only one that gets to touch these pretty tits. Not to mention, this—” he slides his fingers under your panties, gathering up the arousal from you slick folds on his fingertips and listening to the lewd squelch as he dips his fingers in just a tad. “You’re so goddamn wet.”
Instead of clamping your legs shut, embarrassed like you always have been, you can’t help but let your thighs fall apart further, giving him room to give you the pleasure that you so badly needed.
“You’re so much easier when you’re not stressed.”
That snaps you awake. “Oh, fuck you.”
Scott pushes two fingers in, the slide is swift and wet. “Just like that,” he grins as he slowly drags his fingers out only to shove them back in. He’s rough and he’s messy, you can hear how wet you are as he watches you come undone, thumb against your clit like he has something to prove. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re dripping all over the counter. You’re so messy, pretty girl.”
“S-Scott,” you moan, fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I c-can’t, mmm, please.”
“I know, I know, still so tight, aren’t you? I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as he slowly sinks to his knees. You look down to find him with his starry eyes looking right up at you as he sticks his fingers in his mouth. You can see the moment his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you, tongue lecherously poking out to lick his fingers clean. “Better than dessert.”
“You’re so corny—” your words split off into a choked gasp when Scott dives in between your legs. His tongue drags all the way up to your clit until you’re bucking against his mouth. He licks and devours, the roughness of his tongue sliding up your slick folds, lips closing in around your core, your clit, to suck until you’re shuddering against him. “Fuck, Scott, wait, slow down.”
Scott leans away, giving you a brief moment of reprieve — except, when you look down at him, his bottom half is glistening in the moonlight that spills across your floors. His eyes return to your pussy, just beneath your stomach that’s rising and falling with your labored breaths.
His index and middle fingers rest on each of your lips as he slowly pries them apart, your pussy pulses and there’s no doubt that he catches that movement. The slight tensing, squeezing, inside of you. “Look at this pussy spreading so wet and easy for me. She’s droolin’, sweetheart.”
As if he can sense another argument on your lips, Scott leans forward again to press kisses onto your inner thigh, blooming warmth with every spot he touches. He kisses up and up until he’s back with his face between your legs, your thighs closing in around his head until he’s practically suffocating in your cunt.
It’s the way he likes it though. His hands on your ass to drag you forward so he can tongue-fuck you faster, knowing full well you’re enjoying it when you’re grinding against his face with tears leaking from your eyes and his name said in prayer.
That pleasure coils humiliatingly fast in your stomach. You can feel your climax, long abandoned, surfacing quickly. God, it feels so good, his mouth — it’s only gotten better. You hate to think if he fucked anyone else while he was away, because — of course he did, he was a hot young bachelor in bumfuck Oklahoma. He was probably the hottest shit down there.
Scott scowls up at you, “You’re tensing up again, what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” you blurt out, pressing your lips together.
He rises to his feet, fingers catching your chin. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” you snap irritably. Great, now you’re thinking about some cute girl in a cowboy hat he’s probably fucked the same way he did you.
“You just stiffened up again. Either you tell me, or I won’t fuck you.”
You roll your eyes, “Holding sex hostage? Real mature.” Well, two can play that game. “If you won’t fuck me, I’m sure I’ve got a few people on my dating apps that have been begging to.”
Scott’s eyes flash, your heart palpitates a little too aggressively. “Yeah? You wanna try that again with me?” Your mouth dries. “Sweetheart, you’re cute if you think I’m letting anyone else near this pretty pussy of yours. You think anyone can get you off?”
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
“You’re mine,” he breathes out, catching your lips again. You can taste yourself on him, his moan vibrating against your mouth.
But you can’t deny his words. Instead, you let him pick you up and carry you all the way to the bedroom. He doesn’t stop kissing you the entire way, stealing your breath every chance he gets. Your back lands on the mattress, Scott climbing over you and pressing your legs into your chest.
“Love fucking you just like this,” he murmurs, applying just a little more pressure. “Maybe I can put another baby in you.”
“Scott!” You gasp.
“Fuck, I wasn’t even around when you were pregnant. I’d do it right this time. Make sure you’re taken care of — however that may be. Heard the first trimester’s roughest, probably needed a cock to fill you up, hm? Fill you up and get you so stupidly cockdrunk you won’t have the mouth to talk back to me.”
Another protest sits on your tongue but then Scott’s unzipping his pants and his cock, thick and throbbing, is in his hands, tip sitting at your entrance. You can feel your pussy dripping onto him, a trail of slick that slides down the length of him.
“I could fuck you, cum in you as much as I want — not like I didn’t already,” he chuckles, “no more risk of getting you pregnant twice. God, I could do that to you, sweetheart. Want another kid with me?”
“You’re— fuck, you’re insane.”
Scott only grunts as he begins pushing into you. “So fuckin’ tight. I need to teach your pussy how to take me again. You were so sweet and loose for me back then, we fucked so much, your cunt was shaped to my cock. Can’t wait to do that again.”
The ache burns between your legs as Scott stretches you out, your pussy opening up painfully slowly for him. You hold your breath, tensing up as he whispers for you to relax, to just keep your legs open and let him take what he needs. Your eyes roll when he finally buries himself all the way, the head kissing the deepest parts of you.
“S-shit, fuck, that feels so good. You feel like heaven.”
“Please, please just move,” you whine.
“I know, baby, but I can’t fuck you too fast, gonna hurt you. My cock barely fits in this tight pussy of yours,” Scott coos, dragging back his hips and slowly coaxing you open with a push of his cock. “I gotta go easy on her. She’s not used to being filled up, is she?”
You call him an asshole in your head, because you don’t trust your voice not to break in the haze of your pleasure.
“Pretty girl hasn’t had anyone taking care of her in a while.”
“I can take care of myself just fine,” you defend with a snap.
“Yeah? What? Those vibrators I see you hiding? Doesn’t feel the same, does it? You needed someone to fuck you properly.” Scott smirks, “Maybe I should’ve given you a dildo shaped to my cock. That way you could fuck yourself on it whenever you missed me. I’d make you call me when you do that, wanna hear you beg for my cock while you push it inside you. Better yet, I want to see you while you ride it and realize it ain’t the same as the real thing.”
“You’re so fucking gross,” you hiss and, sure enough, it melts into a moan when Scott drives into you again, and again, and again.
“What does it say about you when I can feel you chokin’ out my cock at the thought of it?” He laughs, taunting. “You’re as fucked up as I am, sweetheart. How do you think we made a baby in the first place?”
Oh fuck, Scott feels you open up to him, mold around him. That pain dulls into a throb that only serves to weave desire between your legs. You clench around him, pussy pulsing with his every word, as he fucks deep inside of you. He pushes you back into this mating press, groaning when he feels himself reach deeper inside you.
“Shit, baby, this pussy is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I gave this up for years. Missed fucking this gorgeous cunt so bad,” he swallows. That vein on his neck goes taut as he tries to stop himself. “You still on the pill?”
You nod weakly, fingers digging into his biceps as he pounds into you, his hips jerking faster and harder.
Then he laughs and it sounds mean and your stomach twists. “Didn’t do us much good last time though, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. If you get knocked up again, I’ll be here. I’ll be here to fuck all that stress out of you, give you all the massages that’ll end with my head between your legs. Get you all your cravings so you can show your appreciation with your mouth on my cock.”
It’s disgusting, The thought of returning favors when he’s the one who gets you pregnant, but something about it has you tightening, punched in the stomach with a level of arousal that you can’t seem to contain.
“Don’t need to use this pretty brain of yours, baby. Just gonna have you barefooted waddling around and you can let me take real good care of you,” he pants, sweat beading his forehead as he fucks into you faster, holding himself back harder. “Make sure you and our baby are good. Don’t you worry.”
“F-fuck you,” you stutter as he drives back into you.
The bed creaks under the pressure of his thrusts, you’re getting fucked into the mattress that you can feel your body imprinting onto the bed. “That’s right. Good girl. Gonna make you a mommy again, sweetheart. Gonna put another baby into you. You’re already so cockdrunk, you won’t even know. I’m not letting you out of here until it takes.”
That knocks all the oxygen from your chest. “Shit, Scott— hold on.”
“Can’t do that,” he grunts, “pussy feels too good. Can’t get enough of this hole. I’m going to fill you up, baby. You’re gonna be leakin’ my cum for days. Maybe I’ll send you to get another massage and they’ll see you dripping my cream.”
Scott pounds into you, each word filthier than the next. He’s driving himself and you into a frenzy as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, squelching bouncing off your four walls.
“I’m gonna print my cock in your pussy so nobody else can touch you.”
“Breed this pussy so good, keep you plugged up with my cum for days.”
“This pussy was meant to be fucked, sweetheart. You don’t need princess treatment, just need to be fucked like you need another baby in you.”
It’s filthy. It’s demeaning. It’s a fucking turn-on.
“Yeah, you wanna cum, pretty girl? You wanna cum around my cock?”
You can only nod in your haze, desperate, eager.
“Cum around me, sweetheart. I wanna feel that cream coating my cock. I wanna feel that stickiness, feel what it’s like to have my girl feel so good because of me.”
Scott pounds into you faster, deeper as he fucks you harder into the mattress. He presses you further in this position, tilting your hips up until you’re climbing and climbing and falling apart around him with a loud whine. Your body trembles with the force of your orgasm, legs quaking around him as he drags out your climax with every thrust until he himself is spilling warmth inside you. You can feel the mess in your insides, feel it slosh around, feel it leak from where you two are joined.
“Fuck,” he groans, “cumming so much, sweetheart. Fillin’ her right up.”
Your heart slams against your chest as you feel exactly that.
Scott’s hips are still jerking with his cum spurting right into you. He refuses to budge, staying there until he’s sure everything’s out. Even then, he nudges his hips a little deeper, like he’s making sure his cum stays in there.
He eases out of you slowly, but he doesn’t let go of the pressure on your legs, keeping your hips up as he watches his cum ooze out of you. His brows pucker in annoyance as he uses two fingers to push it back into you.
You wince, pussy sensitive from the friction earlier. “Gross.”
“You like it.”
You do. It’s stupid but you do. Something about him staking his claim, leaving a part of him inside you, it’s just the kind of thing that has you squeezing around his fingers again.
Scott smirks. “Do you want me to clean you up?”
Your stupid, traitorous, dysfunctional brain says no. For some reason, you really like feeling his cum inside you. But you know that the correct answer is— “Yes.” It’s the only reason Scott asks – because he knows.
His eyes scan you for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then he sighs and lets your legs down gently as he disappears, coming back only when he has a damp cloth in hand. It’s so strange for him to be so familiar with your place to know where things are.
At the same time — so right.
He wipes you clean, murmuring to himself about how pretty you look with his cum inside you. You try not to let your lips stretch too wide with the heat rolling across your face.
When he’s done, Scott slides himself in next to you, pulling you close.
That’s when you freeze because — what is this? What are you? The panic sinks in fast and you feel fear claw at your chest. You have a son. You can’t be doing — whatever the fuck this is — with his dad, who he doesn’t even know is his dad.
“Scott—”
“Sleep.”
“Go home.”
“No.”
“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “You can’t be here when Ben comes home tomorrow morning.”
Scott exhales long and hard, like he’s had enough of your shit. “Why not? I get full weekends, don’t I? That includes mornings. Now sleep.”
“Sleep in your own home! You can come back tomorrow.”
Before you know it, you’re back on your back and Scott’s on top of you, pinning you down with a glare. “Sweetheart, it seems like I didn’t fuck you hard enough. If I did, then you wouldn’t be thinkin’ whatever the fuck is going through that big head of yours right now. So, I’m going to fuck you again, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you stop treatin’ me like I’m some shameful one-night stand. I’m the father of your child — our child. So take your pick — do you want me to fuck you again until your head’s too full of cock to argue, or do you want to sleep?”
You open your mouth. Sleep is on the tip of your tongue, but then you feel him and his gaze warm on you and your legs press together on instinct.
He chuckles, dipping his head to press a chaste kiss onto your lips. “Good answer.”
Sure enough, he keeps his promise and you only find yourself falling asleep when he gives you your third orgasm of the night.
There is no monumental shift. Scott acts the same way he always has — at least around Ben.
He tries to maintain some level of distance but you can tell that he’s getting a little antsy about his own son not knowing who he is. Every time he asks you, you have to shoot it down, mainly for Ben’s sake.
But you also know that you raised a good, smart kid, which means it’s not surprising when Ben asks, “Who’s Uncle Scott really?”
“He is—” you pause, “—a friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
Fuck.
“No, he’s just a friend — like the kind you’ll meet in school.”
Ben looks at the television where there’s an interview of Scott playing, the one from a local station talking about his startup. “You love him?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. Warmth creeps up on you and Ben must notice it because he’s smiling softly, patting your hand.
“I like him,” Ben gives his nod of approval before turning back to the LEGOs in front of him.
A four-year-old just reassured you that he likes his dad. His dad that he still doesn’t know about. You know it isn’t fair and you will tell him at some point, you’re just not sure how to have that conversation yet — not when Scott’s time here is uncertain, despite what he says.
Still, while Scott keeps things steady with Ben, he switches tactics with you. His hand is always touching you — your hip, your back, your shoulders. Subtle touches like a reminder that he’s here. It’s oddly comforting and you find yourself seeking his touch more than before.
Around your son, he still maintains some distance, even when you can tell he’s itching to get closer. The two of you are at the grocery store, you’re driving the cart while Ben runs ahead, giggling and pointing at everything he wants — which is really anything with at least twenty grams of added sugar.
Scott has an amused smile on his lips as he watches him.
“Think he could be a runner someday. Has the makings of an athlete. Maybe football,” he says, almost proudly with his chest puffed up.
You roll your eyes, “I’d rather avoid my son getting his head knocked around.”
“Or entrepreneur, he has a way with making you do things, you know. Smart. Manipulative.”
“Where do you think he got that from?”
Scott only smirks.
You’re scanning through your list when you realize, “Shit, I forgot to grab butter and it’s up the aisle.”
“I’ll grab it,” he says, squeezing your hip, “just get what you need here.”
Ben insists on getting chocolate milk, mainly because he’s convinced the chocolate cow on the box is real. You tell him that you could get the smaller version and that you’ll take him to a farm one day and realize that there are no cows that produce chocolate milk.
“With Uncle Scott? In Oka— Okla—” He struggles, frowning when he can’t remember.
Oh. “Oklahoma,” you add, “maybe. I’m sure there are closer farms.”
His mouth opens in a bright grin.
When you finally cave and put both the chocolate milk and the regular milk in the cart, you look back down the aisle to see Scott standing there.
Talking to a woman.
A woman who was very much his type before he met you.
Your chest pinches with an unfamiliar feeling. It’s understandable that Scott has seen and is probably still seeing other women. The two of you don’t have a label on things, nothing you can tape to his forehead that says off limits.
She looks young, sweet, dressed like she has a life. She’s smiling up at him, giggling at something he’s saying in a way where you know it’s not because he’s funny. She reaches up to touch his arm and he takes a step back, a polite smile in place, then he’s saying something and looking at you. And then she’s looking at you too, face souring.
Alright then.
You turn away again, continuing to push the cart as Ben sets his mind on cereal next. He’s been on a Lucky Charms kick and you desperately need to move him off it. It’s all sugar and food coloring.
Scott appears next to you, a hand on your lower back as he puts the butter box in the cart. He peeks at your list. “Cereal next?”
“Um, yeah,” you say, eyes going over your shoulder to catch another glimpse of that woman. “She was cute.”
“Yeah, she was.”
Your lips immediately curl and Scott catches it before you can school your expression. “Didn’t get her number?”
“Told her I’m with my wife and kid,” he smirks.
Wife and kid— you’re not even sure how to respond to that, so you resort to clearing your throat with a deadpan look. “Glad to hear we can be used to avoid women you don’t like.”
“Well, I was only half lying, wasn’t I?” He huffs as the two of you turn the corner, finding Ben already with a box of Lucky Charms in hand. You sigh as Scott mutters under his breath, “Not too late to make it all completely true though.”
You try to convince Ben that cornflakes are much more fun, which is the least convincing argument you can make, until Scott steps in and says that cornflakes make him super strong like the rooster on the cover. So Ben swaps out his pick for a box of Froot Loops and declares that he wants to be strong like this bird instead.
It isn’t until the two of you are unloading groceries into his car that it hits you, and the bag nearly slips from his fingers.
Make it all completely true. Wife and kid.
“Took you long enough,” Scott chuckles smugly. “Give it some thought. Maybe we can stop by the jewelers on the way back.”
Scott is relentless to say the least. He has increased the frequency of touching, has made it all the more obvious in front of everyone. Your coworkers all know him by name, chatting with him when you wrap up work late. Sometimes, he’s the one who picks Ben up from your mom’s and brings him to meet you at the hospital.
Your mom, of course, is over the moon. She can’t stop gushing over him, telling you how he helped her fix her leaky faucet, how he’s always on time to pick up Ben even when he’s still in the middle of work, and “Did you know he was featured in Forbes?”
He finally invites you and Ben over for dinner in his new apartment. It’s much more spacious, a two-bedroom that’s twice the size of yours — one of which he has set up for Ben. So Ben is also over the moon when he sees how massive his bedroom is. He asks if the two of you can stay and you only manage a tight-lipped smile before you redirect your glare towards Scott.
“Your place too,” Scott says casually, handing you an extra set of keys. “In case you ever need some more space.”
Later, he also shows you that he’s left most of the closet empty in the master bedroom. “In case you need to stay over.”
It’s sweet. It’s thoughtful.
It’s too much.
You don’t even know where you stand with him. He takes you out again and then another time; you tell yourself that this is just friends hanging out, but you know it’s different when you end up in his bed at the end of the evening. The first time you slept with him at his and tried to leave after, you realize that your shoes are nowhere to be found.
“Where are my shoes?”
“I knew you were going to pull some stupid shit like this. So I hid them.”
“What the fuck? Are you four?”
“No, but our son is. Now get your ass back into bed.” You cross your arms over your chest, planting your foot down in protest. Scott regards you coolly. “You either come here on your own accord or I’m throwing you over my shoulder.”
He doesn’t make threats lightly, so you stomp all the way back to his bedroom where Scott proceeds to fuck you over again and makes sure that you have no energy left to move.
Things are… good.
For the first time in years, you feel almost at peace. Ben’s a good kid, raised right, adored by all around him. He’ll start school next year with a stronger support system, what with Scott vowing to attend every parent-teacher conference and other events that require his presence. The two of you agree to tell Ben in a month — a month to prepare for the conversation.
You can’t even imagine what it’s like — living four years of your life never seeing your father and then suddenly dropping one in his lap. Well, you suppose it isn’t very sudden considering Scott’s been around more often than not. Part of you hopes that Ben is hopeful about Scott, it’ll make the conversation easier.
That being said, your work schedule has been atrocious which means you haven’t had the chance to really sit down with him and have a conversation on how to broach the topic with your son. The one time you finally manage to get off work early, you decide to swing by Scott’s; he works from home and you figured all three of you could do dinner together at that pizza place.
The key rests between your fingers, pinched tight as you stare at it.
You should just ring the doorbell. Right? It isn’t your home. But Scott gave you a key and what if he’s still in the middle of something? What if he has someone else in there? No, you shouldn’t use the key. Then again, he shouldn’t have given you a key if he would be doing anything he wouldn’t want you to see.
The internal debate persists until you decide fuck it and push the key into the lock. You open the door slowly, quietly, nothing like your own creaky one. Scott’s nowhere to be found in his giant living room with his giant television. You look at that giant screen with envy, thinking about how wonderful movie nights would be with that setup. Scott has already insisted on doing movie nights at his instead, stocking up on popcorn and sugar, and you’re tempted to agree.
Muffled voices carry down the hall. He’s probably in the bedroom so you silently make your way over in case he’s on a call.
“Yeah, I’ll be back next week, alright,” Scott says, sounding agitated. You get a peek through the bedroom door and find him pacing.
An open suitcase in front of him.
Your heart drops. The scene is all too familiar. It’s like you’re twenty-two again, left behind in this town while he goes off to chase his dreams — only this time, he had promised you he would stay. Only this time, it won’t only be your heart he’ll break.
“I know it’s takin’ me a while,” he grunts, scrounging his hand through his hair, “no, I still need to pick up my shit.”
You can’t hear the person on the other end of the line but it’s clear that he doesn’t seem very pleased. A sigh heaves from his chest as he looks out the window, a mournful expression painted onto his face.
“I have to tie up some loose ends.”
Loose ends? You swallow thickly. That’s— is he talking about you? About Ben? He’s supposed to be back in Oklahoma next week. No doubt whoever is on the other side is someone at work. But he had promised you he would stay — right? He had said that he would be sticking around. Why else would he get an apartment? Why would he set the bedroom up for Ben otherwise?
But your mind has spiraled beyond the point of reason. Your survival instincts kick in again; you never want to be the person left behind. Not again. Not after that first time. So you should leave first. It’ll make it easier for the both of you.
Scott won’t have to break the news and you — you can let that hope quietly slip away.
All you can do now is… leave.
So you do. You take one step back then another and another until you’re in his kitchen. You open one of the drawers and tuck the extra set of keys he gave you inside; after all, you won’t be needing those anymore. Then you’re out the door.
You’re functioning numb as you get home. Ben greets you with a big smile and so does your mom. You force yourself to smile too and ask if the two of them want pizza for dinner. Your mom looks at you with a silent question asking where Scott is. You only shake your head.
When Scott calls you as you’re getting ready to leave for the restaurant, you don’t pick up.
Not feeling so hot.
His face appears on your screen as your phone vibrates with the incoming call. You curse yourself for texting so quickly.
“Hey,” you try to rasp.
“What is it? A cold? A fever? I can grab medicine and dinner on the way there. Maybe that wonton noodle soup from—”
“No, don’t,” you blurt out, “I, uh, don’t want to get you sick.”
“I don’t give a shit about that.” You can practically imagine his annoyed scowl. He’s probably shrugging on his jacket, you can hear the jingle of his keys as he heads to the door. “What do you want to eat? You like that wonton soup right? It’s on the way to yours.”
“Scott, please.”
“Sweetheart,” he sighs.
“I’ll be fine,” you insist, “just give me a few days to recover and I’ll text you, okay.”
Silence on the other end means that he’s giving it actual thought. Then you hear the long exhale. “Fine. Call or text me if you need anything. Seriously.” He clears his throat, “You know, your mom could also take Ben for a few days. I’ll come take care of you.”
You bite your tongue, blinking away the tears as you stare up at the ceiling. You can’t get used to this, can’t get used to someone checking in on you, putting you first. This isn’t the kind of thing that lasts.
“No, I promise I’ll be okay.”
You call in sick for work, which shocks your entire team because you’re the type to drag yourself out of your deathbed to make sure you don’t miss a day. You’re not sure you like this reputation.
Jenna calls your bullshit out immediately. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you mutter, picking on the lint on your pajama pants. You’re waiting for Ben to wake up so the two of you can spend the day together. He’s a little confused why you’re at home for a few days, but he certainly isn’t complaining.
“Does it have something to do with hottie Scottie?”
You wince, “That’s a gross nickname. Never say that again.”
“So it does, what did he do?”
It’s not what he did. It’s what he’s about to do. “It’s not a big deal. I just needed a break. Gonna spend some time with Ben.”
“Well, Ben loves her cool Aunt Jenna so I’ll swing by after with fried chicken?”
Your lips twitch. She always knows the right things to say. “Sounds good.”
On the other hand, you spend the rest of the week dodging Scott’s every attempt to come visit. You tell him that your cold has only gotten worse (you’re fresher than a spring chicken), that your mom is taking Ben for a few days (he’s sitting at the dining table), and that you are doing fine otherwise (your heart is splintering in your chest).
He sounds frustrated over the phone and, when he does visit, you pretend that you’re too sick to see him, refusing to let him through the door.
“This is fucking ridiculous. You have a cold. I’ll be fine,” he snaps through the front door. “Will you just let me in?”
Once again, you emphasize that that’s not good practice and colds are highly contagious. You can hear Scott’s feet shuffling outside, his annoyed grunts.
“Can you just let me in?” He breathes out deeply, “Please. I haven’t seen you in days and I really want to. I just want to make sure you’re good.”
Your forehead presses against the cool door. You tell yourself to stay strong. Don’t give in so easily. So again, you deny him entry and he finally leaves.
On Sunday, he calls and you at least pick that up. “I have to fly out to Oklahoma for a few days,” he mutters, “I’ll be back. Call me, text me, fucking email me if you need to — if you need anything at all, alright.”
“I’ll be fine,” you whisper.
You’re tying up those loose ends for him.
Scott goes radio silent for the first half of the week. You think this is finally it. He’s finally cutting you loose and maybe he’s simply going to fade into a distant memory. You’re back at work when he leaves Boston, your coworkers peppering you with questions about your absence. Jenna keeps the wolves at bay, telling all of them to give you some space.
“You need to talk to me at some point,” she gives you a look.
You lick your lips, mouth trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been too afraid to say. Because it’s one thing to think it, it’s another to admit it aloud. “Scott’s gone.”
“What?” She jerks back, “What do you mean he’s gone?”
Pushing around your peas, you sigh. “He’s in Oklahoma.”
“Temporarily right?”
You shrug. “Feel like it might be for good.”
“Did he tell you that?”
No, but you heard his conversation and it’s all about the words that are said behind your back that matter, right?
“Hon, listen to me. I’ve never seen a man more obsessed in my life. That guy’s in love with you.”
To that, you laugh, heart a little lighter for some odd reason. “He’s just being a good friend. He probably felt guilty after — you know — finding out that he knocked me up.”
She gives you a look. “If you seriously believe that, I’m going to have to take you up to neuro to get your head checked.”
On Thursday, you’re finally settling with the possibility that this really is it. You’ll be okay; you survived once without him, you can do it again. Instead, you focus strictly on work, drowning in the mountains of paperwork and unfinished studies. While you’re doing all that, your phone lights up with Scott’s name.
You don’t pick up. The last thing you need while you’re stressed out of your mind is to hear him apologize, hear him tell you that he’s changed in his mind. You can have your heart ripped out of your chest later.
Blissful ignorance is better than blatant rejection, that’s always been your motto.
You’re ready for a night of full decompression, which means you’re going to cuddle up with your baby and maybe fall asleep on the couch after a filling dinner of grease. “I’m home,” you call out.
The sight before you has you freezing. Scott’s on the couch — your couch — with Ben on his lap. They’re reading one of Ben’s favorite books and your son is giggling uncontrollably. Now, he is facing the front which means he can’t see Scott’s expression.
And that is a look that has your entire body stiffening in the doorway. You’re almost tempted to run again, but how could you abandon your son? So you try to ignore your buzzing nerves.
“Mom!”
“Hey, buddy,” you smile weakly, closing the door behind you. “Where’s, uh, my mom?”
“She left earlier, said I should spend some time with Ben and you,” he smiles. It’s sweet. It’s a sickeningly sweet smile, which means you know better than to trust it. “Ben here was just telling me about all the fun you had last week. All week in fact. Said you weren’t going to work so you two could spend all day together. Outside.”
Well.
“We watched a baseball game and then got ice cream!” Ben announces cheerily. Then he begins to list down everything you did last week — everything — and he is completely unaware that he’s digging a deeper grave for his own mother.
“That so?” Scott chuckles, patting his head. “Your mom’s a real miracle worker, isn’t she? Real healthy and spry to be doing all those things.”
The evening is tense, mostly for you. Your back is ramrod straight as Scott insists on cooking dinner and you have to keep a close eye to make sure he doesn’t add anything to your food. There are smarter ways to take you out, none of them ideal for you. Ben seems to sense the thickness of the air, eyes darting between the two of you.
Of course, neither of you show a thing but the anger that rolls off Scott is nothing short of obvious. So Ben then proceeds to declare that he wants to sleep early.
He never sleeps early. He’s just hit you with a second strike.
You busy yourself with getting him ready for bed, staying for as long as you can. You’re glued at the hip while he brushes his teeth, while he picks out his pajamas at an alarmingly fast speed. He doesn’t even want a bedtime story, telling you that he’s knackered from the long day.
And he goes straight to sleep. Traitor.
You were hoping Ben could buy you more time to come up with some sort of explanation for your behavior, or at least figure out a way to turn the conversation back to him because — what’s he doing back here? Isn’t he supposed to be in Oklahoma?
When you finally step out of Ben’s room, Scott looks noticeably ticked off.
His jaw is squared tight, dimples that are usually so endearing appearing more menacing in this light. “You wanna tell me why you lied about bein’ sick?”
You shift back on the heels of your feet. “I just needed some me time.”
“Bullshit,” he spits out, “you know I would’ve given you that if that’s what you wanted. Try again.”
While you’re usually better at thinking on your feet, the glare he’s pinned you with has your brain completely scrambled. You’re coming up with nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing even remotely close to being sufficient for your lie.
“Can’t think of anything, can you? Now that I’ve caught you.”
“Scott…”
“What was it?” He grunts, “What fucking spooked you?”
You press your lips together. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never been good at commitment, sweetheart. Been runnin’ since the day I met you. So tell me, what fucking scared you?”
A protest sits on the tip of your tongue, ready to fall from your lips. Defensive. But Scott’s looking at you wearily, a five o’clock shadow that’s rarely ever there dusted across his face.
“You were going to leave,” you murmur.
He frowns at that. “When the hell did I say I was gonna do that?”
“You didn’t have to tell me,” you sigh, “I heard you on the phone.”
His eyebrows jump, surprise coloring his expression. If that isn’t confirmation, you don’t know what is. “What’re you talking about?”
It’s your turn to look irritated. How is he going to play dumb when he’s been caught red-handed?
“I heard you — you were going to head back Oklahoma, that you needed to pack your stuff and—” the last part has your throat constricting, you’re blinking back tears as you look at him. “—that you needed to tie up loose ends.”
Scott looks far from appeased from your explanation. “Yeah, and?”
“Are you shitting me?” You hiss, “If you were going to leave again, were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to disappear? Leave me here alone again.”
“That’s not fucking fair,” he snaps right back, “I reached out to you. Multiple times. I called and texted and you disappeared. So don’t turn this shit around on me like I intentionally left you.”
“How was I ever supposed to tell you, Scott? I’m pregnant, can you stay here with me instead?”
“Yes! Exactly like that,” he snarls, “it’s as simple as that. But instead, you stopped responding to me. You left me.” That shuts you up, your breath catching in your throat. “So don’t be a hypocrite.”
“It would’ve been selfish of me — to tell you,” you gulp, chest tight, “you would’ve stayed because that’s who you are. That stupid sense of responsibility despite you being irresponsible enough to go out there and chase goddamn tornadoes. I couldn’t do that to you.”
“I know, because that’s who you are,” he mutters, “you think you gotta do everything on your own. You think I don’t hear things? Your mom and Jenna told me plenty about how tough things were for you. How do you think that makes me feel? I’m the asshole that left you.”
“You didn’t know,” you breathe in shakily.
“Doesn’t change the circumstances, does it?” He snips. His face softens then, melting slightly as he sees you curling into yourself. “But I really need you to get your head checked. Something ain’t right up there if you think for a second I could really ever leave you again.”
You look up at him and he’s already taken a step towards you. His hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek, his warm blue eyes on you.
“I was wrapping things up in Oklahoma so I can move here for good. I needed to deal with some paperwork and all the transition for the fieldwork. We’re not short-handed but, you know how it is with leadership.” He pauses, searching your face for any reaction. “I couldn’t just leave my team hanging out to dry so I had to finalize everything before I officially moved here.”
Well. Your voice is quiet when you ask, “So you weren’t going back to Oklahoma for good?”
The aggravation returns to his face. “You’re shittin’ me right? Have I not been telling you for weeks that I’m here to stay?”
“I just thought you meant temporarily,” you sputter, “who picks up their entire life on a fucking whim?”
“It’s not a whim! I was planning to move back here, focus more on raising funds with investors. That was, if I managed to find you!” That has you jolting back in surprise. “I came here to look for you. Properly this time. Fuck, and I told myself that, if I found you, I wasn’t gonna get you walk away from me again.”
“You— really?”
He rolls his eyes, lips tugging up. “Yeah, really. Let go the love of my life once, ain’t doin’ that again.”
“Love of your life?” You squeak.
Scott looks up at the ceiling, praying to some almighty up there to lend him some patience. “Thought that was fuckin’ obvious,” he mutters, “for someone so fuckin’ smart, you can be real stupid.”
“That’s so rude,” you frown.
“Apparently, I have to be if I need you to get your head out of your ass.”
You lick your lips, face flushing with heat. “So, uh, love of your life? Can I get some clarity on that?”
“How can I be any clearer?” He snaps, “If you’re gonna ask me since when, you really think I’d keep fucking you back then if I wasn’t in love with you?” Your jaw practically drops. “You’re the idiot that didn’t want anything real.”
“You were fucking everything that moved!”
“Until I met you!” He shakes his head. “Jesus, you really— I don’t know how you got me wrapped around your finger all this time.”
You huff, “Are you gonna keep insulting me all night?”
“Are you not gonna tell me you love me?”
A laugh bubbles up your throat. “What makes you think I love you?”
“I don’t think, I know, sweetheart,” Scott grins, arm stretching to pull you towards him. He tucks you in close, your breasts against his chest as your palms land on his shoulders, fingers scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet little moan. “Come on, say it. I know you’ve been dyin’ to for years now.”
With a roll of your eyes, you puff out, “I love you.”
He grunts, leaning down to tease you. “Don’t think I heard you.”
“I love you, Scott Miller. Now will you shut up and kiss me?”
“Never could say no to you, sweetheart.”
+ sam: thank you so much if you've made it this far!!! you've finally seen the inner workings of my mind when i'm truly hyperfixating. please know that i appreciate every single piece of engagement but i especially love to hear what you think of the story, your fave parts, etc.!!! <3
