A/n: Sorry this was late pookies personal stuff in my life delayed the posting and writing of this masterpiece so enjoy
It was late. Too late for anyone to be outside, but something pulled you to your window. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was the distant hum of a song growing louder, or maybe—deep down—you already knew who it was.
You pushed aside your curtains and looked down.
Clark.
Standing in your yard, holding up a pink, bedazzled boombox, his fingers gripping the sides like his life depended on it. The speakers blasted a song you knew all too well—"Single for the Rest of My Life."
Your chest tightened.
You yanked the window open. "Clark, are you serious?"
"I'm serious about you." His voice was strained, his eyes tired. "Please, just listen."
The song filled the space between you, the lyrics sinking into your skin. I don’t wanna be single for the rest of my life…
You swallowed hard, memories flooding back—late-night talks in his barn, the way he used to hold your hand like you were something fragile, the way he let you go.
You sighed, arms crossed. "You can’t just show up with a boombox and expect me to forget everything."
"I don’t want you to forget," he said. "I want you to know that I messed up, that I was scared, and that I let the wrong things get in my head. But I never stopped loving you."
Your heart ached.
"You hurt me, Clark."
His grip on the boombox tightened. "I know. And if I could go back and fix it, I would. But all I can do now is be better—for you, for us. If you’ll let me."
The song was still playing. It was corny, dramatic, and everything you used to dream about when you were younger.
And yet, standing there in the glow of the streetlight, he meant every word.
You sighed, shaking your head with a small, exhausted smile. "You look ridiculous, you know that?"
A hopeful chuckle left his lips. "Yeah… but does that mean you forgive me?"
You bit your lip, looking at him—really looking at him. The boy who loved you, who hurt you, who was standing outside your window with a boombox like some 80s movie cliché.
And the truth was, you did.
You rolled your eyes, finally stepping away from the window. "Come inside before my neighbors call the cops."
Clark grinned, relief washing over him as he lowered the boombox and rushed toward the door.
Maybe—just maybe—this time, he wouldn’t mess it up.
an / hi again! another clark kent post because why not? also, timeline? what timeline? don't ask me questions because I don't know either :)!
word count / ~2k
warnings / none / fluff
The first time Clark truly noticed how beautiful you were was during prom night. Lana's friends wave goodbye and as she's distracted, you use the opportunity to slip away.
The shimmering blue of your skirts crashes like against your legs, violently whipping in the air as you run. Clark watches from his loft, curiosity nipping at the heels of concern. Lana lingers on the porch before going into the blue house but Clark is too distracted to have noticed, watching you disappear within thin woods.
He doesn't know what pulls him to follow you. It's a tight ache in his chest and nagging feeling at the back of his mind. It's late and you don't know the area that well. You can get lost or worse, hurt with no one around to help.
You're Lana's friend, she cares about you, so he's doing this to keep her happy...right?
Your heart is wildly beating against your ribs, lungs burning by how sharply your pulling in air through small gasps. The ends of your heels dig into the flat earth and the sheer shawl nestled in the crooks of your arms grazes your skin before slipping through you arms, fluttering through the open sky.
You don't care or seem to notice.
The air is suffocating and staying here any longer brings devastating dread in the pit of your stomach and back of your throat. To caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, you don't notice Clark tailing behind from a distance.
The lights of Lana's house — and Clarks — are pin pricks through the trees, your legs giving out at the top of a clearing. The hill nearly plateaus and you fall against the long grass with shuddering breaths. Arms spread out, legs tangled in layers of fabric, and you've kicked off your heels.
The night air is cool and stark against the heat of your skin. Goosebumps litter your arms, the halter top of your dress feels tight around your neck, chest heaving against the cinched bra.
Back flat against the earth, all you can see is the night sky. Stars glitter against an inky back drop and it's startling, how many there are. Thousands of glimmering lights, burning gas, glowing even after they've collapsed billions of lightyears away. They've shinned although time, witnessed planets form and collapse, the creation of life and beginning of humanity. They'll be there long after you and everything around you is gone.
Your melancholy eased in an oddly comforting way. The crickets and the wind rustling through long stocks of corn and grass are the only sounds grounding you. A cool, gentle breeze chilling your heated skin. That's why when Clark calls your name a few feet to your right, a heel flies towards his face at a startling speed.
The heel nearly gets him in the face but reflexes kick in before it can touch him. "Clark!" You cry out in exasperation and disbelief, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Being a dummy for target practice, apparently," he smiles, and it's alarming how charming he is.
A huff leaves your chest without your permission and Clark hesitantly settles down next to you, treating you like a startled calf. He's sitting with his elbows resting against his knees, fiddling with the heel in his hands, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Didn't your Mom ever tell you not to sneak up on a woman?"
"Well, you're in the middle of a field at night. I don't think the rules apply here." The back of your hand swats his arm and a silence settles between them.
The moon illuminates every highlight of your face, catching fly aways in a silver glow. This is the first time he's ever seen you with makeup and he's filled with guilt and shame for only realizing now just how pretty you are.
You're not beautiful in the way Lana is, constantly fawned over and adored. Your beauty is quiet, subtle in the face he didn't recognize at first. It's just who you are, how you will always be, and it gently washes over him like stepping into a cool creek during stifling summers day. Graceful, simple in an all consuming wave of an epiphany. You've always been gorgeous, he's just been to blind — and stupid — to notice.
Clark's vision allows him to see each long black lash flutter with every blink, brushing lightly against your skin. Baby blue and shimmering white eyeshadow coats your eyes. The cold nips your cheeks, giving your light blush a deeper hue. Your lip gloss is slightly worn but he can still see the slight shine. The breeze carries the flavor of strawberries from the gloss, and he wonders how it would taste.
Woah...what?
Clark snaps to attention, eyes nearly straining by how hard he's looking at the stars but internally, he's freaking the fuck out. He's reeling as to why he's so hung up on how enchanting you look in the moonlight. He knows Chloe is cute and Lois is as pretty as she is annoying, but he's never thought of them like this.
He loves Lana, so why can't he stop looking at you in the corner of his eye?
He's not blinking and you can feel his eyes boring into you. Clark isn't as subtle as he thinks. Fingers curl into the grass and dirt, grounding yourself for the impending conversation.
"Are you gonna stare at me more or ask something?" The bite comes out a little meaner than you intended but the reaction is still the same.
Clark's eyes shoot up towards the stars again, his cheeks flushing redder than you've ever seen before, "I wasn't-I mean I was but I-!" Words tumble out without a single thought behind them and it's driving him insane. Beside him, you blink owlishly, heart stuttering to life before jumping into overdrive.
No...this isn't the same reaction. It's bashful yet enduring, and really, really cute. This is how Lana sees him all the time? And she hasn't even considered it?
You don't even think twice about the implication you've made.
Clark bites his tongue, forcibly stopping himself from talking anymore, but the frantic thumps within your chest are distracting him from the simmering embarrassment.
"I mean, I saw you running into the woods like a runaway princess. I wanted to make sure you're okay." His voice losses steam near the end, nearly a whispering breath. Sitting up, you're looking him in the eyes with a dazed shine, and it's hard to think when the stars are reflecting against yours like shimmering diamonds.
Goosebumps raise against your skin and Clark watches it happen in real time. Tucking your knees into your chest, you wrap your arms around them. Instincts take over and he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Crickets fill the silence and his cheeks burn the longer you don't speak. A long piece of grass twirls back and forth between your gloved fingers, the pale blue satin ending before your elbows.
"I miss my Mom." The admission is quiet, barely a whisper. "I miss my cat, and my friends." Clark releases a silent breath he didn't realize he was holding, shoulders dropping in an unconscious attempt to make himself smaller.
Your fingers curl into the side of the jacket Clark gave you, pulling it closer around yourself. The fuzzy collar rests against the nape of your neck, tickling the tips of your ears, blocking the chill that wisps through the clearing. Your hair is still pulled up, styled and laced with pearls, held in place by an unholy amount of bobby pins and hair spray. You're honestly too tired to put in the effort to undo it. Nell had put so much time and work into it, it would be a shame to take it out now.
"I would too," Clark finally responds, unsure of what to say or how to comfort. "Uprooting your life like you did is never easy."
The silence that lingers between them isn't uncomfortable, like Clark was afraid of, but settles into a comfortable air. You tuck your knees under your chin, cheek squishing against the bone, gazing at him with a weight he can't recognize.
A deep sigh parts your lips before you can catch it, "I forget people just...know what's my whole life story. I guess I know how Lana feels." Clarks silence encourages you to continue, "Lana's Mom went to college with mine. They were roommates, best friends, considered each other family. Laura and Lewis were my god parents, before everything happened."
Clark's presence is warm, like the jacket across your shoulders, and honest to god, you don't know why you continue talking, "I honestly don't even know why I'm here. Nell isn't my godmother, she never had to take on the responsibility of another kid, but she did. I feel like-like I'm not supposed to be here and every second I am is a contradictory to my being."
Embarrassment immediately layers onto the shame of laying out your inner most feelings to your cute, awkward neighbor. "'m sorry, I shouldn't've dump all of that on you like that." The fabric of your dress rustles as you begin to clamber to your feet, needing to escape, but Clark's hand grabs yours quicker than you can process.
"No, no, don't be," He hastily reassures, "I feel the same way."
That catches your attention and Clark seems to realize by how his ears burn scarlet, mouth opening and closing but no words come out. "-I-I mean, I'm adopted, so there're times when I think about what my life could've been life if I wasn't. What it could be if I wasn't here. I ask those same questions all the time."
A strange, new feelings unfurls at the bottom of your stomach. Heavy yet igniting your nerves alight with excitement. It stems from where Clarks fingers gently encase your wrist, skin terrifyingly warm and soft for farmers hands. Thoughts race through your mind and you don't know if you want him to keep holding your hand or pull away, but Clark makes the decision for you. Taking your silence as being uncomfortable, he lets go, yanking his hand away as if you're made of those damned meteor rocks.
He doesn't know what he's doing. He's never this flustered or uncoordinated except for when he's near Lana, and that's because he's in love with her. Why is he acting like this...with you?
Something changes that night. Neither of you know what, but it's there. Lingering between the two of you like salt water taffy, clinging in the back of your minds.
Something is wrong with Clark Kent and it seems everyone has noticed except you. After that night in the clearing, Clark's world axis began to shift. Slow, barely a fraction, maybe an inch, before fiercely nosediving.
First, it's Clark's parents, Martha then Jonathan. At dinner, the mention of Lana is slowly weeded out of sentences, flowered with the new girls name, Chloe's "new friend," who also just happens to live next store. Suddenly, the outdoor chores are being done before they can even get the time to do it. Clark tends to the animals where — oh, would you look at that — the same girl is feeding the horse, learning how to take care of them from Lana and Nell.
Second is Chloe and Pete. Clark is less subtle then he thinks, which is not at all. He won't. stop. talking. Chloe didn't know Clark could even say another girls name as much as Lanas but here we are, a whole month since Clark deemed you two friends, and he doesn't know how to hold a conversation without mentioning you. And Pete. Poor, poor, Pete. He's never spoken to you, but he knows too much that it feels almost invasive because Clark can't stop yapping. It doesn't take long for the duo to realize whatever you're doing, Clark's doing, and soon enough it's seeping into their group activities and The Torch.
"She's from the city, but won't say which one." Clark sighs, watching you down the hall.
"Really?" Chloe smarts, raises her eyebrows, and shares a look with Pete, who's already shaking his head.
"Yeah," his eyes never leave you from where you stand at your locker. "From her accent and dialect, I think it's Gotham."
"Dude."
"What?" Clark shuffles from foot to foot, readjusting the strap of his backpack.
"You're studying her dialect?"
Third is Lex. Clark outright tells him, eyes flashing as he says your name, "She's taken over my mind. I can't sleep without dreaming about her. I can't eat without thinking about how it would taste if I was sharing it with her. Every morning I wake up and the first thing I think is how I can see her that day. I don't know what's wrong with me." Well, Lex does, and he's plotting on how to get Clark to see it too. Who exactly is this girl that has taken over his friends life? He'll find out.
Then, it's Lana. She doesn't see Clark as often anymore, and when they do talk he's looking at her clearer. He's relaxed, grown into himself, and it looks good on him. Their conversations flow smoother and Whitney isn't a topic he's afraid of consoling her on anymore. He's there when she needs him, and it's perfect. She finds herself enjoying seeing this side of him.
Finally, it's Clark. There is no second or third or fourth time he notices how beautiful you are because it's continuous, endless in its infinite times. He's haunted by the small glances he peaks of you soaking in the sun while he does chores. Glancing constantly at your locker, especially while you're there. The conversation he snooped overheard between You and Lana about athletes causes two footballs to be popped during practice. No place is safe, and it's getting out of hand.
There's nothing he can do but standing back and watch and it's consuming him whole. Hyperaware of your heartbeat, the smell of your perfume lingering in the air, the way he feels like he can run from continent to continent by a simple smile and wave.
He likes you. A lot. It's not love, but infatuation and a less then innocent crush are a close second. It's disrupted his life, his way of thinking and how he perceives himself. All his life, all he's ever wanted was Lana, and somehow you've changed everything within a month that he's believed in since he was a child.
He doesn't find himself resistant like he first was. You've settled into his life, his heart and mind, and Clark slowly embraces it. Now, he's just got to find a way to tell you, which is easier said than done.
a/n just to clarify if anyone who was confused by what the insinuation was; it's that Clark has to like or be in love with reader for him to be stuttering and blushing like that.
I really like how this came out. I'm thinking of doing a part two but please let me know if you'd like it!
synopsis: She was almost his date, almost his choice— until 'almost' became her quiet reason to walk away
wordcount:
note: angst and pure angst only. spreading more clark kent agenda bc i rarely see someone writing for him ;< based on this request.
You had been nodding along, half-smiling, as Chloe gushed about prom— again. The sparkle was evident in her eyes as she talked about the dress she planned to wear, the accessories she'd paired it with, the way she'd style her hair... it was contagious. Someone had asked her out, and she was on cloud nine about it. Who wouldn't be, right?
You tried your best to match her energy, but your mind started to drift. Would you feel the same excitement if Clark had asked you to the prom?
The answer came quickly— yes. A hundred percent yes. If anything, you'd be more excited. Giddy. Nervous. Happy.
But he wouldn't ask you out. Not in that way. Not in the way that Chloe had been asked. And certainly not in the way you'd hoped for, in the quiet parts of your heart.
You shook your thoughts off and turned your full attention back to Chloe now. You tried to convey a supportive and genuine smile; you owed her that much, at least. But then, something pulled your gaze to the left, and there he was.
Clark Kent, fresh from football practice, jersey clinging to his skin, dark hair sticking to his forehead because of the sweat, walking up with that boyish, heart-stopping smile that almost felt like the world had slowed down and it was just the two of you. His eyes found yours immediately, and for a moment, you almost melted. Almost.
"Hey!" Pete's voice broke you from your thoughts as he jogged over to where you and Chloe were. He ruffled both of your hairs like a proud older brother. Chloe immediately swatted his hand.
"So... how's practice?" You asked lightly.
Pete let out a groan. "Same old. Coach gave me a mild lecture again. Nothing new. He's got a permanent grump-mode activated." He and Clark chuckled. "And oh— everyone's been talking about prom. Their dates and all that."
"Oh, who wouldn't talk about that! Prom season right now is different, don't you guys think?" Chloe nudged you.
"You're just saying that because you have a date." Clark teased her.
"Of course! Why wouldn't I shut up about my handsome, perfect—"
"Oh, here she goes again." You groaned playfully, and Chloe lightly slapped you on the shoulder.
"How about you, Y/n? Who's your date?" Clark asked you.
Your smile immediately faded. "I... I don't think I'm going." You replied, keeping your voice neutral.
"Why not?" Clark's brows furrowed.
You shrugged casually. "Don't think I'd enjoy it."
Pete groaned. "No way. Don't tell me you're spending the prom night holed up in your room?"
"And what's wrong with that?" You frowned.
"Because you're gonna be lonely, dear miss." Chloe smiled at you affectionately.
Clark shifted beside you. "W— well, I can take you to prom."
"No." You said it too fast, so everyone looked at you. You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. "No." You replied again, softer. "It's fine. I'll go. But you don't have to be my date."
Clark looked genuinely confused. "Why not?"
"Because everyone knows you wanted to take Lana. So... just ask her, and not me." You said, stating the obvious.
Clark's jaw clenched. "I can't. She's with Whitney."
"And you don't get to take Y/n just because you can't get Lana." Chloe cut in sharply, hands resting on your shoulders. "That's a classic a-hole move. Even for you."
Clark's face darkened. "So I can't take her out as friends?"
"Regardless, Clark. We don't want everyone to think she's just a second option. Nobody deserves the subtle humiliation."
You nodded, humming at her words. "She's right, Clark." Your eyes met his with the same intensity, and for a second, both of you held each other's gaze. Chloe was right, but you didn't know why her words stung the way they did. Maybe because it was everything that you feared: being Clark's second option, someone to fall back on when the real deal wasn't available.
Is that what you were to him?
Is that what all you'd ever be?
Getting ready for a prom you didn't want to attend already sucked. But sitting alone in the dimly lit venue, surrounded by dancing lights, slow songs, and glimmering dresses, somehow made it worse.
You were curled into yourself at one of the corner tables, fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of punch as your eyes darted towards the dance floor. Chloe looked radiant in her purple gown, cheeks flushed as her date twirled her around. Her laughter rang loud and free, her smile wide, full of the exact excitement she had been dreaming about.
Pete wasn't too far off, either. His newest crush had said yes to a dance, and now, the two of them were locked in an awkward but adorable slow sway. He looked over at you and beamed, as if trying to lighten your mood.
But you only forced a smile at him, putting a small thumbs-up to let him see that you were okay. You were happy for them. You really were. But you just couldn't imagine yourself in their place. Not when the person you wanted to dance with wouldn't feel the same way as you did with him.
So you sat and watched. The music changed. Another couple slow-danced in the middle of the floor. You found comfort in disappearing between shadows.
That was, until a familiar voice broke through your peace.
"What's a pretty lady like you doing here alone?"
Your head snapped up. There he was— Clark. Beautiful, golden, untouchable Clark. His tux was slightly wrinkled at the hem, probably because he was rushed— but it didn't matter. He looked like a dream. His dark hair fell slightly onto his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed from the chill outside.
"Clark, I—" You rose to your feet, eyes meeting his.
His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Hey."
"Hey," You said quietly, trying not to stare for too long. You were sure he could hear your heart beat despite the loud music in the background.
"You looked..." Clark paused, eyes tracing over your figure as if seeing you for the first time. "Beautiful."
Your breath caught in your throat, but you tried not to let it show. You smiled, unsure how to respond with the compliment.
He held out a hand. "Come on, you didn't want me as your date. The least you can do is not reject a dance."
He grinned playfully, but there was a flicker of something sincere in his eyes.
"I..." You stared at his outstretched hand for a moment too long. You didn't want to do this. Not if you'd just end up with a heart too heavy to carry by the end of it. But you knew Clark— he wasn't the type to just let this go. "Sure."
You placed your hand with his. It was slightly cold, and you shivered. Clark noticed.
He led you to the dance floor. His hands hesitated for a bit before it landed gently on your waist. You draped your arms around his neck, careful to keep space between the two of you.
You looked away, eyes scanning every detail of the function to distract yourself.
"Are you okay?" Clark asked after a few minutes of silent-dancing. His voice was gentle, as if afraid to startle you.
"Hmm?" You looked at him and met his gaze. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yup. Just trying something new."
He snickered. "And what is it?"
"Like shutting my mouth."
He hummed, nodding. "Not sure if I like it." He squeezed your waist slightly, grounding you. "You know, you're one of the prettiest girl I've ever met."
You rolled your eyes at him, laughing bitterly. "And where is this conversation going?"
"I don't know," Clark admitted with a shrug. "But... if you were thinking about what Chloe had said yesterday— it wasn't true. I don't want to make you feel that way."
Your smile faltered. "It's okay, Clark. I know you didn't mean it like that. You're not that kind of person."
Clark smiled wider, visibly relaxing. "Thanks. I was nervous all night thinking I ruined our friendship."
"You didn't." Not intentionally, anway.
You held his gaze for a moment— trying to etch this memory in your brain.
Then, the music shifted— soft, dreamy, the kind of song that made you believe that love really is beautiful. The lights dimmed further, a single spotlight sweeping slowly over the crowd. You looked past Clark and saw Lana, sitting alone in the corner.
Your heart ached.
"In fact," You whispered at him. "I think Lana would agree with me."
"What?" Clark followed your line of gaze, and his eyes landed on her. You saw it— the way his eyes softened. The way his lips parted, just a bit, like his heart recognized her way differently than with yours.
You pulled away before he could say something more. "Go," You said, urging him gently. "Go ask her to dance."
Clark looked back at you, hesitant. "You sure you're gonna be okay alone?"
You nodded. "Don't worry about me, Clark."
He smiled— soft, grateful, not knowing he was unintentionally twisting the knife further. "Thanks, Y/n. You're an angel."
You watched him go. Step by step. Every moment feeling like goodbye you weren't ready for. And when he reached her, and Lana looked up, smiling like she'd been hoping for him to come— you just knew.
You'll never be his choice.
A bitter smile tugged at your lips before you quietly turned and slipped away into the crowd, unnoticed. By the time Clark looked back to find you, you were already gone.
clark kent x fem!reader
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press
a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3
for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.
he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.
all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.
so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.
that was until tonight.
you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.
but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.
unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.
he looked pissed.
he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.
you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.
"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.
"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."
"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.
"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."
he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.
he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.
clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.
after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.
you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.
"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.
"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.
you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.
"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.
"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."
"i didn't think-"
"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"
words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.
"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.
you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.
"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.
your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.
"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.
"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."
the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.
"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.
you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.
when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.
he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.
"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."
"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.
you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.
"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.
you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.
summary. in leon’s line of work as a contract killer, weaknesses weren’t an option. luckily, he’d eliminated his… all except for one.
warnings. fem!reader, hitman!leon, ex!leon, re4 leon intended. discussion of murder, guns, bullets, etc. a loooot of blissful ignorance, porn with some plot, pet names, oral sex ( fem. receiving ), face sitting, missionary, unprotected p in v, creampie. wc. 5.3k.
note. i tend to fuck up a nice “ex who is a raging munch” fic or two saurrrr this is basically my staple now
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request
Leon isn’t sure why he’s here.
He hasn’t ever bid on a target as sought after as the one that he has now acquired. The target was only described as someone who simply ‘knows too much’ about something they shouldn’t. Vague, he thinks, especially because they remained nameless, genderless, and description-less otherwise. It was odd, for sure, but it was the highest contract that he had ever come by.
As a matter of fact, he’s positive that it’s the highest contract that anyone in his position has ever seen, let alone signed. He’s sure that he’s ruffled a bit of feathers by taking on the job, especially considering that he was still considered fresh meat among the other hitmen that he was distantly familiar with.
Leon preferred to stay out of the unusual politics that came with the underground world, and that meant taking on the jobs that no one deemed urgent enough to complete.
(Plenty of drug dealers, a few sketchy nightclub owners, and an awful bunch of politicians who he is 99% sure put the bounty on their own heads to avoid the scandal that was unearthed about each of them no less than two weeks after they were found with bullets in their brains. He preferred those hits. All men, all guilty of something.)
Nevertheless, he finds himself here, perched on the rooftop of an upscale bar with his sniper rifle angled over the ledge. His scope was perfectly aligned with the entrance of the night club across the street, his right eye narrowed while the other was completely shut.
He sighs, tapping onto his earpiece to communicate with his teammate that was a few buildings over. Alexander.
(Alexander was a tech-nut. He was responsible for ensuring that the coast was clear, that there weren’t an abundance of cops in the area, and that security cameras of the establishment were looped continually in order to ensure that no one could suspect anything more than someone being at the wrong place at the wrong time.)
“Reread the target description that was left for me,” Leon quietly commands.
“Aaand what’s the magic word?”
He heavily sighs. For a job like this, he figured that working alone would be the best option, but with the more he learned, the more experience he gained, the people he met—he was proven wrong. A team works more efficiently than a single person, even if the other half of his current team was a bit… annoying.
“Don’t piss me off,” he huffs, shaking his head as he closes one eye to look through the scope again.
Leon can practically hear Alexander’s grin on the other end of the line as he speaks. “Alright, man, jeez. Your g-string must be a bit too tight tonight, but that’s alright, I’m in no place to judge you.”
Before the blonde can even react to that unsettling quip, Alexander continues speaking, only this time, he does what Leon asks of him. “Bounty, bounty, bounty… where is the darn thing? Oh yes, here it is. Okay, it says that the target will be wearing a blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks tonight…. and that’s it.”
Leon hums, mulling over the very few words that were left for him by the person who had posted the contract in the first place. He’d never killed someone based on the description of an outfit alone, but then again, he’s never gotten paid this much for sending a bullet through a random guy’s skull. He’ll take it.
“Thanks,” he mutters, turning off his ear piece to drown out the voice of the male on the other end.
It feels like hours pass by in which all he does is stare at the entrance, watching as each attendee leaves the establishment periodically. Each time he saw the color red, he’d perk up, only to find that they were wearing jeans, or they were wearing a white blazer, which only left him feeling more annoyed as time went on.
And then, the door opens. He can practically feel the air flee his lungs as he taps onto his earpiece out of instinct. A blue button-up shirt, a black coat, and black slacks.
“Ooh. Pretty. We guessed wrong, didn’t we?” Alexander speaks through the earpiece, which causes Leon to raise a brow.
“What’re you…” his voice trails. His blood runs cold, his palms begin to sweat, and his eyes blow wide. “Holy… fuck.”
“I know right? Not only is she a woman, but she’s miiiighty fine,” his teammate speaks, his voice oddly humorous for the given situation. A moment of silence passes, and Alexander continues to talk, but he can’t hear a damn word.
Leon freezes like a deer in headlights as he watches you emerge from the dim nightclub with a man’s arm slung around your shoulder, though that hardly taints how angelic you look tonight.
Your hair frames your face so beautifully, so soft and feminine. The tip of your nose was flushed given the crisp night air that you’ve just stepped into, your smile was wide and toothy as you walked beside a man that he didn’t recognize.
You’re gorgeous, is all he can manage to think right now. It’s the first time he’s seen you since the moment the two of you broke up six months ago, and you look even prettier than when he pictured you each night to fall asleep. He dreamt of you often, but his lovesick mind was no match for imagining the beauty that you possess.
Suddenly, Alexander’s voice pierced through his haze, bringing him back to the current scene. “Earth to Leon? I get it man, she’s pretty, very much so. I’d hit that too if she wasn’t gonna die in like… two secs.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses, his voice sounding just as venomous as he’d intended it to. “You aren’t going to lay a damn finger on her.”
“Woah, buddy. Big talk from the guy with a sniper aimed at her head.”
That is the moment in which everything clicks in the worst way imaginable.
It’s you. His target, the person who knows too much, the one who is supposed to die tonight—it’s you.
And then, he becomes acutely aware of the lines that are obstructing his view of you. His scope. The red dot in the center placed strategically on your temple, the bullet meant just for you waiting for a simple pull of a trigger.
Leon shudders, picking his head up. No. Absolutely not. Completing his task was not even a thought in his mind anymore, not if the target was you. His beautiful, sweet girl.
But he couldn’t leave the scene unscathed. It would raise suspicion, possibly even tie him to you in a way that you didn’t need. If he didn’t fulfill the obligation in some way, someone else would. He’d broken up with you to save you from all of this, and now, he’d unknowingly come here to make you familiar with his lifestyle in the worst way possible.
You were walking away, and it’s then that his trained eyes fall onto the man who has his arm draped over your shoulder in the way he used to all those months ago. His heart aches at the mere sight of you looking so happy in the company of another, but it gives him an idea.
Leon looks through the scope again, and within seconds, a loud gunshot rings through the air in the form of a thundering pop.
His jaw tenses as he hears screaming. They aren’t your screams though, because you’re not hit. They’re coming from the man you were with, because Leon has just lightly grazed his arm with a bullet.
He wasn’t insane. He wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight, even if he desperately wanted to kick the living shit out of the man who is so close to you.
Well… was close to you. He isn’t anymore. Your date is writhing on the pavement all because of a flesh wound, and you’re standing above him with the most confused and concerned look on your face.
Leon can’t help but think that the man has no regard for you and your safety. For all this mystery man knows, more shots could be coming, and instead of trying to protect you, he’s rolling around on the concrete like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Such a man baby.
“What’re you waiting for? Holy fuck, uh… you still have the shot. Take the shot—”
Leon pulls the earpiece away, turning it off before he shoves it into his back pocket. He didn’t need to be scolded by anyone, let alone someone as useless as his teammate. He’d beat him bloody for how he had spoken about you if he weren’t already packing up his equipment to head over to your place.
He needs to check on you, first and foremost. He also needs to explain himself which was… going to be no easy feat, he supposes.
You don’t find your way home until about an hour later, keys jumbling about as you push it into the slot, twisting it with a tired hand.
To be shot at was not on your agenda for tonight, but being berated by your date for not reacting quick enough to help him evade a bullet you had no knowledge of was certainly not how you wanted to end your night either.
Annoyed, exhausted, and frustrated, you step into your apartment. When you begin to shrug off your coat, your body tenses. No. Fucking. Way.
“What the fuck?” you hiss, your voice rising in octave.
Leon stands from your couch, approaching you with his hands in the air, attempting to show you that he hadn’t come with malice. You knew he hadn't, but that didn’t mean you wanted to see him.
“Baby, it’s just me,” he says without thinking, the pet name slipping out before he could have a say in the matter.
“Yeah, I know it’s just you, that’s the problem!” you continue, hanging your coat up on the rack along with your purse. “Are you out of your damn mind? I—”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “I am out of my mind, and you must be out of yours for still keeping your spare key under your doormat. I told you to move it years ago.”
Your brows knit together. “You little— you know what? I’m not even going to entertain that. How about this? You leave, and we forget this happened, yeah?”
“Can’t do that,” he tells you with a shrug, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I need to talk to you.”
“Don’t do this, Leon, not tonight,” you huff, pinching your nose bridge. “I’m not in the mood, alright? I was—”
“Shot at?” he finishes your sentence. He immediately regrets it, pressing his lips into a line to keep himself from saying anything else.
Your demeanor falters at that. You tilt your head to the side, your eyes narrowing as you look at him from where he stands across the room. “How do you know that?”
He takes a moment to answer, his mouth opening without any words coming out. It spikes your frustration, so you speak again. “Damn it, Leon, how do you know that?”
Leon holds his hands up again, pleading his defense before he criminalizes himself entirely. “I was the one behind the gun, but it’s not what you think—”
Your jaw drops. “Not what I think? Not what I think? You tried to kill me!”
He shakes his head, his expression falling. “I didn’t, baby. I swear. Just let me explain, and—”
“You tried to shoot me in the damn neck!” you continue, your hand dramatically clasping into the side of your throat.
Leon closes his eyes for a moment, internally bracing himself for your outburst that he absolutely deserves. He opens them again, simply watching as you spew insults his way. He takes them without any hint of irritation.
“What the hell, Leon? Is that what you do now? You stalk your ex-girlfriend and try to kill her? Not only that, you missed. You missed! That’s almost fucking humorous, because how can you try to do something like that and then miss!”
Leon sighs, waiting for a moment to see if you try to continue, and when you don’t, he speaks instead. “I aimed for his arm, not your neck, or anywhere else that would endanger you—”
“Yeah, and you almost blew his arm off!” You’re more than aware that the statement was dramatic, but you don’t need to have any sense right now.
“It was a flesh wound, he’ll be just fine,” he tells you before he continues with what he was saying before. “And I wasn’t stalking you. Not knowingly, anyway. I would never hurt you. Not ever. Your date was just… collateral. I had no choice.”
He hopes that you don’t ask any more questions about that, because he won’t have any answers for you. It was for the better. All you knew was that his job wasn’t legal. It couldn’t have been, not with the copious amounts of money that rolled in while he hardly worked for half of the month.
The less you knew about what his line of work entailed, the safer you were. The further away you were from him, the safer you were. However, those last words now ring hollow.
“Look…” he whispers, taking a step towards you despite his brain screaming at him to leave. He couldn’t. Not when he was the only one who knew of your compromised position. “I know that much has changed between us. It’s my fault, I know it, but I can’t tell you anything more about my job. I just need you to—”
You need answers that you won’t be getting, and that sentiment alone makes you furious. When he gets too close, your hand moves to the leather harness that he has strapped around his broad chest, pulling a sharp-bladed knife from its sleeve. His eyes widen as you hold the blade up to him, his hands shooting up into the air yet again.
“You remember where I put my spare key, I remember where you keep your spare knife,” you taunt, the two of you standing so close now that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his face. “Guess we haven’t changed as much as you think.”
He huffs as the cool blade grazes his clothed chest, the metal so close that it nearly pierces his skin. Even then, you ensure that it doesn’t. It’s almost touching how you press such a sharp object to his heart of all places, he thinks.
Your situation is far more complicated than the both of you can handle right now. You have unresolved issues with each other, and that alone must be addressed before you can even begin to scratch the surface of the threats that now face the two of you.
“I still think you’re sexy when you’re mean to me,” he whispers, tilting his head to the side. “That hasn’t changed either.”
Was it the time for his flirtatious performance? Certainly not, but you were putting on a little performance of your own just the same.
You scoff, narrowing your eyes. “You’re disgusting.”
Leon shakes his head, his eyes narrowing just as yours did. “Disgusting? Oh, don’t romance me.”
“I’m not romancing you,” you huff with an eye roll. Your grip on the knife only tightens, but you have no real intention of using it. “I’m threatening you.”
He hardly finds you to be threatening. He’d liken you to an angry cat, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud. He’s letting you have your moment, truth be told. “Mm, even better.”
His calloused hand moves to shadow yours, slowly lowering the knife that begged to pierce his pale skin. You let him, which only gives him more incentive to pull it away from your grasp entirely.
He tucks the knife back into his sheath, moving to unbuckle the harness entirely. “Now, tell me. Who was that guy?”
A random guy you met on Tinder. “My future husband.”
You’re just trying to get under his skin now, and judging by the look on his face, it’s working. He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down at you, taking note of that smug grin that stretches over your lips.
He really just wants to fuck it right off you, but he doesn’t make that known. Not yet, anyway.
“Yeah?” he asks, tilting his head. “You gonna let him put a ring on that pretty finger of yours?”
No, you absolutely were not, but you’re enjoying this game. It’s what he deserves after scaring the shit out of you tonight. “Yeah, I am. Thinking about some baby names too, just for safekeeping.”
Leon doesn’t like the thought that you’ve just put in his head, not one bit. His hand finds your left one, bringing it up to his lips as he presses a kiss on your ring finger. “Huh. That’s what you want?”
You tilt your head, noticing how his lips linger on your hand for a moment too long. “You know what I don’t want? To be shot at.”
He hums, giving you a mocking frown. Of course he feels bad about that, but… you both know he hadn’t truly shot at you. Around you, yes, but not at you. His large hands find your waist, his fingers grasping onto the fabric of your shirt and slowly but surely, you find yourself being backed towards your couch.
“Answer my question,” he whispers, his voice now possessing a rasp that it didn’t have before.
You sigh, willingly sitting on your couch, even though you’re doing your best to front as though you’re totally disinterested. “Why should I?”
He shrugs, his lips tugging down as he tilts his head. You watch with blown eyes as he kneels in front of you, his palms gliding over your thighs.
“‘Cause if that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you.”
You tilt your head, eyeing him quite intently as his fingers move to the button of your slacks. You shouldn’t be turned on, but you absolutely are, and the damp fabric of your panties that he’s about to see conveys that pretty well.
“Give me what?” you ask, grinning slightly.
“A ring, a baby… both, neither,” he replies, his fingers hooking beneath your waistband. “Lift your hips for me.”
When you do just that, his eyes raise to find yours. He has a crazed look in his eye, one that you’re all too familiar with. “Whatever you want, baby, I’ll give it to you,” he whispers, leaning in until his soft lips just barely brush against yours.
Your eyes close, and you could have sworn that he was going to kiss you… but he doesn’t. When you open your eyes, you find him grinning. The same shit-eating grin that you love and hate to no avail.
“You just have to say the words,” he whispers against your lips.
You roll your eyes, your hand reaching out to rest on the back of his neck. He was already impossibly close, so all you truly did was hold him there. “I want to kiss you.”
Leon smiles, nodding his head in agreement. “Mm, like I said. Whatever my lady wants, she gets.”
His lips find yours in a searing kiss, his calloused hands smoothing over the soft, exposed skin of your thighs. Your lips move together in a gentle manner at first, as though you were allowing yourselves to get familiar all over again, but you were both quick to realize that gentleness was the last thing you needed.
Your breathing grows ragged as one of his hands cups the back of your head, tilting you just enough so that his tongue could easily slip into your mouth. The kiss was sloppier, messier, much more desperate. It was perfect, in your humble opinion.
He trails kisses down your cheek, jaw, neck… just about anywhere he could as he begins his gradual descent. His hands palm at your breasts through your shirt, and without hesitation, his hands grasp onto the fabric and yank it open. Buttons go flying about your living room, but Leon doesn’t seem to care with the way his face pressed into your cleavage.
One of his hands snaked behind you to undo the clasp of your bra, and the moment he saw a nipple, his mouth was already distracted once again.
“Leon, that was my favorite shirt!” you scold, glancing down at him.
He looks up at you with hazed eyes, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth before he releases it to reply to you. “Was it?” he asks, his reply lacking any care in the slightest.
You nod, narrowing your eyes at him, but your front doesn’t last long when his tongue swirls around your areola. He reaches into his back pocket, tossing his wallet beside you.
“Buy a new one, shit, buy anything you want,” he whispers against your skin, his hands grasping onto your waist. “Tits are so pretty, baby. I missed you.”
“Is that all you missed about me?” you ask, a huff of laughter leaving your lips while his trail down your stomach.
“Absolutely not, no,” he murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric of your panties. He looks at you as he pulls them down your legs, and he presses his warm lips to your inner calves and thighs as he makes his way towards you again. “Missed everything about you.”
You roll your eyes. “That’s corny—”
“Sh,” he tells you, holding one finger up while he uses his other hand to slip one into your sopping entrance. Your walls clench around him, which only forces a chuckle to leave his mouth. “Let her talk for a bit, yeah?”
He hardly gives you a moment to reply before his head dips, his tongue curling up to stimulate your clit before he sucks on it entirely. He unabashedly moans into your cunt, introducing another finger into your entrance simultaneously.
Your head falls back, your hand delving into his hair to hold him impossibly closer to you, even though he seriously would get closer if he could.
“Sweetest pussy,” he murmurs into your heat, his voice rumbling against your wet cunt that he continued to eat like he would die if he didn’t. “Do somethin’ for me?”
You pick your head up to look down at him, nodding without question. He opens his eyes to look at you in return, pressing a kiss onto your mound before he turns around so that his back is now pressed against the front of your couch, still sitting on the ground.
“Sit on my face,” he suggests, tipping his head back onto the couch cushion.
He reaches for your hand to pull you forward, and you pivot on your knee, your front facing the back of the couch. He lays a light smack on your ass before he pulls you down the rest of the way to make you sit on his face.
Your hand reaches down, clutching onto his hair yet again while you cry out in genuine bliss. His tongue softens as he gives you long, deep licks into your pussy, wanting to taste every inch of you on his tongue.
And when your hips start to rock, he seems to be even happier. Much more incentivized too. He lulls his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it to let you ride his face as you so pleased. You made a mess of his chin, his mouth, his nose—he hardly cares.
(In fact, he doesn’t care. Not one bit. You might even have to pay him to care.)
“Y-You know,” you whine, grasping a bit firmer onto his hair while your hips continue to roll on his tongue, “I’m still mad at you.”
He nods his head, which only stimulates your cunt even more. “Mm, yeah?”
It felt so good. Everything about this was absolutely ecstasy, you can feel your eyes pricking with tears from how stimulated you’re growing.
“Yeah,” you choke out, resting your palms on the back of the couch to brace yourself. “I’m really fucking mad.”
Leon can’t help but grin, his hands brushing along the plush of your thighs. “I’m not too sure, sweetheart. Not with you riding my face like you love me ‘n all.”
“Shut… shut the hell up,” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut as your movements begin to grow even more crazed the closer you get to your release. He was right, but that didn’t mean you had to admit that.
“Okay,” he complies, his eyes fluttering shut while he starts to greedily make out with your pussy, feeling the way you pulsate on his tongue. “Shuttin’ me up real nice with this pretty little pussy. Cum on my face too while you’re at it, pretty girl.”
Not nice enough, but you cry out anyway, your head falling while your legs tremble on either side of his head. “I… Leon, ‘m cumming,” you say through an airy moan.
His movements slow as yours do, his tongue eagerly reaping the benefits of its labor in the form of your sweet release. He lets out a content sigh, pressing a few sweet kisses on your inner thigh.
You slowly rise up from his face, and he turns around to face you again, licking his lips, not caring about the rest of your thin slick that coats his face. You chuckle, running your hand over his face to wipe it away.
“So…” he drawls, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re still mad at me? Tell me more.”
“Later,” you reply, hooking your finger into the loophole of his pants to pull him closer to you.
With a chuckle, Leon pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aimlessly on the floor of your living room. He gently nudges you until you’re laying back on your couch, his hands then moving to undo his belt.
“Ah, I see,” he teases, pushing his pants and boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away before he settles in between your parted legs, his hand pumping his cock.
You raise your eyes from his cock to his eyes, and you give him the most weary expression alive. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit,” you say.
It’s been too long, you were certainly not used to his size anymore. Leon knew it just as well as you did, but he didn’t want to make you nervous by saying that.
His brows knit together as he leans down to kiss you, his fingers moving a bit lower to prod your entrance. “You flatter me,” he says against your lips, his head dipping a bit lower to kiss your neck. “But there’s no need to worry your pretty head, baby. It fit before and it fit just right, remember? I’ll take care of you just like I did then.”
You nod your head, one of your hands cupping the back of his head while the other rests on his strong shoulder. “Okay… yeah, okay.”
He nods too, moving one of his hands to meet the one that you have resting on his shoulder. He intertwines your fingers, pushing your hand back onto the couch while he uses his other one to slide his tip along your folds.
“I promise,” he whispers, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”
He always has. Even after the events of tonight, you know that he always will.
“I love you,” you say without thinking. A flush rushes across your face, and you close your eyes in utter embarrassment. (Seriously? A confession of your undying love while he’s actively entering you? Time and place.) “I’m so sorry, I—”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he whispers, pushing his cock further inside of you until he bottoms out. “Mm… I love you so much,” he replies without a care in the world. “And I’m not sorry about it.”
Your eyes soften at that, and a small chuckle leaves your lips. “Well… that’s good, isn’t it…?”
His eyebrows knit together, laughing softly at your awkward reply. “You’re such a dork, baby,” he whispers, dipping his head to plant a kiss on your lips while he rolls his hips into yours. “A pretty one, though.”
Your eyes flutter shut as he presses a kiss on your lips, and they stay shut, even when he opts to just rest his forehead on yours. “Your dork,” you say, a bit breathlessly with a smile on your face.
“Mhm,” he nods in agreement, a toothy smile stretching across his face. “My dork.”
Such a lovely interaction that you nearly forgot that he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow, because the moment he falls silent, your eyes widen. “Oh, God…”
He smiles, kissing your cheek while he continues to thrust inside of you, his cock being swallowed whole by your pussy in a way that made him feel like he was finally home.
“See?” he whispers in your ear, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re taking me so well, pretty. So well.”
That makes you chuckle, but your laugh doesn’t last for long when the head of his cock rams into you even harder. Your hand smooths out along the expanse of his back, dragging your nails back up.
“You’re crazy,” you gasp out.
Leon smiles. “Crazy about you, sure.”
You laugh through an airy moan, tilting your head to the side as your eyes flutter shut. “Sooo corny,” you whisper.
He shakes his head with his same toothy grin, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him again. His thumb brushes along your bottom lip before he kisses you, and it is just about the sweetest kiss that you could have ever asked for.
“You love it,” he murmurs in reply, a bit breathless as an overwhelming heat pools in his lower stomach.
You shake your head. “I love you.”
Leon clicks his tongue at that, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I’m the corny one?”
That makes you laugh, which makes him laugh. He loves hearing you like this, so happy yet so utterly ruined by the way he feels inside of you. He knows that the feeling is mutual, which only amplifies how much he’s enjoying this. Having you again.
He softly moans in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “Pussy was made for me,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”
After a few more strokes, he truly begins to lose himself. His cock twitches inside of you, and he dips his head into your shoulder. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” he rasps.
He pulls back, but you only pull him closer. It’s been so long, he hadn’t truly thought that you’d be okay with that. But here you were, his favorite girl. Always surprising him. “I love you, sweet girl.”
You nod your head, wrapping your free arm around his neck while the other gives his hand another squeeze. “I love you more.”
He grunts when your walls clench around his length, his lips pressing a longing kiss to your shoulder. “Cum with me, baby, c’mon. I need it, honey, please.”
You’re in no position to deny him or yourself. Your body trembles beneath him, a gorgeous moan ripping through the air while he buries himself deep inside of you, stuffing you full of his cum while you find your own release on his cock.
The two of you lay there for a moment, out of breath and entirely engulfed by one another. He slowly pulls out of you, pressing a few chaste kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, until he eventually kisses your lips.
When he pulls away, you smile up at him. You chase his lips once more, giving him a tender kiss before you lay your head back down.
“Now, as for why I’m still mad at you…”
note. yeahhh i need him bad in a way that’s concerning to feminism. anywhoooo interact if you enjoyed i rly like writing for him :D thank you so much for reading!
your alien boyfriend is just so alien in the sense that his anatomy is just slightly different and off putting but you kinda love it.
you’ve noticed his heartbeat doesn’t really sound like a heartbeat, and he’s so fascinated by the way yours beats so rhythmically.
or maybe his irises get slightly wider than a normal person’s would when he sees something he likes, making them seem darker than what they usually are.
he doesn’t drink, like at all, which is fine, but he tells you it’s because alcohol doesn’t effect him. you think he’s just realizing he’s a heavy weight but you’ve seen him take ten consecutive shots back to back and not even flinch once. but funnily enough he does act a little tipsy at the smell of your perfume.
he’s also weirdly light on his feet. like, you can barely make out his footsteps half of the time and he tends to scare you sometimes because of it. you can only tell when he’s approaching is if the door creaks, or he knocks something over or he trips on his own feet or something along those lines.
he can also hold his breath for an concerningly long period of time. whenever the two of you are at the beach or the pool and he dives in, he spends an uncomfortable amount of time underwater. and when you start to worry, even the lifeguard (if there is one) starts to blow their whistle, he resurfaces casually, barely breathless.
he also kisses you like he doesn’t really need oxygen to breathe, it’s almost as if he can breathe through you, quite literally taking the breath from your lungs. he’s always looking at you like a kicked puppy whenever you pull away, telling him you need a minute for air. he doesn’t really get that you don’t breathe the same way he does.
synopsis: Clark was too busy saving Smallville, and Y/n just wanted a little attention. But when he told her to stop being clingy, She took it to heart— pulling away completely.
wordcount: 1,771
note: 16+ angst to fluff
divider from @enchanthings
"Am I okay?" Y/n echoed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped forward. "You seriously had the audacity to ask me that?"
Clark blinked, completely thrown off guard. "What—?"
"Our date, Clark. You stood me up. Again."
His stomach dropped. And Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Y/n wasn't finished.
"I waited for you for hours at the diner. I called. I texted. And nothing! No explanation, no anything. Just me looking like an idiot in front of everyone while my boyfriend completely blew me off."
Clark swallowed, "Y/n, I—"
"I'm so sick of this, Clark. This is the third time this has happened. And I know— God, I know you're busy. That people need you. But what about me? I'm your girlfriend."
Clark's jaw clenched. He had been through hell tonight, barely keeping Smallville safe, and how he was being berated for doing the right thing?
"Y/n, you know that's not fair." He shot back, voice sharper than intended. "I can't ignore people just because of a date."
Y/n scoffed. "Wow. That's just... great."
Clark exhaled sharply, patience wearing thin. "I'm not saying that, but you're acting—"
"Like what?" She challenged, tilting her head.
Clark hesitated, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"Clingy. I just—" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I need space, Y/n."
Silence.
And then, something in her head shifted.
Y/n quickly wiped the tears off her face. The anger in her eyes didn't die out, but something colder settled in. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and took a small step back.
Clark immediately regretted it.
"Y/n, I—"
"Got it. I'm sorry." She said, voice almost detached.
Clark felt like the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Wait, I—"
But she didn't let him finish. She quickly turned to her heel and walked as fast away as she could.
And Clark did nothing but watch her disappear from his sight.
For the first time in what felt like weeks, Clark actually got some rest. Deep, uninterrupted sleep. His body had needed it. His mind had been craving it. But the moment he opened his eyes, the argument last night was the first thing that crossed his mind.
Clark exhaled slowly, sitting up on the worn-out couch in the loft, running a frustrated hand on his hair. The barn was eerily quiet in the morning light, but his thoughts weren't.
He told himself over and over that it was probably for the best that Y/n was leaving him alone. That's what he wanted, right? He had been overwhelmed by Smallville's never-ending chaos, by his responsibilities, by the weight of everything he was trying to juggle. He just needed time to breathe, to think, to clear out his mind. And Y/n, for the first time, was giving it to him.
So why does it feel so wrong?
He shook the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had farm chores to do, and things he needed to take care of. He'd see Y/n later. He'd apologize after everything was settled down.
Except... he never got the chance. Because Y/n was nowhere.
She had stayed at Chloe's house for tonight. The next morning, she was out with her parents for the entire day. The day after that? She was doing something, somewhere, but Clark had no idea what. And the next day, and the next.
And suddenly, Clark had realized— he had no clue what she was doing at any moment.
For as long as he could remember, Y/n had always been there. She was in his messages before he could open his phone. She was calling him just to tell him something entirely random, or waiting for him at the Torch, or showing up at the loft with snacks. She was always present. But now? Nothing.
Clark had caught himself glancing at his phone every few minutes, waiting for a text that didn't come. His inbox was empty of her usual good morning and good night messages. No texts about her breakfast. No updates about her cat. No sudden burst of excitement at whatever TV show she was obsessing over.
Clark had shook it off, telling himself that it was fine. This is what he asked for and he should be grateful for it.
But the lack of her presence left a void in his heart. He missed her voice. He missed the way she would randomly call him in the middle of the day, just to tell him the most insignificant details of her afternoon. He missed her rants about school, her dramatic complaints about the people that pisses her off, and the way she would text him just because she thought about him.
Clark found himself staring at his phone, scrolling through their old messages, re-reading conversations he had taken for granted. He hovered over her contact, debating whether he should call first.
But he didn't.
Clark didn't remember running to Y/n's house. He didn't even realize that his feet had taken him there until he was standing beneath her bedroom window, hands shaking, heart pounding violently against his chest.
He had fought off yet another creature, saving Smallville again, but for once, Clark didn't feel like a hero.
For the past week, Clark had endured every kind of physical battle ever imagined— facing off against meteor freaks, barely dodging blows that could've shattered his bones, and throwing himself into danger with no hesitation. But none of those compared to losing Y/n. Nothing could've even come close to that.
His hands gripped the windowsills, knuckles turning white. He had climbed through this window a hundred times, sneaking into her room when he wanted to escape and when he wanted to see her. It had always felt so easy, so natural. But tonight, his knees felt weak.
Still, he climbed inside, landing on the floor, breath uneven as his eyes found her. She was curled up in her bed, her hair splayed over the pillows as she was reading one of the books Chloe had recommended. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated her features and Clark thought she was beautiful. Heavenly.
Y/n looked at him with a cold stare, sitting upright before setting the book down on her nightstand. She didn't say anything. She didn't rush into his arms. She didn't scold him for going through her windows like he always did.
"Why are you here?"
Clark took a step forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. "I wanted to talk."
Silence.
She just stared at him, head tilting to scan his face.
His heart clenched, his breath catching in his throat as his knees hit the edge of her bed. "Please," He begged, voice raw, and with pure desperation. "Please talk to me."
Y/n exhaled sharply, trying to toughen up as she could feel her resolve cracking. "What do you want me to say, Clark?"
"I— I miss you."
"You miss me?" She echoed, scoffing. "That's funny because a week ago, you called me clingy."
Clark's jaw clenched, regret tightening in his chest. "I was stupid. I thought— I thought I needed time to figure things out."
"For what, Clark? To decide if I was too much for you? That my love was overwhelming just because I wanted attention for my boyfriend who I haven't spent time much with for weeks?"
Clark opened his mouth, but the words died out his throat. Because deep down, he knew she was right.
Y/n looked away, angrily blinking away her tears. "I gave you space," She continued, voice quieter now. "I pulled away. I stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped clinging to you like you hated so much. Did it make you feel good now?"
"No," Clark immediately answered. "I hated it. I thought space was all I wanted. I thought it would make things easier. But it didn't." He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out, fingers trembling. "I missed you. I missed your texts. I missed your calls. I missed hearing about your day, about your cat, about your gossip with Chloe. I missed you— all of you."
"I thought you wanted to break up," Y/n admitted. "And I was ready to give it to you if it would make you feel any better—"
"No, no, no," Clark interrupted, immediately dropping to his knees beside her bed. He reached for her hand, grasping it gently as if she would slip away at any second. "Don't say that, baby, please."
Y/n stiffened. "Clark..."
"No," He pleaded, shaking his head. "Don't say it. Don't—" His breath hitched, squeezing her hands tighter. "Don't say we should end this. Don't say we should part ways. I can't—" His voice cracked, and suddenly, his vision blurred with tears. "I can't lose you."
"You hurt me, Clark."
"I know, baby, I know. And I'll spend forever making it up to you if you'll let me."
"I don't know if I can go back to how things were."
Clark exhaled shakily, hands reaching up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with such tenderness that Y/n shuddered under his touch. "Then let's start over. Let me love you better."
Y/n let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. "You're such a sap, Kent."
Clark smiled through the tears, relief flooding his chest. "Only for you."
A long beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with emotions too big to be put into words. And then, Clark leaned in, his lips brushing against hers— gentle at first, testing, waiting.
Y/n melted into the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him close.
Clark let out a desperate sound, his body pressing closer as if trying to mold himself into her as if trying to make up for every second they had been apart.
The kiss deepened— slow, intoxicating, filled with longing. Clark’s hands trembled as they slid down her back, holding her so close it almost hurt.
“I love you,” Clark whispered, lips hovering over hers.
"You better.”
And then she pulled him down again, her lips claiming his, her body pressing into him, her hands gripping him like he was the one who had been missing her all along.
Clark let out a breathless laugh between kisses, his heart feeling whole again for the first time in days.
Maybe he had been strong enough to fight monsters, to save a town, to lift things heavier than any man could imagine.
But when it came to Y/N?
She was the only one who could bring him to his knees.
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Clark is very affectionate towards those he loves. He's comfortable with hugging and physically comforting people or being comforted by them. He shows he cares through physical gestures like embracing, touching and holding his love interests. He also does things that are out of his way to make sure his friends are okay and are comfortable.
B = Beginning (How would the relationship start?)
Clark is probably not going to be the one to make the first move. Clark would be too shy to approach anyone. For you, he'll build upon the friendship first, by being a shoulder to lean on, and showing that he trusts you enough to open up and show vulnerability.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
Clark absolutely loves cuddling. He loves physical contact, especially with you. He'd love being the big spoon, or laying his head on your lap. He wouldn't be clingy, but would initiate cuddling often.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
Clark is definitely an old soul and would want to settle down and have a family. He's a gentleman so I think he would be a great cook and loves cooking for the people he cares about. He's good at cleaning, but can be on the messier side due to his clumsiness.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
Clark would be absolutely crushed if he ever had to break up with someone he loves. He would hate himself for hurting you, and the guilt would almost kill him. Clark would end up procrastinating the breakup as long as possible out of fear and guilt. And when it does happen, he'd do it in person, and apologize over and over again while trying to hold back tears. And he would wallow in his guilt for quite a while afterwards.
F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
Despite his constant worry about the future, Clark isn't scared of commitment. I feel Clark would be an old fashioned romantic and want to have a proper proposal that's planned. He would also likely discuss future plans with you and bring up marriage. I think after 6 months to a year of dating, he would start wanting to get married.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
Clark is definitely the type of person who opens doors for you, and is always very gentle with you when the physical contact is intimate. He wants you to know that you're the most important thing in the world to him. Clark is very soft spoken and doesn't like to yell at people. He's very patient with you emotionally, and knows when to give you space and when to hold you and console you.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
Clark absolutely adores hugs. He gives you bear hugs that you melt into, arms wrapped around you, with his head buried in your shoulder. Clark enjoys hugging you in front of his friends to show that you're his, and also likes to secretly hug you underneath tables and behind doors when no one is looking.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
Even though Clark falls in love quickly, he has a habit of over analyzing and overthinking his feelings. So the words "I love you" don't just come out, not unless he's absolutely sure that his feelings aren't just temporary. He'd probably wait months before saying the words, because he's never been in love before, and wants to be completely sure of his feelings and the permanence of them before telling you.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
Clark can definitely get jealous, even though he doesn't like to admit it. He usually doesn't let it show, but he tends to get possessive over you. He can get jealous whenever other men flirt with you, especially if you seem to enjoy the attention. He trusts that you wouldn't actively flirt back, but still doesn't like the fact that other men want you too.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
Clark's kisses are sensual and passionate. He kisses you like he's savoring the feeling of your skin, and his kisses are long and drawn out, he definitely knows how to kiss. Clark likes to shower you in kisses. He likes to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your chin, and your neck. He also loves to kiss along your jaw, and to feel your lips on his own.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
Clark is amazing with children, he’s such a goofball around young ones and loves making them feel comfortable and safe. Clark's been told he'll make a wonderful parent, especially because he's so patient with children.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Clark is definitely not a morning person. Mornings start with him groggily reaching out for cuddles, usually ending up with you in his arms. He also tends to have a hard time getting up, since the bed is so warm and cozy. He'll probably go back to sleep for a short while, burying his face in your hair and holding you close.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Clark loves cuddling up on the couch with you. He loves it when you fall asleep in his arms, or when he falls asleep with his head in your lap, you running your fingers through his hair. At night, Clark tends to be more physical with you. He gets possessive in the dark, and he gets extra clingy at night, holding you as tight as possible. He'll sometimes kiss you on your neck and shoulders while you're about to fall asleep too.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
Clark takes a while to open up, since he's still very guarded and has trouble trusting people fully. He likes to take it slow, and reveal bits of the true him little by little. It's not that he doesn't trust you, but he's afraid of you not accepting who he really is. It usually takes a few weeks to a few months before he reveals the biggest secrets to you, and he'll only take you to his special place once he's fully ready to open up.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
Clark has an amazing amount of patience and tolerance, it usually takes a lot for him to actually get angry. He can get frustrated of course, but it's rare to actually get him mad. He's always willing to listen and talk things out rather than fight. He'll take deep breaths and count to ten if needed, and he'd never, ever yell or shout at you.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
Clark remembers the important things like your birthday and favorite things. He remembers some other details, stuff that you told him before, but that's more due to him making a conscious effort to remember rather than because of his memory. If there's something important he forgets to remember, he tends to feel terrible about it
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
His favorite moment with you would be the first date. Clark was a nervous wreck that day, and he probably still wonders to this day how he managed to not mess it up. He still loves to remember the memory of the first time you held his hand, the first time you said you love him, the first time he kissed you.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
Clark is very protective of you, like an overprotective older brother type. He’ll never let any harm come near you, and he’ll do anything and everything to protect your safety. He gets possessive of you too, especially around other men. Clark trusts you and knows you're capable of defending yourself, but he still likes to keep you away from danger. Clark has a habit of standing in front of you or keeping you behind him.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Clark's the kind of guy who isn't the best at planning dates, but he still tries. He tries to remember the important stuff like birthdays and anniversaries. He tends to get you practical gifts rather than romantic ones, things that he knows you need. He's not someone who buys you jewelry or flowers, instead he'll get you a new set of running shoes since he knows yours are worn out. For dates, he plans things like home cooked dinner, movie night, or stargazing together.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
Even though Clark is generally quite the sweetheart, he does have a few bad habits. One of them is his tendency to bottle up his feelings, keeping his issues and troubles to himself, instead of confiding in you. It isn't a bad habit out of malice, but because he doesn't want to trouble you and is afraid of opening up. Another bad habit would be his need to be a hero and constantly put aside his own well-being for other people.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)
Clark is a very handsome guy, and he knows it. But he really doesn't care much about his looks, it isn't a major issue for him. He dresses casually most days, and he’s not big on fashion either. He doesn't obsess over his appearance, but he wouldn't mind if you fussed over him sometimes. Despite his lack of care for fashion, Clark is still confident in his looks, and he would absolutely go out of his way to tell you how attractive you are.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Clark wouldn’t use the word “incomplete”, but he would definitely feel lost. It’s not that he’s dependent on you, but more so the fact that once he’s fallen for you, you become his world. He’s so in love with you, and it becomes so important to him to have you by his side. He would do anything to keep you and make you happy, and wouldn't like being away from you for long periods of time, but he’ll never try to control or limit you.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
Clark loves holding your hand, and tends to do it whenever he could. He keeps your hand in his when you're standing next to each other. He's also got a tendency to sometimes bring your hand to his mouth and give you a quick kiss on the back of your palm. The feeling of your hand in his is almost grounding for him, and he just loves the feeling of having that physical connection. And he absolutely adores the fact that he can feel every texture of your hand, and that he can feel you squeezing his hand lightly.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
Clark is all about integrity and honesty, so he would despise any kind of lying or cheating behaviors. He’s loyal and expects the same loyalty from you. A lack of trust would be a huge deal breaker for him. Also, he finds it annoying when people get into petty gossip or drama, and he tends to steer clear of it as much as possible.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)
Clark is the type of guy who would usually have trouble sleeping, so he would feel quite restless. But on the nights when he's with you, it's like his sleep magically fixes itself, just because he's holding you in his arms. He'd usually drift off to sleep quickly when you're next to him.
SYNOPSIS: you just can't get enough of clark
WARNINGS: NSFW (18+, MDNI) / fem!reader / established relationship / dry humping / dirty talking / sub!reader / free use (clark is the one free use)
Watching Clark Kent work on an article for the Daily Planet should not have gotten you as worked up as it did. The way his thumb slid over the clicker on the pen, and the way his tongue darted out over his lips, wetting them enough to glisten had you digging your nails into your thighs as if to relieve the pressure building. At first he didn't notice the restlessness in your movements, and he surely didn't clock the way you were slowly scooting closer to him until the warmth of your leg was flush with his. Sometimes when you were around Clark, you felt like your head was empty— completely void of thoughts other than what the feeling of his body pressed against yours is like.
"What's going on, sweet thing?" Clark mumbled, dragging his pen across the paper and barely flicking his eyes up to meet yours. It wasn't often that he brought his work home, but when he did, you couldn't help the arousal shooting through your belly and straight to your core at just the mere sight of him working. Your hand latched on his, halting the ease of his pen across paper. When he finally set the pen down, offering you his undivided attention for the first time in what felt like hours, you offered a sour smile tainted by a hint of shame for being so... needy.
"Need you," you mumbled against his shoulder, your cheeks feeling hot as you bashfully buried your face into his chest to avoid eye contact. You felt the vibrations of his chuckles before you heard the gentle laughter fall from his laps. Like you were weightless, Clark picked you up and positioned you on his lap. With your core pressed against his thigh, and your legs on either side of him, Clark laced his hand around your hip to steady you on him.
"Take what you need, baby," Clark instructed, the direction he offered was completely normal, the words almost engraved into his brain by how often this situation occurred. Shaking his head from side-to-side, Clark piped up, "Don't know why you get so embarrassed about it."
It's how you ended up riding Clark's thigh, the stimulation from him flexing his thigh enough to send you to your peak a few times. With your head tipping back and your eyes rolling, you tried to hide the moans and mewls spilling from your mouth by placing your hands over your lips. It wasn't like Clark was paying much attention to you anyway, his nose was buried in his work, only taking pauses to watch your face twist up in pleasure as you neared your third orgasm in the span of twenty minutes. Setting his paper down once more, Clark looked down at you and wrapped his hands around your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth. Unsatisfied by your stifled moans, Clark offered you a gentle smile as he watched your hips rock yourself back and forth on his thigh, "Such a good girl, huh? You just need a little enrichment, that's all."
You’d just moved into your cousin Chloe’s townhouse to finish high school, and as much as you didn’t exactly dream of a town where cows outnumber people, you tried to stay positive. You kept your head down, focused on school, and did your own thing—varsity sports, a 4.0 GPA, and a part-time job at The Talon.
But no matter how much you tried to do your own thing, Chloe’s friend group kind of swallowed you whole. Which would’ve been fine… if it weren’t for him.
Clark Kent.
Chloe’s annoying, snarky, do-gooder best friend. You couldn’t stand him, as a matter of fact you despised him. And you were pretty sure the feeling was mutual. It wasn’t just the fake boy-next-door act either. It was how he always had to compete with you.
You were used to being the best. The smartest. The fastest. The one teachers praised and students envied. But then came Clark, all tall and humble with his stupid blue eyes and casual perfection. If you got the highest grade in the class on a math test? Clark beat your score—in another period. You crushed the fitness exam in P.E.? Clark doubled your reps and didn't even break a sweat.
“Sorry I beat your score, superstar,” he’d say, looking down at you like the universe itself handed him the win. “Someone’s gotta keep things interesting.”
“Oh, buzz off, farm boy,” you’d snap, rolling your eyes and stomping away.
Your rivalry only got worse from there. You started studying more. You even baked your (evil) history teacher muffins. But the worst part? You couldn’t explain why Clark Kent got under your skin the way he did. Maybe it was because he was too perfect—athletic, smart, kind. Suspiciously kind.
Then everything shifted.
It happened late one night when you were closing at The Talon. You were taking the trash out when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone messing with Chloe’s car—the one you’d borrowed.
“Hey! Back off!” you called. But if the guy heard you he didnt let it show. So you approached. Stupid, in hindsight, but it wasn’t like you were going to just let him steal it. You were inches away when he turned and shoved you against a brick wall.
You kicked, punched, flailed, screamed. You were sure you were doomed when suddenly, the pressure lifted. The weight disappeared. And instead, there were those familiar blue eyes, lit up in the dark like some kind of divine intervention.
Clark.
Without thinking, you threw your arms around him, clinging to him like he was the last solid thing on Earth. But once the adrenaline wore off, you jumped back like he was a live wire. Your brain was filled with questions.
“How did you get here so fast?” you blurted. “What were you doing out here?”
He scratched the back of his neck, looking guilty as hell. “I was… getting coffee?”
“Here? At 10 p.m.?” you raised your eyebrows
He offered to drive you home, and you let him—mostly because your legs were shaking, and your eyes were still welling with tears.
But after that night, you couldn’t unsee it. The weirdness. The speed. The perfectly timed rescues. The way he caught you that one time before you tripped, like he knew before you did.
You paid attention. Watched. Waited. And when the pieces started coming together, you set a trap…
You invited Clark to the old grain mill. Climbing to the top level, you looked out over the edge, feeling the height in your bones. Clark stood a few feet behind you, confused but curious.
“Listen, Clark,” you began, voice steady. “You’re super fast. Strong. You lift things like they weigh nothing. And you’re always there. Always. Just before something happens.”
His smile dropped. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re different.”
“I’m not,” he said quickly. “I’m just like everyone else.”
You could tell he was lying. The way his jaw clenched. The rehearsed tone. He’d said this before—to someone else, maybe even to himself.
“So Clark, you’re telling me if I jumped off this building right now, I’d just fall? Die? And I wouldn’t find you at the bottom waiting to catch me?” You raised your brows, fighting a smirk. You knew you had won.
“Y/N, please don’t,” he said, voice suddenly panicked. “I won’t be there. Just come down and I’ll explain, okay? I promise.”
“Okay,I'll come down” you said—and jumped.
The wind roared past you, but you barely felt it. A second later, you were weightless in warm, steady arms. When you opened your eyes, you saw his—blue, wide, terrified.
“OH MY GOD, why would you do that?!” he practically shouted, setting you down.
“I didn’t die,” you said, brushing dust off your shoulders. “And… I proved my theory.”
Clark looked—pissed. Like, actually mad, you couldn't help but think this was the first time you had seen him angry. “You did all that… for a theory?”
You crossed your arms. “Yes. It’s not like I could’ve just asked you. Because news flash—I tried.”
His jaw clenched. Then his eyes softened.
“I wasn’t trying to lie. I just didn’t want you to think I was some kind of freak.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Clark, you literally have superpowers. ‘Freak’ isn’t the word that comes to mind.”
“Really? Then what is?”
You shrugged. “Special, maybe. Or different. Or just… heroic.”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “I’m no hero.”
“Are you sure?” you asked. “Because you’re always trying to save people. That sounds pretty heroic to me. I mean, you have saved me twice now, most guys would’ve just asked me out by now—but you’re out here catching me mid-fall.”
You smiled at him, soft and teasing. He blushed.
“Clark?”
“Mmhmm?”
“When are you going to kiss me?”
You didn’t have to wait long.
His hands cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a way that was soft and warm and just a little unsure, like he wasn’t totally convinced this was real.
But it was real.
One of his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your hands found his hair, fingers curling through the soft strands as your heart thudded hard in your chest. When he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushed yours, slow and curious, and you didn’t pull away—you leaned in, kissing him like you’d been waiting all year for this exact moment.
You both pulled back slowly, a little breathless. His forehead rested against yours, and you caught the tiny, smug smile tugging at his lips.
“Who’s keeping things interesting now, farm boy?” you whispered.
「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I don't know what has creeped into my brain, but I've started rewatching the show and I literally wrote this in a day.
✬ summary ✬ Finally taking the plunge and ruining your friendship with Clark, you go on your first date but the next day he's acting like a whole new man. Not a good one. You don't know if your relationship can recover from his cruel behavior, but he's not going to give up so easily.
For the nth time, you stand before your mirror and find yourself dissatisfied. No outfit is right, each one is too little, too much, too slutty, not slutty enough. You haven’t even started on shoes yet, you would be in the grave before you were ready for this date. Throwing yourself down on your desk chair, you start tugging the stockings down your legs.
You’re not sure why you thought tights would work during the peak of a Kansas summer, but you’re clearly not thinking much at all today. Head propped in your hand, you slump against the edge of your desk, fingers running idly over the scattered makeup on the surface. Even that hasn't gone right, your normal safeties failing you when you need them most.
Maybe this was all a sign from the universe. You and Clark have been friends since you could walk, what if this stupid date was going to ruin everything between you?
Sighing, you reach for the only framed picture in your room. It’s silly, something Martha took when you were both too busy playing to see her. You and Clark, freshly five, sit around your old purple play table, the both of you covered in glitter and rocking some of the biggest tutus you’ve ever seen. You’re yelling at him in the picture, probably telling him to put his pinky up when he drinks his tea, and he’s just grinning at you.
It’s funny how that smile never changed. Something warm unfurls and blooms in your chest the longer you look at the picture. It’s Clark, he doesn’t care what you wear or if you’ve put on makeup or not. You both loved each other long before that was ever a problem, and it’s not going to start being one now.
Sucking in a deep breath you put on the first outfit you’d picked out, a simple white sundress. You rarely get to wear it, anyway. Might as well test it out now. You check the mirror one last time just as someone knocks on your bedroom door.
Clark calls out your name on the other side, sounding hesitant. “Sorry, um,” he chuckles and you can picture the way he must be nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I got here a little early.”
You dart away from the mirror, kicking all the clothes under your bed. You slide the makeup into your desk drawer to be dealt with later. For now, you just need to make sure that he doesn’t see what a hot mess your room is.
Sucking in a deep breath, you tug the hem of your dress down and shake off your worries. This is Clark. Your Clarkie, the boy you’ve tormented since you were a toddler. There’s nothing to worry about.
“You’re always early, Clark,” you tell him with a soft smile as you open the door.
His eyes widen slightly as he looks down at you. You did purposefully pick a dress that would emphasize certain aspects of yours. The pink flush on his cheeks is entirely worth it. Your eyes are drawn to the bunch of flowers in his hand and you grin. “Are those for me?” You gush, opening your door wider for him to step inside.
“Yeah,” he holds them out to you, blue eyes stuck on yours. “I thought you might like them.” You bring them closer to your face, taking in the faint scent of the roses.
“I love them, thank you,” you find yourself unable to stop smiling as you drop the roses in a glass of water by your bed. After building up your hopes and anxieties for a week because of this date, you're struggling to calm yourself down.
Turning, you find him already looking at you with a soft smile that calms your racing heart just a bit. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while,” he tells you, taking a step closer to you. His hands find your own, pulling you into him. “Not just the date,” he amends, smile stretching wider. “Asking you out. I think our friends were getting sick of listening to me talk about you all the time.”
You laugh, “I think they were getting sick of both of us. I feel so oblivious that it took me so long to realize you felt the same way.”
He huffs, though his tone remains good-natured, “How do you think I feel?”
“Well,” you lace your fingers with his and step closer, “we’re doing it now, that’s what matters.” He ducks down and you feel your breath stutter, but he only leaves a brief kiss on your cheek, pulling back with a sheepish expression. A gentleman through and through.
You’d never thought that knowing Clark for as well and as long as you have could be a bad thing. But now, sitting in The Talon and awkwardly dipping your fries in ketchup just to have something to do, you’re starting to realize it is. Being with each other nearly every day leaves you wanting for conversation. You both are already so caught up on what’s going on in each other’s lives that you’re struggling not to just bring up the weather.
Clark groans and you startle, the noise breaking through the thick silence between you. He leans back in the booth, head resting on the edge and you find your eyes drawn to the strong muscles of his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
Clearing your throat you glance away from him and push your plate away. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” Clark mutters, more to himself than you, but you hear him anyway.
“It’s, well,” you pause, struggling for the words. Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, you shake your head. “I just don’t know what to do when we’re like this,” he peeks an eye open and you gesture between the two of you.
His lips quirk up and he straightens once more. “I feel like I should be able to talk to you, same as always. But I don't know what to say, I don’t want to risk messing this up.” He trails off, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly. The same dreaded panic you’ve been feeling all week is thick in his voice.
“Clark,” you utter his name lowly, reaching your hand out across the table. He’s slow to meet your eyes. “I feel the same way. We’re being stupid because I know that nothing you could say is going to change how I feel about you.” You narrow your eyes, taking on a teasing tone, “And you better feel the same way,” you scold.
He huffs out a laugh, larger hand enveloping yours entirely and squeezing gently, “You know I do.”
You shrug, “Then we’re just being stupid, again,” you add, rolling your eyes.
His eyes light up with mischief, a smile spreading as he stands from his seat. You jump back slightly, surprised by the sudden movement. “I’ve got an idea, come on,” he holds his hand out and you take it once more.
You let out a surprised laugh as he takes off, dragging you out of the Talon behind him. “Where are we going?”
He pauses for a moment, looking over his shoulder at you. It awes you, just how handsome he is. “It’s a surprise,” he winks and tugs you closer.
“Your surprise is… the school?” You frown, taking Clark’s hand as he helps you down from the truck.
“No,” he defends, shooting you a sarcastic look as he closes the door behind you. “We’re sneaking onto the field, like we used to. Maybe a little jog down memory lane will help,” he gives you a cheesy smile and you feel like you might melt.
The sun hangs low on the horizon, its fading golden hues painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. The light catches in Clark’s hair, casting a warm halo around him. Sometimes he seems so overwhelmingly perfect that you wonder if you’ll ever be enough for him. Even when you were beginning to give up hope, he comes up with something so sweet, so thoughtful, that all you want to do is kiss him.
Swallowing down the urge, you place your hand in his and let him lead you around the side of the school. “You know, we only used to do this to mess with the football players,” you tease. “Hard to do when you’re on the team, Clarkie.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Hey, we can still tear the seams on their jerseys- just not mine.” He throws you a grin, and it sends a rush of warmth through your chest.
The familiar path behind the school is darker now, but your steps fall in sync like muscle memory. The fence around the field looms ahead, a little more daunting than normal. It’s harder to climb in your dress, but Clark gives you a boost. One so strong you nearly fly over.
Landing with a huff, you turn to glare at him as he pulls himself over with ease. “Too much torque in the thrust, Clark,” you grumble, brushing off your hands.
He chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulders as you both step onto the field. “Come on, we should get down there before the sun’s gone.”
Dew from the grass seeps its way into the thin fabric of your shoes as you walk toward the center of the field. The bleachers stand empty, the goalposts stretch high into the deepening sky, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a breath.
Clark shrugs off his jacket, laying it out on the grass and motioning for you to sit. You hesitate for a moment, but then you look down at the white fabric of your dress and decide you’re okay with sacrificing Clark’s jacket.
Clark lowers himself beside you, leaning back on his palms as he gazes up at the sky. The last streaks of sunlight fade, and one by one, the stars blink to life above you. You’ve always thought the sky above Smallville was different than anywhere else. As if the stars were reaching out to you. Considering your track record with meteors, it doesn’t seem that far off.
For a while, neither of you speak. The quiet is comfortable, not at all like the stilted silence you’d felt in the diner. You’re content just being here with him, under the vast, endless sky.
Clark is the first to break the peace. He shifts beside you, drawing in a slow breath as he disrupts the silence. “I’ve,” he hesitates on the word, “cared about you for a long time,” he admits, voice low and steady. “Longer than I ever told you.”
You glance over at him and find his gaze fixed on the stars. His jaw is tense, like he’s bracing himself for you to tell him this was all one big mistake and you’re better off as friends. A smile pulls at your lips at the ridiculous thought and you reach toward the small space between you both. Placing your hand over his, he finally looks at you.
“I know things are,” he pauses, “a little weird between us right now.” He looks at your hand and flips his palm so he can lace your fingers together. “But I don’t want to lose what we have. If you’re willing to make it work, I am too.”
Your heart stutters, and for a moment all you can do is stare at him. At the boy who’s always been there, the boy who, despite everything, still makes your heart race. Your smile spreads, “Of course I’m willing,” you whisper.
His breath hitches, and then he grins, the same grin that will never fail to make you lightheaded with infatuation.
Clark was meant to be here an hour ago. You’d made plans to go to a screening of some old movies at the theater. Sitting on the steps of your front porch, head propped in your hand, you look out at the farmlands around you. He only lives a few minutes away from you, you can’t fathom why he would be so late.
You’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s not the type of guy to just leave you hanging. But there’s something humiliating about sitting out here all on your own. The wind has already fussed and ruined the hairstyle you’d so meticulously worked on. You’d already missed half of one of the movies. And the sun is beginning to set.
Part of you is begging to just go inside and give up, but you're more stubborn half won't give in. Clark isn't like this, he wouldn't do something like this without good reason.
A rumble sounds down the highway and your head perks up, crestfallen look replaced with something more hopeful. Getting to your feet, you grimace at the pins and needles tingling down your legs. Walking down the steps and getting a good look at the approaching motorcycle, your stomach plummets.
Not Clark, then, though it’s odd to see someone beside you or the Kent’s driving on this stretch of road. Your hand tightens around the hem of your tank top as the motorcycle begins to slow as it approaches your house. Heart picking up, you take a step back toward the safety of the porch.
Maybe they just need directions or maybe…
Your brain breaks for a moment as the rider pulls into your driveway.
Maybe they’re Clark.
Your jaw drops as he shoots you a smarmy grin, getting off his father’s bike and striding toward you with a swagger you’re unused to. “Hiya, sweetheart." You take a step back from him, brows furrowed.
“Clark,” you spit his name out in shock, eyes darting between him and the bike. Knowing that he’s not dying somewhere in a ditch, your anger at being left waiting surges forth. “You’re an hour late because you were busy stealing your dad’s bike?” You demand, trying to ignore just how good he looks leaning against the post of your porch in that ridiculous leather jacket.
“Sure,” he chuckles and rolls his eyes, brushing past you and heading back to the bike. “That’s why,” he snaps, like you’re slow. He straddles the bike and nods you forward. “You coming or not?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, you glance between him and the front door of your house. Again, giving him the benefit of the doubt, you choose to get on the back of the bike. Maybe this is all just one big act that he’s putting on to surprise you with something at the theater.
He turns the key and you frown, “Helmet?” You ask weakly. He doesn’t respond, just laughs and peels out of your driveway. You squeal, grabbing on tight to his waist and burying your face in his back.
This isn’t an act, and this definitely isn’t Clark. But whoever he is, you just got on the back of his motorcycle like an idiot.
With every turn and rev of the bike, you prepare to feel the pavement beneath your palms. Still, as reckless and nauseating as his driving is, he manages to get you here in one piece. Though, where here is, you’re not sure.
Clark swings off the bike effortlessly, grinning over his shoulder at a group of girls walking into the building behind him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, about the way your hands still tremble from the ride. You’d been too busy clutching onto him for dear life to pay any attention to where you were going and you’re starting to regret it.
The building is nothing more than dirtied brick, the faded neon sign above the door advertising beer and live music. The bass thumps from inside, vibrating the gravel beneath your feet. From within, you hear jeering shouts, the telltale sounds of a crowd on the verge of chaos.
“Clark,” despite his odd behavior, you still find yourself stepping toward him and holding tight to his hand. The sheltered life of Smallville hasn’t exactly prepared you for backwoods, seedy bars. “Where are we?” You peer up at him and the glint in his eyes makes your stomach clench with trepidation.
“Oh,” he laughs, tugging you toward the entrance, “you’re gonna like this,” he swears. Despite the way you dig your heels into the dirt, he keeps pulling, giving you no choice but to follow him into the bar.
The air changes as you step inside, it’s worse than you thought it would be. Thick with heat and smoke, it pulses with the heavy bass of a song you don’t recognize. Multicolored lights flash across the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The scent of spilled beer, sweat, and something sticky clings to the air.
Your fingers tighten around Clark’s arm as he moves forward, practically wrapping yourself around him. He weaves through the crowd like he belongs here. If you let go now, you know he wouldn’t stop, he’d just keep going, leaving you all alone in a place you want no part of.
Clark drags you to the edge of the bar and slips a crumpled twenty across the counter. Wordlessly, and without checking for IDs, the bartender slides over two beers. Clark grabs one and to your utter shock, tilts it back, downing one long gulp.
“You gonna stand there watching me,” he challenges, “or are you finally going to let loose and have some fun?”
“No, Clark, I’m not drinking. And neither should you! You’re driving us back,” you snap, eyes darting around the seedy crowd.
Settling the half-empty bottle on the counter, he smirks, “Relax. We’re here to have a good time,” his tone almost sounds like a threat. Have a good time or else…
His gaze flickers toward the dance floor and your heart sinks at the mischief in his expression. “And I know exactly how to help you loosen up.”
Again, he gives you no time to protest or even form an opinion before he grabs you and pulls you toward the center of the dance floor. You feel like a leashed dog, no choice but to obey.
The music shifts into something darker, slower, a sultry beat thrumming through the air. It charges the atmosphere of the dancers and the crowd sways, bodies pressed tightly together as they move with the rhythm.
“Clark,” you glance around at the writhing bodies and swallow thickly. “I don’t-”
“Just one dance,” he cuts you off smoothly, voice low and coaxing. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as his hands find your waist. His grip is tight but not uncomfortable as he helps move your hips into the rhythm of the song. “Trust me.”
You hesitate, but it’s easier than you thought to simply fall into the slow, lazy grind of the dance. Your body moves in sync with his, despite the apprehension tightening through you. There’s something wrong with him, that’s clear enough. This isn’t the Clark you know, this is some bold, almost predatory version of him.
One of his hands drifts up from your waist, dragging the hem of your thin tank top up slightly as his fingers brush against the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his grip tightens, tilting your head back. You press your hands against his chest, eyes rounding in confusion.
“Clark,” you whisper his name, breathless from the proximity. “What are you-”
He cuts you off, voice rough and breath warm against your lips, “Finally taking what I want.” His head dips down, lips capturing your own. It’s not the soft, gentle first kiss you’d always imagine you would share with him. This is hard, demanding.
He’s claiming you, marking his territory as he slips his hand lower on your waist. He pulls you flush against him, hips pressing against yours. A heat slowly spreads in you, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling that this isn’t Clark.
You push against his chest and you know he lets you go, the situation still under his control. He backs off with an irritated look, eyes narrowed down at you.
Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps as you stare up at him. “What the hell, Clark?”
“What’s your problem?” He snaps, hand flexing around your neck before dropping to his side.
“You,” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “You’re not yourself, Clark.”
His jaw tenses, fists clenching by his side as he takes a step back from you. “Why? Because I’m finally doing what I want?” His voice is sharp, it bites at the fraying edges of your patience. The music around you picks up pace and somebody slams into you from behind.
With a pained gasp, you stumble forward, rubbing the sore spot where their elbow had slammed into your ribs. Clark watches it all with a bored look. Gone is the gentle, considerate boy you’ve known your whole life. This boy before you is reckless and selfish, you don’t want anything to do with him.
His attention flickers past you and you turn to follow his gaze. A pretty blonde sways in the middle of the dance floor, hips moving gracefully as her laughter rings above the music. Without a word or a second glance, he steps around you, striding toward her with the same effortless confidence he just used on you.
Frozen by disbelief and anger, you watch as he slides a hand around her waist, murmuring something in her ear that makes her giggle. The crowd shifts again, blocking your view of the two. It’s for the better as you suck in sharp breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay.
A lump clogs your throat and you rush toward the back of the bar, hoping there might be a bathroom to hide in. You just need a second away from the sweat and noise of the dancers. You stumble through a stained door and slam it closed behind you, wiping desperately at the tears rolling down your cheeks.
After splashing cold water over your face and simply standing in there for a few minutes, you finally feel stable enough to go back outside. You’re just going to ask Clark to take you home and then you hope you never have to see him again.
But when you return to the dance floor, heart still pounding its way up your throat, you can’t find Clark. You can’t even find the blonde. He’s acting like a jackass, but there’s no way he would just leave you.
Right?
You rush outside, your stomach dropping like a stone when you see the parking lot. The motorcycle is gone.
He left you behind.
“Thank you,” your gaze stays trained on your hands, not ready to look at Lex. You feel his stare boring into the side of your head before he turns back to the road.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you called me instead of trying to get home on your own.” He pauses, hand tightening on the steering wheel as he takes in a deep breath. “But what were you doing in a place like that?”
You slump in the passenger seat, rubbing a tired hand over your face. All you want to do is go home and wash this night away. You’re hesitant to tell him the truth, knowing he might give Clark hell for leaving you there. A part of you is still primed to protect him, but the other part, the one that was just left behind, can’t care.
“Clark,” you tell him and his head whips around so fast you’re surprised you don't hear it snap. “He was acting weird tonight. Took me there and then left with another girl.”
“Are you serious?” He demands, sounding angry on your behalf. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy for anger. “Clark wouldn’t do that.”
You suck in a deep breath and finally look at him, “The one I know wouldn’t,” you offer vaguely, ignoring his confused expression. “Honestly, I just want to get home and never talk to him again.”
Lex chuckles a little, “You don’t mean that.”
“Try me,” you snap, glaring out the window. You’re debating calling Clark’s dad and telling him that Clark took the bike. If not just for petty revenge. Just the thought of it makes you feel tired.
“I’m sure,” Lex starts, already sounding like he doesn’t believe himself, “he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for what he did.” You roll your eyes, giving him a deadpan look. His hand lifts slightly off the wheel in surrender. “There’s no excuse,” he amends.
“No, there’s not.” The car rolls to a stop and you look out the window, surprised to already be at your house. The porch light is off, your parents must already be asleep. “I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell Lex, offering him a weak but grateful smile.
He waves you off, “Forget it, I’m glad I could help. If you ever need anything else…” He trails off, leaving the offer open-ended.
You nod, opening the passenger door and stepping out. You’re just about to close it when something occurs to you. Clark always gives you a ride to school, you’re not going to have a way to get there after tonight.
“Oh,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation.
“What’s wrong?” Lex looks concerned and you offer him an apologetic grimace.
“I actually do need something,” you tell him, sheepish and pleading.
Clark wakes up with a fog clouding his mind, a dull pounding behind his eyes. Vague flashes of memory flicker through the haze. The sound of your upset voice, the thrum of music, and the feeling of your body pressed against his. It makes his cheeks flush with warmth, but none of it connects for him. Everything’s one frustrating blur.
But he can figure that out later, his gaze drifts toward the clock on his nightstand and his eyes widen. He leaps off the bed, nearly tripping as he gets wrapped up in his sheets. He was meant to pick you up ten minutes ago.
Clark throws on the first clothes he finds, raking a hand through his messy hair as he bolts down the stairs. His backpack is nearly left by the door as he rushes out. If he could, he’d run you to school. It would be so much faster, so much easier. But that would require explaining why he could do that, and he doesn’t think you’d appreciate him springing the truth of his abilities on you this early in the morning.
You’re not exactly a morning person.
He speeds down the road, the truck’s tires kicking up dust as he pulls into your driveway. Throwing the truck in park he doesn’t even bother cutting the engine before leaping out. Two steps at a time, he bounds up your front porch and knocks firmly on the door.
His foot taps against the wood of the porch as he checks the watch on his wrist. If you hurry, you might both be able to make it to first period on time. After a minute of silence he knocks again, but he’s greeted with the same silence.
He steps back, brows knitted together, and his gaze flickers toward the front window. He ignores the feeling of being a complete creeper as he peers through the glass. The house looks unnaturally still, none of your usual morning mess as you rush to get ready on time. The lights are off and he can’t hear anything inside.
Your parents are usually gone before you even wake up. He can’t think of anyone else who would give you a ride. Or why you would even have anyone else drive you. A strange unease coils in his stomach and another brief memory flashes through his mind. It’s not much, just a pretty blonde smiling up at him.
Jaw tightening, Clark turns back to his truck, climbing inside and heading straight for school. He’s sure everything’s fine. You probably had Chloe or Lana pick you up. Still, even with him being ten minutes late, he’s not sure how they would have gotten to your house before him.
Pulling into the parking lot he frowns, greeted first thing in the morning by Lex’s ridiculously overpriced sports car. It’s parked right in front of the entrance and he wonders what business Lex would have at the high school.
The passenger door opens and you step out, your bag slung over one shoulder. You turn to Lex, smiling as you give him a sweet wave. Clark watches it all with his shoulders tensed as something sharp and hot twists in Clark’s chest.
He watches as Lex pulls out of the parking lot, jaw clenched in irritation. He throws the truck into park and gets out, heading toward the front doors. Inside, the hallways seem more crowded than usual but he still manages to make you out almost instantly.
You’re at your locker, pulling out books as if nothing’s wrong. As if you didn’t get a ride with Lex Luthor and ditch him for seemingly no reason at all.
Clark makes a beeline for you, tightening his grip on his backpack as he stops beside your locker. “Hey,” he calls, forcing a smile. “Did I miss something? I thought I was picking you up this morning.”
You don’t even bother looking at him, eyes stubbornly pointed forward. “Guess I made other plans.”
The coldness in your voice stops him in his tracks. His stomach drops, smile faltering as you continue to pretend there’s anything more for you to grab from your locker. “Okay…” He exhales slowly. “Did something happen?”
You slam your locker shut and he jumps. Whipping around to face him, your eyes are dark with anger as you glare up at him. “Really?” You snap and his eyes widen in surprise. “This is what you’re doing, pretending you don’t remember?”
Clark blinks, thrown off by the heat in your voice. “I-”
“Forget it,” you cut him off. You shake your head, looking tired. “Just leave me alone, Clark. Seems to be something you’re good at, anyway.” You whip around, storming off down the hall and leaving him reeling. He wants to go after you but you’re already slipping into your English class and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to talk to you in there.
He hovers in the hallway, stunned. What the hell happened last night?
His mind races, grasping at the fleeting memories. There was a bar, he’s not even sure how he found that place. He was dancing with you and then kissing you. His eyes widen at that, grimacing at the blurred memory of your rough first kiss. He’d been hoping for something a little sweeter than some backwoods bar.
He remembers you being angry at him but that’s it. There are holes and gaps that he can’t remember no matter how hard he tries. There’s only one thing that could explain the reckless behavior, the memory gaps, and the way he felt like someone else.
Red kryptonite.
His heart sinks and his head falls into his hands. He hurt you and probably scared you. You don’t even want to look at him now. Straightening up, he runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of a way to fix all of this.
He’s not sure he can, not when he can’t even remember what he’s done to you.
Admittedly, ambushing you outside of class probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. But he needed to make sure you couldn’t run from him. You walk out the door, books clutched to your chest, and head down.
Clark falls into step beside you and you briefly glance up, rolling your eyes when you realize it’s him. You pick up your pace, clearly trying to put space between the both of you. “Wait,” he calls, stepping in front of you. “One chance to explain, please.”
You stop in the middle of the hall, uncaring to the students parting around you. “Clark-”
“I don’t remember everything,” he admits, voice low and desperate as he pushes through your objection. “But I know something happened. And I need to fix this.”
Exhaling sharply, you can’t seem to meet his eye. “There’s nothing to fix.”
That can’t be true. He won’t let that be true. “Please,” he presses. “Just… one chance.”
For a moment, you hesitate, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you take a step back from him. “Fine,” you relent, sounding wholly reluctant. “We’ll talk after school.”
Relief floods through him and he finally manages a real smile for the first time all morning. “Okay,” he utters, trying not to sound surprised. “Great, I’ll drive you home, and-”
“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Lex is giving me a ride,” he opens his mouth to protest and you shoot him a sharp look. His jaw snaps closed and he sighs. “I’ll meet you at your house later,” you tell him, leaving no room for argument.
His stomach twists as you turn and walk away. Lex, he scoffs and shakes his head. When did the two of you get close? One bad night and you’re already done with him?
The thought should fill him with anger, but it only makes his worry grow. Whatever he had done last night must have been truly awful. He hates that there’s a chance he won’t be able to fix this. But what makes it worse is knowing that it’s all his fault.
Clark’s in his room when he hears you pull up to the house. He doesn’t waste any time as he heads down the stairs. “What happened to ‘I never want to see him again?’” Clark has no shame as he listens to your conversation. He doesn’t appreciate how comfortable Lex sounds teasing you.
“Yeah, well,” your voice loses its muffled edge as you open the passenger door. “I deserve an explanation.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Lex tells you as Clark opens his front door. Rolling his eyes, Clark jogs down the steps of his porch, heading toward you both. You turn over your shoulder, smile falling as you nod your head in greeting.
Clark’s waited forever to finally tell you how he really feels about you. Years of pining all led to that one moment where you told him that you feel the same way. He’d finally gotten a chance with you, to be with you like he always wanted. He’s not going to let last night ruin everything.
“Thanks, Lex,” you mutter, closing the passenger door and marching toward Clark. Lex lingers for a moment and Clark sends him a stiff smile and wave. Lex returns it with a smirk before driving off.
“So,” arms crossed across your chest, you glance up at him with barely veiled apprehension. “Are we going inside?”
Clark glances back at his house and shakes his head. He holds his hand out to you and you give him a wary glare. “Please,” he asks, and after a moment you place your hand in his. He smiles and leads you to the barn.
Call it nostalgia, call it desperation but whatever compelled you to actually hear Clark out can go bite it. He abandoned you at a club in a town you hadn’t even heard of. To go be with another girl, no less. You shouldn’t have even stopped to listen to him in the hallway. It’s a lack of self-respect, really.
But there was something in his eyes that compelled you to stay. Last night, he’d been a stranger wearing Clark’s face. This morning, you saw the earnest sincerity you always do when you look into those pretty blue eyes of his. Giving in was an inevitability.
Walking the familiar path to the barn you’re struck with a feeling almost like grief. Whatever could have bloomed between you and Clark feels like sand falling through your fingers. Unless he’s about to open those doors and reveal an evil twin, you’re not sure you could ever forgive him.
Clark glances over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He throws the doors of the barn open and you roll your eyes at the dramatics. You slip past him and head inside, stopping short once you see what he’s done.
Fairy lights dangle above the loft, illuminating what looks like a poorly built blanket fort. Christmas lights he clearly stole from his mom are hung haphazardly from the rafters. You can see the effort he put into making the barn feel special, even if the execution is lacking.
It’s the nostalgia of it all that makes you smile. Summer’s spent camping out in the barn, hidden away under blanket forts, and trying to scare each other with your bad ghost stories. It’s a time capsule of your childhood. And you know what he’s trying to do, how he’s trying to soften the hard edges of your resentment. You hate that it’s beginning to work.
Clark heads up to the loft first, glancing over his shoulder and motioning for you to follow. You sigh, face blank as you work to keep up the cool exterior you feel slowly melting away. He offers his hand as you reach the top, and after a beat of hesitation, you reluctantly take it.
Clark pulls you forward and keeps your hand in his as he leads you to sit down across from him. Sinking back into the plush pillows and blankets you prop your head in your hand, watching him with a bored expression. Sucking in a deep breath, he rubs his hands along the surface of his jeans, avoiding your eyes for a moment.
“I didn’t want our first kiss to be in some bar.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before finally meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want our first anything to be there. I wanted it to be somewhere like this, somewhere that actually meant something to us.”
His throat bobs as he swallows. Then he leans closer, reaching across the space between you, his fingers curling around yours again. The warmth of his palm is comforting, even if you don’t let him see that. “I don’t want to lose my best friend. I don’t want to lose you, you have to believe me. What happened last night, it wasn’t me.”
Your expression hardens and you yank your hand from his, putting distance between you. Clark’s face flickers with hurt, but you ignore it. “Why should I believe anything you say, Clark? What happened last night was an eye-opener. Clearly, we’re better off just being friends.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, looking like you’ve just punched him in the gut. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs.
“Don’t I?”
Clark drops his head into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders curl inward, and for a long while, he doesn’t speak. The silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken words.
Maybe it would be better for you to just leave. Some space might do both of you good, and help you come to terms with the truth of it all.
This was never going to work.
Clark exhales slowly, then straightens, blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that catches you off guard. “Alright,” he nods, some internal battle going on that you’re not privy to. “Stand by the window.”
Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What?”
“Do it,” he tells you, tone firm, and you find yourself struggling for a reason not to listen. Finally, with a reluctant huff, you get up and go stand by the window.
The golden fields stretch before you bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The wheat sways gently in the evening breeze. Utterly boring and un-fascinating.
You roll your eyes, “Clark, I swear-”
A distant whistle cuts through the air. You whip around, expecting to see Clark behind you and instead find the loft empty. Your stomach tightens and you turn back to the window. A flicker of movement catches your attention, “What the…”
You press against the window, squinting at the field below. That’s when you see him. A very small Clark waves from the middle of the wheat, far too distant for how quickly he got there. Your breath catches and you find yourself waving back without thinking.
There’s no possible way he crossed all that in under thirty seconds.
But he’s not satisfied with just an impressive show of speed. Clark disappears and then reappears right below the barn window. Only, he’s not alone.
Above his head, with terrifying ease, he’s holding a goddamn tractor. Your heart slams against your ribs. “Clark!” You shout, terrified this little stunt of his is going to end with him sandwiched into the dirt. He sets it down casually, as if it weighs nothing.
A gust of wind pushes your hair forward and you turn sharply. Clark stands behind you now, cheeks flushed, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What the hell was that?” You demand, eyes darting between him and the tractor outside.
“It’s what I wanted to tell you. What I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he concedes, his smile faltering slightly, his voice tinged with something vulnerable.
Still stunned, you sink onto the couch as he begins to explain. About the crash landing. About his powers. How he’s different.
Your best friend- your almost-boyfriend, is an alien.
Of all the things racing through your mind, only one question comes to mind. “Why have you never told me?” You don’t ask him if he was from Jupiter or Mars, or if he’s got a secret eye hidden somewhere. You just want to know why he didn’t think he could trust you.
Clark hesitates. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you’d see me as some freak.”
You snort, “You’re an idiot is what you are.”
His head snaps up, blinking at you in surprise. “Clark, why would I ever care about what planet you’re from?” You shake your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you shift forward, kneeling in front of him. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly. Then, hesitantly, you reach up, cupping his cheek. A smile spreads across your face as he leans into the touch. “I care about you, not about what rocket you crash-landed in.”
“More of a pod,” he corrects and you shoot him a sharp look that makes him laugh. He sobers quickly, smile fading, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for last night.”
“Well,” you muse, tilting your head. “It wasn’t really you, right? It was that krypto- karo-”
“Kryptonite,” he grins a little at the way you stumble over the word. “And, yes, it was. I would never purposefully hurt you, but it’s not an excuse.”
“It’s actually the only acceptable excuse,” you tell him, rolling your eyes playfully. “That or evil twin.” Clark’s eyes widen slightly and you narrow yours. “Do you actually have an evil twin?” You shake your head, “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later.”
You glance up at the twinkling lights strung above, the warm glow making the loft feel impossibly soft, impossibly safe. “Clark?” You ask and he hums, already looking at you when you glance back at him. “We can always try that first kiss again.”
His smile, soft and sweet, mirrors your own. As you lean in, his arms circle your waist, pulling you gently into him. Your fingers thread through the soft tresses of his hair as his lips brush against yours, soft, lingering, right.
This. This is what you knew it would feel like. This is home and safety, everything good in your life. You smile against Clark’s lips knowing that no matter what evil twins or toxic rocks come at you, you’ll face it together.
synopsis: Y/n started to tone down her flirting when she thought it made Clark uncomfortable. But Clark pulls her close and finally admits that he never wanted her to stop.
wordcount: 962
note: a bit of angst, fluff
The sun cast a warm glow over the lake, the air was filled with the sound of giggles, splashing water, and overall serenity. It was supposed to be the perfect day. You planned it all for weeks— just you, Clark, Chloe, and Pete hanging out after a week of overloading schoolwork and weird escapades around Smallville.
But as you sat on the picnic blanket, quietly watching Pete and Chloe argue by the lake, your thoughts were only about what you'd heard last night.
"Don't you think Clark gets annoyed with her sometimes?" Pete asked her.
Chloe shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, he's probably just too polite to speak up."
It wasn't said with any sort of malice. Just a casual commentary about you and Clark's relationship. But it got you thinking that maybe they were right.
You just liked Clark so much, and you've told him about it a couple of times jokingly. But you were very serious about your feelings for the guy. You couldn't help teasing or fawning over him every chance you get because you find everything he does very adorable.
But right now, you were sort of keeping your distance for a bit. You tried to replay every interaction you had with Clark, and you've noticed that every time you compliment him, he doesn't say anything. Just a casual laugh or smile thrown over at you. You thought nothing about it before— like maybe, he enjoys it, too. But maybe you were wrong.
Your chest ached at the thought. You didn't mean to make him uncomfortable or anything of the sort. You were just being you. But maybe it's time to back off for a little bit. So that's what you were doing right now.
You didn't call him Clarkie or handsome when he offered to carry the cooler. Didn't brush the hair out of his eyes after his swim. Didn't throw a flirty comment when he came out of the water shirtless, droplets running down the ridges of his sculpted chest, looking every bit of a guy that was straight out of your dream.
Instead, you sat over there quietly. Guarded. Still.
Clark walked over to where you were, droplets still trailing down his hair as he took a seat beside you. You felt the warmth of his skin as his shoulder brushed yours, but unlike every other time, you didn't lean into it. Didn't melt into it.
"Hey," He looked at you, brushing your damp hair over your shoulder to take a look at your face. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Clark." You gave him a quick smile and shifted slightly, putting a few inches of space between the two of you.
His brows immediately furrowed. He didn't like that. Not one bit.
Without missing a beat, Clark closed the gap again, this time more purposefully— his arms brushing yours. Still, you said nothing.
Clark watched you. Studied the way your hands rested in your lap. The way your eyes lacked sparkle, like they usually did when he was around. And it made his chest feel tighter.
"Did I do something wrong?" He asked quietly, head tilting just enough for you to meet his eyes. His voice was soft with worry.
You let out a dry chuckle, looking at him. "Clark, no. Why would you say that?"
"You seem quiet," He says, eyeing you.
"I'm fine," You repeated, offering him a small smile. Then, almost without realizing, you shifted a little farther away.
Clark's jaw tensed. He noticed. Every inch you scooted away from him felt like a pinch in his heart. He didn't even think— he just reached out, big arms wrapping around your waist and tugging you against his chest, pulling you flush against him.
Your breath hitched.
"Clark—"
"What's going on?" He hummed, running a soothing hand along your shoulder. "You've been off all day."
You looked away, heart pounding against your chest wildly. It was hard keeping your feelings at bay already. But now that he was touching you— holding you— almost made your heart burst right there and then.
"I just..." You started, voice going soft. "Did I make you uncomfortable?" You looked up at him.
"What?"
"Do you think I was being too flirty? Too annoying?" You gulped. "And if I ever did make you uncomfortable, then I am really sorry. That was the last thing I ever wanted you to feel."
He was quiet for a bit, still studying you. You looked at the lake again, and still, Clark said nothing.
"Clark," You said again, trying to wiggle from his iron grip.
"No," He said, and you paused. His arms held firm, but gently, tightening his grip on you. "You're not making me uncomfortable."
You glanced up again. "Really?"
Clark hummed, a small tint of blush creeping across his cheek as he looked away. You noticed the small twitch at the corners of his lip, a smile threatening to break from his face.
"But... you barely say anything when I tease you. When I compliment you."
Clark rubbed the back of his neck. "That's because I'm shy."
You stared at him. "You? Shy? No way."
He chuckled, cheeks flushed. "Only around you."
A wide grin broke out on your face as you stared at him. There was something new in this gaze— something warm. Like he had been seeing you for the first time in a different light.
"Are you saying that you like me, too?" You bit back a smile.
"I thought I was being obvious even before."
And just like that, the clouds in your chest lifted. You grinned—wide and bright— before leaning into him like you usually does. You rested your head against his shoulder, your fingers intertwining with his.
SUMMARY. your school has a football game against smallville. after the game clark kent approaches you and asks if you want to hang out, but there’s one problem.
CW. academic rivals—except clark and reader rlly don’t hate each other, reader’s “boyfriend” doesn’t take no for an answer, fighting, fluff.
A/N. guys… before you read, i have to say I JUST started watching smallville 😭 I’m on season 1 ep 5, so some I’m going to be improvising some stuff, so, clark isn’t going to be like s1 clark, he’s going to be a bit like red k clark? so, there’s that. the ending lowkey makes me mad 😔 but yall lmk if yall want a pt 2 maybe? 😗
you and your cheerleaders celebrate your team for winning the football game against smallville with chants, flips, and jumps. you guys were happy that you won after losing two games in a row, first one was against gotham and the other against central city, which was weird because these teams haven’t won against metropolis in decades, but, the team won once again and that’s what matters tonight.
“troy’s in for a real treat tonight, huh?” your friend avery cocks her eyebrows and you chuckle. “he scored the winning touchdown, you have to rock his world, baby.” she winks at you and goes with her other cheerleading friends. your tongue runs over your teeth as you try to hide your annoyed face.
the footballers run over to the squad and you stand aside, you’re the captain, you should be there sharing the moment with them, but you don’t, you stay a few feet away ruffling your Pom poms and smiling.
you have a few friends from smallville since you were raised there, you and your brother moved to metropolis with your parents because your father had been offered a nice job there, and he took it. you recognize lana lang, whitney fordman, chloe sullivan, pete ross, and of course, clark kent.
your dad and his were practically brothers, they were inseparable ever since the sixth grade, but as they grew older, before moving to metropolis, clark’s father suddenly stopped associating with your father. you never knew why, it wasn’t your business, but now that you see clark’s face, you might ask your father.
your thoughts are interrupted by a figure standing in front of you, you focus back and it’s none other than clark kent!
“i gotta say… your dancing skills were always bad, but now? oh, they got worse.” you raise an eyebrow as he grimaces.
“yeah? well at least i still don’t run like I’m scared of tripping my own feet.” you press your lips into a thin line.
“you know, every time your squad threw you up in the air i was waiting for them not to catch you and let you fall into the dirt.”
“i didn’t see your dad here… guess he still regrets the decision to adopt you.” you click your tongue and he chuckles.
“okay, I’m going to give you that one.” you smile and shrug.
“what are you doing here, kent?” you question.
“you’re in my school’s football field, if there’s someone that should be here, it’s me.” he furrows his eyebrows.
“yeah no, after that nasty loss? might have to claim this as our territory now.” clark scoffs and looks down. “7-24? yikes!” you exclaim and inhale sharply through your teeth. “go home, kent, or else our team will show you no remorse.” you cross your arms together and he gets closer, towering over you.
“what about you? what will you do?” your eye contact is strong, and you’re teasing him with a cocky smile, but his charming eyes get you weak in the knees, you scoff and look down, giving in.
“i’m not going to do anything, i don’t have the heart.” you pursed your lips. in a blink, you notice clark’s hand shielding your face, in his hand was the football that connor, the linebacker from your team just threw. you didn’t even notice how badly you flinched, but you stayed still, staring at clark’s heroic move in awe, your eyes travel from his hand holding the football, to him. and you swear that something inside you snapped, the way he made the football stop from hitting you, how fast he reacted, that made you feel something you didn’t even know clark kent was possible of making you feel.
“holy—! i’m so sorry, y/n, i didn’t mean for it to go in your direction!” connor apologizes, but you shoot him a death glare.
“what the hell is your problem, connor?!” troy pushes connor and rolls his eyes.
“i didn’t mean to throw it at her! it was meant for kent!” clark rolls his eyes and throws the football back to him.
“thank you, kent.” you slowly straighten yourself up. “that was crazy, what on earth are you training for that makes your reflexes so fast?” you question and he just shrugs with a smile.
silence engulfs the two of you and it feels awkward, the only thing heard was the screaming and chanting of your cheerleading squad and the football team. clark’s eyes narrow from all around, to you, he feels nervous around you, but, the worst thing she can say is no, he thinks, so he—
“y/n.” he calls you and catches your attention. “i was thinking if maybe you’d like to hang out… later.” you shoot him a soft smile and he analyzes your reaction. “i mean, i-if you can, I’m sure you’re going to celebrate your win with your squad and team, nevermind..” he shakes his head, regretting he even asked you. ‘it’s not like she was going to go out with you anyway, clark, she’s with troy.’ he thinks. he thought it’d be game over until—
“no, i don’t plan on celebrating, i wanna be alone, you know? i don’t want to party or anything. i-i mean, I’d like to be alone with you.” you close your eyes and shake your head once you realize what you said. clark can feel the heatness creeping up his face and he laughs. “oh my gosh… i mean that like, yes! I’d like to hang out with you!” ‘jeez, no way I’m actually this awkward. I’m literally embarrassing myself oh my God, I’m going to cry’ you thought.
“great! maybe we can meet up in the beanery? it’s—“ your eyes widen and you shake your head.
“the beanery? that old thing?” you question and clark furrows his eyebrows.
“hey!” you raise your hands in defense.
“no, we’re going somewhere better, there’s this diner in central city called dine fine, we can go there, we can dine something or share a milkshake, whatever you’d like!” you smile at him and he nods.
“okay, sounds great! it’s a da—“ your smile turned into an annoyed look when you felt arms wrap around you and lips kiss your cheek. troy, your “boyfriend” watches clark’s expression change and shoots him a wink. clark can feel his face heat up, and it’s not blushing, or jealousy, he closes his eyes to avoid burning troy to a crisp.
“what’s up, kent?” troy greets clark with a bitch attitude. “she’s precious, isn’t she?” your eyes avoid troy’s, but are glued onto clark, and he can see you’re feeling uncomfortable, and you don’t know how badly he wants to smack the hell out of troy and tell him to back off from you. and he doesn’t know how badly you want him to do it. troy raises an eyebrow, urging him to answer the question.
“yes, she is, troy. you’re a lucky guy.” clark’s eyes never leave you, troy notices how yours don’t either, and his nose flares.
“i know.” he smiles. troy pulls you aside, away from clark. “hey, we’re going out to celebrate, you want us to go back to my place, or go out?” he asks you, and you pull away, shaking your head.
“it’s okay, troy, i don’t want to go out.” you cross your arms and troy smirks, he glances at clark behind you.
“okay, so, you want to go back to mine?” he asks, and you furrow your eyebrows.
“no.” troy’s eyebrows raise in reaction to your tone, and clark hides a smile, and forces back down his laugh.
“okay, whatever, we’re going to go out and celebrate, let me know if you change your mind.” you nod and he leaves. your friend alanna walks over to you and locks her arm around yours.
“ready to go?” she asks and you nod.
“yeah, give me a second, I’ll be right there.” your friend nods with a cute smile and her eyes narrow between you and clark before she walks to her car.
“so, I’ll see you maybe at 8?” clark questions.
you nod at his timing and he smiles. “I’ll see you there, kent.” you turn in your heels and walk to your friend's car.
clark admires you from head to heels and god, you in that skimpy cheerleading outfit did something to him. he blows out a breath after admiring your figure and smiles to himself, trying to hold back on his thoughts. he can’t believe he’s going to see you again later, and neither can you.
you tell alanna to take you to your grandma’s house so you can shower and change your clothes. since you visit your grandma quite often, you have clothes you wear once in a while there, so after a shower, you ready yourself and head to central city right after you’re done.
since alanna is heading to metropolis due to work, she gives you a ride to the diner where you are meeting up with clark. “have fun, sweetheart, love ya!” she blew you a kiss before driving away. you blew her a kiss back and waved goodbye.
you don’t see clark inside, but you decide to enter anyway, and just as you are a few feet away from the entrance doors, your name is called out, and when you look at where the voice is coming from you notice it’s clark, your face lights up, and so does his.
‘woah.’ clark thinks to himself, for some reason, he thinks you look better in casual clothes than in your cheerleading outfit. not that he’s complaining, he loves your cheerleading outfit, the colors favor you and it shows the perfect amount of everything.
‘damn.’ you think to yourself. he’s wearing a cap with a graphic tee that shapes his biceps perfectly. ‘forget the damn diner, I wanna dine him!’ you lick your lips to hide your smile at the thought.
“hey.” he greets you first with his pearly smile.
“hi.” you say right back and also give him your pearly smile.
he places his hand behind your shoulder and you lead the way, he opens the door for you and you go inside, the 80’s music is at the perfect volume, it smells amazing inside, and overall the vibe is nice.
you sit down at one of the benches and clark sits in front of you. “is there something you want in specific?” he asks.
“we could order some fries with some nuggets, unless you actually wanna find something?” your eyes meet and he stays silent, studying your eyes he opens his mouth to speak, yet nothing comes out. you laugh and look back at the menu.
“whatever you want.” clark answers your question. “I’m okay with whatever you decide.”
“okay, well, I’ll order some fries and nuggets, and ooh! you have to try their strawberry milkshake, it’s so good, so, we’re ordering that too!” clark’s eyes stay glued on you, your excitement makes his heart melt, he loves this side of you. ever since you moved to metropolis, he thought you’d turned into this cocky, mean, captain of the cheerleading squad, but, he’s been proven completely wrong. he still sees that little bullet of a girl with princess band-aids all over her arms, and legs in your personality. “is it okay if we order that?”
“as i said, y/n. whatever you want.” he nods and you smile widely with a chuckle. “you know, for some reason, i thought that when you moved to metropolis you turned into this mean, and cocky cheerleader, but no. can i ask? why aren’t you celebrating out there with your squad and team?”
“I’m nothing like that, the rest of my squad? maybe—except alanna! but i don’t like that whole cocky mean girl vibe, i tried it, just to fit in, but fitting in is stupid, so, outside i might seem like that, but once you get to know me, i’m not.” clark nods, paying his every single attention to you. “and the thing is i don’t celebrate with them because they have a really weird way of celebrating and i don’t want to be getting drunk or anything. I’d rather be relaxed, or hanging out with my real friends, you know?” clark nods.
“i like that.” your eyes find their way back to his and you smile. “i don’t want to sound nosy, but… you and troy?” he watches the drastic change in your face from happy to disgusted and he laughs. “that bad, huh?”
“it’s all fake. the football coach just wanted that typical “captain of the football team and captain of the cheerleading squad” love story, but, there’s not one ounce of love between us.”
“i mean, i see love in his eyes.” clark mentions and you scoff.
“lust is what you’re seeing, clark.” you hold your breath and clark closes his eyes. “i can’t stand him, he’s a jerk, he doesn’t take no for an answer and it’s the worst, someone always has to come in and step in, even his teammates.” you roll your eyes.
“I’m sorry, y/n.” you dismiss him with a shrug. “i saw it in your eyes today, that’s what i saw, and i wanted to do something, but i thought it wasn’t my place. i should’ve done something. i hated seeing him on you like that.” clark shakes his head and looks away from your eyes, you place your hand on his forearm, your warm touch sends him goosebumps all over his body, your eyes speak a million words, and his mind runs a thousand thoughts as he takes in every inch of your perfect face, your eyes, your lips.
“thank you, for at least knowing the right thing to do. also, thank you for that crazy save from me getting hit by a football.” you both share a laugh and he nods. he places a hand over yours and smiles.
“you’re welcome, and, you’re welcome.” your smile relaxes into a softer one, and the two of you stay staring into each other’s eyes, no other words need to be spoken, your eyes already do.
his ocean eyes tell you everything you need to know, does he need to admit how he feels right now? his heart racing, how he wants to feel your soft hands all over his body? his eyes are saying all of that to yours.
and yours? your eyes are begging for him to save you. for him to make you forget who troy even is. one more look and you swear you’re moving back to smallville, or more specifically, his bed.
“clark…” the way his name rolls off your tongue is something he could never get tired of, he prays that whatever comes out of your pretty little mouth is an invitation.
“kent!” the familiar voice knocks you both out of your trance and your eyes widen. you look back and see troy and half of his teammates walk behind him. “you mind getting your hands off my girl?”
“troy…” you whisper.
“you shut up, okay? get in the car. we’re going back to metropolis.” troy points at you with his index finger, and you swallow the lump in your throat.
“you call her your girl and then treat her like that?” clark raises an eyebrow and stands from the bench. your heart begins to race and not in a good way. there’s no possible way this is going to end well.
“she’s my girl, kent, that means that since she’s mine, i get to treat her however i want.” troy’s teammates share uncomfortable glances and shake their heads.
“she is not your pet, troy. you need to treat her right, like she’s the woman you love because that’s what she is, isn’t she?” clark towers over troy and you like that, you like that very much, apart from the fact that he’s defending you. but you push back your feelings and thoughts, because you’re scared right now, scared for both in reality.
“and if i don’t? you think you will? in your dreams, kent.” he scoffs, and walks over to you, grabbing your hand. “come on, y/n. we’re going home.” he raises you from your seat, and you stand beside him. just when you thought this could all end here, Clark decides to open his mouth.
“i would treat her better than you ever have.” your mouth opens, and you try your best to hide your smile. when troy’s grip around you loosens, your face drops.
next thing you see is troy swinging at clark with a right hook, you back away and troy’s teammates hold you back. “no!” you exclaim at troy’s punch. thankfully, clark reacted quickly and dodged it, but then, clark grabbed troy by the collar of his shirt and pressed him against the wall.
“clark, no!” you stop him from causing further damage and he slowly lets go of troy. you wanted to troy get what he deserved, but, just not now. the time will come. “let’s just go.”
“i don’t want to see you step foot in smallville again. if i so much as see your face, or hear that you did something to her, i’ll deal with you for good.” clark throws in before walking off. you follow behind him and leave the diner.
you were still trying to process what the hell just happened in there, clark defended you and went face-to-face with troy because he disrespected you. ‘oh my god?’
clark has his back against you, your eyes look up and he turns. “clark… what—“ you blink repeatedly.
“y/n. if he ever lays a single finger on you again, you let me know, alright?” you nod and hum. he nods and caresses your arm. “are you okay?” he asks and you hum.
“uh-huh…” clark chuckles and you inch closer to him.
you don’t exactly what you feel right now, but it feels good, and you hope he can help you with it because he’s the reason you’re feeling like this. your eyes are searching for an answer, ‘does he want this? because i sure do.’
“how far is your grandma’s house from here?” you pause in your daydreams to answer his question.
“like 15 minutes, i know the way.” you answer.
“okay, but, you’re not going alone.”
“why not? you don’t think i can handle myself?”
“oh, i know you can handle yourself, but, let me take you, ‘kay?” you smile at his offer and suck on your bottom lip before you lead the way.
the walk to your grandma’s house was silent, thankfully, it wasn’t uncomfortable silence, but the two of you were on the verge of speaking, you just had no idea of what. of the sexual tension before troy ruined it? of the almost fight? how clark defended you? why did he defend you exactly? God, you think that whatever the answer is, it’d land you both on top of each other.
clark can see how your heart is beating quickly, and he doesn’t know if it’s because you’re either scared, mad, nervous, or maybe just turned on. it’s the fourth option, you know that very well, but he thinks it’s the second.
“I’m sorry, y/n.” he speaks, breaking the eternal lasting silence between you two. “i-i didn’t mean to scare you or make you mad by what happened at the diner. it’s just… you don’t deserve that asshole.” the two of you stop in your tracks. you flutter your eyelashes at him and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever, he swallows before speaking again. “and I’m also sorry that we didn’t get to share a milkshake.”
“apology not accepted,” you say. his face drops and your eyebrows furrowed. “they’re not needed, clark.” he sighs in relief and you smile. you continue your walk, you’re about 3 minutes away from your grandma’s house, but you wish it were hours instead, you do not want to say goodbye to him at all.
“i’m glad we could share this night, clark.” as you arrive at your grandma’s house, you stop your feet and turn to face him. the only light that’s making you able to see each other is your grandma’s porch lighting. “would’ve been better if we could’ve shared a milkshake, but…” you sputter and he chuckles.
“it’s okay, just a moment with you is enough for me.” his words made your knees weak, you lick your lips and suck your bottom lip in, close your eyes, and feel his index finger brushes your cheek. your eyes open and reunite with his.
“can we stay like this?” you whisper, as your eyes travel to his lips.
“yeah.” he whispers back, his finger still caressing your cheek.
his hand finds its way to your waist and he pulls you forward, your chest touching his, your breathing matches and you’re still deep into each other’s eyes.
‘if only he knew I’m sending him the most straightforward invitation to come inside.’ you think right as your eyes remove themselves from his lips and back into his eyes.
your tongue traces over your teeth and you smile. you look down to the ground and lean forward. you press a soft kiss on clark’s cheek and he closes his eyes. when you back away, your lips are so close to each other, and his eyes have the green light on for your lips to move to his, and as much as you want to, you don’t, though you could feel his slightly rose yours.
“i’ll be seeing you around, kent.” you smirk as you run your hand over his arms, again, your gentle touch sends goosebumps through his body, the second your fingertips are removed from his skin, he misses you already, all he wishes to do is turn you back around and make you all his for the rest of the night.
your heels touch the ground and you turn, approaching your grandmother’s steps, you tease him with a look back and a mocking grin, and he chuckles as he watches your expression. the second you enter the door he runs back to his house, but, safe to say that wasn’t the end of his night.
a/n: writing this while in my zoom lecture - very self insert-y (reader is a musician - can be anything except drums / i tried to make it as vague as possible!) if i don't meet a drummer and form a band soon i will freak out!!
"what do you think about me learning the drums?"
you jump as clark speaks from behind, shutting the door of your locker for you. "sorry," he laughs. "didn't mean to scare you." he watches as you turn to face him, leaning your back against the closed locker, trying to calm your heartrate. "c'mon, what do you think?" clark grabs two pens out of his shirt pocket, hitting them against your bicep gently, urging you to answer.
"it would be cool," you shrug, trying to fake nonchalance, as if you hadn't just told clark a few days ago about how you always liked musicians.
"that's it? 'it would be cool'?"
"yeah, i don't know. where are you planning to get a drum set from, anyway? they can be expensive."
"my mom was telling me that someone was selling their set, so..." clark sighs, practically shrinking. this is clearly not the answer he was expecting, and that becomes clear quickly. "well, i just thought you'd be more excited. you're always talking about wanting to make music."
"i am excited, don't get me wrong, i just... well, you've never really talked about wanted to play an instrument before. and i can't play drums, so i can't really teach you."
"oh, so you're underestimating me?" clark challenges. "just you wait. a few days and you're gonna be thinking i've been playing for months."
"it's an exercise. not that i'd know, but that's what people say."
"yeah, and? i help my dad with stuff on the farm every day. i can handle it," he says, raising his arm in a half-flex. he pats his arm for emphasis before, putting his arm over your shoulders, dragging you away from the locker. as much as this action drives you a little mad, you can't deny that you wish he was doing it in a romantic way and not to annoy you. "it'll be fun. we can write little songs."
"okay, okay, it would be really cool," you concede, trying to fight back the smile on your face.
"i can see you smiling! i knew you'd be excited." clark drops his arm, poking your side. "you can't fool me. i can already see it—" he starts to set the stage, announcing your name and then using your shoulder as a faux-drum, hitting it with the pens once again. "and their drummer—clark kent!"
"you are so getting ahead of yourself. what if you're bad at the drums, huh? and stop hitting me with these," you laugh, snatching the pens out of his hands.
"come over after dinner," he urges. "i've been saving money anyway, i'm gonna pick up the set after school."
"okay, kent. i'm gonna have to teach you so much musical terminology; you'd better get your listening cap ready." clark rolls his eyes, taking the pens back from your hand, and you try to ignore the way you feel when his hand grazes yours.
"oh, please. i listen to you all the time, i don't need a hat."
synopsis. feeling unwell and overwhelmed, you seek comfort in clark's arms. his warmth, soothing touch, and sweet words make the ache in your stomach—and your heart—feel bearable.
kari yaps. last night, i had horrible stomach pains and wrote this <333 + a lil disclaimer! i'm on ep 5 of smallville (the ads on hulu r mad annoying) so i only know a little about clark. but don't worry i will get to know all ab pookie soon !!! trust <33
it starts with the ache. sharp and twisting, like someone's wringing your stomach out like a wet rag. it's been days now—days of barely keeping food down, of your appetite wavering between nothing and everything, only for nausea to win every time. eating has become a battle, and losing feels inevitable. but you haven't told anyone, not really. maybe it's pride. maybe it's not wanting to worry anyone. maybe you're just hoping it'll go away on its own.
still, it lingers, and today's no different. you pull up to the kent farm, the gravel crunching under your tires, the sight of the red barn and yellow farmhouse somehow grounding you. you're supposed to be here to study. algebra—not exactly something you're excited about, but clark's always been good at making the hard stuff easier. it's one of the many things you love about him: his patience, his steadiness, the way he seems to know when you need a little extra reassurance. and maybe you need that today more than ever.
"hey, pretty girl," clark greets you at the door, his smile soft and familiar, like it's meant just for you. "you okay? you look…" he trails off, squinting at you in that way he does when he's trying to figure you out. "…tired."
you force a smile, shrugging it off. "just didn't sleep much last night."
it's not a lie, exactly. the ache had kept you up most of the night, twisting and turning beneath the covers, unable to find a position that didn't make it worse. but clark doesn't need to know that. not right now.
he nods, stepping aside to let you in. "i made us some lemonade," he says as you follow him up the stairs to his room. "my mom said it's good for focus or something. i don't know, but it tastes good."
you hum in response, though the thought of drinking anything right now makes your stomach churn. you'll figure out a way to avoid it later.
when you get to his room, it's the same as always—neat but lived-in, the bed made but the desk cluttered with papers and books, a small stack of cds next to his stereo. it smells faintly of pine and something distinctly clark, like sun-warmed hay and fresh laundry. it's comforting in a way you didn't realize you needed.
you settle on the floor with him, textbooks and notebooks spread out between you. he's already flipping through his algebra book, pen tapping idly against his knee as he scans the pages.
"okay," he says, glancing at you with a smile. "where should we start? graphing inequalities or quadratic equations?"
you groan, letting your head fall back against the bed. "do we have to start?"
he chuckles. "the exam's next week. i don't think mr. phillips is gonna let us wing it."
"worth a shot," you mutter, but you sit up anyway, flipping open your notebook to a blank page. you try to focus, really, but the ache is still there, dull and persistent, and it's hard to think about numbers and graphs when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep.
half an hour in, you're staring at your notebook, pen tapping against the paper. clark's voice is distant as he explains something about parabolas, the words blurring together in your head. you're not even sure when you stopped listening. all you know is that your chest feels tight, your stomach twists again, and suddenly, you just can't anymore.
"hey," clark says, his voice soft with concern. "what's wrong?"
you don't answer, don't even look at him. instead, you set your notebook aside, shifting closer to him until you're wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. his skin is warm against your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering there. you don't say anything, and neither does he, not at first. he just sits there, still and quiet, letting you hold on like he's been expecting this all along.
then, slowly, he moves. his arms come around you, strong and steady, and he shifts your things aside before effortlessly pulling you up with him onto the bed. his back hits the mattress, and you're lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest. his hands find your back, warm and soothing as they rub up and down in slow, gentle strokes.
you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. his touch is enough to warm you, enough to quiet the ache in your stomach, at least for now. you don't know how he does it—how he makes everything feel a little less heavy just by being there.
your hands move to rest on his collarbone, fingers brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt. the side of your head presses against his chest, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.
he doesn't say anything at first, just keeps rubbing your back, his touch slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to calm you down. but then he starts murmuring soft, sweet things in your ear, his voice low and soothing.
"you're okay," he says, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "whatever it is, you're okay. i've got you."
his hand moves to rest on the side of your head, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your hair. he presses another kiss to your temple, then another, each one softer than the last.
"you don't have to say anything," he whispers. "just let me hold you."
and you do. you let yourself relax against him, let yourself melt into his warmth. his chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and strong, and you match your breathing to his without even realizing it. the ache in your stomach is still there, but it feels distant now, muted by the way his hands move against your back, by the way his voice wraps around you like a blanket.
"you know," he starts after a while, his voice still soft, "i'm not great at algebra either. but i'm pretty sure lying here with you is a way better use of my time."
you let out a quiet laugh, your breath fanning against his chest. "you're supposed to be the responsible one."
"yeah, well," he murmurs, his fingers threading through your hair, "even superheroes need a break sometimes."
you tilt your head to look up at him, catching the small smile playing on his lips. "superhero, huh?"
"what? you didn't know?" his grin widens, teasing. "i'm kind of a big deal."
you roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "you're ridiculous."
"maybe," he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "but i made you laugh, didn't i?"
you hum in response, letting your head fall back against his chest. the silence that follows is comfortable, the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. his hand moves back to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns against your spine.
"i mean it, though," he says after a while, his voice quieter now. "whatever's going on, you don't have to go through it alone. you can tell me."
"i know," you whisper, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "i just… i don't know. i've been feeling off lately. stomach stuff. it's probably nothing."
he frowns, his hand pausing mid-stroke. "how long?"
"a few days," you admit. "it's not a big deal. it'll pass."
"you don't know that," he says gently. "have you eaten today?"
you hesitate, and that's enough of an answer for him. he sighs, his hand resuming its slow movements against your back.
"you're stubborn, you know that?" he murmurs, but there's no heat behind it. just concern, soft and steady, like everything else about him.
"takes one to know one," you shoot back, your voice muffled against his chest.
he chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath you. "fair enough. but promise me you'll let me know if it gets worse, okay?"
"okay," you say, and you mean it. because if anyone can make you feel like everything's going to be okay, it's clark.
you stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. the algebra books are forgotten, but neither of you seems to care. right now, this is enough. he's enough.
and for the first time in days, the ache in your stomach feels bearable.
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