[starrkuma]

MEET KUMA 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 they/them, 20, black . full-time college student with a love for nerdy men . multi-fandom (n)sfw blog minors dni . clark kent’s darling . xavier’s bunny . caleb’s honey ⟢

recent works let’s go, let’s go, little kitty kat! (bruce wayne)

rules . ao3 . masterlist . status: active

@starrkuma — requests are open! all rights reserved! please do not steal or repost my works on any platforms. do not feed my work to ai / no ai usage.

[starrkuma]

HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) also a reminder that all of my fics are gender neutral reader unless explicitly stated! and explicit scenes are written with a afab reader / genitalia in mind however genitalia ≠ gender! love you alllll

[starrkuma]

my friend sent me this picture of young michael with supes and now im emo 🥲🥲🥲

[starrkuma]

LET'S GO, LET'S GO, LITTLE KITTY KAT !

cw: hybrid!bruce, submissive!bruce, superhero!reader, mentions of original justice league, scars, handjob (w.c. 2.5k) 18+ minors dni!

⤷ you're a dedicated member of the justice league, a vigilante in gotham city who works close with the dark knight. but when bruce wayne confines in you with a very... unique problem, will you come to his aid?

being a superhero in gotham city means you’ve seen a lot.

you dealt with frequent pandemonium in the streets. the freakish, crazed villains that wrecked mass levels of havoc on the unsuspecting tuesday.

on top of that, being part of the justice league meant you learned to juggle more than the average person — hell, the average superhero. 

you weren’t part of the original team — but you’re constantly showing that you’ve earned your rank to stand amongst them. you share long nights and early mornings in the tower with the founders of the team.

you’re a well-known superhero to the world — popping into the scene without the explosive flare of the Flash, but the tenacity of the world's finest.

as a superhero, you’re well-composed, polite but… elusive. not much is known about you to the public outside of mission sightings and the occasional interview. you don't show yourself as a public figure like Wonder Woman, or thrive in the limelight like Superman. 

but you bring a certain… light to gotham, a gentle radiance that's never gone away despite the harsh realities of your city. you've never let it dim you, instead vowing to change the city from the inside, one villain at a time.

and you and the Batman… are alike in the little ways ways; it's seen in the easy way you both get along both on the field and outside of missions. you seem to understand his moods, his similar distance and need for privacy, but you don’t see it as a challenge. 

you meet him where he is — little jokes about his eye bags when he confesses to staying up late with robin or the quiet moments when the infamous cowl weighs heavy on his shoulders.

so when alfred calls your phone in the late hours of the night, you answer immediately. you couldn't help the raise of your eyebrows and a badly restrained wheeze at the voice of the stoic, composed butler.

“….alfred? you want me to come over to wayne manor… now?"

all in all, you've seen so much over the years that you were confident almost nothing could actually, truly phase you or surprise you.

what you definitely weren’t accounting for when you pushed open the grand doors of bruce’s bedroom — was the sight of two fluffy, slender ears twitching up at you.

your whole body freezes, completely locks in place. 

you never freeze — in all the years of superheroing, of being in front of the camera and paparazzi and navigating your secret, double life as a normal citizen.

you think your jaw is somewhere glued on the floor. you’re rooted to the threshold of the large bedroom, eyes trapped on the twitch of smokey grey cat ears on the head of gotham’s most elite, the infamous playboy, the dark knight himself.

steely blue-green eyes instantly snap to you. bruce sits stiffly on the edge of his enormous bed, all muscle of him tense and coiled. the room is deadly silent, save for the erratic swish of a fluffy tail coiled into the sheets.

he's not hunched over; no, in bruce fashion he's wound too tight, back straight and shoulders tensed in his long-sleeve black shirt. his grey slacks are pulled taunt on powerful thighs, his jaw locked. 

any other person might think he was underreacting — too calm.

but you can instantly tell, one look and you know. 

“bruce—“

“stop.”  his voice was instant, quiet but stone cold, flat. carefully stripped of any emotion. but strangely, his extra features reacted before your eyes against his knowledge.

his ears flatten to the raven black locs on his head. his tail gave a series of tight flicks, anxiety wound tight in every movement.

any other person would be stunned to silence by his behavior, his cold indifference. you see this side of him often — on comms in the field when the Batman's steely voice cuts sharply in your ear, when he leads night debriefs with the justice leauge, jaw tight and voice a whisper as he grills everyone on a small mistake. 

but you aren't any other person. because when bruce is Batman, losing himself in the darkness, you find him. you don't try to pull him out of it immediately like the Flash, you don't harsh it with well-intentioned, but stark words like martain manhunter; you sit in it with him.

you approach slowly across the expansive hardwood floors. “when did this… development happen?” trying the analytic approach, as you know the Batman defaults to.

a pause, then his gruff voice hisses out the words like it physcially pains him to even describe it. “couple hours ago. long mission tracking a suspected magic user across gotham. thought I could handle it myself — did handle it — right before they cast an insignia on my cape. I realized too late."

blue eyes watch as you take a seat on the edge of the bed. close to him, possibly closer than most would dare to get. but still silently respectful of his personal space. 

you don't break eye contact with bruce, intentional in the way your body shifts towards him. 

“…why call me?” your question is soft, unguarded, no malice — only pure confusion.

you watch bruce’s face, which is usually so cool, schooled into a neutral, flat expression — flicker. fuzzy ears swivel and you watch him fight the urge to cover them, his hands flexing into fists for a flash of a second. his tail lashes once against the bed, tip of it curling and uncurling in on itself.

you’ve seen bruce in many ways. injured from the job, grimacing in pain, laughing dryly at one of hal's jokes, his media-trained smile to the paparazzi before entering some expensive gala, and the genuine one you got to know— but you’ve never seen this.

he’s nervous.

his eyes met yours. “because I wanted you here.”

the words land with all the delicacy of a nuclear bomb. 

you swallow the knot in your throat. there's no name to what you and bruce have been… building over the years as you gained seniority in the field. more duo missions. newspaper clippings of your elegant form twisting through the air — and the dark shadow of wings behind you. the press and fans ran with the stories, the tabloids crafting a popular love story for the public to feed off of. 

the two dark and mysterious heros of gotham… the headlights practically wrote themselves.

and of course you both are aware of it — the whole justice leauge are. your coworkers turned close friends were respectful of each others private lives — who better to understand the importance of boundaries than the most popular superheros in the world? — but they still teased here and there.

like the shared, knowing glances across the meeting table when you announced mission pairings together. no questions asked, but always a small smirk or smile.

nothing has directly happened between you and bruce over the years, but you feel the tension. the same way you can feel the quiet pressure of his eyes on you during conversations.

the quiet check-ins after a particularly brutal mission, the occasional phone calls, the late nights of patching each other up in the bat cave, bruised and beaten but finding moments of quiet, exhausted laughter. 

you finally pull your attention to the mass of fluff on top of his head. maybe it's to deflect from the moment, to avoid and vehemently ignore the rising flush you feel on your skin. or the way his eyes track you easily, watching every minute expression on your crumbling visage.

he's close now. was it him or you that got closer, narrowing the space across the bed? 

"you know that my powers can't help with… this. there's a wide range of magic users in gotham. they couldn't help?" you said quietly, watching his ears still pinned tight to his head. your head swarms with possible contacts. diana, for one — she might tease, but her demigod background could provide insight to magical ailments.

they gave a small twich. "tried that," he gruffly admitted. "got told it's a… complex curse. won't wear off until tomorrow. ran DNA tests, counterfit blood analysis, nothing. computer database couldn't find anything on it, some type of foreign, extraterrestrial strand."

you stifle a laugh — classic, an inconvenience at best but definitely casted by the magic-wielder in a petty attempt to leave the dark knight frustrated after being caught. 

"can I touch them?"

bruce's blue eyes lock on yours. his eyebrows raise. you watch his ears perk up against his neatly styled hair, swiveling to face you. 

you meet his eyes, a small smile lighting up your features at his sigh. one nod — that's all he gives you. you take it with glee. 

tentatively, you let your hands brush the soft fur. they twitch violently under your palms and you catch the small changes in his expressions. his strong shoulders begin to soften, body slumping towards you as bruce's eyes squint in… pleasure?

a deep, rymthic rumbling tickles your palm. bruce wayne, well-known playboy, dark knight of gotham city — purring. it's quiet and almost more a sensation than a sound, but the image alone is enough to startle you again to numb silence. 

you immediately try to ignore the warm sensation coursing through you at the sight. 

he shoots up like he was burned, his dress shoes already clicking straight towards the door. "this was stupid. I apologize for asking you here. alfred can show you out—"

"bruce." your voice is firm, grounding. he stops clear of the door, his shoulders stiff. he doesn't turn around — no, but his ears turn around to face you.

your hand pats the bed, voice low and warm. "you called me here. I want to help."

you let a teasing tone lit your voice as you add, "and I can't possibly walk away from the opportunity to see the bruce wayne… like this." 

he turns around and you spy a small smirk on his face. "you're a menace."

"and yet you invited me," you supplied helpfully, watching with a gleam in your eye as he sat again beside you. 

"and I'm starting to wonder if I'm loosing my better judgement." bruce shoots back, blue eyes equally as amused as you let out a warm laugh.

you pause as you feel his large, calloused hands reach for your own. he brings them back up to his head, all muscle of him leaning down to arch into you as you slowly stroke his ears.

the purring come back, slow and quiet, then louder as you press closer. his hair becomes messy under your gentle strokes, loosening around his face and framing the faint rosy blush on his face. 

"I don't… know why… this feels so good." he mutters lowly. you sush him, another strike of arousal swirling through you at the honest words leaving his lips.

one of his thighs bumps yours — a large, straining imprint pokes from his trousers. you suck in a harsh breath. bruce's eyes flutter open and you're struck by the intensity in them, a dark swirl in a blue haze.

his hand takes yours again. you feel the warm press of his lips on your hand, the scratch of his stubble, lingering as he then guides your hand

down

down

down.

one word, whispered in the small space between you. "please." 

bruce wayne lays bare underneath you in the dim lighting of the room, the lurch of his cock leaving a dark imprint in his briefs.

his eyes find yours in the darkness, watching as you watch him — his ragged breaths pushing past pale skin. his muscles strain as you run a slow hand down his abdomen, circling the divot in his v-line with something close to worship. 

you've seen him shirtless, briefly, in short glances when he's stripping off pieces of his shredded suit after a mission, but never this. the scars along his body tell of infinite stories of how he had to become the Bat, what trials he had to overcome to hone his body to accomplish what he's capable of now.

and all that strength is still there — in the twitch of his jaw when you lean forward over him, in the way his hands clench on the meat of your thighs in a bruising grip, in the way his abs clench and contract with every touch you leave.

he's holding back for you. because of you.

you reach down and finally release him from the tight confines of his briefs, watching in quiet awe as his cock slaps wetly onto his stomach. it's flushed an angry red at the tip, long and curved. 

bruce sucks in a sharp breath between bitten lips. you watch every change in his expression as you start languidly stroking him. you take pleasure in the way he groans under you but doesn't move, no, instead letting you toy with him.

his fuzzy tail snakes to wrap around your ankle. curious, you stroke one of his ears at the same pace of your other hand —

that does it.

"baby please," that pleading rasp, his hands pulling you closer. he stumbles over his next words, overwhelmed by the new sensation, by the smell of your skin, the heat rising from your body. his eyes swim with embarrassment, but stronger still, need. overwhelming need. 

"I'm not going to last long." bruce grinds out, tail giving a lash in warning. 

you coo down at him with a knowing smile, tightening your grip with a hard jerk to his tip. leaning down, you let your lips brush his ear as you whisper. "I'm here bruce. let go for me."

something akin to a sob rips from his throat. you feel the hot splash of him coming undone in your hand and onto his stomach. 

you sit up with a satisfied grin, moving to give him space and release his ears but you don't get far.

strong hands spin you around and suddenly your back is pressed against the plushness of the bed. "bruce— what—" 

blue eyes glint dangerously in the light. words die on your throat as the dark knight leans over you, powerful arms bracketing you in place. caging you. 

the lash of a dark tail cuts across the dark as he speaks. you almost don't recognize his voice, a heated purr that makes you shiver. your mind briefly wanders to the bruce that the paparazzi praises, the confident, rich playboy.

clean, sharp cologne wraps you in a haze. you gulp.

"I've been very… patient tonight. good, even. don't you think I deserve a reward?" 

safe to stay, you don't leave for the night.

of course this is my first time writing for bruce and it's... whatever this is. what can I say, inspiration strikes in strange ways! I'm a firm believer in bottom!bruce supremacy!

@ starrkuma 2026— all rights reserved. please support by reposting or leaving a comment !

[starrkuma]

LET'S GO, LET'S GO, LITTLE KITTY KAT !

cw: hybrid!bruce, submissive!bruce, superhero!reader, mentions of original justice league, scars, handjob (w.c. 2.5k) 18+ minors dni!

⤷ you're a dedicated member of the justice league, a vigilante in gotham city who works close with the dark knight. but when bruce wayne confines in you with a very... unique problem, will you come to his aid?

being a superhero in gotham city means you’ve seen a lot.

you dealt with frequent pandemonium in the streets. the freakish, crazed villains that wrecked mass levels of havoc on the unsuspecting tuesday.

on top of that, being part of the justice league meant you learned to juggle more than the average person — hell, the average superhero. 

you weren’t part of the original team — but you’re constantly showing that you’ve earned your rank to stand amongst them. you share long nights and early mornings in the tower with the founders of the team.

you’re a well-known superhero to the world — popping into the scene without the explosive flare of the Flash, but the tenacity of the world's finest.

as a superhero, you’re well-composed, polite but… elusive. not much is known about you to the public outside of mission sightings and the occasional interview. you don't show yourself as a public figure like Wonder Woman, or thrive in the limelight like Superman. 

but you bring a certain… light to gotham, a gentle radiance that's never gone away despite the harsh realities of your city. you've never let it dim you, instead vowing to change the city from the inside, one villain at a time.

and you and the Batman… are alike in the little ways ways; it's seen in the easy way you both get along both on the field and outside of missions. you seem to understand his moods, his similar distance and need for privacy, but you don’t see it as a challenge. 

you meet him where he is — little jokes about his eye bags when he confesses to staying up late with robin or the quiet moments when the infamous cowl weighs heavy on his shoulders.

so when alfred calls your phone in the late hours of the night, you answer immediately. you couldn't help the raise of your eyebrows and a badly restrained wheeze at the voice of the stoic, composed butler.

“….alfred? you want me to come over to wayne manor… now?"

all in all, you've seen so much over the years that you were confident almost nothing could actually, truly phase you or surprise you.

what you definitely weren’t accounting for when you pushed open the grand doors of bruce’s bedroom — was the sight of two fluffy, slender ears twitching up at you.

your whole body freezes, completely locks in place. 

you never freeze — in all the years of superheroing, of being in front of the camera and paparazzi and navigating your secret, double life as a normal citizen.

you think your jaw is somewhere glued on the floor. you’re rooted to the threshold of the large bedroom, eyes trapped on the twitch of smokey grey cat ears on the head of gotham’s most elite, the infamous playboy, the dark knight himself.

steely blue-green eyes instantly snap to you. bruce sits stiffly on the edge of his enormous bed, all muscle of him tense and coiled. the room is deadly silent, save for the erratic swish of a fluffy tail coiled into the sheets.

he's not hunched over; no, in bruce fashion he's wound too tight, back straight and shoulders tensed in his long-sleeve black shirt. his grey slacks are pulled taunt on powerful thighs, his jaw locked. 

any other person might think he was underreacting — too calm.

but you can instantly tell, one look and you know. 

“bruce—“

“stop.”  his voice was instant, quiet but stone cold, flat. carefully stripped of any emotion. but strangely, his extra features reacted before your eyes against his knowledge.

his ears flatten to the raven black locs on his head. his tail gave a series of tight flicks, anxiety wound tight in every movement.

any other person would be stunned to silence by his behavior, his cold indifference. you see this side of him often — on comms in the field when the Batman's steely voice cuts sharply in your ear, when he leads night debriefs with the justice leauge, jaw tight and voice a whisper as he grills everyone on a small mistake. 

but you aren't any other person. because when bruce is Batman, losing himself in the darkness, you find him. you don't try to pull him out of it immediately like the Flash, you don't harsh it with well-intentioned, but stark words like martain manhunter; you sit in it with him.

you approach slowly across the expansive hardwood floors. “when did this… development happen?” trying the analytic approach, as you know the Batman defaults to.

a pause, then his gruff voice hisses out the words like it physcially pains him to even describe it. “couple hours ago. long mission tracking a suspected magic user across gotham. thought I could handle it myself — did handle it — right before they cast an insignia on my cape. I realized too late."

blue eyes watch as you take a seat on the edge of the bed. close to him, possibly closer than most would dare to get. but still silently respectful of his personal space. 

you don't break eye contact with bruce, intentional in the way your body shifts towards him. 

“…why call me?” your question is soft, unguarded, no malice — only pure confusion.

you watch bruce’s face, which is usually so cool, schooled into a neutral, flat expression — flicker. fuzzy ears swivel and you watch him fight the urge to cover them, his hands flexing into fists for a flash of a second. his tail lashes once against the bed, tip of it curling and uncurling in on itself.

you’ve seen bruce in many ways. injured from the job, grimacing in pain, laughing dryly at one of hal's jokes, his media-trained smile to the paparazzi before entering some expensive gala, and the genuine one you got to know— but you’ve never seen this.

he’s nervous.

his eyes met yours. “because I wanted you here.”

the words land with all the delicacy of a nuclear bomb. 

you swallow the knot in your throat. there's no name to what you and bruce have been… building over the years as you gained seniority in the field. more duo missions. newspaper clippings of your elegant form twisting through the air — and the dark shadow of wings behind you. the press and fans ran with the stories, the tabloids crafting a popular love story for the public to feed off of. 

the two dark and mysterious heros of gotham… the headlights practically wrote themselves.

and of course you both are aware of it — the whole justice leauge are. your coworkers turned close friends were respectful of each others private lives — who better to understand the importance of boundaries than the most popular superheros in the world? — but they still teased here and there.

like the shared, knowing glances across the meeting table when you announced mission pairings together. no questions asked, but always a small smirk or smile.

nothing has directly happened between you and bruce over the years, but you feel the tension. the same way you can feel the quiet pressure of his eyes on you during conversations.

the quiet check-ins after a particularly brutal mission, the occasional phone calls, the late nights of patching each other up in the bat cave, bruised and beaten but finding moments of quiet, exhausted laughter. 

you finally pull your attention to the mass of fluff on top of his head. maybe it's to deflect from the moment, to avoid and vehemently ignore the rising flush you feel on your skin. or the way his eyes track you easily, watching every minute expression on your crumbling visage.

he's close now. was it him or you that got closer, narrowing the space across the bed? 

"you know that my powers can't help with… this. there's a wide range of magic users in gotham. they couldn't help?" you said quietly, watching his ears still pinned tight to his head. your head swarms with possible contacts. diana, for one — she might tease, but her demigod background could provide insight to magical ailments.

they gave a small twich. "tried that," he gruffly admitted. "got told it's a… complex curse. won't wear off until tomorrow. ran DNA tests, counterfit blood analysis, nothing. computer database couldn't find anything on it, some type of foreign, extraterrestrial strand."

you stifle a laugh — classic, an inconvenience at best but definitely casted by the magic-wielder in a petty attempt to leave the dark knight frustrated after being caught. 

"can I touch them?"

bruce's blue eyes lock on yours. his eyebrows raise. you watch his ears perk up against his neatly styled hair, swiveling to face you. 

you meet his eyes, a small smile lighting up your features at his sigh. one nod — that's all he gives you. you take it with glee. 

tentatively, you let your hands brush the soft fur. they twitch violently under your palms and you catch the small changes in his expressions. his strong shoulders begin to soften, body slumping towards you as bruce's eyes squint in… pleasure?

a deep, rymthic rumbling tickles your palm. bruce wayne, well-known playboy, dark knight of gotham city — purring. it's quiet and almost more a sensation than a sound, but the image alone is enough to startle you again to numb silence. 

you immediately try to ignore the warm sensation coursing through you at the sight. 

he shoots up like he was burned, his dress shoes already clicking straight towards the door. "this was stupid. I apologize for asking you here. alfred can show you out—"

"bruce." your voice is firm, grounding. he stops clear of the door, his shoulders stiff. he doesn't turn around — no, but his ears turn around to face you.

your hand pats the bed, voice low and warm. "you called me here. I want to help."

you let a teasing tone lit your voice as you add, "and I can't possibly walk away from the opportunity to see the bruce wayne… like this." 

he turns around and you spy a small smirk on his face. "you're a menace."

"and yet you invited me," you supplied helpfully, watching with a gleam in your eye as he sat again beside you. 

"and I'm starting to wonder if I'm loosing my better judgement." bruce shoots back, blue eyes equally as amused as you let out a warm laugh.

you pause as you feel his large, calloused hands reach for your own. he brings them back up to his head, all muscle of him leaning down to arch into you as you slowly stroke his ears.

the purring come back, slow and quiet, then louder as you press closer. his hair becomes messy under your gentle strokes, loosening around his face and framing the faint rosy blush on his face. 

"I don't… know why… this feels so good." he mutters lowly. you sush him, another strike of arousal swirling through you at the honest words leaving his lips.

one of his thighs bumps yours — a large, straining imprint pokes from his trousers. you suck in a harsh breath. bruce's eyes flutter open and you're struck by the intensity in them, a dark swirl in a blue haze.

his hand takes yours again. you feel the warm press of his lips on your hand, the scratch of his stubble, lingering as he then guides your hand

down

down

down.

one word, whispered in the small space between you. "please." 

bruce wayne lays bare underneath you in the dim lighting of the room, the lurch of his cock leaving a dark imprint in his briefs.

his eyes find yours in the darkness, watching as you watch him — his ragged breaths pushing past pale skin. his muscles strain as you run a slow hand down his abdomen, circling the divot in his v-line with something close to worship. 

you've seen him shirtless, briefly, in short glances when he's stripping off pieces of his shredded suit after a mission, but never this. the scars along his body tell of infinite stories of how he had to become the Bat, what trials he had to overcome to hone his body to accomplish what he's capable of now.

and all that strength is still there — in the twitch of his jaw when you lean forward over him, in the way his hands clench on the meat of your thighs in a bruising grip, in the way his abs clench and contract with every touch you leave.

he's holding back for you. because of you.

you reach down and finally release him from the tight confines of his briefs, watching in quiet awe as his cock slaps wetly onto his stomach. it's flushed an angry red at the tip, long and curved. 

bruce sucks in a sharp breath between bitten lips. you watch every change in his expression as you start languidly stroking him. you take pleasure in the way he groans under you but doesn't move, no, instead letting you toy with him.

his fuzzy tail snakes to wrap around your ankle. curious, you stroke one of his ears at the same pace of your other hand —

that does it.

"baby please," that pleading rasp, his hands pulling you closer. he stumbles over his next words, overwhelmed by the new sensation, by the smell of your skin, the heat rising from your body. his eyes swim with embarrassment, but stronger still, need. overwhelming need. 

"I'm not going to last long." bruce grinds out, tail giving a lash in warning. 

you coo down at him with a knowing smile, tightening your grip with a hard jerk to his tip. leaning down, you let your lips brush his ear as you whisper. "I'm here bruce. let go for me."

something akin to a sob rips from his throat. you feel the hot splash of him coming undone in your hand and onto his stomach. 

you sit up with a satisfied grin, moving to give him space and release his ears but you don't get far.

strong hands spin you around and suddenly your back is pressed against the plushness of the bed. "bruce— what—" 

blue eyes glint dangerously in the light. words die on your throat as the dark knight leans over you, powerful arms bracketing you in place. caging you. 

the lash of a dark tail cuts across the dark as he speaks. you almost don't recognize his voice, a heated purr that makes you shiver. your mind briefly wanders to the bruce that the paparazzi praises, the confident, rich playboy.

clean, sharp cologne wraps you in a haze. you gulp.

"I've been very… patient tonight. good, even. don't you think I deserve a reward?" 

safe to stay, you don't leave for the night.

of course this is my first time writing for bruce and it's... whatever this is. what can I say, inspiration strikes in strange ways! I'm a firm believer in bottom!bruce supremacy!

@ starrkuma 2026— all rights reserved. please support by reposting or leaving a comment !

[starrkuma]

posting probably the most debauched thing ive ever written today ... also my debut into writing for bruce wayne

[starrkuma]

brief intermission to say my michael jackson obsession is SO STRONG right now >< angel face we miss you so much oh my gawd

[starrkuma]

hello everyone! back home from studying abroad. getting used to everyday normal life again. writing a couple of thingys that’ll hopefully be posted soon.

[starrkuma]

dick grayson anyone???

[starrkuma]

soft sheets.

cw: coworker!reader, afab!reader, possessive!clark, menstruation, depictions of pain and discomfort, established relationship (w.c. 1.8k)

clark immediately knows something is wrong when you don’t show up to work. 

the first red flag is that he doesn’t get your signature ‘good morning’ text, usually bright and early first thing. he looks forward to those texts. you don’t know it, but often when his other "job" runs late, as it always does (aka being a superhero) he uses your text as a reminder to make it to the Daily Planet on time.

or as on time as he can fly over and scramble to change out of the signature red, white and blue into business casual behind a unsuspecting dumpster. 

your texts is strangely one of his only true constants — in an ever changing world of secret identities  and long nights filled with bruises, cuts and heroism. so, he clearly freaks out when he doesn’t get your text that morning. the dread builds as the clock continues to tick by and your desk remains empty.

secondly, you're rarely ever late to work, instead one of the first to show and the last to clock out. everyone knows that because you're such a hard worker, the rare times you don't show it's either a dire emergency or a horrible illness that left you limp and bedridden.

clark makes his rounds around the office, his voice growing increasingly nervous and aggravated as he bugs lois, jimmy and just about every other person in the office about your whereabouts.

his behavior is striking and so unlike the usually docile, quiet six-foot-three man that lois and jimmy have to forcibly sit him down at his desk and overload him with work to keep him busy.

only your best friends know about the relationship between you and clark, so he tries to keep his cool and act like every minute without you isn’t torture. and he really really tries, but his superhero brain can’t help but conjure up the worse.

what if you were targeted by some crazed villain in a desperate act to get to him… something fantastical and a story his lovesick brain would definitely believe.

you’d definitely laugh at him for it, but it’s a possibility!

his nagging gets to a point where his boss perry almost kicks him out of the office building entirely. perry threatens to fire him — which he know he won’t because Clark unfortunately is a great reporter and he couldn’t lose one of his best assets.

but it’s blatantly clear: the giant man is weak for you and he’s worried because he hasn’t heard from you all workday.

not one peep, one ring... not even a measly text.

which is why when you hear a knock on the front door of your apartment, you can't even be surprised. 

it was only a matter of time before he came running to you.

"baby..?" comes clarks slow drawl, entering into your apartment hallway via spare key on silent feet and tense shoulders. his super hearing was on high, listening for any sign of struggle or pain.

his blue eyes immediately take in his surroundings — surprised to see the mess littering your space. there were clothes strewn all across the floor, kitchen cabinets open and dishes in the sink. he tenses further — a struggle? 

but there's no scrapes on the wall, no blood splatters and everything looked… fairly normal.

he leaves his dress shoes by the door, even in this situation acutely aware of how much you would scold him for stepping on your floors, making his way down the dimly lit hallway to your room. he notices with increasing worry that all the curtains and blinds were drawn shut, the only light source splicing across the floor from your cracked bedroom door. 

clark takes a deep breath and nudges open the door. 

and all the tension in his body leaves as soon as he sees you.

your bedroom is in worse shape than the rest of the apartment. blankets are pilled around the room, making it almost look like a cave instead of a bedroom. the low hum of your ceiling fan flutters the discarded pamphlets of work drafts on your desk.

the heating pad that you were probably using throughout the day is now thrown on the floor, seemingly mocking you with it's warmth. you have a trash can beside the bed and a half opened water bottle that you most likely chugged in desperation before passing out.

and in the middle of the mess on the bed, curled into fetal position, he finds you.

although it’s already three in the afternoon.

you look, well… a bit miserable to say the least. 

"well, hey there," clark mumbles quietly, making his way over to you and sitting on the edge of the bed. he can tell your awake by the sound of your heartbeat and tentatively reaches out to touch your back. you immediately react, uncurling with a pained hmm.

his hand is warm and large, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of your shoulders. you groan a bit and clark’s heart clenches painfully at the sound.

that's when he sees the box of menstrual products beside your bed. 

ah, so that's what this is. 

you and clark have been dating for around three months now but you've never mentioned or complained about your cycle. clark knows how independent you are, and knowing you, you were probably in pain this whole time and didn't complain about it.

and although he loves how hardworking and independent qualities of you, it also can be troublesome when he knows you need help — but he won’t leave you like this.

he will never leave you in pain even if you were to push and yell and scream at him. 

"clarkie…" he perks up at the pet name. your voice is uncharacteristically small.

he meets your eyes and smiles soothingly down at you. "hi baby." he responds. a pause, then that infuriatingly handsome smile that's so good and so clark it makes you want to cry.

"…can I hold you?"

you answer by sitting up and scooting towards him. you lay your head on his thigh and breathe into his work slacks. he smells like old printing paper and that apple body wash he loves, because it reminds him of his childhood farm at home. your body automatically relaxes at the scent.

"I've never seen you like this. are your cramps usually this bad?" he asks quietly. you groan lightly, leaning into his gentle hands as they slowly massage your temples.

"bad, yes but not this bad." you keep your eyes closed but your face scrunches up as you quietly admit, "it's probably the stress of my upcoming project. i'm sorry I didn't text you. been nauseated all day and could barely focus on anything…" 

clark hums at that. he doesn't respond at first, instead continuing to massage your head and listen to rhythmic hum of the fan spin. he knows that it took a lot out of you to admit that to yourself — his heart warms at the realization that his gentle reminders to take better care of yourself are really reaching you.

he does wish you would have texted him to help you earlier… but one step at a time, he muses.

he stays like that for a little longer until you wince at another particularly bad cramp. with a determined grunt clark lays you back down in the bed, shushing you when you try to get back up with a simple "I'll handle it."

clark then moves into action. “I’ll take care of you today. just rest, okay?” his voice is still tender and soft but decisive, no room for argument. you feel the stubborn part of yourself well up in protest, words of I’m okay and you don’t have to worry clawing at your throat.

but looking into your boyfriends concerned eyes, you can’t seem to muster up the strength to fight back. maybe you did need help — and maybe, silently, you were hoping he’d come to your rescue.

you nod. clark shifts you to an upright position on the bed, tucking you in with a light kiss to your forehead before getting to work. he leaves a warm brush of his large palm down your arm before departing — and despite your state, you feel yourself flush.

you watch silently as he first cleans up your room, easily stowing things away in their right place before disappearing with your dirty laundry. you hear the familiar whirl of the washing machine down the hall, followed by the clinking of plates.

clark soon returns carrying various things in his arms — his white blouse is pushed up his forearms, tie loosened and blazer gone. he catches your eye and visually brightens as he leans over the bed. 

“I made you some hot tea. also, take these. and eat this, okay honey?” he hands you a warm mug and saltine crackers — light on the stomach and easy to digest. mama kent definitely raised him right.

you eat and drink for the first time in hours, taking the pain meds with a gulp of cold water. you murmur a thank you to your boyfriend who silently preens at your words. 

"I really appreciate you coming." when you speak, you're surprised how hoarse your voice is from disuse. seeing the giant man kneeled at your bedside, muscles stretching in the fabric of his slacks, head bent and eyes peering up at you with only love and concern — you're suddenly hit with the simple ways clark kent loves. in the quiet moments, in the in-betweens of hard days, without a thought behind it.

ignoring the familiar prick of tears in your eyes you gruffly mumble, “if you want to get in bed with me, take off your work clothes. You know how I feel about outdoor clothes on the be—“

you don’t even finish the sentence — he immediately follows your orders. 

you blink and suddenly he’s stripped to his underwear.

clark’s face flushes at your raised eyebrow and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat. he grins at the familiar sound with a flash of white canines and slowly climbs into bed with you.

you can feel how gentle he’s trying to be — all muscle of him curling beside you until your face to face. his hand comes to rest lightly on your hip, grounding without being overwhelming in your tender state — exactly what you need.

his warm breath lightly tickles your face. “is this okay?” he whispers, eyes flicking across yours for any sign of discomfort. you pause before you answer, instead raising a hand to brush the skin of his unfairly long, dark eyelashes under his glasses.

blue eyes flutter under your gentle hands. a rumble hums from somewhere deep in his throat as he turns to nuzzle into your palm. 

"so pretty clark." you hum sleepily. you watch the cute pink blush tint his ears at your words.

he whines a bit, "hey, i'm supposed to be taking care of you here."

you can't help your voice, sticky with emotion when you puff out, "so glad you came."

that unfair smile and a soft peck to your forehead. "always." 

@ starrkuma 2026— all rights reserved. please support by reposting or leaving a comment!

[sugarbunnyluv]

𓏵‧₊˚ ┊ʙᴜɴɴɪᴇ's ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴs :: ᴀᴘʀ. 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟼

── ⟡ ʙᴜɴɴɪᴇ : here are the april recs !! how are these months flying by so quickly ? i wasn't super active this month but there were still so many wonderful fics i read this month </33 as ever, if any writers dont want to be tagged in these lmk and i hope you all enjoy !! happy reading ໒꒰ྀི ˶> ˕ <˶꒱ྀི১ reblog account is @bunniigrlism

── ⟡ ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛsᴜ ᴋᴀɪsᴇɴ :

vamp!choso likes when you use your words - @orchiuum owner!nanami has no knot to soothe you with - @toruuholic emo bf!choso taking care of his sleepy girl - @/toruuholic big hairy doberman!toji is here to help - @/toruuholic bf! suguru and princess treatment - @vngelisse softkuna struggles to braid his lover’s hair - @sukuje video store employee emo choso - @dolcevitadori toji can’t find anyone but you attractive anymore - @ok-sougo bf!choso seeing his shy girlfriend in lingerie for the first time - @serenereveries a kitty’s cute pet-mate :: satosugu x reader - @terrifibuni you've been ordered by lord sukuna to assist in cooling him off - @oksukuna making breakfast for sukuna - @sukunasleftbanana gamergf was supposed to be finished with the game hours ago :: sukuna - @littlesillyladybug toji might be the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life - @satomiu nanami can't help but stutter around you - @/satomiu frat!kuna taking care of you at your first frat party - @lilikoiyu bf!suguru helps you through a panic attack - @feyrinnn clark who always wants a little kiss - @luveline thinking about living with your parents.... and toji fushiguro - @kenzieluvsnanami nerd!jo will always put you first - @gyarujo

── ⟡ ᴍɪsᴄᴇʟʟᴀɴᴇᴏᴜs :

painted pretty :: clark kent - @l3nore soft sheets :: clark kent - @starrkuma arthur shushes you for a third time - @honeycoyotes contrary, dick grayson is not a cheating manwhore - @sakunai jason todd has a soft spot for you - @eunoianss giggling with jason during sex - @sugugori cuddling with jason - @enviedear jason still doesn't know how to accept he deserves to be loved too - @waynews soft love with bruce wayne - @luviery

── ⟡ rulesノdni list here ( sometimes i miss a few things when checking accounts <3 )

[starrkuma]

i’m so honored omggg tysm for the recommendation <3 ^_^

[starrkuma]

thanks for the love on my recent fic with clark 🙈 it was honestly so indulgent I didn’t even think it would get any likes LOL

[starrkuma]

soft sheets.

cw: coworker!reader, afab!reader, possessive!clark, menstruation, depictions of pain and discomfort, established relationship (w.c. 1.8k)

clark immediately knows something is wrong when you don’t show up to work. 

the first red flag is that he doesn’t get your signature ‘good morning’ text, usually bright and early first thing. he looks forward to those texts. you don’t know it, but often when his other "job" runs late, as it always does (aka being a superhero) he uses your text as a reminder to make it to the Daily Planet on time.

or as on time as he can fly over and scramble to change out of the signature red, white and blue into business casual behind a unsuspecting dumpster. 

your texts is strangely one of his only true constants — in an ever changing world of secret identities  and long nights filled with bruises, cuts and heroism. so, he clearly freaks out when he doesn’t get your text that morning. the dread builds as the clock continues to tick by and your desk remains empty.

secondly, you're rarely ever late to work, instead one of the first to show and the last to clock out. everyone knows that because you're such a hard worker, the rare times you don't show it's either a dire emergency or a horrible illness that left you limp and bedridden.

clark makes his rounds around the office, his voice growing increasingly nervous and aggravated as he bugs lois, jimmy and just about every other person in the office about your whereabouts.

his behavior is striking and so unlike the usually docile, quiet six-foot-three man that lois and jimmy have to forcibly sit him down at his desk and overload him with work to keep him busy.

only your best friends know about the relationship between you and clark, so he tries to keep his cool and act like every minute without you isn’t torture. and he really really tries, but his superhero brain can’t help but conjure up the worse.

what if you were targeted by some crazed villain in a desperate act to get to him… something fantastical and a story his lovesick brain would definitely believe.

you’d definitely laugh at him for it, but it’s a possibility!

his nagging gets to a point where his boss perry almost kicks him out of the office building entirely. perry threatens to fire him — which he know he won’t because Clark unfortunately is a great reporter and he couldn’t lose one of his best assets.

but it’s blatantly clear: the giant man is weak for you and he’s worried because he hasn’t heard from you all workday.

not one peep, one ring... not even a measly text.

which is why when you hear a knock on the front door of your apartment, you can't even be surprised. 

it was only a matter of time before he came running to you.

"baby..?" comes clarks slow drawl, entering into your apartment hallway via spare key on silent feet and tense shoulders. his super hearing was on high, listening for any sign of struggle or pain.

his blue eyes immediately take in his surroundings — surprised to see the mess littering your space. there were clothes strewn all across the floor, kitchen cabinets open and dishes in the sink. he tenses further — a struggle? 

but there's no scrapes on the wall, no blood splatters and everything looked… fairly normal.

he leaves his dress shoes by the door, even in this situation acutely aware of how much you would scold him for stepping on your floors, making his way down the dimly lit hallway to your room. he notices with increasing worry that all the curtains and blinds were drawn shut, the only light source splicing across the floor from your cracked bedroom door. 

clark takes a deep breath and nudges open the door. 

and all the tension in his body leaves as soon as he sees you.

your bedroom is in worse shape than the rest of the apartment. blankets are pilled around the room, making it almost look like a cave instead of a bedroom. the low hum of your ceiling fan flutters the discarded pamphlets of work drafts on your desk.

the heating pad that you were probably using throughout the day is now thrown on the floor, seemingly mocking you with it's warmth. you have a trash can beside the bed and a half opened water bottle that you most likely chugged in desperation before passing out.

and in the middle of the mess on the bed, curled into fetal position, he finds you.

although it’s already three in the afternoon.

you look, well… a bit miserable to say the least. 

"well, hey there," clark mumbles quietly, making his way over to you and sitting on the edge of the bed. he can tell your awake by the sound of your heartbeat and tentatively reaches out to touch your back. you immediately react, uncurling with a pained hmm.

his hand is warm and large, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of your shoulders. you groan a bit and clark’s heart clenches painfully at the sound.

that's when he sees the box of menstrual products beside your bed. 

ah, so that's what this is. 

you and clark have been dating for around three months now but you've never mentioned or complained about your cycle. clark knows how independent you are, and knowing you, you were probably in pain this whole time and didn't complain about it.

and although he loves how hardworking and independent qualities of you, it also can be troublesome when he knows you need help — but he won’t leave you like this.

he will never leave you in pain even if you were to push and yell and scream at him. 

"clarkie…" he perks up at the pet name. your voice is uncharacteristically small.

he meets your eyes and smiles soothingly down at you. "hi baby." he responds. a pause, then that infuriatingly handsome smile that's so good and so clark it makes you want to cry.

"…can I hold you?"

you answer by sitting up and scooting towards him. you lay your head on his thigh and breathe into his work slacks. he smells like old printing paper and that apple body wash he loves, because it reminds him of his childhood farm at home. your body automatically relaxes at the scent.

"I've never seen you like this. are your cramps usually this bad?" he asks quietly. you groan lightly, leaning into his gentle hands as they slowly massage your temples.

"bad, yes but not this bad." you keep your eyes closed but your face scrunches up as you quietly admit, "it's probably the stress of my upcoming project. i'm sorry I didn't text you. been nauseated all day and could barely focus on anything…" 

clark hums at that. he doesn't respond at first, instead continuing to massage your head and listen to rhythmic hum of the fan spin. he knows that it took a lot out of you to admit that to yourself — his heart warms at the realization that his gentle reminders to take better care of yourself are really reaching you.

he does wish you would have texted him to help you earlier… but one step at a time, he muses.

he stays like that for a little longer until you wince at another particularly bad cramp. with a determined grunt clark lays you back down in the bed, shushing you when you try to get back up with a simple "I'll handle it."

clark then moves into action. “I’ll take care of you today. just rest, okay?” his voice is still tender and soft but decisive, no room for argument. you feel the stubborn part of yourself well up in protest, words of I’m okay and you don’t have to worry clawing at your throat.

but looking into your boyfriends concerned eyes, you can’t seem to muster up the strength to fight back. maybe you did need help — and maybe, silently, you were hoping he’d come to your rescue.

you nod. clark shifts you to an upright position on the bed, tucking you in with a light kiss to your forehead before getting to work. he leaves a warm brush of his large palm down your arm before departing — and despite your state, you feel yourself flush.

you watch silently as he first cleans up your room, easily stowing things away in their right place before disappearing with your dirty laundry. you hear the familiar whirl of the washing machine down the hall, followed by the clinking of plates.

clark soon returns carrying various things in his arms — his white blouse is pushed up his forearms, tie loosened and blazer gone. he catches your eye and visually brightens as he leans over the bed. 

“I made you some hot tea. also, take these. and eat this, okay honey?” he hands you a warm mug and saltine crackers — light on the stomach and easy to digest. mama kent definitely raised him right.

you eat and drink for the first time in hours, taking the pain meds with a gulp of cold water. you murmur a thank you to your boyfriend who silently preens at your words. 

"I really appreciate you coming." when you speak, you're surprised how hoarse your voice is from disuse. seeing the giant man kneeled at your bedside, muscles stretching in the fabric of his slacks, head bent and eyes peering up at you with only love and concern — you're suddenly hit with the simple ways clark kent loves. in the quiet moments, in the in-betweens of hard days, without a thought behind it.

ignoring the familiar prick of tears in your eyes you gruffly mumble, “if you want to get in bed with me, take off your work clothes. You know how I feel about outdoor clothes on the be—“

you don’t even finish the sentence — he immediately follows your orders. 

you blink and suddenly he’s stripped to his underwear.

clark’s face flushes at your raised eyebrow and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat. he grins at the familiar sound with a flash of white canines and slowly climbs into bed with you.

you can feel how gentle he’s trying to be — all muscle of him curling beside you until your face to face. his hand comes to rest lightly on your hip, grounding without being overwhelming in your tender state — exactly what you need.

his warm breath lightly tickles your face. “is this okay?” he whispers, eyes flicking across yours for any sign of discomfort. you pause before you answer, instead raising a hand to brush the skin of his unfairly long, dark eyelashes under his glasses.

blue eyes flutter under your gentle hands. a rumble hums from somewhere deep in his throat as he turns to nuzzle into your palm. 

"so pretty clark." you hum sleepily. you watch the cute pink blush tint his ears at your words.

he whines a bit, "hey, i'm supposed to be taking care of you here."

you can't help your voice, sticky with emotion when you puff out, "so glad you came."

that unfair smile and a soft peck to your forehead. "always." 

@ starrkuma 2026— all rights reserved. please support by reposting or leaving a comment!

[starrkuma]

soft sheets.

cw: coworker!reader, afab!reader, possessive!clark, menstruation, depictions of pain and discomfort, established relationship (w.c. 1.8k)

clark immediately knows something is wrong when you don’t show up to work. 

the first red flag is that he doesn’t get your signature ‘good morning’ text, usually bright and early first thing. he looks forward to those texts. you don’t know it, but often when his other "job" runs late, as it always does (aka being a superhero) he uses your text as a reminder to make it to the Daily Planet on time.

or as on time as he can fly over and scramble to change out of the signature red, white and blue into business casual behind a unsuspecting dumpster. 

your texts are strangely one of his only true constants — in an ever changing world of secret identities  and long nights filled with bruises, cuts and heroism. so, he clearly freaks out when he doesn’t get your text that morning. the dread builds as the clock continues to tick by and your desk remains empty.

secondly, you're rarely ever late to work, instead one of the first to show and the last to clock out. everyone knows that because you're such a hard worker, the rare times you don't show it's either a dire emergency or a horrible illness that left you limp and bedridden.

clark makes his rounds around the office, his voice growing increasingly nervous and aggravated as he bugs lois, jimmy and just about every other person in the office about your whereabouts.

his behavior is striking and so unlike the usually docile, quiet six-foot-three man that lois and jimmy have to forcibly sit him down at his desk and overload him with work to keep him busy.

only your best friends know about the relationship between you and clark, so he tries to keep his cool and act like every minute without you isn’t torture. and he really really tries, but his superhero brain can’t help but conjure up the worse.

what if you were targeted by some crazed villain in a desperate act to get to him… something fantastical and a story his lovesick brain would definitely believe.

you’d definitely laugh at him for it, but it’s a possibility!

his nagging gets to a point where his boss perry almost kicks him out of the office building entirely. perry threatens to fire him — which he know he won’t because clark unfortunately is a great reporter and he couldn’t lose one of his best assets.

but it’s blatantly clear: the giant man is weak for you and he’s worried because he hasn’t heard from you all workday.

not one peep, one ring... not even a measly text.

which is why when you hear a knock on the front door of your apartment, you can't even be surprised. 

it was only a matter of time before he came running to you.

"baby..?" comes clarks slow drawl, entering into your apartment hallway via spare key on silent feet and tense shoulders. his super hearing was on high, listening for any sign of struggle or pain.

his blue eyes immediately take in his surroundings — surprised to see the mess littering your space. there were clothes strewn all across the floor, kitchen cabinets open and dishes in the sink. he tenses further — a struggle? 

but there's no scrapes on the wall, no blood splatters and everything looked… fairly normal.

he leaves his dress shoes by the door, even in this situation acutely aware of how much you would scold him for stepping on your floors, making his way down the dimly lit hallway to your room. he notices with increasing worry that all the curtains and blinds were drawn shut, the only light source splicing across the floor from your cracked bedroom door. 

clark takes a deep breath and nudges open the door. 

and all the tension in his body leaves as soon as he sees you.

your bedroom is in worse shape than the rest of the apartment. blankets are pilled around the room, making it almost look like a cave instead of a bedroom. the low hum of your ceiling fan flutters the discarded pamphlets of work drafts on your desk.

the heating pad that you were probably using throughout the day is now thrown on the floor, seemingly mocking you with it's warmth. you have a trash can beside the bed and a half opened water bottle that you most likely chugged in desperation before passing out.

and in the middle of the mess on the bed, curled into fetal position, he finds you.

although it’s already three in the afternoon.

you look, well… a bit miserable to say the least. 

"well, hey there," clark mumbles quietly, making his way over to you and sitting on the edge of the bed. he can tell your awake by the sound of your heartbeat and tentatively reaches out to touch your back. you immediately react, uncurling with a pained hmm.

his hand is warm and large, rubbing soothing circles into the tense muscles of your shoulders. you groan a bit and clark’s heart clenches painfully at the sound.

that's when he sees the box of menstrual products beside your bed. 

ah, so that's what this is. 

you and clark have been dating for around three months now but you've never mentioned or complained about your cycle. clark knows how independent you are, and knowing you, you were probably dealing with the pain this whole time and didn't complain about it.

and although he loves the hardworking and independent qualities of you, it also can be troublesome when he knows you need help — but he won’t leave you like this.

he will never leave you in pain even if you push and yell and scream at him. 

"clarkie…" he perks up at the pet name. your voice is uncharacteristically small.

he meets your eyes and smiles soothingly down at you. "hi baby." he responds. a pause, then that infuriatingly handsome smile that's so good and so clark it makes you want to cry.

"…can I hold you?"

you answer by sitting up and scooting towards him. you lay your head on his thigh and breathe into his work slacks. he smells like old printing paper and that apple body wash he loves, because it reminds him of his childhood farm at home. your body automatically relaxes at the scent.

"I've never seen you like this. are your cramps usually this bad?" he asks quietly. you groan lightly, leaning into his gentle hands as they slowly massage your temples.

"bad, yes but not this bad." you keep your eyes closed but your face scrunches up as you quietly admit, "it's probably the stress of my upcoming project. i'm sorry I didn't text you. been nauseated all day and could barely focus on anything…" 

clark hums at that. he doesn't respond at first, instead continuing to massage your head and listen to the rhythmic hum of the fan spin. he knows that it took a lot out of you to admit that to yourself — his heart warms at the realization that his gentle reminders to take better care of yourself are really reaching you.

he does wish you would have texted him to help you earlier… but one step at a time, he muses.

he stays like that for a little longer until you wince at another particularly bad cramp. with a determined grunt clark lays you back down in the bed, shushing you when you try to get back up with a simple "I'll handle it."

clark then moves into action. “I’ll take care of you today. just rest, okay?” his voice is still tender and soft but decisive, no room for argument. you feel the stubborn part of yourself well up in protest, words of I’m okay and you don’t have to worry clawing at your throat.

but looking into your boyfriends concerned eyes, you can’t seem to muster up the strength to fight back. maybe you did need help — and maybe, silently, you were hoping he’d come to your rescue.

you nod. clark shifts you to an upright position on the bed, tucking you in with a light kiss to your forehead before getting to work. he leaves a warm brush of his large palm down your arm before departing — and despite your state, you feel yourself flush.

you watch silently as he first cleans up your room, easily stowing things away in their right place before disappearing with your dirty laundry. you hear the familiar whirl of the washing machine down the hall, followed by the clinking of plates.

clark soon returns carrying various things in his arms — his white blouse is pushed up his forearms, tie loosened and blazer gone. he catches your eye and visually brightens as he leans over the bed. 

“I made you some hot tea. also, take these. and eat this, okay honey?” he hands you a warm mug and saltine crackers — light on the stomach and easy to digest. mama kent definitely raised him right.

you eat and drink for the first time in hours, taking the pain meds with a gulp of cold water. you murmur a thank you to your boyfriend who silently preens at your words. 

"I really appreciate you coming." when you speak, you're surprised at how hoarse your voice is from disuse. seeing the giant man kneeled at your bedside, muscles stretching in the fabric of his slacks, head bent and eyes peering up at you with only love and concern — you're suddenly hit with the simple ways clark kent loves. in the quiet moments, in the in-betweens of hard days, without a thought behind it.

ignoring the familiar prick of tears in your eyes you gruffly mumble, “if you want to get in bed with me, take off your work clothes. you know how I feel about outdoor clothes on the be—“

you don’t even finish the sentence — he immediately follows your orders. 

you blink and suddenly he’s stripped to his underwear.

clark’s face flushes at your raised eyebrow and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of your throat. he grins at the familiar sound with a flash of white canines and slowly climbs into bed with you.

you can feel how gentle he’s trying to be — all muscle of him curling beside you until your face to face. his hand comes to rest lightly on your hip, grounding without being overwhelming in your tender state — exactly what you need.

his warm breath lightly tickles your face. “is this okay?” he whispers, eyes flicking across yours for any sign of discomfort. you pause before you answer, instead raising a hand to brush the skin of his unfairly long, dark eyelashes under his glasses.

blue eyes flutter under your gentle hands. a rumble hums from somewhere deep in his throat as he turns to nuzzle into your palm. 

"so pretty clark." you hum sleepily. you watch the cute pink blush tint his ears at your words

he whines a bit, "hey, i'm supposed to be taking care of you here."

you can't help your voice, sticky with emotion when you puff out, "so glad you came."

that unfair smile and a soft peck to your forehead. "always." 

@ starrkuma 2026— all rights reserved. please support by reposting or leaving a comment!

[starrkuma]

posting a lil clark kent something tonight to celebrate my return >ᴗ<

[starrkuma]

hi chat its been forever (months) TT i've been studying abroad while in university so a lot of life changes!

[starrkuma]

FARM-BOY CHARM !

sypnosis: you are a new, up-and-coming reporter at the Daily Planet; clark kent, the nerdy smallville man quickly becomes your office crush and (un)official work husband who is infatuated with everything you do. w.c. 4.6k content warning: reporter!clark kent x black!reader (mention of protective hair styles), height difference, best friends jimmy and lois, mix of superman 2025 and maws depiction (aka nerdy, well-intentioned clark) tooth-rotting fluff, slow burn, mutual pining, flirting & eventual kissing authors note: this is my first attempt at writing for dc ahhh! this fic is very black cat girlfriend x golden retriever boyfriend. a love letter to all my fellow black readers.

Clark Kent's office crush was painstakingly obvious to everyone within a ten mile radius of the Daily Planet.

All of your coworkers pick up on the little signs — the way Clark is so attentive to you, the way his eyes follow you around the office, even the way he hovers around your desk to do miniscule tasks like refill your coffee like a lovesick intern. Or an overzealous puppy.

Everyone knows, except for the most important person. You.

You were recently offered an offical reporting job at the Daily Planet after moving to the big city of Metropolisis to create a name for yourself. 

You were sharp, calculated and organized both out in the field and in the office. You would usually be the first to clock in the morning and the last one to clock out, always with the confidence and compsure that seemed to radiate from you. 

Clark and you were polar opposites, graviating to each other like a moth to a flame.

And the office loved you. You pride yourself in the high standard that you kept yourself, truly believing that a good manifestation on the outside contributed to your mood — especially on long nights spent hunched over your keyboard.

You would come into the office with a new look almost every week — freshly mancured nails, a new bag or purse and a different hairstyle that framed your face perfectly.

You sauntered into the office this week with long braids dropping down your back, adorned with gold hair jewerly and slick edges. The jewels caught the early morning light filtering through the dusty office windows, framing you in a golden halo as you greeted your coworkers.

You brought sun and light into the room, lifting up spirits of a long work Monday. Cat switched her hips over to you with a pleased smile, patting your waist as she passed. "Beautiful as always, love."

You tap her hip with your own and smile warmly. "Thanks Cat." However, you seem distracted, cutting quick glances around the cubicles.

Lingering on one desk in particular.

A snort breaks you out of your pondering. Jimmy pushes over to you in his swivel chair with a knowing look. "Clark isn't here yet, as always. The guy just has to be late." 

"I... wasn't looking for him," you mumble. Lois is standing beside your desk under the televison, watching the newscast of a breaking story.

She shakes your head at your clear lie. You slide in place beside her, eyes flickering up to the screen.

She's chewing absentmidely on the tip of her pencil, watching the streak of blue and red on the screen with a sharp percision in her light-blue eyes. 

"Another train derailment?" you question. There were two last week and now one today — your brain already firing on an investigative lead into Metropolis old subway lines. 

She hums. On the screen, strong arms push back the train before it crashes onto its side. A red cape billows to the side, revealing the man everyone's been talking about for the past couple months since his debut. Superman.

His face is blurry in the footage, but you catch the kind tilt of his smile and crinkle of his eyes as he helps passagers out the train with a delicate touch that betrays his strength.

He was the obvious news lead — but no one could seem to get an interview with him. Except for one curly-haired member of the office, making first page whenever Superman saved yet another life.

Your brain drifts off as you watch the solid frame fly off in a blur, avoiding the camera pointed at him for questioning. So elusive.

However, you were more focused on the passagers of the train as one lady, a mother of three, said she didn't know how she was going to cover her late shift in time.

Those stories interested you — not so much the talk of the town, the reporters dream study. 

Metropolis old subway lines… maybe you could contact your lead in the local government to inquire where the funds are going for new construction…

"Get back to work in there! We have deadlines, people." Perry's voice booms from his office, causing you and all the other journalists to scatter to their desks.

Commotion from the elevator makes you pause from tidying up your desk. A familar large figure sporting messy dark curls easily comes into view— towering many of the other staff members.

You hear him mumble out an apology as he almost crashes into someone, weaving through the office to get to his chair.

Clark stumbles a bit as he meets your eye. A warm smile curls his lips as he takes you in, looking more like a deer in headlights than a six-foot-two man. 

"Golly…" you hear Clark say clear as day, still staring at you as if in a trance. His framed eyes flicker across your apperance. That crooked, heart fluttering smile spreading on his lips makes your heart jump traitorously.

You blink. “Golly?” you say incredulously, wondering if you heard him right. “Did you just say… golly?”

Clark immediately stutters out a response, breaking eye contact as his ears flush pink. He pushes up his lopsided glasses on his nose as he sits down at his desk. "I—I meant to say… you look good. Great! You look great. As always." 

You feel a laugh bubble in the back of your throat. Clark was always like this —your polar opposite. A bit of a fumbling mess, but well-intentioned. You both balance each other out and despite yourself, you always look forward to his late entrances.

“You said that last week, too. That’s all you got, Smallville?” your mouth quirks in a smirk at his flustered state. The flush spreads down his neck at the nickname you fondly call him.

Jimmy whisles from his desk, putting a call on mute to laugh out "Get to work, lovebirds. Perry's really gonna fire you one day, buddy."

That makes you both flush, turning away from each other to get to work and ignore the unsaid thing simmering between you two.

Today is different. Today is not one of your good days. 

You briskly exit out the elevator and scurry to your cubicle, hoping no one realizes your late entrance. 

Of course, your coworkers do.

“You’re fifteen minutes late!” Jimmy saids with evident shock on his face, popping his head up from his cubicle to look at you.

“Fifteen more minutes later than Clark, might I add. Which is like, a record.” Lois chims in helpfully from the coffee machine, tapping her watch. “What’s kept you?" 

Her blue eyes wisfully watch as you cross across the tile towards your desk. Taking in your haggard appearance — clothes wrinkled, bags under your eyes, no jewerly dangling from your ears or outwardly casting your shine into the room.

You look uncharastically dull, as if a real raincloud was hovering over you since you entered the Daily Planet.

You grumble under your breath as you scan the office for your boss. Hoping and praying to the gods above that Perry doesn’t catch you coming in this late. You never come in late, and you didn't want your perfect track record to be tarnished — or to be chewed out by him with everyone watching.

"Thanks for the observation, guys.” you hiss, out of breath but thankfully seeing no Perry.

As you approach your desk you see a familiar mess of black curls from the cubicle across from you. Clark is so large that you can easily make out his broad shoulders from across the room.

You feel some of the anxiety roll off your back at the sight of him— something about his mere presence made you feel secure. Safe. Protected.

“Morning Clark.” you sigh, sliding into your office chair and starting to quickly unpack your materials.

“Morning.” Clark sweetly says back, that little lopsided smile on his face as he turns in his chair to see you. It quickly falters as he takes in haggard apperance.

“Long morning?” he says softly and you hear the scrape of his office chair as you groan loudly. “You could say that again. My microwave and oven broke this morning and my stupid landlord won’t come to fix it. Says it’s a user error—“

You don’t realize your ranting at this point, putting down your items with more force than needed as you yank open your laptop. “And on top of that my cat decided to scratch up my brand new couch to shreds last night—!” 

Failing your arms in the air, you hear a soft grunt behind you. A solid block of muscle, similar to a concrete wall, collides into your elbow.

“Oh god— Clark I'm so sorry!” Your eyes widened as you yank your hands down. Clark just smiles kindly down at you. He was leaning on the wall of your cupicle with a cup of coffee in his hand, silently listening to your worries.

“It’s okay. Here.” he slid the coffee to your desk and you take a sip — of course just how you like it. Your stomach did a funny little flip at the taste.

You curl your hands around the cup and hide a smile against the rim, letting the warmth ground you for a second. "Thanks Clark. You're so sweet to me." 

You hear him clear his throat at that, spying a soft blush rising above his collar.

There was a beat of silence as he lingered at your desk, shuffling his feet. You watched him fix the crooked black frames on his face before glancing down at you with those cerulean blue eyes. 

"You know.." he hesitantly mumbles, “I… I could come help you with all that after work, if you want.”

You look up at him with wide eyes —a small hush goes through the newsroom as the coworkers around you turn to do the same. 

Lois gives you a knowing look as her heels click past to the break room. Jimmy is smirking into his mug off to the side of you, lips jutting out in a funny purse.

“I-I mean! Y'know it just seems like a lot of work and… and you look stressed.” Clark fumbles, neck and cheeks further heating up under everyone’s stare. His Kansas accent comes out when he gets embarrassed — low and warm like honey in your throat.

His voice drops to something softer as he meets your stunned eyes, “I’m stronger than I look. Farm boy remember? Let me help you?”

And how could you say no to your deceptively cute coworker, bascially pleading to assist you?

Your face breaks into a bashful smile.“I would appreciate that a lot. Wait for me after the evening debrief?”

His smile is radiant as he beams down at you. Like it was molded by the sun itself. “Of course. I’ll let you get to it then… and don’t worry about Perry. You’ve covered for me plenty, if he asks I’ll just say you went on a run for me.”

A saint. Clark Kent is a saint — you're personal angel. You thank the heavens a thousand times over and try not to dewell on the fact that your office crush is coming over to your apartment in the next few hours.

You burrow into your thick jacket with a shiver on the steps of the Daily Planet. It's nearing the end of fall, which means the nights are becoming more brisk and chillier. 

A familiar ginger man and dark-haired woman exit the building towards you. You wave before stuffing your hand back into your pocket, wishing you brought gloves.

You watch as Jimmy slips Lois a ten dollar bill — trying to be descrete, but failing when his large nylon coat makes noise. You blink between them, raising your eyebrows in disbelief. "Did you two bet on me?!"

Lois shrugs. "Not on you, on Clark." She pats your shoulder affectionately before hopping in a taxi. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun!"

You whip your head to glare at Jimmy. He gives you a toothy grin before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "In our defense the whole office is in on it. I bet he wouldn't have the guts to ask you out by the end of the month."

Jimmy winks at you, "I'm glad I was wrong though. Clark's a great guy. See ya'." 

You shake your head and bite back a smile as he retreats away down the street. Although he left, your friends words linger in your head. You might have feelings for Clark, but it was hard to tell if he felt the same way.

His farmboy upbringing taught him manners that he carried wherever he went. He was polite and kind to everyone. What if he was just… being nice by offering to help you fix up your apartment? Playing the role of a concerned coworker?

The metallic taste of blood wets your tounge. Snapping out of your daze, you realize with a start that you've been chewing on your lip. Your watch reads way past the meeting time. Clark should've came out after Jimmy and Lois.

Frowning, you go to rifle through your bag to give him a call. A dull pang shoots through you — did he stand you up? Or did he forget entierly?

However before you can dial him, a sudden gust of wind pushes you almost clear off the steps. Yelping in surprise you fumble with your phone — and try to catch yourself before meeting an untimely demise in the front of your workplace.

A firm arm presses against the small of your back, saving you from your tumble. You blink up in disarray to meet familiar blue eyes. 

Clark.

He looks equally as frazzled, panting as if he just ran a lap downtown. You both stand almost chest-to-chest on the steps, his warm hand keeping you from falling backwards onto the cobblestone.

His glasses are completely skewed on his face as if he had just shoved them on, face flushed a light pink at the proximity. And his curls look devastatingly soft this close up…

You realize your staring — and haven't moved — a little too late. Quickly you detach from him with a hoarse laugh. "Clark! There you are. I've been waiting here for the past couple mintues…"

He cleares his throat, looking up at the sky before back at you with an apologetic face. "I didn't mean to be late. Perry, um… Perry had to pull me aside to talk about my next article."

That seemed very unlikely, as your boss hated people in his office past hours. Or during hours, to be exact. But he did look genuinely apologetic — and so you let it go with a nod. You don't point out his wind-ruffled clothes or hard breathing.

You tell him that your apartment isn't close to the building and that you would need to take the train. Clark quickly refuses, bringing up the derailment earlier today before calling a cab on his own expense.

The ride is quiet, save for the festive singing on the radio although it's still a bit early for Christmas carols. Clark is so large that he's practically bent in his seat, trying his best to shrink and give you more space in the tight cab. 

You try to ignore the feeling of his body heat radiating from his hunched form. Or the way his eyes look over to you before darting to watch the streets wizz past out the window.

Your knee brushes against his — neither of you pull away.

Soon you both are dropped off at the front of your complex.

"Excuse me if I'm about to sound rude…" Clark slowly says, his neck on a swivel as you enter your apartment complex. "But you live.. here? Crimes really high around this place."

You sigh as you make your way up the stairs. You know you don't live in the glamorous parts of the city. You live farther on Metropolis edge, where rent is cheaper and crime is higher. "I'm well aware. It was the only place I could find in a pinch when I first moved here."

And it's in my price range… you thought silently. It wasn't a secret that a journalist salary wasn't high, but you knew that before leaving your hometown for the busling city. It wasn't ideal to live out here, sure, but it was your chance to make a name for yourself.

You fiddle with the key before pushing open the door to your apartment. "Welcome in," you say a bit shyly, showing him where to hang his coat. 

Nerves suddenly bubble in your throat — this was the first time you've had someone over. Usually, you opted to spend time at other — nicer — apartments in the better parts of the city. You felt a bit exposed as Clark turned to walk further into the living room.

Warm string lights hung around the room, casting the space in a warm glow. It was cozy — it was clear you did the most you could to make the small space welcoming. The couch looked worn but soft, with a tv and coffee table full of notebooks and scribbled pads of paper.

"I like what you've done with the place. It's… homey." Clark says earnestly, his voice betraying something almost… intimate, that soft drawl that has you squirming. He looks at the framed photos lining the wall, stopping in front of a gold-rimmed frame. 

Your first atticle at the Daily Planet is framed in the walkway. He smiles at the sight of it — it isn't front page, but clearly meant a lot to you. Your first published article at your dream job.

A meow from under the couch makes you chuckle. You coo at the furry shape underneath the cusions, two large eyes staring up at Clark wairily. "She's not use to guests, but she's harmless." 

Clark slowly steps closer and spies the scratch marks along the foot of the couch. "Well, maybe not completely harmless." you grumble, before crossing to clear off the coffee table.

Acutely aware of his large side, Clark stands a respectable distance from the couch and your cat, instead glancing down at your notes curiously. 

There was a lot of research — articles on local law and governemnt, contacts, all potential stories. But one thing was missing in your collection: a distinct figure that was head of all major news outlets.

"I've always wondered. Why don't you want to get a interview with him?" Clark asks hesitantly. His shaky voice betrays his nerves, as if worried your answer would be some hateful spew about the superhero in red.

You laugh and pick up one of the notes littering your coffee table. "It's not that I don't want to. Everyone wants a piece of Superman. Landing a interview with him is like, immediate front-page quality."

You look up and arch an eyebrow at Clark. "Which I'm sure you know well."

Your voice is teasing but he still looks away from you, embarrassed as he swallows dryly. His hands push up his dress shirt past his forearms, and you're momentarily distracted by the appreciatve size of them.

When you continue, your voice is softer. "I just… want to focus on the smaller voices too, you know? Local issues in Metropolis. Like the train this morning that sets hundreds of hard-workers late for their jobs, or LexCorp possibly embellishing money from local businesses—“

Clark visibly tenses up then at the mention of the multi-billion dollar company. Your reporter brain immediately wants to latch onto it, and you open your mouth to speak, but he quickly steers the conversation back before you get the chance.

"What I meant by my question is that not a lot of people care about that stuff. I think it's really important, and honest. You… you're someting special."

He doesn't stumble over his words when he says it. When you look into his blue eyes you see a warmth similar to the one he levels with you in the office.

Your heart stutters at his soft voice. Suddenly, your very aware of how close you two are in your small living room. How quiet everything is. That thing again — something unsaid, swelling tenfold at his words.

You laugh to clear the tension, defalting back to your teasing remarks in a dire attempt to hide the flush you feel searing your bones. "I don't know how I should take that, coming from Superman's number one fan."

Clark makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat. "I-I am not!"

"Mhm, sure. And you also didn't get three interviews with him last month. My toolbox is in the closet to the left."

You busy yourself with cleaning up your apartment as Clark fixes your applicances. You hear humming from Clark in the kitchen — some punk rock, upbeat song that makes you smile secretly to yourself. 

He returns thirty mintues later with a satified smile. "Fixed," he says proudly.

"That fast?" you say in surprise, but sure enough, the microwave is back on and so is the oven. 

You whisle low. "Wow Smallville. You're pretty useful. I might just have to keep you around."

Clark smiles bashfully at that. A silence stretches between you two. He hovers at the edge of your kitchen, leaning slightly on the frame. The way he looks at you… that soft, silent look that has your stomach tying itself in knots.

He then clears his throat, glancing at his watch with a sigh. "I… better go now. Early work day tomorrow." His laugh tries to be light, airy, but it sounds almost regretful. 

You feel yourself deflate slightly. Your hands wring at the decorate towel on the oven, eyes flickering from him to the door.

It was late. And it was definitely indecent for him to stay. But… but…

Before he can reach for his bag you quickly stop him. "Why don't you stay for dinner?" Your voice cracks on the last work and you cringe inwardly. So much for smooth. 

But the chance, this chance, a rare moment of having Clark Kent — bumbling, kind, sweet, strong Clark who you've silently been obsessed with all these months — all to yourself. You would be damned to let it slip from your fingers this easily. 

His blue eyes met yours and you hope you don't mistake the spark of joy in them. A grin stretches across his face at your words, shoulders slumping as if he let out a breath he was holding all night. 

"That would be amazing!" Clark says earnestly and your grin mirrors his own, letting out your own tense breath. 

You swing open your fridge door — but upon closer inspection you quickly realize you might have gave the invitaiton too soon. The only thing sitting on the shelves was a loaf of bread, half a carton of eggs and some bacon.

Laughing awkwardly, you glance back at him with an apologetic grin. "I meant to go grocery shopping after work…"

Clark eases into your space to look over your shoulder. You gulp, feeling his sturdy back brush against your shoulder. The sheer size of him was almost comical, casting a shadow over you. 

His breath, warm against your ear, hummed out a casual "I can work with this."

He reaches around you with ease, grabbing the ingredients and going to stand in front of the stove. You blink owishly at him.

"Breakfast?" you question.

"For dinner." he completes, throwing a boyish grin over his shoulder. "It's my favorite thing to make after a long day."

The laughter that bubbles out from you is light and infectious. You take his prior place, leaning against the frame of your kitchen. "As long as it's edible." you tease. You watch his shoulders shake in mirth.

You then slide into place beside him, popping toast into the toaster as Clark whisks the eggs. Something about the routine feels oodly domestic — the way your bodies naturally weave around each other in the kitchen, grabbing cups and setting down plates.

And you can't ignore the way your hands brush against each other… but don't quickly pull away. When he reaches above you for seasonings at your request and his shoulder bumps yours. Or when he steps around you and your hips touch.

Every little fleeting touch sends lighting strikes through you, hope blossoming in your chest at every smile he gives you, every chuckle you pull from his lips.

You steal a glance at Clark whisking the eggs. He looks relaxed, with his sleeves pulled up on strong forearms. His eyes are concentrated down towards the metallic bowl, glasses slipping down his nose as turns to toss them in the sizzling pan.

He catches your eye and tilts his head. "What's on your mind? You've been quiet." he mumbles across the space to you, looking sideways at you while adding in the bacon.

You shake your head with a soft laugh, re-focusing back on the hot tea you were brewing. "Just wondering how you're so good at everything. Cooking, fixing up around the house. You're like, the perfect man. Everyone in the office thinks it."

Clark chuckles at that — but his breath catches too. He pulls his lips between his teeth, eyes darting from you and back to the pan. The wooden spacula in his grip whines as his fist clenches.

"Is— do you… think that too?" His voice is hesitant and low, rough in a way you haven't heard it before. The heat in it is unmistakable, trembling in his throat. 

You freeze over the mugs below you. Clark shifts towards you, food forgotton as his voice carries closer. The air felt spiked, different, charged in only the blink of an eye.

"I…" you hesitate over the words. Two large hands settle on your waist before spinning you around. You gasp out in suprise, hands coming up to press against his chest. 

You feel the erratic beat bump bump bump of his heart underneath your fingertips. 

"Forgive me… if I'm being too forward." His hand takes yours in his before pressing a sweet kiss to it. Reverent. Soft. Lingering. You want to burn the feeling of his soft lips and delicate touch on you forever.

Clark looks up into your eyes, pupiles dark and blown. You spied the familiar flush on his face, eyebrows furrowed and lashes pulled low.

"This is probably inappropriate for— for the office. But I've always thought you were amazing. Ever since you first came in. You care so much about others. It's… inspiring. You inspire everyone."

His voice cracked in emotion, "and most of all you inspire me."

He took a shuttering breath before his words tumbled from his mouth, "I want to be there— helping you chase every case. Finding leads. Helping you grow both in the office and in your daily life. Even hopefully getting in good graces with your cat—"

You surge forward and press your lips to his. Clark's nervous rambling dies in his throat — his pulse falters. But he quickly adapts. He presses you to the counter with a light groan.

The kiss is searing — his arms lifting you up and onto the counter as you wrap your arms around his neck. "I like you too Clark." you mumble against his lips, breathless as his lips chase your when you pull away. His dimple pokes out in a grin. 

He pecks the corners of your mouth, basking in your laughter. "Gods— you don't know how long I've been waiting for this. For you." 

You press your forehead against his with a content sigh. You simply breath each other in — that is, until an unpleasent aroma has you jolting up.

Smoke. "The eggs!"

Clark's eyes widen comically and he detaches from you, snatching the forgotton charred lump from your stove. You can't help but giggle at his pout. "It's alright. We can order something in."

"But… for burning the last of my eggs, you'll need to help me get a new couch tomorrow after work," your voice curves in a mischievous lit, eyes sparkling in unmasked joy.

Clark grins at that with a quick peck to your cheek. "Of course. Whatever you want. I'm yours."

@ starrkuma 2025— all rights reserved. please support by reposting / leave a comment !