#x yn

[tchetcheca]

i can't really explain it but yn and reader are two completely different people

[mrshargreeves]

yall ever read a fic so bad you block the author

[avocad0ess]

I wonder who I would be today if I didn’t develop an obsession with fanficion when I was 11

[noonecareslol]

When it hits 9 pm and I pull out this combo:

Ps: I have severe writers block. Help

[minayans]

Never just sex with Satoru.

You and Satoru agree to become friends with benefits with one cliché rule: no falling in love. But you do. And you stupidly confess. What now?

Tags: Smut, angst w comfort if you squint, fwb, p in v, riding, kinks, gojo is a little avoidant shit, model!gojo. Haven’t proofread yettt, I don’t write as much lately. 18+++ I have never written smut please don’t fire me..

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

You have felt Satoru everywhere by now— whether it’s the man buried deep in between your legs with his lengthy cock stretching you and hitting that one spongy spot that makes your vision go blank or his hands on your face like he's holding something precious.

You have felt his large hands map every inch of skin you wear.

No surface of yours left untouched. Especially late at night when he texts you he's coming over with little to no explanation why.

No feelings.

No strings.

That was the deal. No, that is the deal.

Just sex.

And you have had a lot of sex with Satoru.

From fucking in the comfort of your bedroom or his, to riding him all sweaty and hot in his jeep—even getting shamelessly eaten out in changing rooms during his fittings.

He's tried everything with you. Every curiosity he's had about a new toy, a new kink, a new position—he's tried and fulfilled with you. You've been stretched into positions you never thought you could with him.

Your legs over his shoulder with him greedily thrusting, your back so arched against his chest while receiving mean back shots, reverse cowgirl with a leash around your neck, full nelson—anything, you name it, you've done.

You've had him in between your legs so many times that you can point out that he particularly dislikes missionary, loves rope play, biting and marking your skin like you don't have a shift next morning—but he's never vanilla.

Never.

Well, he never was.

He always devoured you with a hungry mouth, a desperate and lustful look in his eyes, animalistic thrusts, brutal grip on your hips when he slammed down on you like he wanted you to break.

Sex was casual between the both of you.

The rules were clear. No hickeys, scratches, bites on him while he could mark you as freely as he wished to do so.

Never a mark on him though.

And no, no feelings.

None at all.

Sure, he was attractive. And you didn't have a problem with hooking up with him when he'd bring you over the gates of heaven or soothed you through the most aggressive orgasms ever.

You were fine with the whole arrangement before last week when he'd texted you "I'm coming over, leave the door open." At 2 AM.

Shrugging, you left him on read, unlocked the front door and he was walking through it no more than 15 minutes later—dark gray sweatshirt masking his muscles, hood messily pulled over his white tuff of hair, sunglasses slipping from his nose bridge, usually bright eyes dull like you'd never seen them before.

He had crossed the threshold to the balcony where you were curled up in on the couch, crawled on top of you and...

Kissed you with soft lips, slow movements of his jaw, reverent touches, hesitant hands that mapped your body under him.

He kissed with too much feeling. With too much gentleness. With something so not Satoru.

Slid in between your legs, deliberately softened your walls till you could take him, tasting you on his tongue till you were tattooed in his mind, made you fall apart like he'd never done before.

Then he repositioned himself, chin glistening from your juices, didn't bother with a condom—you were too far gone to even stop him and remind him of protection, mind hazy with his unusual attitude.

He had pushed himself inside, losing himself in your wetness bit by bit, watching how his cock disappeared inside your walls.

Both your legs by his sides.

And he drew his chest down—skin flush against your breasts—locking himself in missionary, a position he avoided at any given chance.

You shook underneath him—eyes glossed over from the feeling of him, unprotected, raw in you. The slow drag of his cock in you, meeting your warmth over and over.

Veins imprinting themselves in you, leaving their shape, moulding your pussy to fit him and only him. The deep, intimate thrusts had your throat go dry, a ball growing there and your orgasm growing painfully slow.

Satoru's breathing was shaky, his lips on your neck, behind your ear. Sucking on your nipples, leaving faint marks you'd see in your reflection morning.

Desperately begging in your ears with pleas that had you clenching around him.

"Please look at me, baby, please."

He was making love to you.

No harsh grinding, no position switching or new experiments.

It was terrifying.

So terrifying.

Because you liked it too much.

You liked this Satoru too much.

Fuck.

Sex is never just sex.

You should have listened to your friends when they warned you.

You knew you were fucked when he came undone with you, whispering sweet nothings you found yourself silently praying to be true.

"You look so—hng- beautiful, angel."

Babbling when he held your face, blue orbs melting with yours when his gaze was zeroed on you and only you. Not on your skin meeting his.

"Just a bit more beautiful, I'm almost there—shit, you're close too, huh? Clenching onto me so sweetly..."

Those stupid nicknames of his—making your heartbeat falter, your pulse travel to pound against your temples, heat settle on your cheeks.

God, he's such an asshole.

Making love to you on your balcony under the moonlight, on the 10th floor where no one else lives.

When morning came, when you found yourself on your bed alone and with a heavy chest, you knew you were screwed.

He kept fucking you after that day like he didn't rearrange the wires in your brain with no effort.

He kept having sex with you like he wasn't kissing every crevice of you just a week ago. Like he hadn't silently loved every part of you, kissed and paid attention to every insecurity and scar on your skin.

Still, he took you to the moon, had you spasming around his cock like always—only this time, leaving you empty even after he filled you up with his cum.

You knew you felt empty because you wanted him to love you again. You wanted him to see you again, not the body he goes to whenever he wants.

Fuck, you really messed everything up.

You were asking for the impossible, for Satoru to care and love.

So you tried to push him away. Avoid meetups and his messages that only arrived after midnight strikes the clock.

It made no difference—in fact, you felt worse without him around.

By the second week of dodging him, you were about to cave and call him when your front door unlocked and there he was.

Dressed in all black, straight from work—black chemise with enough buttons undone to reveal his pale collarbones. Black slacks and perfectly tailored dark pants that only highlighted his height.

Your heart lurched—half fear and half relief that had adrenaline already coursing through your veins. You stumbled over your words.

"Satoru—what are you—how did you get in here?" Voice shaky, a light frown placing itself on your face.

He was wearing a stern expression on his face, all pursed lips and locked jaws is the kind. An unfamiliar sight to you as he was always obnoxiously smiling even when ticked off.

His hand rose to reveal your spare keys, you dont remember even granting him access to them but don't have time to ponder about that before his arm drops, he throws the keys on the counter and closes the distance between the both of you till he's looming directly over you—hands in his pocket.

"You have been avoiding me." He says, an underlying layer of annoyance sending a chill down your spine.

You try to deflect, "No."

A beat passes, the expression on his face remains.

"No, I haven't." You say more clearly.

And finish with, "I've been busy."

Complete and utter bullshit, you get off work on the dot and your shifts have never been so boring.

But he doesn't need to know that.

Not convinced at all, Satoru curves his spine till his glasses slide off on their own from where they were perched on his nose just enough for his eyes to pierce holes through you.

Blue, cerulean, sky blue consumes you.

And you hate it so much.

So much you wish you could swim in them.

In him.

"Try again." He says, not narrowing his eyes. You swallow, feeling an uneasy sensation in your stomach that makes you want to throw up when revealing yourself to him crosses your mind.

But he won’t believe you if you spew some other bullshit out.

Fuck it.

“Satoru.” You whisper, seeing his eyes run over your whole face.

“I messed up.”

His figure stiffens. A thousand thoughts running through his mind, a billion questions. Shit, are you pregnant? Weren’t you on the pill? Fuck, what is he supposed to do now?

You see the way his adam’s apple bobs at your statement.

“What is it?” He asks, feeling his knuckles turning white in his pockets, a shiver overtaking his body.

Trying to start, you say. “I.. uh.” Still not sure, and still not confident enough.

Satoru silently prays it isn’t what he thinks it is.

A moment of silence passes, he watches you shift around, fiddling with your hands. Biting on and on your lips.

“Y/N?” He calls out to you and you snap out of it.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

And it’s not as stupid as it sounds.

You don’t like Satoru because he fucks you like no other man has. But because he messes with your heart without even knowing it.

Holding you after he’s done is not casual, it’s not normal. You’ve had ex boyfriends who don’t know the world aftercare, but Satoru bathes you, he wipes you clean.

Holds you in the bathtub, washes your hair, draws absentmindedly circles on your tired and tense shoulders.

Brings you your favorite dessert before he goes on to have his fav.

Makes you laugh a laugh that comes from the deepest parts of you which yearn to be light and happy with him.

He’s such a prick, completely unaware of his effect beyond his looks.

And you’re such an idiot for believing him.

For liking someone so good.

He stands there, quiet for what feels like an eternity. Your chest is tight with pressure when he straightens up and takes a step back.

Well, this is it.

“We agreed on no feelings, Y/N.” He says like your heart isn’t splitting in half.

You breathe out a shaky breath, slowly nodding because you are aware. “I know, I’m sorry.”

His eyes unlatch from you, taking a look at the window that shows the view of Tokyo from your floor like it pains him to look you in the face after the confession.

“I don’t see you that way.”

He never likes when you bring up another man, but he doesn't see you that way.

He whispers against your skin that he'd die seeing you with somebody else, but he doesn't see you that way.

You pull a tight smile on your face. “Okay.”

Then you tip the glass over, ruin yourself further. “We can keep seeing eachother if you want, my feelings won’t come between us. I know what I got myself into.” You say. A bittersweet feeling on your tongue.

When did it become so complicated?

You just can’t let him go.

He looks shaken by your proposal, head swinging back to you.

“No, you’ll just hurt yourself, Y/N.”

Stop saying my name, stop being so considerate.

You almost choke on your words from the thorns growing in your throat when you speak. “No, I promise I won’t. We can keep seeing each other.”

Push and pull.

He pushes you, you pull.

And you both keep seeing eachother.

But you detach yourself from everything. From him.

It doesn't even happen on purpose. You didn't mean to zone out when he'd start talking, mind drifting to how you both would've been if he hadn't rejected you.

You don't deliberately choose to start refusing his closeness outside of the bedroom on purpose, the growing cold pit in your chest just froze the strings between the both of you.

He notices your fucked out state on a different world the first time he feels you after the confession. A distant look in your eyes and not the usual cloud of pleasure in them.

Is he not making you feel good?

It took a week, a full week for you to let him in after what happened.

And it’s not true, you do feel good. You know you feel good because he’s doing everything right—the angle is perfect, his tip is brushing the deepest parts of you and the coil is threatening to snap in your lower stomach, but you don’t feel it as much as before.

You’re quiet, minimally moaning, hiding the noises. Not saying a single word unless he asks you something.

“Baby?” His hands find the back of your neck, making your eyes flutter open while he pounds into you.

Propping himself with one hand next to your head, his other holds the back of your neck while your sight settles on him and the worried look on his face.

“Hm?” You sleepily hum, exhausted from the orgasms, the rounds, the ache in your legs and the sensitivity of your clit.

He asks, breath heavy, pieces of hair clinging to his forehead as he reaches his escape—quiet groans filling your ears. “You okay, sweets?”

You nod with an inaudible hum, not really sure what he’s even asking.

“Fuck.” He groans, thrusting a few times before burying himself deep in you as you clench around him and feel his ropes paint your insides white.

Collapsing next to you, his hands leave your body and you run cold. An arm protectively swings over your waist as he readjusts on the bed, coming down from his high before he cleans you up.

You still haven’t said a word. Somewhere too far gone, feeling too used. But you agreed to this.

There’s no one to blame.

And though you’ve both been at it for hours, even though Satoru’s cum is oozing out of you and his cock is limp, he doesn’t feel satisfied.

That uncomfortable feeling in his pit stays there for days while he works.

A photoshoot here and there, a text to you which he receives no reply to, a runway, no response from you. A missed call. The absence of your messages or any sign of life from you bothers him more than he'd like.

Last time you replied was three days after your last hook up where you'd texted him a flat "I'm busy."

Not "Hey, I'm busy. We'll talk later." Or "Busy, ttyl." Which is still dry, but with a promise to talk later.

He finds himself wondering what you’re doing when you don’t reply.

Cooking in those skimpy little lace shorts he brought back for you from a high end brand? Brushing your soft hair with your legs crossed and your face stoic? Covering your beauty marks with concealer maybe?

The days drag on and on, hours struggle to bleed into other when his phone is so dry, when the smell of you is no longer clinging onto him.

His sex drive is dead. Libido low for the first time reaching a new low.

He doesn’t even text you multiple times a day for sex, he just wants you to reply.

Or to see you.

So much he considers driving himself back to your house again.

But he doesn’t have the spare keys anymore. The ones he had sneakily picked up one time.

Those would’ve been really useful for a surprise right now—he could’ve painted your apartment in pink roses, gift bags of Victoria’s Secret’s new line he heard just came out.

Gosh he’d do everything to see you in those new panties. To then take them off and kiss every curve of your body, every dip of skin.

Shit, it’s never really just sex.

You suffocate in your feelings, in the emptiness that comes of being a toy. Turns out, you’re not as strong as you thought you were.

Being nonchalant about what you feel is way harder than you thought it would be.

So you ignore him.

For days.

A month passes.

Your girlfriends are sick of it. Sick of hearing about him.

You feel stupid.

Maybe you are.

The whole scenario of him rejecting you runs another lap around your head as the elevator climbs 10 floors.

The familiar automatic ding of the lift snaps you out of your head. Doors opening, you step out.

You step out and boxes and boxes of pink flowers are on your doorstep, swallowing the entry with no way to get in your house.

Of course it’s him.

Sure, you knew he was a sex addict. But… not to this extent.

So when you catch sight of the singular envelope sticking out from the biggest box of roses and pluck it out, you expect something like “U and me tonight?” With a cheeky emoji.

But you rip the envelope open to “Please pick up the phone, princess.”

Fucking asshole.

Yet, you kick the roses sideways to make way, unlock your door, drop your bag and text “Door is unlocked.” With a disappointed sigh leaving you.

You make your bed knowing it’s going to get ruined in a few hours, clean the kitchen like he’s going to care about anything that isn’t ramming into you.

And the door unlocks sometime past 9 in the evening while you swirl a glass of wine in between your fingers on the balcony, sore legs kicked over the small coffee table.

He comes up on your right through the door. The details of his outfit unknown as you don’t pan your eyes over to him.

One month of no sex—no, no you, has shown Satoru that he does feel for you.

It’s shown him that what he felt was not just naturally from sex, it was straight from his heart. It wasn’t his hormones acting when his chest tightened when he had to leave.

Leave your peacefully sleeping figure in the morning all alone when it was practically begging for his arms to wrap around you again.

It’s shown him that he can’t breathe without you there.

He kneels in front of where you’re sat on the couch to reach your line of sight as you refuse to even acknowledge him.

Your eyes narrow to the wine before downing it all and setting it down on the glass table and swinging your feet off it.

The silence is thick with tension, unspoken words clawing at your lips. Both yours and Satoru’s.

You feel his eyes trace your every action.

Your spine meets the leather of the couch before you finally break the silence.

“I’m yours, Satoru. Just get on with it.”

His heart shatters into a billion different pieces. Just get on with it? Like you’re a task he has to finish? Like you’re not someone with feelings?

Feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, his mind starts running with questions. Do you not want him anymore? Does he not satisfy you anymore? Have you found someone else?

The thought of you with someone else has his stomach churning. He hasn’t even come to have sex with you, just to clear the air.

Still, your vague look and lack of expression makes his body go cold.

“I’m not here for that.” He says, feeling his voice waver, vocal chords shaking.

Your head finally turns to him. “Then why are you here?”

Internally, he winces. “Because I can’t go another second without you, Y/N.”

You feel the stars sparkle in amazement, the moon shine in delight. Your heart double over.

Is he..?

“I love you.” He cuts your thoughts off.

“I’m a liar, I love you so much I can’t breathe when you’re not around. When you’re not talking to me or holding me.”

“It was never just sex—I”

You cut him off, smashing your lips against him on his knee. There’s no need for you to reciprocate, he knows you love him.

He sighs against you, shoulders dropping from the tension in them leaving, forearms wrapping around your waist as he gets up and sits in your seat.

You land on him, knees digging onto the leather by his sides—feeling his heartbeat against your chest while he pulls you flush against him.

Your arms hold him tight by the neck. Moving around and repositioning yourself ears you a grunt from him as you feel him grow beneath you.

A sheepish smirk presses against his lips as you fail to suppress it. In revenge, his hands drop from your waist and onto your ass, pushing your clothed pussy over his hardening boner.

One month of celibacy has you sensitive to the slightest touch, the imprint of him being nothing like the shitty toys you hoped would get you off in his absence.

He groans once more as you shift over him—now deliberately grinding in slow movements.

A hand slips under the shirt you’re wearing to find that you aren’t wearing a bra, though he already suspected it from your hard nipples against his chest.

You let out a quiet moan from his cold hands against your back.

The low sound of his muffled chuckle vibrates against your lips as he invades your mouth, tongue tasting every inch of you.

Not letting him be in charge, you tug his hair and his mouth falls open for you to explore.

Your lungs beg for air and only then do you break the kiss, feeling his hand push your shirt upwards till your breasts meet the cold night air.

Without even catching his breath, Satoru’s mouth latches onto your nipple like he’s starved and you’re his favorite food.

His tongue swirls while his other fingers pinch your lonely nipple, coating your chest in saliva, bundles of nerves electrifying under his touch.

You’re a moaning mess till you have enough of the teasing.

“A-ah—Satoru-” He doesn’t stop at your calling.

“Satoru—”

Finally he perks up. “Yes, sweetheart?”

You try to focus on your words as he humps you dry. “Make-make—love to me.”

His eyes widen like it’s Christmas day. A second passes. He crashes. God, his name coming from your lips, the seemingly innocent request when it’s so secretly filthy. The wires reconnect in his brain and suddenly you’re grateful you only wore a really oversize, old shirt of his you stole.

What else would you need to wear with him around? The damp material of your lacy panties gets pushed aside and he unbuckles his pants, freeing his hard, dusty pink, groomed cock out.

You gasp when his tip pushes at your entrance, having forgotten the sheer size of him and his girth.

“Satoru!”

He groans, head falling back as your juices leak down on him.

“Oh fuuuck,” he drags, eyes falling closed. “Ah- should’ve prepped you—It’s been a while now, hasn’t it, baby? But you’re so wet I’m sure you can take me, right my sweet girl?”

So you do, you bite your lips, stabilise yourself on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him. He kisses you slow, pressing soft skin against you, bitting your bottom lip delicately.

His hands leave your ass and one of them wraps around your back, bringing you impossibly close to him.

The other presses into your hair, angling your head sideways so he can lose himself in your mouth.

He lets you stay bottomed out for a moment so you can readjust, relearn the shape of him.

A needy whine vibrates against Satoru's lips once he shifts inside of you.

You feel his grin against you before he delivers the first thrust—deep, slow, curved just right to hit your cervix right off the bat. Your lips part for you to let out a moan from your chest.

He takes the opportunity to bite your neck. Leave his mark and kiss down your carotid. Gentle, reverent kisses. Deliberate nips. Purple and pink shades decorating fron your neck to your collarbone and breasts.

You're his vision. His canvas.

With two hands under your thighs, Satoru bounces you on his length. Perfectly inclined pink tip that never really leaves your pussy when he lifts your hips, but meets the familiar muscular ring deep within you whenever he drops you down every.single.time.

The sound of skin meeting skin so intimately getting absorbed by the sky.

You writhe over him, legs starting to ache, lips swelling—throat going dry from the moaning once he starts to circle around your clit, drawing you closer to the edge.

In one sudden movement, he lays you down on the couch. Your back against the soft cushions—his hot figure hovering over you, hand on your hip, elbow dug in the leather to prop himself up.

And he really starts hitting the spot. Your sight starts to blur, tears prickling at the corners from the feeling of sheer fullness. He starts to pick up the speed just a bit, going harder, not fast yet enough for him to feel you reaching your climax.

Your nails claw at his back under his shirt, looking for something that will tether you to earth while you clench and clench till his rhythm is stuttering.

"Oh my pretty girl, I'm so close-ugh—you're doing so well f'me." His teeth sink into your shoulder and you feel your legs going weak.

A hand dips under you, hooking under your back and arching you upwards.

Once.

Twice, he thrusts.

And you come. Hard.

He follows immediately, shaking when he buries himself inside of you. Walls fluttering and pulling him in viciously.

Neither of you dare to move, he collapses over you and flips you both with him still inside your walls till your head lands on his chest.

You don't need to say it out loud.

But you're his.

And he's yours.

Haven’t proofed this yet because im a little lazy buttttt what if its not just a masterlist either…?

Working on pregnant reader x husbandnanami and hockey!gojo x reader..

[thegoddessofnothingness]

Me after the slightest inconvenience in life:

[staseras]

things my chronically offline bf does — Clark Kent

summary: clark kent thinks tiktok means the passing of time, you're a (wannabe) influencer. what could possibly happen? answer includes but isn't limited to thirst traps, using your hot bsf to go viral, online anonymous confessions, and one really old cat named bean. word count: 15k (insane, ik) content warning: heavy rom-com vibes, heavy on the comedy and ridiculous. heteroerotic friendship, domestic clark & reader (they see each other naked and sleep together & so much more, they're literally disgusting), size difference, reader is a (non famous) influencer but she goes viral thanks to clark not knowing what slay means, clark and reader have no notion of privacy or boundaries around each other, they're also so stupid. heavy fluff, everything is sweet and nothing hurts. an embarrassing amount of slang and memes and tiktok mention (i apologize). this is seriously just crack. oh ALSO protective clark oh em gee i swooned writing that part. lois and jimmy act like creepy twins /aff notes: this got out of hands, guys. ty for 1k<3 i hope you enjoy! apologies for the slightly rushed ending, i was growing tired with this behemoth of a fic

It’s common knowledge that Clark Kent and technology do not mesh well. He writes all of his drafts on paper. He takes notes on his legal pad with a pencil that he keeps losing, and he uses a cassette recorder for interviews, and he uses an actual camera for pictures. He has a phone, he has a laptop, he just— doesn’t really use them. He doesn’t know how to and doesn’t need to know more than is absolutely necessary (as in how to send emails, how to use Google and how to type his final drafts for proofing).

So anything beyond that, and he’s completely out of his depth. Put him in a complete alien civilization light years away from Earth and he would still be more at ease than if you’d asked him to make a TikTok video and, God forbid, post it. 

So really, it only made sense that his best friend was an influencer. You weren’t exactly popular, and you didn’t do it for fame, you just enjoyed sharing your life with the people who stick around. You were a wizard with your phone and could turn any moment into something cinematic. 

The two of you were polar opposites. He was the moon, pulled into orbit around you, and it made sense he felt so good whenever he was with you. You were the sun. 

He was happy to tag along with you to any of your adventures. Trying out a new restaurant, a new club, vlogging a last-minute trip, trying out PR packages you get. 

You’d always been the life of the friendship, and Clark was never afraid of being in your shadow. In fact, he reveled in it. He liked being invisible to others around you, as long as he was seen by you. It was more than finding a distraction so people didn’t look at him for too long and start getting suspicious; it definitely helped, for sure, but it was never what made him want you as his best friend. He couldn’t help it. After all, he was a sunflower. And you were the sun. 

Sometimes his colleagues at The Daily Planet didn’t believe him when he talked about you to them, and gave them your username. It didn’t help that he didn’t have any social media so he couldn’t show them that you followed him back. Clark didn’t really care whether they believed him or not. 

“It’s not because she has less than a thousand followers doesn’t mean your lie would be more convincing,” Jimmy said with the sageness of a monk. “She’s too pretty for you.” Then, as an afterthought, he added: “No offence, Clark.”

Clark shrugged. “None taken. I know she’s pretty.”

Lois hit Jimmy on the shoulder. “Eve is too pretty for you too but you don’t see me insulting you.”

Clark frowned. “Guys, she’s my best friend, not my girlfriend.”

Jimmy looked at him with pity in his eyes. “Lying about having a best friend is so sad… I didn’t know you were so lonely, Clark. I’ve been failing as a friend.”

Clark just rolled his eyes but didn’t try to convince him, since he didn’t seem like he wanted to be convinced. 

“She would love to meet you one day,” Clark added before forgetting. He kept forgetting to. Or maybe, he just wanted to have you all to himself. He’ll never tell. 

Jimmy looked at him suspiciously. “Is she just going to be a printed picture of her Instagram feed on a doll?”

Lois and Clark both ignored him. 

“If she’s your best friend, she must be a really good person, then. I would love to meet her,” Lois said, before pressing on the follow button. Ding! “Oh. She followed me back already.”

“She knows about you,” Clark said. “She must have recognized you.”

“That was quick,” Lois noticed. 

“Yeah,” Clark replied. “She says she’s terminally sick online or something. I never understand her when she says those Internet words.”

Jimmy’s jaw dropped. “He wasn’t lying…” he whispered to himself, mind blown. Which, honestly, he should have seen it coming. Clark was the most honest person he’d ever met. He was incapable of lying to save a life. Jimmy pressed the follow button on his phone too, as if some part of him still wasn’t convinced, and watched with quiet horror as a follow back notification popped. And he couldn’t justify it as you just following back everyone, because you only followed cat and food accounts.

Clark just thought Jimmy was being his weird self again and didn’t pay it too much attention. Honestly, he just took it as a compliment to you, which made him happy. He always felt proud and happy whenever people complimented you, as if he was an extension of you. 

“Great, I will call you for the details. She’s gonna love preparing something for the four of us. She’s such a good event planner.”

Of course Clark didn’t text. Not that he didn’t want to, it was just that even the biggest phone he could get was still too tiny for his hands and it made typing a pain in the butt. 

“Cool, can’t wait,” Lois said. Jimmy was just staring in the horizon. 

Clark smiled. He was happy all of his favorite people were going to meet. 

You were waiting for Clark at the Daily Planet’s lobby. You were taking pictures of the regular cat that became an honorary reporter at the office, more exactly. 

“Hi Clark,” you brightened when you saw him. 

“Hey you,” Clark replied, fondness dripping from his voice until it was sticky and sweet. “How was your day?”

“It was okay, I found this new spot we absolutely have to try together,” you replied, getting on your tiptoes despite your heels to press your lips to the edge of his mouth. Clark smiled instantly, like a switch was flipped.  

Some people would say you were too obsessed with image and social media, but Clark knew you better than anyone else. Even if you weren’t an influencer, even if social media and the internet didn’t exist, you would still be the same. You would still take pictures of your day, share your meals with Clark in a spot you really liked, and you would still take video diaries. 

“I can’t wait,” Clark replied. “Oh by the way, Jimmy and Lois said yes.”

With his superhearing, he heard Jimmy gasp from somewhere behind. “She’s really real. Wait, I thought he said she was his best friend? Why are they kissing?” Then the unmistakable sound of Lois slapping his shoulder. 

He tuned it all out. He would get over his weird crisis later. 

You grabbed his hand and dragged him away. 

“Oh, yeah, I saw they followed me both. I figured you talked to them.”

Clark squeezed your smaller hand in his. 

“What did they think?” you asked curiously. 

“Lois said you must be a good person if you’re my best friend. Jimmy… well, I think he really liked you. He said you were way too pretty for me, whatever that means,” Clark replied earnestly. 

“He’s an idiot,” you replied. “I’m not too anything for you. I’m just right for you.”

Clark nodded. “Exactly. Perfect for me.”

Clark often offered to learn about internet and what you do, but you just replied, “no it’s fine, don’t worry about it <3” (you made the heart with your hands). 

You appreciated his offer, but you knew how all of this made his head turn and how hopeless he was with everything that was even remotely tech-related (don’t even get her started on microwaves and Clark). And quite frankly, you found him cute just the way he was. Like an overgrown, oversized, oblivious but eager puppy. 

“You’re sleeping over tonight, right?” 

You were asking as if it was a planned event, when in fact Clark wasn’t aware of this until right then and there. But Clark was nothing if not adaptable (he did get adapted to an entirely new and foreign planet when he was just a baby), and nothing if not used to you, so he took it in stride and nodded. 

“Mhm,” he replied. “I’ll even make dinner if you want.”

“Deal.”

Walking to your place hand in hand had become routine early on in your friendship and one of the few things Clark would never bring himself to sacrifice. It was home away from home. 

“I’m going to the gym tomorrow, you’re coming with me.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

Clark, being who he is, didn’t need a gym, or at least not one fit for humans, but you asked, so he obeyed. 

“What time?”

“Six am.”

That meant you were trying again to renew yourself and to adopt better habits and hobbies. It was something you routinely went through almost every six months. First when it’s the new year, second when it’s June, when you realized you’d been slacking off and not following your new year resolutions, and Clark became your accountability partner.

That title sounded big and full of responsibilities, but Clark didn’t really do anything, really — except show up wherever you went and gently reminded you of your commitments. When it was something really important, like taking your meds, he pressed but other than that, he let you flit through life like the butterfly you were meant to be. 

Clark was awake before you, unsurprised to find you pressed against his body, sleeping deeply while holding him like you were scared he was going to flee. Well, considering he was Superman, he guessed you weren’t far off the mark. 

With his free hand, he grabbed your phone to check the time since the arm he wears his watch on was currently being repurposed as a body pillow and his heart felt heavy at the thought of disturbing your sleep. 

5.15AM. He woke up early, but not too early. Just in time to wake you up so you could enjoy your ‘free time with Clark. That’s what you called cuddling up with him and talking about your dreams before you both had to leave the bed. 

“Psst,” he whispered against the crown of your head. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“No,” you grumbled. 

He chuckled softly. “What about your free time with me?”

“Mhmhmhmmm…” you mumbled before shifting position until you were actually cuddling him. “‘m awake,” you said. 

He didn’t doubt you. He just thinks that you’re also asleep at the same time. 

The both of you stayed like this for half an hour, Clark rubbing his thumb mindlessly on your arm, a quiet and gentle smile on his face while he listened to you ramble about your dream.

“You dreamt I was Batman?” he asked incredulously, swallowing back the laughter that overcame him. “Sweetheart, I’m literally already my own superhero, why would you dream of me as someone else?”

“I don’t know, Clark,” you replied and he didn’t need to look at your face to know you were rolling your eyes. “I didn’t do anything. I was quite literally just a spectator. Don’t shoot the messenger and all that.”

“You’re right. How could I forget you were literally incapable of wrong doing?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Better not forget next time.”

You fell back to sleep at six am on the dot. Clark tried to wake you up and remind you of your plans but you declined all attempts with the smooth dexterity of a politician deflecting questions. 

“Sleeping with you is its own workout anyway,” he muttered to himself. 

Clark quickly left you when he heard someone call for Superman but he came back before you woke up, which didn’t actually say anything about how long he took, since your sleep schedule was as predictable as a string of letters typed by a thousand monkeys on a typewriter. 

He was under the shower when you finally woke up and barged in through the bathroom without a care in the world. 

“I’m sleepy,” you tell him while peeing. 

“Hi sleepy, I’m Clark,” Clark replied while showering. 

You chucked the entire roll of TP at him and Clark didn’t even try to avoid it, even though he definitely could have. (You loved Clark dearly, but his dad jokes when you just woke up were unforgivable.)

Morning you was the best kind of you, and it was nice to know that your grumpiness didn’t do anything to erase your lack of privacy, because invasive you was also the best kind of you.

It’s not like there’s anything you didn’t already see. 

(To be fair though, you didn’t just start barging in on him when he was naked without a care for his consent, it just… happened. 

First it started with you walking in on him changing boxers, dick and everything out. Then it was him accidentally walking on you under the shower (honestly, how he didn’t realize you were under there with all of his gazillion superpowers was beyond the two of you). And then again, you walk in on him because you keep forgetting that Clark’s at your place more often than not, and then after that Clark accidentally used his super vision on you because he thought you were injured.

 So you sat him down one day and asked if he minded whenever either of you accidentally sees the other naked and he replied ‘no’, so you asked, ‘would you mind if it wasn’t accidental? Not exactly on purpose but just… not caring at all?’ and he said ‘no’, and you said ‘okay, by the way you have a big shlong’ and that’s basically how it started (after teaching Clark what shlong meant.

Clark only regrets his decision when it’s early in the morning and his hormones are raging and you’re changing in front of him like no one’s watching.)

He was out of the shower by the time you were brushing your teeth. 

“You’re not vlogging this morning?” he asked, feeling that same rush of pride he felt whenever he used one of the words you taught him, towel wrapped around his middle. His hair was wet and curled and doing all kinds of swoopy woopy things. His chest was glistening and dripping with water. 

“I wanted to but I also didn’t want you to steal my thunder with your naked cameo,” you replied with a floss string between your two front teeth. “Although you would have definitely made me go viral.”

“Ah, my bad,” he replied humorously. “I’ll try to be less… hot under the shower next time.”

You threw the used floss in the bin. “I don’t think that’s possible, unfortunately.”

Clark blushed and the redness followed him right to his neck and collarbones. 

You grinned toothily at him so he could inspect your teeth. He grabbed your chin between his index and thumb, and used his thumb to push your lower lip lower. “Mhm…” he hums thoughtfully. “Perfectly flossed. You get a star. Doctors from around the world want you as their client.”

“Yay! Thanks, Clark!”

His lips broke into a happy grin. “You’re welcome. You know, it’s not too late to go to the gym now.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” you said. “My past self was crazy. I don’t associate with the likes of her anymore.”

“I see, your past self is being cancelled. Right?”

You burst out laughing before petting the top of his head. “God, I love you Clark. Never change.”

You ended up going to the gym anyway, dressed in your “cuntiest” outfits to “serve” (to serve what? Clark thought you quit being a server a year ago), but all you did was point at things and ask Clark if he could max them all out. Of course he could, and you knew he could, but you asked for a demonstration anyway. 

Then, because seeing him succeed flawlessly at every machine (and after attracting every “gym bro” in the vicinity who started asking Clark about powders and training regimen and whatnot, and lowkey looked impressed when Clark replied earnestly to the question of how he became so strong with “By being kind and respectful to everyone”), you decided he now had to do pushups with you sitting crisscross applesauce on top of him. 

“But why?”

“I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be a barbell,” you replied. 

“I think you mean plate, sweetheart.”

“Same difference,” you replied. And of course, Clark was totally convinced. 

“Do you mind if I take pictures?” you asked him once you were sitting on him and he was laying on the floor, shirt off. 

“You know I don’t,” he replied. He didn’t need to remind you not to post his face anywhere because he trusted you implicitly. 

And then he started the pushups with complete ease, because there was no better way for him to spend his day-offs than to go to the gym with your best friend and use her as additional weight. 

You took plenty of pictures; some you called aesthetically pleasing and “would do well in tumblr”, others you said were just silly and for fun.

You showed him the pictures while still on his back, your arms on each side of his neck as you scrolled through the pictures for him while he stayed in an isotonic contraction (his muscles didn’t even flail, and it took you almost fifteen minutes to show him everything because you annotated each one.)

“I really like this one,” Clark said, lifting a hand from the floor to point at a picture, still lifting your weight with only one arm. 

The picture he picked was one where he looked at the mirror in front of you, and he was obviously looking at you, while you were making a silly face that wasn’t really silly, because it made you look devastatingly pretty. You were also flexing your left arm, winking and tugging your tongue at the camera. 

“Solid choice,” you replied, tapping something on the screen. “Definitely one of my favorites too.”

He smiled happily, and then remembered they were in public and he shouldn’t be showing off his strength so much, as much as he wanted to impress you. 

So, he pretended to have his muscles locking and asked you to get off, in case anyone was watching. You were always up for a bit of acting with him. You said it made you feel like the sidekick of a hot spy in a film noir.

Clark hung in the side while you took a video of yourself rambling to the camera — he was tall enough that he didn’t worry about his face being caught on camera, but the camera could still pick up your interlaced hands from the angle you held the camera. People would only be able to see his arm swinging and the beginning of his legs. 

You were talking about going to the gym and how you earned a big meal after it (though if you asked Clark, he would say you should never feel like you have to earn a meal, and that you could eat anything anytime you wanted if it made you happy). 

You set up the phone against the wall so it could take a video of you and the table. Clark was sat across from you, and again, wasn’t visible at all. Not even your face fully showed. Just the bottom half of your face. Your hands did most of the talking as you animated your stories with a floating burger. 

The camera captured Clark’s hand across the table, wiping the side of your mouth with a thumb, and your pleased, bashful smile after. 

It captured you stealing fries from Clark’s plate, and then Clark sharing half of his fries with you. 

It captured your laughter, and then your lips as they moved to form the words: I love you, Clark.

(When you finally uploaded the video to YouTube a while later, people commented: 

‘am I the only one who felt like a third wheel throughout the video? I loved it though. Always wanted to be the third to a hot couple’

‘God I see the things you do for others’

‘Guys ik she said he was just her best friend but I’m seriously having doubts rn. Maybe she meant it as in best boyfriend?’

‘You’re so pretty!!!!!! And your bf looks so hot too. Definitely my fav power couple of youtube’

Which then pushed your videos to more people.

You read all of the comments to Clark while he was writing down notes for his next article. His thoughts? “I think they really liked the video. I’m happy for you, sweetheart.”)

You picked a nice coffee shop downtown for your first meeting with Lois and Jimmy. Jimmy couldn’t look you in the eyes in shame. 

“I’m so sorry I doubted Clark’s ability to have pretty friends,” he said, before getting elbowed by Lois in the ribs. 

“Excuse my friend. He’s a dumbass.”

You took it in stride. You loved them and they loved you. Jimmy helped you take the perfect pictures for your picture dump, Lois and you talked about fashion, and Clark was happy to just step back and watch as three of his five favorite people get along so well. 

“How did you guys meet?” Lois asked curiously. She’d been eyeing the way you were both sitting so close to each other it bordered on lap sitting. 

“He mistook me for a scarecrow,” you replied. 

“We were childhood friends.”

“Clark I love you, but for a journalist you’re really bad at hooking people in,” Lois said. “As for your best friend, she was clearly made to hook people in.”

Clark was too happy to even feel offended, and just let you tell the story. The insult flew right over his head. 

It wasn’t anything grand. Clark was in the fields with his parents when he noticed a figure almost his height in the distance, and ran towards it. It was you, standing still with your arms outstretched. 

He ran back to his parents and asked if they put a new scarecrow in the fields that looked like a little girl. 

Jo and Ma looked at each other concerned before setting off to find this little scarecrow girl. 

And the rest was history. 

“I still don’t know what you were doing,” Clark confessed at the end of your story. “You won’t tell me.”

You shrugged. “Because I am aloof and mysterious.”

“This raised more questions than it answered,” Jimmy said with a faraway look on his face. 

“Good,” you and Clark said at the same time. 

“Your friends are really nice. Maybe I should become a journalist too and then become your colleague. That would be so much fun,” you told him after quitting Jimmy and Lois. “What do you think?” You took a sip of your Oreo milkshake you got for take-out.

Clark smiled. “I think you just can’t get enough of me,” he said.

You squeezed his hand. “Yeah, you’re right. I won’t even try to lie.”

He laughed. 

He had never realized how his friendship with you could be seen as strange until you were both in college and everyone on campus the two of you were dating. It was common knowledge around all of the campus that you and Clark were the it couple. Even in high school, you’d been both voted prom queen and king, even though you both didn’t even know you were participating. Clark didn’t regret it though, because he got to wear a crown alongside with you and dance. It was one of his fondest memories with you. 

“Friends don’t act like that,” people would say. No one would ever be able to understand the bond you two have, so he doesn’t bother replying or trying to explain. Besides, what you have between the two of you was special, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

But Clark supposed there was some part of truth to that. Lois and Jimmy were his best friends too, but he would never cuddle in a bed with them, as much as he loved them. He also wouldn’t even dream of letting them peck him on the lips, or, God forbid, walk in on him under the shower. 

If this friendship was considered weird, then he was happy to be weird with you. Besides, nothing he could ever do would be weirder than being an actual alien pretending to be human. Or stumbling through your window into your apartment, jaw dislocated and nose bleeding.

“Clark? Is that you?” you called out from the kitchen.

He closed his eyes. Coming here was a bad idea, because he hated the thought of worrying you, but there was also nowhere else in the world he would rather be. “Yeah,” he replied, voice distorted because of his jaw. He heard you close the lid on a sauce pan and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel before hearing the soft pads of your feet walking into the living room.

“Hey, what did I say about tracking blood and mud in my apartment?”

Your words sounded mad but your voice betrayed your worry. You dropped the kitchen towel and reached him in quick strides. He was sitting on the floor against the wall, and you fell on your knees, hands hovering over his jaw, unsure whether you could touch him in this state. 

“Sorry,” Clark replied. “Will remember for next time.”

“There won’t be a next time because you’re going to stop letting bad guys hit you, okay?”

He laughed, even if it hurt to. Of course you said it as if it was that easy. It wasn’t, but Clark would make it so. 

“Stop laughing at me,” you chided, even as you inspected his nose. “It doesn’t look broken, so that’s good.”

“It healed on the way here. Perks of being Superman.”

“Stop acting like nothing’s wrong or I’ll break your nose myself, and I’ll make sure your healing factor is too busy to handle your nose first.”

“Wow,” he said. “Such violence coming from such a tiny little human.”

You grabbed his jaw without a warning and snapped it back into place. 

“Golly, woman! Warn a guy first, will you?” he yelped indignifyingly, rubbing his smarting jaw, before moving it left and right to make sure it was still working. He didn’t need to worry because you were a professional by now, ever since you were both fourteen and you started playing nurse for a Clark who was discovering his powers and trying each day a new way to test his abilities.

“If I warned you, you would never be ready,” you replied, and Clark smiled sheepishly at that. You were right. Despite him being the strongest human on Earth, his pain tolerance was subpar, and he always chickened out before anything like that. Usually, you would at least fake a countdown. “And besides, that’s what you get for making fun of me.”

He pouted. “I’m sorry baby,” he said, batting his eyelashes at you. 

“Ugh! This is so unfair,” you groaned, before bending at his height and pressing your lips against his pout in a quick peck. “I hate you.”

“I love you too,” Clark replied, not in the least bit remorseful for guilt-tripping you, basking in the bliss of the feeling of your lips against his, as fleeting as it was. 

You pinched his bruised nose and stood back up.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“Don’t even try to talk to me for the next five minutes. I’ll be too busy hating you.”

He was behind you before the five minutes even were up, wrapping his arms around your waist, still pouting. “Why are you so mean to me?” he asked, cheek pressed against the top of your head. He was still in his dirty Superman suit; he hadn’t even taken off his boots yet. 

You were trying really hard to ignore him. It was funny, and Clark couldn’t keep up the wounded act any longer. His shoulders were shaking with barely suppressed mirth. 

“Message received, baby. I’ll let you be for five minutes. In fact, I’ll let you be for thirty minutes.”

He used that time to clean up the mess he’d left behind (superheroing wasn’t a clean job) and finally take a shower. He tried not to notice how you kept pretending you forgot something in the bathroom while he was showering. First, it was your glasses, which you hadn’t even found, then you had to check a pimple on your face, and then it was your makeup, which you needed to retouch. 

“You know,” he said, voice barely heard over the sound of the stream of water. “I’m starting to think you’re just finding any excuses to come check on me.”

You shot him a dark look. “You said you weren’t going to bother me for thirty minutes.”

“I’m not bothering you, but you are bothering me.”

He realized his mistake before the words even finished leaving his mouth. You gasped.

“See if I ever bother you again,” you said, turning on your heels.

Clark groaned, before shutting the water off and grabbing a towel to wrap around his hips and chased after you, dripping water everywhere but unable to care because he just wanted to catch before you locked yourself in your room (and coincidentally blocking him from getting his clothes) and started listening to heartbreak songs at full volume. 

“Nooo,” he whined, “you know I love it when you bother me! Please don’t ever stop!”

“Nuh uh,” you replied, escaping his hand narrowly.

“Oh come on, are you really going to sulk at me for that? And why were you so mean to me anyway? Ever since I got here, you were being grumpy, which, don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I don’t understand why, did I do something wrong?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you were injured again as Superman, you don’t take it seriously when I’m worried, you make fun of me when I tell you to be more careful, and you tracked blood everywhere! You know I hate blood! Stupid blood! And your blood isn’t even normal, it’s alien blood!”

You still didn’t stop walking but now the two of you were walking in circles until you were the one chasing him now. It was a ridiculous sight, but it wasn’t an unusual occurrence at your household. 

“Wait, what do you mean by alien blood?”

“Your blood doesn’t come off easily, you know that! Remember when I was trying to scrub your blood out of the rug and I kept mixing any chemicals I could find and accidentally made chloroform?”

Clark felt silly for entertaining for even one second the terrifying thought that you thought of him differently, and his shoulders dropped. He stopped walking. And he did remember that time. Of course he did. He’d been sick with worry his muscles had locked in place for a few seconds before he finally spurred into action and got you to a safe place with fresh air and threw away everything else before it did more damage. 

He’d made you sleep over at his place for a week to make sure the smell had completely left the apartment. 

“Baby, I’m sorry, I know you hate blood, but I really wasn’t thinking straight, and I just wanted to see you, and it made everything else disappear. It’s not an excuse however, and I apologize for it. And I’m also sorry for not taking you seriously when you’re worried about me, it’s just… I’m not laughing at you, it’s just… it’s really sweet how you’re always so worried about me, and you always get so endearing when you lecture me, I just can’t help myself.”

You sniffed. “Okay, fine. I forgive you. And I’m sorry for being so mean to you today. It’s not really because of you. I’m just so irritated these days and lashing out makes me feel better, even though I shouldn’t.” 

Clark’s heart instantly broke at your small voice, and gathered you in his arms. “No need to apologize, sweetheart. I gave you a good reason to get annoyed at me, it was my fault.”

“It’s always your fault,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his chest. 

He snorted through his nose, unable to help himself. “Yes, baby. It’s always my fault, and I’m sorry.”

“Mhm, and you’re taking me out tonight.”

“Okay, baby. Anything you want.”

There was a comfortable silence before you said, “I think your towel just fell.”

Clark couldn’t look at you for the rest of the day without going as red as his cape in the face and you laughing at him every single time. 

“It was time it happened, you know? It’s just the natural course of events.”

You pretended it was fine, but Clark could tell you were embarrassed a little too and that knowledge comforted him a little. 

You were laughing at him again. Because he just took out his pocket notebook from his backpocket so he could make a note out of something he wanted to look up later. And he had a tiny pencil that came with it.

“You’re so—” you shook your head.

“An old soul?” Clark offered helpfully as he closed his notebook and slid it back in his pocket. 

“Chronically offline, I was going to say, and it’s crazy how even your words reflect how chronically offline you are.”

Clark smiled. He liked it when you teased him, because it meant you liked him, even if he had ten billion other proofs that you liked him. 

“I’m going to say words and you’re going to say the first thing that comes to mind, okay?”

“Let’s do it.”

He moved his upper body so that he could fully face you, giving you all of his attention.

“Serve.”

“Tennis.”

“Eat.”

“Food.”

“Slay.”

“Dragons.”

“Flop.”

“Flip flop.”

“Tik Tok.”

“Clock.” 

Your face got progressively red as you tried not to burst out laughing. 

“Do you know what rizz means?”

“Uh… not really, but I remember Lois telling Jimmy she didn’t understand how he got so much rizz. Is it… freckles? He has a lot of freckles.”

You broke into laughter. “Oh you’re so cute, Clark. I just want to eat you up. In a soup. Like wonton soup but it’s Clark soup.”

“Thank… you?” 

“You’re welcome, babe.”

Clark Kent was a mild-mannered, soft-spoken, respectful young man. It’s a truth universally acknowledged. Despite his stature and his size, no one had ever seen him use it in a way to cause harm rather than help. Sure, they’d seen him climb on top of a tree to save a kitten, help lift things from one floor to another, but they’d never seen him use that strength against someone else. 

And no one ever will. Not even you. Clark takes great mesures to make sure that it stays that way. He’ll do anything to protect you from anything that could upset you and if it’s truly important, he won’t tell you about it. Why would he ruin your day when he was perfectly capable of handling everything? He was happy to handle everything else while you were busy enjoying yourself, like now.

You weren’t even drunk — you hated alcohol and besides, Clark couldn’t get drunk either so it wouldn’t be fun for him to be the only one sober — but you were feeling the music, and talking to someone, looking gorgeous and in your element in your dress. You looked stunning. Not just because your dress was pretty — though it was — but because you were radiating with joy. You loved going out and having fun and dancing to a music that reverberated deep in your ribcage. 

“Hi Clark!” you screamed over the music, even if he could have easily heard you mumble it ten feet away in the middle of fireworks. “You having fun?”

“I am,” he called back.

You grabbed him by his hands and tugged him against you. “Come on, let’s dance.”

“Oh, no, you know I don’t do any of that.”

You snorted. “If it’s just because you’re embarrassed of your dance moves, I won’t judge, I promise. I’ve already seen them all anyway.”

“It’s not that…” he countered weakly. It was exactly that. His gracefulness as Superman unfortunately did not translate to when he was Clark Kent, and coupled with his height and size, he was an actual public hazard. He didn’t want to accidentally bump into someone or, God forbid, step on your feet. He knew you wouldn’t care, but he did, and it made him feel bad. 

You huffed. “Fine. I’m gonna go dance with that hot guy over there, then. He’s been trying to talk to me for like an hour but since I thought you were going to dance with me… anyway, it’s his lucky day, bye Clarkie,” you said, before sauntering over to the guy who, Clark had to admit, was attractive. 

He watched you talk with him with an unnamed feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he forced himself to take a sip of his water. Maybe he should have gone with you. 

But then you were back already, not even ten minutes later. You said you just didn’t “vibe” with him, but Clark suspected it was because you missed him.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered against the crown of your head. “I was getting tired anyway.”

“Bollocks,” you replied in a fake posh accent. “You never get tired.”

He hummed. “True. I just wanted to go home with you.”

“Then let’s go home.”

The streets of Metropolis were half-lit. It was a Friday night in the summer so everyone was still out, despite the late hour. He had your hand in his and you were skipping on the pavement, heels clicking, arm swinging. 

He loved you best when you were like this. Happy and blissful and totally unaware of the rest of the world, because you trusted him to have your back, even if you weren’t entirely aware of the many ways he’s had your back.

“I hate the subway,” you muttered, scanning your metro card against the reader. 

“Well, you refuse to fly you home, and also walk home so,” Clark replied patiently. 

“Should have taken a taxi.”

“And complain about how it’s expensive all the way home?”

“You know, Clark, I don’t think I appreciate how much you know me. Maybe it’s time we start putting some distance between the two of us.”

Clark didn’t need to reply, he merely looked down at the way you were literally pressed against him until there was not a single inch of space left between the two of you. 

“Shut up,” you grumbled. 

The subway was full despite the late hour so the both of you had to keep standing. Well, Clark had to, but you leaned against him, putting most of your weight against him. He loved it. 

It happened when there were only five stops left.

You were rambling to Clark about something even you wasn’t sure about it, when Clark noticed the man behind you who had been trying to get closer for the past five minutes.

His reaction was swift but controlled. Making sure your attention was elsewhere, namely fixating on the bright lights announcing the stations left, he grabbed the man’s wrist in a tight enough grip that it was uncomfortable, but not tight enough to break anything — yet. 

“Hey, baby, can you explain to me what Instagram again?” he asked you, voice soft and sweet. 

“Again?! You do realize it’s been—“

He tuned you out, not out of malice, just so he could focus his energy into the man who thought sticking his phone underneath your skirt was a good idea. 

The man’s eyes looked up in unwarranted anger, ready to yell at whoever dared touch him, but it quickly switched into fear once he saw the stony expression on Clark’s face — and the height and muscle he had on him. 

Clark knew he shouldn’t, but he squeezed his grip tighter until his super hearing could pick up the sound of his joints creasing against each other. 

“Are you even listening to me, Clark? This is your problem, because you say you want to understand but then you always zone out even before I even start.”

“Sorry darling, there’s just a… bug that’s been bothering me.”

“Silly, just swat it away, and then give me your full attention.”

Clark grinned, and twisted the man’s wrist until it sprained. Just enough to make him second guess himself next time he tried to pull this stunt again — to you or any other unsuspecting girl who may not have Superman by their side. The phone dropped and Clark ‘accidentally’ stepped on it.

“Perfect idea, my smart girl.” 

The rest of the ride home went without any other problem, but Clark still couldn’t for the life of him understand what Instagram was. 

You passed out in bed before Clark even took off his pants. 

He sighed at the sight, but without any real annoyance. He supposed your clothes were comfortable enough to sleep in, but he gathered your makeup wipes from the bathroom.

You mumbled something intelligible when the mattress dipped underneath his weight as he crossed a leg on the bed and sat down, and he smiled. Even unconscious, you were endearing. 

He poured some product in the cotton before he wiped your face with it gently. He did the same with another cotton wipe and focused on your eyes this time, removing the mascara and eyeliner he loved so much that made your eyes look even bigger and shinier. 

He threw everything away and then got into bed behind you. Sleep had never felt sweeter than when he slept with you in his arms. 

Things my chronically offline bsf does

“What’s this?” Clark asked, blinking at the screen you just shoved in his face as if you were afraid he was going to somehow miss the glowing bright box. He was drinking his glass of milk when you walked in the kitchen in a flurry of excitement. 

“It’s an idea for a TikTok,” you explained. It probably explained it for most people, but it only left Clark even more puzzled. He knows you explained it to him, multiple times, but he keeps forgetting. 

“What’s bee-ess-eff?”

“Best friend. It’s you. You’re my chronically offline best friend. I think the world needs to know about this.”

“Uh… sure?” He wasn’t sure why the world needed to know the things he did, but he wasn’t one to not show you support whenever he can, so he went along with it. “What sort of things do I do?”

“Take notes on an actual notepad.”

“That’s normal, why would they care?”

“You use physical maps.”

“They’re fabricated for a reason!”

You ignored him again. “You print recipes instead of following them on your laptop. Wait, let me correct that. You ask me to print you the recipes because you still haven’t figured it out.”

He blushed at that. “But it’s just so much easier that way! I like having everything I need right in front of me. I don’t want to have to scroll or zoom in or whatever else it is.”

“Mhm,” you replied, unconvinced. “I still think it makes for a really funny TikTok video, so. I’m posting it.”

“Well… okay. Sure. Maybe someone in the comment section will explain to me why it’s so funny.”

You snorted. “I love you, Clark.”

He brightened up, confusion leaving his face. This, he knew. This, he was used to. “I love you, sweetheart. Let me know when you upload it. I want to read comments with you.”

The TikTok was forgotten for a bit. Life got in the way, you got distracted by other shinier, newer, better things, and it was deadline season for Clark, and crime seemed to have multiplied overnight. 

So, it wasn’t long before he and you finally got to reading the comments. 

“Clark, you’re a famous man,” you preamble. 

He paused mid-slurp of his chicken noodles. “Huh?”

“The video blew up.”

Clark instantly looked concerned. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yes, silly. It means the video went viral.”

“It went where?”

“Ugh! Whatever. You’re famous. I got like 35k comments.”

Clark knew what going viral meant. He was just being a little jerk, and you were so used to him being actually that obtuse that the joke flew right over your head. 

But the number made him pause. “That many? Where do these people come from?”

“All around the world. Do you want me to read the comments for you or not?”

Clark placed his chopsticks down and stapled his fingers, as if he was getting ready for an important meeting. “Let’s hear it.”

You cleared your throat, readying yourself to start reading some sort of royal decree. “Him having the actual notepad from old iPhone noteapp is taking me out.”

Clark was frowning, not upset, just trying to understand. “Okay, but where is my notepad taking them out?”

“Do you actually want to know or do you prefer living in bliss?”

“Uh… is it bad?”

“No, I just don’t know if you want to preserve your ignorance.”

“Oh. Explain this one. I’m intrigued.”

You did, and he cracked a smile when he finally got it. You kept reading him some comments, explaining them when needed. 

“Someone said, this is the only person who would probably survive a nuclear fallout.”

You snorted at that one, knowing that the commenter couldn’t possibly realize just how close to the truth they were. 

“How did they know?”

“It’s a figure of speech, honey.”

“Oh. Okay, next one.”

“I am lowkey jealous of him. I bet he is happy and healthy and has clear skin.”

“Could you reply to them?”

“Yeah. What do you want to say?”

“Tell them that if they have questions about how I live, they can ask me. Or I guess, direct message you.”

“If I do that, everyone will flood my DMs but fine. The things I do for you… okay, done. Next. Bet he pays all his bills by check too with a crying emoji.”

Clark frowned. “Why are they sad? Did I make them sad?”

“A crying emoji is basically laughter, don’t worry.”

“Weird. Next.”

“This guy’s got the world’s cleanest internet footprint. Even rainbolt wouldn’t be able to find him.”

“Who’s rainbolt?”

“A dude who’s really good at finding locations in the world with the tiniest picture.”

“Oh.”

Sometime between the first comment and the last one, you’d ended up on his lap, and he’d leaned back against his chair to give you more space. 

“What is this one?”

“I hope he knows he’s iconic,” you read out loud. 

“Oh. That’s really sweet. I am iconic, thank you. But so are you.”

You smiled, pleased before bursting into laughter. “Oh you’re gonna hate this.”

“Uh oh. Lay it on me.”

“Chronically offline but chronically FINE,” you said, barely able to read it with a straight face. “I should have known people were going to lose their mind over you.”

“I’m fine? As in, nice to look at?”

“Yes, honey. They’re saying you’re hot.”

“Oh. How many of them?”

“That comment alone got fifty thousand likes.”

“Gosh. The Internet is a scary place.”

You kept reading comments, giggling to yourself. 

He can write me a letter any time. 

I would learn how to use a rotary phone for him. 

I’m getting a pigeon just so he can start sending me letters. 

“Unlucky for them, you’re all mine.”

Clark smiled, pleased and smug. That’s right. He was yours. 

You started including him more in your TikToks, partly because people demanded more of him, but mostly because you enjoyed doing things with him. 

You posted another one: 

things my bsf does for me because he’s just built like that

Ever since they met, Clark had just felt more inclined to do things for you. He was raised that way, yeah, but it was more than that. 

Clark didn’t think there was any door he’d let you open when he was around. Paying for you had always been second nature to him, just like kissing your forehead whenever he was happy. Holding your hands started out because you wanted to hold his hand, but he kept the habit. Now he couldn’t go anywhere with you without holding your hand. 

If anyone asked why, he wasn’t sure he would be able to explain why. He just felt like it. Just like walking on the side of the road, or gently guiding you with a hand to the small of your back. 

He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the things you picked, but somehow the internet had a lot of things to say about it. Surprisingly, they were all nice. 

May this kind of friendship kidnap me (What?!)

Is someone going to tell them? (Tell them what?)

I don’t think they’re aware they’re dating. (Clark would like to believe that he would know whether he was dating someone or not.)

THEY SLEEP TOGETHER?!? (Yeah? How else would they cuddle then?)

I feel so bad for their partners. (Clark and you haven’t dated anyone ever, so the worry was appreciated but unwarranted.) 

I’m struggling to find a good bf because girls like her are hoarding the good men (What?)

Girl you’re living the life. Where can I find me a man like that? (In corn fields.)

THAT SHOULD BE ME… holding your hand (Oh! Clark recognizes that song.) 

Clark didn’t say anything as you wedged your head between his arm and forearm, using it as a sort of prop, only watched in confusion as you took a picture of it using the reflection on the train’s windows. 

“It’s for my collection,” you helpfully added. 

Your collection of pictures of the two of you. Picture of your hand against his, another one of you flexing your arm next to his relaxed biceps, his hand wrapped around your waist. He never really understood why, but he didn’t need to understand it to feel a sort of understated satisfaction and pride at the sight of the two of you together, your difference in size so pronounced. When asked about it, you merely said ‘Tumblr’s gonna go crazy’ as if it explained everything.

Clark didn’t know who Tumblr was, but he felt bad for them. 

But like anything else that you did or said, Clark didn’t need to understand it to support it. 

During lunch break, Clark was swamped by Lois and Jimmy who stood over his desk like two very nosy sentinels.

“Did you see your best friend’s new post?”

Clark clicked out of a tab before peering up at his two other best friends through his thick glasses. “Uh… she didn’t show me anything, so I wasn’t aware she uploaded something new. Why? Did she?”

“Oh no,” Lois said, way too normally. “We, uh, we were just wondering if she was going to post something soon.”

“Yeah, we became huge fans. We can’t get enough of her posts,” Jimmy supplied. 

Clark beamed. “Oh, that’s really sweet. She’s going to be so happy hearing that. I’ll definitely let you guys know if she ever wants to post something new on the TikTok.”

“Cool, cool,” Jimmy said in his usual shifty way.

“Wanna go out for lunch with us?” Lois asked.

“Uh… sure,” Clark replied with a nod. You were busy that day, so it wasn’t like he had anything planned with you.

Clark wasn’t much of a talker. Around his loved ones, he preferred listening. He couldn’t get enough of it.

Jimmy was talking about his latest date with Eve, a really sweet girl who kind of reminded Clark of you, because she was an influencer too. 

Lois talked about her latest investigation against Luthorcorp. You could take her out of the office but you couldn’t take the journalism out of Lois. It’s how Lois and him had become friends when Clark first joined the Daily Planet. 

“How are things with her?” she asked once the conversation trailed off and Clark smiled, always happy to talk about you.

“Good, we’re actually going to the movies tonight. I can’t wait.”

Lois slurped loudly on her Oreo milkshake. 

“The new horror movie?” Jimmy asked. “Eve and I went to see it last week. It was really good but I think Eve forgot she had her own seat.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Eve deserves so much better,” Lois sighed longingly. 

“Hey! You said you weren’t gonna say stuff like that to me!”

Lois shrugged. “I lied.”

Clark watched them bicker happily. Weirdly enough, it reminded him of his own parents bickering together. 

Clark raised a brow at your look. “Lazy night tonight?”

You were dressed in Clark’s old hoodie that still hung loosely on you and a pair of sweatpants (not his, unfortunately), and your hair was tied haphazardly into a bun. “Mhm,” you grunted. “I looked at my closet and it looked back at me and then I stared back and I realized I was way too lazy tonight to dress up properly. So, you get this.”

“Well, not that you asked, but I still think you’re gorgeous like this. Actually, I think I like you better like this, wearing my shirt.”

“Possessive much, huh?”

Clark rubbed the back of his hand with a sheepish smile. “Ah, well…”

Clark liked going to the cinema with you. He liked buying you overpriced snacks just because you loved them, and he loved it when you inevitably get tired mid-showing and lay your head against his shoulder. Or when you grow bored with the movie and start playing with his hand instead, sending shivers down his spine when you caress the back of his hand with a feather-light touch. 

“This movie is so lame,” you grumbled, hand digging into Clark’s popcorn.

Most of all, he just loved you. Even when you were being a harsh critic.

Clark’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “It’s a children’s movie, sweetheart. What did you expect?” he whispered back. 

“Even kids deserve quality! They need to watch good movies at the earliest so that they learn to appreciate good cinema.”

Clark snorted. He usually tried not to be so noisy in the cinema but the room was filled with approximately twenty children who were all screaming or crying or making some sort of noise. His snort flew under the radar. 

“Have you always been this passionate about children movie?”

“I was a child once too, Clark. This is very important to me.”

Clark barely resisted the urge to grab your hand, buttery and salty, and press a kiss to it. 

Clark cannot exist without you, but Clark thinks that you could exist without him, you just choose not to. 

“Clark,” you said one day, phone in one hand and Clark’s arm in the other. “My favorite bubble tea shop is offering free drinks for couples on Valentine’s day. We have to go.”

Clark knew that bubble tea was your favorite, so it was easy to agree. “I’m not sure they count best friends as couples, though.”

“Oh Clark, you dummy. We’re going to go there as a couple. I got us matching outfits. We’re going to be the cutest couple ever.”

Clark heard matching outfits and his heart hammered inside his chest. He was no stranger to matching outfits. It was you, after all, who introduced them to him. 

It had started out small: friendship bracelets, then necklaces, then clay rings they made together. 

Then one day you’d come across matching beanies and bought them on an impulse, because they made you think of him. Clark had really loved the beanie. His was red and blue, because of course it was. Yours had been pink and black. 

From then on, there were no more limits to what you would consider matching. You’d even made him exchange sim cards holders so that yours became black and his pink. 

A full matching outfit had always been the next natural course of action. 

“Wouldn’t that be… lying?” he said, smiling sheepishly. As much as he loved the idea of wearing matching outfits with you and helping you get free boba, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to help you commit fraud. 

“Clark, think about it. We regularly go on date together. Your toothbrush is next to mine in my bathroom. We celebrate anniversaries. We sleep in the same bed. These are all things couples do.”

“Yeah? But we’re not a couple.”

“They don’t have to know that! We’ll just let the facts speak for themselves.”

“Well…” 

Clark Kent was about to commit fraud in the name of love friendship.

You got your free drinks because nothing could stand in the way between you and your favorite drinks with pearl shaped tapioca inside. 

“Hey, Kat,” you said, greeting the cashier by name as if you guys were long lost friends. “Can you help me out?”

Kat had a confused smile, but she also looked intrigued. “Sure?”

You hook a thumb towards Clark. “He’s been sleeping in my bed for close to a year now, and he makes me breakfast every day, but he refuses to believe we’re dating.”

Clark’s entire face went beet red with sheer embarrassment. “H-Hey!”

Your grin could put to shame the Cheshire cat’s smile.

Kat snickered. “Oh boy, he’s got it bad, isn’t he?”

You showed her your matching clay rings. “Look at this. We made them together ten years ago. And now because he refuses to admit we’re together, I won’t be able to get my free drink.”

Kat’s eyes went big, before looking at Clark like he was really dumb. “Is he blind?” she asked you while looking at him.

“Well, they do say that love makes you blind.”

Oh you were good, and you were such a menace, and Clark wasn’t sure his face was ever going to be able to go back to a normal shade after this.

“Was this really necessary?”

“No, not really,” you admitted, taking a large sip from your straw. Your drink was pink, because of course it was. It’s Valentine’s day, after all. “But it was fun. And I technically didn’t say lie.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whimpered.

“You love me.”

“I do. Unfortunately for me.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. Enjoy your drinks. They’re tainted with the taste of my mortification.”

“Yummy. Extra delicious.”

Contrary to popular belief, Clark Kent was a menace too. He just hid it really well, and only let it show around you.

It was stupid, really. He came across a joke store and he went inside for some reason. He thought he would find something silly or cute for you. Maybe matching disguises. 

But then he found a disturbingly realistic cockroach and before he knew it, he was out of the store with a bag and three dollars missing from his wallet. 

He already felt so guilty, but also very excited. 

Clark was pretty humans all over the globe, metahuman or not, had been able to hear your scream when you noticed the cockroach right next to your eyes.

“Clark!” 

Your first scream was one of fear.

Another thing about Clark Kent was that he had a terrible poker face. It’s why you loved playing poker against him.

But it also meant that he was the worst at playing pranks, because guilt always showed on his face. Ergo, you knew instantly.

“Clark!”

Your second one was of anger and Clark smiled, ducking his head to the side. “Good morning?”

“Oh Clark, I hate you.” 

But Clark didn’t need his enhanced vision to see the way your lips quirked up as you struggled to not smile. 

“Are you free Friday night?” you asked him, peeking your head inside the bathroom where Clark was showering. Thankfully he was only showering and not doing anything else. 

“Uh, sweetheart, you know I’m always free Friday nights,” he said, wiping a hand over his face to see you better. 

You snorted. “Oh yeah. Forgot you were such a nerd. Oh well, consider yourself not free anymore. You know, you look really cute with your hair pushed back.”

He flushed.

“You blush down there too. Interesting.” 

You closed the door behind you and he let his forehead bump against the wall with a dull thud. Oh, he was in so much trouble. 

If Clark Kent stopped being dishonest with himself, he would finally let himself admit that he liked you more than normal friends, and more than their own brand of friendship.

His feelings for you ran as deep as the ocean, as old as the birth of his civilization. From the day he thought you were a scarecrow, to his first kiss. His first kiss was with you, of course. It was your first too. You said you wanted to know what the fuss was all about. 

Fireworks had erupted the moment your lips touched his, and never stopped once whenever he saw you. 

Clark Kent was really in love. With his first kiss, his first friend, his first love, you.

And it wasn’t as scary as people made it out to be, honestly. Nothing was scary when you were there. 

When he first started getting his powers, it was scary but you were there. You made it not scary. 

When Pa Kent had a health scare, it was really scary, but you were there. You made it not so scary. 

Point was, Clark wasn’t afraid of the depth of his feelings for you, because he had blind trust in you. (And something told him that you felt the same.) 

Even if you dragged him to random parties on a random Friday after work. It felt weird to spend eight hours cooped up behind his laptop and then find himself in a nightclub that same night, wearing clothes that were way too fitted. 

“I need you to wear something good,” you told him before dragging him into an impromptu shopping spree. It was planned for you, but it was a surprise for him. Really, who was he to tell you no? 

Your whistling and happiness were worth wearing something out of his zone of comfort. 

“You never leave your drink unattended, okay?” you warned him seriously. 

Clark only nodded sagely, even though he was fighting the stupid grin that was threatening to break on his face. It was cute how you worried for him, even though drugs literally had no effect on him. 

“No drinks left unattended, got it. And I don’t talk to strangers. Unless they’re cute.”

“Don’t sass me, young man. I’m doing this for you.”

His smile turned softer. “I know. Thank you, sweetheart.”

It was a regular nightclub, like any other. You wanted to taste their drinks, take pictures, have fun. Clark was used to these nights. You were there for the fun, he was there for you. 

He didn’t usually dance but there was something different about tonight. He remembered the way he felt when you went to dance with someone else, and he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. 

He waited until you finished your drink to ask, “Can I have this dance?”

You looked at him with eyes wide like saucers. “Oh em gee!” you shrieked. “I thought you would never ask!”

If he’d known how happy it would make you, he wouldn’t have kept refusing you. 

He wasn’t really used to dancing, and the only thing that came to mind when he thought of dancing was slow dancing. So that’s what he had in mind when he asked you. But then you finished his glass in one go and pressed yourself to him until there was no more space left, and the rest of the world disappeared.

He could feel everything. The press of the swell of your breasts against his chest, your hands gliding along his waist, the intoxicating smell of your lavender perfume.

Oh yes. This was a nightclub. This was how people danced. He swallowed thickly. Maybe he chose the wrong time to ask for a dance. 

Your hands are now caressing your neck, up to your hair, your head turned to the side. You were one with the song, and Clark was frozen in place, hands hovering in the air, suddenly unsure whether he was allowed to touch you.

“Aw, Clarkie, getting shy on me now?” you teased him when you noticed him unmoving. You grabbed his hands and placed them on each side of your waist. “Just follow the music. Sway from one side to the other.”

He tried, but God did he feel stiff and watching you in your element didn’t help. The friction of your dancing body against him was doing something to his nerves.

“Look at how the man are dancing with the girls,” you whispered. “Try doing the same.”

He looked, and immediately averted his eyes. “I can’t do that,” he whispered in panic. “It’s… borderline graphic!”

You laughed. “Oh Clark. You’re adorable. I’m gonna grind on you,” you said with that same look on your face that said you were up to no good, and that Clark couldn’t even dream of surviving you.

“Please don’t,” he whimpered in a tiny voice. “At least not here, where everyone can see.”

You paused at that, your teasing smile frozen in place, and Clark watched with barely muted satisfaction at how he’d so easily rendered you speechless. 

But then your eyes turned mischievous, and Clark realized his mistake. “I like the sound of that.”

He groaned, throwing his head back. You used that moment of weakness to press your lips along the lines of his neck. Not a kiss, not a bite. Just the soft press of your lips against his neck.

And then you screamed when your favorite song came on, and it was like that moment never even happened. 

“This is my song!” you squealed excitedly. 

You were so drunk.

Clark Kent didn’t mind taking care of you when drunk. He would like to say it was because he always wants to take care of you, but the truth was a little more selfish than that. 

Sure, drunk you was a menace, but when you got tired and sleepy and drunk, you were always so sweet. So clingy, so desperately needy and Clark absolutely loved to take care of you in that state. You were already clingy on a normal day, but drunk and sleepy was a whole other level. If he didn’t have his Superman strength, he would never be able to extricate you from his body. You turned into an oversized, drunk, needy koala. Clark leaving for just one minute to bring you water was enough to send you into an inconsolable state, so he learned to improvise. Again, he was thankful for his superstrength allowing him to lift you with one arm while he took care of things. 

Tonight was no different. By the time you both reached your apartment, you were already dozing off to sleep but fighting it, your entire chest wrapped around Clark’s arm. 

“Clark, you’re staying the night, right?” you asked, voice muffled and words slurred. 

“Yes,” he replied, fighting hard a smile, turning his own copy of your keys in the lock. 

“And you’re staying with me, right?”

“Yes,” he replied. This time he couldn’t help the smile. He helped you walk inside.

Your bottom lip quivered, tears already forming in your eyes. You let go of him. “You hate me!” 

Clark’s eyes went wide. “What? Where the heck did that come from? I just said I was staying with you.”

“Yes, but you sounded like you hated me when you said it,” you replied, voice already watery. 

“Gosh no, what? I could never love you. I love you. Always have, always will.”

“So why did you stop calling me petnames? You hate me!”

You broke into tears in the middle of your living room and for the first time since ever, Clark felt utterly helpless. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d stopped. 

“Oh baby, is this what it’s about?” he cooed, and his heart broke when you nodded pitifully. “Come here sweetheart.”

He opened his arms and you launched yourself into them. He closed his hold around you, his arms wide enough so he could hide all of you, and protect you. Your shoulders shook with the strength of your sob, and once again he found himself wondering how such a tiny little thing could have so much feelings inside of her. 

“I love you baby, I could never hate you. Forgive me?”

“Okay,” you said, sniffing. A second later, he felt you wipe your snotty nose against the really nice shirt you got him earlier. He suppressed a small laugh. “I love you too. Even if you’re mean sometimes.” A pause. “Okay, you’re never mean. But still.”

“Thank you sweetheart.”

He kissed the crown of your head and you didn’t move for so long he thought you’d fallen asleep, but your heartbeat was still strong and rapid. 

“Let’s get ready for bed, okay?”

“Okay.” But you still didn’t move.

No matter, Clark thought. He had superstrength for a reason. He easily lifted you with one arm, and his heart swelled inside his chest at your giggle. You were such a strange girl. 

“Open up,” he said with a tap of his finger on your chin after he placed you on top of the bathroom counter, standing between your open legs, and pouring toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“Aaaah.”

“Good girl,” he praised, and started brushing your front teeth in gentle circular motions. 

You had your right index finger hooked inside his pants. You always needed to feel him around, even when he was literally brushing your teeth. 

Your mascara had run across your cheeks — unable to support a drunken night of dancing and singing and crying; your eyes were slightly red and your undereyes were swollen, and yet you were still the prettiest sight he’d ever laid eyes upon. Your lipstick was smeared across your lips, and Clark wanted to run his thumb across so badly, just to smear it even more.

You were patient while he meticulously brushed your teeth because you’d gotten used to him brushing them for two minutes exactly as prescribed by dentists. He was thorough in his cleaning, making sure you were properly clean before he makes you gargle and then spit in the sink. He didn’t give you water to rinse it off because he’d seen that you shouldn’t do that. 

Then, with movements honed with years of practice, he grabbed your cotton pads and miscellar water from your skin care product self.

“Can you close your eyes for me, sweetheart?”

The effect was instant. You pouted. “But I wanna see you.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Okay.” 

You closed your eyes and he started with them, gently wiping your makeup with the cotton pad. “Almost done,” he whispered. Your fingers tugged at his pants. 

Then, it was your lips’ turn, and Clark imagined it was his thumb wiping them.

“Yucky. Doesn’t taste so good,” you mumbled.

He laughed. “Oh baby, you shouldn’t taste it.”

You pouted again. 

He used a fourth pad for your entire face, just to remove dirt and threw everything in the bin. 

You grinned at him, all sleepy and mellowed out and looking like the angel you were. You were still in your outside clothes — Clark hadn’t gotten to that — and the juxtaposition of your sweet and innocent smile and your clothing was endearing. You could do both so well, and he loved them both a lot, but he always preferred the side of you that felt more like his, the one with no pretenses, no walls put up. Just you and your unfiltered love. 

“All cleaned up, baby. Now we just need to get you into some comfortable clothes and we can go to sleep.”

You looked proud of yourself, even if all you’d done was lean sleepily against his chest and made his job a lot harder than it should. 

Neither of you blushed when he helped you take off your clothes. You were drunk and sleepy, and Clark would never take advantage of you in this state. His eyes didn’t look anywhere he wasn’t supposed to, and his movements were clinical. His hands didn’t linger, didn’t stray.

He loved you and that meant he would never hurt you. 

Then, finally, when you were both dressed and in bed, he gathered you in his arms and listened to your heartbeat until it slowed down. It never took too long, when he held you and you were drunk. You were always out like a light when he cuddled you close to his chest. 

Clark got the idea the next day, when you were under the showers and he saw your phone light up with a notification while he was still in bed. It was a notification from TikTok — he recognized that logo. 

He grabbed his own phone and downloaded the app himself, and struggled for close to thirty minutes just to create an account. Most of that time was spent figuring out a username (in the end he kept the default one TikTok gave every user). 

Then you came out of the shower and Clark forgot about it.

“Wanna go grab brunch?” you asked him, still dripping on the floor, towel around you.

“Sure. Bubby’s?”

“God yes.”

Bubby’s was your go-to restaurant whenever you were hangover — or just particularly hungry.

Clark didn’t waste a second and stood up from his bed, his phone completely forgotten. 

It was only a month later, when he received a notification from the app (that confused him for a good ten seconds until he remembered how he’d downloaded the app) inviting him to join a random person’s LIVE, that he remembered the really stupid idea he had.

He spent one hour learning how to use TikTok and another one trying to make a video. He kept accidentally deleting everything with his stupidly big thumbs and he tried five times before he finally finished.

It was nothing big — it wasn’t even a video. Just a static picture and some text, but he did it himself. He even managed to change the color of the words and add a gif (because he thought that was really cute and like something you would love).

He felt silly for how proud of himself he felt. He just hoped he didn’t do anything wrong, and then pressed on the post button. 

He wasn’t quite sure what hashtags were or even if they were needed, but he added one just in case — the first one that popped up. 

And then he deleted the app, promptly forgetting about it and going back to his usual life. It was either the stupidest idea he’d ever had, or the greatest one. In any case, he was already onto the next thing. Namely, taking you out to dinner in a near future. 

  ───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You woke up to your phone absolutely blowing up. Clark was at work and had been for a few hours already.

It was strange, you thought as you looked at the hundreds of notifications showing up on your lockscreen. You hadn’t posted anything on there in so long, and definitely nothing about Clark (apparently your videos about him always did crazy well). 

Oh no, you thought to yourself. Were you getting cancelled?

Half of your notifications were mentions to a random video from an account with no name and no picture, and only one post.

IS THIS THE BSF?!?!

I KNEW IT!!!!

omg i ship them so bad

Is this @pinkbubbles’s bsf?!?! The girl in the picture looks so much like her

@pinkbubbles GIRL LOOK

LMAO i literally just saw the other pov of this, tiktok knows what its doing 

You clicked on the video. It was silent. It was just a picture, one that you recognized. It was you. A few years ago, when you’d traveled to the beach with Clark and he invited you to diner that night. He’d taken a picture of you, and he wanted to be subtle so your entire face didn’t show. Just your smile and your arms. 

The caption read: she doesn’t know i am so in love with her. 

This had to be Clark. The username and picture matched, and only him had access to that picture.

You burst out laughing when your read the caption and it was just ‘i hope she loves me back #charlidamelio’. But your heart was still hammering inside your ribcage like a crazed horse who wanted to break free.

Clark was in love with you. And he confessed through TikTok. Of all the places. It was so him and so unlike him at the same time, that you didn’t know whether you should laugh or cry or burst inside his office. 

Honestly, the crazier thing was that you had posted something exactly like it a few months ago. It was just a video of Clark, not showing his face, and the caption ‘he doesn’t know i am in love with him’. The only difference was that you’d used an actual song, and you didn’t use any hashtags. It wasn’t meant to go viral. It was just… a letter inside a bottle thrown to the sea. A way not to explode while holding onto what felt like your biggest secret. 

And Clark had the same idea, it seemed. A few months later, but still. You wondered when was it—what had pushed him to publish something like that. More importantly, how he’d even been able to do this, when Instagram as a concept itself broke him.

Oh God. He was in love with you, and his confession had gone viral. It was such a strange thing to say. Clark, going viral. Clark who only had an iPhone so that he could use iMessage with you and match lockscreens and sim card holders. Clark who thought TikTok was a song and not an app.

You think you’re going crazy. Clark Kent was going to be the death of you. 

He was acting like nothing was wrong when you met up with him after work. He had that dopey smile on his face, the one that meant that nothing was wrong and that the world was a beautiful and perfect place to be. He usually had a terrible poker face — just that one time he bought a fake cockroach to scare you and the guilt was written all over his face like face paint for children. One look at him and you realized that the monstrosity you woke up next to was fake, and none other than Clark’s latest childish stunt. 

Now 

So how did the man who couldn’t even keep a surprise secret without blubbering and stuttering over his words look so serene? As if he didn’t just break the Internet and turn upside down your heart in the same night. 

“Hey, baby,” he said, head tilted to the side like a confused little puppy who doesn’t understand why his owner wasn’t acting like normal? “How was your day?”

“Uh… um… it was okay. Thanks! How are yours?” 

He raised an eyebrow with a teasing tilt of his lips. “How are mine? Mine what?”

You’d meant to ask how his day was, but at the same time how he was, and your tongue twisted. Oh God. He was usually the awkward one out of the two of you. Not you. Never you. You didn’t even feel that awkward when you’d hugged him once and he felt your stupidly perk and hard nipples. Admittedly, that was because Clark had done something worse just the day before and by comparison nothing you could ever do could ever be worse. 

“I hate you,” you grumbled, slamming a weak fist against his chest. 

Why did it have to be you who found out? What even were you supposed to be doing with information like this? Kiss him? Offer him a ring?

Clark didn’t look particularly offended by that. His hand merely found its place on top of yours and squeezed. “Come on, let’s go. Where are you taking me tonight?”

Your mind blanked. “Uh. Home?”

“Then let’s go,” he replied, his hand finding its natural position at the back of your neck, warm and present and guiding without being oppressive. He’d done that particular gesture a thousand times and you’d never particularly reacted. But tonight, it was different. Tonight, you were being held by the neck with the knowledge that he loved you. That he was in love with you as well, and that maybe had always been. 

Well, if you were being honest with yourself, you would realize that this wasn’t supposed to be surprising. Clark was Clark and you were you, and the pair of you had always been like this — and your weird heteroerotic friendship had always been this way probably because you were both desperately and pathetically in love with each other. 

But panicking about required love was more dramatic.

“Clark.”

“That’s my name, yes.”

“Smartass.”

He smiled in reply. 

He was being so weirdly normal. As if he hadn’t posted his confession for possibly millions to see last night. 

What if that wasn’t even him? What if someone hacked his phone and got his pictures of her? Poor Clark was definitely the kind of person who would fall for a phishing scam. There was a 33% chance of him actually being hacked. This was serious. You had to talk to him about it. 

But… not now. 

Now, you were going home with your best friend of almost thirty years and you were going to make him make dinner and you’re going to light candles and then you’re going to make him take pictures of you. 

It was a regular night for the two of you. Except for the glaringly obvious and impossibly unavoidable fact that made every moment, every look, every touch a thousand times more… charged. More intimate. More… 

You were running out of adjectives. 

“This pasta is wonderful,” you told him and appreciated the way his ears still turned pink every time you praised his cooking. 

“Ah, well, thank you, sweetheart. I wanted to make them from scratch but I didn’t have time.”

“Another time,” you replied. His homemade pasta was to die for, and he always made the best shapes ever. (One time you stole dough from him and made a penis shaped pasta. He couldn’t look you in the eyes without bursting into laughter for the rest of the evening.)

“Another time,” he confirmed. 

Silence fell. The flames were still flickering, unbothered and swaying to the dancing of the air. It cast a particularly romantic light to the whole scene. Which was fitting, considering the two of you were apparently in love with each other, and probably have been for the past two decades.

Oh no. Have you guys wasted two decades for nothing when you could have been happily dating and in love? Perhaps you’d have even been married by now. Yeah, definitely married by now. 

“Clark.”

His fork stilled mid-twirl and looked up to you, his entire attention riveted on you. 

“Could you pass me the salt?”

His sauce was perfectly seasoned but it wasn’t your fault you chickened out right at the last minute. 

“Sure thing,” he replied, standing without a complaint and getting it from the kitchen. 

You were going to talk about the marriage thing another date. Well, you figured you should talk about the confession thing first. 

You can do this. 

You should also do something about those really nosy followers of yours who demanded an update quite literally every hour. 

You really missed life back when you only had one follower — Clark’s account before he forgot the password and gave up on having an online presence. 

You couldn’t post a single story of a cute cat you saw without getting swarmed with messages and comments, and not one of them was about the cute feline. 

“Hey Clark, look at this cute cat I saw earlier.” 

When in doubt (read: lacking attention), always turn to Clark. 

“Oh look at that little fella,” he replied, genuinely excited to see him. You could always trust him to say the right thing. “Was he on your way to work?”

“Uh-huh,” you replied. “He was sooo cute. Almost adopted him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Oh, yeah. He was perfect. 

“Well we hadn’t talked beforehand about bringing a child into this life so I didn’t want to presume.”

“Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you confirmed. 

As easy as that. He’d agreed to adopt a child, so the marriage talk would be easier than anticipated. 

Naturally, you found yourselves at a rescue center, trying to find the perfect fit for them. Clark wanted a dog, you wanted a cat, so you compromised and got a really old cat who’d been waiting for a forever home for fifteen years. 

Her name was Bean (you let Clark pick) and she was both the loveliest and saddest creature you both had ever seen. Her favorite spot to sleep was between the two of you, and she got sad whenever Clark wasn’t staying over the night, so Clark officially moved in. For Bean, of course. 

Clark was, much to your dismay, her favorite, but you understood her. Clark was your favorite as well. 

“You know,” Clark said one day while Bean was busy purring up a storm on top of his large chest (oh how you were jealous), “she really reminds me of you. She always meows outside the bathroom door whenever I take a shower, and she recently learnt how to open the door. Just to stare at me.”

You snorted. “That does sound like something I would do.”

Clark scratched behind Bean’s ears subconsciously. “It’s not just that. It’s… well, she’s quite clingy.”

“I am not clingy,” you refuted automatically, but it was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything. 

Bean meowed in displeasure too. 

“Sweetheart, you’re currently using my arm as a body pillow.”

“Doesn’t mean anything.” Bean meowed. “See? She agrees. We aren’t clingy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He scratched the top of your head, and you think he meant to scratch Bean’s head, not yours, but you found that you absolutely didn’t mind. 

“Meow,” you said, just to really sell it in case he suspected something. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Clark was pleasantly surprised when Lois told him that she wanted to see you again. Jimmy, of course, heard it and was promptly standing guard at Clark’s desk. 

“I want to see her too,” he said. As always, he was expertly (read: awkwardly) avoiding the looks a coworker had been giving him for the past three days. 

“Uh…” he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Sure. She would love that. And I would love that too.”

“It’s weird, we thought you would be more ecstatic than this,” Jimmy said. 

“You guys talk about me behind my back?”

“Duh,” Lois replied. “What else are we supposed to do when you randomly and suspiciously disappear at random intervals during a work day?”

He blushed. “Fair enough. But why did you think I would be happier than this?”

Lois and Jimmy shared a look. “How can he be so big yet so dense?” Lois asked. 

“Hey!”

“Honestly, I just want to know what went through his brain at that moment,” Jimmy said, like he was discussing the weather. “Was he held at gun point? Did his phone become conscious on its own? How did he even know how to use the app?”

“I couldn’t have asked better questions myself,” Lois said, nodding wisely as she took a sip from her monstrous drink. “Clark, would you be up for an interview later?”

Clark frowned. “What… what is going on?”

They shared a look. 

“I don’t think he knows that we know.” 

“Or that the entire Internet knows,” Lois added. 

“Or that she knows,” Jimmy appended. 

“He thinks he’s sleek with it,” Lois commented. 

“Stop talking like creepy twins!” he shrieked. His dignity was never left intact around those two. “What is going on? No, I don’t wanna know. I need to take a break.”

“Should we tell him?”

“Yes. I mean, they adopted a cat together. I don’t think he knows the implications of it.”

“What does Bean have anything to do with any of this?”

“Bean is your child. You’re the father, your best friend is the mother. You guys have moved in together, you co-parent a child, and you’re both in love.”

He finally blushed. “No we’re not.”

“Yes, you are. You confessed to her and she confessed to you.”

“Wait… when did she confess?”

“Oh great heavens.”

Taking an impromptu coffee break, they dragged Clark to the break room where they sat him down (he was going to need it) and showed him his video on Jimmy’s phone and her video on Lois’ phone. 

“Who are you and what have you done with our Clark Kent?” 

“The Clark I know would have never confessed like this. Granted, it’s cute, but it’s not something Clark would do.”

“He can barely use the selfie mode on his phone!”

Clark Kent really felt like a hostage being interrogated, with the two of them looming over him like menacing journalists who wanted to get to the bottom of this. The only thing missing was the table and a threatening lamp projected right in his face, blinding him. He could very well see Lois with a foot up on her chair, elbow on her knee as she stared him down so menacingly he had half a mind to confess to things he didn’t even do, just to make her stop. 

 His face was impossibly red, and the only thing he was thinking about wasn’t about how millions of people saw his video, but that you must have seen it, because everyone was tagging you in the comments, and this was definitely not the way he expected to confess to you. 

Beneath it all though, his chest was rumbling with pleasure at the confirmation — finally — that you felt the same. Knowing it was different from being clearly told. 

“Stop grinning like an idiot, this is making me wanna puke.”

“Gross. Maybe we shouldn’t have shown him this. His face is making a very disturbing and off putting expression.”

“I’m just happy and mortified! Can’t I be happy and mortified in peace?” Clark whined. 

“No,” came their reply in unison. 

“Guys, something came up. I have to go. Tell Perry I’ll work from home.”

He doesn’t wait a second for their answer. Quite frankly, he didn’t care much at the moment. He had a girl waiting for him at home to kiss her senseless.  

masterlist ᯓ★ directory ᯓ★ come say hi