("We choose to love, we do not choose to stop loving.")
(Listen to this while reading)
Word count: 4.4k
Warnings: Angst, mentions of injuries, baby (?), some cringe writing, one curse word (tell me what I missed pls)
A/n: These are my children, I suck at grammar ish. Don't hurt me like I've hurt them-
Hephaestus lay asleep on his side of the bed, snoring loudly. Meanwhile, Marinell had been staring at the ceiling, restless for what he will do, he turned to Hephaestus and reached out a hand. Marinell went to caress his cheek, then hesitated.
His thoughts spun and ran in his mind, he has had months of preparation. But would he ever be ready for it? No, he wouldn’t. However, Hephaestus and Euphrosyne will be safer if he did. Hephaestus was still healing from his wounds, not even Marinell’s healing abilities could help.
Marinell’s eyes welled up with tears, he pinched his nose and covered his mouth as he let out a shuddery breath. He knew that Hephaestus’s mental health would take a hit from this, but he knew that Euphrosyne would be his reason to keep on going. Throughout his pains, Hephaestus would not be one to give up. Especially on a child he had waited for for so long.
Marinell turned away, shutting his eyes and hoped the land of slumber would take him. For tomorrow at twilight’s shine, he will have to leave his family behind. He shan’t tell Hephaestus, for his love will persuade him. Marinell would become weak for him, giving in to his every whim. Perhaps Hephaestus hating him would make it a great deal easier, for all of them. Marinell knows that he will be a prisoner for his family, it hurts him that he may never see his daughter grow up. He may never age, but he will know that his loved ones will wither away upon the coming years. For Death shall ring Her tolls and guide them to the afterlife.
Marinell wishes to have more time with both of them, but the longer he goes, the more it’ll hurt. His daughter may never know him, but it is a comfort knowing that she will be safe from his family. They both will. Bearing punishment for them was worth it, even if he had to go through it twice over. Hephaestus already experienced much due to his curse. Marinell wasn’t much for praying to other deities, having only known his family would be there to give him anything… But for this? Marinell had pleaded and begged any one that may listen to his call, ‘Strengthen my husband, strengthen my daughter, protect them, I offer anything. I beg, I plead, I show upon any of thee that I am willing and able. Protect my husband from himself, protect him from wrongdoers or anything that may cause harm. I beg and plead a sorrowful song unto any who listens to me.’
He finished his prayers and started to slowly succumb to rest, Oneiros guiding Marinell slowly. As he almost stepped a foot into the land of Dreaming, a sharp cry rang in the air. Startling him and Hephaestus awake, Hephaestus sat up beside him. He then groaned and pressed his chest, massaging it as he heaved and wheezed just a bit.
Marinell swung his legs off the bed, he then rubbed his eyes. He blinked blearily as he stood, Hephaestus then made a noise of protest, he then spoke up “No no, cara mia. I can handle this. You’ve done enough yesterday, or is it still today? Whatever, you’re hogging Euphrosyne and that’s quite unfair, beloved.” Hephaestus walked to Marinell’s front, head leaning down a tad to meet his gaze. He raised a hand and rubbed Marinell’s cheek, pulling him in to kiss him. Marinell deepened the kiss, hands snaking their way behind Hephaestus’s neck. They slithered slowly and combed fingers into his hair.
The cries then became louder, Hephaestus pulled away while Marinell’s head spun at the lack of oxygen. Hephaestus pushed Marinell’s chest so that he sat on the bed, “Right, I’ll be back. Go to sleep, darling, you look like you need it. The princess awaits.” He chuckles as he walks out of the room. Marinell smiled sadly, no more days like this. No more kisses that fill his heart and soul, only the guilt and longing that will replace it. A void that would perhaps consume every fiber of his being.
Marinell finally let the dam break, an onslaught of tears fell, making it hard to see. He couldn’t anymore, the thought crashed heavily on him. Apathy could only hold the feeling off for so long. The lack of sleep pulled his emotions to overdrive, making it hurt all the more than it had when he numbed it down. He grasped at his heart, trying to make the hurt lessen. Marinell shoved his head into his pillow, taking in stuttering breaths. He calmed his breathing, following the patterns he was taught by Hephaestus. Deep breaths in, and deep breaths out. Marinell shut his eyes for the umpteenth time, clearing his throat. Might as well force his body to sleep…
*footstep*
*footstep*
*Creeee-ak*
Hephaestus stepped in with Euphrosyne in tow, he couldn’t resist bringing along the darling girl. She cooed softly in her sleep, Hephaestus rocked her gently. He looked to Marinell’s form on the bed, a calming feel washed over Hephaestus. He walked quietly as he could to bed, pulling up the covers and climbing in. He then settled Euphrosyne in between him and Marinell, placing a gentle kiss on her nose, to which she sneezed in response which made Hephaestus let out a small laugh, settling in and letting out a big sigh. Time for rest.
*the following day*
The sun rose and shone brightly, gleaming through the curtain. The beams glaring at Marinell, he squinted his eyes and let out a small sound. Covering his eyes from the harsh light, he turned and found the bed empty. His mind was still hazy from sleep, Marinell was confused, but not for long. For the sounds of singing and giggling had answered his question, it was followed by the sound of sizzling. Marinell grinned slightly, shaking his head as he stood up. Then he was struck by the thought of him leaving later, the smile swiped from his face as quickly as it had come.
Marinell took a breath in, willing himself to walk out the door. If this was their last day together, might as well make it special for them. Sweeten the betrayal before it befalls on them, this shall forever pierce their memories.
Marinell walked slowly to the kitchen, Hephaestus had his back turned to him. Euphrosyne sat on her high chair, gnawing on her chubby fist. A pink cap on her head, covering the wispy brown mixed with aquamarine. She grabbed her seashell rattle that sat in front of her, shaking it as wildly as she could. Hephaestus let out a laugh, “Careful with that, seashell, it just might fly out of your wee hand,”
As he uttered those words, Euphrosyne threw the rattle at the floor.
“Speaking of. You’re such a cheeky baby, Euphrosyne. What will me and your father ever do with you, my seashell?” Hephaestus turned and saw Marinell in the doorway, his arms were crossed as he looked upon his husband and child. Hephaestus arched a brow, picking up the seashell rattle and putting it in front of Euphrosyne who only picked it up, shaking it as wildly as she could once more. Hephaestus spread his arms, grasping at Marinell and hugged him. Hephaestus pulled his head back, “Good morning, cara mia. I’ve made us some breakfast. Your favorite, some fried potatoes and garlic fried shrimp. You deserve it for taking care of our little tulip.” He placed his forehead on Marinell’s, living in the moment. Euphrosyne squealed, making the two men laugh, Marinell spoke, “Alright, you noisy bub. C’mere.” Marinell walked over and plucked Euphrosyne out of her seat.
Hephaestus went back to cooking, throwing a tea towel over his shoulder and swiping at the beads of sweat that formed. Tossing the food around a bit before grabbing a plate, placing the food onto it. Marinell opened a window that overlooked the seashore, the sounds of the ocean waves and the seagulls filling their ears. The salty smell of the sea hitting his and Euphrosyne’s noses. Euphrosyne reached a hand out to the vibrant blue waves of the sea, as if it called to her.
Marinell was worried about it, but it was bound to happen. His connection to the sea would pass on to her, of course it would! Her fist clenched and unclenched, a tiny whine escaping her mouth. She looked at her father, pouting as her eyes watered. Marinell shook his head, “No, dear one. We can’t-”
“Sure, we can!” Hephaestus hugged Marinell from behind, kissing Euphrosyne’s chubby cheek. Euphrosyne slapped away Hephaestus, his beard especially unpleasant to her in the morning. As well as the fact that she is currently not getting what she wants.
“Oi, little missy, I’m on your side! How could you… My once loving daughter... Hurt me so much.” Hephaestus said dramatically, throwing his head back as he shut his eyes and placed the back of his hand on his forehead. Marinell let out a small laugh, kissing Euphrosyne’s other cheek. Her face was a tad rosy, as if embarrassed and upset. She burrowed herself into Marinell’s neck, a hand grasping tightly onto his tunic.
Hephaestus stepped back, “Guess we know who’s your favorite huh, sweetheart?” Euphrosyne merely thumbed the cloth of Marinell’s tunic, eyes still looking out the window. Hephaestus spoke once more, “Alright, settle her down, cara mia. We should eat and then go down by the beach. I have an off day from the library and Yelena has it handled for fishing. Family day out! I can finally spend some time with you lot.” He settled back on the counter, taking a drink from a mug of warm water with ginger in it. He gestured at the plate that was set on the table. A bowl of mashed up potatoes and a separate bowl of fruits sat on the table of Euphrosyne’s high chair.
“What about you, Heph? You should eat as well, you’re still recovering.” Marinell arched a brow, as of late, Hephaestus had begun to eat irregularly. Cutting back on certain meals and losing more weight than normal. His once muscular physique had slimmed down, his age became more prominent on his face. The once energetic man he had been, slowly dissipating as time went by.
Hephaestus looked away and waved Marinell off, “It’s fine,” Marinell rolled his eyes, Hephaestus looked back at him and raised both hands, “Cara mia, I really am. Besides, I got a tad peckish an hour after I brought our princess to our bed. Loaded myself up with cheese and crackers, which reminds me, we should head to the markets later. I’ll tell you more of my plans as you eat. Hurry, food’s getting cold, beloved.” Hephaestus stood up and pulled a chair out, he then walked to pick up Euphrosyne. Hephaestus proceeded to smother her chubby face with kisses, she responded in kind by giggling and shoving his face away.
“So sorry to keep passing you around, darling. Now come on, you’re probably hungry.” Hephaestus stopped his attacks, looking into Euphrosyne’s silvery bluish green eyes. She drooled a bit, shaking her arm up and down as she began to babble. Hephaestus grinned from ear to ear, placing another small kiss on her button nose. He carefully situated her on her high chair, taking the tea towel off his shoulder and tying it around her neck as a makeshift bib.
It was a nice quiet morning, Marinell for the most part of it had watched Hephaestus feed their daughter. Laughing a bit as he saw Hephaestus try to make their daughter mimic him so she would eat. A stone settled into the pit of his stomach, this would be the last time he would ever see such an occurrence. He stared longer, trying to capture them the way that they are. Trying to sear this moment in his mind forever, although, in his heart, he knew he would never forget them. They were burned into the core of his being, traversing through every stream of his veins. For his love had bewitched him wholly.
After their breakfast, Marinell insisted on cleaning the plates while Hephaestus rested a tad. Well, he didn’t exactly follow through. He quickly got a move on packing things for their little adventure, Marinell could hear him telling Euphrosyne of what today will look like.
“First, my darling child, we shall go to the beach,” To which Euphrosyne squealed in response, Hephaestus laughed as she did so, “Yes, my seashell, the beach. Your favorite place. You truly are your fathers’s child. Now, after the beach, we shall return home for a nap. Following after said nap, the marketplace. We need more cheese and more clothes for you, ‘m afraid you’re growing too fast for your clothes, seashell.” Hephaestus said in a higher register, baby talk.
Marinell tuned out after, grabbing the other tea towel they had and wiped his hands dry. He stalked over to their bedroom, seeing Hephaestus packing an extra shirt in a bag. Euphrosyne sat on the bed, slobbering on a glass swan. Marinell then took it out of her mouth, causing her to yell. Marinell tsked, “We need to pack your clothes for later.”
“Already did that, snacks and packing. I need to be active in this family as well. Now, let’s go!”
Off they went to the beach near their home, Hephaestus and Euphrosyne being the only two who swam. Marinell was quite peeved off at the sea, not wanting to even touch it. He would comment once in a while about what Hephaestus and Euphrosyne were doing. They spent about an hour at most swimming, Euphrosyne had tired herself out from all the playing. Hephaestus walked back to the shore with the babe resting on his shoulder. Hephaestus chuckled, rubbing her back slightly. Marinell met him halfway, placing a towel over their child’s wet form. Hephaestus kissed him, “Thanks for always being there, love.”
Marinell caressed his cheek, “I do my best.”
The small family had gone home, resting for a tad before they went off to another adventure to the marketplace. Euphrosyne this time was strapped to Hephaestus, he would make her smell some of the food and if she had disliked it, he would return and pick another. Marinell would hang back at moments, then catch up. Sometimes he would be overly affectionate, sometimes he would be over protective. There was no in between, Hephaestus had even asked about it once. Marinell had merely shook it off. Saying that he’s always been this way, which backfired completely, because Hephaestus apologized profusely. Marinell covered his mouth with his hand, kissing his cheek and telling him not to worry. He clutched his husband’s hand, leading him to another area.
They played around for a bit near the school, then danced around for a bit to the band that were playing. Tossing a gold coin in the hat on the ground. Late in the evening, they had gone back home. Marinell and Hephaestus cooked dinner together, teasing each other at times. Euphrosyne would look at them and laugh, her hands clapping as she squeaks.
The day had ended and the fog of happiness in Marinell’s mind had gone. He was in the same debacle as yesterday however, he would be leaving soon. Forever. He waited for his husband to sleep, the moment he heard Hephaestus snore. Marinell carefully sat up, getting out of bed. He looked back at his husband, then turned away. Marinell opened their closet, he searched in the dark for a box. He found it quickly at the bottom, he stepped outside the room and went to the kitchen. Marinell placed the box on the table, he lit a lamp and opened the box. He picked up the bracers he hadn’t worn in years. A crown, his crown, laid under the bracers.
He took them out slowly, as if to stall. But he shouldn’t be late. Marinell placed the first bracer on his left, flinching at the way it clung to him. He took the right one and locked it in place. The crown was the finishing piece. Marinell wore it, the set was now complete. While some would have loved to have worn all these things, Marinell detested them. All these things solidified the fact that he was a prisoner to his family. Marinell looked at the clock that hung on the wall, he had 30 minutes to leave. His meeting spot with Nerissa was ways off, he could see it from the kitchen window. The glowing of the sea, his eyes glowed in return.
Marinell walked out of the door, shutting it gently to not make a noise. He walked forward, not glancing back even once.
Hephaestus snorted in his sleep, choking a bit on some spit. It effectively woke him up, he flopped to the other side, expecting to find another body but finding none. Hephaestus thought, “He must’ve gone to the bathroom.” Hephaestus was slowly drifting back to sleep.
A cry had woken him up, Hephaestus bolted straight up. He thought that Marinell might handle it, but the cry had gone on far too long for Hephaestus. He stumbled out of bed, “Coming, Euphrosyne,” he said groggily. Hephaestus opened the door to her room, picking her up from her crib. Her cries softened, Hephaestus let out a small laugh. He patted her back, hushing her gently as he hummed. “We spent the whole day together, sweet one. But you miss me still?”
Euphrosyne cooed in response, Hephaestus hummed more, “Well, let’s get you some milk. It’s usually your feeding time anyway. Let’s go, seashell.”
Euphrosyne gripped at her father’s beard, pulling harshly at it. He let out a pained groan, the pain waking him up. His eyes blinked away the last bits of sleep as he went to the kitchen. He carried her around as he took one of Euphrosyne’s bottles. Hephaestus turned on the light, he turned and saw the box on the table. A box he had seen before, a gust of wind hit him in the face before he could ponder on it some more. Hephaestus turned to the window, seeing the glowing sea.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Hephaestus ran on the sand with Euphrosyne in tow, he hid her under his cloak. He could faintly see the outline of someone’s figure. Marinell. Hephaestus knew in his heart that it was Marinell, he moved faster. The wind bit at his face as it grew stronger, he clutched Euphrosyne tightly. His breathing grew rapid, his lungs beginning to struggle to get air in. He panted as his muscles burned, “MARINELL!” Hephaestus shouted, hoping to catch his attention. The wind grew louder, whistling in his ears.
“MARINELL!” He shouted as best as he could over the air, Euphrosyne managed to sleep through all of this. Hephaestus thanked whatever deity made it that his daughter hadn’t woken up. He could feel her small breaths on his neck as he strained his voice, “MARINELL!!!”
Marinell could hear his husband, but not once did he turn. Turning would only make it worse, he saw Nerissa standing guard at the meet up. Her tall figure is intimidating to any who may see her in the clearing. Marinell’s pace remained unfaltering, slow but steady; unfazed by the strengthening of the storm. His husband kept calling out to him. Marinell’s eyes shut, taking in a breath and striding forwards.
Hephaestus took big gulps of air, his lungs squeezing tightly. A jolt of adrenaline rushed through him as he heard the crackling of thunder. He lost feeling to all of his body, mind focusing on Marinell. Euphrosyne moved a little, but Hephaestus could barely notice. He was nearing Marinell, he took in gasping breaths; a hand reached forward and grabbed at Marinell’s forearm.
“Marinell! What’s going on, cara mia?” Hephaestus yelled.
Marinell spoke no words, head tilted and eyes aglow. His stare was distant, as if he were caught in a trance. Hephaestus shook him ever so slightly, cupping his face as Marinell stared through him. His once loving husband, gone without a moment’s notice. Nerissa had seen the commotion and stepped out of the water, drawing her sword from its sheath. She dripped head to toe with water, eyes glowing the same blue that had enraptured Marinell.
Hephaestus paid no mind as he gripped Marinell’s face, chest heaving up and down as he shook Marinell. Another crash of thunder and lightning struck as Nerissa pushed Hephaestus back. He dropped to the sand.
*BOOM*
*CRACK*
He raised his hand, as if that may shield them from her. He turned his body so that Euphrosyne may not be struck, Hephaestus held her a distance from him. She squirmed but slept still; Hephaestus closed his eyes. Preparing for the end that may come.
…
….
…..
He waited with bated breath, but nothing came. No pain came. He heard a gasp from the woman, one of his eyes opened. Turning his head slowly, he saw the sword being thrown aside. The rushing winds blew his hood over his head, standing up, he looked to see what had happened. Marinell held the woman’s arm, staring into her very soul with fiery rage. The blue glow fading in and out of his irises.
They fully stopped after Marinell turned his gaze to his husband, his features softened as he dropped Nerissa’s arm. He wanted to speak, to utter apologies to Hephaestus. But his voice belonged to the sea… He cannot even whisper.
Marinell gestured for Hephaestus to stop, backing up slowly. Nerissa got her composure back, taking her sword back and sheathing it. She was terrified, yet she was still fierce. Her eyes glowed brighter, she stalked off to join the waters.
Hephaestus held a hand out for Marinell, Marinell felt the temptation to grasp it. His insides turned, burning him for rejecting Hephaestus. Their feet had touched the water, Hephaestus was tired of this, he snatched Marinell’s wrist, gripping his bracer tightly.
“Why?” His voice was broken, soft and was caught away in the rushing winds. Tears arose quickly in his eyes, the happiness of yesterday replaced with the sorrows of today.
Marinell shook his head, backing up further, they reached knee deep waters. The glowing casted at their faces from below, Hephaestus tightened his grip further, “Please, my love. Don’t leave us.” A tear fell down his face.
The water rose from below, engulfing Marinell at a natural speed, his face and arms remaining uncovered. They crept as Marinell mouthed the words, ‘Let me go, let me go, it’s alright.’
Hephaestus shook his head, face scrunching up as he felt Marinell pull away. Hephaestus saw the water nearing his hand, making him pull at Marinell. It was a futile attempt. The water kept him down, as if it were stone instead. The water pulled Marinell’s arm down, pinning it to his side. The water began to consume his face, his eyes beginning to glow once more.
‘I love you.’ He mouthed.
Hephaestus felt his heart rip in two as Marinell had been pulled under. The strange glow moved away quickly. He did not know what to do with himself at the moment. His eyes never left the glow, he stood there for what felt like a lifetime. Numb and heartbroken at the same time. A swirl of pain and hatred flowing within him.
Euphrosyne cooing broke him out of his thoughts, he looked down on her, looking at her small figure in his arm. She reached a hand out for him to take, and he did so. Giving her a finger to hold, he walked out of the water, back to his home.
The rain poured heavily from the heavens, shedding the lost tears of Hephaestus for him. He quickened his pace and began to sprint as the rain hammered upon them. Hephaestus covered Euphrosyne once more.
They had reached home, the light of the kitchen welcoming them. Hephaestus felt as though he died, his body moved on its own accord, giving Euphrosyne a warm bath and fresh clothes, feeding her the remainder of her milk. He tucked her in her crib, leaving without even looking at her. His feet dragged him to the kitchen, steps faltering as he fell to his knees. The storm raged outside as Hephaestus succumbed to the grief that called upon him. Willing him to fall into its arms.
He shivered as the air hit him, he was cold and tired. His insecurities ate him whole, not a piece of him went unharmed. He felt sick, he felt pain, he felt everything eat away at him. He took off his tunic, ripping the bandages that wrapped his healing scars. Hephaestus wrapped his arms around himself as he took in breaths.
Standing up, he went to find some alcohol. Something to distract him from all the raging demons within, something that will fill the hole and wash away the pain. He searched in every cabinet and cupboard, none. He seethed in frustration, pacing around the kitchen. Hephaestus ceased as something caught his attention.
The box.
He picked it up, opened it and found it empty…
Save for a ring.
Marinell’s ring.
It glinted under the light.
He crushed the box slightly as his hand held it tightly. Gingerly, he plucked it from its spot inside. He clenched it hard, hands shaking ever so slightly. It dug into the palm of his hand, his nails and the ring denting the skin. Hephaestus willed himself to stop, taking a breath in and opened his palm. It dropped into the box, he regained some of his senses; he walked back to his room. Stopping for a bit, he looked at Euphrosyne’s door.
He entered without a word, shoving the box under his armpit, he carried Euphrosyne out of her cot and brought her into his room. Hephaestus settled her in the middle, she made a noise before snoring lightly. Her father chuckled, then he turned to the closet; opening it and placing it at the bottom. He took some of Marinell’s clothes and shoved it atop the box. Letting out a sigh, he closed the doors. Hephaestus went to lay down, he will have to feel all of that tomorrow.
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Imagine Clark Kent planning to propose to reader, but he gets so flustered and nervous that when he kneels, all he can muster is a desperate, breathy, “Please.” Saw this idea from a woman sharing her proposal story on twitter!! 🫦🫦🤤🤤
The star that leads to you
Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
a/n: The plan was for this to be 5k words long TOPS but i'm a bottom so...
Classification: (Suggestive) Fluff | Moderate workplace PDA, suggestive comments and explicit/implied sex scenes w/superpowered intimacy (destruction of the bed), normal relationship anxiety and overthinking, sci-fi talk and kryptonite exposure, use of superpowers in daily life.
Word count: 10,3k
Divider by me ;)
The days leading up to any leave or holiday were always the most chaotic. In journalism, there was no such thing as getting ahead. No matter how many drafts you filed, how many interviews you wrapped up or how many loose ends you tied off, the work simply piled up somewhere else, waiting for your attention.
You made your way through the bullpen with Jimmy trailing closely behind. For the past few days, a persistent unease had settled beneath your skin. Everyone seemed to need something from you before you left, another question, task or last-minute request, and on top of that, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Eyes appeared to follow you wherever you went.
Right now, though, the only thing demanding your attention was Jimmy's steadily rising panic.
"I…I can't do that." He shook his head again, likely for the hundredth time that morning.
"Jimmy, it's just my email." You stopped at the coffee station, reaching for your mug and filling it. "All I'm asking is that you log in once a day, check if anything's worth investigating and follow up if necessary." You stirred your coffee before lifting your eyes to him. "You won't have much to do…Lois will be helping too."
"What do I do if he contacts you?" Jimmy asked quietly, watching your hands move with nervous intensity.
"What if who contacts me?" you asked, only sparing him a brief glance.
"You know." He shrugged. "Superman."
A laugh escaped you as you picked up your mug and started back toward your desk, taking a sip as you walked. "You think Big Blue has an email address?"
"I…" Jimmy frowned as he tried to explain himself. "Well, I believe he's a modern man."
You snorted into your coffee.
"Who knows," he continued. "Maybe he'll want to meet up. To…talk."
You stopped beside your desk and turned to face him fully, narrowing your eyes. "About what?"
"I don't know." Jimmy lifted both hands. "Whatever it is you two usually talk about."
"Sure, Jimmy. Maybe he'll need help setting up an email account." You nodded thoughtfully. "Let's just hope nothing too big happens while I'm gone so I can enjoy some uninterrupted rest."
As you spoke, your gaze drifted across the bullpen and landed on Clark.
Your eyes narrowed immediately at his staring but the moment your eyes met, he jerked into motion. His attention snapped downward as he began fumbling with the papers on his desk, shuffling folders that clearly didn't need sorting and reaching for things that weren't there.
You had only held his gaze for all of two seconds before he folded completely under it, which was suspicious. Your attention lingered on him even as Jimmy continued talking.
"Alright, but just in case, tell him I'm perfectly fine with meeting in dark alleys during pouring rain and all that." Jimmy nodded once, looking entirely too eager for the possibility.
"He's more of a rooftop kind of guy, but I'll pass the message along." The reply came automatically, your focus already elsewhere. “Thanks Jimmy.”
Your gaze dropped to your own desk as Jimmy finally wandered off. Taking your seat, you looked over the organized chaos spread across the surface and got to work clearing away the last of it, though most of the clutter simply disappeared into drawers and folders. You wanted to return to a clean workspace, not a disaster waiting for you after a week away.
Your final drafts had already been submitted and every article due before your leave had been filed and approved. There were still two hours until lunch and for the first time in days, there was nothing immediately demanding your attention.
You intended for the following week to be dedicated entirely to rest. Well, rest and unpacking the mountain of moving boxes currently occupying Clark's apartment, which was now yours too.
The thought alone made you look up.
Clark now sat perfectly still at his desk, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the bullpen. His head was tilted slightly, his attention caught by something none of the rest of you could hear. If there was one thing you'd learned about him, it was that there usually was something, a distant cry for help, an emergency unfolding miles away or a hundred voices filtering through the world at once.
You watched him for a moment until he rose from his chair, the movement quick and purposeful. He reached for his messenger bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder as he stepped around his desk, his eyes finding yours immediately.
The look was familiar, it was the same one he always gave you right before disappearing. You pushed yourself to your feet and followed after him, weaving through the bullpen until the two of you reached one of the quieter hallways.
"How bad is it?" you asked worriedly.
The question and tone had nothing to do with your upcoming week off. You were never worried about canceled plans, you were worried about Metropolis. If Superman was needed in the middle of a workday, something somewhere had gone terribly wrong.
Clark suddenly turned and you barely had time to react.
The momentum of your hurried pace carried you directly into his chest and as always, the impact barely moved him. Before you could stumble back, his arms were already wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours.
It caught you completely off guard. You knew kissing with your eyes open wasn't particularly romantic but you couldn't help the way they widened in surprise. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him as you failed to kiss him back.
Only when he pulled away did you finally speak. "That bad?" you asked, eyes searching his face frantically.
Clark blinked as his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You have to go to your other thing, right?" You gestured vaguely. "I know you heard something."
The confusion on his face matched your own. Still, his arms remained around you.
"I did." He forced himself to pause and collect his thoughts because keeping things from you had never gotten easier. "It isn't bad, sweetheart. I just need to go check it out."
At the same moment, footsteps echoed from farther down the hallway, so he reluctantly released you. Neither of you was particularly interested in becoming a more serious conversation for Human Resources yet.
You cleared your throat as Clark adjusted the strap of his bag and the silence stretched until the employee rounded the corner and disappeared again.
"Will you be long?"
"I'm not sure." He shook his head softly.
You nodded. "Be safe…I'll cover for you."
Your hand came up to pat his chest before you stepped back. Already turning toward the bullpen, you glanced down at your watch, mentally calculating how many hours "checking something out" usually translated into but a few steps later, another thought occurred to you.
"Oh… anything special I should make for di–" You turned to face him just as a rush of wind swept through the hallway. Your words died instantly and the corridor stood empty, Clark now gone. You sighed. "Takeout it is."
Muttering to yourself, you turned and headed back toward the bullpen.
Lately, Clark had been acting strange, not in the usual "I'm the last son of a dead planet" kind of way. This was different, he was distracted, restless and keeping himself busier than usual. At first, you'd assumed it had something to do with the upcoming week off. Maybe he felt guilty about stepping away from work for that long and the idea of slowing down made him uneasy, but you'd made it clear more than once that the vacation wasn't meant to be a break from who he really was.
You would never ask that of him. Clark Kent could take a week off but Superman never truly could, which only made his recent behavior feel all the more unusual.
You supposed your concern must have been written all over your face.
"Where is he?" Lois stopped in front of Clark's desk, a thick folder tucked beneath her arm.
The question snapped your attention away from his absence. Straightening your shoulders, you forced your expression into something more neutral before walking over.
"His parents needed him at the farm." You motioned vaguely toward the elevators.
Lois looked unconvinced. "He was supposed to send Perry a final draft for tomorrow's print edition."
"Is that it?" You pointed toward the folder she held. She barely lifted it before you plucked it from her grasp and pivoted back toward your desk. "I'll do it."
You dropped into your chair and opened the file immediately.
"It isn't exactly impartial." Lois crossed her arms.
"It never will be, Lois." You flipped through the first few pages of his notes. "We're about to move in together and I doubt he'd react particularly well to me firing him when I become Editor-in-Chief."
Your grin finally earned a small laugh from her.
"Besides," you continued, glancing back down at the paperwork, "I need something to do, otherwise today is going to feel even longer than it already does."
The humor faded from her face. "Is something wrong?" Her voice lowered enough that the question felt genuine rather than curious.
You opened your mouth, then stopped. For a moment, you simply stared down at the pages in front of you. "I don't know. I'm usually really good at reading him." Your fingers paused against the pages. "But I just can't do it."
"You can't?" The surprise in her voice was immediate as she settled herself on the corner of your desk. "You think it's about the two of you moving in together?" she asked. "If it is, don't. You've been together for so long…most people would've expected you to move in together the second you both got to Metropolis."
A soft laugh escaped you. "No. No, that's not it…I mean, I hope not." You leaned back in your chair. "It's all going well." The words came easily because they were true. "As much as I love him, moving in with my first ever boyfriend straight out of college would've been a terrible idea."
Your smile softened. "We learned how to live separately first…how to have our own lives. I think that was the right decision and I know he does too."
Lois nodded. "So what's the problem?"
You hesitated, then cleared your throat and rolled your chair a little closer, lowering your voice despite the noise of the bullpen around you. "Have you ever wanted something so badly that you're afraid to call it what it is?"
Her brows knitted together. "Is that supposed to be a riddle?"
You laughed despite yourself. "No." Your gaze drifted away, settling somewhere beyond the bullpen. "There's something I want this whole situation to be..." The words felt strangely fragile once spoken aloud, like giving them a voice somehow made them more real. "What if I start asking the questions I want to ask and find out it isn't?" Your fingers toyed absently with the edge of the folder. "Then I'd be mad at him for not wanting to move at the pace I want to move at."
Lois watched you carefully and for once, she didn't rush to answer. "This isn't a race."
A small smile tugged at your mouth before quickly fading. "If it were, he'd win…I just wish I knew what we're running toward now." Your voice dropped quieter. "And if he still wants to get there with me…precisely."
You let out a long breath, hoping it would carry away some of the anxiety that had been nesting in your chest for weeks. The truth was, you had never once believed Clark would leave you, that fear had never existed.
You knew how he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, you knew the certainty behind every promise he made, every plan he included you in and every future conversation that naturally assumed you'd be standing beside him.
The fear wasn't losing him, it was timing and getting it wrong.
Had moving in together been too soon? Was he having second thoughts now that it was actually happening? Maybe he simply wasn't ready to leave behind living alone, he needed more time before taking another step forward and the answer was that simple…Or maybe you were working yourself into knots over something that had never crossed his mind at all.
"You're one hell of a reporter, Y/n." A smile tugged at the corner of Lois's mouth. "I've never known you to hesitate when it comes to asking questions."
She pushed herself off the desk and headed back toward her own.
The conversation ended there but her words lingered as your eyes wandered across the bullpen again and they landed, inevitably, on Clark's empty desk.
His abandoned coffee cup still sat beside his keyboard and a stack of notes remained exactly where he'd left them. Everything still looked normal, so why didn't it feel that way?
You couldn't keep living with the uncertainty and maybe it was time to stop dancing around the questions that had been circling your mind for months, but as much as you wanted answers, you'd never been someone who forced them out of Clark, never someone who cornered him into confessions he wasn't ready to make.
Your gaze lingered on the empty desk for another moment before moving to the clock. Only five more hours and you'd finally be out of this place.
Clark flew to the Fortress of Solitude at a speed he'd never thought he could reach, responding to a signal from the Superman robots. He absolutely hated hiding things from you, no matter how good the reason but this was taking longer than planned. It didn't just involve the usual planning and sourcing, this was as close to science as he'd ever get.
The cold arctic air caressed his skin as he sped up, the crystalline structure growing in the distance as it revealed itself to him.
His feet eventually sank into the snow as the doors parted before him. The Fortress received him the way it always did, silently, the crystals catching his footsteps and scattering them into nothing. Four was already standing at the central console, two of the other robots positioned at the secondary array flanking what Clark recognized as the solar concentrator, reconfigured into something smaller and more precise than he'd last seen it.
"Sir, you're here." Gary, the fourth Superman robot, turned before Clark had fully cleared the entrance.
"I got your signal," Clark told him as he moved to the center of the main room.
"I calculated twenty minutes before your arrival." Four's optical sensors held on him a moment.
Clark didn't answer. He crossed closer to the console, eyes already moving over the readings. "Tell me."
Gary turned back to the array. "The theory is sound. Whether the application holds is a separate question." He indicated the containment chamber at the center of the concentrator, it was small, built for a single stone. "The isotope that produces the radiation is not inert by nature, it requires destabilization. Conventional neutralization attempts have failed historically because they addressed the emission rather than the source."
Clark’s brows furrowed. "You went after the isotope directly."
"We modeled different broad approaches over the last year. Sixteen produced either incomplete neutralization or structural destruction of the sample." Gary paused. "The seventeenth is this. Concentrated solar saturation at a specific frequency, not broad spectrum, which scatters. The isotope absorbs until it cannot sustain the radioactive chain. It burns out rather than being suppressed."
He looked at the chamber. "And the stone?"
"Structurally intact in our simulations. The color will change, the green is a function of the active radiation. Once the isotope is spent, the stone retains its crystalline structure but loses the glow. It will read as pale…residual hue only."
Clark was quiet for a moment. "You said it would only work on a very small piece."
"Correct. The solar saturation has to penetrate the sample completely and evenly. A larger stone creates differential exposure, the exterior burns out and the interior remains active. At the scale you require–" Gary moved to the secondary console and brought up the dimensional rendering, a stone large enough to yield a single, flawless diamond. “–full penetration is achievable. We have run the model four hundred and twelve times over the last hour."
"And it holds?"
"In simulation. Yes." Another beat. "We will not know with certainty until we attempt it on an actual sample."
Clark exhaled slowly, he'd known that was coming.
"You cannot be present for the extraction phase," Gary continued, without inflection, as if this were simply logistical. "Or the initial handling. Your proximity to an active sample at that size would still produce symptomatic response. We will handle and chamber the stone. You will monitor from the secondary console at a distance of approximately fifteen feet. Once it is inside the concentrator and sealed, the chamber will contain the emission. You can approach then."
"And the concentrator–" Clark glanced at the machine. "Same as the healing protocol?"
"Modified from it. The frequency is different as healing requires broad cellular stimulation. This requires narrow isotopic targeting but the core mechanism is the same." Gary looked at him directly. "It should not harm you. The chamber is sealed, the emission goes inward, not out...but again, it’s a hypothetical."
Clark nodded once. He stood there a moment, looking at the small containment chamber and the re-rigged concentrator, it’d been a year of work sitting quiet and precise on a console in the Arctic.
"You've been thorough," he said finally.
"You were specific about what it needed to mean, sir." Gary nodded, as Clark turned to look at him. "When you told me what the ring was for," He continued. "I did not think imprecision was appropriate."
"And the piece I chose?" Clark asked, looking around for it.
One of the other Superman robots pushed a closed lead box onto the console. "Still untouched, sir." Twelve nodded. "As are the other uncut stones, as you requested."
"The band?" Clark asked as One approached, opening a chamber on his own structure and revealing it.
Clark reached for it and held it up to the light between his fingers. He still remembered waiting for you to fall asleep so he could measure your ring finger, holding his breath the entire time, terrified you might wake and catch him in the act. The memory made warmth settle in his chest.
"It's perfect," he said quietly.
"It must be, sir. You've been working on it for almost a year," Gary spoke.
"And it's finally done."
Gary lifted a cautionary finger. "Remember there are still hypotheticals, sir. We must test the machine."
Clark shook his head. "It's going to work and when it does, I want her here for it." He turned to look around the Fortress, taking in the crystalline walls, the hum of advanced technology and the sanctity of the space. "You know the plan." His gaze swept across the main chamber. "I want this place spotless and the sunglasses ready." He drew a breath, letting the weight of the moment settle over him. "The day has come…I can’t wait any longer." He turned back to the robots. "Thank you, all of you."
"No need to thank us, sir, as we will not appreciate it. We have no consciousness, we are merely automatons here to serve," Gary reminded him.
Clark simply pressed his mouth into a thin line, long accustomed to their peculiar bluntness while some of the Superman robots scurried away, already beginning to clean. Gary, however, lingered.
"Shall we prepare for the baby?"
Clark's head snapped toward him, eyes slightly widened. "What baby?"
"My knowledge indicates it is a natural succession of events, sir."
He smiled despite himself, shaking his head. "Let's prepare for a ceremony first…That's if she says yes."
"She will," Twelve said brightly in passing, already carrying a stack of crystalline components toward the secondary console.
"Shall we rehearse the speech?" Gary pressed. "We have yet to hear it."
"No can do, Gary." Clark's voice was gentle but final. "And you won't...It’ll be for her ears only."
He stuck around long after, helping clean and organize with no real need other than the comfort of keeping his hands busy. He had thought about the day plenty, in the small hours of the morning when sleep wouldn't come, during long flights over empty ocean and in the moments just after saving the world when everything went quiet again. He had imagined it a hundred different ways, in a hundred different places and it had to be perfect.
You got home late, stopped at the door as you still couldn't quite figure out how the new lock worked. After a moment of fumbling that felt much longer than it should have, you finally managed to push inside, carrying takeout bags and immediately running into scattered moving boxes in the dark.
"Fuck," you muttered under your breath as you reached for a light switch and turned it on. "Clark?" You called into the silence of the apartment, leaving the bags on the kitchen counter.
You then walked toward the bedroom, weaving around moving boxes you'd take care of soon, phone already in your hand as you dialed his number.
You pressed call, setting the phone on the bed as you began to undress.
Back at the Fortress…
"Superman, we have intercepted a call from your human lover."
Clark chuckled, shaking his head as he moved gear out of the main room. "There's no other kind, Gary. It's just 'lover.' Please, patch it through."
There was a soft crackle and then, "Clark?” Your voice slipped through the sound systems, warm and familiar and Clark felt the anxiety in his chest ease at the sound of it.
"Hi, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
"Uh, yeah. Where are you? I'm at your–" A pause, then a quiet correction. "Our place...Any idea when you'll be back? It's starting to get late."
Clark realized then that he'd lost track of time completely. He began heading toward the exit, your voice trailing after him as you launched into what was clearly the beginning of a longer rant. The sound of you faded from the Fortress's speakers and transferred directly into his ears as he lifted off, flying fast in the direction of your voice.
He heard you kicking off your shoes and the soft thump of your pants hitting the floor.
"I'm not saying I'm worried and I don't expect you to always be back at a certain time…That's just not reasonable. I mean, I knew what I was getting into before we ever started dating–" Then came the sound of the closet door sliding open as you were surely, definitely, picking a shirt of his to sleep in. "Not that it's complicated or anything. I feel like that word has never really applied to us. I mean, I hope not. You've never been complicated to me, even after you told me who you really were."
He heard the rustle of fabric as you peeled off your shirt and the soft sound of your bra hitting the floor. Clark flew even faster.
"I remember telling you Kal was a pretty good name," you said and he could hear the smile in your voice. You cleared your throat, "I also remember that one time I moaned it while we were–"
A faint breeze drifted through the room, making you turn to the window to check if it was open. You suddenly screamed, shirt clutched to cover your naked chest as your heart hammered so loud he could count every individual beat.
Clark unexpectedly stood there unmoving and smiling unapologetically, hair slightly messy from the flight. "Having sex?" He continued for you, grin widening. "I also remember."
You exhaled a sharp breath, rapidly pulling his shirt over your head, feeling his eyes on you, "I get carried away."
He shrugged, still grinning. "It's happened more than once."
Your eyes narrowed at him, already desperate to change the subject. "Mind making a little more noise next time? I intend to live long."
He stepped toward you, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you to his chest. "You make enough noise for the both of us, don't you think?"
"Ha. Funny." You said dryly because it was true. Once close to him, you felt his chest while observing his face as you always did, checking for injuries. He looked untouched, which was always ideal, but… "You're really cold."
He smiled and something changed in his expression. "Do you know where you packed the winter clothes?"
You blinked, eyes going to the moving boxes and suitcases scattered across the bedroom, your mind already cataloging the rest of the clutter throughout the apartment. "I'm not sure. Why?"
Clark let go of you, eyes scanning through the boxes as he activated his x-ray vision.
"It's about to be summer, Smallville…And I don't think you've ever needed them."
He walked out of the bedroom, looking into boxes as you trailed behind him, accidentally stepping on the long cape pooled at his feet.
"Oops, sorry," you muttered as you coughed yourself with a gentle hold on his shoulders.
"You're going to need them."
"Need what? Apologies?" you asked, lifting a brow.
"Winter clothes," he specified with a breathy chuckle, stopping by a box that read ‘Kitchen’ in your handwriting.
"In June?" You watched as he opened the box anyway. "That says ‘Kitchen’, Clark."
He fumbled for a second as he lifted it from a pile and put it on the ground, then he carefully opened it and pulled out your winter coat by the hood.
"That's why it was so light," you said under your breath.
"We're taking a trip tomorrow."
Your eyes widened slightly as you searched his face and found no humor there. "Did you use that little trick to find my passport and book the trip?"
"Never needed a passport to fly Clark Kent Airlines." He grinned.
"Never needed a coat to sit on a plane." You shrugged with a gentle smile. "Where are we going?"
Clark's smile faltered. His eyes searched the room, looking for anything to change the subject and landed on the takeout bags still sitting on the kitchen counter. "We should eat dinner before it gets too cold," he said, already reaching into the box and pulling out a scarf, hat and gloves. "You'll need your snow boots too." He set everything on the couch, almost distractedly and walked right past you into the bedroom, already peeling off his suit.
Your eyes followed him, narrowing at the deflection. "Good thing we have a microwave." You noted as you followed after him. "You've been acting weird lately."
"Weird?" He echoed with a light, forced chuckle. "There's nothing weird about me…Besides the obvious." He paused, pulling his shirt over his head. "Which you like telling me you love." There was another pause, longer this time. "You still do, right?"
"You mean the part of you that likes to take me along while soaring through the sky?" You questioned hypothetically, already nodding to yourself. "Yeah."
"That's good…That’s really good." He reassured himself more than you as he changed into a plain shirt and plaid pajama pants. "That you still do."
"I don't like how you keep saying 'still,'" you pointed out quietly, looking at him as if you could read his mind…and you probably could, if you weren’t suddenly scared of what you might find.
He chuckled breathily, stepping toward you and placing both hands on your arms, caressing them gently. "You're making me really nervous right now."
You narrowed your eyes at him again. "I weirdly think you're doing that to yourself." You paused, letting the words settle. "I love you, Clark…No amount of weirdness is going to change that."
His hands went to your face, cupping your cheeks slowly, thumbs brushing over your skin with so much love in his eyes that it made your chest ache. Tomorrow had to be perfect..because you were.
"I'll fly slowly," he murmured, in an attempt to reassure you.
"No, you won't…and that’s fine," You laughed softly, poking his stomach playfully. "Just make sure you hold me tight."
He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered long enough to make your eyes flutter shut. "I love you so much," he confessed against your skin. "I don't know how to hold you any other way."
Moments like that had a way of dissolving whatever fear or doubt had quietly accumulated and that night was no different. By the time you had dinner and you'd both found your way to sleep, there was nothing left to worry about.
The next morning was perfect. Genuinely and unqualifiedly perfect, the kind that felt almost unfair in how completely it arrived. No alarm pulled you out of it, no distant sound of something collapsing somewhere that would take him away before you'd finished waking up, just sunlight coming in at an angle through the curtains and Clark, who woke up like he had nowhere else to be and no intention of pretending otherwise.
He pressed kisses into your skin slowly and without urgency and the morning dissolved the way good mornings do, in warmth, weight and the breathlessness of someone who loves you, knows how to show it…and how to make you feel it. You lost track of time entirely and you didn't try to find it.
At some point he slipped away. You hadn't noticed the exact moment, sometime in the narrow window between you getting up and the shower warming, enough time for him to go somewhere and come back, which for Clark could mean almost anywhere. When you stepped out of the bathroom, towel around your chest, a bouquet was sitting on the kitchen counter and beside it, breakfast, already plated and still warm.
You ate together at the counter, knees touching, talking through where the art should go and whether the bookshelf fit better against the east wall or broken up between two rooms.
It wasn't much later that he started mentioning getting out for the day.
You didn't question it. You started getting everything he'd laid on the couch the night before, working through the layers methodically while he stood somewhere behind you watching you with an expression you couldn't fully read.
"I think you should add another scarf," he suggested. "Just in case."
You looked at yourself in the mirror, at the coat, hat, gloves, boots and the scarf that already looped twice around your neck… and it was June. "Clark." You turned to look at him with a gentle, reassuring smile. "This is enough…You'd think we were going to the Arctic."
You meant it as a joke. You were already smiling when you said it, turning back to the mirror to adjust the hat which meant you didn't see his face go completely still behind you.
Flying with Clark was its own category of experience, one that didn't get easier to explain the more times you did it, only more familiar. The first five minutes were always the same, your stomach hadn't made peace with the altitude yet, your eyes stayed forward or shut and some part of your brain spent the whole time insisting that this was not how bodies were supposed to work but underneath all of it, was certainty. He had never once made you feel like you might fall, not for a second. His arms around you were absolute, his chest solid and warm against your cheek and the cold that hit everything else somehow didn't touch the space he made around you.
"We're almost there!" he called over the wind.
You didn't answer, only nodded against him and held on.
Then, gradually, the quality of the air changed as the speed bled out of it. You felt him adjusting his descent in small corrections and a minute later your feet met the ground with a soft crunch that traveled up through your boots and into your knees. It was snow, fluffy and undisturbed in every direction.
You kept your eyes shut even as he released you and you stood on your own.
"Sweetheart." He called softly, you could hear the smile in it. "You didn't need to close your eyes."
"Oh. I thought I'd–" you started explaining as they fluttered open.
The light hit first, that particular brightness that had no equivalent, white reflecting white under a sky that was almost cloudless. You blinked against it, adjusting and inevitably, as you looked around, your gaze landed on the structure in the distance and everything else stopped.
Your lips parted.
It rose from the landscape like it had grown there, which in every way that mattered it had. It was an eruption of crystal spires reaching at different angles, pale blue-white and enormous even from that distance, catching the flat Arctic light and fracturing it into something that barely looked real.
You took a few steps toward it without deciding to.
"Is that your–" you started, pointing at it in awe as the words died somewhere between your throat and your lips. You stood frozen in the snow, staring at it.
Clark stepped beside you, footsteps quiet in the snow as the wind tugged gently at his cape. Your shoulders almost brushed when he spoke, "I'll show you around."
You faced him then. He was smiling down at you with his hand extended between you, patiently waiting for you to take it, which of course, you did.
The two of you walked the remaining distance without rushing. There was no path, no track worn into the snow from use, no indication that anyone came and went from this place by foot. Just the flat white expanse and the crystal rising out of it and now, appearing behind you in a clean double line, your footprints beside his. You looked back once at the trail you were leaving and felt something open up in your chest that you weren't entirely prepared for.
He had never brought anyone here, you understood that without needing it said. This was the place that belonged to the man beneath everything else, the person who was both Clark Kent and Superman and neither of them entirely. He was bringing you into that, he was walking you to the door of the most private place he had and holding your hand while he did it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
You looked up at the Fortress as it grew larger with every step, feeling the weight of being trusted with something irreplaceable.
His thumb moved slowly, across the back of your hand as the entrance came into view and the doors began to open before him.
The inside of the Fortress opened up in a way that made you stop walking for a second without meaning to. Everything climbed, walls, ceilings and structures you didn't have names for, all of it crystalline and catching the same pale light from a dozen different angles at once. It was somehow colder and warmer at the same time, the air sharp but the light itself almost golden where it pooled. You could feel Clark watching you take it in, his hand still wrapped around your gloved one, waiting for you to need him to say something.
"Welcome back, sir."
You turned at the voice as footsteps approached from your right. For a moment, you simply stared.
Clark had talked about the Superman robots before, he'd mentioned their names, their functions and the way they helped maintain the Fortress but none of those descriptions had prepared you for seeing them in person.
"Ms. Y/l/n. I have long possessed information regarding you. It is noteworthy to finally confirm your existence through direct observation.”
You looked up at Clark first, a small laugh escaping before you could stop it, then back at the robot in front of you, eyes dropping briefly to the number four stamped into his chest plate.
You smiled softly. "Nice to finally meet you too, Gary."
Gary turned smoothly toward two more robots crossing the floor behind him. "I have observed that Superman references us during conversations with his human lover…Identifying the species is unnecessary, as there is no other kind of lover for him." A brief pause, as if confirming the data was correctly filed. "This is Twelve. She is new."
You looked at Twelve and smiled.
Twelve looked back, head tilting slightly in your direction. "Oh, she looked at me!"
Seven approached next, arms already extended, holding a folded red blanket and a metallic blue thermos. Gary continued without missing a beat. "We have prepared warm blankets and tea. The tea has been heated for three minutes to the ideal temperature of eighty degrees Celsius, with two sugars, per Superman's specification."
"I'll take the tea." You took the thermos from Seven, wrapping both hands around it gratefully. "Don’t think the blanket will be necessary. Clark already had me wrapped up like a burrito before he swept me off my feet…Literally." You took a sip, the warmth spreading through your body.
"'Swept off my feet,'" Gary repeated, processing it audibly. "This is a common idiom among your kind. I hope you also intend it in the romantic sense, in the event further confirmation is required."
You narrowed your eyes slightly, glancing up at Clark. "Confirmation for what?"
Clark cleared his throat, a little too quickly. "Let me, uh, give you a tour." His hand found the small of your back, gently steering you down the hall before you could press further.
"We shall prepare for the activities, then," Gary said, already turning toward the main room. "The clock is, figuratively, ticking."
"Thanks for the tea!" you called back over your shoulder, lifting the thermos in salute.
"They're not very good at saying 'you're welcome,'" Clark told you quietly as you walked.
"Noted."
He smiled as he watched you sip more tea. "So…what do you want to see first? The glass bedroom or the bathroom? The toilet seat is heated."
You stopped walking, eyes widening slightly at the possibility of a glass bed. "Are you serious?"
His grin only widened, he shook his head. "There's no glass bedroom."
You let out a breath, shaking your head as you started walking again. "They’re doomed…The Superman robots are certainly learning from your sense of humor, Clark. Your jokes are setting their development back by decades...They need an upgrade."
"We should probably get you better winter gear, then. If you're going to be spending more time here." He glanced over at you, already thinking out loud. "I'll look into some kind of heating system." He kept walking, leading you down the corridor. "There aren't many rooms, but there's one I really want you to see."
You looked over at him, slowing your steps. "Clark…wait."
The teasing had dropped out of your voice entirely and he heard it instantly. He stopped and turned to face you and for a moment neither of you said anything.
You chose your words carefully, offering a reassuring smile. "You've already trusted me with so much…and I'm honored to be here, truly, I am, but..." You shook your head slowly. "You don't have to do this, any of this."
He listened in out of worry, the way he sometimes did without really meaning to, to your heartbeat. It was steady and still unafraid, just nervous in the ordinary way. "What do you mean?"
"This is your legacy, Clark. It's a piece of where you come from. It could just be yours…I'd understand that.” You paused, “Once I've seen it, I can't unsee it. I’ll become a part of it too, whether you meant for it to or not."
He stepped closer, taking your unoccupied hand in his. "I've always wanted you to know all of me...every piece, if you're willing to hold it." His voice dropped, steady and certain. "This isn't a sacrifice, sweetheart. Showing you this doesn't cost me anything…You've always belonged at the center of who I am. This–" he glanced around, at the crystal stretching up into the light, "–this is just proof of it."
You nodded slowly. Your breath caught and you sniffled, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes. "Do you happen to know the temperature at which tears freeze?" you asked, voice thick.
He laughed softly, pulling you gently forward by the hand as he led you toward the next room. "Yeah, I think a heating system really would be a good idea."
"Wouldn't a heating system melt the whole place, though?"
"It's Kryptonian crystal," he explained. "Not ice. It can withstand a lot more than that. It's just naturally cold in here."
"Well, insulation would ruin the aesthetic anyway, so think it through." you decided and felt him softly squeeze your hand.
He spent the better part of an hour walking you through the Fortress. Through the rooms that mattered and rooms that didn't but that he showed you anyway because you asked, small alcoves of crystal that hummed faintly when you got close enough. You stayed in a state of quiet awe through most of it but the room that stopped you completely was the one lined with his suits. Row after row, the same emblem rendered over and over in different materials and ages, the symbol of an entire dead world that he had carried across galaxies and made his own among people who barely understood what it meant.
You felt his eyes on you the entire time, watching you take it in and no matter how simple or obvious your questions were, he answered every one of them and you could hear the smile in his voice with each one.
Eventually, the two of you made your way back to the main room, where all of the Superman robots stood arranged in a loose half circle and at the center, set on a low pedestal, sat a small sealed box. You knew exactly what was inside before you directly saw it, that particular sickly green you'd only ever glimpsed in passing, in places you tried not to look too long.
Your hand tightened around Clark's, your first instinct pulling him back half a step.
"It's okay, sweetheart." His voice was steady, hand staying exactly where it was, not pulling away from yours. "Gary?"
Gary approached, holding out a pair of sunglasses toward you. "Please keep these on until we give the all clear," he said. "Your eyes are not equipped to withstand what you are about to see."
You took them carefully, turning them over once. They looked like ordinary sunglasses, maybe a little heavier and the lenses a shade darker than you expected.
You slid them on. "Is this some kind of science class?"
"I certainly won't be the one teaching it," Clark said, the corner of his mouth lifting. He looked past you toward the console. "Gary, are we ready?"
"Whenever you are, sir." Gary moved toward the main console, where two of the other robots were already standing by, lights along their forearms beginning to pulse in slow sequence.
"Clark, what's going on?" you whispered, eyes flicking between the box and his face.
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you, you know that, right?" He squeezed your hand as his gaze met yours.
"You, on the other hand–"
"I like experimenting." He shrugged, like it cost him nothing.
Your eyes widened slightly, "With Kryptonite? Since when?"
"Uh…a year, give or take." He smiled down at you and then his eyes lifted to Gary, he nodded once. "Gary. We're ready."
Gary moved to the console without hesitation and the rest of the robots fell into position around the central platform like they'd rehearsed it a hundred times, because they had.
Twelve lifted the small box from the pedestal, carrying it with both hands toward the center of the room, where a shallow chamber sat recessed into the crystal floor, lined with something dark and metallic that looked nothing like the rest of the Fortress.
"That’s a containment chamber," Clark said quietly to you as his thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. "Built specifically for this."
"Sir," Gary said, eyes still on the console, "might I suggest you and Ms.Y/l/n retreat to the secondary platform. Fifteen feet, as discussed."
Clark's hand tightened slightly around yours. "Come on."
He guided you back, until you were standing on a raised section of crystal floor that put you above and away from the chamber. From there you could see the whole room laid out steps beneath you, the concentrator rising above the platform like an enormous lens angled toward the sky, panels of crystal catching light that wasn't there yet.
Seven lifted the lid of the box and even through the dark lenses the green light intensified, throwing long shadows across the floor, catching every facet of the Fortress and scattering it back in shades of sick emerald. Nestled inside, on a bed of dark fabric, sat the stone. Smaller than you'd expected and uncut, glowing from somewhere deep inside itself like it had a pulse of its own.
Twelve lifted it with a pair of long, articulated tools and lowered it carefully into the chamber. A transparent shield slid closed over the top, sealing it in. The glow didn't stop but it dimmed, pressing against the inside of the shield like something trying to get out.
"Sample secured," Gary announced. "Beginning calibration."
The concentrator began to hum. It started low, almost beneath hearing, a vibration that traveled up through the crystal floor and into the soles of your boots. Far above, panels began to rotate, realigning toward the chamber below and what little Arctic sunlight there was began to gather and bend, funneling down through the lens.
"Finally," Clark breathed, watching it. "We've been working on this for so long…there’ve been thousands of simulations." His jaw worked once. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew it would work."
"Tell me what?” You asked quietly, eyes never leaving the scene as worry crept in. “And do you actually know?"
"I trust the math." He nodded firmly.
The column of light reached the chamber and the room changed color. For a moment the green and the gold fought each other, the stone lit from above in concentrated solar light while it pulsed back against it, radiating that same sickly glow like it was resisting. The light intensified in stages, the hum climbing in pitch and beside you Clark's hand went rigid in yours.
You immediately looked away from the machine, eyes moving across his face, searching instinctively for every symptom you'd learned to recognize over the years. "Clark? What’s happening?"
"It's fine." His voice was rough. The green glow spilling from the chamber reflected across his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the stone. His fingers tightened once more around yours. "This is the part where it resists…Gary said it would resist."
"Isotopic activity decreasing," Gary reported. "Forty percent…Thirty-five."
You watched his shoulders ease slightly, the tension starting to bleed out of him the way it had a moment ago and then it spiked.
The green flared violently, brighter than it had been at any point and the hum from the concentrator stuttered, a half second of dissonance that set your teeth on edge. Clark's hand crushed around yours, hard enough that you gasped and beside him his knees buckled enough that you felt him catch himself right on time.
"Sir." Gary's voice changed, the flatness cracking for the first time. "Output is exceeding modeled parameters. Fifteen feet is no longer sufficient at this intensity…I recommend immediate retreat."
"No." Clark's voice came out through his teeth, low and rough.
Twelve approached. "Sir, your vitals–"
"I said no." He straightened, forcing it, his free hand braced against the crystal wall beside you, now that sweat had broken out along his hairline despite the cold. "This is the spike before it breaks…It has to be. We modeled this."
"We modeled a spike.” Twelve corrected and for the first time there was something almost uncertain underneath the calculation. “Not this one."
"Clark, baby." Your voice cracked. Both your hands were on his arm now, gripping tightly enough to feel the tension underneath his skin, the controlled violence of him holding still on purpose. "Clark, please, if it's hurting you–"
"It's not going to last." He said it through gritted teeth, eyes locked on the chamber, on the violent pulse of green fighting against the gold. "It's a means to an end. It has to burn through, that's the whole point, it can't resist forever–" He cut himself off, breath hissing out through his nose and you felt his legs lock, refusing to let his body do what it wanted to do, which was fold.
"Gary," he called, "how much longer?"
"Unknown. The output is not behaving according to any modeled curve."
"Then we wait." His hand gripped yours again like an anchor. "We wait."
The green surged again and this time you heard him make a low and involuntary sound. His head dipped slightly as if something heavy had pressed down on him. His eyes shut for a second and every muscle in his jaw worked under the strain, the effort visible in the smallest movements of his face.
"Clark, look at me." You said as you stepped in front of him, both hands coming up to his face, so he’d look at you. His eyes opened and once they found yours, they held on. "Whatever this is about…it’s not worth the pain."
"It is…" His voice was barely above a whisper now. "You’ll see."
The green light convulsed one more time, violent and bright, the air around the chamber shimmering hard enough to blur the shape of it until it broke, the same way ice breaks, all at once, the resistance simply gone. The green collapsed inward on itself and the gold flooded in to fill the space it left behind and the hum of the concentrator dropped, smoothed out and settled.
"Isotopic activity," Gary announced and there was no mistaking the relief in it now, flat as he tried to keep it, "Twenty percent…Twelve percent...Six percent."
Clark's head lifted as he watched over your shoulder, eyes moving away from yours while yours simply couldn’t. He exhaled, long and shaking and you felt the tremor in his body ease as you too turned to watch.
"Two percent," Gary continued. "Zero point eight…Zero point three…Zero point zero…one." He paused. "Within acceptable margin…The sample is inert."
The column of light thinned, it drew back up into the ceiling and the panels above began to rotate closed and the machines powered down in sequence as the Fortress went quiet.
The shield over the chamber slid back and where the green stone had been, something else sat now, pale and almost colorless, holding the ambient light of the room differently than it had before, no longer pulsing or alive with that sickly glow.
Your lips parted at the sight as Clark straightened slowly, drawing himself back together piece by piece before stepping down from the platform and offering you his hand. You took it, following him as your eyes met his.
“It’s okay,” he said before you could ask. “I’m okay. It’s over.”
You crossed the floor behind him while every robot in the room stood motionless, watching him the same way you were. He stopped at the edge of the chamber and looked down at the stone for a long moment before reaching in and picking it up with his bare hand.
Nothing happened.
He stood there holding it, turning it slightly, watching the light shift across its surface and you realized you’d stopped breathing somewhere in the last minute and hadn’t started again. He looked up, found your gaze and set a gentle hand against your cheek.
“It’s safe now. You can remove your glasses,” he said, still looking at you.
Your hands were already moving. The Fortress returned in full, unfiltered color as you stepped closer to him, staring at Clark holding something small and pale in his open palm, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all, like he’d been waiting this entire time just to show you this.
You swallowed. “I think…we need a breather,” you said, mostly to yourself.
You were already turning toward the nearest corridor when Clark suggested he take you somewhere outside. It took him only a moment to follow your movement and you didn't see what all the shifting and movement among the robots behind you had been about but only felt the change in atmosphere as Clark caught up.
His arm slid around your waist and a second later, the ground dropped away.
Air rushed past as he lifted you into the sky, carrying you through the open structure of the Fortress until the cold Arctic light returned in full. He set down on a platform high among the tallest crystalline spires, where the wind moved freely and the horizon stretched wide and white.
Snow shimmered below and the sky was pale, endless.
“I don’t…” You let out a breathless laugh, the wind catching at your words. Your eyes swept the view once before you turned back to him. “I’m not sure what I just saw in there.”
Your voice tightened slightly. "And trust me, I tried to keep my eyes open through all of it, but you scared me." You gave his chest a firm hit with your fist. "What were you thinking, Clark Kent?"
The impact barely moved him, it only made him chuckle lightly.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on you, unreadable in that scary way that always came just before something important.
Slowly, he reached into his belt and your attention locked instantly.
He pulled out a carved band, holding it between two fingers like it mattered too much to be careless with. You could hear, or maybe just feel, your heartbeat speed up, loud enough that it felt like it filled the space between you.
He reached in again and produced a small, rough stone, one that bent the light in a way you'd never seen any diamond do, every facet catching a slightly different shade as it turned.
You watched as he closed his hand around it and when he opened his palm again, fragile shards fell away, revealing a small, clear stone underneath, which he carefully set into the first empty socket on the band.
You blinked, eyes following his hand as he reached in again and drew out another rough stone, this one glowing faintly the same way the untouched walls of the Fortress had. He crushed it the same way, the stone giving under his grip, not shattering so much as yielding, and a larger stone emerged from inside it, settling into its place on the band.
Then he reached into his belt one last time and pulled out the disabled kryptonite. Of the three, it was by far the clearest, though somehow it still caught the light in a way none of the others quite managed.
He crushed it in his hand and set the final ‘diamond’.
You stared at the ring as his eyes began to glow red, the heat focusing into two narrow beams that swept carefully along the edges of each setting, sealing the stones into place. Once he was satisfied they were secure, he lifted the ring to his lips and let out a slow breath of super breath, cooling the metal until it no longer shimmered with heat.
Your heart was pounding now, lips parting slightly as you watched him lower himself onto one knee, his eyes never leaving yours. When his knee touched the platform, he paused, drew in a breath that seemed to cost him more than it should have and swallowed. He held the ring up toward you and whatever he'd rehearsed every day for the past year caught somewhere in his throat.
"...Please."
Your brows lifted slightly, lips curving into a smile you couldn't have stopped if you tried, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest you thought you might actually faint.
It was all a blur of mumbled words, tears, tight embraces, breathless laughter and the strange sensation of height shifting under your feet as the hours folded into one another. You slid your glove off so he could finally slip the ring onto your finger and in the space of a heartbeat the both of you were already cutting through the sky, Clark holding you close as the arctic shrank into light beneath you.
What followed was a mess of emotion and surging energy you had never seen from him in that state. You made it home in record time and the first stop had been the bedroom, the both of you, but especially Clark, letting go of everything he had been holding back. Everything that had stayed trapped behind restraint finally spilled out, fast and unguarded, until the bedframe gave way under the force of it and you both broke into breathless laughter in the aftermath.
After that, everything blurred again.
You sat on the couch as a streak of motion moved through the apartment, Clark unpacking every box in milliseconds, placing everything exactly where you had mentally mapped it out. The remaining cardboard vanished just as quickly, carried away like it had never been there. He returned almost immediately after, kneeling at the edge of the couch in front of you with the same restless energy still burning through him, only now softened by relief and joy. You met it halfway on the carpet, where time stopped mattering in any real sense.
It was late when the rush finally eased into something his body could keep up with at a normal human pace. Only then did you think about food.
You ended up on the kitchen counter, one hand lifted as the ring caught the warm light and threw it back in shifting color. Clark stood at the stove shirtless, moving between pots and fridge with distracted focus, adding things, adjusting heat and insisting you needed to eat before you fell asleep. You had been fighting sleep for a while already, after so many rounds, caught between exhaustion and the aftershock of everything.
The cold air from the opened fridge brushed your bare legs and it brought back the memory of earlier that day without warning.
“Tell me again,” you breathed, eyes fixed on the ring.
Clark stopped, whatever he was doing was abandoned in an instant. He stepped closer, placing both hands on either side of you against the counter, caging you in gently without pressure. His gaze didn’t go to the ring at first. It stayed on you, studying your face and reaction, like that mattered more than anything else he had built.
“Jewel Kryptonite,” he started, voice calmer now.
His hand lifted slightly as he spoke, indicating the first stone.
“I found it in the Fortress but it comes from the Jewel Mountains of Krypton. Its primary function was amplifying psychic abilities…telepathy and mental projection for Kryptonians. In my case…” He hesitated, just briefly, choosing the right way to place it. “It represents my mind…my subconscious, dreams, grief and memories. The parts of me nobody reaches…the parts I want you to have access to.”
He shifted his attention to the largest stone, the one in the middle.
“The Fortress crystal…origin and inheritance. It’s everything I was given, my legacy, my people’s knowledge…Krypton on Earth and Kal-El’s home.” His eyes softened slightly as they stayed on you. “Which you've gone out of your way to love and accept too in ways I never expected or thought possible.”
A quiet breath left him before he continued.
“And the last one but not least…never that.” His thumb brushed lightly against your hand where the ring sat. “Disabled green kryptonite. That was the hardest part and the reason this took so long…It’s what I trust you most with, my vulnerability…but not the only one.”
His gaze lifted fully to yours at that.
You moved closer instinctively, arms sliding around his shoulders and pulling him in as if distance had become unnecessary. You raised your hand again, watching the ring catch the light between you both.
“Who you come from… who you are… and what you trust me with,” you murmured, more to yourself than anything else. Then something else caught your attention.
“What about the band?” you asked softly. You had noticed it earlier, the faint engravings when the light hit just right, the House of El symbol hidden in the design, it was subtle but definitely intentional.
It was clear nothing about it had been accidental.
He exhaled through a small smile. “Everything I am,” he said, quieter now, “set into the thing that led me to you.”
Your brows softened.
“I made it out of my ship.”
The confession pulled the breath straight out of you. “It took you a year,” you said, voice catching slightly, “and so much effort and thought and I–”
"I love you." His voice caught, eyes filling again as they held yours. "I loved you the day I met you…I love you today,” He paused, “Y/n, I'll love you long after we leave this Earth."
You sniffled as a tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized it had formed but still, you smiled, voice cracking with emotion. "And I'll love you as long as it exists."
Clark lifted a hand, thumb brushing the tear away with a tenderness that contrasted everything else about him and gently tilted your face toward his as he pressed his lips to yours, leaving no distance between what he had built and what he had finally given away.
He might have been unable to say anything when he was down on one knee, but that didn’t mean he had no words for you. He simply doubted they existed in any language and if they did, they had a terrible tendency to fall galaxies short.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Imagine Clark Kent planning to propose to reader, but he gets so flustered and nervous that when he kneels, all he can muster is a desperate, breathy, “Please.” Saw this idea from a woman sharing her proposal story on twitter!! 🫦🫦🤤🤤
The star that leads to you
Pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-181938
a/n: The plan was for this to be 5k words long TOPS but i'm a bottom so...
Classification: (Suggestive) Fluff | Moderate workplace PDA, suggestive comments and explicit/implied sex scenes w/superpowered intimacy (destruction of the bed), normal relationship anxiety and overthinking, sci-fi talk and kryptonite exposure, use of superpowers in daily life.
Word count: 10,3k
Divider by me ;)
The days leading up to any leave or holiday were always the most chaotic. In journalism, there was no such thing as getting ahead. No matter how many drafts you filed, how many interviews you wrapped up or how many loose ends you tied off, the work simply piled up somewhere else, waiting for your attention.
You made your way through the bullpen with Jimmy trailing closely behind. For the past few days, a persistent unease had settled beneath your skin. Everyone seemed to need something from you before you left, another question, task or last-minute request, and on top of that, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Eyes appeared to follow you wherever you went.
Right now, though, the only thing demanding your attention was Jimmy's steadily rising panic.
"I…I can't do that." He shook his head again, likely for the hundredth time that morning.
"Jimmy, it's just my email." You stopped at the coffee station, reaching for your mug and filling it. "All I'm asking is that you log in once a day, check if anything's worth investigating and follow up if necessary." You stirred your coffee before lifting your eyes to him. "You won't have much to do…Lois will be helping too."
"What do I do if he contacts you?" Jimmy asked quietly, watching your hands move with nervous intensity.
"What if who contacts me?" you asked, only sparing him a brief glance.
"You know." He shrugged. "Superman."
A laugh escaped you as you picked up your mug and started back toward your desk, taking a sip as you walked. "You think Big Blue has an email address?"
"I…" Jimmy frowned as he tried to explain himself. "Well, I believe he's a modern man."
You snorted into your coffee.
"Who knows," he continued. "Maybe he'll want to meet up. To…talk."
You stopped beside your desk and turned to face him fully, narrowing your eyes. "About what?"
"I don't know." Jimmy lifted both hands. "Whatever it is you two usually talk about."
"Sure, Jimmy. Maybe he'll need help setting up an email account." You nodded thoughtfully. "Let's just hope nothing too big happens while I'm gone so I can enjoy some uninterrupted rest."
As you spoke, your gaze drifted across the bullpen and landed on Clark.
Your eyes narrowed immediately at his staring but the moment your eyes met, he jerked into motion. His attention snapped downward as he began fumbling with the papers on his desk, shuffling folders that clearly didn't need sorting and reaching for things that weren't there.
You had only held his gaze for all of two seconds before he folded completely under it, which was suspicious. Your attention lingered on him even as Jimmy continued talking.
"Alright, but just in case, tell him I'm perfectly fine with meeting in dark alleys during pouring rain and all that." Jimmy nodded once, looking entirely too eager for the possibility.
"He's more of a rooftop kind of guy, but I'll pass the message along." The reply came automatically, your focus already elsewhere. “Thanks Jimmy.”
Your gaze dropped to your own desk as Jimmy finally wandered off. Taking your seat, you looked over the organized chaos spread across the surface and got to work clearing away the last of it, though most of the clutter simply disappeared into drawers and folders. You wanted to return to a clean workspace, not a disaster waiting for you after a week away.
Your final drafts had already been submitted and every article due before your leave had been filed and approved. There were still two hours until lunch and for the first time in days, there was nothing immediately demanding your attention.
You intended for the following week to be dedicated entirely to rest. Well, rest and unpacking the mountain of moving boxes currently occupying Clark's apartment, which was now yours too.
The thought alone made you look up.
Clark now sat perfectly still at his desk, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the bullpen. His head was tilted slightly, his attention caught by something none of the rest of you could hear. If there was one thing you'd learned about him, it was that there usually was something, a distant cry for help, an emergency unfolding miles away or a hundred voices filtering through the world at once.
You watched him for a moment until he rose from his chair, the movement quick and purposeful. He reached for his messenger bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder as he stepped around his desk, his eyes finding yours immediately.
The look was familiar, it was the same one he always gave you right before disappearing. You pushed yourself to your feet and followed after him, weaving through the bullpen until the two of you reached one of the quieter hallways.
"How bad is it?" you asked worriedly.
The question and tone had nothing to do with your upcoming week off. You were never worried about canceled plans, you were worried about Metropolis. If Superman was needed in the middle of a workday, something somewhere had gone terribly wrong.
Clark suddenly turned and you barely had time to react.
The momentum of your hurried pace carried you directly into his chest and as always, the impact barely moved him. Before you could stumble back, his arms were already wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as he dipped his head and pressed his lips to yours.
It caught you completely off guard. You knew kissing with your eyes open wasn't particularly romantic but you couldn't help the way they widened in surprise. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him as you failed to kiss him back.
Only when he pulled away did you finally speak. "That bad?" you asked, eyes searching his face frantically.
Clark blinked as his brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"You have to go to your other thing, right?" You gestured vaguely. "I know you heard something."
The confusion on his face matched your own. Still, his arms remained around you.
"I did." He forced himself to pause and collect his thoughts because keeping things from you had never gotten easier. "It isn't bad, sweetheart. I just need to go check it out."
At the same moment, footsteps echoed from farther down the hallway, so he reluctantly released you. Neither of you was particularly interested in becoming a more serious conversation for Human Resources yet.
You cleared your throat as Clark adjusted the strap of his bag and the silence stretched until the employee rounded the corner and disappeared again.
"Will you be long?"
"I'm not sure." He shook his head softly.
You nodded. "Be safe…I'll cover for you."
Your hand came up to pat his chest before you stepped back. Already turning toward the bullpen, you glanced down at your watch, mentally calculating how many hours "checking something out" usually translated into but a few steps later, another thought occurred to you.
"Oh… anything special I should make for di–" You turned to face him just as a rush of wind swept through the hallway. Your words died instantly and the corridor stood empty, Clark now gone. You sighed. "Takeout it is."
Muttering to yourself, you turned and headed back toward the bullpen.
Lately, Clark had been acting strange, not in the usual "I'm the last son of a dead planet" kind of way. This was different, he was distracted, restless and keeping himself busier than usual. At first, you'd assumed it had something to do with the upcoming week off. Maybe he felt guilty about stepping away from work for that long and the idea of slowing down made him uneasy, but you'd made it clear more than once that the vacation wasn't meant to be a break from who he really was.
You would never ask that of him. Clark Kent could take a week off but Superman never truly could, which only made his recent behavior feel all the more unusual.
You supposed your concern must have been written all over your face.
"Where is he?" Lois stopped in front of Clark's desk, a thick folder tucked beneath her arm.
The question snapped your attention away from his absence. Straightening your shoulders, you forced your expression into something more neutral before walking over.
"His parents needed him at the farm." You motioned vaguely toward the elevators.
Lois looked unconvinced. "He was supposed to send Perry a final draft for tomorrow's print edition."
"Is that it?" You pointed toward the folder she held. She barely lifted it before you plucked it from her grasp and pivoted back toward your desk. "I'll do it."
You dropped into your chair and opened the file immediately.
"It isn't exactly impartial." Lois crossed her arms.
"It never will be, Lois." You flipped through the first few pages of his notes. "We're about to move in together and I doubt he'd react particularly well to me firing him when I become Editor-in-Chief."
Your grin finally earned a small laugh from her.
"Besides," you continued, glancing back down at the paperwork, "I need something to do, otherwise today is going to feel even longer than it already does."
The humor faded from her face. "Is something wrong?" Her voice lowered enough that the question felt genuine rather than curious.
You opened your mouth, then stopped. For a moment, you simply stared down at the pages in front of you. "I don't know. I'm usually really good at reading him." Your fingers paused against the pages. "But I just can't do it."
"You can't?" The surprise in her voice was immediate as she settled herself on the corner of your desk. "You think it's about the two of you moving in together?" she asked. "If it is, don't. You've been together for so long…most people would've expected you to move in together the second you both got to Metropolis."
A soft laugh escaped you. "No. No, that's not it…I mean, I hope not." You leaned back in your chair. "It's all going well." The words came easily because they were true. "As much as I love him, moving in with my first ever boyfriend straight out of college would've been a terrible idea."
Your smile softened. "We learned how to live separately first…how to have our own lives. I think that was the right decision and I know he does too."
Lois nodded. "So what's the problem?"
You hesitated, then cleared your throat and rolled your chair a little closer, lowering your voice despite the noise of the bullpen around you. "Have you ever wanted something so badly that you're afraid to call it what it is?"
Her brows knitted together. "Is that supposed to be a riddle?"
You laughed despite yourself. "No." Your gaze drifted away, settling somewhere beyond the bullpen. "There's something I want this whole situation to be..." The words felt strangely fragile once spoken aloud, like giving them a voice somehow made them more real. "What if I start asking the questions I want to ask and find out it isn't?" Your fingers toyed absently with the edge of the folder. "Then I'd be mad at him for not wanting to move at the pace I want to move at."
Lois watched you carefully and for once, she didn't rush to answer. "This isn't a race."
A small smile tugged at your mouth before quickly fading. "If it were, he'd win…I just wish I knew what we're running toward now." Your voice dropped quieter. "And if he still wants to get there with me…precisely."
You let out a long breath, hoping it would carry away some of the anxiety that had been nesting in your chest for weeks. The truth was, you had never once believed Clark would leave you, that fear had never existed.
You knew how he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, you knew the certainty behind every promise he made, every plan he included you in and every future conversation that naturally assumed you'd be standing beside him.
The fear wasn't losing him, it was timing and getting it wrong.
Had moving in together been too soon? Was he having second thoughts now that it was actually happening? Maybe he simply wasn't ready to leave behind living alone, he needed more time before taking another step forward and the answer was that simple…Or maybe you were working yourself into knots over something that had never crossed his mind at all.
"You're one hell of a reporter, Y/n." A smile tugged at the corner of Lois's mouth. "I've never known you to hesitate when it comes to asking questions."
She pushed herself off the desk and headed back toward her own.
The conversation ended there but her words lingered as your eyes wandered across the bullpen again and they landed, inevitably, on Clark's empty desk.
His abandoned coffee cup still sat beside his keyboard and a stack of notes remained exactly where he'd left them. Everything still looked normal, so why didn't it feel that way?
You couldn't keep living with the uncertainty and maybe it was time to stop dancing around the questions that had been circling your mind for months, but as much as you wanted answers, you'd never been someone who forced them out of Clark, never someone who cornered him into confessions he wasn't ready to make.
Your gaze lingered on the empty desk for another moment before moving to the clock. Only five more hours and you'd finally be out of this place.
Clark flew to the Fortress of Solitude at a speed he'd never thought he could reach, responding to a signal from the Superman robots. He absolutely hated hiding things from you, no matter how good the reason but this was taking longer than planned. It didn't just involve the usual planning and sourcing, this was as close to science as he'd ever get.
The cold arctic air caressed his skin as he sped up, the crystalline structure growing in the distance as it revealed itself to him.
His feet eventually sank into the snow as the doors parted before him. The Fortress received him the way it always did, silently, the crystals catching his footsteps and scattering them into nothing. Four was already standing at the central console, two of the other robots positioned at the secondary array flanking what Clark recognized as the solar concentrator, reconfigured into something smaller and more precise than he'd last seen it.
"Sir, you're here." Gary, the fourth Superman robot, turned before Clark had fully cleared the entrance.
"I got your signal," Clark told him as he moved to the center of the main room.
"I calculated twenty minutes before your arrival." Four's optical sensors held on him a moment.
Clark didn't answer. He crossed closer to the console, eyes already moving over the readings. "Tell me."
Gary turned back to the array. "The theory is sound. Whether the application holds is a separate question." He indicated the containment chamber at the center of the concentrator, it was small, built for a single stone. "The isotope that produces the radiation is not inert by nature, it requires destabilization. Conventional neutralization attempts have failed historically because they addressed the emission rather than the source."
Clark’s brows furrowed. "You went after the isotope directly."
"We modeled different broad approaches over the last year. Sixteen produced either incomplete neutralization or structural destruction of the sample." Gary paused. "The seventeenth is this. Concentrated solar saturation at a specific frequency, not broad spectrum, which scatters. The isotope absorbs until it cannot sustain the radioactive chain. It burns out rather than being suppressed."
He looked at the chamber. "And the stone?"
"Structurally intact in our simulations. The color will change, the green is a function of the active radiation. Once the isotope is spent, the stone retains its crystalline structure but loses the glow. It will read as pale…residual hue only."
Clark was quiet for a moment. "You said it would only work on a very small piece."
"Correct. The solar saturation has to penetrate the sample completely and evenly. A larger stone creates differential exposure, the exterior burns out and the interior remains active. At the scale you require–" Gary moved to the secondary console and brought up the dimensional rendering, a stone large enough to yield a single, flawless diamond. “–full penetration is achievable. We have run the model four hundred and twelve times over the last hour."
"And it holds?"
"In simulation. Yes." Another beat. "We will not know with certainty until we attempt it on an actual sample."
Clark exhaled slowly, he'd known that was coming.
"You cannot be present for the extraction phase," Gary continued, without inflection, as if this were simply logistical. "Or the initial handling. Your proximity to an active sample at that size would still produce symptomatic response. We will handle and chamber the stone. You will monitor from the secondary console at a distance of approximately fifteen feet. Once it is inside the concentrator and sealed, the chamber will contain the emission. You can approach then."
"And the concentrator–" Clark glanced at the machine. "Same as the healing protocol?"
"Modified from it. The frequency is different as healing requires broad cellular stimulation. This requires narrow isotopic targeting but the core mechanism is the same." Gary looked at him directly. "It should not harm you. The chamber is sealed, the emission goes inward, not out...but again, it’s a hypothetical."
Clark nodded once. He stood there a moment, looking at the small containment chamber and the re-rigged concentrator, it’d been a year of work sitting quiet and precise on a console in the Arctic.
"You've been thorough," he said finally.
"You were specific about what it needed to mean, sir." Gary nodded, as Clark turned to look at him. "When you told me what the ring was for," He continued. "I did not think imprecision was appropriate."
"And the piece I chose?" Clark asked, looking around for it.
One of the other Superman robots pushed a closed lead box onto the console. "Still untouched, sir." Twelve nodded. "As are the other uncut stones, as you requested."
"The band?" Clark asked as One approached, opening a chamber on his own structure and revealing it.
Clark reached for it and held it up to the light between his fingers. He still remembered waiting for you to fall asleep so he could measure your ring finger, holding his breath the entire time, terrified you might wake and catch him in the act. The memory made warmth settle in his chest.
"It's perfect," he said quietly.
"It must be, sir. You've been working on it for almost a year," Gary spoke.
"And it's finally done."
Gary lifted a cautionary finger. "Remember there are still hypotheticals, sir. We must test the machine."
Clark shook his head. "It's going to work and when it does, I want her here for it." He turned to look around the Fortress, taking in the crystalline walls, the hum of advanced technology and the sanctity of the space. "You know the plan." His gaze swept across the main chamber. "I want this place spotless and the sunglasses ready." He drew a breath, letting the weight of the moment settle over him. "The day has come…I can’t wait any longer." He turned back to the robots. "Thank you, all of you."
"No need to thank us, sir, as we will not appreciate it. We have no consciousness, we are merely automatons here to serve," Gary reminded him.
Clark simply pressed his mouth into a thin line, long accustomed to their peculiar bluntness while some of the Superman robots scurried away, already beginning to clean. Gary, however, lingered.
"Shall we prepare for the baby?"
Clark's head snapped toward him, eyes slightly widened. "What baby?"
"My knowledge indicates it is a natural succession of events, sir."
He smiled despite himself, shaking his head. "Let's prepare for a ceremony first…That's if she says yes."
"She will," Twelve said brightly in passing, already carrying a stack of crystalline components toward the secondary console.
"Shall we rehearse the speech?" Gary pressed. "We have yet to hear it."
"No can do, Gary." Clark's voice was gentle but final. "And you won't...It’ll be for her ears only."
He stuck around long after, helping clean and organize with no real need other than the comfort of keeping his hands busy. He had thought about the day plenty, in the small hours of the morning when sleep wouldn't come, during long flights over empty ocean and in the moments just after saving the world when everything went quiet again. He had imagined it a hundred different ways, in a hundred different places and it had to be perfect.
You got home late, stopped at the door as you still couldn't quite figure out how the new lock worked. After a moment of fumbling that felt much longer than it should have, you finally managed to push inside, carrying takeout bags and immediately running into scattered moving boxes in the dark.
"Fuck," you muttered under your breath as you reached for a light switch and turned it on. "Clark?" You called into the silence of the apartment, leaving the bags on the kitchen counter.
You then walked toward the bedroom, weaving around moving boxes you'd take care of soon, phone already in your hand as you dialed his number.
You pressed call, setting the phone on the bed as you began to undress.
Back at the Fortress…
"Superman, we have intercepted a call from your human lover."
Clark chuckled, shaking his head as he moved gear out of the main room. "There's no other kind, Gary. It's just 'lover.' Please, patch it through."
There was a soft crackle and then, "Clark?” Your voice slipped through the sound systems, warm and familiar and Clark felt the anxiety in his chest ease at the sound of it.
"Hi, sweetheart. Everything okay?"
"Uh, yeah. Where are you? I'm at your–" A pause, then a quiet correction. "Our place...Any idea when you'll be back? It's starting to get late."
Clark realized then that he'd lost track of time completely. He began heading toward the exit, your voice trailing after him as you launched into what was clearly the beginning of a longer rant. The sound of you faded from the Fortress's speakers and transferred directly into his ears as he lifted off, flying fast in the direction of your voice.
He heard you kicking off your shoes and the soft thump of your pants hitting the floor.
"I'm not saying I'm worried and I don't expect you to always be back at a certain time…That's just not reasonable. I mean, I knew what I was getting into before we ever started dating–" Then came the sound of the closet door sliding open as you were surely, definitely, picking a shirt of his to sleep in. "Not that it's complicated or anything. I feel like that word has never really applied to us. I mean, I hope not. You've never been complicated to me, even after you told me who you really were."
He heard the rustle of fabric as you peeled off your shirt and the soft sound of your bra hitting the floor. Clark flew even faster.
"I remember telling you Kal was a pretty good name," you said and he could hear the smile in your voice. You cleared your throat, "I also remember that one time I moaned it while we were–"
A faint breeze drifted through the room, making you turn to the window to check if it was open. You suddenly screamed, shirt clutched to cover your naked chest as your heart hammered so loud he could count every individual beat.
Clark unexpectedly stood there unmoving and smiling unapologetically, hair slightly messy from the flight. "Having sex?" He continued for you, grin widening. "I also remember."
You exhaled a sharp breath, rapidly pulling his shirt over your head, feeling his eyes on you, "I get carried away."
He shrugged, still grinning. "It's happened more than once."
Your eyes narrowed at him, already desperate to change the subject. "Mind making a little more noise next time? I intend to live long."
He stepped toward you, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you to his chest. "You make enough noise for the both of us, don't you think?"
"Ha. Funny." You said dryly because it was true. Once close to him, you felt his chest while observing his face as you always did, checking for injuries. He looked untouched, which was always ideal, but… "You're really cold."
He smiled and something changed in his expression. "Do you know where you packed the winter clothes?"
You blinked, eyes going to the moving boxes and suitcases scattered across the bedroom, your mind already cataloging the rest of the clutter throughout the apartment. "I'm not sure. Why?"
Clark let go of you, eyes scanning through the boxes as he activated his x-ray vision.
"It's about to be summer, Smallville…And I don't think you've ever needed them."
He walked out of the bedroom, looking into boxes as you trailed behind him, accidentally stepping on the long cape pooled at his feet.
"Oops, sorry," you muttered as you coughed yourself with a gentle hold on his shoulders.
"You're going to need them."
"Need what? Apologies?" you asked, lifting a brow.
"Winter clothes," he specified with a breathy chuckle, stopping by a box that read ‘Kitchen’ in your handwriting.
"In June?" You watched as he opened the box anyway. "That says ‘Kitchen’, Clark."
He fumbled for a second as he lifted it from a pile and put it on the ground, then he carefully opened it and pulled out your winter coat by the hood.
"That's why it was so light," you said under your breath.
"We're taking a trip tomorrow."
Your eyes widened slightly as you searched his face and found no humor there. "Did you use that little trick to find my passport and book the trip?"
"Never needed a passport to fly Clark Kent Airlines." He grinned.
"Never needed a coat to sit on a plane." You shrugged with a gentle smile. "Where are we going?"
Clark's smile faltered. His eyes searched the room, looking for anything to change the subject and landed on the takeout bags still sitting on the kitchen counter. "We should eat dinner before it gets too cold," he said, already reaching into the box and pulling out a scarf, hat and gloves. "You'll need your snow boots too." He set everything on the couch, almost distractedly and walked right past you into the bedroom, already peeling off his suit.
Your eyes followed him, narrowing at the deflection. "Good thing we have a microwave." You noted as you followed after him. "You've been acting weird lately."
"Weird?" He echoed with a light, forced chuckle. "There's nothing weird about me…Besides the obvious." He paused, pulling his shirt over his head. "Which you like telling me you love." There was another pause, longer this time. "You still do, right?"
"You mean the part of you that likes to take me along while soaring through the sky?" You questioned hypothetically, already nodding to yourself. "Yeah."
"That's good…That’s really good." He reassured himself more than you as he changed into a plain shirt and plaid pajama pants. "That you still do."
"I don't like how you keep saying 'still,'" you pointed out quietly, looking at him as if you could read his mind…and you probably could, if you weren’t suddenly scared of what you might find.
He chuckled breathily, stepping toward you and placing both hands on your arms, caressing them gently. "You're making me really nervous right now."
You narrowed your eyes at him again. "I weirdly think you're doing that to yourself." You paused, letting the words settle. "I love you, Clark…No amount of weirdness is going to change that."
His hands went to your face, cupping your cheeks slowly, thumbs brushing over your skin with so much love in his eyes that it made your chest ache. Tomorrow had to be perfect..because you were.
"I'll fly slowly," he murmured, in an attempt to reassure you.
"No, you won't…and that’s fine," You laughed softly, poking his stomach playfully. "Just make sure you hold me tight."
He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered long enough to make your eyes flutter shut. "I love you so much," he confessed against your skin. "I don't know how to hold you any other way."
Moments like that had a way of dissolving whatever fear or doubt had quietly accumulated and that night was no different. By the time you had dinner and you'd both found your way to sleep, there was nothing left to worry about.
The next morning was perfect. Genuinely and unqualifiedly perfect, the kind that felt almost unfair in how completely it arrived. No alarm pulled you out of it, no distant sound of something collapsing somewhere that would take him away before you'd finished waking up, just sunlight coming in at an angle through the curtains and Clark, who woke up like he had nowhere else to be and no intention of pretending otherwise.
He pressed kisses into your skin slowly and without urgency and the morning dissolved the way good mornings do, in warmth, weight and the breathlessness of someone who loves you, knows how to show it…and how to make you feel it. You lost track of time entirely and you didn't try to find it.
At some point he slipped away. You hadn't noticed the exact moment, sometime in the narrow window between you getting up and the shower warming, enough time for him to go somewhere and come back, which for Clark could mean almost anywhere. When you stepped out of the bathroom, towel around your chest, a bouquet was sitting on the kitchen counter and beside it, breakfast, already plated and still warm.
You ate together at the counter, knees touching, talking through where the art should go and whether the bookshelf fit better against the east wall or broken up between two rooms.
It wasn't much later that he started mentioning getting out for the day.
You didn't question it. You started getting everything he'd laid on the couch the night before, working through the layers methodically while he stood somewhere behind you watching you with an expression you couldn't fully read.
"I think you should add another scarf," he suggested. "Just in case."
You looked at yourself in the mirror, at the coat, hat, gloves, boots and the scarf that already looped twice around your neck… and it was June. "Clark." You turned to look at him with a gentle, reassuring smile. "This is enough…You'd think we were going to the Arctic."
You meant it as a joke. You were already smiling when you said it, turning back to the mirror to adjust the hat which meant you didn't see his face go completely still behind you.
Flying with Clark was its own category of experience, one that didn't get easier to explain the more times you did it, only more familiar. The first five minutes were always the same, your stomach hadn't made peace with the altitude yet, your eyes stayed forward or shut and some part of your brain spent the whole time insisting that this was not how bodies were supposed to work but underneath all of it, was certainty. He had never once made you feel like you might fall, not for a second. His arms around you were absolute, his chest solid and warm against your cheek and the cold that hit everything else somehow didn't touch the space he made around you.
"We're almost there!" he called over the wind.
You didn't answer, only nodded against him and held on.
Then, gradually, the quality of the air changed as the speed bled out of it. You felt him adjusting his descent in small corrections and a minute later your feet met the ground with a soft crunch that traveled up through your boots and into your knees. It was snow, fluffy and undisturbed in every direction.
You kept your eyes shut even as he released you and you stood on your own.
"Sweetheart." He called softly, you could hear the smile in it. "You didn't need to close your eyes."
"Oh. I thought I'd–" you started explaining as they fluttered open.
The light hit first, that particular brightness that had no equivalent, white reflecting white under a sky that was almost cloudless. You blinked against it, adjusting and inevitably, as you looked around, your gaze landed on the structure in the distance and everything else stopped.
Your lips parted.
It rose from the landscape like it had grown there, which in every way that mattered it had. It was an eruption of crystal spires reaching at different angles, pale blue-white and enormous even from that distance, catching the flat Arctic light and fracturing it into something that barely looked real.
You took a few steps toward it without deciding to.
"Is that your–" you started, pointing at it in awe as the words died somewhere between your throat and your lips. You stood frozen in the snow, staring at it.
Clark stepped beside you, footsteps quiet in the snow as the wind tugged gently at his cape. Your shoulders almost brushed when he spoke, "I'll show you around."
You faced him then. He was smiling down at you with his hand extended between you, patiently waiting for you to take it, which of course, you did.
The two of you walked the remaining distance without rushing. There was no path, no track worn into the snow from use, no indication that anyone came and went from this place by foot. Just the flat white expanse and the crystal rising out of it and now, appearing behind you in a clean double line, your footprints beside his. You looked back once at the trail you were leaving and felt something open up in your chest that you weren't entirely prepared for.
He had never brought anyone here, you understood that without needing it said. This was the place that belonged to the man beneath everything else, the person who was both Clark Kent and Superman and neither of them entirely. He was bringing you into that, he was walking you to the door of the most private place he had and holding your hand while he did it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
You looked up at the Fortress as it grew larger with every step, feeling the weight of being trusted with something irreplaceable.
His thumb moved slowly, across the back of your hand as the entrance came into view and the doors began to open before him.
The inside of the Fortress opened up in a way that made you stop walking for a second without meaning to. Everything climbed, walls, ceilings and structures you didn't have names for, all of it crystalline and catching the same pale light from a dozen different angles at once. It was somehow colder and warmer at the same time, the air sharp but the light itself almost golden where it pooled. You could feel Clark watching you take it in, his hand still wrapped around your gloved one, waiting for you to need him to say something.
"Welcome back, sir."
You turned at the voice as footsteps approached from your right. For a moment, you simply stared.
Clark had talked about the Superman robots before, he'd mentioned their names, their functions and the way they helped maintain the Fortress but none of those descriptions had prepared you for seeing them in person.
"Ms. Y/l/n. I have long possessed information regarding you. It is noteworthy to finally confirm your existence through direct observation.”
You looked up at Clark first, a small laugh escaping before you could stop it, then back at the robot in front of you, eyes dropping briefly to the number four stamped into his chest plate.
You smiled softly. "Nice to finally meet you too, Gary."
Gary turned smoothly toward two more robots crossing the floor behind him. "I have observed that Superman references us during conversations with his human lover…Identifying the species is unnecessary, as there is no other kind of lover for him." A brief pause, as if confirming the data was correctly filed. "This is Twelve. She is new."
You looked at Twelve and smiled.
Twelve looked back, head tilting slightly in your direction. "Oh, she looked at me!"
Seven approached next, arms already extended, holding a folded red blanket and a metallic blue thermos. Gary continued without missing a beat. "We have prepared warm blankets and tea. The tea has been heated for three minutes to the ideal temperature of eighty degrees Celsius, with two sugars, per Superman's specification."
"I'll take the tea." You took the thermos from Seven, wrapping both hands around it gratefully. "Don’t think the blanket will be necessary. Clark already had me wrapped up like a burrito before he swept me off my feet…Literally." You took a sip, the warmth spreading through your body.
"'Swept off my feet,'" Gary repeated, processing it audibly. "This is a common idiom among your kind. I hope you also intend it in the romantic sense, in the event further confirmation is required."
You narrowed your eyes slightly, glancing up at Clark. "Confirmation for what?"
Clark cleared his throat, a little too quickly. "Let me, uh, give you a tour." His hand found the small of your back, gently steering you down the hall before you could press further.
"We shall prepare for the activities, then," Gary said, already turning toward the main room. "The clock is, figuratively, ticking."
"Thanks for the tea!" you called back over your shoulder, lifting the thermos in salute.
"They're not very good at saying 'you're welcome,'" Clark told you quietly as you walked.
"Noted."
He smiled as he watched you sip more tea. "So…what do you want to see first? The glass bedroom or the bathroom? The toilet seat is heated."
You stopped walking, eyes widening slightly at the possibility of a glass bed. "Are you serious?"
His grin only widened, he shook his head. "There's no glass bedroom."
You let out a breath, shaking your head as you started walking again. "They’re doomed…The Superman robots are certainly learning from your sense of humor, Clark. Your jokes are setting their development back by decades...They need an upgrade."
"We should probably get you better winter gear, then. If you're going to be spending more time here." He glanced over at you, already thinking out loud. "I'll look into some kind of heating system." He kept walking, leading you down the corridor. "There aren't many rooms, but there's one I really want you to see."
You looked over at him, slowing your steps. "Clark…wait."
The teasing had dropped out of your voice entirely and he heard it instantly. He stopped and turned to face you and for a moment neither of you said anything.
You chose your words carefully, offering a reassuring smile. "You've already trusted me with so much…and I'm honored to be here, truly, I am, but..." You shook your head slowly. "You don't have to do this, any of this."
He listened in out of worry, the way he sometimes did without really meaning to, to your heartbeat. It was steady and still unafraid, just nervous in the ordinary way. "What do you mean?"
"This is your legacy, Clark. It's a piece of where you come from. It could just be yours…I'd understand that.” You paused, “Once I've seen it, I can't unsee it. I’ll become a part of it too, whether you meant for it to or not."
He stepped closer, taking your unoccupied hand in his. "I've always wanted you to know all of me...every piece, if you're willing to hold it." His voice dropped, steady and certain. "This isn't a sacrifice, sweetheart. Showing you this doesn't cost me anything…You've always belonged at the center of who I am. This–" he glanced around, at the crystal stretching up into the light, "–this is just proof of it."
You nodded slowly. Your breath caught and you sniffled, blinking hard against the sudden sting in your eyes. "Do you happen to know the temperature at which tears freeze?" you asked, voice thick.
He laughed softly, pulling you gently forward by the hand as he led you toward the next room. "Yeah, I think a heating system really would be a good idea."
"Wouldn't a heating system melt the whole place, though?"
"It's Kryptonian crystal," he explained. "Not ice. It can withstand a lot more than that. It's just naturally cold in here."
"Well, insulation would ruin the aesthetic anyway, so think it through." you decided and felt him softly squeeze your hand.
He spent the better part of an hour walking you through the Fortress. Through the rooms that mattered and rooms that didn't but that he showed you anyway because you asked, small alcoves of crystal that hummed faintly when you got close enough. You stayed in a state of quiet awe through most of it but the room that stopped you completely was the one lined with his suits. Row after row, the same emblem rendered over and over in different materials and ages, the symbol of an entire dead world that he had carried across galaxies and made his own among people who barely understood what it meant.
You felt his eyes on you the entire time, watching you take it in and no matter how simple or obvious your questions were, he answered every one of them and you could hear the smile in his voice with each one.
Eventually, the two of you made your way back to the main room, where all of the Superman robots stood arranged in a loose half circle and at the center, set on a low pedestal, sat a small sealed box. You knew exactly what was inside before you directly saw it, that particular sickly green you'd only ever glimpsed in passing, in places you tried not to look too long.
Your hand tightened around Clark's, your first instinct pulling him back half a step.
"It's okay, sweetheart." His voice was steady, hand staying exactly where it was, not pulling away from yours. "Gary?"
Gary approached, holding out a pair of sunglasses toward you. "Please keep these on until we give the all clear," he said. "Your eyes are not equipped to withstand what you are about to see."
You took them carefully, turning them over once. They looked like ordinary sunglasses, maybe a little heavier and the lenses a shade darker than you expected.
You slid them on. "Is this some kind of science class?"
"I certainly won't be the one teaching it," Clark said, the corner of his mouth lifting. He looked past you toward the console. "Gary, are we ready?"
"Whenever you are, sir." Gary moved toward the main console, where two of the other robots were already standing by, lights along their forearms beginning to pulse in slow sequence.
"Clark, what's going on?" you whispered, eyes flicking between the box and his face.
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you, you know that, right?" He squeezed your hand as his gaze met yours.
"You, on the other hand–"
"I like experimenting." He shrugged, like it cost him nothing.
Your eyes widened slightly, "With Kryptonite? Since when?"
"Uh…a year, give or take." He smiled down at you and then his eyes lifted to Gary, he nodded once. "Gary. We're ready."
Gary moved to the console without hesitation and the rest of the robots fell into position around the central platform like they'd rehearsed it a hundred times, because they had.
Twelve lifted the small box from the pedestal, carrying it with both hands toward the center of the room, where a shallow chamber sat recessed into the crystal floor, lined with something dark and metallic that looked nothing like the rest of the Fortress.
"That’s a containment chamber," Clark said quietly to you as his thumb moved slowly over your knuckles. "Built specifically for this."
"Sir," Gary said, eyes still on the console, "might I suggest you and Ms.Y/l/n retreat to the secondary platform. Fifteen feet, as discussed."
Clark's hand tightened slightly around yours. "Come on."
He guided you back, until you were standing on a raised section of crystal floor that put you above and away from the chamber. From there you could see the whole room laid out steps beneath you, the concentrator rising above the platform like an enormous lens angled toward the sky, panels of crystal catching light that wasn't there yet.
Seven lifted the lid of the box and even through the dark lenses the green light intensified, throwing long shadows across the floor, catching every facet of the Fortress and scattering it back in shades of sick emerald. Nestled inside, on a bed of dark fabric, sat the stone. Smaller than you'd expected and uncut, glowing from somewhere deep inside itself like it had a pulse of its own.
Twelve lifted it with a pair of long, articulated tools and lowered it carefully into the chamber. A transparent shield slid closed over the top, sealing it in. The glow didn't stop but it dimmed, pressing against the inside of the shield like something trying to get out.
"Sample secured," Gary announced. "Beginning calibration."
The concentrator began to hum. It started low, almost beneath hearing, a vibration that traveled up through the crystal floor and into the soles of your boots. Far above, panels began to rotate, realigning toward the chamber below and what little Arctic sunlight there was began to gather and bend, funneling down through the lens.
"Finally," Clark breathed, watching it. "We've been working on this for so long…there’ve been thousands of simulations." His jaw worked once. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew it would work."
"Tell me what?” You asked quietly, eyes never leaving the scene as worry crept in. “And do you actually know?"
"I trust the math." He nodded firmly.
The column of light reached the chamber and the room changed color. For a moment the green and the gold fought each other, the stone lit from above in concentrated solar light while it pulsed back against it, radiating that same sickly glow like it was resisting. The light intensified in stages, the hum climbing in pitch and beside you Clark's hand went rigid in yours.
You immediately looked away from the machine, eyes moving across his face, searching instinctively for every symptom you'd learned to recognize over the years. "Clark? What’s happening?"
"It's fine." His voice was rough. The green glow spilling from the chamber reflected across his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the stone. His fingers tightened once more around yours. "This is the part where it resists…Gary said it would resist."
"Isotopic activity decreasing," Gary reported. "Forty percent…Thirty-five."
You watched his shoulders ease slightly, the tension starting to bleed out of him the way it had a moment ago and then it spiked.
The green flared violently, brighter than it had been at any point and the hum from the concentrator stuttered, a half second of dissonance that set your teeth on edge. Clark's hand crushed around yours, hard enough that you gasped and beside him his knees buckled enough that you felt him catch himself right on time.
"Sir." Gary's voice changed, the flatness cracking for the first time. "Output is exceeding modeled parameters. Fifteen feet is no longer sufficient at this intensity…I recommend immediate retreat."
"No." Clark's voice came out through his teeth, low and rough.
Twelve approached. "Sir, your vitals–"
"I said no." He straightened, forcing it, his free hand braced against the crystal wall beside you, now that sweat had broken out along his hairline despite the cold. "This is the spike before it breaks…It has to be. We modeled this."
"We modeled a spike.” Twelve corrected and for the first time there was something almost uncertain underneath the calculation. “Not this one."
"Clark, baby." Your voice cracked. Both your hands were on his arm now, gripping tightly enough to feel the tension underneath his skin, the controlled violence of him holding still on purpose. "Clark, please, if it's hurting you–"
"It's not going to last." He said it through gritted teeth, eyes locked on the chamber, on the violent pulse of green fighting against the gold. "It's a means to an end. It has to burn through, that's the whole point, it can't resist forever–" He cut himself off, breath hissing out through his nose and you felt his legs lock, refusing to let his body do what it wanted to do, which was fold.
"Gary," he called, "how much longer?"
"Unknown. The output is not behaving according to any modeled curve."
"Then we wait." His hand gripped yours again like an anchor. "We wait."
The green surged again and this time you heard him make a low and involuntary sound. His head dipped slightly as if something heavy had pressed down on him. His eyes shut for a second and every muscle in his jaw worked under the strain, the effort visible in the smallest movements of his face.
"Clark, look at me." You said as you stepped in front of him, both hands coming up to his face, so he’d look at you. His eyes opened and once they found yours, they held on. "Whatever this is about…it’s not worth the pain."
"It is…" His voice was barely above a whisper now. "You’ll see."
The green light convulsed one more time, violent and bright, the air around the chamber shimmering hard enough to blur the shape of it until it broke, the same way ice breaks, all at once, the resistance simply gone. The green collapsed inward on itself and the gold flooded in to fill the space it left behind and the hum of the concentrator dropped, smoothed out and settled.
"Isotopic activity," Gary announced and there was no mistaking the relief in it now, flat as he tried to keep it, "Twenty percent…Twelve percent...Six percent."
Clark's head lifted as he watched over your shoulder, eyes moving away from yours while yours simply couldn’t. He exhaled, long and shaking and you felt the tremor in his body ease as you too turned to watch.
"Two percent," Gary continued. "Zero point eight…Zero point three…Zero point zero…one." He paused. "Within acceptable margin…The sample is inert."
The column of light thinned, it drew back up into the ceiling and the panels above began to rotate closed and the machines powered down in sequence as the Fortress went quiet.
The shield over the chamber slid back and where the green stone had been, something else sat now, pale and almost colorless, holding the ambient light of the room differently than it had before, no longer pulsing or alive with that sickly glow.
Your lips parted at the sight as Clark straightened slowly, drawing himself back together piece by piece before stepping down from the platform and offering you his hand. You took it, following him as your eyes met his.
“It’s okay,” he said before you could ask. “I’m okay. It’s over.”
You crossed the floor behind him while every robot in the room stood motionless, watching him the same way you were. He stopped at the edge of the chamber and looked down at the stone for a long moment before reaching in and picking it up with his bare hand.
Nothing happened.
He stood there holding it, turning it slightly, watching the light shift across its surface and you realized you’d stopped breathing somewhere in the last minute and hadn’t started again. He looked up, found your gaze and set a gentle hand against your cheek.
“It’s safe now. You can remove your glasses,” he said, still looking at you.
Your hands were already moving. The Fortress returned in full, unfiltered color as you stepped closer to him, staring at Clark holding something small and pale in his open palm, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all, like he’d been waiting this entire time just to show you this.
You swallowed. “I think…we need a breather,” you said, mostly to yourself.
You were already turning toward the nearest corridor when Clark suggested he take you somewhere outside. It took him only a moment to follow your movement and you didn't see what all the shifting and movement among the robots behind you had been about but only felt the change in atmosphere as Clark caught up.
His arm slid around your waist and a second later, the ground dropped away.
Air rushed past as he lifted you into the sky, carrying you through the open structure of the Fortress until the cold Arctic light returned in full. He set down on a platform high among the tallest crystalline spires, where the wind moved freely and the horizon stretched wide and white.
Snow shimmered below and the sky was pale, endless.
“I don’t…” You let out a breathless laugh, the wind catching at your words. Your eyes swept the view once before you turned back to him. “I’m not sure what I just saw in there.”
Your voice tightened slightly. "And trust me, I tried to keep my eyes open through all of it, but you scared me." You gave his chest a firm hit with your fist. "What were you thinking, Clark Kent?"
The impact barely moved him, it only made him chuckle lightly.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on you, unreadable in that scary way that always came just before something important.
Slowly, he reached into his belt and your attention locked instantly.
He pulled out a carved band, holding it between two fingers like it mattered too much to be careless with. You could hear, or maybe just feel, your heartbeat speed up, loud enough that it felt like it filled the space between you.
He reached in again and produced a small, rough stone, one that bent the light in a way you'd never seen any diamond do, every facet catching a slightly different shade as it turned.
You watched as he closed his hand around it and when he opened his palm again, fragile shards fell away, revealing a small, clear stone underneath, which he carefully set into the first empty socket on the band.
You blinked, eyes following his hand as he reached in again and drew out another rough stone, this one glowing faintly the same way the untouched walls of the Fortress had. He crushed it the same way, the stone giving under his grip, not shattering so much as yielding, and a larger stone emerged from inside it, settling into its place on the band.
Then he reached into his belt one last time and pulled out the disabled kryptonite. Of the three, it was by far the clearest, though somehow it still caught the light in a way none of the others quite managed.
He crushed it in his hand and set the final ‘diamond’.
You stared at the ring as his eyes began to glow red, the heat focusing into two narrow beams that swept carefully along the edges of each setting, sealing the stones into place. Once he was satisfied they were secure, he lifted the ring to his lips and let out a slow breath of super breath, cooling the metal until it no longer shimmered with heat.
Your heart was pounding now, lips parting slightly as you watched him lower himself onto one knee, his eyes never leaving yours. When his knee touched the platform, he paused, drew in a breath that seemed to cost him more than it should have and swallowed. He held the ring up toward you and whatever he'd rehearsed every day for the past year caught somewhere in his throat.
"...Please."
Your brows lifted slightly, lips curving into a smile you couldn't have stopped if you tried, your heart stumbling so hard in your chest you thought you might actually faint.
It was all a blur of mumbled words, tears, tight embraces, breathless laughter and the strange sensation of height shifting under your feet as the hours folded into one another. You slid your glove off so he could finally slip the ring onto your finger and in the space of a heartbeat the both of you were already cutting through the sky, Clark holding you close as the arctic shrank into light beneath you.
What followed was a mess of emotion and surging energy you had never seen from him in that state. You made it home in record time and the first stop had been the bedroom, the both of you, but especially Clark, letting go of everything he had been holding back. Everything that had stayed trapped behind restraint finally spilled out, fast and unguarded, until the bedframe gave way under the force of it and you both broke into breathless laughter in the aftermath.
After that, everything blurred again.
You sat on the couch as a streak of motion moved through the apartment, Clark unpacking every box in milliseconds, placing everything exactly where you had mentally mapped it out. The remaining cardboard vanished just as quickly, carried away like it had never been there. He returned almost immediately after, kneeling at the edge of the couch in front of you with the same restless energy still burning through him, only now softened by relief and joy. You met it halfway on the carpet, where time stopped mattering in any real sense.
It was late when the rush finally eased into something his body could keep up with at a normal human pace. Only then did you think about food.
You ended up on the kitchen counter, one hand lifted as the ring caught the warm light and threw it back in shifting color. Clark stood at the stove shirtless, moving between pots and fridge with distracted focus, adding things, adjusting heat and insisting you needed to eat before you fell asleep. You had been fighting sleep for a while already, after so many rounds, caught between exhaustion and the aftershock of everything.
The cold air from the opened fridge brushed your bare legs and it brought back the memory of earlier that day without warning.
“Tell me again,” you breathed, eyes fixed on the ring.
Clark stopped, whatever he was doing was abandoned in an instant. He stepped closer, placing both hands on either side of you against the counter, caging you in gently without pressure. His gaze didn’t go to the ring at first. It stayed on you, studying your face and reaction, like that mattered more than anything else he had built.
“Jewel Kryptonite,” he started, voice calmer now.
His hand lifted slightly as he spoke, indicating the first stone.
“I found it in the Fortress but it comes from the Jewel Mountains of Krypton. Its primary function was amplifying psychic abilities…telepathy and mental projection for Kryptonians. In my case…” He hesitated, just briefly, choosing the right way to place it. “It represents my mind…my subconscious, dreams, grief and memories. The parts of me nobody reaches…the parts I want you to have access to.”
He shifted his attention to the largest stone, the one in the middle.
“The Fortress crystal…origin and inheritance. It’s everything I was given, my legacy, my people’s knowledge…Krypton on Earth and Kal-El’s home.” His eyes softened slightly as they stayed on you. “Which you've gone out of your way to love and accept too in ways I never expected or thought possible.”
A quiet breath left him before he continued.
“And the last one but not least…never that.” His thumb brushed lightly against your hand where the ring sat. “Disabled green kryptonite. That was the hardest part and the reason this took so long…It’s what I trust you most with, my vulnerability…but not the only one.”
His gaze lifted fully to yours at that.
You moved closer instinctively, arms sliding around his shoulders and pulling him in as if distance had become unnecessary. You raised your hand again, watching the ring catch the light between you both.
“Who you come from… who you are… and what you trust me with,” you murmured, more to yourself than anything else. Then something else caught your attention.
“What about the band?” you asked softly. You had noticed it earlier, the faint engravings when the light hit just right, the House of El symbol hidden in the design, it was subtle but definitely intentional.
It was clear nothing about it had been accidental.
He exhaled through a small smile. “Everything I am,” he said, quieter now, “set into the thing that led me to you.”
Your brows softened.
“I made it out of my ship.”
The confession pulled the breath straight out of you. “It took you a year,” you said, voice catching slightly, “and so much effort and thought and I–”
"I love you." His voice caught, eyes filling again as they held yours. "I loved you the day I met you…I love you today,” He paused, “Y/n, I'll love you long after we leave this Earth."
You sniffled as a tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized it had formed but still, you smiled, voice cracking with emotion. "And I'll love you as long as it exists."
Clark lifted a hand, thumb brushing the tear away with a tenderness that contrasted everything else about him and gently tilted your face toward his as he pressed his lips to yours, leaving no distance between what he had built and what he had finally given away.
He might have been unable to say anything when he was down on one knee, but that didn’t mean he had no words for you. He simply doubted they existed in any language and if they did, they had a terrible tendency to fall galaxies short.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Description: You have an argument with Clark about Superman, of all people. Krypto exposes your boyfriend's secret identity.
Pairing: david-corenswet!clark kent x fashion-editor!reader
(established relationship, secret identities)
The wine-dark sky lapped against the windows of your apartment.
The light from the neighboring buildings provided your room with ample lighting, as it would otherwise be drowned in darkness. A yawn escapes your mouth as you bury yourself deeper in your sheets; you could hear the air conditioner humming from above you. It sounds like white noise teasing you into sleep.
It’s been three months since you were last home—there’s nothing better than sleeping in your own bed after a hectic fashion season.
Your eyelids fluttered, threatening sleep, but you kept them open.
The smell of bacon and pancakes kept you awake. It was a silent reminder that your boyfriend was busying himself in the kitchen, that Clark was counting on you not to fall asleep.
I missed this. You yawned again.
“Dinner’s about to be ready in a few minutes! You better not be sleeping, young lady!” Clark yelled down the hallway.
“Okay,” you mumbled to yourself.
Fighting against Hypnos’ tempting embrace proved to be difficult, but for Clark, you’d do anything. You reached for the skies, stretching your limbs. Your hands wrapped around the glass of water that was sitting on the nightstand. You brought it to your lips, taking slow sips, hoping to shake away your tiredness.
Another yawn escaped your mouth as you pried the sheets off.
Your feet settled on the carpeted floor.
You stretched a few more times for good measure before making your way to the kitchen. The sound of the evening news flooded your senses before your eyes settled on Clark.
In your eyes, there was nobody more perfect than your boyfriend.
He had a square face, soft baby-blue eyes, and a dimpled smile. He looked like the kind of man that you could trust your drink with—and you did!
You handed him your drink in a speakeasy before going to the bathroom. You couldn’t find him when you came back, but that was only because you’d never forget a man as handsome as him.
“That looks good,” you hummed while wrapping your arms around him. Your face was pressed against his back, and you could smell your soap on his body. “And it’s legally called pancake.” He winks.
“None of that hotcake bullshit we ate in Wyoming?” you giggled.
“Language,” he warns with the tilt of his head.
A chuckle escapes your lips as you break free from the embrace.
You walked towards the fridge, pulling it open as you looked for his favorite orange juice. You always had a fresh batch waiting for him. Unlike your boyfriend, you could only show love in silence.
“We’re in the middle of Metropolis right now, Jan, where Superman defeated a foreign threat. The Mayor’s Office has confirmed that there are no casualties, but the infrastructural calamities are expected to exceed $10 million.” The reporter continued as she walked in the middle of a destroyed square.
Clark tenses.
You continued to pour him a glass of juice, settling the glass beside his plate. You walked to the other side of the counter, settling on the stool parallel to him. The cold steel of your chair felt uncomfortable against your warm calves, but you ignored the sensation.
“Now, Alexis, when are these repairs expected to be made?” The newscaster asked.
Your eyes were painted on the television to your side.
“Jan, Luthorcorp has extended their help in repairing Metropolis. In an interview with Lex Luthor a few moments ago, he alleged that Superman is a planetary threat that must be neutralized and that the damage done to the city should be considered an act of terrorism. Superman is yet to release a statement in response to these accusations.” The reporter answered as the screen flashed Lex Luthor’s petulant face.
Clark reached for the remote control, turning the TV off.
“I was watching,” your eyebrows merged.
He turned around and placed a stack of pancakes on your plate. He added more food to your plate, and you smiled. You already know how this is going to end—you’re not going to finish all of this, and he’ll eat both of your plates.
“I want your complete and undivided attention.” He pouted.
“You always do.” Your teeth burrowed into your lower lip.
He sat on the stool beside you. He tilts his body in your direction.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re more interested in Superman than me,” he shrugs while handing you a fork.
You mumble a quick thank you before digging into your bacon pancakes.
“Hm, nope. I don’t trust the guy.” You cut through the pancakes with ease, bringing them to your mouth. "—I know that you've done interviews with him, but he's fishy, babe." You shrugged, discussing the Superhero as if he were a celebrity or a politician.
He forned, as if you had personally offended him.
"How so?" He questions, ignoring his pancakes.
You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts without hurting your boyfriend (whom you believed to be a friend of Superman).
"He has all the power in the world, and he decides to do good?" You scoffed, believing that notion to be idiotic. Time and time again, people in power have proven themselves to be corrupt—and those are only people with political power.
Imagine what they'd do if they had the power of a God.
"I don't find that hard to believe," he defends.
A sigh escapes your mouth.
"Not everyone is as kind as you are—if you had his powers, maybe, but I find it hard to believe that an alien from another planet doesn't have ulterior motives." You continued to explain.
"If he had any, we would've known by now." Clark snaps firmly.
"I just don't trust him, okay." You huffed.
He's acting weird. You thought while glancing at his features.
He was glaring at his pancakes, deep in thought.
You place a hand on his thigh. He moves your hand away.
His phone buzzes—you glance and see that it's a message from Jimmy.
wish u were here, we having mad fun w/o u 🤪
"I have to go," he places his fork down.
"I thought you were gonna stay for movie night?" You pouted.
"I got a work emergency." He lies—but you don't push it.
"Oh, okay." You nod, leaning towards him for a goodbye kiss, but he just dashes away to reach his coat. "Bye!" He glances over his shoulder to flash you a smile, but you don't reply.
Good morning. I'm at work now. Hope you have a great day!
You stared at Clark's message.
Normally, he'd send you paragraphs with a minimum of three images.
Good morning 🥰 have a great day
im here with phoebe today
i might drop by your apartment later
You replied.
"Are you okay?" Phoebe asks while aiming her camera at you.
You nod your head, placing your phone inside your pocket. "I'm sorry that you have to do this," you apologized. She probably felt offended at photographing a 'lifestyle celebrity' when she mostly meddled in the city's serious affairs. Has Superman not saved anybody yet?
"Please, you're the most photogenic person I've ever shot—you go before Superman." She compliments, earning a smile from you.
Fuck Superman. You thought about your 'argument' with Clark.
You never thought of him as the kind of person who worshipped the ground of a superhero, but then again, Superman is his close friend. Clark is the only person who's able to get the hero's statement. To him, it was probably like bersmirching Jimmy or Lois' name.
"Have you ever had trouble in paradise, Phebes?" You asked.
"Never been to paradise, but I've had my fair share of ex-boyfriends." She chuckles, taking a couple of shots as you pose in different ways. Your photos were going to be in the September issue of Tattle—not the cover, of course not—and your father has always warned you not to be in Tattle but the magazine would be good for business.
"Democrat girlfriend, piece of shit boyfriend." She jokes.
"It's nothing drastic. I just disagreed with Clark about something, and he's acting so weird about it." You explained to your close friend.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You never disagree with Clark about anything," she points out.
"Just this one thing. I can't help but think there's more to it. I mean, he basically bolted off the moment we talked about it," you hummed.
"Is it a personal thing or...?" She asks.
"No, uh, just politics, or rather just a political figure." You remained vague, and she nodded.
"It's Superman, isn't it?" Phoebe asks, and you nod.
"Just talk it out. Superman is a polarizing figure—Clark is a journalist, and I bet he knows how to practice discernment." She advised, and your lips pressed into a thin line. She basically just described what you were planning to do next.
Your keys jangled as you twisted the lock to Clark's apartment door.
"Clark?" You called out—only to be greeted by silence.
You sat on the sofa, Clark's scent lingered on the pillows.
You were just about to reach for your phone, but the sound of claws scratching against a wooden door caught your attention. "Hello?" you called out once more, and the door to Clark's bedroom burst open. Before you were able to get another word in, a fuzzy piece of white flew in your direction. Yes. Flew.
Arf. Arf.
The dog barked as your back pressed into the soft mattress—as if he were aware that your bones were softer than his—he began to lick you. "Uh, where did you come from?" You placed a hand on his head, softly moving him away from your body.
"Did you just fly at me?" You asked, praying to God that your eyes were just playing tricks on you.
The dog barks and lifts itself off the floor.
"What the fuck," you cursed, and the dog tilted his head.
The dog twirled around a few times before flying towards the kitchen cupboards, where, conveniently, there was dog food.
You reach for your phone once more—hoping to send a message to Clark, but your phone suddenly turns off.
Shit, I forgot to charge. You cursed.
"Doggie, stay." You glanced at the flying dog before bolting towards Clark's bedroom. The dog, uncaring about your command, flew behind you, almost bumping into the wall.
Your eyes darted across the dog's bed, which had his name, 'Krypto,' and landed on Clark's nightstand. You opened the drawer, searching for his charger, but your gaze landed on Superman's UNDERWEAR. Yeah, the one that he wears on the outside.
The gears on your head began to turn.
The missed calls. His cousin, who looked a lot like Supergirl, who was allegedly partying in Ibiza. His sudden offense at your accusations towards Superman. Not to mention the flying dog behind you.
Fuck. Your boyfriend is Superman.
With a deep breath, you sat on his bed—as if on autopilot, you plugged your phone into the charger, and it flashed the charging icon.
"Woah," you stared at the wall.
Krypto sits on his bed, watching you with a confused stare.
He flies in your direction and settles beside your feet. He gives you a few blinks before rolling to show you his belly—begging for rubs.
Your phone opens and pings uncontrollably.
You can't go to my apartment today. I'm getting it exterminated.
I got termites.
Those wood eating insects.
I'll go to your apartment.
You glanced at Clark's messages. "Too late," you mumbled. You glided off his bed and settled on the floor—rubbing Krypto's belly a few times.
You missed a call (65).
You could hear the apartment door open from down the hallway. Krypto doesn't bother standing up, comfortable with your pets. It makes perfect sense. You thought about it.
But still, you didn't know whether to believe your hypothesis.
Clark says your name as he bolts down the hallway, almost bumping into the wall (like what Krypto almost did a few minutes ago).
"Hey," you glanced at him from over your shoulder, and he took a step forward. He glanced at the bed, seeing his underwear lying around.
"I can explain," he takes another step forward.
"You should admit the truth—or it'll just look weird since you have Superman's underwear lying around." You kept your face neutral, still in shock over the revelation.
Krypto barks at the sound of his voice and flies towards Clark—knocking your boyfriend off balance. "Krypto, stop! No!" Clark scolded while standing up. Krypto continued to nibble on his calves.
"You are Superman, right?" You asked with certainty.
"Yes," Clark doesn't lie.
You stand up and face him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" You interrogated.
"I don't want you to get hurt." He walks around his bed, dragging Krypto with him as he stands in front of you. "Is that why you escaped from me last night?" You asked, and he reached for your hands. "Yes," he admits. "—It hurt hearing those words out of your mouth, like I was nobody, and I never want to be a stranger to you." He continues with a sigh.
He avoids looking at his underwear for the meantime.
"I'm just trying to be a good person. I didn't ask to have these powers; I don't know what to do with them, but I promise that I don't have ulterior motives. I just want to help people." He explains himself.
"I'm sorry for being such a pessimist," you apologized.
"No—I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I'm sorry that I had to get caught for you to know." He apologizes too.
"But I didn't know, babe. I didn't know that he was you, or you are you."
There was a moment of silence between you, only broken by a few barks from Krypto. Clark stares deeply into your features, searching for traces of doubt or mistrust, but he sees nothing but admiration.
You are silent for another minute before your eyes meet and a laugh escapes your lips.
His eyebrows furrowed.
"What?" He asks.
"It's just that—this is all too unreal." You answered with another chuckle. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. "—but I'm glad that you're Superman, 'cuz you're the best person in the entire world." You smiled, gaining your composure. "—and you have no dictatorial tendencies."
You made your way down the hallway, presumably to take out the food you ordered from Clark's favorite place.
Krypto flies towards the bed and begins to gnaw on Clark's underwear.
"Krypto, no! Don't do that!" Clark pulls the dog in his direction with a sigh.
A/N: my first dc fic after being a marvel girl for 6 years 😭.
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More period issues on the ship with Grace and Rocky because I’m on my period and I’ll be damned if everything isn’t about me. Btw half of this is a anatomy/biology lesson
“Grace, y/n, question” Rocky rolls into the room where you’re both working.
“What’s up bud?”
You stay silent because Ryland is usually better at explaining things to Rocky than you are.
“Earlier, y/n say y/n has period, Rocky no understand”
Grace looks at you, because who the hell else would he look at, this is not his area of expertise.
“Gosh okay-“ you start. “You know about male and female right?”
“Yes stupid stupid human biology structure”
“Yeah well human females have uteruses which is an organ, and this organ goes through a cycle, one of the steps is building up an inner lining for a baby, and then when or if there is no sperm to fertilize the egg, the lining serves no purpose so it- well it destroys itself I guess”
Rocky paused to take it in, you glanced at Ryland to see him still working but you could see he was actively listening.
“And while it’s destroying itself it hurts pretty bad and sort of makes the human leak the lining”
“Rocky is.. need word”
“What word? Describe it” you said softly.
“Is angry. Is confused and upset for humans, so stupid, so unfortunate!”
“Okay.. so like frustrated?” You typed in frustrated with the sound Rocky made.
“Yeah human biology is kinda stupid. Grace any comments? Questions?”
“For your information I taught sex ed at Grover Cleaveland middle for a whole year so I have no questions.” He said a little defensively, making you laugh.
“Rocky want to help”
“Help what?”
“Y/n feel pain, feel cramp? Rocky want to fix”
“Oh you’re so sweet rock, I’m not sure there is much you can do”
“Well we have the heating pad charging and some Tylenol-“ Grace started, and then was rudely cut off (typical Rocky behavior)
“Rocky is heat! Rocky give human heat!” Rocky rolled over to where you were sitting on the floor, repeatedly bumping into you “Rocky help!”
“No rock it’s- it’s okay” you giggled. “Cmere remember hugs? How about a hug, a hug would help rock”
With your legs on either side of his ball you hugged him, and suprisingly the heat radiating through the xenonite was really nice.
“Wait this actually does feel nice”
“Human so stupid. Rocky always right” you heard Ryland tsk at that and laughed softly.
𝕭𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖋 : (On the next part).
𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : Platonic! Batfamily x Eldest-Sib!Reader
𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : None.
𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊 : If you want to be in the taglist, comment on the post, request or dm me.✨NEWAYS✨ Hope you all enjoy
The drive to Gotham was long but, peaceful. Luckily, for you, before Harper had gotten pregnant the first time around, you managed to get over your fear of cars and learned how to drive. If there was a reward for being an insanely safe driver, you'd win it. Seriously, you always made sure to never go over a speed limit, and you never had a moment of road-rage. Heck, Harper was certain that the steering wheel had molded to your grip.
Though, that was beside the point.
You were in the driver's seat, passenger seat full of baby supplies for Chelsea and Adaline, ready-to-make bottles for Jayce and toys for Jackson and Alexander to play with. The drive was a bit over a day-long, occasionally stopping at gas-stations to uses the restroom, stopping by small towns to have a small walk at parks or to simply stretch legs at random parking lots. Thankfully, the kids were pretty much calm, never really crying out or getting at the end of Harper's wits. Though, you were certain that Harper wanted to be in the front with you but, with two two-years-old girls and a one-year-old boy, she had to be in the back to attend the kids needs.
By the time you arrived at the manor, it was late-at-night. You knew that entering wasn't going to be an issue, especially since Alfred and Bruce knew of your late-night arrival.
Putting the car in the driveway and turning it off, you looked into the rearview mirror and stared at the sleeping family in the back. In the far backseat, it was Alexander on the far-left booster seat, Chelsea in the middle car seat, and Jackson on the far-right booster seat--heads lolled off in different directions. Then, it was the middle row with Harper in the middle, head rested to the side, Jayce's car seat on the right side and Adaline's car seat on the left side.
Seeing them all sleep made your lips curl up slightly, eyes softening at the sight before you quietly unbuckled your seatbelt. Slowly, you opened your side of the door before stepping out onto the gravel driveway, quietly closing the driver's door behind you and stepping to Adaline's door side, gently pulling on the car's door to open. Slowly and carefully, not wanting to disturb any of the kids, or Harper's, sleep, you quietly unbuckled Adaline from her car seat and pulled her out of the car. With Adaline in your arms, you closed the car door, gently, grabbed your spare key and, one-by-one, you started to take everyone inside the manor.
You knew Bruce wasn't home, since it was only one 'o clock and probably out on patrol. You, also, weren't surprised to see Alfred awake and willing to help bring all the kids inside but, you refused the offer. Every time you walked into the manor, with a new kid in your arms, you took them up to the room across from your old bedroom, settling Adaline and Chelsea in a single twin bed and Alexander and Jackson on another. Then, you managed to bring Jayce in by his car seat while helping a drowsy Harper into the manor, arms tightly around either. When you entered your bedroom, after making sure the kids' room door was left open, you gentle settled Jayce's car seat on the floor before guiding Harper to the bed.
"Alright, woman... there you go...", you muttered as you started to adjust the pillows around her back for support and placing a pillow between her legs to relieve Harper's hips.
Just when Harper settled comfortably into the bed, quickly slipping back to her deep sleep as you sat at the edge of the bed, you heard a whimper from Jayce. The corner of your lips twitched slightly, knowing immediately that Jayce was woken up from hunger. After planting a soft kiss on Harper's forehead and swollen belly, you stood up and moved to where you had left the car seat. With a groan, you crouched down and pushed back the car seat's shader and was immediately met with those green eyes that you fell in love with. Once again, Jayce whimpered and started to squirm in the car seat, making you huff out a small laugh.
Gently, you reached out and started to unbuckled Jayce, eyes softening as the babe's hands grabbed your sleeve. "Come on, little guy... we'll let mama sleep and I'll make you a bottle, yeah?" Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as you talked to Jayce, despite knowing that he barely understood you. With Jayce in your arms, his green-doe eyes watery, hands gripping onto your shirt and whimper falling from his pouty lips, you quietly walked out of the bedroom to go back downstairs. As you started to descend the main stairs, you noticed all the kids, Harper's, and your suitcase in the lobby, making you look at Alfred as he closes the front door behind him.
You frowned slightly, knowing that it'd be an extra load for him to deal with, until you left back home with your family. "Alfred, you didn't have to do that", you said quietly. Despite the quiet level of your voice, it still echoed in the spacious lobby as you landed on the last step of the stairs. Alfred chuckled while shaking his head, "it is all fine, Master. Besides, you have five kids to deal with and Harper. It wasn't a hassle." You stared at Alfred, momentarily, before humming quietly in acknowledgement and made your way to the baby bag on Harper's suitcase. With one hand, you started to gather a baby bottle, bib, water bottle and baby formula, before walking off to the living room.
Once in the living room, you settled down on the couch and gently place Jayce down on the floor. Here's the thing, Jayce knows how to walk but, due to being attached to you, he refuses to walk in your presence and simply sits on the floor--waiting to be picked up again. Quickly, you made Jayce's bottle before picking up the babe again, leaving the water bottle and formula on the coffee table. You placed the bib around Jayce's neck before gently pressing the nipple of the bottle against his lips, only for him to latch on immediately. As Jayce nursed on the bottle, you leaned back against the couch and with your free hand, you grabbed the television's remote, turning it on and flipping to a random channel.
While you weren't a big fan of television, you kept the volume up for Jayce. For all, Chelsea, Adaline, and Jayce, you trained them to sleep through loud noises since they were newborns. You did it through talking loudly, putting the television up, making food in the kitchen and cluttering around pots and pans, and finally, the one Harper hated the most, your snores. Seriously, even if a gun were to be shot, all the kids would still be sleeping soundlessly but, it was a con.
It only meant that they were all unaware of their surroundings.
You sighed quietly before looking back down to Jayce, only to see his eyes fluttering close, fallen into his own sleep. As the television buzzed in the background, you remained alert, despite having your eyes glued on Jayce. From above, you could hear the air-conditioner turn-on through the vents, you could hear Alfred shuffling around his room the was right above the living room's right-hand corner, and you heard the muffled sounds of footsteps coming up from the bat-cave's secret entrance. From the lobby, coming from under the main staircase, you listened to the whispered conversation and the quiet groans.
With Jayce in your arms, you pushed yourself up from the couch, groaning at the movement, before walking out of the living room and looked towards where the sounds were coming from.
Bruce.
Damian.
Dick.
Jason.
And Tim.
"How was patrol?"
That was all you had to say to get eyes turning towards you. You didn't bother with a greeting since, you still had a place in the manor but also, it was too late at night for pleasantries. From Dick's wide eyes, Jason's stiffened body, Tim's unblinking eyes, and Damian's deepened frown, you knew Bruce didn't warn them of your arrival. You huffed quietly, amused by the reactions before looking at Bruce, adjusting the hold of the sleeping Jayce in your arms and the held-up bottle. Bruce's eyes met yours, only momentarily, before looking down to his grandson, eyes softening slightly and taking a small step towards you.
"It was... normal...", Bruce muttered. Dick from behind rolled his eyes before whispering between Tim and Jason, "yeah, getting your head almost cut off is normal..." Damian heard Dick's comment and simply rolled his eyes, finding the older male childish but, Damian's eyes eventually shifted back to your form. Bruce had moved closer, taking Jayce out of your arms and left the area, moving to go upstairs to his study with the one-year-old babe. You didn't comment, letting Bruce do what he wanted since, it wasn't often that you came around with the kids.
Damian narrowed his eyes at you, stepping towards you before saying, "how come you didn't say anything of your arrival?" The sudden question got Dick's and Jason's attention while Tim, he was too tired to stay for the chat so, he went up to his own room to get some "rest" or whatever it was that he did to relax.
At Damian, you simply shrugged your shoulders before crossing your arms over your chest. "Now, since when did I have to give anyone, other than my wife, and update of where I am going?" Your response didn't satisfy Damian but, before he could press further, you stepped towards him and ruffled the twelve-years-old boy's hair, lips slightly twitching up to a smirk. After the small teasing action, you removed your hand from Damian's hair, laughing slightly at his grumbling and his haste to fix his hair before looking over to the older males.
"Looks like you both got your asses handed to, huh?" You teased both Dick and Jason, only to get a quiet groan from either male. Both males' shoulders slumped, as if they finally accepted their exhaustion and defeat. Jason was the first to speak up, "had it not been Dick's fault for slipping and screwing up the plan, we wouldn't have come back so injured." At Jason's accusation, Dick shot Jason a glare, dark circles obvious under his now exposed eyes, domino mask in his hand. "Oh, so it's my fault? Should I remind you of who fucking shot fire and drew attention?"
As Jason and Dick started to bicker, you and Damian simply stood off to the side, watching the dispute happen before your eyes. Eventually, seeing how Damian was tiredly shifting beside you, you reached over and gently patted the pre-teen's back, eyes never looking away from the rolling dispute. "Go get some rest, kid." That was all you said and wordlessly, Damain quietly obeyed and his tired feet started to move to the stair and up to his bedroom.
Leaving you, Dick and Jason in the lobby, but mostly you watching Dick and Jason argue about what had happened. After a good moment, you sighed and simply said, "alright, that's enough. You two bicker like children and it's annoying. You can continue your dispute after getting some sleep." You were glad that was enough to break the argument but, it didn't stop the bumping or pushing between Dick and Jason as they went up the stairs, only for them to push against each other too hard and lose balance. From below, you watched both males roll down the stairs and end up laying awkwardly on the lobby floor, making you huff.
"... Losers."
After your "much needed" comment, you ascended the stairs, mentally debating of whether or not you should go get Jayce, before deciding to head straight to your bedroom where Harper was. You trusted Bruce enough with Jayce, knowing the man would probably kill someone, if they dare try to get the baby away from him.
Once back in your bedroom, closing the door behind you, but leaving it unlocked, you immediately removed your shoes, shirt, and jeans before sliding under the covers and spooning Harper from behind. Feeling your arms wrap around her midriff and pulling her back to your warm body, Harper groaned quietly. "... the kids?...", Harper questioned, words barely forming a full sentence. "Alexander, Jackson, Chelsea, and Adaline are sleeping in the other room... Jayce is with Bruce... they're fine... just sleep, sweet stuff..." The low timber of your voice was enough to settle Harper down again, making her drift to sleep as your hands rested over her five-month pregnancy belly.
summary: you have feelings for your neighbour, clark kent. too bad you hate superman after your car became collateral damage in a fight. or: 3½ times clark kent tries to convince you that superman is good (ft lois lane) and 1 time superman finds you to apologise. (wc: 9.0k)
pairing: clark kent / f!reader
content: neighbour!au. fluff/humour/angst. idiots in love. reader despises superman. #supershit mentioned. mean!reader at times. mentions of an ex-boyfriend. descriptions of injuries, blood and tbh clark is giving wet towel throughout all of this. he’s desperate for reader to like his true identity. 18+ suggestive themes at the end! not proofread, i ain’t reading allat.
i. WORD OF MOUTH
The city of Metropolis had barely roused from its sleepy state, the skyscrapers painted in colours of pink and orange as the sun lazily peered from its slumber beneath the horizon.
Clark Kent shared a similar sentiment as the giant ball of gas, his hair mussed and tie not sitting quite right against the crisp white button shirt that took an embarrassing amount of time to iron the creases out of. There was little requirement for him to sleep, aside from maintaining a side of humanity he’d like to keep, but the mental fatigue from the tensions between the US Government and his actions in Jarhanpur had contributed to his flat energy.
His feet felt like concrete against the stone stairs, one hand on the railing that the paint was peeling off of, his steps echo all the way to the ground floor; where he had every intention to muster the courage to open up his mailbox on the communal postal area for the apartment complex.
There was never anything bad in there, but when your standard 9 til’ 5 job consists of fact-checking, pitching article ideas and fighting for the hot spot on the front page of the company you worked for…well, the last thing he wanted to do was read.
Either way, the mailman waits for nobody and it was evident in the papers crammed into mailbox painted with Clark’s door number on it.
Clark sighs. He got up earlier than usual to do this—and he was sure he’d still be late to work with an extra twenty minutes under his belt. He persists past the procrastination, and slots his mailbox key into the lock; a few envelopes topple out and he bends at the waist to retrieve them from the floor riddled with chewing gum pressed into the material.
“Oh hey, Clark,” Clark shoots up, the back of his head catching the corner of the small metal door at the abrupt sound of the secondary voice. You—the owner of the groggy voice—wince, “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Clark feels his face go pink. You were one of the many residents within the high-rise apartment complex on Clinton Street in midtown Metropolis. Quick-witted, with a generous amount of extrovert which made the perfect concoction in befriending your neighbour Clark Kent upon his first week in his new pad.
You had believed the dark-haired and bad postured journalist to be a little lacking in the social skills forefront when you had first met him. His skin maintaining a healthy flush whenever you stopped by his door with house-warming plants—that he took incredibly seriously in keeping alive—or whenever you bumped into him around the building.
(Worst time was in the laundry room, where Clark had missed a pair of boxers with hearts printed on them in the dryer. You were the one to find them and return them to their rightful owner that had written his name in sharpie on the tag.)
Eventually, you just accepted that was who he was. A six foot something pink man.
It also didn’t help that Clark found you incredibly gorgeous amongst all the other feelings that bubbled in his stomach when he caught some small talk with you.
You weren’t as much as the girl-next-door, as you were the girl-one-floor-above.
Unbeknownst to him; you also felt the same way.
Clark clears his throat, “Don’t apologise. I should have my wits about me.” he says as he rubs the back of his head.
“I’ll announce myself by a bell, or something next time.” you joke as you step up to the communal mailboxes and find your one with ease. Your mailbox has the correct amount of letters for someone who checks it daily—unlike Clark—and you begin to siphon through them whilst you speak, “Aside from the headache…how are you?”
Embarrassed! Publicly humiliated!
“Swell.” Clark settles for, “And you?”
You sigh, which can’t be good. “I got let go from my job. I say that term loosely—I got fired.”
“No kidding?”
“Turns out you shouldn’t shit where you eat.” you grumble, flipping a pamphlet over in your hand, “Power imbalance prevails, I suppose.” you shrug at the thought.
Clark pulls his lips into a thin line, the pinky flush slowly dissipating from his face from the distracting subject of your workplace drama. It had been common knowledge between three floors in the building that you and your seedy boyfriend who, also, happened to be the manager at the establishment you had been employed in; had since gone your separate ways after you found several of his accounts on a plethora of dating apps—one app, he had a passport for in order to speak to women across the globe.
Because his cheating needed to be international.
Things went sour, like really sour. It wasn’t your finest moment, but Clark reassured you through breathing exercises and a firm rub up and down your back that it was completely acceptable to hold an illegal street bonfire with your ex’s belongings as the kindlings to ignite it.
(He didn’t mention the part where he was lying about it being okay. Or, the amount of bail he paid to get you out of the local police station.)
Turns out the retaliation from your ex was firing you. The irony.
Jackass.
“I’m sorry about that.” Clark stares at your side-profile with empathy in his blue eyes, “Have you found anything?”
“Nope.” you emphasis the ‘p’ with a pop, finger peeling a brown envelope open, “So, if you hear anything—literally anything—send it my way. I’m down to scrape the barrel to keep up with my rent payment each month.”
“You have my word.” Clark promises and then you both fall comfortably silent. Which just means, he was going to admire you for a minute.
After Clark had heard through the grapevine of your split, he had every intentions to build up the courage to ask you out on a date in the near distant future. It had been nine, torturous months of watching you from afar with a man that Clark Kent knew was not up to par with being able to be with a woman like you. That guy dimmed you down in every single way possible, and Clark had to stop attending neighbour-hangouts as he couldn’t bear to watch your radiance shrouded.
Plus, your ex took a real disliking to Clark after he watched your compatibility with him flourish.
So, when the news broke via—as you graciously called her—Old Woman Jenkins who lived in Apartment 3-B with her seven cats and two budgies; it was safe to say Clark was ecstatic for two reasons.
1.) You were free from the toxicity, and 2.) This gave Clark the opportunity to show you how a real man should love you.
Only downside was…Clark wasn’t sure when to approach it. He wasn’t emotionally stinted, so he knew that asking you out within a day, or even a week after your split would’ve just been grounds for a restraining order. On the flip side, he didn’t want to catch a rebound case because his feelings ran a lot deeper than a fleeting, emotional distraction.
Therefore, Clark just never asked. You don’t ask, you don’t get your heartbroken or something like that.
He just couldn’t ruin a good thing.
You eventually speak again when you close your mailbox, eyes trailing down to the newspaper clutched in your neighbour’s hand, “You a front pager again?” you ask with a smile.
“Oh—Ah, yes,” Clark flips the folded newspaper open to reveal the front page regarding his recent fight with the Hammer of Boravia. He points to the article, “That’s all me.”
You peer at the print, “Congratulations again, Clark! That’s a huge deal in journalism world.”
“Oh…I—Thank you.” Clark stumbles through his profound gratitude for your praise. The tips of his ears start to turn pink again.
You nod and adjust the tote bag on your shoulder, “Seriously, it takes balls.”
“Yes, that’s why I enjoy the job—” he says at the same time as you speak.
“I mean, making that guy look good? I didn’t think that could be possible.” you add earnestly.
Clark blinks.
“…” he breathes a laugh, “I—I don’t follow.”
“Superman? I mean, come on. He is an egotistical white knight that faces zero ramifications from his actions. He only gets away with things because he’s handsome.” you wave off the tail-end of your statement in a flippant manner paired with a roll of your eyes, “I can’t stand the guy.”
You think he’s handsome? Clark has to shake the compliment off like water off a duck’s back. Low priority in comparison to the other things you had just off-handedly stated in your brief rant on the man in red and blue.
There is part of Clark that almost leaps at the opportunity to get a little bad tempered over it, toss his toys out of the pram from the unwarranted criticism. Superman was good! He was good!
Instead, Clark compartmentalises his hurt feelings and puts his Pulitzer prize-winning star reporter title to good use.
“What—What makes you say that?” Clark tucks his chin to conceal the pout on his face, masking it as deep interest to the letters in his hands, “He’s got a glowing track record of keeping the streets of Metropolis safe.”
He was really hoping that he didn’t unearth a Boravian supporter out of you.
Or, that you agreed with the statement that had begun to grow arms and legs about his so-called ‘alien entitlement’ to house himself within Earth’s atmosphere.
You answer in an unwavering tone of resentment. “It’s a personal grudge that’s grown ever since that fight on Clinton Street broke out—before you got here. I had just paid my car off, and whaddya know? Superman and his body made of steel, totals it alongside his own defeat with whatever shithead guy he was fighting against.” you blurt sarcastically, “He owes me a car.”
“Oh. That isn’t so bad.” is how Clark responds, without a thought behind it.
To him, it wasn’t so bad. He felt guilty, obviously collateral damage was something he wasn’t so favourable over.
However, this was fixable.
Clark’s answer threw you for such a loop, that you almost forgot to answer. “Isn’t so bad?” you repeat, “Under what circumstances does that fall under the category of: isn’t so bad?”
“No—I, I didn’t mean it wasn’t bad. It’s quite terrible actually,” Clark swallows, the heat capturing beneath his collar as he speaks. “In the grand scheme of possibilities that could have happened, at least you weren’t in your car. And—And, on top of that, he saved multiple citizens from becoming a casualty statistic.”
“My car became a casualty statistic. Superman fucking sucks.” you state sternly. “Nothing can change my mind about that.”
Clark frowns, “Nothing?”
“Nothing.” you affirm, “Anyway, I’ve got a job interview in thirty. I’ll see you around?”
“Yes. See you.” Clark offers a strained smile as you wave him goodbye and disappear round the corner to exit the building.
He lets out a breath he had been holding since you confessed your acquired distaste for Superman.
Clark’s gaze drops to the newspaper, his fingers curl tightly into the pages as he decided on the spot; he was going to convince you otherwise regarding the personal vendetta against, well…him.
ii. WEEKLY PAPER
The art of apologies seemed pretty simple, right?
A heartfelt card, or a bouquet of flowers could go a long way in the tumultuous events that led up to an apology being a necessity to mending a friendship, relationship or family bond. However, the situation with you was a little different to a petty squabble, despite Clark believing it to be petty to hold such a grudge—he saved lives that day!
For one, you weren’t aware that there was any mending to be done. Your hatred toward Superman had been cemented the day you returned from work, having decided to walk that particular sunny day, only to find your beloved vehicle crumpled. To you, there was no putting bandaids over wounds, and you certainly had zero forgiveness in your heart for the man that patrolled the skies of Metropolis.
The whole crux of the matter was, Clark Kent was raised on the rule that honesty was the best policy. Honestly, no, he doesn’t recall crushing your car after being tossed across Clinton Street like a rag-doll. He’s sure he’s crushed a few cars in his time in the city, and he knows he would have felt guilty at the time; but it was better to forgive and forget rather than bottle up all your resentful feelings toward someone who was just trying to help.
Further to this, Clark wanted to take the chance and ask you out on a date. He really did. Time was a healer, and it had been three months—give or take—since your split from the egotistical cheater, meaning it felt like ample enough time to be justified in his intentions. However, if you despised Superman, you unknowingly despised Clark Kent…and that wouldn’t be something that would sit right on his chest.
That would take away part of his honesty. If he had to continue concealing his identity behind the glasses to appease your objectifications on Superman.
(At least it was more a personal issue than a shared thought with the less friendly bunch that lived in Metropolis.)
So, in conclusion, Clark came up with the bright idea to slowly introduce you to the good side of Superman. You know, the one that saves Metropolis and much further, fetches kittens down from trees, gives back to the community.
He was basically trying to fill your head with Superman shaped stars.
The best option came to him whilst he sat at his desk in the bullpen of Daily Planet. Knees touching the underside of his desk, his mind had been elsewhere for the better part of the day; as Clark was more or less sulking over the revelation you shared with him that morning.
How could he change your mind? Clark had learnt that you were strong-minded to an extent from a personal experience with a fellow neighbour, who had a terrible habit of pausing Clark’s laundry in the dryer and dumping his half damp clothes into a hamper just so they could use that one particular machine. (There were ten in total.)
When Clark expressed his frustrations to you, he hadn’t expected you to begin a psychological warfare against the neighbour in Apartment 1-D. It was safe to say, you won out of sheer resilience.
He dared not to share the same fate as Apartment 1-D.
Then, it sort of went off like a lightbulb in his head. Clark Kent created articles in which he interviewed himself, in order to shed a positive light on his actions. Why not bring those interviews to your doorstep under the Daily Planet subscription service?
It meant you’d receive weekly newspapers from the Planet, delivered to your home with no extra cost aside from the cheap subscription fee to keep journalism alive and kicking.
Clark would pay for it out of his own pocket, of course.
Not only were you strong-minded, but you were curiouser than a cat and that meant your interest would pique to flip through the pages of the newspaper and, eventually, read all about the good deeds of Superman.
Not to mention how charming and handsome he was…but you already knew that.
It was the perfect idea, with the perfect execution!
That was, until, you had received the third instalment of your new $3.99 subscription to the newspaper company Clark worked for.
“Morning, Clark.” you quip as you reach your mailbox, sparing the male a glance with a pretty smile that had his heart thump a little harder. “This is the most I’ve seen you in the communal mailbox area.”
(There was a reason for that.)
Clark hums, “Best to keep on top of my mail, I think.”
“You’d be right. The shredders are hungry for junk mail.” you had a tendency to laugh at your own jokes with a cute snort. Something that was cut short when you open your mailbox. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What’s wrong?” Clark asks with his brows pinched.
“I think my ex is tormenting me,” you grouse, “As if I was the one sharing my favourite position on six different dating apps—ugh. He’s signed me up for the Daily Planet subscription when he knows how much I don’t want to read about the brown-nosing of Superman.” you pause, eyes flitting to Clark’s face, “No offence.”
“None taken.” (A lot taken. All at once.)
You continue, “I mean—I guess it is a retaliation because I signed his phone number up to receive regular calls for recruitment within Scientology. But, this almost feels worse.” you whine as you toss the newspaper in your tote bag for later shredding.
“You signed him up to Scientology?” Clark asks and you spare him a shameful glance. He redirects the topic, for your sake. “Is it really so bad, reading about all the things Superman is doing to keep Metropolis afloat?”
“It’s hard not to hear about it, let alone be subjected to reading it too.” you seethe, “It’s a constant reminder that he wrecked my car, and never had to face the consequences—unlike me. You know, I hate riding the subway? I swear I’m one sticky seat away from contracting a new strain of the plague. He caused that.”
Clark wants to call you dramatic.
He goes for, “I hear you.” instead.
“Do you think you could get this cancelled for me?” you ask as you shut your mailbox, “I want to support you, but, this is like rubbing salt in an open wound.”
How could Clark say no? He had a firm grasp on boundaries, and part of him felt remorseful over the fact that you believed that his own doings were that of your ex-boyfriend—someone you really didn’t need reminding of. Plus, you were staring at him all glittery-eyed which was part of his weakness that came to you.
And your means to be overtly theatrical.
Not only that, but Clark led himself to believe he had crossed a big company no-no by inputting your details into the Daily Planet subscription system and, has since spent every day since unlawfully signing you up to the weekly newspapers, convincing himself he was border-lining on identity theft.
Clark likes you. He likes the idea of keeping his job just a little bit more.
He exhales. “Yeah. I will sort that for you. No problem.”
“You’re a life saver. I owe you one, Clark.” (He owes you a car.) “I’ve got to go. I need to get to Hob’s Bay for an interview with Metro Souvenir.”
“Good luck. They’d be lucky to have you.” Clark enthuses sweetly.
You blink at his compliment, a smile growing slowly on your face, “Thanks, Clark.”
“Anytime.” Clark gives you a lopsided smile, forgetting he’s already ten minutes late to work, being so wrapped up in your addictive presence and all—he’s already forgotten the pit in his stomach over you loathing his true identity. “I’ll catch you later.”
iii. SUPERSHIT
Similar to the rest of the population on Earth, Clark Kent had a number of things that got under his skin. The obvious, being that of his own fabrication of an alter-ego in an ill-fitting suit that he hid behind in order to keep those around him safe. It was the finest quality of deception, and Clark found it vexing to upkeep. Then there were other issues, such as: the US Government’s reluctance to side with his good intentions in Boravia, Steve Lombard at times, and the smear campaign against him that had recently gained traction online.
One specific insult within the smear campaign that tested Clark Kent’s abundance of patience; was Supershit. It was juvenile. Completely undermined his efforts in guiding humanity into a better tomorrow. It was…bothersome to a man like Clark Kent.
His agitation toward the name had only furthered when Steve Lombard had mentioned it in passing toward the end of the day, leading Clark to trudge home under his own personal grey cloud of discontent.
The mental fatigue of it all weighed his shoulders down and he took to the three flights of stairs in the apartment like a kicked dog.
“Whew. Bad day?”
The grey cloud breaks overhead at the sound of your melodic tone.
Clark looks over his shoulder to see you with a plastic bag in one hand and a newspaper in the other. “Oh, no. Just a rather long one.” he says in partial dishonestly.
“I hear you.” you take a couple of steps up, “Want to come to mine and wallow over some Thai?”
When Clark hesitates, you answer for him.
“It’s free,” you lift the warm bag to wiggle it, “Plus, the cashier asked if I was eating for two…so.”
Clark’s brows raise at your reiteration of an inconsiderate presumption. “Looks like we both were insulted today.” he murmurs, allowing you to pass him on the stairwell to lead him up to the fourth floor.
You both greet Old Woman Jenkins and her three-legged cat with a taste for ankles on the third floor—she was the eyes and ears of the complex—and then you dip into explaining how the Metro Souvenir interview was a complete bust after you openly belittled the small Superman collection in the corner of the store that was made up of 90% Superman bobble-heads.
Turns out it was the owner’s daughter’s hobby in her past time.
Keys jingle in your hands as you pull them from the abyss that was your unorganised tote bag and as you open the door to your apartment, Clark stands behind you with a pout; fiddling with the strap of his work briefcase.
He was putting it down to mental fatigue or lack of direct sunlight which had instilled the glass half empty mentality into him. Clark couldn’t quite shake off the impending doom of a sharp rejection of, not only a possible blossoming of a relationship, but the friendship you two had made along the way when he eventually takes off the glasses and you’re exposed to the man who wrecked your car.
(For good reason!)
The thought stays chewing the back of his mind as he sits on the new sofa—a piece of furniture you decided to invest in after your ex’s body warped a dent in his shape on your old couch—in your apartment, and whilst you spread out the lukewarm Thai food in plastic tupperware boxes; across your rickety coffee table.
The two of you sit closer than necessary for a four-seater sofa with cushions that felt like the equivalent to clouds from cartoons, Clark had forgone his suit jacket and rolled his ironed sleeves of his white button-up shirt up to rest at his elbows. It wasn’t hard to miss that his suit pants were almost bursting at the seams from being taut against his muscular thighs.
It was hard not to look at him.
The friendly neighbourhood heathen. Dwarfing doorframes and, sometimes, having to walk sideways into a room due to the broadness of his shoulders; was sitting flush with your own shoulders and occasionally making eyes with you.
That’s what you translated it as, anyway—even if he had entered a little broodier than usual.
Clark eventually strikes up a conversation in between eating, “I actually wanted to tell you about a job going at Daily Planet,” he swallows the chewed up food in his mouth, “Sort of a support role.”
You perk, “Really?”
“Yeah. You’d be working under Lois Lane. She’s a good friend and great journalist.” Clark informs, mirroring the excitement that lights up on your face. “I can put in a good word, if you’d like?”
“I mean…I know nothing about journalism, but it’s a learning curve.” you state.
Clark bites into a spring roll, the aromatic kaffir lime takes over his senses as he nods into the bite, “You can only try.”
“Thank you, Clark. I seriously owe you double now.” you pluck a spring roll from the tupperware, “You’ll have to think of something.”
The idea that crosses Clark’s mind is like a balloon being popped with a sharp needle. His blue eyes shoot to your side-profile, happily dissecting your own spring roll to inspect the food inside. He’s suddenly swamped in those warm fuzzy feelings Ma Kent had told him about during his bedtime stories at a young age.
Clark didn’t want to detract from the slow process of your own heartbreak over your ex-boyfriend.
Yes, the guy had shattered the innocence on the idea of love, and how to be loved—he used to turn the TV up to drown out your cries. He robbed nine months of your life with poor judgement that his online escapades with other women wouldn’t see the light of day, he had purposely used his position of power to terminate your employment; leaving you without a job, and zero income to pay for the bills that were on a steep incline from inflation.
Even with all of this taken into consideration, you were taking your time in experiencing your own version of heartbreak. Because, deep down, you had been naively and so incredibly blindly in love.
That was something Clark didn’t want to overstep on until the time was right.
But, on the contrary, when was the timing ever right? It had been three months since you split from your boyfriend, and honestly? Clark wanted you. Heart broken, or not.
He just hoped those feelings would be reciprocated. (Nobody sits that close to you without it being intentional, right?)
It comes out of him with all the confidence he can muster. “You…you could let me take you on a date.” it almost sounds rhetorical in the way he chose to ask.
It makes you turn your head, eyes wider as if you were a deer that had just been caught in the headlights. Your cheek swollen with pocketed food, the room goes silent enough to hear a pin drop.
It makes Clark suddenly regret his decision.
“I’m sorry—” Clark shakes his head, pink from head to toe, “I don’t, I don’t know why I thought that was acceptable. You’re still going through the process of a breakup. That was all rather silly of me—”
“Clark.”
Clark hums, “Hm?”
“Relax, dude.” you lilt, “I’d like that.”
“You would?”
You breathe out a laugh, “Yes. That sounds like the perfect I.O.U.” you bump your shoulder shyly with Clark’s and then mumble, “I knew you weren’t a constant shade of pink around me for no reason.”
“Yes, well. It was for a good reason.” Clark mumbles and tugs at the collar of his shirt to release some heat that had been trapped beneath it. “A pretty reason.” he says with a smile.
The night shared in Apartment 4-A would’ve ended perfectly there. Clark had found his voice, and in turn, became more openly flirtatious with you as the pair of you cleaned up the leftovers of the takeaway. The touches became more tactile and it made both of your heads a little fuzzy with excitement.
His dampened mood from Steve Lombard had shifted, Clark quickly finding that you were a version of sunlight that he could metabolise and recharge on.
The night should’ve ended there—on a high.
Then the topic of conversation rolls back around to, well, Clark.
You take a sip from your water bottle before you speak, “So…I hear your buddy is in some type of hot waters with the government.” you spare Clark a glance.
“You could say that.” Clark pinches his brows at the thought, “He was just trying to save people—”
“From a tyrannical president?” you interject, “It’s the one time I’ll give it to him.”
Clark is surprised, and he struggles to hide that on his expression; so you quirk a brow. He clears his throat, “I didn’t expect you to side with him. Seems like you may be one of the very few people who do.”
You end up shrugging, “His actions to save Jarhanpur override my personal issues with Supershit.”
Supershit. You just had to use Supershit.
(Sunlight status revoked.)
The atmosphere shifts and you’re blissfully unaware of the nerve you had hit as Clark shifts beside you. All of the impulsive reactions surge forward in Clark, entangling themselves in the warmth he had felt by being within close proximity with you, making his mood sour like milk left in the sun.
His nostrils flare from frustration. The tips of his ears are an angry shade of red.
Clark bores a hole into your coffee table. “I think that’s a little unfair to call him that.” he says lowly.
“You think that because you’re a good person who sees past all the bad stuff, Clark.” you reason without much deliberation over his defence, “Me, on the other hand—”
“Should give him a chance, perhaps?” Clark retorts bluntly, leaving you to blink in surprise, “He’s misunderstood. He’s doing what he thinks is right, what is good for the citizens of Metropolis.”
“I’m not questioning if he’s good or not.” you argue back, “It’s just a personal gripe.”
Clark stands, “Oh, come on,” he gravels, “Superman is not your enemy. Supershit is not a fair nickname!”
“Why do you care so much if I like him or not?” your eyes narrow, “You’ve been selling him to me this whole month. What is that all about?”
OK, maybe your career in journalism would be a steer in the right direction.
You sigh when Clark fights for an explanation. “He wrecked my car, Clark. I’m allowed to dislike someone that you favour. That’s just life.”
Clark doesn’t look at you when he speaks, “Yeah.”
He backs down after that. Not because he wants to, or that your stare has him pinned to the spot. It was down to the reason that, if he projected anymore resistance against your grievances with Superman; he may be on a slippery slope of a bad-tempered confessional in the middle of your living room.
Clark grabs his suit jacket from the back of your sofa, fiddling with it as he sulks, “I think I should leave. Thank you for the food. I’ll…um, I’ll talk to Perry and Lois about the job.”
“Okay. Thank you.” you look up at him from your seated position, a little confused by the whiplash from the energy shift in the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow.”
iiii. LOIS LANES’ DIVINE INTERVENTION
So…you don’t hear from Clark for three days—aside from a short text giving you the thumbs up for an interview at Daily Planet.
After the blip of Supershit, Clark took the mental load of keeping his distance from you. His patient was stretched thin from outside opinions and he feared with the hard-to-budge bad taste that Superman left in your mouth; that you would be a target of hot-headed retaliation if you utter the word Supershit in Clark’s presence again.
The safest assumption was that he was busy—he was a Pulitzer prize-winner at the end of the day. It definitely hadn’t been in relation to the immediate debate that came after you used the trending, cancel culture-esque nickname, Supershit, on his nearest and dearest interviewee.
Even with your feelings now left up in the air with a date being strung over your head with zero confirmation of a date or time, you weren’t one to sit and dwell over a man’s fragile ego—for whatever reason Clark’s ego was made of glass, you were unsure but close to figuring out—and put all your energy and abundance of spare time into perfecting your knowledge about Daily Planet prior to your interview.
The interview process for the support role beneath Lois Lanes’ expertise as a front-runner journalist for Daily Planet had gone smoother than you could have anticipated. To be quite frank, you had little experience in the journalist field, let alone a degree, but you came prepared with a good amount of charm and some background knowledge on the company.
Founded in 1775, globally renowned for its pursuit of justice, home to some brown-nosing of Superman and the Justice League, and the employer of the curly-haired neighbour you had been crushing on for quite some time. (The last two weren’t verbalised as such. Edited version: enthralling interviews that capture the true essence of the city’s extraterrestrial and meta-humans, and the employer of Clark Kent. Your neighbour. Nothing else.)
Lois likes you. Perry White isn’t easily convinced. She spends the rest of her shift arguing your case—the Editor-in-Chief calls it favouritism for the only woman who applied for the role.
Before you leave, you are tail-ending a conversation with Lois. She’s the epitome of a thriving journalist in a trim waistcoat and white tee beneath, a mug of hot coffee with at least, fifteen lumps of sugar stirred into the mix.
“You have to make sure you’re not in favour of one particular person that we write about. You know, like Superman is a good guy, but you can’t show bias. Even if Daily Planet have been hit with some accusations of preference.” Lois says in a monotonous tone.
You nod along, not wanting to ruin your chances by shit-talking one person that brings the money in for the company. “I mean, everyone seems to like him, right? Clark has been fawning over him for sometime.” you prod at her brain intentionally for an underlying curiosity of your own.
“Clark sees a lot of himself in Superman,” Lois choice of words make your brow quirk—she’s being careful. “He does a lot of questionable things—Superman, I mean, but he saves a lot of lives. They both live their lives to be good, I guess that’s why Clark is drawn to him.”
“I guess so.” you pause, “You know he totalled my car in a fight?”
“Clark?” (No, but you were starting to think otherwise.)
“Superman.” you correct and Lois looks at you as if it isn’t that big of a deal. A major inconvenience at best. “Yeah, he got into a fight on Clinton Street and was thrown into my car that I had just paid off. I was pretty torn up about it…still sort of am.”
Lois wracks her wonderful brain, “Clinton Street?” you nod, “Yeah—We covered that story. The meta-human he had been fighting was headed for a nursery a few blocks down, for whatever sick reason. Superman diverted him to Clinton Street and saved about fifty kids. He took some punches over that. Anything to keep the guy away from those kids.”
You blink, “I didn’t think about it like that.”
“You have to look at the bigger picture, if you’re going to be apart of this world.” Lois smiles, “Although, it doesn’t take away from the fact that your car got ruined. Did you get another one?”
“Uh…no.” your mind is elsewhere—you kind of feel like an asshole. You shake it off, “Doesn’t matter, though. I like the commute.”
“Clark mentioned that you had said that you were one sticky seat away from catching a new strain of the plague.” Lois quips and you shrink with embarrassment, the elevator is so close you could just…make a break for it.
It makes you laugh nervously, “Yeah. Well, that’s the fun part. The risks. Gets my adrenaline pumping.”
Lois really likes you. She decides.
“We’re all about adrenaline and risks.”
“Yeah—Well, thank you for giving me an interview. I’ve gotta head, sort of overstayed my welcome.” you express, thumb gesturing over your shoulder to the elevator, “It was nice meeting you!”
Lois bids you a goodbye, her eyes trained on your frame as you press the golden button umpteen times out of impatience to take your leave. She smiles to herself, turning on her heel as the elevator doors peel open.
Your eyes are cast downward, brain on autopilot over the realisation that struck the back of your neck like the side of a hand. The visit to Daily Planet for the interview had not only been relatively exciting—because you felt like you gelled well with Lois Lane—but it had been incredibly insightful to the incident relating to your deeply rooted dislike for Superman.
He was saving kids. How could you resent that?
Perhaps there was an aspect of selfishness on your behalf. Most times you had broken into a rant about the car tragedy of 2024, people have asked you if you knew the reasoning as to why Superman happened to be on Clinton Street, fighting a meta-human. More times than not, you’d shrug. You didn’t care, it was your car that suffered!
But, now? Lois Lane had smothered that year-long grudge with the missing pieces of the story.
“Holy shit. Am I an asshole?” you say out loud to yourself. The elevator slides shut and you stare wide-eyed at the golden doors.
“Pardon me?”
You turn your head to see Clark Kent clutching into his briefcase as if you were going to bite. You don’t even bat an eyelid as you say, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Unavailable.”
“Well, now, I—I can explain my absence—”
“Can we just bury our last interaction?” you interject with a sharp tone, “I’m feeling a little forgiving today.”
“Right. Yes, I was going to apologise for how I left—” Clark’s voice trails off as you deadpan at him. He shakes his head, “—All is said and done. Can I ask why you called yourself an asshole?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
You peer up at him, “Weren’t you meant to get off on that floor?”
“Yes. I suppose I should have.”
It makes you look him up and down. “…Alright, well, I mean I just had this super insightful conversation with your friend Lois about Superman—” Clark visibly winces, “—And the fight on Clinton Street, that ultimately lost me my car. This whole time, I just…I just didn’t care about the details, just knew I was pissed about my car. Then—Then Lois tells me it was collateral damage over Superman saving a nursery from a rampant meta-human. That sort of makes me the asshole in this story, Clark.”
“You are upset about it, that doesn’t make you an asshole.”
“No, but it does!” you exasperate, “Sure, it’s been a huge inconvenience to me, and a lot of money lost. But he was putting himself in harms way to save innocent lives. My car doesn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things.”
Clark wants to argue the fact that Superman has been saving lives even before the incident on Clinton Street. However, the revelation that you’ve been put on track for is at the precipice of a complete 180 in your opinion of Superman; why stunt that growth?
He makes a note to thank Lois—who is well aware of his secret—for feeding you the breadcrumbs that led to this.
You know…once he takes elevator back up.
Clark waits for you to breathe. “So, no hard feelings over Superman?” he asks hopefully.
“He’s still an asshole for wrecking my car.” you retort, arms crossing over your chest, “But, I suppose that’s sort of the closure I needed. I can’t stay mad at a guy for forfeiting his own life to save fifty little ones.”
“I can work with that.” Clark says without thinking. The colour pink creeps up his neck when you cock your head to the side inquisitively—because, what did that mean? He gulps some air, “I—Can I still take you on a date?”
“I don’t know, can you get Superman to apologise to me?” you lilt in an unserious tone, essentially throwing a hook with a fat piece of bait impaled on the end.
The elevator reaches the ground floor.
“I can try.” Clark absolutely would. Without a shadow of a doubt.
(Hook, line and sinker.)
“Then yes.”
+1 APARTMENT APOLOGIES
You had got the job at Daily Planet. It took all of two days, and the persistence of the tenacious Lois Lane for Perry White to accept somebody without even a scrap of journalistic experience onto the team; for you to get the call to start in a weeks time.
And how you celebrated your elation was by grabbing a greasy pizza en route to your apartment, and watching reruns of Golden Girls on your sofa.
It was pure, unadulterated bliss.
That was, until the hairs on your arms unexpectedly stood on end on the last bite of the cheese-filled crust.
Immediate from this, there’s a silhouette that captures your attention from your periphery on the fire escape outside your living room window. Heart chasing its own beat, you drop the pizza crust into the cardboard box, your hand slowly reaching to curl round the steel bat you kept beside the sofa; the other one was located in your bedroom.
You didn’t want to engage, or even look. There’s been enough viewings of horror movies to know that the person that is curious, is the person that gets killed. You even think about sprinting out the front door and banging on Clark’s front door on the floor below.
When your bare foot touches the wooden floorboards, that’s when you hear a groan from just outside your window.
Your brows pinch from the familiarity. “Clark?”
It sounded like him.
Instinctively, you lift your bat as you stand. This was Metropolis after all. You wouldn’t put it past some extraterrestrial visiting the city to mimic the sounds of your neighbour. But honestly, where would they have gotten the sound of Clark in somewhat pain?
The large silhouette moves when you speak Clark’s name, and you make it to the window in two swift steps; forcing the window up to let in the billowing winds of the city air and noise pollution into your apartment.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Good evening ma’am.”
You raise your bat, “Superman?” you waver in your impulsivity to strike him across his head, “What the fuck are you doing on my fire escape? You’re—ugh—you’re bleeding!”
He peels the palm of his hand away from his torso to reveal a much bigger wound, “Just a scratch. I’ll be alright. May I come in?”
“No! Crazy!” you argue back, “You’ll get your blood all over my new rug.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
You scoff, “Oh yeah? Like the car you wrecked—?” you pause to stare at him, the cogs turning in your mind, “Did Clark Kent put you up to this? Are you—Are you two in cahoots or some shit?”
“He may—” Superman groans when he shifts from one foot to the other, “—Have mentioned something about a disgruntled neighbour.”
Oh. He took your joke seriously.
Your fingers shift around the metal bat. “Yeah, that would be me.” you watch as a loose curl flops down onto his forehead, familiarity spreads across your chest, “Look. You can just let me hit you over the head with my bat. Once. Then, all is forgiven.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
You sigh, “Worth a shot.”
Superman’s lips quirk into an amused smile, “Please? It will only be for a moment.”
“…Fine.” you drop the bat down to your side and step back, “Only step on the wooden flooring, and just head to the bathroom. I’ll get you a wet flannel.”
A red boot swings over the threshold and suddenly, Superman is standing in the middle of your apartment at full stature, bleeding from the wound on his torso. He’s handsome, you’d give him that. In an omnipresent superhero type of way. He gives you a strained friendly smile, his dimples deep whilst his forehead creases from the sharp pain that elicits from the wound site.
Without further instruction as to where your bathroom was located, Superman makes a beeline down the hallway, breadcrumbs of blood leading you to him after you wet a spare flannel beneath the kitchen sink tap. His familiarity with your apartment only worsens your suspicions.
You find him dwarfing your toilet with the lid down. He has a handful of toilet paper stuffed against the bleeding gash, lips parting momentarily to exhale intermittently as he applies pressure with the worst gauze replacement to soak up the excess blood.
Pieces of tissue paper break apart from the saturation of blood and Superman—without thinking—gives you a clumsy smile. Lopsided and without confidence to fuel the curve of his lip. It is sort of vexing for you, coming from a place with purposefully minimal knowledge, these so-called ‘Protectors of Metropolis’ exuded self-righteousness because they needed to have a strong backbone to be a public figure. The man who sat on the lid of your toilet, in a vibrant red and blue suit that clung to his muscular physique presents nothing of the sort.
You wish you could approach it differently. This rare moment captured in time, where you come face to face with the destructor of your beloved vehicle and you had asked for permission to strike him across the head, rather than just doing it; as you had practiced multiple times in your head.
He wouldn’t even flinch, you suppose.
Further to this, if Lois Lane hadn’t intervened with her sharp memory of the Clinton Street incident, then Superman wouldn’t have been able to step foot into your apartment. Then again, you were stood at the threshold of the bathroom questioning his identity altogether.
“I don’t bite.” The male informs on borderline playful.
You don’t budge—a prisoner in your own home.
“I’d rather not take any chances.” you quip, tossing him the wet flannel because watching the pieces of tissue paper fuse to his wound was near painful. You observe him for a moment, “Clark sent you here?”
He hums lowly.
You continue, “When…did you see him? Usually he catches you at the scene of the crime, so to speak.” you tilt your head when Superman lifts his gaze to look at you, “I didn’t see any fights break out on the news today.”
“He called in a favour.” Superman responds with faux-innocence, “By phone.”
“Right, right.” you fall silent to watch him dab at his injury with care. There’s a deep inhale before you speak again, “You guys are close?”
“You could say that.” he mumbles, “Is there a problem?”
Your eyes narrow, “Is there a problem to be addressed? Other than the wreckage of my car, but, y’know, you already knew about that coming here. Did he give you my address?”
“No.” Superman jumps to Clark’s defence because giving a stranger—let alone a so-called enemy—your address without consent was a downright breach of your privacy and safety; let alone dangerous. He then adds, “He wouldn’t do that.”
“So you just happened to know where I live in a mid-rise apartment complex with eleven floors?” you take a step into the bathroom to goad him, “Is that part of your superpowers? Being a creep?”
“What—?” he flaps, “No! Nothing like that.”
“A woman alone in her apartment at night and you’re watching her from her fire escape. That’s pretty creepy, Supe.” you point a finger in his direction, essentially pinning him to the spot.
“I just came to apologise. Okay?” Superman takes a deep inhale in mild panic, “I never intended to destroy your car. But, if you ask me, I’d do it a hundred times over if it meant I saved those kids that day.”
“Why does it matter if you apologise to me or not? You must have damaged thousands of cars by now.” (Try hundreds of thousands.)
Superman huffs, “It matters to Clark. He—uh—Forgive me if this isn’t common knowledge, but he likes you. Truly likes you. He sees a future with you, and then you had mentioned that if he were able to have me apologise to you…then perhaps you’d proceed with the date.”
Oh, boy.
“I was joking when I said that.” you state, “Can you not tell the difference between a joke and a serious request, Clark?”
“Clark?” the tips of Superman’s ears go pink. Dead giveaway.
You throw a hand in his direction. “Oh, come on, Clark. It’s obviously you. You’re Superman. You think I’m dumb enough not to catch on when you’ve been fighting his corner for the past couple of weeks?”
Superman—or, Clark to you—gawks, “I’m not quite sure what you’re implying here.”
“What I’m stating is, that you are Superman. You just so happen to be able to interview him every single time and shed a positive light on his actions, you were unbelievably mad after Supershit—” Clark’s eye twitches, “And, what, Superman just so happens to know what apartment I’m staying in without any information handed out? Don’t even get me started on the glasses.”
“The glasses?”
“Well, you mentioned once that the glasses were for short-distance reading. You never took them off after reading the letters in your mailbox.” you shrug as you explain your theory, “Plus, you’re not wearing them now so you obviously don’t need them. You just wear them for a whole identity thing.”
Clark is struck silent. You were good. Like, incredibly observant.
“Did you get the job at Daily Planet?” when you nod, he proceeds to talk, “Good. We’ll need someone like you.” he pauses, “Are you mad?”
“No, I’m not mad.” you deflate a little, “I would have been if my theory was wrong and you did happen to hand out my address to some random man without my knowledge.”
Clark gives a feeble nod, “I’m a little shellshocked that you figured it out.”
“I’ve never seen you two in the same room, I guess.” your joke makes both Clark and you smile widely at each other. The break of tension allows you to move closer to him as you bend at the waist to look at his injury. You hiss at the sight of it, “That looks sore.”
“Oh, it isn’t so bad.” Clark gives you a dopey sort of smile when he catches your eye. “I didn’t intend to get hurt on the way here.”
You nod, taking the sodden flannel from his grasp in order to dab at his torso, “Superman sells me a sob story and bleeds out on my fire escape to get me to like him. That would have been dramatic.”
“You’re not mad?” Clark asks again for reassurance—his confidence since shaken from the rise of resistance in the Metropolis community in regard to his presence within the city.
With a shake of your head, you meet his blue eyes again, “No. I mean, we have a lot to talk about. But that’s what first dates are for, right? Getting to know each other?”
“So, the date is still going ahead?” (Gosh. He sounded so insecure.)
“Oh, I’m not sure. Clark Kent might have an issue with it.” you joke, “He called first dibs.” your playful tone soon dissipates along with your smug smile when Clark’s brows pinch and he swallows deeply. His eyes flit to your lips and then back up to your eyes. “Are you about to kiss me?”
“Is that okay?”
“Again, Clark Kent—”
Your repetitive joke is smothered when Clark captures your lips with his own. He cradles the back of your head to keep you in position, his head tilting in one direction to refrain from your noses being pressed together. Your stomach is splattered with a heavy warmth as your fingers curl around the bluish fabric of the suit he wears. The room falls into a blissful silence aside from the occasional smacking of lips when Clark deepens the kiss with a sense of heated desire—the innocent kiss soon turning open-mouthed and desperate.
The signals of it allow you to climb onto his lap, wet flannel disregarded behind you as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer into his arms that begin to circle your frame. Your hips tilt and press downward and Clark responds with a faint whimper that makes you smile against his lips.
There’s that sensible part of your brain that screams for this to come to a screeching halt. No first date and you’re practically dry-humping Superman? Of all people? But the way he pathetically whined beneath you; that was all Clark Kent. Your neighbour that you had been crushing on for the better part of a year, even when you had been dating your ex-boyfriend, the poorly-postured, socially inept male had always been in your peripheral. (Turns out he had just been biding his time.)
You feel him shift beneath you and the memory of an open-wound that your all of a sudden flush against is thrown to the forefront of your mind. It makes you pull back promptly, Clark’s face written with concern—his lips all puffy and wet.
“Is something wrong?”
“Your wound, Clark.” You lean back and Clark’s hands hold your weight for you. “It’ll probably need stitches.”
He frowns, “No, it won’t.” he leans in to press another kiss to your lips with less eagerness than before, “I can heal easily without human intervention.”
“Are you serious? You just wanted some attention?” you tug at the grown out curls at the nape of his neck and laugh. “You have so much explaining to do.”
“Of course.” Clark smiles against your lips, quickly making you forget your train of thought as he stands with a grunt with you bundled up in his arms. He speaks between hungry kisses, “But first, I have a destroyed car and a year of apologies to make up for.”
You giddily laugh as he carries you to your bedroom.
Please consider this request of Jeff visiting a farm and meeting all the barnyard animals. You can choose if he eats them or not, though.
Love your nephew,
Jonathan
Farmer Jeff
Summary: When Y/N and Natasha have to do some farm work, Jeff starts to learn each animal has a different personality.
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader
Word Count: 1727
Warnings: None, but let me know if I should add any :)
A/N: This was a very cute request and I made it chaotic (as all Jeff fics should be). I also don't have the energy to proofread it so uhhh... hope it's all okay. Enjoy! :)
Jeff request guidelines
Counting this as part of the JFU (though other parts are not necessary to read for this)
—————————————————
An Avengers’ job doesn’t end when a mission ends. No. There were several bonus tasks afterwards: report writing, meetings, debriefs, and the one that could bring fun or misery: publicity.
You knew people gossiped about why you were dating Natasha, but of all the ridiculous theories, your favourite had to be that you dated her just for her high standing with Director Fury and Maria Hill. Because each member’s personal standing with the two superiors determined how enjoyable their publicity assignment would be.
You could watch and laugh these days as Tony and Steve did copious press conferences with difficult questions. Meanwhile, you got to accompany your girlfriend on a visit to a farm, helping to repair fences and find escaped animals. They even let you bring your own animal companion, in the form of Jeff.
He happily trotted between you and Natasha, an expression of awe clear on his features. “How about you go and say hi to the animals?” you offered, “Tash and I just need to talk to the farmhand and then we’ll scatter around the farm. That sound good, buddy?”
The excitement overtook the land shark, and he was a few steps into running off before he remembered to reply, quickly stopping to nod before he started his tour.
—
Jeff’s head spun as he tried to work out which animal to visit first. There were so many, most of which he’d only ever seen in his picture books.
His decision was made by the sleepiness that overcame him. You and Natasha woke him up early for this, and when the alpacas had fur that resembled his bed, he knew where he wanted to be.
The alpacas were also napping, so they didn’t mind when the land shark entered their pen, nor did they do more than look up as Jeff hauled his small body onto their backs. In fact, when he curled up in the bed of soft fur, they joined him, dipping their heads back down and returning to sleep.
The group remained like that until the farmhand brought food for the alpacas. The rise to eat disrupted Jeff’s nap, although the alpacas kindly allowed him a descent before they stood up. They also let him walk to the food pail with him, but Jeff did not find the cluster of hay appealing and decided to move on.
—
However, Jeff wasn’t quite ready to give up on sleep yet, and the llama field was right beside him. He wandered in, hoping they would be as welcoming, but that was not the case.
He felt the impact on his tail first, just a slight nudge. Confused, Jeff turned back, trying to see who tapped him, but there was nothing to see but a drop of water.
Just as he decided it must have been raining, another drop hit him right beneath his eye. That certainly hadn’t come from the sky, so Jeff snapped his head in the direction it had come from.
The herd of llamas stood there, several facing him with their ears pinned back. Before Jeff could make the realisation, another one spat, hitting Jeff in the nose.
“Mrrr!” he whined, tiny hands gripping the spot on his nose.
Tears began to form in his eyes when you walked past. You saw the whole thing and leapt the fence to get to Jeff, trying to reason with the llamas.
“He’s a land shark. Land. He’s fine without water!”
They seemed to contemplate it. Then the llamas spat again, this time at you.
“Take cover, Jeff.”
You grabbed the land shark. The wads of spit were being pelted against your back, but at least Jeff was safe as you ran and leapt over the fence, safely escaping the llama enclosure.
“Reminds me of when I met you, Jeff,” you laughed, and he mrrred his appreciation. “Now, hows about you go stick with Nat for a bit? She’s over by the pigs. I’ve got to change my shirt,” you grumbled, assessing the wet patch the llamas had caused.
—
Jeff took your advice, finding Natasha trying to round the escaped pigs back into their pen. She’d already rebuilt the fences, but the animals were being uncooperative in returning to their enclosure, probably because Natasha was not very good at speaking pig, Jeff thought.
“Why did my mother never struggle this much?” Natasha huffed, “oh yeah, because her pigs were brainwashed.”
An idea began to form in Jeff’s mind: you were good at speaking pig… and Natasha would appreciate the help. The land shark turned to find you, only to see you nearby, with your shirt changed. You were already watching the scene, staring open-mouthed at Natasha.
Jeff looked back again and realised why; Natasha had given up on coaxing the pigs in and had instead hauled one onto her shoulder to carry it into the pen herself. With a roll of his eyes, Jeff ran over to you, tugging at your trouser leg to tell you his plan. He sighed again when you didn’t listen, realising he had to do it himself if he wanted to help Natasha.
Jeff translated what Natasha had been trying to say; the pigs listened. Luckily, their escape was only for exploration; if it helped Jeff out, they were happy to return to the pen. Jeff beamed when Natasha looked back and realised what he’d done, and his smile grew even more when she praised him for it.
Natasha still hadn’t put one of the pigs down, and it was now beginning to squirm in her arms. It remained like that when Natasha turned further, catching you gaping at her. A smirk spread over her face as she spoke to Jeff: “I appreciate the help, Jeff. Since someone wasn’t being of use.” She raised her voice to ensure you caught the end of it before commanding you to get back to work.
“Yes ma’am.”
—
Jeff’s visit to the cows was far more short-lived. They were spread around the enclosure when Jeff crawled under the fence, almost all eating grass with half-lidded eyes. Jeff had already passed up on food earlier that day, and since the cows seemed to enjoy their food, he felt he ought to try it.
He clamped his jaws around a particularly long patch of grass, which drew the cows’ attention. It did not taste pleasant. Still, Jeff persevered, even trying to copy the cows to see if their technique produced a different flavour; he shut his eyes halfway and began to chew aggressively, jaw opening and moving like the cows’.
A few seconds into the chewing and the cows decided this intruder was mocking them. They began to gather in front of Jeff, hooves pawing at the ground. Jeff continued chewing, oblivious to the next threat. Then the cows charged; Jeff’s eyes flew open, even more than usual, as he spat out the grass and sprinted back under the fence.
Jeff decided he did not like the cows.
—
“That one is Susan,” the farmhand introduced as Jeff neared the chicken coop. “She’s a Buff Orpington, very friendly.” Jeff disagreed; the orange-coloured chicken staring him down seemed unusually large and threatening.
Jeff had learnt from the cows. He would not risk meeting Susan.
—
After passing on the chickens, the next pen was for the sheep, who seemed far friendlier, but Jeff wouldn’t risk it. He wanted to blend in. And he knew just the method.
You hadn’t locked the car after you grabbed the new shirt, which gave Jeff easy access to open it up and rummage through the spare clothes in the back. Natasha stored a coat in case the weather turned cold; it possessed the right fluffiness to make Jeff look like a sheep.
Jeff balanced the coat atop himself before crawling into the enclosure. It must have fooled the sheep since they paid him no mind and allowed him free rein of the pen, but there was someone who wasn’t fooled.
“JEFF!”
The land shark froze in his tracks, not daring to turn and face the person yelling his name.
“Is that my coat?!”
Natasha’s voice was closer now. Once again, Jeff was bolting. He dropped the coat into the mud and ran faster than he had all day; an angry Natasha was a force to be reckoned with.
Unfortunately, Jeff was so focused on running away he didn’t notice what he was running towards. Or, more accurately, what he was running into.
There was a thump as Jeff hit whatever it was and fell back onto his hind legs. He had a second to look up and see what he hit before the horse reared, kicking and launching Jeff back out of the stable.
—
“Oh no. There he goes again.” You sighed, both you and Natasha taking off running in an attempt to catch your shark as he flew through the air. His spherical body was remarkably aerodynamic and flew faster and further than either of you could reach.
Jeff was quite disorientated as he acted as a projectile, struggling to see where he was headed. But he could make out the farmhouse and a fluffy black rug laying outside it; perhaps if he aimed for that, it would break his fall.
His descent looked good; Jeff was all set to land on the rug. But then, at the last second, it moved. A white snout emerged from the pile, and eyes widened at the sight of a plummeting Jeff. Quickly, it shuffled back, letting Jeff land directly on the wooden floorboards instead.
“Mrrpph.” Jeff groaned, trying to work out where the rug went. He was roused by a snout nudging and sniffing at his body, and he finally understood that it wasn’t a rug but a dog.
“Mrrr,” Jeff whined again, more coherently this time. Asking the black corgi why it hadn’t caught him and let him fall instead.
The corgi stretched, showing off its short limbs before looking back at Jeff. The land shark’s annoyance was instantly replaced by excitement, and he held up his arms to demonstrate their stubbiness.
You and Natasha were panting when you caught up to Jeff at the farmhouse. It seemed the worry and rush were for nothing when you saw him and the corgi, who had introduced himself as Jake, playing happily together, Jeff completely unharmed.
“We really need to stop worrying so much about him.”
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cw: reader is a ballerina performing for the last time, her and Bruce are married, ballerina Cass mentioned, StephCass mentioned, TimKon mentioned
a/n: the dances the reader performs is Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and The Dying Swan
Bruce held your hand the whole car ride to the theater. He could feel the sweat from your hand and your nerves mixing with his own.
he squeezed it slightly and whispered “your going to do amazing darling,” into your ear.
you didn’t respond, only let out a shaky breath as the car approached the theater.
“well this is where we’ll part,” you told him. “Go find good seats for you and the kids. And don’t forget Steph and Kon are coming too.”
“I will. And darling, you are going to do amazing,” he told you and he took your face in his hands.
you looked away, your nerves getting to you. “I’m scared Bruce,” you admitted, “this piece—” you let out a breath, “—this is the biggest performance I’ve ever done, and I’m not even dancing a whole ballet!”
it was true, you were only dancing one part of the ballet for the Wayne Enterprise Charity Performance. It was more of a talent show (all though that didn’t sound as nice as performance), so many people would be showcasing their skills like dancing and music. You decided to dance The Dying Swan, one of your favorite ballets, and you would be the opening and closing act.
“Are you still opening the show with The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?” Your husband asked.
you nodded, “yes.”
“well, focus on that performance first, then worry about the closing act later,” he suggested. Then his tone softened. “Youre going to do amazing at both.”
you smiled, soft and sweet, before hugging him tightly. “Thank you Bruce. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”
Bruce internally cringed at that. He didn’t always know what to say and he had said the wrong thing many times before. You were the reason he knew what to say. You were the reason he was the man he was.
—
Bruce reserved box seats for him, his kids, and his kids partners. He watched as thousands of people found seats below them and waited for the show to start.
As he waited for all of his kids to come, damian came with him of course, and Cass (who had brought Steph) came second, he heard people talk about you.
“I always forget that Bruce Wayne’s wife is a professional ballerina,” he heard a teen girl say.
her friend snorted. “How can you forget? She was a huge deal when she was younger. I remember my parents took me to New York to go see her perform the Nutcracker.”
“Is this her last performance ever?” The first one asked.
“yeah, she’s opening and closing the show. I know she’s doing the sugarplum fairy dance as the opening but I have no idea what she’s closing with.”
“huh. I guess we’ll just have to find out later.”
—
soon, all of bruces kids had come. Dick, Jason, Tim with Kon, Barbara, Cass (as mentioned before) with Steph, and Damian (who drove with Bruce). Oh and Alfred of course.
the lights dimmed and the orchestra got in place. Bruce knew you were behind the curtain, ready to perform a piece you knew by heart. You had danced the role of the sugarplum fairy countless times, it was practically second nature to you now.
the audience went quiet as the curtain rose to reveal you smiling and looking gorgeous in your costume, ready to start dancing at any second.
the music was soft and quiet when you first started dancing, your feet moving delicately across the stage. But as the dance went on, the song grew louder and your actions got bigger but still stayed soft and delicate. Your smile never left your face.
“she looks like a ballerina inside a music box,” Bruce overheard stephanie whispered to Cass.
he silently agreed. You truly did look like a tiny ballerina inside a music box, moving gracefully and carefully with a smile that stayed through every jump and turn.
you continued to dance to the music, which Bruce remembered hearing all throughout his childhood during Christmas. It was the music that would stay in your head and follow you through your dreams after your parents had taken you to see a ballet. It was nostalgic, really.
his eyes never left you as the music sped up and you spun around the stage.
and as you hit your final pose, he was the first to stand up and clap for you.
he could see you smile even wider as your breathing slowed to a normal pace and when you met his eyes, it grew even bigger.
then the curtain dropped again and you were gone.
—
the other acts were good, all performed by professionals. There was opera, violin solos, more dance (but tap, not ballet), and many other performances.
but then it was the closing act. You. Performing a piece you didn’t let anyone see you practice, not even Bruce.
the whole theater was dark when Bruce heard the soft piano and violin start playing. A soft spotlight shone on you as you danced through the darkness looking like a swan swimming at night.
you were wearing a fully white costume as your arms moved like a birds wings. And then you turned to the audience and oh—oh your face was full of pain. it made his heart hurt even though he knew you were just performing.
and he watched as you swayed on the stage, your arms covering your face for just a second, your head tilted down, then up, and then you were on the ground.
and you were halfway off the ground, looking up to the sky like a swan looking at the stars one last time, your arms extended towards god.
and you danced with the passion of a thousand dying swans, your wings flapping in the air, desperate to live longer than you knew you were going to.
and you were turning ever so slowly, using the tiniest steps to face the audience again. Then you used bigger steps to go backwards, as if the current was pushing against you.
and then you were truly on the ground, your arms covering your face. You lifted your arms and head up, just for a bit to reveal a sad, bittersweet smile.
Bruce swallowed hard. He felt damian lean against him and from the corner of his vision he saw Tim grab Kim’s hand and Cassandra lay her head on Steph’s shoulder.
and you got up like it was the last time you were ever going to get up, and you really did look like a swan. A swan that had been through hell and back to die in peace.
At first he didn’t understand why you had been keeping this performance a secret, but as he watched you, he understood. This was your final time dancing on stage. This was your swan song.
as he watched you dance, he remembered when you suggested Cass do ballet and how you practiced with her nearly everyday. He remembered you cheering her on at her first recital.
and then he remembered being younger, watching you dance on stage and flaking in love with you.
and as he watched you this time, he fell in love with you all over again.
he heard dick sniffle and saw Jason wipe away a tears as his own eyes watered.
and as you descended another time, your arms— no, wings— stuttered. Your hands touched your pointed foot when you rose again to hit your final pose as the music stopped.
the audience was quiet for a few seconds until it erupted in cheers and claps.
when you stood up, Bruce could see the tears streaming down your face, even from up in the box seat.
but you looked like a beautiful swan who had just danced it last dance.
bonus comments on the recording:
@/brucewaynestoe: pls play this video whenever I get too cocky
@/gothamhater: a symbol of light inside a world full of darkness
@/gothamnewsofficial: truly the ballerina inside a music box
@/ballerinanews: now no one can ever forget she’s a professional ballerina
a/n: woah louise can actually write well?? the fact that I wrote this in a little over an hour lol. I was totally not crying while writing this guys
if u liked this, please like, comment, reblog, and check out my other works!
Bruce Wayne x Reader | Second Person POV | Age Gap | First Time | Soft Dom Bruce |
The first time you realize Bruce Wayne is actually pursuing you, you almost laugh in his face.
Not because he is unattractive.
That would be absurd.
Bruce Wayne looks like money learned how to brood. Like old Gotham stone and expensive cologne and midnight pressed into the shape of a man. He is broad shoulders beneath tailored black wool, dark hair brushed back just carelessly enough to make it believable, eyes sharp enough to undress a room before he’s even decided whether he likes it.
And unfortunately, horribly, unfairly—he keeps looking at you.
Not glancing.
Not flirting politely.
Looking.
At galas, his gaze finds you over champagne flutes and glittering shoulders. At charity dinners, he appears beside you just as some donor corners you with a question you don’t want to answer. At Wayne Foundation events, he remembers your drink, your schedule, the name of your supervisor, the fact that you hate being called “ambitious” like it’s a warning.
He never crowds. Never pushes.
He simply arrives.
A hand at the small of your back, warm but not possessive.
A low voice at your ear. “You looked like you needed rescuing.”
“You always this heroic, Mr. Wayne?”
“Only when someone beautiful is about to be bored to death.”
You should roll your eyes.
You do roll your eyes.
But your face heats anyway.
Because he means it. Or at least, Bruce Wayne has the deeply inconvenient skill of making every word sound like it has already been decided in private.
Tonight is no different.
The gala is at the museum, all marble floors and towering columns and Gotham’s elite dressed in black tie like vultures pretending to be swans. You came because your department received an invitation, because donors matter, because sometimes being visible is part of surviving in a city like this.
You did not come to be seduced by Bruce Wayne beneath a fresco of some tragic mythological woman being ruined by desire.
And yet.
“There you are,” Bruce says.
You turn, champagne glass halfway to your lips.
He stands behind you in a tuxedo that should be illegal. Crisp white shirt. Black bow tie. Cufflinks that catch the low gold light. His hair is just a little mussed, like he ran his fingers through it once too often.
Your stomach does something embarrassing.
“Were you looking for me?”
His mouth tilts.
“Yes.”
Simple. Unashamed.
Your fingers tighten around your glass.
“That’s dangerous.”
“For whom?”
“For you,” you say, mostly because flirting is easier than admitting your knees feel strange. “People might think you’re interested.”
Bruce steps closer, not enough to trap you, just enough that the noise of the room dulls around his voice.
“I am interested.”
There it is.
No wink. No socialite charm. No playful deflection.
Just Bruce.
Direct. Quiet. Devastating.
Your pulse stumbles.
You look away first, because you have to. Because if you don’t, you are certain he’ll see too much. The wanting. The nerves. The humiliating inexperience under all your carefully practiced banter.
He’s older than you. Not old, exactly, but settled in a way you are not. Powerful in a way that makes rooms organize themselves around him. Experienced in ways you can only imagine, and unfortunately you have imagined them far too many times.
Bruce studies your face.
“Too much?”
The question lands softly.
Not teasing.
Checking.
That makes it worse.
You swallow. “No.”
His eyes drop briefly to your mouth.
“Good.”
Oh.
The word is nothing. Barely anything.
But your body hears it like a command.
You take a sip of champagne to buy yourself time and immediately regret it because Bruce watches the movement of your throat with such focused restraint that heat sparks low in your stomach.
“Dance with me,” he says.
It is phrased like a request.
It does not feel like one.
Still, his hand waits between you, palm open.
Your choice.
You set down your glass.
“All right.”
His fingers close around yours.
Warm. Large. Certain.
He leads you onto the dance floor with the kind of ease that makes you feel, absurdly, like you were expected there. Like the entire room was arranged around this moment. Around his hand at your waist. Around your palm against his shoulder. Around the slow, elegant drag of music through the air.
Bruce dances like he does everything else when he drops the mask.
With control.
Not flashy. Not theatrical. Just steady pressure and subtle guidance, his body turning yours as if he knows exactly how much you’ll give before you’ve given it.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs.
“I’m concentrating.”
“On dancing?”
“On not stepping on Gotham’s most eligible billionaire.”
His thumb moves once at your waist.
“You can step on me if it helps.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
His expression softens. Barely. But you see it.
That is the thing about Bruce Wayne. Everyone thinks he’s unreadable because his face gives away so little. But once you start noticing, the small things become catastrophic.
The tiny crease at the corner of his mouth.
The way his eyes warm when you challenge him.
The way his hand adjusts on your back, careful, never lower than you allow.
“You’re staring,” you whisper.
“Yes.”
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“No.”
Your breath catches.
Bruce leans down slightly, his mouth near your ear.
“I’ve spent weeks trying to decide whether you wanted me to stop.”
Your fingers flex against his shoulder.
“And?”
“And every time I gave you space, you looked disappointed.”
Damn him.
Damn him for noticing.
You tilt your face enough to meet his eyes. “That’s arrogant.”
“That’s observation.”
“That’s very Batman of you.”
The second the words leave your mouth, you freeze.
Bruce’s gaze sharpens.
Only for a moment.
Then his mouth curves.
“Careful.”
You recover, barely. “Or what?”
His hand presses a fraction firmer against your back, bringing you one measured inch closer.
“Or I might start thinking you enjoy testing me.”
You do not answer.
You cannot.
Because the truth is suddenly too visible between you.
You enjoy it. You enjoy the line. The restraint. The sense that Bruce Wayne could have whatever he wanted, and for some reason, what he wants is to wait until you step toward him.
The song ends.
Neither of you moves.
Applause rises around the room, polite and distant. Bruce’s hand remains at your waist.
“Come outside,” he says.
The terrace is cold enough to clear your head.
Or it should be.
Instead, the Gotham air only makes you more aware of the heat Bruce left everywhere he touched you. The museum terrace overlooks the city, all glittering windows and black rooftops, the skyline jagged beneath a silver moon.
You stand by the stone railing, trying to breathe normally.
Bruce removes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders without asking for praise.
It smells like him.
Cedar. Smoke. expensive soap. Something darker beneath it.
You pull it tighter around yourself.
“You do that a lot,” you say.
“What?”
“Take care of people without making it a discussion.”
Bruce stands beside you, close enough that his sleeve brushes your arm.
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” you say quietly. “It’s just… noticeable.”
He looks out over the city.
“I’ve been trying not to overwhelm you.”
Your laugh comes out smaller than you intend.
“Bruce, your entire existence is overwhelming.”
That gets you the faintest smile.
Then silence.
Comfortable at first.
Then charged.
His gaze returns to you, and all the teasing drains away. What remains is something heavier. Hungrier. Still restrained, but only because he chooses it.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
Your heart slams once against your ribs.
He does not move.
He waits.
You should say something clever. Something coy. Something that makes this feel less like the ground shifting beneath you.
Instead, you whisper, “Okay.”
Bruce’s eyes search your face.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
He lifts one hand slowly, giving you every chance to turn away.
You don’t.
His fingers touch your jaw.
Gentle.
That is what ruins you first.
Not the intensity. Not the wealth. Not the power.
The gentleness.
Bruce Wayne, who could command boardrooms and terrify criminals and bend Gotham’s attention by entering a room, touches your face like you are something precious. Like your yes matters more than his wanting.
Then he kisses you.
Soft at first.
Measured.
His mouth brushes yours once, then again, like a question he already knows better than to rush. Your hand catches his shirtfront, not quite pulling him closer, not quite holding yourself up.
Bruce notices anyway.
His other hand settles at your waist.
The kiss deepens.
Slowly.
His mouth opens over yours, and your entire body goes warm. You make a small sound before you can swallow it. Barely anything. A breath. A slip.
Bruce hears it.
Of course he does.
His fingers tighten once at your waist, then ease again.
You chase his mouth when he draws back.
That makes something flash in his eyes.
“There you are,” he murmurs.
Your face burns. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me want to do stupid things.”
Bruce’s thumb strokes along your jaw.
“What kind of stupid things?”
You should stop.
You should laugh. Deflect. Step back into the light of the gala where everything has rules.
But you are wrapped in his jacket, still tasting his mouth, and his hand is steady at your waist.
So you say, “Invite you home.”
Bruce goes still.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Still like every part of him has focused.
Your stomach flips.
“Or not,” you blurt. “That was— I mean, I didn’t mean—”
“Yes,” he says.
You blink.
Bruce’s voice is low. “If that’s what you want.”
The problem is that it is.
The bigger problem is that wanting him does not erase the twist of nerves in your chest. The secret you have been carrying like a fragile, embarrassing thing. The fact that Bruce Wayne has probably been with models, actresses, socialites, women who know exactly how to be touched by men like him.
And you—
You know how to want.
You do not know how to do anything with it.
Your silence lasts too long.
Bruce notices.
His hand falls away from your waist.
“We don’t have to go anywhere,” he says immediately.
“No, I want to.”
His eyes hold yours.
“But?”
You inhale shakily.
The words come out before you can make them elegant.
“I’ve never done this before.”
Bruce’s expression changes.
Not drastically.
He is too controlled for that.
But something in his face stills, then softens with such careful intensity that your throat tightens.
“You mean with me?”
You look down.
“No.”
A beat.
Then Bruce says your name.
Not the way other people say it. Not casually. Not as a placeholder.
He says it like a hand offered in the dark.
You force yourself to look at him.
His face is serious now. Entirely.
“You’re a virgin?”
You wince. “You don’t have to say it like it’s a diagnosis.”
“I’m not.”
“Feels like it.”
“I’m clarifying.”
“Well. Clarified.”
Bruce watches you for another second, then steps back. Not away. Just enough to give you space.
“Thank you for telling me.”
That is not what you expected.
No teasing. No smugness. No visible disappointment.
𝐚/𝐧: I'm so sorry this took me so long😭 I had a lot of stress at work and didn't feel like finishing this fic, but now I have some time off and hope to be able to write more! (started to finally watch off campus, so maybe I start writing for that fandom as well—I'm so in love with tucker ♡)
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bruce wayne x batmom!reader feat. batkids
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: mr.banks was disrespectful towards you. so who's better to teach him a lesson that all actions have consequences other than the batboys?
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff, a bit violence, nudity (only mentioned), established relationship, 4k words, not proofread, pls let me know if I forgot something :p
You stand in the kitchen, reheating the soup for Damian, although Alfred would have done it, you told him you would do it yourself. You needed a moment simply to yourself, that's why you told Bruce to watch something with Damian while you were in the kitchen.
Your alone time didn't last long when you feel arms wrapping around your waist. You flinch slightly before you relax against your husband, even after all these years together, he could still sneak up on you, but he's Batman after all so you're not really surprised.
"You okay?" Bruce mumbles into your neck, tightening his arms slightly around you.
"'M fine," you drawl through a sigh, frowning when one of Bruce's arms let go of you to grab the wooden spoon in your hand, lying it down before he turns the stove onto a lower temperature to be able to turn you around in his arms to face him without having to worry about the food.
"Want to finally tell me what happened with the school?" he asks, cupping your face softly with his hands.
You let out a deep sigh, playing with Bruce's collar to avoid eye contact. It's not like you didn't want to tell Bruce what happened because you really want to tell him, but you slowly started to think that maybe you were a bit dramatic about everything. The school politics say that 'in case of an emergency the parents are to be informed'—𝘨𝘰𝘴𝘩, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘩𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘦, it's completely disrespectful to adoptive parents, foster parents, stepparents and other caregivers—
"Honey?" Bruce says softly, noticing that your mind was wandering so he gave you a soft smile when your eyes finally snapped up to his. "I was worried when Zuri told me that the school had called."
Your eyes widen at that, you didn't really think about what must have gone through Bruce's head when Zuri told him after his meeting that the school had called. He must have thought that you were sick or that something happened to you.
You shake your head in his grip, leaning forward to give him a soft peck on his lips. "I'm really fine, my love. Sorry that you had to worried about me. I had so many things going on in my head, and after Damian ate his soup we pretty much fell asleep, but I should have called yo—"
Now Bruce was the one to leave a soft peck on your lips, stopping your ramble. "No need to apologize. I'm just happy nothing happened to you, so please tell me why the school called me, and why they couldn't reach you."
You huff, letting your hands fall back to your sides, but before you could look away, Bruce stepped a little closer to you, and brushed his thumbs over your cheeks to ground you (and maybe to ground himself too).
"They couldn't reach me because they... because they didn't even tried to call me in the first place," you say, looking your husband in the eyes to see his reaction.
You feel his hands twitch lightly on your face, his brows knit together in confusion after a few seconds. "What do you mean?"
"The vice principal told me that the parents are to be contacted in case of an emergency."
"Yeah," Bruce nods in understanding, but his brows were still knitted, "but they couldn't reach me, and you are the first person to be contacted anyway, so why didn't they?"
"In case of an emergency the parents are to be contacted," you repeat, seeing how your husband's confusion turned slowly into irritation.
"I understand that, so why didn't they call you?"
You could see it in his expression: jaw tight, gaze sharp, and he let go of your face, hands tightening into fists beside him. He knew the answer to his own question, but he was hoping that he was wrong about his assumption.
You take a deep breath before letting everything out that happened and where your thoughts have gone. "They didn't call me because I'm just his 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, and therefore have not the same rights, and the worst part his that 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨! I'm not his real mo—"
"Stop," Bruce grits out, shaking his hands lightly out on his sides to cup your face again, firmer this time, still gentle of course, but with more earnestness. "You 𝘢𝘳𝘦 his mother as much as you are the mother of our other children."
You nod at him, feeling a lump forming in your throat, and tears welling in your eyes. You knew that in your heart, but it was really good to hear the words leave your husband's mouth.
"Give me a name," Bruce says with a deeper voice and darker eyes. Someone disrespected you, his 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦. And he will not have that.
"Mr. Banks," a raspy voice says before you even got the chance to open your mouth.
You quickly wipe away a few tears that had escaped your eyes with the back of your hand before you turn towards the door where your youngest boy leaned against the doorframe.
"Dami, why aren't you in bed?"
"You weren't there," he mumbles, feeling heat creeping up his cheeks that didn't came from the fever so he cleared his throat (well, he tried to, but the scratching in the back wouldn't go away) and straightened up from the door. "It was cold. It's much warmer when someone else is in bed, and I didn't know it takes so long to heat up soup."
You laugh softly, of course he didn't want to admit that he wanted to cuddle. "You're right, it doesn't take that long."
"You can go back to bed with Damian," Bruce says, grabbing the wooden spoon before you could, "and I'm taking care of the school."
You give him a soft but meaningful kiss, mumbling '𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴' against his mouth before you walk towards your son.
Damian looks at you with still glassy eyes. "Could you please get me the blue blanket?"
"Of course, my little bat," you answer, stroking a few strands away from his eyes, turning towards your husband when you hear a light scoff. "Got a problem with that?"
"No," he answers with sarcasm, "why would I have a problem with a blanket?"
You lift your eyebrows and smirk before you put on an innocent face. "I don't know. Why do you have a problem with the blue blanket?"
Bruce just shakes his head, turning towards the soup. He knew that you knew what his problem with the blanket was, and he doesn't want to play that game. Unfortunately for him, you wanted to play.
"It's big, fluffy and keeps you warm—"
"It's a 𝘚𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 blanket."
You gasp in fake surprise. "Really? I never noticed that."
Bruce scoffs again, throwing a dish towel at you, but you already ran out of the room, your laughter still echoing through the hallway.
Damian smiles softly after you before his father's voice snaps his attention towards him. "Damian."
"Yes?"
"When you're feeling better, I'll need your help with Mr. Banks," Bruce says, stirring the soup again, "and those of your brothers."
"Do you have something in mind?"
"Plenty," Bruce chuckles, looking back to Damian with a mischief smirk, "but I'm sure you got some ideas as well."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
—𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆—
"Are you sure this will work?"
"Pleaseeee," Tim scoffs, opening his laptop,
"'cause this'll work."
Damian rolls his eyes, looking around before he looks back to Tim. "Can you hurry up? It is slightly embarrassing when someone sees us together."
"What is embarrassing?" Tim asks, frowning slightly when he opens a few tabs on the Laptop. He only half listen to his younger brother, he has an important task to complete, after all.
Damian raises a brow, "should I really say it out loud?"
Tim's frown deepens, finally looking up from the screen when it finally dawns on him what Damian was trying to imply. "Do you mean me? 𝘔𝘦?"
Damian scoffs at the high pitched and offended voice of Tim, rolling his eyes again. "Congratulations Timothy, you're officially the greatest detective of 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘭𝘭𝘭𝘭𝘭 time," he says with a pointed look.
"I'm not embarrassing," Tim argues, still very offended, "you're embarrassing and you don't see me complaining do you?"
"What makes me embarrassing?" Damian asks, looking around again before he sits down next to Tim to be able to look at the screen. He raises his eyebrow again when Tim couldn't come up with something.
"I don't know," Tim shrugs, looking back to the loading screen, "you're the younger brother that automatically makes you embarrassing."
"So according to your logic," Damian starts with a disgusting look on his face, "that makes Jason what?"
"What does Jason have to do with this?"
Damian pinches the bridge of his nose. "He's older than you, and according to your logic, that makes you the embarrassing one," he huffs with a little smirk, "which is the same thing I told you."
Tim opens his mouth to say something smart back, but nothing came out because Damian had a point (not that he would ever tell him that), so he did the only right thing in this situation: flicking Damian's forehead.
Before Damian could do something back to Tim, the screen finally lit up with their target. The boys glanced at each other for a few seconds before they quickly leaned towards the laptop to have the perfect view of Mr. Banks still sleeping in his bed. Is it questionable to spy on your vice principal? Yes. Do the boys care? Absolutely not! That 'man' disrespected you and no one disrespected their mother.
"I hacked into every system in his house," Tim smirks, "this is going to be a lot of fun!"
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
—𝗧𝘂𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆—
"Boys, dinner is almost done," you yell down into the Batcave, "please finish your training." After you heard replies of '𝘺𝘦𝘴' and '𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨' you made your way through the grandfather clock towards the dining room. You're a bit suspicious; normally the boys would argue back that they weren't finished with training, but perhaps they've noticed that Alfred isn't in a good mood today and definitely don't want to make the butler even angrier.
𝘖𝘩, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦!
The boys stand behind Tim who's sitting at the Batcomputer, playing the video of Mr. Banks again. It shows him running around his house in a panic; the lights are constantly switching on and off, the doors are opening and locking themselves—every time he pulls on the door it's locked but as soon as he lets go of it, the door opens again. That was the favourite of Tim and Damian because they were the ones to always press the button to close and open the door, it was really funny to watch Mr. Banks frustration.
Jason's favorite part is where the vice principal gets up, the curtains open, and he stands naked before almost his entire neighborhood. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦? Maybe, just maybe did someone dressed up and rang everyone's doorbell to report a gas leak—well, everyone expect Mr. Banks.
Dick's favourite is when Mr. Banks slips because the refrigerator has leaked, in his panic to get away from the window, the vice principal didn't see the water on the floor.
"Okay," Dick laughs, seeing only lights through his tears, "play this part one more time, and then we go up before mom sees this."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
—𝗪𝗲𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆—
"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Damian mumbles, but still follows Jason through a window. "Father said we shouldn't do something illegal."
"We aren't," Jason simply states as if they hadn't just broken into Mr. Banks' house, opening some drawers in the living room.
Damian still stands hesitating at the window, eyes following his older brother, who looks through some books before he turns around to look at the younger boy.
"Look," Jason sighs, "we just want to find something to help the old man get rid of this damn jerk, so either you help me," he gives Damian a pointed look before he points to the window, "𝘰𝘳 you go back home".
Damian rolls his eyes before he starts to look through the house as well. "What are we even looking for?"
"Don't know," Jason mumbles, looking behind a few paintings to see if he finds a safe, "but you know it when you see it."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
—𝗧𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆—
Bruce walks through the door, seeing Damian sit on one of the chairs near the secretary's desk, this time with perfect posture, head hanging low to cover up his smirk.
"Hallo," Bruce greets the secretary, stepping forward to her desk, "I'm here to pick up my son, Damian Wayne."
"Of course," the secretary nods, standing up and points to a door that lead to the principal's office, "I'm going to get the vice principal."
Bruce nods with a polite smile, glancing to Damian when the secretary goes into the office. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, although he firmly believes that violence isn't the solution to everything, it's still his first instinct when something or someone threatens his family. Or in this case disrespected 𝘺𝘰𝘶, his 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.
Damian takes a deep breath himself, he's still a bit upset with himself for not being able to defend you last week, and he really just wants to punch the idiot in the face. But you're so proud of him that he no longer reacts directly with violence, and he certainly won't let that pathetic excuse of a man ruin that.
Bruce gives his son a knowing smirk and a wink before the office door opens again, and the man he never met but hates anyways walks out, and stretches his hand out in greeting.
"Mr. Wayne," the vice principal greets with a smile that makes it almost impossible to not punch him in the face, but lucky for him Bruce is able to control himself. "I'm glad we're finally meeting."
"Yeah," Bruce says with a fake smile that only Damian knew was fake, shaking the other man's hand a bit tighter than he normally would, but he remembered that you said Mr. Banks did the same to you. "I'm glad you're happy that we're finally meeting," he says, letting go of Mr. Banks' hand, "but my wife announced this wouldn't be a pleasant meeting so I'm not sure what you're happy about."
The vice principal is taking aback by the sudden change in the atmosphere, glancing to his secretary for help, but the woman looked into her computer, completely ignoring him. He got himself into this situation; now he can figure a way out.
"I assure you, this is just a misunderstanding."
"What is?" Bruce challenges him, "is it that you misunderstood the meaning of a mother?" Bruce says, still with a smile but the longer the vice principal looked at Bruce's face, the more he noticed how sharp it actually was. "Or does the misunderstanding lie in the fact that you were disrespectful to my wife and thought I wouldn't do anything about it?"
Mr. Banks gulps; his throat suddenly feels really dry. "How about we continue the conversation in my office?"
"That's not necessary," Bruce dismisses him, "you already got a second chance, but you called me first 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. This means you disrespected my wife. 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"M-Mr. Wayne, if you would just please let me explain—"
"There is nothing to explain," Bruce chuckles, "You thought that in your position of power you could do whatever you wanted, but you're wrong."
Bruce turns towards his youngest with a soft real smile. "Please get your bag, we're leaving now. Mom's waiting in the car, we're going to get some ice cream."
"Mr. Wayne," the vice principal tries again, "I don’t know what your wife told you, but I can assure you that it wasn't like that."
Bruce turns sharply around, narrowing his eyes. "So you say that my wife is dramatic?"
"W-What n-no... of course not," he stutters, taking a few steps back when Bruce takes a few steps towards him, towering upon him.
"So you're calling my wife a liar?" Bruce says in a dark voice (or like his family called it: his Batman voice).
"I-I would...ne-never..." the other man stutters out, he feels his heartbeat going up, and that his hands start to sweat when he looks in Bruce's eyes. Who knew that the prince of Gotham could be this terrifying? Wasn't he the one who used to strip at parties a lot a few years ago?
"But you did," Bruce says with a clam voice, "but it's alright, you know why?"
Mr. Banks opens his mouth but nothing came out so he just shakes his head, relaxing a bit when Bruce leans back again.
"Because 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳, and I make sure you lose your job. I can't let children have a vice principal who is disrespectful towards women, can I?" Bruce says with fake politeness. "Now excuse me, 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 and I are taking 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘯 to go get some ice cream."
Bruce turns around, and leads Damian with a hand on the shoulder out of the school, relaxing with every step he takes, looking down towards his son when he feels an intense gaze on him. He lifts a eyebrow to let the boy know he can say what he wants to say.
"Don't tell the others but that was really cool."
Bruce chuckles, giving Damian's shoulder a soft squeeze. "I won't tell, but if you found this cool you should see what happens tomorrow."
"What do you mean?"
Bruce stops, making Damian stop as well. "There's something important you need to understand," when Damian nods Bruce continues, "when someone hurts my family they don't only hurt Bruce Wayne's family." 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘉𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
—𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆—
"Where are you two going?" you say, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Patrol," Bruce says simply, putting on his gloves.
"I can see that," you roll your eyes playfully, going towards your husband who's hands immediately go towards your hips, "but Dicki is in his police outfit."
Bruce looks towards Dick with narrowed eyes, he told him they need to hurry up before you saw them because he knew you would ask questions why he is going out as a detective and not as Nightwing.
"Master Dick spilled something on his suit again, and unfortunately I haven't had time to remove the stains yet," Alfred angel like voice echoes through the Batcave, ever the true hero, "therefore, I suggested that he could still come along as a detective."
"That's a wonderful idea Alfred," you smile at the butler before you turn to your two boys. "Please stay safe, I love you."
"I love you too," Bruce says, leaning forward to kiss you, completely ignoring the disgusted sound coming from your oldest child.
"That's enough," Dick says, tugging his father away from you before he gives your temple a kiss, "love you, mom. But we really need to go before Damian and Jason start to team up against Tim again."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥. They really fired him. After everything he did for that awful school and the stupid kids. And why? Because of a bored dramatic housewife!
Mr. Banks is relived when he finally arrives home. He had to walk all the way to his house because his car wouldn't start (wonder how this happened), putting the boxes with his belongings down, he starts to search for his keys, but freezes when he hears something behind him.
"I know what you did," came a deep voice from behind him.
"Do you want money?" Mr. Banks says in panic, "just take it and go away."
"I don't want your dirty money."
"W-What else do you want? Please, I don't have anything else."
"That's not true," the voice says with a chuckle. 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘯?
Mr. Banks chokes on his next words, "do you work for the Joker? P-Please, I don't have the money yet but... but tell him I have it in a few weeks. I need more time!"
It's quiet a few seconds, and Mr. Banks almost thinks the man behind him is gone, but then came the deep voice again, "looks like you don't have a job and therefore no money."
"It's not my fault!" the ex vice principal says a bit louder, punching against his door, "it's the fault of this stupid bitch—"
Mr. Banks yells when his face connects with the door, immediately feeling pain shooting through his nose and a mental taste in his mouth. The hand on his neck tightens, "carful! I hate men who talk disgustingly about women."
"Please," Mr. Banks groans, "it's her fault! Tell Mr. J if he wants the money, he can get it from Mrs. Way—", he yells again when his face connects with the door again, crying out when the man behind him kicks his feet away so his knees fall onto the floor.
"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 say her name," the deep voice growls, "if you ever say her name again, you wish I would work for the Joker."
This is so confusing! The stranger does not work for Mr. J and doesn't want his money. What does he want?
"Do you understand?" Mr. Banks just winces when the hand still holding his neck tightens again. "𝘋𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶. 𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥?"
"Yes," the man cries out, reaching behind him to the hand on his neck, trying to make the man let go of him.
The stranger chuckles again, leaning down to be level with his ear, "always 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳: respect will take you far in life."
Mr. Banks groans when the hand let go of him, causing him to fall forward against the door. A few tears escape his eyes, relief shooting through his body before he tenses again when he still feels someone behind him.
"BPD! Don't move."
"Finally," Mr. Banks laughs.
"You are under arrest," the voice behind him says before he feels hands on him, but before he can thank the police man he feels handcuffs on his wrist. 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵, he is under arrest? What about the guy behind him with the deep voice. When he turns around, the stranger is no longer there.
"This is a misunderstanding...there was a guy and he—"
"You are under arrest for disorderly conduct, money laundering, and dealing drugs for the Joker."
"What? No—"
"You have the right to remain silent—"
"This is a misunderstanding! Please—"
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—"
"T-They tricked me! And you! Do you understand? They—"
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
"That was really cool," Jason says with excitement in his eyes, standing on the roof of the house opposite Mr. Banks' house.
"Yeah..." Tim agrees, "does that mean dad is actually cool?"
"Don't say that," Damian scoffs as if he hadn't said the same thing the day before.
"I think he was pretty cool," Dick says through the earpiece, looking up after he put Mr. Banks in the police car. "Dad doesn't play around when it comes to mom."
"That's right," Bruce says, coming up behind the boys, "you all did a really great job and I'm proud of all of you."
"Yeah yeah," Jason dismisses him with a light blush on his cheeks, "don't get sentimental now, old man."
Bruce chuckles, shaking his head when he looks down and sees that Mr. Banks still tries to argue with Dick. "I'm sure you have everything under control now, I have something else to take care of." With that the Bat was gone as quickly as he had been there.
"He goes home, doesn't he?" Dick questions with a frown.
"I really don't want to think about what dad and mom are going to do, dickhead," Jason groans in disgust.
"That's not what I—"
"Yeah, whatever. Let me get a selfie with this jerk, he comes on my shitface wall."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .
"Bruce?" you mumble, feeling an arm wrapping around your waist before you feel his chest snuggling against your back.
"Go back to sleep, baby," he says, kissing the back of your head.
"What are you doing here?," you whisper, almost asleep again, "it's early."
"Just wanted to be with my girl," he grins against your throat, kissing you there a few times. Bruce feels totally relaxed when he hears your sleepy giggles.
You turn around to give him a kiss on his lips. "I love you."
reader’s pronouns are he/him; race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.
summary:
Twitter
kingjinu
JINU SPOTTED AT THE NY FASHION SHOW,,, I’M SCREAMING
[jinufashion.jpg: A few pictures of Jinu sitting at the front row on one edge of the runway, one leg crossed over the other as he looks ahead in interest.]
The Saja Boys’ global rise to fame almost seems to happen overnight. The music video for their first single, Soda Pop, is catchy and attention-grabbing, with colorful visuals and fun choreography. The song quickly dominates the charts, with millions of streams earned over mere days.
All the group really needs, according to the fans, is a designer or better stylist.
...Enter you.
word count: 9.8k| ao3 version (recommended for better formatting)
author’s notes: This has been rotting in my drafts for so long, omg. Ugh. Like, fly free, you stupid thing.
This is Jinu/Reader focused. The reader’s pronouns are he/him and his stylist name is Phantom; otherwise, no physical descriptors are used and race is ambiguous. I do my best to avoid naming the reader in my fics, but it was kind of necessary for this one. Plus, it’s a stage name anyway.
This will be canon divergent and non-compliant. No warnings I can think of, aside from allusions to the movie.
YouTube
sajaboys
Saja Boys (사자 보이즈) Soda Pop - Official MV
Most recent comments:
robabyshipper: who’s in class rn
→ abbyshowabs: me
→ mysteryabbyagenda: meeeee
→ babypancakez: me me me meeeee
jinutoyou: guys… am i allowed to say something
→ maamchloeee: the outfits ?
→ abbyshowabs: girl YES thank you… they’re awful 😭
sajaboys2783924: stan saja boys!! 🥤🎉
pastelbarbie: let’s get this to 20m streams, guys!!!
→ mylilsodapopop: we’re more than halfway there and it’s only been a few days. WE GOT THIS.
______
Twitter
Trending
Saja Boys
Related tags: SodaPop, SodaFlop
thekoreatimes
K-Pop rookie Saja Boys rack up 25M Spotify streams on new single [link]
→ user29181: in less than two weeks is insane for a new group
→ kingkeonhee: wait ok where did these guys come from lol (and why is the song kinda catchy…)
→ ghostfacesgf: Soda Pop is all over my fyp
→ delululemon: i love them and im not sorry abt it
→ swimmingwithdafishes: they’re gonna make it big, i have a feeling. like really big. the song’s huge in the U.S. and South America rn too
sajaboys
Soda Pop (사자 보이즈) is out now!
Most recent comments:
stephenstrangely: y’all are gonna be so popular and i can’t wait
→ user91758: literally… WE WERE HEREEEE
zoeywatersmycrops: i’m too busy with huntrix… huntrix keeps me too busy… busy… saja…
→ packinmybags: but that’s why bisexuality exists
→ zoeywatersmycrops: ur so right actually
lunaluvs: SAJA BOYS 🦁💜
boiyoubetter: it’s pride month and not just for the gays 😏🏳️🌈🦁💜
→ inthapride: omg true it’s double pride month atp
______
Twitter
Trending
Saja Boys
Related tags: SodaPop, SodaFlop
babyabby9
lmfao i can’t believe #SodaFlop is a tag. y’all are funny.
→ househusbandw.othehouse: my little soda pop my little soda poppp
→ abbysrightpec: i have a feeling the tag was started by antis lol
→ babyabby9: ohhh i didn’t realize that. makes sense ig :(
ergocoffeeb1tch
#SodaPop sang this in my dreams last night supposedly (sorry, wifey)
→ ergofcku: sigh, i’ll allow it wifey
babysbonedrypacifier
the only #SodaFlop about #SodaPop is the outfits
→ sjbysaao: yeah i think that’s what the tag is for tbh
→ s4j4b0y3: they’re so bad… looks like the easter bunny threw up all over them
→ mysterythevisual: plsssss 💀
→ sportsboy178: ur username is crazy 😭
→ babysbonedrypacifier: tyyy <3
→ sportsboy178: wasn’t a compliment tbh but yw
abbysleftpec
#SajaBoys new stylist when???
→ mandywritesgarbage: do they even have one??? looks like they just raided an H&M
→ tralalaskippingsong: what H&M has clothing without stupid taglines??? where r u ???? can i come???
→ abbysrightpec: LOLLL u right (also changed my user so we’re matching bestie)
→ abbysleftpec: reunited and it feels so gooood
hannigrams: you forgot style
→ hazbinahater: that was the point
→ hannigrams: oh LMFAOOOO
gwimarmalade
when are you going to feed us some good fucking food #SodaFlop
→ cabbytats: i mean they can look good in anything but damn 💀💀
______
Twitter
Trending
Met Gala
Related tags: Sung-Min
vogue
Sung-Min has arrived! ✨#MetGala[sungmin.jpg: A photo of the popular actor known by the moniker Sung-Min. He’s wearing a white-cream double-breasted suit that extends into a cape at the back, the fabric flowing down his shoulders, and wide black trousers. There’s a black flower-like decoration on the left lapel of the suit, and Sung-Min wears smokey eye shadow and green contacts.]
→ sumgninluvr: ARF ARFARF ARF RUH RUHRU ARF ARF
→ kpoppiephz: GIVE ME A CHANCE SIR PLEASEEEEE
→ user017952: omfg this outfit eats
g1rlfa1lure
SUNG-MINNNN SIRRRRRR
[sungminsmile.jpg: A candid photo of Sung-Min smiling on the red carpet.]
→ minsbeingsung: bro the designer/stylist did him so well holy shit
rahtahtahtah
Who, who, WHO is sung-min’s stylist and how can i put him in my pocket #MetGala
flatlinedflop
the #MetGala is my favorite time of year because i get to tell people about Phantom
→ lollipoppedoff: who is phantom
→ flatlinedflop: oh do i have something for you. pull up a chair, friend
scurvy
New video out now!! 👇👇
[metgala.yt: A YouTube video with the title ‘Phantom: The Hidden Gem of the Met Gala’ with a thumbnail of the commentator with their eyes wide, overlaid on a snapshot of Sung-Min’s recent look.]
→ user88811: my favorite youtuber talking abt my favorite designer??? PINCH ME I MUST BE DREAMING 😩😩😩
→ scurvyoranged: SCURVYYY thank god i was waiting for a vid from u abt this
→ orangeinstory: i may have to stan this phantom guy lowkey
______
Twitter
vogue
You asked, we answered. Learn more about Phantom, the up-and-coming designer whose work has taken the entertainment industry by storm! [link]
Comments:
phatazzz: the audacity to call him an up-and-coming designer 🤦
→ wolvpool4eva: RIGHT he’s been in the game for years, y’all just hate to give queer artists credit🙄
→ phatazzz: EXACTLYYY
kingkongkinggg: my boy finally getting some credit!!!
→ thurtytuwo: ok let’s not get too parasocial
→ user45111: no. get more parasocial. always.
→ kingkonginggg: feels like i have the angel on one shoulder and the devil on another lol
chchchcherry: ooooh the callout to upcoming projects…. i’m excited
→ trippedandstillserved: praying it’s another k-pop group, he always knows how to treat em 😩
______
Twitter
kingjinu
JINU SPOTTED AT THE NY FASHION SHOW,,, I’M SCREAMING
[jinufashion.jpg: A few pictures of Jinu sitting at the front row on one edge of the runway, one leg crossed over the other as he looks ahead in interest.]
Comments:
abbyshowabs: why was he even there???
→ kingjinu: for funsies, i guess!
→ babygotpancakes: isn’t that one designer in it?the one who styled sung-min for the met gala? I think he’s worked with kpop groups before too, maybe he was scouting him out or something
→ floptropica: i mean, i think that’s the agency’s job. maybe he just wanted to see. or he’s there for someone else, or he just likes fashion, idfk.
______
Instagram
jinu
Great show. @phantom
[runwaypic.jpg: A picture of the runway.]
Most recent comments:
demoniajinuu: it’s nice that he’s tagging the designer
pinterestbfaesthetic: did he really use the caption to shoot his shot 😭
→ onmyputer584: i mean yeah
→ marksinsonoccasion: THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEE
______
Instagram
You | phantom
thank you!
[bow.mp4: A short clip of you bowing at the end of the runway, as models wearing your work walk past and audience members applaud you enthusiastically.]
Most recent comments:
xxevelynxx: thank YOU sir
trishamartelle: where was jinu sitting
→ freighttrainfall: uhhh it’s not in this pic i don’t think
→ trishamartelle: god dammit
→ freighttrainfall: lmfaooo
phantamsagore: killed it as always 🤘🤘
skiingenthusiast: i want the lavender outfit PLSSSSS
→ user19716: yeah i’m sure he’ll give a random fan a thousand dollar outfit
→ skiingenthusiast: stfu have some whimsy
→ user19716: my b i had a shit day
→ skiingenthusiast: aw hope it gets better
→ user19716: aw ty, ur too nice. sorry again, hope u have a good day too
→ trixiesbleachedwig: i love the internet sometimes
______
YouTubesajaboys
Saja Boys (사자 보이즈) - Your Idol - Official MV
Most recent comments:
sajatrixxx: who’s the stylist and does he have venmo
→ demonboyjinu: LOLLL
→ mysteryabbyagenda: he ATE
→ romancesu: assuming he’s a man???
→ mysteryabbyagenda: nah his name’s listed in the caption
→ romancesu: ah my b!
→ mysteryabbyagenda: np
s4j4b0y3: FINALLY SOME GOOD FUCKING FOOD
keepinuobsessed9: the boys look so goodddd 😭 this is all we wanted for them
user0120975: play me on repeat 끝없이 in your headddd
→ jinjinjniuuuu: anytime it hurts play another verse
→ kingromance3: i can be your sanctuaryyyyyy
gruhhhh: YOOO IT’S PHANTOM I FUCKING KNEW ITTTTTT
→ user94726: fellow phantom stan spotted!!
mothermothermother: yeah yeah the song is amazing but KEEP THE DESIGNER/STYLIST/wHOeVer the FUCK
→ love2deathx: FRRRRRR
→ phantasma: his name’s phantom! he has some great work :3 you may know him from Sung-Min’s recent met gala outfit
→ mothermothermother: o sht that was him??? Purrrrrr
______
Twitter
Saja Boys Watch | sjwatch
The Saja Boys are confirmed to be performing Your Idol at the Melon Music Awards!
Comments:
romancesleftfoot: OH THANK GAWD
user14071: confirmed by who tho
→ parasocialityyyy: ur mom
→ flapjacked: wow ok then
→ user14071: i don’t think she knows kpop like that unfortunately
sajajajajajja: i wonder if phantom will be designing for them again
→ arsonist13: probably? i feel like he was a large part of the aesthetics of the MV, at least when it comes to their outfits :)
→ ajassajsa: seconded
jinusolosurfaves: if jinu has an open collar again i’m blowing up the capitol
→ thorgyustay: whoa now lollll
→ abbyssoakedabs: ok hunger games
→ babysgotraps: this is why normies don’t take us seriously lol
______
INTERIOR – Backstage at the Melon Music Awards.
You’re once again styling the Saja Boys, after a great reception of their most recent music video. You’re somewhat used to the chaos of the prep, with the guys flitting about as they get into hair and makeup before you’re putting the finishing touches on their outfits. Once you’re finished, you leave them to their final preparations.
As you’re heading down the hall, you occasionally pass a few artists or backstage crew members. As you turn the corner, you nearly crash into a few familiar figures. You recognize them instantly: Zoey, Mira, and Rumi from Huntr/x. You like their music a lot, actually; you’ve never had the chance to work with them, though you would like to.
They’re wearing two piece white and black outfits with gold accents, evidently for their performance of their recent single, Golden. Rumi’s vibrant purple hair is braided behind her; Mira’s pink hair cascades down her back, with two small portions tied back and some strands escaping near her face; and Zoey’s black hair is arranged into two buns.
It’s kind of crazy to see Huntr/x in person like this. They’re so popular, you’ve seen them on the Internet almost countless times. They’re one of the top-ranking K-pop groups in the country right now. And this is one of the moments where you have to remember yourself, remember that even if you know of them, they don’t know you.
You
(managing to recover your wits)
Oh, uh, sorry.
Zoey
My bad!
Mira
(crossing her arms over her chest)
No, it was definitely his fault.
Rumi
(chastising)
Mira…
You
(amused)
I mean, she’s kinda right.
ZoeyWait, you look familiar!
You
Oh, well… I’m a designer.
Zoey
Holy shit, no way! I knew it.
Rumi
(blinking at her in confusion)
What?
Zoey
(excitedly)
You’re Phantom, aren’t you?
You
Uh, yeah. Why?
Mira
Dude. Bobby’s been trying to bag you for months.
Zoey elbows her in the side.
What? It’s true.
Zoey
(huffing)
Not bag him!
She turns to you.
We’ve wanted to work with you for a while. But you’re always busy!
You
Wait. Wait. What? You have?
Mira
Duh.
YouI had no idea! I mean, I know your contracts can be a nightmare, but if I’d known you guys were interested…
Rumi
We’d love to work with you sometime!
You
Yeah, that’d be great! Seriously.
Mira and Zoey exchange nods.
Rumi
I’m Rumi. This is Mira and Zoey.
Mira
‘Sup.
Zoey
Hi!
You
Nice to meet you guys.
You introduce yourself in return, trying to fight off any nervousness. You’re actually talking to Huntr/x…! Crazy.
Rumi
So, what brings you here?
You
Oh, I’m just helping the Saja Boys.
Immediately, all three of their faces fall into grimaces.
Zoey
You work with those jerks?
You
(frowning slightly)
…Yeah. Why?
Mira
Have they ever tried to take your soul?
You stare at her, waiting for a punchline. It never comes. She’s staring at you sincerely.
You
Uh. What?
Rumi
Ohohoh—kay.
(laughing awkwardly)
She’s just kidding!
Mira
(flatly)
Ha-ha.
There’s a dark look on her face as she stares at you. Rumi notices this too and grimaces, throwing a hand over her friend’s face. Mira calmly pushes it aside and continues to study you.
Rumi
(brightly)
Anyways. It’s so good to meet you—!
Suddenly the air in the room almost seems to change. Rumi’s eyes widen a bit and she takes a wary step back from you. You blink and turn slightly to find Jinu, leader of the Saja Boys, heading over to you, eyebrows furrowed.
Jinu
Everything all right here?
Rumi
(quickly)
Yeah, yeah.
Mira
(nonchalant as always)
Totally.
Zoey
(a little too fast to be genuine)
Definitely!
Jinu takes in the picture the three of them make, before turning back to you. His hand falls onto your shoulder.
Jinu
Abby ripped his shirt. And not in the normal way.
You
Oh.
The tone of Jinu’s voice suggests that this constitutes some sort of emergency, and that he expects you to fix it. You turn back to Huntr/x reluctantly.
Sorry, guys, guess I have to go. But it was great to meet you.
Rumi
You too.
Mira and Zoey echo the sentiment. Before you can speak for any longer, Jinu is turning you around and steering you down the hall. You blink and sneak a glance back at Huntr/x, only to find them immersed in serious conversation.
Jinu
What did they want?
You
Oh, nothing really.
They just introduced themselves. They were asking if I could work with them soon.
Jinu
We keep you pretty busy.
You
(frowning)
Not that busy.
Jinu
Still. Us first.
You scowl and keep quiet, not having the energy for argument.
______
Twitter
snorkula
am i the only one who liked the soda pop era fits?
Comments:
seokjinuwu: yes you’re the only one
koalalala: yes
bloopydoop: yes
chicosdelsaja: yeah
hcemburnspiralperm: def
[Expand 71 more comments]
snorkula: OKAY DAMN YALL I GET IT JESUS
______
INT. – Backstage before a performance, a week later. The Saja Boys are singing Your Idol live on TV. You’re making small adjustments to their outfits before they go out on stage.
You
(watching as Abby teasingly backs away from you)
Hey, get back here. I need to fix your collar.
Abby dodges you again. Eventually you lose your patience and just yank him back toward you. Abby obeys with a shit-eating grin on his face.
You
(slightly frustrated)
Stay still.
Abby
(smirking)
Yes, sir.
You just roll your eyes and make some adjustments, ensuring that uneven wrinkle on his collar is smoothed out.
Romance
(whispering to Mystery)
I’ll have what he’s having.
Mystery lets out an amused exhale. Abby hears him and grins.
You’ve long grown used to tuning them out as you work, so that’s what you do. You don’t hear these remarks, nor do you notice the mischief gleaming in Romance’s eyes as he turns to you.
Romance
Hey, I think my collar’s messed up too.
Before you can head over, Jinu is interjecting.
Jinu
It’s fine.
______
INTERIOR – The dressing room at an idol variety show, a few minutes before the guys are scheduled to make an appearance. Abby, Mystery, Romance, and Baby are ready to go—and they just left the room to take a peek at the stage and set. Jinu is here with you now, as you make a few last-minute adjustments to his suit. The collar isn’t really cooperating, and you keep having to fix it every few seconds.
Eventually, you give up on trying to be unobtrusive. The occasional brush of a hand shouldn’t kill Jinu.
…At least, that’s what you think. But once you reach back and fix the collar at the nape of his neck, he flinches and fidgets a bit. You draw back and look at him expectantly, knowing he’s usually the last one to make things difficult. He has to go on with the group in a few minutes—you don’t have time for games.
Jinu
Your hands are freezing.
Oh. That makes a lot more sense. You would’ve been concerned if he were trying to make things harder for you. He’s not usually the type. As the leader of the Saja Boys, he’s typically the one to reign in everyone else’s chaos.
You
Sorry. I have health issues.
…
Actually, no, I’m not sorry. Deal with it.
Jinu looks at the wall ahead of him as you finally get his collar looking how you want it. Then you back away, tilting your head and looking at his outfit.
Jinu
…I’m sorry. I didn’t know.
You blink up at him, briefly distracted from your scrutiny.
You
It’s fine.
You crouch down and readjust the taper of his pants, focusing on one awkward bend in the ankle. Jinu seems slightly more restless than usual, as if he’s uncomfortable with your proximity. You make your quick fixes before standing back up.
There. How’s that?
Jinu looks in the mirror, begrudgingly turning and looking at himself with multiple angles.
Jinu
It’s… good.
You
You sure? I can fix it if it’s not comfortable.
Jinu
No. It’s good.
He looks at himself in the mirror for another moment, before making eye contact with you in the reflection.
Not sure how we did this without you before.
You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you shoot him a slight smile before reaching your arms over your head to stretch a bit. You can get pretty stiff when you’re fixated on your work, often ignoring muscle aches and pains.
Jinu noticeably looks away. After a moment, he breaks the silence.
Jinu
You have any siblings?
You
Uh… yeah. Why?
Jinu
Younger?
You
Yeah.
He nods as if he expected this.
Jinu
Thought as much.
You kind of have an older brother aura about you.
You
(amused)
Is that a good thing?
Jinu
Yes.
Kind of a stickler, but… responsible. Like I should’ve been.
You look over in confusion. He doesn’t give any explanation for this ominous remark, instead jumping down from the small platform and brushing his hands on his pants.
Jinu
Thanks.
He’s already heading out of the dressing room before you can respond.
______
Twitter
laterskhaters
this dude did not just comment on a 5 month old post 💀
[comment.jpg: A screenshot of the comment section on your Instagram post from 5 months ago. It’s a mirror selfie; in the comments, Jinu commented: ‘Nice.’]
→ jajajaguar: come onnnn this is pathetic (THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEE)
→ babysgotback234: lolllll he’s whipped
______
Instagram
huntr.x
look who we found! @phantom
[huntrx.jpg: A selfie with the idols and you. Rumi is smiling and holding the camera out in front of you all; Zoey is holding up a peace sign, her arm on your shoulder; Mira is on your other side, straight-faced as always; you’re in the middle, a smile on your face.]
Most recent comments:
rumzoemir4eva: CUTEEEEE
hunterofthetrix: waittt i love his work, pls tell me yall are gonna collab 🤞🤞
jinussajaboyz: oh jinu’s gonna HATE this
→ saja5eva: wait why
→ jinussajaboyz: we think he has a thing for phantom
→ saja5eva: fr?
→ jinussajaboyz: yesssss
→ user19798: i can see it tbh
→ flirtingwfailure: yah have u seen all the bts content??? jinu seems much more relaxed when phantom’s around, he looks at him more often, literally went to the ny fashion show just to see him, gets quiet and pissy when phantom gets attention from the others, etc etc
hntrxxxxx: MY GIRLS (and boy haha)
rbrtdispatch: this pic is so damn cuteeeeeee
You: :)
→ sajaboysforpresidents: quick quick, there are two platforms over lava. One w huntrix and one w saja boys. u can save one group and only one group w a lever. who are u saving
→ jokersdemons: this is oddly specific
→ zoeymirarumi3333: what makes u think he’d answer this question lol
→ sajatrix: i’d save both tbh
→ user11918: considering ur username is a mashup of both groups, yeah, not surprising
______
Instagram
sajaboys
we had him first @phantom
[sajaphantom.jpg: A backstage photo of you sprawled on a couch, looking at something on your phone. A baseball cap hides most of your face.]
Most recent comments:
babyabby8: did he even knew this pic was taken… lmfao
jinusovergrownbangs: wait full stop he’s cuteeeee
→ phantomforpres: i mean we been knew
→ jjjinuuu: tru
huntrix: 🤨
→ sajaboys: 🤷♂️
→ plackbink: not the social media interns beefing
→ user93413: lolllll
sportsgirl179: the shade!!!
______
Twitter
Trending
Phantom
Related tags: Stylist, Jinu
sajajajajajajjaja
are saja boys and huntr/x beefing over a stylist LMFAO #Phantom
→ 80085forhire: designer and yes
jinuunij
jinu definitely wrote that caption i just know it #Stylist #Jinu
→ user190573: yeah right… they have social media people for that
→ jinuunij: SO???? you really think they’d write something that personal & friendly?
→ user190573: …u right
freerealestate
OFC JINU TOOK THE FUCKING PIC #Stylist[scrnshts.jpgs: A series of screenshots of the photo Saja Boys posted of you, gradually zoomed in to reveal Jinu’s reflection in a nearby glass.]
lollipoppyplaytime: there’s no way… y’all are crazy…
→ freerealestate: call it what you want, i don’t CARE
trainindayz
who is this guy and why is he y/n #Phantom
______
Weverse
Saja Boys
demon diaries, xvi.
Comments:
jinubias4L: who was jinu talking to off screen? his voice is too muffled and the subtitle doesn’t say
→ abbygimmeursweattowel: kinda sounded like he said that phantom designer guy’s name? maybe i’m tripping
→ allsajaallday: no that’s what i thought too,, not sure why he’d be at their dorm but
______
Instagram
abbyhomeslice 🍰
[abbyphantom.jpg: A mirror selfie of Abby and you. His free arm is thrown around your shoulders.]
babysgotbackpain: whoaaaa phantom’s really the sixth member of the group huh
→ gorillagluegorl: literally
axeismaibuddy: i didn’t realize abby was friends with the stylist…. new ship, methinks?
→ flagrantfouls: lord pls no, not another one. i have my hands full with jinu & phantom lord PLEASE SPARE ME
______
Instagram
You | phantom
thank you everyone for the bday wishes!!!!! 🖤
[bday.jpgs: A short collection of photos. The first one is a picture of a birthday cake with lit candles; the second is a selfie with you and a friend. The third is a meme of a cat staring at a cake while wearing a birthday hat.]
Most recent comments:
tjlakesss: happy belated bdayyy
craty82: happy birthday to the man who singlehandedly saved saja boys from shitty outfits!!! we love and stan you fr
flagrantfouls: HBD KING
Romance: 🎂
Baby: 🎂
Mystery: happy birthday!
Abby: HBDDDD 🤘
sajaboys: our fav stylist
→ crazyeights: even the social media intern agrees
→ sajaboys: excuse your mouth i am a full time employee (lying)
→ crazyeights: LOLLL good for u tbh
Jinu: Happy birthday.
→ floptinta: say it like u mean it
→ mrqueennn: lmaooo i didn’t want to be the one to say it
→ valentinetx: why are we always clowning him lollll
→ mrqueennn: he’s rich he can take it
→ valentinetx: factual
______
Twitter
You | phantom
stop telling everyone i’m dead Jinu
Jinu: then stop showing up to rehearsal late
→ You: as if i have to be there at all
→ Jinu: 😐
→ Romance: 😐
→ Abby: 😐
→ Baby: 😐
→ Mystery: 😐
→ You: WHAT THE FUCK.
insectsareppltoo: not them fighting on twitter instead of the gc
→ user04171: right like i don’t mind getting a front seat but xD
______
Instagram
You | phantom
mono
[mirror.jpg: A mirror selfie of you in a monochromatic outfit, with a somewhat bulky jacket, a slim-fitted ribbed tank top underneath, and sleek pants complete with a studded belt, platform boots, and silver jewelry.]
dreamconesteam: hi sir can i take ur order i mean uh
theeebestest: *knees wobbling* uhhh can i um. what am i here for again
→ thorgystan1: LOLLL
Abby: ur missing buttons
→ You: shut up
Romance: 🤘
→ You: <3
→ ajthedj30: wait why do i ship it
→ gresin: i hate it here
Jinu: so you do know how to dress nicely.
→ You: 🖕
→ goblinmunchin: LMFAOOO jinu u ain’t slick
→ cerealchamp: mom is this flirting
→ mamaiminlovewafag: yes son
→ cerealchamp: thanks
→ jinuikurreadingthis: very subtle jinu
→ idgafbid: lolllll
______
YouTube
vanityfair
Lie Detector Test w/ Phantom!
[phantomldt.transcript:
You can be seen sitting at a table in front of a brick wall, wearing a sweater over a collared shirt, baggy pants, and platform boots. You seem to be looking at someone behind the camera as you smile self-deprecatingly.
You
I didn’t think I was this popular.
(laughing)
Cheery music plays as the Vanity Fair logo flashes over the screen, on top of a few clips of your reactions throughout the video. Then the logo fades and the screen returns to you, staring at the camera with a reluctant smile.
You
Hi. I’m Phantom. I’m a designer based in Seoul; I’ve worked with actors, singers, celebrities… Most recently, I’ve designed for Saja Boys and Huntr/x.
Photos of your work fade in and out on the screen, showcasing the breadth and variety of your work.
I guess I’m here today to take a lie detector test! Yikes. I don’t think I have anything to hide, but I’m getting nervous…
A crew worker can be seen at the edge of the screen, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your upper arm. They then set up some small cuffs on two of your fingers (a galvanograph, supposedly) and some sort of cardio reader. They look to the administrator before disappearing.
You
Jesus, I’m terrified. Lowkey. Maybe highkey.
A dramatic spotlight is placed on you. You squint for a bit.
Interviewer
Is your designer name Phantom?
You
Yes.
Interviewer
Are you here to take a lie detector test?
You
Yes.
You look over to the administrator of the test, who is watching the polygraph. He nods. You then refocus on the camera.
Interviewer
You’ve liked fashion from a young age, right?
You
Ah, yeah! So ever since I was little, I really liked clothing. I couldn’t really articulate why at the time. I just liked feeling the textures of different clothes, I liked looking at all the different colors.
I actually am remembering now… My mom had to take me to some of her hair salon appointments, because my dad was at work. And while she got her hair dyed or touched up or whatever, I was usually left to my own devices. One Christmas, I got this… I guess it’s sort of a sketchbook? Except it had stenciled outlines for mannequins. I used to love drawing in that. Or I guess ‘coloring’ would be a more accurate word.
The administrator gives a thumbs-up.
Interviewer
What’s one fashion trend or item that you’ve never liked?
You
Ooh, that’s a good one. I’ll say… low-rise jeans. I never liked them, always thought they looked weird. Also, I feel like that’s definitely a trend that was optimized for skinny people. Low-rise pants were popular in the 2000s, and at the time, I remember beauty conventions being very strict. Of course, they still are, but you know what I mean.
Honestly, I just don’t think they look that great to begin with. There’s nothing wrong with wearing them with a sweatshirt, sweater, whatever. But when you combine low-rise jeans with a crop top, it’s way too much. I don’t want to be seeing that much of someone. Feels weird.
Interviewer
Have you ever styled for someone you didn’t like?
You
Yeah.
Interviewer
Who was it?
You
Yeah, no, not saying that.
But I will say that it was early on in my career. And, I mean, working with people you don’t like… that’s applicable to pretty much any career. You’re going to run into people you don’t vibe with, and that’s okay.
I’ve been very fortunate recently, to be able to pick and choose my clients. In the beginning, when no one knew me, I had to take what I could get. But now I get to be more selective. It’s a privilege for sure. But I like to think that I’ve worked hard for it.
Interviewer
Have you ever been told that you’re intimidating?
You
No. I don’t think so?
Administrator
(makes an uncertain face)
You
I mean, maybe? I don’t try to come off as intimidating.
Though I will say I’ve been told I have a resting scowling face. So that could be a contributor.
The administrator nods.
Interviewer
You once said that you believed fashion has a lot of room to grow. Do you think that’s still true?
You
Oh, absolutely.
Administrator
True.
You
Fashion reflects social norms. For a long time, people with paler skin, thin forms, and eurocentric features were considered beautiful. As time has passed, and we’ve tried to address many of the different prejudices that influence style, I think we often fall back into that same pitfall. Style these days is still confined to the gender binary. And it’s infinitely more accessible for thinner people. And men.
I could go on. (waves a hand dismissively)
Interviewer
Do you believe beauty is pain?
You
Oh, hm…
Yes. But also no?
I think it’s hard to find a real answer to that question. A lot of beautiful pieces are uncomfortable. Sleek outfits with leather, for example. Leather looks great, but it’s uncomfortable. High heels are another example: they look incredible and elegant, but they’re not designed to be worn for long periods of time.
I think beauty can be painful, but beauty shouldn’t necessitate pain, if that makes sense. Like, an outfit can be stylish and comfortable at the same time.
Interviewer
Recently, you’ve been receiving a lot of attention for your work with the Saja Boys.
You…
Interviewer…
You
Okay. Sorry, was that a question, or…?
Interviewer
Do you enjoy working with them?
You
Oh! Yeah.
Administrator
…True.
You
Whew.
(wiping a hand from your forehead in mock relief)
Interviewer
Do you have a favorite member to style?
You
Probably Romance. He tends to be the most easygoing when it comes to trying new things. Plus he dyes his hair pretty frequently, so it’s fun to experiment with color.
Administrator
True.
You give the camera a relieved grimace.
Interviewer
Do you like the Saja Boys more than Huntr/x?
You
Ha… (grimacing)
That’s tough. And kind of a multi-faceted question.
Interviewer
We can go through the different ones. Are you closer to the Saja Boys?
You
I—Oh. Uh. Yeah. I’ve been working with them longer.
The administrator nods in agreement.
Interviewer
In terms of music, do you like the Saja Boys’ better?
You
Ugh, I knew this was coming…
You rub your hands over your face before taking a deep breath.
No.
Administrator
…He’s telling the truth.
You
Don’t get me wrong, I like them both! But Huntr/x is just… I don’t know. There’s something about them! Their music is really magnetic. They make use of their harmonies really well. They’re versatile, while still having a recognizable sound. I like their music better.
…Saja Boys, don’t fire me.
Interviewer
Kiss, marry, kill these Saja Boys songs: Soda Pop, Your Idol, and Psyche.
You
(laughing in awkward pain)
Oh no…
Administrator
He’s getting nervous.
You
(dryly)
Wow, thanks.
Okay. I’ll kiss Your Idol. It’s a great song, but it definitely alludes to some of the dependency and parasocial feelings that can spring up between fans and their idols. Not something you’d want to build a long-term relationship on. I’d marry Psyche, because that song is already about introspection and making peace with your feelings. That makes me think it’d be a good partner.
Interviewer
Then that leaves Soda Pop. You’re killing it?
You
…Yeah.
Administrator
Heart rate’s rising.
You
Hey, come on…
Interviewer
What is it about Soda Pop that makes your heart rate go up?
You
Ugh, I’m going to get completely dragged for this…
(You bury your head in your hands for a moment, before letting your hands fall to the table with a dull thud and looking at the camera.)
Fine, I’ll tell the truth. I don’t like Soda Pop.
Administrator…Truth.
You
It’s more than that, actually. I really don’t like it. I kind of hate that song.
Adminstrator
Still true.
You
It’s just too upbeat for my liking. And when you compare it to Idol and Psyche, which both have a lot more symbolism… I don’t know. It doesn’t do it for me. I don’t like that kind of peppy music.
Plus, it kind of reminds me of my days working in retail… Soda Pop gives off the vibe of a song that would be blasted through a department store for days on end.
Interviewer
Have you worked at a department store?
You
Yeah, just as a high school job.
The nightmares of customer service… I really do think, truly, that everyone should be required to work a customer service job for one full year. That should be the requirement for graduating high school. I think it would make for a much nicer world.
I’m not trying to be ignorant in saying that minimum wage work is the worst situation a person can be in, or that working in retail or food service automatically makes you a good person or anything. It’s more… I just think it would be a rude awakening for a lot of people. Because you see how these [CENSORED]— whoops, probably can’t say that. You see how demanding and just completely rude people can be. And many of the customers who act like that, they’re used to being catered to. They’re not accustomed to being on the other side of the fence, have probably never even been over there.
The administrator and interviewer are both silent.
You
(laughing)
Went on a tangent there, sorry.
Interviewer
Have you ever been in a relationship with a client?
You
No.
The administrator nods in agreement.
You
That would be awkward. I like to keep work and personal life separate.
Interviewer
Have the Saja Boys ever irritated you?
You
Oh, of course.
But I’m sure I’ve irritated them too. It can be kind of stressful—on either side of the equation. If you’re an idol, you want your clothing to be seamless, an extension of yourself that’s still practical enough to perform in. If you’re a designer, you want your clients to look their best. I mean, I said it before, but it’s hard to have both.
And fashion is tricky sometimes! Some people have smaller comfort zones than others. Sometimes, you have to accept that. Other times, they may need to branch out a bit.
Interviewer
Final question: Did you lie at any point during this interview and get away with it?
You
No. I don’t think so. I’m terrible at lying, actually.
Administrator
True.
You
Did I pass?
Administrator
(wryly)
You passed.
YouSweet.
The video ends with the Vanity Fair logo appearing on screen, as other recommended videos pop up.]
Comments:
sajamennn: wait he’s got a point
→ bloopdidoop: he’s an icon, he’s a legend, and he is the moment. now, come on now. (i had to do it)
jmartinese: i actually love that he calls out a lot of the beauty standards.
→ crabbycakes: yeah he seems like a good guy, genuinely. he’s spoken out before about how women in particular can be objectified or how their bodies (and lives in general) are so often policed. and he tries to keep that in mind when he suggests styles for them.
→ megthegriffin: awwwww
→ huntrixareforgays: omg i noticed that!!!! like, mira has spoken about this before, and how she actually prefers outfits with more coverage but she’s always thrown in more revealing ones anyway. and now that i think about it, phantom’s recent designs all have mira in pants or something with more coverage! he really listens to his clients, i think :)
mirarror RUHURHURHURHUHRUHR
→ kylorennyren: i want himmmmmm RAHHHHH
→ lofistudyboy: he’s so foineee
aliciaaa45: there are two types of comments: socially aware or barking like a dog
→ mirarror: LOLLLLL can’t i be both
→ aliciaaa45: i mean, live ur truth
→ mirarror: thank you. (ruf ruf ig)
sajaajas: OOOP not the soda pop shade
→ saja4saja: i mean, it’s not really shade, it’s just his opinion. and he was reasonable about it.
→ sajaajas: truuu
jinjinjinu: no wonder jinu’s obsessed w this guy
→ mysteryunsolved: right? like i’m about to be obsessed w him too 😭
______
Twitter
Trending
Phantom
Related tags: LieDetector
cassfiles
“I think beauty can be painful, but beauty shouldn’t necessitate pain, if that makes sense.” #Phantom→ pshplease: GAWDDD we don’t deserve him
thworrrrrrp
#Phantom i’ve never seen someone tell the truth so many times during a lie detector test
→ breakfast4dinner: frrrr! even the administrator seemed a little less stern-faced than usual :>
31381404
i hate him /j #Phantom #LieDetector[irritation.mp4: A short screen recording of the interview, when you’re asked if the Saja Boys irritate you.]
→ lawlightapologist: hahahhaa
kimkitsuragistan
#LieDetector i had never heard of this #Phantom guy before this video, but damn, he’s cool
→ scizor64: ikr
drhouseisgay
#Phantom spitting facts about fashion and the obsession with being rail thin
______
[Saja Boys in Style]
Abby: well i for one am offended
Baby: ?
Mystery: ur always offended…
Abby: shaddup
Romance: lol
Jinu: what are you offended by
Abby: our favorite stylist doesn’t even like our music :(
You: THAT’S NOT EVEN CLOSE TO WHAT I SAID
Romance: yeah… didn’t realize you hated us so much
You: bruh
Abby: do u even care about us at all 🙁
You: i’m going to jump into a pool fully clothed
Romance: that’s… extreme.
Baby: 🏊♂️
Abby: do it coward
Jinu: Everyone, relax.
Romance: he’s pulling out the proper punctuation now
Mystery: shit’s going deownnnnn
You: : ‘ (
Jinu: Stop crying.
You: i’m not crying 🙄
Abby: well I AM
Romance: lmfaooooo liar
Abby: stfu
Jinu: @You We’re going to grab ramyeon if you want to join us.
You: yeah sure! usual place?
Romance: mhmmm
You: kk
______
Instagram Story
baby
[ramyeon.mp4: A short video of the Saja Boys and you at a restaurant table. Baby turns the camera to selfie mode, showing Abby and Romance next to him. They throw up peace signs and winks. Then Baby flips the camera and films Mystery, Jinu, and you. Mystery hides in his bangs; Jinu just gives the camera a slightly annoyed look, and you give a helpless smile. When Baby keeps zooming in on you, Jinu blocks it with his hand.]
______
Twitter
jinu
Lfjsdafkerretqwthut5e when he
Mystery: profound
Abby: check which acct ur posting on, oh wise leader of ours
Romance: lmao tweaking on main is crazy
Baby: same 🍼
thesuperkent: who is this ‘he’ you’re talking about, hmmmm???
→ jokesonufool: i’m about to freak the fawk out
→ crscnt: same
billbuttlicker: this is about phantom. because i said so.
→ gratercheese: thank you, bill buttlicker.
phantasmagoric: PHANTOM X JINU CONFIRMED
→ jinucomehome: y’all just hearing what u wanna hear at this point
→ phantasmagoric: and???
______
Instagram
romance
w the liar himself
[liar.jpg: A photo of you walking ahead of Romance, your back turned as you walk down the sidewalk.]
You: oh come ON i didn’t even lie??!
rawrxdhesaid: god i can’t keep up anymore. I CAN’T KEEP UP someone just write a poly fic and get it overwith
→ mria4l: omg frrrrr
sajaboystilidie: y’all are cute
→ huntr.xeats: rightttt???
elbebeebeb: this kinda looks like a date to me ;)
→ twentyeightreasons: shhhh jinu’s here don’t let him see this
Jinu: so this is why you were 15 min late to rehearsal
→ abbyromanceagenda: lmao he jealous
→ mysterylovesmisery: jinu 😭😭😭
______
Twitter
sajaboysat6
Eagle-eyed fans recently spotted Jinu’s comment on a TikTok, where he tagged Romance and Abby. The featured video shows various agitated reaction pictures; a song by The Marías plays in the background, with a text overlay reading “can’t stop thinking abt him”
Comments:
mysterywantsme: the Marías????? jinu bisexual confirmed
→ batrickpateman: girl mystery don’t want you
→ mysterywantsme: and he don’t want ur ass either
→ batrickpateman: AYO???
→ mysterywantsme: lolll that was too far u right my bad
______
Twitter
You | phantom
i’m tired of being unable to watch tiktoks and being gaslit abt it. do i make a burner account so i can see what ppl send me orrrr
nosferatueats: um YES>??? DUH
qwerkee: i’ll be honest, you aren’t missing much. if anything.
→ polygloth: yeah tbh it’s all just brainrot
→ user192173: there are occasional nuggets of gold
→ kingkongsolos: yeah but does that justify wading through rivers of literal shit to find it?
→ bvjohnson27: that’s life mama
→ kingkongsolos: poetic
Jinu: no.
→ Jinu: suffer and miss out instead.
→ You: damn, gm to you too
→ tralalalalatte: lmao loser trying to cover his tracks, we already caught you in 4k bud
→ smoshinit: catch him doing what???
→ tralalalalatte: he commented on an alt account, on a mlm aesthetic tiktok, and tagged romance and abby. lolll
→ smoshinit: hahahha amateur mistake
Baby: googoo ga ga or whatever the fuck
→ You: LMFAOOO
Abby: u have friends?
→ You: u just sent me a tiktok 15 min ago and got mad when i told u i couldn’t view it
→ You: then complained again when i asked u to save it to ur camera roll and send it
→ Abby: yeah i’m not cluttering up my storage for ur boomer ass
→ You: boomer???? i’m gen z and younger than you, tho??? 😭😭
→ Abby: ok grandpa
→ You: bruh
______
TikTok
You | phantom
bloop
[sajatrix.mp4: A video of the Saja Boys speaking amongst themselves, set to “How It’s Done” by Huntr/x.]
Comments:
user01951: phantom has tiktok now?!?!???
sajastansrise: WELCOME TO HELL BRO
hungryhippo: omfg he’s so unserious 😭😭😭
→ zoeyiloveupls: ^ right like this is the first tiktok you make on your account ??? funny as fuck 😭😭
Mira: lmao
Liked by creator.
engenezfoiya: uniting fandoms one tiktok at a time
→ sajatrix: right like why fight when we could just make out
→ engenezfoiya: whoa idk about all that
→ miramarryme: shhhh speak for urself
→ engenezfoiya: LOLLL
______
TikTok
You | phantom
[eyeroll.mp4: A short selfie video of Jinu rolling his eyes, with the music set to “Psyche” by Saja Boys. There’s white text near the center of the video that reads: “stream Psyche”.]
Comments:
8nleftnone: u got it boss
Liked by creator.
jinusthirdhusband: awwwwwe stealing his bf’s phone 🥺
tomnookservant: lmao did jinu steal ur phone dude
Liked by creator.
drhouseapologist: first (twelve hundredth)
Liked by creator.
phantomxjinuwhen: phantom liking all the comments except the ones abt him dating jinu 😭😭
______
TikTok
You | phantom
[recognized.mp4: “Someone came up to me on the street and recognized me for my work. Which is awesome. But also…” You put the phone down on a nearby wall and take a few steps back to get your entire body in view of the camera. Wearing sweatpants, an oversized sweatshirt, and sneakers, you extend your arms in a helpless gesture. “Basically, I don’t really look the part.”]
Comments:
Jinu: who
→ Baby: 🙋
→ You: lolll i wish tbh
→ Baby: 😏
→ You: 😏
usernameforthcoming: and??? still hot
→ ghostfaceit: real
dresstodepress: your work speaks for itself! everyone deserves to relax and dress how they want.
→ monstaxsandohs: preach!
______
Weverse
sajaboys
[LIVE] A Week of Celebration: Day 1!
Mystery
In celebration of the release of our new album Psyche, we’ll be doing a week of streams with different guests.
Baby
Go listen to the album if you haven’t already.
Abby nods.
Abby
And today we’re here with our beloved designer and stylist… Phantom!
Abby promptly pulls you into view of the camera, looping an arm over your shoulders and grinning.
Say hi to our fans!
You
(slightly awkward, with a small wave)
…Hi.
Abby
Isn’t he adorable?
Mystery
(unimpressed)
What’s the next game?
Abby
Ah, eager to get to it, I see. How about you pick, Romance?
Romance
Okay.
Romance digs his hand into a fishbowl of paper slips, pulling one out and unfolding it.
‘Agree/disagree standing game.’
Baby
Cool.
Jinu
Do we have room for this?
Romance
Probably.
There’s some shuffling as you and the Saja Boys clear a space for all of you to stand.
Director
(from off screen)
Okay, most of you have probably played this game. I’m going to give you a statement, and you’ll stand where your opinion falls: strongly disagree on the far left—your right—, then disagree, and neutral in the middle. Agree and strongly agree are on the other side.
The members all nod. You shove your hands in your pockets and make sure to join the very back of the line. You all stand in the center and wait for your first round.
Director
Great. First one: ‘I’m a morning person.’
All of you spread out as you contemplate your answers. You end up standing in the “Neutral” line behind Mystery; Jinu is the only one in the “Strongly Agree” category; Romance, Abby, and Baby are all in the negative sections. They proceed to debate with Jinu about early morning dance practices, while you try to stifle a smile.
Director
Next one: ‘I like being the center of attention.’ Go!
You head over to the ‘Disagree’ section, blinking as you watch all five members head to the other side of the room.
You
Oh, I guess that checks out.
Romance
(teasingly)
Who’s the center of attention now?
You
Shut up.
You all return to the center of the room.
Director
‘I’m the most likely to hold a grudge.’
The members all but shove Jinu into the ‘Strongly Agree’ section. You and Baby are both in the ‘Disagree section’, with Romance, Mystery, and Abby in the neutral middle ground. Baby and you fist bump; Romance and Abby seem intent on airing Jinu’s dirty laundry, as they proceed to list the numerous times in which Jinu got mad at them for something and refused to let it go.
You all return to the middle of the room again.
Director
‘I’ve pictured my own wedding.’
And you walk right back to the ‘Strongly Disagree’ area. Staring at the guys, you realize you’re yet again an outlier.
Romance
(turning to Mystery next to him)
You probably have the venue picked out already, huh?
Mystery promptly hides behind his bangs.
That’s what I thought.
Abby
I already know what suit I’m wearing.
Baby
I mean… don’t most guys just wear a black suit anyways?
Abby
Well, maybe, but I’m not basic. I want it to be a tear-away at least. So I can just rip it off.
Romance
(amused)
Not a tear-away…
Abby
(turning to you)
Whatcha doin all the way over there? I know you’ve thought about our wedding at least once.
You
(rolling your eyes)
Shut up. And no, I haven’t.
Romance
You’ve never imagined it?
YouI mean, I don’t really believe in marriage. Not for myself, anyway.
Romance
Oh, would you look at that.
Before you can wonder what he’s talking about, Romance is heading across the room and standing behind you. He props his head up on your shoulder.
Guess I haven’t imagined our wedding either.
You huff in disbelief.
You
You’re stupid.
Romance grins and winks at the camera. The other members look begrudgingly amused at his antics, while Jinu looks strangely silent and blank. More so than usual, anyway. He’s staring at Romance rather intently, even as you all reunite in the middle of the room.
______
Weverse
sajaboys[LIVE] A Week of Celebration: Day 5!
Abby
Back by popular demand: It’s Phantom, our favorite designer! Don’t tell the others, though.
You
(waving at the camera kind of awkwardly)
Hey.
Romance
Hey yourself.
You roll your eyes.
Mystery
Looks like the game for today is…
(reaching his hand into the fishbowl of papers, pulling one out and unfolding it)
…Truth or Dare.
Abby
Hell yeah.
Baby
No one’s daring you to take your shirt off.
Abby
Aw.
Maybe Phantom will.
Jinu
No, he won’t.
You
(with faux-defeat)
Fine, I won’t.
You all gather into a circle and begin the game. The first few rounds go pretty quickly, and you’re fortunate enough not to be called on. But once Mystery answers a tough question from Romance, he’s picking you to take your turn.
You
I guess I’ll do… Dare.
Mystery
Okay. I dare you to… read out your ten most recent Google searches.
You
Ten?!
Abby
Come on, it can’t be that bad.
You
I mean, let me look…
Oh God…
You scroll down, eyes skimming the screen, before you burst out laughing.
Abby
C’mon, dude, you gotta read ‘em!
You
Okay, okay. I can explain these. The first one is just ‘community fire’. I was looking for that meme from Community where the apartment’s on fire and everything’s chaotic.
‘Max Stranger Things’. I’ve never even watched that, so not sure why I looked it up.
The next one actually has you choking with laughter, as you bury your head in your hands.
Mystery
That bad?
Baby
It’s probably something crazy.
Romance
Or inappropriate.
You
Okay, well, given the context!
Jinu
(amused)
What context? You haven’t even given us any.
You
Shut up. Given the context. ‘Why was Nagito tied up’. The context is I was thinking about Danganronpa 2.
Silence. Then everyone’s laughing. Even Jinu is chuckling, that restrained smile on his face.
Oh, ‘Book Park Lounge’, I was looking for this place near me…
Romance
Whoa, we can’t just breeze past that.
You
Breeze past what?!
Ugh… it does look crazy out of context. But that does actually happen. Nagito gets tied up after the first trial and I couldn’t remember why. Danganronpa is wild out of context. And in context too.
‘Free guy all actors’. My mom wanted to know the one actress in the movie… ‘Waterpark simulator lag’, my game was lagging… And ‘scientology history’, because my friends and I were talking about those speedrunning videos.
The guys are all sporting various expressions of amusement. The room is starting to feel warmer. You groan and recline onto the floor, putting your hands over your face in embarrassment.
You
(muffled)
I’m never going outside again…
You sit there for a few moments in embarrassment, until there’s a hand on your ankle.
Jinu
(gently)
It’s your turn.
______
Twitter
Trending
Saja Boys
Related tags: TruthorDare, Phantom
mysterysdestiny
mystery having pics of the group as his lock and home screens 😭😭😭 #TruthorDare
user69161
#Phantom is the honorary sixth member idec what anyone says.
tjctearl
baby’s new hair… RUURHURHRUHRUH #SajaBoys
jinustaxes
JINU’S HAND ON PHANTOM’S ANKLE????? UJHHHHHHHHHHHHGIDAKGHDSJKFDBKSF #TruthorDare
(handonankle.mp4: A screen recording of the aforementioned moment on stream, where Jinu placed a hand on your ankle to get your attention.)
→ breakfastlunchclub: omg i noticed this too
______
Weverse
Saja Boysdemon diaries, xxiv.
[From 01:08:19 to 01:09:33:
There’s a figure in the far back corner of the screen, in the adjoining hall of the space. Jinu is the first to notice their presence, looking at the screen before turning around. Romance is still talking, so whatever Jinu says gets lost.
A few moments later, the new arrival makes himself known: it’s you. You’re wearing a short-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans, and after a moment’s contemplation, you take your sneakers off as you enter. You’re holding a nondescript bag of groceries, and you head across the screen and out of view again as you evidently put them away.
Jinu appears distracted, frequently casting a glance over his shoulder as he hears you putting everything away. Romance looks amused by this, but he still holds the chat’s attention for the most part. Then, when your footsteps can be heard getting closer, he addresses you.
Romance
We’re on live.
You
(frowning, pausing at the edge of the hall)
Uh… okay. Do I need to leave or something?
Jinu
No.
RomanceNope. Just saying. Just so the room knows.
You give him a weird look before heading over to them both.]
Most recent comments:
user9175816: ok but why would romance warn phantom unless he was expecting something to happen
→ patternsimashamedof: wdym
→ user9175816: i’m interpreting it as romance being like ‘we’re on live, so don’t act all lovey dovey’ to the two of them lol
→ patternsimashamedof: when have they been lovey dovey?
→ user9175816: idk just let me live in fantasyland 😭😭😭
drlectersdinner: Romance saying “Just so the room knows” while smirking at the camera… meanwhile Jinu is glaring at him… MWHAHHAHA there’s something there fs
jackeloped: Jinu pulling up a chair for Phantom and then immediately including him in convo ;( i’m sobbing
______
TikTok
kratosaxeme
[ranking.mp4: A brief clip from a longer moment on stream where you and Jinu were following along to some food ranking videos. The first food that appears on the screen is pizza.
You
Okay, I love pizza. But you don’t like it, right?
Jinu’s eyes widen for a moment.
Jinu
How do you know that?
You
(blinking)
Uh… you told me.
Jinu
(thinking for a moment)
…Yeah.
I tell lots of people. They don’t usually remember.
YouWell, of course I remembered.
Silence.
You
(smirking)
How could I forget that you’re a freak of nature?
Jinu rolls his eyes.
You
Anyways. We have both sides of the spectrum here, so now I think we’re forced to put pizza somewhere in the middle. Maybe number four? We still have a lot to go.
Jinu doesn’t respond. You look over at him and he blinks as if thrown from a trance.
Jinu
Four’s fine.]
Most recent comments:
user97561: this is so cute actually
abbysbaby: jinu looked so soft there… and then phantom had to ruin it by being a demon 😭😭
→ kreennaveen: LOLLL he’s not the sentimental type methinks
______
Twitter
jinuscakes
No way he just said this no way no way no WAYYYYYYY
[type.mp4: The members are asked about their ideal romantic ‘type’. Jinu is the last to answer.
JinuMy type…
Someone who’s… smart. Creative. And… independent.
Romance exchanges a knowing look with Abby behind Jinu’s back.]
user56516: wait i don’t get it
→ jinuscakes: he’s literally DESCRIBING PHANTOM 😩😩😩
→ user56515: OH SHIT WAIT UR RIGHT
floptinta: notice the gender neutral phrasing
→ ottooctaviussssss: yeah jinu’s bi!
→ floptinta: OH SHIT FR>>>???
→ ottooctaviussssss: YES he’s posted & talked abt it before :)
______
EXTERIOR – Streets of Gwangju, South Korea.
Romance, Jinu, and you are exploring the city, looking for the coffee shop you want to visit. You’re all decked out in casual clothing, T-shirts and shorts and sneakers. Romance has a bucket hat on to block some of the sun—how he makes it look good, you have no idea. You’re just settling for occasionally throwing a hand over your eyes.
You’re only about half a kilometer away from the coffee shop, but for whatever reason, the navigation is starting to send you on a strange path. You decide to pause and get your bearings. Romance scrolls on his own phone for a bit, before growing bored and sighing and resting his chin on your shoulder. You two are almost the same height, so it doesn’t make the gesture too awkward. He wraps his arms around your waist.
Jinu returns to the two of you after consulting a nearby map, eyebrows furrowing. He turns to Romance.
Jinu
Why… are you so close to him?
Romance
(with a shit-eating grin)
I have separation anxiety.
Jinu
(unconvinced)
Uh-huh.
And you’re letting this happen.
You look up from your phone to find him looking at you expectantly. You shrug. Jinu huffs, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. You raise an eyebrow and keep scrolling through your phone.
You
It says it’s… up ahead, to the left. I guess. It took us on a weird path, though.
Jinu
Yeah, the map said that too. Must’ve tried to avoid foot traffic or something.
You
I guess so.
Romance
Well, lead the way.
You
I do have to walk, you know.
Romance lets out a dramatic sigh before reluctantly letting his arms fall from your waist. Though he then just sneaks a hand down and holds yours. You walk a few steps, only to realize you don’t hear Jinu walking next to you. You turn back around to find him still standing there.
You
Jinu?
Jinu
Right.
You
(with a playful smile)
I do have another hand, you know.
You hold out your hand, completely expecting him to laugh it off or scoff and walk away. Instead, he stares at your proffered hand for a long moment, before taking it. The three of you head off hand in hand, before Romance is suddenly dropping your hand and falling back.
You
What—?
You blink and turn, spotting Romance heading back toward Abby, Baby, and Mystery, who have finally arrived.
Oh.
______
Twitter
sajajinuuuu
guys guys guys guys GUYS ok ok so you’ll just have to believe me bc i didn’t take pics. but i swear on everything i love i just saw phantom and jinu holding hands at the gwangju national museum
Comments:
user97511: OMGGGG
shownushot: wait wait bc this would match up… they mentioned wanting to take a gwangju trip a few years ago and it never happened…
illbeuridol: pics or it didn’t happen
→ sajajinuuu: then ig it didn’t happen 😑 i didn’t want to ruin their day. idols/celebrities deserve privacy and free time!!!!
______
Twitter
You | phantom
it’s crunch time
Most recent comments:
fashionistasister: CONGRATS ON MILAN FASHION WEEKKKKK
→ usernamenotfound: wait i’m not in the fashion world,,, did it already happen?
→ fashionistasister: oh, no, but he’s confirmed to be showcasing his designs there, so it’s a big deal :3
→ usernamenotfound: got it ty
______
Twitter
missedquot4
I miss phantom, he hasn’t been on the streams in monthssss :(
→ user17611: he’s prepping for milan fashion week!
→ missedquot4: ohhhh shit! sometimes i forget that he isn’t a member lol
→ user17611: lollll
______
Twitter
Saja Boys Watch | sajawatch
Jinu is sitting front row at Milan Fashion Week!
(runway.jpg: A photo of Jinu sitting in the front row and watching the runway.)
jinununu: omg he’s going for his bf… sobs
→ bajasoyssss: yall never quit with this huh xD
______
EXTERIOR – Spazio Cavallerizze, Milan, Italy.
After months—no, years—of work, you’ve finally done it. Your designs have walked the Milan Fashion Week runway. The models all did wonderfully, as did the rest of the backstage staff. The fabrics were sleek and elegant, dark greens and blues blending into subtle greys. There were definitely a few mishaps: fitting conundrums moments before a model’s walk; a broken zipper; a missing shoe. But you did it. The hard part is over. All of your designs hit the runway without a hitch; you even made a brief appearance at the end, bowing and clasping your hands in thanks before quickly retreating.
Now, you can just relax. Right? You’re not sure. Your adrenaline is still pumping; your hands are shaking, you realize as you sort out your various notes and try to tidy up the mess you made of the temporary work station.
You’re tidying up one of your sewing kits when there’s a hand on your shoulder. You startle a bit, only to realize it’s a very familiar face. It’s Jinu. He’s wearing a well-fitted suit, the dress shirt underneath unbuttoned to show off his collarbones. He’s definitely dressed nicer than you are, that’s for sure. You’re wearing a simple dark grey dress shirt (probably wrinkled), dark wash jeans, and comfortable sneakers. (You had a feeling you would want to wear something decently comfortable to walk around in, and you were right. )
You
(breathless)
I thought I saw you. I didn’t know you were coming!
Jinu
Of course I did. Wouldn’t miss it.
You gravitate toward each other, as Jinu pulls you into a hug.
Jinu
Congratulations. You did so well.
You
Thanks.
Jinu
All the work this has taken… You should be really proud of yourself. Seriously.
You
Thank you.
You hug him for a bit longer. This seems to be fine with him, because he isn’t really letting go either. You’ve probably passed the point of socially appropriate, but it’s fine. You just finished Milan Fashion Week!
It’s clear you’re both reluctant to part, and even as you try to pull away and maintain your composure, your hands are sliding down his arms like you can’t physically let go. Jinu’s hands settle at your waist, your eyes meet, and time seems to stop. He leans in closer, your hand rises to rest beneath his jaw, and you’re kissing.
When you pull away, there’s a slight smile on Jinu’s face. A real one.
______
Instagram
jinu
Good show. @phantom
(runway.jpgs: A series of photos Jinu took of the designs on the runway. They’re all from your collection.)
Summary: You and Clark have been in a relationship for the past several months but he's yet to reveal his secret to you. When you get caught up in a bank robbery and taken hostage, Superman comes to the rescue and seems just little to concerned with your well being...
Warnings: Fluff, angst, violence, kidnapping, protective clark, use of Y/N.
Word Count: 2,638
A/N: I've always been a huge fan but this is my first attempt at writing for Superman. Feel free to imagine whatever Superman you want. I would love to know what you think of our big boy in blue coming to our rescue. Protective Superman makes me melt 😌
The day had started so well. Waking up in the warm embrace of your boyfriend of five months, after finally taking the next step in your relationship has left you in a dreamy haze all day. The fact that Clark had waited for you to be ready without pressuring or gas-lighting you was new to you, and that had made last night even more special. But of course, the universe can't let you have too much of a good thing, which is why you now find yourself staring down the barrel of a gun, a masked man ordering you to stop where you are. You'd only come in to the bank to withdraw some cash since the damn outside ATMs were down. How did it all descend into such chaos so quickly?!
"Keep your hands where I can see them and get away from the door!" The man snarls. A shudder runs down your spine, and a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. You'd almost managed to sneak out without being seen. Maybe that's what has angered him so much because the second you're within reach his hand shoots out, gripping your hair with punishing force. Tears spring to your eyes from the sudden pain, trembling hands automatically flying to his wrist. A gasp rushes up your throat. "Please don't hurt me!" you yelp, shrinking from the menacing man towering over you. "Shut up!" he roars, pulling your head back further. You can't stop the pained cry escaping you.
"Will you lot hurry up in there?!" he booms to the three men ransacking the vault at the far end of the bank. Your eyes dart to the left wall, where staff and several customers are crouched on the ground, some crying, some offering comfort to those beside them. "All done in here, boss," echoes a voice from the vault. Three men, all dressed in black clothing and wearing black balaclava's rush out onto the main floor, bulging duffle bags slung over their backs. Their boss, still with your hair in his grasp, dashes over to the front door. When he gets there, he pulls you in front of him and to your horror, you realise he's using you as a human shield. Five police cars are parked haphazardly outside the bank, every police officer's gun pointed your way.
Logically, you know you have nothing to fear from their weapons but misfires can- and do- happen and it's that possibility that has your stomach in knots! "Open the door," your captor growls, pressing his gun to your temple. You comply, pushing it open half way. "I didn't want it to come to this...!" 'Boss' yells from behind you, almost bursting your eardrum in the process. "But you guys just don't know when to quit! We're leaving now and if we see anyone following us, the girl is dead." He yanks you back from the door. "Move!" he barks, stepping backwards while still using you as a shield.
He rejoins his men, dragging you through a corridor towards a back door. The entire walk is so surreal. A part of your brain refuses to accept this is happening but the rest of your mind is centerd on only one thing, or specifically, one person: Clark. Will you ever see him again? Feel the safety of his embrace, his lips on yours? How will he cope if you don't make it through this? Tears spill down your cheeks, your heart being torn apart for the both of you. This can't be it! You can't leave him! There's only one hope for you now: Superman. You just pray he's close enough to help...
The tiny flashing blue lights of the police cars become bigger as clark nears the scene. Over a dozen police officers have their sights on the bank building in front of them, but some turn their attention to Clark the moment he lands amongst them. "Superman! Thank god!" A middle aged policeman exclaims. "What's happening?" Clark asks, his tone professionally calm. "Bank robbery turned hostage situation. We can probably get to her, but it's risky." "I'll take care of it," Clark assures the officer before floating above the building. Foucsing his vision on the bank, the walls become almost non exsitant to him.
Skeletons huddle against the wall in the main part of the building, while a group of five other skeletons scurry along a long corridor to a back door, one of them clearly being dragged against their will. Clark silently drops into the private parking lot at the back of the building just as the door swings open with a thud. "Move! Move!" A frantic voice commands. Four men spill out into the lot: Three up front, the fourth, holding the hostage, obscured behind them. "I don't know why you even bother to-" Clark's words are cut short, his throat closing up as the startled men spread out with their handguns drawn, revealing you at the back of their group, a gun pointed at your head.
In that moment Clarks whole world narrows down to just you and the look of terror in your eyes. The blood in his veins turns to ice, every muscle seizing up and all he can do is stare. That is until you release a sharp cry as your head is tugged backwards, the unimaginable sight snapping Clark back to the here and now. A fear he's never felt before-deep rooted and primal- buries itself deep under his skin and for the first time in his life, he has the desire to kill. "I'll give you one chance to let her go, unharmed," Clark warns, his voice ominous, hands white knuckled at his sides. His eyes flicker between the gun and the fool holding you captive.
You could honestly cry right now, more from relief than fear. Superman's here! He's really here. Surely now everything will be okay. Though you've never met him in person, you've watched plenty of video's of him handling worse situations than this with confidence and ease... So why, when his eyes met yours, did all the colour drain form his face? Why did fear flash through his eyes and his shoulders tense up? "You don't get to call the shots, Superman!" 'Boss' snarls, placing the gun under your chin. Your eyes widen and your heart thumps painfully against your ribs.
"You know I can move faster than you can pull the trigger," Superman says. Theres' a deadly undertone in his voice and in your peripheral, the other men shuffle, glancing between their leader and Superman, guns still raised. "Are you willing to take the chance?" 'Boss' retorts smugly. A heavy silence falls and you hold your breath, bracing for... whatever is about to come. Suddenly, a hot, stinging sensation spreads under your chin right where the tip of the gun is pressed. 'Boss' let's out a shriek, dropping the gun and releasing you at the same time. You didn't even register it happening, but now you're standing behind Superman, his red cape clutched in your fists. One of his arms is wrapped you, keeping you pressed to his back.
Peeking around his side, you watch in awe as Superman releases a loud puff of air, sending the four men careening into the wall, knocking them unconcious. Shouts and footsteps fill the parking lot as police officers storm the area. You breathe out, relief overwhelming you. Before you even have the chance to thank your saviour, Superman spins to face you, his expression frantic. "Honey..." His hands cup your face, the tenderness of it oddly familiar. "Are you okay?! Did they hurt you?!" DId you hit your head at some point because you're certain Superman just called you 'Honey'? And the way he's looking at you right now... "I-I'm okay," you stutter, unsure what to make of this. Superman's hold on your face doesn't waver, even as his shoulders visibly relax.
The frown on his face disappears and he sighs, "I was so afraid I was gonna lose you!" "W-what-" His lips crash to yours, cutting off your words. Your whole body tenses, eye's bugging out and your hands push against his solid chest. What the hell?! This is wrong! How dare he. The only one who gets to kiss you like this is Clark. Wait... Clark does kiss you like this; exactly like this. The softness of his lips, the sweep of arms coming around you, one across your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head... It's the same! You freeze again as the realisation hits you like a sledgehammer. How did you not see it before?! This time, when you push against his chest, he allows the space, breaking the kiss and giving you a look that's part confusion, part worry.
You stare, slack jawed, taking in the man before you and it's as if a veil has been lifted. The vibrant blue of his eyes, the one vertical crease between his brows, the dimples. You know them all! Air rushes out of your lungs in one go. "C- Clark?!" you gasp, eyes dropping to take a long, drawn out sweep of his body before fixing back on his. That's when his puzzled expression shifts into wide eyed panic. "Shit," he mumbles, looking down at his bright blue suit, then back to you. "I'll explain everything, honey..." He let's go of your cheeks, clasping your hands instead. "Just not here." Super- Clark glances around at the hectic scene but you can't tare your eyes from him.
"You- you lied to me!" A lump forms in your throat, tears burning your eyes. "No!" Clark breathes, his tone pained. "I'd never lie to you. I have my reasons for keeping this from you and I swear, I'll tell you everything as soon as we're alone. But first, I have to make sure you're okay." Your mouth opens but no words come out. This is all too much to process! Clark, your clark is Superman! "Y/N... please," Clark whispers and the wet sheen to his pleading eyes makes your heart clench. "Miss?" A concerned voivc comes from beside you, causing you and Clark to drop each other's hands as you turn to face the officer. "Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?" "Uh...No, no... I'm- I'm fine," you fumble over your reply. The officer doesn't look convinced. "Ma'am, I think you may be in shock." He's right, but not for the reason he thinks. "I think you should get checked out at the hospital, just to be sure."
"I can take her." Clark's warm hand on your elbow helps to ground you and your return your attention to him. He gives you a silent 'Okay?' look and you nod. He bends down, placing one arm around your back and the other behind your thighs. Your arms loop around his neck and he scoops you off your feet. "Once you're able," the policeman quickly says, "We'll need to take a statement off you at the station." "Okay," you reply, your voice shaky. "Ive got you," Clark whispers into your ear and then you're lifting into the air, your stomach doing that 'swoop' sensation you get on a rollercoaster. You tighten your grip around Clark's neck, tucking yourself further into his frame. "Dont drop me!" you shudder, watching the city pass by below. "Never," Clark smiles, giving you a reassuring squeeze.
*****
"OW!' You suck the air in sharply through your teeth as Clark spreads Savlon cream over the circular burn under you chin. "Sorry," he winces, and proceeds to tap lighter around the area. Today was close, too close. He can't ever lose you. Just the thought makes him want to tear his hair out. If he'd been late or on the other side of the world... It doesn't bare thinking about. He made it to you but you didn't come out unscathed, and that absolutely guts him! His face floods with remorse. "I'm so sorry I hurt you." "Clark-" "I was careless," he continues over you. "It's just when I saw that gun, I panicked." "You didn't have many options, darling," you sooth. "It was either a little burn or a possible bullet in my head. Guess which one I would choose." Clark screws the cap onto the tube of cream and let's it drop on the sofa. He lets out a long sigh. "I'm meant to protect you; not hurt you."
You've never seen Clark like this before. This spiral of self loathing is unbearable to watch."You did protect me, Clark! You saved my life the only way you could, and I'll always be thankful." Your hands come up to cup his face, forcing his eyes to meet yours. "I'm alive because of you. That's what matters... Okay?" Clark's lips press into a thin line but he eventually nods. You give him a soft smile and for a moment, neither of you say anything. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask after a few seconds, unable to keep the hurt from your voice. "Y/N-" "I thought we had trust," You lament. "We do!" Clark exclaims, grabbing your hand in his much larger ones. "I trust you more than anyone in this world!" "So why didn't you tell me?" Clark takes a deep breath, his thumb rubbing light circles on the back of your hand. He's glad he gets to finally tell you the truth but he didn't want it to happen this way.
"It was never about not trusting you, honey. It was about keeping you safe. I've made a lot of enemies; the worst one still being at large." "Lex Luthor," you acknowledge with a nod. It's no secret that Lex Luthor and Superman are mortal enemies, and it's only a matter of time before Lex crawls out of whatever hole he's hiding in to strike again. "Yeah," Clark sighs. "If he ever found out about you, he wouldn't hesitate to use you against me. I did what I did to keep you safe." You nod, taking in this new information. "Were you ever going to tell me?" you ask. "Yes," Clark answers without hesitation. "When it was safe enough. When there was no threat to you. I never wanted any secrets between us."
A moment of silent understanding passes between you before Clark says, "Are you mad?" His earnest gaze tugs at your heart, those puppy dog eyes destroying any uncertainty you'd been holding on to. You stand and slide into his lap, his arms coming around your waist. "I was..." you begin. "But I get it; you wanted to protect me." "That's all I wanted," Clark agreed. "But clark... you have to promise you won't keep secrets from me again... No matter how big." Clark nods, emphatically. "I mean it," you press. "I want to be there for every aspect of your life..." You undo the buttons of the crisp, white shirt he's now wearing and open it to reveal the red and yellow "S" on his broad chest. Tracing the pattern with your fingers, you smile and gaze into his crystal blue eyes. "Including this one."
"I promise, honey," Clark smiles, and you pull him into a slow, deep kiss. His hands roam from your hips to the curve of your arse and you can't help but groan, as you straddle his waist, your chest pressing against his. It's a good thing you're sitting down because right now, your legs are useless. Clark always has this affect on you and you wouldn't have it any other way. "I love you, so much," Clark whispers against your lips, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating into your chest. "I love you too," you pant, pulling back to meet his eyes. "Wer're in this together." Clark grins. "Together."
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Characters (in order): Ryland Grace, Lars Lindstrom, Henry Letham, Ken, Colt Seavers, Driver
Summary: They find out you still have—and sleep with—a stuffed animal or plushie. How do they react and treat it?
WARNINGS: None! Tooth-rotting fluff again ^^
Word Count: 607
Ryland Grace:
* Confesses that he still has a red fox plushie that he got as a kid at his apartment (he doesn’t always sleep with it, but it’s always there)
* Whenever he stays the night at your place afterward—because his apartment is a good bit smaller than yours—he brings his fox plushie
* Has accidentally left the fox at your apartment before and almost freaked out a little bit—until you texted him a picture of his fox and your stuffed animal together saying that they’ll keep each other company while you’re both at work
Lars Lindstrom:
* Knowing that you have something that you hold onto while you sleep is incredibly comforting to him
* Because he sleeps holding his baby blanket, and knowing how much you cherish your plushie just like how he cherishes his blanket means the world to him
* Treats it with the most respect and only ever with the gentlest of touches
* One time you came to him upset because a stitch had broken and your plushie was “hurt”, and he very carefully “performed surgery” on it (making sure all the stuffing is back inside and then stitching the hole closed) and you had to try not to practically tackle him in a hug from how much you appreciated him helping
Henry Letham:
* Doesn’t mind, treats it with respect
* On very rare occasions he has drawn it and made it tell a stupid joke (usually only if he knows you’ve been having a really tough time because it makes you smile)
* If you leave him at your apartment to go run a quick errand, he’ll hold it while drawing
* If you ask him about it when you return, he’ll say that it was “so it wouldn’t get lonely” but you know it’s because he missed you
Ken:
* Honestly gets a little bit jealous
* He’s right there!
* But then you tell him that you love it so much because it makes you think of him, and suddenly he doesn’t mind it so much
* Is even more okay with it when you get him a horse plushie of his own
* Loves when you dress up both of your stuffed animals in “matching outfits” (giving them matching ribbons/scarves/etc.), it reminds him of how the two of you try to match outfits every once in a while
Colt Seavers:
* Pokes fun at it lightheartedly at first
* But immediately backtracks when he sees that it hurt your feelings a little bit
* He thinks it’s really sweet and tells you so
* If you work with him on movies you’ll sneak it onto his trailer
* One day you walked into his trailer with coffee for him and found him napping, your stuffed animal held securely in his arms
* You managed to get a picture of it, and when he found it as your phone wallpaper, he pouted about it until you changed it to something that “didn’t lose him any tough guy points” (as if he truly has many to begin with, but you don’t tell him that)
Driver:
* Doesn’t actively comment on it, but thinks it’s sweet
* If it ever falls off the bed, he’ll carefully put it back where it was (either sitting on the bed or into your sleeping arms)
* If you decide to bring it on a drive once (“so it can see the world, too”, as you explained it with a smile) he’ll think it’s precious
* If you don’t think to bring your plushie with you the next time, he’ll ask about whether or not it’ll get lonely while the two of you are gone
* Sometimes you’ll end up bringing it again, and other times you’ll chuckle and tell him that it wants some time alone
More cuteness while I keep writing that Driver fic because it seems headcanon posts do really well ^^
Warnings/Tags: MDNI, 18+ NSFW smut, smoking, hurt/comfort, anal sex, slight temperature play, inaccurate sex, safe sex, based off of Superman (2025)
A/n: First time writing smut, I wanted to expand my skillset as a writer, also if I missed any warning or tag, comment it so I can fix it thank you. This was based off a dream I had back in December. Jonathan Bailey was male Lois Lane in my dream and there was a specific show that came out around that time that pushed this idea. Maybe I'll put the actual dream at the end. Apologies if it seems rushed, some parts definitely were, I was very flustered the whole time writing it. Be nice to me please 🥺. edit: cover art by a very good friend. art by @kdrawrs
Louis stands at the roof of the Daily Planet. It was night time already, yet the city shone brightly against the darkened sky. Louis thumbed his pockets for a cigarette, moving with practiced ease in lighting it. His iris eyes never strayed away from the city lights, his hand covering the flame so as to keep it lit. He breathed in, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he let it escape slowly. Louis shoved his unoccupied hand in his pocket, unaware of the figure that descends behind him.
"You do know that cigarettes are generally harmful, right?"
Louis jumps slightly at the voice, his lips tightening their grip on the cigarette. His hand was on his chest, "Jesus!" The figure smiles at Louis's reaction, two dimples dotted the figure's cheeks. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, Louis gets a better glimpse at the man. Or more like...
"Superman. What a wonderful surprise." Louis relaxed when he saw the familiar red and yellow crest on the other's chest. Superman crosses his arms with a bemused look on his face, his crystal blue eyes lingering on the smoking cigarette between Louis's lips. His eyes flitted upwards, "Smoking's bad for your health, citizen." Louis scoffs, the left corner of his lips tilting up; he shrugs and blows out another puff. "I know." Superman rolls his eyes, reaching forward to pluck the smoking cigarette from Louis's lips. His fingers brushed against the pink flesh, Louis's tongue darts out almost on command. Superman tuts, "Not worried of germs, Mr. Lane?" He stomps out the cigarette and takes a look at Louis, the other man's eyes were glazed over slightly. Louis tilts his head with a shrug, "Never minded getting a little dirty, Superman. Why. Are you?" Superman scoffs at the shorter man's words, "Of course not, Mr. Lane, it often happens in my line of work."
The distance between the two grew shorter, Louis smirks up at him, "Not the type of filth we both must be imagining now, I hope." Superman's cheeks flushed a deep red, he choked on his own saliva and coughs. He took a step back, surprised at how forward his companion was. Louis steps closer, invading Superman's space with his proximity; the scent of cigarette smoke and mint fills his nose. It intoxicated the Kryptonian, his senses overwhelmed with a familiar burning that traveled south. Their chests pressed together, Superman's heartbeats thrummed loudly in his ears as Louis grasps his hand, "Since you seem so keen on curbing my smoking habit, I'd like to do something else. Have a little fun, c'mon, farmboy." Louis had a boyish smirk on his face as he trailed his hands up Superman's collar, hooking his arms around the man's neck. Superman's hands found Louis's waist, massaging the clothed flesh with his thumbs. For a moment, it was just the two of them, Louis and Clark. A moment of reprieve from their bustling lives.
After a period of time, Clark perks up from his position, his head tilting to the left ever so slightly. Louis sighs in disappointment, Clark whips his head back at the sound. "Louis…" The other man shook his head, "It's alright, go on then, save the city. They need you more than I do, Superman." He steps back, crossing his arms in front of himself while he looks at the ground. Clark lets out a small sound, Louis held up a hand before he could speak up. Clark's shoulders dropped, "Have a good night, Louis. Don't stay up too late." Clark kissed his forehead, slowly floating off the ground and left with a small salute. Louis waits for Clark to disappear before reaching for another cigarette. Another night alone.
Days passed since that occurence, the two men passing one another like ships in the night. In the mornings, Clark would be gone before Louis awoke. In the nights, Clark would arrive by the time Louis would be out cold. Even at work, there was no time to catch up. Clark would leave during lunch time to stop another bank robbery or to help an old lady find her dog. Louis found himself getting increasingly irritated, his attempts at bridging this gap seemed to fall flat every time. Dates cancelled, rescheduled only to be cancelled again. Gods know how many times he's sat at a restaurant only to wait for hours on end, nursing a glass of wine and sporting heartache on his face.
He knows Clark can't help it, people during this time of year just seemed to always need Superman. However, Louis can't stop himself from feeling angry; angry at Clark, angry at Perry for assigning him work with tight deadlines, angry at the world for keeping him and Clark apart. The rift between the two grew bigger as days turned into weeks, weeks turned into almost two months, falling victim to a new routine that caused both men to forget how it once was. Where warmth once blossomed, an icy ravine took its place.
Louis's smoking habit had gotten worse over time, masking his sorrows with the familiar burn in his lungs. He walked home after another day of staying late at the Daily Planet, Perry was slowing down on giving Louis tight deadlines which he was thankful for. That just gave time for Louis to mull over his feelings for Clark— over their relationship. He reminisced over the past year, his doubts were quelled during the events that ended with Luthor being sent to Belle Reve. Yet now, they came back to the surface with a force that seemed to drown him. All those dark thoughts reaching out to swallow him whole, he took another drag and walked under a flickering streetlight. The cold air was welcomed against his warm face, it's been a while since he's felt Clark's affection. His last text went unaswered by the Kryptonian, probably off world to save an intergalactic zoo full of kaijus.
A hand grabbed Louis from the dark alley he passed by, Louis's iris eyes widened with a yelp that was immediately covered up by the person in front of him, his cigarette falling to the grimy floor. "Shhhh, it's me." The figure took their hand off of his mouth. "Clark? What the hell?" Louis angrily whispers, gripping onto Clark's wrist tightly. "I can't see in the dark, you know. Gods. You can't just scare me like that." He leans his head against the filthy, slick brick wall with a sigh, relieved that it was just his boyfriend and not some random thief. Clark chuckles quietly, "Sorry, I forgot how darkness and light affect the human eye." He teased the reporter, cupping Louis's jaw and rubbing the pad of his thumb against his cheekbone. The lumbering man noticed the dying cigarette besides his feet, "Smoking still, citizen?" He teased playfully, inhaling the comforting scent of cologne mixed with the cigarette smoke. Louis smacks Clark's shoulder softly, "You're so corny. But seriously, what the hell?" Even in the dark, Louis knew that Clark had a dopey smile on his face.
"I couldn't wait, I… I know I've messed some things up and I wanted to make it up with you for the lost time. I was flying home when I noticed you walking back, I couldn't wait to tell you the good news: Guy and the others said they'd handle things for a little while. I'll stop being Superman for a couple of weeks, I'll just be… Clark Kent. Son of Martha and Jonathan Kent, average journalist for the Daily Planet and… And hopefully still the boyfriend of the greatest reporter to have ever graced Earth: Louis Lane." His voice was firm and sincere, but there was that hint of unsurety laced within his tone. It melted Louis's heart, his own fears melting away at Clark's confession. He never could stay angry at Clark, he knows how selfless to a fault his lover could be. The city's friendly neighborhood hero.
"Clark, oh, sweetheart. Of course, we're still together. I love you, and I know you love me." Louis lets out a small sigh, that familiar feeling of woe creeping in, "I don't want you to quit being Superman, you're one of the nicest and most gentle men I have ever met. It's built into you to be helpful, even with minor issues." He huffs out a sigh, toying with his glasses before taking them off and pocketing them, "I just want more time with you, it's been so long, farmboy." Louis ran his hand up from Clark's wrist to his chest, feeling the Kryptonian's steady heartbeat against his palm. It fluttered for a second at his touch, he grinned and returned his hand to Clark's wrist. "I've missed you too, darling." Clark murmured before closing the gap between them.
Their lips met passionately, slotting against one another like two puzzle pieces finally placed together. Fireworks exploded in Louis's mind, a wave of relief and joy washing over him. He deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up to Clark's shoulders. The hero's hands drifted to the reporter's waist; Clark opened his lips, his tongue prodding at Louis's lips for entrance. The cold air around them seemed to dissipate, quickly heating up with their kiss. The familiar intimacy rushing blood down south. Louis opened his lips, their tongues danced against one another, their saliva melding into one as Clark tapped Louis's thigh. Louis jumps, Clark catching his thighs and wrapped them around his waist. He pushed Louis against the wall to get a good grip, pressing his body against Louis's. They pulled away so Louis could breathe. Louis heavily panted, his body writhed forward, pushing his growing hard on against the other man's crotch. Clark smirked even though Louis couldn't see it, Clark's own cock twitched painfully under his suit.
"Take me home, Kent." Louis whispers beathily into the night air, "I want to see all of you."
Clark didn't hesitate for a second, soaring into the air to fly them to their shared apartment. The city lights illuminated their forms, whizzing past the bright and colorful blur. They entered from the opened window of their apartment. A moment that made them briefly recall the first time Clark confessed his love for Louis. Their brief flight calming them down from their haze of lust. The burning sensation lingered, but the cold air cooled them significantly. Clark placed Louis on his feet on the marble floor, their eyes meeting one another. Their gazes were full of love and unabashed yearning, yet it couldn't contain the pent up tension from the months apart.
Louis throws his bag onto the couch and strips off his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt while Clark make a quick work of taking off his suit. Louis helped Clark take off the suit, taking off the cape while Clark pressed wet kisses against Louis's neck. Clark's own hands unbuttoning Louis's pants, cupping the man's member. It twitched against his cool palm, he sucked on Louis's neck, littering the man's neck with love bites. The top part of Clark's suit was off, folding downwards to drape over his legs, Clark painfully parted from his lover's grasp to take off the rest of his suit. He peels the suit from his skin, kicking his suit to the side. The two stood in nothing but their boxers, the older man's iris eyes drifted downwards to Clark's restrained cock. There was wet patch from the precum dripping from the Kryptonian's clothed cock.
Their eyes met once more and before Louis could move forward, Clark pounced the shorter man with a kiss. It was scorching, Clark carried Louis to their bedroom, he was a man on a mission. Louis's fingers comb through Clark's hair, ruining it and gripping it tightly. Clark's hand squeezed Louis's supple ass, their members rubbing against each other through the layer of cloth that separated them. Once the two were in the bedroom, Clark carefully placed Louis on the soft comforter. He hovered over the other man with a cheesy grin forming on his face.
"Hi." Clark whispers airily.
"Hey." Louis responds raspily.
Clark surges forward, pecking his lips before trailing light kisses down the other man's neck and chest, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Louis lets out a shuddery sigh, fully laying back on the plush bed as Clark reached his boxers. Tugging at the article of clothing down his thighs, the reporter's cock sprung free from its confines. Clark uses his hand to grip his lover's cock, pressing his thumb against the weeping tip to gather some of the precum. Louis groans at Clark's touch, the other man's cold hands sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine.
Clark moved his hand up and down slowly, feeling it twitch against his fingers. Kissing the tip, his lips glistened in the low light from the lamp, prodding the weeping slit with his warm tongue. Louis raised his head, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of Clark giving his member kitten licks. He fought the urge to buck his hips, clamping his hand over his mouth as his toes gripped the sheet. His body was lit on fire, his nerves sparking with electricity as his pleasure levels spiked. It's been so long since Louis has been touched oh so intimately by Clark, he hadn't even had the time to do it himself. Louis moans out loud, it was barely muffled by his hand and Clark was making it harder by the minute. He closed his eyes and let the darkness envelop him, each lick caused him to shudder.
Soft lips wrapped around the head, gliding down slowly into the warm and welcoming caverns of the Kryptonian's mouth. Louis screwed his eyes tighter, biting his palm to keep quiet, he felt Clark pull off with a pop. He found himself missing the warmth, his length was slick with Clark's saliva and precum. "Why'd you stop?" Louis whines pitifully, his iris eyes were teary and his form unclenched slightly. "I don't like it when you try to keep quiet, ain't no one here but us, darling." Clark's voice deepend, the familiar Smallville twang peeking out as he stroked his own member, his tip an angry shade of red from pent up release. "Don't hold back on me, this ain't even the half of it." He swallowed up Louis's cock once more, sinking down to the hilt.
Clark bobbed his head up and down steadily, gradually building up Louis's pleasure. The other man's eyes rolled to the back of his head, a coil tightened in his belly bound to snap. He lets out a low, rough grunt followed by a needy whine that was sweet music in Clark's ears. Clark increased his speed, sucking harshly and letting his tongue glide around the hard appendage. The pink muscle brushed against the veins, no inch was left neglected. Clark bobbed his head faster, almost at an inhuman speed that caused the coil in Louis's tummy to reach the edge of combustion into a sweltering flame. The tight grip Clark's mouth had around his cock and the suppressed emotions boiled over with his approaching orgasm.
The coil snapped with a great force, he bucked his hips uncontrollably, driving his cock further into Clark's throat. Clark let out a little groan that vibrated against the gushing shaft, his own hand working at his length. He inhaled deeply, not moving an inch as he swallowed the last spurts of cum. Letting go of his painfully hard cock, Clark reached for the recognizable foil and lube in the nightstand drawer.
"Got one more in you, Lane?" Clark asks sultrily, ripping the wrapper open with ease and rolled the condom up his shaft. Louis laid on the bed, he felt absolutely boneless and euphoric at the moment. He smirked, opening his eyes slightly with heaving breaths, "Only looking for one more, Kent? I seem to remember our score of four last time." Clark massaged Louis's thigh, his gaze casted downwards, he bit his lip at the sight of the flaccid length trembling back to life. Clark coated his latex covered cock with lube, lathering it up graciously. He leant forward, sloppily making out with Louis. Their sweaty chests pressed against one another, hearts pounding in time with the lingering heat. Louis hooked his leg around Clark's waist, "Missed this." Clark says in between kisses, "Missed you so much." He nudged his cock against Louis's puckered hole. "I love you." Easing in the head, the two men groaned in unison. Clark stilled for a beat, not wanting to rush this moment and end up hurting Louis. Louis tapped Clark's thigh, urging him to sink deeper into him. There was a tick in the man's jaw, clenching and unclenching as his mouth forms into an 'o', releasing a low moan. He cautiously pushed further, his body shivering at the tight muscle surrounding his member. Louis placed his arm over his eyes, panting like a thirsty man.
Clark bottomed out into Louis's welcoming hole, the two men drowning in their shared pleasure. Louis grabs Clark's hands and intertwined their fingers, squeezing his lover's hands to ground him in this moment. "You good, darling? This okay?" The Kryptonian rasps out quietly, Louis nodded his head rapidly. This was better than okay, it was everything he had ever longed for. The Kryptonian chuckeld breathily and moved his hips gradually, squeezing Louis's hands back and closing his eyes with his mouth still agape. He leant forward, his hips moving like a well-oiled machine. Louis choked at the feeling of being full, Clark was always above average than the normal man. However, Clark's really takes the cake. After the months apart, Louis felt like it was his first time as Clark speared himself deeply, little gasps of pleasure escape their lips, harmonizing in a symphony of passion and lust that filled the air. Clark increases his speed, falling forward to hover over Louis, his head buried into the nook of his lover's neck. Louis lets go of Clark's hands to grip the Kryptonian man's shoulders, his other leg hooked around Clark's waist. The change pulling Clark closer till their bodies seemingly fused into one, writhing and bucking with a hungered depravity.
Louis's breath hitched as Clark snapped his hips faster and harder, he let out a strangled mewl. "Right there, fuck…. Sweetheart, god…" He cursed shakily, pursing his lips and breathed out his nose. Louis began to babble as he felt that coil wrap around inside into knots begging for release. Clark kissed up his neck, adding more to the lovebites that were already there and marking him for anyone to see. "You close, darling? Already so close for me." Louis could only reply with a wanton cry, his mind warped into a brainless husk with ecstasy being the only clear feeling. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, he dragged his nails down the super human's back and leaving red lines in his wake. Clark kissed the underside of his jaw, nipping and nosing the sharp outline. He whispers sweet nothings into Louis's ear, hooking his hands under the man's thighs and raising them up.
The two share a hungry kiss as they chase the incoming high, Clark's movements became erratic, pistoning into Louis's prostate with reckless abandon. "Cum for me, darling. Come on, cum." Clark licks the sweat that gathered on Louis's neck, his own orgasm approaching with a deadly speed. Louis buried his nails in Clark's back, leaving crescent shaped dents that would surely spring back after a minute. He dug his nails in further, the tight band in his belly ready to snap. This one felt different, like a tidal wave towering over him ready to crash him headlong into an unforgivable climax.
The band snapped, tore even. The tidal wave slamming into him, it was painful to the point of intoxication. He releases a drawn out loud and broken moan, crossing his legs on Clark's waist and curling his toes. That familiar white searing and blinding pleasure branded him whole. His spent cock spurting his spunk onto their bare stomachs, he felt hyper aware of everything. The noises of traffic, the soft sheets that rubbed against his skin, and the musky scent coming off Clark.
Clark's hips stuttered, moving languidly to chase the high that hit him like a freight train. He hovers over Louis again, smiling sweetly as his crytal blue eyes shone brightly in the afterglow of pleasure. He kissed Louis's cheeks, wiping the tears from his cheeks that Louis didn't even know fell. Clark pulled out inch by inch, the condom full of his own release. The Kryptonian sits up, moving gently to get off the bed without disturbing Louis. Louis lays down on the bed, far too blissed out to make a move. His mind raced endlessly, mostly lost in the cacophonous noises of the aftermath. He heard Clark turn on the faucet in the bathroom, the fog in his mind clearing up to a degree. Louis knew the two of them needed to properly talk about what the next few weeks would look like, where their relationship would go, and how to compromise to avoid this situation from happening again. At the very least, not neglect one another for months on end. But that was for tomorrow, for tonight, it was a lovers' reunion.
Clark returned with a washcloth and a basin, "Hey, you." He hummed out softly. Louis waved him off sluggishly, "Hey, yourself." Clark settled on the bed, cleaning up Louis gently with the cloth. The two kept quiet as Clark did this, a comfortable silence blanketing over them. The cool water a relief on his heated skin. His touches were delicate, constantly checking if Louis felt any discomfort. Louis felt his heart beat faster at the focused look on Clark's face, it broke into a tiny grin as their eyes meet.
"Your heart's beating fast again." He teased, lightly brushing against Louis's thighs. Louis let out a contented noise, shrugging his shoulders. Clark shook his head, "It's my favorite sound in the world, it's different than others. It beats in time with mine." His smile softened, pulling his hand away after cleaning Louis's spend. The corner of Louis's lip curled up, a breath puffing out from his nose, "You made that up."
Clark shook his head, "I didn't, I swear." He took Louis's hand, placing it on his chest and let him hear his heartbeat. Louis thought he was joking still, but then noticed the steady beating. His brows furrowed, he listened to his own heart. They thrummed similarly, barley palpitating out of sync before sitting on the same beat. "I always kept listening for your heart, it kept me sane the whole time I was away…" He curls his fingers into the slots between Louis's own, "I really am sorry, Louis. I didn't mean to leave you like that, I love you." Louis stares at Clark, his brow twitching as he mulled over the other man's words.
"I love you too, Clark. We'll talk more tomorrow, okay? I love you." He emphasized the final words, staring intensely into Clark's eyes. Clark sighs out in relief, nodding his head as he says, "Okay. Yeah. Tomorrow." He grins broadly, taking the basin and washcloth back to the bathroom. Probably also cleaning himself up. Clark comes back, laying besides his lover, he moves his head to lay on top of Louis's chest. The steady beat lulling him into a peaceful sleep.
A/n: Thank you for reaching the end! I wonder if y'all peep that reference I put in there👁️👁️.
Here is the dream as promised:
Dreamt that I was just chilling in this place, I saw Jonathan Bailey and he came over. But then this other guy came in, apparently he was a villain? And ppl approached him, saying shit like
Don't you know who that is? *While pointing at JB*
My brain was like, Of course, male Lois Lane. That's Superman's boyfriend, this guy's cooked-
Meanwhile, Jonathan looks the exact same way he does irl in this moment. He's very tanned, still British, and very welcoming. I think my mind was also like, Rachel's Lois still exists but also didn't.
