summary: the last time clark kent saw you was when you were 17 years old. after a traumatic accident nearly takes your life, you push clark away. now, nearly 12 years later, you and clark meet again. this time, it's in the bustling newsroom of the daily planet and you're forced to confront your entangled past with the man of steel. based off the song suburban legends by taylor swift
content warnings: descriptions of a car accident, swearing, trauma, ptsd, language, best friends to lovers to exes to ???, angst, language, medical trauma, eventual smut (18+), mentions of physical therapy, surgeries, clark is the perfect man, each part will have its own tags!
author's note: i'm back baby! this time with a series! i'm super excited for this. keep on the look out for the first part within the next week. enjoy the anticipation!
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i finally have a stand alone fic in the works! it's a fic where reader writes for the pop culture section of the daily planet and interviews celebrities and her coworkers find out she's like childhood besties with an award winning actor (picture michael b jordan :D) and everyone is like wtf why didn't we know that and she not star struck by meeting celebrities and everyone is like wdym everyone has a celebrity crush and reader is like does superman count??? and clark is all flustered about it and y'know typical fluff romcom hilarity ensues!!
summary: the last time clark kent saw you was when you were 17 years old. after a traumatic accident nearly takes your life, you push clark away. now, nearly 12 years later, you and clark meet again. this time, it's in the bustling newsroom of the daily planet and you're forced to confront your entangled past with the man of steel. based off the song suburban legends by taylor swift
content warnings: swearing, trauma, ptsd, language, best friends to lovers to exes to ???, angst, language, mentions of court cases, scars, alcohol, not proof read and idc!!, SMUTTY SMUT SMUT SMUT!!! 18+!! oral f!rec, hj, mating press, fingering, unprotected sex, consent is sex c!
word count: 4.9k+
now playing: this love by taylor swift
author's note: we are (FINALLY) at the end! i'm very excited to work on some stand alone fics going forward! please let me know what you think and enjoy xoxo!
catch up here!
You kept telling yourself you werenât avoiding Clark. You were just busy. You were busy attending press conferences for the newly sworn in mayor of Metropolis. You were sent to Gotham for a weekend to attend a conference on Perryâs behalf. Your sister and her kids visit for a long weekend. Your schedule and responsibilities were just in the way.
You couldnât talk about what almost happenedat your apartment with Clark nearly three weeks ago. You were dying to pull him aside every time your eyes met across the bullpen. Things were different now than when you were a sad, insecure teenager who pushed away the only boy youâve ever loved.
But Clark was busy too. Even outside his responsibilities as Superman, he was knee deep in all his assignments. He was off chasing leads and working on stories with the incredible Lois Lane. Watching them work together reminded you of how you worked with Clark as kids. Effortless and exciting.
You hated how envious it made you, watching them hunched over Loisâs desk at her computer. You hated how easy it was for them to work off each other, spit balling ideas and angles.
âYouâre looking a little green,â Cat teased as she leaned against your desk, looking at you through her wide rimmed glasses.
You tear your eyes away from Clark and Lois at her desk. Your eyes find Catâs, embarrassment flooding your face and down your spine. Your hands flutter across your desk, pretending to busy yourself after getting caught staring at your ex-boyfriend for far longer than whatâs appropriate.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you grumbled, looking at your computer screen with your pathetic version of a first draft on the first 14 days of the new mayorâs term.
Cat laughs, sipping on her coffee. âFor what itâs worth, Clark stares at you when youâre not looking too. He gets green around the gills whenever you talk to Henry from accounting. If he had lasers for eyes, Henry would be toast.â
You stiffen at Catâs attempt at a joke and swallow hard. If only she knew. You sigh and lean back in your chair, staring at your friend. âDonât you have better things to do besides watching Clark and I?â
Cat grins. âNope. Youâre my entertainment every day. This will they wonât they thing you have going on makes me excited to come to work every day.â
 You roll your eyes and shove Cat off your desk, ignoring the pit growing in your stomach. âShut up!â you hissed under your breath. You fight the urge to look at Clark, hoping he didnât hear Cat. âNothingâs going on. Weâre just friends.â Even the words taste sour when you say them.
Cat hums under her breath before skipping off to her desk. You exhale in relief and burn a hole through your computer screen the longer you stare at the word document. You glance at your scribbled notes and settle into a steady rhythm before your name is barked on the other side of the bullpen alongside Clarkâs.
You startle in your chair and stand. You spin and watch Perry motion for you from his office door. You feel Clark trail behind you as you enter his office and take the seats across from Perryâs desk. A brochure sits on top a pile of papers.
âMy contact in the mayorâs office was able to secure two tickets to fundraising gala for Feeding Metropolis tonight. I want the two of you to go. Take note of who is and isnât there. If councilman Jenkins is there, I expect you to get a quote. Got it?â Perry ordered.
There was no point in arguing with Perry. What he says goes. Clarkâs eyes burn the side of your head, but he waits for you to say something.
âGot it,â you replied, reaching for the brochure and set of tickets tucked inside.
The chair screeches under your weight and you leave the office to return to your desk. Clarkâs hot on your heels. You open the brochure and read the schedule. The gala starts at 5:30 and itâs just before lunch.
âWe should probably get there at five to get the lay of the land before it starts,â you say, leaning against your desk.
âSure,â Clark nods along, âIâll pick you up at 4:30 if thatâs okay?â
You smile. âSounds perfect, Clark.â
âŠ
You try not to agonize over what to wear to the gala as you stare into your closet. Yes, you were going to the gala for work, but you were also going with Clark. You wanted something that showed you were professional and meant business, but you also wanted something that said you knew you were hot and werenât afraid to show it.
Your options were limited, and you settled on the dark green gown you wore to your sisterâs wedding. The sleeves fall delicately off your shoulders, the slit of your dress rests carefully on your thigh. Music filters from your bedroom into the bathroom as you do your hair and makeup.
As you thread earrings through your ears, thereâs a soft knock on your front door. Your heart jumps in your throat and you shake your nerves out as you pad over to the door. You open the door and Clark stands at the threshold dressed in a tux holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. You canât help the grin that spreads across your face.
âHey!â you open the door wider for Clark to step inside.
Clark blinks once, twice, three times. He doesnât say anything and he doesnât move into your apartment.
âClark?â
âYou look⊠wow,â Clark murmured in awe.
Heat spreads across your body, climbing up your neck and along your cheeks. You laugh bashfully. âSo do you.â
Clark laughs and steps into your apartment.
âThank you for the flowers. Let me put them in some water and get my shoes on and then weâll go.â
Clark hums in reply and hands you the bouquet. You grab a vase from a cabinet, pour water, and carefully arrange the flowers into the vase. You grab your flats and slide your feet inside. You slip your leather coat on and grab your purse and keys. Clark holds the door open for you and closes it behind him. He watches you lock the door and the two of you walk side by side towards the elevator.
The silence between you and Clark is thick with tension. It simmers on your shoulders as you descend the elevator towards the gala. Clark opens the passenger side door for you and holds his hand out for you to take as you slide into his car. He shuts the door and you watch him round the front of the car to the driverâs side door.
Clark slides inside and carefully adjusts the heat so youâre comfortable. The radio plays quietly in the background and Clark drives off to the gala.
Your breath catches in your throat from the nerves, and you fumble for the small notepad tucked in your purse. You pull the agenda for the gala up on your phone and carefully scribble notes and questions for when you arrive. You try your best to ignore Clarkâs glances as he drives.
As Clark pulls into a parking lot a block from the gala, you unbuckle your seat belt and thumb through your notes.
âOkay, so thereâs a lot of ground we need to cover before the gala starts. I divvied up the names I think we should each take. Hereâs your list,â you told Clark, tearing a slip of paper from your notepad to give to him.
Clarkâs eyes search yours and your fingers brush as he takes the note from you. Sparks sizzle where you touch. His mouth opens just slightly before closing again. Instead, he nods and throws his press badge over his neck. You do the same and exit his car.
The walk to the gala is short and quiet. You enter the museum through the side entrance for press. Clark checks the two of you in and the two of you walk through the long hallway to get to the main foyer.
Large stone columns line the edge of the foyer and curtains are draped to hide the rest of the museum away. Thereâs a stage set up near a sprawling staircase and music mixes in with the conversations filtering around the room.
Clark wordlessly helps you out of your jacket and hangs it over your chair. You clip your press badge on to your dress and open a fresh page of the pocket notepad you brought. You glance around the room, looking for councilman Jenkins. You find him almost immediately, surrounded by his entourage including a camera crew, his wife, and his assistant. Heâs dressed in a sleek emerald green suit and his blond hair is slicked back.
You square your shoulders and grit your teeth before turning over to Clark. âShould I wait to go over to Jenkins or wait until heâs had a few more drinks?â
The corner of Clarkâs mouth quirks and a laugh sneaks through your throat. âWait until heâs had a few more drinks,â you say together.
The tips of Clarkâs ears redden and something twists inside your chest and makes you breathless. His face rips into a smile and it makes you smile too. You glance away briefly before looking back at him. Clark plucks your notepad out of your hand before sliding his hand through yours.
âWhat do you think youâre doing, Mr. Kent?â you hummed quietly under your breath as he tugs you towards the foyer.
âWaiting for all the important people to get loose lips with all the free alcohol,â he retorted playfully, squeezing your hand and resting the other on your waist. âWe also never did get that dance, did we?â
Your heart jumps in your throat and you swallow hard. You blink in shock. Itâs been so long since that night. Ever since you started working with Clark again, youâve been reminded of it more and more.
âNo, we didnât,â you murmured under your breath as he led you across the dance floor. Clarkâs hold on you is firm, yet gentle.
Blood rushes to your ears and your heart races with every spin and dip. You havenât been this close to Clark since your almost kiss three weeks ago. Â You havenât even spoken about that night, but it has stayed with you. You were so close to telling him you still loved him. You were so close to telling Clark how much youâve missed him.
âWhatâs going on in that head of yours?â Clark asked, his soft and tender eyes searching yours. His voice is gentle and teasing but worry etches the corners of his eyes.
Your mouth drops open as you try to find the words you want to say. Instead, you come up empty and the sound of glasses shattering pulls you from the moment. You tear your eyes away from Clarkâs and step out of his embrace.
âWe should get some quotes now,â you tell Clark, turning your back to him as you hurry off the dance floor and back to your assigned table. You ignore the shaking in your hands as you grab your notepad and adjust your press badge on your gown.
You walk as far as you can away from Clark down a long hallway where guests stood, admiring the exhibits on each wall. You spot the city treasurer, Helena Downing, standing alone in front of an abstract art piece. You square your shoulders, let out an anxious breath, by walking over to her.
Youâre quick to introduce yourself and point out your press badge clipped to your dress. âI just wanted to get a quote from you about how things have come together. There are some very powerful people in attendance tonight. Iâm surprised you were able to get a moment alone to yourself tonight.â
Helena laughs, but it doesnât reach her eyes. âThere are much more interesting people you can get quotes from. I am just pleased that we are on track to raise to almost twice as much money as we did last year.â
âCongratulations are in order then.â
The older lady rolls her eyes and scoffs. âThe people that are in that room are doing it to pat their own egos.â
You resist the urge to gap at her response. Instead, you scribble something into your notepad. Thereâs more to this story than you anticipated. You want to hear more. âDo you mind if I call your office tomorrow? I would love to talk more about what you think.â
Helena raises an eyebrow before slipping her hand into her clutch and pulling out a business card. âThe card has my cell. I donât have anything scheduled around three if you want to give me a call then.â
You nod eagerly and quickly take the card from her. You wish her well and hurry back to the foyer. You quickly scan the room for Clark and see him standing beside councilman Jenkins. His brows are knit tightly together, and Jenkins laughs and says something you canât make out.
Youâre so preoccupied that you donât notice a patron tumble into your side, spilling the champagne all over your dress. You gasp in shock and the sticky liquid coats your skin and clings to your dress.
âI am so sorry!â the person, a man says, as you turn to face the man responsible for ruining your dress.
Your heart drops in your chest and your ears start to ring. You blink once, twice, three times as you stare at Greg Holifield. The last time you saw him was at his sentencing for the accident. You remember it like it was yesterday. The judge sentenced him to 18 months out of a maximum of five years. You were still in a wheelchair during his trial, and your hair was slowly growing back. His conduct nearly took your life, and he spent less than two years in prison for it.
He looks just as surprised to see you as you are of him. His mouth falls open and his face turns white. Your heart races wildly against your chest and your hands curl into fists. Nausea settles into your stomach. You struggle to breathe. Greg utters your name in disbelief.
âYou look⊠you look well.â
It enrages you. Of course you look well! It took you 12 years to get to this point! He nearly took your life. You were forced to move from Smallville because of what he did. You lost Clark because of what he did.
âHey, is everything alright, Iââ Clark comes your rescue and looks at you before turning to Greg.
âClark!â Greg squeaked, color flushing his already pale cheeks. He shakes under Clarkâs glare. âItâs good to seeââ
âDonât,â Clark growled, stepping in front of you, his massive frame blocking you from Gregâs view. Your hand slides to Clarkâs arm and you squeeze like your life depends on it. You will yourself not to cry. You cannot cry. Greg has taken enough from you. You canât let him take your dignity.
People start to stare and whisper around you. Your legs tremble beneath you and you tug on Clarkâs arm.
âHeâs not worth it, Clark,â you whispered, pushing down your tears as you tug on his arm again in a weak attempt to guide him away. âLetâs just leave.â
Clarkâs jaw ticks and his shoulders noticeably deflate. He looks at you and his eyes darken at the distress on your face. He doesnât say another word, instead he nods. He guides you back to the table. Clark helps you into your jacket and you shrug your purse over your shoulder.
Clark slides his hand into yours and walks the two of you through the museum foyer and out the vast double doors. You walk the one block to Clarkâs car in silence. Clarkâs hand is firm and solid in yours and youâre clinging to him like a lifeline. He unlocks the car and guides you into the passenger seat.
The door shuts and the five seconds you have to yourself in Clarkâs car are deafening. Your ears are still ringing and youâre still struggling to breathe. The moment Clark slides into the car, your composure snaps.
Heavy sobs rip through your throat and reverberate in Clarkâs car. Your body shakes with each cry and humiliation settles over you.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â you cried into your hands.
Clark murmurs your name and gently takes your face into his hands. The soft pads of his thumbs gently wipe your tears off your cheeks. You stare at him wide eyed and breathless. He pushes a loose strand of hair out of your face.
âYou have nothing to be sorry for,â Clark whispers in the small space between you. His face is flushed with anger, and you watch him take careful deep breaths.
âIâm so pathetic,â you hissed, more at yourself than at Clark. âI havenât seen him in eleven years and at the first opportunity I cry like a fucking baby.â
âHey,â Clark quietly chastised you, gently tugging on your chin so your eyes meet his. âYouâre not pathetic. Youâre allowed to be upset. Itâs normal.â
You huff indignantly and angrily wipe at your face. âHow are you so calm?â
âTrust me, Iâm not, but I think it wouldnât be appropriate to cause a scene.â
You laugh softly and sink back into your seat. Clark watches you for several long seconds before starting the car. You slide your hand in his and rest your entwined hands in your lap. Clarkâs thumb caresses the back of your hand the entire drive to your apartment. He parks the car on the street and opens the door for you.
Your heart thunders inside your chest at how easy Clark takes care of you. Itâs like no time has passed at all. Itâs like taking care of you is second nature, even after all this time. His hand slides into yours and he takes your purse from your lap. Â
âClark, Iâm sorry,â your voice cracks and you stare at him, another wave of tears threatens to spill over your cheeks.
Clarkâs face pinches with confusion. He shakes his head. âYou have nothing to be sorry for.â
You shake your head in disagreement. âI do, Clark. Iâm sorry for how things ended. Iâm sorry I broke your heart. Iâm sorry for everything. I didnât realize how much I missed you until we started working together again.â
A tender smile grows on Clarkâs face. âIâve missed you too,â his hands reach for your waist and he pulls you close. His nose brushes yours and his warm breath hits your skin. His eyes search yours.
âI know itâs selfish of me and youâve probably moved on but⊠I love you, Clark. I donât think Iâve ever stopped.â
Tears gather at the corners of Clarkâs eyes as he stares at you. He whispers your name in awe. âI love you. I have always loved you, even before I knew what it meant.â
Your hands rest on his chest, and you feel his heart racing. Your eyes flutter closed and Clarkâs mouth finds yours. You sigh into his mouth, and his arms wrap around your middle. The kiss is slow and deep, pouring every ounce of love into your skin. Sparks tingle down your spine and Clark holds you like his life depends on it. You pull apart to catch your breath, and a soft laugh leaves you.
You reach for your purse and pull out your keys. You unlock the apartment complex door and Clark holds the door open for you. He takes your hand and the two of you walk side by side to the elevator. The doors slide open and Clark guides you inside before pressing the floor of your apartment.
The trip up to your apartment lasts only seconds but feels like years. The anticipation builds between you and Clark and your hands shake as you try to unlock the door to your apartment. Clark laughs into your hair.
âDo you need help?â he asked against your temple, kissing the crown of your head.
You nudge him playfully. âShut up. Youâre making me nervous,â you grumbled under your breath as you manage to get the key into the lock.
âIâm making you nervous?â
âYou always make me nervous.â
You twist the key and the lock unlatches. Clark opens the door for you and quickly pulls the key out of the lock. He kicks the door closed and quick to lock the door behind him. You stare at each other for a long moment before reaching for each other.
Clarkâs hand slides up the nape of your neck and tangles in your hair. You gasp into his mouth, and his teeth graze your lips in a smile. You throw your arms over Clarkâs shoulders, and he squats down and lifts you into his arms. He holds you like you weigh nothing and it sends a jolt to your thighs.
The kisses you share are slow, deep, and desperate. Itâs like youâre making up for all the lost time. You cling to Clark and press kisses along his cheeks and forehead as he leads you into your bedroom. He sets you on the edge of the bed and kneels between your legs.
Clarkâs hands drag down your calves as his fingers slip your shoes off. His eyes never leave yours and your breathing is ragged. His fingers trail up again and brush your thighs. You shutter in anticipation and reach for him, grabbing him by the tie. Your mouths meet again and you moan into his mouth as his tongue meshes with yours.
Your hands move quickly and push Clarkâs suit jacket off his broad shoulders. It drops to the floor, and your hands undo his tie. You tug the hem of his button down free from the waist of his pants and Clarkâs hands snake across your back. His fingers find the zipper of your dress and the sound mixes with the soft pants of your breathing.
Goosebumps trail everywhere Clark touches, and you shiver as he drags the silk fabric down your body. Clark takes a shuttering breath as he sees your body adorned with scars from the accident. His eyes find yours and he gently rubs his fingers along your waist. His lips find the faded scar at the edge of your hairline.
His mouth moves slowly down the path of your scars. The sound of his mouth against your skin makes you dizzy with want. You shake as he licks the long scar along your ribs. He grabs your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist where several scars sit. The sensation settles to the space between your thighs
âMy beautiful, strong girl,â Clark kissed into your skin. âYou donât know how much Iâve dreamed of this moment⊠of you.â
âClark,â you gasped, tugging on his hair, pulling him up so your mouths could meet again. He caresses your cheek with one hand and slides the other down to your breast. You whimper into his mouth as he squeezes the fat through the fabric of your bra. He drags it down and your breast spills out.
Clark ducks his head down and takes the nipple into his mouth. His teeth tug gently and you arch your back into his mouth. Everywhere Clark touches is scorching. Your heavy breaths mix with the sound of Clarkâs mouth on you. Heat pools lower and lower and Clarkâs hands circle to your back and unclasp your bra.
Your hands splay across his chest and you fumble with the buttons of his shirt. Clark breaks away from you and shrugs out of his shirt, pants, and shoes until heâs only left in his boxers. He climbs back on to the bed and the outline of his dick presses against your thigh. He drags you to the head of the bed before returning his journey down your body.
Clarkâs eyes find yours just as he presses kisses to the hem of your panties. Your chest heaves with anticipation as you lift your hips as Clark drags your underwear down your legs, leaving you bare and for the taking.
âPlease, Clark,â you whined, tugging on his hair.
His teeth nip at your thighs as he sucks a bruise into the supple skin. He grins against you before licking a long strip up your clit. You gasp in both pleasure and relief. You legs close around his head and your heels dig into his shoulders. Clarkâs hands squeeze your waist and pull you even closer to his mouth.
Your fingers tug harshly at Clarkâs hair and your hips rock into his face as his stimulates your clit. His fingers slide down your body, and he slips a finger inside you. He free hand grips your ass and youâre moaning his name.
âThatâs it, baby,â Clark murmured into your core as you reach towards your pending orgasm. He ruts his hips into the bed, and the bedframe hits the wall with each thrust into the mattress. A second finger slides inside you. The mix of Clarkâs mouth and fingers abusing your clit sends ecstasy through your body.
You squeeze your eyes shut and your mouth falls open as your orgasm washes over you. You gasp for air as Clark laps up your juices with his tongue before crawling up your body, leaving kisses wherever his mouth touches.
âYou still with me?â Clarkâs voice is hot against your throat as he nips at your neck.
You nod, opening your eyes, âYes.â
Clarkâs blue eyes find yours and he grins before pressing his mouth to yours. âGood.â
You taste yourself of Clarkâs tongue and moan into his mouth. The kiss is soft and languid, like you have all the time in the world together. Clark holds your face in his hands, and your hand slides down his solid chest to the waistband of his boxers. You slide your hand inside and Clarkâs cock is heavy in your hand.
Clarkâs head drops to your neck and he bites your collarbone as your fingers slide around him. You tease the tip before stroking gently.
âI donât ahââ Clark hissed, squeezing his eyes shut at the feeling of your hand on him. âI donât have condoms.â
You kiss along his jaw and push his boxers off his hips. âDonât need âem,â you whispered into his skin, âI trust you.â
He groans into you neck and kicks off his boxers. Clarkâs eyes find yours and he grabs you by the waist and guides your legs around his hips. Your hand drops to your side and you watch with heavy eyes as Clark gathers himself in his hand and strokes himself before lining himself with your entrance. He gently pushes the tip inside.
You shutter at the pressure between your legs and Clark pauses briefly. He slides his fingers through yours and guides your hands to his shoulders. You tilt your chin and your mouth finds Clarkâs. The kiss is slow and tender, and you gasp against his lips as he bottoms out inside of you.
Clark presses his forehead against yours and slowly rocks into you. Your fingers tug harshly on Clarkâs curls and arch into his touch. You gasp and dig your fingers into him. Clarkâs fingers slide down your body where youâre joined together, and he presses against your clit.
Clarkâs thrusts jolt the bed, and the pressure builds with each passing second. The sounds of Clarkâs grunts send pricks of pleasure down your spine. Clark gathers your legs and presses your knees to your chest. The new position overwhelms you as your orgasm nears.
âClark, Iâmââ you gasped, meeting his thrusts with every rock of your hips.
He presses his mouth against yours. Clarkâs pace quickens as pleasure spills over you in hot waves, wetness soaking the sheets and the space between you. Your eyes meet as he coaxes you through your orgasm before he rips himself out of you, releasing on your stomach.
Your mouth falls open at the sudden emptiness and Clark pushes his fingers inside you as he ruts into the mattress, coming down from his own orgasm before collapsing on the bed beside you. Your hand rests against his sweaty chest, feeling his heartbeat pound against your palm.
He turns to face you and delicately grabs you by the chin and kissing you deeply. Your nails dig into hard expanse of his chest before pulling away. Your eyes search his and Clark lets out a shaky laugh.
âWhat?â
âI know I said it before, but I wasnât kidding when I said I dreamed of this moment,â Clark answered, brushing his fingers up and down your bare arm.
âThis moment?â you couldnât help but tease, âwith your cum onââ
Clark flushes and stops you with a gentle press of his mouth on yours. You laugh against his lips, and you brush his curls out of his face.
âMaybe not this exact moment,â Clark amends with a blush, âbut us together again, knowing that you still love me as much as I love you, despite everything.â
The weight of his words settles in your chest and a tear slides down your cheek. Clark is quick to wipe it away. You cling to his hand. âI do, Clark. I do love you.â
Clarkâs grin is blinding and he seals his own love confession with a kiss. Â
hello, hello! i have risen from the depths of hell that is law school and bring you the long awaited preview of the last part of suburban legends. i am still working on it, but i anticipate that i'll get it done and up by friday! (there will be smut :D)
catch up here!
âWhat do you think youâre doing, Mr. Kent?â you hummed quietly under your breath as he tugs you towards the foyer.
âWaiting for all the important people to get loose lips with all the free alcohol,â he retorted playfully, squeezing your hand and resting the other on your waist. âWe also never did get that dance, did we?â
Your heart jumps in your throat and you swallow hard. You blink in shock. Itâs been so long since that night. Ever since you started working with Clark again, youâve been reminded of it more and more.
âNo, we didnât,â you murmured under your breath as he led you across the dance floor. Clarkâs hold on you is firm, yet gentle.
Blood rushes to your ears and your heart races with every spin and dip. You havenât been this close to Clark since your almost kiss three weeks ago. Â You havenât even spoken about that night, but it has stayed with you. You were so close to telling him you still loved him. You were so close to telling Clark how much youâve missed him.
âWhatâs going on in that head of yours?â Clark asked, his soft and tender eyes searching yours. His voice is gentle and teasing but worry etches the corners of his eyes.
Your mouth drops open as you try to find the words you want to say. Instead, you come up empty and the sound of glasses shattering pulls you from the moment. You tear your eyes away from Clarkâs and step out of his embrace.
âWe should get some quotes now,â you tell Clark, turning your back to him as you hurry off the dance floor and back to your assigned table. You ignore the shaking in your hands as you grab your notepad and adjust your press badge on your gown.
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Sinopsis: Superman is the symbol of hope for the worldâbut as Clark Kent, he faces the one battle he cannot win. As memories fade and time slips away, he clings to ordinary moments, desperate to preserve what little remains of their love.
Warnings: Memory loss, emotional distress, grief, mentions of medical treatment
WC: 4,300 words approx.
ââââ ââŠââŠâ ââââ
They say Superman represents hope. That kind of hope you sometimes lose when you can no longer see a way out, when the days grow heavy and everything seems dark. The people of Metropolis felt that hope when they saw him flying across the sky, when they watched him descend like a falling star to catch a bus or stop a collapsing building. Children shouted in excitement, adults sighed in relief, because they knew that as long as he was there, everything would be alright.
But Superman was shattered on the inside. Clark Kent, rather. Because when he took off the cape and stopped being the hero, he was left alone with his thoughts, and those thoughts weighed more than anything he had ever lifted in the sky. âWas it that day?â Clark wondered as the smile faded from his face. He had saved some children from a fire, had hugged them one by one, had posed for photos with that wide smile everyone knew. But the moment he turned away, the smile disappeared. He took it off as if it were part of the costume. Then he put on his ordinary-person clothes, his shoes that clicked as he walked, his glasses, and began the journey back to his apartment.
When he opened the door, the scent of home was the same. His home. The place where you waited for him. It smelled like freshly made food, like cheap candles bought from the corner store, like dried flowers they never threw away because they carried memories. He closed the door carefully, as if making noise might break something fragile that was already cracked. Before a tear could slip down his cheek, he wiped it away quickly with the back of his hand. He forced a smileâthe same false smile he used for interviews, for photos, so no one would ask questions. He left his briefcase by the entrance, took off his jacket, and placed it on the sofa. He walked through the living room, and his eyes, unwillingly, drifted toward the photographs he once loved. They were pictures of the two of you, the day you were bound in marriage. You, in that white dress that made you look like a dream; him, in his blue suit with that genuine smile only you knew. But he couldnât look at them. Not because he hated them, but because if he did, the tears would return, and this time he wouldnât be able to stop them. So he looked away, pressed his lips together, and walked into the kitchen.
He walked toward you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, rested his chin on your shoulder, and closed his eyes for a moment. Just a moment. To pretend nothing was wrong.
âI told you Iâd come prepare dinner,â he whispered near your ear, his voice soft in that way he only used when you were alone.
You turned and smiled. Your hair was loose, cascading over your shoulders like a waterfall. You used to say you hated wearing it that way because the city was too hot, because it stuck to the back of your neck and made you itch. But you also admitted you liked how you looked with it down, that it made you feel prettier. Then you would say you looked thinner, that your clothes were too loose, and he would always shake his head and tell you you were just as beautiful as the first day he saw you.
âIâm unemployed now,â you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, though you hid it behind a smile. âI want to be a good wife to my husband.â
You stepped closer and placed a soft kiss on his lips. He looked at you intently, with those blue eyes that always saw you as if you were the only person in the world. He nodded slowly.
âYou are always a good wife,â he said, his voice a little hoarse. âThe best.â
You nodded, but your eyes were already shining. You didnât want to cry. Not again.
âClark,â you whispered, your hand rising to touch his cheek.
He shook his head before you could say more.
âNo⊠donât say anything right now, please,â he pleaded, his voice cracking just a little. âWe should eat. Eat like we always do.â
You nodded and looked at him. His eyes were glassy, like a glass of water about to overflow. He wanted to cryâit showed in the way his chest rose and fell quickly, in how he bit his lower lip. But he stopped. For you. Because if he cried, you would cry, and then everything would fall apart. You understood. You stroked his cheek with your fingers, gently, as if he were something fragile.
âI made a cake too,â you said, changing the subject with a smile that was hard to maintain.
He nodded, grateful for the shift.
âI canât wait to try it,â he whispered, and for a second, he seemed like the Clark from beforeâthe one who got excited over homemade cake.
Yes. It was that moment. He confirmed it when he carried the plates to the dining room and set them on the table. He remembered that day in the doctorâs office, when the man looked at both of you and dropped the words like a stone against glass: it was a tumor in your brain. The doctor explained that your memories could be affected, that you would probably start forgetting small things first, then the important ones. They couldnât operateâit was in a very dangerous place. They would begin chemotherapy. You cried all the way home, all that day, all that week. That had been a month ago. Clark had hope then. He believed that with treatment, with time, with luck, everything would turn out fine. But then the doctor had called him aside and told him the truth: the tumor had spread. Chemotherapy wouldnât cure you, it could only delay your death sentence. A few more months, perhaps. Or maybe not.
Hope collapsed inside him. In the man who represented hope for the entire world. Clark Kent, Superman, broke. He screamed at the sky in an empty field where no one could hear him, begging for a power to save you. Any power. A new one, a greater one, one that could stop what even he could not stop. He went to Bruce Wayne in Gotham. He arrived flying, landed on the mansionâs rooftop, and when Bruce came out to meet him, Clark fell apart. He told him everything. He cried like a child. He apologized for the intrusion, for arriving unannounced, for the tears. And Bruce, Gothamâs dark man, simply nodded and said he would help. That he would call the best doctor in the world, that he would use his money, his time, everything necessary.
But while that was happening, you had lost your job. You grew tired more quickly. Climbing the stairs left you breathless. You wore your hair down because it had begun to fall out, strand by strand, and you wanted to keep it loose to remember what you would soon no longer have. In the mornings, you looked at yourselves in the mirror and both saw how time slipped away like water through your fingers. You cried, of course you did. You cried in bed with the lights off, you cried in the shower where the sound of water masked your sobs. But Clark clung to normalcyâto dinners, to silly conversations, to the three years of marriage that had been the happiest of his life.
You ate that night. He told you about Jimmy, who had made a terrible joke at the office. About Lois, who was learning to cook and had burned three pans. About Cat, who wore a hat so large it wouldnât fit through the door. About Perry, who asked for coffee and was brought tea. You smiled, and you laughed at times, but he already noticed. He had examined you with his X-ray vision without you knowing, just to see, just to confirm what the doctor had already told him. He ignored it. He preferred not to know. He preferred to feel normal. You ate the cake, and you laughed when he smeared cream at the corner of his lips. You took a napkin and wiped his mouth carefully, tenderly. Then he smiled, but his eyes filled with tears again. You nodded. You knew. His blue gaze screamed a wordless question: why does the world want to take away what I love most? You smiled at him as tears rolled down your cheeks as well.
âCome here,â you said, and your voice did not tremble because you had cried so much you had no strength left to shake.
He rose from his chair, knelt before you, and buried his head in your abdomen. His shoulders shook silently.
âI donât want to lose you,â Clark said, his voice broken, shattered.
You sobbed. No, you didnât want to die either. You didnât want to imagine that one day his pain would heal. That he would smile again without his chest aching. That he would love againâsomeone elseâand you would remain in the past like an old photograph in a drawer. A bitter past. A memory that would blur with time. You hated that. You hated not being able to do anything. But Clark already had enough, carrying you, watching you slowly fade. You yourself knew the medication would enter your body and the deterioration would begin sooner or later. The vomiting. The exhaustion. The pain. You refused the treatment. You preferred to suffer for less time but with more clarity, with cleaner memories. But Clark begged you to stay, to try, not to give up. And in a desperate attempt to remove the tumor, everything worsened. The tumor only spread. Like a stain of ink on wet paper.
And there you both were, on the kitchen floor, holding each other while the cake cooled on the table and the world kept turning outside, unaware that the man who flew in the sky was falling apart in his wifeâs arms.
The months passed, and the days became both slower and heavier at the same time. The dizziness cameâsudden spells while you were in the kitchen or when you got out of bed. The world would begin to spin, and you had to grab onto something to avoid falling. But Clark was always there. He held you with his strong arms, arms that could lift a building yet held you with a gentleness that seemed impossible. He carried you through the skies to your treatments, flying slowly so you wouldnât feel the cold wind, so you wouldnât grow more dizzy. That way, you didnât have to endure the stress of traffic, of buses, of people pushing in the streets. He smiled for you all the time, even as he was breaking inside. He prayed to the gods, to whatever watched from above, to help you. He was so strongâhe could stop a train with one hand, could change the course of a riverâbut he couldnât help you. And that broke him more than any blow he had ever received.
One night, you were sitting in front of the bathroom mirror. The lights were off; only the moonlight coming through the window illuminated your reflection. You held a lock of hair between your fingers, one that had fallen out while you brushed it. You looked at it as if it were the last piece of yourself you had left.
âI donât want to cut my hair,â you cried without looking at him. Your voice came out broken by sobs. âI donât want to⊠Iâll be ugly.â
Tears streamed down your cheeks and fell onto your thin hands. You knew that soon you would have almost no hair left, that chemotherapy would take it from you little by little, and the thought of looking in the mirror and not recognizing yourself frightened you more than the illness itself.
Clark knelt beside you, just as he had done so many nights. He looked at you with those blue eyes that had always been yours, that had always seen you as the most beautiful woman in the world. And although his eyes were also filled with tears, he didnât let them fall. Not yet.
âYou will be the most beautiful of all,â he whispered, gently caressing your cheeks with his fingers, as if afraid of breaking you. âLook at me.â
You lifted your gaze and saw him. He smiled at youâthat smile he saved only for you, the real one, the one that never appeared in newspapers or Superman photographs.
âYouâll be so beautiful that Iâll fall even more in love with you,â he said, his voice trembling slightly, âand youâll only make my heart ache from loving you so much.â
You didnât know if it was the way he said it or the way his eyes shone like wet stars, but you laughed. You laughed while crying and threw yourself into his arms. Your tears mixed on his shoulders, in your hair, in the silence of that night. You held each other tightly, as if by holding on hard enough, you could stop time.
Clark continued working at the newspaper. He went every day, wrote his articles, talked with Lois and Jimmy, pretended everything was fine. And you, in secret, left him notes. You hid them in his briefcase, in his pockets, between the pages of the books he read. Small notes that said âI love youâ or âbuy milkâ or âdonât forget to water the plants today.â Because the two of you had divided expenses, chores, life. The plants you had bought together at that corner nursery, the goldfish swimming in the round bowl you loved so much, the laundry you always left for Sundays. You wrote everything down. An entire notebook with contacts, with phone numbers of friends, of doctors, of Martha. With recipesâthough he could cook almost anything, he had always loved your lasagna and those chocolate-filled cookies you made on cold days. You wrote them with precise instructions: how much flour, how much butter, what temperature for the oven. Everything. Your will was simple, because you didnât have much. Clark was your husband, the sole owner of your heart, and he would keep the little you had gatheredâyour books, your dresses, the letters you kept in a box under the bed. You left everything ready, as if you knew. Maybe you did.
After a year, the doctor looked at both of you in his office. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the desk cluttered with papers. The doctor removed his glasses, sighed, and released the words like dropping something unbearably heavy.
âThree months at most,â he said, his voice tired. âThe chemotherapy has extended your time, but your condition is declining. I would recommend hospitalization.â
âNo,â you said immediately. The word came out fast, almost without thought. You looked at Clark with fear in your eyes, that fear you felt every time someone talked about confining you to a white room.
âNo,â Clark replied without hesitation. You lowered your gaze, grateful, and he squeezed your hand beneath the table. âIâll take care of her.â
âBut she needs to be monitored,â the doctor insisted, looking at you with eyes that had already seen many patients fade away. âWe might be able to extend her time further.â
You smiled. A sad smile, the kind that hurts in the chest.
âBut would it be miserable to spend my last months in a bed?â you said, your voice breaking. âIâd rather spend them at home.â
The doctor nodded. He knew you were right. You signed the papers to go home, to stop the treatment. Clark didnât speak that day. Maybe you never realized it, but you were forgetting things. Your keysâyou left them in the refrigerator. Your phoneâyou put it in your bag but later couldnât remember where. The apartment number you had repeated so many times one day vanished from your mind. You stepped into the elevator, walked down the hallway, and stopped in front of a door that wasnât yours. You called Clark, crying, not knowing where you were. And he came for you, found you sitting on the hallway floor, your hands trembling. He never made you feel bad. Never said âagain.â He just held you, led you home by the hand, and poured you a glass of water.
That night, he slept with his head resting on your chest. He closed his eyes and whispered so softly it was barely audible.
âI love you,â he said.
You swallowed hard, clenching your teeth to keep from crying again. You kissed his dark hair.
âI love you more,â you replied.
âI will love you all my life,â he admitted, his voice shattering like glass hitting the ground.
You smiled. It was better this wayâto believe him. Because if you thought about a future where he would have everything with someone else, everything you couldnât give him, it would destroy you inside, and you would feel selfish for not wanting him to be happy. So you held him tighter and fell asleep listening to the sound of his breathing.
Martha would come to take care of you with Jonathan whenever Clark felt he wasnât doing enough. Clarkâs mother, that woman with gray hair and gentle hands, would cry in silence as she helped you get dressed. You comforted her, even though you were the one who was dying. You told her how much you loved her, how grateful you were for everything she had done for you. Jonathan, Clarkâs father, a man of few words but warm embraces, would hold you tightly, and you would smile. They cared for you as if you were their own daughter. At night, Clark would accompany you to the bathroom, because the headaches were stronger now, and sometimes you became disoriented and didnât know where you were.
One night, you looked at him with a frown. You didnât recognize him. He was standing at the bathroom door, a towel in his hand, waiting to help you. But you saw him as if he were a stranger.
âYes?â you asked, your voice sounding confused.
He smiled, though inside his heart was breaking.
âIâm Clark,â he said, pointing at the little note he had stuck on your mirror.
There were several. All written in his clear, rounded handwriting. âClark is my husband.â âI have been married to Clark for four years.â âClark fell in love first.â âYou met him during an interview.â You read them slowly, moving your lips like when you were learning to read as a child.
You turned to look at him. You looked at your hand, the ring on your thin skin, your bones visible beneath. Then you looked at his finger, the ring identical to yours. You nodded, even though you still didnât fully remember.
âI wonât come closer if you donât want me to,â Clark said, his voice trembling slightly.
You looked at him again. The hallway light illuminated half of his face. His eyes were blue, very blue, like the sky after a storm.
âYou have beautiful eyes,â you said, not knowing why, but feeling that it was true.
He blushed. He lowered his gaze and bit his lip. Then he swallowed with difficulty and looked at you again, his eyes filled with tears he could no longer hold back.
âI know,â he said, his voice broken. âYou told me that when we first met.â
You smiled. Something inside youâsomething that wasnât your mind, something deeperâtold you that this man was important. You stepped closer and embraced him. Your mind no longer recognized him, but your heart seemed to, because when he held you, you felt at peace. As if you were home.
And so it went. Everything passed. The good days and the bad. The laughter and the silences. The memories that faded and the embraces that remained. Everything passed, until the clear skies turned gray. Drops began to fall over Metropolis, slow at first, then heavier. Darkness stained entire weeks, as if the sun had forgotten to rise. And then, as if nothing had happened, the sun was reborn. That is life. It goes on, even when it hurts.
Superman kept flying. He saved people who were falling, stopped trains that derailed, put out fires that threatened to swallow homes. And Clark Kent kept working at the newspaper, writing articles about traffic and neighborhood fairs, pretending the world was still the same.
âAre you coming, Kent, or what excuse are you inventing now?â Lois asked one day, her hands on her hips, a smile on her face that had no idea what Clark carried in his chest.
âIâm going to see my wife,â Clark said, looking at her. And for a second, Lois fell silent. Jimmy, who was nearby, smiled and nodded, because he knew. Everyone in the office knew that Clark went to the same place every day.
âWill you be okay?â Jimmy asked, in that voice of his that always sounded concerned.
âI always am,â Clark said with a smile. He stood from his chair, turned off his lamp, and adjusted the frames with the photos of his wedding that he kept on his desk. He looked at them for a second. You were there, in your white dress and that wide smile. He carefully placed them in his briefcase and left.
He walked slowly through the streets of Metropolis. People passed by him without looking, without knowing that the man who flew in the sky was walking with a shattered heart. He stopped at a hamburger stand and bought two with barbecue sauce, not too spicy, no mustard, just the way you liked them. Also two sodas, very cold. Then he stopped at a bakery and bought two pieces of bread, the kind you always broke apart with your hands before eating. Finally, he arrived at a flower shop. The scent of fresh flowers filled the place.
âThat one, please,â he said to the woman attending, pointing at a bouquet of white flowers. âItâs for my wife. Please arrange it nicely.â
The woman smiled, the kind of smile people have when theyâve seen many men buy flowers for their wives.
âWedding anniversary?â she asked as she tied the flowers with a ribbon.
âSeven years,â Clark said. The woman nodded and handed him the bouquet carefully.
When he arrived at the place, he entered in silence. The grass was green, freshly cut. The afternoon sun painted everything in warm colors. Clark looked toward the headstone and smiled, as if he could see you sitting there, waiting for him.
âI told you Iâd be early,â he said as he approached. He knelt in front of the headstone and set everything on the ground. âTwo hamburgers, because I didnât have time to cook today. I know, I know, but you know I couldnât miss today.â
He removed the dry leaves that had gathered at the base of the stone, brushing them away carefully, as if he didnât want to make noise. Then he placed the white flowers in the small stone vase they had set there.
âI brought these so youâll forgive me,â he said, his voice softening. He sat on the grass, crossing his legs like he used to when you watched movies together on the sofa. He placed one hamburger in front of the headstone, with its soda beside it. He took the other for himself. âIt was a long day. Youâre probably upset because I didnât come yesterday. Hey, love, Iâm working. Actually, it looks like I might get a promotion. With that, Iâll be able to buy a car and pretend to be more human.â
He took a bite of his hamburger and chewed slowly, watching the sky turn orange.
âLois is getting married, can you believe it?â he continued, speaking with his mouth half full. âAnd Jimmy seems to have settled down. He bought a house with a garden and everything. But neither of them loves the way we do.â
When he finished eating, he put the remaining hamburger into a bag and set aside the soda he hadnât opened. He cleaned the crumbs that had fallen onto the grass, as if he were cleaning the table at home. Then he knelt again in front of the headstone, his hands resting on his knees, and tears began to roll down his cheeks. But he was smiling. He always smiled for you.
âHappy anniversary, my love,â he whispered. He breathed slowly, deeply, like when he tried to calm himself before breaking. âItâs a bit unfair that our anniversary is the same day as your death. Life is a little unfair. But I told you. Even though you didnât want me to listen that night when you said you were afraid of being forgotten in a grave, here I am, beautiful. Remembering you every day of my life.â
He wiped a tear away with the back of his hand.
âThe house is still yours,â he continued, his voice trembling but steady. âThe paintings are still there, on the same wall where you hung them. I wear your ring here.â
He pulled out a silver chain from beneath his shirt. Hanging from it was your wedding ring, the one you used to wear on your finger. It gleamed in the light of the sunset.
âAnd I wear mine here,â he said, pointing to his ring finger, where he still wore his own ring. âI told you. I love you, and I will love you all my life. Even if fate has taken you away from me, I canât fall in love with someone else because⊠you gave me everything I ever wanted.â
The wind blew softly, moving the white flowers and Clarkâs hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, and in that silence, it felt as if he could hear you. As if you could hear him too.
ââââ ââŠââŠâ ââââ
This work is mine. Copying or translating this fic is strictly prohibited. Any issue must be notified directly to me. Thank you.
HELLO!!!! i'm finally well enough to start on part 5 of suburban legends. i am SO sorry for the delay, but when i get sick i get REALLY sick. hope to have it done and up by sunday!!!
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a/n: I was definitely busier than I thought I'd be but here it is!!! It's ending soon guys :(
Summary: You watch Ellie discover herself in small, brave ways, her joy unfolding as naturally as her ballerina steps. As she grows into something brighter, you leave behind an old version of yourself, like a coat shed at the door of a place pulled straight from your most tender dreams. Roots donât trap you, you learn they anchor you, even as something unseen presses at the edges of your shared future, heavy in your hands and impossible to ignore.
Classification: Fluff!! | Teacher!reader, accidental co-parenting with Clark, childhood bestfriends to something more... slow-burn and found family. Sentimental confessions, new beginnings, dad and loverboy!Clark.
Word count: 13,2k
Divider by me ;)
âAre we there yet?â Ellie asked from her car seat for what felt like the hundredth time, her small voice carrying easily through the quiet cabin.
You smiled despite yourself, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She looked impossibly bright back there, tucked into her seat in that pale yellow dress sheâd insisted on wearing, the skirt puffing slightly over her knees. The flower-shaped sunglasses sat a little crooked on her nose, too big but worn with pride and her feet swung gently, the squeaky-clean new rain boots catching the light every time she moved.
The sun spilled generously over the hood of the car, warming the metal and seeping through the windows until the whole interior felt softly golden, like the day itself was wrapping around the two of you. Youâd come straight from school, the transition so abrupt it still felt strange in your chest, Metropolis was fading behind you in your mirrors, all glass, noise and urgency, replaced by something quieter and slower. Out here, the silence wasnât empty, it was full in a way that made you breathe differently.
âNot yet, sweetheart,â you answered gently, glancing down at the GPS before returning your eyes to the road. âWeâll be there in aboutâŠâ you squinted at the screen, ââŠtwenty minutes. Maybe less since thereâs no traffic.â
You said it almost absentmindedly, still a little stunned by the open stretch of road ahead. Smooth pavement had given way to rockier paths, tall buildings traded for endless planes of grass that rolled toward the horizon. Trees stood in loose clusters, their leaves whispering in the breeze and now and then you passed kids riding bikes in dusty driveways, horses grazing lazily behind wooden fences and birds so bright they almost didnât look real darting from branch to branch.
Ellie pressed her hand lightly against the window, watching it all go by. âWhere are we going, mommy?â
The word still landed somewhere tender every time she said it, not painful exactly but heavy with meaning you hadnât fully unpacked yet.
âI wish I knew,â you admitted softly. âWeâre meeting Clark somewhere around here. For⊠something.â
You let your gaze drift over the landscape as you spoke, the unfamiliar calm seeping into your bones. You rolled the windows down and fresh air rushed in immediately, carrying the smell of grass, earth and something warm and green. The sun kissed your skin and for a moment you let yourself pretend you werenât waiting for answers, that this was just a drive for the sake of it.
Almost when you began to think the GPS had led you astray, it chimed, instructing you to turn right. The road narrowed, bending gently and soon you were easing into a long driveway. The gate stood open, welcoming rather than imposing and the land beyond it stretched farther than you could take in at once in hectares of open space, soft hills and scattered trees. The driveway itself was paved with old reddish brick, worn smooth by time and as your tires rolled over it, you slowed instinctively.
It was only then that you saw the house.
It sat comfortably in the middle of it all, not grand in a showy way but undeniably beautiful, wide and sturdy, wrapped in a porch that curved around it like open arms. It looked lived-in and loved, the kind of place that held stories in its walls. You pulled the handbrake and turned off the engine, the sudden quiet almost reverent.
âWhere are we?â Ellie asked, her voice hushed now, as if she felt it too.
You grabbed your phone and stepped out of the car, leaving the windows down. âIâm⊠not sure,â you said honestly. You walked around to her side and opened her door but didnât unbuckle her just yet, dialing Clarkâs number as you stood there.
He picked up after two rings and immediately a rush of wind flooded the line, followed by a high-pitched whine that made you flinch.
âYou sound like youâre⊠skydiving,â you said, half-laughing, half-panicking. âWhat did we say about calling while flying?â Your chest tightened for a second before logic kicked in, he was the one in the sky, not you.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â Clarkâs voice came through, breathless but warm. âIâll be there in a bit. Why donât you walk inside? The keyâs under the rabbit pot.â
âAre you sure?â you asked, glancing up at the open sky as if you might spot him. âWhose house is this?â
He smiled to himself somewhere above the clouds, voice steady despite the wind. âYes, Iâm sure. And itâsââ
The call cut out abruptly, replaced by a rushing, waterfall-like sound before the line went quiet. You stared at your phone for a moment, blinking and searching for an explanation that wasnât there. Then you turned back to Ellie, pasting on a smile that felt more excited than forced. âAlright, bunny. Letâs go explore.â
You unbuckled her and she climbed down carefully, boots thumping against the ground.
âWhereâs Mr. Magic?â Ellie asked, stepping fully out of the car and looking around, her sunglasses slipping down her nose.
âOn his way,â you said, extending your hand.
She took it immediately, her fingers warm and trusting in yours and skipped beside you up toward the wraparound porch. The wood creaked pleasantly under her feet and she bounced a little with each step, excitement bubbling out of her. You found the pot Clark had mentioned, a ceramic rabbit tucked near the door and moved it aside to reveal the key beneath.
You held it up for Ellie to see and her face lit up instantly. She clapped, jumped and laughed, like youâd just uncovered buried treasure instead of a simple house key.
You opened the big wooden door and stepped into an empty entryway that somehow felt anything but empty. The floorboards looked warm beneath your feet, sun-soaked in a way that suggested the house had been waiting all day just for you to arrive. Light poured in from tall windows, soft and generous, spilling across the wood and climbing the walls, so bright it almost felt tangible, like everything inside the house had been shaped from it. The way it stretched down the hallway and up the staircase felt like an invitation, like a path you were meant to follow.
Ellie stepped further in first, her small hand slipping from yours as she crossed the threshold with fearless curiosity. You followed close behind, letting her lead without even realizing you were doing it. She seemed strangely at ease, more comfortable here than youâd expected, as if the house recognized her and she, in turn, recognized it too. Her boots tapped softly as she wandered, tracing every inch of unfurnished space. She crouched by bare walls, dragging her tiny hands lightly across the surface as though memorizing the texture, pausing in doorways and peeking into corners that held nothing yet somehow promised everything.
Despite the lack of furniture, the house had charm, an undeniable warmth that clung to every beam and window frame. It felt lived-in with the echo of a life that hadnât happened yet but already belonged there.
The kitchen stopped you in your tracks.
It looked like it had been pulled straight from a sitcom, the kind of kitchen where mornings were loud and unhurried, where families gathered around a worn table with mismatched chairs, where homework, conversations and late-night snacks all happened in the same place. Wide counters caught the sunlight just right and the sink sat beneath a window that framed the outside world like a painting. You could almost hear laughter bouncing off the walls, see a coffee mug left behind in a rush, smell something warm baking in the oven. It felt familiar in a way that made your chest ache.
There was a sunroom just beyond it that also connected to the livingroom, its glass walls catching the light from every angle. You paused there, heart tugging as you imagined it filled with plants, green vines curling up toward the ceiling, pots lined along the windowsill, maybe soil under your nails and Ellie asking questions while you tried and probably failed, to keep everything alive. The room called to you, quietly but insistently yet Ellie was already moving again.
She headed down the hall, her steps quick and determined, toward what looked like the master bedroom. You followed, still taking everything in from the attached bathroom with its simple elegance to the closet that felt bigger than it was because of how thoughtfully it was laid out. Nothing was excessive, nothing overwhelming, just⊠different and balanced like it knew exactly what it was supposed to be.
Before you could linger, Ellie darted toward the stairs.
You went after her, almost in a daze, following her voice as she called your name over and over, pointing out everything that caught her eye. âMommy, look!â she said, tugging at your hand to show you intricate floral patterns carved into the woodwork, details so delicate they felt like secrets. The banister was smooth, polished by care rather than use and the sunlight upstairs was even brighter, spilling in through wide windows and wrapping the hallway in gold.
Ellie made a beeline for the room with the most light.
âA princess room!â she exclaimed, her voice echoing as she ran to the window seat and climbed up with practiced ease. She pressed her hands to the glass, peering out over the back of the lot, her excitement bubbling over. âMommy, thereâs a playground! Letâs go!!!â
You barely had time to reach her side and follow her gaze to the green grass stretching out, open and inviting before she was already sliding off the seat and racing toward the door.
âDonât run down the stairs!â you called, the words automatic, your eyes still glued to the view outside, heart thudding a little too fast for reasons you didnât fully understand.
Thatâs when you saw him.
Clark landed gracefully in the backyard, careful and precise, as if anything less would disrespect the ground he stood on. He scanned the back of the house, his gaze searching, until it found you through the window. He offered a small, careful smile, uncertain and almost nervous, like he wasnât sure whether to brace himself or hope.
You turned away from the window, swallowing hard and followed after Ellie. âEllie, wait for me.â
âI am!â she replied, bouncing impatiently in front of the back door, hopping from foot to foot. âCanât open the door!â
You smiled when you reached the bottom of the stairs, something soft and overwhelmed blooming in your chest as you moved to help her, the house still humming quietly around you like it knew youâd stay a while.
âAlright, hold on, hold on,â you said, laughing softly as you examined the unfamiliar lock, fingers fumbling just a bit as you figured out how it worked. âSo much excitement for such a little thing.â
Ellie barely heard you. She was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, rain boots squeaking while her whole body vibrated with anticipation. âI wanna go on the swing!â
âI know you do,â you smiled, finally turning the handle and opening the door.
She bolted past you the second it was open, a flash of yellow and giggles as she ran straight toward the playground area in the yard. Her boots slapped against the wet grass, leaving tiny dark prints behind her. Halfway there, she gasped an audible, dramatic sound and suddenly detoured, changing course like a tiny missile.
âMr. Magic!â
She ran straight into Clark, wrapping her arms around his legs with all the force her small body could manage before immediately taking off again, as if that hug alone had refueled her. Clark barely had a second to react but he still managed to bend down and squeeze her back for that brief millisecond, laughing under his breath as she disappeared toward the swings.
You both watched her go.
Clark stepped closer to you, slowly and carefully so, like he was acutely aware that this moment mattered. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, posture careful and unsure. âHi,â he greeted quietly, like anything louder might break something fragile between you.
You turned to meet his eyes and your heart hiccupped painfully in your chest. For a second, the world felt too big and too small all at once. Then your gaze dropped to his shoes, dark dress shoes already splattered with mud and grass, ruined without a doubt.
âYou came straight from work,â you said softly, more observation than accusation.
He glanced down, sheepish. âYeah. I didnât want to keep you waitâ,â he stopped himself, shaking his head slightly.
âI brought rain boots for you too,â you added, nodding toward the driveway. âTheyâre in the car.â
Clark blinked, genuinely stunned. âYou did?â
You chuckled, warmth curling in your chest. âYeah. Ellie picked them at the storeâŠTheyâre Superman-branded,â you added, unable to hide the smile.
Clark laughed, real and unguarded. âOf course they are.â He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. âAnd Iâm guessing you didnât influence her decision in any way, shape or form.â
âOf course not,â you lied smoothly, not even blinking. âIt was either those or Green Lantern ones.â
âWell,â he said solemnly, âthen clearly you made the right choice.â
The humor faded gently as Clark shifted, turning fully toward you now. His eyes flicked past you to the house, taking it in again like he was seeing it through you for the first time. He pointed toward it briefly, hesitating. âDid youâdid you guys have time to see everything?â
You shook your head slowly. âNot everything,â you admitted. âEllie got distracted aboutâŠevery five seconds.â
A smile tugged at his mouth, fond and unsurprised. âThat tracks.â He nodded once, as if deciding something. âIâll go get her and give you both a proper tour.â He glanced back at you, searching your face. âIs that okay?â
You nodded, unable to find words that wouldnât feel too small.
Clark turned and jogged toward Ellie, his steps heavier now as his shoes sank deeper into the wet, soggy ground. She was already deep in her own little world, crouched inside what looked like a tiny makeshift store built into the play structure, examining imaginary items with complete seriousness. Before letting her climb any higher, Clark tested the structure instinctively, pressing on beams, tugging gently, making sure it was solid enough to hold laughter, scraped knees and a childhood worth remembering.
âMs. Ellie?â Clark said, crouching down so they were eye level, his knees sinking slightly into the damp mulch. His voice softened naturally like it always did around her. âAre you having fun?â
Ellie nodded enthusiastically, curls bouncing then pointed a small finger toward the swing. âThereâs water on the seat.â
Clark followed her gaze and nodded thoughtfully, as if this were a very serious observation. âIt rained here yesterday,â he explained gently, âbut the sunâs already out. Itâll dry it soon.â
She seemed satisfied with that answer and turned back to the little wooden structure beside the swings. She opened and closed the tiny cabinets with care, peeking inside each one like she was checking inventory. The fake fridge creaked softly when she opened it, revealing neatly arranged wooden food. It had painted fruit, little cartons, tiny pots and pans. Clark watched her, pride blooming quietly in his chest. Heâd scrubbed each piece clean himself, replaced the chipped ones and sanded down rough edges until everything was smooth enough for small hands.
âDo you like it here so far?â he asked, keeping his tone casual, though the question meant more than he let on.
Ellie nodded again, then turned and pointed toward the house with sudden excitement. âThereâs a princess room up there.â
Clark blinked. âIs there?â he asked, genuinely surprised.
âYes!â she insisted, like this was obvious information.
âWell,â he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin, âdo you think you could show it to me? Iâve seen most of the house but I donât think Iâve come across a princess room yet.â He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if inviting her into a very important secret.
Ellieâs eyes widened. She leaned forward against the low counter, elbows planted, voice dropping to a whisper. âMaybeâŠmaybe it only appears with magic,â she said seriously, âwhen thereâs a princess close to it.â
Clarkâs lips twitched. âI think you might be right.â He reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill, holding it out to her like a formal transaction. âIâd like to get something for the tour. What can I buy with this?â
Ellie tapped her chin, humming loudly as she considered her options. She turned back to the fridge, opened it with purpose and pulled out a carved wooden banana. She held it up proudly. âThis!â
âA fine choice,â Clark said solemnly, accepting the banana and handing over the money. He slid the wooden banana carefully into the inside pocket of his suit jacket like it was priceless. âExcellent service.â
Ellie beamed.
âCould you close the shop for a few minutes?â he asked politely.
She nodded, stepping out of the little house and clutching the bill with both hands, staring at it like it might disappear if she blinked too hard. The two of them walked back toward you, Ellie breaking into a run at the last second, skidding to a stop in front of you.
âLook!â she said proudly, holding it up.
You laughed softly. âWhere did you find that?â you asked, glancing from the bill to Clark.
Clark raised the banana. âHave you ever had a twenty-dollar banana?â
âCanât say I have, no.â You smiled, shaking your head. âYou know they sell fake money for this exact purpose, right?â
âYeah,â he said, completely unfazed. âBut I donât usually carry that around with me.â He gestured toward the back door. âCome on.â
All three of you stepped inside through a mudroom you hadnât noticed before. It smelled faintly of clean wood and laundry soap. Ellie climbed up onto the bench without being asked, swinging her legs as Clark knelt to help her tug off her muddy boots. You followed suit, setting your own shoes aside and waited as Clark kicked off his ruined dress shoes with a resigned sigh.
Once everyone was settled, Clark straightened up and clapped his hands together once, a bright sound that echoed lightly in the space.
âAlright, tour time.â he said, smiling at both of you, âLetâs⊠letâs explore,â he then added, already stepping forward before either of you could answer, like momentum was the only thing keeping him upright.Â
He headed straight into the living room with long strides that were a little too purposeful and tense shoulders beneath his jacket. Ellie bounced along beside him, enthusiasm radiating off her in waves, while you followed a step behind, watching the way he never quite looked back at you, never long enough to read your face.
âThe fireplaceâŠuh,â he began, gesturing a little too broadly toward the stone hearth, âI was told it hadnât been used in a long time, so I had it checked when the house was inspected for structural issues and it works, itâs solid, just needs a cleaningâŠitâs scheduled and thatâsâŠnormal, apparently, very normal.â He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, eyes darting anywhere but to you. As he walked past Ellie, his hand came down automatically to ruffle her hair, gentle and familiar like muscle memory.
Ellie grinned up at him and then latched onto his leg, wrapping her arms around his thigh and planting both feet squarely on top of one of his. Clark barely missed a beat, adjusting his stance so she wouldnât lose balance, continuing as if this was just part of his usual bodyweight.
âThe windows,â he said, moving toward them, Ellie still attached, âtheyâre all double glazed, every single one, including the sunroom. Theyâve got locks, proper ones not flimsy and they keep the house warm in winter and cool in summer, whichâŠuhâŠthe AC helps with too. Thatâs actually the most recent addition, works great, I tested it myself.â He gave a quick, breathless half-laugh and stepped into the sunroom, tiles cool and patterned beneath your feet.
âThe tileâs original,â he added quickly, pointing down, voice picking up just a little. âVintage pattern, blue detailingâŠreally well kept except for that corner there.â He lifted a finger, excited and anxious all at once. âPrevious owner dropped a heavy pot, butâŠand this is the good part, he kept replacement tiles. In the garage. OrâŠnoââ Clark froze mid-step, eyes flicking upward. âAttic. Itâs the attic. He never got around to fixing it, but itâs⊠itâs doable. High on the list.â
Ellie finally let go of his leg to spin in a slow circle, arms out, sunlight catching in her hair. Clark smiled at her reflexively, then kept going, words tumbling out like if he stopped theyâd catch up to him.
âAll doors and windows can open fully in the summer, screen doors were removed but theyâre intact, stored properly, could be screwed back on easily with no damage.â He gestured vaguely toward an imaginary future.
You followed them into the kitchen, your mouth opening as if to speak but Clark was already there.
âAppliances are newâŠclearly,â he said, tapping one lightly. âWindow bench seatâŠmy mom can sew new cushions for that. The table needs sanding, maybe another coat to seal it but itâsââ He knocked on it with his knuckles, solid. âAll wood, like at my parentsâ place.â
Ellie hugged his leg again, cheek pressed to his thigh and he absently rested a hand on her shoulder, grounding himself.
âPantryâs here,â he said, opening one door, âgarage through here and also through the mudroom, old houses just have⊠so many doors.â He gave a breathless chuckle and swung the garage door open. Light flooded in. âBig space, not dark at all. One garage door works, the other one doesnât but I can fix thatâŠor call someoneâŠprobably call someone.â
Then abruptly, he turned. âEllie, hey,â he said softly, leaning down as if sharing a secret. âI have to show you something.â
Her eyes lit up immediately and she took off down the hallway. You followed, slower now, heart thudding as Clark led the way, hands fidgeting at his sides.
He stopped at a room youâd barely registered before. âThis one,â he said quickly, âcould be a playroom, cabinets are already at kid height. Itâs also the only room with carpet in the house, it can be removed if you wantâŠor kept. Itâs flexible.â He barely let you look before moving again, like if he paused too long the weight of it all would settle.
âMaster bedroomâs there,â he pointed down another hall without stopping. âButâŠupstairs. Letâs go upstairs.â
Ellie was already halfway up the stairs. âThe princess room!â she announced.
âYes,â Clark said, smiling despite himself. âThe princess room.â He finally glanced at you then, just a flicker like checking that you were still standing, still breathing.
Upstairs, Ellie pushed the door open like she owned it. Pale pink door, matching trim, vintage wallpaper dotted with soft illustrations. The chest in the corner and window seat glowing with afternoon light. The room felt unreal, too perfect and intentional.
âCloset space isâŠprobably excessive,â Clark said, voice quieter now. âBut if she takes after you, I think thatâs a safe bet.â He gestured to the built-in wardrobes lining the walls. âShutters on the windows but blackout blinds would be good, easier. And the bathroom next door has pink cabinets,â he added for Ellieâs benefit, earning a delighted gasp.
He ushered you both out gently, showing two more bedrooms and another bathroom, then stopped at a narrow staircase you hadnât even noticed.
âAndâŠuhâthis.â He led the way up, steps creaking softly, until the space opened into something airy and calm. The space had bookshelves from floor to ceiling as sunlight spilled across hardwood floors offering endless possibility.
âLibrary,â he said, finally slowing. âOffice spaceâŠan attic, technically but nothing creepy.â A nervous huff of laughter escaped him. âThe previous ownerâs wife used to read here. Fits three desks or⊠whatever you want.â
For the first time, he stopped talking. He turned to you fully then, chest rising with a deep breath, and pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. His hands shook just a little as he held it out.
âItâs not Kansas,â he said softly, voice bare and honest, âbutâŠâ He swallowed. âItâs yours.â
You blinked at him once, then again, your gaze dropping from his face to the paper in his hand like gravity had suddenly doubled. You took it and unfolded it slowly, as if moving at this pace might make the words rearrange themselves into something less terrifying, less real. Your eyes tracked each line, each paragraph, the legal language swimming before finally settling into sense or so you thought.
âThatâs notâŠthatâs not the whole thing,â Clark started immediately, the words spilling out in a rush the second silence stretched too long. âI can email the rest or print it, maybe printing would be better but Iâll email it anyway because I know you like to read things on paper and cross-reference andââ
âClark,â you interrupted softly, not raising your voice, not sharp in any way but just enough to stop him.
He froze. âSorry,â he said quickly, like an instinct.
You pressed your palm to your forehead, breathing in through your nose, out through your mouth, grounding yourself. âIâmâŠhaving trouble understanding whatâŠâ Your voice faltered and you swallowed hard before forcing yourself to look up at him, really look. âYou didnât buy me a house.â The words came out wrong, too firm and too edged, sounding more like an accusation than disbelief. âClark Joseph Kent,â you added, because suddenly that felt important. âYou did not buy me a house.â
His eyes darted away immediately, to the window, the bookshelf, the floorâŠreally anywhere but your face. He scratched at the nape of his neck, that familiar nervous gesture that always made your chest warm and ache all at once. You looked back down at the paper, willing your brain to cooperate, to process. It took effort, far more than it ever should have. You read it once, twice and third time for good measure before your breath caught.
âA year ago?â Your head snapped up. âClark, are you insane? What were you thinking?â
He hesitated and in that pause you felt everything he hadnât said over the past few years settle into the room with you. âI was thinking that making a home takes time,â he said quietly. Then, softer, almost afraid of the truth in it, âand that youâve spent too long dreaming of one.â
Your heart betrayed you immediately, its rhythm changing, loud enough that he could hear it, fast and uneven, the same cadence it had the first time heâd coaxed you to the edge of a building, trying to help you face your fear of heights, your fingers locked in his sleeve as you shook.
âClark,â you said and the way his name left your mouth nearly undid him. âI know I talk a lot. I donât expect you to do anything about the things I say.â You gestured vaguely, helpless. âMuch lessââ your voice dropped, a whisper now, âbuy a house.â
âMetropolis was never a forever thing,â he reminded you gently, something youâd both said years ago like a promise you could revisit whenever you needed it. âThis could be that,â he added, glancing toward Ellie, who was crouched by a forgotten box in the corner, absorbed in its contents. âIt feels like the right moment.â
You nodded faintly, eyes dropping back to the paper, to his neat signature at the bottom. The words finally clicked into place, reality slotting itself where disbelief had been. Your gaze lingered on the line beneath his name.
âThis contract is wrong,â you said, folding it once and holding it out to him.
His heart plummeted. He took it immediately, scanning it frantically, panic flashing across his face as he reread every line. He knew this paper by heart, heâd checked it a dozen times. Signed it that same morning and brought the pen with him, just in case for the ink in your signatures to match. Everything was exactly as it should be. He looked back up at you, confused and bracing himself.
You shook your head. âYou need one where it says weâre both owners, not just me.â you said firmly. âOr Iâm not signing.â You took a breath, steadying yourself. âThat forever rant I keep going on about? IncludesâŠâ You gestured toward him, blinking through fresh tears. âPretty sure you said youâd stay.â
He stared at you, stunned. âIâI did,â he said quickly, nodding. âI canâI can arrange that.â His mind was already racing ahead to phone calls, revised documents and how carefully heâd sign this time so his name would sit neatly beside yours.
You nodded, relief and emotion crashing together. âYeah?â A shaky laugh slipped out. âYou⊠you picked well.â You inhaled deeply, chest tight. âI probably sounded really ungrateful a minute ago.â
He shook his head so hard it almost made you smile. Ungrateful had never crossed his mind, not once. If anything, heâd been afraid of the opposite: that heâd assumed too much, that heâd taken something sacred and moved it without asking. âThereâs still a lot to do,â he said lightly, trying to ground himself. âPaperwork took forever.â
âDoes this mean youâre going back to plaid shirts and jeans?â you asked suddenly, a small grin tugging at your lips, your voice tilting into something softer, almost playful.
He lifted a brow, glancing down at his rumpled suit, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. âI thought you liked the suitsâ
You frowned, your nose scrunching as you looked at him like heâd just accused you of something wildly untrue. âI never said I liked them,â you countered, then hesitated, words catching. âOr⊠didnât, for that matter.â
âHoney,â Clark said gently, far too gently, âyou forget I can hear things.â His tone stayed serious but the grin that tugged at his mouth gave him away completely. âAnd you do so very often. Iâm still deciding how I feel about that, but you like the suitsâŠin fact, you love them.â
That did it. Your shoulders tensed, nerves crawling up your spine. âYouâre Clark,â you said quickly, as if grounding yourself in the name would make this less dangerous. âJust Clark. The same guy who helped me cheat on tests with yourââ your eyes flicked instinctively to Ellie, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, deeply focused on a puzzle that was definitely missing pieces, â âgreat vision and helped me move furnitureâŠand did my chores when I pretended I was too tired. I donât forget youâreâŠyou knowââ
âThen why are you lying?â he asked softly, smiling, not cruelly or accusingly, just observant. He heard the way your heart jumped, the sharp spike that followed and decided immediately he preferred your fake anger to any real hurt, because this moment was meant to be good, it had to be.
âIâm not lying,â you said, lifting one shoulder in a weak shrug. âIâm justâŠomitting things.â
Clark blinked, his head tilting slightly, curiosity replacing teasing. âWhat things?â
You blinked back at him. âHuh?â
âWhat things are you omitting,â he repeated, lifting his hand and making a vague swooping motion through the air, unmistakably Superman. âBesides that.â
You opened your mouth, then closed it. Then you looked away, heat creeping up your neck and changed direction entirely. âEllie,â you said brightly, far too brightly, âguess who has a princess room now?â
Ellie finally looked up, eyes wide, then pushed herself to her feet. âMe!â she squealed, bouncing in place before running toward you both.
âYes, you!â you laughed.
Clark scooped her up without thinking, hopping in place with her until her laughter filled the room, bright and unrestrained. You joined in, hands steadying her as the three of you moved together in a moment so easy it felt borrowed. When the excitement finally ebbed, Ellie wrapped her arms around both of you and Clark instinctively curved an arm around you pulling you in too. A small, imperfect family shape formed without discussion, without permission and your chest ached at how natural it felt.
You looked up at him in that close space, your voice dropping to a whisper. âWho else knows?â
Ellie had already tuned out again, now focused entirely on Clarkâs tie, tugging and twisting it with the serious concentration of someone fixing a very important problem.
âJust you two,â he said quietly.
You smiled, something soft and disbelieving. âYou really know how to keep a secret.â Then you squinted at him, suspicion creeping back in. âI wouldâve told you the second I found something like this, whichââ you paused, eyes narrowing, âhow did you even find it?â
Clark inhaled deeply, the way he did when he was about to say something that mattered. âI get bored while Iâm patrolling,â he started, almost dismissive but there was nothing casual about the way his voice settled. âLast year⊠there was a fire not very far. I saw it on my way to Smallville. A field caught fast and the wind was bad. I stopped to help evacuate.â
You listened, completely still.
âWhile I was here,â he continued, âI noticed the houseâŠempty and quiet like it was waiting.â His gaze unfocused slightly, memory pulling him somewhere private. âI couldnât stop thinking about it, about the way the light hit it, the landâŠthe distance from everything loud.â He exhaled. âSo I looked into it. Didnât tell anyone, didnât ask anyone either. I knew what I was doing the second I stepped inside.â
You swallowed.
âIt felt likeââ he paused, searching, then gave up on finding the perfect word. âLike Iâd stumbled onto something rare. Like gold and all I could think about was the way you talk about the future. The quiet, the spaceâŠall in a place that feels like breathing.â His arm tightened around you just slightly. âI didnât care what it took to make that real.â
You didnât miss what he didnât say. The way his certainty didnât hinge on himself being part of it.
âSo,â you murmured, âyou bought it.â
âYeah,â he nodded simply. âItâs close enough to the city for work. Closer to Smallville than Metropolis but still far enough from danger.â His eyes dropped briefly to Ellie, now humming to herself. âFor both of you, that part mattered most.â
You nodded slowly. âIt seemsâŠwell thought through.â
âI had time,â he said softly. âI just hope it feels right to you.â
Clark had never built a future in steps or plans. Heâd built it in moments, in instinct, in the unshakable pull of wanting you safe, whole and able to grow into the life you described so vividly. Whatever place he occupied in it was secondary to making sure it existed at all.
âIt does,â you whispered.
You rose onto your tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips and for a moment, everything, the house, the land and the quiet felt like it had been waiting for that too.
Neither of you moved officially until the house felt like it could finally inhale new air. Every surface was cleared, every corner arranged and yet, it wasnât just about the placement of furniture, it was about feeling like a home. The late nights you spent together in each otherâs apartments, surrounded by stacks of boxes and coffee cups, unpacking one sentimental thing at a time, now seemed like a distant, hurried dream. After work, youâd race around Metropolis to pick out pieces that somehow made sense in your vision, especially when it came to Ellieâs room. It wasnât just about functionality, it was about magic. You wanted her eyes to widen every time she stepped inside, to feel a spark that said, this is mine.
You hadnât asked for advice and you hadnât consulted anyone about whether moving her here was too soon, too risky or too bold. Her momâs face from the store visit flashed in your mind only once and even then, it didnât stop you. There wasnât time for investigation, not then. The only thing that mattered was Ellieâs laughter echoing from the backyard, free and unrestrained, a barometer of success you both couldnât ignore. Every squeak of her boots on the grass, every giggle that floated over the fence, reassured you that you were doing it right.
Having Superman as a mover had its perks. Boxes and furniture, no matter how heavy or awkward, seemed to obey him and even when he wasnât physically lifting, his presence made the day feel lighter. He split himself between reporter duties, saving lives and somehow, quiet nights in the house, assembling dressers and beds, setting up bookshelves and making sure every detail fit your vision for Ellieâs little kingdom. Less than a week later, you were packed and moved, carrying not just your belongings but the sense of a fresh start, an unspoken promise of stability and wonder. Tonight was the first night in your home, and it felt electric.
You stepped inside with the last box, a stack of letters tucked under your arm, the scent of cardboard and faint perfume from the last few weeks mixing into a strange but comforting blend. The chatter reached you before you even saw anyone.
âHelloooo? Is anyone home?â you called, setting the box down gently.
âIn the kitchen!â Clarkâs voice came back, warm and familiar.
Ellie hopped to the door like sheâd been waiting her entire life for you to arrive. She wore her little helper apron, a miniature version of one you had found for yourself and her eyes sparkled like sunlight on water. Somewhere behind her, Clarkâs suitcases stood near a wall and boxes were stacked haphazardly everywhere. The only room completed was her princess room, fully furnished and glowing in the soft lamplight, her kingdom complete.
âMy little bunny turned into a chef,â you said, crouching down and pulling her into a tight hug. Her laughter rang out, the kind that made your chest ache with joy.
âWeâre making lasaneea!â she announced, beaming.
âLasagna?â you corrected, standing and kicking off your shoes, a smile tugging at your lips. âIt smells like it.â
In the kitchen, Clark looked impossibly domestic. His dark blue shirt stretched across his biceps, his plaid pajama pants were impossibly cute, the Superman apron tied carefully around his waist and the bunny slippers completed the look. The steam from the oven curled around his glasses, fogging them slightly as he checked the lasagna.
âYouâre staring,â he said quietly, voice low and almost intimate, as if noticing every detail of you in that small moment without even looking.
âWhat? No, I was talking,â you lied, the sound hollow even to your own ears.
âIn your mind you were,â he noted, closing the oven. âAnd sorry to let down seven-year-old you, but I still cannot read minds.â
âYou made me believe you could for a whole week,â you said, pointing a finger at him. âAnd it sometimes feels like you do. So really, itâs your fault.â
Clark grinned, not taking his eyes off his cooking. âYou have to admit, it was hilarious. Still isâŠdoesnât change the fact that you were staring.â
You cleared your throat and glanced toward the oven. âLooks good,â you said, voice softening as you tried to focus on something besides him.
âMe or the lasagna?â he asked, mischief in his eyes.
Your eyebrows shot up. âYouâre getting comfortable,â you accused.
âI am,â he replied evenly, checking on Ellie at the little dining corner. She was coloring fiercely, tongue poking out in concentration and he smiled, the way a dad does when caught between pride and amusement.
âIâm thinking, Clark,â you corrected, looking over the mountain of half-labeled boxes, âand since you canât read minds, youâll just have to not know.â You paused, thinking of what to do to occupy your mind, âWhere did we put the plates and cutlery?â
âSecond box from the top on your left,â he said with precision, walking toward you effortlessly. In a single motion, he lifted the top box, setting it aside and retrieved the correct one. You blinked, startled. There was something grounding, almost reverent, in watching him move like this, not as Superman or whatever you now were, but as someone who could somehow hold the weight of everything and still make it feel like it fit perfectly.
Ellie looked up at him, eyes wide. Clark ruffled her hair gently as he passed her and she giggled, wrapping her tiny arms around his arm to make him linger enough for a proper hug.
âWe really need to get this sorted out next weekend,â you said, voice clipped but warm, already thinking about the piles of boxes and the lingering to-do list in your head and pulling out objects from the box, laying them gently on the counter, careful with each one as if even the smallest thing mattered..
âWe will,â Clark replied without hesitation.
You glanced up at the refrigerator door, where a small whiteboard bore reminders and sticky notes and your eyes flicked between it and him. âCould you take Ellie to her ballet class after school tomorrow? Iâll be thereâŠcanât miss her first class but I have a quick meeting and I donât want her to be late,â you explained quickly, words spilling out in a rhythm that came from a week of orchestrating logistics for both of your lives.
Clark didnât flinch, didnât hesitate. âOf course I can,â he said, voice calm, sure, like this wasnât a favor but a part of life that he was happy to take on. âItâs at three, right?â
You nodded and his eyes lit up slightly.Â
âIâll be there. She was just talking about how princesses do ballet, right, Ells?â
Ellie spun around, arms flailing in delight. âAnd then Iâll twirl like one too, with my new dress!â She held out the little tutu she had picked out, eyes sparkling as though the mere thought of dancing made her entire body come alive.
You felt a warm flush at seeing Clark kneel slightly to her level. âOf course you will, princess,â he said softly, voice carrying a sort of pride that made your chest ache.
You couldnât help but smile, thinking back to all the planning you had done quietly like checking with the school social worker, coordinating with Amy, the CPS case worker and making sure ballet wouldnât overwhelm her, making sure every step was in Ellieâs best interest. At school she had been so quiet, isolated, a child learning to find her voice but nowâŠnow she was thriving. Between museums, libraries, grocery trips and spontaneous little adventures. She was no longer just a child of routines and empty hours, she was a kid discovering a life she could call her own. Ballet had been a note she had quietly pointed out in a book and that very night, while you were filling boxes and moving items, you had already found a studio she would love.Â
Ellie bounced on her heels again, peering up at Clark. âMommy, heâs gonna see me twirl like a real princess!â
Clarkâs eyes softened, the corners crinkling as he smiled. âI canât wait to see that, Ells. You better spin so fast I might need to hold onto my tie.â
You chuckled, feeling the weight of all that had led to this moment, the move, the planning, the careful balancing of lives and now the simple, ordinary miracle of a childâs joy shared between the people who loved her most. It was domestic, it was ordinary and yet it felt enormous, like the quiet triumph of building a life worth dancing through.
Dinner in the new house had gone smoothly, almost deceptively so and bedtime had followed the same quiet rhythm. You suspected a large part of it came from letting Ellie be involved in every step, like choosing where her bed would go, deciding which stickers lived on which drawer and arranging her books just so. Anticipation had carried her all the way through the evening and when it finally settled, it did so completely. You werenât surprised at all when Clark came down the stairs barely five minutes later.
âI didnât get a single sentence from the book in before she was snoring,â he said, voice low as if even now he didnât want to risk waking her.
You smiled from your place on the rug, sitting cross-legged in front of two open moving boxes. The house smelled faintly of dinner and something woody, something warm and the lights were softer here than they had been in either of your apartments. You lifted your wine glass, swirling the last bit lazily. âWant some grapefruit juice?â you asked lightly, teasing. It was still, perhaps, the one thing you resented about him not being human, his inability to get drunk with you, to blur the edges the way you could.
Clark slipped his glasses off and set them on the couch with care before sitting on the coffee table. You hoped it was as sturdy as it looked. âThink Iâll pass tonight,â he said. His gaze drifted to the box in front of you as you pulled out picture frames, ones you recognized immediately, they were photos from his apartment, from years ago, from versions of the two of you that felt both distant and impossibly close.
âLike youâll pass sleeping with me?â you said easily, too easily, alcohol lending you courage you hadnât planned on using. You gestured toward the armchair where his pillow rested on top of a neatly folded blanket. The arrangement had been discussed more than once during the move, and yet the conversation had never truly ended. You had always run out of words before you ran out of feeling. Tonight felt like a narrowing point, like something you couldnât step around anymore.
His eyes never left your face. âWeâve talked about this,â he said gently, carefully, like each word had weight.
You nodded, slow. âThen why are you ignoring the part where I said I donât mind sharing a bed?â
âThereâs⊠thereâs steps to this,â he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face once, a nervous habit youâd noticed more lately.
You let out a quiet laugh. âSteps to what? Clark, we live together now.â
âAnd weâve accidentally skipped over some crucial ones,â he said, smiling despite himself. âYou made me watch enough romance movies to know Iâve missed a few. Thereâs the flowers, and the lettersâŠI want to take you out first before finding out you sleep-talk.â
âYou know I sleep-talk,â you said softly, something in his words catching in your chest.
âIâll pretend I donât then,â he shrugged, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his mouth. He cleared his throat, mistaking the shine in your eyes for embarrassment, or maybe telling himself heâd chosen the wrong moment entirely. âDidâŠuh, did everything go well with your apartment?â he asked instead. Heâd left his apartment that very morning and he knew you were officially leaving yours behind that afternoon.
You nodded, taking another sip of wine. âMhm. Gave the keys back and he didnât see the dent in the wall from that time I tried to wrestle you in my living roomâŠso I got my full caution deposit back.â
Clark smiled, memory flashing across his face. âI tried to stop you,â he reminded you softly.
âI was drunk,â you replied just as gently.
He studied you for a moment, really studied you, then pointed at your glass. âYou might be now too. Should I expect round two?â
Your smile widened, slow and knowing. âWhat makes you say that?â
âYour pupils are dilated, your eyes are glossy, youâre flushed,â he listed calmly. âYour heartâs beating irregularly and youâre not avoiding eye contact.â He didnât mention the subtle shift in your scent, the way it always changed when you were nervous, bold or both.
âIs that what you always tell yourself?â you asked quietly. âThat itâs not you whoâs causing it?â You paused, then added, âClark, you just asked me outâŠor tried to.â
âIâve asked you out before,â he said, almost casual.
You shrugged. âYeah, when we were five and it was after I kissed you. I rememberâŠI fell and scraped my knee and you were the only one who came to help me.â
âI kissed you,â he corrected softly. âIt wasnât the other way around.â
You waved him off with a chuckle. âIâm pretty sure it was. I was jealous and territorial because I saw you on the swings with Carrie.â
He laughed, surprised. âYou were?â
âYeah,â you said like it was obvious. âI had to do something about it, so I kissed you. I overthought it for a good three hoursâŠwhich seemed like a lot back then.â
âI leaned in at the same time,â he said, eyes warm and voice steady. âA millisecond before, actually. Iâve always been pretty fast.â
âPffft, whatever,â you said, smiling. âThatâs cheating but Iâll allow it.â
The laughter faded into something quieter, heavier. The house seemed to settle around you, like it was listening. Clark rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, his gaze dropping briefly before lifting back to yours.
âI donât want to rush this,â he said finally, slower now. âNot because I donât want it, but because I do, I justâŠI want to do it right and give you the time to see it as you wish.â
Your throat tightened. You nodded, understanding more than you could put into words. The studying continued of small shifts of expression, the space between breaths a,d the way his shoulders eased when you didnât pull away.Â
âIâll take the date,â you said softly, then added, almost shy despite everything, âand the cuddles too. Tonight.â
Clarkâs eyes snapped to yours, surprise flashing through them before it softened into something warmer, steadier. He didnât speak right away, just watched you, like he was making sure you were real and still there.
Silence settled again, heavier this time. Your thoughts drifted where they always did when things got too real, back to raised voices behind closed doors, to being tugged between parents who said they loved you but definitely didnât know how to love each other, to learning early that love could disappear if you held it too tightly. Youâd gone from needing it desperately to keeping it at armâs length, convincing yourself that distance was safety.
âYou know, I didnât think youâd still care about steps afterâŠso long,â you said finally, voice quiet. âSo maybe Iâm the one skipping over them.â You hesitated, fingers twisting together in your lap. âDo you ever resent me forââ
âNo,â he cut in immediately. Not sharply or loudly, just undeniably certain. âNever.â
You tilted your head, searching his face. âCâmon, Clark. At some point you mustâve looked back and thought about all the time you wasted...waiting.â
âI canât see whatâs been wasted, because nothing was,â he replied, just as steady. âIt led us here, didnât it? Iâm here and I want to be.â
Your breath left you in a shaky exhale. âI donât know how to⊠hold this,â you admitted. âI want to. Gosh, I want to tell you everything but my brain canât keep up with my heart. The thought of it is really scary.â You swallowed. âThis is real now and all I can think about is how long I went without it. How cruel it was of me to take it away from you, then drop it on your desk like a deadline, with conditions.â Your voice cracked. âIâve been thinking about talking to you for a week and I just...I donât have the right words.â
You looked down, then back up. âClark, I donât know how to forgive myself for how long it took me to trust you with my heartâŠAnd when I see you with Ellie, I think⊠I shouldâve trusted you to catch me if I fell.â
âYouâre forgiven,â he said clearly, without hesitation. âAnd Iâm only saying that because you think you need to ask for it. You donât.â
He shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. âI didnât walk away when you scraped your knee. I didnât walk away when things with your parents got worse and you shut down and I didnât walk away when you went behind my back and asked my mom to lie for you and tell me you couldnât sleep over on my twelfth birthday.â
You huffed out a watery laugh. âI didnât have the heart to tell you I was grounded and wasnât supposed to be there in the first place.â
Clark nodded, understanding written all over his face. âWhat Iâm trying to say,â he continued gently, âis that I love you intentionally. I love you with every bit of conscience I was born with. Every moment Iâve spent with you as friends was already more than I ever dreamed Iâd get.â His voice softened. âLove is sharing something beautiful and Iâve had that all along.â
He paused, choosing his words carefully. âYou told me once, after the CPS worker came that she asked you about me and that it was the only question you didnât answer truthfully. I didnât ask you about it because I already knewâŠjust like the heart knows. It doesnât matter which way it leans, it matters that it does.â
His gaze held yours. âAt five years old, you were already wondering where real love was. HoneyâŠyou are the love.â
Tears blurred your vision. You blinked them back but your voice wavered anyway. âI think at some point I started trying to punish myself without you. Get to some kind of epiphany where Iâd finally admit I needed you and then force myself to let you go before I could fully grasp it.â
âYou donât ever have to let go of anything,â he said quietly, stepping closer. âNot even me.â
The words settled between you, soft and sure. He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed your lips, giving you time, always giving you time to decide. The kiss that followed was barely there, a promise more than a claim, warm, familiar and achingly gentle, like something youâd both been practicing for years without realizing it.
âAnd I do love you,â you whispered against him, like you couldnât keep it inside anymore. âI wish it didnât take me so long to see it.â
âI knew,â he murmured, thumb brushing away the tear that finally escaped. âTurns out I am a bit of a mind reader.â
You let out a small, breathy laugh. âThey donât call you Mr. Magic for nothing.â
For the first time in a long while, the future didnât feel like something you had to brace for. It felt like something you could lean into together.
That night taught you that no matter how hard you pushed your future away, it would stay close anyway, patient and waiting for the current to soften and carry it back to you. Youâd been orbiting each other for so long that it didnât feel like the end of something else at all, just the quiet clicking of things finally falling into place. The hours slipped by almost unfairly fast, the mattress on the floor creaking softly whenever one of you shifted, bed frame boxes stacked like a promise you hadnât gotten around to opening yet. You didnât need them, not that night because everything already felt settled in a way furniture never could.
Morning came abruptly. Two alarms rang almost in unison, unfamiliar yet grounding and for a split second you forgot where you were before reality rushed back in warm and undeniable.Â
Clark was up first, careful even in the way he moved, like he didnât want to disturb the fragile peace of it all. You listened half-awake as he padded out of the room, drawers opening softly and cabinets closing with restraint. He was already in motion, already taking care of things. That, you realized, mightâve been the most surreal part, how natural it all felt.
You handled wake-up duty, easing Ellie out of sleep with gentle words and the promise of breakfast. By the time you got dressed and made it to the kitchen, she sat halfway curled into her chair, eyes heavy, hair still a little wild, spoon clutched loosely in her hand. You sat with her, sharing quiet bites and slower moments, letting the morning stretch without rushing it while Clarl also got ready.
Eventually, he came back in, hands full and expression soft in that way it always was when he looked at her. He didnât say anything at first, just leaned down and kissed Ellieâs cheek once, twice, five times, until she dissolved into giggles and tried to squirm away.
âOkay, okay! It tickles!â she giggled. âToo many!â
âNever,â he said simply, smiling.
Then he straightened and stepped toward you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder that lingered just long enough to feel intentional, familiar and earned.
âI have to go,â he murmured against your skin. âThereâs something I need to take care of.â
You heard it immediately, the difference in his tone. This wasnât about work, wasnât about reporting or deadlines. You nodded without asking for details. âBe safe, alright? Iâm still not sure where the first aid kit is.â
âDownstairs bathroom,â he replied easily. âBottom box.â Of course he knew. âIâll see you at three, Ells! I love you girls.â
Ellie waved enthusiastically, mouth full of cookies, crumbs dusting her pajamas. You smiled despite yourself.
âWe love you too,â you said for the both of you.
Your gaze followed him to the back door, watching from the window as he stepped into the yard, just in time to see him take flight behind Ellie, where she couldnât see. You exchanged a look with her, something unspoken she didnât yet get, before her attention returned to her breakfast.
You hadnât talked yet about if or when, youâd explain everything. About him, about the two of you, about what this all meant. There was time but for now, it felt enough to let things exist as they were.
You stood, clearing plates, wiping crumbs from the counter and moving through the motions of the morning while your heart stayed impossibly full.
âMommy?â she called softly, like she wasnât sure she should interrupt the quiet that had settled after Clark left.
âYes, bunny?â you answered, turning back toward her. You were rinsing a plate in the sink when you noticed the way she was twisting the hem of her pajama top between her fingers, eyes fixed on a single crumb on the table like it held the secrets of the universe.
She didnât answer right away. Instead, she slid off her chair and padded closer, socked feet whispering against the kitchen floor. She leaned her hip against your leg, familiar and warm, then looked up at you with that expression she got when she was trying to line her thoughts up just right.
âCan I ask you something?â she said.
You smiled, setting the plate aside and drying your hands on a towel. âYou can ask me anything, always.â
She nodded, taking that in, then frowned again. âItâs not bad,â she added quickly. âI think.â
Your chest tightened just a little. âOkay,â you said gently. âWhat is it?â
She rocked on her heels, eyes flicking toward the door where Clark had disappeared only minutes ago, then back to you. â...About Mr. Magic.â
You chuckled softly. âWhat about him?â
âWellâŠâ she started, then stopped, scrunching up her nose. âI like how he reads me stories. Even when Iâm not tired and he does the voices, even the silly ones.â
You reached for the mug beside you, fingers wrapping around it for something to do. âHe does,â you agreed.
âAnd he cuts my apples the good way,â she continued, more confident now. âNot too small, not too big and he always takes the peel off but leaves the red part on one side because he says thatâs the smile.â
Your throat tightened, completely unprepared for how small and specific her list was. You swallowed.
âAnd he stays until I fall asleep,â she added, quieter. âEven when he thinks I already am.â
Your hand slipped against the mug, ceramic clinking softly against the counter. You winced at the sound, setting it down before it could tip over entirely.
Ellie noticed immediately. âDid I say something wrong?â she asked, eyes widening.
âNo,â you said quickly, crouching down so you were eye level with her. âNo, sweetheart. You didnât do anything wrong. Iâm listening.â
She studied your face carefully, like she was checking for hidden rules she mightâve missed. Then she nodded once, decision made.
âI was justâŠthinking,â she said slowly, choosing each word like it mattered. âIf he could be my daddy.â
The word landed between you, gentle and enormous all at once.
You didnât answer right away, not because you didnât want to, but because you wanted to do it right. You took a breath, steadying yourself and reached out to brush her hair back from her face.
âIs that something that feels natural to you?â you asked softly. âSomething you want to say?â
She nodded immediately, relief flickering across her face at not being shut down. âI donât know why,â she admitted. âIt justâŠcomes out in my head sometimes and then I stop it.â She frowned. âBut it feels squished when I do.â
Your eyes stung. You blinked, keeping your voice even. âYou donât have to squish feelings like that,â you told her. âNot if they want to come out.â
She tilted her head. âI donât wanna make him sad or you.â
You shook your head gently. âYou wouldnât,â you said honestly. âAnd I wouldnât ever want you to hold something back just because youâre scared of that.â
She thought about that for a long moment, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around you, squeezing tight. You hugged her back immediately, pressing a kiss to her hair.
âHe feels like that,â she murmured into your shoulder. âLike a daddy and youâre my mommy. So it justâŠmatches.â
You laughed softly through the tears threatening to spill. âIt does make sense when you put it that way.â
You pulled back just enough to look at her. âIf thatâs what you want to call him,â you said carefully, âthen itâs okay. You donât have to force it and you donât have to rush it. You can say it when it feels right.â
Her face lit up, slow and bright. âReally?â
âReally,â you promised. âAnd if one day it feels different, thatâs okay too. Thereâs no rules you have to follow except listening to yourself.â
She nodded solemnly, like sheâd been entrusted with something important. Then she grinned. âOkay.â She bounced on her toes once, excitement bubbling over, then suddenly froze. âBut maybe not today,â she added thoughtfully. âI wanna practice first.â
You smiled, brushing her cheek. âThat sounds like a good plan.â
From the backyard, the wind stirred the trees and for the first time you noticed how the house didnât feel so big anymore. It felt lived in, like it was learning your rhythms, your laughter, pauses and secrets, the quiet moments where something new took root.
Ellie slipped her hand into yours. âMommy?â
âYes?â
âWhen I do say it,â she said, squeezing your fingers, âcan you be there?â
You squeezed back, heart full to bursting. âAlways.â
The day at school wrapped itself up the way it had been lately, quietly and gently. The last of the kids had been picked up, chairs were pushed in and the classroom felt bigger without the noise to fill it. You gathered your things slowly, slipping papers into your bag while Ellie hopped between desks, humming to herself as she collected the last of her drawings.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, unhurried but familiar. You recognized them before they even stopped at your door. A soft knock followed.
Ellieâs head snapped up instantly. âMr. Magic!â she gasped, already halfway across the room before you could even answer.
Clark opened the door just in time to brace himself as she launched into him, wrapping her arms around his legs. He laughed quietly, one hand automatically coming down to steady her, like it was muscle memory now.
You lifted your eyes and immediately broke into a grin. âWhere did you get that?â you asked, laughter threading through your voice before you could stop it.
Clark glanced down at himself as if heâd momentarily forgotten what he was wearing. âOh, this?â He straightened just a little, subtly squaring his shoulders like he was on a runway. Then he turned slightly so Ellie could see it too, pointing proudly.
The shirt read Team Ells in bold, cheerful letters, a bunny front and center, complete with a tiny princess crown and a pink ballet tutu.
Ellie gasped again, hands flying to her mouth. âThatâs me!â
âCustom made,â Clark said, entirely too pleased with himself. âOnly the best for my favorite ballerina.â He reached into his bag and stepped closer to your desk, setting down a neatly folded shirt. âGot you one too.â
You stared at it for a second, then up at him, shaking your head in disbelief that was quickly melting into fondness. âOf course you did.â
He had traded his usual briefcase for a pink sports bag slung over his shoulder, stuffed with Ellieâs ballet shoes, leotard, and the water bottle she insisted was âimportant dancer stuff.â The sight of him, standing there so naturally carrying pieces of her life made something warm bloom in your chest.
âReady to go, Ellie?â you asked, as your eyes flicked to the backpack abandoned on her chair.
âYes!â she chirped, darting back to grab it, nearly tripping over the strap in her excitement.
âIâll head there when Iâm done,â you reminded her gently, lowering yourself to her level and smoothing a hand over her hair. âI wouldnât miss it for anything. And Iâll get to show off my new shirt.â
She beamed. âYou have to wear it.â
Clark nodded solemnly. âItâs basically mandatory.â
âI will, I will,â you promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. You glanced back up at him, eyes sparkling. âWhatâs next? Custom caps?â
âTheyâre being delivered on Sunday,â he said without missing a beat. âIâm thinking water bottles after that.â
You laughed, shaking your head just as he stepped closer, careful and familiar and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. It was quick, almost shy but full of something steady and certain. Things were still new, still unfolding and there were pieces of truth Ellie didnât know yet but moments like this felt like quiet proof that you were doing something right.
âLetâs go! Letâs go!â Ellie bounced, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door with all the urgency of a child who knew something wonderful was waiting. He followed easily, matching her pace, never once tightening his grip too much or pulling her along, just letting her lead.
âBye, Mommy!â she called over her shoulder.
You waved from the doorway, watching them disappear down the hall together. You realized then without surprise or fear that Ellie had been right all along. He wasnât just helping or filling in for the time being. He was a dad, her dad and he had stepped into it like heâd been waiting his whole life to do so.
You stood there for a moment longer, grinning to yourself, heart light and impossibly full.
Clark didnât even pause to feel out of place as he stepped into the ballet studio, even though every other parent there had eyes that seemed to drill into him from the second he crossed the threshold, whispering silent judgments about the âsingle hot dadâ with the serious, quiet aura or maybe just marveling at how effortlessly he carried himself but he didnât care. Not for a second.Â
His entire attention was on Ellie, tiny and bright in front of him, her small feet already trying to get the rhythm of her new shoes on the polished floor, the tulle skirt he had struggled to fluff just right swaying with her steps. In that moment, the usual thoughts about skipped steps, about what he had or hadnât done right, about being careful with each move in life, they all melted into nothing. The only thing that mattered was her, walking a little cautiously, peeking around at the other girls, her eyes a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, her tiny hands clutching the sides of her tutu as though it gave her courage.
He knelt down beside her, careful not to startle her and adjusted the skirt one last time, smoothing the waistband with a gentleness that came naturally to him now, the softest kind of touch born from long years of waiting for this, for her. His thoughts were full of her little giggles, the way her eyes lit up when she felt proud of herself, the way she had come to trust him enough to let him guide her into new experiences without fear.
âIâm already so proud of you,â he said softly, making sure to meet her gaze. His voice had that low, steady warmth, the kind that made the room fade away around them, leaving only the two of them. âJust remember that. Iâll be right here and mommy is already on her way.â
Ellieâs lip quivered for the briefest second. âWhat if I fall?â she whispered, voice small, as though the thought itself was dangerous.
Clark reached out, gently pinching her cheek, in that way that always made her smile, feeling the warmth of her skin under his fingers and smiled softly. âIt can happen, but itâs okay. Youâre learning and thatâs what matters most.â His words were steady, sure, each one carrying a quiet promise. She leaned forward instinctively, hugging him tight and in that instant Clark felt a pulse of emotion that he didnât need words for. His chest swelled with a profound sense of belonging, of purpose he had never thought he could fully achieve and he whispered back into her hair, almost inaudibly, âGo play for a bit until class starts. Iâll be right here watching.â
Ellie nodded, finally letting go with a grin and trotted off to a group of girls forming a circle. Clark stood there, hands resting lightly on his hips, watching her integrate, her shyness melting as she started to chat and he felt an almost dizzying mix of pride and quiet awe. When one of the girls complimented her hair, Ellieâs face lit up.
âMy daddy did it!â she said proudly, pointing to Clark with a wave.
Clarkâs stomach lurched, a strange cocktail of joy, disbelief and overwhelming love. His hand went up reflexively to wave back, smile fixed in place, eyes glossy. He forced himself not to hyperventilate, not to cry, not to move too quickly, as if doing so would shatter the magic of the moment. Every fear, every thought about âmissed stepsâ in their life together evaporated completely. He realized in a sudden, all-encompassing clarity that it didnât matter, he was exactly where he was meant to be.Â
He was fully and utterly a dad and it had happened so seamlessly and naturally, that he felt like heâd been preparing for this all his life without knowing it.
You walked in then, quietly stepping to the edge of the room, eyes immediately finding him. He froze the instant your gazes met, his posture was slightly rigid while tears threatened to spill over. Even the strongest man on Earth looked like he could crumble under the weight of how real this moment felt.
âHiâŠwhatâsâwhatâs wrong with you?â you asked, tilting your head, concern flickering through your voice.
âAllergies,â he sniffled, a small, futile attempt to explain the glossy eyes and tight throat.
You raised a brow. âClark, you were raised in Kansas. What allergies?â
He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if that would help. âWhatâs the correlation? I canât develop allergies in adulthood?â
âNot when you come from outer space," you replied with a teasing tilt, though your tone held warmth.
Before he could answer, Ellie squealed with delight and ran to you, her little princess energy filling the room. You crouched down to her level, pulling out your phone to capture a photo. âOh myâŠa real-life princess,â you said softly, smiling wide.
Ellie grinned and posed, then pointed proudly at Clark. âDaddy did this!â she announced, pointing to her perfectly done ballet bun. Then, without hesitation, she skipped back to her new friends.
You stood, brushing your hands together, laughing softly. ââŠOh. That kind of allergies,â you murmured, glancing at Clark with an expression that blended amusement and tenderness.
He shrugged faintly, shaking his head as a tiny, dry laugh escaped him. âI overheard⊠I donât think she meant it,â he admitted quietly, voice low and almost reverent.
âYou know she did,â you whispered back, eyes lingering on him, the pride and joy in his expression mirroring your own. Ellie had chosen perfectly and Clark had stepped into her life, into this family, in a way that was complete, unwavering and entirely his own. It was exactly what she had been missing.
The night had felt like a soft cocoon. After Ellieâs ballet recital, after the giggles and clumsy spins in the living room and the way Clark had laughed until his chest ached while wearing a tiny princess crown, the three of you had slipped into a rhythm that made the house feel like it had always been yours. Even unpacking boxes could wait, the air was warm, the smells of dinner still lingering and every sound, from the soft rustle of Ellieâs tutu to the faint squeak of Clarkâs slippers on the floor, felt comforting. You watched them from the couch, filming Ellieâs new moves while Clark followed along, his movements surprisingly fluid for someone not technically a dancer, his eyes always on her, careful, proud and gentle. Your heart had been so full it hurt with the simple, absolute presence of your little family.
After sheâd gone to bed, the quiet settled over the house but it wasnât the kind of quiet that brought relief, it was the kind that made you acutely aware of every creak in the floor, every faint hum of the refrigerator and the absence of laughter.Â
Clarkâs footsteps were slow, his body shifting almost imperceptibly as he moved toward the kitchen, then paused. You felt it before you saw anything, the subtle tensing of his shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the way his breath caught for just a fraction of a second.
Every fiber of him snapped into alert, his senses extending beyond human limits, probing for disturbances in the atmosphere he had learned to read like a map. It was as though the warmth, the soft laughter and the sanctuary of the night was being pierced by a sharp, foreign edge. You felt a flicker of instinctual dread, your own senses somehow catching the echo of his tension.
He moved toward the front door with a precision and quiet urgency that made your pulse catch. The way he handled the doorknob was almost mechanical, every motion exact, controlled and almost defensive. Even in the face of the unknown, he kept himself squarely in front of you, the house and everything youâd built together, ready to meet whatever it was with calm but unflinching focus. It wasnât fear but readiness, the same steady resolve that had carried him through every impossible situation, only now applied to this fragile, perfect life you shared.
When the door opened, the man standing there was caught off guard. The envelope in his hand, coffee-stained yet professional, carried a weight that instantly settled into your chest.Â
âI apologize for the late hour, I wasnât aware of your change of address.â
The manâs voice carried the practiced calm of someone who lived in other peopleâs worst moments. It was steady, controlled, every word measured. He stood just far enough back from the threshold to be polite, coat buttoned, posture straight and eyes sharp without being openly unkind.
âIâm Steven McCarthy,â he continued, âpublic defender representing Mr. and Ms. Harper in the current ongoing investigation. Theyâve tasked me with delivering this letter to you.â His gaze flicked briefly between the two of you, as if cataloging reactions. âIâll ask that you contact me should you have any doubts or questions, personally or through an attorney.â He extended an envelope, followed by a business card. âMy information is there.â
The words landed one by one, each syllable cutting cleanly through the warmth that had filled the house moments before. The smell of dinner still lingered faintly in the air, Ellieâs laughter from earlier echoing somewhere in your chest like a memory already being mourned.
Clark took the envelope without a word. His fingers closed around it a little too tightly, the paper crinkling softly under the pressure. You noticed it immediately, the way his shoulders squared and the way something in him shifted. It wasnât fear or anger either, it was that careful stillness he slipped into when worlds collided and he had to decide which one demanded him most.
For a fraction of a second, you could almost see it: him standing at the crossroads of two lives. One where the night had been simple and kind, where Ellieâs socks were abandoned in the hallway and the dishwasher hummed in the background, where the future felt close enough to touch and the other, this one, cold-edged and inevitable, pressing its fingers into the cracks youâd spent months sealing shut.
The man gave a brief nod, clearly accustomed to silence being his cue. âGood night,â he said, already stepping away. The door closed with a soft click that felt far too loud.
Clark stood frozen for a beat, hands tightening slightly around the letter, the faintest tremor in his posture betraying the storm beneath the surface of calm. His jaw set and when he finally turned to you, his eyes held the same controlled intensity but now mixed with a trace of vulnerability. The letter could be everything, the confirmation of triumph and promise of freedom, or it could be the first crack in the delicate perfection of the life youâd been savoring all evening.
You stepped closer, your hand brushing his as he held the envelope, feeling the same tense energy youâd seen when he hovered over Ellieâs first ballet steps. He exhaled slowly, almost imperceptibly, letting a fraction of himself settle again but only just enough to remind you both that the life inside this house, your family, was worth defending.
The envelope in his hands might contain upheaval but the house around you, the family inside it and the bond you shared, was untouchable and yet, even knowing that, the tension settled like a stone in the pit of your stomach, marking the night with a quiet sense of impending doom.
To be continued...
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, theyâre a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Iâm SO sorry for the delay on the next part of suburban legends. Iâve been SO sick the last 3-4 days and have had zero energy to write. Iâll get to it once Iâm feeling better xoxo
summary: the last time clark kent saw you was when you were 17 years old. after a traumatic accident nearly takes your life, you push clark away. now, nearly 12 years later, you and clark meet again. this time, it's in the bustling newsroom of the daily planet and you're forced to confront your entangled past with the man of steel. based off the song suburban legends by taylor swift
content warnings: clark is a certified yearner, will they or won't they, best friends to lovers to exes to ???, major angst, medical trauma, descriptions of injuries, therapy, insecurities, ex high school sweethearts, clark is so perfect it hurts
word count: 4k+
now playing: treacherous by taylor swift
read the rest here!
author's note: here's part 4! happy new year's eve, everyone. there's one more part plus an epilogue! please let me know what you think with a comment, reblog, like, or ask! enjoy! xoxo
Clark startles awake to the sound of broken whimpers and soft cries. The sound of your racing heart is deafening in his ears.
Everything is dark in your bedroom. You insisted that Clark take your bed after finishing dinner and the Princess Bride. He needed somewhere comfortable to sleep and you were more than willing to take the couch for the night. You told him you sleep on your couch all the time and not to worry about you.
Clark would never tell you, but the moment he slid into your bed surrounded by the gentle smell of your shampoo and laundry detergent on the sheets, he was out like a light. It reminded him of all the times he would sneak in through your bedroom window as teenagers.
Clark kicks the comforter off and hurries towards the door. He pushes it open and through the soreness enveloping his muscles, walks into the living room. He switches on the lamp beside the couch.
Youâre tangled under the blankets on the couch. Sweat gathers and falls down your temple. Your eyes are closed but your brows are drawn tightly together. Tears sneak out the corners of your eyes, and your body shakes underneath the blankets.
Clarkâs heart drops into his throat. He drops to his knees in front of you and hesitates for a brief moment. He doesnât want to scare or startle you awake.
Clark gently runs his hand across your forehead, brushing away the sweat and hair away. He whispers your name softly, using his other hand to shake your arm.
Your eyes fly open and you gasp awake. Your eyes are wide and tears continue to paint your cheeks. Your forehead creases as the sleep falls away. Clark continues to move his fingers across your skin.
âClark?â you croaked out, voice thick with sleep. âWhat happened? What is it?â
âYou were having a nightmare,â Clark answered gently, taking the spot beside you as you sit up on the couch. âI heard you crying.â
You nod silently and your bottom lip trembles as you fight back more tears. âSorry. Iâm sorry,â you sniffed as you stared into your lap.
Clarkâs heart clenches at your soft and broken apology. He resists the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap. You donât know each other like that anymore. Itâs different now. Instead, he turns his body towards you and rests his hand near yours, letting you take it if you want to. Clark treads carefully with what he says next.
âSorry?â Clark asked. âWhy are you saying sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.â
You shake your head and turn to face him. Your throat bobbles and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. Clark notices the words are caught in your throat as you gather the courage to speak.
You reach for his hand and thread your fingers through his. Clarkâs heart skips at the feeling of your hand in his. Your skin is soft and gentle against the roughness of his palms. His fingers brush across your skin. You lean into his touch and Clark shivers.
âNo, I do,â you replied, squeezing his hand. âIâm sorry for how things ended⊠for how I ended things. You tried so hard to be there for me after the accident and I just pushed you away. I was so insecure and I didnât want to burden you. You did nothing but love me and I broke your heart.â
Clark lets out a shaky breath and smiles tenderly at you. âYou had a lot on your plate. I didnât understand then, but I do now. It wasnât about me, and I made it about me. I said things I shouldnât have because I was hurt and confused. Iâm sorry for the things I said and did, too. It was probably for the best, right? Or else we wouldnât be sitting here together on your couch in Metropolis. Things kind of worked out in the end.â
A heavy silence falls over the room and Clark swallows hard, watching you carefully. You nod quietly and Clark sees the wheels turning in your eyes. You want to say something more, but something is stopping you. You hesitate, squeezing the blanket.
Clarkâs eyes flicker down to your mouth. Your teeth catch your top lip and your eyes search his. The sound of your heart racing fills Clarkâs ears. He smells your warm vanilla shampoo on your hair. He stares at your throat and feels your hand slide across the couch, over his hand, before resting on his bare chest.
Clark nearly jumps off the couch, feeling like his heart is beating outside his chest. He inches towards you and you move until youâre nearly in Clarkâs lap. His nose brushes yours, his eyes following your every move, letting you take the lead.
âNot quite the way either of us hoped when we talked about Metropolis as kids though,â you whispered, meeting Clarkâs gaze.
âNo,â Clark agreed, breathing you in. He reaches for you and his fingers brush your waist. You shiver under his touch. âIf I remember correctly, you wanted a floral themed living room. I donât see any florals.â
Your laughter fills the space between you and Clark can nearly taste it with how close you are. The corners of your eyes crinkle at the edges. âMy taste has evolved since we were 17. If I remember correctly, you wanted a bright blue sofa. Do you have a bright blue sofa at your apartment?â
A smile stretches across Clarkâs face. His cheeks turn a light pink and he nods. âI do.â
You squeal in delight and clap your hands together. Your head falls back as you laugh. Clark pinches your sides and your shared laughter fills your apartment. It feels like old times.
âAt least one of us got what we wanted in our dream apartment.â
Clark opens his mouth before thinking. He doesnât know what it is about you, about this moment that makes him say it. Itâs bold and so unlike him.
âNot quite,â Clark replied, âI always pictured you there.â
Your mouth falls open in surprise. Your eyes widen at his words, and his confession fills the space between you. You blink once, twice, three times. You donât say anything. It makes Clark antsy and he might as well go big or go home.
âEven now.â
âEven now?â you asked in awe. âYou canât mean that.â
Clarkâs brows push together and his hands slide to hold your face in his hands. His fingers caress your cheeks, and he presses his nose against yours. Your eyes search his.
âWhen have I ever said things I donât mean?â he asked, whispering your name.
You shiver at the softness of your name on Clarkâs lips. Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. Clark hasnât said it, and neither have you, but you both know what this moment means. Clark still loves you even after all this time. You still love Clark even after all this time.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, an alarm youâve never heard goes off in your bedroom. Clark winces and whatever moment you just shared shatters into existence. He watches you come back to reality.
You slide out of his grasp, and you stand, hugging the blanket to your chest. Clark watches you close yourself off in front of him. He winces and watches you put as much space as you can.
âIs that your superhero phone or something?â you asked. âDuty calls?â
Clark swallows the lump in his throat. âYeah,â he answered.
You nod and hurry over to the drying rack in front of the door to the washer and dryer. âYour suit should be all good to go. I washed, air dried, and stitched it up.â
You pass it over to him without another word. Your fingers brush and Clark reaches out for you. Your name is a plea on his lips. He wants nothing more than to tell Michael to ask someone else for help. Heâs busy trying to mend his relationship with you and win you back. Besides, heâs still recovering from the blows he received just hours earlier.
âItâs fine. We can talk about this later,â you rationalized, faking a smile. âIâll see you on Monday, Clark. Be safe.â
It isnât fine! Clark wanted to yell back. He had you in his arms. Your hands were on his chest. Your nose was brushing his. He was seconds away from kissing you and telling you he still loved you.
But he had responsibilities, a city that counted on him, and you knew that. Itâs why youâre so eager and ready to get rid of him, Clark thought bitterly. Things were getting too real too fast and Superman had to interrupt. He hates himself for it.
Clark dresses into his suit and tugs on his boots before hurrying into your bedroom to grab his phone. He doesnât bother to look at it when he returns to the living room. He stands in front of the open sliding glass door. Your hand gripped the handle like your life depended on in. Despite the clear lack of sleep in your eyes, you still manage to take Clarkâs breath away. Heâs always been stunned at how beautiful when you wake up, like the weight of the world hasnât found itself on your shoulders yet.
He reaches for your free hand, and you donât pull away. Clark places a soft kiss to the back of your hand. His eyes finding yours over the top of your hand. His heart lurches inside his chest.
âThank you,â he murmured quietly, âfor everything you did for me tonight and all the nights before. Iâll see you on Monday.â
Clark leaves before he could hear you say goodbye.
âŠ
After youâre discharged from the hospital, your parents pack up the house for Central City four days later. You couldnât do anything but sit and watch your parents pack 20 yearsâ worth of things into cardboard boxes and plastic bins. Instead, Clark forces you outside to see the grounds of the farm youâve lived on while your parents and his pack everything into the cars and moving van.
Although itâs early December, itâs warmer than it has been over the last few weeks. Clark carries you across every inch of the farm, your arms wrapped securely around his neck. He walks you through the barn with all the equipment you used to climb around together as children. You pet and say goodbye to your horse and favorite cow.
The field was plowed only a few weeks into your hospital stay. Now, it was baren and covered in a light dusting of snow.
Clark carefully set out a blanket and lowered you down into his lap. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of the wind whistling in your ears. The smell of the dirt fills your nose. You could hear the chickens in their pen.
âI canât believe Iâm leaving the farm,â you mumbled as you watched your parents pack the last things into the moving van in the distance.
Clark kisses your temple, hugging you to his chest. âThat was always the plan though, wasnât it?â he asked against the shell of your ear. âItâs just happening earlier than either of us anticipated. Just think, this time next year weâll both be in Metropolis.â
You stiffen in Clarkâs embrace, his words curdling inside your chest. You frown and grit your teeth. Anger simmers beneath your skin.
âClark, stop,â you bit out, moving out from under his touch. Your legs sit uselessly in front of you as you face him.
âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â he asked, his brows pulling together with concern. He reaches for your hand, and you angrily bat it away, ignoring the hurt look across Clarkâs face.
âAll of it!â you screamed in frustration. âMe. You. Us. Bringing up Metropolis is cruel, Clark.â
Clark sputters at your response. âI donât understand. Going to Metropolis together was always our planââ
âI know!â you shouted. âBut that was before! I canât walk. I canât drive. I suck at moving around in my wheelchair. I get tired all the time. For Christâs sake, Clark! Youâre carrying me around the farm we used to run around as babies!â
âThatâs why youâre going to Central City. Theyâll teach you how to walk and drive again. Youâll get better using your wheelchair with time. Youâll build your strength back up to what it was before.â
You hear the desperation in Clarkâs voice. Heâs clinging on to your imploded future like a lifeline. You have to make it clear that future doesnât exist anymore. Whatever plans you had together were gone. History. Kaput. Goodbye Metropolis.
âWhat if I donât, Clark?â you yelled brokenly. Tears of frustration coat your cheeks. âWhat if Iâm like this the rest of my life?â your confession filters through the air and you watch it settle on Clarkâs shoulders.
Your body shakes as you cry, mourning your past and your future, whatever that means now. You mourn the town youâve lived in your whole life that youâre leaving behind. You mourn the only boy youâve ever loved, even if heâs sitting right next to you.
Clarkâs eyes search yours and you watch him think carefully before speaking. He takes your hands in his and squeezes firmly. âThen youâll figure it out. Youâre the strongest person I know. If anyone could adapt to these challenges you face, itâs you.â
You want to fight and argue some more, but you donât have it in you. Youâve tried picking a fight twice now in order to break up with Clark and set him free, and each time has failed more spectacularly than the last. Clark has been nothing but supportive and has taken your outbursts like a champ. It makes you hate how perfect he is. It just reminds you how much you donât deserve him. It reminds you that Clark deserves better.
The distance will take care of what youâve failed to accomplish over the last few days. Clark will get sick of you. Heâll get sick of the phone calls, the distance, and visiting you when you canât visit him. Heâll get sick of the unanswered texts and missed calls. Heâll put on a brave face until he canât anymore.
Clark pulls you into his lap and you rest your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes and sink into Clarkâs warm embrace. He holds you tightly against him, brushing kisses into your temple. The short strands of your hair whisp in the wind.
âI know things will be hard, but itâll be worth it, I promise,â Clark whispered against the shell of your ear. You blame the shivers down your spine on the biting wind instead of the warmth of his voice.
The sound of the moving vanâs horn breaks moment between you. Your dad yells for you near the driveway and you watch your mom load the last items into the back of the SUV.
Clark tenses beside you and pulls away. His eyes search yours and he gently grasps your chin before fitting his mouth over yours in a heavy kiss. You let Clark lead you through the kiss, his lips pouring all the words and love he cannot say. Itâs desperate and lingering. A tear slips past your eye and Clark is quick to brush it away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
Clark tears himself away from you and moves quickly on his feet. He gathers you in his arms before pulling the blanket from the ground. You canât help but stare at Clark as he walks the two of you through the field towards the cars in the driveway. He sets you down into your wheelchair momentarily, giving you the chance to say goodbye to Martha and Jonathan without him hovering.
You hug them both tightly and ignore the brick settling in your stomach as you inch towards the passenger side of the SUV. Clark is quick to help you into the car. You thread your fingers through his and lean towards him.
The kiss you share is soft and fleeting. You taste the saltiness of Clarkâs tears. You want more, you want everything, but you canât. Not anymore.
âIâll see you soon, okay?â Clark murmured quietly, forcing a grin.
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing the tears down as Clark shut the door. His hands grasp the lip of the passenger side window. It groans against his strength. You rest your hand atop his.
âIâll see you soon,â you replied, knowing deep down it was a lie.
The car turns on and you watch Clark disappear through the side mirror as your mom drives away from the only place and person youâve called home.
âŠ
Now, Clark has kept his promise for the most part, but it has only been a month since you moved. He calls you every day. He asks how your rehabilitation is going and if you like Central City so far. You try to be enthusiastic about the city, but itâs so different from Smallville and you donât have Clark to share it with.
Your doctors and therapists are amazing. They, like your previous medical team, are optimistic about your recovery. You have access to state-of-the-art facilities and spend nearly eight hours a day in various programs to help with your recovery.
It was almost like old times whenever you talked on the phone. Only now, he shares things you hadnât thought to ask about before since you were always there beside him. He updates you on how the Smallville High Herald is doing. Every time he brings up an assignment heâs working on with Lola King, your heart twists a little.
Now that youâre no longer at Smallville, you canât keep a watchful eye on the girls who always had their eyes on Clark. To them, he was a free man. It didnât matter that he was clearly still committed to you.
As time goes by, Clarkâs responsibilities and schedule grow. Plans of Clark visiting fall through. Instead, you have to settle for Facetimes, quick texts, and long phone calls when he can. You stare at your phone and wait for him to reach out. You hate yourself for it.
So, you busy yourself with prioritizing your health and wellbeing. Afterall, it was why your family uprooted you to Central City in the first place. Progress was slow, but measurable. You were getting the hang of using your wheelchair and could take a couple of assisted steps in physical therapy.
Although you had nightmares about the accident consistently, you didnât keep them bottled up inside. Instead, you told your therapist, and she helped you face your trauma every day.
Now youâre the one missing calls and taking forever to respond to texts. It was an endless cycle. A cycle that couldâve been prevented if you werenât so selfish when you moved. You havenât even told Clark you withdrew your application from Metropolis University.
Clark
Hi, honey! Miss you so much. Please call when you can, I have great news!
Your heart drops into your throat and you let out a careful breath. You adjust on your bed before pressing Clarkâs contact. You Facetime him and it rings twice before connecting. Clarkâs beautiful smile brightens your screen. You havenât seen him smile like that since before the accident.
âThereâs my favorite girl,â he hummed with a grin. âHow are you?â
You shrug. âIâm okay.â
You know if it were any other day, Clark would press you for more, but heâs too excited. Heâs too happy and you canât break up with him now. This would ruin whatever news he had to share with you.
âI got my acceptance letter from Metropolis University!â Clark blurted out. âI got in!â
Your mouth drops open in surprise. You feel like youâre about to pass out, puke, or both.
âW-wow!â you stuttered, forcing a smile. âThatâs amazing, Clark. Congratulations.â
âThank you, honey. Have you heard back?â
You blink once, twice, three times as you build up the courage to tell Clark the truth. You withdrew your application. You wouldnât be going to Metropolis University with Clark in the fall.
âClark, Iâm not going to Metropolis University,â you confessed.
Clarkâs eyes widen in surprise. âWhat? You didnât get in? Why didnât you tell me? Are you going to appeal it?â
âClark, I withdrew my application when my parents told me we were moving to Central City.â
Even though it was through a screen, the silence between you is deafening. You watch a flurry of emotions cross over Clarkâs face. Hurt. Betrayal. Tears threaten to spill over. His cheeks redden. Something shifts and settles over him.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Clarkâs voice is careful and measured.
âI tried!â you couldnât help but yell. âWhy do you think I started that fight on the day I left? I tried to tell you.â
Clark shakes his head at you. âNo⊠no. Thatâs not true. You were just upset because you were moving.â
âClark.â
âSo you were never going to come to Metropolis? All those plans we had? Theyâre just gone? What about your future? Our future?â Clark asked desperately.
You couldnât help the indignant scoff that ripped through your throat. âOur future?â you asked. âWhat future, Clark? You havenât even come to visit me! Iâve been hanging on to these phone calls, and you promised youâd visit.â
âIâve been busy!â Clark retorted petulantly. âTaking over the Herald has been a lot harder than I anticipated since youâre gone.â
âI know!â you yelled back. âYou donât have to tell me that. I would be there if I could. You know that.â
âDo I?â Clark bit back. âYouâve done nothing but push me away since the accident. It feels like youâre punishing me. You keep secrets from me. You tell me youâre not going to Metropolis, even though thatâs your dream.â
Tears slide down your cheeks, and you angrily wipe them away. You shake your head. âThatâs not fair, Clark. I have tried to tell you numerous times, but you wouldnât hear it. Youâre so focused on getting that version of me back youâre not even listening to this version of me. Itâs like you donât even know me anymore.â
You stare at your phone, watching Clark digest your words. His shoulders sag and he looks resigned. Defeated. Hurt.
âMaybe I donât,â Clark whispered. âYouâre right. Things are different. I havenât been listening to you. Iâm sorry.â
You sniff quietly and stare up at the wall, gathering the strength to do what you shouldâve done before you left.
âClark, I think we should break up.â
âWhat?â Clark asked, hurt laced in his voice. âI know things are rough right now, but I donât think itâs breakup worthy. Itâs just an adjustment period. Weâll figure things out. We always do.â
Your lip trembles and you let the tears fall. âI think I need to figure things out on my own for a little while. I need to learn to be independent again. I canât always rely on you or my family. I have to rely on myself too. I need to learn what that feels like again. I have to process what happened to me without thinking about the future. If this accident has taught me anything, itâs that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Please understand that it has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with me.â
Clark wipes the tears out of his eyes and he nods slowly. His throat bobbles and his lip trembles. âOkay,â he whispered gently. âIf thatâs what you think is best in order to help you heal. I may not like it or agree with it, but itâs your healing journey. I respect it. Just know that when youâre ready to rely on someone other than yourself, I will be here. First in line.â
Wet laughter escapes your throat, and you nod, rubbing your face. âDuly noted. Goodbye, Clark. Take care of yourself for me.â
You hang up before you can hear Clark say, âBack at you. I love you.â Â
summary: the last time clark kent saw you was when you were 17 years old. after a traumatic accident nearly takes your life, you push clark away. now, nearly 12 years later, you and clark meet again. this time, it's in the bustling newsroom of the daily planet and you're forced to confront your entangled past with the man of steel. based off the song suburban legends by taylor swift
content warnings: clark is a certified yearner, will they or won't they, best friends to lovers to exes to ???, major angst, medical trauma, descriptions of injuries, therapy, insecurities, ex high school sweethearts, clark is so perfect it hurts
word count: 4k+
now playing: treacherous by taylor swift
read the rest here!
author's note: here's part 4! happy new year's eve, everyone. there's one more part plus an epilogue! please let me know what you think with a comment, reblog, like, or ask! enjoy! xoxo
Clark startles awake to the sound of broken whimpers and soft cries. The sound of your racing heart is deafening in his ears.
Everything is dark in your bedroom. You insisted that Clark take your bed after finishing dinner and the Princess Bride. He needed somewhere comfortable to sleep and you were more than willing to take the couch for the night. You told him you sleep on your couch all the time and not to worry about you.
Clark would never tell you, but the moment he slid into your bed surrounded by the gentle smell of your shampoo and laundry detergent on the sheets, he was out like a light. It reminded him of all the times he would sneak in through your bedroom window as teenagers.
Clark kicks the comforter off and hurries towards the door. He pushes it open and through the soreness enveloping his muscles, walks into the living room. He switches on the lamp beside the couch.
Youâre tangled under the blankets on the couch. Sweat gathers and falls down your temple. Your eyes are closed but your brows are drawn tightly together. Tears sneak out the corners of your eyes, and your body shakes underneath the blankets.
Clarkâs heart drops into his throat. He drops to his knees in front of you and hesitates for a brief moment. He doesnât want to scare or startle you awake.
Clark gently runs his hand across your forehead, brushing away the sweat and hair away. He whispers your name softly, using his other hand to shake your arm.
Your eyes fly open and you gasp awake. Your eyes are wide and tears continue to paint your cheeks. Your forehead creases as the sleep falls away. Clark continues to move his fingers across your skin.
âClark?â you croaked out, voice thick with sleep. âWhat happened? What is it?â
âYou were having a nightmare,â Clark answered gently, taking the spot beside you as you sit up on the couch. âI heard you crying.â
You nod silently and your bottom lip trembles as you fight back more tears. âSorry. Iâm sorry,â you sniffed as you stared into your lap.
Clarkâs heart clenches at your soft and broken apology. He resists the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap. You donât know each other like that anymore. Itâs different now. Instead, he turns his body towards you and rests his hand near yours, letting you take it if you want to. Clark treads carefully with what he says next.
âSorry?â Clark asked. âWhy are you saying sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.â
You shake your head and turn to face him. Your throat bobbles and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. Clark notices the words are caught in your throat as you gather the courage to speak.
You reach for his hand and thread your fingers through his. Clarkâs heart skips at the feeling of your hand in his. Your skin is soft and gentle against the roughness of his palms. His fingers brush across your skin. You lean into his touch and Clark shivers.
âNo, I do,â you replied, squeezing his hand. âIâm sorry for how things ended⊠for how I ended things. You tried so hard to be there for me after the accident and I just pushed you away. I was so insecure and I didnât want to burden you. You did nothing but love me and I broke your heart.â
Clark lets out a shaky breath and smiles tenderly at you. âYou had a lot on your plate. I didnât understand then, but I do now. It wasnât about me, and I made it about me. I said things I shouldnât have because I was hurt and confused. Iâm sorry for the things I said and did, too. It was probably for the best, right? Or else we wouldnât be sitting here together on your couch in Metropolis. Things kind of worked out in the end.â
A heavy silence falls over the room and Clark swallows hard, watching you carefully. You nod quietly and Clark sees the wheels turning in your eyes. You want to say something more, but something is stopping you. You hesitate, squeezing the blanket.
Clarkâs eyes flicker down to your mouth. Your teeth catch your top lip and your eyes search his. The sound of your heart racing fills Clarkâs ears. He smells your warm vanilla shampoo on your hair. He stares at your throat and feels your hand slide across the couch, over his hand, before resting on his bare chest.
Clark nearly jumps off the couch, feeling like his heart is beating outside his chest. He inches towards you and you move until youâre nearly in Clarkâs lap. His nose brushes yours, his eyes following your every move, letting you take the lead.
âNot quite the way either of us hoped when we talked about Metropolis as kids though,â you whispered, meeting Clarkâs gaze.
âNo,â Clark agreed, breathing you in. He reaches for you and his fingers brush your waist. You shiver under his touch. âIf I remember correctly, you wanted a floral themed living room. I donât see any florals.â
Your laughter fills the space between you and Clark can nearly taste it with how close you are. The corners of your eyes crinkle at the edges. âMy taste has evolved since we were 17. If I remember correctly, you wanted a bright blue sofa. Do you have a bright blue sofa at your apartment?â
A smile stretches across Clarkâs face. His cheeks turn a light pink and he nods. âI do.â
You squeal in delight and clap your hands together. Your head falls back as you laugh. Clark pinches your sides and your shared laughter fills your apartment. It feels like old times.
âAt least one of us got what we wanted in our dream apartment.â
Clark opens his mouth before thinking. He doesnât know what it is about you, about this moment that makes him say it. Itâs bold and so unlike him.
âNot quite,â Clark replied, âI always pictured you there.â
Your mouth falls open in surprise. Your eyes widen at his words, and his confession fills the space between you. You blink once, twice, three times. You donât say anything. It makes Clark antsy and he might as well go big or go home.
âEven now.â
âEven now?â you asked in awe. âYou canât mean that.â
Clarkâs brows push together and his hands slide to hold your face in his hands. His fingers caress your cheeks, and he presses his nose against yours. Your eyes search his.
âWhen have I ever said things I donât mean?â he asked, whispering your name.
You shiver at the softness of your name on Clarkâs lips. Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. Clark hasnât said it, and neither have you, but you both know what this moment means. Clark still loves you even after all this time. You still love Clark even after all this time.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, an alarm youâve never heard goes off in your bedroom. Clark winces and whatever moment you just shared shatters into existence. He watches you come back to reality.
You slide out of his grasp, and you stand, hugging the blanket to your chest. Clark watches you close yourself off in front of him. He winces and watches you put as much space as you can.
âIs that your superhero phone or something?â you asked. âDuty calls?â
Clark swallows the lump in his throat. âYeah,â he answered.
You nod and hurry over to the drying rack in front of the door to the washer and dryer. âYour suit should be all good to go. I washed, air dried, and stitched it up.â
You pass it over to him without another word. Your fingers brush and Clark reaches out for you. Your name is a plea on his lips. He wants nothing more than to tell Michael to ask someone else for help. Heâs busy trying to mend his relationship with you and win you back. Besides, heâs still recovering from the blows he received just hours earlier.
âItâs fine. We can talk about this later,â you rationalized, faking a smile. âIâll see you on Monday, Clark. Be safe.â
It isnât fine! Clark wanted to yell back. He had you in his arms. Your hands were on his chest. Your nose was brushing his. He was seconds away from kissing you and telling you he still loved you.
But he had responsibilities, a city that counted on him, and you knew that. Itâs why youâre so eager and ready to get rid of him, Clark thought bitterly. Things were getting too real too fast and Superman had to interrupt. He hates himself for it.
Clark dresses into his suit and tugs on his boots before hurrying into your bedroom to grab his phone. He doesnât bother to look at it when he returns to the living room. He stands in front of the open sliding glass door. Your hand gripped the handle like your life depended on in. Despite the clear lack of sleep in your eyes, you still manage to take Clarkâs breath away. Heâs always been stunned at how beautiful when you wake up, like the weight of the world hasnât found itself on your shoulders yet.
He reaches for your free hand, and you donât pull away. Clark places a soft kiss to the back of your hand. His eyes finding yours over the top of your hand. His heart lurches inside his chest.
âThank you,â he murmured quietly, âfor everything you did for me tonight and all the nights before. Iâll see you on Monday.â
Clark leaves before he could hear you say goodbye.
âŠ
After youâre discharged from the hospital, your parents pack up the house for Central City four days later. You couldnât do anything but sit and watch your parents pack 20 yearsâ worth of things into cardboard boxes and plastic bins. Instead, Clark forces you outside to see the grounds of the farm youâve lived on while your parents and his pack everything into the cars and moving van.
Although itâs early December, itâs warmer than it has been over the last few weeks. Clark carries you across every inch of the farm, your arms wrapped securely around his neck. He walks you through the barn with all the equipment you used to climb around together as children. You pet and say goodbye to your horse and favorite cow.
The field was plowed only a few weeks into your hospital stay. Now, it was baren and covered in a light dusting of snow.
Clark carefully set out a blanket and lowered you down into his lap. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of the wind whistling in your ears. The smell of the dirt fills your nose. You could hear the chickens in their pen.
âI canât believe Iâm leaving the farm,â you mumbled as you watched your parents pack the last things into the moving van in the distance.
Clark kisses your temple, hugging you to his chest. âThat was always the plan though, wasnât it?â he asked against the shell of your ear. âItâs just happening earlier than either of us anticipated. Just think, this time next year weâll both be in Metropolis.â
You stiffen in Clarkâs embrace, his words curdling inside your chest. You frown and grit your teeth. Anger simmers beneath your skin.
âClark, stop,â you bit out, moving out from under his touch. Your legs sit uselessly in front of you as you face him.
âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â he asked, his brows pulling together with concern. He reaches for your hand, and you angrily bat it away, ignoring the hurt look across Clarkâs face.
âAll of it!â you screamed in frustration. âMe. You. Us. Bringing up Metropolis is cruel, Clark.â
Clark sputters at your response. âI donât understand. Going to Metropolis together was always our planââ
âI know!â you shouted. âBut that was before! I canât walk. I canât drive. I suck at moving around in my wheelchair. I get tired all the time. For Christâs sake, Clark! Youâre carrying me around the farm we used to run around as babies!â
âThatâs why youâre going to Central City. Theyâll teach you how to walk and drive again. Youâll get better using your wheelchair with time. Youâll build your strength back up to what it was before.â
You hear the desperation in Clarkâs voice. Heâs clinging on to your imploded future like a lifeline. You have to make it clear that future doesnât exist anymore. Whatever plans you had together were gone. History. Kaput. Goodbye Metropolis.
âWhat if I donât, Clark?â you yelled brokenly. Tears of frustration coat your cheeks. âWhat if Iâm like this the rest of my life?â your confession filters through the air and you watch it settle on Clarkâs shoulders.
Your body shakes as you cry, mourning your past and your future, whatever that means now. You mourn the town youâve lived in your whole life that youâre leaving behind. You mourn the only boy youâve ever loved, even if heâs sitting right next to you.
Clarkâs eyes search yours and you watch him think carefully before speaking. He takes your hands in his and squeezes firmly. âThen youâll figure it out. Youâre the strongest person I know. If anyone could adapt to these challenges you face, itâs you.â
You want to fight and argue some more, but you donât have it in you. Youâve tried picking a fight twice now in order to break up with Clark and set him free, and each time has failed more spectacularly than the last. Clark has been nothing but supportive and has taken your outbursts like a champ. It makes you hate how perfect he is. It just reminds you how much you donât deserve him. It reminds you that Clark deserves better.
The distance will take care of what youâve failed to accomplish over the last few days. Clark will get sick of you. Heâll get sick of the phone calls, the distance, and visiting you when you canât visit him. Heâll get sick of the unanswered texts and missed calls. Heâll put on a brave face until he canât anymore.
Clark pulls you into his lap and you rest your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes and sink into Clarkâs warm embrace. He holds you tightly against him, brushing kisses into your temple. The short strands of your hair whisp in the wind.
âI know things will be hard, but itâll be worth it, I promise,â Clark whispered against the shell of your ear. You blame the shivers down your spine on the biting wind instead of the warmth of his voice.
The sound of the moving vanâs horn breaks moment between you. Your dad yells for you near the driveway and you watch your mom load the last items into the back of the SUV.
Clark tenses beside you and pulls away. His eyes search yours and he gently grasps your chin before fitting his mouth over yours in a heavy kiss. You let Clark lead you through the kiss, his lips pouring all the words and love he cannot say. Itâs desperate and lingering. A tear slips past your eye and Clark is quick to brush it away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
Clark tears himself away from you and moves quickly on his feet. He gathers you in his arms before pulling the blanket from the ground. You canât help but stare at Clark as he walks the two of you through the field towards the cars in the driveway. He sets you down into your wheelchair momentarily, giving you the chance to say goodbye to Martha and Jonathan without him hovering.
You hug them both tightly and ignore the brick settling in your stomach as you inch towards the passenger side of the SUV. Clark is quick to help you into the car. You thread your fingers through his and lean towards him.
The kiss you share is soft and fleeting. You taste the saltiness of Clarkâs tears. You want more, you want everything, but you canât. Not anymore.
âIâll see you soon, okay?â Clark murmured quietly, forcing a grin.
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing the tears down as Clark shut the door. His hands grasp the lip of the passenger side window. It groans against his strength. You rest your hand atop his.
âIâll see you soon,â you replied, knowing deep down it was a lie.
The car turns on and you watch Clark disappear through the side mirror as your mom drives away from the only place and person youâve called home.
âŠ
Now, Clark has kept his promise for the most part, but it has only been a month since you moved. He calls you every day. He asks how your rehabilitation is going and if you like Central City so far. You try to be enthusiastic about the city, but itâs so different from Smallville and you donât have Clark to share it with.
Your doctors and therapists are amazing. They, like your previous medical team, are optimistic about your recovery. You have access to state-of-the-art facilities and spend nearly eight hours a day in various programs to help with your recovery.
It was almost like old times whenever you talked on the phone. Only now, he shares things you hadnât thought to ask about before since you were always there beside him. He updates you on how the Smallville High Herald is doing. Every time he brings up an assignment heâs working on with Lola King, your heart twists a little.
Now that youâre no longer at Smallville, you canât keep a watchful eye on the girls who always had their eyes on Clark. To them, he was a free man. It didnât matter that he was clearly still committed to you.
As time goes by, Clarkâs responsibilities and schedule grow. Plans of Clark visiting fall through. Instead, you have to settle for Facetimes, quick texts, and long phone calls when he can. You stare at your phone and wait for him to reach out. You hate yourself for it.
So, you busy yourself with prioritizing your health and wellbeing. Afterall, it was why your family uprooted you to Central City in the first place. Progress was slow, but measurable. You were getting the hang of using your wheelchair and could take a couple of assisted steps in physical therapy.
Although you had nightmares about the accident consistently, you didnât keep them bottled up inside. Instead, you told your therapist, and she helped you face your trauma every day.
Now youâre the one missing calls and taking forever to respond to texts. It was an endless cycle. A cycle that couldâve been prevented if you werenât so selfish when you moved. You havenât even told Clark you withdrew your application from Metropolis University.
Clark
Hi, honey! Miss you so much. Please call when you can, I have great news!
Your heart drops into your throat and you let out a careful breath. You adjust on your bed before pressing Clarkâs contact. You Facetime him and it rings twice before connecting. Clarkâs beautiful smile brightens your screen. You havenât seen him smile like that since before the accident.
âThereâs my favorite girl,â he hummed with a grin. âHow are you?â
You shrug. âIâm okay.â
You know if it were any other day, Clark would press you for more, but heâs too excited. Heâs too happy and you canât break up with him now. This would ruin whatever news he had to share with you.
âI got my acceptance letter from Metropolis University!â Clark blurted out. âI got in!â
Your mouth drops open in surprise. You feel like youâre about to pass out, puke, or both.
âW-wow!â you stuttered, forcing a smile. âThatâs amazing, Clark. Congratulations.â
âThank you, honey. Have you heard back?â
You blink once, twice, three times as you build up the courage to tell Clark the truth. You withdrew your application. You wouldnât be going to Metropolis University with Clark in the fall.
âClark, Iâm not going to Metropolis University,â you confessed.
Clarkâs eyes widen in surprise. âWhat? You didnât get in? Why didnât you tell me? Are you going to appeal it?â
âClark, I withdrew my application when my parents told me we were moving to Central City.â
Even though it was through a screen, the silence between you is deafening. You watch a flurry of emotions cross over Clarkâs face. Hurt. Betrayal. Tears threaten to spill over. His cheeks redden. Something shifts and settles over him.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Clarkâs voice is careful and measured.
âI tried!â you couldnât help but yell. âWhy do you think I started that fight on the day I left? I tried to tell you.â
Clark shakes his head at you. âNo⊠no. Thatâs not true. You were just upset because you were moving.â
âClark.â
âSo you were never going to come to Metropolis? All those plans we had? Theyâre just gone? What about your future? Our future?â Clark asked desperately.
You couldnât help the indignant scoff that ripped through your throat. âOur future?â you asked. âWhat future, Clark? You havenât even come to visit me! Iâve been hanging on to these phone calls, and you promised youâd visit.â
âIâve been busy!â Clark retorted petulantly. âTaking over the Herald has been a lot harder than I anticipated since youâre gone.â
âI know!â you yelled back. âYou donât have to tell me that. I would be there if I could. You know that.â
âDo I?â Clark bit back. âYouâve done nothing but push me away since the accident. It feels like youâre punishing me. You keep secrets from me. You tell me youâre not going to Metropolis, even though thatâs your dream.â
Tears slide down your cheeks, and you angrily wipe them away. You shake your head. âThatâs not fair, Clark. I have tried to tell you numerous times, but you wouldnât hear it. Youâre so focused on getting that version of me back youâre not even listening to this version of me. Itâs like you donât even know me anymore.â
You stare at your phone, watching Clark digest your words. His shoulders sag and he looks resigned. Defeated. Hurt.
âMaybe I donât,â Clark whispered. âYouâre right. Things are different. I havenât been listening to you. Iâm sorry.â
You sniff quietly and stare up at the wall, gathering the strength to do what you shouldâve done before you left.
âClark, I think we should break up.â
âWhat?â Clark asked, hurt laced in his voice. âI know things are rough right now, but I donât think itâs breakup worthy. Itâs just an adjustment period. Weâll figure things out. We always do.â
Your lip trembles and you let the tears fall. âI think I need to figure things out on my own for a little while. I need to learn to be independent again. I canât always rely on you or my family. I have to rely on myself too. I need to learn what that feels like again. I have to process what happened to me without thinking about the future. If this accident has taught me anything, itâs that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Please understand that it has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with me.â
Clark wipes the tears out of his eyes and he nods slowly. His throat bobbles and his lip trembles. âOkay,â he whispered gently. âIf thatâs what you think is best in order to help you heal. I may not like it or agree with it, but itâs your healing journey. I respect it. Just know that when youâre ready to rely on someone other than yourself, I will be here. First in line.â
Wet laughter escapes your throat, and you nod, rubbing your face. âDuly noted. Goodbye, Clark. Take care of yourself for me.â
You hang up before you can hear Clark say, âBack at you. I love you.â Â
summary: the last time clark kent saw you was when you were 17 years old. after a traumatic accident nearly takes your life, you push clark away. now, nearly 12 years later, you and clark meet again. this time, it's in the bustling newsroom of the daily planet and you're forced to confront your entangled past with the man of steel. based off the song suburban legends by taylor swift
content warnings: clark is a certified yearner, will they or won't they, best friends to lovers to exes to ???, major angst, medical trauma, descriptions of injuries, therapy, insecurities, ex high school sweethearts, clark is so perfect it hurts
word count: 4k+
now playing: treacherous by taylor swift
read the rest here!
author's note: here's part 4! happy new year's eve, everyone. there's one more part plus an epilogue! please let me know what you think with a comment, reblog, like, or ask! enjoy! xoxo
Clark startles awake to the sound of broken whimpers and soft cries. The sound of your racing heart is deafening in his ears.
Everything is dark in your bedroom. You insisted that Clark take your bed after finishing dinner and the Princess Bride. He needed somewhere comfortable to sleep and you were more than willing to take the couch for the night. You told him you sleep on your couch all the time and not to worry about you.
Clark would never tell you, but the moment he slid into your bed surrounded by the gentle smell of your shampoo and laundry detergent on the sheets, he was out like a light. It reminded him of all the times he would sneak in through your bedroom window as teenagers.
Clark kicks the comforter off and hurries towards the door. He pushes it open and through the soreness enveloping his muscles, walks into the living room. He switches on the lamp beside the couch.
Youâre tangled under the blankets on the couch. Sweat gathers and falls down your temple. Your eyes are closed but your brows are drawn tightly together. Tears sneak out the corners of your eyes, and your body shakes underneath the blankets.
Clarkâs heart drops into his throat. He drops to his knees in front of you and hesitates for a brief moment. He doesnât want to scare or startle you awake.
Clark gently runs his hand across your forehead, brushing away the sweat and hair away. He whispers your name softly, using his other hand to shake your arm.
Your eyes fly open and you gasp awake. Your eyes are wide and tears continue to paint your cheeks. Your forehead creases as the sleep falls away. Clark continues to move his fingers across your skin.
âClark?â you croaked out, voice thick with sleep. âWhat happened? What is it?â
âYou were having a nightmare,â Clark answered gently, taking the spot beside you as you sit up on the couch. âI heard you crying.â
You nod silently and your bottom lip trembles as you fight back more tears. âSorry. Iâm sorry,â you sniffed as you stared into your lap.
Clarkâs heart clenches at your soft and broken apology. He resists the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap. You donât know each other like that anymore. Itâs different now. Instead, he turns his body towards you and rests his hand near yours, letting you take it if you want to. Clark treads carefully with what he says next.
âSorry?â Clark asked. âWhy are you saying sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.â
You shake your head and turn to face him. Your throat bobbles and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. Clark notices the words are caught in your throat as you gather the courage to speak.
You reach for his hand and thread your fingers through his. Clarkâs heart skips at the feeling of your hand in his. Your skin is soft and gentle against the roughness of his palms. His fingers brush across your skin. You lean into his touch and Clark shivers.
âNo, I do,â you replied, squeezing his hand. âIâm sorry for how things ended⊠for how I ended things. You tried so hard to be there for me after the accident and I just pushed you away. I was so insecure and I didnât want to burden you. You did nothing but love me and I broke your heart.â
Clark lets out a shaky breath and smiles tenderly at you. âYou had a lot on your plate. I didnât understand then, but I do now. It wasnât about me, and I made it about me. I said things I shouldnât have because I was hurt and confused. Iâm sorry for the things I said and did, too. It was probably for the best, right? Or else we wouldnât be sitting here together on your couch in Metropolis. Things kind of worked out in the end.â
A heavy silence falls over the room and Clark swallows hard, watching you carefully. You nod quietly and Clark sees the wheels turning in your eyes. You want to say something more, but something is stopping you. You hesitate, squeezing the blanket.
Clarkâs eyes flicker down to your mouth. Your teeth catch your top lip and your eyes search his. The sound of your heart racing fills Clarkâs ears. He smells your warm vanilla shampoo on your hair. He stares at your throat and feels your hand slide across the couch, over his hand, before resting on his bare chest.
Clark nearly jumps off the couch, feeling like his heart is beating outside his chest. He inches towards you and you move until youâre nearly in Clarkâs lap. His nose brushes yours, his eyes following your every move, letting you take the lead.
âNot quite the way either of us hoped when we talked about Metropolis as kids though,â you whispered, meeting Clarkâs gaze.
âNo,â Clark agreed, breathing you in. He reaches for you and his fingers brush your waist. You shiver under his touch. âIf I remember correctly, you wanted a floral themed living room. I donât see any florals.â
Your laughter fills the space between you and Clark can nearly taste it with how close you are. The corners of your eyes crinkle at the edges. âMy taste has evolved since we were 17. If I remember correctly, you wanted a bright blue sofa. Do you have a bright blue sofa at your apartment?â
A smile stretches across Clarkâs face. His cheeks turn a light pink and he nods. âI do.â
You squeal in delight and clap your hands together. Your head falls back as you laugh. Clark pinches your sides and your shared laughter fills your apartment. It feels like old times.
âAt least one of us got what we wanted in our dream apartment.â
Clark opens his mouth before thinking. He doesnât know what it is about you, about this moment that makes him say it. Itâs bold and so unlike him.
âNot quite,â Clark replied, âI always pictured you there.â
Your mouth falls open in surprise. Your eyes widen at his words, and his confession fills the space between you. You blink once, twice, three times. You donât say anything. It makes Clark antsy and he might as well go big or go home.
âEven now.â
âEven now?â you asked in awe. âYou canât mean that.â
Clarkâs brows push together and his hands slide to hold your face in his hands. His fingers caress your cheeks, and he presses his nose against yours. Your eyes search his.
âWhen have I ever said things I donât mean?â he asked, whispering your name.
You shiver at the softness of your name on Clarkâs lips. Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. Clark hasnât said it, and neither have you, but you both know what this moment means. Clark still loves you even after all this time. You still love Clark even after all this time.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, an alarm youâve never heard goes off in your bedroom. Clark winces and whatever moment you just shared shatters into existence. He watches you come back to reality.
You slide out of his grasp, and you stand, hugging the blanket to your chest. Clark watches you close yourself off in front of him. He winces and watches you put as much space as you can.
âIs that your superhero phone or something?â you asked. âDuty calls?â
Clark swallows the lump in his throat. âYeah,â he answered.
You nod and hurry over to the drying rack in front of the door to the washer and dryer. âYour suit should be all good to go. I washed, air dried, and stitched it up.â
You pass it over to him without another word. Your fingers brush and Clark reaches out for you. Your name is a plea on his lips. He wants nothing more than to tell Michael to ask someone else for help. Heâs busy trying to mend his relationship with you and win you back. Besides, heâs still recovering from the blows he received just hours earlier.
âItâs fine. We can talk about this later,â you rationalized, faking a smile. âIâll see you on Monday, Clark. Be safe.â
It isnât fine! Clark wanted to yell back. He had you in his arms. Your hands were on his chest. Your nose was brushing his. He was seconds away from kissing you and telling you he still loved you.
But he had responsibilities, a city that counted on him, and you knew that. Itâs why youâre so eager and ready to get rid of him, Clark thought bitterly. Things were getting too real too fast and Superman had to interrupt. He hates himself for it.
Clark dresses into his suit and tugs on his boots before hurrying into your bedroom to grab his phone. He doesnât bother to look at it when he returns to the living room. He stands in front of the open sliding glass door. Your hand gripped the handle like your life depended on in. Despite the clear lack of sleep in your eyes, you still manage to take Clarkâs breath away. Heâs always been stunned at how beautiful when you wake up, like the weight of the world hasnât found itself on your shoulders yet.
He reaches for your free hand, and you donât pull away. Clark places a soft kiss to the back of your hand. His eyes finding yours over the top of your hand. His heart lurches inside his chest.
âThank you,â he murmured quietly, âfor everything you did for me tonight and all the nights before. Iâll see you on Monday.â
Clark leaves before he could hear you say goodbye.
âŠ
After youâre discharged from the hospital, your parents pack up the house for Central City four days later. You couldnât do anything but sit and watch your parents pack 20 yearsâ worth of things into cardboard boxes and plastic bins. Instead, Clark forces you outside to see the grounds of the farm youâve lived on while your parents and his pack everything into the cars and moving van.
Although itâs early December, itâs warmer than it has been over the last few weeks. Clark carries you across every inch of the farm, your arms wrapped securely around his neck. He walks you through the barn with all the equipment you used to climb around together as children. You pet and say goodbye to your horse and favorite cow.
The field was plowed only a few weeks into your hospital stay. Now, it was baren and covered in a light dusting of snow.
Clark carefully set out a blanket and lowered you down into his lap. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of the wind whistling in your ears. The smell of the dirt fills your nose. You could hear the chickens in their pen.
âI canât believe Iâm leaving the farm,â you mumbled as you watched your parents pack the last things into the moving van in the distance.
Clark kisses your temple, hugging you to his chest. âThat was always the plan though, wasnât it?â he asked against the shell of your ear. âItâs just happening earlier than either of us anticipated. Just think, this time next year weâll both be in Metropolis.â
You stiffen in Clarkâs embrace, his words curdling inside your chest. You frown and grit your teeth. Anger simmers beneath your skin.
âClark, stop,â you bit out, moving out from under his touch. Your legs sit uselessly in front of you as you face him.
âWhat? Whatâs wrong?â he asked, his brows pulling together with concern. He reaches for your hand, and you angrily bat it away, ignoring the hurt look across Clarkâs face.
âAll of it!â you screamed in frustration. âMe. You. Us. Bringing up Metropolis is cruel, Clark.â
Clark sputters at your response. âI donât understand. Going to Metropolis together was always our planââ
âI know!â you shouted. âBut that was before! I canât walk. I canât drive. I suck at moving around in my wheelchair. I get tired all the time. For Christâs sake, Clark! Youâre carrying me around the farm we used to run around as babies!â
âThatâs why youâre going to Central City. Theyâll teach you how to walk and drive again. Youâll get better using your wheelchair with time. Youâll build your strength back up to what it was before.â
You hear the desperation in Clarkâs voice. Heâs clinging on to your imploded future like a lifeline. You have to make it clear that future doesnât exist anymore. Whatever plans you had together were gone. History. Kaput. Goodbye Metropolis.
âWhat if I donât, Clark?â you yelled brokenly. Tears of frustration coat your cheeks. âWhat if Iâm like this the rest of my life?â your confession filters through the air and you watch it settle on Clarkâs shoulders.
Your body shakes as you cry, mourning your past and your future, whatever that means now. You mourn the town youâve lived in your whole life that youâre leaving behind. You mourn the only boy youâve ever loved, even if heâs sitting right next to you.
Clarkâs eyes search yours and you watch him think carefully before speaking. He takes your hands in his and squeezes firmly. âThen youâll figure it out. Youâre the strongest person I know. If anyone could adapt to these challenges you face, itâs you.â
You want to fight and argue some more, but you donât have it in you. Youâve tried picking a fight twice now in order to break up with Clark and set him free, and each time has failed more spectacularly than the last. Clark has been nothing but supportive and has taken your outbursts like a champ. It makes you hate how perfect he is. It just reminds you how much you donât deserve him. It reminds you that Clark deserves better.
The distance will take care of what youâve failed to accomplish over the last few days. Clark will get sick of you. Heâll get sick of the phone calls, the distance, and visiting you when you canât visit him. Heâll get sick of the unanswered texts and missed calls. Heâll put on a brave face until he canât anymore.
Clark pulls you into his lap and you rest your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes and sink into Clarkâs warm embrace. He holds you tightly against him, brushing kisses into your temple. The short strands of your hair whisp in the wind.
âI know things will be hard, but itâll be worth it, I promise,â Clark whispered against the shell of your ear. You blame the shivers down your spine on the biting wind instead of the warmth of his voice.
The sound of the moving vanâs horn breaks moment between you. Your dad yells for you near the driveway and you watch your mom load the last items into the back of the SUV.
Clark tenses beside you and pulls away. His eyes search yours and he gently grasps your chin before fitting his mouth over yours in a heavy kiss. You let Clark lead you through the kiss, his lips pouring all the words and love he cannot say. Itâs desperate and lingering. A tear slips past your eye and Clark is quick to brush it away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.
Clark tears himself away from you and moves quickly on his feet. He gathers you in his arms before pulling the blanket from the ground. You canât help but stare at Clark as he walks the two of you through the field towards the cars in the driveway. He sets you down into your wheelchair momentarily, giving you the chance to say goodbye to Martha and Jonathan without him hovering.
You hug them both tightly and ignore the brick settling in your stomach as you inch towards the passenger side of the SUV. Clark is quick to help you into the car. You thread your fingers through his and lean towards him.
The kiss you share is soft and fleeting. You taste the saltiness of Clarkâs tears. You want more, you want everything, but you canât. Not anymore.
âIâll see you soon, okay?â Clark murmured quietly, forcing a grin.
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing the tears down as Clark shut the door. His hands grasp the lip of the passenger side window. It groans against his strength. You rest your hand atop his.
âIâll see you soon,â you replied, knowing deep down it was a lie.
The car turns on and you watch Clark disappear through the side mirror as your mom drives away from the only place and person youâve called home.
âŠ
Now, Clark has kept his promise for the most part, but it has only been a month since you moved. He calls you every day. He asks how your rehabilitation is going and if you like Central City so far. You try to be enthusiastic about the city, but itâs so different from Smallville and you donât have Clark to share it with.
Your doctors and therapists are amazing. They, like your previous medical team, are optimistic about your recovery. You have access to state-of-the-art facilities and spend nearly eight hours a day in various programs to help with your recovery.
It was almost like old times whenever you talked on the phone. Only now, he shares things you hadnât thought to ask about before since you were always there beside him. He updates you on how the Smallville High Herald is doing. Every time he brings up an assignment heâs working on with Lola King, your heart twists a little.
Now that youâre no longer at Smallville, you canât keep a watchful eye on the girls who always had their eyes on Clark. To them, he was a free man. It didnât matter that he was clearly still committed to you.
As time goes by, Clarkâs responsibilities and schedule grow. Plans of Clark visiting fall through. Instead, you have to settle for Facetimes, quick texts, and long phone calls when he can. You stare at your phone and wait for him to reach out. You hate yourself for it.
So, you busy yourself with prioritizing your health and wellbeing. Afterall, it was why your family uprooted you to Central City in the first place. Progress was slow, but measurable. You were getting the hang of using your wheelchair and could take a couple of assisted steps in physical therapy.
Although you had nightmares about the accident consistently, you didnât keep them bottled up inside. Instead, you told your therapist, and she helped you face your trauma every day.
Now youâre the one missing calls and taking forever to respond to texts. It was an endless cycle. A cycle that couldâve been prevented if you werenât so selfish when you moved. You havenât even told Clark you withdrew your application from Metropolis University.
Clark
Hi, honey! Miss you so much. Please call when you can, I have great news!
Your heart drops into your throat and you let out a careful breath. You adjust on your bed before pressing Clarkâs contact. You Facetime him and it rings twice before connecting. Clarkâs beautiful smile brightens your screen. You havenât seen him smile like that since before the accident.
âThereâs my favorite girl,â he hummed with a grin. âHow are you?â
You shrug. âIâm okay.â
You know if it were any other day, Clark would press you for more, but heâs too excited. Heâs too happy and you canât break up with him now. This would ruin whatever news he had to share with you.
âI got my acceptance letter from Metropolis University!â Clark blurted out. âI got in!â
Your mouth drops open in surprise. You feel like youâre about to pass out, puke, or both.
âW-wow!â you stuttered, forcing a smile. âThatâs amazing, Clark. Congratulations.â
âThank you, honey. Have you heard back?â
You blink once, twice, three times as you build up the courage to tell Clark the truth. You withdrew your application. You wouldnât be going to Metropolis University with Clark in the fall.
âClark, Iâm not going to Metropolis University,â you confessed.
Clarkâs eyes widen in surprise. âWhat? You didnât get in? Why didnât you tell me? Are you going to appeal it?â
âClark, I withdrew my application when my parents told me we were moving to Central City.â
Even though it was through a screen, the silence between you is deafening. You watch a flurry of emotions cross over Clarkâs face. Hurt. Betrayal. Tears threaten to spill over. His cheeks redden. Something shifts and settles over him.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Clarkâs voice is careful and measured.
âI tried!â you couldnât help but yell. âWhy do you think I started that fight on the day I left? I tried to tell you.â
Clark shakes his head at you. âNo⊠no. Thatâs not true. You were just upset because you were moving.â
âClark.â
âSo you were never going to come to Metropolis? All those plans we had? Theyâre just gone? What about your future? Our future?â Clark asked desperately.
You couldnât help the indignant scoff that ripped through your throat. âOur future?â you asked. âWhat future, Clark? You havenât even come to visit me! Iâve been hanging on to these phone calls, and you promised youâd visit.â
âIâve been busy!â Clark retorted petulantly. âTaking over the Herald has been a lot harder than I anticipated since youâre gone.â
âI know!â you yelled back. âYou donât have to tell me that. I would be there if I could. You know that.â
âDo I?â Clark bit back. âYouâve done nothing but push me away since the accident. It feels like youâre punishing me. You keep secrets from me. You tell me youâre not going to Metropolis, even though thatâs your dream.â
Tears slide down your cheeks, and you angrily wipe them away. You shake your head. âThatâs not fair, Clark. I have tried to tell you numerous times, but you wouldnât hear it. Youâre so focused on getting that version of me back youâre not even listening to this version of me. Itâs like you donât even know me anymore.â
You stare at your phone, watching Clark digest your words. His shoulders sag and he looks resigned. Defeated. Hurt.
âMaybe I donât,â Clark whispered. âYouâre right. Things are different. I havenât been listening to you. Iâm sorry.â
You sniff quietly and stare up at the wall, gathering the strength to do what you shouldâve done before you left.
âClark, I think we should break up.â
âWhat?â Clark asked, hurt laced in his voice. âI know things are rough right now, but I donât think itâs breakup worthy. Itâs just an adjustment period. Weâll figure things out. We always do.â
Your lip trembles and you let the tears fall. âI think I need to figure things out on my own for a little while. I need to learn to be independent again. I canât always rely on you or my family. I have to rely on myself too. I need to learn what that feels like again. I have to process what happened to me without thinking about the future. If this accident has taught me anything, itâs that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Please understand that it has nothing to do with you, but everything to do with me.â
Clark wipes the tears out of his eyes and he nods slowly. His throat bobbles and his lip trembles. âOkay,â he whispered gently. âIf thatâs what you think is best in order to help you heal. I may not like it or agree with it, but itâs your healing journey. I respect it. Just know that when youâre ready to rely on someone other than yourself, I will be here. First in line.â
Wet laughter escapes your throat, and you nod, rubbing your face. âDuly noted. Goodbye, Clark. Take care of yourself for me.â
You hang up before you can hear Clark say, âBack at you. I love you.â Â
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hello! hello! as i wrap up suburban legends (two more parts) i'll need some inspo for future fics. please send requests/blurb ideas my way! if y'all couldn't tell i love writing angsty, yearning fics. part 4 should be up tonight or tomorrow! ty!
thank you all for the love on suburban legends thus far! iâm guessing there will be at least 5-6 parts based on how itâs developing. iâm glad yall are enjoying it xoxo!!