Lumi

Where the hell is Damian with a reader just as sassy and sharp as he is???

the whole office knows you’re a flirt, but you only really have eyes for one guy. He happens to have eyes for you too. (or; you and Clark take turns making eachother jealous.) wc: 1.4k

David!Clark Kent x fem reader

“What are you eating, honey?”

Clark turns his head, mouth full. You’re speaking to him in that low, sweet tone you only use with him. It’s enticing, dangerously so.

He holds out his candy bar, pulling down more of the wrapper. It crinkles in his giant palm. “D’you want some?”

Now that he’s looking, you look away. It’s the name of the game. “Oh, I shouldn’t, babe. I’m watching my figure.”

“You-“ He chokes, flustered, and proceeds to descend into a coughing fit. 

“Clark!” You squeal, and guilty of being a little amused, take the sweating plastic cup of iced tea you’ve been sipping on, scurry the three feet to his desk, and hand it to him. “Are you okay?”

Clark is red faced, whether from lack of air or pure embarrassment he’s not sure. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, neglecting your question. “You don’t need to watch anything. Sorry.”

You laugh, delighted. “I was joking, babe, I'm sorry. I’ll have some, would that make you feel better?”

He smiles up at you boyishly. “Maybe. Hey, you took my breath away.”

“One way or another…” You mumble, accepting a piece of chocolate.

-

Clark Kent is attracted to you, you’re sure of that much. Whether it goes past physicality you don’t know, but he’s not half as subtle as he tries to be. He’s a great mannered guy, but also just that. A guy.

Which is why even though his eyes don’t linger very long, they definitely still do. It’s more of a bodily reaction, and once his very well-trained brain catches on to what he’s doing, his handsome face will warm and subsequently turn away.

It’s like a game of cat and mouse, except you take turns being the cat and the mouse.

This morning, when you arrive at your desk, He’s at his beside it, but it's Lois who talks to you first.

“What was that on your story this weekend?”

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. How was your date?”

Clark had been minding his own business, but he’s certainly listening now. He’d been out attending to his affairs as Superman last night, got home late, and hadn’t had the chance to check his phone. He wonders if you’d notice if he took it out now, if he was really sneaky about it.

“Don’t grill me, it’s 9 AM.”

Lois takes a sip of coffee, which you really wish you had right now. “We’re journalists, we’re nosy! You shouldn’t post about it if you don’t want me to drill you.”

You sigh, and slump into your chair. “It wasn’t a date, I think. We split the check.”

She winces. “Ouch.”

“Yup.”

Clark frowns at his computer.

“It’s fine.” You say, but it’s not, he thinks. “What about you, handsome?”

He shouldn’t assume you’re talking to him, that word can describe most of the guys here, but he turns to look at you, and is glad to see he assumed correctly. “What about me?”

“What did you do over the weekend?”

Clark knows it’s not a matter of just being included, you actually want to know. “Oh, nothing exciting.” A lie. “I was… y’know, busy. I called my ma, that was nice.”

How sweet. This farm boy is adorably out of place in this city of womanizers and check-splitters.

“Busy, huh. Are you cheating on me, honey?” You tease, expecting him to go his usual shade of pink and brush you off. Though, he’s gotten a lot better with your advances.

“I think I should ask you the same thing,” He says, a self-satisfied snicker leaving his lips. “Let me bring you your coffee.”

He stands, leaving his chair to spin in his absence, and leaving you with wide eyes, parted lips, and a little warmth of your own creeping up your neck.

Lois doesn’t stop giggling to herself until he comes back.

-

“I don’t want to see him.”

Lois snorts, amused. “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”

“Nope,” You lament, crossing your arms. Your head lolls dramatically against your chair, completely aware of the picture you’re painting. “…maybe.”

It’s definitely dramatic. In your defense, it’s not that you don’t want to see Clark himself. It’s the stupid giant colorful bouquet he came in with this morning. You’ve managed to avoid him all of ten minutes, but part of you knows this can’t last all day.

Jimmy watches pointedly, an equally amused grin on his face. “You’re pouting. Like, very visibly. It’s… depressing, man.”

You gasp, swiveling to face him. “Some of us actually have feelings, man.”

You are pouting, though. You can almost feel the frown lines forming on your face.

A sigh escapes your lips involuntarily. “It’s just, it’s a bit mean. I know i’m a flirt, maybe that’s the problem. He doesn’t think i’m being serious. I just- I thought we were getting somewhere, but I guess we aren’t.”

“You don’t know what the flowers are for,” Lois tilts her head, looking at you with what can only be described as pity. “Maybe they’re for Jimmy.”

“Yeah, I like flowers.”

You snort, burying your face in Jimmy’s shoulder. He pats your back awkwardly.

“He has a hot date during lunch or something, I just know it. I’m such a hypocrite. It’s just, why bring it to work and rub it in my face? It’s mean, he’s mean. I hate him.”

“No you don’t.”

You tsk. “No, I don’t.”

“But I will. I’m gonna move on. I’m gonna move on, right now. With you, Jimmy-“ You coo, squishing his face-

“Hey!” He laughs, not uncomfortably. “I’m not part of this.”

“You’re the most handsome guy in the world-“

“What’s- Oh.”

The three of you look up like a group of guilty children. You’d probably rather it have been Perry who came in and walk out with a slap on the wrist, but of course it had to be Clark.

The situation is not really favorable, considering you’re practically half draped over Jimmy’s lap. You’ve decided he has a date later, so it doesn’t really matter, yet jump off him anyway.

He looks between the three of you. Clark is sporting an adorable little pout, and a furrow in his brow. And he’s still holding those dumb flowers!

“You’re not at your desks,” He surveys.

“You’re right, maybe we should get back to them,” Lois suggests, standing up, nodding at Jimmy to join her.

You gape at her, betrayed, and once they’re behind Clark’s back, she mouths one word to you. “Awkward.”

Awkward indeed.

“Hey,” You shrug, smiling timidly up at him. “Morning. What’s…”

“Are you hiding from me?”

You frown, even though you definitely were. “Why would I hide from you, babe?”

“Because of these?” He asks, gesturing to the bouquet.

You can see it more closely now. Soft petaled roses, sweet asiatic lilies, and a few daisies you didn’t even know could be pink. There’s some limonium used to fill the spaces in between the bigger flowers. All complete in some newspaper and a pretty purple ribbon.

It’s beautiful. You might lose your breakfast.

“I-“

“Is it a lot? I, I’m not really good at this sort of thing, sorry. Do you not like them?”

“Why would it matter if I liked them?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Because they’re for you…?”

You’ve never stood up so quickly in your life. “They’re for me?”

Clark is less bashful now, looking down at you fondly. A cautious step forward, paper crinkling under his arm just like the candy bar a few days ago.

“Of course they’re for you,” He says, “who else would they be for?”

You’re at a loss for words. Embarrassed at how hard headed you’d been, but most of all, deeply enamored. Clark Kent is giving you flowers. And really pretty ones, at that.

“I was gonna ask you to be my date to that charity gala next month,” He explains, pushing up his glasses with his free hand. “I know we’re there as journalists, but there’s still that dinner, and-“

“Clark.”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Can I kiss you?”

The bouquet is immediately forgotten on the table, and Clark pounces at you with all the control of a starving man. His hands hold your face, gripping tightly but not overly so.

His teeth gnash into yours. It’s a funny thing, until it isn’t, and you’re really, truly kissing Clark Kent. Your coworker Clark Kent.

When you pull back for air, your hands finally have free space to wander. They crawl up his torso, choose to land on either side of his firm chest.

“I take it you liked the flowers,” He grins, strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“Stupid,” you giggle, beaming. “Come kiss me, handsome.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Next time you see him, you definitely won’t hide.

I

The first time he saw her, it was the summer before Sophomore year - before everything happened.

He was at the library, having been told by the Sheriff to leave his room and enlighten himself - whatever that meant.

So, for some unholy reason completely unknown to him, he picked up Scott and drove the two to the local library.

crawlin' back to you (sad to see you go, was sorta hopin' that you'd stay)

I apologize for taking so long, school just started again and so did my social life! But here it is, I hope it’s up to expectation💋

Disclaimer: this is barely proofread, and halfway through the writing I realized I sucked at dialogs. English is not my first language. Read at your own risk!

Warnings: slight stalking/obsession. Cursing. Mentions of porn and masturbation. Patrick just kinda pops up out of nowhere. Writing based on Art’s pov, which is why it kind of belittles him.

Art knew her. They never spoke, she has never even looked his way, but he knew her. He has walked by her classes too many times not to.

Not in a creepy way, no! Ask anyone who knows her just like he does, she’s just too enticing to go by unnoticed. Seriously, it’s almost mythical, she is so inhumanly beautiful that it’s sickening. Back straight and head held high, every aspect of her is set to absolute perfection, in a way that it’s obvious she’s either: A) An Angel or B) A ballerina.

C) Both, was Art’s best guess, because she seemed to lack all ballerinas number one characteristic — the crippling fear of being perceived as anything less than perfect. The type of fear that feeds the need to knock down the competition from the very start, a fear that’s hidden by enough fake confidence to present yourself as a higher being, the fear that keeps them skinny, uptight and miserable.

His Angel was never like that, she was only the good parts of ballet. The class and the beauty, but never the pain. Which is why he didn’t dare to speak to her, she’s just so perfect, he can’t risk tainting her pure clear soul with all his greed and shame — infect her — like the disease he is.

He’s happy just memorizing her class schedule, what time she’ll be at the cafeteria, and the exact way she moves behind the big glass windows of the dance studio. Never unhappy, never bothered. After all, she’s his Angel, and he’s just Art Donaldson.

That changes tho, at a college party. Art never went to parties, he uses all his energy studying for classes and practicing tennis. His friends try dragging him out of that lonely dorm room every goddamn weekend. Art never went to parties, and yet there he was at the rooftop looking for Tashi.

He spots her with her back turned, wearing that same pink top from that night at the hotel. It must’ve been destiny, because when he tapped her shoulder and she turned around, it wasn’t Tashis’s face.

“Hi!”

“Oh! Uhm… sorry, I was looking for Tashi.”

“No way! I’m her roommate!” Art had to fight the urge of blurting out “I know”.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh, Art”

“No way! I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the Art Donaldson.” The Art Donaldson? Not just Art Donaldson, but The Art Donaldson. She knew him, or heard of him… but still! Maybe this one sided, weird, parasocial relationship he has built her wasn’t one sided after all. Maybe she knew all his classes as well , maybe she watched him play like she watched him dance, maybe he’s her angel too…

“Tashi has told me so much about you! I don’t know why she didn’t introduce us sooner…”. Or maybe she’s his friend’s fucking roommate.

And before he could beat himself for being so foolish, she grabbed his hand. She guided him through the party and talked to him like he was worth talking to. Back straight, head held high, the same drill he had watched from afar, but this time is the first time he can watch from up close. He would’ve described her as reachable, except she has already been reached, since she was holding onto him. She told him how she loves Tashi and they get along so well, well enough to share absolutely everything — especially clothes — and he wondered, if one of those rare times Tashi would hug him goodbye after practice, he was actually hugging her.

Eventually they did find Tashi, and only then she lets go of his hand. Art thinks he might come to parties more often, because this evening went better than he could’ve ever imagined. He got to be part the cool kids in their very secluded and exclusive little group, not talking to loud or being to wild, but still being the stars of the evening.

And he got to know her.

From this night on, she would never be just the girl he’s weirdly obsessed with. Now, she’s the girl who loves iced coffe, the girl who’s only at Stanford until she’s good enough for Julliard. She’s the girl who said she was glad to meet him, that said he is funny, and smart, and they should hang out again some time.

Time flies when it’s spent with endless praise, and soon enough, the pink skies turned a deep shade of blue, most people left and the party is now a game of truth or dare with only their friends.

Tashi had left about ten minutes ago to grab more alcohol from the deli nearby. Art had taken his shoes and socks off for refusing to say both what Patrick used to tell him about ballerinas, and what he used to do while listening. And she has been answering pretty invasive questions, refusing to strip since she was only wearing sandals, shorts, and nothing underneath Tashi’s sweater. The others were merely background characters. And of course, Patrick was the asshole who kept making the invasive questions and disgusting dares.

“When was the last time you touched yourself?”

“What’s your porn search history?”

“Common Art, I think she’d like to hear it”

“I dare you to dance on the edge of the rooftop.”

This time, instead of laughter it was awkward silence, everyone froze.

“If you don’t you have to take your shirt off.”

“Get some music playing then.”

What?

“You don’t actually have to do it!”

“Yeah Patrick is just being a jerk!”

Everyone tried to stop her, but she was already sliding out of her sandals and playing classical music on her iPod.

“Oh my God, I was joking, I just wanted you to take your shirt off!”

Now she pushed herself up the edge, standing until the right part played through. She started slow — but not scared — in fact, she seemed as confident and collected as she always did. The parapet of the rooftop was quite thin, and she hopped and twirled from side to side at such a rapid steady pace that everyone just sat still and observed, their mouths agape but with no sound coming through, scared that if they shouted for her to stop they’d distract her and she’d fall.

The tense atmosphere and background music was abrupt by Tashi barging in through the door.

“What the fuck is she doing.”

She sounds angry, the second most scary thing happening right now.

“Performing Kitri’s variation on the edge of a rooftop…” A girl who Art has seen dancing alongside her answered, she too seemed more mesmerized than terrified.

“And why the fuck is nobody stopping her.”

Tashi started shouting for her to stop. Saying how this is stupid and dangerous and she’s completely insane. As the music intensified so does the choreography, and suddenly she’s pirouetting all the way until the very edge. Tashi’s demands start sounding more like begs, her voice almost crack when she sees her roommate stop, one centimetre forward and she would’ve fallen.

“That was- the most, stupid fucking thing someone has ever done.” She tries to sound tuff, but her heavy breathing makes it obvious she’s in the verge of crying.

“Not if you know you’re good.” She hops of the parapet, walking towards Tashi, close enough to her face to whisper — “And I am.”