0020202

ㅤㅤㅤENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

The color indicates what the story contains:

*Smut *Fluff *Angst

THE MYSTERY OF WILLOW CREEK - PT1 PT2 PT3 in a quiet little town were traditions never die two reporters Y/N and Clark Kent arrive to cover the town´s anual festival but they're going to find something more than just a festival-bringing them closer than either expected

TRUTH IN THE QUIET HOURS - Months after Willow Creek, Y/N and Clark are closer than ever but Y/N stumbles upon evidence that LexCorp may be hiding something dangerous, Clark’s instinct to protect her clashes with her need to uncover the truth.

HOW YOU SEE ME - A quiet moment in the Daily Planet. A sketch that wasn’t meant to be seen. And a pair of eyes that recognize it a little too well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤMORE COMING.....

The world around you was loud—voices, cameras, movement—but it all blurred into the background.

Because in front of you was Clark.

He stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, like he never quite knew what to do with them.

“You’ll be okay,” he said.

Not quite a question.

Not quite certainty.

You smiled faintly.

“That’s what they say.”

Clark let out a small breath of a laugh, but it didn’t last.

His eyes stayed on you.

“It’s strange,” he murmured. “I spend every day seeing the world from above… and still…”

He trailed off.

“And still?”

He met your gaze.

“It’s never felt this far away.”

Your chest tightened.

“I’m not leaving,” you said softly. “Just… going a little higher.”

He smiled, just barely.

“That sounds like something you’d say to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“A little.”

Silence.

“It’s not just the mission,” you added. “It’s what it means.”

“I know.” And he did.

“Then look down sometimes,” he said.

“Only if you look up too.”

A pause. And then he hugged you.

Tight.

“Come back,” he whispered.

“Always.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

You settled into your seat, adjusting everything by memory.

Everything was in place.

Everything… except you.

Because part of you was still down there. With him

“T minus ten…”

You closed your eyes for a moment.

“Five…”

You thought of the ocean.

“Three…”

Of every woman who had ever looked at the sky.

“Two…”

Clark.

“One—”

Fire.

Not destruction.

Movement.

History pushing upward.

The force pressed you back, the sound overwhelming everything—

And yet, inside you…Silence.

Then came the quiet.

And the view.

Earth. Alive. No borders. No divisions.

Just one whole.

“We’re all there…” you whispered.

You thought of them.

All of them.

Those who came before.

Those here now.

Those yet to come.

The transmission light blinked.

You spoke.

“To those down there…There are no borders from here. Only life.This journey is not mine alone. It belongs to all women—past, present, and future. Take care of this world. Not as something we own. But something we are part of. Because from here… it looks perfect.”

Clark stood below.

Listening.

Still and Proud.

When your voice faded, he looked up.

Smiled.

“You’re doing good,” he murmured.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

When you returned, the air felt heavier.

Real again.

You looked around: cameras, people applauding, women looking at you with hope in their eyes, little girls dressed as astronauts with new dreams to fulfill. The greatest achievement wasn't made in space but on Earth, and you were very proud of yourself and everyone.

And there he was.

Clark.

Waiting.

You started walking towards him and he started walking towards you

And with tears in your eyes you started running towards him and he started running towards you at the same time

Then—

You hugged him.

This time, it wasn’t goodbye.

It was return.

“You came back,” he said.

“Always.”

You pulled back slightly.

“Was it how you imagined?” he asked.

You shook your head softly.

“Better.”

A small smile formed between you.

“I think what I missed the most…” you added.

You didn’t finish because you didn’t need to.

Clark took your hand.

“Then don’t stay away too long.”

You smiled.

“No promises.”

And for a moment—

There was no distance.

Only the same sky above you both.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

The steady sound of rain tapping against the windows of the Daily Planet made the newsroom feel slower than usual. Even Perry had toned down the yelling.

It was one of those rare quiet moments.

Taking advantage of it, you rested your elbow on your desk and opened your sketchbook, flipping through the pages until you found a blank one. Your pencil moved almost on its own at first—soft lines, no real plan.

First the outline of a face. Then the eyes.

You paused there.

You didn’t want to draw him like the newspapers did. Not like the blurry photos people passed around. That wasn’t what interested you. There was something else… something you couldn’t quite explain, but you tried to capture it on paper.

You kept going.

The jawline. The calm but serious expression. A softness in his eyes that almost no one seemed to notice.

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

The voice, gentle and a little awkward, made you jump slightly in your chair.

Clark was standing behind you.

You had no idea how long he’d been there.

You quickly covered the drawing with your arms and turned around.

“It’s not like I can draw, I just… doodle,” you said with a small laugh.

“Can I see?”

“Oh—yeah, of course!”

You handed him the sketchbook. When he looked at the drawing and realized it was Superman, you caught a spark in his eyes—something between surprise and something deeper.

“It’s… Superman,” he said with a soft smile.

“Yeah… I like drawing him.”

Clark finally looked up at you, still smiling, but differently now.

“I know it sounds weird, but I don’t mean it like that,” you rushed to explain. “I mean—I do like him, but that’s not why I draw him. Well, maybe a little, but that’s not the point.”

You took a breath, then kept going.

“I like what he represents. For us. Every day he gets up and tries again. Even when villains knock him down over and over, he keeps going until he wins. Even when not everyone accepts him or supports him, he’s still there to protect people. Because he doesn’t see the worst in them… he sees what they could be. Even in someone bad.”

You looked down for a second, then back at Clark.

“People say he’s an alien, that he doesn’t belong here. But he’s more human than a lot of ‘people’ I know. And I think we could all learn something from that.”

You stopped, suddenly aware of how much you had just said.

“Sorry… you probably hear about him all the time. I saw your article the other day—you made the front page. Congratulations.”

You gently pulled the sketchbook back from his hands. For a moment, you noticed he didn’t want to let go. But then he did.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “And… for what you said.”

He adjusted his glasses, a little awkward as always.

“Not a lot of people see him that way.”

Rain hit the windows harder for a moment, filling the silence.

“Can I… see it again?” he asked.

“Again?”

“Yeah. I think it’s the first time someone’s drawn him like that.”

You handed it back to him.

“This would mean a lot to him,” Clark said softly.

You smiled.

“I don’t think so. People draw him all the time. It’s nothing special.”

Clark shook his head.

“No… not like this. Most people draw him as something perfect. Untouchable.”

He looked at you.

“You drew him… tired. But not weak. Still strong. Still human.”

The newsroom noise faded around you.

“You should show it to him someday,” he added with a small smile. “I think… he’d like it.”

“I will,” you said, smiling back.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

By the time you left work, it was still raining.

You opened your umbrella and started walking home. The streets were quieter, washed in gray and reflections.

That’s when you saw them.

A father and his daughter crossing the street. He was on his phone, distracted. The little girl was playing, stepping on the painted lines.

Then you saw the truck.

It wasn’t slowing down.

For a second, you froze.

Then you ran.

You dropped your umbrella without even noticing and sprinted toward her. When you reached the girl, you pushed her toward the sidewalk, out of harm’s way.

But that left you in the middle of the street.

You closed your eyes, raising your arms instinctively, bracing for impact.

It never came.

Slowly, you opened your eyes.

A red cape.

Superman.

Your breath hitched as everything crashed over you at once—fear, relief, adrenaline. Tears filled your eyes as people gathered around, voices overlapping.

The father rushed over, holding his daughter tightly.

“I’m so sorry—I swear I never do that, I don’t know what I was thinking. Thank you, thank you so much—”

Superman looked at him, calm but firm.

“Thank her,” he said.

The man turned to you, eyes full of gratitude.

“Thank you. You saved her. I’ll never forget this.”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

Superman stepped closer, his expression softening.

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m… okay,” you managed.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

Before you could protest, he gently lifted you into his arms and took off.

The city blurred beneath you.

“Sorry if that was a bit fast,” he said.

“It’s okay…”

“Not everyone would’ve done what you did,” he added. “You were brave.”

You let out a small laugh.

“I didn’t think. I just ran.”

“Sometimes that’s what matters most.”

You looked up at him—really looked.

Not like in the photos. Not like in the news.

Just… him.

“I guess now I can give it to you,” you said softly.

“Give me what?”

You smiled.

“A drawing.”

Something in his expression shifted.

“Where do you live?”

You told him, and moments later, he landed gently outside your place, setting you down carefully.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Thank you,” he replied.

There was a pause.

“I’ll be waiting for that drawing,” he said with a small smile.

You tilted your head slightly.

“Maybe… you’ve already seen it.”

He froze, just for a second.

Didn’t say anything.

But his eyes—

They looked exactly the same as Clark’s had earlier.

And for the first time, the thought crossed your mind.

Maybe not as a certainty.

But as a possibility.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

Metropolis never really slept.

Even at two in the morning, the city hummed softly beneath the windows—traffic far below, distant sirens, the constant electric pulse of a place too alive to rest.

Y/N’s camera lay abandoned on the kitchen counter, lens cap off, forgotten. Clark noticed it immediately. He always did.

She was perched on the counter instead, legs dangling, one of his old flannel shirts slipping off one shoulder as she scrolled through notes on her phone. The sight of her—comfortable here, familiar, already part of his life—did something dangerous to his chest.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Clark said gently, stepping between her knees.

She looked up at him, amused. “That’s rich, coming from the man who alphabetizes his spice rack.”

“It’s efficient.”

She laughed, soft and warm, and he leaned in—intending only to steal a quick kiss.

She let him.

Then another.

Then his hands slid to her waist and he lifted her easily, settling her more securely on the counter. She hummed against his mouth, fingers curling into his hair.

“Clark,” she murmured, breathless, “you’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” he asked innocently, kissing along her jaw, down her neck.

“The distraction thing.”

He paused. “…Is it working?”

She smiled, fond but determined. “You know it usually does. Just not tonight.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to go after LexCorp yourself. We’ve already had enough close calls for a lifetime.”

She softened—but didn’t back down.

“After Willow Creek,” she said quietly, “you know I can’t ignore patterns like this. We promised each other we wouldn’t stop asking questions.”

His jaw tightened at the memory of the town. The stone. The trance. The way he’d almost lost her.

“…I’ll help you get in,” he said at last.

Her eyes lit up. “You’re serious?”

“I don’t have to like it,” he replied. “I just won’t let you do it alone.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

LexCorp Tower

From the outside, LexCorp looked like progress incarnate—glass and steel, glowing cleanly against the night sky.

From the inside, it felt wrong.

Superman disabled the outer cameras in seconds. The alarms followed, silenced by hands that could move faster than sound. When he returned to her side, already back in his civilian clothes, Clark’s expression was tense.

“Five minutes,” he whispered. “Maybe less.”

“That’s plenty,” Y/N replied, lifting her camera.

They moved through offices and archives, Clark quietly forcing locked doors while she photographed everything that mattered.

Names. Dates. Transfers.

A pattern emerged quickly.

“These people…” she whispered. “They’re activists. Or whistleblowers. And—Clark—most of them don’t have close family. No one to ask questions.”

Clark’s hands curled into fists.

Lex hadn’t built weapons this time.

He’d built silence.

She raised her camera again, snapping a photo of a file marked Voluntary Relocation.

“This one,” she said. “This is the cover.”

A distant hum filled the corridor.

Clark’s head snapped up. “We’re out of time.”

Before the lights could fully flicker, he was already moving.

One second she was standing there—

The next, the world blurred.

Wind rushed past her ears as Clark wrapped an arm around her and carried her out of the building at impossible speed, the city streaking into color and light. When they stopped, they were several blocks away, hidden in the shadow of an alley.

She barely had time to catch her breath.

“Go home,” he said urgently, hands on her shoulders. “Lock the door. Don’t wait up.”

She searched his face. “You’re going back.”

“I won’t let Lex erase people and walk away,” he replied. “But I need to do this as Superman.”

She nodded, trusting him—always.

“Be careful,” she said softly.

He leaned down, kissed her—slow, grounding—and then stepped back.

When he vanished into the night, she knew exactly where he was going.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

The Daily Planet buzzed the next morning.

Perry slammed the paper down on his desk, eyes blazing with pride.

“This,” he said, pointing to the front page, “is journalism.”

LEXCORP LINKED TO DISAPPEARANCES — DAILY PLANET EXCLUSIVE By Y/N L/N & Clark Kent

The photo was unmistakable.

Clear. Damning. Impossible to ignore.

Clark met her gaze across the newsroom.

Something unspoken passed between them.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

That night, on the roof of her building, Metropolis stretched endlessly below.

“I should’ve told you sooner what Lex was capable of,” Clark admitted.

“You trusted me when it mattered,” she replied. “That’s what counts.”

He smiled, softer now, reaching for her hand.

“So…” he said, nervous despite himself, “how about we finally have a date that doesn’t involve corporate conspiracies or supernatural threats?”

She laughed, stepping closer. “I thought that’s what we were doing this whole time.”

“Then let me make it official.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’d like that.”

As the city glowed beneath them, Y/N realized something important:

Some truths were dangerous. Some loves were steady.

And whatever came next—

They were facing it together.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

Music pulsed through the square—slow, ancient, and unsettlingly familiar, as if every drumbeat echoed from beneath the ground instead of above it.

Y/N felt something first:

a pull deep in her chest, like her heartbeat belonged to someone else.

Clark felt it second:

a vibration traveling through the soil, a frequency he recognized far too well.

The stone he had noticed earlier—once dull and unremarkable—was awake now.

And something was calling her.

The townspeople gathered in a perfect circle around the plaza, moving in eerie unison. Their eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Their steps matched the rhythm of the drums even after the drummers stopped.

Clark whispered, firm but shaken:

“Don’t listen. Stay close to me.”

Y/N tried.

But something inside her kept tugging her forward—

—until the man who had introduced himself as Perry White’s contact stepped onto the platform.

Only now his eyes glowed a sickly, unnatural green.

“The Chosen has arrived,” he declared, voice layered and wrong—a single voice spoken with the echo of many.

The crowd turned as one.

All of them.

Every gaze locking onto Y/N.

Their whispers rose like a hive:

“the chosen… the chosen… the chosen…”

Clark instantly moved in front of her.

The stone pulsed.

Once.

A shockwave rippled through the square.

Y/N gasped as her knees buckled—her vision filling with white noise.

Clark caught her before she hit the ground, but it was too late.

She was being pulled under.

Hypnotized like the rest.

She was the one the stone had selected.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

The townspeople surged toward her—moving with the clumsy precision of puppets.

Clark couldn’t fight them at full strength.

And he couldn’t leave Y/N either.

A second pulse from the stone cracked the pavement beneath their feet.

Clark scooped Y/N into his arms and lifted off the ground, just enough to escape the villagers’ grasping hands.

That was when he saw it.

A figure at the edge of the forest.

Tall. Twitching. Wrong.

Skin faintly luminescent in the moonlight.

An alien.

One he recognized.

Before he could fully process it, he grabbed the now-blazing stone and flew—faster than the wind—deep into the forest and toward the cave he had scanned earlier.

Y/N’s pulse fluttered, unsteady.

Her lips moved, whispering words that weren’t hers.

The stone had reached her mind.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

Y/N woke with a gasp, lungs burning like she’d been underwater. Her vision blurred, then sharpened: she was lying against a boulder on damp earth, the air sharp with pine and something metallic.

A cave.

A real, ancient cavern lit only by the soft blue glow of the stone Clark had carried away.

She pushed herself upright.

“Clark? … what’s happening?”

Clark let out a breath of relief when he saw her eyes clear—no longer under the stone’s influence.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His hands hovered over her shoulders, like he wanted to touch her but didn’t know if he was allowed.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I… I think I woke up on my own. What happened to the villagers?”

Clark closed his eyes.

“They’re still under its control. The stone—it’s feeding on them. It’s calling to something else.”

A chill ran down her spine.

“That roar we heard… that wasn’t human.”

“No. And I think—”

He stopped suddenly—as if hearing a warning only he could detect.

His head snapped upward.

Then he looked at her—panic flashing through his eyes.

“Y/N—move!”

A violent tremor ripped through the cave.

Pebbles rained down.

Then—

CRACK.

A boulder the size of a truck tore loose from the ceiling, plummeting straight toward her.

Y/N barely raised an arm in reflex before—

Impact.

A roar of stone and dust swallowing the cavern.

The ground shook beneath her hands.

When the cloud thinned, Y/N blinked—

—and froze.

Clark stood between her and the massive boulder, holding it aloft with one hand.

His eyes glowed an electric, impossible blue.

The movement had torn his shirt, revealing the symbol beneath—red, unmistakable.

The symbol known across the world.

Y/N’s voice trembled.

“Clark… You’re—”

He swallowed, gentle, ashamed, terrified of what she would think.

“Yes.”

She breathed out.

“You’re Superman.”

He set the boulder aside like it weighed nothing, jaw tense.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this. But now that you know… please. Stay here. Whatever the stone linked to you—whatever it awakened—it’s dangerous. I can’t lose you.”

She didn’t step back.

She didn’t run.

She approached him slowly and placed her hands on his face.

“Thank you for saving me.

But don’t decide for me what I can face. I’m not leaving you. I may not have your powers, but I’m smart—and I’m helping you end this.”

He almost broke at that.

Because she wasn’t afraid of him.

Because she didn’t worship him.

Because she saw him—not as a god, not as a weapon—

but as a man who was scared of losing someone he cared about.

Someone he cared about more than he should.

Clark finally lifted the glowing artifact.

Its blue light pulsed like a heartbeat.

“It’s Kryptonian,” he said softly. “Not a weapon… not exactly. More like a beacon. A fragment of a survivalist cult from my planet—‘The Heralds.’ They believed they could summon ancient off-world protectors.”

“Aliens?” she whispered.

“Something like that. But whatever they summoned… it never came for good.”

“So the villagers—why them?”

Clark hesitated.

“The stone was hidden here centuries ago. It’s been whispering to susceptible minds for generations. Guiding the town’s rituals. Preparing them for this night. That’s why they watched us from the moment we arrived.”

Y/N blinked, connecting the dots.

“… that man who told me not to leave your side—”

“They weren’t warning you,” Clark whispered.

“They were observing you. Waiting. The stone reacts to Kryptonians… and to anyone who has been exposed to it.”

Her breath caught.

“So it didn’t pick the town.”

She swallowed.

“It picked… us.”

Clark nodded.

“They requested us from Perry. Someone under the stone’s influence called the Daily Planet and asked for our team by name.”

“Why us?”

“The stone sensed me.”

He hesitated.

“And… it sensed something in you.”

“What does that mean?”

Before he could answer, the stone’s glow intensified—blazing brighter, vibrating the walls.

A new vibration rippled through the cave—deeper, darker.

Then they heard it.

A dragging breath.

A pulse of alien energy.

From the back of the cavern, a figure emerged—

Tall. Angular.

Skin a bluish-gray.

Eyes pitch-black and hungry.

A survivor of an off-world colony long destroyed.

A creature that had crashed on Earth decades ago…

And it had been waiting.

For her.

For him.

For this night.

The creature stepped fully into the blue glow of the stone.

Its limbs were long and jointed wrong, its skin stretched taut over an angular frame.

Its black eyes reflected the pulsating light like a void swallowing every color.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Clark instinctively stepped in front of her.

The alien tilted its head, sniffing the air, then spoke in a broken, layered voice:

“The Herald’s Beacon has awakened… and the Chosen is ready.”

Clark clenched his fists.

“I’m ending this. Now.”

The creature hissed—a psychic ripple slicing through the cave.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

It struck first.

A blast of psionic force slammed into Clark, hurling him across the cavern. Stone shattered where his body hit. Y/N cried out his name.

Clark rose, eyes blazing red now.

“Stay behind me,” he warned—but the alien hurled another telekinetic shockwave, sending jagged debris flying. Clark blurred forward, intercepting every piece midair, heat vision melting them harmlessly.

The creature screeched. Its voice fractured the air, warping gravity around it. Rocks floated. The ground buckled. The entire cave groaned under the pressure.

Clark launched himself at it.

A shockwave exploded with the impact.

Superhuman strength collided with psychic force—blue energy crashing against red heat.

The alien twisted space around Clark’s arm, bending it at impossible angles—

but Clark fought through it, slamming the creature into the cavern floor.

Y/N staggered, gripping the stone.

Every psychic attack hit her too, like echoes inside her skull.

The alien wasn’t just fighting Clark.

It was feeding from her connection.

Her vision blurred. Knees weak. Breath thin.

Clark noticed.

Something dark and furious flickered in his eyes.

“You’re not touching her again.”

His voice wasn’t Superman’s voice.

It was Clark’s—raw, protective, terrified.

He charged.

But the alien lifted both hands—

—and a psychic scream detonated.

Clark collapsed to one knee, clutching his head.

The stone in Y/N’s hands pulsed harder.

It hurt.

But it also whispered.

Three pulses.

Silence.

Two pulses.

A pattern.

A command.

She recognized it—

not from the stone, but from the torn ritual pages she’d seen earlier in the museum, the ones she’d studied when she couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t decoration.

It was a reset sequence.

A shutdown.

The stone was waiting for someone to complete it.

She pressed her hand firmly to its surface.

The energy burned her skin—

but she repeated the pattern.

One pulse.

Two.

Three.

Silence.

One.

Two.

The stone shrieked, light erupting outward in a blinding blast.

The psychic link snapped.

The alien reeled back, clutching its skull, stumbling as if suddenly deaf and blind without the stone’s control.

Clark didn’t waste the opening.

He shot forward in a blur of blue and red, pinning the creature against the cave wall with controlled, precise force.

The alien finally went limp—unconscious.

The cave fell silent.

And Y/N’s legs gave out.

Clark caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her against him.

His voice was shaking.

“Y/N… I told you—I didn’t want to lose you.”

She pressed her forehead to his chest, breath unsteady.

“And I told you… you don’t have to play the hero with me.”

A single laugh escaped him—soft, disbelieving, full of relief.

His hand trembled where it touched her cheek.

He leaned in—

—and kissed her.

Soft.

Uncertain.

Overflowing with everything he had held back.

Clark pulled away too quickly, eyes wide as he realized what he’d done.

“S—sorry! I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did mean to kiss you, I’ve wanted to for—god, that’s not— I should’ve asked, it wasn’t fair, I—”

But before he could spiral further, she grabbed his face and kissed him again.

Harder.

Surer.

Desperate and breath-stealing.

Clark let out a quiet, relieved sound and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground—

—and without realizing it, he began to levitate.

Just a few feet.

Just enough for her to feel weightless in his arms as the cavern glowed around them.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.

Neither wanted to let go.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

When they returned to Willow Creek, the trance had lifted.

Villagers blinked awake in confusion, frightened and shaky.

No memories—only fragments of nightmares.

Perry’s “contact” sobbed, terrified, unaware of how he had ended up in the center of the square.

Clark and Y/N exchanged a look.

It was over.

The stone—now dull, inert, harmless—was sealed within a lead-lined container.

No more whispers.

No more summons.

And no witness truly understood what had happened that night.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

Daily Planet — Front Page Headline:

“SUPERMAN SAVES REMOTE TOWN FROM UNSPECIFIED THREAT”

By Y/N L/N & Clark Kent

A photo of Superman levitating above the remnants of the collapsed cave accompanied the headline, dramatic and perfectly framed—thanks to Y/N almost falling off a bench to get the shot.

Perry slapped the paper on his desk.

“You two nearly gave me a heart attack—again—but damn it, this is good work.”

Clark gave Y/N a small, private smile over the stack of print copies.

She nudged him. “Told you the photo would look good.”

He smirked.

“You mean the one where you almost died for the angle?”

She rolled her eyes.

Perry cleared his throat. “Whatever happened out there, you two handled it. I’ll be calling you for another assignment soon. For now—go home.”

They waved goodbye and stepped into the elevator.

When the doors shut, Y/N leaned closer and whispered:

“So… does Perry know you disappeared for ten minutes to punch an alien?”

Clark made a face.

“Let’s hope not.”

She laughed—light and free in a way she hadn’t felt in days.

They stepped out of the building.

Metropolis glowed beneath the city lights.

They stood side by side in a comfortable silence until Y/N broke it.

“It’s still crazy that you’re… you know. You. I can’t believe I didn’t notice—looking back, it feels so obvious.”

Clark chuckled softly.

“Maybe. But what you did that night, Y/N? It was incredible. I might have powers, but without your mind, your courage—none of it would've worked.”

Y/N blushed, turning her face away for a second to hide it.

“Is that… supposed to be a compliment?” she teased.

Clark swallowed, suddenly nervous.

And brave in a different way.

“It’s an invitation,” he said quietly.

“After everything we’ve been through… I wanted to ask you. A real date. No aliens. No caves. Just us.”

She stepped closer, taking his hand.

“I was starting to think you’d never ask.”

“You’d be surprised how brave I can be,” he whispered.

“I already know,” she said.

“So yes, Clark. I want that date.”

And when he smiled,

Y/N felt that the future didn’t feel terrifying anymore.

It felt bright.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚬──────────✧──────────⚬

READ PLEASE!

HI! my name is Lucy and this is part 3 of the story, thank you so much for reading it!! I really hope that you liked it as much as I like it, sorry for the delay in the chapters but this is my first time posting on tumbrl and I wanted it to be perfect for you! Thank you very much for all your support, I love you so much and I feel very grateful! please let me know if you liked it and if you want me to upload something more maybe from this same story or other similar ones please commenting, resposting and clicking the like button helps me a lot! I don't mean to bother you any further so GOOD NIGHT AND KISSES

Y/N woke up to warmth.

A steady, solid warmth pressed against her back… an arm draped over her waist… and a soft breath brushing her neck.

Her eyes snapped open.

Oh no.

Carefully—very carefully—she looked down.

Clark Kent’s hand was resting on her stomach.

His chest was pressed to her back, his legs tangled with hers, as if they’d been holding onto each other for dear life all night.

For a second, she forgot to breathe.

He was so warm.

So calm.

So—

Nope. Nope. NOPE.

She tried to move, but Clark murmured something in his sleep and tightened his hold slightly, pulling her even closer.

Her heart did something embarrassing inside her chest.

How the hell was he that strong asleep?

—Clark… —she whispered.

He blinked awake slowly, his lashes brushing her shoulder. His voice was low, sleep-heavy:

—Y/N?

One… two… three seconds passed before realization finally hit him.

He jerked back so fast he nearly fell off the bed.

—I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean— I must have— Oh God.

She sat up, rubbing her face to hide the blush.

—Relax, Kent. You didn’t bite me.

—I would never! I didn’t— I’m really sorry.

He was red.

Bright red.

Adorably red.

She couldn’t help the small smirk that escaped.

—It’s fine. We were both freezing last night. Instincts, I guess.

He relaxed. Barely.

But while she acted casual, the truth was her heart still hadn’t recovered.

And neither had Clark’s.

And deep inside, she regretted waking him—

maybe she wouldn’t have minded staying in his arms a little longer.

But she’d never admit that.

He kept stealing shy glances at her while they got ready, pretending he wasn’t.

The hotel’s dining room smelled like burnt toast and old coffee.

Y/N didn’t trust the buffet.

Clark did—and somehow made it look cute.

They sat by a dusty window. Outside, townspeople were setting up booths and lanterns for the festival.

Clark stirred his drink.

—The festival’s tonight. Maybe we can talk to the organizer this morning and—

—Good morning, handsome.

Y/N froze.

Of course.

The flower girl from the day before.

She leaned over Clark’s shoulder—way too close.

—Sleep well? —she asked sweetly, ignoring Y/N entirely.

Clark nearly choked on his coffee.

—Uh—yes. Thank you.

Y/N kicked him under the table.

He coughed harder.

—And you’ll be joining the Choosing Ceremony tonight, right? It’s the best part of the festival. Very romantic.

Romantic?

Y/N’s eye twitched.

Clark opened his mouth to politely decline, but Y/N took over.

—Actually, we’re very busy. Work. You understand.

The girl blinked—finally acknowledging her.

—Oh. Right. You’re… with him?

Clark looked between them, panic rising.

Y/N held eye contact.

—Yes. I’m with him.

Clark’s face turned scarlet.

The girl’s smile dropped.

—Oh. Well. Enjoy your… breakfast.

She walked off stiffly.

Clark took a shaky sip.

—You didn’t have to say that…

—I know —Y/N replied—. But it made her leave us alone, didn’t it?….Unless you want to go to the festival with her?

Clark shook his head immediately.

—Not at all. I already have my partner. I wouldn’t change her.

Y/N fought back a laugh and looked away.

—I’m going to take some pictures before more people show up.

She left without waiting.

Clark stared at the space she’d been standing in.

—Oh… okay. I’ll finish my coffee and catch up.

He watched her through the window as she wandered the square, camera in hand.

He looked down into his mug, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

Something warm fluttered in his chest.

After breakfast

Y/N headed to the front desk to ask about festival schedules.

Clark paused.

—Uh—I’ll catch up. I need to… go to the bathroom.

But his voice pitched up slightly.

Too high. Too nervous.

—You’re acting weird —she said, narrowing her eyes.

Clark forced a smile.

—No weirdness. Just… nature calling.

He hurried off.

But instead of entering the bathroom— he slipped out the back door.

She frowned.

—Kent, what are you hiding?

Far from the hotel, Clark darted behind an abandoned barn and lifted into the air—fast enough that no one could see him.

He scanned the forest.

Voices.

Whispers.

Heartbeats that didn’t sound quite human.

And deeper in the woods… chanting.

With his X-ray vision, he spotted two men talking, holding a glowing stone.

But before he could listen closer, a sound behind him—a large animal?—made him turn.

Gone.

Nothing there.

Clark’s jaw tightened.

He took off again, and before returning to town, he made a call.

—Perry, good morning.

—What do you want, Kent? Did you two finish that boring story or did Y/N abandon you mid-assignment?

—No, the festival starts tonight. But that’s not why I called. I want to know why you sent us here.

—Well Normally I wouldn’t bother sending you to cover something this dull, but a contact called. Asked specifically for you two.

—A contact of yours?

—Yes. Called me several times. Always gave good leads. Don’t know him personally. But he insisted you two should cover this.

—Why didn’t you tell me this when you called me to your office?

—I didn’t think it mattered. Just bring me a good story. I trust you, Kent.

He hung up.

Clark stared at his phone.

Who was this contact?

Perry wasn’t involved—Clark knew that. Beneath the gruff attitude, Perry cared for his reporters.

But who had asked for them?

And why?

Something was happening tonight.

Something dangerous.

And Y/N was right in the center of it.

Back at the hotel, Y/N asked:

—What exactly is the Choosing Ceremony?

The receptionist’s expression darkened.

—A tradition. As old as the town. Outsiders shouldn’t concern themselves.

—Great. Creepy and vague. My favorite combination.

He leaned closer.

—Stay near your friend tonight. No one should walk alone.

—Why not?

He didn’t answer.

He handed her a folded pamphlet.

On the front:

THE NIGHT OF CHOOSING — HONORING THE PORTADOR

On the back: A drawing of a horned figure.

The same symbol from the warning left under their door.

She tried to shake it off.

She opened her camera to distract herself, scrolling through the photos she’d taken earlier.

Then she froze.

In one picture—behind a booth—

A distorted, shadowy figure.

Tall.

Angular.

Almost… horned?

She zoomed in.

The image warped into motion blur.

Nothing certain.

Her stomach tightened.

Something was very, very wrong.

Clark walked in cheerfully—too cheerfully.

—Hey! Sorry I took so long. Fresh air and all that.

Y/N stared.

—You weren’t in the bathroom.

Clark froze.

—Uh—

—You came from outside. Not the hallway.

Clark swallowed.

—Oh. Um. I just needed… air.

Lie.

She crossed her arms.

—Whatever you’re hiding, Kent… I’ll figure it out.

Clark’s eyes softened.

—I know.

That startled her.

He wasn’t defensive.

Wasn’t annoyed.

He sounded… hopeful.

Before she could ask more, a bell rang outside.

The festival was starting.

Willow Creek transformed.

Lanterns glowed orange and red.

Masks hung from trees.

Slow, rhythmic drums echoed through the air.

Everyone wore cloaks.

Everyone whispered.

Clark stayed close to Y/N, his hand brushing her back every few steps—

like he needed to make sure she was safe.

Or like he needed her near him.

—This place is creepy —she muttered.

Clark nodded.

—Stay close to me.

She didn’t argue.

Not tonight.

They tried to get closer to the plaza, but—

A group pushed past, and one person stumbled toward Y/N.

Before she could react, Clark grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to his chest and spinning with impossible speed.

The impact bounced off his back harmlessly.

—Are you okay? —he asked, still holding her.

—Yeah… —she blinked—. How did you move so fast?

Clark smiled, shy.

—Farmer reflexes.

She narrowed her eyes.

No farmer moved like that

They reached a wooden board.

LONG AGO, THE PORTADOR PROTECTED WILLOW CREEK.

EVERY GENERATION MUST CHOOSE THE NEXT.

Below it, a second line had been violently scratched out.

Y/N touched it.

—Someone didn’t want this part read.

Clark scanned the crowd, tense.

—Or someone doesn’t want outsiders understanding what really happens here.

Then the drums stopped.

A hush.

An elder stepped forward, holding a horned wooden mask.

—Welcome, neighbors. And welcome to our guests.

A shiver slid down Y/N’s spine.

—Tonight, the Portador will be chosen.

The crowd murmured.

Clark stood taller.

Y/N whispered:

—Clark… something’s wrong.

—I know.

Then—

All torches went out.

Darkness swallowed the plaza.

Gasps.

A scream.

Clark grabbed Y/N’s hand instantly.

—Stay with me.

—I’m not going anywhere —she whispered back, gripping tighter.

And then—

From deep in the forest—

A roar.

Low.

Ancient.

Not human.

Y/N’s heart slammed.

Clark’s breath hitched.

He knew that sound.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

Hi! My name is Lucy! and this is part 2 of the story, thank you very much for all the support from the 1st part with your comments likes and reblogeos, obviously this will not be the last part, I will upload a part 3 very soon because I felt that the story was getting too long so I decided to divide it better, I hope you like it very much and please show me your support with LIKE, REBLOGEOS AND COMMENT love youuu

The afternoon at the Daily Planet was as loud as always—clacking keyboards, ringing phones, people sprinting after stories she couldn’t care less about. She was focused on her article, leaning over her computer, when she felt a large presence behind her. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“What do you want, Kent?” she asked without looking up.

Clark cleared his throat, awkward as ever. He held a folder against his chest like it was some kind of shield.

“Perry wants us to… go together,” he said, making one of those dramatic pauses she hated, “to the town of Willow Creek. They need a piece on their annual festival.”

She lifted her eyes, frowning.

“Us? What, was literally no one else available?”

Clark gave her one of his soft, gentle smiles.

“No, and he said he trusts our excellent teamwork.”

“Teamwork?” she repeated, packing her things. “All we do is argue, and you apologize every two minutes.”

Clark scratched the back of his neck, slightly blushing.

“Well… maybe this is our chance to fix that?”

She sighed. He was irritatingly good. And positive. Annoyingly positive.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to babysit you if that old town falls apart on us.”

Clark followed with those long strides of his.

“I didn’t expect that,” he said softly. “But I’d still do it… if you needed me to.”

She froze for half a second. Comments like that always threw her off.

“You don’t have to be a hero around me, Kent.”

Clark lowered his gaze, smiling faintly.

“I can’t help it.”

The road to Willow Creek seemed endless—tall trees, empty asphalt, and a gray sky that looked like trouble waiting to happen. She watched out the window, arms crossed, annoyed at the long drive.

Clark drove perfectly straight, calm… too calm for her taste.

“Can you drive a little faster?” she asked, giving him her first real look of the trip. “My butt is going numb.”

Clark let out a soft, embarrassed laugh.

“I-it’s safer this way. I don’t want anything to happen on the road.”

“I’m not made of glass, Kent.”

“I know,” he said, smiling small and surprisingly sincere. “You’re stronger than most people.”

She shifted, trying to cut the tension.

“Just drive, so we get there before I turn eighty.”

Clark focused back on the road, but the smile stayed on his lips.

The car slowed in front of a sign:

“Willow Creek — Where Tradition Never Dies.”

There was something unsettling about that.

As Clark parked in front of the hotel, an old man sitting on the porch stared at them a little too intently.

“I don’t like how he’s looking at us,” she muttered.

“Maybe he’s just being friendly,” Clark whispered, though he didn’t sound too sure.

Clark handled the luggage while she studied the hotel: old, foggy windows, a sign creaking in the wind.

“It has its charm,” Clark tried.

“It has horror movie vibes, Kent.”

He laughed nervously.

“Maybe it’s nicer inside.”

It wasn’t.

Behind the counter, a man in his sixties looked up.

“Good afternoon,” Clark greeted warmly. “My name is Clark Kent, and this is my partner, Y/N. We’re here for the festival.”

Y/N gave a polite smile, exhausted, distracted by the cobwebs above them.

“Could we get two rooms, please?” she asked, her body screaming for rest.

The man clicked his tongue.

“Only one left.”

She blinked. Clark stiffened.

“One? Are you sure?” Clark asked, already sweating.

“One room, one king bed,” the man confirmed. “The festival fills us up quickly. But you two look young—you’ll figure something out.” He winked at Clark.

Clark nearly died on the spot.

“I can sleep on—”

“The bed,” she cut him off. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor like some martyr. We’re sharing. End of story.”

Clark turned red up to his ears.

“O-okay.”

She grabbed the key like it was nothing. But the moment they climbed the stairs, her heart started pounding. Embarrassing. It was just a bed.

The room smelled like old wood and lavender. The bed was big. Too big.

“We’ll each stay on our side,” she said. “Like an international border.”

Clark laughed nervously.

“I’ll respect your sovereignty.”

She had to look away to hide a smile.

After settling in, they walked through the streets to investigate the place.

lanterns, little flags, flowers—the decorations were simple but charming. The town felt frozen in time, rustic but not ugly. Some people smiled at them. Others stared a moment too long.

“Did you see that?” she whispered.

“Small towns can be like that,” Clark said, though he seemed uneasy too. “They don’t always love outsiders poking around.”

She frowned.

“Why would it bother them?”

Then they reached a small flower stand. Behind it was a girl about their age, wearing a green apron—and she lit up the second she saw Clark.

“Hi!” she said brightly, ignoring Y/N completely. “First time in Willow Creek?”

Clark pushed his glasses up, polite. “Yes, we’re from the Daily Planet. We’re covering—”

“Oh, journalists,” the girl interrupted, biting her lip as she looked at him. “Are you staying long?”

She leaned forward unnecessarily. Y/N narrowed her eyes.

Clark flushed.

“Um… just a couple of days.”

“That’s perfect,” the girl smiled. “If you need anything…” She brushed her fingers against his while handing him a flower. “I’m here all day.”

Y/N cleared her throat loudly.

The girl finally looked at her. With zero enthusiasm.

“Oh. Didn’t see you.”

“Well, now you do,” Y/N said flatly, taking the flower from Clark and handing it back to the girl. “Thanks, but he doesn’t buy flowers. We’re working.”

The girl stared, offended. Clark tried very hard not to laugh.

When they walked away, he chuckled.

“I didn’t know you could be like that.”

“Like what?” she snapped.

“Um…” Clark looked away to hide a smile. “Territorial.”

She elbowed him. “I wasn’t being territorial. I was being practical. She was distracting us.”

“Right… practical,” Clark teased.

She rolled her eyes, but he kept smiling.

They reached the oldest building in the town: The Museum of Traditions.

Inside, dusty photos and ceremonial clothes decorated the walls. But one sign stood out:

“THE CHOOSING OF THE BEARER — One must be selected every generation.”

“Bearer of what?” she whispered.

Clark studied the sign, frowning.

“This doesn’t look like tradition,” he murmured. “It looks like a ritual.”

Before she could answer, Clark’s head snapped slightly to the side—like he heard something miles away.

“Clark?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked, recovering too fast. “Nothing. Thought I heard something.”

He was lying. And she knew it.

“You got tense,” she pointed out.

“No, I’m fine—just tired,” he said with a nervous smile.

But his jaw stayed tight.

He had clearly heard something.

An old man emerged from the back of the museum, stopping in front of them.

“Outsiders shouldn’t pry so much,” he said. “Willow Creek protects its own.”

Y/N crossed her arms.

“We’re journalists. Prying is our job.”

The man frowned deeper.

“Then be careful with what you find.”

He walked away. A chill ran down her spine.

Clark stepped slightly closer—not touching, just near enough to feel protective.

“We should stay together,” he said softly. “This place isn’t normal.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move away.

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Clark smiled faintly.

“Maybe I do.”

She almost smiled back.

They returned to the hotel after dark. As they walked down the hallway, Clark stopped.

“Wait.”

On the floor, pushed under their door, was a brown envelope. Old. Unmarked.

Y/N picked it up. Inside was a single drawing.

Hand-drawn. Rushed. Creepy.

Two figures: a man and a woman. And behind them… a tall shape with horns.

Clark met her eyes. She met his.

“This is not a friendly gesture,” she said.

“No,” Clark whispered. “It looks like a warning.”

Clark studied the drawing, serious. Y/N laughed lightly as she pulled out the key.

“It’s probably just someone trying to scare us off. The old man at the museum, or some bored local kid. They don’t want reporters here, but I’m not going anywhere until we finish this story and go to their boring festival tomorrow.”

Clark exhaled slowly.

“Yeah… maybe you’re right,” he said, though his voice wasn’t convinced at all.

The Bed

Once they closed the door, the silence of the room felt heavy. The huge bed took up half the space.

Clark rubbed the back of his neck. “We can, um… sleep on separate sides. Like you said.”

She nodded, but her heart was beating too fast.

Clark changed his shirt with his back to her, and she looked away out of politeness… but not fast enough to miss his shoulders.

He climbed into bed carefully, staying as far away as possible.

“Why are you sleeping on the edge?” she asked.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said with a soft, shy smile. “Plus… I’m big. I take up space.”

She laughed quietly. “If you fall, I’m not picking you up.”

“I know.”

Silence settled again.

But this time, it felt different. Warm. Charged. Dangerous.

She turned toward him. He accidentally turned toward her at the same time.

Now they were close. Not touching— but close.

She could hear his breathing. He could hear hers.

“Clark…” she whispered, not knowing why.

He swallowed hard, looking at her with fear, tenderness, and something deeper—something he had been hiding since the day they met.

“I’m right here,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes. Clark did too.