#rom-com

krypto rests his head on the seat beside him, ears perked, letting out occasional soft 'woofs' that could either be moral support or judgment. you aren’t sure which. you bite back a laugh. “clark, is your dog nervous too, or is that just you?”

clark glances at krypto, who gives an exaggerated sigh and nudges clark’s hand with his nose. “apparently it’s mutual. ” Clark mutters, flushed.

partly because it's adorable but partly because you're trying not to laugh and ruin his concentration. snow blankets the distant fields. the old red barn roofs look like gingerbread houses. up ahead, the kent farmhouse glows like someone bottled nostalgia and turned the brightness to 200%.

clark exhales like he's been preparing for impact. "what?" you ask softly, lips twitching in amusement. "huh-oh, nothing." he says a bit too quickly. "just... my mom's excited to meet you." you raise a brow, "clark. you didn't tell her i was coming?" his eyes shoot open and wide as he quickly looks over to you. "i did!" he insists hands briefly lifting from the wheel like he's surrendering. "i just... didn't tell her you were you." krypto tilts his head, clearly judging clark’s phrasing.

"that's not reassuring." you mutter. he winces, amd ducks his head a bit. "i know. i know." before you can drag that explanation out of him, the front porch door flies open. martha kent steps outisde wearing a red sweater, a white scarf and the exact expression of a woman expecting her son to bring home a polite, normal, perhaps slightly awkward farm girl he said was, "just a friend from metropolis."

her expression freezes. her eyes grow wide, and her eyebrows launch into orbit. her jaw almost drops, but martha kent is far too classy to let it. "oh my goodness!" she whispers, then immediately snaps into hostess mode. "i mean-hi! hello! welcome!!" clark nearly goes a deeper shade of crimson at his ma's expression and mannerisms. "mooom." he hisses, like he's being hunted. krypto lets out a small, knowing bark, tail wagging.

you step out of the truck and barley have time to smile before martha sweeps you into a warm, cinnamon-scented hug that feels like being adopted on the spot. "oh goodness, you're freezing, sweetheart." she scolds affectionately. "come inside before you freeze and turn into a popsicle." clark mouths a silent "i'm so sorry." at you over her shoulder. you grin. this is already amazing.

the farmhouse is cozy enough to make you gasp. it's warm lighting, knitted blankets, mismatched mugs, the smell of cinnamon and firewood. and pie. definitely pie. krypto trots in, shakes snow off vigorously, and deposits a wet paw print on the rug. clark groans, martha sets a freash mug of cocoa in front of you faster than you can remove your coat. "ih goodness deary, you must be starving!" she fusses. “clark doesn’t stop for lunch when he’s nervous.”

you whip your head toward him. clark shrinks like a sunflower caught doing something illegal. "moooom." martha beams, unbothered. "clark, honey, i need more logs for the fire. the cold’s coming in strong tonight." clark ever the helper he is, gets right to it. "i—uh—sure. right now. yep." he escapes out the back door like he’s about to flee the country. krypto, apparently deciding to 'help.' trots alongside him, sniffing every snowflake that sneaks in.

the second it closes, martha drops gracefully into the chair across from you and folds her hands like she’s about to deliver breaking news. "so..." she begins sweetly, "when were you planning to tell me?" you blink. "tell you… what mrs. kent?" her eyes never leave you. "that you’re dating my son. and please call me martha deary." you aputter into your cocoa.

"we’re not- i mean— it’s new-he didn’t-" martha smiles knowingly. krypto lets out a sharp bark, as if punctuating your words. "sweetheart, that boy has been walking around this house with stars in his eyes. if he smiled any harder, he'd break something." your face heats instantly. "it's...yeah. new." you admit with a soft sigh. martha leans in conspiretorially. "well..." martha says, leaning in conspiratorially, "I’m very glad he found someone who can keep up with him… and someone who looks at him like that." you immediately cover your face with your hands. krypto curls up in your lap, tail thumping against the blanket, as if to endorse the statement.

"martha!" she pats your wrist gently, "oh, honey. i'm old, not blind." the backdoor opens. clark re-emerges carrying four logs- one under each arm and two somehow magically balanced against his chest. there's snow in his hair, a pink flush on his cheeks and the wildly confused expression of a man who absolutely knows a conversation happened but desperately hopes it didn't involve his name.

he pauses. "why are you both looking at me like that?" martha stands and pats his arm. "no reason sweetheart." krypto lets out a satisfied yip. clark looks very unconvinced.

a little while later, you and clark tackle the seven-foot douglas fir in the living room. it's branches are impossibly wide, prickly in that pine-scented way, and somehow already shedding tiny needles like confetti. "okay, this should be easy." clark says confidently, untangling a string of lights. he kneels, pulls, frowns. "wait!? did these even come from the same set?" krypto, perched on the couch, tilts his head and lets out a single, judgmental 'woof.'

clearly he’s assessing your decorating skills. five minutes later, krypto is chasing the string of assorted dangling lights. yipping every-time it unravels. both of you are now wrapped in lights like christmas burritos, sparks of frustration and laughter flying with every twist. "clark." you deadpan, tugging a stubborn knot free from around your wrist. "how did this happen?" he protests, red creeping up his neck.

"i don't know! i swear i started untangling it in a normal way!" you quip back rapid-fire. "define normal." you teased, letting a strand dangle over his head. he gestures wildly, nearly tripping over krypto, who is now rolling gleefully in a little bit of snow that somehow made its way inside. krypto leaps toward a hanging ornament, sending it swinging dangerously. clark lunges, catching it panicked.

"whoa!" you jump in at the last second to stabilize it. "heyyy, nice reflexes." clark says, breathless, genuinely impressed. "i could say the same, farmboy." you smirk, wrapping another strand of lights around the tree with precision. clark flushes, krypto barks, his tail wagging as if giving his approval. he then darts around the room again, snagging another string and dragging it half-way across the floor like a festive little tornado.

halfway through, clark climbs onto a chair to place the star. his balance perfect... until krypto bounds underfoot, yipping at an errant ornament. clark freezes mid-step, and you can't but call out, "careful! don't fall carl. i'm not explaining that e.r. visit to your mom." he assures, reaching for the star with that earnest grin that makes your chest hurt in the best way. "relax, i've got balance." you reply, teasingly. "you do. i noticed."

krypto barks again, tail thumping against the hardwood floor like a drumroll, adding to clark's mounting panic. clark inches the star into place, triumphant, until krypto decides the top of the tress is a perfect target for investigation. clark grabs him just in time. "moooom." he groans, voice cracking. martha peeks in from the doorway, knitting in hand. "beautiful." she says eyes twinkling.

krypto trots toward her, dropping a string of lights at her feet as if presenting a gift. clark sighs, brushing back his curls. "i think my dog is trying to sabotage me." you tease, "you love him." watching clark ruffle krypto's ears. "i do." he admits, smiling shyly.

the smell of roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, golden rolls, and apple pie fills the kent kitchen, wrapping the room in a cozy, homey warmth. krypto sits at your feet, ears perked, tail swishing slowly, clearly deciding whether to beg politely or launch a full-scale attack on anything edible.

jonathan carves the chicken with the careful precision of a man who’s made this meal a thousand times, though he keeps sneaking glances at clark. every time clark hands you a plate, Jonathan smiles like he knows a secret only the three of you share.

martha, setting a dish of green beans on the table, glances at you and clark with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "so..." she says lightly, "clark tells us you’re from the city. are you any good at… surviving actual food cooked with love instead of microwave settings?"

you laugh. "oh, well i… try." clark groans audibly. "mooom." krypto lets out a small bark of approval, nudging your ankle with his nose. he’s clearly invested in the dinner conversation. jonathan chuckles. "you’re doing fine, kiddo. we just want to make sure our son doesn’t faint from being charmed."

you flush, smirking at clark, who is trying very hard not to melt under both your gaze and his parents’ teasing. dinner proceeds with laughter, little flourishes of teasing, and krypto intermittently barking whenever clark tries to sneak him a bite. "clark!" Martha scolds, pointing a finger like a general on the battlefield. clark freezes mid-chew.

his eyes widen as if he’s been caught committing a felony. "i told you." jonathan adds dryly, smirking, "he’s never grown out of sneaking food." you nearly choke on laughter, hiding behind your napkin. krypto sneezes dramatically, sending tiny flour specks across the table, making clark groan in mock horror. "krypto, down boy!"

martha shakes her head, laughing softly. "honestly, that dog is as bad as your son sometimes." She winks at you. "and just as charming, apparently." krypto, clearly emboldened, leaps onto the chair to inspect the dessert table. clark grabs him mid-leap, holding him under one arm like a wiggly sack of potatoes.

"you’re a menace!" he mutters, ruffling krypto’s fur. 'i'm helping!' krypto seems to say with his wagging tail, glancing at you like he’s proudly showing off his chaos-management skills. martha pours apple cider into mugs, her eyes twinkling. "you know, there’s something nice about watching my son finally… come alive around someone."

jonathan chuckles, setting a plate in front of Clark. "yep. been waiting for this day and if he smiles any wider, we’re going to have to start calling it permanent." you glance at clark, who is sheepishly grinning, a little pink at his ears. "you guys really make him sound… terrifying." you tease.

"oh, he’s terrifying enough!" martha says, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "but when he’s happy, it’s… well, you see why we’re proud and slightly alarmed." clark groans, burying his face in his hands. krypto, sensing the tension, climbs onto the couch near you and rests his head in your lap. he gives a soft, approving bark like, Yes. This human. Keep her.

the rest of dinner is a flurry of conversation, teasing, laughter, and stolen glances. clark keeps glancing at you across the table, the way someone does when they’re trying not to reveal their heart too blatantly. you glance back, smirking, and suddenly realize; yes, this is definitely a rom-com moment. the cozy farmhouse, the firelight glinting in the silverware, krypto’s occasional antics, and martha and jonathan’s knowing looks all make it feel like a little bubble of magic in the middle of smallville.

when martha finally announces dessert, krypto leaps onto the chair like a furry food critic, eyes locked on the apple pie. clark grabs him just in time, half laughing, half exasperated. you’re such a menace." he mutters again, ruffling krypto’s ears.

"and you’re hopeless." you tease, smirking at him as he glares at krypto like it’s the dog’s fault he’s flustered. jonathan laughs. "oh, this is perfect. just perfect." martha adds, lifting her mug of cider, "to new beginnings… and to someone who makes our son grin like this." clark’s blush deepens, but you catch his hand under the table, squeezing it lightly. krypto wags his tail, content. dinner is chaotic, warm, funny, and full of heart. the kind of evening that makes you think, 'yes, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.'

after clearing the table, you all settle around the fire. clark drapes a blanket over your shoulders; martha casually adds another. krypto curls into your lap, claiming half your blanket. "you okay?” you ask clark. he nods, staring into the fire. "yeah… i just wanted this." you tilt your head confused, "wanted what?" he sighs, "you, my home, at the same time." your breath catches, under the blanket his hand finds yours, hesitant, warm, steady.

krypto licks your hand, as to say 'yes, you're my mom now.' the door squeaks open a bit, martha peeks in. "just grabbing my knitting. carry on." clark sinks into the couch, smile shy and for you. krypton snuggles in closer to stay warm, his tail wagging, he is a living endorsement of this very moment.

by the time you leave, snow drifts lazily outside. krypto trots beside you, occasionally nudging clark to hurry. martha hugs you. "you’re more than welcome here anytime. you’ve made my son very happy." clark stands behind you, shuffling nervously. "i told you she'd like you." his voice soft and hushed. "i didn't expect a full fan club." you laugh, crouching to scratch krypto's ears.

"well, she is my mom." clark grinned, "she knows everything." you murmur "well, so do i." clark's blush reaches his cheeks, his signature move, and he opens the door for you. krypto barks once, his tail wagging as if to say 'yes, she's a keeper hello!'

“She’s upstairs,” Garrett said. In his room, in his bed, wearing his freshman year Briar U sweatshirt. Thinking about her that way felt like how Tucker talked about saying the rosary with his grandma, though Garrett did not have any grandma-ish feelings about Hannah.

“Yeah, I know,” Logan said. He lined up boxes of cereal on the island like the first level of Jenga. There were Rice Krispies because Hannah had said she wanted to make Rice Krispie treats and no one was upset about that. Logan had said he and Jules would make Lucky Charms treats to prove they were better but there was no red Lucky Charms box on the counter-top, no winking leprechaun catching anyone’s eye like one of those freaky old portraits that followed you wherever you went in the room.

“She asked you to get stuff?” Garrett said. He’d hit you too hard but Logan only rolled his eyes.

“No, dumbass. I’m helping you be a good boyfriend.”

“What the fuck?” Garrett said, starting to go through the bag. Three different king-size chocolate bars, two dark, one milk, an enormous bag of salt and vinegar chips, Doritos, the fancy ibuprofen gel caps that looked like blue raspberry candy, some boxes of herbal tea, a multipack of tampons, a big squishy pink plastic brick of maxi pads and a heating pad covered in mint-green silky fake velvet.

“She got her period yesterday and she feels like shit, but she doesn’t want to say anything to you and you’re clueless,” Logan said.

“There’s heating pads at Stop and Shop?” Garrett said, which was obviously the stupidest question he could have asked that had anything to do with what Logan had just said.

“I went to Costco,” Logan replied.

“That’s like thirty minutes out of the way,” Garrett said, frowning. Gas prices were up and Logan was careful about that kind of thing.

“I didn’t—she’s, well, I figured there’d be better choices for the meat,” Logan said, sounding a little flustered. Garrett had heard Logan rant about how you didn’t save that much going to Costco over Stop and Shop if you weren’t a moron and sometimes there had been a weird moment when Hannah was laughing or gesturing at the dinner table, her eyes bright, when Garrett caught Logan looking at her, fucking gazing at her before he shook his head and took a big swig from his water bottle.

“Okay. Whatever. How do you know she wants this stuff?” Garrett said.

“She needs it, man. And I know because I don’t like under a fucking rock,” Logan retorted.

“Jules, dude. Logan grew up with someone who went through this,” Tucker offered. He turned towards Logan. “You get any Midol?”

“She won’t want that,” Dean called from the couch.

“No? My mom and my aunties swear by it,” Tucker said.

“No one on TikTok’s using Midol. The heating pad’s a good idea though and she’ll probably like it better than those stick-on heat patch things,” Dean said.

“I didn’t think she was a hot water bottle kind of girl, but if she is, you could probably get a cute music themed cover for her on Etsy,” Logan said.

Garrett was confused. Or something. His closest friends, guys he thought he knew inside and out, had all this secret knowledge and he was a fucking ignorant moron.

“Don’t start spinning, G,” Logan said. “You were an only child, you weren’t that old when your mom died. There’s like no way you would have learned this stuff. They don’t teach it in health classes—”

“That’s true,” Dean said, which was the first exchange with Logan that was close to civil. It wasn’t much but it was a start. 

“How is this going to make me seem like a good boyfriend, you buying all this stuff for her when it didn’t even occur to me to ask any of you for advice. Or check with Allie,” Garrett said.

“You don’t have to tell her that part. You don’t have to say you went out and bought it, but you can kind of imply you asked me to pick the shit up for her while I was out. That’ll make her happy,” Logan said. His voice definitely softened when he said make her happy but what was Garrett going to do, call him out for liking Hannah? She was likable, lovable, goddamn adorable and if Logan wanted Garrett to act like Logan liked Hannah as a good friend or a sister, who was Garrett to grill his best friend to make him confess something none of them wanted to be aware of? 

“You can say the Ghirardelli bar was my idea,” Dean said.

“But it was my idea,” Logan said.

“Yeah, she’s not going to know that and she’ll like, never believe it was Garrett’s,” Dean said, shrugging and then wincing. He had to be in real pain to let them see anything.

“You’re not wrong,” Logan said.

“I can put the kettle on. For tea. Or we have some hot chocolate mix with mini marshmallows,” Tucker said.

“We have a kettle?” Garrett said.

Dean laughed. 

Logan smiled.

Tucker shook his head, his curls bouncing. 

“Yeah, Garrett, we have a kettle. Go bring your girl the goody bag and offer to rub her back or her feet. And don’t be weird about her period, don’t dance around it or use some weird slang,” Tucker said. “Hannah’s a sweetheart, but she might fucking kill you if you annoy her.”

“Anything else?”

“Sometimes orgasms help with cramps,” Dean said. He could have sounded sly, but he mostly sounded practical.

“I should offer to fuck her?”

“You say that and I wonder about you, man,” Tucker said.

“She might be into it. Or you could just make her come,” Dean said.

“Or she might only want to cuddle,” Logan said.

“Okay, enough. This is officially crossing the line into weird,” Garrett said.

“I’d take some hot chocolate with mini marshmallows,” Dean said. You could count on him, on the ice, in the group, to keep things moving. It was one of the reasons why the Davenport thing was so hard to deal with.

“Me too,” Logan said.