#superman!ew

With your morning drink in hand, you watched the city wake up through the bay window of your living room. The lights of Metropolis came on too early for you to see them first, but the most beautiful sight wasn't man-made. What was worth getting out of bed before ten o'clock was more special, sweeter, and had a charming smile. Superman fluttered through the many buildings that housed the town, performing some sort of security routine. His suit, with its identifiable colors, became like a trail left behind by planes, a mix between a flag blurred by the wind and the northern lights with golden touches. You wished you had super hearing to hear your boyfriend, and thus capture his impeccable breathing in a body that beat the sound barrier. A smile drew a soft line on your face as you imagined the typical phrases of the man you loved. “Take a deep breath, you’re ok now” “Is everybody fine here?” “Oh no problem, that’s my job”.

You left the show playing outside to wash your now-empty mug. You'd be lying if you said that watching Clark play superhero instead of staying in bed with you didn't frustrate you a little. But how could you not? Even the strongest man would have succumbed to the powerful arms you could wake up and fall asleep in.

In any case, Clark probably wasn't going to spend the day outside—at least you hoped not—because it was Saturday and even Superman got weekends.

Putting your thoughts behind you, you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth. The residual scent of Clark having stopped by to do his hair made you smile, as if he didn't realize that even after hours of flying, his hair still looked so good. You grabbed what you needed and began your task, your mind wandering this time to more mundane topics.

Your morning passed like this, at the pace of any human being on a Saturday. You stayed in your pajamas, tidying up the living room and bedroom a bit, doing some laundry—the sort of thing that had to be done despite your wishes.

Around one o'clock, you took a break on the balcony. The fresh air whipped across your face as you closed your eyes, a sigh of well-being rumbling softly in your throat. Suddenly, a surplus of air made you smile, and when you opened your eyes again, you were not surprised to see Superman.

"Nice day, isn't it, young man?" his deliberately deeper voice echoed.

You tilted your head in a smile that only he could make you pull off. Your body bent a little, supported by the protective barrier, and you grasped the collar of his suit with a little gentleness.

"Stop acting like an idiot and kiss me."

All resistance disappeared completely in the man hovering in front of you. It was as if he melted between your fingers, like gold handled at the right temperature. His lips met yours with that delicacy that defined him so well. His body, even in the air, was capable of such gentleness and patience. He pushed you toward the inside of your apartment, never leaving your lips for a single second.

“Did you miss me?" you asked with that smile that always made him arch his back a little.

His hands firmly grasping you, he lifted you both off the floor as high as the living room ceiling would allow. He did this often, it was a way of being alone with you. No one could soar like he did on a daily basis, so no one realized how intoxicating the sensation was. One evening, Clark confessed to you that he compared having you with him above ground to the feeling he experienced when you were intimate. Your two bodies pressed against each other, surrounded by the emptiness and at the same time the fullness of air, there was only you. And ever since you were able to experience a flying kiss, you understood what he meant by that.

"You have no idea" he replied, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

Your hands slid into his brown hair. You hugged him tightly, and he hugged you back so tightly that your back arched somewhat unpleasantly. But even the most horrible pain paled in comparison to the love you felt at that moment.

"Rough morning?" you whispered against his ear.

He nodded softly before letting out a breath that seemed trapped for hours. Slowly, he lowered you a few inches, your feet touching the cool living room floor. You guided him to the nearby couch, and he told you most of his thoughts. You stayed like that for over an hour, though neither of you noticed the time passing.

You placed two cups of hot chocolate on the coffee table, your gaze then lingering on Clark, still in his suit. You smiled, turning back to face him.

"You should change, right? A neighbor might ask questions."

He leaned over to pick up the mug and took a long sip.

"Discretion wasn't an issue when you kissed me earlier," he replied with a smirk.

You nudged him on the shoulder, barely moving him.

"You kissed me!" you retorted, feigning annoyance, but your smile betrayed you.

Your little squabble quickly ended, from fear of spilling hot chocolate on the couch.

"Actually, I wanted to suggest something," Clark began.

You looked up from your mug, a glint of curiosity in your eyes.

"What would you think about flying with me? Other than in the lounge, I mean."

The idea surprised you, but it didn't look distasteful. In fact, you'd already thought about it, but you imagined Clark would refuse because of the risks.

"Why this sudden urge?" you asked, placing your hand on his knee.

His blue gaze avoided yours for a couple of seconds, a slightly embarrassed expression on his face making you even more interested in the subject.

"I guess I want you to see what it's like," he said without much conviction. "It is a bit of a hobby."

You moved closer, close enough for your legs to intertwine and you could speak more quietly.

"I believe you," your voice began, full of mischief, "but you're hiding something from me."

You knew you'd hit the nail on the head when he struggled to maintain eye contact with you.

"Well...yes, maybe," he replied, "maybe I'm a little ashamed or afraid you'll find it weird."

You gave him a look that said, "I'm dating a man from another planet, nothing's weird at this point," and he finally gave up, letting his head fall back a little.

"Okay, I admit it's a little exciting to imagine you with me up there."

You remained silent for a few seconds before cupping his face in one hand so he would look at you.

"Whatever fantasies you have, I love you Clark you know that," you affirmed, "and in the end, it's pretty logical. I mean, you have abilities we don't have, so that unlocks new fantasies." You finished your little speech by kissing the corner of his lips, "and I like the idea."

He was reassured, the blue of his eyes on you again. A second or two passed, just the comforting silence of shared love, then he straightened up and got off the couch, tipping you back a little.

"So? Shall we go?" he asked with that silly grin.

Your gaze screamed "now?" to which his replied "yes, now." You stood up too, quickly finishing your hot chocolate before going into the bedroom to get a jacket. When you returned, Clark had already opened the bay window again, making you smile with his impatience. He cast a questioning glance at the jacket in your hands.

"The higher it gets, the lower the temperature gets, I remind you," you explained, "and unlike you, Mr. Superman, I don't have a super body to protect me from the cold."

Barely had you put your clothes on when Clark grabbed your waist in a movement that almost made you jump.

"But you have a super-boyfriend who'll hold you so tightly that you'll end up feeling hot."

Your laughter was muffled by the muscles two inches from your face. You lifted your head a little, enough to admire your boyfriend's face. In agreement, he tightened his grip on you to avoid any risk—although even if by some miracle you fell, you wouldn't have time to realize it, he'd be moving so fast to catch you.

You took the time to close the bay window behind you, as if it were a front door and you were simply going for a drive through the city. And then, your feet were lifted off the ground, along with your whole body. He was right, it was a hell of a feeling.

Clark didn't get in too fast, knowing that the speeds he was usually going weren't made for your body, and besides, you had plenty of time. No traffic jams, no idiots yelling to move faster. Only the wind whipping your bodies, the oxygen gradually getting stronger, a distant plane on the horizon. There was only him, Superman. Head held high, eyes fixed on the sun. The red cape billowing behind him, hitting your side every two seconds. His chest burning beneath your hand, giving off a heat you suspected he was deliberately creating right now.

You closed your eyes, letting your head rest against the man who made your heart race.

Clark looked down at you, thanking the universe for having someone like you by his side.

You were now around the 100-meter mark, which didn't seem so high when said. Your eyelids had remained closed for most of the journey, but now the cool air hitting your cheeks made you reopen them.

You wanted to raise your head to appreciate Clark once more, but the back of your neck felt like it was frozen. Your brows furrowed. The rhythm in your chest sounded suddenly out of place. The heat against your body made you break out in a cold sweat. The scarlet fabric seemed to be cutting into your skin.

Panic took hold of your body without your permission. Like an authoritarian hand wrapping itself around your suddenly fragile neck. You wanted to breathe, to get some air, to live. But everything stopped. Your body was going to crush, to be shattered, you were sure of that. Your brain was going to implode, leaving a lifeless lump of flesh in your boyfriend's arms, it was inevitable.

Above, Clark opened his mouth to ask you if you were liking the view, but his voice caught when he saw the panic in your eyes. He immediately stopped his ascent.

"Love? Are you okay?"

He ran the hand not holding you against him over your face, but received almost no reaction. His heart was pounding.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice trying not to betray his fear. "Angel, answer me, Angel, are you hurting anywhere?"

His Kryptonian brain was boiling.

A move from Lex? A new enemy? Mentalist? Hypnotist? Did he drug you? Poisoned? Was it really you? A clone? Respond to a trauma you hadn't told him about? A dysphoric moment? A crisis of...

Of course. How stupid was he.

"Listen to my voice, darling," his voice murmured, now less intense. "We are fine, you are with me."

He loosened the pressure on your waist—without putting you in danger, however. His body heat dropped under his command, as did your altitude. His hand cupped your cheek with nameless delicacy, making you raise your face towards his at your own pace. You were greeted by a dimpled smile.

"Stay with me, can you? Love to see your beautiful eyes."

Anxiety attack. That's what was happening to you. No mentalist behind all this, no clone, and absolutely no Lex. Only humanity, and the purest.

Clark spoke to you, again and again, in that same tone low enough to be heard only by your ears. He kept your attention on his words, not on the void that separated you from any natural gravity. And it was working, he could see it. Your features relaxed a little more with each smile, your eyes regaining their usual glow. You were slowly coming to, little by little, in his arms.

A few minutes later, your feet found the familiar ground of your balcony. Clark carried you, clearly seeing your legs unable to support your weight at the moment. He set you down on the couch, snuggled up against him.

Another ten minutes passed, fueled by the same voice, right next to your head, whispering meaningless stories so you knew he was still there. Clark was still there, with you, and he stayed with you until words found their way back to your lips.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Clark immediately took your face in his hands, frowning like a disgruntled child.

"I don't want to hear that," he said. “I'm going to cut off your unnecessary guilt right away. You have nothing to reproach yourself for. An anxiety attack doesn't give warning, it's natural, it happens."

Your eyes filled with tears, and it only made Clark's love for you worse. You rested your cheek against his chest, a long, suppressed sigh escaping your throat.

"You're right," you declared.

"When I was a kid, I used to have them frequently," your boyfriend admitted. "Even Superman has anxiety attacks."

His words relieved you more than you could have imagined, a small sob of relief leaving your lips. You weren't sad, but grateful, to have Clark in your life. He understood this cry, holding you a little tighter against him.

A few tears, needing to escape, wet your cheeks, before all the remaining anxiety completely vanished from your body. You still felt tired, but there was nothing wrong with that, it was Saturday.

"Can we try again later?" you asked.

The Kryptonian laughs, vibrating against you, bringing a smile to your face.

"As many times as necessary," he said, kissing your damp cheeks, "and I'll always be there to bring you back to Earth."

pictures : Pinterest

FIRST MEETING :

He was..surprised to see you, walking through the Daily Planet offices. It had to be said that most of the staff were looking at you too, with eyes that mixed curiosity with incomprehension – because there are always idiots –. You stood out from the crowd, and Clark could only see it with the look of a deer caught in the headlights of car.

He may have been Superman, but at first he was just a little guy who grew up on a farm in the middle of fields. His parents were great, but at school he had seen all too well how cruel kids could be to each other. So it was this idea that pushed him to talk to you for the first time, yet another proof of his constant heroism.

“Hey! Are you new here? Oh, and I love your style, by the way,” were his first words to you, though due to his stress-induced awkwardness, it sounded more like this: “H-hey ! You were huh, I mean are you new here ? Oh and..by the way, I euh really love how you look”.

You immediately fell for his dimpled smile, how could you not?

FIRST STEPS OF THE RELATIONSHIP :

Clark was not subtle at all, even though he believed he was.

He always brought you a cold drink before everyone else, greeted you at eight in the morning with his voice going a little too high, held all the doors for you – even the fridge one – during the day, and so on.

Of course, he hoped you would be receptive to him, that you liked men. But that anxiety quickly left him as soon as you laid your dark-lined eyes on him.

Let's talk about makeup. He loved it. And you'd have to be blind not to notice.

The second you walked into the office, with a new makeup routinely changing, Clark would melt in place. No, but literally, you'd see him slump in his chair or lean on a piece of furniture to support his suddenly fragile frame. When someone pointed this out, he'd quickly come up with an excuse—the worst—like "my back hurts" or "drank too much coffee."

When you two were talking, he had to fight—so hard—to keep his gaze on yours. The black of your eyelashes was so deep, the touches of color around them made him dizzy, and your lips, oh your lips, he sometimes took advantage of your attention being elsewhere to just devour them with his gaze.

This little game lasted several weeks, a little over a month to be exact, before one evening after work you suggested to go for a drink somewhere “to celebrate the success of your article,” you said.

Once together, you naively thought Clark would be a little less obsessed with you, but you were wrong. Now he had constant permission to have his hands and eyes on you.

He was less shy, even though at first he asked a lot of permission to touch you: “Can I here?” “Can I kiss you?” “Does it feel wrong if I hug you like this?” But that was also why you had fallen for him.

He researched as much as he could about transgender people. In fact, he did it as soon as he found out you were, because the thought of doing or saying something that might make you uncomfortable scared the hell out of him.

He memorized all the medical and social terms, explored the most famous transgender figures, and was surprised to discover how many had existed for hundreds of years. He even learned the meanings of the colors of the trans flag—just in case you were wondering.

If you were taking hormones or planning to have surgery, he would have read absolutely every article on the subject. He’d have used his reporter skills to find the best specialists. And of course, he would probably be more stressed than you at every appointment.

About Superman.

He had been sure of one thing when you first kissed: you had to know.

He didn't want to lie to you about it, he couldn't see himself repeatedly inventing lies to justify his absences.

So, right after your first kiss, he slipped in an “I’m Superman.”

He could have said it differently, I agree, but he was so stressed about you leaving him because of that.

“You’re Superman?” you repeated puzzledly, and then he clumsily took off his magic glasses. Your eyes immediately widened, your brain associating the shy and kind Clark with the life-saving superhero.

“Wow, you beat me there,” you replied, “my ‘oh, by the way, I’m trans’ announcement looks out of place.” And you burst out laughing, Clark’s stress evaporating and your love growing.

ESTABLISHED RELATION :

You steal his clothes, how can you not? The farmer-style shirts he has look so good with the right accessories.

Clark loves seeing how you transform simple clothes into a perfect and complex outfit, especially when the centerpiece is one of his t-shirts or pants.

He sometimes asks you to show him how you do your makeup, so he can understand and possibly do it again for you if one day you don't feel good.

And of course, you do his makeup. He doesn't feel like going out with it yet, but he's always happy to see his reflection when you're done.

Clark is like your outfit approver. You show him several versions of the same outfit and he gives you his opinion. He's actually quite good at it.

There are days when you wear tights, for example, but as the day goes on you end up feeling dysphoric. Clark is there to save you. He always keeps an oversized sweater and sweatpants nearby, just in case.

One habit he's gotten into with you is pulling you into a kiss by tugging – gently – on one or all of the necklaces you're wearing.

He enjoys searching for you with his super hearing when you have to meet somewhere or when you come home after him. He would recognize among a thousand the distinctive metallic sound of some of your jewelry, the rubbing of the layers of fabric you wear, or the leather’s soft creak of your belt.

ANGST :

You only had one argument.

You were walking home from shopping when a man deliberately bumped into you, causing you to drop your bag of food. You opened your mouth, but you were cut off by a comment about your clothing style. You were unfortunately used to it, but it still hurt, and when you got home you started crying in the hallway.

Clark came running, having heard your shortness of breath, and you explained everything to him. Of course, he reassured you, he listened to you as he always did. But that wasn't enough for you at that moment. You wanted someone to approve your anger towards this man and humans in general. Except that Clark has always loved humans, and he desperately clings to hope.

So that's when the argument started.

“Don’t you see the rottenness of human beings? How can you still defend people capable of such horrors?” you told him.

He tried to hold on to his ideas, to his faith, but hearing your voice break under your sobs, he finally gave in.

“You’re right,” he told you, letting his head fall back against the wall with a sigh. “Humans are cruel, so cruel to people who aren’t like them.”

The conversation goes then a little more calmly, you explained to him more kindly that you obviously liked his optimism, but that the idea that he remained stubborn about it when you, next to him, experienced transphobia and xenophobia on a daily basis was unbearable for you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see it that way, forgive me please” were the words that concluded your one and only argument.

Ever since a similar event happened, Clark was there for you more than for humanity. He defended you.

NSFW :

He didn't want to be too clingy at first in intimacy. He wanted you to feel comfortable, and above all, he was terrified of doing something wrong that would make you feel dysphoric. So he held back, enjoying every other moment with you. Until you made the first move—once again.

“I don’t want to seem starving or too needy,” he explained to you, a little embarrassed, to which you replied with a small smile, “I actually like it, I find it sexy and flattering.”

From then on, he couldn't hold back. Perhaps also because he simply couldn't do it anymore.

Clark, who, no matter how much he dreams of fucking you right now, absolutely wants to remove all your layers of clothing without damaging them.

One day you were so impatient that you ripped one of your tights yourself while trying to take them off. Clark immediately fell to his knees at the hole and said something like "no baby! I loved this one, it looked so good on you with the denim shorts" but you just responded by pulling him into a long kiss, interspersed with "it gives it style, ‘like it" to reassure him a little.

When he found out about leather harnesses that could be worn over tops, that was all he could think about. Until the day you surprised him by buying one and putting it on. Needless to say, you kept it on as your only "item of clothing" throughout the night.

One thing he loves: seeing your ruined makeup.

If that's what you like, he'll fuck you so good until he makes you cry over and over again, just to see your makeup completely ruined because of him.

He loves holding you close, seeing the eyeshadow marks on his chest or in the palm of his hand.

If you wear rings, you have to keep them on when he goes down on you. He wants to feel your hand pulling his hair, your rings getting caught in his brown curls, and the weight of your rings on his scalp as you push his head down even further.

Most of the time, he knows when you're feeling more dysphoric than normal. He hears the change in your heartbeat, your throat tightening, and your shortness of breath. So he always avoids the risky areas, focusing on the gentle ones.

“I know my love, sensitive here huh ? It is not a problem, we can still have fun, do you want that darling ?”

Lots of words of affirmation with him.

“Such a good boy for me” “I’m so proud of you angel” “Look at you, you are so brave”.

You discovered that he also really liked to be praised. In everyday life: “Don’t listen to what they say, you’re great Clark.” Just like in bed: “Make me feel so good love,” “Please do that again, love it,” “You’re good at this Kent.”

SENTENCES SCREAMING “CLARK KENT” :

❝ - You look so cool darling ! - How do I take this off? No wait, I don't want to ruin it, this top is so beautiful.. - I don't understand how you manage to put pencil in your eye, it doesn't hurt you’re sure? - Come in my arms, let me hold you strong boy. ❞

pictures : Pinterest