vengeance is the night

no evil stepmother/siblings but there is a wealthy boy in his small town that’s always had it out for clark—lex luthor. his father practically rules smallville, abusing their people and thwarting the achievements of others. the luthors only want to see themselves succeed.

and then comes the royal decree for all eligible men and women to attend the prince’s ball and help him find a spouse.

lex luthor gets a personal invitation. clark does not.

but he counts as eligible, doesn’t he? and it’s not like clark actually wants to marry the prince—he’s just interested in attending the ball. if he’s quiet, and inconspicuous, he can enjoy the festivities for one selfish night and go back to his home, curiosity satisfied without any trouble.

his parents, surprisingly, don’t object to the idea. apparently they attended a wayne gala when they were younger, before the former king and queen were killed. they say they enjoyed themselves, explain that even if clark were caught by a guard, the waynes have always been kind to commoners—unlike the luthors.

clark wants to be cautious anyway; he’s more worried about what the luthors would do to his family if they found him attending the ball and “competing” against lex for prince wayne’s hand.

clark’s “fairy god mother” is the alien ship that his parents show him, hidden in the forest behind their farm. it creates a beautiful set of robes that accentuate clark’s waist and bring out his eyes with intricate layering and a rich blue doublet with a deep red cloak. his ma combs his stubborn curls back and fits him with his pa's belt the colour of gold, and they shine pa's deep red boots that he wore to the wayne gala years ago.

his parents tell him to leave the ball by midnight, so that the luthors don't spot him on the way back, and then they send him off. clark rides the family horse, krypto, to the palace, heart thundering in his chest as he arrives and a stableboy tends to his horse.

the interior of the palace is shiny and welcoming, packed full of eligible lords and ladies with their parents. clark sticks to the sidelines, taking in the sheer grandeur and appreciating the live music. more than once, he has to duck out of sight to avoid the luthors as they slink through the ballroom.

not long after, the prince is announced with his own fanfare, a long red carpet rolled out for the lords and ladies to begin lining up to introduce themselves. clark can't stop himself from trying to catch a glimpse. he spots the prince, clad entirely in black with a silver crown laid over his brow, pale blue eyes piercing and alert, with plump lips and a sharp jaw and the perfect tousled look to his hair.

oh, clark thinks, blushing despite himself. he's beautiful.

clark wants to get closer. he so desperately wants to, but the line is in the middle of the room, and it would be easy for the luthors to spot him. he promised his parents he'd be safe and cautious. he won't put the farm in danger because of a fleeting attraction to a man he can never have.

clark drifts to the balcony to give himself some air and get his mind off the prince. it's not hard—the view itself is beautiful. the night sky is endless above him, a swirl of constellations, and clark can see the whole city of gotham from this high up, an impressive sprawl of houses and greenery.

he's so caught up in the scenery that he doesn't notice someone else ducking behind the curtain onto the balcony until they've come up beside him, leaning on the railing.

"that's my favourite ice cream shop down there, at the end of the street," prince bruce wayne whispers to clark, leaning closer to point at a squat building near the edge of the city.

clark barely manages not to startle, white-knuckling the railing beneath him as he makes himself breathe. "do you...have a favourite flavour?" clark asks, thanking the gods that his voice stays steady.

prince wayne glances at him sidelong, his mouth quirking upwards. "dark chocolate," he replies, voice honeyed with warmth. "and you?"

"vanilla," clark replies, sheepish as he tries to adjust his robes and appear more presentable. he runs a hand through his hair, anxious, but only manages to dislodge a few curls. after a few stretching moments of silence, clark asks, "why are you out here?"

prince wayne raises a brow. "it's my balcony," he says, tone curling with amusement.

clark huffs, his ears glowing. "i meant, why aren't you inside with all your suitors?"

now it's wayne's turn to frown. "they're very...pushy," he says slowly, and clark gets the impression that he's picking his words carefully. "and anyway," he continues with a tilt of his head and wide smile. "don't i have a suitor right here?"

clark blushes harder, overwhelmed by the prince's easy flirting and kind eyes. "i...suppose you do," clark says eventually, because he can't admit to the prince that he snuck into his gala with no intention of seeing him at all.

prince wayne smiles, turning to face clark properly. he brings his hand to the crook of clark's elbow and pulls him from the railing to the edge of the balcony. the music from inside drifts out to them, and the prince guides clark through a slow waltz.

clark is absolutely useless at dancing. more than once, he steps on prince wayne's foot, but the prince laughs through clark's stuttered apologies, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

they lose track of time, out there on the edge of the party. their dancing is clumsy and uncoordinated, but prince wayne seems to enjoy just talking with clark, delightfully interested in everything he has to say. clark gets lost in their little bubble, pleasantly warm and happy to talk at lengths with the prince. this is so much better than he ever hoped it would be.

and then the clock strikes twelve. midnight.

clark's easy smile morphs into an expression of panic, and he jerks away from the prince, darting for the balcony door with an apology thrown over his shoulder. he races through the ballroom, thundering down the main steps and calling for his horse.

he's just mounted krypto when prince wayne grabs at his cloak, asking where he's going. clark only apologizes and says he has to go, urging krypto on.

"wait, please," prince wayne begs. "at least tell me your name."

"kal," clark whispers, feeling a pang of guilt at the lie as he turns and kicks krypto forward. his cloak rips under the prince's grip, but he doesn't have time to mourn the damage because the luthor carriage is right there, and he must beat them back to smallville.

his clothes get all torn and muddy as he takes shortcuts through less-travelled roads, but clark makes it back to his farm, relief washing over him as he untacks krypto for the night and sets him in a stall.

when he gets through the back door, smiling giddly and humming the same tune he and the prince had danced to, he stops dead. there, in his living room, is lex luthor, dressed in his expensive ball attire and looking furious.

the luthors put him to work as punishment. clark has to split his time between his parent's farm and the luthors', starting before the sun rises and ending after it sets. the work is gruelling, and tiresome, but clark can't bring himself to regret that one night of stolen bliss, getting to know the prince and the heat of his chest pressed to clark's.

he's so caught up in the doubled work that he doesn't get any of the messages about prince wayne looking for a mysterious man named "kal," and misses all the drama when nobody can seem to find the one prospect from the ball.

it comes to a head when prince wayne personally visits smallville, checking every available household himself for the man who's stolen his heart in so little time.

clark sees the line of horses from his field, but he can't afford to waste time to investigate them, so he ducks his head and gets back to work.

and then prince wayne's horse gets away from him. later, clark will learn that luthor had smacked the poor mare, but at the time he only hears a startling noise and a handful of shout, followed by hoofbeats growing ever closer.

the kingsguard are running, shouting at clark to get out of the way, and—clark recognizes that dark cloak at the front. he braces himself, holds his palms out to calm the mare, and manages to jerk forward and grab the reins when she falters at the sight of him.

“thank you,” prince wayne says as he jogs closer, looking his mare over and patting her neck to soothe her. “such bravery is—” he stops short, brow lowered as he looks clark up and down. he takes a scrap of fabric from his breast pocket and holds it up to clark’s makeshift shirt, a wrap of the cloak he’d worn to the ball. they’re an exact match. “kal,” he says, tone hard with disbelief.

clark’s shoulders rise up to his ears as he winces and says, “it’s clark, actually.”

prince wayne frowns, bringing his hand up to brush clark’s hair off his forehead, the way it had been styled for the ball. “clark,” he repeats, testing out the word. “you lied to me.”

clark looks away, unable to bear the guilt, the ache in prince wayne’s tone. he gestures weakly to the field they stand in. “i couldn’t stay. i have work to do.”

“this is lord luthor’s field,” prince wayne says slowly, eyeing the large house atop the nearest hill. “where is your land?”

clark squeezes his eyes shut. “i am to work these fields as—punishment. for daring to step foot outside of my rank.”

“punishment,” prince wayne echoes, voice dark. all at once, he turns with a whirl of his cape, mounting his horse. “come,” he says, holding out a hand to clark. the moment clark’s hand slips into his, he’s yanked up into the back of the horse.

at prince wayne’s urging, clark guides him to his farm, tearing through luthor’s crops as he does so.

when they reach clark’s home, clark dismounts and looks up at prince wayne, all regal and strong and pretty.

“you will never have to worry about house luthor again. i swear it.”

“thank you, your highness,” clark says, dipping his chin.

“please, call me bruce,” prince wayne replies, that warm smile back on his face.

clark grins and grips bruce’s cloak, tugging him down to bring their mouths together in a crushing, elated kiss. he presses hard into bruce’s mouth, enjoying the slickness of his tongue as they move closer. something in clark’s chest settles, something that hasn’t fit right since he left the prince behind in his palace.

he makes an embarrassing, wanting noise when bruce pulls away, but it’s only enough to look at him properly as their breaths mingle together.

“visit me in gotham sometime,” bruce says, voice low.

clark smiles, excited and terrified in equal measure for what’s to come. he wants this so, so badly.

lean on me

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Word Count: 9,290 Tags: multiple POVs, Drugging, slight noncon, Frotting | Rubbing Penises Together, Dry Humping, Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Clark Kent is Bad at Communicating, PWP

Spring herself.

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today's fic:

waiting for the sun to drown by unbreakabledawn

superbat, 46k, rated T, hurt/comfort, clark w/ a terminal illness (TAGGED AS HAPPY ENDING !!)

what i love about it!!

THIS FIC IS KINDA CRAZY HEART WRENCHING, i skimmed it while trying to figure out what fic to rec and alllllll those feelings i had when i first read it came punching me in the face.... if you can handle the subject matter, i really really recommend it because its such an intense and beautiful ride ! im really about to sit down and reread it fully and cry again. its so good.

an excerpt from my favorite scene !

Clark rubs the back of his hand over his mouth. It looks like he’s about to answer, but then a cough rips through his chest, and he brings the crook of his elbow to his mouth, coughing into his arm.

When Clark catches his breath again, there’s a splotch of dark, red blood on the sleeve of his shirt. A blade of sunlight falls across his hand, but the light doesn’t seem to help Clark’s grim shape, not at this rate.

Something tightens in Bruce’s chest. There’s a rush of noise in his ears that at first he thinks is the AC. He realizes it’s his own pulse, his heart pounding at the sight of Clark with blood on his lips, like that day in the gardens.

Bruce has all the pieces to the puzzle. He knows what the truth is, but he doesn’t want to accept it. He needs to hear Clark say it, even if he doesn’t want it to be real.

“You’re sick,” Bruce says quietly, with the desperate hope that Clark will shake his head and offer some tame explanation for the blood on his clothes and the mournful look in his eyes. Anything, anything to prove Bruce wrong. Please, let him be wrong. Just this one time.

Clark looks at him, brilliant blue eyes piercing him to the core.

drew Clark in Kryptonian clothing for a commission!!

the millions of people that call out to him for help, every day, all the time on earth? think of that scene in a new hope when obi-wan senses all of those voices snuffing out after the death star destroys alderaan—while he’s on the millennium falcon lightyears away.

clark literally cannot escape it. the force flows through everything—including the stars. clark can’t just leave the atmosphere for a few precious moments of peace like he could in regular canon. the force follows him, and he follows the force. he hears every scream, every cry for help. he feels every death and birth and knows what it is to feel the loss of an entire planet.