[Third Person Pov]
The bed rocked back and forth in a relentless rhythm, the headboard knocking repeatedly against the wall with dull, muffled thuds. Framed pictures rattled and tilted, trembling from the force of the movement as if they, too, were caught up in the moment.
Itsuki lay sprawled across the sheets, her body slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. Strands of her messy hair clung stubbornly to her flushed cheeks, her forehead, and the corner of her mouth as she panted. She clung tightly to the broad, unfamiliar back of the man above her, fingers digging into warm skin as his heated breath brushed against her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
Her nails dragged down his muscular back, leaving visible red trails in their wake as she arched into him. Each powerful thrust drew a helpless whimper from her lips, her voice breaking into breathless cries of pleasure that she barely managed to contain. Desperate not to be heard, she leaned forward and bit down on his wide shoulder, muffling the sounds that threatened to spill free.
Her eyes squeezed shut as she surrendered to the sensations overtaking her. His strong, calloused hands roamed her body with surprising tenderness, touching her in ways that made her feel wanted—cherished even—igniting something warm and overwhelming in her chest. His lips traced along her neck, leaving behind dark hickeys and faint bite marks that made her back arch reflexively, her body responding before her mind could catch up.
Itsuki's vision blurred as pleasure surged through her, her eyes rolling back as she felt herself cresting. Her legs slipped free from the tangled blankets, stretching out as her toes curled tightly, throwing up gang signs, her entire body tensing as if bracing against a wave. A broken cry tore from her throat as the sensation peaked, her mind flashing white as stars burst behind her closed eyes.
She collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air, her body shuddering and twitching as aftershocks rippled through her. Her breathing was ragged, uneven, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She turned her head slightly, sensitive skin tingling as soft kisses trailed from her neck to her jaw, then along her cheeks.
When she finally forced herself to look at the man beside her, the dream shattered, turning into a nightmare.
What had felt intoxicating and unreal twisted instantly into horror as she recognized the face staring back at her—Clark.
He adjusted his glasses with practiced ease, a confident smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned closer. His voice was smooth, cocky, and far too amused when he asked,
"Was it really that good?"
…
"Ahhhh!!"
Itsuki jolted awake with a panicked scream, bolting upright in her bed as her heart slammed violently against her ribs. Her body trembled, caught between lingering sensation and sheer embarrassment, her breath coming out in short, frantic gasps.
She was drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around her legs as she tried to steady herself. Her mind felt sluggish and foggy, still half-lost in sleep. Messy bed hair clung to her face just as it had in the dream, and she hastily brushed it away from her mouth, blinking as reality slowly set in.
Heat flooded her face as comprehension dawned. Her cheeks burned bright red with shame, and she buried her face in her hands, letting out a muffled groan as she wished—fervently—to disappear on the spot or better yet spontaneously combust.
"What is happening to me… why is this my life…" she muttered miserably from behind her palms.
She paused, then groaned again, sinking back into her mattress.
"…and most importantly, I need a change of underwear."
…
Momo was sleeping soundly in her bed, thoroughly enjoying the rare luxury that the weekend afforded her. One arm was loosely curled around Krypto's massive neck, her fingers occasionally twitching as they buried themselves into his soft, immaculately groomed fur. The super-dog lay beside her like an oversized, warm pillow, his steady breathing and gentle presence making it all too easy for her to sink deeper into sleep. With no classes, no responsibilities, and no urgent reason to be awake, Momo had every intention of spending the rest of the day blissfully unconscious.
Unfortunately, fate—and Lala—had other plans.
Krypto's ears twitched first. His eyes cracked open, sharp and alert despite the early hour. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned it toward the bedroom door, his gaze fixed on it with sudden intensity.
A split second later, the door was kicked open with a loud bang.
"Momo! I need your help!"
Lala burst into the room in a panic, her voice echoing as she stormed inside. Krypto let out a low, questioning huff but didn't move as Momo stirred, groaning softly as consciousness dragged her back against her will.
"Huh…?" Momo mumbled groggily, one eye barely opening. Almost immediately, her expression twisted into a frown. "Lala… can't this wait?" she complained, her voice thick with sleep. "It's way too early! It's the weekend, for godsakes!"
"No! It can't!" Lala exclaimed desperately. She slammed the door shut behind her and, without hesitation, leapt straight onto the bed beside Momo, causing the mattress to bounce violently.
"You're the only one I can count on!"
"Why does it have to be me…?" Momo whined, burying her face deep into Krypto's fur as if hoping the dog would somehow shield her from the situation. "Can't you just ask Clark for help?"
Lala suddenly started pounding lightly against Momo's back as she cried out, "Of course I can't! It has to do with Clark!"
Momo froze.
Lala continued in a rapid, panicked rush, barely stopping to breathe. "Okay, so—Clark asked me out on a date, and it's today! And that's the problem! I thought I had something to wear, so I wasn't too worried, but now that the day is actually here, I can't find anything! Nothing looks cute enough, nothing feels right, and nothing is perfect!"
Momo slowly lifted her head.
"Whoa, okay—slow down," she said, holding up a hand weakly. "I'm still waking up, my brain is not fully online yet. Let's back up for a second… I think I misheard you." She stared at Lala. "Did you just say Clark asked you out on a date?"
Lala nodded her head rapidly, almost vibrating with excitement.
Momo blinked.
"My Clark?" she asked cautiously. "My grumpy, antisocial brother? The same Clark who would rather shoot himself in the head than willingly interact with other people? That Clark?"
Lala didn't stop nodding.
Momo slowly turned her head to look at Krypto, who merely stared back at her with a neutral, unreadable expression. Then she turned back to Lala.
"…Are you absolutely sure you weren't dreaming?" Momo asked. "Like, positive it actually happened?"
"I am sure!" Lala insisted loudly. "Now please help me! I'm desperate! I'm begging you! You're the only one I can count on!"
Before Momo could respond, Lala tackled her, wrapping her arms tightly around her and squeezing with far more strength than necessary.
"Okay, okay!" Momo groaned, trying—and failing—to pry herself free. "I'm still having trouble believing this, but I'll help you!"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Lala cried joyfully, planting several rapid kisses across Momo's face.
"Hey—stop that!" Momo protested weakly.
She sighed, then looked at Lala seriously. "Just to be absolutely sure… you're certain my brother asked you out? He wasn't being sarcastic or accidentally agreeing to something without realizing it?"
"Momo!" Lala said firmly. "Yes! I suggested it, and Clark agreed! He agreed to take me out on a date today!"
She beamed brightly, practically glowing.
Momo stared at her for a long moment.
Then she leaned back into her pillow, eyes staring up at the ceiling.
"The end of the world is upon us," she said solemnly.
…
Clark stepped out from the crystalline threshold of the Fortress of Solitude, the icy winds of the Arctic rolling around him as if acknowledging his presence. He was dressed entirely in black—an outfit chosen with far more thought than he would ever admit. A fitted black shirt clung comfortably to his broad, muscular frame, emphasizing his shoulders and chest without appearing overly flashy. Over it, he wore a tailored black blazer that gave him a sharp, composed look. Even his glasses had been swapped out for a darker tint, the lenses subtly shaded to better complement the ensemble.
He paused for a moment, hands adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, as if grounding himself.
"Are you perhaps going to a funeral," Sol's voice echoed throughout the fortress, calm yet unmistakably curious, "or a date with a girl?"
Clark's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Shut up," he muttered under his breath, a faint flush creeping up his neck despite himself. "It's been a long time since I went on a date with a girl."
"A long time?" Sol replied, genuine confusion lacing its tone. "As far as I am aware, this would be your first. Have you gone on a date with a girl before?"
Clark froze for half a second.
"…Forget it," he said curtly, shaking his head as he turned away. The words came out sharper than intended, a reflexive attempt to bury memories that didn't belong to this life—memories of another existence, another world.
Sol seemed to accept the deflection for the moment. "If you wished, I am certain Madam Lara-El would have been more than willing to assist you," it said sincerely. "She possesses an extensive understanding of—"
Clark began to levitate off the ground, cutting the sentence short. "You're delusional if you think I'm going to let my holographic mother dress me for a date," he said flatly. "That's humiliating."
With that, he launched himself forward, the ice beneath him cracking slightly from the force as he shot into the open Arctic sky. His form became a dark streak against the pale expanse as he accelerated, heading halfway across the world toward Japan—toward Lala.
He tore through the upper atmosphere like a living projectile, the clouds parting around him as he descended into an isolated area far from prying eyes. The moment his feet touched ground, Clark shifted seamlessly into super speed, his movements undetectable as he wove through streets and alleys, slipping past civilians like a ghost.
He slowed only when he was a block or two away from his destination, blending himself back into the rhythm of ordinary human life. His stride became casual, his pace measured, his posture relaxed.
And immediately, people noticed.
Clark was tall—unmistakably so—and carried himself with an effortless confidence that drew attention whether he wanted it or not. His sharp features and composed expression made him stand out in the crowd, the black of his outfit contrasting starkly against the colorful bustle of the city. He walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, ignoring the glances and lingering stares directed his way.
As he reached a crosswalk, his eyes finally found her.
Lala was leaning casually against a nearby wall, a small purse slung diagonally over her shoulder as she waited. She wore a soft wool sweater paired with a flowing blue skirt—an outfit clearly chosen with modesty in mind. Unfortunately for that intention, her figure made modesty difficult, and her natural charm rendered it outright impossible. She stood out effortlessly, drawing attention without even trying.
Clark's expression twitched.
A couple of boys had gathered around her, speaking animatedly, clearly emboldened by her presence. Lala waved her hands politely, shaking her head as she tried to refuse whatever they were offering, her smile apologetic but firm.
Clark stared at the scene, his gaze sharpening.
'Are they looking to die young?' he thought darkly, watching just a little too intently as the light changed at the crosswalk.
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