You had learned that scent over the years- the way it clung to old buildings, mixed with fire escapes, and soaked into forgotten laundry. It belonged to places that weren't home. Places you passed through. Places that forgot you the moment you left.
You perched on the windowsill of your room, knees pressed to your chest, forehead against cold glass. Outside, the city blurred into a monochrome haze: buildings, streets, and people all muted. Umbrellas hunched, shoulders tight, moving with purpose toward somewhere that mattered.
You didn't.
Three months here, before that another foster home, and before that, another. You'd stopped counting after the seventh placement. Stopped hoping after the fifth. Stopped crying after the second.
Now you just... existed.
You went to school. You came back. You did your homework in the corner where no one bothered you. You drew in your sketchbook, landscapes you'd never seen, faces you'd never met, places that only existed in your head. You played the guitar you'd found at a thrift store two years ago, the one with the chipped paint and the slightly out-of-tune G string that you'd learned to love anyway.
And you took your pills.
Every morning. Every night. The little orange bottles with the long names you couldn't pronounce and the side effects you'd memorized by heart.
Sometimes your hand trembled when you opened them. Just once, quick and small. Like your body had forgotten the right movement for a second.
You hid them in your sock drawer. No one asked. That was the nice thing about group homes. No one paid enough attention to notice the quiet girl with the beautiful eyes and the prescription bottles.
You watched the rain slide down the glass.
Juvenile Huntington's.
The word lived in your chest like a second heartbeat. You'd known since you were fifteen. The tremors that started small. The forgetfulness that came and went. The doctor's office with the bad lighting and the softer voice than you expected.
Progressive. Incurable. There are treatments to manage symptoms, but...
But.
That was the word that mattered. But. As in but you won't get better. As in but this will get worse. As in but you should prepare.
How did you prepare for something like that?
For the day your hand wouldn't obey you.
A word you'd known your whole life simply... vanished.
Waking up in your own body and realizing, slowly, that it doesn't quite belong to you anymore.
You just kept going. Existing. Taking your pills and drawing your pictures and pretending you weren't counting down the days.
A knock on your door.
You didn't turn. "It's open."
The door creaked. One of the staffβ Maria, maybe? You could never remember their names. They came and went too fast.
"You have a visitor."
You frowned. "I don't know anyone."
"Well, someone knows you." She sounded annoyed, as if your existence was an inconvenience. "Come on. She's waiting in the common room."
She.
You slid off the windowsill. Your legs were stiff from sitting too long.
Your fingers twitched once before you tucked them into your sleeve. You ran a hand through your hair, probably a mess, but whatever.
The common room was the same as every common room in every group home you'd ever been in. Beige walls. Beige couch. Beige carpet that had seen too many feet and not enough cleaning. A TV playing something no one was watching.
And a woman.
She was... not what you expected. Older, maybe fifties. Soft face, softer eyes. Gray-streaked hair pulled back in a loose bun. She held a book in her hands; not reading it, just holding it. A quiet comfort. Something steady to hold onto.
When she saw you, she smiled.
Not the pity-face. Not the poor thing smile. Just... a smile. Warm. Real.
"You must be Y/N," she said.
You stopped a few feet away. Swallowing. "Who's asking?"
She didn't flinch at your tone. Didn't look offended. If anything, her smile got softer.
"I'm Clara. Clara Hartley." She held out the book. "I brought this for you. I hope that's okay."
You looked at the book. The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Old. Worn. Loved.
"I don't know you," you said.
"No. You don't." She didn't put the book down. Didn't push. Just waited. "But I know your drawings."
She said it like she'd been looking for them.
That caught you off guard. "My drawings?"
"The ones on the wall in the office. The social worker showed me." She tilted her head, studying you. Not in a weird way. "They're extraordinary. The landscapes especially. You have a gift."
You didn't know what to say. No one had ever called your drawings extraordinary. No one had ever called anythingΒ about you extraordinary.
"I... thanks."
"You're welcome." She gestured to the couch. "Can I sit with you for a while? Just talk. No pressure. No expectations."
Something about her made you pause.
The way she held the book, as though it mattered.
The rain outside, gray and endless, and the quiet exhaustion of being alone in it.
Perhaps it meant nothing.
Perhaps it meant everything.
You sat down.
Clara sat beside you, not too close, not too far. Just right; she knew exactly how much space to give.
"I used to draw," she said quietly. "When I was your age. Nothing as good as yours. But it made me feel... less alone. Like I could put the world on paper and it couldn't hurt me anymore."
You looked at her.
"How did you know?" you asked.
She met your eyes. Hers were warm. Brown. Kind.
"Because I've been alone too," she said. "And I know what it looks like in someone else."
The rain kept falling.
You didn't know what to say. Words had never come easily to you, at least not the ones that mattered. But you could draw for hours, losing yourself in the quiet scratch of pencil on paper, letting your hands speak when your mouth no longer could.
But this?
You didn't have a blueprint for this.
Clara didn't seem to mind the silence. She opened the book, not to read, just to flip through it gently, as though each page were precious.
"I found this at a thrift store twenty years ago," she said. "Cost me fifty cents. Best fifty cents I ever spent."
You glanced at the pages. They were annotated. Handwriting in the margins; small, careful, feminine.
"Did you write in it?"
"Some of it. Some was already there." She pointed to a faded note next to a poem. "See this? Someone else loved this book before me. Someone else underlined these words, wrote these thoughts. I don't know who they were. But we're connected now. Through this."
She looked at you.
"That's what art does, I think. It connects people who've never met. It makes us less alone."
You swallowed, turning your head to the side. Your throat felt tight.
"I've never shown anyone my drawings," you said. Quiet. Barely a whisper.
Clara heard anyway.
"Why not?"
You shrugged.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she closed the book gently and set it in her lap.
"Can I ask you something?"
You nodded.
"If you could go anywhere- anywhere in the world- where would you go?"
The question caught you off guard. You went where they sent you. That was the rule.
But Clara was looking at you like your answer mattered.
You thought about it.
"Somewhere quiet," you said finally. "Somewhere with trees. And a library. And... and a window seat. Somewhere I could watch the rain without feeling like it was trying to get in."
Clara smiled. That same warm smile.
"That's very specific."
"You asked."
"I did." She nodded, thoughtful. "I know a place like that."
You looked at her. Her smile was small. Almost knowing.
"It's called Smallville. Tiny town in Kansas. I have a bookstore there." She paused. "It has a window seat. The best one. Overlooks the main street. You can watch the rain for hours, and the cat will keep you company."
You didn't know what to say.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Clara tilted her head. "Because I think you need to know that places like that exist. Places that feel like home. Even if you haven't found yours yet."
Places that feel like home.
You didn't know what that meant. Not really. Home was a word other people used. A word from TV shows and books and conversations you overheard but were never part of.
Home was not a thing you had.
Clara didn't push. She just sat there, present, holding space for whatever you did or didn't want to say.
It was... strange.
Uncomfortable, almost. Like wearing clothes that didn't fit right. Like someone holding the door for you when you weren't sure you deserved to walk through. Like-
You shifted on the couch. Looked at your hands. Your fingers were cold.
"I should go back," you said quietly. "I have... homework."
It was a lie. You both knew it.
But Clara just nodded. Didn't call you out. Didn't look disappointed.
"Of course." She stood, smooth and unhurried. "I'll be here tomorrow. If you want to talk again. Or just sit. No pressure."
She left the book on the couch.
"You forgot-" you started.
"I didn't forget." She smiled from the doorway. "It's yours now. Consider it a gift from someone who's been where you are."
And then she was gone.
You sat there for a long time, staring at the book. The rain kept falling. The common room stayed beige and ugly and the same as every other common room.
summary: when you and clark's toxic relationship leads you to his doorstep one night, will you be able to fix things for good?
warnings: hurt/comfort, cursing, yelling, sexual themes/activity, female!reader, toxic relationships, jealousy, insecurities, semi-cheating
A/N: Inspired by Taylor Swifts "Fresh Out The Slammer"!! I lowkey hate this, but I worked on it for way too long not to post it, so here you go!! (3k words)
βYou are dumping me?β you scoff, bewilderment evident on your face as you look across the table at Adam β the dull, unemployed, overly jealous himbo youβve been seeing for the past few months. At least he was eye candy.
He had called you this morning asking you to meet him at the talon because he βneeded to talkβ β you shouldβve known from that moment how this would go. He fiddles with his fingers, looking down awkwardlyΒ βI justβ¦I don't think weβre on the same page anymore-β βLet me stop you right there,β you cut him off from whatever dull ramble he was about to go on.
βYou want this to be over? Fine. Itβs been over for me for a while nowβ you mutter, rolling your eyes as you stand up out of your chair, your manicured hands grabbing your iced latte and purse off of the table. The scraping sound of your chair on the wooden floor is enough to draw some eyes to the situation, but you can't bring yourself to care, embarrassed by his awkward demeanor and wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there. Itβs not like you were in love with the guy or anything, but it was humbling that he was the one who broke up with you after you had lowered your standards to suit him.
As you exit the talon, you whip out your car keys from your brown coach bag, unlocking your door and hopping into the driver's seat of your Toyota Cecilia, slamming your head against the steering wheel a few times for good measure before putting the keys in the ignition. Youβre still reeling from the previous conversation as you contemplate where to go β home is always an option, but you don't really feel like drowning the sorrows of this relationship in a pint of ice cream and a bad movie.
And so, with a possibly very bad idea, you blast your car stereo β which is playing some old Brittany Spears song β and rip out of the parking lot, your sunglasses perched atop your nose. You drive for about 15 minutes until you reach a familiar house, parking crookedly in the gravel driveway. You clutch the wheel anxiously before you decide to just bite the bullet and go. You step out of the car, heeled boots crunching on the gravel as you make your way up to the front door.
Your legs feel weak as you stand on the old wooden porch, and part of you wonders if this is even a good idea. You debate on turning back, but before you can, the door swings open right in front of you β like somehow it knew you were there β to reveal none other than the person you were looking for. βHey, Clarkβ you smirk.
Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to
You and Clark had a complicated relationship. Ever since high school, you two had this love-hate relationship that embedded itself into every aspect of your lives. One day things would be great, and the next you would find him on a date with someone else β and vice versa. You knew it was an ugly mix of jealousy and insecurity that made it this way, but it was a two-way street, and you werenβt entirely at fault for the things that had transpired. One thing had always stayed the same, though β you and clark always found your way back to each other.
βHey?β he murmurs curiously, looking around behind you, wondering if this was some sort of joke. The last time he heard from you was three months ago after you two had gotten into a screaming match in his bedroom due to some argument that he could barely remember the cause of β it was right when you started dating Adam, actually. βAre you going to invite me in, or just leave me waiting in the cold?β you muse, looking him up and down plainly.
Heβs suddenly hyperaware of his clothing choice, which consists of some blue plaid sweatpants and an old grey t-shirt. He can feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment because while he looked ready for a night in, you looked ready for a night out. Clad in a pair of leather high-heeled boots, bootcut jeans that highlighted the curve of your ass, and a thin grey tank top β with no bra β it was safe to say you looked hot. And he was never known for his self-control around you...
βYeah, uh, come on in.β he murmurs, opening the door wider to give you space to enter. As you do, you take in the familiar setting. Itβs the same as you remember it, the same picture frames with the nostalgic family photos in them, the same tan colored paint on the wall, the same soft furniture that you two have fucked on multiple times. βI see some things never change,β you tease, looking around slowly before your eyes land on him.
βIt's been a whileβ you point out, sitting down at one of the wooden chairs in the dining room β you still remember cooking breakfast with him here on mornings when things were really good between you two. βYeah, it has.β he exhales before looking at you curiously βSo why are you here?β he murmurs, causing you to laugh. βWell, I was hoping for a warmer welcome, but I guess I deserve that after how things ended.β you mutter before turning serious.
βAdam and I ended things β well actually, he ended things with meβ you scoff before your voice gets quiet. βI guess itβs kinda deserved after I lashed out at you the last time we talked.β you whisper, causing him to frown. No matter how many times you fought, the one thing Clark hated was seeing you upset. βListen, we both said things we didnβt mean β I donβt blame you.β he murmurs as he makes his way over to the table, sitting down next to you.
βI know, but what I said- it wasnβt true, Clark. I know you're a good person with good intentions.β you whisper, looking up at him with regretful eyes, and Clark can practically feel his heart squeeze in response. βHey hey, I know that.β he assures, his hand coming to rest on top of yours reassuringly. βIβm glad you came by, yβknow.β he adds softly, βI missed you, whether or not I wanted to.β he smiles, nudging your shoulder jokingly, and making you laugh in the process.
Gray and blue and fights and tunnels, handcuffed to the spell I was under
Four months ago
βClark, I can't do this again.β you huff as you rip the red and white plaid sheet off of you, rummaging around his room for your clothes that were strewn across the floor. βI really don't think Iβm asking anything of you.β he huffs, sitting up and rubbing his forehead βI just want to know what this all means. I think I deserve that.β
βYeah, well, so do I. But every time I start to feel comfortable, you pull the rug out from under me.β you scoff, pulling up your denim skirt and looking for your missing heel β maybe it was downstairs.Β
βI mean, the last time I told you that I wanted to be exclusive, I found you and Lana making out in the kitchen window the next day. What am I supposed to do when it feels like Iβm just some placeholder until you get what you really want?β you scoff, wiping your hair from your face as you avoid looking over at him, recalling that painful incident from six months prior. βYeah, well, the last time I told you I wanted to be with you, you were with Bryan β or whatever this name was β at the barβ he mutters, making you roll your eyes, he knew it was Bryce.Β
βDon't make me feel like this is my fault, Clark. The Lana thing was way worse, and you know it.β you scoff, and he knew you were right. His feelings for Lana were the biggest cause for strain between you two β all of your actions were just attempts to get back at him for his indecision. But even still, this was one argument that he wasnβt willing to let go of that easily. βWell itβs not my fault youβre too emotionally involved in my life when I don't need you to be.β he whispers, more so out of rebellion than truth, but you still hear it β whipping around to face him as you finish putting on the rest of your clothes.
You choke out a humorless laugh before walking up to him slowly βWell maybe if you actually opened up instead of chasing after a girl who only wants you when itβs convenient, then we wouldn't be having these problems." you hiss "What are you really afraid of, Clark? That Lana doesn't want you, or that maybe you aren't as chivalrous as you think you are?β you growl, and you know youβve struck a nerve. He bites the inside of his cheek in response, his nostrils flaring as he loses his temper.
He chooses to stay silent, but you just shake your head as you gather the rest of your belongings β choosing not to look at him until youβre about to exit his bedroom door. βAnd Clarkβ you add, βdon't bother coming to me when you and Lana fall apartβ you mutter as you slam his door, causing it to shake on its hinges as you bolt out of the house β and picking up the heel that you left lying on the staircase. That was the last time you saw him.
Now pretty baby I'm runnin back home to you
βClarkβ you whisper softly, his face leaning into yours slowly. βYeah?β he whispers back, and you feel his breath against your cheek as you both lock eyes, wanting to preserve this moment. Finally, there was no yelling, no anger, no jealousy β just a sense of yearning.
βIβm really glad I came to see you,β you murmur softly. βNot as glad as I am.β he mutters before his lips meet yours, his hand coming around to grasp the back of your head. The familiar feeling is enough to make warmth erupt in your chest as your hands grip the back of his hair, your manicured fingers scratching down his scalp softly in the way you know he likes.
Before you know it, you feel his arms gripping your thighs as he hoists you up, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist instinctively. You guys donβt even break apart as he carries you one-handedly up the stairs, his other arm gripping the railing to stabilize the both of you. Now this feels familiar β you two were no strangers to make-up sex
Youβre a clash of teeth and moans as you reach his bedroom, he uses his arm to push open the door as he carries you inside. The next thing you know youβre being tossed onto the bed as he crawls over you, encasing you with his hulking frame in a way that makes you clench your thighs together in anticipation. You feel his hands run across your breasts, trailing up to your neck as his hand splays itself across your cheek. His lips break away from yours briefly to stamp kisses across your neck and chest, and truthfully, you want nothing more than to continue but you came here for something β and this wasnβt it.Β
As I said in my letters, now that I know better I will never lose my baby again
βClark,β you breathe out heavily, a pit of anxiety forming in your chest as you push him away softlyΒ βAs much as I enjoy this, I did come here for something else.β you murmur, and he freezes as he looks up at you. βAre we doing the right thing- is this the right thing?β you whisper, and he can practically feel the anxiety rolling off of you. He wants to comfort you, but he doesn't know how.
One thing about Clark is that he was great at comforting people; it was second nature to him β he liked feeling useful, helpful β and that was easy when he always saw the best in people. But when it came to you, he could never find the right words to say β maybe because he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and driving you into the arms of someone else. The last thing he wanted was to see you with another man, but that wasnβt fair when he wasnβt emotionally ready to commit himself to you either.
He exhales softly before laying down next to you, eyes plastered to the old ceiling as he takes in your words. "I don't know.β he answers honestly, βBut I don't think that's something weβll ever really know. If theres one thing my dad taught me, it's that life β especially a life worth living β is about hard work and commitment,β he murmurs, turning to look at you. You nod gently, processing his words before you look over at him, a hint of vulnerability in your voice.
Β βI think that's our problem β no matter how much we say we care about each other, thereβs always something that drags us back here.β you murmur, βI know that you care about me, but part of me always wonders if you think this is something worth fighting forβ you frown.
He takes in your words quietly, and he knows deep down that youβre right in feeling that way. You had always made him feel chosen. Youβd drop everything to come and see him if heβd ask β he knew that β his problem was that he never asked. Choosing to once again slip into the self-destructive behavior that led him here in the first place.
My friends tried but I wouldn't hear it, watched me daily disappearing
7 months ago
Youβre curled up on your bed, your two best friends surrounding you as you sob into your silk pillow, which is now stained with remnants of eyeliner and concealer. Youβd been crying for over an hour now, and you still couldnβt see an end in sight. Every time youβve managed to stop crying, the image of Clark and Lana wrapped in each other's arms flashes back into your mind.
You thought things were going well β you really did β Clark had finally taken you out on a date that didnβt involve going to the next town over. So when you got a call on your blinged-out flip phone from him asking if you wanted to have a movie night, you were ecstatic. You had hopped into your car immediately just to find him and Lana making out in the loft of his barn.
βHeβs the one who invited me over.β you sob βI don't understand," you cry, as your friend Jasmine strokes your hair and Claire shakes her head angrily on your behalf. βWhat a fucking loser.β Claire mutters, and Jasmine just coos at you sadly, βhe doesnβt deserve you. He never did." she murmurs softly.
You still couldnβt believe it, and the worst part was that he didn't even look sorry when you interrupted them. All you did was call out his name, and he looked at you like you had ruined his entire year β like this was all somehow your fault for not having an innate sixth sense that Lana needed his attention in that very moment.
βI mean, he freaked out on me at the club when he saw Bryce and me there a week ago, but when I get upset in a private setting somehow Iβm the bad guyβ you scoff, looking up at Jasmine and Claire in frustration β your sadness had just about ended and just like clockwork, anger was next.Β
βI swear, Iβm never talking to him again.β you mutter as you wipe your eyes haphazardly. βWeβre gonna hold you to thatβ Claire murmurs, doubt evident in her voice as she tries her best to be supportive. And you suppose that's fair because the very next night you were in Clark's bedβ¦again.
Now pretty baby I'm running to the house where you still wait up, and that porch light gleams
βI havenβt been completely honest with you, and I know thatβs my fault,β he whispers, βbut there's something that I really need to tell you.β he murmurs, looking over at you and admiring how the lamp in his bedroom illuminates your soft skin. He can't fathom how he ever let you go.
βI haven't been with Lana β or anyone else for that matter β since that night you found us in the barn.β he whispers, making you freeze. You push yourself up gently with your arms as you chew on the inside of your cheek, βWhat?β you choke out breathily. βDon't lie to me, Clarkβ you murmur, and he cuts in βIβm not, I swear. That night seven months ago, that was the last time.β he assures.Β
βBut you- you mentioned seeing her three months after that. I remember, we were at the park and-β βI lied.β he whispers, causing you to freeze. βI lied because I didn't want you to know how I really felt. I knew you had a date planned with Bryce, and I didnβt want to look stupid. vulnerable." he mutters with a sarcastic laugh. "I guess I got something worse out of it though because that ended up being one of the biggest fights weβve ever had.β he murmurs before looking down, βand one of the biggest mistakes of my life.β
You just sit there frozen, staring down at the embroidery of your jeans as you try to make sense of the information you just received. You didnβt even know it was possible for Clark to feel lonely, let alone jealous β but you also know Clark wouldnβt lie about something like this. Plus, you knew all of his tells, from the way his eyes darted around anxiously to how he stuck his hands in his pocket and bounced on the balls of his feet β he was telling the truth.
You don't know whether to be hurt by the lies or jump for joy at the fact that he hasnβt been with anyone else, because no matter how much you hated admitting it, you still loved Clark β and youβre sure all of the guys you've been with knew it too, because whenever youβd bring him up they'd get this grim look on their face.Β
After a few very anxious minutes of silence β at least for Clark anyway β you decide that youβve been hurt and upset for long enough, and that maybe itβs time to let the past go and focus on whatβs right in front of you now.Β
You turn to face Clark, a small, hesitant smile on your lips as you lean your face into his, a curious look in your eyes. βWhat was the biggest mistake?β you ask quietly, eyes locked on his. βLetting you go.β is all he manages to say before his lips are on yours, and itβs different than before. There's no hidden anger or frustration, no jealousy or longing, thereβs just love β pure, undivided, compassionate love. And that's how you hope itβll stay, because now that there's only you, you never want to let him go.
valentines day in smallville, somewhat friends to not friends to dating ig, reader is a pastors daughter for whatever reason, and red kryptonite!clark kent ruining valentines day in literally everyway possible. 7k words.
yalls... i had this idea since i finished the LAST fic and omg i didn't actually start writing this untill LAST NIGHT. as in the 13th.. yeah ik i'm a procrastinatiorππ BUT ATLEAST I GET THE WORK DONE AHHAHAA....π anyways, if it sucks or feels rushed now you know whyπ₯° ALSO shoutout to my co-producer, editor, proof reader and co-writer, my 8 year old sister bc she literally woke me up early yesterday just to tell me i needed to finish my fic soon... YEAH. so, i hope ygs enjoy my FAIL of a story and don't come for me if it feels like i literally just copied ep 2x4 bc... i didπ ANYWAYS byeπβπΌ i love you all my followers/reblogers/commenters/hearters!
Warm rays of the sun filtered through your blinds one Sunday morning, the light landing on your face as you wrestled with your hairbrush. "Ugh, it is so bright," you groaned, squinting up at the ceiling and trying to block the sunlight with one hand.
It was far too early to be awake right now, and you'd give anything for another hour of sleep.
You set the brush down and stood in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection. The dress was a soft lavender with lace trimmed on the sleeves and hem.
A slight crease appeared between your brows as you smoothed the skirt, wondering whether the length was too short or the lace too showy.
"I hope this isnβt too much..." you muttered, unsure if you should change again. As a pastor's daughter, you carried the weight of your father's congregation's expectations.
People you hardly knew always had opinions on everythingβyour clothes, your behavior, your attitude. So showing up was kinda a non-negotiable at this point.
You loved church, but some days, going felt more like a routine than a choice.
Your eyes drifted towards your open windowβmaybe you just needed some fresh air to calm your nerves. You braced your hands on the window sills and leaned forward, eyes shut as the wind blew through your hair.
When your lashes fluttered open, you noticed a certain someone in the Kentsβ yard next doorβtheir farm stretched out just beyond your window.
Clark Kent.
Youβd been living next to the Kent farm ever since you were born, and you knew the people. They were nice. Johnathan Kent would occasionally drop in to help your dad fix whatever car problems he was having.
When your mother died 5 years ago, Martha Kent had helped organize the funeral, and sheβd brought food over all the time when your father was too depressed to cook. They were just those kind of people.
The problem was, despite all of their kindness, you had never really gotten a chance to become close with Clark, which was interesting considering he was the one you were really interested in.
Maybe it wasnβt even that youβd never gotten a chanceβmaybe it was because you never took that chance.
Because youβd technically βhad that chanceβ before. Many times.
There was the time you were paired together for a biology project, blood typing. But of course, instead of being a social butterfly as youβd hoped, youβd found yourself immediately reduced to literal whispers, fidgetiness, and the occasional squeak...
And letβs not forget the millions of times heβd offered to drive you home, since you two literally lived right next to each other, and youβd refused because what? Nerves? You didnβt even know yourself.
But there was one thing you knew for sureβClark Kent was absolutely the sweetest boy youβd ever met.
He was kind, too positive, always willing to help, and most importantly, a gentleman. I mean, he probably rescued kittens from trees and helped old ladies cross the street every day.
He might as well have been the poster boy for the Boy Scouts at this point.
So what if it was your dirty little secret to stand at your window in the morning, watching Clark in the golden haze as he worked the farm?
It was unrealβthe sunlight catching in his hair, the easy stretch of his muscles beneath those worn flannel shirts, the way his green eyes glowed in the light...
You found yourself holding your breath, heart beating fast. You wondered if heβd ever know how you memorized the way the sun touched his skin, how every movement of his felt impossibly perfect, like something out of a fairytale.
Resting your chin in your palms, arms now braced on the windowsill, you let out a small, dreamy sigh as you watched him work. You groaned, βHave mercy...β because itβs not like he could hear you anyway... Until he did.
Or, well, it seemed like he did, because Clark immediately whipped his head around, staring in your direction with a little frown, as if he actually heard you from like 50 yards away. Impossible...
A small shriek escaped your lips as you hid behind your wall, pressing your back against it and squeezing your eyes shut as if itβd make him not see you.
βWhat the hell..β You frowned, chewing on your bottom lip. Your cheeks were burning as you turned to peek out the window, wondering if he was still watching.
But before you could do anything else, your father called for you from downstairs, βHurry up, y/n, weβre gonna be late for service!β Oh yeah.
A startled gasp escaped your lips as you spun back around. Your fingers combed through your hair before scrambling to grab your Bible and purse, βI-Iβm coming, Dad!β You shouted, running downstairs in your heels.
βY/n?β A familiar voice called out from behind you.
You whipped your head around, setting down the sketchbook and pencil that were in your hands. You quickly stood up, heart speeding up as you saw who it wasβClark.
It was late. Like 11 p.m. And instead of being tucked in bed as your father believed, you were out here in a cemeteryβbecause even pastorsβ daughters needed a little teenage rebellion now and then in their lives.
βHi...β You whispered, nervously playing with the ends of your hair, eyes lowering as he walked up to you. βWhat are you doing out here so late?β He raised a brow, eyes scanning the bag and art supplies lying on the grass near your feet.
βNothing!β You squeaked, awkward. βI was justββ Your eyes widened as you watched him lean down to grab your sketchbook. βNonononono donβt look through that...β Too late.
His eyes studied all the sketches and pictures of stars and constellations that you had in there, thumbing with the end of the paper slightly. You reached up to grab it, but he just held it over your head instead. A little smirk curled up on his lips.
βWell, I had no idea you were such an artist.β Clark teased, finally returning your book. You clutched the book to your chest, trying to feign anger, although the flush of your cheeks made your true feelings obvious.
βIβm really not.β You denied, kneeling on the little blanket youβd spread out earlier. Clark dropped down right beside you, brows furrowing. βYour sketches are beautiful thoughββ
βWhat are you even doing out here right now?β You interrupted, ignoring his compliment. βItβs late.β
Gosh, he probably thought you were rude now ughβdamn you and your defensiveness!
Clark shifted his body to face you... or be closer. Or you were being delusional again...
He grinned with a little tilt of his head and said, βI could say the same about you.β You rolled your eyes, βBut I asked first.β
βOkay,β He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. βHonestly? The stars. I like coming out here to look at them. Makes me feel... connected, I guess.β He glanced up at the sky, his voice softer now.
βSometimes I wonder whatβs really out there, you know?β Clark looked at you again, gauging your expression for some kind of reaction.
But no. No, you were already too far gone. Your eyes didnβt even know where to focusβfrom the sharp line of his jaw to the way his white t-shirt clung to his arms, to the messy brown hair falling over his brows, or the deep hypnotic gaze of his eyes...
Oh, you were in love.
βYour turn.β He said, snapping out of your lovesick daze. βI told you why Iβm here, so itβs your turn to answer...β Clark had assumed you were just not paying attention to him at all before.
Your eyes widened a bit as you came back to reality, mechanically smoothing out the ends of your skirt. βO-Oh yeah. Yeah, same thing.β You nodded your head, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as you tried to come off as nonchalant.
You were so not nonchalant. Β
βI uhm...β You sighed, lowering your eyes to your lap as your fingers played with the dangling gold cross necklace around your neck. The words escaped your lips in a small whisper, βI come out here to see my mom.β
You bit back tears as your eyes began to sting. βShe loved astronomy. Yβknow, like studying the stars. Sheβd spend hours at night just sitting outside and drawing, and when Iβm here, and I can see the same sky she used to watch, I just feel closer to her. Like sheβs really with me... this book used to be hers.β You explained, holding up the little brown sketchbook.
Clark hesitated for a moment before carefully sliding his hand over yours. βShe mustβve been really special,β He said, pausing, voice trailing off as he thought of what to say.
βIf you ever want someone,β He started again, voice cracking slightly, βto just sit out here with you, I mean, I wouldnβt mind. You know... β He glanced up, warm gaze meeting your eyes. βIf that helps.β
Your breath stilled for a moment, and for a heartbeat, you just staredβyes, againβat him. The way he was looking at you. At how innocent his eyes were. At how warm and inviting his small smile was. At how soft and kissable his lips looked.
The sound of your heart pounding was loud enough in your ears to block out any sense of rational thinking you had. Suddenly, before you had the chance to overthink it and miss out on another so-called βchanceβ, you leaned in.
You crawled up closer to him, face inches away from his. You watched his expression, how his pupils dilated when you closed the distance, how his eyes went wide in shock. His hands nervously gripped the blanket like he was unsure what to do right now.
You loved a man who was flustered.
βIβd like that, Clark,β You whispered, hands sliding up his chest and to his shoulders. βIβd like it a lot.β You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before you quickly pulled back again.
Clark blinked, completely frozen for a second, then suddenly seemed to remember how to move. βUhβI um, wow.β He scrambled to his feet, stumbling a little when he realized you were watching him now.
βI... I should go now.β He mumbled. A small playful pout formed on your lips as you tilted your head tantalizingly, βAww, leaving so soon, farmboy?β You teased, using the affectionate nickname.
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. βMy parents are gonna wonder where I am.β Excuses, excuses. βSorry,β He apologized with a small wince that made your heart flutter.
βIβll, um, see you at school tomorrow, okay? Promise.β Clark swore, hand over his heart. βAlright, Iβm holding you to that, Kent.β You giggled as you watched him kinda trip over the edge of the blanket.
Clark looked like he wanted to say more before leaving, but instead, he gave you one last dazzled smile, βGoodnight, y/n,β He managed, voice barely above a whisper as he waved awkwardly, before jogging off towards the farm.
βGoodnight, Clark...β
Smallville High during sixth period was like rush hour. It made no sense that in a town with such a small population, there were so many damn teenagers.
Seriously. The football jocks all walked together, like in a pack, essentially blocking most of the hallway. The cheerleaders' loud gossip plagued their own little section. And then there were kids who, of course, had the audacity to skate in the halls.
You could not stand any of them.
Youβd been simply trying to make your way to your locker when some huge linebacker decided to shove half his body weight into you while passing by, basically slamming all your books down to the ground.
Honestly, it was a bad move on your partβyou knew better than to have them not in your bag.
Yet, you gasped, angry. βjerk!β You shouted, as if anyoneβd actually hear that. It was too loud right now. You knelt down to pick up all your fallen books and scattered papers, when you felt someone's hand touch yours.
You looked up, eyes softening as you saw a familiar face.
βAre you okay?β Clark asked, helping you grab all of your books. You stood again, a small blush on your cheeks as the memories of last night flooded your mind.
βMhm!β you squeaked, opening your locker and beginning to shove all your stuff in, βYeah, yeah, Iβm fine, it was nothingβSo,β You slammed your locker shut again, bracing against it now as you looked up at him.
βWhat are you doing here...?β You asked, gesturing to whatever. βAt school?β He raised a brow, confused. Stupid question.
βNo, I mean...β This was stupid. You shook your head, regaining your composure and standing straight once again. βI mean here, with me.β
Clark made an βoβ with his mouth, nodding. You noticed the way he fidgeted with the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. βI uh, I said Iβd talk to you again at school last night, so, here I am.β He shrugged.
βOkay...β Your voice trailed off as you peered at him. If only you knew how to entertain a conversation with your potential romantic partner...
βSo you know what's happening this week?β He asked, and you... Froze. Was there something you were supposed to know?!
You, in fact, did not know what was happening this week. βUhm, yes, of course I doβI mean, who doesnβt?β You lied, twirling a strand of your hair in an attempt to come off flirtatious, coolly. fakely. badly... Β
βRight, right..β He nodded, looking down at the ground as he scratched the back of his neck, nervous. Clark cleared his throat, trying his best to be serious here, cool. His eyes met yours again.
βSo, if youβd like, would you be my valentine?β Oh... Oh, you did know what was happening this week.
Your eyebrows raised, jaw dropping a bit as you processed what he said. Shit. This was it. Clark Kent wanted to go out with you. Oh my god...
So, the best thing to do now would be to act unfazed and disinterested.
You shut your mouth, beginning to walk away from your locker as if you were contemplating his proposal. He followed. βOh, you want me to be your valentine?β Yes, Clark, Iβll be your valentine!
Clark nodded, walking right beside you like the little golden retriever he was. βWell, I donβt think Iβm busy that day...β Iβd marry you right now if you asked.
You spun back around right in front of him, causing him to stop in his tracks abruptly. βAlright, Clark Kent,β You smiled, looking up at him through your long lashes, batting them subtly. βIβll be your valentine.β
Clark grinned, a little uneven and impossibly sincere. βGreat! I have something really special I wanna show you.β How sweet. βIβll uh, Iβll pick you up at around seven then?β
βAlright, farmboy, seven it is.β
βCould you please stop worrying for one second please, Dad?β You begged, putting on your earrings as you looked into the mirror in your bedroom.
Your dad was just pacing around your room, hands behind his back and mouth set in a firm line, like he always did whenever he was worried. Heβd been a bit overprotective ever since your mother's death, but you really couldnβt blame him for it.
He sighed, stopping and then walking up right behind you, βHow can I stop worrying when I wonβt know if youβre safe for what, 3 hours?β
You turned around, giving your dad a sympathetic smile, βCβmon, Dad, itβs Clark. You know there's no other boy in Smallville Iβd be safer with than him.β You told him, reaching for your hairspray. βPlus, you know I can take care of myself, Iβm not a little girl anymore.β
βYouβll always be my little girl.β His eyes softened, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt a little.
You turned, slipping your arms around him and pressing your cheek into his chest. For a moment, he just stood there, then he wrapped you up tightly, like he was trying to hold onto a piece of the past.
His hand smoothed gently over your hair, and you felt the steady thump of his heart against your ear. βI know, Dad,β you murmured, letting yourself be held just for a second longer.
When he finally pulled back, you gave him a watery smile, βBut I promise Iβll be okay.β
At exactly seven p.m., on the dot, he showed up.
You were upstairs in your bedroom, dusting a final touch of blush across your cheekbones when you heard the doorbell ring. You ran downstairs.
Yes, it was a little pathetic, but youβd spent the last two hours obsessing over how you looked and trying to make everything perfect, as if Clark would actually care if you had kitten heels or flats on.
You ran up to the door, stopped, fixed your hair, and then opened it.
Clark Kent. The man of your dreamsβand now, hopefully, reality.
Oddly enough, he was wearing a leather jacket. Not that you caredβhe was unnaturally handsome anywayβit just didnβt seem very him.
βhi, Clark,β you managed, your voice barely steady. You stood there under the porch, back, feeling the weight of his gaze as he took in your carefully chosen dress, every last detail youβd obsessed over.
It was like he was seeing you for the first timeβand maybe, in a way, you were seeing him for the first time, too.
βHey,β He smirked, bracing his arm against the door and leaning down a bit to stare right into your eyes. βWow, you look hot.β He chuckled, tilting your chin up with his finger.
Hot? You frowned, for just a moment. It was so unlike him to talk like that, but maybe you just didnβt know him that well. I mean, he was taking you on a date right now, so it made sense for him to try and, you know, amp up the flirtiness a notch.
βWell,β You started, rising on your tippy toes to better match his height, βYou look very hot yourself.β You grinned.
Clarkβs gaze swept over you, lingering in a way that made your skin prickle. There was a cocky glint in his eyes youβd never seen before... It made you feel like he could see right through you. Β
He leaned in, his voice low and teasing. βYou know, if Iβd known youβd look this good tonight, I wouldβve picked you up sooner.β You laughed, aww, he was funny too.
βOh well, no worries, we have all night.β You shrugged, walking down your porch steps with him. βOh, really?β He hummed, raising a brow. βMhm!β You nodded, oblivious as to what you were really getting yourself into here.
Right as you were about to ask where his truck was, Clark led you over to a... motorcycle?
Since when did he ride a motorcycle?
Your breath hitched, momentarily stunned. βIs thatβIs that yours?β
The motorcycle was... very stereotypical of a 90s βbadboyβ kind of character. It was a jet-black Harley with a leather seat and wide handlebars. It was the kind of bike youβd see roaring down a Metropolis highway at midnightβnot parked in Clark Kentβs driveway.
He straddled the bike in one smooth motion, patting the seat behind him. βHop on.β Clark pulled out his sunglasses and put them on... Okay, who was this?!
You stared at him, jaw dropping. βSince when do you ride a motorcycle?β Clark winked, βThereβs a lot you donβt know about me, baby.β
Oh, so he was calling you βbabyβ now? Β
βI... What if itβs not safe?β You questioned, taking a step back as he revved the bike, still skeptical. Clark grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. βCβmon y/n, live a little.β He pushed. Β
The low rumbling purr of the engine sent a shiver down your spine. The thing looked fast and dangerousβa far cry from the safe, flannel-wearing Clark you thought you knew...
But it was Clark, and you were way too into him to actually resist.
βA-Alright.β You hesitated for a moment, heart racing. Then you swung your leg over the seat and climbed on behind him, instinctively wrapping your arms around his chest to not fall.
Clark smirked, feeling the warmth of your body press against his back as you grabbed onto him. βHold on tight.β He slammed the gas pedal.
Clarkβs motorcycle rumbled to a stop in front of an old bar on the outskirts of Edge City. The neon sign flickered, half of the letters burned out.
You hesitated, once again, glancing at the rough crowd spilling out the door, but Clark just grinned and got off the bike. βCome onβitβll be fun,β he promised, helping you get off the bike. There was something wild in his eyes youβd never seen before.
βI hope...β You muttered to yourself, fixing your hair with your fingers and smoothing out the ends of your little dress to cover more, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable. You stayed close to Clark, not that you had much of a choice since his hand was firmly placed on your lower back.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the thud of old rock through grimy speakers. Clark navigated through the rowdy crowd confidently, like he belonged there. He led you over to the bar top, calling the bartender to order you two some drinks.
It was so weird. How did you end up in a bar? You had never imagined Clark Kent of all people, being into this kind thing. I mean, a motorcycle? Maybe it was faster than his truck. A bar, though? That was suspicious. And ordering drinks like he actually knew what any of this was? Uncharacteristic.
What happened to the sweet, soft-spoken farm boy youβd loved for years?
But what if this was the real Clark? Had you just been seeing what you wanted to see? Maybe this side of Clark had always been thereβmaybe this was who Clark really was when he wasnβt playing βthe nice guyβ. Was it possible youβd misjudged him all this time?
Maybe you never even knew him as well as you thought you did.
βYou havinβ fun?β Clark asked, causing you to snap back to reality. βY-Yeah, so fun.β You noddedβlied. Having fun doing what?
βSo do you, uh, do you come here often?β You questioned, wrapping your arms around your body, trying not to take up too much space in this crowded bar.
He shook his head, βFirst time.β The bartender came and set your drinks down on the bar table. You watched carefully as Clark downed a shot of what, tequila? With no sign of disgust or anything... This could not be his first time.
βI like your ring.β You told him, picking up your own shot... not drinking it. Youβd noticed the red ruby ring he was wearing when youβd been on the motorcycle. βIt looks fancy.β Small talk was so hard when he wasnβt reciprocatingβinstead, just looking around the place.
Without warning, Clark stood up and mumbled, βIβll be right back, stay here,β before disappearing into the throng of drunk bar people.
Wow, this sucked.
You sat completely alone, other than your shot of tequila that you were not going to drink, boredly picking at the cracked vinyl seat. Itβd been only an hour into your first date, on valentines of all days, and all you two had done so far was... Go to a bar and get drinks.
You were disappointed. Simple as that.
You could feel the eyes of strangers lingering too long. A group of guys in one corner of the bar were glancing overβfirst curious, then bold, whispering to each other and laughing. You tried to shrink into yourself, fidgeting with the gold cross that sat between your cleavage.
You wished Clark would just come back already...
You know what? Youβd go find him yourself.
Standing up, you set your shot glass down and decided to go find Clark. For such a small bar, it was quite crowded.
Within about five minutes, you found him in some corner of the dimly lit dance floor, talking to some tall blonde. She was pretty, one hand nursing a beer and one hand on him. She was so obviously flirting with him, and Clark was... flirting back.
Or not. I mean, he was a friendly person by nature, which couldnβt mean anything, right?
βhey, clark.β You placed your hand on his bicep, a little smirk on your lips, basically telling the girl to back off. Which she did, promptly walking off when you appeared.
Clark turned his attention fully to you now, βDidnβt I tell you to wait?ββ βWho was that? Is she one of your friends?β You interrupted, feigning innocence to see what heβd say. You knew she wasnβt his friend, gosh, she looked college-aged. Β
βNo, no, itβs nothing like that..β He shook his head, walking back to the bartop with you. Just then, three dudes, yes, the same ones from before, came over. One stepped in front of you, βHey, sweetheart, you lost?β
Before you could answer, Clark was there, looming over the group, jaw tight. βSheβs with me,β he says, voice cold, protective.
βClark, itβs okay, Iβm fine.β You whispered, hoping to calm him down right now. One of the men scoffed, sizing up Clark, and muttered, βYou donβt own herβ under his breath.
There was a moment of tensionβthen Clark snapped.
He grabbed the nearest man by the shirt, lifted him clean off the ground, and hurled him across the room like he weighed nothing.
The entire bar went silent, stunned. You gasped, covering your mouth with both your hands.
It got violent quick.
The other guys rushed towards him, but Clark barely flinched. He shoved one into a table and threw the other into the wall. Glass shattered, chairs crashed and people screamed.
Clark turned around, a devilish smirk on his face. βAnybody else?!β He shouted, practically begging someone, anyone, to try him.
βhey hey, heyβclark stop it!β You tried, grabbing onto his shoulder and begging him to just listen to you and not cause more of a scene than he already had. βPlease, letβs leave before anything worse happens.
But of course, he didnβt listen, and now a bartender was coming over with a bat to what, whack him in the head?!
Suddenly, somehow, the wood immediately burst into flames, causing the man to drop it and scream. Now, how did that happen?!
You stared, heart pounding in your ears, as Clark just glared at anyone who dared come closer to him, threatening. For a split second, something flashed in his eyesβlike heat behind glass.
Clark turned to you and grabbed your hand. βLetβs go. Now.β
They bolted for the door, you stumbling after him, adrenaline roaring in your ears. Outside, Clark didnβt look back. He just threw his leg over the bike and gestured for you to get on. As they sped away into the night, you clung to him, chin resting on his shoulder, wondering what the hell had happened to Clark Kent.
The ride out of Edge City was nothing like the one in. Clark didnβt say muchβand neither did you.
He just gripped the handlebars tight, eyes fixed on the road ahead, while city lights blurred past. You watched the way his jaw clenched. The wind bit at your cheeks, and you tried to ignore the echo of shattering glass and angry voices from the bar.
Eventually, the city gave way to dark fields and an open skyβYou were back in Smallville.
Clark turned off the main road, tires crunching on gravel, and you realized where you were. Millerβs Field.
He killed the engine, and silence rushed in. The field was silver in the moonlight, all tall grass and swaying shadows. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Clark finally broke the silence, getting off the bike. βThereβs something I want to show you,β he said, voice low. He glanced at you, something unreadable in his eyes as he took your hand in his large, warm one. βCome on.β He nodded over to the field.
You followed him through the field for quite a while, your shoes damp with dewβthank god you went with the flatsβheart thudding for reasons you couldnβt quite name. He didnβt explain, just kept looking ahead, not telling you anything like before.
You wondered if this was about the fight, or if there was something else he wasnβt telling you. Maybe it was both.
You were about to ask when Clark stopped, hands buried in his pockets, staring at a spot beneath an old, sprawling tree.
For a heartbeat, the night seemed to peel away his bravado, and he looked like the Clark you rememberedβsoft, uncertain, real.
But before you could say anything, he nodded towards the tree. βRight there.β
You gave him a confused smile before stepping closer and kneeling at the base of the tree, moving away some branches from some stray bushes so you could see exactly what he was trying to show you in the pale moonlight.
The treeβs bark was rough and scarred, but as you looked, you caught the sight of something carved low on the trunk.
Your initials. His, right under them. In a heart.
You blinked, wondering if you were just imagining things, almost not believing it.
βDid you...?β You started to ask, but your voice trailed off. βI did,β Clark admitted, kneeling beside you and wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer.
βI love you.β
You froze. Love? Talking about love now, on the first date, mind you?
Your cheek became warm almost immediately, and a painful smile that you couldnβt stop appeared on your lips. βReally?β You asked, hopeful, eyes wide and trusting.
He chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours and looking directly into your eyes, βI love you.β Clark repeated.
A laugh bubbled out of youβhalf nerves, half relief. You barely had time to process what he said before you lunged forward, a little harder than intended.
Clark toppled backward, taking you down with him, a surprised yelp escaping his lips, which dissolved into a grin as you two tangled together, hearts pounding.
You knew what you wanted, and you went for it.
You leaned in, threading your fingers through his hair, and kissed him softlyβslow at first, then more certain as he pulled you closer. His hands found your waist, and you heard him groan against your mouth.
Emboldened, you deepened the kiss, nibbling at the plush of his bottom lip gently, letting yourself get swept up in the rush.
When you finally came up for air, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching yours for unspoken words. βClark, I-Iββ Your chest was heaving, breathing heavily from a lack of air when kissing himβsomething youβd have to improve on later.
βWas I goodββ Before you could finish and pull back again, Clark grabbed your jaw and pulled you in for another kiss, this one harder and rougher.
βGood? shit, you were perfect.β He growled, biting your lip and tugging as he stood, pulling you up with him.
You gasped as he suddenly pushed you up against the big oak, hard. βOh wowββ You mumbled, voice muffled by his mouth as he hitched your thigh on his hip, hiking your dress up a bit.
βWβWhat are you doing, Clark?β You whimpered as he grabbed your hair and tugged your head back so he could plant messy, bruising kisses all over your collarbone.
You were in a sort of stage of denialβwanting to make him stop, but also at the same time, not. I mean, youβd wanted this boy for years, and now you finally had him...
His hands came up to tug the straps of your dress down, a glint of hesitation flashed through his eyes, and he paused for a moment before continuing his ministrations.
βRelax, Iβve got you. You trust me, donβt you?β
You froze as you heard those words leave his lips, heart hammering in your chest.
So was this all he cared about?
It made sense.
The way heβd been acting the whole day. This was why he took you to a bar. This was why he behaved so possessively but still had the audacity to go flirt with some other girl.
And now you just felt used.
Clark noticed your eyes were watering and immediately took his hands off you. βTell me to stopβ¦ and I will.β He whispered, stepping back, a hint of guilt in his tone.
βTake me home, Clark.β You sniffled, wiping your eyes with your hands, mascara already running down your cheeks. Clark just stood there, like he was trying to decide whether to listen to you or be offended.
βYouβre really gonna back out now?β He started, but you just yelled, βI wanna go home, ClarkβNow!β
The drive back home that night was quiet. You two didnβt speak at all, and you didnβt even look at him when he dropped you off at your house. As his taillights disappeared down the street, you stood on the porch, replaying the night over and over in your mind.
Youβd spent the entirety of the next two weeks ignoring Clark Kent.
And when I say ignoringβI mean it.
You changed your free period hours to ensure you didnβt have to see him, and you found a new route to your locker to make sure you both wouldnβt ever cross pathsβhell, you even started leaving school earlier so you could make it home without having to share the road with him.
But there was one thing you couldnβt stop from happening.
Every day now, with no exception, Clark would show up at your front door with a bouquet of flowers and an apology he never got to say in full because you absolutely refused to speak to him.
At this point, you just got your dad to tell him off every afternoonβnot that youβd explained to him all the gory details of whatβd happened, but he had some sort of an idea.
So now you just spent most of your day after school locked up in your dimly lit roomβdimly lit because youβd put curtains over your window so you wouldnβt have the chance to obsess over his stupid faceβfull of flowers, because what were you gonna do with them?
But tonight was different. You were tired of crying yourself to sleep every night.
Instead, you went out to the cemetery again, to see the stars better.
Honestly, the feeling you got when you could find Orion or draw a constellation in your mother's old sketchbook was very therapeuticβrefreshing, perhaps.
I mean, you were able to finally, completely get Clark out of your thoughts... Almost.
Because of course heβd show up there.
βhey...β You heard the all too familiar voice of the one and only, Clark Kent.
You looked up from your book and saw him standing a few feet away, back in his flannel and jeans, it seemed. Oh, look, and another completely useless bouquet in his hands.
You rolled your eyes, going back to your sketching, pressing the pencil into the paper a bit too harshly. βGo away, Clark.β You grumbled, paying him no attention.
βI uhβI want to apologize.β He said, nervously playing with the bouquet in his hands. βI hope we can be friends again...β
You gave him an incredulous look. The audacity he had to say that after everything. You scoffed, βAnd you think that Iβll pretend nothing happened because you gave me a bunch of flowers?β
Clark's eyebrows scrunched together, giving you that soft, sad pout and puppy dog eyes he always did when he didnβt get his way. βy/n, you have to let me explainββ
βExplain?! Explain what, Clark?β You cut him off abruptly, standing up now.
βExplain how you acted like I was just some random girl at that bar? Or how you disappeared on me and left me alone with a bunch of creeps? Or maybe you can explain why you suddenly thought it was okay toβto push me like that? To act like you didnβt care what I wanted, like you were someone else entirely!β
Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, tears blurred your vision. The anger that had kept you upright for two weeks suddenly crumpled, leaving you raw and exposed in the cold night air.
You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, but it didnβt help. βThatβs not you, Clark! Thatβs not the boy Iββ you falter, voice cracking, βThatβs not the boy I thought I knew.β
You barely noticed Clark dropping the flowers and crossing the few feet between you until you felt his arms wrap around your shoulders, warm and steady.
You wanted to push him away, to stay angry, but your body betrayed you. So you just stood there, letting yourself be held, sobs shaking your chest.
Clarkβs voice was low, breaking. βI know. I know I hurt you. I hate what I did, y/n. I wasnβt myself, I swear. Justβ¦ please believe me when I say I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever.β
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks. βThen why did you?β
He swallowed hard, pain etched across his face. βI...I donβt have a good answer. But you have to believe me, the things I didβI donβt really mean them. It isnβt what I really think.β
βEven the part when you said you loved me?β You asked, not completely sure what he was really trying to say here. βYou canβt have it both ways Clark, either you meant what you said or not...β
Clark squeezed your shoulders gently. β IβI wish I could make you understand, but I canβt explain everything... Iβll do anything to make it right. Iβll wait as long as you want. W-We could start over... I just donβt want to lose you.β
He tilted your chin up with his fingers so you looked him in the eyes. βI just need you to know that Iβm sorry.β
You stood there, torn between the ache in your chest and the ghost of hope you still carried, not sure what to say next.
You werenβt sure why you said yes when Clark asked you to come by the farm that night. Maybe it was the way his voice sounded on the phoneβhopeful, uncertain. Maybe, after everything, things could start to feel normal again.
Maybe you just needed a reason to get out of your own head.
You pushed open the barn door, the scent of hay and wood wrapping around you. The barn was shadowy and quite cold, the old stairs groaning under your weight as you climbed to the top.
At the top of the loft, Clark was waiting. He stood by the window, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, his figure outlined by the pale moonlight.
You almost turned back, nerves prickling at your skin, but then he looked over and smiledβa little nervous, a little hopeful.
βHey,β he said, voice soft and familiar, flashing you that charming smile of his. βhi.β You replied, shoving your hands in your pockets to hide the way they were shaking. βWhatβs this all about?β
Clark glanced out the window, then back at you, taking your hand in his. βCome here. Iβve got something to show you.β
You took a few steps closer and saw the battered telescope standing beside him, its metal dull with age but carefully polished. Your heart skipped. You hadnβt seen a telescope up close sinceβwell, since your mom.
βIt was my grandfather's.β He said, a little awkwardly, as he adjusted its position. βIβve been using it ever since... forever. Thought maybe we could look at the stars together. I know how much you...β His words trailed off, but you understood what he meant.
Warmth bloomed in your chest, cutting through the pain of the last few weeks. βYou remembered...β you whispered.
He shrugged, suddenly shy. βOf course I remembered. This is actually where Iβd originally planned to take you...β Clark motioned for you to look through the eyepiece.
You leaned in, closing one eye, and let the night sky fill your visionβdots of light scattered across endless black.
A small gasp escaped your lips as you saw Orionβs belt gleaming right there. βOh my gosh, Clark, come look!β You squealed, pulling him over to look into the telescope.
For a moment, there was only you and the stars and the quiet steadiness of Clark standing beside you.
When he finally straightened, your eyes met his. You stepped back and nudged him playfully. βCβmon, farmboy, what do you think?β You grinned. Β Clarkβs gaze lingered on you, gentle and steady, βI think itβs the most beautiful thing Iβve ever seen...β
You didnβt say anythingβwords felt too small for what you wanted to give him. Instead, you stepped into his arms, lifting your face to his as you cupped his cheek.
Clark froze, breath caught. His hands hovered at your waist, unsure, until you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. You kissed him softly, his lips molding perfectly to yours. He pulled you closer, mouths moving in syncβopen, lingering, tasting.
He had one hand on your back, the other around your thighs, hoisting you up a bit to bridge the height gap. You could barely breathe, but you didnβt want to stop. Your hands gripped the collar of his shirt when he bit your lip, making you gasp. Clark took the opportunity to kiss you deeper, stealing every thought from your head.
When he finally pulled away, leaving you all kiss-drunk and slightly disoriented, you kept your forehead against his, whispering, βI think Iβd like to start over now.β
Clark smiled, brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face before leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, βI think Iβd like that too.β
satc!clark kent x fem!reader ౨ৠnyc au ΰ³ΰΎΰΏ part one
౨ৠalternate universe, adult au, no powers, human!clark, language, alcohol, smoking (cigarettes), a hint of sexual innuendos, hella sexual tension, horny reader(??) & bad writing.
At times, the occasional cigarette could be so freeing. Especially if you were in attendance for one of the most extravagant art gallery openings in the city. The idea alone of a freshly lit cigarette on a rooftop in New York City was liberating to you.
Truth be told, the skyline had never looked more marvelous. You believed that this very well could have been the best spot in the city to observe its beauty. How lucky you were to stumble upon it when in dire need of a cigarette.
You were dressed to the nines. The most gorgeous dark purple halter top gown clutched your curves in all the right places. The beaded detail of even darker purple half-swirls made the dress so breathtakingβaside from the enchanting woman inside of it. And your hair? An updo was in your cards no doubt. The stunning shimmer from the silver gems placed perfectly on top of your curled bun made you even more sensational. However, your once blackberry aroma was now masked by the smell of tobacco.
As you observed the city, the bright lights, the pedestrians walking at night, the loud taxi honksβyou felt unconditional serenity. Leaning on the sturdy cement railing, you flicked out some ash from your cigarette. Bringing it back to your plush lips to inhale another puff of relaxation. Nonetheless, it would seem that the universe had other plans for you.
There was only one entrance to the rooftop. Truthfully, the roofβs elevator enclosure was the tiniest in the city. With just enough room for the singular elevator doors to open, the design left little space for the double glass doors that led outside to function. However, being New York, this was to be expected.
Breaking you out of your trance, the racket from the elevatorβs motions was louder than you had recalled. Just a few minutes ago you, yourself were riding upon it in hopes of making it to the roof. But now, you watched and waited for the culprit to reveal themself from the noisy elevator.
Leaning further back onto the railing, you placed both of your elbows behind you. Your head tilted as you tried to make out who the figure was. As the doors clicked shut, a man you had never had the privilege of spotting before made his very way outside. You were no longer alone.
He was gorgeous, no doubt. His tux fit him nicely, his blazer hugging at his muscular arms. The strangerβs hair was dark, though it complimented him well. You appeared to be starstruck by a man you had never seen before.
Placing the cigarette to your lips, you let out a crooked grin. βDβyou come to hide out too?β you smiled, exhaling the smoke.
In all honesty, you weren't hiding out. You had come to the gallery with a few of your closest girlfriends and you were having a great time. It was just that a few of them had already run off with their gentleman suitors for the night or they had taken a little too much advantage of the endless champagne tower. Leaving you to crave fresh air and nicotine.
He chuckled softly at your question, his radiant blue eyes meeting yours. βYeah, I guess you could say that.β His hair ruffled in the wind as he approached you. He was tall, like a movie star. Yeah, he was old Hollywood pretty. βIβm not one for art galleries,β he explained putting his hands in his pockets.
You chuckled. You wondered why he would even make the effort to attend one, considering his distaste. βWhat, you're here for the champagne then?β you asked jokingly, flicking some ash off your cigarette in the process.
The dark-haired man smiled, making his way over to the railing you were leaning on. His eyes traced the details of the city, before making their way back to you. βThat and itβs a friend of mineβs exhibit,β he informed you. Oh, so he was supportive. Handsome, puts his needs before others. Could be worse. βIβm Clark, by the way.β he extended his hand to you.
Trading hands for your cigarette, you rested it in between your index and middle finger on your left handβallowing your right hand to reach out and connect with his large palm. βIt's nice to meet you, Clark.β you smile up at him as your hands interlock. βIβm y/n.β you introduce yourself, letting go of his grasp.
Moving your body off of the railing, you turn to face him completely. His eyes trail over your face for a moment before he speaks again. βIβm sorry,β he apologizes abruptly. βIβm sorry,β he chuckles, leaving you confused. βYouβre stunning,β he confessed, leaving your cheeks a bright red.
Reaching a hand into your bag you smile at the complement. Unsure if he was drunk or just always this forward, you gave in to his attention. βYou smoke?β you asked reaching a hand into your small black purse.
Clarkβs gaze drifted to your purse. He watched as you pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He observed you as you flicked the ashes off of your cigarette once more. βOn the occasion,β he smiled, locking eyes with you as he flashed his sharp teeth.
You shook the red and white package, hitting it gently against the palm of your hand. Then you took another drag of your cigarette. βYeah,β you exhaled the smoke. βme too.β You opened the cartonβs lid, pointing it to Clark.
Naturally, he obliged, reaching two of his long fingers to grab a cancer stick. He was intrigued by your confidence and carefree attitude. Taking a cigarette out of the carton, he placed it to his lips. He eyed you as you placed the pack back into your bag and out pulled a leopard print lighter.
βGotta light?β his voice muffled due to the object in between his lips. His words were teasing, because you had a light for him. Hell, you had many things for him. He was smirking at the lighter in your hands, waiting for your next move.
You smiled at him, placing your nearly dead cigarette in between your lips to hold it. Your polished fingers went to the spark wheel, trying repeatedly until a light of fire flashed before the two of you. You moved closer to Clark, meeting his cigarette with your flame. Your eyes locked with his the whole time. His hands reached up to block the wind and naturally, yours did too. When your hands grazed it felt as if the scene before you was provocative, even though it wasn't at all. Right?
Removing your hands you watched as Clark enjoyed his long drag of nicotine. He pulled away, head leaning back a bit as he closed his eyes. Clearing your throat, you moved to put the lighter back up in your bag. You had never seen someone so beautiful. But there he was, bumming off you're liberating tobacco stick.
You, on the other hand, were done with your cigarette. Lifting your left leg slightly up, you put out the shallow flame on the back of your red-bottomed heel. You walked away from Clark and toward a trash bin, tossing the butt away.
βSo,β he flicked some ash off. βWhat brings you here?β he asked, smiling at you as his eyes raked over your body.
βWhat, to the roof or to the party?β you chuckled, returning to your spot by Clark.
βWhy not both?β he teased, inhaling his coffin nail.
You grinned, looking at your feet and then back up to him. βFor the party, I came with some friends. We just wanted to go out, you know. But uh, they're either drunk or getting fucked so. As for the roof, I just really wanted a fucking cigarette.β You confessed, looking out at the skyline. βBut, I think I may have found the best view in the whole city.β You spoke, admiring the busy night life.
Clark took a puff, blowing the smoke away from your pretty face. βYeah? I think I may have too.β He flirted, a wide grin glued to his pinky lips.
You chuckled a little bit taken aback by his forwardness. βClark,β you choked out. βyouβre a flirt.β You stated, still chuckling.
βIβm serious!β he defended, stomping his cigarette out on the ground. His hands found their way to your forearms. βLet me take you out, y/n. Any place in the city.β Clark grinned.
You rolled your eyes. βAre you drunk?β you asked.
βNo, but you're fucking gorgeous! And not to mention good company. Come on, tomorrow night whatβd you say?β
He was eager. But he was also sexy. Who were you to tell him no? βAlright.β you grinned, watching his face form into pure happiness.
βYou darling, will not regret this.β He spoke, placing a kiss on your left hand.
Maybe, just maybe Clark Kent could be the exact solution to your loneliness in New York City. Maybe he could liberate you. Maybe he could be your sweet release.
satc!clark kent x fem!reader ౨ৠnyc au ΰ³ΰΎΰΏ part one
౨ৠalternate universe, adult au, no powers, human!clark, language, alcohol, smoking (cigarettes), a hint of sexual innuendos, hella sexual tension, horny reader(??) & bad writing.
At times, the occasional cigarette could be so freeing. Especially if you were in attendance for one of the most extravagant art gallery openings in the city. The idea alone of a freshly lit cigarette on a rooftop in New York City was liberating to you.
Truth be told, the skyline had never looked more marvelous. You believed that this very well could have been the best spot in the city to observe its beauty. How lucky you were to stumble upon it when in dire need of a cigarette.
You were dressed to the nines. The most gorgeous dark purple halter top gown clutched your curves in all the right places. The beaded detail of even darker purple half-swirls made the dress so breathtakingβaside from the enchanting woman inside of it. And your hair? An updo was in your cards no doubt. The stunning shimmer from the silver gems placed perfectly on top of your curled bun made you even more sensational. However, your once blackberry aroma was now masked by the smell of tobacco.
As you observed the city, the bright lights, the pedestrians walking at night, the loud taxi honksβyou felt unconditional serenity. Leaning on the sturdy cement railing, you flicked out some ash from your cigarette. Bringing it back to your plush lips to inhale another puff of relaxation. Nonetheless, it would seem that the universe had other plans for you.
There was only one entrance to the rooftop. Truthfully, the roofβs elevator enclosure was the tiniest in the city. With just enough room for the singular elevator doors to open, the design left little space for the double glass doors that led outside to function. However, being New York, this was to be expected.
Breaking you out of your trance, the racket from the elevatorβs motions was louder than you had recalled. Just a few minutes ago you, yourself were riding upon it in hopes of making it to the roof. But now, you watched and waited for the culprit to reveal themself from the noisy elevator.
Leaning further back onto the railing, you placed both of your elbows behind you. Your head tilted as you tried to make out who the figure was. As the doors clicked shut, a man you had never had the privilege of spotting before made his very way outside. You were no longer alone.
He was gorgeous, no doubt. His tux fit him nicely, his blazer hugging at his muscular arms. The strangerβs hair was dark, though it complimented him well. You appeared to be starstruck by a man you had never seen before.
Placing the cigarette to your lips, you let out a crooked grin. βDβyou come to hide out too?β you smiled, exhaling the smoke.
In all honesty, you weren't hiding out. You had come to the gallery with a few of your closest girlfriends and you were having a great time. It was just that a few of them had already run off with their gentleman suitors for the night or they had taken a little too much advantage of the endless champagne tower. Leaving you to crave fresh air and nicotine.
He chuckled softly at your question, his radiant blue eyes meeting yours. βYeah, I guess you could say that.β His hair ruffled in the wind as he approached you. He was tall, like a movie star. Yeah, he was old Hollywood pretty. βIβm not one for art galleries,β he explained putting his hands in his pockets.
You chuckled. You wondered why he would even make the effort to attend one, considering his distaste. βWhat, you're here for the champagne then?β you asked jokingly, flicking some ash off your cigarette in the process.
The dark-haired man smiled, making his way over to the railing you were leaning on. His eyes traced the details of the city, before making their way back to you. βThat and itβs a friend of mineβs exhibit,β he informed you. Oh, so he was supportive. Handsome, puts his needs before others. Could be worse. βIβm Clark, by the way.β he extended his hand to you.
Trading hands for your cigarette, you rested it in between your index and middle finger on your left handβallowing your right hand to reach out and connect with his large palm. βIt's nice to meet you, Clark.β you smile up at him as your hands interlock. βIβm y/n.β you introduce yourself, letting go of his grasp.
Moving your body off of the railing, you turn to face him completely. His eyes trail over your face for a moment before he speaks again. βIβm sorry,β he apologizes abruptly. βIβm sorry,β he chuckles, leaving you confused. βYouβre stunning,β he confessed, leaving your cheeks a bright red.
Reaching a hand into your bag you smile at the complement. Unsure if he was drunk or just always this forward, you gave in to his attention. βYou smoke?β you asked reaching a hand into your small black purse.
Clarkβs gaze drifted to your purse. He watched as you pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He observed you as you flicked the ashes off of your cigarette once more. βOn the occasion,β he smiled, locking eyes with you as he flashed his sharp teeth.
You shook the red and white package, hitting it gently against the palm of your hand. Then you took another drag of your cigarette. βYeah,β you exhaled the smoke. βme too.β You opened the cartonβs lid, pointing it to Clark.
Naturally, he obliged, reaching two of his long fingers to grab a cancer stick. He was intrigued by your confidence and carefree attitude. Taking a cigarette out of the carton, he placed it to his lips. He eyed you as you placed the pack back into your bag and out pulled a leopard print lighter.
βGotta light?β his voice muffled due to the object in between his lips. His words were teasing, because you had a light for him. Hell, you had many things for him. He was smirking at the lighter in your hands, waiting for your next move.
You smiled at him, placing your nearly dead cigarette in between your lips to hold it. Your polished fingers went to the spark wheel, trying repeatedly until a light of fire flashed before the two of you. You moved closer to Clark, meeting his cigarette with your flame. Your eyes locked with his the whole time. His hands reached up to block the wind and naturally, yours did too. When your hands grazed it felt as if the scene before you was provocative, even though it wasn't at all. Right?
Removing your hands you watched as Clark enjoyed his long drag of nicotine. He pulled away, head leaning back a bit as he closed his eyes. Clearing your throat, you moved to put the lighter back up in your bag. You had never seen someone so beautiful. But there he was, bumming off you're liberating tobacco stick.
You, on the other hand, were done with your cigarette. Lifting your left leg slightly up, you put out the shallow flame on the back of your red-bottomed heel. You walked away from Clark and toward a trash bin, tossing the butt away.
βSo,β he flicked some ash off. βWhat brings you here?β he asked, smiling at you as his eyes raked over your body.
βWhat, to the roof or to the party?β you chuckled, returning to your spot by Clark.
βWhy not both?β he teased, inhaling his coffin nail.
You grinned, looking at your feet and then back up to him. βFor the party, I came with some friends. We just wanted to go out, you know. But uh, they're either drunk or getting fucked so. As for the roof, I just really wanted a fucking cigarette.β You confessed, looking out at the skyline. βBut, I think I may have found the best view in the whole city.β You spoke, admiring the busy night life.
Clark took a puff, blowing the smoke away from your pretty face. βYeah? I think I may have too.β He flirted, a wide grin glued to his pinky lips.
You chuckled a little bit taken aback by his forwardness. βClark,β you choked out. βyouβre a flirt.β You stated, still chuckling.
βIβm serious!β he defended, stomping his cigarette out on the ground. His hands found their way to your forearms. βLet me take you out, y/n. Any place in the city.β Clark grinned.
You rolled your eyes. βAre you drunk?β you asked.
βNo, but you're fucking gorgeous! And not to mention good company. Come on, tomorrow night whatβd you say?β
He was eager. But he was also sexy. Who were you to tell him no? βAlright.β you grinned, watching his face form into pure happiness.
βYou darling, will not regret this.β He spoke, placing a kiss on your left hand.
Maybe, just maybe Clark Kent could be the exact solution to your loneliness in New York City. Maybe he could liberate you. Maybe he could be your sweet release.
well, ferris radiates chaotic energy, sΓ³ I feel like he could make even the most mundane plots fun. Some random ideas to get your creative juices flowing: a long road trip with him and a few friends in a van; being partners in a school project where you have to care for a doll as if it was a baby; being together somewhere (home or in public) when suddenly the power goes off for the whole area; anything about him admitting his feelings would be nice!
you popped your bubblegum as you closed your binder, shoving it in your bag as you irritatingly waited for your teacher to announce your partner for the baby caring project. βfor this baby project, the partners will be.. sarah and jake, tommy and abigal, ferris and yn..β
your head shot up and looked over at ferris, who had a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at mrs. adams. she passed out the robatic babies to the girls, and you sigh as you held the baby. you ran your finger down their cheek, sighing as you knew youβd have to do this project yourself.
βthese babies will be turned on at 3pm after school. girls, you will take care of them all day saturday, sunday the boys will take care of them all day, but tonight, you both will take care of your baby together. have fun, parents!β
the bell rung and ferris comes up to you, taking the baby and holding it with one hand. βno, ferris..β you show him how to hold it, how to support the babyβs head, and he laughs.
βthis is weirdβ
βyou have to support her head, otherwise it will flop which is bad for their neckβ he hands you the baby and you sigh.
βwell, iβll see you sunday!β he smiles and bolts away. you call after him, but there was no use. you huff, heading out to your car and putting the baby in your lap, turning on your car and letting the AC kick in.
your passenger door opens and ferris jumps in, sighing. βwhat the hell?β you furrow your eyebrows as his face was painted with a cheeky smile.
βyou really thought i was gonna let you do this all by yourself?β he chuckles and you look at him with raise brows, his smile dropping. ferris puts a hand over his heart, gasping over dramatically offended. βi canβt believe you think so little of me, yln!β
βwell.. you did ditch me that one time when we had to do a presentation.. so you have to earn that trust again, buellerβ you smile and hand him the baby rather roughly, putting on your sunglasses and pulling out of the school parking lot.
you pull into your house and the clock read 2:57pm, meaning the baby was going to turn on in 3 minutes. βdo you remember what time she said theyβre turning on?β ferris held the baby upside down and you laugh, grabbing two cans of coke.
βi honestly donβt rememberβ you lie and he sat on the couch, setting the baby down and opening his coke with a βthank youβ before he could even take a sip, the baby turned on and started to cry. you quickly snuck into the bathroom, letting him deal with the baby for a second.
βuh.. uh yn!β he panicked and you wanted to laugh.
βbathroom!β you yelled back with a smile, covering your mouth so you didnβt laugh and blow your cover. ferris put his drink down and you peeked out the door, watching as he picked the baby up. he remembered what you told him and supported her head, rocking her and shushing her. you but your lip and smiled, ferris proud of himself as he got the baby to calm down.
you came out of the bathroom and patted him on the back. βlook! sheβs sleeping!β the baby made sleeping sounds and you smile at him.
βproud of you ferris. you can lay her in that little bed over thereβ ferris did what you said and sat down next to you, sighing.
βi didnβt know i could do that. but it was easy. i think i can work with real babiesβ you snicker and ferris looks at you. βyou think i couldnβt?β
βwell, that baby is roboticβ you smile and he pouts, your cheeks heating a bit as you watched his lips.
βi could work with real babies. iβd be good with them. i can make little kids laugh!β
βyeah, cause youβre funny lookingβ you wink and poke his cheek, ferris laughing and hitting your hand.
ferris hung around until dinner time, wishing you good luck for the night and telling you heβd see you tomorrow at the same time to take the baby home.
ferris was on time the next day, and played along like he was your husband and that the doll was a real baby. βhoney iβm home! dinner smells delicious!β he announced and you shake your head, laughing. he kissed your cheek and smiled, side hugging you. you blushed and rubbed his back. βhow was last nightβ
βit was okay. she only cried 2 times and i got a good amount of sleep. are you ready for your night?β
you and ferris talked for a while, laughing and teasing each other. you gave him advice for the baby and he saluted, giving you a kiss on the cheek again before leaving.
the next morning, ferris came over with major bed head. βi.. am never having childrenβ he huffed and you took the baby, rocking her a little.
βbad night?β
βi didnβt get to sleep! at all! i nearly turned her off but then she fell asleep. i need my sleep, or iβm gonna get cranky like a babyβ you laugh and ferris fixes his hair the best he could. βwhatβre you doing tomorrow after school?β
βhomeworkβ he scrunched his nose. βwhat?β
βafter school, weβre hanging out. no if ands or buts! i like hanging out with you, and iβd like to do it without a baby crying. so i will see you tomorrow at schoolβ he smiled, kissing your cheek and waving.
there was something about ferris bueller. you just couldnβt hate that kid, and you definitely didnβt hate him.
