Alternative Part three of the boys getting dosed by Truth Serum but instead of Soap and Ghost, it was Price
Part one || part two
Through the one way glass, you watched Captain John Price sit in the interrogation chair. He wasn’t the one being questioned, that privilege had belonged to a Konni courier who’d breathed something in the holding cell and started singing like a canary before she face planted.
Then you watched Price inhale a lungful of the same shimmering mist as he hauled the woman out.
“Truth serum,” Laswell had muttered, already on comms with medical. “As the name implies it compels honesty. Doesn’t impair cognition. Side effects include sweating, blushing, and unwanted life choices.”
“Brilliant,” Gaz said. “So like tequila, but without the dancing.”
They pulled Price out when it became clear the courier was done and the only man suffering in there was the one suddenly not allowing himself to speak. His jaw was locked so hard the tendon stood out like a steel cable. He took one look at you through the glass and looked away, like the sun hurt.
“Cap.” Soap did an uncertain little wave. “How we doin’?”
Price held a thumb up. Then lowered it. Then stuck it halfway. He wasn’t sweating. He was steaming.
Ghost dragged in a chair and plunked it behind him. “Sit.”
Price sat. Forearms on thighs. Hands braced. Eyes closed like he was negotiating with God.
Ghost set a water bottle at his boot and helpfully placed a brand new roll of duct tape on the table.
Price didn’t look at the tape. He put a pencil crosswise between his molars like a bit, clasped his hands together, and settled into the purity of not saying a single word.
You tried to keep your face neutral, clipboard steady. It would be fine. You’d all been exposed to worse in the field. And, as Laswell had said, cognition intact. He could choose not to talk.
“Right,” Gaz whispered, leaning in at your shoulder. “Worst case, he confesses to… I dunno… tax evasion?”
“Arson,” Soap offered. “At the 2018 holiday party. There’s a spark in his eye.”
Ghost cocked his head. “He’ll say he doesn’t actually like us.”
“John?” Laswell tried first. “Vitals feel okay? Nod or shake.”
He nodded.
“Any dizziness?”
Shake.
“Good. We’ll keep it yes/no, then.” And then because she couldn’t help herself. “Crimes you’d like to disclose?”
Price side eyed her like she’d asked if he flossed. Shake.
Soap folded his arms. “He’s gonna break on ‘I once hotboxed a Land Rover.’”
Price’s knuckles went white. The pencil groaned between his molars like a tree in a gale. A vein in his temple ticked; sweat gathered at his hairline and crawled down the sideburn into his beard. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them, shut them again like maybe if he blinked hard enough he could reboot his soul.
“He’s blanching like a Victorian heroine,” Gaz whispered, delighted.
Soap leaned in, elbows down. “Blink if ye need a priest, Cap.”
“John,” Laswell said, calm in the way of someone spiritually clocking out, “please continue not talking if that’s your choice.”
Price rolled his shoulders back like he was trying to lower his resting truth rate. His hands laced together so hard the knuckles bulged, tendons like cable. He refused to look at you. He looked near you: at your clipboard, your sleeve, the smear of light on the glass.
Soap nudged Gaz. “Ask him something mean.”
Gaz nodded, solemn. “Captain, do you secretly not give a toss about us?”
Price stared at Gaz, then Ghost, then Soap, then briefly, fatally at you. He gave a single, stubborn shake no.
Ghost raised a brow. “We all heard the swallow. He’s on the ropes.”
Price took the pencil out just long enough to flex his jaw. The joint popped like a knuckle. He put the pencil back and bit down harder. His thigh bounced once. Twice. His shirt stuck to him at the chest. The truth wanted out.
Soap slid a legal pad toward him. “Write it, then. Honesty tae paper.”
Price pushed the pad back with one furious finger. No.
He lasted a beat longer.
Then your pen slipped from your clipboard, clacked across the tile, and his control detonated like a landmine.
The pencil dropped. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, head down, and spoke in a low, wrecked voice that felt like it had been waiting behind his teeth for a year:
“I want you to call me Daddy.”
Your soul tripped over its own shoes. Gaz made a kettle noise. Soap slapped both hands over his mouth like he’d just watched a penguin ride a skateboard. Ghost sat perfectly still, eyes bright.
Laswell blinked once.
Twice.
Then, very calmly, like a woman choosing peace, she said, “I could leave and go raise goats.”
No one listened.
Price lifted his head an inch. Just enough for you to see his face flushed, wrecked, eyes blown dark like the truth had finally chewed through his restraints and was now pacing the room.
The air in the room turned molten.
“I want you to call me Daddy. Loud. I want it to echo in that pretty mouth when you can’t even think straight.” His voice was ruined, hoarse, low, gravel edged, rolling right over the dead silence that followed. “I think all the time about your lips wrapped around my cock, tears in your eyes, gagging a little ‘cause you’re greedy and you want to show off. I want to make you drool, sweetheart. Want to see you on your knees with spit all over your chin, eyes up, waiting for permission just so you can swallow me down like a good girl.”
Soap let out a yelp, clapped both hands over his face. “Oh, hell, Cap, you’re a menace!”
Gaz wheezed, delighted. “This is the best episode of Maury I’ve ever seen.”
Price’s eyes burned holes in you. “I want you bent over my desk, skirt rucked up, arse bare, panties stuffed in your mouth so everyone knows you can’t shut up unless I make you. Want you whimpering, spread for me, dripping so fucking much I ruin the paperwork under you.”
Ghost just nodded, as if listening to the world’s most interesting podcast. “He’s not even breathing between lines.”
Laswell hummed. “I have a passport. There’s a farm in the Pyrenees. I can grow olives, forget this ever happened…”
Price couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even slow down. He was sweating, voice gone pure command, and his words turned filthier, rougher, “Want to fuck you so deep you can’t walk straight. Want you to feel every inch for days. Want to leave my handprint on your ass, my cum dripping down your thighs, my name on your lips while you thank me for wrecking you.”
Soap had to get up and walk it off, cackling. “He’s going feral, mate! Christ!”
Gaz’s face was halfway between horror and applause. “I’m taking notes. For science.”
Ghost deadpanned, “At least we know what to put on your tombstone: ‘Here lies John Price- filthiest mouth in the SAS.’”
Price only stared at you, locked on target, sweating through his shirt. “I want to hear you call me Daddy while you try to keep quiet, knowing anyone could walk by. I want you so fucked out you can’t even remember your own name, only mine, only ‘please’ and ‘more’ and ‘yes, Daddy, anything you want.’ I want you broken in on my cock, ruined for anyone else, knowing you’ll ache for me every time you sit down.”
The words just kept coming, rolling out of him like he’d been saving them for years.
“Want to see you gag on it, feel your throat clench, hear you struggle to say ‘thank you, Daddy’ with your mouth full. Want to fuck you so slow you beg, then hold you down and rail you till you’re cockdrunk and babbling. Want you crying with it, wet and desperate, begging for permission to come, only to make you wait, make you work for it, tell you what a filthy little thing you are.”
You could barely breathe. The room was spinning. Soap was crying laughing. Gaz was fanning himself with a folder. Ghost looked like he wanted to buy popcorn.
Laswell didn’t even look at them. She was staring at the far wall like a portal might open. “I’m selling everything I own and moving to a vineyard in Portugal. I don’t even like wine.”
Ghost stage whispered, “Ask him about kinks, Johnny.”
Soap, hoarse: “Cap, top three kinks, go.”
Price didn’t miss a beat. “Obedience. Gagging. Telling you what a desperate slut you are while you soak my cock and beg for Daddy to fill you up.”
Gaz wheezed. “Fucking hell.”
Price smirked, dark and proud. “And I’d make you say thank you for every filthy thing I do to you, or you get nothing but my hand around your throat and my voice in your ear, telling you how pretty you look when you’re ruined.”
Soap made an inhuman noise. Gaz buried his face in his elbow, shoulders shaking, and Ghost just leaned back in his chair, the living embodiment of well, this is my entertainment for the week.
Price, now fully in his element, fixed you with that steel blue stare. “You ever want it, sweetheart, you come ask Daddy nice. I’ll show you exactly what happens when you mouth off in my office.”
Soap, literally on the floor, gasping: “That’s it, I’m dead, tell my mum I loved her.”
Price’s head tipped, tongue rolling over his teeth. He was panting, cheeks flushed. “I want to wreck you. Want to fuck you so hard you can’t talk, just little broken sounds, choking on my cock or my fingers or both if you’re lucky. I’d edge you for hours, make you beg. Tell you to be a good little slut and come for Daddy. And you would, wouldn’t you? ‘Cause you’d do anything I told you if I had my hand around your throat, wouldn’t you?”
Your heart was a jackhammer. Your mouth was dry. Your knees felt like they were going to give out, and you weren’t even the one in the chair.
Laswell pinched the bridge of her nose, her soul miles away. “Goats don’t do this. Goats don’t talk about throats and cocks. Goats just eat grass. I want a goat. I want a vineyard. I never want to hear the word ‘Daddy’ again.”
Price looked at you then, finally, locking you in place. His voice dropped to a dangerous, commanding purr. want to ruin your makeup, fuck you until you cry, kiss it all better. I want you up against a wall, skirt around your waist, legs over my shoulders while I eat your pussy till you scream my name. Want you on the conference table, on the floor of the safehouse, in the showers, hands flat on the tiles, steam everywhere, my hand tangled in your hair, hips slamming into you while you beg me not to stop. Want you so used to my cock you can’t cum without it.”
Soap let out a wheeze. “Boss, please, tell us you’d at least let ‘er cum- ”
Price snarled, “Not till I say. I want you desperate, sobbing, begging. Want to hear you say ‘please, Daddy, please, I’ll be good, I promise- ’ and then maybe I’ll give it to you. Or maybe I’ll make you watch while I fist your hair and finish on your pretty face instead.”
Ghost just shook his head, approving. “Dirty bastard.”
Price’s words kept pouring, breathless, dirty as sin. “You wanna know what else? I want you to text me while I’m in meetings, let me see how wet you are, send me photos, tell me what you need. Want to come home and find you waiting, naked, on your knees at the door, eyes wide, ready to please. Want to spit in your mouth, hear you say ‘thank you,’ see you shiver when I call you my filthy little thing.”
The room was pure chaos. Soap had his head on the table. Gaz had to step outside, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Ghost only folded his arms, deeply satisfied, watching the spectacle.
Laswell paused. “I am absolutely buying a farm. I will have goats and silence. I will never set foot in a military base again. I’m going to forget I ever knew anyone named John.”
Price finally ran out of air.
Not restraint- air.
He leaned back in the chair, chest heaving, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, eyes blown and feral like he’d just survived a firefight entirely inside his own head. The room was dead silent for half a heartbeat.
Then Laswell stood up so abruptly her chair screeched.
“I am,” she said flatly. “Googling how many goats are too many goats, because whatever the answer is, I’m buying one more.”
She was already pulling her phone out. “I’m thinking vineyard. Hillside. Sun. No men. No truth serums. No one named John. Just me, some grapes, and several emotionally supportive goats.”
Soap was crying laughing now. Fully gone. Bent double, one hand on the table, the other wiping tears from his eyes. “Cap- Captain- ” he wheezed, “I’ve been in firefights with less casualties than whatever the fuck that was.”
Gaz was grinning like Christmas came early. “I’m never calling you ‘sir’ again. It’s ruined. It’s irreparably ruined.”
You, meanwhile, were pretty sure you were experiencing some kind of medical event.
Your face felt like it was on fire. Your ears were ringing. The room tilted just a little, like you’d stood up too fast. You had both hands braced on the table now, clipboard abandoned entirely, desperately pretending that the concrete floor was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen.
Soap noticed immediately. “Oh look,” he sing songed. “She’s short circuiting.”
Gaz leaned into your space, stage whispering. “Blink twice if you need a paper bag. Or a cold shower. Or a priest.”
Ghost tilted his head, eyes flicking between you and Price. “She’s gone pink. That’s new.”
Price snapped his head up. “Oi. Back off.” His voice was rough, but the edge was protective now, control snapping back into place. “Enough.”
Soap held up his hands, still grinning. “All right, all right. We’ll stop traumatising her.” A beat. “Mostly.”
Laswell finally looked up from her phone. “For the record, the internet says there is no such thing as too many goats. Which feels like a sign.”
She pointed at all of them. “Debrief over. Medical can deal with Captain… whatever that was. You three- out. Before I start assigning mandatory therapy.”
Ghost stood smoothly, clearly pleased with the day’s work. “Aye. Good talk, Captain Daddy.”
The dangers of falling for the 'verify your account' scam.
Hello everyone!
I need to stress this as it can't be more important now than ever:
Never, ever, give a random website your credit card, name, address, phone number, and more importantly, your social security number.
This is a screenshot of the code taken from the 'verify your account' scam. At some point on this fake web page, not only is it going to ask you to pay them $100+, it's going to ask for your SSN:
Not only that, but it's set up in ways to ask for more money in increments of $100, $150, $200, and then an unspecified amount:
And if you're a UK citizen? It gets way worse. They want you to fill out a check and then take a picture of it and send it to them:
And yes, the person they want you to send it to's information is on there. I already reported it to the bank. I'm not sure if it's the person running the scam or a money mule, either way it's illegal as hell.
[tumblr] would never EVER ask for this kind of stuff from you. EVER.
[tumblr] did not require your SSN, photo ID, or money when you signed up, they won't be asking for it now.
Please be safe and stay safe.
Please share information about this scam and how it works so that others know what it looks like and how to avoid it.
Imagine you frequent a bar. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. The ambience is nice and it isn't a rowdy kind. That's the reason you give yourself for coming here alone after work. Totally not because of the fact that Geto is the bartender you have become friends with. Totally not because he calls you "pretty girl" and is attentive towards you.
Then Gojo comes in one day. He is friends with Geto but you never met him before because he comes at different times. This one day yours and his schedule clashes. A coincidence right? It can't be true that Geto has been talking to Gojo about you right?
You don't know him. You only see a mop of white hair sitting at the other end. You lean forward to get a good look at his face since his hair had you intrigued. And oh! You have never seen a man like him before. He had shades but they were lowered so you could see his blue eyes that seem to sparkle and his skin looked so soft. You couldn't stop yourself from going up to him to talk.
"Excuse me"
"Yes pretty?" Gojo looks at you. A small smile on his face.
"You are really handsome like mystical handsome." I said truthfully in awe.
He chuckled but before he could say anything Geto interrupted the moment.
"Already bothering her Satoru?" Suguru mused.
"I am not bothering her Suguru. Sweet girl over here was complimenting me on how handsome I look" Gojo said cockily. "And thank you sweetheart. A pretty girl like you complimenting little ol' me huh. I am the one who should be doing that given how beautiful you are." His hand came up to push a strand of hair behind my ear.
I flushed a bit at his words and action. Geto peered at us and hummed. His gaze making me feel nervous like he caught me doing something I am not supposed to.
I cleared my throat and asked "Do you both know each other?"
"I am the only person who knows eachhhhh and everyyyyything about our dear Suguru over here." Gojo said with a teasing lilt to his words.
Geto frowned "Don't listen to his nonsense pretty. Sit. I will bring you another drink then we will talk yeah?"
I watched as Geto left to make me another drink and to serve a few customers that came up to the table.
"Are you two close friends?" I asked Gojo.
He leaned and whispered in my ear "Very close."
I chuckled nervously not knowing how to respond to his teasing mannerisms. "I am Satoru Gojo. Suguru has been telling me about a pretty girl lately. That must be you and seeing you is making me realise why he keeps talking about you." Gojo muttered.
"Oh! Geto has mentioned you. Sorry I am not good with names." I said sheepishly.
"Geto talks about me?" I asked confused and with skepticism.
"A lot sweetheart, a lot." Before Gojo could explain further Geto interrupted placing a drink in front of me and one in front of Gojo "What nonsense is he talking about?"
"A-Ah nothing" I deflected.
"I was telling sweets how much you loveeee to talk about her." Gojo teased him.
I had assumed that Geto would deny or be mad at him for saying that but his next words shocked me.
"Well you met her today. I will see if you aren't talking my ear out later about how much you wish to see her again"
My face felt hot. I quietly took a sip of my drink unable to understand if they both are just being nice or actually flirting with me.
"I am a little hurt though pretty girl" Geto muttered.
My brows furrowed in worry "Why? Did something happen Geto? Did someone say something?"
"Well you met Satoru today and complimented him so soon and we have been talking for so long now but I never got a compliment. Am I not handsome pretty girl?" Geto asked dejectedly, a small pout gracing his lips.
"No, no! that's not true. I just couldn't find the moment. You are also very handsome Geto." I said softly. My body feeling hot both because of their gaze and the drink.
My buzzed head got an idea and before I could think through I asked "Can I ask for a favour from both of you?"
"Of course sweetheart"
"Can you both model for me? I-I think you both are extremely handsome and seeing you together is giving me lot of ideas for a photoshoot if you both don't mind. You both are beautiful, in a contrasting way if that makes sense. I will pay you ofcourse. But I don't have a lot though..." My brows furrowed as I realised that the money I have that I could use to pay them isn't a lot. Is it exploitation if I am not paying them appropriately?
I was a little tipsy now so I failed to see how both pair of eyes glinted at my offer.
"We will pretty girl and you don't have to pay us. We are happy with the fact that we get to spend time with you. Right Satoru?" I looked at Gojo expectantly and he nodded.
You don't realise what you have gotten yourself into.
Summary: You’ve always loved Clark, but it wasn't so easy. There were rules to these things, you know.
Word count: ~7.7k
Contains: Fluff/angst. Friends-to-lovers, seniors at Smallville High (everybody is 18, mentally more mature). Suspend your disbelief bc the gang is Pete/Chloe/Lex/Lana/Lois. Idiot!Clark and Booksmart!Reader. Unrequited-to-requited love, confessions, drama in friend group. 10 Things I Hate About You homage & corniness all around. Reader is nicknamed Cap lol it's cute I swear. Happy ending :)
A/N: I really really love how this one turned out :,) hope you guys do too. Wish tumblr had better formatting tho this looks cuter on ao3 lmao. I imagine reader a lot like my beloved Pam Beesly when she walks the coals. Girls, speak your minds. We only have so much time to be free and easy. Enjoy anon <333
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Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel
That was the first commandment of your personal holy text. A list, scribbled hurriedly in the back of your notebook when you were eleven, weathered by years of spilled sodas and tears. The rules were there to protect that part of you which would take the longest to evolve as you became a young woman: your heart. Really, they were quite infallible rules. Though quite juvenile in conception, and a bit poorly worded, the ideas had to be taken down. You often found yourself struggling to cope in situations that were completely normal, like the average mall afternoons and classroom projects. You needed to have something tangible to follow when you could not function in the wake of Clark’s sunshine. And in your devoted way, you lived by them. From middle school all the way until your senior year you adhered to these guidelines without fail, and it helped you survive lifetimes of being best friends with the golden and angelic Clark Kent, small town hero… and Lana Lang’s admirer.
It was a poor hand to be dealt, to love a boy who didn’t know what he wanted. It was not that Clark was a bad person, but he certainly had no proper guidance on the subject of love. His parents were a one in a million example, and they set up quite unattainable expectations for true love in the teenage world; not to mention the series of significant others his friends blew through (especially Lex), proving oppositely that love had a time limit, and breakups usually ended badly, or that people did not last if they did not communicate. It seemed every example presented to him made love seem both aspirational and impossible, and for a boy so intent on having it, he was completely conflicted. His only good example was you, and that was the worst one to have, because it was completely invisible. Friend-love. Always-there-but-never-explored love. Too-late love.
The worst of it came from his unfortunate object of affection. Ever the dreamer, Clark latched onto Lana Lang from a young age and had never let go. Something about her aloofness, like a lovable cat who worked on her own clock, ensnared him. He timed his every breath to fit her whims, following the tides of her affection in and out, always waiting for when they’d grace him once more. Even after she had boyfriends, and even after she said she’d never reciprocate the feeling, and even after he promised to get over it, Clark just could not retract his claws. You could not blame him, because you technically did the same– but at least you were quiet about it. What nobody knew didn’t exist and could not be judged. That was Clark’s failure– he was too sweet, open, and trusting. Everyone knew his love. Nobody knew yours.
There was nothing wrong with Lana Lang. In fact, you liked her very much. It was hard not to. She was gentle and understanding, she got good grades, she worked hard, she showed up when it mattered. She was a good friend to Chloe and Pete and you. But as these things go, you just couldn’t shake the dreadful ache in your stomach when she came around, smiling with white teeth and tossing that glossy hair over her shoulder. There was nothing wrong with her, which made her perfect, and that meant you had to live in her shadow. Anybody would be a little resentful, however selfish or mean-spirited that might be. You were not perfect. Someone had to have flaws.
You managed well for a long time. You became close friends with Clark’s group, seeing as you were around longer than all of them (you were sandbox, they were grade school), and considered Clark’s most prized friend. You were at the top of your class alongside the quarterback. You went to every Friday night football game and cheered him on wearing the homemade Kent jerseys you and Chloe had bedazzled. You worked your shifts in the Talon without complaint and lived your life in silence. You grew up between braced smiles and new clothes each September, and surprise birthday parties planned by Clark alone, all for you, because he loved you, and you were his best friend, and the world revolved around that. The fabric of your life was repetitive and woven into his, and that of Smallville and all it contained, so you had to be content with it, because you knew nothing else. Did not want to know anything else, really, no matter how painful it became. Every year you got older, loved him more, and hated yourself in a new way. You kept on.
Somewhere along the line, though, you lost touch with that desire to keep hiding. One person could only take so much self-loathing and pity before they started to hate themselves for hating themselves– it was a slippery slope. You did not look at the sacred list anymore because you had trained yourself in its craft, which in turn morphed you into a shell capable of little more than behavioral adaptation. Nobody could sense it, not even Clark, but you knew. You seemed normal, like the same girl you’d always been, still intelligent and quirky and plump as the day the world met you. But you could feel in every step and breath how you moved mechanically, analyzing your every facial expression and word, making sure you gave nothing away and never truly let anybody see the truth. It was exhausting, and the only way you knew how to behave. You became the rules, and now that you were close to losing this curated life, you were restless. Tired of this game, of this fear. Terrified to stop, but needing to change.
By ‘losing’, college is implied. College and the changes of a young woman’s life. For you, that was a much more loaded event than for others.
Turning eighteen early was what ignited the turnaround. You reached the milestone sooner than most of the kids in your grade. You were light years ahead in maturity, already focused on your acceptance to MetU and counting the days until you could escape forever and be someone who was a part of a bigger world with other chances to be loved. After so much time spent giving back to Smallville and surrounding yourself with the things that looked, felt, smelled, tasted like the love of your life, you were growing weary. You had endured the pain as long as you possibly could, and now it was breaking you. There were only so many sleepovers and lake trips and study nights you could spend with your circle before it all felt like playing house with a handful of dolls, positioning yourself in a plastic chair to reenact a life you had never truly been living around people who thought you were present. No wonder you were an old woman trapped inside– you had heaped on more emotional damage than any eighteen year old should ever sustain.
Graduation was a few weeks away, and you had an early MetU start in July, so you had two options now that your heart was finally evolving. Or rather, now that you have become self-aware. You could come clean before you go and leave the baggage behind, or you could keep your secret forever and hope it doesn’t bite you in the ass when you’re gone.
Everything was so confusing now that you weren’t sure which path to choose. You were not a confrontational person, and you knew that Clark would only meet you with a slurry of apologies and soft rejections, so it would be safest not to say a word. But the grown part of you, the piece that was forged in the sole flame of your heart that knew you deserved peace, felt he deserved to know. With everything he’s been through these last few years, all the leaning he’s done on you, all the heartbreaks you’ve sheltered, he should know it wasn’t done selflessly. He should learn not to trust those who surround him– he’d believed in a fraud for too long. Gave her gifts and movie nights in the truck bed without knowing he was sitting beside a motivated girl. Then again, that might break him. He was so empathetic he might just die from knowing what he put you through. See? Confusing. Impossible. It seemed like there was no way to know how to handle the situation.
Then again, you had always been prepared, hadn’t you? You had a list for these things. A scripture to abide by. So, with just mere days standing between you and the rest of your life beyond Clark– who was still unsure of following you and Chloe to MetU, or Lana to Central Kansas– you decided to revert to your best shot at getting through the change alive. You dug through your bedroom for the sacred notebook and laid your eyes on a page you needn’t touch since the age of fourteen. And upon reading it, you devised your plan.
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel
The look on Clark’s face was worse than all those years of imagination could have ever conjured. It was a bad place to do it, but you just didn’t have the patience to wait any longer. It was gnawing at your body like a parasite, and you suddenly had to spit it out after harboring the secret so long. Granted, you could have waited until you were in a position to leave swiftly, and not done it in the car when there was another fifteen minutes to spare before he reached your house.
“You… what?” He gulped, eyes wide as a deer’s while his father’s old farming truck rumbled down the county road.
You sighed in resignation, regretting the impulse. “I love you,” you repeated. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. A-and I’m sorry to say it now. It’s bad timing, I know, but I just… can’t be quiet about it anymore. I feel like you deserve to know.”
The boy– well, young man now, isn’t he? Eighteen like you, grown up, beautiful, strong, your best friend after so much time– clutched the steering wheel like a buoy. His words drowned beneath his heavy tongue. “Cap… how long?”
That was easy. “Since I was ten, at that Christmas party in Ms. Mary’s class. When you kissed me under the paper mistletoe.” You smiled a bit at the nickname. Everyone started calling you that when you captained the debate team in middle school. Even in a moment like this, he let it slip.
Clark dared to glance at you, relieved to find you were not looking back. Your eyes were trained on the cornfields outside the window, and your polished nail fiddled with the crank. Your face had not changed since ten years old. Your cheeks were still round, and they got red as apples in the cold or when you felt afraid. They were a deep Gala shade now, like the ones his mother picked from their tiny orchard along the edge of the farm. It was June, so it had to be the other catalyst for bloodflow. “You remember that?”
“Yes, I remember that,” you nodded, dropping your limp hand into your lap. “All this time we’ve been friends. And you love Lana, I know that. I never tried to tell you because it was pointless, but I don’t know, something in me just– just can’t keep lying. It’s not right. To me or to you.”
Clark had to remember he was driving and to keep his eyes on the road as you shifted in the cab. He blinked a few times, as if he could see all the moments of your shared life flashing before his eyes and was trying to scrutinize in vain, attempting to find any moment that stood out which might point towards a sign that you’d shown your love and he was too blind to recognize it. But nothing was memorable. That was your intention, after all. To go unnoticed.
“I don’t expect you to say anything,” you said softly, breathing deeper, “or to apologize. Nothing is your fault. And it’s mean to just drop this on you, I know, but I don’t want to upset you or confuse you, okay? That’s not the goal. I just wanted you to know, that’s all. I don’t… need anything, or, like, want anything from you. I don’t need anything to change. You’re still my best friend and I’m yours, unless you say otherwise. It’s just been a long time coming, and with me going to school soon and everything moving along, I felt like if you didn’t know I’d be cheating you, or something. Failing to be the friend I’ve been. I know how important it is to you for people to be honest, that’s like your number one thing, and I wasn’t brave enough where it mattered for a really long time. So I’m sorry. And I hope you’re not angry, or sad, or… whatever.”
The sound of you breathing had always been so familiar to him, but as it sounded now, you were entirely new. Clark wasn’t sure if he was feeling anger or remorse or a thousand emotions in-between. He wasn’t sure of anything after hearing such unexpected words. He wanted to tell himself that he should’ve known better, but how could he? You never seemed to care about him any more than just special, true friendship. In a way, he never assumed you would, so that might have helped blindfold him. You were this untouchable thing all his life, a constant between every heartache and failure; the one person he knew would never change, who always had his best interest at heart. And here you were, admitting to keeping a secret he would’ve wanted to know. It could have been handled. You could have been cared for. He didn’t know how to feel, and he definitely didn’t know what to say.
But for you, the feeling was a better outcome than the payoff. The weight lifting from your chest made you wonder if you’d ever truly breathed right at all since you met Clark. The icy fear in your veins began to warm in his silence, and while you still wondered if you had ruined everything, you were less afraid to find out. You read somewhere that when people are finally ready to have an important conversation, they will know, because the idea will stop feeling like pressure and start feeling like an urge. That was exactly it. You had stopped wondering how long can I keep this up, how long before he finds out, when will I have to come clean, and begun thinking if I don’t do it now, I’ll regret it. The change occurred without you even knowing. Finally, for the first time, you had broken the primary rule, and it felt good.
Clark didn’t say anything that night. He just drove you home, and when you smiled and thanked him for the ride, he watched you leave with tears in his eyes, feeling so very confused, like he’d always been.
Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clark’s First Rule: Be honest with yourself
“It came out of nowhere.”
“I don’t think so, Clark,” Martha sighed, running her fingers gently through the thicket of hair at the base of her son’s neck. “She might have hid it from you, but she didn’t hide it from the world. That girl has always had eyes for you.”
“Why didn’t she say anything?” Clark sniffled, swiping tears away from his reddened eyes. “I feel like such an asshole.” Martha gave him a friendly whack on the neck and he winced. “Sorry, Ma.”
“You are nothing of the sort,” Martha hummed, pursing her lips in disapproval. “You’ve just had your head set on Lana. It wouldn't have helped for you to know.”
“Yes it would!”
“How, honey?” Martha gave a pointed glance. “Would it have made you like Lana less? Are there feelings there for you?”
Clark broke down into another sob and clutched at his hair. “I don’t know, I don’t know…”
He curled into his mother’s arms and cried for a long while. Clark didn’t cry much, he was always the stoic type, but something inside him felt sick and rotten and he wanted to wretch until he rid himself of it. Never in his life had he felt more responsible for someone’s pain than now. All he could imagine was little you, chubby and covered in glitter from art class, pining after him while he pined after Lana. Lana, who never wanted him back. You, who hugged him every time he was reminded of that reality. You, who forced him to watch 10 Things and Clueless and She’s All That, as if they’d cheer him up. You, who never turned him away. It must have been torture to sit idly by and love him when he had his head too far up his own ass. You were his twin flame, the one he came to for everything, over even his own parents. Nobody else knew all of his secrets and mistakes. Nobody else could remember his favorite songs or what kind of publisher he liked to buy from– Oxford Classics, not Penguin, because he liked white spines. Not a soul could promise him everything would be okay and mean it like you did. And all he’d given you in return was a shotty friendship where his heart was somewhere else and his need with you.
Martha shushed into his hair as his breathing began to level. “Shh, Clark, it’s alright… what are you thinking, huh?”
Clark croaked, “That I’m a terrible person.”
“Oh, you are not,” she tutted, petting his ears. Clark lifted his sore eyes and gazed up at Martha. “You’re a kind, generous person, that’s why you’re so upset. You love her and you don’t want to see her hurt.”
Clark rubbed his dribbling nose on his sleeve. “I don’t know what to do, Ma. I’m so confused.”
Martha tilted her head and brushed a few drying tears from his soft cheeks. “Well, do you love her too?”
Clark grunted in frustration. “No! Yes! I don’t know!” He added quietly, “I love Lana. Or, I think I love Lana. I just don’t know. I always wanted it to be Lana.”
“But it isn’t. And it won’t be. I know that hurts, but you have to dig deeper than that now. You have to look at your life. You have to admit a few things to yourself, honey.”
“I want her to be happy,” Clark rasped, and he wasn’t sure which girl he meant.
“Let me ask you differently,” Martha sighed, sitting back against the couch. She could answer the question for him, but he had to be the one to understand, not her. “When you think about her, and about Lana, which one do you feel sure with?”
Clark scratched between his eyes. “What?”
“Which one makes you feel sure, sweetheart? Unafraid, happy, confident? Which one makes joy easy?”
Clark had never asked himself that question before.
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #2: Never tell anyone else either
“I’m sorry, come again?”
“Come on, Chloe, don’t make me do this over and over,” you mumbled, nudging the microscope towards her. The metal screeched on the black lab table, and she winced as she slid a new slide onto the plate. “Is it really so surprising?”
“Yes!” She hissed, giving you a look of incredulity. “Why did you never tell me? You’ve seriously just been, like, hiding this? Forever? Never thought it would help to let somebody know?!”
You huffed and scribbled a few notes onto the lab sheet. At the front of the room, Mr. Gable was grading the most recent quiz while the chemistry class did filler work. You could do this sort of thing with your eyes closed. “It wouldn’t have helped. He’s always loved Lana, you know that. Would’ve wasted my time and gotten me hurt way worse.”
Chloe frowned as she shoved the microscope back. “Did you not trust me?”
“Of course not! I trust you with everything. I just… you know. It wasn’t something I wanted anyone to know about, okay? Too personal. Too… much.”
Chloe reached over with her pen, some sky blue doodad with a fuzzy top, and jotted a detail onto your sheet. She peered up at you from beneath her light eyes and sighed. “I can’t say I don’t get it. We’ve all had our things for Clark. It’s hard not to,” she offered, “but… jeez. Eight years?”
You shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”
“So you suffered in silence. Like a hermit. Or a monk.”
“I wouldn’t say it was that extreme,” you fibbed.
“Come on.”
“It just wasn’t worth it, Chlo, okay? Now, can we please move on?”
“No,” Chloe waved her fluffy pen in front of your nose. The interspersed tinsel shone under the fluorescent lights. “We need to figure this out. What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.”
The girl nearly choked. “Nothing?”
“What do you expect? He still loves Lana!” You grumbled, glancing around. Everyone was busy pretending they were finishing the lab, itching for the bell to ring and set them free. Senoritis had a ghastly grip on the student population now. “Plus, I’m going to MetU in a few weeks. He doesn’t know what he wants or where he’s going, and I have to let go. I need to be able to start fresh.”
“So you’re telling me, what, you’re doing some crazy mental purging so you can run away to Metropolis and pretend it never happened? He won’t let you go that easy and you know it. He loves you. He’ll miss you!”
“I didn’t say we can’t be friends,” you sighed.
“But you’re treating it like he’ll never want to see you again.”
You glanced at her, trying to find a reasonable rebuttal, but Chloe had a point. Maybe you were trying to shelter yourself, hoping the brave thing would eliminate the problem, and therefore circumvent the pain. Could you have been both brave and cowardly in the same moment? Would he see it that way?
“Did he say anything?” Chloe tacked on.
You shook your head, flipping the packet over to keep writing. “No. I did tell him that he didn’t have to, though. It’s been a few days, I did it after the game last Friday. I haven’t seen him since. I worked all weekend, so I don’t really know what he’s thinking.”
Chloe frowned and rubbed your arm. “Oh, babe…”
“Don’t do that,” you begged, “this is why I didn’t tell anyone! I’m not some kicked puppy.”
Chloe leaned her head on your shoulder and said, “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to be one for a while. Feel something. Want something. He does, so why can’t you get a chance?”
You stiffened a bit at the advice and stopped writing. Chloe could be very astute when she wanted to be.
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #3: Do not talk about him when he is not there – friends will snitch
“You have to talk to us at some point, Cap,” Lois grumbled, “because Clark certainly won’t.”
You flushed and adjusted your jacket sleeves. “That’s his choice. Also my choice.”
“Bullshit,” Lois frowned, tugging her own coat on. That early summer chill was rolling over the darkening town, and the lake was too cold to stay much longer. “We’re all in this, like everything else.”
“Actually, Lois, we aren’t,” you snipped.
As Chloe stoked the fire, everybody seemed to quiet down real quick. You were not known to assert yourself, especially against the big and mighty daughter of General Lane. Lana and Pete shifted uncomfortably in their Adirondack chairs, eyes flitting toward the shoreline where Lex stood beside Clark’s shadowy frame. They were skipping rocks and undoubtedly avoiding you.
Lois’ frown deepened. “So, what? You come clean with this crazy secret and expect it not to change the dynamic? Clark barely talks to anybody now, and neither do you! It’s been two weeks of awkwardness! You guys need to work this out or else everyone is going to get real distant,” she warned. “We’re about to graduate. You really want to end on this note?”
You sighed, feeling how her jabs rolled right off you like water on a duck’s back. Everything did, now that you had released the fear. Nothing seemed to matter so much, but not in a bad way. Everyone around you took everything as if it was the end of the world, in the customary teenage fashion, and you were growing out of that. The world did not end when you told Clark you loved him, and it wouldn't end with a few angry friends. And for any of them to share in Lois’ sentiments would prove that they cared more about preserving the illusion than performing the actual act of friendship. “Lois, I get that it’s awkward, but really, this isn’t about you or anybody else. It’s between me and Clark. If you want to talk to him, talk to him. I’m not gonna just air my shit out here.”
“She has a point, though,” Lana interjected, sipping a Coke with nervous eyes. “We just don’t want it to ruin the group.”
Funny that the wedge between your heart and Clark’s would feel comfortable enough to drive deeper in this moment, isn’t it? That soft voice always seemed to grate you. Sometimes you wanted to tell her to stop speaking everything in whispers. But you affirmed your indifferent face and shifted your attention to Lana. “The only thing that would ruin our friendship is if you guys can’t get over it.”
“You don’t think that’s a little harsh?” Pete furrowed his brow. “I mean, you guys are like our family. Everyone’s just a little blindsided.”
“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m not sorry I said it,” you shrugged, staring into the rekindled fire. “It was a long time coming, and I can finally be proud of myself for something. I feel like I could say anything now, I feel that good.
“And you know what?” You continued, “I think it’s wrong that you guys are blaming me. Whatever grudge you have against me finally speaking my mind isn’t my job to fix. If anything, I’m just sorry I let everyone get so used to me being quiet. I’ve felt a lot of things, big things, for a really long time, and I never told any of you out of fear. Good thing, since now I know how you’ll handle it. I didn’t intend to upset anyone, but this isn’t a group ordeal, y’know? This is me and Clark. The Clark I knew before anyone else. Maybe it would do you guys some good to think about that before you judge me for putting myself first for once.”
The circle of shocked faces listened raptly as your even, gentle tone said things they would never have imagined you to think in a million years. You weren’t angry, you didn’t scream or cry, but you spoke with a level of confidence unseen. You weren’t the girl they’d come to know at all. You were someone entirely different, and a low cloud seemed to settle over each of their heads, shrouding them in the shame of being unobservant and judgemental enough to never look past your veiled surface.
You stood up spryly, smoothing out your jeans, and you smiled at them all with no resentment attached. “I’m gonna go home. If you want to talk to Clark, go ahead. I hope you get what you want from him. I’ll see everybody on Monday.”
“Wait–” Chloe began, her face sullen as the rest but eyes much more bright, because she was proud of you. One out of four ain’t bad.
You cut her off with a smile. “It’s okay, Chloe. I’ll call you.”
After grabbing your bag from the sand, you clodded up the incline to the street, leaving your friends to sit around that stupid fire and wonder. They would have to think now about what it means to take care of yourself after being stuck in the center of a feeding circle, where everyone saps each other and never puts their personal growth in the way of the group. They would have to compromise with the knowledge that you wouldn’t be held back, nor would you leave, but had committed some third thing born of a need to set free the girl you’d bound beneath your rules, and theirs.
Clark turned to see you leaving, and he saw the way you smiled. He heard you, even down at the shore. You had never looked happier, he realized. He did not follow you. He didn’t have all the right words yet, and he wouldn’t try until he knew what to say.
Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clark’s Second Rule: Be honest with others
Clark turned around again and thumbed the smooth, flat rock beneath his thumb. Lex watched the cold water ripple around his feet as he swirled one ankle in the lake.
“What are you gonna do, then?” Lex inquired, picking up the previous chat they’d put on hold. Clark paused him to listen to you. “Seems like she just handed them their asses. Quite eloquently, I might add. Then again, that girl always knew how to make herself clear. When she actually tried, that is.”
Clark gave a slight chuckle and tossed the rock with a calculated flick of the wrist. It skipped on the water four times before sinking under the moonlight. “I still don’t know.”
“Well, I think we talked enough about Lana. You’ve had time to mull it over. What conclusion have you come to? Anything you can credit me with?”
Clark smirked at the man to his side and ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, there is something. The other day, you said something about love being hard, and needing a lot of maintenance.”
“Yeah,” Lex nodded, bending down to pick up some new stones. “Great stuff.”
“I don’t think that’s right.”
“Oh, really? Are you the love expert?” Lex snickered.
Clark gave his friend’s shoulder a shove. “Obviously not. But I asked my mom–”
“Oh, goodie–”
“Shut up, will you? Listen,” Clark sighed. “I asked my mom, and the first thing she said was that she wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear about all this. Which made me feel incredibly stupid. But then we got to talking, and I told her about Lana. Y’know, how I always admired her, and wanted to make her happy. But when I got to thinking, I realized how hard that was, and it wasn’t even reciprocated. What I’ve been feeling for her all these years has been at my expense, hasn’t it? I’ve just been getting myself hurt over and over, and for what? To prove I could love somebody long enough it might wear them down? She never loved me back, but man, did she lead me on. That relationship is hard, and it took more work than I think was fair. And I wouldn’t call that love at all. I would just call it… I don’t know. Codependency, or… something.”
Lex straightened up again, pausing before tossing a rock over the water. “So, you think you never really loved her?”
Clark rubbed his eyes. “It’s hard to say. Maybe there’s a difference between loving someone and loving someone.”
“That’s actual gibberish,” Lex grinned.
“Maybe it is,” Clark groaned, shaking out his arms. “But you know what my mom asked me? Because I told her I was confused, right, and maybe it was possible I did have feelings somewhere deep down. She asked me, ‘Who makes you feel sure?’ And when I really thought about what that could mean, it sort of… all opened up.”
“Meaning?”
“All I ever did when I was around Lana was doubt myself. I pushed too hard, or worried too much. I would change how I acted and what I cared about for her. I second-guessed my every move.”
Lex stifled a laugh of agreement. “Oh, I know.”
“But with Cap, I can’t think of a time when I wasn’t sure.”
“Like, you never doubted anything?”
“Never. I trust her with it all. We could always talk, no matter what it was about, and she thinks I’m funny when I know the joke is bad, and she never once did anything to make me feel like I needed to change, or feel differently about something,” he muttered. “When I’m with her, I’m not thinking about what I should be doing or who I need to be to make her happy. Everything just feels easy, and when she leaves, I wish she would stay. I always felt that way, even when I was hung up on Lana. Like, when she leaves, nothing is the same anymore.” He wasn’t sure when Lex began staring, but he was well into it now. “What?”
Lex blinked at him, and said it plainly: “Dude, I think you love Cap.”
Clark stared back, and wondered if that was the look of surprise he sprouted when you had confessed a couple weeks back. He nodded simply. “I think maybe I always did, but because I thought love had to be hard, I never knew it.”
Lex looked back out over the water and asked, “Do you think we fucked you up, man? All of us, with all these dysfunctional people?”
Clark managed a smile and took a stone from his hand. “I don’t know. Maybe. All I know is that she never did. And now I wish I could just go back and see it all from the start, and do it right this time,” he admitted, “she must be scared. We haven’t talked.”
Lex nudged his elbow. “You heard her before– I think she’s just fine. You’re the scared one, buddy. So, I think I have to ask again– what are you gonna do?”
“I think I’m gonna tell her.”
“How?”
Clark really smiled this time, and he watched his stone skip eight times. A record. His number, too. His number… “I have an idea.”
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #4: Always be one step ahead
When you went to the last pep rally of the year, you did it alone. Chloe insisted you were still welcome to sit with your friends in the bleachers, but ever since the night at the lake, the others have been avoiding you at all costs. You would be better off without the stress, and you didn’t want to make them more uncomfortable either– their pettiness was beyond your ability to help. So, you sat down front by yourself, near the gate. You were only there for Clark anyway.
It was a lively night. The weather was warm and dry, and the sun was just cresting over the stadium seats. All of the Smallville teams were making their entrances across the field, receiving their praises for another year well-played. This rally was a send-off for the seniors who were graduating, and so it was always the brightest, loudest, and most populated event of the year. The eldest members across the field were tossed around atop strong arms, painted in the school colors; the marching band blared their instruments loud in vaguely familiar pop renditions; the teachers and coaches took their time calling awards and honors into the microphone, giving everyone their chance to stand in the spotlight before the curtain closed at graduation in three days. It was a sweet thing to see, and now that it was Clark’s turn, there was no way you’d miss it, even if you guys hadn’t talked yet. He won the championship for the school, after all, and he worked harder than anybody on that team this year. He deserved his flowers.
You sat through soccer, field hockey, wrestling, and every other team on the list before they closed the night out with the long-awaited senior varsity football players. The stands roared as Clark’s teammates rushed the field, and you saw him holding up the end, carrying a duffel bag. Props, you figured, and you clapped as the coach took the microphone.
“Let’s hear it for our championship winners!” The coach rumbled, and the floodlights gleamed as the stands rallied.
The players were bustling around Clark, right on the fifty yard line. You could barely make his mop of hair out in the commotion. You watched suspiciously as the coach smiled and raised a hand.
“Now, I think we’ve seen enough awards and hubbub for one night, how about you, Smallville High?” As he received an affirmative cheer, he divulged, “Our varsity players chose not to take their sendoffs this year in favor of pulling together for one standout senior alone. They’ve put together a little number for you– haven’t you, boys?”
As the coach swiveled to address his players, they all scattered from the center of the field and lined up– in tutus and tiaras. You let out a shocked laugh as Clark emerged in the center, wearing a crappy king’s cape over his shoulders to complement the red jersey underneath, #8, and a plastic gold crown on his head. He strode forward to take the microphone and shoo his coach off the grass. You sat in utter confusion– Clark hated public speaking. What in the world was this about to turn into? Out of curiosity, you turned around and glanced up the bleachers toward Chloe, who was beaming like she knew a secret you didn’t. She winked at you and pointed back at the field. You turned again, stomach suddenly dropping.
Facing the crowd of friends and family who would certainly never let him forget this as long as he lived, Clark raised the mic to his mouth and said, “How’s it going, Crows?” Another roar shook the field, and his laugh fluttered through the speakers. “All of us seniors have been so lucky to play and win for you, so thank you for all the support tonight. But we have a little problem. While everybody else on this team is ready for the future, I still have one problem to solve.”
You shifted in your seat, heart pounding. Clark stopped to scan the crowd, and you saw how his eyes searched above, where he expected you to be with the others. When he couldn’t find you, his voice cracked: “Cap, are you here?”
All that echoed in your head was, Holy shit. Without missing a beat, you stood up and braced the fencing in front of the stands. “I’m over here!”
At the sound of your voice, Clark’s lips turned up. You knew that face. He was up to no good. His eyes finally fell on you, all the way at the edge of the bleachers, and he beckoned you with an open hand. “Would you please come down to the field?”
The stadium erupted in sound, every voice cheering you on as you fumbled through the gate and walked onto the mushy grass, knees wobbling. You forced yourself not to look at the crowd, or else you’d spook and run. You weren’t even halfway into the green when the speakers began blaring a song which stopped you in your tracks. The soft trumpets crooned in a decreasing arpeggio, and you felt blood rush to your head and fingers and toes, all at once.
“You know I can’t sing to save my life, but I seem to recall you having a favorite movie scene,” Clark began, stalking closer. The sparkly seniors behind him began moving in sync, displaying poorly rehearsed dance moves. “Where Patrick sings to Kat in the stands, making up for being a complete idiot.”
In the crowd, you heard muddled voices joining in: Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothing else to compare…
“Everyone, this is Cap, although you might know her as the valedictorian, or the president of the literature club, or the debate team, or the Torch writer,” Clark gestured to the audience, who waved their happy hands. “She is my very best friend. My oldest friend. The only girl in my life who loved me when I was the worst person to love, and the one girl I never learned how to give it all back to.”
Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clark’s Third and Final Rule: Do what will make the ones you love happy
Clark held out a hand, and when you took it, yours was trembling half as bad as his. He was pink as the setting sun sky above, and his eyes glistened as they gazed down at you. People were starting to buzz in their seats as the trumpets picked up. He carefully tucked your hair away with the microphone-clutching hand, and he spoke for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find the right words to say, but I wanted to do it right. And I wanted to be sure that you knew I meant it. Is this public enough?”
You laughed weakly, trying to swallow tears. The color of your eyes gleamed like little planets, drawing him in by force. So familiar, and as beautiful as the day he met you in the sandbox. You nodded without a word.
“Good,” he grinned, voice shaking. “I wanted to say that I hope you can forgive me for everything I’ve put you through, and that there’s nobody in the whole world that is more important to me than you are. I’m an idiot, baby, but I love you. I have always loved you, only you, even when I didn’t know it, and I’ll embarrass myself in public like this every day until you believe me.”
He would not have thought a town could be so loud if he did not hear the evidence for himself. The force of their cheers nearly shattered his eardrums– Frankie Valli washed over the field like a spell, and everybody was teeming in the stands, awaiting your answer and trying not to burst into song too soon. His teammates were leaping around you, calling out words of encouragement. As mortifying as all this was, they were willing to give up their last chance at small-town fame for him to make this moment special. He would have to find some way to thank them later.
You stood stock still, trying to gather the facts. He saw your gears turning. He imagined the inside of your brain, hearing your analytical voice which always made him laugh inside his own head. What he did not know was that it was then you realized your rules would not serve you anymore; because no matter how this played out, there was absolutely no way for you to be ahead of the curve. Clark had beat you at your own game. All there was left to do now was surrender.
“So?” he asked.
As he tipped the microphone against your lips, you managed a soft, albeit meek, response: “I believe you.”
I believe you, you said. It sounded a whole lot like I still love you.
Clark let the equipment fall to the ground as the pep rally broke out of control, people bringing the party to the grass like nothing could stop them now. You were jostled around until Clark wrangled you into his arms, and before you had the opportunity to ask why he did all this, he was cupping you by the cheeks and pressing his lips to yours. Your ears ached from the volume and your body shook in the crowd, but his mouth tasted like red Gatorade and he smelled like the blue 3-in-1 body wash in his bathroom, and his arms around you did not feel new at all, but like every other hug you had ever shared. He loved you just as you loved him all that time, and you knew it because nothing felt different at all, except that you were free. Free as a bird, and easy. That was the word. Easy.
You hadn’t yet lost your hearing, though, because his words were crystal clear against your lips. “I’m sorry for everything,” he repeated, “take me back?”
You giggled like an exploding star, bathing him in light. “I never let you go.”
You were about to kiss him when you paused, remembering the last rule. Wait–
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #5: Avoid conversations about Lana Lang AT ALL COSTS!!!!!!!!!
......
But then he was kissing you again, and you found the rule still held up. You couldn’t talk about Lana Lang with a mouth full of love. You’d bring it up later, after you ripped the page out of that notebook and threw it away. She didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but you and him.
You felt Clark rest the plastic crown on your head, and he tucked his face into your neck, squeezing you so tight you could pop. “It’s always been you.”
You laughed as your feet left the ground. As Clark spun you on the fifty yard line, you clung to the crown and teased, “You think?”
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
THE DO NOT LIST
Rule #1: Never, and I mean never, tell Clark how you feel
Rule #2: Never tell anyone else either
Rule #3: Do not talk about him when he is not there – friends will snitch
Rule #4: Always be one step ahead
Rule #5: Avoid conversations about Lana Lang AT ALL COSTS!!!!!!!!!
Rules For When You’re Confused So You Can Figure It Out Fast
Clark’s First Rule: Be honest with yourself
Clark’s Second Rule: Be honest with others
Clark’s Third and Final Rule: Do what will make the ones you love happy
soooo i am finallyyyyy going to med school now. It has been a journey of two years preparing for this exam and i might start college in September. I wanna get more used to writing by then so that i can maintain the blog more properly. I have a few ideas in my mind and I desperately need a new phone🤲🏻
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
Hi there! I know I've been inactive these past few months, and know that it's because life just hit me with the hardest thing I've ever gone through - burnout.
I am now out of a job, the job that for 8 YEARS, has sustained me and my family. I have gone through my savings trying to keep afloat, and my biggest worry is not me, but my two cats, buying food for them and litter sand and stuff. And I'd hate having to do this, I'm really sorry, but I have run out of places (and bank loans) to reach out to. I am thankful that they're in good health at the moment, but since I am still trying to find a job, I am strapped, and in my community, they don't really have relief and we have no unemployment benefits. If you have money to spare, I'd really really appreciate your help. If you don't, it's okay, just send us good vibes along the way and reblog if you can.
As for my fics, I'm sorry, but don't worry! I shall get back to them when I finally have job security out of my worries. None of them will be abandoned, but they'll take time to update, is all.
And thank you for reading thus far. I am not a bot and my account is still me lol here's cat tax:
Here's my paypal: https://www.paypal.me/dotieeeee
Again, many thanks and I wish you all the very best.
A/N: I have not read this concept here. But being a desi girl, I do what I can - create delusions. Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. I luv comments so much I get hard with no dik!!
(Implications of Smut)
MASTERLIST 🪷
Simon! who has never seen someone with a head full of hair. 'You can donate and make wigs outta them'. But oh, how he loves to grab them every once in a while amazed by their thickness and length. He would wrap his fist around them as he teases you,"Feel good? Bet it does....Can hold em up for you dove. All day."
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Desi! Reader who puts kohl in her eyes every day like a ritual. He doesn’t understand how you manage to do it.
You lean toward the mirror, steady hand, calm breath and behind you he’s already spiraling.
"Love. Lovie...steady, yeah? Christ, that thing’s sharp."
You sigh. "Si, it’s kajal. I’ve been doing this since I was twelve."
You drag the line clean across your waterline. Perfect.
He groans into his palm,"One day you’re gonna stab your eyeball and I’ll have to explain that paperwork."
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Simon! who holds a small diya in his hands as you walk away mumbling a quick "pls hold it for me".
And he does. Holds it for the whole hour like a dummy. Cupping his palm around it. Even when his palm burns beneath it. His eyes flickering to the little flame softly.
"It's important for her. Can't let it die", he nods to Soap asking him to join the party.
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Desi! Reader who always smells like she stepped straight out of a perfumery.
He walks in the common room and - stops dead. Sniffs.
"…You changed scent."
You raise a brow,"You’re ridiculous."
Simon steps closer, inhales at your neck like a tracking dog. His nose twitching as he inhales a long breath.
"Jasmine… bit of sandalwood…"
"You’re supposed to be intimidating...your their Lt."
"..hmm", Another slow inhale.
You shove his shoulder laughing,"Go away."
"Not happenin’, sweetheart. Smell like that, I’m hoverin’."
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Simon! who is baffled by the amount of jewellery you have. He’s sitting on the bed watching you layer bangles, chains, rings.
"…You armorin’ up or attendin’ dinner?"
"They are all just gold circles- he whines.
"Different gold circles", you glare at him. Does he think everyone of those is the same??
He shakes his head, utterly lost — until you walk past and your anklets chime.
That soft metallic rhythm fills the room.
He stills. Watches. His head snaps faster than ever.
"…Do that again."
You pause. "What?"
"Walk."
You walk around frowning looking at him. Chime. Chime.
He shifts on bed groaning....oh god, did he get hard by hearing the sound of your anklets?? Don't mind him putting your feet on his lap later that day as he clicks multiple photos of the anklets adorning them.
"Si...why do you like em so much", you ask.
"Because I like knowing where you are. And these are not coming off ever", he says kissing your ankles. Yes, he begs you to wear them while he fucks you hard enough to hear that damn sound, feet over his shoulder as he presses ears to them moaning. Happiest man alive.
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Simon! who learns how to make proper chai and throws away every teabag in his kitchen. Don't mind him flexing on his team in base.
"Proper tea. Not the crap you lot drink", he goes looking at their faces. Everyone equally shocked as to why their Lt. prefers grinding gingers, cardamom and spices violently instead of just boiling water and throwing a bag...
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Desi! Reader who wears a saree in front of Simon for the first time. And had to wear another one, because that man went rabid the moment you walked in looking oh so sensual. Silk falling and wrapping your body just right.
"I've never seen anything hotter than this", he whispers caressing the drapes and pleats.
"Is this supposed to be so..exposed", he mumbles kissing your neck as his thumb brushes against your waist.
"Yeah, it uh usually is like this".
He tugs at your front as you let out a gasp feeling hours of your hardwork unravel, just like that. Before you could protest he frowns tugging it more and more till it comes out flowing.
"The hell it's endless or what", he groans trying to get it all down. But oh, he was beyond thinking straight. So he does what he could, fuck you while you grab onto your slipping fabric. Bangles clinking, anklets chiming and Si was in heaven. Yeah, don't wear a fucking saree again. Unless you plan to get late.
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Simon! who hears you call him 'jaan'. He never asks you upfront what it meant. But yes, he did google it.
Later – you overhear him bragging to the team.
"My bird calls me Jaan."
Soap snorts,"You sure that’s not an insult?"
Simon scowls.
"It means life in her language. Yeah? Like — not January-Jan. It's Jaaan."
She calls me her life...
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Desi! Reader who lays down in front of him butt naked for him to draw henna patterns all over her body. Don't mind him writing "Riley's" on your bum knowing you can't see it.
Rest, he would try his best to draw little hearts and flowers on your thighs and back as you drift to sleep. A disfigured skull on your nape. And admires his own work grinning ear to ear.
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Simon! who thinks you have the biggest family on Earth. Each time he discovers a new cousin, a new uncle or a new aunt at your family get togethers. But oh, your family loved him from the first meeting itself.
"Pyara Gora chora", you hear your old grandma say as she laughs. You look around the hall to see Simon bending down and touching feet of every damn adult in the room...jesus you did not teach him that!!
Everyone stops what they were doing the moment every kid in house makes Simon their personal jungle gym. All of them hanging by his biceps as he stands tall amused.
He grins spinning as a little girl sits on his shoulders grabbing his hair giggling.
Despite the differences. Despite the fact you both grew miles apart. He tries for you. Learns how to say words in a language that commands full use of tongue.
Broken words sure, but full of adoration. And he'll die trying if that means having you forever.
And you go from a 'fucking coloniser' to 'fucking a coloniser'. 🌷🫣
"No my love. This is your punishment." I said riding him deliberately slow, his dick hitting the spot perfectly making me breathless.
"You know I can't keep my hands of you right? Let me take care of you. I will make you feel so good." His one hand came up to tease my nipple and other one holding my waist.
"If you thrusted your dick even once, I will get up and take care of myself." I warned (jokingly) with each word my fingers tracing higher and higher, from his abdomen to his chest then to his neck, finally reaching his lips and tapping on them.
"Fuck baby I am sorry. I didn't know teasing you in the party would lead me here." He took my palm, leaving kisses from my fingers to my wrist.
"I said you get to have your way with me if the night goes smoothly. What you did there wasn't smooth at all." I stopped altogether.
He pleaded with his eyes. I clenched around him, his eyes going wide, both his hands coming to grip my waist at the sudden movement.
"T-that's fuck fuck fuck" he gasped "not fair at all" as I continued my teasing.
"Is it not my love?" I pouted bending forward to give him a kiss.
"Too bad I am not playing fair" I whispered while moving back and riding him with more urgency now.
All the teasing at the party and seeing him lose his mind like this was making me reach my high. He couldn't help himself from thrusting into me this time. The sudden movement and the way his dick went deeper made me fell forward as I whined and started kissing his neck.
"Yeah baby thaaat's it. Let it go for me hm? You are doing so good" His hand gently massaged along my spine, a contrast with his hard thrusts.
I came with breathy moans, him following shortly after.
"Squeeze your pelvic floor 5 times. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Squeeze and hold it for 7 seconds." Said the woman in the video as I continued my daily dose of Kegel exercises while having my breakfast.
"IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE DOING TO ME WHEN I WAS IN YOU LAST NIGHT??" shrieked my dramatic husband.
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(Tell me I am not the only one who does those pelvic floor exercises whenever that lady comes up on the screen 😭)
"Shit" He groaned with a laugh tipping his head back.
"What? What is it?" I turned around, lipstick still in my hand as I was about to apply it before my ears picked up the sound of my dramatic husband.
"How do you do that baby?" He said with hooded eyes staring at me.
"Do what?"
"That sway of your hips. I swear to God it's killing me."
I chuckled and returned back to doing my make-up "What do you mean by how I do it?"
"When you walk or when you move like right now when you were doing your make-up, your hips sway so enticingly and if I am behind you I am hypnotised. All my focus is on your ass."
"Because you are a horny freak" I said while coming between his legs in front of the bed.
"That's a good point but can anyone blame me for being hooked onto my hot wife?"
"Your hot wife will become angry wife if you don't finish getting ready soon" I said leaning towards his face giving him a soft kiss.
"I don't think anyone will mind if we show up late" He said making me sit on his lap, hands coming up to my waist, reciprocating the kiss.
"Yes they will baby and hard already?" I said in disbelief with a grin, grinding softly on his dick.
"Ugh baby don't do that" He groaned, his head making way towards my neck and I immediately grabbed his face.
"Nope, no leaving hickeys"
"You are grinding down on me and me kissing your neck is where you draw the line"
"Yes because I know it's not 'just kissing my neck' with you. But if you behave and we get through this night smoothly you can see my hips sway while I ride you, okay baby?"
His favourite thing in the world is to sneak up on you. You are a lil jumpy. It's not that you get afraid easily, it's more that your surprise has a more physical response and he loves it. Loves to take you aback and see you pout at him. If he ever pulls up his shenanigans at the wrong moment then you get mad at him and as much he hate you getting mad at him, he also can't deny that you look hot while giving him that glare.
He doesn't do it a lot though. It's not a habit because otherwise you will get used to it and it won't be as fun. He waits for the perfect moment.
Mornings are his favourite but not when he can't find your warmth beside him. He slips out of the room and makes his way towards the kitchen. He just woke up but he already feels pumped up because he is scheming to sneak up on you today.
He is stealthy. Being in the military had given him this advantage. Even with his big body he moves as light as a feather. You are sitting on the dining chair, your back to him. He can see the phone playing a video, a lamb one, which he is sure you will show him later. 'Perfect' he thinks to himself as he knows you will be engrossed in it. He carefully moves towards you. When he is at a safe distance from you he lowers his head towards your ear and with a firm grab to your shoulder he does a "BOO" directly into your ear.
Everything happened in milliseconds. As soon as he did that you fell limp on the table. Before he could even process what had happened a screaming balaclava covered face came in front of him from his right. Startled his body moved back and he tripped and fell on the floor. And you couldn't contain your laughter seeing that.
His mouth closing and opening like a fish and you unable to keep yourself up from laughing that much fell on the floor. "You should have seen your face. I have never seen you like that. Oh God this was so much fun. Totally worth the efforts" You said in between your laughs.
He chuckled finally catching up what has happened "Sneaking up on me huh. Can't believe I fell for that" He moved towards me and made me sit on his lap.
"What can I say, I am an expert in mischief" I grinned up at him. "I can't deny that. When did you plan this all though? And what even is that?" He said pointing at 'my' limp body. "Ah well that did took some time. It's a stuffing just shaped like me. I put my clothes on it this morning."
"How did you even know I was going to sneak up on you today?" He asked confused. "Honestly I don't know. I just got the feeling that I should set this up. Maybe our consciousness is merging together since we are so in love" I said planting a kiss to his lips. "That we are." He said kissing me back.
"Good morning my love and don't worry I will get back at you for this" he whispered.
"Wait what do you mean get back? You scare me ALL THE TIME AND I DID IT JUST ONCE"
"Well baby you participated in this now this is a competition so it's fair I get a chance too" He said with a smirk.
"Noooooo you will be mean. I know that." You groaned into his chest and he laughed.
Mornings are his favourite when you are in his arms.
(Request open.)
(English isn't my first language and I haven't read grammar in a long time 😭 so i am pretty sure I have made errors)
My bad habit that I am desperately trying to work on is reading too much intense smut or watching too intense sexual stuff, daydreaming a fuck ton and doomscrolling. After i start i spend hours in this. Like today i watched youtube for almost 4 to 5 hours and scrolled tumblr for almost 2 to 3 hours even though i have a very big and important exam coming up and every moment matters. I slip up often and i did today as well but not all days are the same right? So it will get better
While standing in the lobby of the company's buliding I thought about how shitty my day was. I messed up at the meeting, got scolded and then sent the wrong files to the boss.
I started moving towards the main gate so as to exit the building as soon as possible and get in his arms. 'Him' The image of his handsome face came to my mind making me smile a bit. 'Let's just leave quickly', with that thought as soon as I stepped outside the rain started pouring.
Ugh! I forgot my umbrella. I went back into the lobby and sat on the couch. 'Can this day get any worse? I just wanted to go home, hug him and also might cry in his arms.' The rain poured heavily. I contemplated on just calling him but he might have not reached home himself.
Staring at the rain for a few minutes the thought of playing in the rain crossed my mind. 'Should I do it?' 'But it's literally in front of my building?!' 'And what if people see?' A series of negative thoughts crawled up my mind. 'Ugh! Fuck it. Let's just do it'. I got up and walked out of the buliding.
Extending my hand towards the falling rain, a few drops poured on my hand. A huge grin appeared my face as the cold water touched my skin. Stepping completely out in the rain, I looked up and closed my eyes. It felt amazing. I walked more till I was a bit far from the building. Not caring about anything I twirled around. A small laugh escaped my lips at the nice feeling. Euphoric. It was euphoric. I just stood there with my eyes closed, relishing the emotion I was feeling. A quite difficult to name it. Although the rain was cold, my heart warmed.
I frowned as I suddenly felt no droplets on my face. Opening my eyes, I saw black? Huh? An umbrella? I looked side ways and saw 'him' with a soft smile. A look of adoration in his eyes. A smile crept on my lips.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him bewildered. His one arm went around my waist pulling me into his chest, "You forgot your umbrella and it was raining. Thought I could pick you up".
"I am wet. Your clothes would be ruined". I said wiggling around so as to break the hug but his arm tightened. I stopped trying as he didn't let go. I pouted looking at him, my chin resting on his chest. He kissed my forehead, "I don't care. It's not bothersome. Had fun in the rain, love?" I nodded as my own arms went around his frame.
Remembering the bad day I had today I tightened my arms around him. "Someone missed me too much, hmm?" He asked with a bit of teasing tone. "Had a bad day" I mumbled into his chest. Gently stroking my head he said "How about we go home and I cook your favourite dish? Then we can cuddle later. How does that sound?" "Perfect. I already took the shower like this", I said. He chuckled and kissed my forehead again, "Yeah you did". Slipping his warm hand into my cold one he started walking forward. One hand holding the umbrella as the rain was still falling and the other one holding my hand, his thumb rubbing gently on the back of my hand. My heart swelling up at his thoughtful personality. He always makes me happy. It's a happy feeling if he is there.
✯It's good if you are there✯
( I wrote this 4 to 5 years back. It's pretty whimsical but I still love it. I fs have made grammatical mistakes in this one but I didn't recheck so i apologise. 🙏🏻)
